New Zealand and the Vietnam War: Politics and Diplomacy 1869403401, 9781869403409

Table of contents :
Cover
Copyright
Contents
Preface
1. New Zealand and the First Indochina War, 1945–54
2. From Geneva to the Tonkin Gulf: A Decade of Decisions Deferred, 1954–64
3. In the Cold War’s Shadow: The Origins and Evolution of Domestic Debate About the Vietnam War, 1945–64
4. ‘An Acceptable Price to Pay’: The Diplomacy of Combat Intervention in the Vietnam War, 1964–5
5. The Domestic Politics of Combat Intervention, January–June 1965
6. Part of the Way with LBJ: New Zealand Defers an Expanded Commitment, June 1965–December 1966
7. ‘A War of Words’: Defining the Domestic Political Debate about Vietnam, June–December 1965
8. The Domestic Politics of the Vietnam War in an Election Year, 1966
9. Paying a Higher Premium: The Escalation of New Zealand’s Military Effort, 1967–8
10. Dialogue of the Deaf: The Domestic Politics of the Vietnam Conflict, 1967–8
11. ‘Concluding a Chapter’: The Diplomacy of Military Disengagement from Vietnam, 1969–72
12. The Fracturing of Foreign Policy Consensus, 1969–72
13. New Zealand and the Ending of the Vietnam War, 1972–5
14. The Historical Significance of New Zealand’s Vietnam Experience
Notes
Bibliography
Index
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
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W
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Citation preview

New Zealand and the V i e t n a m War

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New Zealand

and the V i e t n a m War Politics and Diplomacy R o b e r t o Rabel

Auckland University Press University of Auckland Private Bag 92019 Auckland New Zealand www.auckland.ac.nz/aup © Crown Copyright, 2005 ISBN 1 86940 340 1 Published in association with the Ministry for Culture and Heritage This book is copyright. Apart from fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without prior permission of the publisher. Printed by Astra Print Ltd, Wellington

CONTENTS

Preface

vii

1.

New Zealand and the First Indochina War, 1945–54

2.

From Geneva to the Tonkin Gulf: A Decade of Decisions Deferred, 1954–64

31

In the Cold War’s Shadow: The Origins and Evolution of Domestic Debate About the Vietnam War, 1945–64

63

‘An Acceptable Price to Pay’: The Diplomacy of Combat Intervention in the Vietnam War, 1964–5

80

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

1

The Domestic Politics of Combat Intervention, January–June 1965

103

Part of the Way with LBJ: New Zealand Defers an Expanded Commitment, June 1965–December 1966

127

‘A War of Words’: Defining the Domestic Political Debate about Vietnam, June–December 1965

155

The Domestic Politics of the Vietnam War in an Election Year, 1966

176

Paying a Higher Premium: The Escalation of New Zealand’s Military Effort, 1967–8

199

10. Dialogue of the Deaf: The Domestic Politics of the Vietnam Conflict, 1967–8

230

11. ‘Concluding a Chapter’: The Diplomacy of Military Disengagement from Vietnam, 1969–72

261

12. The Fracturing of Foreign Policy Consensus, 1969–72

284

13. New Zealand and the Ending of the Vietnam War, 1972–5

328

14. The Historical Significance of New Zealand’s Vietnam Experience

348

Notes

366

Bibliography

425

Index

434

vi

PREFACE

The Vietnam War was New Zealand’s most prolonged, most reluctantly entered into and most politically divisive military experience of the twentieth century. It had a decisive impact on subsequent policy-making and public debate about national security, even though the country’s troop commitment was minimal. This book examines the diplomatic, political and social dimensions of New Zealand’s participation in the conflict. It seeks to explain how and why New Zealand was drawn into the Vietnam War, and to assess the diplomatic and domestic consequences of that experience. This volume is one of a series of works covering New Zealand’s involvement in international conflicts since the Second World War. It was commissioned by the Historical Branch of the New Zealand Department of Internal Affairs, which has since become the History Group in the Ministry for Culture and Heritage. The book is an ‘official history’ in the sense that the state has sponsored its preparation and facilitated access to a wide range of official records, most of which are now in the public domain. I have not been subject to censorship of any sort and the arguments advanced are strictly my own. This book is intended to serve primarily as a reasonably comprehensive and authoritative narrative history. It relies heavily on research in the New Zealand government’s voluminous files on this subject, supplemented by more selective use of the records of other governments, newspapers, materials pertaining to the anti-war movement, private papers and some oral history interviews. The book does not offer an exhaustive treatment of all diplomatic, political and social developments associated with New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War. Significant international developments such as the Korean War, Indonesia’s ‘Confrontation’ policy toward Malaysia and Britain’s withdrawal from ‘east of Suez’ all affected policy-making on Vietnam and receive attention in that context, but their wider implications for New Zealand’s regional security policy cannot be fully elaborated. On the domestic front, the book analyses the overall character and impact of the anti-war movement that arose during the Vietnam War, but I have not attempted to reconstruct the detailed histories of the numerous so-called vii

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Committees on Vietnam and analogous groups, with their diverse and distinctive local features. Similarly, I have been able to give only passing attention to the relationship between opposition to the Vietnam War and other contemporary protest causes, such as the women’s, anti-apartheid and anti-nuclear movements. Nor does the book discuss all facets of New Zealand media coverage of the war. These and other specific subjects related to the impact of the Vietnam War on New Zealand are beyond the scope of a general history. Also explicitly excluded is the combat experience of the New Zealand military personnel (fewer than 4000 over the course of the war) who served in Vietnam, which will be the subject of a separate volume by another historian. Inevitably, when presenting conclusions about such a contentious conflict, no historian can hope to meet with universal agreement. I have tried to be balanced in setting out the competing sides in the domestic debate about foreign policy that was triggered by this war. Readers will have to decide for themselves if my interpretations of the significance for New Zealand of the Vietnam War are persuasive. This book is organised around two overarching arguments, one principally diplomatic, the other principally domestic. On the diplomatic front, I have concluded that New Zealand was reluctantly drawn into the Vietnam conflict for Cold War reasons relating to the perceived threat of communist expansionism in Southeast Asia. It committed military forces there from 1964 to 1972 largely to demonstrate alliance solidarity with the United States and, to a lesser extent, with Australia. Once committed, New Zealand pursued a relatively effective diplomatic strategy, which differed in crucial respects from those of its more powerful American and Australian allies. As a perceptive diplomatic officer commented in 1970, New Zealand was ‘the most dovish of the hawks’. My second line of argument concerns the domestic debate about the Vietnam conflict, which precipitated the splintering of an earlier bipartisan consensus on foreign policy and brought to public prominence competing views on what constituted an ‘independent’ foreign policy. This book will suggest that Keith Holyoake’s National government remained essentially impervious to domestic criticisms of military involvement in Vietnam. But many other New Zealanders, including a generation of future political leaders, came to accept those criticisms. Indeed, the nationalist criticism of official foreign policy first popularised by domestic opponents of the Vietnam War arguably attained its greatest influence during the later anti-nuclear dispute between New Zealand and the United States, climaxing in the suspension of the ANZUS alliance in the 1980s. For practical reasons, the book is organised chronologically, with most chapters alternating in developing the two major themes. Although, for the most part, the diplomatic and domestic ‘stories’ unfolded independently, viii

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this book rests on the assumption that there was an underlying interplay between the two dimensions of involvement in the conflict. I have been assisted in many ways by individuals and institutions without whose generous support the completion of this book would not have been possible. I owe thanks first to the New Zealand government for appointing me to write this history and for funding a year of research in Wellington, where I was based in the Historical Branch of the Department of Internal Affairs. This provided a uniquely convivial and collegial environment in which to sift through thousands of pages of official documents and other manuscript sources housed in the capital. As a university-based historian (and then administrator) with teaching and other commitments, it took many more years to absorb the significance of those documents and to complete supplementary research, but that initial period of uninterrupted research was indispensable. The Branch has since evolved into the History Group of the Ministry for Culture and Heritage, which continued to provide institutional support and supervision during the final stages of the project. I am grateful to my own academic home institution, the University of Otago, which granted me a year’s leave without pay to carry out initial research and provided sabbatical leave and research grants. I would also like to thank successive heads of the University’s History Department for their support and encouragement, especially Erik Olssen, who was an inspirational mentor. I am similarly indebted to other former colleagues, especially Tom Brooking, Barbara Brookes and Ann Trotter. Like all diplomatic historians, my work has been eased by the knowledgeable assistance of librarians and archivists at numerous institutions. I must thank the many staff members who helped me in the following cities: in Wellington at the Alexander Turnbull Library, Archives New Zealand, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade and the Ministry of Defence; in Dunedin at the University of Otago and Hocken Libraries; in London at the Public Record Office; in Washington DC (and Suitland, Maryland) at the United States National Archives and the Library of Congress; in Boston, at the John F. Kennedy Library; in Austin at the Lyndon Baines Johnson Library; and in Princeton, at the Princeton University Library and the Seeley G. Mudd Manuscript Library. A succession of research assistants identified newspaper sources and carried out other tasks for me. I am especially grateful for the efforts of Wayne Angus, Megan Cook, John Muir, David Thomson and Gary Witte. I would also like to thank two other former students, Peter Bell and Sam Elworthy, for sharing source materials with me. Another former student, ix

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James Waite, kindly allowed me to read his excellent work in progress on the international diplomacy of the Geneva Conference. My interest in the Vietnam War was first stimulated during my undergraduate studies at Victoria University of Wellington. I owe thanks to both Rod Alley and Ray Goldstein for inspiring this interest and for later allowing me to borrow source materials from them. The publisher, Elizabeth Caffin, originally approached me to write this book. Having helped to stimulate its inception, it is pleasing that she could be present at the end as well. Jock Phillips also had a guiding hand in this project from its early stages. In his former role as Chief Historian, he maintained an unfaltering faith in my ability to produce a high-quality history of New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War. He took the time to read a full draft of the manuscript and identified key areas that needed strengthening. His support was indispensable. I am equally grateful to the current Chief Historian, Bronwyn Dalley. As well as providing useful general comments on the manuscript, she was a model of patience, tact and understanding during the final stages of preparing the book. The careful editorial work of Anna Rogers and David Green was also of immense benefit to me during those final stages, as were Katie Duke’s and Peter Cooke’s efforts in identifying appropriate illustrations. I have accumulated special debts to two individuals, whom I value both as close friends and as fellow international historians. Malcolm McKinnon has remained a steadfast source of advice, encouragement and intellectual stimulation. His own work on New Zealand and international history is consistently original and thought-provoking. Although our views do not always coincide, he personifies the virtues of civility and good humour as the fodder of genuine intellectual debate. His constructive criticisms of the draft manuscript were invaluable. I cannot acknowledge sufficiently the contribution made by Ian McGibbon, this country’s most accomplished defence historian, whose commitment to fair-minded, clear and rigorous scholarship is exemplary. As supervising historian for this project, he waded patiently through successive drafts, offering insights from his wide-ranging knowledge of New Zealand military and diplomatic history. He gently but doggedly ensured that the end product is a more readable book. Other readers took the time to look over the final draft and provided helpful suggestions. I am grateful to Bruce Brown and Malcolm Templeton, two veteran diplomats who have contributed much to the history of New Zealand foreign policy since retiring from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade. Gerald McGhie deserves thanks for offering an alternative perspective as someone from the generation who entered the New Zealand diplomatic service during the Vietnam War years. I am especially grateful that x

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George Herring was also able to read the manuscript. A leading American historian of the Vietnam War, he is another valued friend who has provided encouragement and support. I would also like to thank Brian Easton for reading two chapters and offering critical comments on my treatment of the early development of an anti-Vietnam War movement in New Zealand. Several former New Zealand diplomats gave generously of their time in interviews. I am most grateful for the willingness of Frank Corner, Sir George Laking and Ian Stewart to share their candid reflections on New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War. I am also grateful to the group of female anti-war activists who agreed to be interviewed by my research assistant, Megan Cook. Two other fellow Antipodean historians of the Vietnam War deserve mention. I have drawn much inspiration from the insightful and balanced approach adopted by the Australian official historian Peter Edwards in his writings on the Vietnam War. Although we disagree in our interpretations of the nature of the New Zealand involvement, David Dickens graciously shared source materials with me. His PhD thesis on policy advice given to the New Zealand government concerning the Vietnam War obliged me to clarify and strengthen my own arguments. Family members and close friends assisted too. For accommodation and other forms of support, I am especially indebted to Giuliano and Margaret Volpi in Auckland, Robert Yee and Ray Henkel in Wellington, Jeanne Vullinghs in London and Bobbi Rubinoff in Washington. My parents-inlaw, Acee Hughes and the late Al Hughes, more than once provided a room with a view in which to write, sometimes during periods of great stress in their family life. My own father, who died while this book was being written, always encouraged me in my scholarly endeavours. My mother provided her usual warm hospitality and extended my childhood exposure to la cucina Polesana during over a year of research and many shorter trips to Wellington. More significantly, it is only thanks to my mother and late grandmother that this child of European immigrants displaced by one war has had the opportunity to write about the impact of another distant war on their adopted country. Finally, this book owes more than I can ever acknowledge to Kathie, who was there at the beginning, and to our daughters, Liliana and Caitlin, who made the end slower but immeasurably more pleasurable. Roberto Rabel Dunedin January 2005

xi

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CHAPTER ONE

New Zealand and the First Indochina War, 1945–54

E

veryone in the debating chamber and the crowded public galleries realised something momentous was afoot when Prime Minister Keith Holyoake rose to deliver a special ministerial statement at the opening of New Zealand’s Parliament on 27 May 1965. After careful deliberation, declared Holyoake, his government had resolved to send a New Zealand combat unit to help defend the Republic of Vietnam (the state of South Vietnam) against ‘Communist aggression’.1 New Zealand was once again to be directly involved in a war. Expected for weeks, the controversial announcement still came as a surprise. Canny politician that he was, Holyoake caught critics of his anticipated decision off-guard by using the formal opening of Parliament to make the plans public.2 The only signs of protest among those gathered outside the House that day were a man and woman brandishing a placard that read ‘No Country Should Enter Into War While Country is Divided – Gladstone’. No other demonstrations interrupted proceedings that afternoon, and Holyoake delivered his statement to a ‘hushed’ House.3 The silence would be short-lived. A decade of dissent lay ahead, involving the most acrimonious and enduring debate about a specific foreign policy issue in New Zealand history. Holyoake’s announcement on 27 May 1965 did not represent a sudden or impulsive move by his government. The decision had been two decades in the making. It was a logical culmination of developments in New Zealand national security policies since 1945 – especially with respect to Southeast 1

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Asia. It was also a reflection of events in Vietnam since the late 1940s. In a more general sense, though, New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War, as for all participants in that tragic conflict, ultimately stemmed from the global convulsions wrought by the Second World War, decolonisation and the Cold War. Both Vietnam and New Zealand were affected by these tectonic forces, which shaped much of the international political history of the second part of the twentieth century. To understand why Holyoake found himself justifying a decision to send New Zealand combat forces to Vietnam in 1965, it is necessary to look back over the preceding two decades, beginning in 1945 when the Second World War ended.

After more than 50 million deaths, the most devastating war in human history formally ended on 2 September 1945.4 Accepting the Japanese surrender aboard the USS Missouri that day, General Douglas MacArthur proclaimed: ‘It is my earnest hope, and indeed all mankind’s, that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge. From the blood and carnage of the past a world shall be founded on faith and understanding, dedicated to dignify man and to the fulfilment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance and justice.’5 The American general’s words eloquently encapsulated the sense of expectation everywhere that a new world order was about to arise. New Zealand was no exception. Newspaper editorials the next day applauded the ideals invoked by MacArthur, reflecting New Zealand hopes for a new era of prosperity at home and peace abroad.6 Prime Minister Peter Fraser, too, had asserted that the fruits of victory and the avoidance of further global conflict would best be assured by international adherence to the principles of collective security, national self-determination and universal human rights embodied in the recently signed Charter of the United Nations.7 The same values were publicly celebrated on 2 September 1945 in a Southeast Asian city whose name few New Zealanders would have recognised at the time. In Hanoi that day, hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese gathered to hear their revolutionary leader, Ho Chi Minh, declare an independent Democratic Republic of Vietnam, free from French colonial rule. In his address, Ho – a committed Vietnamese nationalist and Communist – cited the opening lines of the American Declaration of Independence which, he said, meant: ‘All the people on earth are born equal; all the people have the right to live, to be happy, to be free’. He concluded with a shrewd appeal to the victorious Allied powers: ‘We are convinced that the Allied nations, which at Tehran and San Francisco acknowledged the principles of 2

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self-determination and equality of nations, will not refuse to acknowledge the independence of Viet Nam’.8 Like so many in the colonial world, Vietnamese nationalists viewed the decline of the major European powers and the defeat of Japan’s short-lived hegemony in Southeast Asia as the best opportunity yet to achieve goals long denied them. They were familiar with the Allies’ wartime commitment to national self-determination as set down in the Atlantic Charter and, as Ho’s Independence Day speech underlined, they hoped for support from the United States.9 The presence of American officers on the podium on 2 September and the squadron of P-38s that flew over Hanoi after Ho’s historic address were auspicious signs that those hopes would be fulfilled, but they would prove forlorn.10 In the ensuing years, American policy would become a major obstacle to the realisation of the aspirations Ho expressed, as the quest for Vietnamese independence was subsumed in the broader international struggle known as the Cold War. The Cold War was also the underlying factor that later led New Zealand to support the ill-fated American effort to prevent Vietnam’s national unification under Ho’s leadership. That stance would generate bitter domestic controversy in the 1960s and early 1970s. Yet Vietnamese claims for independence received only minor, and relatively favourable, attention in New Zealand in September 1945.11 Such treatment was symbolic, for subsequent New Zealand policies toward Vietnam had little to do with the intrinsic merits of the struggle for national independence and unity. Rather, they were conceived and justified within the larger context of post-war national security strategy. As a consequence, policy-makers in Wellington came to interpret in very different ways from Ho’s followers the principles of national self-determination, collective security and human rights which featured so prominently in the deceptively similar public rhetoric of celebration in New Zealand and Vietnam at war’s end in 1945.

New Zealand Security Policy and the Cold War, 1945–51 For a century before 1939, New Zealand had relied on Great Britain for its national security. Britain’s inability to defend its Pacific dominions was laid bare during the Second World War, most graphically when the supposedly impregnable Singapore naval base fell to Japan in 1942. The Pacific War dealt a fatal blow to European colonialism in the region and Japan’s defeat was secured only by the United States.12 As a result, the geopolitical landscape of the Asia–Pacific region was profoundly transformed, though its precise contours remained uncertain in 1945. The convulsions in the regional balance of power did not immediately wrench New Zealand away from its traditional British-oriented alliance 3

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strategy. At war’s end, New Zealand continued to regard its relationship with Britain as the linchpin of its foreign relations, and not only for security reasons. It remained dependent economically on British markets for its primary exports and, despite the presence of an indigenous Maori culture, was a redoubtable cultural province of Britain. Certain features of the post-war order threw into question the primacy of these traditional links if new strategic realities were to be addressed and older fears assuaged. The war had irreparably weakened Britain’s power and status. It could no longer defend a far-flung empire over which the tide of decolonisation was about to sweep. Furthermore, though Fraser’s government hoped for a more beneficent world order, the Cold War split the wartime coalition along bipolar lines and aborted the development of a universal United Nations-run security system.13 The Cold War added the spectre of international communist expansionism to traditional fears of Asian aggression, and strengthened the perception that only the United States could ultimately ensure New Zealand’s security.14 Policy-makers in Wellington responded to the new strategic environment by clinging as much as possible to the tried and true while pragmatically adjusting to the emerging Cold War order. In the late 1940s, New Zealand attempted both to remain within a British-centred universe and, with Australia, to stretch the boundaries of that universe and incorporate a security guarantee from the United States.15 As a small, thinly populated and predominantly European nation on the edge of Asia, New Zealand believed its national security rested on continuing its traditional role as a junior partner within a larger alliance structure, albeit one which now hinged on Anglo-American cooperation in world affairs. This assumption meant that New Zealand endorsed the general Western strategy of preparing militarily to counter a Soviet threat to Western Europe. In the event of a global war, its primary contribution would be to a Commonwealth force to defend the Middle East.16 In its long-term defence policy, therefore, New Zealand eschewed an Asian focus, notwithstanding fears of a possible resurgence of Japanese militarism.17 Australia, in contrast, advocated greater attention to Asia in Commonwealth security planning and was instrumental in securing the formation in 1949 of a service-level contingency planning organisation known as ANZAM (the Australia, New Zealand and Malaya area). New Zealand’s aversion to Asian entanglements (and possible Australian domination) made it a reluctant participant in ANZAM. This aversion held true even for the internationally minded Prime Minister. As a 1949 British report observed, Fraser was a typical New Zealander in regarding ‘Asia as being a long way away’ and in considering ‘Asia as a threat only in so far as it falls under Soviet domination’.18 4

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New Zealand strategists began paying closer attention to the region, however, after the People’s Republic of China was established in October 1949, partly because of their major allies’ reactions to that event. Intensification of the Cold War in Asia also prompted more attention to changing American policy toward Japan, British efforts to counter communist insurgents in Malaya, and France’s ongoing frustrations in the war to retain control of its Indochinese colonies. When Labour lost office in late 1949, its successor confronted a rapidly changing Asian scene. Sidney Holland’s National government had little time to contemplate the implications of those developments before a major crisis erupted when North Korea invaded its southern neighbour in June 1950. New Zealand interpreted this attack as part of a larger pattern of Soviet-inspired communist expansionism and readily contributed to the American-led coalition of forces mobilised under the United Nations banner to defend South Korea. New Zealand found itself engaged in another conflict, but this time it was a limited war in Asia fought against communist foes, with Japan as an indirect ally.19 The Korean War coincided with far-reaching developments in New Zealand’s security policies. Participation in the conflict reinforced a bipartisan commitment to the Western camp in the Cold War and brought a heightened sensitivity to communist threats to regional stability. It also provided the immediate context in which the Anzac nations secured the ‘richest prize’ of their post-war diplomacy: a formal American security guarantee, embodied in the 1951 ANZUS treaty.20 By the end of 1951, New Zealand’s strategic outlook and alliance orientation were in flux. It had joined a formal alliance with the United States and Australia – notably, for the first time without Britain. Though the Korean War did not bring a jettisoning of British-oriented defence policies, it pointed New Zealand toward greater reliance on the new ANZUS pact and a greater focus on Asia in its defence planning. Fears of Japan had been replaced by growing apprehension about Asian communism, particularly as represented by the People’s Republic of China. These developments provided the backdrop for Wellington’s first serious appraisal of the bitter post-war conflict in Vietnam. By 1950, the Western powers viewed the fighting in Indochina as a critical symbol of the Cold War struggle against communism in Asia. New Zealand, too, would embrace that perspective.

The First Indochina War, 1945–54 Vietnamese struggles against external domination may be dated in millennia. After over 1000 years of Chinese rule ended in 939, the Vietnamese 5

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fought with varying degrees of success over the next nine centuries to preserve and expand the national patrimony against their erstwhile Chinese overlords and other hostile neighbouring empires: the Cham, Khmer and Mongol. This period was also characterised by regional conflicts and dynastic rivalries which culminated in the consolidation of the Nguyen family’s imperial control of a unified Vietnamese state in 1802. That state collapsed between the 1850s and 1880s as France overcame local resistance to absorb Vietnam into its expanding empire.21 The French dismembered Vietnam. Eager to accentuate the area’s disunity, they used the name ‘Cochinchina’ – originally applied by the Portuguese in the sixteenth century to the whole country – to refer to the southern third of Vietnam, which became a colony in 1867. The French designated the northern and central parts of Vietnam Tonkin and Annam respectively and made them protectorates in 1883.22 Together with the neighbouring kingdoms of Laos and Cambodia, they administered these colonial holdings as the so-called Indochinese Union. Nationalist resistance in one form or another persisted after the imposition of French control over Vietnam but was sporadic and divided before the Second World War.23 One man in particular was responsible for forging a disciplined movement of anti-colonial resistance to the French. His achievements tower over the history of Vietnamese nationalism in the twentieth century. Ho Chi Minh was prominent in the founding of both the Indochinese Communist Party in 1930 and the more ideologically diverse Vietnam Doc Lap Dong Minh (League for the Independence of Vietnam) in 1941. Under his inspirational leadership, the Vietminh, as it became known, emerged as the dominant force in Vietnamese nationalism, setting the struggle against French colonialism on a revolutionary trajectory.24 Though led by communists, the Vietminh pragmatically downplayed the pursuit of internal class struggle and social revolution to garner wider support for the more pressing objective of national independence. This strategy proved highly effective during the Second World War. The Vietminh drew much popular support in the northern portions of Vietnam, establishing an extensive network of nationalist resistance to the Japanese and pro-Vichy colonial authorities, whose local sovereignty the Japanese allowed to continue after moving forces into northern Indochina in 1940.25 Having developed ‘the most effective, anti-imperialist, and pro-Allied guerrilla movement in Southeast Asia’, the Vietminh was well placed to take advantage of the final stages of the war. When the Japanese ousted their French collaborators in March 1945, Ho’s forces went on the offensive and by June had created a large ‘liberated zone’ in northern Vietnam. The Allied defeat of Japan two months later cleared the way for the Vietminh to seize control of Tonkin and Annam after calling for a general 6

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Ho Chi Minh, 1890–1969. atl-ms-papers-2511, cov: vii/34, atl

uprising. Though not as dominant in the south, the Vietminh held a prominent place in the unruly coalition of nationalist and religious sects which seized power in Cochinchina. When Ho issued his historic proclamation of independence on 2 September 1945, the Vietminh had established a commanding presence throughout Vietnam.26 In 1945 that dominance lasted only weeks. Ho’s appeal for recognition of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam went unanswered by the Allies, who chose instead to underwrite French ambitions to restore a colonial presence in Indochina.27 They proceeded with a plan determined in July 1945 at the Potsdam Conference, dividing Vietnam at the sixteenth parallel into two occupation zones to be administered by the British in the south and the Chinese in the north. The Americans, in whom the Vietminh had set high store, accepted that this scheme would lead to eventual French reoccupation of Vietnam. By late September 1945 French authorities had regained control of the southern city of Saigon, thanks to the active support of British and, ironically, Japanese forces. Not without violence, France soon held sway again over most of southern Vietnam and sought to extend its authority northward. The French were unable, however, to oust the Vietminh from its northern power base, and a precarious truce prevailed for over a year as the two sides attempted to negotiate a compromise. Seeking to accommodate the French, 7

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Ho overruled radicals among his own supporters, but the differences between the two sides proved too great. Amid rising tensions, the uneasy stalemate ended and the so-called First Indochina War erupted in earnest in November 1946, when the French responded to anti-colonial demonstrations in Haiphong by bombarding the city, killing 6000 Vietnamese. The French fared poorly in the ensuing struggle. Eventually realising that a purely military approach was failing, they decided to tackle the question of Vietnamese nationalism in the hope of attracting more legitimacy and popular support. In March 1949 the former emperor of Annam, Bao Dai, reluctantly agreed to head a Vietnamese ‘associate state’ within the French Union. Unfortunately for the French, Bao Dai was widely disdained as a ‘playboy emperor’ and puppet of France who had little prospect of commanding wide support among the Vietnamese people. The French ploy met with little success. Their position continued to deteriorate in the face of the Vietminh’s military resistance. The victory of the communist forces led by Mao Zedong (Mao Tse-tung) in China later that year deepened the sense of imminent crisis for French rule in Indochina. In these circumstances, France turned increasingly to the United States for support. In theory, the United States should have implacably opposed French policy in Indochina because of its commitment to anti-colonialism and selfdetermination, as outlined in the Atlantic Charter. For much of the Second World War, President Franklin D. Roosevelt favoured an international trusteeship to prepare Indochina for self-government. Shortly before his death in April 1945, however, he reluctantly accepted the idea of France serving in that role, given its importance in American planning for the reconstruction of Western Europe. The Truman administration was more explicit in accepting the restoration of French sovereignty over Indochina because of fears of growing communist influence in both France – a vital European ally – and Indochina, a strategically pivotal part of Southeast Asia.28 The calculated ambivalence of the United States in the immediate postwar years reflected its broader geopolitical interests in the unfolding Cold War.29 The United States did not challenge France’s reimposition of authority in Vietnam, but assuaged its anti-colonial qualms by not offering direct military assistance and by repeatedly asking Paris to agree to eventual selfgovernment for the Indochinese colonies. Britain was similarly ambivalent.30 Following Mao’s victory in China, however, Washington placed heightened significance on Vietnam as a Cold War frontline against communist expansion in Southeast Asia. In December 1949, the National Security Council concluded that the region’s fall to communism would represent ‘a major political defeat the repercussions of which will be felt throughout the world’.31 By then, the British were also urging more active support for the French and their indigenous allies on the grounds that the fate of Southeast Asia 8

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hung on the outcome of the war in Indochina.32 In line with this implicit, if as yet unnamed, ‘domino theory’ and in pursuit of a stable, non-communist Southeast Asia, the Americans and British both crossed an important threshold by officially recognising the Bao Dai regime in February 1950.33 Abandoning any pretence of neutrality, American officials embarked on an extensive programme of military and economic aid to the French and their Vietnamese allies. The outbreak of the Korean War, though temporarily diverting Western attention from Indochina, strengthened Washington’s commitment to the French by confirming American anxieties about communist aggression in Asia. The advent of Dwight D. Eisenhower’s administration in 1953 did not bring significant changes in American policy. By 1954 the United States was bearing almost 80 per cent of the financial cost of France’s war in Indochina, a commitment that reflected Indochina’s crucial position in the network of Western interests in Southeast Asia. The Eisenhower administration had no desire to assume a direct combat role in Indochina, in keeping with its so-called New Look strategy of containment, which sought to compensate for limited resources by reliance on nuclear deterrence, strategic alliances, covert activities and negotiations with communist powers.34 That strategy would be sorely tested in Vietnam, where the Vietminh was in the ascendant by early 1954. In a final bid to regain the military initiative, General Henri Navarre, the commander of French forces in Indochina, committed the fatal error of positioning 12 battalions of his best soldiers (some 12,000 men) in hastily constructed fortifications around the village of Dien Bien Phu in a remote, muddy valley in northwestern Vietnam.35 This was the unpropitious setting for the battle that decided the outcome of the First Indochina War.36 The more numerous and heavily armed Vietminh forces under the command of the resourceful General Vo Nguyen Giap surrounded the French garrison and cut off all land access to Dien Bien Phu. While the crucial battle raged, the French government confronted rising criticisms at home as well as nationalist pressure from its Vietnamese allies to end the war by conceding independence. Over American objections, France agreed in early 1954 to include negotiations on Indochina in the forthcoming Geneva conference to settle the Korean War. Meanwhile, the Vietminh intensified the assault on Dien Bien Phu. Giap’s forces closed the airstrip by late March, leaving the beleaguered French positions dependent solely on airdrops while being pounded from the surrounding hills by Vietminh artillery. American policy-makers contemplated direct intervention, but a French request for American air support elicited no enthusiasm in Washington. Instead, with an eye to the longer-term defence of Southeast Asia, on 29 March 1954 Secretary of State John Foster Dulles publicly suggested a 9

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policy of ‘United Action’ – the formation of a coalition of the United States, Great Britain, Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines, Thailand and the Associated States of Indochina to deter possible Chinese intervention and avert victory by the Vietminh. Justifying his proposal with Cold War rhetoric, Dulles declared: The imposition on Southeast Asia of the political system of Communist Russia and its Chinese Communist ally, by whatever means, would be a grave threat to the whole free community. The United States feels that possibility should not be passively accepted but should be met by united action. This might involve serious risks. But these risks are far less than those that will face us a few years from now if we dare not be resolute today.37

This approach signalled to friend and foe alike Washington’s active interest in the issue, but avoided the risk of unilateral commitment by making it clear that an American combat role depended on broader alliance participation.38 Dulles soon identified one benefit of United Action as the possibility that it might encourage the British to cooperate more enthusiastically with the United States, ‘for their interests in Malaya as well as those of their “two children, Australia and New Zealand” would be “imperilled” by Communist control of Indochina’.39 The Eisenhower administration’s energetic efforts to promote United Action failed to overcome British (as well as Australian and New Zealand) dissent and congressional recalcitrance. Arguing that intervention might provoke a wider war with China, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden opposed any initiatives before the Geneva conference, while indicating their willingness to join a collective security arrangement afterwards.40 The French also proved recalcitrant. They wanted air strikes, not an internationalisation of the war, and were unwilling to accept concessions demanded by the Americans. The Indochinese phase of the Geneva conference began on 8 May in circumstances that were highly unfavourable from Washington’s point of view. Not only had Dien Bien Phu fallen the day before, but there was Western disagreement about how to approach the negotiations. The United States was a disgruntled participant in the deliberations, which made little headway for over two months.41 With the conference on the brink of collapse, the Vietminh agreed – under pressure from China and the Soviet Union – to a compromise peace based on a ‘temporary’ partition of Vietnam at the seventeenth parallel.42 On 21 July 1954, ceasefire agreements were signed covering the three newly independent states of Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos and providing for the withdrawal of French forces. A Final Declaration was also issued on 21 10

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July. Though it was not signed by any of the interested parties, most of the participants accepted it.43 According to the declaration, national elections to unify Vietnam were to be held in 1956 under the supervision of an international commission comprising Canada, Poland and India. The Geneva Accords also laid down that, before reunification, neither part of Vietnam could join a military alliance or allow foreign bases on its territory unless there was a direct threat to its security. The United States did not sign the accords but indicated that it would not challenge them by force. There was much ambiguity and a notable lack of consensus among the participating countries about the meaning of the Geneva Accords. In the wake of this settlement, the Eisenhower administration moved rapidly to establish the regional security alliance for Southeast Asia.44 Only weeks after the Geneva Conference ended, the South-East Asia Collective Defence Treaty (SEACDT) was signed on 8 September 1954, creating the South East Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO). Its members were the United States, Great Britain, France, Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines, Thailand and Pakistan. A protocol to the treaty designated ‘the States of Cambodia and Laos and the free territory under the jurisdiction of the State of Vietnam’ as countries which could request SEATO protection if threatened.45 The First Indochina War ended with the departure of France and the partition of Vietnam along ideologically defined lines. The formation of SEATO was a direct legacy of the war, as was a strong American commitment to the defence of Southeast Asia. Freed from the constraints imposed by French colonialism, the Eisenhower administration committed itself to make ‘every possible effort, not openly inconsistent with the U.S. position as to the armistice agreements . . . to maintain a friendly non-Communist South Vietnam and to prevent a Communist victory through all-Vietnam elections’.46

New Zealand Policy During the First Indochina War, 1945–53 In the immediate post-war years, there was no discernible New Zealand policy toward the conflict in Indochina.47 The first intimation that New Zealand could not postpone indefinitely the development of policies on Indochina came in November 1948 when the Vietminh applied to join the United Nations’ Economic Commission for Asia and the Far East (ECAFE). Fraser directed New Zealand’s delegation to oppose the application.48 Like Great Britain and the United States, New Zealand was ambivalent about the colonial imprint on any French-sponsored regime but feared the Vietminh’s perceived communist allegiances: ‘the insurgent administration in Vietnam’ was ‘unacceptable’.49 11

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This tendency to view Vietnam’s problems in the light of general Cold War and regional concerns, while avoiding direct endorsement of French colonial policy, persisted in 1949 as New Zealand wrestled with the broader question of recognising the new Bao Dai administration. The first pressures to adopt a firmer stance came from London rather than Washington.50 In September 1949 the British advised that, despite its weaknesses, the Bao Dai administration represented ‘the only alternative’ to the ‘almost certainly communist-inspired’ Vietminh, and urged sympathetic consideration to any approaches on behalf of the new regime.51 New Zealand was noncommittal.52 Officials in Wellington agreed that the establishment in Vietnam of a stable, French-sponsored administration would be a ‘satisfactory alternative to the Communist/Nationalist coalition of Ho Chi-Minh’. Even so, they cautioned Fraser against premature recognition of the Bao Dai regime, noting that it was ‘by no means truly representative of the people as a whole’.53 They opposed communist control of Vietnam and had grave concerns about its strategic implications for the whole region. On the other hand, they shared their allies’ reservations about French colonial dominance and were dubious about the strength and legitimacy of indigenous non-communist forces in that country. This early ambivalence informed official views of the Vietnam conflict over the next two decades, ensuring that a preference for avoiding action would only be modified when more compelling alliancerelated considerations came into play. This pattern first manifested itself in the months after the initial British approach. By the end of 1949 both London and Washington were poised to recognise the Bao Dai government and were actively encouraging likeminded states to do so. Britain’s Commissioner General in Southeast Asia, Malcolm MacDonald, justified this encouragement on the grounds that the Bao Dai ‘experiment’ had ‘rather more . . . than a 50% chance of success’.54 Sidney Holland’s National government, elected in November 1949, first confronted the question at the Commonwealth Conference held in Colombo, Ceylon in January 1950, when Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin announced that Britain intended to accord de facto recognition to the Bao Dai regime and hoped other Commonwealth nations would do the same. MacDonald, also in attendance, justified the decision by outlining the threat of communism in Southeast Asia, especially in Indochina. He depicted Bao Dai not as a ‘playboy emperor’ but as ‘a sincere Nationalist and Patriot’, who was by no means ‘a tool of the French’.55 The Indian representative forcefully demurred, but New Zealand’s delegate, Minister of External Affairs Frederick Doidge, was readily convinced. His country’s policy had been ‘to wait until events had shown whether or not Bao Dai was capable of establishing an independent regime’. After what he had heard at Colombo, he 12

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Frederick Doidge, New Zealand Minister of External Affairs, 1949–1951. s.p. andrew collection, f-20074-1⁄4, atl

would recommend that his government grant recognition.56 His Australian counterpart, Percy Spender, responded more cautiously but indicated that he would make the same recommendation.57 Though there was no clear consensus at Colombo, Doidge cabled Wellington that ‘the balance of opinion’ at the conference favoured recognition in the near future.58 The British appeal could not have been directed toward a more receptive listener. Doidge – who had been a fervent advocate of British imperial values while in opposition – was slow to adjust to the notion of a ‘Commonwealth’.59 ‘Was it not a fact’, he asked at Colombo: that some of the countries in the area were not ready for self-government, that they were politically immature and unfitted to govern themselves? Was it not playing into the hands of the Communists to hand over power prematurely and so leave the new Governments in a weak condition which could readily be exploited by them?60

Few policy-makers in the Anglo-American world would have endorsed Doidge’s wording publicly, but they were moving toward a common answer to his questions with respect to Indochina. Following Doidge’s recommendation, the government announced on 10 February that it had decided ‘to accord de facto recognition to the new 13

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States of Viet Nam, Laos and Cambodia’.61 As it did for New Zealand’s allies, this move marked a watershed in setting aside ambivalence about French colonialism and invoking broader Cold War concerns to bestow ‘legitimacy’ on a particular Vietnamese regime. Given New Zealand’s general sympathy for decolonisation, assigning primacy to anti-communism over anti-colonialism was disquieting. But, as one of Doidge’s more dramatic interventions at Colombo had made clear, such a choice no longer seemed avoidable: ‘If the Bao Dai regime was not recognised, what was the alternative? Was it not to abandon Indochina to Communist domination?’62 This argument rationalised support for a succession of Vietnamese governments whose democratic credentials left much to be desired but which seemed preferable to the grim ‘alternative’ depicted by Doidge. Recognition of the Bao Dai regime was the first defining moment in New Zealand’s post-war policy toward Vietnam.63 New Zealand policy-makers continued to share Anglo-American perceptions of the area’s geopolitical importance as the Cold War in Asia intensified. The reasons for supporting the French seemed self-evident as set out in a Cabinet briefing paper in late 1951: The fact that Tonkin is the key to the security of South-East Asia has now become generally recognised. If this area falls to the Communists it will be extremely difficult to prevent contiguous areas in South East Asia also from being brought within the Communist orbit. Anything which can be done, therefore, to assist the French forces or the armies of the Associated States of Indo-China will be a contribution to the task of containing Communism in South East Asia and helping the political stability of the area.64

This typical policy brief was indistinguishable from comparable papers produced at the time in London, Washington and Canberra.65 In embracing the consensus Anglo-American view on Vietnam, policy-makers did not believe that they were compromising New Zealand’s interests or independence. They considered New Zealand’s national security would be enhanced by following any course undertaken by its major allies that would abet ‘the task of containing Communism in South East Asia and helping the political stability of the area’. Accordingly, New Zealand lent tangible support to the French in Vietnam in 1952 by despatching a shipment of surplus Lend-Lease weapons and ammunition (some 13,000 rifles, 600 machine guns and 670,000 rounds of small-arms ammunition).66 When T. C. Webb, who had taken over from Doidge as Minister of External Affairs in the previous year, announced this transfer of weapons in September, he reiterated the importance of helping 14

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This cartoon from the Otago Daily Times (28 January 1950) illustrates the growing New Zealand official apprehension about Asian communism. c-028247, atl

the French bring political stability to Vietnam.67 The National government had no qualms about publicly embracing the general Western stance on Indochina and seemed confident that this would win domestic approval. New Zealand, indeed, had acted more quickly than more Asian-minded Australia in sending material support to the French, albeit on a small scale.68 By early 1953, New Zealand, like Britain and the United States, saw Indochina as the crucial Cold War battleground in Southeast Asia – and perhaps the whole of Asia. There was a growing sense that the outcome of this distant conflict would have direct implications for the nation’s security. This view was put forcefully to Secretary of External Affairs Alister McIntosh by Frank Corner, a diplomatic officer serving in London. Noting that the Foreign Office regarded Indochina as ‘the key to the whole of South East Asia’ because its collapse would have a reverberating effect on the surrounding nations, Corner argued: ‘It is this chain of reactions, this creeping communist penetration, which holds the most solid – perhaps the only – danger to our New Zealand security, for China itself, or Russia, can hardly offer any direct menace to us. And the problem centres upon IndoChina’.69 New Zealand’s ambassador in Washington, Sir Leslie Munro, a former editor of the New Zealand Herald and a doughty Cold Warrior, was even more alarmed. He warned Webb in May 1953 that the situation in 15

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Indochina posed ‘a peril as great as when the Japanese entered that country in 1941’.70 Back in Wellington, the Department of External Affairs had also echoed Corner’s concern when briefing the Prime Minister a month earlier: ‘The danger is that the countries of South East Asia will fall one by one into Communist hands as a result of the effect of the successes of the Viet Minh in Indo China in immensely strengthening Communist elements within the countries which may be captured for Communism by a form of indirect aggression and with “under the counter” assistance from the Chinese Communists’. While deploring this possibility, the department cautioned that sending foreign military forces ‘would have a very bad effect on Asian opinion and give the Chinese Communists a pretext for direct intervention’.71 Until mid-1953 New Zealand had relied on its allies for intelligence about Indochina. The government was therefore quick to take up an opportunity for the Chief of the General Staff, Major-General William Gentry, to visit Saigon on his return from a Chiefs of Staff Conference in London.72 At Gentry’s suggestion, the visit was explained publicly as a chance for talks with the French about the possible provision of more surplus military equipment.73 This decision was probably affected by recent offers from Britain and Australia of military supplies for use in Indochina.74 It may also have been prompted by awareness of Washington’s desire that its ANZUS allies identify ‘further means of assisting in the Indochina struggle’. Even at this stage, American policy-makers felt that the stakes for Australia and New Zealand in Vietnam were ‘very great and proportionately more so’ than those of the United States.75 Gentry’s visit to Vietnam and Laos in August 1953 generated the first independent assessment of the situation by a high-ranking New Zealand representative. His report added little to information already available, but presented a guardedly optimistic picture of the prospects for success by the French and the Vietnam National Army. Gentry concluded that it would be in New Zealand’s interests to continue supplying surplus military equipment to the French Union forces.76 The visit was also useful in alliance terms. Webb did not miss the opportunity to comment at an ANZUS Council meeting in September that ‘the French have felt that they were fighting the world’s battle alone’, and that he had authorised Gentry’s visit to demonstrate that New Zealand ‘was interested in the struggle’.77 Having symbolically registered solidarity with the French, New Zealand arranged another shipment of surplus arms. This time there was a larger quantity of surplus war matériel, including 30,000 rifles, 750 machine guns, 10,000 rounds of 40-millimetre armour-piercing shot, 500 revolvers, 50 Bofors anti-aircraft guns and ammunition, wireless sets, field telephones, charging sets and sundry uniform items.78 This equipment was not sent until March 1954.79 It was probably never used for its intended purpose, 16

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as France’s struggle with the Vietminh was by then drawing to an abrupt climax. New Zealand’s decidedly peripheral role in the First Indochina War accorded with the government’s reluctance to seek an active security role in Southeast Asia when it was still assumed that, in a major war, the nation’s primary contribution would be in support of Britain in the Middle East. Until late 1953, moreover, token measures of solidarity with the anti-communist cause were sufficient to satisfy the United States that New Zealand was pulling its weight as an ally in Vietnam.80 Only a few months later, however, policy-makers in Wellington faced a more demanding test of their Vietnam policies when the United States responded to the imminent collapse of French power in Indochina by seeking allied support for a more directly interventionist policy.

New Zealand and the Indochina Crisis of 1954 By March 1954 the First Indochina War was moving toward a dénouement on both the military and diplomatic fronts, confronting New Zealand with unexpected dilemmas. The foremost was how to respond to the difference in approach between the United States and Britain, the two powers on whose joint leadership in world affairs New Zealand had set much store. Between March and June an unprecedented debate on the issue revealed the fundamental assumptions that informed official perceptions of the First Indochina War and would guide New Zealand’s Vietnam policy until 1972. It also highlighted how profoundly the actions of its more powerful allies shaped New Zealand’s responses to events in Vietnam. Washington’s appeal for United Action was the principal source of New Zealand discomfort during those tense months. Dulles delivered his address on the subject on 29 March, shortly after New Zealand had sent its second contribution of arms to Indochina. The first New Zealand reaction, from Munro in Washington, viewed Dulles’s statement as a significant change in American policy toward Indochina. The ambassador surmised that it was intended to signal publicly that the United States could not, ‘in any circumstances, afford to let Indo China fall to the Communists’, but was reluctant to commit its armed forces directly. He stressed that ‘the present approaches’ represented ‘genuine consultation of the kind we have so often insisted upon in matters likely to affect our own interests’.81 The point was important, for it related to a key objective of New Zealand diplomacy. As Corner had observed to McIntosh a year earlier, New Zealand and others were effectively seeking ‘a kind of Dominion status with the United States, a right to be consulted in Pacific and Far Eastern affairs.’82 For Munro, United Action was one of the rare occasions when the world’s most power17

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ful nation was consulting a small group of states, including New Zealand, before acting on a regional security matter. Dulles was, of course, ‘consulting’ New Zealand and Australia principally in the hope that they would help spur a reluctant Britain into action.83 Nevertheless, it was understandable that Munro wished to cooperate. When Munro and his Australian counterpart, Sir Percy Spender, met Dulles on 4 April, they learned that he wished to explore possible joint deployment of air and naval units from the United States, Britain, Australia and New Zealand, but envisaged no use of land forces. Munro said New Zealand would need to take into account its Middle East commitments and Britain’s views, but he then told Wellington that, despite the ‘heavy handed’ nature of the American approach, New Zealand had ‘little alternative but to join the coalition’.84 Munro thereby became the first New Zealand representative in Washington to advocate strong support for American policy on Vietnam. He would not be the last. His two basic reasons for doing so – alliance relations with the United States and preventing the fall of Vietnam to communism – would remain constant features of such recommendations. In Wellington, responses were guarded. Webb cautioned American ambassador Robert Scotten about the danger ‘of involvement in war on the mainland of China’ and doubted that public opinion would support New Zealand participation. He suggested France consider negotiating an end to the fighting to remove the propaganda advantage for the communist bloc of Western involvement in what had become a ‘costly and interminable series of operations’.85 Prime Minister Holland also advocated caution: British involvement was crucial to avoid allegations that New Zealand and Australia ‘were doing what they were told by the United States of America’.86 Always sure that a pro-British stance in foreign affairs was an electoral asset, Holland pointedly reiterated the ‘declared maxim’ of New Zealand diplomacy that ‘Where Britain goes we go’.87 Though he also firmly supported the alliance with the United States, the Prime Minister’s instinct was to fall back on British leadership in security affairs, as he would during the later Suez crisis.88 In contrast, the Chiefs of Air and Naval Staff both indicated that units could be made available if required, although an army contribution would present more difficulty.89 Possible participation in some form of United Action had not been ruled out. Nor was there outright pessimism in Wellington about allied action. External Affairs even pointed out that: the fact that we would be reluctant to support ‘tottering French colonialism’ in Indo-China does not mean that we should be unwilling to support collective action against Communist expansion. Indeed the internationalization of the Indo-China problem perhaps provides the best means of killing French colonialism and ensur-

18

new zealand and the first indochina war, 1945–54 ing a satisfactory expression of Indo-Chinese nationalism. We should, however, do everything possible to ensure that we are in respectable company if we participate in collective action in Indo-China.90

There was little doubt that ‘respectable company’ meant ‘Mother England’, the most venerable of New Zealand’s allies. Competing concerns about the United Action proposal were further elaborated in cables to the embassy in Washington and the high commissions in London and Canberra on 6 April. The response to Munro emphasised ‘the absolute necessity to preserve Anglo-American solidarity’ but noted the likelihood of public concern in the absence of United Nations involvement. There was also apprehension that, based on the Korean precedent, a request for naval or air assistance would soon be followed by an appeal for land forces.91 The guidance provided to New Zealand’s representatives in London and Canberra also cited the need for prior agreement between Britain, Australia and New Zealand, but added a lengthy list of considerations – such as near-certain opposition by India and the risks of triggering a war with China – which made successful allied military action unlikely. But these did not negate recognition ‘of the great importance of holding Indo China’ against communism. Even more significantly, the message to London and Canberra highlighted a point that would long remain the leitmotif of New Zealand’s Vietnam policy: ‘This proposal is of the greatest importance not only as it may affect Indo China itself but because of its bearing on our future relations with the United States’.92 It soon became evident that any assertion of Anglo-American solidarity was highly unlikely. New Zealand now learned that British and American views had been sharply divided before Dulles’s proposal, with Britain ‘in the last resort prepared to accept partition’ rather than risk triggering a Third World War. The call for United Action only exacerbated that difference. As Eden explained to New Zealand’s high commissioner on 8 April, he feared the American proposal was likely to endanger the Geneva negotiations but unlikely to lead the Chinese ‘to yield to our threats’. Partition offered a possible solution, but he was open to other suggestions. He agreed ‘strongly’ with New Zealand on the need for ‘United Nations cover to any action, and on [the] eventuality of ground forces being drawn in’.93 Indeed, New Zealand’s apprehensions about an eventual American request for ground forces had been explicitly invoked at a British Cabinet meeting the previous day as a reason for treating the United Action proposal with great caution.94 Though also cautious, early reactions in Canberra were not as negative as those in London.95 On 7 April Australia’s Minister of External Affairs, R. G. Casey, advised Webb that failure to work with the Americans in confronting a common security threat ‘risked setting back the present helpful trend of 19

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American policy towards security in the Pacific’.96 At the same time, Prime Minister Robert Menzies and his colleagues shared Wellington’s misgivings about United Action.97 Australia and New Zealand for the first time faced having to choose between divergent British and American views on a major international issue. There were strong reasons for New Zealand to support London. Tradition and sentiment favoured standing by Britain and trusting in its wisdom. There was also the fact that Australia was lukewarm at best, despite its greater Asian consciousness. The military realities were grim, as the British stressed, and there was the fear of precipitating a war with China. Moreover, the international political situation was unfavourable. Webb felt that to avoid alienating international opinion, especially in the Asian world, ‘a proposal which seems to by-pass the United Nations must give us and others occasion for pause’.98 In the absence of ‘cover’ from the United Nations, and without Britain, it would be difficult to secure public support for any action. Despite these factors, New Zealand did not immediately and unconditionally back Britain, as it might once have done. The two major reasons were those first mentioned by Munro. The more immediate was fear of the consequences if Indochina fell to communism. The more important was concern about relations with the United States. Consciousness of the growing importance of both Asia and the United States for New Zealand was more evident among officials than among domestically focused Anglophile politicians such as Holland and Webb. It was reflected in advice offered to the government about a response to the United Action proposal. On 8 April, External Affairs presented a major briefing paper,‘New Zealand and the Situation in Indo-China’,99 which set out a detailed analytical framework for tackling the dilemmas posed by the call for United Action. Though not formulated without dissent, this document revealed much about changing assumptions in Wellington concerning the geopolitical setting for New Zealand’s security policy. Notably, the advice closely paralleled American and British interpretations of the conflict in Indochina as a Cold War struggle in microcosm. According to External Affairs, the Vietminh had become ‘an instrument for the furtherance of Communist influence’. Chinese support for the Vietminh was directed toward ‘subjugating the whole of South East Asia and bringing it within the Communist orbit’. The French effort, in contrast, represented a worthy attempt to ensure the stability that would allow gradual independence for the Associated States of Indochina ‘as viable and progressive democratic governments’. The problem was that the communists had ‘cleverly’ exploited the appeal of nationalism while aiming to impose ‘a new imperialism’ on Indochina. It was vital that France continue resisting the 20

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communists, but it could probably not do so without increased allied assistance. This reading of the situation in Indochina was based unabashedly on New Zealand’s version of the domino theory in all its stark simplicity: The outcome of the struggle in Indo-China, hitherto generally regarded as rather remote from New Zealand will have repercussions elsewhere in the area. If it is lost to the Communists, Thailand may soon fall and Malaya will be threatened. If the whole of South East Asia and Indonesia as well are subverted a threat will be posed on the very threshold of Australia, with whom New Zealand’s security is inextricably bound.

The timing of such a warning could not have been more apposite. That very week, President Eisenhower made the first explicit public allusion to the ‘falling domino’ principle.100 Both the President’s comment and the Wellington warning reflected what had been the received wisdom throughout the foreign offices of the Western bloc for some time. Like their counterparts in the United States, Britain and Australia, New Zealand officials feared that ‘a decision by the West to wash its hands of Indo-China, perhaps with a promise to stop the Communists “next time” will merely whet the Communist appetite and play into their hands by developing in the free world too great a willingness to accommodate the Communists just a little more each time’. It was certainly important for the French to allow the Associated States more autonomy to deflect charges that the West was merely upholding ‘old-fashioned colonialism in Indo-China’, but it was equally vital to support an allied stand against communist subversion: New Zealand’s vital interest in helping to check any further Communist aggression, coupled with the fact that we have in the past shown a willingness to take our fair share of responsibility, suggests that we ought to be prepared to participate in any joint action which may be decided upon to remedy the situation in IndoChina. We cannot expect our Allies to agree to protect us from threats in the future if we are not ourselves ready to make a continuing contribution to defence against aggression, especially in a region which is close to us.101

The briefing paper also revealed how an overwhelming consciousness of the global Cold War had crowded out other factors as the key link between New Zealand’s national security interests and the war raging in Indochina. External Affairs played down local and nationalist dimensions of the struggle, rejecting the argument that the Vietminh was waging a genuinely nationalist, anti-colonial war of liberation. Instead, Vietnam was depicted as the most active Cold War frontline in Asia now that the fighting in Korea had subsided. Officials reluctantly accepted that New Zealand had little 21

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Alister McIntosh, New Zealand Secretary of External Affairs, 1943–1966. f-20007-1⁄4, atl

choice but to follow if its allies determined that military involvement was the only way to prevent the spread of communism. Of course, this view of events in Indochina was coloured more by the desirability of sustaining close alliance relations with both Washington and London than by actual developments in Vietnam. But the British were about to throw into question the possibility of a joint approach on Indochina, if this entailed expanding military intervention by Western nations, with the attendant risks of triggering war with China. As a result, officials in Wellington, perhaps surprisingly, found themselves advocating a stance closer to the American position. Whether New Zealand’s political leaders would agree remained uncertain. Even within External Affairs, there was no clear consensus on the United Action conundrum. At least one senior official was prepared to argue that the situation in Indochina was ‘widely regarded as a civil war’. Charles Craw, head of the department’s Far Eastern Section, agreed that there were sound reasons for New Zealand to support American plans for United Action. But he also highlighted the dangers of United Action: the risk of precipitating a war with China and even a global conflict; the likelihood that many Asians would consider it ‘an attack on Asian nationalism and as interference in Asian internal affairs’; involvement in an intervention ‘which 22

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has little support among the very people we are professing to defend’; the prospect of ‘fighting in a place of China’s choosing’ and of overcommitting resources. Even one of Craw’s reasons for supporting United Action was essentially negative: Paradoxically, we cannot afford to have a negotiated settlement followed by free elections because the Communists would be bound to win. We cannot accept this position … because it fails to take account of the fact that the Communist Party is a conspiracy which has no right to function as a legitimate political party in a democratic system.

Craw concluded that New Zealand should stand ready to join in United Action, but he recommended stringent conditions for participation, including British involvement, United Nations authorisation and a clear focus on the security of Indochina rather than seeking ‘a general showdown with China’.102 McIntosh shared Craw’s disquiet, and confided privately to Corner that: We are divided in the Department on the whole proposition. On balance I would favour telling the Americans we will join them on the understanding that the British and the French come in also. I know that neither the British nor the French can be persuaded under any circumstances to agree, but at least we would not fall out with the Americans as our silence now makes certain that we will. As I see it, America is absolutely essential for our defence. I will admit that my motive is not a particularly high one. Foss [Shanahan], on the other hand . . . thinks that we should get behind the Americans boots and all on principle. His forthright advocacy of this line has not commended itself to Ministers; [nor] to Mr Webb, who would prefer not to have Foss with him [at the Geneva Conference] on this occasion.103

Evidently, the Minister of External Affairs was not as concerned as his officials about offending the United States. Nevertheless, the decision that week to send Webb and a delegation to the forthcoming Geneva conference, even though New Zealand would only have observer status, signalled the government’s recognition of the gravity of the Indochina conflict.104 As the government pondered its options, Munro worked to swing the debate in Washington’s favour. On 11 April he appealed to Webb to support the American position. He acknowledged that Britain, France, Australia and New Zealand all had reason to hesitate because of fears that a ‘joint declaration before Geneva may wreck the chances of settlement at the Conference over Indo China’, and that intervention might trigger a wider war. On the other hand, rejecting United Action would embarrass the Eisenhower administration. Moreover, the danger of a wider war was minimal; he believed 23

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Dulles was correct in assuming that the Soviet Union did not want to precipitate a conflict in Indochina and would discourage the Chinese from doing so. Munro concluded that it was crucial for Britain, Australia and New Zealand to adopt a common stance. But this only reinforced his uneasiness about opposing ‘a courageous American policy one of whose primary purposes is to safeguard vital interests of all three countries in South East Asia and the Pacific’. He added, for good measure, that Australian and New Zealand interests in these regions were ‘even more immediate and compelling than those of the United Kingdom’.105 New Zealand’s military authorities also perceived a regional distinction between British and New Zealand security interests. On 15 April, the Chiefs of Staff produced a report which complemented Munro’s political argument.106 They based their analysis on the premise that ‘Indo-China is the bulwark of Malaya and South East Asia against Communist penetration’. Though sharing some misgivings about United Action, they considered that their British counterparts would ‘naturally’ not wish to compromise ‘their home security by diverting large forces from Western Europe to South East Asia’. New Zealand, in contrast, had ‘an immediate interest in the security of South East Asia and the Pacific where we live’. They recommended that, ‘from the military point of view’, the government should back United Action and New Zealand could offer a modest contribution of naval and air forces.107 Although a likely eventual request for land forces might pose practical difficulties, the New Zealand military authorities were prepared, in principle, to contemplate ‘escalation’ of Western involvement in Vietnam long before the term was conceived. Their view was far removed from the initial reactions of Webb and Holland. With opinions divided in policy-making circles at home and between its major allies, the government avoided playing its hand in either direction. In any case, New Zealand action depended on events beyond its influence, and these were moving rapidly. On 26 April, Wellington learned that the British had formally advised the Americans they were not prepared to make any commitments concerning military action in Indochina before the Geneva conference.108 Officials now began to fear that the British position might be too defeatist.109 While welcoming Britain’s agreement to join the Americans and others in studying possible defence measures, External Affairs became increasingly concerned that Britain’s approach would focus only on those parts of Indochina not likely to have been lost to the Vietminh. In contrast, the department believed that the area’s strategic significance called for consideration of measures, ‘both military and political’, to ‘restore the independence of the whole of Indo China and guarantee its integrity for the future’. Once again, officials were leaning towards Washington rather than London. 24

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Thomas Clifton Webb, New Zealand’s Minister of External Affairs, 1951– 1954. new zealand free lance collection, c-14463-1⁄2, atl

New Zealand soon learned of American dismay with the British. On 27 April, Munro reported that Britain’s stand had made it ‘politically impossible’ for the United States to act before the Geneva conference and had made the situation ‘desperate’ for Washington. General Bedell Smith, Eisenhower’s Under-Secretary of State, even told Munro that the fall of Dien Bien Phu was now inevitable and that, failing a reversal of the British stance, the chances of holding Indochina were slim. ‘I cannot help feeling,’ Munro wrote, ‘that the present situation is very much like the situation in 1936 when the British Government believed that its public opinion was not ready to support Cabinet in resisting Hitler’s seizure of the Rhineland and in 1938 when the internal situation in Czechoslovakia was one of the factors which led to the partition of that country with the agreement of the United Kingdom and France.’110 This recourse to historical analogy to dramatise the potential consequences of British ‘appeasement’ in Indochina was by now of little avail, for the Geneva conference was about to begin. Though London’s stance had stymied United Action in the form originally mooted by Dulles, the Americans had not permanently shelved the possibility of intervention. Even on the eve of the Geneva conference, they sought to persuade their allies to issue a ‘declaration of intent’ and contemplated possible air strikes in response to a final French plea for help at Dien 25

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Bien Phu, where the garrison was on the brink of defeat. British opposition prevented such action, as Webb explained to Holland from Geneva.111 Unlike Munro, he defended the British position that partition was the best realistically attainable solution, arguing that military intervention was likely to have only negative consequences, including the possible outbreak of global war. He felt that Washington’s attitude was ‘based as much on emotional as on objective grounds’, though he conceded that ‘the British may be less reliable on Far Eastern matters than on European’. Aware of the possible risks to ANZUS ‘of letting America down’, Webb nonetheless believed that the New Zealand public was unlikely to back action that Britain opposed. While differing sharply from Munro, he was equally dramatic in his assessment of the situation: ‘I am conscious that these observations are negative and cautious, but I do not see that we have the means of forming an independent judgement where America and Britain are so sharply divided. I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that this is probably the most serious matter facing a New Zealand Government since 1939.’ For Webb, the United Action crisis epitomised the so-called Anzac dilemma of having to choose between British and American leadership.112 Webb’s officials did not completely share his stance. They advised him that there were strong grounds for concern ‘at some aspects of the new turn of events’ now that American-led military action appeared to have been ruled out by the British stance and by international public opinion. They were particularly anxious about conceding partition prematurely: the need to maintain a favourable strategic balance in Southeast Asia was ‘so important to the West that we should not lightly agree to something which we might later regret most bitterly’. Though welcoming British agreement to study more longer-term measures for the defence of Southeast Asia, they were apprehensive ‘lest the unwillingness which has been shown by the Allies of the United States to join in immediate steps to resist the virtual domination of Indo-China by the Communists results eventually in a growing American unwillingness to lead those who have shown reluctance to be led’.113 This theme would be a continual refrain in subsequent New Zealand policy thinking about Vietnam. Webb persisted in supporting the British. He advised Wellington on 30 April that, in a forthcoming ANZUS Council meeting in Geneva with Casey and Dulles, he would oppose United Action as long as Britain refused to participate. He believed the British were correct because of the risk of a land war with China.114 At the ANZUS meeting two days later, Webb and Casey both expressed their governments’ reluctance to intervene militarily in Indochina while the Geneva talks were in progress. Though alarmed that inaction was undermining the bargaining position of the French and the Associated States, Dulles was sympathetic to their arguments.115 26

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After the meeting, Webb’s spirits lifted visibly. Military intervention had become highly unlikely, he reported.116 Dulles now accepted his allies’ reluctance to act ‘until Geneva has been given a run’, though he still believed they needed to show the communists signs of Western resolve. He suggested technical military talks in Washington among members of the Five Power Staff Agency; Webb readily agreed. Optimism continued to grow within the New Zealand delegation during the next week. McIntosh reported on 5 May that Anglo-American tensions over Indochina had eased considerably.117 It seemed increasingly unlikely that New Zealand would have to support one of its two major allies against the other. Munro was not as sanguine.118 He found Dulles less ‘forthcoming and warm’ after returning to Washington. The Secretary of State apparently felt that New Zealand had adopted a ‘somewhat equivocal’ position which had lessened his ‘estimation of our support for a strong and realistic policy in South East Asia and the Pacific’. Munro despaired that Dulles was disappointed that Britain, Australia and New Zealand had ‘allowed to let slip the critical and brief time when they could have effectively intervened to stop the rot in Indo China’, leaving the Americans ‘unable to define an effective policy to deal with a rapidly deteriorating situation with all its grave implications for Australia and New Zealand’. The ambassador also reiterated his suspicion of the British on Asian matters.119 Munro may have overstated his case, but policy-makers in Wellington did not dismiss this warning lightly. The Prime Minister considered Munro’s evaluation ‘sufficiently important’ to pass on to Webb in Geneva. Explaining that he had ‘been giving a great deal of thought’ to the issue, Holland suggested that Webb remain at Geneva for the Indochina phase of the conference. ‘The security of South East Asia is very important to us,’ he added, ‘and I think our own people are beginning to understand this better.’ He also considered it politic for Webb to visit Washington on his way home, noting that Dulles ‘obviously has some feeling that neither we nor the Australians have given him the assistance that he expected’.120 Holland was no doubt relieved that he had not had to disagree with the beloved ‘mother country’, but he was equally conscious of the vital importance of the American connection for New Zealand’s security. Webb, however, was ready to leave Geneva, and replied testily that ‘I have been cooling my heels here for sixteen days and they are now calloused’.121 He failed to understand ‘how Dulles could possibly interpret our attitude as equivocal’. Indignantly denying ‘the inference that we have failed to support a strong and realistic policy’, Webb asserted: ‘First, Cabinet had no intention of our taking part in armed intervention without Britain, and secondly, the policy referred to is not realistic’.122 27

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Webb did, however, go on to Washington, where he met both Dulles and Eisenhower. In this setting, his assessment of American policy on Indochina was considerably less critical than it had been in Geneva. He warmly endorsed the long-term objective of a system of collective defence in Southeast Asia, and even appeared ready to reverse his previous opposition to more immediate intervention in Indochina: We must therefore accept, with all its unpleasantness, the possibility that we shall be asked to join the United States in following a course of action in which the United Kingdom is reluctant and may even be unwilling to share. In that event it seems to me that in conjunction with Australia we should use every effort to secure the participation of the United Kingdom and if she remained adamant we would then have to consider whether our own initial interests obliged us to make a decision which was not contingent upon the agreement of the United Kingdom.

He considered his visit to Washington ‘most useful’, and had found ‘both the President and Dulles entirely free of the impetuosity which is sometimes regarded as the hallmark of American policy-making’.123 Webb’s visit to Washington highlighted two important points. First, it confirmed that, in contrast to their divergence over United Action, Webb and his department were as one in accepting American leadership in planning for collective security in Southeast Asia.124 Even when meeting with Dulles and Spender in Geneva, Webb had assured them of New Zealand’s willingness to participate in a regional security alliance, ‘but proceeding carefully in order to secure Asian support’.125 The second point to emerge from the Washington talks was that American-led military intervention in Indochina was still possible.126 Though Webb assured the National caucus on 27 May that the United States ‘would not move without [the] moral backing of [the] United Nations’, his discussions in Washington made it clear that New Zealand might yet have to contemplate military intervention alongside the United States and without Britain.127 As the Geneva talks dragged on fruitlessly, the Americans continued to resurrect variants of the United Action concept. The British were especially concerned that Washington was still contemplating intervention if, for instance, the Vietminh attacked Hanoi. New Zealand’s delegate, McIntosh, was critical of this tack: Everyone recognises the importance of working in with the Americans. But with so much at stake, responsible people here are unwilling to contemplate going along with the Americans until they have defined precisely what they propose to do, what they aim to achieve, and exactly what consequences they expect. The fundamental aim of ‘stopping communism’ and ‘saving South East Asia – which we all share

28

new zealand and the first indochina war, 1945–54 – is not sufficient. Even Australia, which has a more direct interest in South East Asia than we have, seems at present unlikely, despite Spender’s urging, to join any intervention until the issues are reasonably defined.128

Munro retorted from Washington that the United States had not expressed any clear intention of intervening – especially without allies.129 In fact, the Americans were undecided, but the final act of the long-running saga over United Action was about to be played out. On 5 June, Dulles met Spender and Munro to sound out their countries’ views on what action should be taken if there was overt Chinese intervention in Indochina.130 The issue was discussed in Wellington on the 8th at a Cabinet meeting at which Holland announced that the United States had proposed an ‘agreed minute’ between the ANZUS powers ‘to the effect that they would use their armed forces to defeat any overt aggression by Communist China in the Western Pacific or South East Asian area’.131 Cabinet agreed that this raised important policy issues requiring consultation with the British and Australians. When the need to deter the Chinese was raised during the Cabinet discussions, Webb argued that ‘the problem of Communism could not be settled by military means. He had discovered from his talks in Geneva and elsewhere that the population right down to Saigon would vote in favour of Ho Chi Minh if free elections were held in Vietnam.’132 The Prime Minister closed the discussion by suggesting that ‘while overt Chinese Communist aggression would put New Zealand in great danger, it did not follow that we should answer immediately a hypothetical question posed by Mr Dulles’. After further consideration, it was decided New Zealand would not favour an ‘agreed minute’ by the ANZUS powers.133 Not surprisingly, Munro demurred and questioned the timing of the response.134 Despite his protestations, he was instructed on 25 June to present New Zealand’s rejection of the American suggestion.135 Munro duly explained to Dulles that the proposed minute conflicted with British policy and ‘would not be understood by New Zealand public opinion’. The Secretary of State reacted philosophically, taking comfort from Munro’s assurance of New Zealand’s eagerness to enter immediate talks about future Southeast Asian security.136 By now the Americans were reconciled to British Commonwealth wariness about military intervention in Indochina. At an ANZUS meeting in Washington a few days later, Dulles agreed with an Australian suggestion that the agreed minute had been overtaken by events.137 With that brief comment, United Action was finally laid to rest. As far as the actual Geneva negotiations on Vietnam were concerned, New Zealand was very much an observer. The secrecy surrounding the often delicate talks meant that New Zealand’s representatives could neither exert 29

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any influence nor even obtain information about what was going on.138 McIntosh was so exasperated that, by mid-June, he had dismissed the conference as ‘a complete farce’.139 New Zealand played no role in the final flurry of negotiations that produced the ambiguous Geneva Accords on 21 July. All that policy-makers in Wellington could do was decide how to react to the accords. As soon as it became clear that there would be a compromise agreement to partition Vietnam, External Affairs was quick to recommend the acceptance of partial communist control of the area. Regrettable as this might be, New Zealand should still be ready ‘to play her part in guaranteeing such a settlement, alongside Britain and the United States’.140 The government heeded the advice and joined Australia in associating itself with ‘the undertakings given by other Powers’ with respect to the Geneva Accords. Commenting in Parliament that the settlement was probably ‘the best that could be expected in the circumstances’, Webb noted that the need to develop suitable collective security arrangements in Southeast Asia had not become ‘less urgent’.141 Over the next few months, New Zealand diplomats were pessimistic about Vietnam’s future, fearing that the proposed 1956 elections would deliver ‘a Vietminh victory in the Sth as in the Nth’ and that the Geneva Accords offered no more than ‘a temporary breathing space’.142 Both publicly and privately, the outcome of the 1954 Indochina crisis reinforced the perception that New Zealand must play its part in contributing to a regional defence alliance in Southeast Asia. Though policymakers in Wellington and the other Western capitals broadly agreed with that objective, the Indochina crisis had foreshadowed the divisiveness which the Vietnam issue could provoke both internally and between the country’s major allies.

The tense months between March and July 1954 represented a significant milestone on New Zealand’s road to military involvement in Vietnam. As politicians and officials in Wellington confronted the implications of the Indochinese conflict, they revealed much about the changing assumptions concerning national and regional security which would shape New Zealand’s Vietnam policy. New Zealand had hovered on the brink of making a combat commitment to Vietnam as part of a coalition of Western powers. Even with Britain opposed, some diplomatic and military officials called for closer alignment with the American position on Indochina. In that sense, the United Action crisis presaged how New Zealand’s reliance on close AngloAmerican cooperation as the basis of its Cold War strategy might not be applicable in Vietnam. 30

CHAPTER TWO

From Geneva to the Tonkin Gulf: A Decade of Decisions Deferred, 1954–64

A

fter 1954 new zealand moved toward more active participation in the collective defence of Southeast Asia. Public interest in the area remained limited, but policy-makers were increasingly convinced that this was the region where New Zealand’s national security would be determined. Visibly anchoring this conviction were the twin pillars of a formal regional alliance commitment – SEATO – and a new military strategy of ‘forward defence’. Equally importantly, the two factors which had so definitively shaped New Zealand’s responses to the First Indochina War continued to drive policy toward the region: Cold War apprehensions about Asian communism and an ever-strengthening consciousness that the United States, not Britain, was the ultimate guarantor of Australasian security. These guiding principles did not imply an indiscriminate commitment to intervention in Southeast Asia. Policy-makers were careful to assess the merits of any calls for military involvement, with a view to applying New Zealand’s modest resources so as to maximise both their practical effect and their political impact on major allies. Whenever possible, they clung to the comfort of association with British policy and activities. Successive governments in the late 1950s remained wary of acting outside a Commonwealth context, especially if such initiatives looked militarily risky, politically embarrassing or financially costly. These concerns were all evident with respect to Vietnam. 31

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New Zealand Policy Toward Southeast Asia and South Vietnam in the Late 1950s The aftermath of the First Indochina War coincided with a significant shift in New Zealand’s stance toward Southeast Asian security. Less than two months after the Geneva Accords were concluded, New Zealand joined the United States, Great Britain, Australia, France, the Philippines, Thailand and Pakistan in signing the South-East Asia Collective Defence Treaty (SEACDT) at Manila in September 1954 and in forming the South East Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO). The speedy establishment of this longmooted collective defence agreement reflected Western anxieties (above all, those of the United States) that the outcome of the First Indochina War had failed to remove the communist threat to Southeast Asia. New Zealand shared this view. Policy-makers in Wellington were sceptical about Asian allies.1 But New Zealand embraced the new pact as a means of securing a joint British and American commitment to the defence of Southeast Asia which it hoped would deter threats to regional stability.2 Like Australia, New Zealand had no wish to dilute the direct American security guarantee and insisted to Washington that ANZUS must be retained. Nevertheless, by joining SEATO, New Zealand accepted in principle a security commitment to the region and embraced a strategy of forward defence in Southeast Asia.3 This major regional reorientation of the nation’s post-war strategic posture did not immediately overturn entrenched views or precipitate a more activist approach to Asian affairs. As an official observed in 1957, New Zealand policy toward Asia had mainly comprised ‘a series of reflex actions to which continuity has been given only by the underlying community of attitudes and aspirations among New Zealanders’.4 In line with those ‘attitudes’, New Zealand military activities in the region during the late 1950s had a Commonwealth focus, especially with respect to Malaya. As well as stationing armed forces there, New Zealand contributed to military operations against communist insurgents during the so-called Malayan Emergency.5 For the most part, New Zealand’s military role in the region was limited, despite its participation in SEATO planning. As a consequence, one scholar has argued that New Zealand’s regional focus was ‘predominantly, and acceptably, socio-economic rather than military: the Colombo Plan, rather than SEATO, was the important and preferable agency in the minds of most New Zealanders who concerned themselves with Southeast Asia’.6 Such New Zealanders, however, were few and far between. When the country’s first diplomatic post in Asia was established in Singapore in 1955, security considerations were very much to the fore. The diplomat appointed as Commissioner in Southeast Asia was Foss Shanahan, whose expertise was primarily in defence matters. His brief 32

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Foss Shanahan. new zealand free lance collection, pa coll-5469-051, atl

included a strong emphasis on representing New Zealand in SEATO and ANZAM planning activities.7 New Zealand military operations in Southeast Asia were definitely circumscribed, but policy towards the region was dominated by assumptions about national security and rationalised in Cold War terms.8 In the absence of perceived cultural affinities, economic opportunities or significant public interest in the region, it is difficult to see how it could have been otherwise, especially with memories of the Second World War still vivid. While it was no longer acceptable to invoke the racially defined spectre of teeming Asian hordes bearing down on Australasia, in the Cold War context the threat could be legitimately redefined in ideological terms: the fabled ‘Yellow Peril’ could become the ‘Red Menace’.9 Private and public utterances by policy-makers made it clear that this Cold War consciousness was the driving force behind New Zealand policy toward Southeast Asia. In 1955, for instance, Prime Minister Sidney Holland declared to Parliament: ‘If people will consult a map they will 33

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realise that the troubled area in the world – from Korea to Japan, Formosa, Indo-China, Indonesia – is a succession of steps in the direction of New Zealand and about the last place we can make a stand without coming into our own territory is Malaya’.10 Such assumptions had emerged as staples of New Zealand policy since the early 1950s. But in the decade after Dien Bien Phu and SEATO, they were steadily reinforced as policy-makers refined a defence strategy focused on containing communist insurgency.11 They accepted engagement with the region as a reluctant necessity dictated by geographical realities that New Zealand had hitherto avoided confronting. With threat perceptions so prominent in their thinking about the region, New Zealand policy-makers perforce found their gaze drawn towards South Vietnam from time to time in the later 1950s. The Geneva Accords had left its ultimate fate unsettled, and the possibility of its fall to communism lingered. That prospect, however, did not assume the proportions of a crisis for some time, and New Zealand was spared direct involvement there until the 1960s – a situation which very much suited policy-makers in Wellington. In contrast, the United States took a close interest in South Vietnam from its putatively ‘temporary’ establishment in 1954. Washington’s primary aim after the Geneva Conference was to help establish an independent, noncommunist South Vietnam as a bulwark against communism in Southeast Asia, comparable to the role assigned to South Korea in Northeast Asia. This was a formidable challenge in ‘nation-building’, for the French-sponsored Bao Dai regime on which the new state had to be built was a flimsy structure lacking widespread popular support. Nevertheless, the Eisenhower administration set about its task with relish.12 As Secretary of State Dulles jauntily proclaimed, ‘We have a clean base there now without a taint of [French] colonialism. Dien Bien Phu was a blessing in disguise.’13 Anointing Ngo Dinh Diem as its agent of national invigoration, the United States forged an alliance of convenience that would last until 1963. Diem was a fervent anti-communist and Roman Catholic with strong nationalist credentials. Under his firm hand, South Vietnam became a faithful, if fragile, client of the United States. The United States ignored international criticism and supported Diem’s decision not to hold the elections for a unified Vietnam set out in the Geneva Accords. By the time Eisenhower’s second term ended in 1961, his administration had furnished more than a billion dollars in aid (over 75 per cent of it military) to South Vietnam.14 This aid helped the Diem regime weather the 1950s relatively well and build the semblance of a state; whether or not it amounted to a nation would not be seriously tested until the 1960s.15 In early 1955 New Zealand officials were already writing off Diem’s administration as leading South Vietnam towards ‘chaos’, and fearing that the 34

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communists could ‘gain virtual control of the country even before the 1956 elections’.16 The government nonetheless favoured holding these elections. There was consternation in Wellington when it became clear that Diem did not intend to, and that the United States supported his stance.17 In July 1955 the government advised the Americans that, though Diem’s reluctance to consult with the Vietminh was understandable, it was crucial that his regime avoid ‘a formal and uncompromising repudiation of the Geneva settlement’, which would ‘alienate Asian and much Western sympathy’. The United States, however, was more fearful of a negative election result than of alienating international sympathy for Diem.18 As the year progressed, American hopes for ‘a clean base’ in South Vietnam seemed increasingly illusory. Having regretfully accepted that elections would not be held,19 New Zealand officials were worried that the United States might use an ANZUS meeting in September 1955 to solicit a joint declaration of support for Diem. They promptly sought to avoid association with the political embarrassment caused by Diem’s refusal to pay even lip service to pre-election consultations.20 At the same time, they endorsed the American aim of ensuring stability in South Vietnam and conceded that Diem appeared to be the ‘only leader who has any chance of creating an effective administration.’21 When Diem won a referendum in late October to decide whether he or Bao Dai should be South Vietnam’s ‘Chief of State’, New Zealand recognised the new regime – albeit in carefully worded terms and in close coordination with Britain and the United States.22 Visits by New Zealand representatives just before and after the referendum allowed first-hand assessments of Diem’s administration. Shanahan travelled to Saigon in October 1955 to advise the South Vietnamese of New Zealand’s decision to grant £5000 for relief assistance to refugees. Like Diem, Shanahan was a devout Roman Catholic and an energetic Cold Warrior. Though not oblivious to Diem’s authoritarian ruthlessness, he was struck by his centrality to the enterprise of South Vietnamese ‘nation-building’ and sensed a new air of confidence in Saigon since his previous visit in March. While acknowledging that South Vietnam’s future rested heavily on sustained support from the United States, Shanahan stressed to Wellington that Diem’s role was of ‘vital importance’, for ‘if he should disappear – whether through political machinations or assassination – there is real doubt as to whether any successor could command the full confidence and support of the Americans’.23 The observation was astute, for mutual dependence between Diem and Washington was to determine much of South Vietnam’s evolution over the next eight years. A month later, Minister of External Affairs Thomas Macdonald had the distinction of being the first foreign minister to visit Saigon since the refer35

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endum. He shared Shanahan’s favourable impressions, sensing greater popular confidence in Diem and his administration. Dismissing a direct attack from the North as unlikely, Macdonald concluded that South Vietnam’s principal challenges were ‘subversion and infiltration and the development of their economy’. He was persuaded that Diem was tackling the refugee problem decisively and merited continued New Zealand assistance.24 It was a significant endorsement of a regime whose democratic credentials were ambiguous (if sturdier than those of North Vietnam). Though New Zealand policy-makers felt the Diem regime deserved official support, their private assessments remained far from unclouded. Toward the end of 1955, military planners predicted intensified efforts by ‘the Vietminh to subvert South Vietnam’ and concluded that the prognosis for South Vietnam’s national security was bleak, ‘unless continued and expanded assistance is given by the SEATO powers’.25 Having shed some reservations about supporting Diem, the government remained guarded about South Vietnam’s prospects. For the rest of the 1950s, New Zealand had little need to formulate policies in relation South Vietnam. Hopes for Diem’s survival rose, with the government declaring publicly in early 1957 that a ‘strong determined anti-Communist regime in South Vietnam was a new and heartening development of the greatest importance’.26 The election later that year of a Labour government led by Walter Nash brought no perceptible changes in policy toward Southeast Asia in general or South Vietnam in particular, notwithstanding the more idealistic tone of Labour’s diplomacy.27 During its single term in office Nash’s government was spared difficult decisions over Vietnam, but another country briefly moved to centre stage in Indochina, raising questions about how New Zealand should respond.28 From 1958 to 1961 Laos, not Vietnam, seemed most at risk from communist subversion. In this period, the American-backed Laotian government was struggling to subdue the so-called Pathet Lao insurgents, who were backed by North Vietnam and the Soviet Union. So serious was the threat that Laos appealed to the United Nations in August 1959 to act against alleged North Vietnamese aggression. Nash took a personal interest in this issue. Eager for United Nations involvement, he was dubious about both the degree of North Vietnamese involvement in Laos and the usefulness of a military response under SEATO auspices. In ANZUS and SEATO Council meetings in 1959 and 1960, New Zealand actively questioned the wisdom of planning for military intervention, at times dissenting sharply from American views on the issue. New Zealand’s response to the Laos crisis differed markedly from that of Australia, whose leaders were privately prepared to make a military commitment.29 As it happened, the Laos crisis subsided and there were no 36

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Left: Thomas Macdonald, New Zealand Minister of External Affairs, 1954–1957. new zealand free lance collection, c-25042-1⁄2, atl. Right: Walter Nash, Prime Minister of New Zealand, 1957–1960. war history collection, f-5071-1⁄2, atl

repercussions from this early expression of Labour dissent from American views on Southeast Asia. After winning office again in November 1960, National continued the Nash government’s caution and commitment to a neutral Laos. By then, however, there was new concern about Vietnam.

Avoiding Commitment: New Zealand and Vietnam, 1960–3 The Nash government’s final year in office coincided with renewed attention on the shortcomings of the Diem regime, to which the Prime Minister was especially sensitive. McIntosh no doubt had Nash’s concerns about the democratic failings of Southeast Asian governments in mind when he advised him in January 1960 of a British report that described the Saigon regime’s manipulation of recent elections as ‘a mockery of democracy’. Diem himself had asserted publicly that ‘democracy did not consist of a slavish imitation of [a] Western formula’, which would mean accepting ‘in advance the idea of a foreign protectorate’. Such arguments did not impress Nash, but they would be echoed by many authoritarian regimes for decades to come and foreshadowed future use of the concept of ‘Asian values’ to explain ‘non-Western’ approaches to democracy.30 37

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Officials in Wellington, alert to the challenge, were concerned about the trend toward authoritarianism in such Western-aligned states as South Korea and South Vietnam. One possible response was suggested in 1960 by a diplomatic officer: New Zealand should ‘take a more supple view of the pattern of political developments in Asian countries and of the political standards it and other Western countries should support there’. He also argued that Western interests in Asia might actually be better preserved by placing less stress on ‘formal avowals of adherence to “democracy”’ and instead accepting ‘different patterns of political development emerging in Asia, based partly on organic growth from local traditions and values’.31 Driven more by pragmatism than by cultural sensitivity, this viewpoint suggested that it was unrealistic for New Zealand to hold excessively high expectations of contemporary Asian democratic procedures. Prime Minister Nash did not favour a ‘more supple view’. At a SEATO Council meeting in May, he pointedly asked American Secretary of State Christian Herter what might be done ‘about the rigging of elections in countries like Laos and South Vietnam’. Herter shared his concern, but made it plain that little could be achieved in practical terms. Nash agreed with the Secretary of State that, though Diem himself ‘had done a magnificent job’ and was not corrupt, his relatives were. According to Herter, this tendency was by no means confined to Vietnam but was a wider regional problem.32 Shortly before Nash confided his concerns about South Vietnam to the Americans, the man who would succeed him as Prime Minister had an opportunity to personally assess Diem’s ‘democracy’. In early 1960, Keith Holyoake embarked on a tour of Asia. His 40-page report on the trip, including his impressions of South Vietnam, is one of the only records longer than a few sentences in which the man who would preside over almost the entire course of New Zealand’s military involvement in the Vietnam conflict spoke for himself, rather than reacting to departmental briefs or draft policy statements.33 Holyoake enjoyed his visit to Saigon, describing it as ‘really quite splendid’ and ‘very colourful’. He offered minimal evaluative commentary, however, on what he had seen – a pattern he would maintain as Prime Minister. Holyoake’s only comments on Diem were that he was ‘a quite impressive Vietnamese’ and ‘undisputed Leader of the country’, as well as being ‘a very religious man, expressing the modern conception of Confucianism’. The latter observation was perhaps incongruous about such a well-known Roman Catholic in a predominantly Buddhist country, but Holyoake did not take a close interest in Vietnamese culture or politics. He also noted that ‘everyone from the President down’ believed that the communist threat was ‘reasonably in hand, though it is ever present’, and that conditions in South Vietnam were ‘immeasurably better than in the North’.34 38

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Keith Jacka Holyoake, Prime Minister of New Zealand and Minister of External/Foreign Affairs, 1960–1972. f-60905-1⁄2, atl

In briefing Holyoake before his trip, McIntosh had suggested that he might ‘have special interest in the variety of governmental forms which have been adopted throughout the area, ranging as they do from the orthodox parliamentary democracy of Malaya to the frankly authoritarian system prevailing in such countries as South Vietnam and Thailand’.35 Holyoake’s reflections revealed few signs of interest in this ‘variety of governmental forms’. As one might expect from a politician known to many as ‘Kiwi Keith’, he viewed Asia more through the eyes of an ordinary, unassuming New Zealander of his generation. In describing Saigon, he dwelt more on the clothes worn by its citizens and the colourful appearance of the city than on political or economic problems. After dining with the foreign minister, he recalled being disconcerted by the appearance in his soup of a whole swallow – ‘plucked but with its head and legs still on’. He devoted a paragraph to the soup, but mentioned neither the minister’s name nor what they had discussed over dinner. Similarly, when in 1963 Holyoake met the head of a New Zealand surgical team bound for Vietnam, he remembered being ‘captivated’ during his 1960 trip by ‘the attractive Vietnamese in their flowing, rather sensual costume, the ao dai’, and joked that ‘he longed to pat them (the Vietnamese women) on the bottom’.36 The Vietnam War would develop into the most contentious foreign policy issue of Holyoake’s time as Prime Minister. Yet, as a domestically 39

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orientated politician, he would retain the indifference to details of developments in Vietnam that he displayed on this first visit to Saigon. He would need to be convinced of the need for involvement there, not as a response to those developments themselves, but only in terms of their effect on New Zealand’s wider alliance relationships and goals in the region.37 The potentially wider implications of the Vietnam problem were becoming evident even before Holyoake became Prime Minister. Shortly after Nash’s discussion with Herter at the SEATO Council meeting, the embassy in Washington reported that American concern was mounting about Diem’s failure to overcome the challenge of growing insurgency, and especially ‘at the evidence of a growing gap between the Government and the people’.38 There was prompt agreement from Wellington, citing Nash’s comments to Herter as evidence that New Zealand shared the ‘current misgivings’ about South Vietnam. Indeed, External Affairs feared that the Diem regime’s actions were likely to undermine ‘the development of a sound insulation against Communist encroachment, despite the fact that these measures are conceived and implemented with the sole aim of meeting the pressures exerted by Hanoi’. Though they lacked direct representation in Saigon, departmental officers offered a sophisticated and highly critical analysis of Diem’s regime as ‘an anti-Communist Communist state’ whose approach to democracy in many respects paralleled that of North Vietnam. While not minimising the challenges confronting Diem, they questioned the wisdom of his apparent refusal to allow a greater measure of democracy. This hard-hitting analysis concluded that a major obstacle to democratic reform was ‘the concept developed, not only by the President and his henchmen but also by outside supporters of the regime, that in order to fulfil his elevated mission Diem must enjoy political inviolability’.39 The reference to ‘outside supporters’ was a striking, if oblique, criticism of a major strand of American policy toward Vietnam. The American response was defensive. While acknowledging Diem’s authoritarianism, the State Department argued that there had been ‘at least some movement toward a more democratic and liberal regime’. The Americans did not consider it an opportune time to focus primarily on criticising limitations on free speech or on fostering political opposition to the current regime. Rather, they judged it more important to support Diem ‘(who is after all the legitimate government and who does represent real political forces in a way that other political leaders do not) while pressing him to take the steps that are necessary to improve the Government’s position and popularity’. The American reply was uncannily close to the ‘political inviolability’ argument that was challenged by officials in Wellington. Instead of dwelling on criticisms of Diem, the State Department expressed interest in New Zealand jet-boats being supplied to assist in the 40

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Keith Holyoake with US President John F. Kennedy at the White House, 3 March 1961. ep-nz obits-holyoake-11, atl

Mekong River development project.40 This was a harbinger of more forceful requests to come. The elections that brought Holyoake’s National Party to power in November 1960 coincided with a change of administration in the United States as the Democrats’ John F. Kennedy narrowly defeated Richard Nixon to become the youngest man and first Roman Catholic to be elected President of the United States.41 Though as dissatisfied as its predecessor with aspects of Diem’s leadership, the Kennedy administration made clear to New Zealand in January 1961 that it too intended to stand by him, because it had done as much as it could to encourage more liberal policies and feared that ‘it could not force more sweeping changes in South Vietnam without taking drastic steps that would involve the danger of cutting the props out from under the regime’.42 As one of Kennedy’s close advisers, Walt Rostow, secretly explained to the President a few months later, though a change of regime in Saigon might be desirable, it was a risky proposition and there was ‘no alternative except to support Diem now’. Rostow was widely recognised as one of the most formidable intellectuals among the ‘best and brightest’ academics who had flocked to serve in Kennedy’s so-called Camelot. He was the foremost exponent of ‘nation-building’ and capitalist 41

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economic development as tools for countering the appeal of communism in the developing world. Noting Washington’s failure to date to persuade Diem to pursue reforms along those lines, Rostow minced no words in explaining the nub of the problem: ‘we have still to find the techniques for bringing our great bargaining power to bear on leaders of client states to do things they ought to do but don’t want to do’.43 Rostow would remain one of the most hawkish of all American policy-makers with respect to Vietnam, but this particular problem would continue to confound him, his colleagues in the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, and their Republican successors.44 As it happened, Kennedy’s accession to power coincided almost precisely with an important symbolic development which would intensify the struggle for power in South Vietnam. In December 1960, Hanoi announced the formation by southern revolutionaries of the National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam (more commonly known as the National Liberation Front or NLF). Although directed and dominated by communists, the NLF was nominally a broad coalition ‘designed to rally all those disaffected with Diem by promising sweeping reforms and the establishment of genuine independence’ – in effect, a reincarnation of the Vietminh. The formation of the NLF was the political complement to Hanoi’s decision the previous year to authorise and support a policy of armed struggle in the south, including by infiltrating people and supplies along the route which would become known as the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Diem’s regime was quick to extend to the NLF the label of ‘Viet Cong’ (meaning Vietnamese communists) which they and the Americans had already begun applying to South Vietnam’s insurgents. The name would stick as a general description for those fighting against the Saigon government, but this did little to achieve its intended aim of diminishing their nationalistic appeal within many sectors of South Vietnamese society in the early 1960s.45 In 1961, New Zealand officials too were well aware of the magnitude of the problem confronting the United States in South Vietnam. Privately, at least, they were prepared to be highly critical of the Saigon regime: The authoritarian rule of President Diem, the corruption and unscrupulous practices of members of his entourage, his intolerance of any political opposition, and the severe censorship of the press and rising food prices have all contributed to growing popular unrest within the country. . . . His shortcomings – his aloofness, his refusal to accept advice or to delegate authority, his stubbornness and his faith in the integrity of his immediate advisers and family – appear as marked as ever.46

This was a resoundingly negative assessment of an avowedly pro-Western state. 42

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New Zealand’s new Prime Minister was not prepared to present such an unremittingly critical view of Diem to other governments. Perhaps he had stronger positive memories of the Vietnamese leader than his noncommittal account of their meeting implied. When presented with a draft reply to a British request for New Zealand’s views on South Vietnam in May 1961, Holyoake rejected it as ‘too superior in its whole tone’.47 The revised draft was markedly less critical of Diem and edged New Zealand closer to those ‘outside supporters’ of his ‘political inviolability’ whom officials had earlier criticised. It noted that, despite Diem’s failings, there was ‘no alternative leader and those who are opposed to a Communist takeover are not likely to find any alternative course but to support the Diem regime’.48 The letter included support for the Kennedy administration’s intent to help the South Vietnamese develop ‘counter measures better suited to guerrilla warfare than those hitherto employed’, though Holyoake added that such steps should be ‘an American and not a SEATO responsibility’. It was an early example of Holyoake’s willingness to articulate abstract support for both South Vietnam and Washington’s policy on the issue, while maintaining a clear delineation of separate American and Commonwealth spheres of responsibility for Southeast Asia, with the Commonwealth’s role primarily confined to Malaya. Over the following months, all three of its major allies advised New Zealand that South Vietnam’s problems were worsening rapidly. In late May, the British Foreign Office reported that ‘the security situation was indeed extremely serious’.49 In June, an Australian official considered that a ‘crash programme’ of anti-terrorist training was urgently needed.50 By early October, the Americans were so concerned about the growth in the numbers of Viet Cong (as the communist guerrillas in the south were now known) that they were considering sending forces to Vietnam, albeit on a very limited scale.51 At about the same time, President Kennedy announced that he was sending his personal military adviser, General Maxwell Taylor, on a special mission to report on Vietnam. The heightening of American concern about Diem’s flagging fortunes would soon lead to a concomitant quest for support from their allies. The Australians were quicker to accept this implication. Their example represented the first source, albeit an indirect one, of allied pressure on New Zealand to act more decisively in Vietnam. The basic Australian stance was ‘to avoid deterring the United States from positive action and to provide maximum possible support’. In contrast to Wellington’s concerns that American intervention might be considered a violation of the Geneva Accords, the Australians brushed aside such scruples because of the communist side’s blatant violations.52 In November, New Zealand learned through the Australians that while General Taylor would not recommend sending 43

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American or SEATO troops, the situation was ‘so bad that the American suggestion that troops might be moved into South Vietnam could be resurrected at any time and we would be called upon to take a decision at very short notice’.53 By then Australia had committed £470,000 for counter-insurgency aid to South Vietnam and was ready to support whatever steps the Americans deemed necessary.54 Although Taylor did not recommend the despatch of combat forces – a move Diem himself did not favour – there was to be a ‘greatly expanded measure of assistance’ from the United States to bolster the flagging confidence of the South Vietnamese.55 New Zealand’s ambassador to the United States, George Laking, reported to Wellington that the result would be ‘a considerable, though not colossal, increase’ in the American military presence that would exceed the manpower limits generally accepted in the Geneva Accords. The Kennedy administration was also eager for allied participation, either in the economic sphere or with military personnel, though no SEATO military action was envisaged.56 The reaction in Wellington was characteristically cautious. External Affairs based its response on the firmly stated American view that ‘the war in South Vietnam is one which the Vietnamese must fight themselves’. The capacity of the Vietnamese forces had to be increased, but it seemed doubtful that introducing American or SEATO combat forces would achieve this result. Such measures might, in fact, widen the war, possibly to include China. There was also concern that the proposed American measures could ‘prejudice the Geneva settlement’. As for possible New Zealand assistance, the government had recently spent over £40,000 in assisting with flood relief and development projects, as well as accepting 30 or 40 Vietnamese for technical training in New Zealand. Delays in construction had prevented the disbursement of £100,000 authorised for a science faculty at Saigon University. In light of these modest but practical examples of New Zealand assistance, Washington was asked to clarify its intentions concerning ‘participation by other countries’.57 In contrast, there was strong support from Canberra. Prime Minister Robert Menzies advised Secretary of State Dean Rusk that the American proposals seemed ‘admirably adapted to a very difficult situation’ and that his advisers were exploring a possible increase in assistance. The Australians did, however, agree ‘that the Vietnamese must fight their own battle and that the introduction of United States or SEATO combat forces would be unwise’. Less comforting for New Zealand was the view in Canberra that Taylor’s recommendations fell short of the help needed.58 Australia promptly offered counter-insurgency assistance. Policy-makers in Wellington may not have emulated Australia’s response, but they remained keenly aware of New Zealand’s security depen44

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dence on the United States. This problem was canvassed in December 1961 at a meeting of the Chiefs of Staff Committee. Two major considerations were highlighted: New Zealand should avoid military commitments in Southeast Asia if Australia was not a participant; and ‘the vital issue for Australia and New Zealand was not the need to restore stability in South Vietnam, but to preserve our position with the United States as our major ally’. Dissuading the Americans from deploying combat troops in force still seemed the best course.59 These observations were remarkably prescient. They encapsulated the key principles that would guide New Zealand’s Vietnam decision-making over the next decade: the over-riding concern about an American security guarantee, which might be weakened by failure to support American policy in Vietnam; a pragmatic recognition that New Zealand might have to act militarily without Britain for the first time; an unwillingness to act militarily without Australia; scepticism about the wisdom of external military intervention in South Vietnam; a desire to dissuade the United States from significant military intervention; the ultimate necessity, however, of accommodating whatever decisions the United States and Australia made. Though New Zealand’s security policy was based on a national interest in Southeast Asia, these principles underlined how military involvement in the region was likely only in support of more powerful allies. In mid-1962, New Zealand’s stance on Vietnam remained tempered by pessimism about the Diem regime (though not to the point of viewing communism as an acceptable alternative). A briefing paper noted that Diem was ‘still respected for his personal qualities and achievements’, but suggested that his administration had become increasingly unpopular because of ‘its authoritarianism and intolerance of opposition and through its failure to protect the peasants from Communist terrorism’. Western aid would pay dividends only if the South Vietnamese government was more active in reform and sought to broaden its base of popular support.60 Failing such action, New Zealand had no intention of dramatically extending its assistance to South Vietnam – at least in the short term. One modest step was to establish diplomatic relations with Saigon, an intention that Holyoake conveyed to Diem in a letter of 11 May 1962. This action was in response to a South Vietnamese request to 92 governments for Western support in helping ‘to defeat the Communist guerrilla campaign in the Republic of Vietnam’.61 More specific American requests for aid to South Vietnam continued in 1962, prompting Australia to offer a small team of military advisers. The very day that Holyoake wrote to Diem, the New Zealand Chiefs of Staff met Paul Nitze, the American Assistant Secretary of Defence for International Security Affairs. He emphasised that many in Congress felt the United 45

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US Secretary of State Dean Rusk and Keith Holyoake, March 1962. morrie hill collection, f-71796-1⁄4, atl

States was carrying a disproportionate share of the burden of resisting communism in Southeast Asia. Secretary of State Rusk believed this perception could be altered if other nations played at least a minor part. For example, experienced advisers were needed, and he ‘would like to see up to 200 Australians and 10 to 20 New Zealanders serving in South Vietnam’.62 The rising tide of increasingly specific requests had some impact on New Zealand. After Australia announced that it would send around 30 military advisers, officials in Wellington examined possibilities for a similar New Zealand contribution and proposed sending a small military force of an officer and up to 12 men.63 Holyoake vetoed this proposal, explaining that ‘in view of the contribution already made to Thailand and the present situation in South Vietnam’, he would prefer to offer medical assistance. Despite the Americans’ clear wishes, and despite his own intervention the previous year to limit officials’ overly ‘superior’ criticisms of Diem, Holyoake was not prepared to sanction a military presence. The government opted instead to despatch a civilian surgical team.64 It was the Prime Minister’s first real assertion of the pragmatically ‘dovish’ instincts that would guide his approach to Vietnam. The government’s wariness about the mere hint of military involvement in Vietnam was further illustrated in August. The Chiefs of Staff wanted to accept an American suggestion that New Zealand servicemen in Thailand 46

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visit South Vietnam to observe the counter-insurgency techniques being used against the Viet Cong and gain direct knowledge of the country. Australia had accepted the offer, and it seemed the British would too. But McIntosh feared the proposed visits would attract adverse attention, partly because both the South Vietnamese and the Americans would have an interest in publicising such visitors. Communist propagandists were bound to denounce the visits as a breach of the Geneva Accords and to claim that SEATO was interfering in Vietnamese affairs. There was also a risk of Hanoi complaining to the International Control Commission that was charged with monitoring compliance with the Geneva Accords. Holyoake promptly quashed the idea.65 He was willing, however, to demonstrate New Zealand solidarity with the broad goal of containing communism in Southeast Asia, especially if there was no risk of negative publicity or financial cost. After visiting the United States in September, meeting President Kennedy and Averell Harriman (the chief American negotiator on Laos), Holyoake agreed the following month to their suggestion that New Zealand establish diplomatic relations with Laos to help show the interest of non-communist powers in that country’s development. From October 1962 the New Zealand Ambassador in Thailand, Major-General Sir Stephen Weir, was also accredited to Laos. When advising Washington, Holyoake assured the President that New Zealand shared American views on the strategic importance of sustaining non-communist governments in Southeast Asia. Kennedy welcomed this minor diplomatic gesture and applauded the fact that ‘New Zealand and the United States see eye to eye on critical matters affecting the peace and security of Southeast Asia’.66 Weir was equally committed to cooperation with United States policy in Southeast Asia. In September, he travelled to Saigon to present his credentials as a non-resident ambassador. His observations of the South Vietnamese were generally positive. Weir was even more struck by the visible American presence: Uniformed servicemen are if anything less in evidence than they are in Bangkok. Americans, on the other hand, are everywhere. (I was told of a Vietnamese rodenteradication team which was observed going about its work, and there, standing by advising them, was an American rodent-eradication expert. The story may well be apocryphal but it illustrates the point.)

Like Shanahan seven years earlier, he was convinced that the struggle to preserve South Vietnam from communism was a long-term one, which Diem, despite his faults, was best placed to lead. Weir considered that the war raging in South Vietnam was ‘in many ways more primitive, cruel and 47

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barbarous than that with which we had direct experience in Malaya’, but he did not believe New Zealand should stand aloof from it. Indeed, he bemoaned the ‘serious omission’ that: while New Zealand’s forces are supposedly organized and trained for action in this part of the world, there is not even one New Zealand Service officer who is in a position to observe from day to day that tactics and methods being used in this war – a war actually in progress and representing in true form conventional military aggression of today and tomorrow; a war so different in minor tactics from our previous experience. . . . If our Services are to be effective in this area against the most likely eventualities it does seem to me that there is scope for a few representatives at least on an observer basis.67

Such views were not to be taken lightly, coming as they did from one of the country’s most respected military figures. After distinguishing himself in the Second World War as a successful field commander, Weir had served as Chief of the General Staff from 1955 to 1960 and then as a military adviser to the Holyoake government before accepting the diplomatic posting to Bangkok. Strongly committed to Southeast Asia, he had long battled to expand New Zealand’s military resources in the region.68 Weir’s early assessment exemplified a more widely shared and ongoing enthusiasm within New Zealand’s military services for in-theatre experience in Vietnam. Weir’s suggestion was acted on in December, when Holyoake approved a ‘discreet visit’ by a New Zealand officer, Brigadier R. B. Dawson, commander of the 28th Commonwealth Brigade in Malaya, to observe American methods and tactics in South Vietnam. But Dawson would go as a Commonwealth officer, and Holyoake readily accepted McIntosh’s view that battalion officers should be barred from visiting on the grounds that little would be gained from what would probably be a breach of the Geneva Accords.69 For the same reason, Holyoake declined a South Vietnamese invitation for a visit by a New Zealand military mission.70 The situation in Vietnam was not sufficiently serious to warrant risking controversy or deeper New Zealand involvement. Yet the modest gestures of support Holyoake was prepared to approve failed to assuage Washington’s desire that more of its allies offer military contributions. Officials in Wellington were well aware that the Americans did not really care what kind of assistance was offered, as long as it involved New Zealand military personnel.71 In early 1963 there were more pointed requests for precisely such a presence from both the United States and South Vietnam. In February, the American ambassador in Wellington explicitly emphasised ‘the importance which the United States attached on political grounds to having other respectable countries such as New Zealand associ48

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ated with the operation in Vietnam’. His comment hinted at the low regard in which the Americans held some of their Asian allies. New Zealand’s ambassador in Washington warned on the eve of a SEATO meeting in Paris in April that New Zealand would be asked to do more in South Vietnam because the Americans did not think its efforts measured up to those of Australia. The argument used would be the need to demonstrate firm Western support for South Vietnam’s struggle against the communists, he suggested, ‘but the real reason, of course, is that the Administration here needs visible and strong allied support to use in the expected battle with Congress.’72 This was a realistic, if cynical, view. In preparing to field such a request, New Zealand was hampered by a lack of direct intelligence on South Vietnam.73 Policy-makers were frequently advised of their major allies’ views, but could not assess for themselves the raw intelligence on which these were based. Moreover, when such material was passed on, it was often riddled with discrepancies, as was the case with statistical information from British, United States, Australian and Canadian sources supplied to Wellington during 1963.74 Flawed intelligence would continue to bedevil Western involvement in the Vietnam War. Paradoxically, the paucity of direct intelligence may have been a blessing in disguise. Deluged by voluminous quantities of sometimes contradictory information, the United States found it difficult to use its ‘superior’ intelligence to good effect. When New Zealand policy-makers – from Shanahan in 1957 to Weir in 1963 – did visit Vietnam, they invariably came back with more optimistic views than may have been warranted. This was partly because they were able to speak only with South Vietnamese officials: there was no realistic possibility of receiving comparable briefings from representatives of the National Liberation Front (the Viet Cong’s political arm) or North Vietnam. No doubt, Soviet and Chinese visitors to North Vietnam returned similarly reassured by the progress of their ‘side’. Lacking direct intelligence from the field, New Zealand officials were usually able to cast a more disinterested eye over the conflicting assessments received from their allies, and to retain the balanced sense of perspective on the whole Vietnam issue which distance could afford. By mid-1963, it was becoming increasingly difficult for New Zealand to maintain a balanced perspective. If anything, the Kennedy administration’s mounting disillusionment with the Diem regime and rising debate within the United States about American policy on Vietnam only accentuated the advantages of more visible multilateral ‘cover’ – including a New Zealand military contribution.75 At the SEATO meeting in April, Secretary of State Dean Rusk memorably asked Defence Minister Dean Eyre to give ‘prayerful Presbyterian consideration’ to the American desire for New Zealand to ‘put more uniformed personnel’ into South Vietnam. He compared New 49

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Zealand’s efforts in Vietnam unfavourably with those of Australia, and recalled the positive impression made during the Korean War when New Zealand offered aid very promptly.76 Invoking a metaphor that would become drearily familiar, he argued that the Kennedy administration would be better able to maintain its stance on Vietnam if some of its allies ‘would show the flag along with the Americans’.77 McIntosh later recalled this approach as the moment when Rusk ‘put the hard word on us to contribute militarily to South Vietnam’.78 The government responded with contingency plans for the despatch of military advisers to South Vietnam. By now External Affairs and Defence agreed on the need to mollify the Americans, but the Prime Minister still needed persuading. In seeking approval for military support, McIntosh pointed to the congressional and public pressures on Kennedy to demonstrate that allied nations were helping South Vietnam. He suggested that, leaving relations with the United States aside, South Vietnam’s security was of direct interest to New Zealand. McIntosh also linked action in Vietnam to the defence commitments New Zealand would have to accept as part of its ongoing contribution to the defence of Malaysia by British Commonwealth forces: A military role in South Vietnam, which would be only of a very limited nature, would add no great burden to our military effort in South-east Asia. On the other hand it would powerfully reinforce our efforts to obtain greater understanding from the United States of our position in Malaysia and if necessary of the need to put pressure upon the Indonesians to mitigate their policy of ‘confrontation’ with Malaysia.79

The argument linking Vietnam and Malaysia seemed to work. Holyoake relented, recommending that Cabinet approve in principle a New Zealand military contribution to South Vietnam. Indecision about the nature of that contribution continued. On 13 May Laking was asked to check if the State Department still wanted a military medical team to join New Zealand’s civilian team.80 Two days later, Wellington told him it seemed doubtful that a medical team would be New Zealand’s most effective contribution, and that a training unit was now under consideration.81 Laking replied that New Zealand’s expression of interest ‘could not have come at a better time’, as American relations with the Diem regime were at a low ebb. He was confident that an offer of military assistance would be especially welcomed because, apart from Australia, other countries had confined their offers to economic aid. The Americans would prefer pilots and small aircraft, or a military training unit, rather than a medical team.82 50

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From Wellington’s perspective, an air contingent was out of the question because it would have a direct operational role. A unit serving in a training or advisory role seemed to be the only option acceptable to the government.83 When Cabinet agreed in principle on 27 May 1963 to send a small team of military personnel to South Vietnam, it specified that it must be noncombatant.84 The precise character of the contribution was left undefined, but it was expected to be an army training team of 15 to 20 personnel.85 As they advised diplomatic posts in June 1963, External Affairs officials were reluctant to acknowledge publicly that the decision was a result of American pressure.86 Privately, however, they identified the American relationship as the primary reason for supporting military assistance to South Vietnam. A secondary reason was the need for ‘further information on the kind of conflict that was raging’.87 They were under no illusions that New Zealand’s effort ‘would make a significant contribution to the South Vietnamese campaign against the Viet Cong’. At the same time, though not sharing Washington’s guarded optimism about the Diem government, officials firmly believed that a show of solidarity with American policy was in New Zealand’s long-term national interest.88 The government hoped to obtain as much credit as possible for being a responsive ally. It did not, however, go as far as taking up a suggestion that, at an upcoming ANZUS meeting, the American representative be allowed to ask for a New Zealand contribution before being told of the decision.89 Instead, the decision was announced on the day of the meeting after consultation with allies. Ironically, this gave a public impression of United States pressure.90 Australia proved unhelpful, preventing the ANZUS Council from formally noting New Zealand’s decision on the grounds that it would be ‘invidious to single out New Zealand’s effort’.91 This was a minor but telling example of Australian prickliness at a New Zealand attempt to take credit for a small contribution to which it had reluctantly agreed and which did not match Australia’s firmer support. Despite its modest character, both the South Vietnamese and the Americans welcomed the New Zealand decision. As Averell Harriman told the ANZUS Council: ‘The United States was often subject to accusations of having imperialist desires – though for what gain was difficult to imagine. The show of other flags would therefore be of very real value.’92 New Zealand could be satisfied with the diplomatic impact of its decision.

A Commitment Deferred, 1963–4 The government was in no hurry to settle the nature of its planned troop contribution. The United States and South Vietnam had expressed interest in receiving pilots or, as a second priority, engineers. The latter would be 51

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both practically useful and politically valuable, since they would probably need to travel around the country, thereby creating a widely spread New Zealand presence.93 This potential advantage was reinforced by news from Weir that a unit of engineers would be ‘the most sought-after contribution’, not least because it had been suggested by Diem himself as well as by Americans and Australians in Saigon.94 In the event, implementation of the decision was delayed for a whole year. Initially, this was due to genuine uncertainty about the most suitable contribution. Apart from being non-combatant, the unit sent must show the flag and establish a distinct national identity.95 Officials in Defence and External Affairs spent considerable time grappling with the problem, basing their discussions partly on reports from visits to South Vietnam by Weir and New Zealand military officers. It would be difficult to prevent pilots assuming a semi-combatant role that would go beyond the government’s stated intentions. The best options seemed to be army instructors or a team of engineers, both of which were acceptable to the South Vietnamese. External Affairs favoured the former because they would have a purely training and advisory role, would draw on New Zealand’s valuable experience in Malaya, and would contribute to the strategic hamlet programme, which involved concentrating peasant communities in fortified villages protected by local militia and was considered crucial to a successful outcome in South Vietnam. The army authorities were more impressed by the opportunities for engineers to gain training experience in Southeast Asia.96 In mid-August, McIntosh reminded Holyoake that two months had passed since the decision, and ‘polite enquiries about our plans’ could be expected from Washington and Saigon. A decision was urgently required.97 By this time the domestic political situation in Saigon was deteriorating rapidly as Diem’s regime blundered into a debilitating conflict with Buddhists and other dissenting groups. Accusing the South Vietnamese government of religious persecution, the Buddhist protest movement drew much internal and international support for its cause, especially after the highly publicised self-immolation of a Buddhist monk in Saigon in June.98 While acknowledging in early August that the religious dispute was undermining Diem’s standing and the stability of his regime, External Affairs still believed that the promised military contribution should proceed. Once again, the Prime Minister exerted a restraining influence. Far from accepting McIntosh’s advice, Holyoake indicated that it might be advisable to announce a deferment of the decision.99 This worried McIntosh, who feared not only the likely impact on alliance relations but the damage any public withdrawal of external support could do to the anti-communist cause in Vietnam. In the end, Holyoake heeded his advice to seek further information before commenting publicly,100 but he did not budge from his insistence that New 52

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Zealand would not send military personnel until the situation in South Vietnam was less confused. The possibility of adverse reactions to New Zealand’s procrastination was mitigated by the fact that the United States itself was pursuing a ‘wait and see’ policy. Laking reported that the Americans had evaluated options such as reducing financial assistance to Saigon or even supporting a military coup against Diem – a possibility which the State Department admitted had been explored ‘very seriously’. Though rejecting these alternatives as counter-productive, the frustrated Kennedy administration was nearing the end of its patience with Diem, especially with his unwillingness to adopt a more conciliatory approach to the Buddhists.101 In late September, Laking accompanied Secretary of Defence Jack Hunn and the Chiefs of Staff to a meeting in Washington with American Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara and General Taylor. McNamara stressed congressional unwillingness to see the Americans left bearing the whole burden of defending the region. He was grateful for Australian and New Zealand efforts, but suggested both ‘should do more’ in increasing defence spending in view of ‘the likely threat from China’. New Zealand could give more counter-insurgency assistance while also building up its conventional forces. It ‘had the guts, the skills and the sophistication to make a valuable contribution’. Although conscious that it ‘was not an occasion for argument’, Laking pointed out what New Zealand had done and was prepared to do in Malaysia, Thailand and Vietnam, suggesting that Commonwealth links made Malaysia the obvious area in which New Zealand should concentrate its efforts. Hunn, who would later oppose a combat commitment to Vietnam, intervened to suggest that the United Nations was likely to play a more effective peacekeeping role in the region. McNamara was not as sanguine.102 There was no mention of the unimplemented decision on military aid to South Vietnam. Indeed, officials in Wellington noted afterwards that the United States appeared to be sympathetic to New Zealand’s stance.103 American wishes for a more visible New Zealand presence had nevertheless been made clear. Holyoake remained immovable. In talks with R. G. K. Thompson (a well-known strategist of British counter-insurgency policy in Malaya), who visited Wellington in October, the Prime Minister expressed vigorous support for the American policy on Vietnam. He also sympathised with Diem’s position, but was equally firm in his determination to wait until South Vietnam was more stable. In view of his attitude, officials believed a decision was unlikely before February. ‘Their instinct is to keep right out of this sort of exercise,’ Shanahan noted to Weir, ‘and as things stand they are no doubt right: it would be very difficult indeed at this time for the Government to 53

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make such a significant gesture of support for a regime which has reaped such a harvest of international unpopularity over the Buddhist issue.’104 Events in Vietnam soon validated Holyoake’s approach. On 1 November a group of Diem’s own generals instigated a coup which resulted in his overthrow and murder. Though aware that a coup was being planned, the Kennedy administration had been nervous and uncertain about the prospect. Thus the State Department was technically correct in assuring Laking that the United States had not received advance warning of the coup and had not been involved in any way.105 But plotters had the tacit blessing of Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge, who had been authorised to tell them that the United States would not necessarily ‘thwart a change of government’. Greeted with jubilation in the streets of Saigon, the coup met with general acceptance in Washington, though Kennedy was shaken by the news of Diem’s death (and that of his brother Nhu).106 As one historian has aptly noted, the removal of the Diem regime made it more difficult for the United States to disentangle itself from South Vietnam, ‘if only because policy was so clearly geared to creating a government better able to prosecute the war’.107 Only days after the coup, the United States advised New Zealand, among other countries, of its hope for prompt international recognition of the Revolutionary Military Council, as the new junta styled itself. The Americans saw advantages in not being the first to recognise the new regime. As Laking explained, they felt ‘distaste’ over Diem’s murder and were afraid of conveying ‘any impression that this is an American puppet Government’.108 But Wellington was not enthusiastic: the American Ambassador was advised that it would be ‘quite inappropriate’ for New Zealand to take the lead. New Zealand would prefer a jointly timed recognition by ‘a group of responsible governments’, possibly the SEATO powers.109 Finding no one eager to move first, the Kennedy administration concluded that it was more important to set the new regime off on a sound footing and announced on 7 November that it was ‘resuming relations with South Vietnam’.110 The next day, McIntosh recommended that Holyoake approve recognition, noting that the Australian, Malaysian and British governments were about to follow Washington’s lead. Notwithstanding the violent circumstances in which it began, the new regime had full control and had adopted a satisfactory foreign policy stance.111 On 13 November Holyoake advised the South Vietnamese of New Zealand’s wish to continue friendly relations, thereby according de facto recognition.112 Anxious to avoid drawing attention to its action, the government did not issue a public statement.113 At the end of 1963, various factors ensured further postponement of the long-delayed decision about what sort of unit to deploy. There was a general election in New Zealand in late November; there was the growing 54

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likelihood that New Zealand would need to provide further support to Malaysia, as Indonesia intensified its policy of Konfrontasi (Confrontation); and, overshadowing other events in that period, there was the assassination of John F. Kennedy on 22 November. The youthful President’s death left his Vice-President, Lyndon Baines Johnson, to confront Kennedy’s legacy of incremental American involvement in Vietnam.114 After receiving his first briefing on Vietnam, Johnson said he felt like a catfish that had ‘grabbed a big juicy worm with a right sharp hook in the middle of it’.115 That sensation would intensify in the following months as the situation in South Vietnam steadily deteriorated, with the North Vietnamese attempting a rapid escalation of the conflict in the hope of persuading the United States to leave. After being returned to office, and with Diem’s removal only exacerbating South Vietnam’s chronic political instability, the Holyoake government continued to procrastinate, encouraged by Washington’s insistence that the military situation was improving and that American advisers would all be withdrawn by the end of 1965. In Wellington, these assertions were treated with a degree of scepticism that seemed fully justified in the light of developments in South Vietnam in late 1963 and early 1964. Another difficulty was the deteriorating situation in the Borneo states, which placed New Zealand under pressure to increase its support for Malaysia.116 As Shanahan put it, ‘the reaction from the British and from elements of our own public would be quite strong were we to maintain our somewhat coy attitude towards involvement in the difficulties of a Commonwealth country but proceed with the introduction of military assistance in an area which is primarily a United States responsibility and where our public still regards the moral rights and wrongs as somewhat clouded’.117 But the Americans had not forgotten New Zealand’s decision.118 The issue came up in discussions in Wellington at the end of January with Roger Hilsman, Assistant Secretary of State for the Far East. New Zealand representatives repeated their concerns about the political situation in Vietnam and the Malaysian problem.119 They were buoyed somewhat by Hilsman’s optimism about Vietnam. ‘It is rather better and more promising than we had assumed,’ Shanahan reported to Weir, ‘though Lord knows it is really very dicey.’120 (Only two days earlier, on 29 January, a group of younger officers led by General Nguyen Khanh had conducted a second coup in Saigon, overthrowing the Revolutionary Military Council.) While also aware how ‘dicey’ the situation was, Weir urged Wellington to remember that ‘the fact that we have not yet fulfilled our commitment in this respect must, to put it at its very lowest, place our reliability as an ally in some doubt.’121 Yet even when told that the United States might raise the issue at a forthcoming SEATO Council meeting, Holyoake refused to change his mind. The potential costs of involvement left him reluctant to provide military aid, not 55

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least because of the practical difficulties of deploying a small group which, in his opinion, ‘would not be repaid by any contribution they could make’.122 The Prime Minister’s hesitation was reinforced by his advisers, who raised the possibility that ‘on present trends South Vietnam will be lost without the United States or any other country being able to do anything for it’. They pointed out in April that ‘Superiority of weapons and any amount of advice are no substitute for the stubbornness, determination, willingness to sacrifice, and confidence in the ultimate victory of their cause that the Viet Cong have displayed and the government forces have not’. Like its predecessors, the Khanh government had made no progress in enacting social and political reforms. As for American policy, it seemed unlikely that expanded military involvement alone would achieve victory or ‘even a halt in the deterioration’; in fact, it might be counterproductive by weakening South Vietnamese resolve to fight their own war. The view from Wellington was that: The Viet Cong has no present prospect of victory; but the continuation of the trend of the last 12 months would lead to the gradual restriction of the government’s sphere of activity, a decline of morale, and in increase in war-weariness to the point where politically neither the Vietnamese nor the United States governments could sustain the struggle even though militarily the losses might be tolerable.

Despite the slim prospects for success, there seemed few options but to continue along the lines currently being followed by the United States. As ever, New Zealand policy-makers recognised that the war was not really an American responsibility; only the South Vietnamese could win or lose it.123 Weir echoed this gloomy prognosis after visiting South Vietnam twice in early April. He believed that the coup against Diem and the one that brought General Khanh to power had temporarily damaged the Saigon government’s authority, disrupted the unity of the armed forces, and had ‘a bewildering effect’ on the population generally. Perhaps most alarmingly, Viet Cong successes in recent months had further decreased confidence in the regime among the peasantry – ‘the main target in this war’. Weir, however, formed a favourable impression of Khanh himself, and warned that his departure from the scene would be disastrous, given the dearth of satisfactory alternative leaders. Weir’s overall assessment was that while the new administration in Saigon faced formidable political and military challenges, the situation was not ‘beyond redemption’.124 It was the judgement of a cautious Cold Warrior who, like his American and Australian counterparts, wanted things to be better but could not deny that they were not. Holyoake, an even more cautious Cold Warrior, saw South Vietnam for himself during a brief visit to Saigon on 16 April on his way home from a 56

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SEATO Conference at which President Johnson had again asked for ‘more flags’.125 When he met General Khanh for about an hour Holyoake asked whether both people and army were happy. The general replied ‘rather diffidently’ in the affirmative; he did appear to favour land reform. When asked how his government would respond if South Vietnam requested military assistance from SEATO, Holyoake set out New Zealand’s position – based on the ‘thoroughly confused domestic situation’ in South Vietnam and the situation in Malaysia – with notable frankness. He made it clear that, given its limited resources, New Zealand involvement in Malaysia, perhaps involving fighting in Sarawak or Sabah, would have to take precedence over any SEATO commitment. This explanation seemed to satisfy Khanh, who added that he would welcome ‘help of all kinds, and especially in such non-combatant technical fields as engineering’ that would assist in restoring the country’s economy. In reply to a question about holding elections, he assured Holyoake that he was planning to call an assembly. The Prime Minister made an intriguing comment: ‘I have to get power through the ballot box, but you got yours through a coup with very little loss of life’. Khanh was quick to protest that ‘there had been no loss of life at all with his coup’.126 Shortly after returning to New Zealand, Holyoake had to deal with a new call from Washington for support in South Vietnam. This was foreshadowed on 1 May by Laking, who warned of an impending ‘coordinated campaign’ to elicit further contributions: New Zealand could expect to be one of the first approached. ‘With the increasing rate of American casualties,’ he noted, ‘the administration wants to be able to point out that other governments are also committed to this cause and taking risks in Vietnam.’ Ongoing concerns in the White House about support from an increasingly restive Congress meant that military rather than economic assistance would definitely be preferred.127 The anticipated request came less than a week later. Herbert Powell, the American ambassador to New Zealand, presented a formal note on 6 May stressing President Johnson’s desire for ‘a strong “show of flags” in Vietnam by nations of the Free World.’ The United States believed that New Zealand’s presence in South Vietnam would have ‘great significance’.128 The American approach could hardly have been more direct. External Affairs and Defence representatives agreed that New Zealand should now offer non-combatant military assistance to South Vietnam. Secretary of Defence Hunn was a notable dissenter, setting out a 17-point minority view on the ‘Case for Using Civilians rather than Soldiers’. He contended that New Zealand would become a belligerent, that New Zealand interests were not directly involved, that such a contingent would contribute to an escalation of the war, and that only a political solution was ‘feasible and worth 57

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working for’. Reversing the argument often used by other officials, he suggested that ‘if Australia sends soldiers and New Zealand sends civilians, New Zealand’s mana in the world will be the higher’, whereas the opposite ‘could only be embarrassing to New Zealand’.129 This was the first instance of Hunn objecting directly to New Zealand’s alliance strategy regarding Vietnam – a role he would develop more fully in the following year. Hunn’s stance reflected his personal convictions, but its impact was weakened by his lack of specialised expertise in military or international affairs. A former Secretary of Maori Affairs, Hunn had been appointed to the Defence position primarily because of his administrative experience in order to get the new Ministry of Defence up and running. Needless to say, his views on Vietnam and certain other defence policy issues did not represent the professional opinions of New Zealand’s military authorities.130 Though cautious, McIntosh, too, did not accept Hunn’s arguments. He pointed out to Holyoake that the Americans’ eagerness for gestures of support was motivated both by their belief ‘that the struggle in South Vietnam is important to others besides themselves’ and by ‘the political need to demonstrate to the American people that the United States is not bearing the burden alone’. Sending a small unit of military engineers would not only provide useful experience and contribute to regional security but ‘above all, would demonstrate to the Americans our readiness to play a positive part in the collective security effort’. This ‘could be a significant consideration at a time when we face increasing risks that we may need United States support, vis a vis Indonesia’.131 It was interesting to see a New Zealand official emphasising this implied quid pro quo that was so familiar in Australian thinking on Vietnam.132 The Cabinet accepted McIntosh’s advice, agreeing in principle on 11 May that New Zealand should offer to contribute a military unit of up to 20 men for non-combatant service in South Vietnam.133 The Cabinet Defence Committee, charged with considering the form this aid should take, then endorsed Minister of Defence Eyre’s recommendation of a 25engineer detachment to assist with reconstruction activities – a need highlighted by General Khanh in his recent discussion with Holyoake.134 This was announced on 25 May 1964.135 Having postponed action for a year, the Prime Minister and his advisers undoubtedly hoped this gesture would demonstrate support for South Vietnam without placing undue strain on New Zealand’s meagre military resources, which were heavily committed in Malaysia. New Zealand’s decision was ‘warmly welcomed’ by the Americans, partly because it contrasted with the rather negative response of many of the other governments approached.136 The response from Saigon was equally favourable, with Khanh sending his personal thanks to Holyoake.137 Weir 58

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was gratified to see New Zealand backing the Americans with a useful contribution, but he remained anxious about the absence of charismatic political and military leaders in South Vietnam committed to winning ‘the hearts and minds of the people’. He also reported that the Americans would have to find ways to make better use of ‘the vast resources’ they were providing. To do so they might ‘have to take far-reaching measures of a novel character which go well beyond what, up to now, they have considered the part they should play in running this war’.138 It was a prophetic comment. Weir was on hand in Saigon on 29 June for the arrival of the New Zealand engineers, who received ‘a tumultuous reception by a very large and enthusiastic group of the populace and by a large number of Vietnamese and American officials and servicemen’. Never before had New Zealand received so much publicity in Saigon.139 The engineers would go on to serve without controversy, contributing to various civil aid projects.140 Meanwhile, External Affairs was again reassessing American policy on Southeast Asia in preparation for an ANZUS Council meeting. In doing so, officials outlined with disarming candour the baleful options confronting the United States in South Vietnam and the implications for New Zealand, which had ‘no option but to give moral and material support (fortunately token, at least to date) and to hope that in the long run American activity on present lines will show results’. But there was little confidence in such an outcome, and it seemed possible that only American escalation would stop the rot; in fact, this might be more attractive than sustaining a campaign that was ‘simply staving off defeat’. The United States might introduce combat forces, with far-reaching implications that would include a risk of the Americans taking direct control of the war themselves. In particular, it was ‘difficult to conceive that the introduction into South Vietnam of anything short of a number of divisions of United States troops could have a significant military effect’; yet ‘by marking a change in the nature of the war it would by itself represent a failure of the entire American effort to date’. This insightful recognition of the dilemmas facing Washington led to the conclusion that the United States was unlikely to depart drastically from its current level of activity, at least before the November presidential election. New Zealand officials clearly understood the extent to which the United States had hitherto hugged a middle path between doing nothing and overreacting.141 New Zealand policy-makers did not necessarily oppose an American escalation. Indeed, their analysis of the situation echoed some of Washington’s thinking on Vietnam: The principal value of any of these more drastic United States steps is perhaps simply that they would represent indications that the United States is prepared to do whatever is necessary to prevent the communisation of South Vietnam. Even if

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new zealand and the vietnam war not by itself sufficient, each of them would add to American ‘credibility’. Whatever doubts we may have whether the United States can succeed in its current efforts in South Vietnam, there is no room for doubt that it is important that these efforts be made and that the American readiness for stern measures to sustain the security of this area – which is for the United States of marginal security interest but for Australia and New Zealand of very real security interest – is heartening and deserves our encouragement.

External Affairs also endorsed the American view that no political solution was possible unless ‘the North Vietnamese and behind them the Chinese Communists’ understood that the United States and its allies were willing indefinitely to accept the costs of countering the Hanoi-directed insurgency. From New Zealand’s perspective, the difficult truth was that ‘the prospect in South Vietnam is neither promising nor alluring but we hope the United States will persevere with its current objectives and it is in our interest to do what we can to sustain it in this enterprise over the long haul’.142 Such analysis revealed much about what New Zealand had learned in more than a decade of intermittently observing Indochinese developments. It highlighted how sceptical officials were about Western success in countering communism in the inauspicious Cold War battleground that South Vietnam was proving to be. Yet they considered Vietnam a crucial area worth defending for broader geopolitical reasons, and the American effort there worth encouraging. Moreover, they had no better alternatives to suggest. This resigned realism would do much to shape New Zealand’s response to the impending American escalation of the war. Scepticism would remain to the fore, but ultimately New Zealand would have little choice but to support whatever measures the United States adopted – not with enthusiasm, but without false illusions either. New Zealand was spared such a choice for the remainder of 1964. Though the situation in South Vietnam remained chaotic, External Affairs proved correct in its assumption that the Americans would do nothing drastic before the presidential election, ‘unless extremely provoked’. The only significant American action occurred after the so-called Gulf of Tonkin incidents in early August, when American destroyers engaged in intelligence operations off the coast of North Vietnam were allegedly attacked twice by North Vietnamese patrol boats. Misleadingly portraying the incidents as ‘open aggression on the high seas’, Johnson retaliated swiftly with air attacks on North Vietnamese bases and secured a broad-ranging congressional resolution authorising him to take ‘all necessary measures to repel any armed attacks against the forces of the United States and to prevent further aggression’. Though the Tonkin Gulf resolution provided a blank cheque for later expansion of military intervention in South Vietnam, there was no 60

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immediate sustained escalation. Instead, Johnson presented himself to the American people as a decisive but restrained opponent of aggression – the moderate ‘peace’ candidate campaigning against an ‘extremist’ Republican conservative, Barry Goldwater, who was urging a sharp escalation of the Vietnam War. Despite continued political instability in South Vietnam, Johnson would not risk bold moves before the elections.143 If anything, the President’s campaign rhetoric suggested that the United States would limit further involvement in the war. This led the usually perceptive New Zealand Embassy in Washington to detect a new flexibility in American policy. Laking suggested that ‘a number of pragmatic actions’ might be expected, including a possible reduction of American forces in South Vietnam and a ‘willingness to countenance some development of contacts between the new regime emerging in Saigon and North Vietnam’. Such flexibility would not exclude ‘further demonstrations of American strength’ if the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong did not respond positively, but Laking believed such measures, ‘like those in the Tonkin Gulf, would be designed to convince the North Vietnamese of the wisdom of restraint and accommodation’. The ambassador even suggested that the United States would eventually begin seeking ‘gently and quietly for means of disengagement and co-existence with Communist Asia’. Though the latter prophecy would not come to pass until the 1970s, Laking’s assessment suggested the fluidity still evident in American policy toward Vietnam, even as the Johnson administration stood poised to increase direct military involvement. Like Laking, few policy-makers in Wellington could have anticipated just how inflexible American policy toward Vietnam was about to become, and what that would mean for New Zealand.

During the late 1950s New Zealand steadily intensified its commitment to a forward defence strategy in Southeast Asia, with the aim of containing communism through participation in alliance activities under Anglo-American leadership. In line with this commitment, New Zealand joined other Western powers in backing the cause of an independent, noncommunist South Vietnam. But the relative calm in Vietnam meant that policy-makers in Wellington needed to do little more than pay lip-service to Saigon’s cause. Both the government and the Opposition regarded participation in British Commonwealth efforts in Malaya as New Zealand’s primary military contribution to Southeast Asian security. In comparison, Vietnam was a relatively minor and distant concern. It was not until the early 1960s that the Holyoake government had to respond to growing American pressures as the situation in South Vietnam 61

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began to deteriorate. New Zealand was able to fend off these pressures until 1964, when the small detachment of engineers was deployed. But this token involvement would prove a fateful step. If the state of affairs in Vietnam worsened to the extent that the United States felt compelled to send combat troops, New Zealand was likely to face renewed pressure for a proportionate combat contribution. The government would then either have to send such a contribution or revisit the principles on which its alliance-based approach to regional security was based. Within a year of sending the engineers, New Zealand would have to confront precisely such a choice.

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CHAPTER THREE

In the Cold War’s Shadow: The Origins and Evolution of Domestic Debate About the Vietnam War, 1945–64

D

evelopments in vietnam had negligible domestic impact in New Zealand during the two decades after the Second World War. It was not until the decision to send combat forces in May 1965 that the watershed moment arrived in polarising the two major parties, in galvanising public debate on the issue, and in launching New Zealand’s first large-scale movement of public dissent on a foreign policy issue.1 Yet by then the basic parameters for debate about the meaning for New Zealand of this distant Southeast Asian conflict were already defined. The period from 1945 to 1965, therefore, presents a paradox concerning debate about the Vietnam War. Competing interpretations of the conflict’s significance for New Zealand emerged, and these changed little after the announcement of a combat commitment. Only the government’s view received any prominence, however, and the forceful questioning of official policy by a small number of critics languished on the periphery of public life. This pattern reflected how developments in Indochina in the two decades after 1945 were set squarely within the context of a broader Cold War-dominated discourse about New Zealand’s place in regional and world affairs.

Domestic Reactions to the First Indochina War After Vietnam’s still-born independence in September 1945, there was minimal public comment in New Zealand concerning Indochina’s problems in the immediate post-war years. Between 1945 and 1948 news reports about 63

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Indochina were infrequent, and editorial commentaries even more so. Indochina was rarely mentioned publicly by politicians or debated in Parliament. Not even left-wing groups took much notice of what one newspaper described in early 1949 as ‘the least known of all colonial wars’.2 Such inattention was not surprising. Europe was the focal point of Western public interest in the unfolding Cold War. New Zealand had a long history of cultural distance and economic isolation from Asia, and events anywhere in that region seemed of limited relevance to New Zealanders’ lives. Traditionally, Asian affairs impinged on public consciousness only when developments there appeared to pose some threat to New Zealand. After 1949, however, the conjunction of the communist triumph in China with the stabilising of the situation in Europe meant that the West began to see Asia as the next frontline in a global confrontation. The growing perception that New Zealand might face a new kind of threat from Asia also related to events in Indochina. Though first evident among officials, concerns about Asian stability were soon being voiced by New Zealand politicians. As a result, the problems of Indochina received more attention in Parliament in the early 1950s. Generally avoiding serious criticisms of French rule, MPs instead viewed communism as the major source of the conflict in Vietnam: some even alluded to ‘Russian-supported aggression in IndoChina’.3 There was broad bipartisan agreement that the communist threat in Southeast Asia was serious and needed to be countered by all means available, including the Colombo Plan’s programme of economic assistance, which members on both sides of the House warmly endorsed. From the outset, and for the next two decades, Labour members placed greater emphasis on the need for economic, social and technical aid to Southeast Asia.4 When New Zealand’s first transfer of arms to Vietnam was announced in 1952, one Labour member asked if technical assistance would also be offered ‘as a further antidote to the bane of Communism and as a help to France in any endeavours she may put forward to redeem the effects of colonialism’.5 Another argued that the problems confronting Malaya and Indochina were not simply ‘part of a Communist plot’, but were grounded in ‘pride of race and the desire for self-determination, both of which the British had instilled in the people in two wars.’6 There were, however, few direct challenges to the view expressed in the Governor-General’s opening speech to Parliament in 1953 that the French ‘struggle against Communist-inspired insurrection’ in Indochina merited New Zealand’s support.7 Parliamentary discussion about Vietnam was framed in a Cold War context rather than as a debate about decolonisation, and the Vietminh was identified primarily as a communist rather than a nationalist group. This framework also shaped public discussion of Indochina in the print media. As early as January 1949 the Otago Daily Times, for example, 64

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New Zealand Herald cartoon (7 November 1950) illustrative of popular perceptions in New Zealand of the growing threat to Asian regional stability posed by Chinese communism. new zealand herald

ascribed ‘primary responsibility’ for the Vietnam conflict to the Vietminh, and suggested that the French were working earnestly towards an equitable settlement.8 In early 1950, the newspaper argued that the Chinese revolution lent new significance to the ‘civil war between the new state of Viet Nam and the Communist forces of Ho Chi-Minh’.9 The following year the Otago Daily Times was even more adamant that the conflict had ‘become undisguisedly one of Communism versus the Western allies’.10 The newspaper did occasionally acknowledge that nationalism and anti-colonialism were relevant to understanding the struggle in Indochina, but the dominant image presented to its readers was that the First Indochina War had become a microcosm of the Cold War in Asia. Similar viewpoints appeared in other New Zealand newspapers during these years.11 Not all New Zealanders accepted these opinions. Not unexpectedly, the challenge to the emerging orthodoxy on Indochina came initially from the left. In late 1953, in response to the planned despatch of a second shipment of surplus arms to Indochina, a branch of the New Zealand Peace Council wrote to the Prime Minister forcefully expressing disapproval.12 Formed in 1950, the Peace Council was widely viewed as a communist front organisation, and its lack of public support was shown by its dismally unsuccessful campaign to mobilise domestic opposition to New Zealand involvement in the Korean War.13 Though few in number, its members were not deterred 65

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from taking on unpopular causes and maintained an interest in the Vietnam conflict. Unmoved by the Peace Council’s criticism, the government nonetheless issued a so-called D Notice to newspaper editors before a French ship arrived to pick up the arms in March 1954, asking that there be ‘no public mention of the quantities and types of equipment to be shipped to IndoChina’.14 This was the first occasion when the government evinced possible concern about public opinion on Vietnam. In fact, the arrival of the French ship elicited little comment, though the Labour newspaper, The Standard, noted disapprovingly that New Zealand was becoming an indirect participant in the Indochina conflict.15 The Communist Party’s People’s Voice offered a much harsher assessment.16 All in all, it was a subdued beginning to public controversy about Vietnam. Over the following months, press coverage of the war in Indochina intensified markedly as the Vietminh tightened the noose around Dien Bien Phu and crisis loomed for the French. There were almost daily reports of military and diplomatic developments. The Otago Daily Times was again typical in expressing grave concern in early April that a French defeat in Indochina would raise the possibility ‘of the loss of the whole of South-east Asia and an immediate threat to India, Indonesia and the Philippines, thus bringing the Communist power to the edges of the zones of influence of Australia and New Zealand’.17 A month later, the newspaper conjectured that the grim situation in Indochina might contribute to ‘a major change in New Zealand’s traditional war-time role’.18 When the French garrison at Dien Bien Phu fell in early May 1954, the Otago Daily Times suggested somewhat implausibly that the siege had won ‘new glory’ for France, and gave no credit to the remarkable efforts of the Vietminh forces, which were described as ‘thinly disguised Communist spearheads with the shafts wielded deep in the fastnesses of Russia itself’.19 Though it was not always as blatant, such Cold War rhetoric dominated newspaper coverage of the concluding events of the First Indochina War. The 1954 Indochina crisis also stimulated the first significant flurry of protest on the issue. After Dulles called for United Action to avert a French collapse in Vietnam, the government received appeals from several trade unions, peace and left-wing groups, churches and individuals not to succumb to American pressure to join in possible Western military intervention. One letter-writer protested ‘against New Zealand being led once again to bolster up the United States’ insane love of power and world domination’, while the Peace Council denounced ‘the move contemplated by the U.S.A.’ as ‘a maniacal crime against humanity of undreamed of magnitude’.20 The Cold War stereotypes evident in these attacks on Western policy on Indochina were mirror images of those in the daily press.21 66

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The Communist Party of New Zealand (CPNZ) now also took a more active interest in the issue. In June 1954 the party’s Canterbury district executive published a booklet entitled The Truth about Indo China that was probably New Zealand’s first anti-Vietnam War pamphlet. Praising the positions of the Vietminh, the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China at the Geneva Conference, their fellow communists in New Zealand lambasted the United States for striving to exploit ‘Indo-China’s markets and sources of raw materials’ and to use Indochina ‘as a convenient base for an attack on China and other Asian countries’. They condemned the government’s obeisance to the United States and urged New Zealanders to demand withdrawal from ANZUS, recognition of the People’s Republic of China, and ‘support for the ending of the war in Indo-China by peaceful negotiation based on Indo-china’s right to independence’.22 The CPNZ was arguing that the Vietminh was fighting a war of national liberation, which the government opposed because it was a pawn of the imperialistic Americans. With few amendments, this argument would be taken up a decade later by large numbers of non-Marxist protesters against the Vietnam War. Indeed, in later years, the CPNZ would view Vietnam as a means of exerting influence in the political mainstream, from which it was excluded by the unpopularity of its general ideology. In 1954, however, the CPNZ’s approach to the issue struck as little resonance with most New Zealanders as did the party’s general Marxist doctrine. The reality was that public interest in the Indochina crisis remained low. As Minister of Defence Thomas Macdonald pointed out in July 1954, ‘If asked, the average man in the street would not have a clue as to the whereabouts of Indo-China, of Vietnam, or Cambodia; in fact, until recent weeks he probably would not have been very interested’. Even that brief flickering of public interest would subside once the prospect of Anglo-American intervention in Vietnam passed. Few New Zealanders acted on Macdonald’s admonition ‘to brush up their knowledge of these places, which could easily have an effect on the future of our country’.23 His fellow politicians, however, did heed his call. With the long-term future of Vietnam and its neighbours hanging in the balance at Geneva, discussion of the issue when Parliament reconvened in June 1954 was more extensive, nuanced and informed than previously.24 A National MP summed up the dominant view in the House when he suggested that ‘the long suffering Anglo-American alliance’ faced a difficult dilemma in Indochina: ‘Is it to halt the onward march of communism in South East Asia by an organised collective security system, or is it to prevent the emergence of a genuine nationalist Government in the three associated states?’25 Awareness of this dilemma guided the parliamentary debate, with both Labour and National members acknowledging the nationalistic impetus 67

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of the Vietminh. But there were differences between the parties. National speakers expressed more sympathy – albeit qualified – for French policy in Indochina and welcomed the prospect of a Southeast Asian defence alliance.27 A typical view was that of Minister of External Affairs Clifton Webb: ‘Whatever comes out of Geneva, whether a settlement is arranged or not, there is no doubt that the menace of communism will be greater for us and for Australia than it is today, not to mention those countries nearer, such as Indochina’.28 Labour members were more critical of the French, tended to place greater emphasis on the authentic nationalist appeal of the Vietminh, and were not as unabashedly enthusiastic about a new Western-inspired collective defence organisation for Southeast Asia.29 They stressed the need for extensive Asian membership of the proposed organisation and suggested that military means were not the only way to counter communism. Speakers on both sides of the House nonetheless confirmed the bipartisan nature of New Zealand foreign policy.30 Even Labour members did not challenge Eric Halstead’s conclusion that the crucial consideration for New Zealand’s security was that ‘the Communists should be halted where they are, and that the Anglo-Americans and the French should show at the earliest possible time their firm intention to resist further Communist expansion’.31 Both parties agreed that Indochina’s fate had significance for the future security of New Zealand.32 Thus in 1954, with the glare of international publicity focused on Indochina, New Zealand domestic awareness of the region’s troubles broadened. They did not, however, become a major issue of public debate, despite murmurs of protest from the left and rather different expressions of concern in the daily press. In Parliament, it occasioned only mild disagreement between the two major parties. Neverthless, reactions to the 1954 Indochina crisis amongst officials, politicians, protest groups and the press foreshadowed later lines of division over Vietnam. 26

The Post-Geneva Period, 1955–62 After 1954, with a lull in conflict in Indochina, interest in Vietnam waned again. Though New Zealand began playing a greater role in Southeast Asia through SEATO and the Colombo Plan, this involved minimal engagement with Vietnam. Outside official circles, interest in Vietnam’s fate was confined to a few peace groups and elements of the left. In the later 1950s, there were only occasional allusions to Vietnam in Parliament, with National members continuing to stress how communism exploited nationalism in Asia, while Labour speakers emphasised that communism’s appeal there was a legacy of European colonialism and that socio-economic development offered the best remedy.33 But both sides of 68

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the House agreed broadly that countering communism was desirable. Even a Labour member critical of the government’s opposition to the admission of the People’s Republic of China into the United Nations advocated the containment of ‘Communist forces to the north of Malaya’, adding that he had ‘no wish to run around in a rickshaw, especially in some parts of my hilly electorate’.34 The almost unconscious fusion of Cold War apprehensions with older cultural stereotypes was typical of parliamentary attitudes toward Asia in the 1950s.35 Such comments hinted at the sense of cultural distance from Southeast Asian societies which influenced politicians’ understanding of the threat posed to New Zealand from that region. When Parliament revisited the issue of security in Southeast Asia two years later, little had changed. Speaking in June 1957, National’s Duncan Rae summarised what many other members undoubtedly felt: It is a truism that we cannot opt out of our geographical region. . . . We thought quite wrongly that after the war the Asian people would go back to their pre-war condition of hewers of wood and drawers of water for the white men. That has not happened. The most momentous event in post-war history has been the development of the people of South and South-East Asia, near to whom we live. . . . We have to realise that situation and make the best of it.36

Labour members joined Rae in urging greater public attention to the region.37 Despite these calls, Parliament would be silent on Southeast Asian matters for the next three years. Vietnam went largely ignored in New Zealand during the late 1950s. Even when the deteriorating fortunes of Diem’s regime prompted increasing American intervention after 1960, public interest remained low, despite more reporting of the conflict. As the Second Indochina War gathered momentum, however, some New Zealanders did begin to take a closer interest in Vietnam. In 1960, a new magazine, the New Zealand Monthly Review, began publication with the stated aim of following ‘the best traditions of the independent and socialist periodical’.38 The journal’s final issue of that year featured the first of what would become frequent reports from North Vietnam by Freda Cook, a British-born peace activist and socialist. Cook began by describing her favourable impressions upon arriving in Hanoi to teach English.39 Throughout 1961 Cook continued to present a highly sympathetic picture of North Vietnam. These were the only commentaries on that society by someone living there to appear in New Zealand. Cook brought to her journalistic endeavours a very different perspective from that offered by New Zealand policy-makers and the daily press. She recounted the efforts of a courageous and public-spirited socialist leadership 69

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Freda Cook meeting North Vietnamese Premier Pham Van Dong in Hanoi. freda cook collection, pacoll-5903-2-5, atl

to develop a poor country which had been exploited by colonialism and now faced hostility from the United States.40 If selective in coverage, Cook’s accounts had a simple prosaic quality that evoked the human side of life in the North by focusing on ordinary people as they went about their daily lives.41 For Cook, it was Ngo Dinh Diem’s regime, not Ho Chi Minh’s, that was repressive and undemocratic. She criticised the United States, which was associated by the North Vietnamese ‘with repression, support of corrupt tyrants, alien culture and alien economy’.42 These reports helped reinvigorate left-wing New Zealand criticism of official policy toward Vietnam. For those who read them in the early 1960s, Cook’s commentaries helped to explain why New Zealand official policy seemed wrong-headed. As a columnist in the New Zealand Monthly Review bemoaned in May 1961, ‘official communiques’ tended to misrepresent events in South Vietnam: The Western-backed Ngo Din [sic] Diem regime is dictatorial and has not hidden this aspect of its political system. Yet when the peasants revolt – seeing better things in North Vietnam – we are being told: this is foreign intervention. Freda Cook’s reports from North Vietnam – exclusive to New Zealand Monthly Review readers – should give some idea why guerrilla activity can encounter sympathetic co-operation from large numbers of Southern Vietnamese.43

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Cook could be cited to counter assumptions about the Vietnam conflict among officialdom and in the mainstream press. Her challenge to the dominant paradigm was most definitely ‘exclusive to New Zealand Monthly Review readers’: it was almost completely confined to them. Yet within the pages of that journal and among a few other groups, a minority voice on Vietnam began to emerge. By early 1963, Cook was arguing that the principal cause of the conflict in South Vietnam was the ‘cruel and corrupt regime’ in Saigon – a view fully supported by another columnist who suggested that the National Liberation Front was leading ‘a popular revolt with roots among the people’.44 When asked why the National Liberation Front used violence to achieve its ends, Cook responded that the conflict had to be understood within the wider context of ‘the tremendous struggle for national independence going on all over the world in the second half of this century’.45 Like many later critics of New Zealand policy, she suggested that the Vietnam War was primarily about decolonisation. With others writing in the Monthly Review she castigated the United States for deliberately misreading the Vietnamese situation in Cold War terms for its own ‘imperialistic’ reasons. For her, it was ‘fantastic’ that, in 1963, there were ‘people in leading positions in a highly developed country who really believe that bombing villages from helicopters, dragging primitive communities from the hills peopled by the spirits of their ancestors, using new weapons to torture, can win support for the regime which uses such methods’.46 Such words could have been taken from any statement by opponents of involvement in the conflict after 1965. Much of the critique marshalled by the protest movement against the Vietnam War in New Zealand was thus in place at least two years before the anti-war movement itself sprang to national prominence. Aside from the limited circulation of such arguments in 1963, one dimension of that critique was still implicit. At this stage, most criticisms articulated in the Monthly Review and a few other quarters were directed at the United States and Diem’s regime. Though condemned indirectly for its allegedly misguided support of both Diem and American policy, the New Zealand government was not criticised as explicitly as it would be once it sent soldiers to Vietnam. If a critique of Western policy on Vietnam was evolving on the left-wing margins of political life in the early 1960s, it was largely ignored in the mainstream of political discourse. Before 1963, parliamentary debate about the conflict was negligible. One of the few debates pertaining to Southeast Asia occurred in June 1962 after 12 members from both sides of House returned from visits to the region.47 The MPs were generally positive about what they had seen and optimistic about its prospects, notwithstanding the daunting security and economic problems. They praised the Diem regime’s attempts 71

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at land reform, with a Labour member of the group observing that ‘it was depressing to see people who obviously wanted to live on the land but had no security at all from the Viet Cong in the neighbouring jungles’.48 With no New Zealand troops in Vietnam, the bipartisan consensus about containing communism in Southeast Asia remained strong. Even Warren Freer, one of Labour’s most left-wing members, had noted the previous year that: ‘There are not many things that the eighty members of Parliament would be united upon, but one is the desire to discourage the southward march of communism through Asia’.49 Vietnam’s problems did not trigger a seriously divisive debate between the major parties until troops were to be sent there. When this debate did begin to unfold, it would build on the competing official and left-wing assumptions set down in the preceding period.

The Debate Widens, 1963–5 The government was pleased with the general public and press responses when Holyoake finally announced in June 1963 that New Zealand would send a small team of military personnel in a non-combatant role.50 The Prime Minister received only eight letters of protest concerning Vietnam in the six weeks after the announcement.51 There was a steady trickle of letters thereafter, but the number of correspondents remained small until the more significant decision in May 1965 to send combat troops. Predictably, the New Zealand Peace Council offered one of the first critical reactions, condemning the government’s decision ‘as an aggravation of the cold war and an obstacle to disarmament and peace’.52 Similarly, the New Zealand Monthly Review declared that even if North Vietnam was providing ‘some help in men and material’, the struggle was ‘fundamentally one between a corrupt and oppressive government … and the people of South Vietnam, represented in the National Liberation Front’.53 In the following months, the magazine maintained a steady flow of criticism of American policy and of the government’s alleged ‘America right or wrong’ attitude.54 Parliamentary interest in Vietnam also intensified after the June 1963 announcement. The international affairs debate in July that year focused on Southeast Asia with extensive discussion about the best response to the Vietnam conflict. Holyoake stressed, as he would throughout the Vietnam War, that New Zealand’s approach to regional security was on two levels: ‘first in the defence of the region against Communist aggression, and secondly in aid projects which are designed to speed economic growth and raise the people’s standards of living’. Too few people realised that South Vietnam’s problems did not amount to ‘a local disturbance’ or ‘spontaneous opposition to an 72

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established government’, but were due to ‘a large-scale attack upon the Government, directed, aided, and supplied from Communist North Vietnam in flagrant violation of the Geneva agreement’. In such circumstances, it was most appropriate ‘to fly the flag of New Zealand beside the flag of other free countries in this fight against Communist aggression’.55 These arguments, from which his government would not deviate publicly during the Vietnam War, were based on assumptions radically divergent from those of its few critics at the time. The Opposition’s stance remained closer to that of the government than that of its critics. Although Labour still differed on the means to contain communism, the bipartisan approach to security and foreign policy matters in general continued. Explaining that Labour believed that it was time for New Zealand to expand its aid to Southeast Asia, Leader of the Opposition Arnold Nordmeyer did not oppose sending non-combatant aid to South Vietnam, especially in the form of medical aid.56 There was, however, tighter cohesion on Vietnam within National’s ranks than in Labour’s. Former Prime Minister Walter Nash reiterated that Labour would support sending a small non-combatant force and favoured more medical and economic aid, but he disputed Holyoake’s assertion about external aggression.57 Another Labour member, Arthur Faulkner, commended the sending of a medical team to Qui Nhon, but warned that ‘the forces and supplies we send must never appear to be propping up what the majority of the people there desire rejected’.58 For their part, National MPs added reinforcing arguments to justify government policy. Roy Jack countered criticism of the sundry failings of Diem’s regime by arguing that they were ‘far less grave’ than those of North Vietnam.59 Future Prime Minister Robert Muldoon spoke of his recent visit to South Vietnam, where he had seen ‘a war the cruelty and savagery of which make the blood run cold’. Speaking from a more general Cold War perspective, he concluded: ‘this fight which is going on today in Vietnam is our fight just as much as theirs, and, not only for our sake, but also for the world’s sake, we must win that fight’.60 National speakers reiterated the strategic significance of Southeast Asia as a Cold War ‘frontier’ for New Zealand, which must be defended against the expansion of communism through both socio-economic and military aid.61 Interestingly, even as Labour leaders such as Nordmeyer and Nash played down the role of military aid, other Opposition MPs, especially those who had visited South Vietnam, endorsed the views of their National counterparts. Like Muldoon, Norman Douglas spoke of a ‘ruthless’ campaign ‘by hardened Communist political organisers and guerrilla leaders trained in North Vietnam and China’. He agreed that the conflict there was ‘a sectional struggle of a world conflict of freedom versus coercion’, the outcome 73

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Arnold Nordmeyer, Leader of the Opposition, 1963–1965. war history collection, c-22753-1⁄2, atl

of which was ‘of vital importance to the future security of the free world’.62 Henry May, another Labour member who had travelled to South Vietnam, joined Douglas in defending the use of strategic hamlets.63 The anti-communism of certain Labour MPs meant that they were prepared to back official Vietnam policy without the reservations voiced by others from their party. The government may have encountered only mild criticism from Labour, but denunciations of American and New Zealand policy on Vietnam multiplied steadily in left-wing circles over the next 18 months, in response both to international trends and to New Zealand’s first steps toward military involvement in the conflict. The Peace Council, the CPNZ and some trade unionists all agitated more vigorously for wider protest on the issue.64 Vietnam also featured even more frequently in the Monthly Review. As Cook reminded her readers in early 1964, Vietnam was ‘known throughout the world as never before in its history’ because of the deepening American military involvement there.65 Several other writers joined her in denouncing the ‘neo-colonialism’ of the Americans.66 Increasingly, these commentators moved beyond criticism of South Vietnam and the United States to attack New Zealand’s policy more directly. Among the Monthly Review’s more regular contributors was L. F. J. Ross, one of the first of the government’s opponents to inject a vigorous nationalist thrust into attacks on American and New Zealand policy toward Vietnam.67 74

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Criticising reliance on ‘the holy writ from the Washington womb, as the basis for New Zealand foreign policy formation’, he charged in early 1964 that: Looking at Asia through the eyes of the Pentagon and State Department is no longer good enough for New Zealand, nor is our mindless echoing of USA policies, in support of ‘tinhorn soldier tyrants’. We must begin to learn more and think more, and be more independent and honest in our external dealings and policies if we wish to maintain our self respect, if not stay alive.68

By 1964, this central element of the anti-war movement’s later critique of official policy had become commonplace to Monthly Review readers: the major error in New Zealand policy on Vietnam was its slavish imitation of the American line, and the solution was to develop a more independent foreign policy. Another related feature of later protest against the Vietnam War emerged in 1964: the argument that blindly following the United States into Vietnam might lead New Zealand into a nuclear war against China. Ross again took the lead in raising this possibility, declaring in apocalyptic terms that American plans for ‘a new racial “final solution” in Asia’ meant that the country’s future was ‘in the balance’, with all New Zealanders ‘in deep danger of terrible death if the nuclear crime is committed’.69 At this time, the views expressed about Vietnam in the Monthly Review and by the Peace Council accorded closely with those of the CPNZ. The rhetoric of Marxist anti-imperialism was more to the fore in CPNZ pronouncements.70 But when denouncing New Zealand and American policy on Vietnam, party members identified much the same inventory of evils as did others on the left. In August 1964, for example, the CPNZ published a pamphlet by Ray Nunes entitled The Truth about Vietnam, Laos, “Malaysia” and Indonesia. His charge that Holyoake ‘servilely echoes the current and phoney American view of the situation in Vietnam’ could have been taken verbatim from any article in the Monthly Review, as could his demands for withdrawal from SEATO and ANZUS and that New Zealand troops not be sent to South Vietnam or Laos.71 As long as the close correlation between the CPNZ’s ideologically driven criticism of the Vietnam War and more general left-wing criticisms of the war could be used to suggest that both were shaped by communism, this opposition would draw little popular support. Such ‘red smear’ allegations would become ineffective only when many saw that the ‘facts’ of the Vietnam War contradicted official policy. This process had already begun to some extent before 1965, as the leftwing criticism of New Zealand and American policy began to find echoes in mainstream politics. Labour began drawing on similar points in 1964 to question the government about following the United States into deeper involve75

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ment in Vietnam. This questioning grew in intensity after the announcement in May 1964 of the deployment of the engineers to Vietnam. In the ensuing Address-in-Reply debate, Labour’s Dr Martyn Finlay devoted his whole speech to Vietnam. Later one of Labour’s most active opponents of New Zealand’s military involvement, Finlay was already dubious about signalling New Zealand support for the South Vietnamese government. Accepting that its opponents were ‘probably inspired and undeniably supplied by North Vietnam and China’, he nevertheless suggested that the Viet Cong had become ‘the only effective vehicle of protest and opposition under three administrations in this country’. Finlay also argued, as Labour would repeatedly, that the United Nations should investigate if foreign aggression was indeed occurring. If that were found to be the case, New Zealand’s contribution ‘should be neither token nor niggardly’, but if not, no military assistance should be sent.72 Unlike the Monthly Review, Finlay made it clear that Labour’s questioning of military involvement in Vietnam was based on doubts about the extent of external aggression rather than on general qualms about the wisdom of containing Asian communism. Nor was the Labour Party yet ready to suggest that the government was acting as a pawn of the United States. A week later, opening a major parliamentary debate on Vietnam, Sir Leslie Munro turned Finlay’s scenario on its head. Though conceding that the Viet Cong was ‘a local movement to a degree’, he contended that it was supported by North Vietnam and China and represented an attempt at ‘Communist subversion’ of South Vietnam.73 Munro called for a united front in support of the government’s policy on Vietnam and other international security initiatives. The Leader of the Opposition rejected the appeal. After reiterating the points made by Finlay a week earlier, Nordmeyer concluded that, ‘with its reputation in South-East Asia for its humanitarian outlook and its complete freedom from any suggestion of imperialism’, New Zealand should ‘concentrate any aid which it is capable of giving into a non-combatant and civilian form’.74 Labour speakers backed their leader in voicing unease about New Zealand military involvement in Vietnam.75 The three major strands running through their speeches defined Labour policy in this period: uncertainty concerning the precise nature of the conflict, the wish to have United Nations involvement and not to act without its sanction, and a strong preference for economic and humanitarian aid rather than military assistance. In contrast, National speakers emphasised the need to assist a small country facing an external communist threat. Holyoake argued that the United Nations had not been interested in South Vietnam and suggested that those who thought the country was a victim of external aggression were ‘playing the game of the Communists’. He agreed with Labour about the 76

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importance of humanitarian and economic aid, but noted that communists were killing people: ‘What is the use of talking to a man about raising his standard of living when his home is burned, his family is attacked, and his sons killed?’ Holyoake also stressed that New Zealand was ‘doing nothing in contravention of the United Nations’ wishes or its charter or aims.’76 Other National speakers supported Holyoake in developing what would remain the government’s standard line of argument.77 The gap between the two major political parties continued to widen in late 1964, as evidenced in reactions to the Gulf of Tonkin incident in early August. Holyoake told the House that there was no doubt that ‘American warships sailing on the high seas were the victims of deliberate and unprovoked attacks’. It was the North Vietnamese who were escalating the conflict, and the American retaliation had been restrained.78 Nordmeyer was less supportive, noting that more information was needed. He hoped that the American action did not imply a return to ‘what was once known as “brinkmanship”’.79 As usual, other speakers supported the interpretations offered by their respective leaders.80 Three weeks later, Vietnam featured prominently in a more general debate on international affairs. Minister of Defence Dean Eyre noted of South Vietnam that, while the regime was open to criticism, ‘the wonder is that, after so long and in the face of such opposition, the spark of democracy still survives’. His speech was noteworthy for one of the most famous invocations of New Zealand’s version of the domino theory: Many of us have taken every opportunity to draw public attention to the threat of communism that exists in the Near North. It is a very sobering exercise to take up a globe of the world, and to look at South-East Asia, perhaps from the Chinese Communist point of view, and to see that the Malay Peninsula points like a finger in our direction with Indonesia and Australia as convenient stepping stones on the way. . . . Chinese civilisation has existed for as long a period as any other, and has many magnificent achievements to its credit, but if communism, with the ambition of conquest and imperialism, is to be allowed to attain control, then it is only a matter of time before New Zealand and Australia are directly threatened.

Eyre concluded with an affirmation of his firm belief ‘that the fate of our nation may well be decided in South-East Asia.’ It was a classic statement of National’s commitment to the containment of Asian communism.81 Eyre’s argument was endorsed unequivocally by his leader. New Zealand’s first priority was to defend Malaysia, but Holyoake firmly asserted his government’s intention also to assist South Vietnam as part of its general commitment to the security of Southeast Asia.82 In its public rhetoric, the Holyoake government revealed little of the equivocation, doubts and 77

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caution that characterised its private deliberations and the policy advice from officials. Its forceful verbal support for American policy, however, was hardly matched by its token military contribution of a handful of noncombatant engineers. Labour was growing more wary even of token military support. Noting that the regime in Saigon was essentially a military junta, Nordmeyer contended that armed force in itself would not eliminate communism in South Vietnam and that investigations by a leading liberal dissenter from American policy, Senator Wayne Morse, had not revealed extensive infiltration from the North. The Labour leader concluded that communism in South Vietnam ‘will not be contained until the people there want it contained, and there is little evidence to indicate that they want it contained. The plain fact is that to people, particularly the peasantry . . . discussions as to ideological differences between communism and democracy mean little.’ Labour urged more economic and humanitarian aid from New Zealand and the United States, rather than military assistance.83 At this stage, inter-party debate on Vietnam was remarkable for its civility. Speaking of the positions of National and Labour, Finlay observed: ‘I believe we genuinely differ as to what is best to be done, but it is proper that each of us should do what we believe is best, and I do the Prime Minister the honour of believing that what he said came from his heart and represented his beliefs’. Unlike Sir Leslie Munro, the Prime Minister ‘recognised that some things are not quite black and not quite white’.84 This was the final parliamentary debate on Vietnam in 1964. By now the respective positions of the two major parties on how to respond to the Vietnam issue had clearly diverged. As Finlay’s comments made clear, such differences were attributed to sincerely held beliefs and were debated without vituperative charges about the immorality of opposing interpretations of the Vietnam War. As long as no New Zealand troops were deployed in a combat capacity, these differences would not rupture the more general consensus about the advisability of countering communism in Southeast Asia. At the end of 1964, the Vietnam War was still far from being a prominent issue of public contention in New Zealand. But fundamental positions in the subsequent debate about the war had been staked out – especially by the government and its various left-wing critics, if less so by the Labour Party. Even though the government was clearly not seeking a New Zealand combat role in Vietnam, the official rationale for any such involvement was well established. By grounding its public support for the American cause in Vietnam on the Cold War principles which drove its general security poli78

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cies in Southeast Asia, National would, if necessary, have little difficulty in justifying a combat commitment. Such a commitment would be consistent with its public stance on Vietnam since the 1950s, and would be the logical response if the government was not to renege on its expressed support for American policy on Vietnam, which it justified in terms of New Zealand’s own security interests. It was of comfort to the government, moreover, that its public position on Vietnam enjoyed extensive press support from the 1950s into the early 1960s. The Labour Opposition, however, did not fully support the government’s position and by 1965 had established itself as the second major protagonist in New Zealand’s embryonic Vietnam debate. Though an anti-communist party, Labour was by tradition and ideology more inclined to give preference, wherever possible, to non-military ways of countering the spread of communism in Southeast Asia, and to working through the United Nations. It was also more willing – as Nash had shown during the Laos crisis – to question American policy on particular issues. Despite divisions within its ranks on the question, Labour was willing to express more openly the reservations which the government harboured privately about external military intervention in Vietnam. Labour’s position was nevertheless less certain than that of the government. One reason was the party had not been in office when the issue had required significant official attention by New Zealand between 1945 and 1964. The limited publicity which Vietnam’s problems received in New Zealand during the two decades after 1945 also spared Labour the need to adopt a clear-cut stance. Moreover, Labour broadly shared National’s foreign policy attitudes – generally it backed both the Western cause in the Cold War and the policy of forward defence in Southeast Asia that was most strongly illustrated by support for New Zealand military involvement in Malaya (and later Malaysia). In contrast, there was little uncertainty evident among those to the left of Labour who took an interest in Vietnam before 1965. Generally driven by some variant of socialist ideology, these groups and individuals were prepared to set their criticisms of official Vietnam policy in a much wider context. For them, Vietnam was but one example of the United States’s global transgressions as a neo-imperialist power, and of the New Zealand government’s failure to pursue an ‘independent’ course in foreign policy. But the critique of American and New Zealand policy which they developed was by late 1964 little known, let alone supported, outside the ranks of a relatively small group of left-wingers and peace activists. It would take deeper American involvement and a New Zealand troop commitment to bring this minority critical voice to public prominence and to make possible the emergence of an actual anti-war ‘movement’. 79

CHAPTER FOUR

‘An Acceptable Price to Pay’: The Diplomacy of Combat Intervention in the Vietnam War, 1964–5

T

he immediate sequence of events leading to new zealand’s crucial decision of May 1965 to send combat troops to Vietnam may be traced back to December 1964, when President Lyndon Johnson reluctantly embarked on incremental escalation of the American bid to stave off a communist victory in South Vietnam.1 The ensuing developments had their most direct impact on Indochina and the United States itself, but they also generated the alliance-related pressures that triggered New Zealand’s decision to make a combat commitment in Vietnam. For the Holyoake government, alliance considerations were directly linked to vital national interests. Such was the perceived importance of those interests that domestic political considerations played no significant role in the decision-making process. Instead, it was driven by diplomats and officials who persuaded their political masters that to act otherwise would involve challenging the fundamental assumptions on which New Zealand’s post-war national security doctrine rested.

American Escalation and New Zealand Responses, December 1964–March 1965 Johnson had little time to indulge in the well-known Texan proclivity for bragging after his massive electoral victory in November 1964. Instead, he was determined to use his electoral mandate to realise a visionary agenda of domestic reform – the building of a ‘Great Society’ – and to deal more 80

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effectively with the unwanted distraction of Vietnam. Despite the worsening situation there, Johnson had exercised deliberate restraint in the preceding months, not even responding when a Viet Cong attack on the air base at Bien Hoa, near Saigon, caused four American deaths only days before the presidential election.2 With the election over, a high-level working group, chaired by Assistant Secretary of State William Bundy, was established to review American policy on Vietnam. This became a focal point for spirited debate about how to bolster the precarious South Vietnamese regime, which was regarded as too fragile for greater American military intervention. By late November, however, a consensus emerged in Washington that air power could prevent a total collapse of South Vietnam without incurring the risks associated with introducing ground combat forces.3 Though uneasy about launching air operations against North Vietnam, Johnson was not prepared to dismiss their likely effectiveness and move immediately towards a negotiated solution, as advocated by Under Secretary of State George Ball, the most highly placed dissenter from the firming consensus in Washington.4 On 1 December, the President approved the working group’s recommendations for an initial phase of bombing operations in Laos but postponed a decision on possible ‘reprisals’ against North Vietnam itself.5 Even this first step carried substantial implications for the regional allies of the United States. When meeting with his advisers on 1 December, Johnson repeatedly emphasised the importance of securing greater allied support, though the Australians would not have appreciated his reference to them as a ‘shirt tail frill’.6 Britain, Australia and New Zealand were to be apprised of the proposed American actions, but only verbal support would be sought from the British. New Zealand and Australia, on the other hand, would ‘be pressed for additional contributions in South Vietnam’.7 Bundy briefed Laking and his Australian counterpart, Keith Waller, on 4 December. Describing the South Vietnamese position as ‘clearly fragile but not unhopeful’, he outlined American plans to bomb North Vietnamese supply routes in Laos and targets in southern North Vietnam in response to any major Viet Cong attacks. While admitting that such measures would not end ‘infiltration from the north’, Bundy argued that they would boost morale in Saigon, demonstrate that the United States ‘was going to see this thing out’, and put pressure on Hanoi to negotiate. He indicated that President Johnson would shortly contact the Prime Ministers of New Zealand and Australia to seek ‘a considerable augmentation’ of their efforts in South Vietnam. Bundy suggested that Australia could perhaps send 200 extra advisers to join the 80 already in Vietnam, while New Zealand might consider adding more engineers. Ominously, he added that, if necessary, a second phase of action could involve intensifying air strikes north of the sev81

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enteenth parallel and even deployment of ground forces. If this happened, Australia and New Zealand might contribute to such a force.8 Laking left the meeting convinced that American policy-making had reached a ‘decisive point’ and that New Zealand should back the proposed internationalisation of the war. There seemed few palatable alternatives, for the other options appeared to be withdrawal ‘in ignominy’, negotiation from weakness, or ‘steadily losing ground’ by persisting with the status quo.9 Reactions in Wellington were more ambivalent. Though sharing American concerns, New Zealand officials and politicians were sceptical that Western intervention could conjure up ‘a viable political structure’ in Saigon. At best, they believed, external military involvement might ‘buy time for the South Vietnamese to show better results’. Realistically, that seemed unlikely. Any temporary boost in South Vietnamese morale did not alter the ‘real risk that larger and larger booster shots will be needed’, especially since bombing North Vietnam was likely to have little effect. External Affairs advised Laking that any expansion of Western involvement should allow for the possibility of eventual failure. After all, ‘the massive commitment of resources of money, men and material’ by the United States to date had failed utterly to reverse the Viet Cong’s progress.10 On the other hand, New Zealand had no better alternative policy to offer and sympathised with the American plight. Indeed, there was admiration in External Affairs for the ‘moderation and cool-headed analysis’ of Bundy’s ‘two limited decisions’. Though dubious about the likely effectiveness of the proposed measures, the department accepted that such actions would ‘probably have to be attempted’.11 There was much less support for escalation of the war, especially using Western ground units. Wellington feared that a small initial deployment would have little practical impact but might alter the entire character of the war. Prophetically, External Affairs warned that ‘once started’, the United States would find it difficult to avoid ‘committal of very considerable forces, perhaps to no avail’. Laking was categorically advised that New Zealand saw no justification for introducing ground forces and would not feel compelled to participate if the United States deployed a Marine combat unit.12 This view resulted partly from the difficulty of mobilising public support for increased American efforts in Vietnam. More importantly, New Zealand’s ‘distressingly meagre’ military resources were already heavily committed in Malaysia.13 When Holyoake and his Cabinet discussed possible expansion of New Zealand’s contribution in Vietnam on 14 December, the outcome was virtually foreordained: the defence of Malaysia was New Zealand’s first priority in Southeast Asia. It ‘could not properly commit forces for combat service in South Vietnam’, though ‘military engineering and medical aid’ might be increased, ‘if necessary’.14 The decision 82

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underscored New Zealand’s reluctance to commit scarce resources to an important but controversial regional hot spot. The Cabinet’s judgement about Vietnam’s place in New Zealand’s strategic priorities highlighted a distinct difference between approaches in Wellington and Washington. To a considerable extent, American policymakers shared New Zealand’s pessimism about the prospects for Western success in Vietnam. But their overwhelming fear was that non-intervention would assure failure, whereas their New Zealand counterparts were afraid that intervention might mean even more costly failure. In large part, these differing emphases reflected a disparity in available means. With a frugal Prime Minister and uncertain public support, New Zealand was bound to be exceedingly cautious about how and where its scarce resources were applied. In contrast, the richest nation on earth and self-styled ‘leader of the Free World’ could afford to be profligate. Indeed, the Kennedy and Johnson administrations’ general Cold War strategy of ‘flexible response’ was predicated on the assumption that, after two decades of sustained prosperity, the United States had virtually unlimited means available to counter communist challenges around the globe. Haunted by domestic vilification of an earlier Democratic President, Harry Truman, for ‘losing China’, and not facing more pressing challenges in geographical areas of greater importance such as those which characterised the early Cold War period in Europe, Johnson and his advisers knew that they had at their disposal the military and economic wherewithal to be seen to be doing something about Vietnam. As a consequence, the United States would be drawn incrementally into a commitment which eventually ballooned out of all proportion to the strategic interests at stake in Vietnam.15 Lacking comparably expandable means to support its strategic ends and confronted with the competing priority of Malaysia, New Zealand maintained a keener sense of proportion in assessing prospective combat involvement in South Vietnam. If acting solely on its own evaluations, New Zealand would have been unlikely to send combat forces – as the Cabinet decision of 14 December made clear. This was not because policy-makers considered South Vietnam unimportant, but because they were uncertain that it was sufficiently important to justify large-scale external intervention, which might in any case bring little benefit. New Zealand policy-makers did not believe, however, that they could act simply on their own national evaluations of the situation in Vietnam. Like all their post-war predecessors, they were acutely conscious that New Zealand’s national security policies were cast in a broader alliance setting. This realisation meant they might have to adjust their non-interventionist preferences if the country’s more powerful allies, who did have the means to escalate the Vietnam War, chose to do so. 83

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If anyone in Wellington doubted that reality, a pointed reminder arrived on the very day of the Cabinet decision. Johnson’s anticipated personal appeal to Holyoake exhorted New Zealand ‘to consider sending additional assistance . . . including combat advisers’. The President underlined the political importance of being able to assure the American people that in carrying ‘by far the heaviest part of the load in Vietnam’, they had proportionate support from ‘their closest allies in the area’. Holyoake was unmoved. His memorably terse handwritten comment – ‘Tell United States that we cannot send further aid to Vietnam – Malaysia’ – was developed into a formal reply pointing out New Zealand’s limited resources and its primary commitment to Malaysia. The argument seemed astute. While the Americans repeatedly stressed shared interests in the defence of Southeast Asia, New Zealand emphasised its proportionate role in regional defence through the military commitment in Malaysia. Holyoake did assure Johnson that New Zealand would consider increasing its aid to Vietnam.16 Canberra’s responses tended to undercut this argument. Sir Robert Menzies’s reply to Johnson was discernibly warmer than Holyoake’s, and the Australian Chiefs of Staff suggested that their government offer an infantry battalion to serve in Vietnam. Though also conscious of having scarce resources, the Australians were less anxious than New Zealand about the risks of escalation and more concerned with encouraging a firm American stance in Vietnam (as well as encouraging similar firmness by the British in defending Malaysia against Indonesia’s policy of ‘Confrontation’). In late January 1965 Australian announced it would send more military advisers to join its training team in South Vietnam, and it remained well-disposed toward the possibility of offering a battalion if the Americans introduced ground combat forces.17 Australian encouragement of American plans would make it extremely difficult for New Zealand to remain the lone dove among the ANZUS partners. Meanwhile, instability persisted in Saigon and the military effectiveness of the South Vietnamese showed no signs of improving. As Bundy explained to Laking in mid-January, American military activity remained in its first phase, for ‘reprisals against the North could have been interpreted as an American attempt to shoot their way out of political problems in Saigon’.18 By the end of month, however, after another coup in Saigon and more Buddhist agitation, American frustration – especially that of Ambassador Maxwell Taylor – reached new heights. Fearing that South Vietnam was nearing collapse, the United States edged toward sustained bombing of North Vietnam, which Johnson had hitherto resisted.19 But now the situation seemed so grim that when the Viet Cong attacked an American base at Pleiku on 6 February, Johnson promptly approved Operation Flaming Dart, a series of retaliatory bombing attacks on North 84

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Vietnam – the first since August 1964. Johnson’s National Security Adviser, McGeorge Bundy, who was visiting Saigon at the time, urged that, to avoid defeat in South Vietnam, the reprisals for the Pleiku attack should be followed by a programme of sustained bombing. Johnson’s reluctance to take such a step may have been overcome by Bundy’s argument that, even if the bombing failed, it would ‘damp down the charge that we did not do all that we could have done, and this charge will be important in many countries, including our own’. On 8 February, Johnson confided to key advisers and congressional leaders his readiness to implement the programme of gradually intensified air attacks on North Vietnam mooted in December. Only two days later, the Viet Cong killed 23 Americans during an attack at Qui Nhon – the largest number of American casualties in a single incident in Vietnam so far. Johnson responded immediately with further air strikes, marking the first step from selective reprisals to systematic bombing. Though Operation Rolling Thunder, the massive air offensive against North Vietnam, would not begin in earnest for several weeks, historians agree that Johnson’s decisions in early February were significant in escalating the war. They initiated a campaign of sustained bombing of North Vietnam which would continue intermittently until 1973, and created a pretext for introducing American ground forces in response to General William Westmoreland’s request in late February for Marines to defend the air base at Da Nang. Typically, Johnson was taking the United States deeper into the war by stealth. With his eyes set firmly on the prize of his cherished Great Society, the President refused to risk diverting attention from his domestic reforms by acknowledging publicly the significant implications of his February decisions.20 With the United States poised for its most serious escalation of the war to date, pressure would grow for New Zealand to emulate Australia’s approach. Alliance relations were at stake. When Flaming Dart began, McIntosh warned Holyoake on 9 February of the dangers should New Zealand fail to respond to ‘the real political problem which faces the United States administration in justifying the expenditure of lives and money in the bitter and dirty fighting of Vietnam’. Carefully avoiding any questioning of Malaysia’s priority, McIntosh reiterated bluntly that ‘the apparently suicidal irresponsibility and incapacity of the South Vietnamese’ justified New Zealand’s deep-seated doubts about the prospects of American success against the Viet Cong. On the other hand, the Vietnam conflict could be a possible ‘turning point, one way or the other in the process of containment’. If it were to precipitate ‘American withdrawal from South-East Asia’, Australia and New Zealand would be left confronting ‘a strategic task of frightening dimensions’. Even so, McIntosh did not suggest reversing the government’s opposition to direct military involvement by providing combat advisers, which he acknowledged as ‘the Americans’ real preference’ and which New 85

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Zealand’s Chiefs of Staff had recently judged militarily feasible if it were politically acceptable to the government.21 Doubling the size of the engineering unit in South Vietnam would suffice. This modest gesture was endorsed by Holyoake.22 When, shortly afterwards, McIntosh sought the Defence Council’s support for this proposal, the sole dissenting opinion came from Hunn, who commented that recent developments had only bolstered his misgivings about military involvement in South Vietnam.23 He was ignored, and Holyoake approved McIntosh’s recommendation to increase the engineer detachment from 25 to 47.24 Only days later, however, Holyoake told Johnson that New Zealand had decided to postpone a decision about further military aid, explaining that it was ‘just not possible politically to step up our military aid where coup succeeds coup, and the whole situation in Vietnam remains so chaotic’. Stressing New Zealand’s commitment to Malaysia, he concluded that the government would defer a decision ‘until it is possible to see more clearly what our people would be willing to support in military terms’.25 It is uncertain to what extent this emphasis on public opinion was a convenient rationalisation, but it is clear that for New Zealand caution remained the watchword. By now, officials were deeply frustrated. McIntosh tried to persuade Holyoake to follow the advice of both Laking and Weir, who recommended a delayed response rather than a negative reply, but was ‘curtly told to draft a brief message stating merely that we were unable to provide any military help in South Vietnam’. Obviously irritated, McIntosh wrote confidentially to Laking, apologising for the tone of the letter to Johnson and bemoaning how Holyoake was invariably ‘difficult’ on defence and foreign policy issues: We have not increased our personnel in Malaya since 1960 and, despite requests for battalions, brigades and all sorts of other things, the utmost we could agree to earlier in the month was 40 SAS and these redundant crews for moth-balled minesweepers. The Military had recommended, and had available, others but the Prime Minister is all the time determined that we shall not increase defence effort because of the expense. . . . He is convinced that we are doing too much and that we will be under constant pressure to do more and therefore we should feed our help out in dribs and drabs.26

What was true of Malaysia and Holyoake’s general stance on security issues was even more valid for Vietnam, where the prospects for successful allied intervention seemed so gloomy. The United States, however, believed that the time for caution had passed. On the very day that Holyoake’s formal reply was despatched to Washington, 86

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the Americans approached both Australia and New Zealand to participate in military staff talks about committing ground combat forces to Vietnam. Though William Bundy assured Laking that participation would not compromise New Zealand’s position,27 initial reactions in Wellington were negative. External Affairs officers gave Laking a veritable barrage of arguments opposing the introduction of ground forces into South Vietnam. They displayed considerable prescience in anticipating the quagmire that awaited the United States, and included the very arguments that would be used by liberal critics of the war in both the United States and New Zealand. External Affairs doubted the likely military effectiveness of an international force in countering the challenge posed either by the Viet Cong or by infiltration from North Vietnam. Indeed, the presence of foreign combat forces would remove ‘the inhibition on the introduction of North Vietnamese into South Vietnam’. It would significantly alter the nature of the war in ways which, ‘after a temporary boost in morale’, were likely to be counter-productive, ‘for the international force would inevitably be regarded as a colonialist army’ and risked ‘becoming directly involved in the political manoeuvring of the Vietnamese military’. Rather than strengthening American bargaining strength against the communists, the introduction of ground forces could expose the United States to ‘a steady drain of small losses, gradually drawn into wider commitments, always faced with the risk of heavier casualties and never with a good prospect of victory’. It was a chillingly accurate prediction. Given this grim scenario, Laking’s advisers could not envisage ‘any circumstances in which the introduction of an international ground force in South Vietnam would make political or military sense.’28 It was hardly a ringing endorsement of a significant policy initiative by a major ally. New Zealand’s opposition to joint planning talks was tempered by a desire to be kept informed of American thinking. There were also concerns about the Australians’ ‘over robust’ approach, and their ‘tendency to get off in a corner with the Americans’.29 Laking played on these apprehensions in a vigorous effort to dissuade Wellington from reacting too negatively. He questioned the wisdom of rejecting outright ‘the first opportunity ever given to us in an ANZUS context to enter the inner councils of American contingency planning’. By attending, New Zealand could argue against ‘the questionable proposition of a “pre-emptive” force’ and have ‘a say in, the course and conduct of a war which decides not only the fate of Vietnam and neighbouring States but the extent of future American engagement in the Far East’. Laking feared that not participating would offend the Americans needlessly ‘and in a manner they will not easily forget in the years ahead when we may have need to engage them in contingency planning in situations of more immediate concern to us’. (Intriguingly, 87

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almost all the same arguments had been used by his predecessor in 1954, when Sir Leslie Munro had urged sympathetic New Zealand consideration of Dulles’s United Action appeal.) Laking added that the Australians were actually pressing for stronger action than the Americans themselves were contemplating and if New Zealand stood aside, ‘they will make the decisions for us’.30 But his colleagues in Wellington, conscious of the government’s opposition to sending troops to South Vietnam, were unconvinced.31 As McIntosh pointed out to Holyoake on 1 March, the risk of missing out on valuable information had to be offset against ‘the other danger that if one takes part in military planning talks without commitment and a crisis blows up, it is very difficult to refuse to take part if one has been involved in planning’.32 That same day Cabinet reconfirmed Malaysia as New Zealand’s first priority: ‘under present circumstances’ any consideration of additional military aid to South Vietnam must be deferred.33 New Zealand’s determination not to have its hands tied in any way could not have been plainer. Only days later, however, New Zealand reversed its position after receiving assurances that the proposed talks would cover the ‘whole range of military possibilities’.34 But the agreement to participate did not mark any change in New Zealand’s aversion to the introduction of international ground forces. By this time, high-level officials were clear that New Zealand should have no illusions about American policy or about South Vietnam. Frank Corner, then New Zealand’s representative at the United Nations, cautioned McIntosh on 10 March of the perils of developing ‘a tremendous emotional conviction about a certain position’. While New Zealand should agree officially that ‘the heart of the problem is communist insurgency directed from North Vietnam in violation of the U.N. Charter and the Geneva Agreements’, this statement was only partially true. ‘If we start believing it to be the real truth’, he admonished McIntosh, ‘we shall possibly make fools of ourselves.’ Referring to New Zealand’s stance during the 1956 Suez crisis, he highlighted the dangers of unquestioning loyalty to an ill-thought-out adventure by a powerful ally: ‘We’ve been more royalist than the king before and been left out on a limb’.35 The misgivings about the introduction of ground combat forces dominated the New Zealand policy brief prepared for the tripartite military staff talks. Vice-Admiral Sir Peter Phipps, the Chief of the Defence Staff, was to represent New Zealand at the talks in Hawaii between 30 March and 1 April. He was instructed to learn as much as possible about the United States’ military contingency planning for Vietnam, but was firmly directed to emphasise that Malaysia was New Zealand’s regional defence priority and that Cabinet had expressly ‘directed that ground combat forces should 88

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not be introduced into South Vietnam’. The policy brief restated various reasons why New Zealand policy-makers feared that introducing international ground forces would be a leap in the dark which could turn South Vietnam into a grim quagmire, sapping the military energies of the Western powers. This position would be thoroughly vindicated over the next decade, but it received short shrift at Honolulu in 1965.36 At the talks, the improbably named Admiral Ulysses S. Grant Sharp, Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Command, outlined current operations in Vietnam and the possible courses of future action. The United States intended to maintain incremental pressure on North Vietnam by steadily increasing air strikes north of the seventeenth parallel with the overall aim of progressively ‘squeezing’ supply and transport lines to the Viet Cong. Four approaches were being considered to complement the air operation, each involving the deployment of American ground forces in different key areas of South Vietnam and Laos. No definite decisions had been made, but Phipps received the ‘strong impression’ that the security situation in South Vietnam had deteriorated so badly that substantial American ground forces would be sent there shortly.37 The briefing provided few surprises, but Phipps was taken aback by the response of his Australian counterpart, Air Chief Marshal Sir Frederick Scherger, Chairman of the Australian Chiefs of Staff Committee. Not only did Scherger vigorously support American plans to introduce ground forces into Vietnam, but he appeared ‘much more anxious than Sharp to seek Australia’s participation’.38 Though the United States had not yet decided what to request from Canberra and Wellington, Scherger gave the distinct impression that Australia would respond favourably when asked.39 In fact, the Australian government was, if anything, drawing back somewhat from its earlier position. As a worried Australian official confided to the New Zealand delegation at Honolulu, Scherger had gone well beyond the terms of the cautious brief he had been given for the staff talks.40 Phipps stressed his country’s commitment to Malaysia and warned that, short of direct invasion by North Vietnam, it would be difficult to gain public support in New Zealand for a switch in regional military priorities. He assured Holyoake that he had given Sharp no reason to assume that New Zealand would accede to any American requests for combat troops. He was even confident that ‘while a failure to agree would be deeply regretted, the reasons for it would be understood’. Moreover, if New Zealand was concerned about encouraging ‘the U.S. not to withdraw from the area by participating alongside its forces, it must be said that all the evidence was of a resolution to stay and press on regardless of the costs’. On the other hand, New Zealand should not reject outright any American request for a combat contribution to South Vietnam: ‘we are dependent for our security 89

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in the last resort on the U.S.’ New Zealand’s participation was not necessary to ensure an American commitment to defending South Vietnam, but ‘the political cost of a failure to show solidarity must be assessed’. Clearly, military considerations were not the key issue, and New Zealand’s decision would have to be based on political grounds.41

Increasing Pressures, April–May 1965 Phipps was correct about the firmness of the Johnson administration’s commitment to South Vietnam. Even as American options were being discussed in Honolulu, the next step in escalating the ground war was being taken in Washington. At the beginning of April Johnson approved the deployment of two more Marine battalions, a Marine air squadron, and an increase of 18–20,000 military support troops. Characteristically, he resisted more drastic actions, such as a proposal by the Joint Chiefs of Staff to send two divisions. He did, however, for the first time authorise American ground forces to move beyond static defence and advisory roles to conduct ‘counterinsurgency operations’. To support these moves, Johnson approved ‘the urgent exploration, with the Korean, Australian, and New Zealand Governments of the possibility of rapid deployment of significant combat elements from their armed forces’. Johnson made no public announcement of the decisions and directed that ‘premature publicity be avoided by all possible precautions’. Despite their significance, he wanted ‘these movements and changes’ to be ‘understood as being gradual and wholly consistent with existing policy’.42 The Australians learned almost immediately of the new developments, and of the possibility that they might soon be asked for a battalion. There was also a request that Australia and New Zealand consider sending about 150 military instructors. Even before learning of Canberra’s response, National Security Adviser McGeorge Bundy asked Johnson to send Menzies a letter of appreciation, arguing that he had ‘been the best man of all on Vietnam in recent weeks’.43 No such letter was suggested for Holyoake. It was not until 8 April that Laking learned of the decisions and of American hopes for supporting contributions from Australia and New Zealand. Acknowledging that Phipps ‘had been less positive’ than Scherger in Honolulu, the Americans nevertheless suggested that, if Wellington felt able to offer a force, its logical point of deployment would be around Da Nang. The tone of the approach implied that the United States did not hold high hopes of a favourable New Zealand response.44 The next day, news reached Wellington that the Australians had decided in principle to send a battalion to serve alongside the Marines at Da Nang, if so requested. Although Minister of External Affairs Paul Hasluck wished to 90

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delay a decision, the majority of the Australian Cabinet’s Foreign Affairs and Defence Committee favoured Sherger’s position of demonstrating strong support for the United States. As the Australian official historian has noted, this view prevailed ‘because Menzies and his senior ministers believed that it was in Australia’s own security interests, as well as in the interests of good Australian-American defence relations, to help the United States to keep South Vietnam out of communist hands’.45 But the Holyoake government made no move to shift its stance. When, on 14 April, the Australian government formally sought New Zealand’s views on its decision, Holyoake responded that, though Canberra’s action was not unexpected, New Zealand ‘was not in favour of spreading [its limited available forces] into Vietnam at this stage’. The Prime Minister delayed replying to Washington until the visit to Wellington on 20 April by the President’s special envoy, Henry Cabot Lodge. In the interim, External Affairs asked the ambassadors in Washington and Bangkok to comment on the likely ‘implications from the wider viewpoint of our national security’ of a negative response to the American request.46 Laking responded on 15 April with a powerful argument for military intervention. For some months the Americans had placed little pressure on New Zealand to do more in Vietnam because they had accepted ‘our commitment in Malaysia as a valid prior claim on our attention’. Now, however, the United States was escalating its involvement in Vietnam, and Indonesia’s confrontation of Malaysia had eased to manageable proportions. New Zealand should weigh carefully the broader alliance implications of the Vietnam situation, especially in light of Australian actions: Obviously it is Australia which provides the yardstick by which the Administration judges our capacity to act in Vietnam. . . . if the allies of the United States do not stand by it in Vietnam to the fullest extent of their capacity, the United States attitude toward them will inevitably be affected. . . . Against this background, the visit of Cabot Lodge assumes considerable significance, the point at issue being not the immediate one of whether or not we can provide more forces in Vietnam (whatever we do will have no great military impact) but what effect our decision will have on the United States attitude, in the long-term towards problems of more immediate concern to our own security.

His major points were striking echoes of the original New Zealand reaction to American involvement in Vietnam in 1961. From Bangkok, Weir reinforced these views, pointing out that ‘New Zealand’s direct strategic interest in the security of South East Asia is greater than the United States’. The case for meeting alliance demands had been set out forcefully by New Zealand’s representatives in the two most critical posts.47 91

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It remained uncertain if that case would prove persuasive in Wellington. Before Lodge arrived, officials wrestled with the pros and cons of committing New Zealand ground forces. Like their Australian and American allies, New Zealand policy-makers recognised that the struggle in Vietnam had wider consequences. They agreed that Vietnam was significant not because its territory was ‘of vital strategic importance for either side’, but because of the implications for the ‘credibility of United States power and ability to protect threatened countries from Communism’. An American defeat would not only imperil the states of Southeast Asia, but carry ‘grave implications for New Zealand’s security’.48 If the issues at stake were clear, the question of how New Zealand should respond was murkier. The officials set out out a series of countervailing considerations that were raised by the American request for a New Zealand combat contribution. To begin with, there were fears that New Zealand, with its limited resources, would be drawn into ‘a bitter and extremely difficult struggle between American and Communist power – a contest that the Americans have not yet demonstrated their ability to win’. New Zealand forces could ‘become bogged down’ indefinitely in an Asian land war with a most uncertain outcome. Then again, any New Zealand contribution would be ‘only a token one’ – at most ‘a unit of about 120 men’ was available. It would thus ‘not be disproportionate’ to the country’s ‘size and resources’, and in keeping with the approach to alliance participation which New Zealand had adopted as the basis of its national security doctrine since the Second World War. Another argument for restraint concerned domestic public opinion. The Vietnam conflict seemed ‘remote to many New Zealanders’, some of whom obviously had ‘misgivings concerning the nature and the means of waging the war’. The counter-argument was that successive governments had agreed ‘that New Zealand’s best defence lies in Asia rather than around our own shores’. Furthermore, any armed conflict to counter communism ‘was likely to be a “dirty” war’. For those reasons, public reaction should not be given great weight in determining how to respond to the Americans. As ever, defence obligations to Malaysia were a problem. Though spare available forces should be reserved for Malaysia, and it would be unwise to be ‘involved in hostilities on two fronts’, the situation in Malaysia had improved. Officials in Wellington now believed that ‘the war in Vietnam which is the war against Communism is much more important than the war in Malaysia’. It was vital to hold South Vietnam, ‘not just to preserve the independence of the South Vietnamese but for the sake of the Thais, the Malaysians, the Filipinos and others’. Despite their reservations about involvement in the conflict, officials now viewed Vietnam as a more important and precarious domino in the struggle against communism in Southeast Asia. 92

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Nevertheless, they also realised that this particular battle against communism was ‘not popular internationally’ and New Zealand would draw criticism from ‘certain quarters if it took its stand there along with the Americans’. This argument was partly outweighed by the fact that American policy was ‘supported or at least understood by all those countries whose opinion is important to New Zealand’. In any case, it was far more important ‘to maintain close and friendly relations with the Americans’, on whom New Zealand was ‘utterly dependent’ for its security into the foreseeable future. As the official brief concluded: The ultimate disaster for New Zealand would be for the Americans to wash their hands of us – to decide that we weren’t worth the effort of cultivating or protecting – and if necessary we must be prepared to pay a high price to avoid this happening. Even a slight chilling of the present close and intimate relations between our two countries, leading for example to our representatives being frozen out of inner circles in Washington, could have serious implications from the viewpoint of the wider national interest. This factor must therefore be weighed up very carefully before the final decision is taken.49

It was this final point about the centrality which the American alliance had assumed in New Zealand national security doctrine – the point which Laking had stressed – which would be the telling one, and which would lead New Zealand to reach its reluctant decision to send a military contribution. All their thinking about security over the past 20 years pointed New Zealand policy-makers to one unavoidable conclusion: involvement alongside their two key regional allies. In contrast to 1954, New Zealand could not shelter behind shared Australian and British diffidence. The British were virtually irrelevant this time and the Australians were bound on the same course as the Americans. If it declined to contribute, New Zealand would be isolated and might have to rethink its whole stance in the region – and perhaps the world. Lodge’s visit provided a final reminder of the logic of that alliance strategy and the place of Vietnam therein. Lodge told the Cabinet that ‘he had not come to ask for assistance’: New Zealanders must decide that question for themselves. Instead, he wanted to explain how Americans would feel if they knew they had support from such allies as New Zealand. The impact of any New Zealand contribution ‘would be out of all proportion to the numbers involved so far as the United States were concerned. Its value would be psychological or symbolic.’ Holyoake avoided making a definite response. While assuring Lodge that ‘he supported everything the United States had done’, he remarked on the ‘large body of critical opinion’ and New Zealand’s ‘small capacity’, which 93

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meant that ‘if we did put anything more in, it would be for the purpose of keeping the flag flying only’. When Holyoake asked Lodge how the Americans would regard the possibility of an artillery battery, the response was forthright: ‘a Battery or a Tank Company, or anything, would be welcomed because of the importance the Americans attached to flying more flags’. Because the Vietnam commitment had not been made through SEATO or the United Nations, it had ‘the obvious appearance of being under the aegis of the United States, and what was really wanted was some sort of international consortium’.50 Lodge’s visit thus confirmed the thrust of officials’ advice: the crucial consideration for New Zealand was the political signal a contribution would send, not its practical military impact. Holyoake told Lodge that it would not ‘look good’ for New Zealand to ‘do anything further’ as a direct result of his visit. On 20 April Cabinet only agreed in principle to consider sending a combat force – a decision that was conveyed to Lodge.51 By now, American expectations of New Zealand participation were rising. On 22 April, the State Department cabled Ambassador Taylor in Saigon that if the South Vietnamese were to make ‘urgent representations at the appropriate time’ in accordance with a schedule coordinated with Washington, ‘we believe it may be possible to obtain contributions of the following order: Korea, one regimental combat team; Australia, one infantry battalion; New Zealand, one battery and one company of tanks; PI [the Philippines], one battalion’.52 These somewhat inflated expectations of allied support reflected a certain American obliviousness toward their allies. Indeed, in the same week as the Lodge visit and the State Department message to Saigon, Laking sent a personal letter to McIntosh lamenting the Johnson administration’s ‘insensitivity toward other countries’. He had been talking to William White, ‘a hard line conservative columnist of the old school’ who was an ‘intimate friend of the President [and] in constant touch with him’. According to White, Johnson was managing the Vietnam War ‘down to platoon level’, was unreceptive ‘to unpalatable advice’, and did ‘not seem to comprehend the nature of international diplomacy’. Though Laking and his wife were ‘among the very few diplomatic couples who have the opportunity to meet the President and the Vice-President privately and informally’, he knew that this did not make ‘the slightest difference to our relations with their country in matters of any importance . . . because while our views have been sought on some small issues and have penetrated as far as the White House staff and even Mrs Johnson, the President just does not seem to be educable . . . on this subject.’ Laking found this ‘both infuriating and disturbing’ as ‘a reflection of the attitude of the United States towards her allies’. Such lack of consultation only encouraged criticism of the United States by its allies, which in turn strengthened Johnson’s ‘determination to continue on his 94

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A relaxed President Johnson (right) meets New Zealand Ambassador George Laking, 1967. george laking collection, pacoll-2851-1-01, atl

present path’. Laking was not, however, critical of ‘the general objectives of the United States’ in Vietnam, and believed that no one had suggested any ‘practicable alternative’ to Johnson’s approach.53 While greater willingness to consult its allies might have helped the United States to avoid some of the egregious errors which it would commit in Vietnam, Laking’s comments made it clear that Washington was virtually impervious to allied questioning and would press on regardless. As Laking pointed out a week later, all New Zealand had to decide was what the consequences might be for relations with the United States – and Australia – if it did not send combat forces to South Vietnam.54 That reality dominated New Zealand’s final deliberations about a Vietnam combat commitment. After the Cabinet decision of 20 April, much discussion culminated in a recommendation by the Chief of Defence Staff that an artillery battery would be the most appropriate combat unit to send to South Vietnam. This would ‘maintain full national identity’, ‘be less likely than other units to incur heavy casualties’, and cost less than the alternatives. Such a unit was also ‘readily available, is likely to be acceptable to the United States forces and would be welcomed by the Australian forces’.55 There was no practical military impediment to meeting the American request. Sending a battery appeared to be the best way for the government to satisfy alliance commitments without incurring high domestic political or economic costs. 95

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Ironically, the sharpest dissent from the advice of the military professionals came from the civilian head of their own department. On 29 April, the day the Chief of Defence Staff presented his recommendation, Jack Hunn made a vigorous case against intervention in Vietnam during a courtesy call on Acting Minister of Defence Ralph Hanan. Some years later Hunn recalled that his comments had left Hanan ‘shaken’.56 After this conversation, Hunn committed his views to paper, sending the minister a memorandum outlining 18 reasons why he believed the despatch of New Zealand forces ‘would be unnecessary, ineffectual and likely to do more harm than good’. One reason – that the United States did not expect a New Zealand combat contribution – was obviously incorrect, but most of his points had some validity and many, including the possible disruption of ‘national unity’, had already been raised within External Affairs. Hunn was more outspoken than others, however, in dismissing outright the applicability to South Vietnam of either the domino theory or the Munich analogy of appeasement. He also directly contradicted official policy: while New Zealand ‘should fight for the independence of the democratic sovereign state of Malaysia’, there was ‘no democratic sovereign state of South Vietnam to fight for’. While he favoured a negotiated solution of the Vietnam problem, Hunn conceded freely that, like many liberals around the world, ‘who oppose escalation of the conflict, I have no very specific solution to offer’. The issue confronting New Zealand could not ‘be settled entirely by a balancing of debating points. In the end one has to rely on intuitive judgement and conviction; and only hope that it will be vindicated.’57 Hunn’s advice received short shrift from Hanan, who evidently thought it ‘quite improper for a Secretary of Defence to report in those terms’, and flushed his copy of the paper down the toilet.58 The problem for Hunn was that the ‘intuitive judgement’ of most policy-makers in Wellington led them to conclude, albeit reluctantly, that intervention was required to maintain the alliance solidarity on which New Zealand’s national security ultimately depended. This point was stressed to Hunn the next day by Assistant Secretary of Defence for Policy Ray Jermyn.59 He shared Hunn’s apprehensions about New Zealand combat involvement, but for different reasons. He did not believe ‘that the need to maintain solidarity with our major ally in their time of greatest difficulty sufficiently outweighs the disadvantages now to NZ’s own national interests’. For Jermyn, the major problem was that no one had considered how easily a small unit might be destroyed – and what would New Zealand do then? He believed that the government must face up to the military and political problems such a disaster would bring before making its decision: ‘they should recognize that buying chips in this game means that we must be ready to continue to play’.60 96

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Neither Jermyn’s nor Hunn’s concerns deterred External Affairs from recommending a positive response to the United States. Departmental officers learned only on Friday 30 April that the Defence recommendation to send an artillery unit would receive preliminary consideration at the next Cabinet meeting on Monday – a week earlier than they had anticipated.61 Next day Ian Stewart, the senior External Affairs officer who had worked most closely on the Vietnam issue over the past month, prepared a political briefing paper for the Prime Minister.62 Though hurriedly drafted, this document remains the single most important statement of the rationale for New Zealand combat involvement in the Vietnam War. The lengthy briefing paper agreed that an artillery battery would be the most appropriate contribution, but stressed that what confronted New Zealand was ‘essentially a political decision’. After rehearsing the now well-worn arguments for and against a New Zealand combat presence, the paper concluded: If the contribution of an artillery battery by this country would help the United States administration to carry through its present policy of staying in and defending South Vietnam, and would at the same time reinforce the American guarantee which is the mainstay of our national security, then the contribution of such a unit would be in the best interests of this country and would be an acceptable price to pay.63

Despite the counter-arguments put forward in the internal debates of the preceding weeks, the military and diplomatic consensus was that it was time to make a symbolic gesture toward the hawks if New Zealand were to preserve its standing with the United States. McIntosh, for one, did not savour such intervention. A decade later, he told an interviewer that he had been ‘the one in the Department who was most reluctant to get heavily involved’ in Vietnam because he had steadfastly believed that it would be ‘a fatal error’ for New Zealand ‘ever to become involved in the mainland of Asia’. But, unlike Hunn, he accepted the internal consensus in 1965: it was ‘perfectly true’, he recalled, that he had played his part ‘in pushing the Prime Minister of the day in to taking this pro-American stand on the basis of the domino theory’.64 The fact that a reluctant and cautious official was pressing a reluctant and cautious Prime Minister to intervene in Vietnam highlighted the prevailing sense in May 1965 that all realistic alternatives for New Zealand had been exhausted.

The Combat Decision, May 1965 On 7 May, Weir forwarded to Wellington a formal South Vietnamese request for New Zealand troops.65 By now confidence was growing in External 97

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Affairs that the government would act on its advice. On 5 May McIntosh had confided privately to Corner that New Zealand would ‘probably follow Australia in putting some token force into Vietnam’. McIntosh believed: ‘We can’t afford to be left too far behind Australia and we can’t afford not to support the Americans – though I have the gravest doubts about their coming out of this with any degree of success’.66 The government still hesitated over taking the final plunge. There was no consent when on 4 May military authorities sought ministerial approval for preliminary steps to prepare an artillery battery for embarkation.67 The issue was discussed again in Cabinet on 10 May without a formal decision being reached. In effect, the decision was left to Holyoake.68 Concern now mounted in External Affairs about the costs of delay. As one official pointed out to McIntosh, since any decision to make a contribution ‘would be dictated primarily by political reasons, it would be wasteful not to derive the maximum political benefit from it.’ Accordingly, ‘an early response’ was critical.69 McIntosh shared this worry over the government’s apparent dithering. On 12 May he told Laking that he was ‘positively sick with frustration’ over Holyoake’s handling of the matter. Holyoake had apparently been ‘greatly upset by a crowd of idiot boys and girls keeping an all-night vigil and by a deputation of churchmen’; he was now ‘interviewing the Federation of Labour’. McIntosh complained: We have missed our chance of putting an Artillery unit in with the Australians who have now got no alternative but to put one in themselves. The whole purpose of the exercise was political and we have now missed the bus and I don’t think it matters what we do, if we do it. The Prime Minister is proposing to talk to the public some time during the week but he doesn’t intend to follow it up with any decision and I am afraid he is going to get a very bad press. But there is nothing more I can do about it. The Labour Party remain adamantly opposed.

Compounding McIntosh’s woes were his ‘troubles with Jack Hunn’, who was not only seeking ‘to take control of military and strategic matters’, but was ‘now advising the Government on external affairs policy!’70 The explanation for the hold-up remains unclear.71 One writer has suggested that Holyoake was not reluctant to make a combat commitment in Vietnam but was deliberately delaying it in order to build up a solid domestic consensus behind a decision for intervention which he had already made.72 The available sources do not, however, suggest that he was consulting widely about Vietnam. Moreover, McIntosh’s uncertainty indicates that officials were curiously unaware of what Holyoake was doing. McIntosh’s comments imply that Holyoake had not yet definitely decided to risk a combat commitment and was moving cautiously.73 As with much of Holyoake’s political 98

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thinking, the absence of records showing his personal attitudes leave the reasons for the delay open to conjecture.74 When Cabinet discussed the issue again on 17 May, there was still no definite decision but it was agreed that a few selected ministers and officials would meet ‘to clarify the facts about the different types of unit that might be dispatched if Government so decided.’75 Holyoake and a small group of advisers duly met informally on 19 May.76 If he still harboured doubts, this meeting would confirm for Holyoake the need to intervene. The seven men who gathered in the Prime Minister’s office were the most important policy-makers involved with the Vietnam issue. As well as Holyoake, two other ministers were present: Hanan and Deputy Prime Minister John Marshall, two of the most ‘hawkish’ members of the Cabinet.77 The four officials present were McIntosh, Hunn, Phipps and Major-General Walter McKinnon, Chief of the General Staff.78 No minutes of the meeting were kept, but in 1972 both Hunn and McKinnon, whose views on the issue were diametrically opposed, provided a Ministry of Defence historian with their recollections of the occasion. McKinnon and Hunn appear to have been the principal speakers. The former ‘put the case for sending a combat force’, while Hunn argued that any New Zealand presence should ‘be constructive and not combative’. According to McKinnon, Holyoake still seemed hesitant and asked if the engineers already in Vietnam might be designated as combatants. The general explained that this was not realistic: they would then be liable to attack by the Viet Cong. Holyoake’s suggestion implied that he was ready to make a combat commitment but was seeking as small and cheap a contribution as possible. The others present at the meeting apparently said little. Hanan’s position was clear, while Holyoake indicated that he already knew McIntosh’s views. Phipps was so circumspect that he astounded both Hunn and McKinnon by saying ‘that he hadn’t heard anything with which he disagreed’.79 The meeting confirmed that Hunn was the only identifiable high-level opponent of involvement. If the ever-cautious Holyoake had been looking for fresh reasons not to send an artillery battery to Vietnam, this meeting did not provide them, and he finally gave the green light to proceed.80 The next day, External Affairs officers prepared a draft timetable for action on such issues as drafting a speech for Holyoake to deliver in Parliament to announce the decision and timing the necessary cables to relevant allies.81 A day later, on 21 May, Ian Stewart set out for McIntosh the technical arrangements for deploying the battery alongside the Australian infantry battalion as part of the 173 United States Airborne Brigade. In passing, he noted that McKinnon had possibly been mistaken when he had suggested during the meeting in Holyoake’s office that batteries in the American brigade operated four guns rather than six. He assumed, therefore, that 99

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‘our Army people would probably prefer to keep the six guns and reduce the number of personnel by organising on a “light scale”, if this could be arranged’.82 That was not to be, for Holyoake had seized upon ‘the point of 4 guns’ and, as McKinnon recalled at the end of 1965, ‘with this precedent’ he was obliged to concede ‘that a 4 gun battery would be reasonable in the circumstances’.83 It was yet another example of Holyoake’s attention to costs and his determination to keep military involvement in Vietnam to the bare minimum required to show the flag. Though hardly necessary by then, further confirmation was sent from Washington that day of how keen the Americans were to see that flag flying in Vietnam. Minister of Defence Dean Eyre had met Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara on 20 May. Eyre told Wellington that McNamara had stressed that the ‘common effort’ against communist aggression in Southeast Asia demanded further assistance to South Vietnam by ‘the countries of the area, whose interests were more directly affected than those of the United States’. Speaking ‘directly and bluntly’, as ‘was possible only between close friends’, McNamara suggested, in an explicit comparison with Australia, that New Zealand ‘needed to do more’ in the region and should increase its defence spending ‘if it was to be sure of the continued presence of the United States over the next ten years and more’. Pleased that a decision about a combat contribution was imminent, he suggested that even a single artillery battery would not ‘be only symbolic’ but would also carry some military significance. This cable no doubt convinced McIntosh and his department that they had advised their political masters well.84 On 24 May, after a month of prevarication, Cabinet duly approved the dispatch of a four-gun artillery battery consisting of approximately 120 men.85 The Americans were told of the decision ‘in strict confidence’ and asked to check if the proposed contribution would be acceptable. The embassy in Washington was instructed to stress that, ‘given the extent of our military commitment to the defence of Malaysia, a battery of artillery represents a substantial contribution on the part of the New Zealand Government’. Canberra, too, was to be asked whether it agreed ‘to our artillery being associated with the Australian infantry to form an ANZAC element within a larger United States formation’. In contrast, South Vietnam was treated with the same scant regard which the United States displayed towards its minor allies. The South Vietnamese were not told until 27 May – only hours before the decision was to be announced in New Zealand. Weir was also instructed to advise Saigon that if the offer of the artillery unit was accepted, the engineers would be withdrawn. Thus was priority assigned to New Zealand’s allies.86 The Americans were quick to express their satisfaction. Johnson sent Holyoake a personal letter on 26 May welcoming the decision and com100

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mending New Zealand for signalling ‘its determination to stand up to the threat that Communist aggression in South Vietnam poses to the independence of other governments elsewhere’. Acknowledging that it had not been an easy decision, Johnson pointed out that the same was also true for the United States, Australia and South Korea; but intervention was necessary to avoid ‘repeating the sad history of the 1930’s, when aggression was allowed to proceed unchecked’. New Zealand and American soldiers would once again be serving together in ‘a common struggle’, as ‘in two World Wars and in halting Communist aggression in Korea’.87 The letter was thus replete with the stock analogies which the Holyoake government would invoke publicly to justify its Vietnam commitment, but whose applicability to Vietnam critics would dismiss outright. Yet this message summarised as effectively as any document exchanged between the two governments the genuinely shared Cold War commitment to the broad strategy of containing communism in Southeast Asia which lay behind the Vietnam policies of both New Zealand and the United States. In both cases, a few general, unquantifiable concerns about the possible costs of not intervening had prevailed over more numerous and specific qualms about the dim prospects for Western success in Vietnam. South Vietnamese Foreign Minister Tran Van Do welcomed New Zealand’s offer of an artillery battery. Weir refrained from mentioning the intended withdrawal of the engineers, thinking it impolitic to offer an additional contribution while simultaneously withdrawing ‘another now firmly established in the hierarchy of this hard-pressed country’.88 Despite American requests for the engineers to be retained, Cabinet confirmed on 1 June that they would be withdrawn.89 Until recently, the engineering unit had not had ‘a worthwhile job to do’; the artillery battery would take over ‘the leading role as the New Zealand flag bearer in South Vietnam’; and withdrawing the engineers would partly offset the cost of deploying the artillery.90 New Zealand was not about to commit more than the bare minimum required in political terms to show the flag and in military terms to add a modest practical complement to the Australian contribution.

New Zealand’s decision to send combat forces to Vietnam had been dictated primarily by alliance considerations. In lining up with the hawks and entering combat for the first time without Britain, it might seem that the government had allowed alliance considerations to outweigh national interests and its own pessimism about the prospects for military success in Vietnam. On the other hand, though taken reluctantly, the decision to send combat forces was very much the independent action of a sovereign state. It 101

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represented the culmination of a long line of official thinking based on stark assumptions about the menace of Asian communism and the cogency of forward defence in Southeast Asia – assumptions that New Zealand shared with the United States and Australia. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that American entreaties for New Zealand support were consistently couched within the context of allied solidarity and mutual interests in Southeast Asia. There were never hints of material rewards for complying or of punitive actions if New Zealand did not send troops.91 The most direct pressures on the government had come from its own officials. They not only pointed out potential costs to alliances, but stressed New Zealand’s national interests in combating communism and in encouraging an American forward presence in Southeast Asia. Once Australia decided to send forces, New Zealand officials surmised that they had little choice but to follow suit. To have declined to send forces would have required them to question the most basic assumptions on which New Zealand’s post-war national security policies had been founded. Few, other than Jack Hunn, were prepared to do so. The reluctance with which the decision was made reflected tactical disagreement over the wisdom of a massive allied military effort in Vietnam, not general questioning of the broader alliance strategy of containment in Southeast Asia.92 In the end, the government was prepared to send a token force as the price of continued participation in that broader strategy. As McIntosh had told Holyoake, this seemed ‘an acceptable price to pay’. The general acceptance of this judgement in official quarters ended months of behind-the-scenes equivocation. It would now be a matter of managing the commitment within an alliance framework, rather than confronting new diplomatic challenges. The diplomatic aspects of New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War would come to be overshadowed by a growing storm of domestic political controversy. Whether that was ‘an acceptable price to pay’ remained to be seen.

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CHAPTER FIVE

The Domestic Politics of Combat Intervention, January–June 1965

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s the holyoake government moved hesitantly but ineluctably toward a combat commitment in Vietnam during early 1965, protest against official policy took on new momentum. Earlier opposition had come principally from existing organisations with wider purposes; now new groups spontaneously appeared in the country’s major cities with the specific objective of opposing official policy on Vietnam. First assuming serious proportions in late April 1965, the rising tide of protest provided Holyoake and his government with a foretaste of the public relations effort they would have to sustain in the years to come. Poised uneasily between the government and the nascent anti-war movement, Labour faced the challenge of providing balanced criticism of the combat commitment without undermining its anti-communist credentials or its long-standing support for a policy of forward defence in Southeast Asia.

The Campaign to Avert a New Zealand Combat Commitment Public debate about the Vietnam War in New Zealand was muted during the first few months of 1965.1 Despite their reservations, Holyoake and his advisers avoided public comment on the issue. Nor was there parliamentary debate, because the House was not due to sit again until late May. Once it became clear that the Johnson administration was stepping up its military involvement in Vietnam, a flurry of public protest broke out in late March and early April. This was a direct response to intensified American 103

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bombing of North Vietnam, which had generated widespread spontaneous protests in the United States itself.2 Though almost all the New Zealand protest emanated from interest groups and left-wing political organisations long opposed to American policy on Vietnam, such as the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), the New Zealand Peace Council and the Communist Party (CPNZ), it was the first time that so many such groups and individuals expressed concerted criticism of New Zealand support for American policy.3 Letters to the government or to newspapers remained the dominant method of protest, but there was also a spate of public meetings, street demonstrations and deputations to politicians. The largest public protest occurred in Auckland, which was home to the first group specifically created to oppose New Zealand military involvement in Vietnam. The Interim Peace For Vietnam Committee (PFVC) was formed on 28 March 1965 at a meeting of over 300 people in the Auckland Town Hall that was jointly sponsored by several groups, including the Auckland Peace Council, the Northern Drivers’ Union, the Auckland Seamen’s Union and the Christian Pacifist Society. Backed primarily by elements of Auckland’s ‘Old Left’, the new committee not only opposed New Zealand military involvement in Vietnam but came to support the National Liberation Front and regarded the mobilisation of working-class support as a key objective.4 After the meeting, Len Reid, a Peace Council and Communist Party member who became the committee’s first chairman, sent the Prime Minister a resolution calling for cessation of bombing by the United States, withdrawal of its forces and New Zealand’s ‘token force’, and a reconvening of the 1954 Geneva Conference.5 The prominence of individuals like Reid and Flora Gould led some officials to infer that the Committee was a CPNZ ‘front’ campaign, and they considered that the Peace Council was ‘chiefly instrumental’ in its formation. Though the group was decidedly left-wing, these charges were probably overstated. 6 In other protests further south, CND groups were to the fore, as befitted this organisation’s central place in New Zealand’s ‘contemporary peace movement’. In the capital, about 60 young people picketed the American embassy in a protest organised by the Wellington Youth Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (YCND) on 29 March.7 A few days later, in Palmerston North, 38 people from another group affiliated to CND presented a resolution to the local National MP similar to that passed at the Auckland meeting.8 South Island branches of the YCND also mounted protests against American escalation of the war.9 Some church groups added their concern about developments in Vietnam, especially the Americans’ use of certain weapons. In late March, the convenor of the International Relations Committee of the Presbyterian Church sent telegrams of protest about American actions to the Prime 104

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Minister and the United States embassy.10 On 2 April, Holyoake met three representatives from the Inter-Church Council on Public Affairs, mainly to discuss their concerns about the American use of phosphorous bombs and napalm – a practice which he defended as militarily legitimate in view of the apparently limited ways in which they were being used in Vietnam. The meeting gave Holyoake the chance to issue a public statement addressing various points raised in ‘the numerous letters and telegrams’ he had received recently about the Vietnam War. This was his first direct response to anti-war protest activity, and it was telling that McIntosh had recommended that such a statement was ‘rather urgent’ in view of possible demonstrations in the main centres. Holyoake suggested that the main impediment to a negotiated settlement was ongoing communist aggression.11 He gave no hint that a New Zealand combat role in Vietnam was under consideration. Over the following weeks it became increasingly evident that such involvement was imminent, stimulating the emergence of a distinct nationwide Vietnam anti-war movement as various groups and individuals joined in a frenetic campaign to avert the despatch of combat forces. The initial catalyst for the campaign was the visit to Wellington on 20 April by Henry Cabot Lodge, which prompted speculation that its purpose was to secure a New Zealand combat commitment.12 Although not involving large numbers, the protests triggered by Lodge’s visit would be more dramatic than previous efforts and helped give the Vietnam issue greater public prominence. By chance, the annual CND Easter meeting took place in Palmerston North over the weekend before Lodge’s arrival. This gathering coincided with the largest single anti-war demonstration to date in the United States, when 20,000 protesters took part in a march on Washington organised by Students for a Democratic Society – the vanguard of the emerging American New Left.13 Possibly influenced by this event, those attending the CND meeting reached an impromptu decision to mount a comparable march on 19 April from Wellington’s outskirts to Parliament grounds, where a protest meeting was held against the Vietnam War. The protesters were addressed by Richard Northey of the YCND, Eddie Isbey of the Watersiders’ Union, and the elderly Ormond Burton, a Methodist minister who was New Zealand’s best-known Christian pacifist and who had been imprisoned as a conscientious objector during the Second World War. The speakers represented three of the groups in New Zealand society most prominent in the upsurge of protest activity: the CND, the trade unions and the pacifists.14 The CND’s Easter march and its part in various protests in preceding weeks meant that members of this organisation played a key role in the nascent movement against combat involvement in the Vietnam War, especially in Wellington.15 105

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Annual CND Easter march, Wellington, 1964. bill sykes

Another group also spontaneously decided to protest against the American envoy’s visit after two brothers, Paul and Peter Melser, approached Barry Mitcalfe, a Polynesian Studies lecturer at the Wellington Teachers’ Training College. They quickly gathered other protesters to join the CND group at the airport.16 When Lodge arrived he was greeted by up to 100 demonstrators: CND members, university students, student teachers, Peace Council members and representatives of the churches. They carried placards with slogans such as ‘Go Home, Yanks’ and ‘New Zealand Wants no Part of Vietnam’.17 Protesters tried to block Lodge’s car as it left through a rear entrance, and there were minor scuffles outside his hotel.18 Acting Secretary of External Affairs Lloyd White denounced the protesters’ actions as ‘disgusting’ and complained that they had kicked the envoy’s car and pulled off its flag. For their part, the demonstrators charged that the car had accelerated towards them, denied that the flag had been deliberately ripped away, and alleged that an undercover policeman purporting to be a newspaper reporter had solicited information about the picketers outside Lodge’s hotel.19 When Lodge went to meet Cabinet ministers at Parliament 106

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A protester tries to present a petition to US special envoy Henry Cabot Lodge during his visit to Wellington, 20 April 1965. dominion post collection, ep/1965/1320, atl

Buildings the next day, about 30 protesters were outside carrying placards with wording as strong as ‘Dirty Murderers’. One managed to thrust a petition into Lodge’s car as he left.20 The protests against Lodge were the first of their kind in New Zealand against the Vietnam War. White’s public comment that the demonstrations had been unexpected showed how unusual it was for such visits to generate marked public controversy.21 The claims and counter-claims about the actions of demonstrators and the authorities during the Lodge visit were a mild foretaste of the competing allegations which would accompany protest against the war in the coming years, when public demonstrations against visiting American dignitaries would become the norm. These protests were also important in stimulating the formation of an organisation specifically devoted to opposing New Zealand involvement in the Vietnam War: the Wellington Committee on Vietnam (COV). Mitcalfe, who became its first chairman, later recalled that the COV emerged ‘so informally and spontaneously’ after the demonstrations during Lodge’s visit ‘that it did not acquire even a name until the third week of its life’. Born 107

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out of an outbreak of activism involving an assortment of individuals that included CND members, academics, students, trade unionists and churchpeople, the COV was less dominated by New Zealand’s Old Left than was its Auckland counterpart.22 The catalytic effect of the Lodge visit was not confined to Wellington. The first meeting of Auckland’s recently established Interim PFVC also took place on 22 April, immediately after the Lodge visit, at the offices of the Auckland Peace Council.23 By the first week of May, the volume of mail concerning Vietnam that the Prime Minister was receiving had increased so rapidly that detailed individual replies were no longer possible.24 The wave of concern which swept over certain portions of the community after Lodge’s visit transformed the earlier diffuse opposition into a nascent anti-war movement. During May committees similar to those formed in Wellington and Auckland sprang up in Palmerston North, Nelson, Christchurch and Dunedin.25 The composition of the new COVs varied somewhat from city to city, with those in Wellington and Dunedin initially drawing on a more ideologically diverse membership base than did their Auckland counterpart.26 Nevertheless, they all attracted similar groups of activists from trade unions, left-wing parties, CND, the Peace Council, and students and teachers in tertiary institutions. What lent the burgeoning movement impetus and urgency was the possibility of mobilising public opinion to dissuade the government from sending troops. The gusto with which its supporters responded to this challenge is evoked in Mitcalfe’s near-contemporary description of the Wellington COV’s efforts: While some members were approaching Trades Hall and the Unions, others were posting circulars to MPs; yet others were seeking signatures from distinguished people to a short petition, the Gestetner presses were turning out up to a thousand pamphlets a day, a vigil was forming on Parliament steps . . . while a backroom committee . . . was working three days and nights to produce a 30-page pamphlet, ‘Vietnam.’ The urgency came because we felt we were working against ignorance and a prejudice fostered largely by newspapers and politicians towards the one end – war.27

Comparable groups undertook similar activities in all the major centres, with the government’s slow deliberations allowing them time to mobilise. Despite their enthusiasm, the numbers actively involved were small: in mid-1965 the PFVC was usually able to mobilise only a dozen or so people to march down Queen Street in New Zealand’s largest city on Friday evenings.28 In view of their limited numbers and resources, the protesters may have drawn hope from the apparent opposition of the Labour Party to a military 108

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commitment. In fact, the issue was highly problematical for Labour. Given its long-standing emphasis on economic and social assistance and non-military solutions ideally involving the United Nations, the party did not favour further military intervention by either the United States or New Zealand. On the other hand, Labour was wary of communism and unreservedly supported the defence of Malaysia. Many Labour MPs were also reluctant to criticise American policy directly.29 Paradoxically, Labour had to confront far more publicly what the government was agonising over privately. With New Zealand combat intervention looking increasingly probable, Labour’s opposition remained qualified. On 28 April, party leader Arnold Nordmeyer restated publicly his party’s long-held hope that the United Nations would take up the Vietnam problem. He made clear the next day that he did not favour military support for the United States in Vietnam, and that such action would weaken New Zealand’s ability to protect Malaysia.30 Only two days earlier, however, Sir Basil Arthur, the Labour member for Timaru, just back from a tour of Southeast Asia, had stated that the United States was doing a ‘magnificent job’ in helping the South Vietnamese to counter ‘communist aggression and subversion’.31 Though this comment represented a minority view within Labour ranks, it showed the party’s division on the issue. Nordmeyer’s own emphasis on the Malaysian commitment highlighted Labour’s general support for the containment of aggression in Southeast Asia. Labour’s annual conference in mid-May would be an opportunity for the party to reconsider whether that general stance could be reconciled with opposition to a specific combat commitment in Vietnam. Meanwhile, Holyoake remained publicly noncommittal about sending combat forces. When it became known on 30 April that the Australians were sending a battalion, at least one newspaper reported, presumably on the basis of leaked information, that it understood the government was ‘considering plans to send a battery from the 16th Field regiment at Papakura to give close support to the Australian infantry battalion in South Vietnam’.32 The Prime Minister denied any ‘immediate plans’ to send more New Zealand forces to Southeast Asia, saying only that the possibility of sending combat troops to Vietnam was ‘under constant consideration’.33 After stating that Cabinet would discuss the issue on 3 May, he announced the next day that no decision had been reached; the subject would continue to be considered, ‘as we have done every week for months’.34 Nevertheless, public speculation mounted that a decision would be made at the next Cabinet meeting on 10 May – especially after it was reported that South Vietnam had formally requested New Zealand military assistance.35 On 9 May, the Wellington COV began a silent vigil outside Parliament Buildings which drew 60 participants. They handed out pamphlets pressing 109

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the government to support a reconvening of the Geneva Conference and a United Nations-brokered peace settlement rather than implicating New Zealand in a ‘cruel and unnecessary war’.36 Their message did not go uncontested: about a dozen South Vietnamese students from Victoria University of Wellington and the University of Auckland mounted a counter-demonstration advocating the opposite course.37 In Auckland, where 50 women had sought to march on the American consul’s office during the University of Auckland students’ capping procession the week before, a small group led by YCND members fasted in protest at the government’s likely decision.38 Though there were a few messages of support, most of the growing number of telegrams and letters being sent to the government criticised American policy and opposed New Zealand intervention.39 This intensification of protest had no significant impact on the government’s deliberations. Having convinced themselves that intervention was necessary, officials and ministers expended little energy in evaluating the case made by the burgeoning anti-war movement. McIntosh dismissed the COV vigil at Parliament as ‘a hastily organised students’ group, probably more C.N.D. and pacifist than Communist’, and noted with bemusement to Holyoake that the group’s postal box number was that of the Society for the Abolition of Corporal Punishment. He did nevertheless provide notes summarily refuting the points made in a COV pamphlet which had been handed to Holyoake.40 These notes exemplified the one crucial respect in which the embryonic Vietnam anti-war movement did affect the Holyoake government’s behaviour: in public relations terms. Though privately dismissive of the protesters’ arguments, policy-makers realised that the combined effect of their vocal opposition and of Labour’s criticisms meant that any decision to send combat forces needed careful public justification. No one was more sensitive to the public relations dimension than ‘Kiwi Keith’ Holyoake, the consummate consensus politician of his age. He was anxious to present the government’s position on Vietnam in the most positive light – as an eminently reasonable response to a tragic situation. This desire was visibly displayed in his meeting on 10 May with church leaders. Holyoake unreservedly endorsed their proposal to work through the East Asian Christian Conference to promote talks between the North and South Vietnamese, and assured them that New Zealand’s diplomatic representatives in Southeast Asia would support ‘these endeavours’.41 It did no harm to the Prime Minister’s cause that Norman Perry, the Moderator of the Presbyterian Church, acknowledged publicly that Holyoake had been encouraging.42 Public relations concerns also featured prominently in Cabinet discussions on 10 May. While again postponing making a formal decision about combat intervention, the Cabinet agreed that Holyoake should make a 110

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public statement on South Vietnam and the reasons for New Zealand’s support of American policy. The need for such a statement was pressing as the voices of opposition grew louder. On the day of the Cabinet meeting, for example, the Federation of Labour’s (FOL’s) national executive resolved to oppose sending New Zealand forces to Vietnam unless this was requested by the United Nations.43 There is evidence that Holyoake was becoming affected by public concern.44 But if he was perturbed by young protesters or worried clergy, he showed no sign of wishing to alter the direction of Vietnam policy. In fact, the rising tide of protest was a useful weapon in the armoury of excuses Holyoake could present to his allies to account for New Zealand’s hesitation. However, the growing public criticism did lead him to focus more closely on providing a strong public justification for his government’s Vietnam policy before announcing any decision about combat intervention. Holyoake’s first major opportunity came on 13 May, when he appeared on television to deliver the statement Cabinet had discussed a few days earlier. He began by shrewdly linking Indonesia’s ‘crush Malaysia’ threats to what he described as ‘the ruthless and undeclared war which Communist North Vietnam, aided and abetted by Communist China, is waging against South Vietnam’. While insisting that no decision on Vietnam had yet been made, Holyoake explained that New Zealanders must understand that the conflict was not a civil war or a popular insurgency, but externally directed communist aggression against the South Vietnamese people. Accordingly, his government fully endorsed the increased American military effort to help the South Vietnamese fight ‘for their own freedom’ – an effort which Holyoake likened to Britain’s support ‘for similar reasons’ of Malaysia. Characteristically, the Prime Minister mentioned New Zealand’s support for a negotiated settlement and denounced the unwillingness of the communist side to enter into serious talks. He also invoked the Munich analogy arguing that ‘negotiation, without the will to resist aggression, means capitulation’. For good measure, he drew on the domino theory: if South Vietnam fell to communism, Thailand, Malaysia and other countries in the region might well follow.45 This was Holyoake’s first appearance on television to issue a formal statement on a foreign policy issue. He certainly provided a clear rationale for supporting American policy in terms of the country’s long-standing commitment to forward defence and to containing communism in Southeast Asia. Holyoake not only did his utmost to elicit public sympathy for the plight of South Vietnam, but suggested that its fate was as significant for New Zealand’s national security as that of Malaysia. Press reactions to the address were generally gratifying for the government. The Dominion suggested that most New Zealanders would agree 111

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with Holyoake about the necessity to prevent the fall of South Vietnam to communism. The newspaper conveniently spelled out what the Prime Minister had not articulated but was implicit in his statement: ‘A more forceful gesture of aid to back up the American position is due if it can be made without impairing our support to Malaysia, our primary commitment’.46 The Otago Daily Times also approved of the televised statement, praising the New Zealand and American governments for standing firm against communist aggression while demonstrating willingness to encourage a negotiated settlement.47 The influential New Zealand Herald had taken a similar stance, arguing that ANZUS obligations justified a small New Zealand military presence in South Vietnam, and repeated that view after Holyoake’s address.48 The populist weekly New Zealand Truth concurred: ‘A small token force would give real evidence of New Zealand’s expressed support of American action in South Vietnam. If the gesture is not made, could New Zealand expect the United States to come to its aid if ever the Communists began grasping down into Australasia’?49 Not all the media commentary was positive. The government’s monitoring of press reactions found some diversity in editorial opinion on the issue. Most newspapers concluded that a decision was imminent, and that a force was likely to be sent. Some favoured bolstering the New Zealand contingent in Malaysia instead, and one metropolitan newspaper argued that the Vietnam conflict ‘was primarily an Asian affair’.50 Holyoake’s statement did nothing to deflect the energies of those who already opposed a combat commitment.51 Among these groups, the labour movement was potentially the most important. The trade union wing of that movement had already signalled its implacable opposition to military intervention. There had briefly been some confusion about the precise character of this opposition: the FOL executive’s telegram of 10 May to the government suggested that it would support troops being sent under United Nations or Commonwealth auspices. But after leading a delegation which met with Holyoake the next day, FOL President Tom Skinner stated publicly that his organisation opposed New Zealand forces going to South Vietnam ‘under any circumstances’.52 The political wing of the labour movement took a slightly different approach. After extensive debate, the Labour Party’s annual conference, which began on 17 May, resolved to oppose the despatch of troops to Vietnam but was prepared to support sending New Zealand soldiers to serve in a United Nations peacekeeping role.53 Though opposed to the terms under which National seemed ready to send troops, Labour’s stance remained ambiguous. For example, the conference rejected a remit advocating the immediate withdrawal of the New Zealand forces currently in Vietnam. Moreover, Labour leaders continued 112

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to avoid criticising American policy directly. Perhaps most strikingly, the party failed to adopt a clear position on the government’s charge that the conflict was due to communist aggression, and was wary of echoing the anti-war movement’s contention that a civil war was raging in Vietnam. Questions about South Vietnam’s political status and territorial integrity also tended to be fudged. Without resolving those issues, it was difficult for Labour to differentiate the Malaysian commitment – which it supported – from comparable action in South Vietnam, or to justify its strong preference for social and economic assistance over military action. Some of these ambiguities stemmed from the problem that a minority within the party were more supportive of National’s stance: at the conference, Sir Basil Arthur in particular advocated support for American policy. Dissent from Labour’s position was also evident among some rank-and-file members of the labour movement.54 In late May, the nuances of the differing positions of the government’s critics, ranging as they did from communist activists to Christian ministers, mattered less than their common commitment to averting the despatch of New Zealand combat forces to Vietnam. During the fortnight between Holyoake’s televised address and the formal announcement of the decision to send 161 Battery, protest activity reached a new intensity. The day after Holyoake spoke on television, the Wellington COV drew an ‘overflow audience’ to the city’s Concert Chamber for a public meeting that was reported as being ‘overwhelmingly against New Zealand sending troops to fight in Vietnam’.55 During that week, the New Zealand University Students’ Association, the Public Service Association and the United Nations Association of New Zealand all added their voices to those opposed to military involvement in Vietnam.56 COV chairman Barry Mitcalfe challenged the government to ‘sound public opinion’, arguing that ‘this is the first time there has been a spontaneous movement against war in New Zealand for many years’.57 On 23 May, another public meeting in Wellington held under COV auspices passed a motion reiterating Mitcalfe’s challenge.58 The more recently formed Dunedin COV also held a meeting that day, drawing about 250 people.59 Though no formal committee had been formed in Christchurch, representatives of the Bertrand Russell Peace Foundation, the United Nations Association, the CND and the FOL gathered the same day for a protest meeting. The spirit of protest extended to provincial New Zealand: a meeting was organised in Napier on 21 May by YCND activists.60 The opponents of military intervention also placed advertisements in the press and published lengthy lists of those who did not want New Zealand combat forces in Vietnam.61 On the other side, the heightened public prominence of the Vietnam issue prompted some groups and individuals to express support for the govern113

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ment. For instance, the New Zealand Returned Servicemen’s Association (RSA) declared on 18 May that New Zealand should ‘without hesitation’ emulate Australia by sending combat forces to South Vietnam.62 The Dominion Conference of the country’s third largest political party, the Social Credit Political League, adopted a similar stance.63 There were also numerous letters and telegrams of support among the hundreds of messages sent to the government.64 Though they probably reflected the views of the majority of New Zealanders, those expressing support for the government were neither as voluble nor as numerous as those opposed to military intervention. The campaign to avert combat involvement effectively ended on 27 May, when a petition from the Auckland CND urging that New Zealand give no military assistance to South Vietnam was tabled at the opening of Parliament.65 On the same day, Holyoake announced that New Zealand would send an artillery battery to Vietnam. No referendum had been held, nor had Parliament been consulted in advance. Despite widespread dissent in the preceding weeks, the government appeared to assume – probably correctly – that its decision would be supported by a majority of the electorate. Deputy Prime Minister John Marshall would later recall that the government was not especially ‘worried’ about the domestic political consequences: ‘quite frankly, the New Zealand public was quite docile at that stage’.66

The Decision Announced and Debated in Parliament Holyoake’s choice of the opening of Parliament to announce the decision was astute – and not only because it caught potential protestors unawares. Using such a formal occasion to make a ministerial statement on Vietnam signalled that the government regarded the decision as a weighty one. It also allowed Holyoake to justify the delay in announcing this much-anticipated move. He insisted that he had been determined to make the announcement first ‘in this House to the elected representatives of the people’ and to allow them ‘the earliest possible opportunity to discuss the question’. Indeed, it is highly likely that Holyoake avoided making a formal decision until the Cabinet meeting of 24 May partly because he realised that the opening of Parliament was the best time and setting to announce such a controversial move.67 Holyoake certainly did his best to make a virtue of the delay when he delivered his statement. He began by explaining that, since receiving a formal request for combat assistance from South Vietnam on 10 May, his government had examined the question thoroughly and encouraged ‘the expression of views from all sections of the community’. In keeping with his consistent arguments to date, he asserted the need for New Zealand to 114

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uphold its record of defending the rights of small states through collective security measures. He also, with his customary care, underlined that New Zealand’s ultimate objective was a negotiated settlement. He praised President Johnson’s offers to open talks without preconditions and to provide US$1 billion to initiate a regional economic development scheme which would include North Vietnam. Until the communist side was willing to take up these offers, Holyoake considered it appropriate to send an artillery battery to serve alongside Australian forces ‘in the tradition of ANZAC in resisting aggression’, but without compromising the defence commitment to Malaysia, which remained New Zealand’s ‘first priority’.68 Labour and National parliamentarians had jousted intermittently over Vietnam since the 1950s, but the ensuing debate represented a significant watershed. For the first time in the Cold War era, government and Opposition were visibly divided about deploying New Zealand forces in a combat role in the cause of countering communism. In contrast to the behind-thescenes uncertainty of its decision-making, the government presented its decision with confidence as morally just, politically measured and logistically appropriate. Labour speakers questioned the justification for sending combat forces but were vaguer about their own party’s preferred alternative course of action. Holyoake opened Parliament’s first great debate about combat involvement in the Vietnam War by describing the decision to send combat forces as ‘perhaps the most significant taken, in this sphere at least, by any Government since 1950 when we made a decision very similar to this to assist South Korea against Communist aggression from the north’. Holyoake thus sought to anchor the Vietnam decision firmly in the historical context of New Zealand’s commitment to participation in collective efforts to counter international aggression, and in the ideological context of the Cold War confrontation against communism. He attributed the timing of the government’s action to three specific developments: increased American military and economic assistance to South Vietnam; Canberra’s despatch of an infantry battalion; and the request from Saigon for combat assistance. He also gave three reasons why an artillery battery was being sent: though small, it would successfully meet a specific military need; its despatch would not undermine New Zealand’s primary commitment in Malaysia; and it would complement the Australian battalion, continuing the ‘partnership which was born just 50 years ago at Gallipoli’. Holyoake then turned to the truly ‘critical issue’ of why a commitment was necessary. The ‘fundamental facts’ influencing the decision could be grouped into seven categories: the government had to exercise constant concern for New Zealand’s short- and long-term security; New Zealand’s ‘first line of defence was in South-East Asia’; the Vietnam conflict was neither 115

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a civil war nor a popular insurgency, but externally directed ‘Communist aggression’; the South Vietnamese were fighting to protect their freedom; developments in South Vietnam threatened New Zealand just as much as those in Malaysia; the government strongly desired a peaceful settlement that would ensure the territorial integrity of South Vietnam and its neighbours; until the communists ceased their aggression and entered meaningful talks, the freedom and independence of South Vietnam could only be defended militarily. With the exception of the blandly obvious first item, these so-called facts were highly debatable. If accepted as accurate, however, they did constitute a reasonable case for providing combat assistance. Holyoake did not seek to strengthen the public case for intervention by drawing attention to the longer-term alliance considerations which had exercised such influence in his administration’s private deliberations. He did obliquely refer to them in underlining the words ‘both short term and long term’ when alluding to the government’s concern with national security in the first of his seven points. Holyoake also noted that the decision conformed to SEATO treaty obligations and that it was important to ‘range ourselves with our American and Australian allies’. Yet it was evident that he did not want to give his opponents an opportunity to argue that New Zealand was simply responding to American pressures. Holyoake also sought to pre-empt other likely criticisms from the Opposition benches. Conscious of Labour’s emphasis on the desirability of United Nations involvement, he welcomed this prospect in principle but observed that Secretary-General U Thant had acknowledged that the United Nations was currently powerless to act in Vietnam. Holyoake went out of his way to praise Johnson’s willingness to negotiate and to provide economic aid. Obviously hoping to set Labour on the back foot, he fulsomely praised British peace efforts and noted pointedly that Harold Wilson’s Labour government had fully supported American policy. Finally, Holyoake reminded Parliament of the government’s encouragement to Norman Perry in his efforts on behalf of the National Council of Churches to start negotiations through the East Asian Christian Conference.69 Holyoake readily acknowledged to the House that his comments amounted to little more than an elaboration of the themes covered in his televised address, but this time he was explicitly defending the need for a combat commitment. This speech would stand as a template for the public justification of New Zealand’s military commitment in Vietnam over the next seven years. Labour’s great problem in mid-1965 was that, unlike the anti-war movement, its leaders shared a significant number of the assumptions to which Holyoake had alluded. Now that New Zealand soldiers would be fighting alongside Australian and American forces in South Vietnam, the dilemmas 116

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with which the party had been grappling in recent weeks were only deepened. Labour’s criticisms thus remained qualified and equivocal. The awkwardness was evident from the moment the Leader of Opposition rose next day to respond to Holyoake’s motion. Revealingly, Nordmeyer first addressed issues of process. He complained that Holyoake had presented the House with a fait accompli, as the Cabinet had acted without consulting Parliament on ‘the pros and cons of the issue involved’. He suggested, too, that the churches had been treated with contempt because the government had not waited for the outcome of their mission. Nordmeyer expressed ‘intrigue’ about the precise timing of the decision, asking if it had been made before the South Vietnamese request on 10 May. He also questioned how representative that administration was, noting that a succession of regimes in Saigon had been ‘toppling like ninepins’. Notwithstanding these criticisms, the Labour leader proved singularly reluctant to reject outright the principle of sending New Zealand forces to South Vietnam or to criticise American policy directly. Indeed, Nordmeyer acknowledged that Labour was ‘in full accord’ with much of what Holyoake had said, such as the desire for a negotiated settlement, a commitment to the principle of collective security, and admiration for Johnson’s ‘magnificent gesture’ of a $1 billion programme of economic assistance. Even in articulating his party’s ‘grave doubts about the wisdom of military intervention in South Vietnam’, he focused on logistical objections by suggesting that such intervention would jeopardise New Zealand’s primary commitment to Malaysia (which, of course, was exactly what National had said). Moreover, he undermined that argument by proposing that New Zealand should ‘contribute a unit through some acceptable international organisation to assist in peacekeeping in the Republic of Vietnam’. It was difficult to see how sending a force under different auspices would alter the alleged problem of inadequate resources. Labour’s commitment to the containment of communism in Southeast Asia meant that it could credibly attack the government only by suggesting that American policy was misconceived and that South Vietnam’s problems were not attributable to ‘communist aggression’. Labour was not yet prepared to go that far, or to join the anti-war movement in declaring that cause bankrupt and immoral.70 Nordmeyer’s opening salvo appeared to vindicate a newspaper commentary two weeks earlier that Labour had adopted a ‘negative “neither for nor against” attitude’.71 Deputy Prime Minister Marshall used the same phrase to dismiss the Leader of the Opposition’s arguments. Highlighting the equivocal tone of Nordmeyer’s speech, he noted that both National and Labour wished to deter communist aggression in Southeast Asia, recognised the ultimate need for a negotiated settlement of the Vietnam conflict, and applauded the 117

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American offer of economic assistance. They disagreed only about how to achieve these objectives. Marshall characterised Labour’s response as unrealistic, given the communist unwillingness to negotiate and the inability of the United Nations to act. He denied that sending an artillery battery would weaken efforts in Malaysia: the unit had been chosen precisely because it would not do so. Marshall even claimed that a Labour government would probably have made the same decision. He defended the lack of prior consultation with Parliament by noting that the government, not Parliament, had the constitutional responsibility for this sort of decision, and cited as a precedent the action of Michael Joseph Savage’s Labour government in declaring war against Germany in September 1939.72 Other National speakers added little of substance to the debate but backed the views expressed by Holyoake and Marshall. Those such as Hanan, Tom Shand and Sir Leslie Munro relished their task, sensing that the Opposition’s ambivalence had handed them the high ground in the debate.73 Labour MPs evidently feared that the issue could only hurt their party politically, and several chose to be absent from the House during this first debate.74 Those present followed Nordmeyer’s lead by arguing, as Norman Kirk put it, that there were ‘wiser and better’ ways to achieve the overall objectives of the government’s Vietnam policy. While stressing the vital need for more development aid to alleviate the poverty which he deemed the main reason for the appeal of communism in Southeast Asia, Kirk was even more forthright than his leader in asserting that Labour did not oppose a New Zealand military presence as long as it constituted ‘part of a peacekeeping unit through some international organisation’, preferably the United Nations. Though most Labour speakers emulated Kirk and Nordmeyer in eschewing direct criticism of American policy, Stan Whitehead condemned National for ‘blindly following what the United States want to do’ and advocated more ‘independent thinking in these matters’. Whitehead was careful to stipulate that Labour was not anti-American, but he foreshadowed a line of argument which the party would later adopt: that the United States was erring in Vietnam and that in foreign policy ‘each party should have an independent line’.75 Few Labour MPs pressed this argument forcefully in mid-1965. Interestingly, given their equivocal stance, it was Labour members who drew attention to the historic nature of the debate. Kirk, for example, declared that ‘we are taking part in what is probably one of the most important debates to be held in Parliament for a very long time. We are debating not just the action which the Government has already decided on, but in effect the future of this country.’76 Another Labour member, Arthur Faulkner, considered it ‘beyond doubt the most important debate’ in which he had participated during his eight years in Parliament, ‘perhaps 118

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the forerunner of debates that might go on for 30 years regarding the area of our commitment in South-East Asia, upon which our national security and – perhaps more important still, because without this we have no need for national security – our economic survival depends’.77 In certain respects, Parliament’s first major debate about New Zealand combat involvement in the Vietnam War belied such descriptions and was a relatively tame affair. The general assumptions on which the bipartisan foreign policy consensus had long rested were still intact. But, lukewarm as Labour’s opposition may have been, the debate initiated on 28 May signalled the potential for deeper divisions about how best to respond to escalation of the Vietnam conflict and to safeguard New Zealand’s national interests in the volatile Southeast Asian region. To that extent, the debate was indeed historic. Reactions Outside Parliament Outside Parliament, reactions to the announcement were divided along predictable lines. Those who had sought to avert the decision were quick to deplore it, but the announcement did not bring significant new groups into their ranks. As in the run-up to the decision, the government’s supporters were less vociferous and impassioned than its critics, but there appeared to be widespread tacit acceptance of the decision. In general, the announcement seemed to consolidate rather than alter existing divisions of opinion about Vietnam, a tendency which worked to the government’s advantage, especially with respect to press opinion. Using the opening of Parliament to announce the decision not only caught Holyoake’s critics off-guard but ensured that initial media reporting of the announcement would focus on the stated rationale for the decision rather than on protest against it. But nothing Holyoake could have said would have mollified those who had worked so assiduously for a different outcome. They moved promptly to express their dismay and draw public attention to their cause. The recently formed COVs led the charge. Mitcalfe immediately decried Holyoake’s decision and told the media that the Wellington COV would work to persuade the government to reverse it.78 Only hours after the announcement, at midnight on 27 May, COV members resumed their round-the-clock vigil outside Parliament.79 More dramatically, a small group of young people associated with the COV staged a ‘sit-in’ outside the Prime Minister’s office the next day. This sort of direct activism would become a hallmark of Vietnam anti-war protest in New Zealand and around the world, but in 1965 it was sufficiently novel to be described by the New Zealand Press Association as ‘Wellington’s most startling protest move’. After being physically ejected by police in the morning, some of the 119

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Sit-in outside the Prime Minister’s office, 1 June 1965. morrie hill collection, f-71874-1⁄4, atl

demonstrators got back into Parliament in the afternoon and resumed their positions outside Holyoake’s office. This time the Prime Minister personally prevented police removing them, saying that they were no trouble to him and commenting: ‘They look a bit odd, but I think that’s their objective’. It was a typical Holyoake touch, and the demonstrators eventually departed quietly when he left his office at the end of the day.80 There were also larger-scale protests. Having hastily called a meeting at the Teachers’ Training College after the announcement on 27 May, the Wellington COV decided to hold a mass rally outside Parliament on 1 June. More than 1000 people were addressed by some 20 speakers, including trade unionists, academics, clergy and poets. Those present passed a resolution condemning the government’s decision and pledging to seek its reversal.81 A similar protest meeting in Auckland on 6 June attracted almost 700 people. The speakers included Hugh Watt (Labour’s Deputy Leader), Jim Knox of the FOL, a minister of religion, a university lecturer, a Maori teacher, a university student, and Len Reid from the PFVC (the ‘Interim’ had been dropped in late May). The meeting was chaired by Martyn Finlay and jointly sponsored by the Auckland Trades Council, the Auckland Labour Representation Committee and the Auckland PFVC. Though the sponsor120

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ship and line-up of speakers was representative of the pattern of opposition, the meeting illustrated underlying tensions between the protesting groups. As Reid later recalled with candour, ‘We were blatantly and openly supporting the NLF but people like Labour Party speakers – they wanted the war stopped full stop – both sides to stop fighting’. Labour representatives were reluctant to appear alongside PFVC speakers, and agreed to speak at the meeting only after ‘a hell of a row’ and mediation by Jim Knox. In the event, Watt left the stage when Reid spoke. This was the only occasion when the Auckland PFVC achieved any public association with the Labour Party.82 In addition to the COVs’ actions, there were numerous other expressions of protest. Most church leaders expressed some form of opposition (typically in moderate terms), with the notable exceptions of the Anglican Bishop of Wellington, H. W. Baines, and the Roman Catholic Metropolitan of New Zealand, Archbishop Peter McKeefry.83 The most outspoken dissent came from familiar quarters: the CND, the Peace Council, the CPNZ, the FOL, individual trade unions and the Public Service Association (PSA).84 A few small organisations which had not been prominent in the campaign, such as the Dunedin Voice of Women, sent messages of protest once the decision was announced, as did some individuals.85 Criticism of the government’s Vietnam policy even assumed poetic form. James K. Baxter wrote a poem entitled ‘A Bucket of Blood for a Dollar’ which implied that the blood of New Zealand soldiers was about to be spilt in exchange for improved access to the American market for lamb exports.86 In the short term, however, the decision itself did not mobilise significant new sectors of the community in opposition to the government’s action. This trend was even evident with respect to those in tertiary education. The 27 May announcement did prompt more staff and students to join those already working against New Zealand military involvement in Vietnam, but the numbers of students at the COV-organised protests against the decision in Wellington were small in comparison to the 1500 to 2000 who had marched in early April against government policies on bursaries and university funding.87 Only 80 students attended a special general meeting of the Victoria University of Wellington Students’ Association called to debate the sending of soldiers to Vietnam.88 Many university staff and students around the country actively distanced themselves from protest. Almost 100 members of the teaching and senior administrative staff of Massey University wrote to the Prime Minister in late June specifically dissociating themselves from the Palmerston North COV.89 At the University of Otago, students who formed a committee to dispel the idea that ‘public opinion may class all students as supporters of the “No troops” faction’ claimed to have gathered 600 signatures in support of the official policy on Vietnam. Though a meeting of the university’s Student Council in late June passed 121

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three resolutions critical of the government’s decision, these met with rowdy dissent from a significant number of those in attendance.90 At the South Island’s other university, the Canterbury University Students’ Association actually passed a motion supporting the decision.91 Expressions of approval for the government’s decision were generally less dramatic than the protests. Outside National Party ranks, the RSA was the government’s most animated supporter; National President Hamilton Mitchell welcomed the announcement immediately.92 A smattering of groups and individuals, ranging from the Alexandra Jaycees to conservative Christians, also sent messages to the government or issued statements of support.93 Most New Zealanders chose neither to protest nor to endorse publicly the government’s Vietnam policy. In the absence of virtually any public opinion poll data for the period, the more general pattern of public reaction is difficult to determine. There is little reason to doubt, however, that Marshall was correct in suggesting to the RSA’s annual conference in June that most New Zealanders supported combat involvement.94 His claim was endorsed by the Dominion, which suggested that, though the nation had been ‘uncommonly divided on the question’, public opinion had swung towards the government after the announcement.95 In the only national public opinion poll conducted on the Vietnam issue – a Gallup poll in July 1965 – 70 per cent of those questioned believed that the level of military aid announced by the government was either appropriate or should be increased; only 23 per cent thought it was too much.96 The anti-war protesters aroused hostility among many New Zealanders. There were almost no supportive letters among the hundreds the government received between March and mid-May 1965. Only after anti-war protest began to be publicised did the Prime Minister begin receiving encouraging mail, some of it explicitly mentioning antipathy to the protest movement as a reason for writing.97 Many instinctively shared National’s antagonism toward the ‘weirdies and beardies’ of the protest movement, including a newspaper columnist who described the leaders of the 1965 campaign as ‘a hard core of Communists and fellow travellers’.98 More important for the government were the general reactions of the national media. Around this time the Tourist and Publicity Department began systematically monitoring New Zealand media reporting and commentary on Vietnam, a practice that would continue throughout the country’s combat involvement there.99 This exemplifies the unprecedented political impact in New Zealand of the Vietnam War, as it was the first single foreign policy issue to warrant this level of official scrutiny of media coverage. The initial indication was that the government could take comfort from how the media were representing Vietnam policy to the public. The first sur122

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vey at the end of May concluded that, in the lead-up to the Cabinet’s decision, media coverage of the Vietnam issue had been both extensive and objective. Even more satisfying for the government, it seemed that press opinion had actually firmed in support of official policy after the announcement. According to the press monitors, ‘Of 27 editorial opinions, just before and just after the announcement that New Zealand would send a battery to Vietnam, 21 were in favour of the Government’s action, 3 were indeterminate and 3 were against.’ Those opposed were the Taranaki Daily News, the Waikato Times and the Auckland Star, which expressed ‘grave doubts’ about a decision which involved ‘supporting one side in what is basically an Asian civil war’, not necessarily in the country’s ‘own enlightened self-interest’.100 Such views were in the minority among the nation’s leader writers. Far more typical was the Otago Daily Times, which on 28 May disparaged critics of the decision for failing to realise that collective security organisations were ‘a mutual protection insurance, and New Zealand has now been asked to pay its premium’. In such circumstances, the newspaper suggested that ‘no New Zealand Government – and a former Labour Minister of Defence, Mr P. G. Connolly, has made it clear that this must include a Labour Government – could properly refuse to meet its obligations’. In criticising Labour’s stance on the issue a few days later, the same newspaper concluded that ‘there can be little doubt that the majority of the country is behind him [Holyoake] – regretfully, but with a determination it has shown before when a wrong needed to be righted’.101 If they reflected sentiments in ‘middle New Zealand’, general press reactions suggest that it was the government’s critics who were out of step with mainstream opinion. The government was certainly eager to encourage this impression. In defending its policy to the public, it combined a reasoned response to the charges made by some of its critics with questioning of the emerging antiwar movement’s aims and membership. This readiness to link anti-Vietnam War protest to communism, radical external influences and ‘anti-American’ sentiments was illustrated in Holyoake’s public depiction of the emerging anti-war movement in mid-May as primarily drawing its impetus from ‘Communist Party members and pro-communists’ who wished to stir up ‘anti-American feeling’ and had effectively duped ‘a very many good people’ into joining their demonstrations.102 It was also evident in his reported comments about the sit-in outside his office on 28 May: ‘I read a Communist document this morning advocating people do this sort of thing. I suppose this is the result’. . . . Mr Holyoake said he thought ‘this form of demonstration overseas’ had been a long time arriving in New Zealand. ‘They seem to be a pure carbon copy,’ he said. ‘I thought we would have had some originality from New Zealanders’.103

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Other members of the government went further in exploiting the ‘red smear’. One National MP commented that ‘much of the opposition to the Government’s decision to send combat troops to Vietnam reeks of the stench that is known as Communism’.104 Although such charges continued to be made well into the 1970s, they were already misleading in mid-1965 and represented an egregious underestimation of the ideological breadth of the opposition to New Zealand involvement in the Vietnam War. Officials may have been genuinely concerned about manipulation of the protest movement by radical influences, but they also recognised that the extent of this was limited. For example, on 10 June the security services provided the government with a report detailing varying degrees of CPNZ and Peace Council involvement in the COVs. A CPNZ member had ‘briefed the students who demonstrated at the opening of Parliament, and at least three known Party members have been elected to sub-committees of the Wellington Committee on Vietnam’. These individuals were ‘part of a Communist party group which is taking an active part at most meetings, but following the present Party line of adopting a moderate viewpoint and offering constructive and reasonable suggestions for the conduct of the campaign.’ While identifying a communist presence within the COVs, the report made it clear that this presence by no means constituted a majority among the protesters.105 But even this modest association with domestic communism was a useful tool with which the government could rebut its critics, and it would be a continuing source of tension within the movement.

The domestic politics of New Zealand involvement in the Vietnam War underwent a significant transition between April and June 1965. As a correspondent to a student newspaper observed in June: ‘Our model society has cracked at the seams and the rift is going to remain long after New Zealand troops arrive in a small Asian country which few people could have named only two or three years ago’.106 Though not all New Zealanders shared that view, there was no doubt that the Vietnam conflict assumed a new prominence in domestic political debate as protests against combat involvement in the war multiplied in form and number. Differences of approach between National and Labour widened to the extent that the Opposition was prepared to dissent publicly, if moderately, from a decision to send New Zealand soldiers into combat. The public became more aware of criticisms of official Vietnam policy which had hitherto been almost exclusively the preserve of small groups on the left-wing and pacifist fringes of New Zealand political life. Most significantly, new organisations came into being with the specific purpose of opposing combat involvement in South Vietnam. 124

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Important as these developments were, however, they did not yet transform the broad context in which public debate about the Vietnam War was conducted in New Zealand. That the shadow of the Cold War still enveloped that debate played to the government’s advantage. Holyoake and his supporters were able to use anti-communism as both a major rationale for sending combat forces to Vietnam and a tool for discrediting critics of that policy. Labour’s own anti-communism vitiated its critique of the decision and allowed National to exploit the party’s equivocation and internal divisions on the issue. Cold War concerns, moreover, lay behind most press support for the government and helped shape the context in which the public at large viewed the decision.107 The government also benefited from Holyoake’s ponderously deliberate pace in moving toward a decision about the commitment. New Zealand’s visible hesitation in following the lead of its American and Australian allies may have carried diplomatic risks, but it meant that the government could argue that it had allowed ample opportunity for the airing of all domestic views on the matter. Even at the time, one reporter suggested that Holyoake’s delay in making any announcement could be summed up in one word: ‘politics’: Less impulsive than Sir Sidney Holland yet more decisive than the Rt. Hon. Walter Nash, Mr Holyoake is the most formidable and astute domestic politician since Mr Peter Fraser. He is determined not to commit New Zealand to one of the biggest decisions since World War II without being perfectly sure in his own mind that he has the support of the great bulk of the people.108

This image of a consensus-minded, pragmatic leader who had New Zealand’s best interests at heart as he grappled with a demanding decision was precisely what Holyoake sought to cultivate. This line of argument was sufficiently well received within New Zealand in mid-1965 to allow Holyoake to discount the objections of his critics. In consequence, the newly formed Committees on Vietnam began their existence with a major defeat that was doubly discouraging. They not only failed to dissuade the government from sending combat forces to South Vietnam, but also proved unable to mobilise a majority of New Zealanders to oppose that decision. They were, however, undeterred. Barry Mitcalfe undoubtedly spoke for most in the fledgling movement when he asserted in August 1965: This type of activity may not change anything but it redeems a bad conscience and it might show some of our near neighbours in the Third World that not all New Zealanders are willing to murder for the sake of so-called Freedom under the cloak

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new zealand and the vietnam war of military dictatorship in South Vietnam. . . . One crisis has passed. It is not the last. We will continue to educate, to work through, and with public opinion to change attitudes towards war as a weapon of diplomacy.109

The opponents of the government’s Vietnam policy now faced the task of building a longer-term, more broadly based movement, rather than merely improvising a brief, one-time campaign. They resembled their counterparts in the United States at the beginning of 1965, who have been aptly described by a leading historian of the American anti-war movement: ‘Opposition had crystallized, but it was not yet a movement’.110 In the aftermath of the May 1965 decision, its opponents of that decision moved with vigour and determination to build such a movement in New Zealand. Though that movement would prove to be a considerable source of irritation for his government, Keith Holyoake had reasonable cause for satisfaction in June 1965. He had successfully satisfied allied expectations on the international front without triggering visible dissent within National ranks or from the party’s traditional supporters. His decision had received a decidedly supportive reception from the country’s mainstream media, and his party held the upper hand in parliamentary debate about Vietnam. It is difficult to envisage how Holyoake could have better managed the domestic implications of reaching and announcing the decision to make a combat commitment in Vietnam. It remained to be seen if his implementation of the decision would fare as well.

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CHAPTER SIX

Part of the Way with LBJ: New Zealand Defers an Expanded Commitment, June 1965–December 1966

I

n the 18 months following the may 1965 decision to commit combat forces, New Zealand made its Vietnam policy against a background of continuing instability in Southeast Asia, looming British withdrawal from the region, sustained American military escalation of the Vietnam War, and rising protest against that policy throughout the Western world. The Holyoake government maintained its broad support for American policy toward Vietnam and gave no consideration whatsoever to revoking it. Yet, having reluctantly committed an under-strength artillery battery to Vietnam, the government would prove obstinately averse to doing more in the period up to the 1966 general election, in part because of limited military and economic resources. Holyoake, in particular, remained steadfastly intent on minimising the potential financial, human and political costs of involvement in the Vietnam War. The challenge for New Zealand’s policy-makers in this period was clear. They were determined to maintain the diplomatic benefits of the alliance solidarity which they had demonstrated by backing the United States. But they sought to do so without risking further costs, for they continued to harbour serious misgivings about the prospects for Western success in the Vietnam conflict, and about various aspects of American policy. As a result, they adopted a carefully balanced approach that was consciously directed at going only ‘part of the way’ with the United States and Australia into the yawning quagmire of Vietnam. 127

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Reluctant Warrior: Holyoake, the Commonwealth Peace Mission and the Despatch of ‘V Force’, June–July 1965 The uncertainty and hesitation that had dogged New Zealand’s decision to commit combat forces to South Vietnam also characterised its initial implementation. Only weeks after announcing that an artillery unit would be sent to Vietnam, Keith Holyoake was presented with an unexpected opportunity to revisit the decision while attending a Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ meeting in London. His comments during this conference and at an ANZUS Council meeting in Washington immediately afterwards were highly revealing of how Holyoake was eager for his nation to play the role of a ‘dovish hawk’ whose reluctant resort to force did not preclude pursuing a negotiated settlement of the Vietnam conflict. Anxious to avoid acrimonious divisions over Vietnam within Commonwealth ranks, British Prime Minister Harold Wilson proposed that the leaders assembled in London sponsor a Commonwealth peace mission to visit Moscow, Washington, Beijing, Hanoi and Saigon to help launch serious negotiations. Holyoake ‘warmly welcomed’ Wilson’s proposal, as did Menzies. Once the meeting began, Holyoake went considerably further than his Australian counterpart in supporting the concept.1 From the moment of his arrival in London, Holyoake appeared as a paragon of moderation on Vietnam. At a press conference on 16 June, he justified New Zealand’s commitment of troops to Vietnam in terms of United Nations principles and SEATO obligations. At the same time, he expressed wholehearted support for negotiations to end the conflict and suggested that ‘all military efforts must be designed to bring that about’. More controversially, Holyoake conceded that meaningful negotiations would probably have to include Viet Cong representation, albeit not in their own right but brought by whichever Communist state ‘accepted an invitation to sit around the table’. Nevertheless, Holyoake was the first Western leader to sanction such a possibility publicly. He also indicated that he would support a pause in the American bombing of North Vietnam to stimulate peace talks.2 While speaking in qualified terms within a context of support for American policy, Holyoake conveyed an image of real flexibility on the issue. Obviously in good humour, he even quipped to journalists that ‘Mr Menzies has brought his Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mr Paul Hasluck, over here and I have brought my Minister of Foreign Affairs with me as well. I usually do.’3 Holyoake’s pronouncements on Vietnam at the Commonwealth conference would be solidly grounded in the thinking of that minister – himself. Wilson pushed through the proposal for a peace mission during the conference’s first session, though not without sharp questioning from African leaders. Holyoake spoke forcefully in favour of the initiative, depicting 128

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it as a means of avoiding yet another of the many ‘lost opportunities’ that had characterised Vietnamese history.4 Having so recently announced New Zealand’s first combat commitment without British involvement, he seemed to relish the chance of complementing military support for American policy with a peaceful approach to the Vietnam issue within the more familiar comfort of a Commonwealth framework. The following day, his enthusiasm for the concept was more seriously tested. President Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, another keen supporter of the proposal, made an unexpected appeal for Australia to withdraw its battalion and for New Zealand not to send its detachment to South Vietnam. Menzies refused outright, dubbing this an ‘astonishing’ suggestion that was one-sided and designed to harm American interests. Holyoake was more ambivalent. He explained that New Zealand was sending troops because only ‘a show of strength’ would induce genuine negotiations. Surprisingly, he added that he had been thinking about the matter ‘even before Nkrumah’s appeal’ and that, if the Commonwealth mission drew a favourable reception, he would consider deferring the despatch of the New Zealand artillery unit.5 These comments stood in stark contrast to Menzies’ response in both tone and substance.6 There was also a calculated quality to Holyoake’s ‘dovishness’. His stance in London was consistent with a sustained effort to put the best possible political ‘spin’ on both New Zealand and American policy in Vietnam, for he had no real hope that the mission would succeed.7 Rather, as he explained at the subsequent ANZUS Council meeting, his willingness to consider delaying the departure of the artillery battery was ‘a small gesture by New Zealand to help show the flexibility of the Western side as well as restraint’.8 Given the likely rejection of the Commonwealth overture by the communist states, Holyoake could safely assume that his ‘small gesture’ would be well received both at home and abroad, validating the publicly stated rationale that New Zealand was only sending forces in order to bring the communists to the negotiating table. When Ghana made public Nkrumah’s appeal, Holyoake faced no embarrassment in publicising the substance of his reply.9 Whatever its impact on international and public opinion, Holyoake’s statement caught officials unawares and caused uncertainty back in Wellington. He did not appear to have considered the effect of his offer on preparations for the departure of V-Force, the New Zealand unit bound for Vietnam. Officials quickly alerted Acting Prime Minister Marshall to the problems any delay might cause. On a practical level, the military planners’ tight schedule would be severely disrupted. Both morale within V-Force and domestic political support could also be undermined. More importantly, the government had told both Washington and Canberra that the battery 129

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would be in Vietnam by the end of July. Missing this deadline ‘could appear to our two close allies as a failure to support them in the field’, especially with the communist powers almost certain to reject the Commonwealth peace initiative, as they had numerous others. For External Affairs, the vital consideration was ‘to keep faith with our allies’.10 This concern was heeded. On 21 June, Cabinet endorsed the Prime Minister’s proposal to consider delaying despatch of the battery if the communist nations responded positively to the Commonwealth mission, but also agreed that preparations for the departure of V-Force would proceed.11 Having limited the possible fallout from Holyoake’s statement in London, officials continued to fret about its implications. McIntosh, who had accompanied Holyoake to London, worried that if a definitive decision about V-Force was not announced before he and the Prime Minister arrived in Washington, ‘it will look as if the Americans have been twisting our puny little arm’.12 But instead of announcing whether the battery would leave as planned, Holyoake nonchalantly defended his recent actions. At the ANZUS Council meeting on 28 June, he stated that his support for the Commonwealth mission demonstrated ‘to international opinion that it was the Communist side not the West, which was holding back from negotiations’. Holyoake cannily cited as a ‘brilliant example of this’ President Johnson’s own assertion, in a recent speech, that the United States stood ready for unconditional negotiations. A cool response from Secretary of State Dean Rusk did not deter Holyoake from suggesting that, while New Zealand supported American policy ‘one hundred per cent’, the United States might consider ‘another possible gesture’ if the Commonwealth mission reached Vietnam: suspending the bombing of the North. Rusk politely declined, pointing out that ‘the Communists refused to give a quid pro quo for a suspension of bombing’. He did agree, however, to bear the possibility in mind, ‘adding jocularly, no doubt, that if the Mission got to Hanoi they wouldn’t bomb it’.13 Holyoake seemed even more out of step with American thinking on Viet Cong representation in possible negotiations. The ANZUS Council discussion of this contentious issue did not specifically address his London proposition, which he had assumed was ‘pretty close’ to the United States position. But Rusk made it clear that the Americans opposed Viet Cong representation, and even suggested that the three ANZUS governments should intensify ‘their diplomatic efforts to persuade other governments not to give credence to Viet Cong claims to be a party principal in Vietnam’. Paul Hasluck, the Australian Minister of External Affairs, readily agreed. Holyoake would later remark ruefully to Cabinet that the ANZUS Council talks demonstrated that the Americans were ‘not too pleased’ with either the idea of a bombing pause or that of including the Viet Cong in negotia130

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tions – two points ‘upon which the Commonwealth Prime Ministers are agreed mainly’.14 Despite the implicit rebuffs delivered in Washington, Holyoake found the ANZUS discussions valuable for the insights they provided into American thinking on Vietnam. He was particularly struck by the perception that the conflict had become ‘the key to the whole global balance of power’. He later reported Rusk’s belief that any diminution ‘of American determination in Vietnam would not only have disastrous consequences in that country and encourage Chinese aggressiveness but would undermine confidence in American commitments around the world’. It was this ‘conviction’ which permeated ‘American thinking on negotiations, pauses in their bombing activities, dealings with the Viet Cong’. Holyoake’s final impression from the Washington talks was that the Johnson administration’s determination to avert a communist victory in Vietnam presaged ‘an increasingly tough American approach which will, if necessary, disregard international opinion, while they attempt to force the Communists to negotiate on American terms or gradually allow their military efforts to wither away’.15 It remained unclear in late June 1965 if New Zealand would soon find itself torn between this American stance and the more conciliatory approach favoured by most Commonwealth states. As it happened, the Commonwealth’s peace initiative had stalled by the time the Washington talks ended. Both Moscow and Beijing had rejected the peace mission, while Hanoi had not yet responded formally.16 Marshall cabled Holyoake on 30 June that it was unlikely there would be any positive response which would warrant delaying the planned departure of the V-Force advance party on 5 July. Presumably to deter public comment by the Prime Minister, Marshall noted that the government was ‘not anxious to issue further statements about awaiting responses from Communists as this tends to encourage doubts about the wisdom of our policy’. While the ‘present period of uncertainty had not been helpful’, he was confident that public support would recover once the battery had been despatched.17 Holyoake then told Wilson that he would have to make a definitive announcement upon his return to Wellington, and asked him if he was willing to make a public statement on the Commonwealth Peace Mission’s progress, as he did not want any action by New Zealand to be interpreted as either ‘a breach of understanding’ with the mission’s members or an embarrassing ‘public indication’ of its failure.18 Wilson did not want to make a statement because Hanoi’s position would not be clarified until 9 July.19 His request that New Zealand defer ‘a little longer’ the despatch of V-Force met with dismay in Wellington, where officials considered that Hanoi was merely prevaricating. They persuaded Marshall to suggest to Holyoake that he announce on his return that the battery would leave as planned.20 131

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Addressing the gunners of 161 Battery at Waiouru not long before their departure for South Vietnam, Governor-General Sir Bernard Fergusson advised them to adopt fixed smiles – ‘the passport of acceptance in backward countries’ – if they wanted to be accepted in friendship by the Vietnamese. dominion post collection, ep/1965/2099/6, atl

By now, the whole issue had become an unwelcome and frustrating distraction for New Zealand diplomatic and military officials. As Lloyd White explained to McIntosh, it was imperative to end the uncertainty, for Holyoake’s ‘various statements around the world about possible delay in sending the battery’ were now ‘doing more harm than good both politically and in respect of the physical arrangements for the troops’. He feared that another holding statement by Holyoake would only lead to greater difficulties the following week when the battery was due to depart.21 In similar vein, a New Zealand diplomat reported from Saigon that publicity about Holyoake’s comments in London had ‘caused confusion’, especially given South Vietnamese disappointment that the engineering unit was to be withdrawn when the gunners arrived.22 Once back in Wellington, Holyoake accepted the advice of his anxious officials. He announced on 9 July that the rest of the battery would follow the advance party as scheduled, and that only ‘an immediate, drastic and unexpected change in attitude’ by the communist powers would affect this decision.23 Wilson did not object.24 To the relief of most policy-makers in Wellington, the complications occasioned by the abortive Commonwealth mission could be forgotten and the battery was finally clear to leave. 132

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Yet the episode had been instructive – especially for Holyoake. As in the lead-up to the decision to send combat forces, undercurrents of tension between alliance-minded officials and the Prime Minister had been exposed. But for the unmitigated failure of the Commonwealth mission, a potentially more serious rift could have appeared among Holyoake, officials and other Cabinet ministers, and possibly between New Zealand and its ANZUS allies. Although Holyoake had applied a dovish gloss to New Zealand’s policy on Vietnam during his time in London, his experience in Washington served as a salutary reminder that American policy was moving into its most hawkish phase to date. The predicament which this development had created for New Zealand featured prominently in the Prime Minister’s report to Cabinet on his experiences in London and Washington. On the one hand, Holyoake did not shrink from reiterating why he had supported the Commonwealth Peace Mission and offered to defer the despatch of the battery. On the other hand, he endorsed the American view that the war in Vietnam carried global implications, and that ‘the risk of escalation’ was justified to avoid ‘the defeat of the free world and the triumph of Communism – Chinese brand’. Against this background, the dilemma was that: New Zealand is involved whatever the circumstances. In the long term any American retreat or defeat could be disastrous for us. Our offer of military assistance was understandable in these terms but our objective remains a political one – to bring about a negotiated settlement. For this reason our immediate problem is an intensely worrying one. We must back up the Americans and the Vietnamese. But at the same time we must do everything we can to encourage meaningful negotiations.25

Unfortunately for Holyoake, this ‘intensely worrying’ problem with which he had grappled at first hand for a month would not become less intractable in the coming months and years.

Deferring an Increased Commitment, July–December 1965 In the weeks after Holyoake’s visit to Washington the United States embarked on a path of escalation that would culminate in the deployment of over half a million American soldiers in Vietnam by 1968. With the South Vietnamese continuing to confront military and political disaster in mid1965, General William Westmoreland, the American military commander in Vietnam, and his superiors in the Joint Chiefs of Staff had recommended intensifying the air war against North Vietnam and substantially increasing American ground forces. As usual, Johnson struggled to find a middle 133

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New Zealand gunners receive garlands during the official South Vietnamese welcome for 161 Battery in Saigon, August 1965. ep-defence-vietnam-01, atl

path between extreme military escalation and the disengagement favoured by the rising anti-war movement, some Democrats in Congress, and even one or two of his own advisers, especially George Ball. Swayed instead by Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, Johnson reluctantly decided in late July to approve the immediate deployment of 50,000 troops, who would be augmented before the end of 1965 by a further 50,000. He did not, however, approve an intensified bombing campaign or the calling up of reserves, as suggested by his military advisers. Moreover, in typical fashion, Johnson sought to minimise domestic controversy over Vietnam by obscuring the magnitude of his decision when he announced it publicly on 28 July. Ever fearful of jeopardising his beloved Great Society and of provoking the Soviet Union or China, the President again eschewed an all-or-nothing decision about Vietnam in favour of deepening incremental involvement in a limited war, whose immediate costs could thereby be contained but whose benefits would prove elusive.26 Johnson warned Holyoake of his decision just before announcing it. He asked New Zealand to think about increasing its own assistance ‘in ways which will give a clear signal to the world – and perhaps especially to Hanoi – of the solidarity of international support for resistance to aggression in 134

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Vietnam’.27 Predictably, this request aroused little enthusiasm in Wellington, for both practical military and domestic political reasons. As External Affairs officers noted, the decision to send combat troops had been made in the face of some domestic opposition, the battery would not even ‘be fully operational for another month’, and New Zealand was now ‘perilously close to the bottom of the barrel’ with respect to military resources available for overseas deployment.28 On 2 August, Cabinet agreed that New Zealand could not offer any further aid.29 Holyoake wrote to Johnson that day, explaining ‘very frankly’ that, because of the recent deployment of the battery in Vietnam and the ongoing Malaysian commitment, it would create the ‘utmost difficulty’ for New Zealand to provide additional troops from its ‘limited military establishment’. He indicated, however, that New Zealand would continue to consider possible ways of increasing its assistance to South Vietnam. By contrast, the response from Canberra was considerably more forthcoming.30 The Australian government demonstrated yet again the importance which it attached to visibly supporting the United States in Vietnam when it decided in mid-August to upgrade its battalion to a ‘battalion group’ by sending 350 more personnel, including an artillery battery of 136 men. Despite the latter addition, Hasluck gave a public assurance that the newly enlarged force would continue to operate with the New Zealand artillery unit.31 The government publicly welcomed the Australian decision but reiterated that no increases to New Zealand’s forces in Vietnam were currently being contemplated.32 Resource constraints largely explain Wellington’s unwillingness to do more in Vietnam, but Holyoake’s attitude was another factor. His touchiness on the subject was aptly illustrated when he took issue with military authorities about press references to five, rather than the authorised four, guns being used by the artillery battery in Vietnam. Major-General McKinnon quickly allayed the Prime Minister’s concerns by explaining that the fifth gun was operationally essential as ‘a spare for purposes of training and equipment maintenance’.33 Holyoake did not pursue the matter, but this would not be the last occasion on which he revealed his acute sensitivity to the possible domestic political and diplomatic implications of New Zealand activities in Vietnam. In particular, the close military association with Australia would from time to time raise political considerations for New Zealand. One such occasion arose from the Australian decision in August to augment its force in Vietnam. The artillery unit promised by Canberra as part of its increase was a six-gun battery, which was to alternate with New Zealand’s 161 Battery in support of the Australian battalion group. Deployment of this battery prompted McKinnon to recommend at the end of October that the New 135

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Zealand battery’s complement of guns be similarly raised to six. Otherwise, the New Zealand unit was ‘likely to be regarded as an inferior substitute for their own more powerful batteries by the Australian Battalion and by the United States infantry units which it may be called upon to support’. Such a situation would not only harm the morale of the New Zealand troops and diminish national prestige but also create operational problems, according to the army chief, who had been a gunner during the Second World War.34 McKinnon’s recommendation was exemplary of the strong desire within New Zealand military circles during the Vietnam War to see their forces serving as effectively and professionally as possible alongside their ANZUS partners. Though doubtful that ‘the time was opportune’, Lieutenant-General Leonard Thornton, the Chief of Defence Staff, asked the Minister of Defence to raise the issue with Holyoake. Thornton also suggested that ‘by making this relatively small offering now, apparently unsolicited’, New Zealand might ‘forestall’ renewed American requests for additional assistance. The gesture could be presented publicly, with minimal fanfare, as the ‘completion’ of 161 Battery’s deployment.35 The suggested balance between satisfying military operational needs, meeting alliance expectations and demonstrating restraint to the New Zealand public must have appealed to Holyoake, for he approved the submission of a proposal to Cabinet. In December Thornton duly presented a recommendation that Cabinet approve in principle the boosting of 161 Battery to its full complement by adding 27 men and two guns.36 The military authorities could not have made plainer their ability and desire to provide for such an increase, but it would be some months before Holyoake acted on their advice. Thornton’s instinct about timing had been correct. Ian Stewart (the senior External Affairs officer working on Vietnam policy) had pointed out as much when McKinnon first proposed strengthening the battery.37 Like McKinnon, Stewart was a Second World War veteran and, like McIntosh, he had strongly but reluctantly supported the original decision to send combat troops for alliance reasons.38 His first-hand experience in dealing with Holyoake had given him a keen appreciation of the political constraints involved. When Thornton offered, as part of the military justification for increasing the battery’s strength, the example that technical problems had recently reduced the unit to only two guns, Stewart observed wryly: ‘This is just what PM wants. – Less hazardous, fewer deaths, quieter public’.39 The ensuing months of inaction on the recommendation helped confirm that, for Holyoake, political considerations invariably outweighed operational considerations. As 1965 drew to a close, a general pattern for New Zealand’s combat involvement in the Vietnam War could already be discerned. New Zealand 136

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had certainly proven willing to deploy a combat contingent in Vietnam. That unit was involved in a very real way in the fighting and had suffered its first casualties in September, showing that the government would accept the loss of New Zealand lives as part of the price of defending the South Vietnamese cause.40 Nevertheless, it was a token force – the bare minimum that could have been credibly sent. The Holyoake government clearly favoured a military contribution that was small, operationally closely associated with Australia, and conceived with an eye to minimising casualties, financial costs and adverse domestic commentary.41 Neither the major escalation of the ground war by the United States in July 1965 nor the ensuing increase in the Australian force had moved New Zealand to boost its own modest military contribution. (Indeed, local evaluations of the likely long-term effects of the American escalation remained pessimistic.)42 For the rest of the year, the government steadfastly ignored hints from Washington about possible further assistance, such as a comment by President Johnson to Ambassador Laking in September that he hoped New Zealand could ‘do more’.43 In November a ‘special plea’ from General Westmoreland, backed by Ambassador Weir, to return the engineering unit to Vietnam fell on deaf ears in Wellington.44 The government even failed to take up the recommendation of its own military authorities to bring 161 Battery up to full strength, even though the resources needed for this small increase were available.

Mounting Pressures and New Zealand’s Modest Response The Vietnam conflict had not been the sole source of concern for New Zealand policy-makers surveying the Southeast Asian scene during 1965. The year had been a troubled one for several other states in the region. Although no longer facing serious domestic communist insurgency, Malaysia continued to contend with Indonesia’s policy of ‘Confrontation’. To complicate matters, rising communal tensions prompted Lee Kwan Yew to lead Singapore out of the Malaysian federation in August 1965 to form an independent state. Then, in October, a coup in Indonesia set in train the bloody process whereby the pro-Chinese Sukarno regime would eventually give way to the military government of Major-General Suharto. Although that regime would be militantly anti-communist and ended the policy of Confrontation in August 1966, its consolidation of power was preceded by months of instability in Indonesia, during which up to half a million alleged communists, many of them ethnically Chinese, lost their lives. As 1966 opened, the full implications of these developments remained uncertain, but they reinforced the image of a region gripped by turbulence. Worryingly for New Zealand policy-makers, they had also received the 137

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first intimations in 1965 that Great Britain was moving away from a global defence role which included a direct contribution to the security of Southeast Asia.45 Given these various uncertainties, the Holyoake government entered the year with no intention of modifying its primary overseas defence commitment to Malaysia, which not only was set in a cosy Commonwealth framework but still seemed necessary and aroused negligible domestic controversy. Conveniently, this commitment allowed New Zealand to continue to argue that it was pulling its weight in the general struggle for regional stability and could not divert scant military resources to contribute more in Vietnam. In early 1966, there were few signs that the Vietnam conflict would end soon. The intensification of American involvement during 1965 had probably staved off the otherwise almost certain collapse of the South Vietnamese regime. Moreover, the political leadership in Saigon had gained a muchneeded measure of stability in mid-1965 when Air Vice Marshal Nguyen Cao Ky became Prime Minister and Lieutenant-General Nguyen Van Thieu assumed the chairmanship of the National Leadership Committee. Yet, at year’s end, the United States stood ready for a further significant escalation of the war. To prepare the American public and to deflect international criticism of his actions, Johnson announced a bombing pause at Christmas and then launched a high-profile ‘peace offensive’.46 The Johnson administration was quite candid in telling New Zealand of these intentions. Both moves were designed to elicit ‘far greater support and understanding than would otherwise have been the case’ for the imminent build-up of ground forces and eventual resumption of bombing, which the Americans considered inevitable.47 Johnson wrote to Holyoake on 5 January 1966 describing the objectives of the bombing pause in similar terms: it might help ‘to sharpen the division between the various elements on the Communist side’. Failing ‘some substantial change in the attitude of the other side’, he expected to authorise significant reinforcements and increases in expenditure on Vietnam.48 As Laking advised Wellington, Washington envisaged a drawn-out conflict. The ambassador believed that ‘the next phase of the Vietnam conflict will be both more expensive and more dangerous than those that have gone before it, as the mutual testing of will-power continues and more and more becomes involved’. New Zealand was likely to come under increased pressure, ‘not only to help find a peaceful solution, but also pressure to contribute more to the war effort’.49 By the end of the month, Washington’s ‘peace offensive’ – one of an estimated 2000 abortive attempts at initiating peace talks between 1965 and 1967 – had come to nothing, foundering on both sides’ lack of interest and unwillingness to make concessions.50 The Johnson administration could 138

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now claim that, despite all its efforts, Hanoi had been completely unreceptive. As Laking explained on 28 January, the way was clear to resume bombing North Vietnam.51 Two days later, Johnson formally confirmed as much to Holyoake. Referring to New Zealand expansively ‘as our major ally and companion in arms in supporting South Viet-Nam’, the President justified the decision to recommence bombing and outlined American plans for troop reinforcements and budget increases for Vietnam.52 The resumption of the bombing of North Vietnam elicited no formal objection from Wellington, although officials continued to harbour reservations about its military effectiveness.53 Contrived as Washington’s ‘peace offensive’ may have been, the Johnson administration was not intent on military escalation alone in early 1966. As a leading American historian of the Vietnam War has aptly noted, ‘Lyndon Johnson was a reluctant warrior’ for whom Vietnam was ‘an affliction’, yet ‘one aspect of the war’ genuinely excited him: ‘the possibility of improving the lot of the South Vietnamese people’.54 With this objective in mind, the President met Ky and Thieu in Honolulu in early February. New Zealand was informed on the eve of the hastily arranged conference that its specific purpose was to discuss ‘ways of strengthening South Vietnam on the civilian side’.55 Johnson secured Ky’s agreement to an ambitious programme of social, political and economic reforms that was embodied in the so-called Declaration of Honolulu, which the President promptly dubbed a ‘kind of bible that we are going to follow’.56 The meeting had supposedly forged a joint American–Vietnamese commitment to give greater priority to ‘pacification’ and democratic ‘nation-building’ – easily the most glaring failures of the American efforts in South Vietnam to date. Ky, however, returned home to anti-American demonstrations by protesters demanding elections.57 The grand objective underpinning the Honolulu communiqué – winning the non-military struggle for the ‘hearts and minds’ of South Vietnam’s peoples – would remain frustratingly elusive.58 For New Zealand, the most immediate consequence of the Honolulu conference was a visit to Wellington by Vice-President Hubert Humphrey. His impending arrival prompted External Affairs to prepare a detailed briefing paper for Holyoake in which they described the Vice-President’s visit as ‘yet another link in the chain of tours throughout the world’ by American representatives in recent months; their general purpose was to explain and garner support for the Johnson administration’s current policy towards Vietnam. More specifically, they surmised that the visit was intended to deflect criticism that American allies had not been consulted about the Honolulu meeting and to report on its outcome. They assumed that Humphrey would intimate that Washington would welcome ‘further assistance either civil or military in Vietnam’.59 139

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Holyoake welcoming US Vice-President Hubert Humphrey at Parliament during his February 1966 visit to New Zealand. dominion post collection, ep/1966/0735, atl

The brief prepared for the Prime Minister – possibly in deference to his stance on the issue – studiously avoided direct comment on how New Zealand might respond to any such military request. Instead, it endorsed possible expansion of New Zealand’s civil aid effort – a less politically sensitive prospect. External Affairs focused on providing Holyoake with an assessment of the current situation in Vietnam and suggested various points concerning American policy which Humphrey might clarify. Though guardedly optimistic about the broad direction and impact of American policy, the department voiced its usual scepticism about the effectiveness of the American bombing campaign and queried the sincerity and exact purpose of recent surprise approaches by the United States to involve the United Nations Security Council in the Vietnam question. This sensitivity about American treatment of the United Nations may have been heightened by the fact that New Zealand was then serving as one of the non-permanent members of the Security Council. The most striking part of the advice to Holyoake was an uncharacteristically explicit cri de cœur about the frustrations of being a small but loyal ally of the United States: 140

new zealand defers an expanded commitment, 1965–66 when, in times of crisis, the Americans are obliged to take a cold hard look at where their real friends are the band of loyal allies appears only too distressingly small. Amongst this band New Zealand, together with Australia, must appear in the forefront of those who are prepared, not always without endangering their own particular interests, to give their support and cooperation to the Americans in an emergency. Although, no doubt, the Americans are conscious of this fact, it has not always been apparent in the past that this awareness has been reflected in the willingness of the United States administration to consult us adequately or to take us fully into their confidence. All too often the Americans have sprung upon us decisions, or changes in policy, without in any real sense discussing the problems involved with us beforehand.

The department suggested that Holyoake take up this problem with Humphrey and remind the Americans that ‘our task would be made easier if we felt that we were, at all times, being given the respect due to a close and reliable ally’. After all, the close relationship between New Zealand and the United States would endure only if it were ‘fed by the life blood of frankness, understanding and mutual respect’.60 Like other allies of the United States, however, New Zealand would have little option but to continue accepting very limited consultation by Washington throughout the course of the Vietnam War. Humphrey’s visit did not move far beyond the exchange of pleasantries. Accompanied by ambassador-at-large Averell Harriman, Humphrey told Cabinet on 21 February that the recent Honolulu conference ‘could be regarded as a turning-point in the whole situation’. The genial Minnesotan exuded optimism about both the military situation and the Saigon government’s commitment to social reform. Humphrey commended New Zealand’s military contribution but refrained from directly requesting further assistance. Echoing Lodge the previous year, he commented that ‘New Zealand was capable of having a look at the situation and deciding itself what best to do’, but added pointedly that various forms of non-combatant assistance were urgently required. Ralph Hanan quickly pointed out New Zealand’s balance of payments problems and suggested that New Zealand might be better able to provide ‘personnel and technical knowledge’. Holyoake added that New Zealand must emphasise such areas as Thailand and Malaysia in its external aid programmes, and could afford only token aid to South Vietnam of ‘a flag-hoisting value’. Humphrey retorted that the word ‘token’ was not appropriate: any New Zealand contribution ‘was a psychological shot in the arm both for the South Vietnamese and also in the effect upon other possible aid-giving countries’.61 He hoped that ‘New Zealand would take a good look at what she could do in Vietnam in the common cause’. While eschewing a hard-sell approach, the Vice-President 141

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had provided a gentle reminder of Washington’s desire for an expanded New Zealand presence, whether on the military or the civil side. Invariably more comfortable with the latter option, Holyoake had no compunction in stating publicly the next day that he and the Vice-President had discussed ‘ways in which New Zealand might provide further civil aid’. He took care to note that Humphrey had confirmed American recognition that New Zealand’s ‘primary efforts in both defence and economic aid were and should be concentrated upon Malaysia, other Asian Commonwealth countries, and countries such as Thailand with whom we are allied in defence arrangements’. In keeping with his consistently articulated line, Holyoake alluded to a strongly shared New Zealand and American commitment to a peaceful resolution of the conflict. But he also commended the use of military force on the grounds that ‘the battle for Vietnam is the battle of all freedom loving nations against aggression just as in Korea and Malaysia’.62 Holyoake gave no hint that, as result of Humphrey’s visit, New Zealand was contemplating an increase in its own military contribution to that battle. Shortly after Humphrey’s departure, Prime Minister Harold Holt, who had succeeded Menzies in January 1966, formally advised Holyoake of his government’s decision to replace its existing battalion with ‘a self contained Australian Task Force under Australian command of some 4,500 personnel’.63 Once again, Australian actions placed pressure on New Zealand to reconsider its own contribution. This was the opportunity military officials in Wellington had been waiting for. Thornton promptly reminded the Minister of Defence of his earlier agreement to raise in Cabinet the matter of bringing 161 Battery up to full strength. An additional reason for this small increase was ‘the expressed Australian hope’ for the New Zealand battery’s integration into the expanded Australian unit. The army had sufficient resources to provide ‘a token share of the Headquarters personnel in a joint regiment’, and he asked the minister to seek Cabinet’s ‘approval in principle of up to ten officers and/or NCOs being made available’. Cabinet decided that External Affairs should prepare a submission concerning proposed actions ‘in both the civilian and military fields’.64 On this occasion, the diplomatic and military advisers in Wellington were of one mind. McIntosh recommended to Holyoake on 11 March that a decision to raise the battery to full strength be made before Minister of Defence Eyre travelled to Vietnam later that month. General Westmoreland had told Ian Stewart directly during the latter’s recent visit to South Vietnam that ‘the Battery should be brought up to full strength as soon as possible’.65 Moreover, Johnson himself had just written in support of Westmoreland’s request. Although the suggested increase in the New Zea142

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land force was of embarrassingly modest proportions when set against the impending troop increases by the United States, Australia and South Korea, the President assured Holyoake that any such increase would ‘be a very worthwhile addition to the effort we are making together’.66 McIntosh could thus justifiably claim that an increased military contribution was ‘expected by our allies’, and that ‘a minimum effort’ would be to send ‘two guns and 27 men to bring the Battery up to its normal complement’. He also made a suggestion which was bound to appeal to Holyoake: in terms ‘of public presentation’, it would be judicious ‘to announce any increase in military aid at the same time as an announcement of increased civilian aid’, thereby signalling ‘clearly that the Government is concerned both with the welfare of the people of South Vietnam and their defence against Communist aggression’.67 The combined arguments of the defence and diplomatic establishments, as well as the actions of New Zealand’s allies, finally elicited a favourable response. On 14 March, Cabinet agreed to the recommended additions to the battery. About the same time, the government resolved to increase the staffing of the New Zealand surgical team from seven to 13. Cabinet did not, however, act on a proposal from the military authorities that the army provide ten headquarters personnel, 57 field engineers and a 24-man field ambulance unit.68 Instead, it stood by its decision to approve the bare minimum required to meet Johnson’s request. In an election year it suited the government to play down the significance of even this modest gesture. When publicising the decision, Holyoake heeded McIntosh’s advice to highlight the increased civil aid and to portray the expanded military contribution as merely bringing the battery up to ‘normal strength’ in fulfilment of the original 1965 commitment.69 In characteristic style, Holyoake presented the whole decision as an eminently balanced one, based on the ‘conviction that a solution to the problems of Vietnam could not be found by military means alone’ but ‘that military aggression from North Vietnam should not be allowed to go unchecked’.70 Equally characteristically, the government made its decision without asking the South Vietnamese. New Zealand diplomats had to move quickly to sound out Saigon’s reaction in the hope that Holyoake’s press statement could say that there had been consultation. All too conscious of the ‘limited extent’ of the force increase, officials in Wellington regretted that, unlike the Australians, they could hardly announce that New Zealand was acting at the request of the South Vietnamese; they hoped ‘to get as close to this as we can’. Fortunately, the decision was welcomed, though Saigon’s eagerness to publicise New Zealand’s action sent officials scurrying to issue Holyoake’s press statement sooner than intended.71 143

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New Zealand Ambassador to South Vietnam Stephen Weir (centre) and National MP Dan Riddiford (right), during a visit to 161 Battery in South Vietnam. dominion post collection, f-80435-35mm, atl

By then, the Prime Minister had advised Johnson of New Zealand’s decision.72 When Holyoake’s message reached Washington, one of Johnson’s advisers, Robert Komer, told him of the ‘good news’ from New Zealand and asked the State Department to draft ‘a suitably warm reply’ from the President.73 Policy-makers in Wellington were no doubt gratified that Johnson’s reply not only avoided any reference to the modest size of the increase but explicitly acknowledged that New Zealand had to consider its limited military resources and ‘existing commitment to the defense of Malaysia’.74 Even Komer’s private reaction suggested that the Americans had not expected more on the military front. He did tell Johnson, however, that New Zealand could ‘do far better on the non-military side, and we will keep up the pressure’.75 Though privately not as expansively sympathetic to Wellington’s position as its formal response suggested, for the moment the Johnson administration appeared to accept the Holyoake government’s consistent argument about its limited capacity to assist militarily in Vietnam. The reaction from Canberra was also positive, with Holt commenting that every additional military contribution boosted morale in Vietnam. This was an especially gracious response, considering that, on 8 March, Holt had announced the trebling of Australian forces in Vietnam, including the use 144

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of conscripts.76 New Zealand’s beefed-up contribution would constitute only about 3 per cent of the new Australian Task Force – too small to justify using the term ‘ANZAC’, as a New Zealand military official candidly told the Minister of Defence.77 Holyoake, however, clearly felt no immediate pressure to do more in terms of alliance relations, even though the army had indicated that a few more military personnel were available to send to Vietnam, if required. Reluctant warrior that he was, the Prime Minister had deftly reaffirmed his country’s politico-military commitment to fight alongside its two major allies in Vietnam as part of the general struggle to contain Asian communism, but he had done so in such a way as to continue minimising the potential costs of that commitment. Unlike his recently installed trans-Tasman counterpart, Holyoake continued to show that each potential step to increase military involvement in Vietnam, no matter how minor, would be carefully assessed for all its potential implications and then taken only if deemed absolutely necessary.

Public Support but Private Misgivings, April–December 1966 Despite the self-conscious restraint that characterised New Zealand policymaking on Vietnam, the tide of domestic protest moved towards a new peak over the course of 1966 as the November elections grew nearer. Thus Holyoake was more preoccupied with domestic concerns in 1966 and there would be no political enthusiasm for any increase in the Vietnam commitment, which might trigger unwanted electoral controversy for the ‘steady as she goes’ Prime Minister. Only after a successful surprise visit to New Zealand by President Johnson in October would Holyoake sense that the Vietnam issue was more of a liability to his Labour opponents, and attempt to exploit it. At the time of the announced increase in the battery, however, the government had good reason to be wary of drawing public attention to developments in Vietnam. The unrest, initially led by Buddhist monks, which had greeted Ky and Thieu after their return from Honolulu persisted for some months, especially in the northern cities of Hue and Da Nang. When Eyre visited Saigon after New Zealand’s decision to boost the artillery unit, he found South Vietnam’s leaders ‘pre-occupied’ with the ongoing political crisis. During discussions on 10 April, Thieu thanked Eyre ‘warmly’ for New Zealand’s efforts in Vietnam and expressed a commitment to social and political reform, including ‘the idea of an elected government’.78 Even while Eyre was still in Saigon being briefed in optimistic terms about the prospects for political stability in South Vietnam, External Affairs officers were presenting Holyoake with a decidedly more hard-headed 145

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assessment. They believed that the political situation in South Vietnam remained, ‘to say the least, fragile’, and that ‘the final outcome of the present upheaval’ was most uncertain. Tom Larkin, a senior official, went so far as to pronounce that, ‘in retrospect’, Johnson’s Honolulu conference seemed a disastrous error because it had associated the Americans too closely with Ky, had aroused unrealistically ambitious hopes for social and economic reforms, and had ironically focused general disillusionment into a ‘powerful and well-directed political movement’ dedicated to the demise of the Ky regime. There was now a real danger that an anti-American government could emerge in Saigon, contemplate ‘negotiations with the Vietcong and undermine the entire Western position in Vietnam’. In this ‘confused and disturbing situation’, Holyoake should avoid making any public statement that ‘could be interpreted as an endorsement of General Ky and his Government’.79 This advice confirmed that the department’s recent endorsement of the small increase to 161 Battery did not betoken any diminishing of its scepticism about the merits of successive regimes in Saigon, or about the inability of American policy to overcome the underlying problem of bringing political stability to South Vietnam. Such misgivings, privately conveyed to the Prime Minister by his professional foreign policy advisers, only served to bolster his own more politically and parsimoniously driven wariness about New Zealand’s involvement. Larkin’s advice also served as a reminder that, while broadly supportive of its key allies’ actions in South Vietnam, New Zealand’s policy assumptions did not coincide in all respects with those of the United States and Australia. Some of the subtle differences were on display when Paul Hasluck, the Australian Minister of External Affairs, visited Wellington in early May. In general, his discussions reaffirmed that New Zealand and Australia shared similar goals as far as Southeast Asian security was concerned. With regard to Vietnam, however, Hasluck’s comments reflected Australia’s more hawkish approach. He was more forthright about the need to back the Americans ‘wholeheartedly’ in Asia – especially in Vietnam, which he described as ‘the place in which the present conflict in Asia should be won’ if it were not to be faced ‘on less favourable ground’. Even more worrying, given New Zealand’s consistent support for genuine negotiations, he told Cabinet on 9 May that ‘there was one grave doubt in his mind which could not be expressed in public’, namely ‘the almost universal desire’ for negotiations leading to ‘an early settlement’. Any ‘lull’ allowed by the opening of negotiations would only allow ‘the Viet Cong to re-group and to get back to where he was’.80 As Hasluck had already explained to Holyoake, time was required to put real pressure on the Viet Cong and North Vietnam; but once that happened, ‘they have only to flutter their eyelids and public pressure will be on to call a halt’. It was essential ‘to hit the enemy forces and get 146

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closer to a military advantage before any peace talks are held – otherwise things would be strung out indefinitely’.81 Neither Holyoake nor his officials chose to dissent, but this was a more ‘robust’ viewpoint than they would have expressed, either publicly or privately. Indeed, despite its minor scale, New Zealand’s military contribution in Vietnam remained a matter of great political sensitivity for Holyoake. His determination to avoid undue domestic controversy about even minor operational aspects of that military involvement was reaffirmed in late May when the armed services sought political approval to replace an army helicopter pilot who was operating with American forces with an air force helicopter pilot. A surprised McIntosh suggested that Holyoake ask Eyre how it was that, ‘without the Government’s knowledge’, New Zealand army helicopter pilots had participated in American operations in Vietnam. Any casualties, he warned, would ‘inevitably cause publicity in New Zealand’, and it would be highly embarrassing if the government had ‘to admit that its operational commitment in Vietnam went further than the contribution of an artillery battery – and perhaps more embarrassing still to have to admit that it was not aware that it was making this additional contribution’.82 Holyoake immediately demanded an explanation from Eyre: I should have thought that by now the Services would have realised that only Cabinet can determine the form and extent of New Zealand’s operational commitments, especially in an area as politically sensitive as Vietnam, and that Cabinet cannot accept the proposition that approval for one specific commitment is capable of being modified by private arrangement within the Services to cover another and different type of commitment.83

Though concerning only two pilots, the Prime Minister’s query was significant in raising the possibility of a serious breach of the relationship between civil and military authority. When Holyoake’s note was referred to McKinnon, he reminded Thornton that he had already explained this posting. The two pilots who had flown with the Americans were artillery officers attached to 161 Battery whose duties were intended – though this did not work out perfectly in practice – to support the battery. Including pilots in artillery units had become ‘normal practice in the British Army and in the Commonwealth Strategic Reserve Brigade in Malaysia’, and this use fell within the scope of the commitment as originally approved.84 Eyre explained the situation to Holyoake, noting that the services now understood that, in practice, the pilots’ actual operational activities had gone ‘some distance beyond the original understanding of the purpose of the visits as authorised by Government’. The Chief of Defence Staff regret147

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ted that the pilot’s activities might have been politically embarrassing and care would be taken to avoid such situation recurring.85 Having resolved the question of civil–military tensions, Eyre submitted a recent recommendation that a single RNZAF officer be sent to Vietnam to gain operational experience on American Iroquois helicopters.86 McIntosh agreed that the request had considerable military merit, especially since the Iroquois would soon be in New Zealand service. As he told the Prime Minister, however, there remained the political consideration that attaching even a single air-force helicopter pilot to the American forces would represent ‘an addition, however small, to the military contribution New Zealand is now making to the war in Vietnam’.87 On McIntosh’s advice, Holyoake approved consideration of the proposal by Cabinet but stipulated that New Zealand should ensure no pilots were ‘employed on operations over North Vietnam or Cambodia or in dealing with civil disturbances’.88 In approving the initiative three weeks later, Holyoake’s ministers stressed that ‘no action is to be taken without further reference to Cabinet’.89 It was a telling commentary on the nature of New Zealand’s commitment to the Vietnam War that the presence of a solitary helicopter pilot required the highest level of political scrutiny and authorisation. (Cabinet did not authorise the deployment of any New Zealand pilots until the end of January 1967.)90 While New Zealand agonised about deploying individual pilots, the United States was operating on a somewhat grander scale in extending its air war against North Vietnam. On 24 June, Johnson advised Holyoake of his decision to begin bombing petroleum installations near Hanoi and Haiphong, reassuring him that this did not imply ‘any change in our basic bombing policy of not carrying out attacks against civilian targets of population centers’. Johnson criticised Hanoi’s ‘obdurate resistance’ to negotiations and told Holyoake that the United States remained ‘prepared to meet for discussions without conditions’. If technically correct, this assertion did not reflect the overwhelmingly military emphasis of American policy at this time, as had been conveyed by Hasluck in Wellington six weeks earlier.91 New Zealand publicly supported the American decision as reasonable in ‘the context of Hanoi’s protracted refusal to have the problem of Vietnam settled at the conference table’.92 Such support was especially useful to Washington in view of the unexpectedly widespread protest, in the United States and abroad, against the extended bombing. The British had not backed the decision, but McNamara could stress publicly on 29 June that both New Zealand and Australia supported the extended bombing campaign ‘as a means of increasing the prospects for a negotiated settlement’.93 148

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As usual, Australia’s support for the United States was expressed more fulsomely than New Zealand’s. By chance, Holt was in Washington during the wave of criticism over the bombing decision, prompting Johnson to demonstrate an ample measure of Texan gratitude by upgrading what was to have been a low-key affair into a full-fledged state visit, with all the accompanying flourishes. Suitably flattered, Holt responded in kind at the welcoming ceremony: And so, sir, in the lonelier and perhaps even more disheartening moments which come to any national leader, I hope there will be a corner of your heart and mind which takes cheer from the fact that you have an admiring friend, a staunch friend that will be all the way with LBJ.

This ‘impromptu peroration’ would go down in history as the most notable public affirmation of support by any Australian political leader for the American pursuit of the Vietnam War.94 Though rating a mention in McNamara’s statement made the same day, New Zealand’s support for the bombing or any other American actions would never be as unequivocal. In Wellington, officials persisted in voicing uneasiness behind the scenes. They suggested to Holyoake that, while he was in Canberra for a SEATO meeting, he might wish to air some of New Zealand’s concerns at the ANZUS Council meeting that would follow. Three aspects of the Vietnam War continued to generate particular concern in Wellington. One was the long-standing problem of achieving political stability in Saigon. Officials concluded that the Americans must encourage the Ky regime to accommodate the Buddhist and other dissenting movements. Holyoake could tell Rusk that South Vietnam’s ‘continued political upheavals’ were having an adverse impact ‘upon public opinion in New Zealand’. Another area of sensitivity, especially because of New Zealand’s current membership of the Security Council, was Washington’s refusal to consult Wellington before referring issues on Vietnam to the United Nations. The Americans seemed ‘to exploit’ the United Nations ‘largely for propaganda purposes’. The third area of concern related to the effectiveness of the air war and likely public criticism of air strikes that risked civilian casualties. Remarkably, officials raised the possibility that Holyoake could even suggest a short bombing pause which might give the North Vietnamese a chance to rethink their approach to the conflict and could have ‘a beneficial effect upon public opinion in a number of countries, including New Zealand’. The irony could not have been greater, given the imminent American bombing initiative and the public support it had elicited from the government.95 Despite the urgings of External Affairs officials that the Prime Minister draw New Zealand’s doubts about the bombing to 149

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Washington’s attention, when McIntosh approached Holyoake he was ‘not keen to reply’.96 Within weeks McIntosh made a renewed approach to the Prime Minister, setting out far more comprehensively his department’s apprehensions about the possible dangers of uncritically supporting American policy on Vietnam. In a secret memorandum on 20 July, McIntosh acknowledged that it would ‘be rash indeed for us to antagonise the Americans’; New Zealand ‘certainly cannot afford to get into the position of the British who, by publicly disassociating themselves from the bombing of the oil and petrol installations near Hanoi and Haiphong, have drastically limited their ability to influence American policy-making on more crucial matters’. Nevertheless, some questioning might be appropriate. The ‘speed of developments’ meant that, ‘unless we take an early opportunity to strike a cautionary note, we may well find ourselves obliged to support the Americans whatever course of action they embark on’. McIntosh was particularly perturbed at Washington’s apparent determination, ‘despite their public posture’, to impose a ‘military solution’ in Vietnam by seeking to bring North Vietnam ‘to its knees’. He doubted that this goal was attainable and, in a prescient critique of the Americans’ incrementally calibrated strategy, warned: ‘The difficulty is that as each step to increase the pressure on North Vietnam fails (as I am sure the bombing of the oil installation will fail) to induce the Hanoi regime to modify its policies there will be those who will argue that just one more turn of the screw will do the job.’ Continuing this incremental escalation could only ‘bring nearer the day when the Chinese and the Russians are likely to find it impossible to refrain from becoming more directly involved in the war’, thereby risking a major confrontation between the great powers. There was also the problem of maintaining domestic support. McIntosh feared that ‘widespread civilian suffering’ would make it increasingly unlikely that ‘declarations of support for American actions would command anything like the acceptance they now enjoy’. If Holyoake agreed these fears were justified, ‘it might be wise . . . to write to President Johnson – not, of course, criticising his policies but simply pointing out the Government could face difficulties in supporting and justifying any drastic escalation of the war’. Such a message would ‘place the Americans on notice that they cannot, in all circumstances, depend upon automatic support by New Zealand for any action they feel obliged to embark upon’. Perhaps naively, McIntosh added that it might create a new basis on which to work with Washington: the Americans would be more inclined ‘to take us into their confidence if they know that we must be persuaded, beyond a certain point, to go along with them’.97 Holyoake’s response was a typically terse, pencilled annotation: ‘Approved, KJH’. In marked contrast to Holt’s recent rhetorical flourish, 150

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New Zealand not only seemed unwilling to go ‘all the way with LBJ’, but now even stood ready to tell the Americans as much – albeit privately. In the event, however, the message drafted for the Prime Minister was much more diplomatically worded than McIntosh’s memorandum. Sent on 25 July, the letter placed great emphasis on New Zealand’s general ‘identity of view’ with the Johnson administration in its handling of ‘this most difficult issue’. Writing as leader of ‘a loyal, if small, ally of the United States’, Holyoake nevertheless indicated that he would face considerable ‘difficulty in guiding public opinion’ during an election year if the United States embarked on any major escalation of the war – ‘particularly if this were to embrace non-military targets’. Holyoake ended with a plea that he would ‘feel more confident of being able to guide public response here if I were given adequate time to consider, and perhaps discuss with you, steps which your Administration may contemplate taking in the difficult months’. Holyoake took a close personal interest in this expression of concern about American policy, making several changes to drafts before the letter was sent.98 The initial American response was to voice confusion about the purpose of the message. Pointing out that New Zealand was ‘being kept informed’ about American policy on Vietnam, Rusk gave Ambassador Laking the impression he feared Holyoake’s letter might imply ‘a desire to make a public statement which might in some way diminish, or be taken to diminish, New Zealand’s strong support’.99 McIntosh promptly cabled reassurance that Holyoake was most definitely not contemplating ‘any public reference to his approach to the President’, but had merely sought ‘to convey his hope that the New Zealand Government would be consulted (and not merely informed) on any major policy decisions the American Administration may contemplate over the next few months’. McIntosh took solace in the fact that, during his recent conversation with Laking, Rusk had provided valuable information about American policy. He suggested, perhaps with some wishful thinking, that, if Holyoake’s message continued ‘to elicit this kind of frank talking from the Americans it will have been most worthwhile from this point of view alone’.100 Johnson’s formal reply, sent on 1 August, conveyed little indication that Holyoake’s sally had had any real impact on the Americans. Stating categorically that the United States had no intention of unnecessarily endangering civilian lives, Johnson reassured Holyoake of ‘the desirability of close and timely exchanges of information and assessments’. He pledged that ‘the close communications that presently exist on the military, diplomatic and government level between our two countries will be energetically continued by us’.101 It was a promise to continue on a ‘business as usual’ basis. As a New Zealand diplomat in Washington noted, Holyoake’s message had probably been useful in signalling to the President and his advisers that ‘we 151

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are not to be taken for granted and do have problems’, but it did not make it more likely that senior American officials would seriously consult New Zealand about future Vietnam policy – partly because of their own uncertainties.102 New Zealand did not need to consider any new diplomatic developments concerning Vietnam until late September when, ‘under the seal of great secrecy’, American ambassador Herbert Powell briefed Holyoake about a proposed heads of government meeting to be held in Manila between 18 and 20 October to discuss Vietnam policy. Both Holyoake and McIntosh were sceptical of the benefits of participating, in part because ‘of the problem of our Election and our difficulty in coping with the Vietnam propaganda at present’. After consulting Holt, a resigned Holyoake agreed that New Zealand would participate – the last of the invited governments to do so.103 When Holyoake announced publicly on 27 September that he welcomed the opportunity to attend this meeting to review the military situation, he typically highlighted his hope that ‘considerable emphasis’ would be placed on ‘the non-military side of the picture’ and concluded that New Zealand would support any new peace initiatives that might be generated.104 For New Zealand, the most important – and unexpected – implication of the Manila Conference was that it triggered the first visit to New Zealand by an incumbent American President.105 Holyoake was apparently less then enthusiastic at first, suggesting that ‘it could not be more awkwardly timed or more embarrassing’ – presumably because of the imminent election.106 After hurried consultations over the timing of the visit, Johnson arrived in New Zealand on 20 October before continuing on to Australia and then attending the rescheduled meeting in Manila. Johnson’s visit was more significant in public relations than in diplomatic terms (see Chapter 7). His discussions with New Zealand political leaders did not provide new or deep insights into American policy on Vietnam. When addressing Cabinet on 20 October, Johnson alluded sympathetically to his private discussions with Holyoake about New Zealand hopes for better access to American markets for dairy and meat products. The rest of the address was devoted entirely to Vietnam and regional security. Observing pointedly that ‘the area of conflict was much closer to this part of the world than to the United States’, he affirmed the commitment of the United States to stand fast in Vietnam while stressing that the Manila Conference was intended to demonstrate that a number of the countries in the region were ready to defend their interests in that commitment. Like so many of his representatives before him, Johnson used the standard American line to remind New Zealand that its own self-interest demanded a presence in Vietnam: ‘It was for New Zealand to say whether it was satisfied at any time that what it was doing was sufficient to ensure its own security’.107 A few 152

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days later, an unruffled government declared that Johnson’s visit had not altered the fact that no consideration was being given to a possible increase to its military assistance to South Vietnam.108 Despite such statements, the Americans considered the President’s visit a notable success. In Washington, an official noted that it had had a ‘profound effect’; Holyoake was ‘happily increasing the margin of his predicted victory by making New Zealand support of Vietnam a major issue in the campaign’, while the Labour Opposition was adopting a low profile on the issue.109 The American ambassador in Wellington was of a like mind, grandly pronouncing to his colleagues in Washington that the effect of the visit had been ‘far greater than we had hoped for and was without doubt the greatest welcome ever accorded any public figure in the history of New Zealand’.110 Holyoake seemed to be enjoying the best of both worlds. His cautiously hawkish stance on Vietnam had won him the prize of an electorally useful visit by an American President without incurring new pressures for New Zealand to enlarge its modest contribution. The situation seemed almost too good to be true – and so it would shortly prove. Like Johnson’s visit, the Manila Conference concerned itself mainly with demonstrating solidarity with South Vietnam. It included much general discussion of the non-military aspects of the South Vietnamese regime’s reform efforts, which Holyoake naturally highlighted in his public comments after the conference.111 Except for vague admonitions by Johnson for all those at the meeting to reassess their levels of assistance, New Zealand came under no formal pressure to do more in Vietnam. On the other hand, in private discussions in Manila with New Zealand officials, General Westmoreland made it quite clear that he would like a New Zealand infantry presence in Vietnam.112 A month after returning from Manila, Holyoake led his party to its third successive election victory over Labour. Vietnam had been a major point of division between National and Labour in the campaign, and most commentators agreed in retrospect that it had played to National’s advantage in electoral terms, especially in the wake of the success of the Johnson visit (see Chapter 7). At the end of 1966, Holyoake could well claim that the measured diplomatic course his government had charted over Vietnam had served him well at home and abroad.

From july 1965 to December 1966, policy-makers in Wellington had generally succeeded in adeptly balancing various competing pressures – diplomatic and domestic – through a strategy of cautious support for the Johnson administration’s Vietnam enterprise. New Zealand’s combat 153

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commitment had remained virtually unaltered during large-scale American and Australian escalation of their military efforts. The government had even quietly conveyed to Washington some of its concerns about American policy and about the perfunctory nature of its ‘consultation’ with its allies in the Vietnam conflict. Yet, if the Holyoake government had succeeded in maintaining harmony in alliance relations while avoiding any serious electoral fallout, its diffidence had not had any impact on American intentions to continue incremental escalation of the Vietnam War. At the end of 1966 the dilemma of how to support Washington’s military effort while still seeking a peaceful settlement remained unresolved. New Zealand would have to address this dilemma in a new light in early 1967. With the prospects for real negotiations negligible in the short run, with its two major allies continuing to increase their force levels in Vietnam, and with the end of Confrontation freeing up scarce military resources, it would be considerably more difficult to sustain the arguments which had allowed New Zealand to limit its support for the military effort in Vietnam to a single artillery battery. Unless the government wished to question more openly the direction of American policy in Vietnam, it would no longer be able to sustain the luxury which its allies had hitherto afforded it of going such a small ‘part of the way with LBJ’.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

‘A War of Words’: Defining the Domestic Political Debate about Vietnam, June–December 1965

T

he outburst of protest against the government’s decision in May 1965 to send combat forces to South Vietnam launched an unprecedented domestic debate about foreign policy. Although that debate would rage for the duration of New Zealand’s military participation in the conflict, its essential features were defined by the end of 1965. At least three generalisations may be made about this period when the lines of domestic political disagreement concerning Vietnam were congealing. To begin with, for New Zealanders to engage in sustained public debate about a foreign policy issue was in itself a significant novelty. The Vietnam War was the first occasion in the twentieth century when dissent over a specific diplomatic decision gave rise to a large-scale, institutionalised protest movement. As well as criticising the decision itself, this movement questioned the assumption that foreign and security policies were strictly the province of ‘experts’ such as politicians, diplomats and generals. As a result, the management of New Zealand diplomacy was permanently transformed.1 Second, debate about the Vietnam War drew to public attention a more general critique of New Zealand foreign and security policies which had previously been confined to a small number on the left. This critique would slowly emerge as a legitimate alternative to the Cold War orthodoxies underpinning the Holyoake government’s national security doctrine. One tangible measure of this trend would be the growing polarisation of the two major political parties on Vietnam policy. 155

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Notwithstanding these two developments, a third factor was equally salient. The foreign policy consensus established during the Cold War was challenged but not shattered by anti-war sentiment. Regardless of which side thought itself to hold the moral or intellectual high ground in the debate about Vietnam during the first six months of New Zealand’s combat involvement, majority support for the government’s alliance-related strategy persisted. The evolving dynamics of public debate about Vietnam after mid-1965 were complex, but at their heart were the competing positions of the three principal actors – the nascent anti-war movement, the government and the Labour Opposition. All three sought to influence the media and the public at large. For the anti-war movement, this was a formative period in which fundamental organisational structures were built, general strategies defined, protest tactics tested and criticisms of official policy publicised more extensively. In effect, these were the months when its ‘movement culture’ evolved.2 Even though much about the movement resembled its overseas counterparts, this underlying culture reflected – often in quite conventional ways – the particular New Zealand social and political environment from which it had sprung. For the government, Vietnam became a domestic irritation of unforeseen proportions. Never in the post-war period had a decision about foreign policy generated such controversy or required public justification on such a sustained basis.3 In dealing with anti-war protest after the 1965 decision, the government faced unexpected challenges which at times demanded considerable improvisation, as when Cabinet ministers found themselves invited to ‘teach-ins’ or confronting rowdy youngsters. The Labour Party continued to struggle to refine a policy that would oppose military involvement while not appearing to endorse communist aggression. It began scrutinising more critically the assumptions through which the government justified military intervention, but remained reluctant to associate itself directly with the emerging anti-war movement or to reject outright the underlying principles of the bipartisan Cold War consensus.

The Government’s Information Offensive Though it failed to avert a New Zealand combat commitment, the crescendo of protest about the decision to send combat forces to South Vietnam did sensitise policy-makers – especially the consensus-minded Prime Minister – to the importance of securing majority public support.4 In the months after Holyoake’s May 1965 announcement, the government went to unprecedented lengths in publicly justifying its action. The primary purpose of this 156

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information campaign was to win over the general public, but it drew the government into direct debate with the budding anti-war movement, whose supporters publicised alternative information sources and interpretations. The emphasis by both sides on providing the public with information meant there was more genuine debate about the merits of the Vietnam commitment during the second half of 1965 than at any other stage of New Zealand’s involvement in the conflict. The government did not necessarily take the intellectual honours in this debate, but it generally fared well during these months and appeared to consolidate overall domestic support for its actions in Vietnam. During the first half of June, the government’s efforts were focused primarily on besting Labour in Parliament. The timing of Holyoake’s announcement meant that the Vietnam issue dominated the traditional Address-in-Reply debate. Though longer and involving many more speakers, this debate retraced the ground covered in the initial parliamentary skirmish on 28 May. National speakers reiterated that the despatch of 161 Battery was a measured response to communist aggression and would complement, not weaken, New Zealand’s military commitment in Malaysia.5 They also continued to exploit Labour’s alleged divisions and equivocal stance. Robert Muldoon was to the fore in charging that ‘the Labour Party’s uttered thoughts on the Vietnamese question’ were an exercise in ‘tight-rope walking’ based on ‘masses of platitudes and estimable sentiments which in fact mean nothing’.6 Some of his colleagues went further in seeking to associate Labour’s dissent with that of more radical opponents of the Vietnam decision.7 Opposition speakers steadfastly maintained their preference for social and economic aid as the best means for countering communism, and criticised the government for acting precipitately in seeking military solutions to a political problem.8 As on 28 May, however, their concern to balance criticism of official policy with an insistence that they were not apologists for communist aggression seemed to confirm National’s accusations of equivocation. At least two newspapers, the Christchurch Star and the Auckland Star, awarded the advantage in the debate to the government.9 Holyoake left for the Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ Conference in London shortly after the debate. His public statements while abroad provided another early boost for the government’s cause.10 Holyoake’s widely reported comments about Viet Cong inclusion in peace negotiations and a possible bombing pause made him stand out among Western leaders. His subsequent willingness to postpone deployment of 161 Battery in deference to the Commonwealth peace mission may have induced minor heart palpitations amongst officials in Wellington, but played well to the New Zealand public. 157

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New Zealand press commentaries on Holyoake’s actions in London were unanimously laudatory. Even the otherwise critical Waikato Times commended his ‘realism’ in suggesting that the Viet Cong be represented in negotiations. There were numerous plaudits for the Prime Minister’s leadership: both the Christchurch Star and the Grey River Argus, for example, suggested that his stance had won world interest and attention.11 The Otago Daily Times argued that Holyoake’s vigorous support for the Commonwealth peace mission made clear ‘this country’s independent policy in a complex matter’ and validated his claims about New Zealand’s commitment to a peaceful settlement.12 Even the Leader of the Opposition and the CND applauded Holyoake for the line he had taken in London.13 Some months later, an academic critic of New Zealand’s Vietnam policy described the Prime Minister’s London comments as ‘our most successful diplomatic hour since 1945’.14 The abject failure of the Commonwealth peace initiative only bolstered the government’s position. Like Holyoake himself, New Zealand press opinion had been realistically pessimistic about its likely outcome, and editorial writers were quick to conclude that the communist powers were intent on achieving their ends through violence.15 When 161 Battery left for Vietnam, Holyoake could maintain his consistent public stance that New Zealand was committed to a peaceful resolution but that military action was necessary because of communist intransigence. Holyoake was determined to disseminate that message as widely as possible within New Zealand. Before leaving for London, he had instructed McIntosh to ensure that the public understood why combat forces had been sent to Vietnam. He approved press briefings by External Affairs officers on the background to the conflict. He also asked the Tourist and Publicity Department to devise an information programme to help persuade the public of the need for military involvement.16 This raised the question of civil servants publicly defending contentious government policies. External Affairs was quick to establish guidelines limiting the public role of its staff largely to press briefings and rejecting involvement in ‘any form of censorship’.17 Nevertheless, question marks would linger over the most appropriate ways for officials to defend government policy without overstepping the boundaries of their roles as impartial public servants. One factor mitigating this challenge for External Affairs officers was that they were not justifying a policy thrust upon them by politicians for partisan reasons, but one they themselves had urged upon the government to preserve New Zealand’s long-term national security interests. In that sense they were defending their professional judgements. The department’s most prominent contribution to the government’s public information campaign came in July 1965 with the release of a 72158

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page White Paper entitled ‘New Zealand Assistance to the Republic of Vietnam’.18 This was the most substantial public document justifying the decision to send combat forces to Vietnam ever produced. Though it contained little that was new, it brought together much of the information and analysis on which the government had based its decision. There was a strong emphasis on linking the Vietnam commitment to New Zealand’s national security interests in the context of the Cold War and of the acceptance of defence responsibilities in Southeast Asia. The document also outlined, from the government’s perspective, the background to the Vietnam conflict, the nature of the war, and the key issues underlying the decision to provide New Zealand military assistance to South Vietnam. According to Holyoake, the White Paper was a response to the ‘desire in many quarters for the fullest and most authoritative information’.19 His phrasing reflected an intent to provide ‘information’ which would strengthen the general public’s understanding and broaden the support base for the government’s policy, rather than to engage in debate with its critics. To this end, some 8000 copies of the White Paper had been distributed by September, with a concerted effort to target sympathetic recipients such as the RSA, whose national office received 600 at no cost for distribution to its branches.20 In contrast, when the Northland COV requested 20 copies, an External Affairs officer replied that, as an official document, it could be purchased from the Government Printer.21 There was general satisfaction in government circles that the White Paper achieved its intended purposes. Holyoake proudly told the National Party caucus that Washington had requested copies of the White Paper, which was considered ‘the best production yet’.22 Press responses were broadly positive. The New Zealand Herald pronounced that the White Paper made ‘all the banners and slogans of recent weeks read like so much drivel’, while the Otago Daily Times credited it with establishing definitively that ‘the security of this country is inextricably linked with the security of South-east Asia’.23 Other newspapers observed that there could no longer be any excuse for arguing that there was insufficient information on Vietnam.24 The RSA was also predictably complimentary.25 The government’s critics were less impressed. They challenged the assumptions, empirical data and arguments set out in the White Paper.26 The Auckland University-based Committee on South East Asia (COSEA) provided the most thorough criticism in a booklet entitled Vietnam: A Critical Examination of the New Zealand Government White Paper. Befitting its academic membership, COSEA derided the White Paper as an intellectually sloppy effort that relied on a haphazard selection of dubious American sources and was expressed in emotive and ambiguous language. The booklet’s authors rejected the argument that the Republic of Vietnam 159

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was a fledgling democracy confronting an externally directed communist threat, contending instead that a civil war was raging in Vietnam, making New Zealand involvement highly undesirable.27 At the suggestion of External Affairs, Deputy Prime Minister Marshall sent the Auckland academics a 20-page rebuttal.28 This vigorous defence of the White Paper by its authors was testimony to their conviction that the rationale for the New Zealand combat commitment in Vietnam was based on logical arguments and more reliable evidence than those deployed by its critics.29

The Teach-Ins In the same month as the White Paper appeared, the opponents of the combat commitment introduced into New Zealand a new mechanism for broadening public understanding of the Vietnam issue, the teach-in. Pioneered in the United States a few months earlier, this typically universitybased activity consisted of an extended forum in which opposing speakers debated key questions raised by the Vietnam War. By June 1965, more than 100 teach-ins had taken place on American campuses since over 3000 students and staff participated in the first such event at the University of Michigan in late March. There was even a 15-hour national teach-in on 15 May involving leading scholars such as Arthur Schlesinger, Jr, Zbigniew Brzezinzki, Bernard Fall and Hans Morgenthau; some of the debates were broadcast to over 100,000 people through television links to 100 universities across the United States.30 The wave of teach-ins subsided in the United States with the end of the academic year, but this mode of protest was then taken up with alacrity in other countries, including New Zealand. The appearance of teach-ins in New Zealand came at an opportune time for the anti-war movement. After the initial wave of protest against the decision in late May and early June, there had been a lull in activity as the deployment of 161 Battery proceeded and general public support for the commitment appeared to firm. Most newspapers continued to back the government, and one even suggested that critics of the Vietnam policy now risked ‘being taken for a communist or a communist sympathiser’.31 Despite that risk, a significant minority of New Zealanders still opposed the government’s decision and new COVs continued to spring up around the country.32 Nevertheless, until teach-ins came on the scene, there was a perception in both official circles and the media that ‘the intensity of feeling on Vietnam had died down and the main weight of criticism had been spent’.33 The introduction of teach-ins instilled a new dynamism into the anti-war movement and raised its public profile. From mid-July to October, they became the main weapon of the government’s critics in their struggle to broaden public opposition to military involvement in the Vietnam conflict. 160

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New Zealand’s first teach-in took place at Victoria University of Wellington on 18 July, almost a week before the first major Australian one in Canberra.34 It was organised by the Victoria University of Wellington Students’ Association and the Association of University Teachers; most of its organisers later joined the Wellington COV.35 Aptly described as a ‘marathon affair’, the teach-in lasted over 14 hours and attracted a capacity audience of about 1000, who were still putting questions to the speakers when it ended around midnight.36 In a development that was innovative for the time, parts of the teach-in were screened on television the next day.37 The government’s critics enjoyed the upper hand at the teach-in, where the venerable former Labour Prime Minister, Sir Walter Nash, was joined by articulate academics from around the country in questioning the wisdom of the Vietnam commitment.38 Collectively, they rehearsed the numerous arguments against the commitment, though with varying degrees of intensity and dramatic flourish. Professor Keith Buchanan, for example, charged that New Zealand had become ‘a junior partner in barbarism, a collaborator in a war waged by methods that are indefensible’. Professor Keith Sinclair, one of the country’s most prominent historians, memorably dubbed New Zealanders ‘the Prussians of the Pacific’ and dismissed fears of a Chinese threat to the country’s security as unfounded. Even an unsympathetic journalist conceded that the government’s critics held the attention of the student-dominated audience with ‘a persuasive, though sometimes superficial, brilliance’. The principal speakers defending the Vietnam commitment did not fare as well. Possibly distracted by hecklers, Labour Minister Tom Shand failed to present the government’s case as convincingly as he might have. Nick Turner, a New Zealand journalist based in Southeast Asia whose visit to Wellington was partly sponsored by the government, was more effective in reporting on his first-hand experience. He stressed that the National Liberation Front was not independent from Hanoi and that ‘intelligent’ South Vietnamese did not want to be dominated by the North Vietnamese Communists, but he spoke for only 20 minutes at the end of the teach-in and was cut off at midnight.39 Reports of the event acknowledged that it had been a notable success. Student representatives described it to a radio interviewer as ‘much better than anything else they had had’ in clarifying the background to the Vietnam conflict. Even Shand commented, after participating in another teach-in, that they had powerfully fortified his ‘faith in our way of life and form of government’. He discounted the ‘mild heckling’ he had encountered as uncharacteristic: most of the student attendees were genuinely attentive. Newspaper commentators dismissed as unrealistic much of the academic criticism of the government and its White Paper, but there was widespread agreement that the country’s first teach-in had dramatically highlighted the depth of intellectual opposition to the Vietnam involvement.40 161

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That impression was reinforced at a succession of teach-ins around the country over the next few months. By the end of October, they had been held in Christchurch, Masterton, New Plymouth, Dannevirke, Palmerston North, Auckland, Napier, Wanganui, Timaru and Dunedin.41 The most significant of these, at the University of Auckland on 12 September, drew about 600 people.42 Academics dominated the line-up of 16 speakers, which also included Marshall and Sir Leslie Munro for the government, Martyn Finlay and Nash for Labour, a clergyman, and a communist journalist who had recently returned from North Vietnam. The 83-year-old Nash proved the most passionate of the speakers. His emotional denunciation of the American bombing campaign against North Vietnam created an ‘electrifying atmosphere’ and drew a ‘tumultuous standing ovation’. By early 1966, when the Auckland Committee on Southeast Asia published the addresses, the teach-ins’ role in stimulating debate had ended. Between July and October 1965, however, they posed a quandary for the government, prompting considerable debate within National’s ranks about how to respond. These events pitted government speakers directly against some of their most articulate and academically informed critics on the latter’s home ground, thereby subverting Holyoake’s preference for careful control of the provision of ‘information’. Yet not attending risked giving the impression that the government’s policy on Vietnam could not withstand the cut and thrust of open debate with ‘experts’. As a result, the government responded uncertainly to the teach-ins. After participating in those in Wellington and Christchurch in July, National Party speakers were conspicuously absent at a mid-August meeting in Masterton. Anti-war activists were quick to exploit this as a sign of weakness. When the National Party caucus debated the issue on 26 August, Munro suggested that it might be time to stop going to teach-ins. Another MP countered that ‘people are still groping for information and change their views when they have the facts’. The Prime Minister agreed that it was generally ‘best to keep out of these special meetings’, but considered the forthcoming Auckland teach-in important and told caucus that ‘Mr Marshall will go this once’.43 At the next caucus meeting there was debate about ‘whether we should continue to be drawn into these meetings or whether we can control them’. Holyoake said that MPs should instead give prominence to the Vietnam issue in post-sessional addresses in their electorates.44 Despite differing initial reactions to the teach-ins amongst government members, the caucus would come to accept Munro’s argument that there was ‘no profit’ for National in teach-ins because most of those who attended had ‘closed minds’.45 Holyoake added to a draft press release in early September that it was ‘preposterous’ to expect government representatives to cancel other commitments ‘to attend all anti-Government demonstrations, 162

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whether they are organised by communist party members, communist sympathisers, genuine passifists [sic] or other genuine, worthy and public spirited people’.46 Some National members remained less negative. After attending the Auckland teach-in, the hawkish Marshall conceded to caucus that the occasion had been ‘fairly genuine’.47 Nevertheless, by October there was general agreement in National’s ranks that there was no point in attending further teach-ins. At the end of that month, Barry Mitcalfe berated the government for pulling out of teach-ins in Hawke’s Bay and New Plymouth, and for resorting to ‘red smear’ tactics.48 But by then Holyoake could declare confidently, in declining an invitation to attend a Christchurch teach-in scheduled for November, that his colleagues had attended teach-ins in the four main centres and there remained little value in engaging in ‘protracted discussion’ on Vietnam six months after Parliament had made its decision. He even repeated the much criticised view expressed by National MP David Thomson at the Wellington teach-in that extended debate might undermine morale among the New Zealand forces serving in Vietnam, ‘who deserve the support of all sections of the community’.49 Holyoake, who as both Prime Minister and Minister of External Affairs was the government’s principal spokesperson on Vietnam policy, attended no teach-ins. Perhaps he heeded McIntosh’s advice that it was not fitting for a Prime Minister to be drawn into direct public exchanges with sundry critics.50 Nor did the teach-in format suit Holyoake’s preference for securing public support by widespread public dissemination of ‘authoritative information’ rather than by besting the government’s opponents in prolonged debates. On 17 July, on the eve of New Zealand’s first teach-in, the Christchurch Press had noted that overseas precedents showed that ‘teach-ins can be anything from conscientious exercises of scholarly enquiry to long and loud protest rallies’.51 As elsewhere in the world, both dimensions were evident in the New Zealand teach-ins, which helps to explain the differing reactions to them. Most newspapers focused on their protest role and agreed with those in the National caucus who dismissed them as events attended primarily by government opponents with closed minds. The Wairarapa Times-Age, for example, suggested in August that enough information on Vietnam was publicly available without people needing to be ‘taught’.52 Other commentators, however, rejected the proposition that a teach-in was ‘an indoctrination session’ and backed Shand’s observation that those who attended them were genuinely interested in learning more about ‘a question of fundamental importance to them and to our country’.53 This view was put most eloquently in early August by Monte Holcroft, the editor of the New Zealand Listener, the widely read weekly magazine of the country’s ‘chattering classes’. Taking issue with the view expressed 163

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by Thomson at Victoria University, Holcroft commended the broadening of debate about Vietnam that was being stimulated by the teach-ins: The debate on Vietnam is in some ways the most encouraging reaction to foreign policy since the end of World War II. More people than in the past are thinking for themselves on major issues. There are signs of a wider interest in Asia, a more sensitive appraisal of New Zealand’s place in the South Pacific, and a new feeling of obligation towards Asian neighbours in less fortunate countries. And finally the debate has revealed a healthy impatience with labels. People are growing tired of hearing about the ‘free world’; they are weary of the indiscriminate use of the word ‘communism’, as if it were a symbol of evil. It seems possible to them that there are good communists and bad ones, just as there are undoubtedly good Russians and bad ones; and although they detest authoritarian rule, and would resist it strenuously at home, they see no need to interfere with other people, who find it bearable in their own countries, especially if it brings them food. These attitudes have not grown overnight in New Zealand: they have been forming gradually. The Vietnam crisis brought them to the surface, and they will not disappear quickly. Certainly the debate should continue. It can have only good results if it means that decisions on policy must be tested against an alert and informed public opinion.54

In retrospect, the period from July to November 1965 was the high point of authentic debate about Vietnam, as many uncommitted and often perplexed New Zealanders sought further information about why their soldiers should or should not be fighting there. The teach-ins obliged the government to test its policy against the ‘alert and informed public opinion’ to which Holcroft alluded. Indeed, an observation made about teach-ins by the leading historian of the American anti-war movement applies equally to New Zealand: ‘They legitimized dissent at the outset of the war’.55 The teach-ins also highlighted at an early stage of the Vietnam debate a striking parallel between the government and the anti-war movement. Paradoxically, given the criticisms directed at official policy for blindly following Washington’s lead, the teach-ins were based on an American precedent. They represented the first highly visible example of New Zealand anti-war activists drawing explicitly on methods, protest styles and arguments used by their counterparts in the United States. This trend did not mean that local opposition to the Vietnam War was simply a distant echo of that occurring in the United States. Both the government and its critics drew freely on American sources in various ways, for the New Zealand debate about Vietnam was inevitably embedded in wider arguments reverberating around the world about the significance of the struggle between different groups of Vietnamese to determine what kind of political and socio-economic system they would live under. At the same time, the White Paper and the teach-ins 164

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also illustrated that neither the government nor the anti-war movement were simply ‘copying’ their respective American counterparts but were reflecting divergent perceptions of how New Zealand interests related to those wider arguments. Another significant feature of the teach-ins, as in the United States and Australia, was the prominence given to campus-based dissent. Though it was far from clear in 1965 that a majority of students and academic staff opposed official policy on Vietnam, the public perception persisted that the universities were the symbolic hub of the anti-war movement. This legacy of the teach-ins was a mixed blessing for the anti-Vietnam War cause in New Zealand. On the one hand, the evident ‘intellectual’ or ‘academic’ opposition to official policy that was highlighted in press reports of the teach-ins lent a certain credibility to anti-Vietnam War protest and helped to broaden its socio-political base, reinforcing an ongoing ‘cross-over’ from the antiwar movement’s origins on the left-wing fringes of New Zealand politics.56 On the other hand, ‘intellectual’ dissent against the war was susceptible to being dismissed as impractical or unrealistic, emanating from the ivory towers of academics who were allegedly sheltered from the ‘real’ world.57 Some in university circles were quick to condemn ‘the anti-intellectualism of New Zealand society’ that was exemplified in such reactions – a response that did little to allay the charges of intellectual condescension implicit in some press coverage.58 Whatever their reactions, few who followed the progress of the teach-ins could have failed to see how they pointed up a real sense of division between intellectuals and the government in interpreting the significance of the Vietnam issue for New Zealand.59 It was the first time in the country’s history that overseas military involvement had precipitated such a clear-cut divide. The Coalescing of the Anti-war Movement During the second half of 1965, more direct forms of protest continued: from individuals and pre-existing groups such as trade unions, but most notably through the recently formed COVs. In July, for instance, the latter circulated a nationwide petition against the despatch of troops to Vietnam.60 The Wellington COV was especially active in disseminating alternative views. As well as publishing a newsletter for sympathisers entitled Quote, the group produced a pamphlet on ‘Intervention in Vietnam’ around the time of the White Paper’s release.61 Later in the year, the Wellington COV sent the same pamphlet and other material to every secondary school in New Zealand. Anti-war campaigners also continued to mount public demonstrations from time to time. During late November, there were actions around the 165

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country to coincide with an International Day of Protest. In Wellington, these included a public meeting on 27 November which drew 1000 people, and a march through the city to Parliament. Much to the COV’s dismay, media coverage focused more on a small counter-demonstration organised by the right-wing Democratic Society.62 This was not the only occasion when the anti-war movement felt mistreated by the press; a delegation had visited the editor of Wellington’s Dominion the previous month to complain about ‘slanted and selective reporting of [the] COV’s activities’.63 More significant, however, was the almost organic transition after June 1965 from ad hoc protesting to an organised ‘movement’ against New Zealand involvement in the Vietnam War. By the end of the year, the distinguishing features of this anti-war movement were clearly discernible: its organisational structure, its membership profile and associated ideological impetus, and its general criticism of official policy. The character of some of these attributes would fluctuate over the next decade, but the basic ‘movement culture’ forged in 1965 would prove durable. This was especially the case in organisational terms. Having failed to prevent the despatch of New Zealand combat forces to Vietnam, the protesters had to develop a longer-term campaign strategy and build a more broadly based movement. Much like its American and Australian counterparts,64 the anti-war movement in New Zealand would consist of a loosely linked set of autonomous, primarily urban, protest groups whose internal dynamics varied from place to place. By the end of 1965 such groups had spontaneously formed and were active to varying degrees in most New Zealand cities.65 From early on, the Wellington COV sought to act as a kind of headquarters for the movement by distributing nationally its regular newsletter, Quote (later entitled Vietnam: Quote and Comment), and attempting to coordinate activities of groups in other cities. These efforts would meet with limited success. There was an initial national meeting in late 1965, but these would not be frequent in future and there were few nationwide activities until the ‘mobilisations’ of 1971. For the most part, despite extensive and regular exchanges of views, the COVs guarded their autonomy and over the years had periodic differences of opinion on both practical and ideological matters.66 In organisational terms at least, the subsequent history of the anti-war movement in New Zealand was very much a reflection of the way in which the self-styled Committees on Vietnam spontaneously evolved in 1965 as a series of ‘movements’. The diffuse organisational structure established during this formative period makes it difficult to generalise about the institutional history of the Vietnam anti-war movement on a national level. From the outset, patterns of activity differed from city to city, as did the changing cast of individuals and groups who made up the activist core of the anti166

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Auckland’s Peace for Vietnam Committee is prominently represented in an anti-Vietnam War protest in Wellington, 1966. new zealand peace council collection, pa12-0556-08, atl

war movement. For the most part, the movement’s leaders remained local and only a few assumed national prominence, even briefly. Paradoxically, though they were part of a great wave of contemporary international protest and were working to overturn a particular line of national policy, New Zealand protesters worked mainly at a local level. But despite their aversion to national coordination and centralised control, New Zealand anti-war activists did adopt a common organisational form: the Committees on Vietnam. These proved an ideal means of facilitating the transition from scattered criticisms of Vietnam policy by a range of predominantly left-wing groups to the formation of a distinct single-issue pressure group seeking widespread public support. They were unlikely to have been consciously conceived in this way, but were more a natural outgrowth of the country’s penchant for voluntary associations (as applied to the political sphere). As the political scientist and media commentator Austin Mitchell noted in his classic satirical study of 1960s New Zealand: ‘New Zealanders are among the most enthusiastic joiners in the world. If wife swapping or sex orgies did catch on, they would form committees to organise them.’67 From May 1965 anti-war protest did catch on and, being New Zealanders, its proponents instinctively turned to committees as the appropriate structures through which to organise their protest. 167

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The Wellington COV was the acme of this organisational model.68 Befitting a capital city, with its panoply of public servants and bureaucratic procedures, this COV adopted a formal constitution, created various subcommittees (the most important being a policy committee) and held regular meetings replete with formal motions, all duly seconded, amended, discussed and carried or rejected. It later even became an incorporated society – on the recommendation of its policy committee.69 (Not surprisingly, it has bequeathed to historians the fullest archival record of any COV.) Though deriving its impetus from conviction politics, the Wellington COV operated as conventionally as any other voluntary organisation in the country. Even in later years, its internal procedures would show little of the countercultural style associated with some of the anti-war movement’s protest activities. In that respect, it was more like a rugby club or a Rotary branch than a revolutionary cell and, like these, it devoted much time and energy to discussing the best ways to sustain momentum and financial support for its cause. The care taken by the Wellington COV in its first year to establish a formal organisational structure would pay off. Its focus on orderly procedures rather than political doctrine meant that it could accommodate within its ranks individuals with very different belief systems, from CPNZ members to Protestant clergy. Though there would be intermittent factional and ideological tensions within this COV, it remained the only significant umbrella organisation for anti-Vietnam War protest in the Wellington region. The experience of the COV in Dunedin would be similar, partly perhaps because it consciously emulated the Wellington model. The city’s smaller size and relatively few members of the far left may also have contributed to the Dunedin group’s cohesiveness and relatively pragmatic approach.70 Although anti-war activists in Auckland, New Zealand’s largest city, likewise took up the ‘committee’ nomenclature early in 1965, there was more than one committee – partly because of ideological differences. The Peace For Vietnam Committee continued to be dominated by individuals and groups imbued with ‘a working class socialist and pacifist political tradition’. Though its character as a ‘compact activist group’ prevented deep internal divisions, this committee failed to move beyond a small left-wing constituency to establish a broad base of popular support.71 The universitybased Committee on Southeast Asia (COSEA), also formed in 1965, was less radical than the PFVC. As one of its founders later recalled, ‘we were conscious of being the non-communist opponents of the war in Vietnam’. Assuming a primarily educational role, COSEA had a key part in organising the teach-in at Auckland University in 1965 and produced the booklet critical of the White Paper. When this group disbanded in 1966, its members believed that they had won the intellectual debate with the government, even 168

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though they had failed to alter its policy one iota.72 In later years, Auckland would also have a Council on Vietnam vying with the PFVC. The emergence in 1965 of autonomous committees underlined the amorphous and spontaneous character of the anti-war movement on a national level, reflective as in the United States of ‘layers of often disconnected dissent in various strata of society’.73 From its inception, the anti-war movement in New Zealand was not a replication of existing groups but a work in progress that was not planned by any individual, group or political party, although it intersected with many. In their guise as longer-term, single-issue pressure groups, the COVs gave new ideological breadth to opposition to the Vietnam War in New Zealand. There were, however, clear limits to that ideological breadth, especially in the formative stages of the anti-war movement. Most of those who joined the COVs were distinctly sympathetic to left-wing causes or peace activism. National voters and those who belonged to organisations like Federated Farmers, Lions, Rotary or the RSA were unlikely to be found in the anti-war movement, and even Labour activists were not prominent in its ranks in 1965. Something about its underlying ideological impetus – especially with respect to differing views within New Zealand on the role of communism in international affairs – made it fundamentally a movement of the left, albeit a more moderate left after 1965. This left-wing impetus was most evident in its criticisms of government policy. Though not united organisationally or even ideologically on a nationwide scale, anti-war activists shared the common goal of ending New Zealand’s military involvement in the war. In pursuing that central objective, the antiwar movement developed a thoroughgoing criticism of government policy. Much of this had been articulated sporadically before the decision to send New Zealand combat troops, but it was first publicised systematically in the months after May 1965. Very few aspects of that critique changed thereafter. In part, the anti-war movement’s arguments focused on issues specific to the Vietnam War and resembled criticisms of Western intervention made in many parts of the world. Of more distinct significance for New Zealand’s future was the fact that this critique also challenged fundamental assumptions on which the country’s post-war foreign and security policies had been based. Those aspects of the anti-war movement’s critique reflecting international opposition to – and especially American internal criticism of – Western intervention in the war require little elaboration here. As elsewhere in the world, there was moral condemnation of Western intervention in Vietnam for reasons ranging from pacifist commitment to objections to the weapons being used or the undemocratic character of the South Vietnamese government. There was also the charge that the United States and its allies were interfering in a civil war. 169

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Many arguments were directed at the United States rather than the New Zealand government, with the intensity of the criticism varying according to ideological stance. Moderates and radicals alike chastised the United States for failing to accept the 1954 Geneva Accords, for using excessive military force, for alleging that China was behind the war, and for denying that there was widespread support for the National Liberation Front in South Vietnam. Moderates were more likely to ridicule the domino theory, while radicals tended to accuse the United States of acting from blatantly imperialistic motives in supporting a repressive puppet regime in Saigon and suggest that most Vietnamese wished to live in a single nation under some sort of socialist system. As in the United States, there were liberal opponents of the war in New Zealand who argued that American policy was less immoral than ill-conceived and would have the counterproductive result of strengthening communism in Asia.74 If that had been the extent of the anti-war movement’s argument, its attack might not have carried longer-term significance. But activists went further than criticising the government for supporting the United States in this particular instance. Realising that the Vietnam commitment was regarded in official circles as the premium on a more vital insurance policy for New Zealand, they challenged the basis for that support. From 1965, the anti-war movement mounted a broader assault on the government’s general alliance policies. According to these critics, the whole thrust of New Zealand policy in Southeast Asia was misguided. They rejected the strategy of forward defence, disputed the anti-communist assumptions on which it rested, and denied that communism posed a threat to New Zealand.75 More pointedly, as a near-contemporary study of the anti-war movement noted, the COVs’ arguments ‘represented an attempt at a New Zealand foreign policy determined by her, and not made through the eyes of the United States’.76 As COSEA’s response to the White Paper on Vietnam stressed early on: For many New Zealanders the most disturbing feature of the White Paper is that the authors were looking at Vietnam, and indeed the world, through spectacles of United States manufacture. . . . U.S. sentiments are precisely echoed and whole pages of the NZWP (New Zealand White Paper) are paraphrased from the U.S. White Paper of 1965.77

Viewed in this light, the government’s Vietnam policy was a symptom of a larger malady afflicting New Zealand diplomacy. These critics were arguing along lines outlined by Larry Ross in 1964, and underpinning their criticism was a sense that New Zealand foreign policy could be constructed in another way. This conviction was summarised in 170

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one of the Wellington COV’s first pamphlets, which argued that careful consideration of the implications of combat involvement in Vietnam would transform New Zealanders’ understanding of their place in the world: The realities we will thus discover and the moral conclusions we will draw will give us, as a people, a new awareness and a new responsibility. . . . The new responsibility we will have to take upon ourselves will be to define a Foreign Policy which is suited to New Zealand’s interests and which indicates the role New Zealand, a small and multi-racial country, hopes to play in Southeast Asia and the world. This new Foreign Policy will no longer be able to lean on out-dated, traditional patterns nor on the easy and lazy way out of blindly following the Foreign Policy of a great power, whose values and ultimate interests might not, at all times, and in all issues, correspond with ours.78

Written in 1965, the thesis encapsulated in this piece did not change substantially throughout New Zealand’s involvement in Vietnam.

The Government’s Responses to its Critics Though the government showed no sign of revising its policy or of accepting the criticisms of anti-war movement, the protesters did directly influence how it mobilised its public relations resources. Driven by an almost obsessive determination to counter or discredit its critics, the government did not stint in its public relations efforts after issuing the White Paper. This determination pervaded much of the information campaign set in motion in June 1965. As well as establishing the Tourist and Publicity Department committee to spread information and ‘expose Communist influence within the protest movement’, the government took great care to respond to persistent individual dissenters such as Professor Keith Buchanan and Larry Ross. There was also the detailed reply to COSEA’s criticism of the White Paper; and the government riposte to the COV’s pamphlet on ‘Intervention in Vietnam’, Vietnam: Background to the Conflict, sought to present in more accessible form the information provided in the White Paper. As many as 40,000 copies of this pamphlet may eventually have been distributed throughout the country: secondary schools also received them.79 The government’s sensitivity to criticism was equally marked in its approach to media coverage of Vietnam – a potentially crucial influence on public attitudes. Though the close monitoring of media commentary that began in May 1965 showed editorial opinion to be overwhelmingly in support of official policy, from Holyoake down there was continuing dissatisfaction in official circles about allegedly unbalanced news coverage. They especially feared the public impact of too many ‘atrocity photographs 171

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and articles playing upon the human tragedy of the war’.80 The government pondered various means to ensure more positive reporting of the conflict – even censorship was considered, but such a drastic option was both politically unpalatable and unrealistic.81 Instead, during the second half of 1965 the government focused on drawing media attention to more favourable items and sources of information, and sponsored visits by New Zealand journalists to Vietnam. For want of more effective alternatives, the government continued to use these methods of securing favourable news coverage throughout the war, and they may have achieved some of their intended effect. In late August 1965 a National MP reported to caucus that a Waikato Times reporter ‘had considerably changed his views in [the] Government’s favour’ after a visit to Vietnam.82 But the early disjunction between widespread editorial support for New Zealand policy and more critical reporting of the war in general presented the government with a more intractable problem. As an official lamented towards the end of 1965, justifying New Zealand’s involvement meant defending ‘United States actions as well, and it does not seem that it is possible to disassociate the policies of the two nations in this conflict’.83 In its public relations, as in its diplomacy, the government was constrained by the actions of its more powerful ally. Recognition of this reality may have contributed to changing recommendations from officials by late 1965. Within External Affairs, there was growing concern about the potentially ‘extravagant’ plans of the Tourist and Publicity committee headed by R. S. (Sid) Odell, who had coordinated anticommunist propaganda activities for the Holland government during the Korean War.84 Though he had authorised a budget of £10,000 for this committee, Holyoake developed reservations about its activities and decided in September to maintain a closer oversight over Odell’s work.85 Officials, too, questioned the wisdom of encouraging extended debate on Vietnam policy by giving the public too much ‘information’. When Holyoake suggested in October that the pamphlet Vietnam: Background to the Conflict be sent to all households in New Zealand, McIntosh dissuaded him, suggesting that, despite small ‘persistent pockets of opposition’, the momentum of protest had waned. Such a wide distribution would ‘stir up the question’ and convey the impression that ‘the Government is paying perhaps a greater degree of respect to its critics than they may well deserve’.86 Holyoake’s desire to provide public ‘information’ was predictably outweighed by his wish to discourage further debate. After 1965 the government would increasingly ignore its critics whenever possible rather than seek to rebut their every claim. One feature of this tendency was the strong instinct of many in government circles to undermine the opponents of Vietnam policy by impugning their motives and character rather than grappling seriously with their 172

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arguments. The most prominent manifestation of this continued to be the so-called red smear. As he had done since the opening of the Vietnam debate in May 1965, Holyoake continued seeking to establish in the public mind an association between the anti-war movement and communist, radical and anti-American forces. His deputy, Marshall, also warmed to this theme from time to time. Other government MPs followed suit with varying degrees of zeal.87 The red smear also offered a convenient mechanism for embarrassing Labour. Though not directly characterising the Labour Party as pro-communist, National members were willing to charge that it was playing into the hands of communist and other radical elements in the country. As National MP Haddon Donald put it during the Address-in-Reply debate in June: ‘By their negative action of appeasement Labour members have aligned themselves with the Communists, the fellow travellers, the pacifists, the antiAmericans, the immature and the misinformed’.88 During the same debate, Minister of Agriculture Brian Talboys implied guilt by association in noting that Labour members had appeared alongside ‘some very interesting friends’ in protest meetings: ‘There are faces and names which appear when there is a ban-the-bomb campaign; there are faces and names that support the Committee on Vietnam; there are faces and names that support any cause that will work in the name of international communism; there are faces and names that oppose any cause to which the United States has given its strength and its treasure’.89 Similarly, in September Holyoake sought to embarrass the Opposition when answering a parliamentary question from one of his own members concerning comments by Barry Mitcalfe that the COVs were seeking to cooperate with Labour. The government’s policy on Vietnam, he declared, ‘is altogether different from that advocated by the Communist Party and by the committees on Vietnam which it now appears are working and I quote “as far as possible with the Labour Party”’.90 Labour members questioned the government’s motives in making such charges and invoked the spectre of McCarthyism.91 Nevertheless, their persistent use of the tactic suggests that Holyoake and his caucus considered it would have greater negative consequences for the Opposition. It is difficult to determine to what extent these charges were strictly cynical attempts to manipulate public opinion or accurately reflected the beliefs of those making them. Critics of the government’s Vietnam policy certainly suspected the former was the case. At the Auckland University teach-in, for example, the historian W. H. Oliver devoted much of his address to detailing the use of the red smear as a mechanism for suppressing dissent.92 Given the small numbers of communists among the thousands of New Zealanders sympathetic to the emerging anti-war movement, those who supported the COVs had strong grounds for believing that the smear tactics were intended 173

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to distract public attention from the weakness of the government’s arguments.93 On the other hand, Holyoake reacted angrily when he was accused in May 1965 of indulging in McCarthyist tactics by publicly highlighting a communist presence in the COVs.94 Moreover, official files provide evidence both of a genuine belief that the CPNZ and other far left groups were active in the anti-war movement and of a recognition that their influence did not extend to the whole movement.95 Whatever the balance between these two views amongst individual National Party politicians, the presence of extreme leftists in the protesters’ ranks both provided an opportunity to discredit the anti-war movement as a whole and confirmed the prejudices of some about its motivations.96 Such suspicions helped rationalise some of the government’s even more heavy-handed attempts to contain dissent. Though censorship was not introduced, there does appear to have been pressure on the state-owned New Zealand Broadcasting Corporation (NZBC) not to give anti-war protesters free rein to present their views. The most controversial incident occurred in late May 1965 when the NZBC attempted to cancel a radio talk critical of official Vietnam policy by Professor Eric Herd of the University of Otago.97 Herd was eventually permitted to give his talk on the condition that a government representative spoke directly after him. Moreover, on 12 June Marshall told the annual meeting of the Wellington Divisional Committee of the National Party that ‘I do not know him [Herd] or what his political views are but it might help in assessing his opinions if people knew that he was last year Chairman of the N.Z. U.S.S.R. Society in Dunedin and is currently a member of its executive committee’.98 A potentially far more controversial form of government activity was the use of the Security Service to engage in covert investigation and surveillance of members of the anti-war movement. This began at the outset of domestic protest and continued while New Zealand troops were in South Vietnam.99 The fact that the government was willing to take such actions highlighted the extent of its concern, but this level of stifling of dissent was mild in comparison with measures employed in the United States. In 1965 at least, there was probably no real need for the government to contemplate censorship, indulge in the red smear or even use the Security Service to monitor its critics. On balance, the government remained in a strong position at the end of 1965. Unlike Labour, National faced no dissent on Vietnam within its own ranks. The party’s mid-year annual conference commended the government ‘on the courageous manner in which it decided to meet our obligations in providing forces in Vietnam and endorses its action in so doing’.100 Nor were there signs of wavering from National MPs or party members in the following months. With the partial exception of the churches,101 very few of those who protested against the Vietnam decision came from National’s 174

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traditional constituencies, which undoubtedly made it easier for Holyoake to shrug off the criticisms from Labour and the anti-war movement. The few available soundings of public opinion were also heartening for the government. Holyoake took satisfaction in telling first his caucus and then Parliament that a nationwide opinion poll taken in August had shown 70 per cent support for the government’s stance on Vietnam.102 On 7 October he could report that a letter sent to him by Canterbury University students indicated that 56 per cent of those who had voted in a poll supported the government’s Vietnam policy, while 34 per cent were opposed.103 This was an encouraging sign, given the high visibility of university students in the anti-war movement, and suggested that the silent majority might not share the views of a vocal minority. By then, officials had the impression that public concern about the Vietnam conflict was waning, and McIntosh told Holyoake he considered it especially revealing that even news of New Zealand’s first casualties had brought ‘no resurgence of violent criticism of the Government’.104

If the scorecard read in the government’s favour at the end of 1965, the game itself was not one it had ever wanted to play – and it was far from over. A defiant anti-war movement of proportions unimaginable at the beginning of 1965 had emerged and, though sometimes uncertain, the Labour Party remained opposed to the combat commitment in Vietnam. The ‘war of words’ concerning New Zealand’s combat involvement in the Vietnam conflict had begun, but its resolution lay some years in the future.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

The Domestic Politics of the Vietnam War in an Election Year, 1966

T

he domestic debate about vietnam launched in 1965 would change little in character during the following year. But the general election due by the end of 1966 heightened its political significance and posed different challenges for the major participants. Holyoake was determined to build on the relatively successful public relations campaign initiated in 1965 but remained hesitant about encouraging detailed public scrutiny of the Vietnam issue. This hesitation would fade as the election drew nearer and he sensed that Vietnam could actually be an electoral asset. His Labour opponents faced the more daunting challenge of continuing to oppose a combat role without incurring the negative electoral consequences of seeming either pro-communist or too equivocal. In contrast, the anti-war movement was far from equivocal but struggled in 1966 to devise more effective ways to exert pressure on the government while grappling with problems of factionalism within its ranks and limited public support for its cause. Since the lines of division in the Vietnam debate had already been defined, much of its public impact in 1966 came through media reporting of specific incidents or policy statements by political leaders.

Labour’s Quest for a Definitive Vietnam Policy The first policy statement to draw media attention in 1966 came from the new Leader of the Opposition, Norman Kirk, whose decisive defeat of Nordmeyer in a Labour caucus vote in December 1965 was widely seen as heralding a revitalisation of the party.1 But on Vietnam, Kirk would 176

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prove more cautious and pragmatic than his predecessor.2 Interviewed on 12 January, Kirk declared that a Labour government would do more to alleviate the suffering of the civil population in Vietnam, but would not be committed to withdrawing New Zealand’s soldiers; it would consider any request for more troops in the light of the prevailing conditions in Vietnam and Malaysia. Labour would not ‘do anything that would endanger or be inimical to the interests of New Zealand soldiers overseas or New Zealand itself’.3 Rather than clarifying Labour’s position, Kirk’s comments seemed wilfully ambiguous, leaving his options as open as possible while still opposing the government’s policy. Napier’s Daily Telegraph denounced his statement as ‘too hedged by qualification’ for Labour’s policy ‘to be clearly understood by the average New Zealander’. In that year’s election campaign Kirk would need ‘to say quite plainly’ if a Labour government would retain or withdraw the troops in Vietnam.4 This question would continue to vex Kirk for the rest of the year. His quandary was how to balance party pressures and principles against alliance and electoral considerations. In the circumstances, his preference for treading warily was hardly surprising. The elusiveness evident in Kirk’s first public pronouncements on Vietnam as Leader of the Opposition was on display again when he commented on President Johnson’s February meeting with Ky and Thieu in Honolulu. He welcomed their emphasis on addressing South Vietnam’s economic and social problems, and urged Holyoake to respond by boosting New Zealand’s reconstruction assistance; this ‘should cost not less than our military intervention’. But he also suggested that such a move would allow New Zealand’s soldiers in Vietnam to take on ‘a defensive role of protecting the work of medical, technical, and educational groups’.5 Kirk was not only implying that Labour would retain the New Zealand forces currently in Vietnam; he was warmly endorsing an American policy initiative and acknowledging the Saigon regime’s right to exist if it committed itself to social and economic reform.6 When Humphrey visited Wellington later in February, Kirk welcomed his stress on South Vietnam’s need for more civil aid and reaffirmed that a Labour government would increase such assistance.7 (After returning to Washington, the Vice-President told Johnson that Labour had pledged ‘to keep in Vietnam the battalion [sic] already there’.)8 Though in the spirit of Labour’s long-established emphasis on social and economic aid, Kirk’s conciliatory tone was at odds with the wishes of many in the labour movement for a more decisive policy on Vietnam; and it was certainly softer than the stance favoured by the anti-war movement. Kirk was doubtless looking ahead to the end-of-year election, but neither his party nor the press would allow Kirk the luxury of such equivocal moderation. In late March one of his MPs, Jock Mathison, stated that a future Labour government would replace the artillery battery in Vietnam with med177

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Norman Kirk, Leader of the Opposition, 1965–1972. morrie hill collection, f-18291-35mm-21, atl

ical, technical and educational groups – hardly consonant with Humphrey’s reading of Labour policy after meeting the Leader of the Opposition. When asked to comment, Kirk said cryptically that Mathison had ‘expressed quite correctly the policy of the Labour Party’, but did not elaborate.9 Auckland’s daily newspapers promptly lambasted him. According to the Auckland Star, Mathison’s statement represented ‘a radical change’ from Labour’s previous public utterances on Vietnam, yet Kirk’s ‘shuffling phrases’ continued to shroud Labour policy in ambiguity. The criticism was notable from a newspaper which, only two weeks earlier, had enthusiastically backed his emphasis on increasing civil aid to Vietnam. The New Zealand Herald noted with surprise that, despite his endorsement of Mathison’s comments, Kirk had not denounced the government’s recent decision to bring 161 Battery up to its full complement, and continued to suggest that Labour was not committed to withdrawal from Vietnam. His ‘“clarification” makes confusion worse confounded’, lamented the newspaper, warning that Labour could not continue ‘sitting on the fence over controversial issues’.10 Many in the labour movement agreed that the time had come to take a more clear-cut stand on Vietnam, and some were even more forthright than Mathison. In a newspaper article in late April MP Bob Tizard had no qualms about openly criticising the United States and the South Vietnamese regime. Deploring the recent decision to send reinforcements, he said New 178

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Zealand’s role appeared to be confined to giving ‘unquestioning political support to the American line by maintaining a military contribution in the field’.11 Tizard’s observations were symptomatic of a groundswell of opinion that would crest at the annual conferences of the Federation of Labour and the Labour Party in May. Immediately before these conferences there was a meeting of the Joint Council of Labour – a body comprising FOL and Labour Party delegates which met periodically to discuss matters of common interest to both arms of the labour movement. After discussing Vietnam, the council issued a statement much stronger in tone than any of Kirk’s public comments. Affirming the principles of free elections, self-determination for ‘the people of Vietnam’ and a peaceful resolution of the conflict, this avoided any reference to either North or South Vietnam but baldly concluded that the New Zealand combat force should be withdrawn.12 Discussion of the issue at the FOL conference revealed considerable dissatisfaction amongst delegates with the Labour Party’s equivocation.13 They unanimously endorsed the joint statement, and FOL President Tom Skinner warned that his organisation would deliver its own statement to the government if the Labour Party conference did not follow suit.14 Kirk remained uneasy about adopting a more decisive stance and made no public comment on the FOL’s decision. His unease was undoubtedly compounded by Holyoake’s gleeful taunts that the FOL was ‘dictating and announcing Labour Party policy on Vietnam’.15 When Kirk addressed the FOL conference, he pledged that a future Labour administration would withdraw the artillery battery and replace it with a non-combatant unit of medical or engineering personnel. But he did not rule out a defensive role for such forces, and was critical of all sides in the conflict, including North Vietnam for failing to respond to ceasefire proposals.16 It was a tricky balancing act to appear moderate, avoid National charges of kowtowing to the trade unions, and still reflect the strong feelings evident within the labour movement. The press remained unsympathetic. On 7 May the Timaru Herald dismissed Kirk’s speech as ‘remarkable for its failure to face reality’ and described as ‘ominous’ the FOL’s alleged ‘usurpation of policy-making powers’.17 The Otago Daily Times suggested that, after months of ‘political circumlocution’, Kirk had committed ‘another tactical blunder’ by allowing the FOL to give the impression that it was now driving Labour’s Vietnam policy.18 Kirk’s attempt to steer a moderate course on Vietnam was further tested at his own party’s conference from 9 to 13 May. During consideration of the several remits about Vietnam, Tizard – apparently at Kirk’s instigation – sought to move amendments that would have tempered the tone of the Joint Council of Labour’s statement. But most of the External Affairs and 179

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Defence Committee did not wish to see Labour’s opposition to the war blunted, and Tizard withdrew his amendments. When the issue came forward for debate by the whole conference, Martyn Finlay – again, evidently at Kirk’s instigation – moved an amendment to the Joint Council’s statement endorsing the replacement of the artillery battery with a non-combatant force but allowing for the use of troops to guard non-combatant personnel. Although Kirk spoke in support of the amendment, it was defeated heavily on a card vote.19 If Kirk wanted to portray Labour’s policy as a measured and independent one that was not imposed by the trade unions, the conference denied him the ability ‘to have his cake and eat it’, as one newspaper put it.20 Kirk’s use of prominent opponents of the war such as Tizard and Finlay to seek a compromise position signalled his reluctance to accept an unqualified commitment to withdraw all New Zealand military forces from Vietnam.21 The uncertainty of Labour’s policy was again spotlighted during Parliament’s annual Address-in-Reply debate in early June. By then, several newspapers had identified Vietnam as a likely major election issue.22 Kirk’s comments on Vietnam were defensive. Chastising National speakers for stirring up ‘the noisome pot of McCarthyism’, he affirmed Labour’s antipathy to communism. He attempted to rebut National’s charges of vacillation and inconsistency by stating that Labour had a clear policy: ‘to withdraw from a combatant role in Vietnam’ and to provide more ‘constructive aid’.23 In fact, his reference to opposing ‘a combatant role’ was the very sort of ‘political circumlocution’ to which the Otago Daily Times had objected a few weeks earlier. It allowed Labour to avoid advocating an immediate and unconditional withdrawal of New Zealand troops. Later in the debate, elder statesman Sir Walter Nash stated that Labour would not withdraw the troops but transfer them to ‘better work’.24 He did not spell out what that work might be, and the most likely alternative role was ruled out by the Deputy Leader of the Opposition, Hugh Watt, who told Parliament that troops were not needed to defend those working on civilian aid projects.25 Opposition speakers were more effective in identifying what was going wrong in Vietnam. There were numerous criticisms of the Saigon regime: Arthur Faulkner dubbed it a ‘military dictatorship’, and even Kirk alluded to ‘obvious signs in South Vietnam of dissatisfaction with the existing order of things’.26 Members of the Opposition were also growing more vigorous in their criticisms of American policy and of the government’s motives in supporting it.27 Tizard was one of the most vituperative, repeating his earlier charge that the government had committed forces ‘simply to pay the first premium on an insurance policy which is held by the United States’.28 Labour members were also more scornful than ever of the domino theory.29 They ardently reiterated their long-standing view that communism could be 180

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contained only through social change, economic development and democratic political reform.30 Labour had raised all these criticisms before, but several were now being pressed more forcefully. But Labour’s attacks failed to dispel the image of confusion and possible inconsistency in its own Vietnam policy. As the Gisborne Herald concluded, ‘If we were confused before on just what approach the Labour Party was making to this vital question, now we find our minds whizzing round trying to find a beginning to policy thinking’.31 From the left, the New Zealand Monthly Review noted that some Labour supporters were disappointed at the party’s performance.32 With an election due within six months, Labour had much to do if it was to turn the Vietnam issue in its favour.

The Anti-war Movement’s Struggle for Greater Public Support Like the Labour Party, the anti-war movement would find it difficult to win greater public sympathy for its stance on Vietnam in 1966. Its difficulties, however, were of a different order. There was no equivocation within its ranks about withdrawing New Zealand’s combat force, but it faced internal differences about how to achieve that specific goal and about how to contribute to the more general goal of bringing the conflict in Vietnam to a satisfactory conclusion. There were also the problems of media hostility and public suspicion of the character and motives of some of the groups and individuals associated with the anti-war cause. The movement thus faced formidable challenges in applying to better effect the extensive repertoire of arguments and protest techniques which it had already developed. By now it was clear that whatever methods were utilised to meet these challenges would have to focus on influencing public opinion, for the government had shown itself impervious to both the arguments and the protest activities of the anti-war movement. In an election year, it was also important for opponents of the military commitment to influence the Labour Party, whose evolving policy was obviously closer to the COVs’ own aims. Anti-war activists would be openly working for a Labour victory by the end of the year. Developing and implementing a national strategy to attain its ends was difficult for a movement of like-minded but autonomous urban committees. At the beginning of the year there were some attempts at nationwide coordination. At a meeting of the Wellington COV in early February that was also attended by Len Reid of the Auckland PFVC, planning began for a major protest in Christchurch on 25–26 March to coincide with proposed actions around the world. (Christchurch was chosen because of difficulties in mounting such protests in Wellington and Auckland after the efforts made in organising protests there in late November 1965.) A possible nationwide 181

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meeting around the time of the FOL and Labour Party conferences in May was also mooted.33 Revealingly, the first anti-war activity of the year to draw national media attention was a spontaneous act of protest that was neither planned nor initially sanctioned by the COV.34 On 20 February, while the American Vice-President was in the capital, four young people chained themselves to pillars in Parliament grounds some eight hours before Humphrey was due to speak there. The police eventually snapped their chains and laid disorderly behaviour charges against the group, who were identified in the press as Jane McElwee, Nicholas Rosenberg, Paul Melser and Elemer Kuna. Melser had been one of the prime movers in the protests against the Lodge visit and had also been involved in the sit-in outside Holyoake’s office in April 1965. Although associated with the COV, the four protesters made it clear that they had acted independently and explained that they had been seeking a novel method of protest, because ‘ordinary middle class ways of demonstrating are just no use any more’. Each was subsequently convicted and fined £5.35 They had succeeded in attracting publicity – far more than was given the 150 COV supporters who later joined them with protest banners and sang protest songs below Parliament’s steps until deterred by heavy rainfall. By then, the practice of marching on Parliament had become commonplace, with one newspaper noting shortly afterwards that the Vietnam issue had prompted more such marches than at any time since the Depression.36 In Auckland, there was a similarly spontaneous complement to a ‘poster-parade’ protest against the Humphrey visit when about 50 PFVC supporters pressed on to the American consul’s office – a practice that would recur frequently during Auckland anti-Vietnam war protests.37 There was another media-grabbing incident in Wellington during the Vice-President’s visit. During a scuffle between security guards, police and anti-war protesters outside the American ambassador’s residence, onlookers witnessed a security guard’s revolver (probably American) falling to the ground – a highly unusual sight in New Zealand. The incident provoked much controversy and raised awkward questions for the government about the security arrangements for the visit.38 Sarah Campion of the PFVC wrote to Holyoake complaining that the presence of armed American security guards represented a gross interference in New Zealand’s domestic affairs.39 Less expectedly, the Mercantile Gazette – a business-oriented publication with a small but influential circulation – criticised the government along similar lines, suggesting that Humphrey had ‘treated New Zealand to a display of brusque security unprecedented in its history and had himself surrounded by a show of arrogance that came badly from an ally and a visitor’.40 Though heartening for the anti-war movement, such comments were more a warning to Holyoake about appearing subservient 182

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to the Americans than an endorsement of the aims of the anti-Humphrey protests. In fact, much media commentary about the protests was negative. The New Zealand Herald said that ‘decent New Zealanders can hardly avoid a sense of embarrassment at the extravagant capers of a few zealous exhibitionists whose arrogance betrays their ignorance of diplomatic proprieties’.41 A monthly publication, the National Observer, described those protesting against Humphrey as ‘misguided youths and their calamitous looking female associates’.42 Such reactions showed how novel protests still were in New Zealand and confirmed, for some COV members, the need to cultivate a more respectable image for the anti-war movement. The Wellington COV had even asked those protesting against Humphrey to dress neatly in order to counter the ‘beardies and weirdies’ stereotype.43 Its chairman, Barry Mitcalfe, was also worried that those who chained themselves to Parliament’s pillars could damage the image of other protesters, though a COV meeting retrospectively endorsed their action and helped pay their court costs.44 Actions that might offend the sensibilities of middle New Zealand made it more difficult to entice an already cautious Labour Party to associate with the anti-war movement. Kirk had declined an invitation to address the demonstration against Humphrey, telling Mitcalfe that ‘speaking in front of a mass gathering may have led to unforeseen consequences associating Labour with some damaging public incident’.45 In such ways, the publicity attracted by the demonstrators may well have been counterproductive. The following month, there was further controversy concerning the activities of one distinctive group within the anti-war movement, the New Zealand Medical Aid Committee for South Vietnamese Peoples (National Liberation Front Areas). This Auckland-based group had provoked a minor furore in Parliament in October 1965 when Kirk dubbed it a ‘Communist front organisation’.46 Its attempts to send medical supplies to areas of South Vietnam under Viet Cong control came to public notice again in March 1966 when Truth reporter Kevin Sinclair – a veritable scourge of the anti-war ‘Vietniks’ – published an article alleging that its actions could be treasonable. Sinclair suggested that the group’s stated aim of providing medical aid to all those in NLF areas might mean that help could be given to the Viet Cong ‘jungle terrorists’ who had already killed three New Zealand soldiers. He stressed that the committee’s chairman, W. Jermyn, was ‘a prominent member of the Auckland Communist Party’.47 Earlier in the month, the Governor of the Reserve Bank had sought Holyoake’s personal approval to decline the committee’s request to send £200 to its counterpart in Britain for the purchase of medical supplies to be sent to the Red Cross Society of the NLF in South Vietnam. The Prime Minister agreed the request should be declined 183

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but had no objection to medical supplies bought in New Zealand being sent to Britain.48 (The Security Service had advised him that such a move would embarrass both the Medical Aid Committee and the CPNZ.)49 As it happened, the committee was still able to demand publicly that Holyoake correct an uncharacteristically erroneous statement on 21 March that the Reserve Bank had denied a request to send funds directly to the Viet Cong.50 The issue then faded from public view, though the New Zealand Herald reported in early July that £880 worth of medical supplies had reached the Red Cross Society of the NLF through the British Medical Aid Committee.51 The group would remain a particular irritant because, though the government was convinced it was a communist front organisation, its publicly humanitarian profile made restricting its despatch of aid difficult. Meanwhile, anti-war activists also continued to toil on less high-profile fronts. One innovative contribution to their campaign to publicise information about the war countering official statements was a strictly one-man effort. Early in the year, the first history of the conflict to be published in New Zealand appeared under the title, Rape of Vietnam. Its author, British-born Harry Slingsby, a national vice-president of the New Zealand Peace Council and president of its Wellington branch, had gone to Hanoi in November 1964 to represent the council at an ‘International Conference for Solidarity with the People of Vietnam against US Imperialist Aggression for the Defence of Peace’.52 Having travelled at the expense of the North Vietnamese, Slingsby rewarded their largesse at the conference by attacking the United States as ‘the enemy’ and denouncing ‘the servile policy of the NZ Government in supporting US policy in South East Asia’. His hosts repaid the favour by taking a photograph of him with Ho Chi Minh, making him perhaps the only New Zealand resident to be recorded for posterity alongside the legendary Vietnamese leader. With a copy of this unique souvenir prominently displayed on the back cover of his book, Slingsby made no secret of his sympathies. Rape of Vietnam was an impassioned denunciation of United States policy toward Vietnam, with occasional allusions to the folly of the New Zealand government in backing the Americans. The book’s publication aroused the interest of the Security Service, whose director told Holyoake that ‘although it is riddled with inaccuracies it will very probably be lauded as an authoritative text by persons and organisations which are critical of the New Zealand Government’s policy on Vietnam’. Although it is not known how many of the book’s 3000 copies were sold or what their effect was on those who had not yet made up their minds on the issue, Slingsby’s effort did provide the anti-war movement with a locally produced history of the war to draw on as a resource.53 Books and other publications, however, failed to attract the publicity generated by street demonstrations and public protests. Even so, the anti184

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war movement was divided over the effectiveness of demonstrations. As the protests during Humphrey’s visit illustrated, some COV members were concerned that, if not carefully planned and coordinated, these could project a negative image of the anti-war movement, allowing media critics to play on the stock image of disorderly ‘beardies and weirdies’ and vindicating Kirk’s fear of being associated with ‘some damaging public incident’. In May 1966, Mitcalfe told a meeting of Wellington COV members that the group’s executive had concluded that ‘the day of demonstrations was largely passed’; the committee’s main role should now be ‘to inform the public of the realities of the conflict in Vietnam’.54 To that end, a booklet was being drafted for nationwide distribution to households. In seeking support to finance and distribute 250,000 copies, the COV’s newsletter, Quote, reasserted that ‘the task of various Committees on Vietnam is essentially one of education, the dissemination of information on the actual situation in Vietnam’.55 Ironically, the May meeting also heard of the success of the demonstrations and teach-in staged in Christchurch in April, and went on to plan to picket an American destroyer that was due to dock at Wellington that month.56 As if to underscore the chairman’s point about demonstrations, however, there were expressions of regret at the next meeting about poor attendance at the picket.57 Arguments about the effectiveness of demonstrations would remain a source of discord within the movement for several years. Another, wider, source of discord to surface within the Wellington COV in 1966 concerned differing interpretations of the nature of the war and its broader significance. The incident which triggered it was the COV executive’s decision to send a public letter to Ho Chi Minh through the International Control Commission, expressing concern about his government’s refusal to consider peace proposals recently offered by President Johnson. No reply was ever received from Hanoi, but the letter was apparently intended primarily for domestic consumption to demonstrate the even-handed attitude of the COV and its commitment to a negotiated peace rather than a military victory by one side or the other. Its despatch to the media provoked criticism from COV members in Wellington and elsewhere.58 The issue came to a head at a COV meeting in the capital on 4 April, when a motion to disavow the executive’s letter was defeated by just 25 votes to 23.59 A contemporary study of the COV noted that Mitcalfe considered the issue ‘nearly split the protest movement along sectarian lines which had characterised the Auckland protest since its beginning’.60 The issue also highlighted the difference between those who were primarily committed to a peace of any kind in Vietnam and those who saw the protest as part of a wider struggle for socialism in New Zealand and around the world. That the latter view was dominant in the Auckland PFVC was illustrated by a comment to a reporter by the group’s treasurer that the 185

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committee’s purpose was ‘to end the war in Vietnam, but most of the members would work for the creation of a more socialistic State in any way they could’. Vietnam just happened to be ‘the biggest issue right now’. The PFVC was more aggressive in criticising the United States and supporting the NLF, to the extent of objecting to the use of the term ‘Vietcong’ in a pamphlet produced by the Wellington COV in mid-1966 which they refused to distribute.61 As Sarah Campion explained to the Wellington group, PFVC members were ‘not in the least concerned about being labelled anti-American by the ignorant; nor about the chances of being smeared as red because on this subject they agree with the Communists’.62 In contrast, the Dunedin COV complained to Wellington that an earlier pamphlet was too anti-American.63 More radical views occasionally surfaced in the Wellington COV’s own publications: its May 1966 newsletter criticised the government’s unthinking support for American efforts to suppress socialism internationally and prophesied the inevitability of ‘some form of socialist society’.64 Not all COV supporters would have explicitly set their concern about the Vietnam conflict in that context, but the forthright tone of the occasional Quote or the rhetoric of some activists was easily accommodated within a loose, broadly left-wing movement. Of greater significance was the role of communists in the anti-war movement. Sensitivity to the fact that an association with communism, whether actual or implied, was potentially disastrous while the Cold War continued to define the dominant ideological divide in international political life, was evident among many in the anti-war movement from 1965. In Wellington, the COV tried to avoid repeating slogans used by communists at demonstrations and attempted to exclude communists from the lists of ‘respectable’ opponents of the war published in advertisements in the Listener.65 In Christchurch, the formation of a Joint Council on Vietnam to coordinate the protest activities of several groups was partly motivated by fears of possible communist domination of a single, unitary body like the Wellington COV.66 Aversion to communism was a major reason why the Auckland anti-war movement was divided, with COSEA’s members styling themselves as the anti-communist opponents.67 It was also a concern among those who wanted a closer relationship with the Labour Party. As Nordmeyer explained in a 1967 interview with a COV sympathiser, ‘While Labour does not want to reject a cause with communists in it, it does not want to be closely identified’.68 This issue was far more sensitive than divisions over demonstrations or the ‘beardies and weirdies’ stereotype. Yet, much to the embarrassment and discomfort of many in the anti-war movement, the role of communists received heightened public attention in mid-1966. In some respects, the CPNZ had a more impressive pedigree in opposing the war than did most of those associated with the COVs – it had 186

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railed against Western ‘imperialism’ in Vietnam since the 1950s – and it was understandably eager to play a leading role as the movement against the war finally began to gather momentum. But the influence of the CPNZ was limited. There were only a few hundred active communists in the country, let alone in the anti-war movement. Their potential effectiveness was further diluted after the Sino-Soviet split that, in 1966, caused an ideological schism within the New Zealand communist movement and led to the formation of the pro-Soviet Socialist Unity Party (SUP) to compete with the CPNZ.69 Despite the parlous state of the country’s communists, the mere suggestion of a communist presence had been remorselessly exploited by some in the National Party and the press to claim that opposition to official policy was playing into the hands of the communists, if not being manipulated by them. This exuberant use of the red smear had rested on precious little evidence, but in March 1966, the New Zealand Communist Review published an article by Ray Nunes in which he claimed that the CPNZ had played a leading role in launching the protest movement against the Vietnam War in New Zealand. Acknowledging that ‘spontaneous development’ had played some part in the movement’s growth, Nunes nonetheless argued that the campaign had ‘quickly assumed an organised, mass character’ primarily because of ‘the active, organising leadership role of the Party’.70 His article could not have been more embarrassing for the anti-war movement had it been scripted by one of its most impassioned red-baiting critics. The populist Truth had a field day, publicising the article as proof of the influence exerted by ‘New Zealand’s ultra-Red Communist Party’ on the anti-war movement.71 Daily newspapers reprinted extracts from Nunes’s article under such headlines as ‘Communists Lead Vietnam Groups’. Even the Otago Daily Times, which conceded that the CPNZ had failed to manipulate the COVs, concluded that there had been some communist ‘infiltration’ of the anti-war movement, especially of Auckland’s PFVC.72 The leaders of the Wellington COV were incensed by both Nunes’s article and Truth’s sensationalist exploitation of it. They complained to Truth and Mitcalfe issued a statement denouncing the claims made in the article as ‘so ridiculously false as to be humorous’. His statement, which appeared in several newspapers, made clear that there were fewer than a score of communist members of the Wellington COV but that, ‘as a matter of democratic principle’, the COV believed they ‘had the same right to belong to our committee of 1000 or so active or affiliated members as did security agents, or National Party members’.73 COV leaders failed to get a retraction of Nunes’s claims from the CPNZ in Auckland. They even tried to enlist the assistance of Sarah Campion of the Auckland PFVC, but she dismissed it as ‘a fuss over nothing’.74 Finally, 187

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in exasperation, the executive committee of the Wellington COV moved to suspend seven ‘known’ communists unless they agreed to repudiate the CPNZ statement.75 When Mifcalfe advised the PFVC of this intention, Campion replied angrily that the proposed expulsions savoured ‘of witch hunting’ and would allow ‘NZ’s gutter press to win the first round’. The PFVC took the extreme step of issuing a press statement condemning the COV’s action.76 Shortly after the expulsions, though, the requested retractions were given and all seven were reinstated as members at the COV’s unusually well-attended June meeting. The COV’s new chairman, Conrad Bollinger, told over 100 people of his hope ‘that the Committee would continue its work without being led astray from its purpose by factional elements which tended to obscure the real issues’. A resolution was duly passed endorsing the executive’s actions but also welcoming the termination of the suspensions and implying a need for improved cooperation between the executive and members.77 This did not, however, end the controversy within COV ranks. At the next meeting on 6 July, attended by a more typical 45 members, the June resolution was amended to include a commendation of the ‘outstanding contribution’ made by the executive and pointedly note ‘the desirability of welcoming within the Committee all individuals who are prepared to work for the aims of the Committee within the rules of the Committee’.78 The Wellington COV survived these strains without fragmenting along the lines of the Auckland anti-war movement, but they did leave resentments. They also exacerbated COV members’ aversions to being identified with communism. Even the Greymouth branch of the COV declined an offer by local communists in July to help distribute an anti-war pamphlet.79 Bitterness over the treatment of the communists lingered for some time in Wellington, with some considering that the executive had over-reacted.80 The episode also accentuated the ideological differences between the compact, radical PFVC in Auckland and the larger, more diverse COV in Wellington.81 The Nunes incident and its aftermath drew attention to some of the anti-war movement’s most conspicuous shortcomings. A year after the government announced the combat commitment to Vietnam, its critics were no closer to reversing that decision. COV supporters had hoped that they would be riding a wave of public outrage at New Zealand’s involvement in an ‘illegal, immoral, impractical and inhuman’ enterprise.82 Instead, they were dissipating their energies in internecine disagreements and in defending themselves against the taint of communism. After an initial surge of support for the anti-war movement in 1965, it was proving difficult to sustain interest, momentum or unity. Except when discussing contentious issues such as the suspensions of communists, most general meetings of the Wellington COV were attended by between 30 and 50 people in 1966.83 188

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Outside Wellington, such meetings were probably even less well attended: early in the year one PFVC member at a meeting of five people in Auckland blithely assured a reporter (posing as an ‘interested person’) that sometimes ‘as many as 15 people attend a meeting’.84 The country’s dedicated core of anti-war activists could probably be counted in the low hundreds. It was difficult to see what else they could do. By mid-1966, they had well and truly rehearsed all the arguments to be made against the combat commitment and had exploited a wide array of protest techniques, just like their counterparts in the United States, Australia and elsewhere. There had also been more deputations to the Prime Minister, such as one in March to protest at the use of napalm in Vietnam, and another in August by a delegation of church representatives.85 Publications ranging from Slingsby’s book to the Wellington COV’s Quote and sundry pamphlets continued to emanate from the movement. In September the Wellington COV coordinated the nationwide delivery to households of some 250,000 copies of its pamphlet, Story of a War, although only after modifying its content to meet objections from the Dunedin COV and Christchurch’s Joint Council on Vietnam.86 Letters continued to be sent to the government and to newspaper editors, supplemented by occasional advertisements, the most significant of which was a lengthy list of ‘respectable’ opponents of the government’s policy (mainly from the education sector and the churches) published in the Listener in April.87 The anti-war movement also succeeded in attracting publicity for visiting ‘experts’ with first-hand experience in Vietnam, such as the openly pro-communist Freda Cook, who returned briefly to New Zealand in August after six years in North Vietnam.88 A new COV branch was even launched in conservative Southland in 1966, though the ten young people who formed it were reported ‘to find the going hard in Invercargill’.89 Despite all their activities, the government’s critics were finding ‘the going hard’ everywhere. In retrospect, an enduring truism for the Vietnam anti-war movement in New Zealand was already evident. Neither its arguments nor its protest techniques would ensure its success, for these would actually change little in future years when the movement’s popular support grew apace. Nor were its internal divisions or disputes about communists within its ranks ultimately of great moment, though the latter issue hinted at the challenge facing the anti-war movement. What mattered most was the receptivity of the New Zealand public to the divergent arguments of the government and its opponents. As long as a majority of New Zealanders accepted – even if passively – the broad Cold War-inspired rationales for American and New Zealand policy toward Vietnam, there was little the anti-war movement could say about particulars to shift public opinion. Such a shift would come only when events in the war itself, in the United States and in the Southeast 189

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Asian region, began to throw into question the applicability of those general Cold War rationales to the case of Vietnam. As the 1966 election drew nearer, the anti-war movement’s chances of altering public opinion did not look promising.

The Government’s Responses to its Critics and the Lead-up to the 1966 Election Although it was not immune to Vietnam-induced worries, the government fared considerably better than either Labour or the anti-war movement on the domestic political front in the first half of 1966. The revolver incident during Humphrey’s visit caused momentary embarrassment for Holyoake but had no lasting impact. Indeed, the muted critical reaction to the announcement of a small increase to the New Zealand force in March suggested that public support for the Vietnam commitment was holding firm. As usual, Holyoake took care to maximise public support by placing more stress on the increase in civilian aid that was announced at the same time.90 The government’s fortunes were further abetted by its opponents’ weaknesses. Holyoake mercilessly exploited the Labour Party’s ambivalence and internal divisions. On 25 March, he denounced Kirk’s seemingly inconsistent statements on withdrawal of the New Zealand troops as ‘astonishing gyrations’ which would ‘read like pathetic comic opera if the subject itself was not so tragic’.91 He was even more zealous in attacking FOL ‘dominance’ of the Labour Party in May.92 (Such was his ebullience that Holyoake made a surprise visit to the Labour Party conference, where he quipped to Kirk, who was ending his term as party president, ‘Good morning, Norman. They tell me you are looking for a new president.’)93 Similarly, the controversies surrounding the role of communists in the anti-war movement played into the government’s hands. Unlike its critics, the government had the advantage that its Vietnam policy continued to enjoy the support of most of the country’s newspapers.94 There was also virtually no dissent visible within its own ranks.95 In many respects, the more demanding challenges for the government in 1966 came from its own unflinching support of a powerful ally whose actions it could neither influence nor predict. Nothing highlighted this potential for political embarrassment at home more than the bombing of oil depots in the Hanoi/Haiphong area which Johnson authorised in late June. After several months without nationally prominent protest activities and signs of fading public interest in Vietnam, the bombing threw the government onto the defensive. The air strikes breathed new vigour into the Opposition’s attacks in Parliament. After its unsteady performance in the Address-in-Reply debate 190

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in May, Labour was more at ease criticising the bombing. Almost as soon as it began, Kirk and other Opposition speakers pressed for New Zealand to follow the British government’s example and dissociate itself from a campaign which they considered was only increasing ‘civilian casualties and human suffering’. They also seized upon apparent inconsistencies in official statements about whether Holyoake had advance knowledge of American plans. At the same time, there was a marked rise in the intensity of Labour criticisms both of the regime in Saigon and of American policies, which were seen as dangerously escalating the war.96 The government’s attempts to rebut Labour’s charges were less surefooted than during the Address-in-Reply debate. When the bombing began Holyoake had been in Canberra attending ANZUS and SEATO talks, armed with briefing papers suggesting that New Zealand should voice concern about the efficacy of aerial attacks (see Chapter 6). Nevertheless, on his return home he asserted in the House that criticisms of the bombing were misguided: the attacks were militarily justified and the United States had taken the greatest possible care to avoid harming civilians.97 Most other National speakers avoided explicit reference to the bombing but defended American policy and the New Zealand commitment in Vietnam in more general terms.98 If more reserved in defending the air strikes than general American policy, National members were quick to resurrect charges that the trade unions were dictating Labour policy – always a sensitive issue for the Opposition.99 The American air raids also stimulated protest action. On 1 July, 200 people demonstrated at Wellington’s Citizens War Memorial. In Christchurch, about 70 attended a protest meeting on 4 July; the Canterbury Trades Council declared that it was ‘disgusted and horrified’ at the bombing.100 Fortunately for the government, the protests inside and outside the House stimulated by the bombing were short-lived. Moreover, some newspapers, such as the Timaru Herald, were prepared to support the bombing.101 Holyoake was also assisted by positive reporting of his diplomatic performance in Canberra. One Otago Daily Times columnist argued that the Prime Minister had added ‘a new dimension’ to his reputation as a masterful domestic politician – ‘that of statesman’.102 Such commentaries underlined the fact that the government’s diplomatic interaction with powerful allies helped enhance its stature and suggested that it had access to select and confidential information. If an opinion poll taken in Christchurch in August was any indication, New Zealand’s commitment in Vietnam enjoyed continuing popular support, with 56 per cent of those polled favouring the retention of troops in Vietnam and only 26 per cent wanting withdrawal.103 The government nevertheless remained ever-vigilant about nurturing public opinion on Vietnam. In July, for example, Labour Minister Tom 191

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Shand was disturbed by a booklet put out by the Wellington COV, entitled The American Press and the Vietnam War, which outlined alleged atrocities by American and South Vietnamese military forces. Both he and Holyoake approached the American ambassador in Wellington about obtaining material to counter the charges.104 McIntosh dissuaded the Prime Minister from using this material to answer a parliamentary question by arguing that the Opposition might exploit any discussion of atrocities to pose supplementary questions ‘based on the sort of moral indignation which no amount of factual evidence can mitigate’.105 The Secretary of External Affairs had reacted in similar fashion to a suggestion made during a Cabinet meeting in early August that the government produce a Vietnam pamphlet based on the recent Australian Questions and Answers for distribution to all households.106 McIntosh counselled against such a move on the grounds that the methods used to date, especially public speeches by Holyoake and his ministers, had been effective. He feared that a simplified publication intended for mass distribution would be open to ‘ridicule’ by the government’s committed critics. On the other hand, a more scholarly approach would be ‘clearly useless for it would not be widely read and would fail to convince those “intellectuals” who have already closed their minds to arguments which run contrary to their own’. McIntosh did suggest that if a pamphlet were produced, it should seek to answer basic questions about the Vietnam War.107 Although Holyoake heeded the advice about distribution, he instructed External Affairs to draft a pamphlet and eventually approved a draft consisting of a series of questions answered by extracts from official statements.108 When he noticed there were practically no references ‘to the economic, medical, humanitarian aid’ being provided by New Zealand, the United States and other countries, Holyoake instructed McIntosh to add ‘a special section on this aspect’.109 The Prime Minister continued to pay close attention to the pamphlet and insisted on approving the timing of its release – at the end of October, immediately after his return from Manila and less than a month before the election.110 Vietnam: Questions and Answers, the government’s most substantial published explanation of its policy since the 1965 White Paper, consisted of 33 significant questions, such as, ‘Why is the Vietnam conflict of direct interest to New Zealand?’, and provided answers based on verbatim statements by Holyoake and other ministers. It offered no new contributions to the debate, but did conveniently summarise official perspectives. Its release so close to an election was an obvious acknowledgement of opposition to Vietnam policy. As the preface stated, ‘New Zealand’s involvement in the conflict in Vietnam has, more than any other issue which has confronted this country since it assumed full responsibility for conducting its own external 192

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affairs, been the subject of vigorous public debate and a measure of controversy’.111 Some 12,000 copies of the 40-page booklet were sent to MPs, Rotary and Lions branches, Federated Farmers, university and public libraries, schools, mayors, prominent businessmen, RSA branches, churches, newspaper editors and other opinion leaders.112 On the campaign trail a few weeks later, Kirk characterised the pamphlet as ‘National Party propaganda’ and berated the government for ‘dipping grubby fingers into the taxpayers’ pockets’ to fund the production and distribution of such material.113 Representatives of primary teachers’ organisations also objected to what they considered one-sided views being sent to schools.114 Despite these brickbats, External Affairs later assessed that the booklet’s release had been useful.115 Johnson’s Visit and the 1966 Election By the time of the last debate in the House on Vietnam in 1966, the country was abuzz with expectancy, not about the upcoming election but about the first visit to New Zealand by a serving American president. There had been press speculation since late September that Johnson might visit Australasia on his way to the Manila conference, and on 6 October Holyoake announced that the President would indeed come to New Zealand, on 19–20 October.116 Privately, he was less than enthusiastic at first, and the consensus among Wellington’s opinion-formers was that such a visit so near an election might embarrass the government.117 From the outset, however, reactions to news of the visit augured well for Holyoake. If potentially embarrassing for the government, it was just as awkward for Labour, whose MPs pointedly refrained from depicting it as a politically motivated gesture to help the New Zealand and Australian governments win re-election.118 Instead, they took their lead from Kirk, who welcomed the visit and urged that no demonstrations be mounted against Johnson since New Zealanders would soon have the opportunity to express their views at the ballot box.119 There was also press support for the visit: notwithstanding a minority of protesters, one newspaper suggested, the President would find most New Zealanders supported the need to uphold their defence obligations in Vietnam.120 Emboldened by these positive reactions and sensing that Vietnam was a winning issue, Holyoake took urgency to stage a special parliamentary debate on Vietnam only six days before Johnson was due to arrive. Shrewdly using the excuse of the imminent Manila conference, the Prime Minister launched the debate with a motion seeking the support of the House for the government’s commitment to the cause of peace in Vietnam through both civil and military assistance. Kirk had little choice but to oppose the motion, noting with indignation that Labour’s objections were well known. No new 193

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President Johnson and his wife, Lady Bird, are surrounded by cheering crowds as their motorcade drives through Wellington in October 1966. dominion post collection, ep/1966/4547/4, atl

perspectives emerged from either side of the House during this debate, with the partial exception of a proposal by Kirk that New Zealand offer to fund a South Vietnamese institution ‘capable of accommodating orphaned and maimed children who are victims of war conditions in that country’.121 At the end of the debate, Holyoake rather disingenuously expressed his regret that the Manila conference would mark ‘the first time a Prime Minister has gone to such a conference with the country divided by the Opposition’.122 He knew full well that Labour was not about to abandon its opposition to the combat commitment. The more likely motivation for Holyoake’s action, as one columnist suggested, was his new-found determination ‘that Vietnam will not be overshadowed by the state of the economy or other questions’ at election time.123 The President’s visit certainly helped in that task. Although of little significance diplomatically, it was a public relations triumph. Up to 200,000 New Zealanders crammed the streets to catch a glimpse of the larger-than-life Texan during his brief stopover in the country.124 Shrugging aside concerns about formality and security, Johnson took every opportunity to exude his trademark populist charm and to shake hands with as many people as possible in the cheering crowds.125 In a report headlined ‘U.S. President’s Visit Unlike Anything Before’, one newspaper suggested that ‘President Lyndon 194

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B. Johnson may have done much to change the pattern of future Royal visits to New Zealand by the democratic approach he brought to his two-day stay in Wellington’.126 Nonetheless, anti-war activists ignored Kirk’s admonition and seized the opportunity to highlight their opposition. In Auckland, the PFVC issued a fiery pamphlet fulminating that the President’s visit meant ‘more N.Z. taxpayers’ money for war, death for many young New Zealanders and thousands of innocent Vietnamese and lower living standards’.127 About 300 Aucklanders took up the PFVC’s call to join in demonstrations outside the American consul’s office and the National Party Club in Queen Street on 19 October. Smaller protests took place in Christchurch and Dunedin.128 A fullpage advertisement similar to those previously placed in the Listener listing opponents of the war was published in newspapers around the country on the 20th.129 For the most part, though, Wellington was the focus of the protest activity. Few protesters were at the airport for Johnson’s arrival, but hundreds of banners were on hand when he reached Government House, where he was to spend the night.130 According to one source, the demonstrators ‘were 1500 strong’ when Johnson went to Parliament for a state luncheon the next day, but the numbers were probably much smaller.131 Protesters were conspicuously outnumbered by supportive, cheering crowds, and some protest banners were even torn down.132 Johnson said he did not think the demonstrators unfriendly but ‘was surprised that they should waste time, energy, and cardboard on the President of the United States, who also wanted peace’.133 This was exactly what Holyoake wanted him to say. For its part, the Wellington COV was satisfied with the demonstrations but disappointed at the lack of ‘adequate news coverage’.134 Media reports stressed that the protests were pushed into the background by the spontaneously warm response Johnson elicited, and editorial opinion during and after the visit was overwhelmingly favourable to the government’s perspective.135 The New Zealand Herald was typical in judging Johnson’s visit a ‘Triumph of Personal Diplomacy’.136 Similarly, the Otago Daily Times concluded that ‘the reception Mr Johnson received at Wellington suggested that the anti-Vietnam campaigners have less strength in the country than they imagined’, and that the visit had strengthened New Zealanders’ sympathy for the United States.137 Two days later, the same newspaper’s parliamentary reporter noted that it was ‘obvious’ that the government would strive to make Vietnam a key election issue and, if it was successful, ‘the November 26 poll will go down in history as the “Vietnam election”’.138 On his way back from Manila, Holyoake confirmed that Vietnam would ‘certainly have more effect on the coming general election than any other foreign affairs issues in my memory’.139 195

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From the moment of his arrival at Wellington airport in October 1966, President Johnson displayed his trademark populist touch in mingling with friendly crowds. dominion post collection, ep/1966/4545, atl

But anti-war activists were undeterred, drawing attention to the Vietnam issue and working for a change of government during the weeks leading up to the election. A protest meeting in the Wellington Town Hall on 30 October organised by the Wellington Trades Council drew 800 people.140 The next evening, a few young anti-war protesters handed out pamphlets at the Christchurch City Centre just before Holyoake launched National’s election campaign.141 Thereafter, Holyoake and other National ministers encountered often-voluble anti-war hecklers at almost every election meeting, but they continued to raise the Vietnam issue and suggest that Labour’s policy would mean dishonouring New Zealand’s obligations.142 The Prime Minister was not even thrown off his stride by charges that National would introduce conscription if re-elected. He responded by accusing the Labour Party of ‘dirty, last-minute scare tactics’.143 In contrast to National candidates’ sometimes stormy encounters with anti-Vietnam protesters, Kirk and other Labour speakers encountered fewer hostile hecklers on the campaign trail. Although the anti-war movement had toyed with the idea of sponsoring independent anti-war candidates, many of its supporters eventually worked actively for a Labour victory.144 Yet the 196

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party leadership played down the issue, and Kirk privately urged candidates in marginal seats to avoid it.145 Having claimed in late September that National would be unable to make Vietnam a major election issue, by early November Kirk was suggesting, somewhat defensively, that the government was ‘fervently embracing the Vietnam issue to divert attention away from its own shortcomings in handling the domestic economy’.146 As the election drew nearer, media opinion continued to run heavily in favour of the government on Vietnam.147 The New Zealand Herald, for example, argued on 14 November that it was a question of either ‘honouring’ or ‘dishonouring’ the nation’s obligations.148 Contrary to Labour’s hopes, Vietnam was seen increasingly as the most significant point of difference between the two major parties: a few days before the election the Otago Daily Times suggested that ‘only one clear issue is clearly defined: Vietnam and the part New Zealand should play in South-east Asia’.149 The election delivered an anticlimactic outcome that both affirmed the status quo and reflected press comments during the campaign about lukewarm interest among voters.150 The government was returned to office, but both National and Labour received fewer votes than they had in 1963. Social Credit, with its defining credo of monetary reform, was the only party to post significant gains. The government lost one seat to Labour and another to Social Credit, but also gained one from Labour. With this net loss of only a single seat, Holyoake was able to claim his third successive electoral victory as National Party leader. The verdict on the role played by Vietnam in the election was mixed. As one of the newspapers most strongly supportive of official policy, the Otago Daily Times argued that the ‘vociferous minority’ of anti-war protesters proved ‘more of a minority than it appeared to be’ and noted that National’s lower vote could not be attributed to the Vietnam issue since most of the resulting gain went to Social Credit, a party with the same policy on that issue.151 Muldoon, one of National’s rising stars in the mid-1960s, would later recall that ‘1966 was the “Vietnam” election, when ‘Keith Holyoake brilliantly pointed up the issue’ to Labour’s disadvantage.152 In sharp contrast, the New Zealand Monthly Review noted in December 1966 that Vietnam had been the only issue to generate heat at election meetings, and expressed the hope that ‘the reduced majority of the Government will indicate to it that its policies of “American right or wrong – mostly wrong” are unpopular and the power of Government distortions and its prevaricating propaganda have not been able to confuse all New Zealanders, as they were intended to do’.153 In the absence of opinion polling the precise role played by Vietnam must remain a matter of conjecture, but what is clear is that there was insufficiently strong electoral opposition to National’s policy to induce a majority of voters to eject the government. 197

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The 1966 election was the only one in which Vietnam featured as one of the two or three most important campaign issues. It marked a high point for the government in terms of popular endorsement for its stance on Vietnam. While Kirk seemed to sense before Holyoake that the issue was more of a political liability for Labour, the Prime Minister then vigorously seized the political offensive. The election’s outcome did not make Holyoake any more enthusiastic about the Vietnam commitment.154 But it did mean the government could claim that its policy enjoyed majority support domestically, and Holyoake soon did so.155 Even for the ultra-cautious Holyoake, this victory made it less likely that domestic considerations would deter the government from increasing New Zealand’s military commitment in Vietnam if necessary.

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CHAPTER NINE

Paying a Higher Premium: The Escalation of New Zealand’s Military Effort, 1967–8

I

n the wake of its 1966 election victory, the national government was obliged to reassess the extent of New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War. Under Holyoake’s personal guidance, it had deferred any real expansion of its commitment for 18 months during the most rapid period of American and Australian military escalation. During 1967, however, New Zealand would increase its contribution more than threefold. With the war at a stalemate and genuine peace negotiations a distant prospect, the Johnson administration viewed continuing military pressure as the only means of wresting concessions from Hanoi. It was becoming clear, however, that the political, economic and human costs of this approach would be far weightier than it had ever imagined. The Americans thus pressed even harder in 1967 for their regional allies to take on a greater share of the costly burden of defending South Vietnam. While policy-makers in Wellington had proven adept at deflecting such pressures, they now faced them in a changing regional security environment. The most important development was Britain’s decision to withdraw from Southeast Asia, first made public in July 1967. This development made the government even more conscious of New Zealand’s dependence on the United States for its long-term security. Another change was the ending of Confrontation, which removed the often-stated rationale for not deploying more forces in Vietnam. Other considerations would ensure that the commitment remained limited. Holyoake continued to exert a restraining influence on officials. His 199

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inveterate caution and parsimony over foreign policy and defence expenditure was reinforced in this period by a faltering economy and balance of payments problems. Moreover, although the ending of Confrontation lessened the need to retain substantial forces in Malaysia, New Zealand policy-makers were reluctant to deplete those forces too drastically for fear of encouraging an acceleration of Britain’s withdrawal from east of Suez. Nevertheless, policy-makers in Wellington remained convinced of the underlying wisdom of maintaining a combat commitment in Vietnam. Deterred neither by domestic critics nor by setbacks on the ground in Vietnam, the government chose to avoid new diplomatic challenges by steadfastly holding to the path on which it had embarked in mid-1965. The additions to New Zealand’s combat contribution in 1967 and 1968 did not betoken fundamental changes in the Holyoake government’s cautious approach to the Vietnam conflict. Rather, they involved a prudent marshalling of previously unavailable resources to sustain the alliance-based logic of the original commitment.

Renewed Pressures for an Expanded Commitment Unlike Holyoake, Harold Holt had explicitly made Vietnam the centrepiece of his 1966 re-election campaign, stating that he would increase the Australian contribution if required. Australia’s voters rewarded him with the greatest parliamentary majority in the country’s history.1 As Luke Hazlett, New Zealand’s High Commissioner in Canberra, reported in early December, the Australian government was justifiably interpreting this victory as ‘a mandate’ to send more troops to Vietnam, and was ‘plainly hopeful’ that New Zealand too would increase its contribution in coordination with the expansion of the Australian Task Force. Holt appeared to favour adding a third battalion to the Task Force by alternating at six-month intervals the Australian and New Zealand battalions which were deployed as part of a Commonwealth Brigade in Malaysia. Any such move obviously held political implications, both for Australian and New Zealand relations with Malaysia and in terms of the signal it might send to those in London who hoped to reduce British military commitments in Asia.2 These considerations had hitherto played an important part in Wellington’s unwillingness to boost its Vietnam contingent by redeploying troops from Malaysia. At the same time as these intimations of Australian escalation reached Wellington, American officials expressed forthright hopes that New Zealand would increase its military presence in Vietnam. Laking surmised that the Americans were contemplating a ‘follow-up’ to Johnson’s talks in Wellington, and noted that their ‘circumspect’ approach was giving way to more explicit allusions to the desirability of an expanded New Zealand presence.3 200

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Australian Prime Minister Harold Holt (second from right) inspects the ‘Yackananda Pub’ in South Vietnam, built by soldiers of A Company, 1 Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, stationed at Bien Hoa. negative number cun/66/0345/vn, awm

Holyoake learned of these looming pressures from Canberra and Washington on 14 December. With the election over, both Australia and the United States were likely to argue that the current 150-man contribution was ‘hardly commensurate’ with New Zealand’s resources now that they were not needed in Malaysia. Acting Secretary of External Affairs Lloyd White considered their perspective justified and assumed that the government would contemplate an increase ‘at the appropriate time’. He was aware, of course, that Holyoake had indicated during the election campaign that no increase in the New Zealand forces in Vietnam was under consideration. White therefore presumed that Holyoake would want ‘a reasonable interval’ to pass before taking new steps, but he sought approval for available military options to be investigated.4 Only two days later, White advised Holyoake that the Australians had decided to increase their contribution substantially without drawing on their forces in Malaysia. This effectively prevented a joint rotation of New Zealand and Australian battalions from Malaysia and restricted the options available to policy-makers in Wellington. The scale of the Australian expansion – by over a third, to 6300 personnel – was unexpected.5 The move had been personally driven by Holt, with others in Canberra advocating caution.6 Holyoake showed no sign of imitating Holt’s zeal. 201

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Preparations nevertheless began for an increase to New Zealand’s forces in Vietnam. One step was to sound out reactions in Kuala Lumpur to the possible redeployment of troops. As anticipated by External Affairs officers, the High Commission in Kuala Lumpur confirmed that the Malaysians had recently adopted a more positive stance towards American policy in Vietnam and were unlikely to object if New Zealand forces were sent there.7 At least one potential obstacle to an enlarged New Zealand presence in Vietnam could be discounted. Pressures for an increase continued to build in the closing days of 1966. After visiting South Vietnam, Chief of Defence Staff Leonard Thornton reported on 20 December that the Australian Task Force’s commander had specifically requested more New Zealand soldiers because he considered his force’s effectiveness was hampered by insufficient infantry. General Westmoreland, whom he had found ‘less cordial’ than on previous occasions, also hoped more New Zealanders could be sent, particularly Special Air Service (SAS) and infantry. Thornton noted pointedly that ‘all sides’ wanted a greater New Zealand effort, especially because of the Americans’ awareness of the country’s reduced commitments in Malaysia. Anticipating imminent political pressure for more troops, he recommended that New Zealand investigate how best to increase its commitment.8 His prediction of growing pressure for a further contribution was confirmed only days later by New Zealand’s representatives in both Saigon and Washington.9 Holyoake conceded publicly on 20 December that New Zealand forces might be redeployed from Malaysia to Vietnam.10 On 19 January 1967, White outlined some options if the government wished to address American pressures for additional forces. With rotating the New Zealand battalion from Malaysia now precluded, the remaining possibilities available for use from the Commonwealth Strategic Reserve were a frigate during its tour on the Far East Station, one company at a time from the infantry battalion, or three Bristol Freighters for air transport. Alternatively, from forces based in New Zealand the navy could offer crews to man American patrol craft; the army could offer a 40-man SAS unit, 25 men in an armoured personnel carrier role or about 60 engineers; and the air force had four Canberra air crews and supporting service personnel, as well as small numbers of men to support air transport operations or serve as forward air controllers or operations/intelligence officers.11 The expected formal American request for more assistance came in a message from Johnson on 23 January. The President made no specific requests, but expressed confidence that New Zealand would do all it could to help address the ‘urgent need’ for more ground forces.12 Secretary of Defense McNamara was considerably blunter when Laking made a farewell call before returning to Wellington as Secretary of External Affairs. He 202

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Air Vice Marshal Nguyen Cao Ky, Prime Minister of the Republic of South Vietnam, in Wellington. dominion post collection, ep/1967/0306/12, atl

emphasised that politically the United States required ‘active support especially from Australia and New Zealand’ if it was to maintain a meaningful forward presence in the Southeast Asian and Pacific region.13 With the costs of its Vietnam commitment ballooning on all fronts, it was hardly surprising that the Johnson administration would seek more fulsome support from its regional allies. On the same day that Johnson’s letter was received, South Vietnam’s premier, Air Vice Marshal Nguyen Cao Ky and his wife arrived on a ‘thank-you visit’ to New Zealand. In a speech on 24 January Ky thanked New Zealand for its support and justified the South Vietnamese cause.14 Holyoake responded that with the end of Confrontation the government was considering redeploying some forces from Malaysia but had not yet decided if it could assign any to Vietnam.15 Though External Affairs judged the visit a success ‘both from Ky’s and the Government’s point of view’, it was of negligible significance in diplomatic terms and had little impact on the deliberations concerning a possible troop increase. It did, however, generate considerable domestic controversy (see Chapter 10). While the government considered its options, one minor aspect of New Zealand’s military involvement in South Vietnam was finally resolved: the issue of stationing New Zealand helicopter pilots in Vietnam for training 203

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purposes. In supporting this long-delayed and controversial proposal, White told Holyoake that the military training advantages outweighed possible political criticisms of such a small increase in New Zealand’s contribution. The pilots could operate under the directive set down for Australian pilots, which limited their operations to South Vietnam, prohibited service along the Cambodian border, and did not allow their use in civil disturbances without explicit approval from their government.16 On 30 January, Cabinet approved the attachment of one RNZAF Iroquois officer at a time to the Australian helicopter squadron in Vietnam for a six-month tour of duty.17 Cabinet also agreed that the RNZAF officer currently seconded to a Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) unit could accompany that unit on rotation to Vietnam for 12 months. That the assignment of two pilots to Vietnam, essentially for training purposes, had required such prolonged scrutiny before receiving Cabinet approval not only underlined the minuscule scale of New Zealand’s involvement but reaffirmed the government’s acute political sensitivity to any association with the air war in Vietnam. Though both External Affairs and the military authorities had reiterated possible options for a more substantial increase in New Zealand’s forces, no firm decision had been reached by the time Holt visited Wellington at the beginning of February for consultations about Vietnam.18 The Australian leader had told his ministerial colleagues that the sole purpose of his trip was to reinforce the warm trans-Tasman relationship. He was troubled, however, when Holyoake told him that New Zealand was still considering how to expand its forces in Vietnam, but might redeploy a company from Malaysia. Given that Australia had deliberately not availed itself of that option, Holt replied that his government would not like to see any weakening of the Commonwealth Strategic Reserve.19 Nevertheless, a few days later, Holyoake sent an interim reply to Johnson, signalling that he was examining the possibility of moving troops from Malaysia to Vietnam.20 By this time, George Laking had returned to Wellington to lead the Department of External Affairs. Meeting with his division heads on 8 February, he said New Zealand was ‘somewhat of a puzzle’ to the Americans: ‘Events in Southeast Asia affected Australia and New Zealand far more than the United States but while Australia was fully committed we appeared hesitant’. Even so, he did not consider the Americans would apply more direct pressure on Wellington for a troop increase, as they took the view that New Zealand could determine for itself what level of contribution was in its interest.21 Laking clearly believed that an increased commitment was very much in the national interest, and on 13 February he presented Holyoake with a formal recommendation to that effect. While acknowledging the ‘obvious restraints’ that were imposed by the nation’s limited military and financial resources, Laking argued that it was vital ‘to provide a force which in total 204

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numbers represents a more adequate national contribution’. He repeated the description of Australia, which he had previously invoked while ambassador in Washington, as ‘the yardstick by which the Americans no doubt measure our effort’. Australia’s use of conscripts meant it was unrealistic for New Zealand to contribute forces on a comparable basis, but the available resources would permit more than doubling the contingent in Vietnam, to over 400. Accordingly, Laking suggested adding an infantry contingent of about 184 (to be drawn mainly from Malaysia), a 40-man SAS unit and 40 army engineers.22 A some officials expected, the last two suggestions were ignored.23 On 20 February Cabinet agreed in principle only that New Zealand could offer an infantry company of 184 men for service in Vietnam through six-month rotations of units from the battalion in Malaysia. Holyoake would confer with New Zealand’s allies to see if the proposal was acceptable.24 Those consultations proceeded smoothly. Despite the concerns expressed by Holt in Wellington, Canberra welcomed the attachment of a New Zealand rifle company to the Australian Task Force, as did Washington informally. The British did not object to the withdrawal of a company from the Strategic Reserve, but requested that New Zealand ensure that the move did not imply in any way that the reserve might be committed to Vietnam. The Malaysians also accepted the withdrawal, but asked the government to avoid mentioning publicly the rotational aspect.25 The South Vietnamese, as usual, came last in the sequence of consultations. Holyoake told Cabinet that they would be notified shortly before the public announcement in Wellington, though he was certain that they would welcome the decision. The way was clear to proceed. In fact, the increase would end up being slightly larger than envisaged. Because of Australian operational requirements, support elements were needed for the infantry company, which meant 210 rather than 184 men. Cabinet approved the additional contribution on 6 March, thereby more than doubling the number of New Zealand personnel serving in Vietnam.26 This increase did not signify any change in the country’s approach to the war. As usual, the Prime Minister had moved with painstaking deliberation in responding to Washington’s evident desire for a more ‘respectable’ New Zealand presence. Also as usual, the ever-parsimonious Holyoake had reduced the level of the increase recommended by his advisers. Given the context in which it was made – continued American and Australian escalation, and New Zealand resources newly freed from Malaysia – the decision represented a minor raising of the premium on the American security guarantee, which could probably not have been avoided without questioning the Vietnam commitment itself. 205

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The announcement of the decision was also in keeping with New Zealand’s general approach. It was exemplary both of the Prime Minister’s attention to public relations and of his department’s concerns about its effect on relations with allies. Holyoake had specifically asked Laking to delay announcing an earlier decision to dispatch a 16-person joint services medical team to Bong Son in Binh Dinh province in South Vietnam until the government determined if it would increase its combat contribution. Both decisions were then announced in a single press statement, so as to underline ‘the balanced nature of the Government’s response to the Vietnam problem’. In deference to Malaysia, the statement was worded in such a way as to blur the rotational aspect of the troop deployment.27 President Johnson naturally welcomed the news, applauding the ‘policy, commitment, and courage’ behind the decision, even if it did not represent ‘a statistically large increment’ to the total allied effort in Vietnam.28 As ever, the United States valued the political significance of New Zealand’s contribution rather than its military weight. Guided by that understanding, Holyoake did not interpret Johnson’s letter as a hint that a more ‘statistically large increment’ was necessary to maintain New Zealand’s good standing in Washington. But some National MPs and party supporters were keen to see New Zealand doing more in Vietnam.29 During a visit to Saigon in April, new Minister of Defence David Thomson stated publicly that he would recommend that more troops be sent to Vietnam. Holyoake acted quickly to rule out this possibility, announcing the next day that ‘there were no proposals before the Government to increase New Zealand’s military commitment in South Vietnam’ and that Thomson had not submitted any such recommendation.30 Having so recently agreed to the dispatch of the infantry company, Holyoake was not about to encourage him to do so. Shortly after the announcement of the increased contribution, New Zealand was invited to attend a second conference of Vietnam troop-contributing nations in Washington on 20 and 21 April. The External Affairs briefing paper prepared for this meeting was a revealing summary of official thinking about how the American-led effort to support South Vietnam was progressing. In military terms, a stalemate appeared to have set in: All in all the great truisms remain. While the Allies cannot now be defeated militarily, there is equally no prospect of early and decisive defeat of the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong. In the absence of a political solution, it is difficult to escape the conclusion that the war in the South could continue indefinitely.

Though critical of the limited success of the pacification programme known as Revolutionary Development, New Zealand officials conceded that it 206

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represented a genuine effort to win ‘hearts and minds’ and could see no alternative means of tackling the challenging problems it sought to address. General political developments were more auspicious, with a real chance that a government would be elected under a new constitution by the end of the following year. The economic outlook was bleaker, as were the prospects for peace negotiations.31 Wellington’s perspective on the war was one of cautious optimism: if far from won, the struggle for a viable, independent South Vietnam was no longer being lost. Even more revealing was the continuity of thought about the conflict’s significance for New Zealand. A ‘satisfactory settlement of the Vietnam conflict’ was crucial for New Zealand because it would enhance the prospects of a secure and stable South-East Asia, encourage those countries which are determined to preserve their independence in the face of external pressures from the communist powers, help confirm the disposition of the United States to continue playing a major role in the defence of the area, and generally help in the evolution of the kind of Asia with which New Zealand can most comfortably and securely live.32

That such a statement could have been drafted in 1954 illustrates the fundamental consistency of New Zealand’s security policy in the region. It also confirms how, despite doubts about achieving victory, New Zealand retained a common sense of purpose with the United States regarding the desirability of preventing the fall of South Vietnam to communism.

Continuing Pressures in a Changing Regional Security Environment While New Zealand’s policy on Vietnam retained consistency of purpose, one of the dual foundations of the country’s broader approach to regional security was about to be unexpectedly undermined. Like Australia, New Zealand had long based its forward defence strategy in Southeast Asia on the assumption that both the United States and Great Britain would remain actively committed to the security of the region. But when Holyoake arrived in Washington in mid-April for the meetings of Vietnam troop-contributing nations and of the SEATO and ANZUS Councils, he was stunned to learn from Foreign Secretary George Brown that Britain had resolved to progressively withdraw its military forces east of the Suez Canal by the mid-1970s. Brown’s explanation that the British simply could no longer afford to project military power on a global scale received a frosty reaction. While all three ANZUS powers voiced grave concerns, New Zealand and Australia were particularly shaken and worked to dissuade the Wilson government in the 207

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following months. Despite these efforts, the British announced their intentions publicly on 18 July.33 This development had far-reaching implications for New Zealand. On the one hand, it meant greater reliance on the United States in security terms, which might well entail more material support for Washington’s Vietnam policy. On the other hand, there would be increased pressure to retain a strong presence in Malaysia in order to discourage any acceleration of Britain’s planned withdrawal. As Laking observed in June, the challenge was to buy time ‘for the switch from ANZAM to ANZUS as the basis for New Zealand’s forward defence policy’.34 There were differing perspectives on how much instability Britain’s disengagement would cause. After all, Confrontation had ended and neither Malaysia nor Singapore now faced serious threats to their security. With the firmly anti-communist, if authoritarian, General Suharto consolidating his power, the West no longer saw Indonesia as the menace it had been perceived to be under President Sukarno. In the view of George Kennan, the insightful diplomat who had first conceived the American containment strategy some 20 years earlier, this important harbinger of greater regional stability also meant that the significance of the American commitment in Vietnam was correspondingly diminished.35 Most policy-makers in Washington were not as sanguine. As McNamara would recall years later, ‘blinded by our assumptions and preoccupied with a rapidly growing war, we – like most other Western leaders – continued to view China as a serious threat in Southeast Asia and the rest of the world’. In their eyes, China seemed more unpredictable than ever as Mao Zedong plunged his country into the so-called Cultural Revolution. Although the effects of the ensuing period of ideological upheaval, political persecution and economic stagnation would be largely confined to China itself, there were apprehensions that they would also manifest themselves in a more aggressive foreign policy on the part of the world’s most populous nation.36 In mid-1967, however, the Vietnamese conflict remained the focal point of American operational engagement in the region – to an extent which, in hindsight, appears obsessively myopic, given the mounting costs of the involvement. Though disappointed by Britain’s proposed disengagement from Southeast Asia, the Johnson administration was not deterred from maintaining its own commitment to South Vietnam. Doubts about the wisdom of its course, however, were spreading within the United States to once-strong supporters of the President’s domestic programmes. The influential black civil rights leader, the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr, declared on 15 April that ‘the promises of the Great Society have been shot down on the battlefields of Vietnam’ – a poignantly painful charge to direct 208

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against Johnson, who had hoped at all costs to avoid such an outcome.37 Even within the administration’s highest echelons, confidence was brittle. McNamara, wracked by growing ‘concern and skepticism’, began arguing privately with the President against further escalation.38 As New Zealand officials had accurately gauged, the war had reached a stalemate which was immensely frustrating for Washington in view of the resources it had committed to it. A change of course may have been judicious, but Johnson remained persuaded that American ‘credibility’ was at stake. He resolved that the best means of confounding the growing chorus of criticism was to explore ways of breaking the military deadlock. It seemed certain that, if military advisers such as Westmoreland were heeded, the American combat effort would be stepped up.39 By this time, New Zealand was conscious that the hard-pressed Johnson administration might well solicit commensurate political and military support from its allies. In response to a request from Thomson, the Chief of the Defence Staff submitted a report in July which highlighted how difficult it would be for New Zealand to make additional contributions given its existing resources. Though acknowledging that both the United States and Australia would ideally like New Zealand to deploy a full battalion, Thornton deemed that option impracticable and did not recommend further reductions in the strength of the infantry in Malaysia. A major factor influencing his judgement was the political consideration that New Zealand was currently exhorting the British to maintain intact their own contribution to the Commonwealth Strategic Reserve. Naval and air units could be made available for service in Vietnam, but Thornton believed that logistical implications and potential attrition rates – in the case of air units – would need to be taken into account.40 The possibilities were clearly limited. Even as Thornton was reporting back to Thomson, New Zealand learned on 13 July that the Australians were about to receive a formal request for more forces and might contribute a further battalion to Vietnam.41 Two days later, Johnson wrote to Holyoake, presenting an up-beat assessment of military and political progress in South Vietnam; however, because Hanoi still failed ‘to recognise the futility of its military effort’, there was ‘a clear need’ to consider an expanded allied effort to maintain the ‘current momentum’. Johnson wrote again on 19 July to say that he had asked his ‘most experienced and trusted advisors’, Clark Clifford and General Maxwell Taylor, to visit Saigon and then report back to all troop-contributing nations. Johnson added that Westmoreland had reported a ‘substantial need for additional external help’.42 It was a less than subtle hint.43 Though Laking did not expect a direct request from Taylor and Clifford, he advised Holyoake to stress the country’s very limited options. The Commonwealth Strategic Reserve was the only realistic source of more ground 209

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forces, but New Zealand’s future presence in Malaysia/Singapore would have to be comprehensively reassessed first. Holyoake should also explain that a nation hard-pressed to dispose of its primary exports found it very costly to maintain forces abroad.44 Just as Clifford and Taylor were due to arrive in Wellington, Laking noted that Clifford had indicated the visitors were willing to field even ‘awkward or embarrassing’ questions. Accordingly, he suggested that Holyoake ask them if a suspension of the bombing of North Vietnam might be warranted. The air attacks did not appear to be staunching North Vietnamese infiltration of the South and were causing undue political controversy. External Affairs believed that the war had to be won in the South and that – except within very tight limits – the bombing of the North was counterproductive. A few months earlier, Holyoake had approved a cable to the embassy in Washington articulating precisely this view.45 In the event, Holyoake ignored Laking’s advice, telling the visitors on 1 August that he accepted the strategic necessity for bombing North Vietnam.46 Taylor and Clifford would tell the President that Holyoake had indicated he ‘would go along with us whatever we decided to do’. They even reported that Holyoake saw ‘little merit’ in a bombing pause and supported Washington’s view ‘that Hanoi must demonstrate by action a willingness to de-escalate reciprocally before we stop the bombing’.47 Ironically, the usually ‘robust’ Australians were more forthright in cautioning Taylor and Clifford about further escalation of the bombing, though Holt and his colleagues in Canberra endorsed current American policy on Vietnam in general terms.48 Holyoake did express a more cautious view about any extension of the war into Laos or Cambodia, observing that incursions involving anything but ‘hot pursuit’ across the borders of these states could raise ‘considerable political difficulties’.49 Taylor and Clifford registered his concern and noted that ‘this prospect made the entire Cabinet uneasy’. Yet, once again, Holyoake led Johnson’s emissaries to believe that ‘he would go along with’ the United States if the ‘military necessity’ for entering Laos or Cambodia could be demonstrated.50 Despite Laking’s suggestions, Holyoake had articulated no real reservations about the Johnson administration’s policy. As expected, the Americans did not directly request more New Zealand troops. Clifford did comment that ‘by sending one additional New Zealand infantryman, fifty to sixty additional Americans might be produced’. The United States remained willing to shoulder ‘the main burden’, but even a symbolic contribution of more allied forces would have ‘tremendous’ effects.51 In Laking’s view, the ‘dominant impression’ left by the mission was that Washington faced ‘strong pressure to do something to break the present deadlock but is undecided what to do next’.52 Holyoake, more concerned to 210

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US advisers Clark Clifford (centre) and General Maxwell Taylor (right) enter Parliament Buildings with US Ambassador John Henning during their visit to New Zealand in August 1967. dominion post collection, ep/1967/3661/1a, atl

allay any impression that the Americans had applied direct pressure to New Zealand, announced the next day that the government was not considering any proposals for additions to V-Force.53 The most important consequence of the Clifford–Taylor mission may have been its impact on the man who would replace McNamara as Secretary of Defense in early 1968. Clark Clifford would recall that his trip to the region left him with ‘serious doubts’ about the whole Vietnam enterprise and ‘buried for me, once and for all, Washington’s treasured domino theory’. Back in Washington, he told Johnson privately that he was ‘shocked’ by the reluctance of the regional allies to contribute more forces – especially Australia.54 New Zealand’s stance also contributed to Clifford’s disillusionment, but only in a minor way. While in Wellington, he had joked to Taylor that ‘more people turned out in New Zealand to demonstrate against our trip than the country had sent to Vietnam’.55 Notwithstanding Holyoake’s protestations of unreserved support, the pair’s official report highlighted the limits to New Zealand’s tangible expression of that support: We came away with much the same overriding impression as in Australia – that this small country feels it has a multitude of difficult fiscal and economic problems at

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new zealand and the vietnam war home, including the future of Malaysia and Singapore, that it does believe the outcome in Southeast Asia is important to its national interest and is ‘deeply grateful’ for the U.S. intervention there, but that support in the country for its participation in Viet-Nam is so thin that the Government is prepared to contribute forces only to a point where normal life at home is not affected. Thus, while New Zealand sent 120,000 men overseas in World War II, they strain under the thought of even doubling up on the present 381-man deployment to South Viet-Nam.56

This was an accurate reading of New Zealand’s lukewarm position. But it was Canberra’s response, rather than Wellington’s, which generated the greatest dismay in Washington, because Johnson had been counting on a less evasive reaction from ‘his good friend Harold Holt’.57 New Zealand’s less ‘robust’ stance to date had evidently created such low expectations that whatever it did in Vietnam – short of withdrawing completely – seemed to matter little to the Americans. Shortly after the Clifford–Taylor mission, Holyoake asked Laking to prepare a press statement indicating that the government would now examine a possible expansion of New Zealand’s commitment in Vietnam.58 This time it was Laking who pointed to the need for caution. Before deciding to do more in Vietnam, it was important to consider the wider regional framework and clarify the country’s future obligations in Malaysia and Singapore. Noting the ‘inescapable relationship’ for New Zealand between the Vietnam conflict and Britain’s projected withdrawal from Southeast Asia, he stressed that the government’s options were ‘of necessity, tied to what the Australians may be willing to do’. Regrettably, there was an ‘historic tendency’ for Canberra to act independently while assuming New Zealand would conveniently back its decisions. Only two days earlier, he had given the Prime Minister an embarrassing example of this tendency in the form of a press report that Australian military officials had formulated plans to deploy a third combined battalion of Australian and New Zealand soldiers in Vietnam, without first consulting their counterparts in Wellington. Laking recommended immediate talks with Canberra, both about possible troop increases in Vietnam and about how to respond to Britain’s looming disengagement from Southeast Asia. In the meantime, he advised against raising public expectations of any addition to New Zealand’s commitment in Vietnam.59 About a week later, on 17 August, Johnson sent Holyoake a formal request for more assistance. After describing increases in the American effort in Vietnam, the President emphasised that domestic support within the United States would be strongly affected by proportionate force increases by allied nations. He concluded with his most explicit request to date, expressing the hope that New Zealand ‘will make the maximum effort in this 212

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General Maxwell Taylor and Clark Clifford, two of Lyndon Johnson’s most trusted advisers, photographed in Wellington in 1967. morrie hill collection, f-18305-35mm-9a, atl

regard, and that you will be able to make an announcement as speedily as possible’.60 Johnson’s request and Holyoake’s apparent willingness to contribute more troops presented officials in Wellington with a quandary. As Laking explained, New Zealand appeared to have reached ‘a cross-roads in the deployment and use of military forces overseas’. It was committed militarily on two fronts in Southeast Asia – Malaysia/Singapore and Vietnam – and faced pressures to do more on both. Johnson’s call applied ‘particularly to Australia and New Zealand whose security must be affected by the outcome of the conflict and who – unlike the Asian contributors – do not have other military threats to face at home’. Yet, as he warned Holyoake, the country’s limited military resources might not be adequate to satisfy the competing needs of the Malaysia and Vietnam. The government needed to bear in mind that the Malaysian military commitment enjoyed broad support in New Zealand; but, though more contentious domestically, ‘what is undoubtedly the battle for South East Asia is raging in Vietnam’. New Zealand’s freedom of action was also constrained by the need to both cooperate closely with Australia on the operational level and fit in with American policies on the strategic level.61 213

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Holyoake’s reply to Johnson on 29 August showed that the government had not yet decided precisely how to address these competing pressures. While saying that New Zealand was ready to increase its Vietnam force commitment if required, Holyoake rehearsed the customary litany of limitations: reluctance to draw further on the Strategic Reserve; the small numbers of New Zealand’s regular forces; balance of payments problems. Interestingly, Holyoake added that ‘of equal, perhaps greater, significance’ was the domestic political situation – including the critical stance of the Labour Opposition.62 While the government continued to wrestle with its options,63 Ambassador Corner in Washington offered his colleagues in Wellington a hard-headed appraisal of the significance of New Zealand’s Vietnam contribution. In his view, New Zealand need not have ‘the least sense of shame’ about its modest size: Given the great distance of New Zealand from Asia, the improbability of any direct military threat – except as a result of involving ourselves through the alliance – and given the failure of the United States for many years to take any action directly helpful to New Zealand, the fact that New Zealand is making any contribution is the notable thing. We have given as much as we have received, if the policy had been for a higher sum – i.e. the alliance had been underpinned as solidly as the historic relationship with Britain – we might well have rushed to pay a higher premium.

Corner would support enlarging New Zealand’s modest force, but he considered that it represented ‘an appreciation of wider concern which is shared by very few other countries’. Stressing that he had never had to invoke this line of argument to counter potential American criticisms, he outlined how he was constantly trying to build on the solidarity demonstrated by the common Vietnam commitment to nurture in Washington a more sympathetic understanding of New Zealand’s general political and economic interests.64 His message was a reminder that policy-makers in Wellington needed always to realise that it was the political symbolism of the combat commitment in Vietnam – not its composition or size – which ultimately mattered most in dealing with Washington. Holyoake doubtless had this in mind when he travelled to Canberra for discussions on 2 and 3 October concerning the British decision to withdraw from Southeast Asia and how to address American pressures for a greater allied effort in Vietnam. At the first meeting, Holt told Holyoake that, in view of the Clifford–Taylor visit, ‘it was time’ to respond to Washington’s ‘obvious desire’ for a greater contribution in Vietnam from both their countries. Australia would be offering another battalion and some tanks. 214

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Holyoake confirmed that New Zealand hoped, within its available capacity, to boost its own contribution. The Australians reiterated their concern that New Zealand maintain its presence in Malaysia/Singapore, regardless of whether it chose to increase the size of V-Force.65 Laking pressed the Prime Minister to act on Vietnam urgently once he returned to Wellington. Any announcement should be timed for maximum political advantage, because, as Canberra clearly understood, ‘the current move to increase forces in Vietnam is designed as much (or more) to serve political ends as military’. For both international and domestic political reasons, he recommended a simultaneous announcement with the Australians. Presenting the increase as an enhanced Anzac effort might lessen domestic criticism and would help to dispel ‘the impression that New Zealand was being dragged along in the wake of its larger allies’. Furthermore, a joint announcement would draw more publicity and so be more useful to the Johnson administration than the likely increased contribution in itself.66 Holyoake accepted the advice. Echoing Holt’s comments, he told his ministers that ‘the time had come for New Zealand to do more’ because of the ‘obvious’ need for more forces, the American and Australian increases, and their evident desire for ‘us to give tangible evidence of our continuing willingness to stand alongside them’. He stressed the need to act promptly in order to reap the advantages of a simultaneous announcement with Canberra.67 For once, New Zealand moved quickly on a decision concerning Vietnam. The Cabinet agreed in principle on 9 October to increase military assistance.68 The Prime Minister advised Holt and asked him to defer his announcement (planned for 17 or 18 October) until about the 24th, when Holyoake thought he would be able to confirm the increase. He highlighted the advantages of a simultaneous announcement as evidence of a shared ‘ANZAC’ outlook and as ‘more helpful’ to Washington because of the greater international impact.69 On 10 October the Minister of Defence presented a recommendation to the Cabinet Defence Committee for the despatch of up to 70 SAS personnel from New Zealand and a supplemented 170-man infantry company from Terendak in Malaysia. The need to work in with Canberra played a key role in shaping this recommendation: the Australian military authorities had stated a preference for New Zealand infantry and SAS. Thomson also suggested that Cabinet authorise discussions with Canberra and Washington about the feasibility of sending light-bomber aircraft crews to serve in an Australian or American squadron, a frigate to serve with the American Seventh Fleet, or a troop of army engineers to serve with the Australian Task Force.70 External Affairs endorsed the main recommendation but Laking counselled Holyoake against offering air crews, which would involve asso215

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ciation with the highly controversial air war. In any case, the offer of no more than a sub-unit without equipment might actually prove ‘more of an embarrassment’ to New Zealand’s allies. As for sending a frigate, that idea presented problems in terms of reliance on British equipment, the need to send a replacement frigate to Singapore, and its limited military usefulness in Vietnam. Engineers could be useful, but Laking noted that the army was already heavily committed in Vietnam.71 External Affairs wanted to raise the Vietnam premium no more than necessary, and certainly did not discern political benefits in dissipating New Zealand’s efforts by sending miscellaneous sub-units merely for the sake of adding numbers or to involve all the services. The government was even more intent on frugality in raising that premium. On 16 October, Cabinet approved the despatch of a second supplemented infantry company (mainly from Malaysia), but not the SAS. Though Cabinet authorised discussions with the Americans about the feasibility of attaching a frigate to the Seventh Fleet, it did not take up the other options mooted by Thomson. Cabinet also noted that consultations would be required with Australia, Britain, Malaysia and Singapore about the challenge of retaining a military presence in Malaysia/Singapore once the British withdrawal began.72 Wellington’s more immediate concern was to amass as much political capital as possible from the decision to increase the size of V-Force.73 A joint announcement proved impossible because the Australians would wait no longer, but Holyoake issued a public statement on 17 October at the same time as Holt.74 This outcome had publicity advantages for New Zealand. Having urged Wellington to provide an advance copy of Holyoake’s statement, the embassy in Washington secured coverage of the increase in the New York Times and the Washington Post before reports of the Australian announcement. Embassy officials described it as ‘something of a breakthrough for us in our dealings with the local press’ – especially gratifying in view of recent criticism in Congress of the inadequacy of New Zealand’s Vietnam effort.75 On the other hand, only a few weeks later, Ambassador Corner complained to Wellington that, ‘except for murmurs from [National Security Adviser] Rostow and [Assistant Secretary of State] Bundy’, he had received no indications of American appreciation.76 His comment underlined yet again that, no matter what modest publicity the increased troop commitment had received in the United States, New Zealand’s actions on Vietnam counted for little in Washington, except as another flag. The despatch of the additional infantry company in late 1967 would be the last substantial increment to New Zealand’s contingent in Vietnam, but military officials suggested other additions from time to time. At the end of 1967, they proposed to raise RNZAF participation in South Vietnam by 216

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adding two more helicopter pilots and two Canberra crews for operational experience.77 Laking had no objections in principle and thought the government would largely decide the issue on financial and domestic political grounds. He did foresee more difficulty in gaining approval to send bomber crews to Vietnam.78 Predictably, Holyoake rejected the proposal.79 Despite his supportive comments to Clifford and Taylor earlier in the year, Holyoake was as wary as his advisers of association with the American bombing campaign. Just before Christmas, Harold Holt died unexpectedly. While attending his memorial service, Holyoake had a chance to meet Johnson in Canberra. A few weeks earlier, McNamara had been eased out of the administration after his agonising doubts about the war finally prompted him to urge the President to adopt a radical change of course, including an end to escalation and a total halt to the bombing of North Vietnam.80 Though Johnson rejected most of McNamara’s recommendations, he agreed that American force levels should be capped.81 The President told Holyoake that he intended continuing ‘the present steady pressure’ in Vietnam but envisaged no new escalation. Johnson did not press for an expansion of New Zealand’s contribution, but he did ask if any increase was being contemplated; Holyoake replied in the negative.82 A few days later, when exchanging Christmas greetings with Holyoake, Johnson reiterated his intention of not escalating the Vietnam conflict – and added that it was ‘good to have your promise of a frigate to assist our naval forces’.83 This misplaced gratitude was based on a partial misunderstanding of what New Zealand had offered. Any increase in New Zealand’s contribution was probably the last thing on Holyoake’s mind at the end of 1967. The addition of the two infantry companies had exhausted the easy options. Given the complicating factor of Britain leaving Southeast Asia, the government could legitimately argue that it was nearing the limits of its capacity to deploy militarily effective units in Vietnam. The Prime Minister would hammer home this argument when he moved in the New Year to clear up Johnson’s misapprehension concerning the frigate.

Marking Time in the ‘Year of the Monkey’ Holyoake’s reply to Johnson’s Christmas message on 3 January 1968 left no room for confusion concerning escalation of New Zealand’s combat effort in Vietnam. The Prime Minister did not want Johnson to misunderstand New Zealand’s capacity to contribute further, given the limitations he had frequently pointed out. He explained bluntly that there was ‘no prospect’ of adding ground forces, and he had mentioned the possible despatch of a frigate ‘merely to indicate that this was the only direction in which the 217

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Government could look in the foreseeable future’. Sending a frigate, he added, would raise problems of compatibility with the American navy and, more worryingly, it could pose political problems for New Zealand, in view of its hope of discouraging Britain from accelerating the withdrawal of its forces from Southeast Asia.84 The subtext of Holyoake’s message had not changed since the early 1960s: New Zealand’s involvement in Vietnam was constrained by its competing commitment in Malaysia/Singapore. This constraint might have been removed if the government had been willing to emulate its ANZUS allies by sending conscripts to Vietnam, but such a politically controversial option had no chance of receiving serious consideration while Holyoake was Prime Minister. Nor did the United States ever exert any pressure on New Zealand to do so. When Corner passed on Holyoake’s reply, Bundy expressed disappointment about the frigate, suggesting that any technical questions of compatibility could probably be resolved. The British withdrawal and New Zealand’s Malaysian commitments were ‘a different matter altogether’. Bundy still hoped New Zealand might be able to do more in Vietnam. While a frigate would be welcome, increasing New Zealand’s ground force would be even more helpful. Corner believed, however, that the Americans were finally heeding New Zealand’s anxiety about the British withdrawal from Southeast Asia now that Holyoake had given them the ‘hard facts’.85 Johnson’s formal reply echoed Bundy’s reaction.86 Clearly, the Americans remained eager for additional assistance, however minor – for political rather than military reasons, as there was little need for a New Zealand frigate to augment the might of the American naval forces in Vietnamese waters. But, as had been the case in 1966, they could not really challenge New Zealand’s arguments about its limited capacity now that the two companies from Malaysia had been added to V-Force. New Zealand’s resource constraints did not preclude military officials from wishing to provide whatever was available if there were sound military grounds for doing so. After learning that the Australian Task Force was short of SAS personnel, the Chief of Defence Staff proposed in early 1968 that New Zealand send up to 40 men from 1 NZ Ranger Squadron (SAS).87 At a meeting of the Defence Council on 16 January, the Minister of Defence made it clear that Cabinet was not opposed to using the SAS in Vietnam but had chosen not to do so for financial reasons. Those at the meeting accepted the operational merits of the proposal and Thomson agreed to recommend that Cabinet approve sending some SAS personnel, as long there were no increased costs or a rise in overall troop numbers.88 During the meeting, Laking had observed that if the SAS proposal were approved, ‘due credit must be received for a force which might have been contributed at a later date’. The remark exemplified his department’s con218

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New Zealand’s Ambassador to South Vietnam, Paul Edmonds, presents his credentials to President Nguyen Van Thieu. abhs w5310, box 31, vietnam (various), anz

cern to extract diplomatic mileage from any contribution, no matter how small. But it inadvertently pointed to a larger problem: while the government wanted credit for each and every minor increment to its contingent in Vietnam, it was barely visible operationally within a much larger Australian unit. Paul Edmonds, New Zealand’s astute Chargé d’Affaires in Saigon, was especially conscious of this problem. As he pointed out to Wellington in early January: We get rather the worst of all possible worlds in our present approach to the placing of New Zealand troops in South Vietnam. While the sending of fighting troops gives the Government political headaches domestically, the number and perhaps structure of the forces have not provided a basis for us to get the countervailing publicity and political mileage, either among the Vietnamese or our allies, that such headaches warrant.

He had no doubt that the failure to deploy an operationally independent combat unit had adversely affected morale within V-Force, as well as 219

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causing ‘unnecessary complications’ in relations with Australian soldiers. Furthermore, Australian commanders in Vietnam were keen to have a distinct New Zealand unit in the Task Force, though this would probably involve sending more troops – either a third rifle company or SAS personnel.89 Given the government’s cost-consciousness, aversion to conscription and deeply entrenched reservations about greater involvement in the Vietnam War, there seemed little alternative to a limited contribution within a larger Australian entity. Yet Edmonds’s argument was so compelling that Laking passed his cable on to the Prime Minister, along with his own evaluation that New Zealand would undoubtedly ‘have reaped a better return’ in alliance terms if ‘political and practical problems’had not precluded the deployment of ‘an operationally definable New Zealand unit such as a battalion’.90 Holyoake showed no sign of being equally perturbed. The problem of establishing a nationally identifiable presence in Vietnam assumed new prominence in early 1968. After speaking to Laking, Thornton agreed that any additional combat contributions should be directed at establishing such a presence. The optimum course would be to boost the infantry contingent in Vietnam to a full battalion by adding a third rifle company, and to offer a frigate for coastal patrolling. An SAS contribution, while easier to provide than an additional company, would simply be integrated into a larger unit in the Australian Task Force. Though Thornton asked Thomson to seek Cabinet’s approval in principle for an additional contribution, the likelihood seemed slim in the light of Holyoake’s recent comment to Johnson that there was ‘no prospect’ of sending more New Zealand ground forces.91 Just as officials in Wellington were pondering how best to enhance New Zealand’s military profile in Vietnam, the war took a decisive turn that created an entirely new context in which to reassess the diplomatic merits of any troop increases. The Tet offensive began on 30 January when the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese broke a truce declared for the Tet (Lunar New Year) holiday, the most important of the Vietnamese calendar.92 Striking with unprecedented boldness, they launched simultaneous assaults against South Vietnam’s major cities in their own attempt to break the stalemate in the war. The Americans had been expecting a major attack, but they failed to anticipate its precise timing, broad geographical extent and sheer ferocity. At first taken aback, they and their South Vietnamese allies then took advantage of their superior firepower to strike back even more ferociously. There is broad agreement that the Tet offensive ended in military defeat for the communist side. The badly mauled Viet Cong were spent as an effective combat force, and most of the fighting thereafter would fall to North Vietnamese regulars. Moreover, the offensive failed to achieve one of its main objectives: stimulating a nationwide uprising against the regime in Saigon.93 220

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Yet if Tet was a significant tactical defeat for the communist forces, it was a major psychological setback for the Americans and South Vietnamese.94 The symbolism of the event was damning for the American cause – particularly because of images of two specific incidents that were sent around the world.95 The first pictures showed the bloody and confused aftermath of the penetration of the American embassy compound in Saigon by a few Viet Cong commandos. Though brief, this breach in the security of the very citadel of American power in Vietnam appeared to shatter all Washington’s optimistic claims that the war was being won and the situation was stable. The Tet offensive also produced the image which, for many who lived through the period, would remain inscribed on their memories as the most horrifying of the entire war. It was the depiction of a Saigon police chief, General Nguyen Ngoc Loan, arbitrarily executing a Viet Cong prisoner by shooting him in the head. Though prompted by similarly brutal Viet Cong killings of his own friends and family, Loan’s split-second decision to carry out a summary execution before the cameras of the international media cast the South Vietnamese allies of the United States in the worst possible light. The enduring impact of this image threw into question the whole morality of supporting the Saigon regime. As Edmonds observed with ironic understatement, ‘it was certainly an inauspicious beginning to the year of the Monkey which sooth sayers predicted would be a difficult year anyway’.96 Even American officials acknowledged at the time how disastrously the year had begun. William Bundy conceded to Ambassador Corner that ‘the Communists have clearly won a psychological victory’; he was uncertain that the Saigon government would prove capable of capitalising ‘on the punishment the Communists have taken’. Alluding to possible American troop increases, Bundy remarked that New Zealand ‘should be braced’ for an approach to increase its contribution.97 Corner’s own assessment was that Tet had ‘created an air of gloom, almost disaster’ within the Johnson administration. Arguing that the coming months would be crucial for ‘future U.S. policy both in Vietnam and Asian security affairs generally’, he pointed out on 6 February that Washington was ‘sorely in need of support and reassurance’. If New Zealand was able to expand its combat contribution, perhaps by offering the frigate, ‘the psychological moment’ had arrived for ‘a gesture of solidarity, made with friendship and generosity of spirit’, which could have a powerful effect on New Zealand’s long-term relations with the United States.98 It was a heartfelt recommendation from a diplomat who had so recently argued that New Zealand’s effort in Vietnam was not only proportionate but undervalued. There was ample evidence at the time that the Tet offensive had had a serious political impact within the United States itself by intensifying domestic criticisms of the war.99 Only two days after Corner sent his pessimistic 221

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assessment of the situation, the Johnson administration’s woes deepened when Senator Robert Kennedy appealed publicly for a peaceful settlement of the war on the basis of negotiations with the Viet Cong and North Vietnam. The Tet offensive ‘has finally shattered the mask of official illusion with which we have concealed our true circumstances, even from ourselves’.100 Though there was no love lost between the two men, Kennedy had hitherto been reluctant to speak out too strongly on the Johnson administration’s pursuit of the war. When serving in his brother’s administration, he had himself proclaimed that the United States would remain in Vietnam ‘until we win’.101 Tet proved to be the catalyst that pushed him into outright opposition. Five weeks later he announced that he would seek the Democratic Party’s presidential nomination, following the example of Senator Eugene McCarthy, another opponent of Johnson’s stance on Vietnam. The swelling ranks of the President’s critics did not deter officials in Wellington from standing by American policy on Vietnam. They agreed with Corner’s judgement that the dramatic events of Tet invited a suitable gesture of solidarity from New Zealand. Laking recommended that Holyoake consider an increased contribution, reiterating Corner’s view that there was ‘a strong case’ for acting promptly, especially since the Americans were likely to press for more allied forces. Reminding the Prime Minister that New Zealand had not received as much political credit as it might have gained by sending ‘an operationally definable unit’, he suggested that this was an opportunity to ‘redress that situation to some extent’. Laking went on to outline some options. Sending SAS troops merely as replacements would be militarily sound but of limited political value, as it would provide neither an increased combat contribution nor an identifiable national unit. An additional rifle company would allow the formation of a battalion and achieve both goals. But neither the SAS nor an infantry company would ‘constitute a gesture of real solidarity with the United States at this testing time’. Despite the ‘real logistic and political difficulties’ involved, the government should urgently consider sending a frigate, as this would add 250 men to New Zealand’s contribution. All the options would entail greater costs in overseas funds, but Laking was confident that‘a greater political return will be won if the investment is made now, spontaneously, rather than a little later in response to a request from the Americans’.102 It remained an open question whether Holyoake and his ministers would be convinced that the atmosphere of crisis generated by the Tet offensive justified a more nationally distinctive presence in Vietnam. One development militating against such an outcome was the stance of the new Australian Prime Minister, John Gorton, who declared publicly that his country would not be sending more troops to Vietnam. His view contradicted the argument External Affairs had just presented to Holyoake. 222

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Holyoake and Australian Prime Minister John Gorton field questions at a press conference. morrie hill collection, f-18346-35mm-20, atl

As New Zealand’s High Commissioner in Canberra pointed out, at the very time Gorton made his announcement The Allied position in South Vietnam was reeling under the impact of the Viet Cong Tet offensive and there was obvious prospect of an urgent American plea for additional Australian support. It is difficult to see what Mr Gorton hoped to gain by painting himself so publicly into a corner, however fervently he may have hoped to resist any further United States pressure. Moreover, as several newspapers pointed out, his remarks could not have been worse timed in relation to President Johnson’s domestic problems.103

For once, Canberra would not be putting indirect pressure on New Zealand by boosting its own involvement. If Australia remained a ‘yardstick’ for judging New Zealand, there seemed little reason for the government to heed its officials’ recommendations for prompt action. When Cabinet met on 12 February, it sanctioned only relief assistance in response to the sudden increase in the number of refugees in South Vietnam following the Tet offensive. While they had before them a proposal for an additional military contribution, the ministers decided to await a report from the Minister of Defence, who was touring Southeast Asia with the Chief of Defence Staff.104 After visiting South Vietnam, Thomson eventu223

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ally decided that, despite the urgent desirability of establishing a nationally identifiable unit (a development strongly favoured by the country’s military authorities), he would recommend sending an SAS detachment as soon as possible ‘without prejudice to constituting a small battalion later if this should be Government’s wish and acceptable to Australians’. He did not recommend the despatch of a frigate because Westmoreland had indicated he did not need more naval forces.105 After Thomson’s return to Wellington, the Defence Council recommended that Cabinet discuss the available options of constituting a three-company battalion, a 70-man SAS squadron, additional helicopter pilots and light-bomber crews.106 A formal memorandum was duly prepared along those lines but never received full Cabinet consideration.107 The political climate was hardly propitious for a significant expansion of New Zealand’s commitment.108 Australia’s clear determination not to increase its own contribution was a significant factor shaping that climate. During a visit to New Zealand in late March Gorton reaffirmed that Australia would maintain its forces in Vietnam at their present level ‘as long as it was necessary’, but he did not intend ‘putting Australia on a war footing just for Vietnam’.109 After years of indirect pressure from Canberra for an expanded New Zealand presence, the new Australian position would have the opposite effect. As always, though, it was the position of the United States that was most critical – for both countries. On 31 March 1968, in one of the most memorable speeches of his presidency, Lyndon Johnson told the American people that he was halting the bombing of North Vietnam above the twentieth parallel to stimulate genuine peace talks, and that he would be withdrawing from the 1968 electoral race. Johnson subsequently asserted that he had decided much earlier not to seek a second term as President, but the surprise announcement during a speech on Vietnam conveyed the impression that American policy on the war was foundering. He forcefully insisted that, notwithstanding this ‘first step to deescalate the war’, the United States remained as determined as ever to secure a successful conclusion to the conflict.110 But his top advisers were divided as never before about how to proceed in Vietnam.111 For the first time in the Johnson presidency, there was a serious possibility of a significant change in direction for American policy on Vietnam. The new uncertainty about Washington’s intentions made it highly unlikely that New Zealand would indulge in gestures of solidarity with the United States in Vietnam. Instead, in a major survey of the post-Tet scene in April, the government’s Vietnam specialists took a more cautious and pessimistic line. After the Tet offensive, could the United States ever militarily reduce the Vietnamese communists to an ‘insurgency nuisance’ or facilitate the creation of a stable regime in Saigon with ‘the drive, efficiency and 224

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Lieutenant-General Sir Leonard Thornton, Chief of New Zealand Defence Staff (right), with Major Brian Worsnop, Commander, V Company, during a visit to South Vietnam in 1968. negative number cam/68/0187/vn, awm

public appeal necessary to rally the active support of the mass of the South Vietnamese people’? New Zealand had to prepare for the possibility that the United States might soon begin considering how to disengage from Vietnam ‘in a manner which will do least harm to American national interests and to stability in the Asian area’. It was vital to remember that New Zealand’s ‘essential interest’ was not preventing the fall of South Vietnam to communism; the crucial consideration was that: the United States should remain, one way or another, committed to maintaining an effective presence in the Asian area and that, as part of that posture, [it] should accept an obligation to act as New Zealand’s ultimate guarantor in the defence field. In that sense the outcome of the conflict in Vietnam is not, from the strictly pragmatic New Zealand viewpoint, of such importance as will be its effects upon . . . future American policy. When it comes to rock bottom New Zealand can accept any solution (however unsatisfactory in the local or regional setting) so long as it does not lead to a revulsion of American governmental thinking resulting in a United States withdrawal from a continuing commitment to the defence of South East Asia.

New Zealand must be able to adjust ‘quickly and with the least possible embarrassment, to any change in American policy’.112 Given this pragmatic 225

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perspective within External Affairs, any thoughts of augmenting New Zealand’s effort in Vietnam would hereafter be suitably modest. One such modest increment involved the proposal, originally raised in late 1967, to send a further two helicopter pilots to Vietnam on secondment to the RAAF. In a sense, as Laking pointed out to Holyoake, these pilots were not part of New Zealand’s military contribution to South Vietnam, since their deployment was ‘essentially an arrangement between the New Zealand and Australian Air Forces which helped meet an Australian need and, at the same time, gave our helicopter pilots a valuable opportunity to get operational experience’. Perhaps for that reason, Cabinet approved the proposal on 29 April.113 Another proposal involving RNZAF personnel did not draw such quick acceptance. In May, military officials suggested sending two forward air controllers to South Vietnam. While accepting the value of operational experience for RNZAF pilots, External Affairs pointed out that such involvement would ‘bring New Zealand into a new and unfortunately very sensitive field of aerial warfare’ in South Vietnam. In July, the government nevertheless explored with the American military authorities the possibility of such a deployment. Despite continued misgivings in External Affairs about associating New Zealand with the air war, on 23 September Cabinet agreed to their despatch for service with the United States 7th Air Force. The two officers selected for this duty would leave for Vietnam in December.114 A week later Cabinet approved another minor change to V-Force which had been under consideration for months. Thornton first recommended on 8 July that 26 SAS personnel be sent to Vietnam to replace an equal number of infantry.115 Though not opposing this recommendation, Laking had cautioned that any change in the composition of the New Zealand contingent ‘would be criticized as a new step at a time when it might be argued we should be marking time’.116 The proposal was then shelved until Thomson raised it again in September, arguing that, in view of Australia’s limited resources in this sphere, the special counter-insurgency skills of the SAS would enhance the military value of New Zealand’s force in Vietnam.117 The upshot was agreement on 30 September that 26 SAS personnel could be included in the next replacement draft. This belated response to a longstanding request from New Zealand’s military authorities was made on the stipulation that it should not involve any alteration in the total number of replacements or any increase in costs.118 By late 1968, short of abruptly withdrawing, whatever New Zealand did in Vietnam was of little interest to the United States. Johnson was in his final months as President and national attention was focused on the tight electoral race between Hubert Humphrey and Richard Nixon. The war remained stalemated militarily, while peace negotiations between the 226

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Holyoake and President Johnson at the White House in 1968. dominion post collection, ep-nz obits-holyoake-12, atl

Americans and North Vietnamese, which had begun in Paris in May, were dragging on with no result. The United States too was ‘marking time’ in its Vietnam policy. In these circumstances, Holyoake received a most cordial reception when he visited Washington to farewell Johnson in early October. The visit was also intended as an opportunity to discuss Vietnam and trade relations, especially with respect to better access to the American market for New Zealand dairy and meat products, and possible Department of Defense purchases of these products in New Zealand.119 American officials expected that Holyoake would wish to emphasise economic issues. Bundy noted that ‘the close identity of U.S. and New Zealand policies on Vietnam and other issues’ had made the Prime Minister sensitive to possible charges that his government was ‘overly concerned with the security and political aspects of foreign relations and is blindly following the U.S. lead’.120 Describing Holyoake as a potential ‘spokesman for the importance not only of our current Vietnam policy, but of a continued American role in Southeast Asia’, Rostow recommended that he be given ‘a little of the special treatment which Gorton received’ on the grounds that New Zealanders were sensitive about ‘being considered merely a tail on the Australian dog’.121 While the 227

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visit did not produce anything of note, it did confirm Washington’s basic appreciation for New Zealand’s effort in Vietnam and broad sympathy for its economic problems. Thus 1968 closed without significant changes in New Zealand’s contribution, despite the shock induced by the Tet offensive. The year had, however, been a dramatic one internationally, especially for the United States. One consequence was the waning of any will in Washington to escalate the Vietnam War. Instead, the November elections brought to office the new Republican administration of Richard Nixon, promising ‘peace with honor’ in Vietnam. The diplomacy of New Zealand involvement in the Vietnam War would hereafter be driven by the need to respond to ‘Vietnamization’, as the Nixon administration embarked on the tortuous path of extricating the United States from what had become a humbling and costly quagmire for the world’s most powerful nation.

At the end of 1968, New Zealand’s force strength in Vietnam stood at about 540 personnel – its peak level for the war and over three times the number deployed at the start of the previous year. This escalation of the combat commitment in Vietnam was almost completely achieved in 1967, through redeployment of the two infantry companies from Malaysia thanks to the easing of Confrontation.122 At no time did the Holyoake government show any inclination to provide more than the ‘credible minimum’ deemed necessary to meet its obligations as a reliable ally of the United States. By early 1968, New Zealand could justifiably point to other reasons for not doing more. In addition to the diplomatic need to maintain a military presence in Malaysia, the government was facing economic difficulties and growing domestic opposition to the Vietnam War. Moreover, there was no longer pressure to keep pace with a more exuberant Australia. After Tet and Johnson’s decision not to escalate American involvement in the war, pressures from Washington also abated. By the end of 1968 the government could be satisfied that its stance on Vietnam had not harmed its relationship with the United States. At the time of Holyoake’s visit to Washington in October, the Johnson administration judged New Zealand to be ‘a small but staunch ally of the United States’ whose modest contribution in Vietnam was ‘of value’ politically. State Department officials correctly identified Holyoake as primarily an astute domestic politician who made decisions about foreign policy ‘with domestic political implications uppermost in his mind’ and was acutely conscious ‘of New Zealand’s limited resources’. Even so, he was a ‘strongly anti-Communist’ leader who was sympathetic to the United States and had ‘given 228

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firm and consistent support to our policy on Vietnam’. In turn, the State Department considered it in American interests to demonstrate sympathy for ‘New Zealand economic and security needs’.123 If the central aim of New Zealand’s Vietnam policy was to maintain harmonious relations with the United States, it had assuredly been achieved during the term of the Johnson administration. When the rugged Texan vacated the Oval Office, the period of greatest challenges for New Zealand on the diplomatic and military fronts during its Vietnam involvement had passed. From now on the Holyoake government’s political challenges with respect to Vietnam would increasingly be domestic rather than diplomatic.

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CHAPTER TEN

Dialogue of the Deaf: The Domestic Politics of the Vietnam Conflict, 1967–8

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ational’s re-election in 1966 ensured that the debate about the Vietnam War launched in 1965 would grind on with its essential features unchanged. During 1967 and 1968 the war of words about Vietnam between the major adversaries assumed all the qualities of a dialogue of the deaf. As the poet James K. Baxter put it in an open letter to Holyoake in October 1967, those on differing sides in the Vietnam debate were withdrawing into ‘insulated camps’ and did ‘not communicate much with each other’.1 Kirk would concede as much in May 1967 when observing with resignation that New Zealand’s Vietnam policy would not change while National remained in office.2 Domestic debate about Vietnam in these years thus tended to gravitate around particular events rather than new arguments.

The Ky Visit and its Impact The government had little time to rest on its laurels after the success of President Johnson’s visit and its election victory in late 1966. As the Listener reminded its readers early in 1967, ‘In spite of the General Election, public opinion remains divided on the Vietnam issue’.3 Much to the government’s chagrin, the anti-war movement was given an unexpected opportunity to highlight the depth and intensity of these divisions as the New Year began, thanks to the decision of the South Vietnamese Premier, Air Vice Marshal Ky, to visit New Zealand and Australia.4 230

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Any reservations Holyoake had initially harboured about the Johnson visit were as nothing compared with the unwelcome prospect of a visit from a non-elected leader whose commitment to democratic principles seemed tenuous. Ky had emerged as South Vietnam’s Prime Minister in June 1965 (alongside Nguyen Van Thieu, who became head of state) when a coterie of generals sought to impose political stability in Saigon by replacing the short-lived civilian government of Dr Phan Huy Quat. Ky soon acquired an international reputation as a flamboyant character with a penchant for high living, ivory-handled pistols, and ill-considered statements to Western reporters, the most notorious of which was his July 1965 allusion to Adolf Hitler as his hero. He subsequently insisted that the comment had been taken out of context, but it would be given great prominence by the antiwar movement in criticising his visit to New Zealand.5 Ky’s image hardly squared with Holyoake’s efforts to portray South Vietnam as a fledgling democracy. But it would have been even more awkward to decline this unexpected ‘thank-you’ visit from the leader of a state that New Zealand forces were helping to defend. The government could do little to avoid the controversy.6 For critics of New Zealand’s Vietnam policy, the visit was a heavensent opportunity to portray Ky as a callous dictator and to discredit the legitimacy of the South Vietnamese cause for which New Zealand blood was being spilled. Preparations for protest were especially extensive in Auckland, where news of the visit drew many younger people into the antiwar movement. When the struggling Peace for Vietnam Committee called a meeting to plan the protest, it attracted a far wider group than the organisers had anticipated – perhaps 200 people. A Ky Protest Committee was formed, with six sub-committees all working feverishly from 15 January to organise extensive protests against Ky, who was due in Auckland in just ten days. The publicity sub-committee opted for the succinct slogan, ‘Ky No’, as a chant at the demonstrations – on the grounds that it could be understood almost anywhere in the world.7 More elaborately, the Wellington COV prepared song sheets; one was entitled ‘No, No, Kiwi’ and sung to the tune of ‘Oh, Susannah’. The chorus ran: ‘No, no, Kiwi; It’s plain enough to see; We don’t want escalation; And we don’t want Marshal Ky’.8 The anti-war movement’s preparations for the Ky visit reflected a clear consciousness of the internationalisation of anti-Vietnam War protests as media events. Labour also opposed the visit, and indicated that its MPs would boycott all official events associated with it. Kirk did not approve of Ky’s visit because ‘he was not a democratically elected head of state’. As usual, he struck a moderate note by adding that he would equally oppose a visit by Ho Chi Minh.9 It was a qualification unlikely to sit well with some in the antiwar movement. Kirk’s measured opposition was in sharp contrast to the 231

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stance of the Australian Labor leader, Arthur Calwell, who denounced Ky as ‘a moral and social leper’, ‘a butcher’, ‘a little Quisling gangster’, and ‘the fascist dictator’.10 No New Zealand parliamentarians were as strident. There was such widespread uneasiness about and criticism of the visit that Holyoake issued a public statement a few days before Ky’s arrival, rebutting charges that he was a military dictator. As a left-wing publication noted, however, the Prime Minister’s comments on the visit were ‘lukewarm to say the least’.11 Even newspapers that supported the government’s policy on Vietnam were less than enthusiastic. The capital’s Dominion conceded that Ky had perhaps ‘forced his presence upon us’.12 This was a common view.13 On the other hand, only two major newspapers aggressively opposed the visit. The Waikato Times denounced Ky for representing ‘most of the things and people and the social attitudes which we despise’, while the Auckland Star agreed with Kirk’s assessment of the visit as ‘unnecessary, undesirable, and unwanted by a great many New Zealanders’.14 But there were also pockets of unqualified support. The New Zealand Herald argued that the South Vietnamese leader had every right to visit and should not be subjected to embarrassing protests.15 Wellington’s Evening Post published a positive assessment of Ky by the seasoned Vietnam correspondent, Nick Turner, who characterised him as a non-political, genuine South Vietnamese patriot – foreshadowing a line Ky himself would take during his time in New Zealand and Australia.16 When the South Vietnamese leader and his wife reached Christchurch on 23 January they received a surprisingly positive reception. By then Ky had already visited Australia, where he had won the public relations battle and turned around negative press previews of his visit.17 Impressed by this achievement, the New Zealand High Commission in Canberra urged the government to emulate the Australians by giving Ky maximum media exposure as soon as possible.18 From the outset, Ky played his part by stressing that he was not in New Zealand to seek more aid – except perhaps in the civil area – but had come to express his nation’s gratitude and to explain the ‘true position in Vietnam’. Despite the presence of over 100 protesters at the airport, he was assisted in his efforts by generally supportive crowds in Christchurch. A small group associated with the Bertrand Russell Peace Foundation maintained a night-long vigil outside his hotel, but the Kys’ stay in the South Island’s largest city was free of incident.19 On balance, his public reception in Wellington was similarly positive. Ky adhered to his standard script that he was not a politician but a patriot serving his country in its hour of need. Although facing some vociferous demonstrators, the Kys again encountered more public support than opposition, and the police commented that crowd behaviour was generally good.20 232

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Protesters watch as South Vietnamese Premier Nguyen Cao Ky is escorted into Parliament by Deputy Prime Minister John Marshall in February 1967. aaqt 6401, a86114, anz

Much of the reporting in the capital focused on Ky’s glamorous young wife, who allegedly ‘charmed the city’. The superlatives positively gushed from the Dominion: ‘Poised and radiant’, with a ‘cool graciousness and an attentive air’, Mrs Ky was said to have a ‘flawless complexion’ and, like her husband, enjoyed ‘the happy knack of easy conversation and ready listening’. Her empathy with babies and stylish clothes sense were also highlighted.21 It was as if a pretty, young member of the royal family were visiting.22 The Listener would later mock the hyperbole about her ‘capturing Wellington’s heart’.23 But the blatant gender stereotyping and purple prose which cast the exotic ‘Madame Ky’ as a model of femininity generally went unnoticed. If anti-war protesters were challenging traditional views about foreign policy, they were not also challenging gender roles. The impact of the women’s movement was yet to be felt. The Kys were also well received on their one foray into small-town New Zealand: Te Awamutu. The workers at the New Zealand Cooperative Dairy Company gave them ‘a rousing welcome’ – to the surprise of the official party, as there had been threats of a protest strike when the Kys visited the factory.24 That workers would respond in such a way pointed to a notable lack of unanimity among rank-and-file trade unionists on the Vietnam issue. 233

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Madam Ky, Premier Ky’s photogenic wife, pictured with a Karitane baby during their 1967 visit to New Zealand. dominion post collection, ep/1967/0307/10, atl

The Kys did not fare as well in Auckland. From the moment they arrived at the airport, ‘ugly scenes erupted’ as protesters attempted to block official cars.25 The Kys then encountered hundreds of demonstrators outside their hotel. Violent clashes ensued between members of this group and the police, who arrested nine people. At least one newspaper described the scene as ‘a battlefield’.26 A subsequent official report to the Minister of Police suggested that police had acted with restraint in dispersing an unruly crowd.27 Those demonstrating had a markedly different view.28 This most violent incident yet in the history of Vietnam protest in New Zealand provoked bitter recriminations for some time to come. The next evening, when Ky addressed an invited audience at the Auckland Town Hall, there was a mixed crowd of about 2000 ‘booing and cheering demonstrators’ outside.29 According to the police, the group was ‘reasonably orderly’ and there was ‘no untoward incident whatsoever’ during the address. Once again, however, there were clashes between police and demonstrators outside the Kys’ hotel. Although involving a smaller crowd, these incidents were the most controversial of the visit because police officers allegedly assaulted individuals, most notably Steve Hieatt, 234

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a leading member of the Ky Protest Committee, who claimed to have been beaten after being arrested.30 Protesters immediately complained to the government. Holyoake stated publicly the next day that he had asked the Minister of Police for a report, although it appeared that the police in Auckland had acted ‘in a commendably tolerant but firm manner’.31 The FOL subsequently demanded a formal inquiry on the basis that the police had violated the rights of orderly and peaceful demonstrators.32 Holyoake did not take up this request. He publicly endorsed the right of peaceful protest but backed the police effort to deal with demonstrators who were behaving unlawfully.33 The press supported the Prime Minister. The New Zealand Herald dismissed the protests in Auckland as a ‘Squalid Show of Mob Hysteria’ which was not spontaneous but the work of ‘instigators’ who included ‘known communists’.34 Condemnation of the demonstrators was widespread, and the government’s press monitors cheerfully concluded that the anti-Ky demonstrations ‘definitely did harm to the cause of the protesters’.35 In contrast, most press commentators felt that Ky had done much good for the South Vietnamese cause. Both the Evening Post and the Dominion praised his performance, the latter suggesting that he had conveyed ‘with dignity and aplomb’ his regime’s commitment to ‘securing social justice and fighting ignorance, disease and poverty in addition to prosecuting the war’.36 Even the Listener conceded that Ky had played his role ‘admirably’ in ensuring the success of an ‘embarrassing visit’. The consensus was that Ky’s image had been enhanced, and there was now greater appreciation in New Zealand of the challenges confronting the South Vietnamese.37 There was satisfaction in government circles not only that the Kys had improved the image of the Saigon regime but also that ‘the antics of the demonstrating minorities had relegated them in the public eye to the level of a lunatic fringe’.38 Yet the visit had widened the gulf between the government and its critics, with each side convinced that the other was impervious to reason. As one of those critics put it, the visit had accentuated how Holyoake was ‘dividing the country as it has never been divided emotionally by his policy of America – right or wrong, particularly if it is wrong’.39 For the anti-war movement, the Ky visit had its greatest impact in Auckland, where the demonstrations were the largest to date. Whatever the extent of police excesses, what mattered for those who demonstrated in Auckland was their perceptions of how they had been treated. The events of 25 and 26 January had a devastating impact, especially on younger protesters, many of whom were politicised and radicalised. The Ky visit stimulated a new sense of unity within the Auckland anti-war movement which led to the formation in February of a Council on Vietnam to coordinate anti-war activities in the city.40 In the absence of a catalysing 235

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This page and opposite: differing reactions to the visit of Premier Ky. dominion post collection, ep/1967/0308/14 and ep/1967/0305/9, atl

factor like the Ky visit, however, the old divisions between varying shades of left-wing opinion in the city would gradually reappear. Ky was the only high-level South Vietnamese visitor to New Zealand during its combat involvement in Vietnam. Diplomatically his visit was of little significance, but it allowed the government to notch up an unexpected victory in the ongoing battle for public opinion. In public relations terms, Ky proved remarkably adroit for a potentially embarrassing visitor and, along with his wife, helped to personalise support for Saigon’s cause. The visit did, nonetheless, underscore the fact that the recent election had not buried the country’s divisions on Vietnam, and it suggested that violent protest had effectively become a substitute for debate.

Other Developments in 1967 The dramatic events associated with the Ky visit represented a false start to the year as far as debate about Vietnam was concerned. For most of 1967, there was relatively little domestic ferment over the war. Although the number of New Zealand soldiers serving there almost trebled in the course of the year, the additions did not involve any shift in policy and did not provide a significant rationale for intensified protest. The underlying issue, after all, was not the number of New Zealand troops but their very presence in Vietnam. 236

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Public speculation about a possible force increase began soon after Ky’s departure. This time, Holyoake’s unwillingness to confirm that the issue was under consideration elicited an unfamiliar blast of press criticism. The Taranaki Herald, for instance, conceded on 8 February that Holyoake might feel the need to postpone any announcement ‘until a decent interval has elapsed after Marshal Ky’s visit’. By the middle of the month, the paper was pointing out that ‘this practice of fobbing off accurate and educated guesses is poor public relations’, and taking the Prime Minister to task for failing to credit the New Zealand people ‘with a modicum of intelligence’.41 More charitably, the Otago Daily Times thought the hesitation surprising, as National’s re-election was widely interpreted as support for its Vietnam policy.42 When the expected announcement of the increase in troops and medical aid was eventually made in early March, it met with a mixed reception. The anti-war movement and Labour were naturally critical, although Kirk’s main charge was that the government had been ‘devious’ in giving earlier assurances about not increasing the force commitment while ‘secretly planning and negotiating to send more troops to that unhappy country’. Labour did welcome the modest increase in medical aid.43 Church opinion was divided. In Wellington, Methodists condemned the increase while Anglican and Catholic leaders were more understanding.44 As usual, there 237

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New Zealand RSA President Hamilton Mitchell, a stalwart supporter of the government’s Vietnam policy, receiving an American award in 1968. morrie hill collection, f-71970-1⁄4, atl

was full-blooded support from RSA President Hamilton Mitchell, who suggested that, even with the increase, New Zealand’s troop commitment was ‘still too far behind our allies’ on a population basis. In general, reactions were surprisingly muted. Holyoake defended the decision as ‘absolutely democratic’ because the past election ‘had been fought on the Vietnam issue and Government policy had been endorsed by the electorate’. It was Labour who was inconsistent, he charged.45 Press opinion ran along predictable lines. The Auckland Star echoed Kirk’s view.46 Most other newspapers, including both Wellington papers, backed the decision as a regrettable but necessary move that was consistent with existing policy.47 The Dominion described the increase as ‘a fullyjustified move which, in good conscience, could not have been shirked’.48 The Evening Post expressed similar support but, like many newspapers around the country, slated the government for being less than candid with the electorate.49 Such reactions suggested that Holyoake’s habitual evasiveness was becoming counterproductive in public relations terms.50 Without specific events in New Zealand on which to focus activity, the anti-war movement slipped from public prominence over the following months as its members reflected on longer-term strategies. Even before 238

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the Ky visit, the Wellington COV was preparing for a protracted struggle. With the recent election result in mind, the first issue of Quote for the year declared: ‘our task is to organise for the long haul ahead and the appearance of a Government prepared to play a major and peacefully constructive role in the development of South East Asia’. The COV executive stressed the importance of planning for ‘After Ky’ by calling for a national conference to discuss future directions for the anti-war movement.51 In a further reflection of this long-term perspective, the Wellington COV decided in February to become an incorporated society – on the recommendation of its Policy Committee.52 In Auckland, too, there were steps to develop a more coordinated, longterm approach. Building on the feelings of unity that had been engendered by the anti-Ky demonstrations, a new Council on Vietnam emerged in February to bring together representatives of the city’s diverse – often bickering – anti-war groups. Seventeen organisations were initially affiliated to the council, which would claim 800 associated members by early 1968. Although it would eventually succumb to the endemic infighting which had beset the protest movement in Auckland from its outset, the council enjoyed some unifying success during 1967 and 1968.53 A national anti-war conference was held in Wellington at Easter. Although the assembled delegates agreed that each COV should remain autonomous, they announced on 28 March that a National Committee on Vietnam was to be formed to guide the efforts of the more than 30 groups in New Zealand which opposed military involvement in Vietnam. It was also decided to establish a four-person editorial board for Quote, with one representative from each major centre.54 Despite these efforts, divisions persisted about tactics. The role of demonstrations in particular caused much soul-searching. Only two weeks after the Ky visit, a Wellington COV meeting unanimously reaffirmed that ‘demonstrations remain an important tactic in convincing the public that the Vietnam War is unjustified’.55 Yet when a new executive took office in March, it resolved ‘to limit public demonstrations and concentrate on education by printed publicity’ – as its new chairman, David Carrad, explained to the Prime Minister in June. Inadvertently drawing attention to the organisation’s ambivalence on the issue, Carrad also told Holyoake that the COV had supported a ‘small, grass-roots demonstration’ against two visiting American destroyers in late May, and could well mount other demonstrations in future.56 Demonstrations, especially those involving possible violence, were also a frequent source of contention within the Council of Vietnam in Auckland, pitting ‘moderates’, led by the Socialist Unity Party and trade union delegates, against ‘militants’ from the Communist Party, the PFVC and the Progressive Youth Movement (PYM).57 239

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The last-named was a radical, action-orientated group that had begun in 1965 as a specifically anti-Vietnam War organisation (the Youth Action Committee on Vietnam) but had changed its name in 1966 and broadened its scope to pursue various forms of political and social change.58 Press reactions to the violent demonstrations against Ky in Auckland would have given moderates in the anti-war movement around the country good reason to think carefully about the usefulness of such publicity in winning over middle New Zealand to their cause. Whether for that reason or because of the absence of appropriate opportunities, there was a dearth of demonstrations in the six months after the Kys’ visit. In Wellington in May there was a small, spontaneous protest against the visiting American destroyers, Gridley and Maddox. The only other incident took place on Anzac Day, when two men were arrested for disorderly behaviour after a group tried to lay a wreath at the Citizens’ War Memorial dedicated to all those dead and dying in Vietnam. (The subsequent conviction of the pair caused some controversy about freedom of expression and civil rights.)59 Without demonstrations, the anti-war movement found it difficult to publicise its opposition to official Vietnam policy. Conscious of the risk posed by the apparent absence of protest activity, Carrad commented publicly in May that ‘any suggestion that the opposition to the Vietnam War and New Zealand’s policy had lapsed was a dangerous political manoeuvre’.60 Interviewed two months later about the COV’s relative quiescence, Barry Mitcalfe explained that there was ‘more emphasis on publications than on demonstrations’. He attributed this shift to the criticism demonstrations had attracted in some quarters, and to the impact of new groups such as ‘housewives, doctors, teachers, and professional people’, who were joining the protest movement in greater numbers.61 It would be some years before demonstrations came into their own as a more visibly effective means of signalling widespread discontent with military involvement in Vietnam. Labour, too, continued to wrestle with the problem of balancing principle against popularity. Perhaps chastened by its election loss, the party adopted a relatively low profile on the Vietnam issue in the first half of 1967 – even in response to Ky’s visit and the March announcement of the force increase. As Labour’s annual conference approached in May, Kirk showed little sign of wishing to change that approach. It did not help that divisions on the issue resurfaced at the FOL conference when more conservative unionists, led by Tony Neary of the Electrical Workers’ Union, tried to moderate the FOL’s policy on Vietnam to make it more balanced and less ‘un-American’.62 Although their motion on the issue was lost by a margin of 301 to 115, the New Zealand Herald commented approvingly that ‘quite a few people have begun to think’.63 At the Labour Party’s own conference immediately 240

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afterwards, Kirk was largely spared such divisiveness.64 As usual, there were remits on Vietnam, including one seeking the withdrawal of New Zealand troops. Kirk himself successfully moved an amendment of this remit to a more anodyne form that avoided explicit reference to withdrawing troops and instead stressed the need to achieve peace as soon as possible. The conference generally endorsed Kirk’s emphasis on opposing New Zealand soldiers’ combat role in Vietnam, but remained noncommittal on their actual withdrawal.65 Labour was equally guarded during the Address-in-Reply debate, which came shortly after the conference. By now these parliamentary exchanges had taken on a wearily predictable pattern: Labour speakers studiously avoided an explicit commitment to the withdrawal of the New Zealand force, while their National counterparts repeated their familiar accusations of equivocation and inconsistency.66 Among the recycled arguments on both sides of the House, one succinct declaration from Labour’s Arthur Faulkner stood out: ‘I do not claim that Labour’s policy [on Vietnam] is popular; I only claim that it is right’.67 Eloquently direct and candid, this comment encapsulated Labour’s continuing challenge. Since the election neither Labour nor the anti-war movement had made visible headway in eroding mainstream support for New Zealand’s military involvement in Vietnam. Indeed, the relationship between these two major sources of opposition remained too fraught for them to work together effectively or openly. Labour continued to maintain a careful distance from the COVs.68 As reporter Tom Brockett noted in mid-1967, ‘I have yet to see reported any Labour M.P.s happily waving anti-war placards or taking any active part in anti-war Vietnam demonstrations (as did the late leader of the Australian Labour Party)’. Kirk told Brockett that Labour could not risk being closely linked to a pressure group beyond its control.69 He knew that National would exploit such links to accuse Labour of endorsing radicalism, anti-Americanism, youthful irresponsibility and all manner of other ills.70 The government did not face comparable problems. At the National Party’s annual conference in Christchurch at the end of July, delegates overwhelmingly supported the government’s Vietnam policy and even endorsed possible expansion of the New Zealand force.71 At least one delegate spoke against any increase, and others might also have voiced qualms if there had been greater tolerance of dissent.72 Nevertheless, the conference confirmed the high degree of unity within National on the Vietnam issue. In mid-1967, the government was enjoying a smooth ride domestically as far as Vietnam was concerned. There had been no major demonstrations since the Ky visit, Labour was subdued, press support for the commitment was holding, the National Party at large was visibly backing the government’s 241

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policy, and no significant group from the centre-right of the New Zealand political spectrum, such as Federated Farmers or the Chambers of Commerce, had articulated criticisms about Vietnam. Correspondence to the Prime Minister had become more sporadic and officials had the distinct impression that ‘opposition to the Government’s policy appears to be much less widespread’.73 Public debate about Vietnam would, however, revive suddenly in late July and early August. The first reason for this was the prospect of another increase in New Zealand’s Vietnam force, which caused much editorial concern about the need for the government to be more open with the public.74 Holyoake now seemed to have learned that caginess was unwise. He stated in mid-July that, although he had not received a request for more aid, ‘if there was a need for more help and New Zealand had the capacity the Government would not shrink from giving it’.75 This comment led at least one newspaper previously critical of the Prime Minister’s elusiveness to note that he was now being ‘more positive’.76 The idiosyncratic Manawatu Evening Standard chimed in with a bracing dose of Realpolitik: We shall probably send more troops to Vietnam, if we can find some to spare. The Committee on Vietnam, from who we have heard little lately, will make a ritual protest. There will be some letters to the editor. But that is all. It will simply be a formal performance of a civic right, or duty; as formal and as empty as Mr Holyoake’s emphasis, at the week-end, that the 350 men now in Vietnam were there ‘at the request of the South Vietnamese Government, and not at the request of any of its allies.’ Just words for the record.77

Cynical as this view was, coming from a newspaper broadly supportive of American and New Zealand policy in Vietnam, it was an apt summary of what so much of the Vietnam debate had become: ‘Just words for the record’. News of the impending Clifford–Taylor visit added impetus to speculation about a possible troop increase (see Chapter 9). Despite official assurances to the contrary, most commentators assumed that one purpose of this mission was to seek more troops. Several newspapers warned of the need to treat such requests with care, and some criticised the United States for its recent imposition of restrictions on New Zealand dairy imports.78 Other developments also rekindled public debate about Vietnam after the lull of the preceding months. Controversy broke out in late July over the possibility of a New Plymouth-based firm, Ivon Watkins-Dow, supplying defoliants for American use in Vietnam. This prospect drew extensive criticism in the following weeks from Labour, the anti-war movement and some church groups.79 About the same time, there was extensive reporting of 242

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criticism by Colonel Harry Low of New Zealand’s involvement in Vietnam as ‘morally wrong, politically indefensible and military nonsense’.80 A retired officer who had been Director of Plans for the New Zealand Army, had received a Distinguished Service Order for his military service in Malaysia and had stood as a National Party candidate in the 1963 general election, Low was far from being a typical protester.81 His charges elicited a personal rebuttal from Holyoake, who said he was ‘astonished’ at Low’s comments.82 To top off a crowded week, the National Council of Churches passed resolutions opposing an increased troop commitment in Vietnam and joining the criticism of Ivon Watkins-Dow. While neither resolution was passed unanimously, Holyoake was always concerned about criticism from ‘respectable’ bodies such as the churches, which contained many National voters.83 The Clifford–Taylor mission arrived immediately on the heels of these developments. As had become customary for such visitors since Lodge’s mission in April 1965, Taylor and Clifford encountered about 100 bannerwaving protesters when they landed at Wellington airport on 31 July. While they were in Parliament buildings the next day for talks with Cabinet, about 2000 protesters assembled outside – the largest group yet mobilised by the Wellington COV. Students carried a coffin labelled ‘in Memory of New Zealand Democracy’ and held aloft placards with slogans ranging from the self-consciously witty ‘Get Smart, Maxwell’ (an allusion to a popular American television comedy series) to the new international youth cliché, ‘Make Love Not War’. Among those who addressed the demonstrators was the COV’s Conrad Bollinger, who stressed the importance of showing the depth of New Zealand opposition to involvement in ‘America’s ill-advised anti-communist crusade in Vietnam’. Bollinger also cited James K. Baxter’s poem, ‘A Bucket of Blood For a Dollar’, to warn that ‘Mr Holyoake might be tempted to succumb to American pressure for more troops in Vietnam in return for more favourable treatment in trade’. Despite some jostling and a thwarted attempt to burn an American flag, the demonstration was generally orderly, with only one arrest all afternoon. About 20 counterdemonstrators carried placards with slogans such as ‘All The Way With The USA’.84 Outside the ranks of the protest movement, reactions to the Clifford– Taylor mission were relatively positive. Despite lingering quibbles about Holyoake’s frankness, most newspapers remained supportive of the government’s general policy and of a possible troop increase.85 John Kennedy, the editor of the Catholic publication New Zealand Tablet, was particularly outspoken in urging the government to cease behaving ‘like a bunch of guilty schoolboys’ and exercise leadership by acknowledging forthrightly that more troops might need to be sent. Invoking a voguish American term, he warned 243

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A lone anti-communist marcher strikes a discordant note amongst hundreds of students from Victoria University of Wellington protesting against the Clifford–Taylor visit in 1967. dominion post collection, ep/1967/3661/1a, atl

that to do otherwise would risk ‘the development of a credibility gap’ and the undermining of the government’s cause, which was still supported by most New Zealanders.86 Another interesting comment came from the Hawke’s Bay Herald–Tribune, which suggested that some form of conscription would be needed if New Zealand were to contribute further men to the defence of both South Vietnam and Malaysia – a prospect that would ensure ‘the Vietnam war will certainly become much more of a political issue in New Zealand than it was in the last general election’.87 This was not an option Holyoake was about to consider.88 This revival of domestic debate about Vietnam in late July and early August probably had little impact on the overall level of support for official policy. It did, however, serve as a reminder of the importance of effective public relations. This dimension continued to receive serious attention at various levels of government, especially in the months after the visit of Clifford and Taylor. By late 1967 the public dissemination of information favourable to the government’s policy was a routine activity for officials. The major themes in this ongoing campaign were by now well established: the commitment of New Zealand and its allies to a peaceful settlement; the blend of determination and 244

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restraint required to achieve this end; the desire of most South Vietnamese to live in an independent, non-communist state; communist domination of the National Liberation Front; the North Vietnamese ‘invasion’ of South Vietnam; the brutal tactics of the Viet Cong. In September, though, officials concluded that more stress should be placed on the positive actions taken by the South Vietnamese and their allies, and on New Zealand’s Colombo Plan activities, especially the surgical team’s efforts and the opportunities given to Vietnamese students to study in New Zealand.89 In addition to weaving these themes into regular information releases, officials took advantage of specific opportunities for positive publicity. In September, External Affairs sought to secure a seat on a military transport aircraft to Vietnam for Pastor Barry Reed of the Asian Evangelists’ Commission. In justifying this request, Laking described Reed as ‘one of the few clergymen to give vocal support to the Government’s Vietnam policy’ and hence ‘a useful ally in presenting the Government’s case to the public’.90 There were also regular efforts to coordinate activities and to consult with allied governments in disseminating public information about Vietnam.91 Holyoake remained the key figure in the government’s public information campaign. No comprehensive statement of Vietnam policy had gone out under his name since the release in October 1966 of Vietnam: Questions and Answers, which officials considered to have been very effective.92 By chance, one of the criticisms levelled in the wake of the Clifford–Taylor mission provided an opportunity for an updated overview statement by the Prime Minister. The Dominion Sunday Times had run an editorial on 6 August berating him for replying ‘No comment’ when asked if he approved of an American ‘stepping up’ of the war and the bombing of North Vietnam.93 The paper’s editor agreed to publish an article by the Prime Minister outlining the government’s views on Vietnam and addressing such topical issues as the need for more forces and the American bombing strategy.94 External Affairs’ draft evolved into the government’s major public statement on Vietnam for the year.95 Entitled ‘Aspects of the Vietnam Problem’, Holyoake’s statement was completed on 1 October but not released until November. Its opening paragraph boldly summarised the government’s stance on what was at stake for New Zealand in Vietnam: The special significance of the Vietnam War is that in an acute form it has confronted New Zealanders with the realities of their international position. At the heart of the debate over the Government’s decision lies a choice – of adhering to the basic principles which have guided the country’s foreign policy ever since it assumed full responsibility for its own destiny, or of abandoning them for uncertain and untried courses of action.

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One of the government’s most vigorously argued justifications for its involvement in Vietnam followed. The statement wasted few words and exuded an air of confidence not always evident in the government’s contributions to the Vietnam debate. In seeking to disarm criticisms, it included such comments as: ‘It is startling that New Zealand’s military involvement in Vietnam has evoked criticism while our activity in Malaysia has not’. Similarly, when explaining that New Zealand was responding alongside its allies to a case of aggression, Holyoake stressed that New Zealand was ‘in no sense subservient to the policies, attitudes and wishes of any of our allies with interests in Asia’. He defended the military necessity of the American bombing of North Vietnam, but detailed New Zealand’s sustained efforts to encourage suspension of the bombing when appropriate as part of ‘a mutual scaling down of military activities in Vietnam’.96 By the time this statement was issued, Holyoake was able to praise elections that had just been held in South Vietnam.97 These elections and the lead-up to them had been followed closely in the New Zealand media.98 Most newspapers judged them a promising start towards a democratic government for South Vietnam, especially as 83 per cent of eligible voters had taken part despite Viet Cong efforts to disrupt the process.99 A notable dissenter from the consensus view was the Wairarapa Times–Age, which suggested that the victory of Thieu’s and Ky’s ‘military junta’ only played into the hands of the communists.100 Even if they were flawed, the elections strengthened the government’s case for continuing to support South Vietnam. They also made a further increase in the New Zealand force more palatable. Holyoake indicated in early October that he had asked the military authorities to report on units available to send to Vietnam.101 This news prompted some editorial concern about the implications for New Zealand’s limited military resources, as well as a more predictably critical editorial from the Auckland Star.102 When Holyoake confirmed publicly on 17 October that another rifle company was to be redeployed from Malaysia, reactions ran along similar lines. Few newspapers opposed the increase, but most expressed apprehension about how New Zealand could also sustain its commitments in Malaysia and Singapore.103 Labour and the anti-war movement were more directly critical.104 The trade union movement showed its disapproval by picketing the American Embassy in Wellington.105 Church opinion continued to be divided, even though the National Council of Churches had just issued a pamphlet asserting that ‘so far as the NCC can ascertain, Christian opinion in New Zealand is opposed to escalation of the war and queries the rightness of New Zealand participation in it’.106 When the troop increase was announced, representatives of the Presbyterian and Methodist churches expressed disapproval while Catholic and Anglican 246

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leaders were more circumspect.107 The RSA wholeheartedly supported the increase, with Hamilton Mitchell reiterating that New Zealand’s contribution still lagged behind those of its allies.108 An informal local poll by the Waikato Times suggested that the general public’s reaction to the decision was ignorance tinged with apathy.109 By chance, the announcement of this second troop increase for 1967 was closely followed by the most extensive demonstrations since the Kys’ visit. The timing of these protests was determined by international considerations, as most were scheduled for the week of 14–21 October to coincide with a massive march on Washington planned by American anti-war activists.110 A variety of protests took place around the country, including in smaller centres, beginning with a planned week-long vigil outside the American Embassy in Wellington.111 Most proved to be low-key affairs such as a lunchtime forum outside the Wellington Public Library which attracted about 100 protesters and a Friday-night demonstration in Christchurch which drew little interest from shoppers.112 In Dunedin, several hundred people attended a protest meeting in the Octagon at the centre of the city on 20 October to listen to ‘a minister, a trade unionist, a professor and a poet’ – the kinds of speakers instantly recognisable by then as archetypal representatives of the major groups in New Zealand society opposed to the Vietnam commitment.113 (The poet was Baxter, who had penned an open letter to the Prime Minister the same month arguing passionately on humanitarian grounds for a change in policy on Vietnam, and expressing his grave concern that ‘men basically well-intentioned should be caught in some kind of historical trap, and seem unable to free themselves or their countrymen by a series of rational decisions’.)114 There was little out of the ordinary about the protests that week. Though timed to coincide with the far more dramatic protests taking place in Washington, there was no attempt in New Zealand to emulate the surreal antics of hippie leader Abbie Hoffman, who sought to exorcise the Pentagon by levitating the building ten feet in the air, a feat for which he had dutifully obtained a General Services Administration permit.115 Defence Headquarters in Wellington was spared the ring of exorcism and baleful chanting which any such attempt would have involved. Instead meetings were held, vigils staged and telegrams sent to the Prime Minister; but the general public seemed apathetic. If the Waikato Times poll was to be believed, their reaction to the troop increase had been no different. It was doubly disappointing for the anti-war movement that protests held in the same week as the announcement of a force increase could draw so little response. Events unfolded differently in Auckland. There the Council on Vietnam held its main protest a week later, on 29 October. Two thousand people 247

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Police and protesters struggle during the ‘Paritai Drive incident’, 29 October 1967. new zealand herald collection, eph-b-vietnam-1967-01, atl.

attended a peaceful meeting in Myers Park and the subsequent march down Queen Street – easily overshadowing the total number of demonstrators in the rest of the country throughout the previous week. About 200 counterdemonstrators, including some naval cadets, appeared at Myers Park to express support for the New Zealand military commitment in Vietnam. Their presence did not prompt serious clashes. But then a PYM-led group of about 100 predominantly young demonstrators proceeded to the United States consul’s residence in suburban Paritai Drive. There violent scuffles between police and demonstrators – described as a ‘pitched battle’ and a ‘wild melee’ in press reports – resulted in 11 prosecutions.116 As well as drawing press condemnation, the demonstrators were criticised by some within the Auckland anti-war movement for undoing the positive publicity generated by the preceding peaceful (and much larger) demonstration.117 The incident would lead to considerable tension within the Auckland Council on Vietnam.118 The October demonstrations and the troop increase did nothing to shake Holyoake’s conviction that Vietnam had become an electoral asset. In briefing his caucus in early November about a forthcoming by-election in Palmerston North, he urged them to take the offensive by making Vietnam the subject of Parliament’s next debate ‘and continue this attack on the Opposition at the by-election’. Holyoake added that ‘the Progressive Youth Movement was a communist dominated organisation and suggested that this fact would be made public at by-election’.119 And Holyoake did not 248

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hesitate to personally take the offensive on Vietnam. The very next day in Parliament, he repeatedly challenged Opposition members to give a direct response to the question: ‘Would a Labour Government withdraw New Zealand troops from Vietnam?’ No one on the Labour benches took up his challenge.120 As the end of the year approached, this confidence that the government was winning the Vietnam debate extended to officials, for whom it was a matter of professional and intellectual judgement rather than political interest. Laking ably summarised External Affairs’ assessment of the nature of the debate to date: The question of New Zealand’s involvement in Vietnam has engendered more public debate than any other foreign policy issue. But the debate served many useful purposes. It underlined for New Zealanders that their country’s security was bound up in the security of Asia – in other words, it made them more than ever aware of the realities of their changed international position. During it the basic and tested principles of New Zealand’s foreign policy were of course called in question, principles such as resistance to aggression, defence of the rights of small states and participation in collective security arrangements. But out of the debate came a general acceptance of the rightness of these principles and of the importance of adhering to them at all times. More than that, it came to be generally understood that New Zealand’s intervention in the Vietnam War was in full conformity with them, and of course with our changed international role. Any disturbance of these principles, which is what a premature withdrawal from Vietnam would be, could therefore be received by the New Zealand public at large only with dismay and recrimination.121

Its critics, however, would have argued that the government had avoided a real debate about the principles on which the Vietnam commitment was based. In fact, by late 1967 public apathy seemed to outweigh both support for and opposition to the Vietnam commitment. The protests in October would barely have registered but for the Paritai Drive incident. Similarly, when National lost the Palmerston North by-election in early December, this was put down largely to the flagging economy.122 The government had continued to fare better than its opponents on the Vietnam front. It had increased the New Zealand force commitment without incurring undue adverse public reaction. It had retained press support, albeit with some qualifications. It had drawn more criticism from the churches, but they did not present a united front on the issue. Mainstream support for combat involvement in Vietnam appeared to be holding, with domestic political debate focused primarily on the country’s economic problems and 249

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such related events as the devaluation by almost 20 per cent of the New Zealand dollar in late November.123

From Tet to the Peace, Power and Politics Conference The first few months of 1968 presented the government with two major and unexpected challenges to its Vietnam policy. The first stemmed from the body blow to American confidence delivered by the Tet offensive and the subsequent agonising within the Johnson administration which culminated in the President’s decision not to seek re-election. The second was the Peace, Power and Politics in Asia (PPP) Conference planned to take place in Wellington at the end of March as a counter to the SEATO Council and other official meetings being held in the city at that time. The PPP conference would attract more publicity for the anti-war cause in New Zealand than any other single event organised to date by the opponents of military involvement in Vietnam. Introductory publicity about the planned ‘Counter Conference’ appeared in several newspapers in mid-January 1968.124 The Wellington COV, which had begun discussing the event several months earlier, decided not to sponsor it directly. Instead, an ad hoc committee was convened to organise the conference, whose original working title was Peace ’68. From the outset, there were high hopes of attracting internationally prominent keynote speakers: the names of Martin Luther King, Senator J. William Fulbright and the American historian Arthur Schlesinger Jr were originally mooted as possibilities.125 Various materials were prepared to serve as background information for the conference, including a booklet by Harry Slingsby criticising the government’s claims that New Zealand was involved in Vietnam in fulfilment of its SEATO obligations.126 As plans for the conference evolved, the media-savvy Alister Taylor emerged as the principal organiser. He had a strong, if unusual, pedigree as an opponent of the war. After attending one of the first teach-ins in Washington, Taylor had returned to New Zealand on the day in 1965 when troops were committed, going straight from the airport to join the protests outside Parliament. Improbably, he also served as President of the Victoria University of Wellington National Club in 1965/66.127 Taylor honed his media skills by working as a radio journalist for Checkpoint until the New Zealand Broadcasting Corporation removed him from this current affairs programme because of questions about ‘his absolute impartiality’ when his role in organising the PPP conference became known. Although offered another position, Taylor resigned to direct his energies ‘into the Vietnam politics thing’, as he later described it.128 The resignation in itself generated publicity for the anti-war cause and the conference: Taylor claimed he had 250

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been removed from Checkpoint because of pressure from the American embassy and the Security Service.129 Events in early 1968 created a conducive climate for the conference. The impact of the Tet offensive would be the most decisive. As happened throughout the world, the bitter fighting across South Vietnam received extensive media coverage in New Zealand, though editorial responses varied, sometimes even within the same newspaper. For instance, on 2 February the Otago Daily Times suggested that ‘the desperation tactics of the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong’ were a sign ‘that allied pressure is beginning really to hurt’. Less than a week later, the paper conceded that ‘the South Vietnamese cause has suffered a setback’.130 Condemning ‘the policy of destroying Vietnam to save it from the Vietcong’, the Catholic weekly Zealandia concluded that it was time for the United States to end the war through peace talks.131 In contrast, the New Zealand Herald declared that ‘precipitate judgements on Vietnam’ were only ‘serving a communist purpose in psychological warfare’, and Dunedin’s Evening Star suggested that it was the communists who were ‘losing on the propaganda front as well as militarily’.132 Kirk took his lead from American liberal Democrats in observing that the Tet offensive had been ‘a tremendous shock to the Americans because everyone was telling us what tremendous progress was being made’.133 The government itself generated publicity for the PPP conference through one of its most counterproductive and heavy-handed responses to the antiwar movement. In mid-March, with the conference due to begin in two weeks, Minister of Finance Robert Muldoon backed a Reserve Bank decision to refuse permission for its organisers to pay the fares of three overseas speakers. He claimed that ‘permission for such expenditure is given only in exceptional circumstances, and no special case had been made out for the use of scarce overseas funds in this instance’.134 A torrent of criticism followed. Several professors of political science followed Alister Taylor in decrying the decision, as did Kirk, who slammed the government for suppressing the expression of dissenting opinions.135 They were joined by the FOL, the PSA, the National Council of Churches, the International Relations Committee of the Presbyterian Church, Anglican ministers and the United Nations Association.136 On 21 March, Muldoon met a deputation of the conference organisers and university and church representatives, but refused to recommend a revocation of his decision to Cabinet. He stated publicly that ‘it was a mere policy decision and not a political decision’.137 Even progovernment newspapers were critical: the New Zealand Herald was one of the few to support Muldoon.138 Truth was so disillusioned that it lamented: ‘At one blow Mr Muldoon has put the opponents of Vietnam involvement on the world stage and demonstrated that New Zealanders are ruled by a 251

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The delegation which met Minister of Finance Robert Muldoon on 21 March 1968 to press for a reversal of the Reserve Bank’s decision not to allow overseas funds to be used to bring speakers to the Peace, Power and Politics Conference. From left: Ken Baxter (Secretary, FOL), J. Gough (Chairman, Wellington COV), Walter Scott (Chairman, Council on Civil Liberties), Alister Taylor (PPP conference committee), economist Denis Rose, Rev Dr Ian Fraser (Moderator-elect, Presbyterian Church) and Professor John Roberts (Victoria University). dominion post collection, ep/1968/1238, atl

Government so intolerant of views opposing its own that it will interfere with the public’s right to hear them’.139 Despite the chorus of condemnation, Cabinet upheld Muldoon’s stance.140 Whatever the rights and wrongs of the decision, it conceded the moral high ground to the anti-war movement. Truth was undoubtedly correct in its assessment that the conference’s organisers could not have asked for a better ‘publicity boost’.141 The government’s refusal to release overseas funds did not prevent the conference going ahead. Sympathetic individuals with funds in overseas banks advanced the money needed to bring in the three speakers, although one of them, the writer Jean Lacouture, was unable to attend because of the delay in confirming funding.142 There was so much interest in the fourday conference that the venue had to be changed to the Wellington Opera House to accommodate the large number who had registered to attend. In an attempt to ensure that the conference was regarded as ‘a serious attempt to rouse and stimulate public discussion on the causes and problems of political instability in Asia’, the organisers explicitly disassociated themselves in advance from any demonstrations against the SEATO meeting that was taking place in Wellington at the same time.143 There was a near-capacity crowd at the Opera House for the conference’s opening address – a marathon two-hour effort by Krishna Menon, a former Indian Minister of Defence.144 Overall attendance far exceeded the organisers’ hopes, with almost 1300 delegates registering and up to 2000 coming to public sessions.145 Those present represented the full array of groups and individuals opposed to the war, whom Laking 252

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Former Indian Defence Minister Krishna Menon (centre) seated between Alister Taylor (left) and Wellington COV Chairman J. Gough at the Peace, Power and Politics Conference, 30 March 1968. dominion post collection, ep/1968/1380/23a, atl

had recently categorised as ‘the complex formations of dissenting opinion – the Committees on Vietnam, the university intellectuals, Church groups, those emotionally opposed to the war, etc’.146 They were all there: trade unionists and other grizzled veterans of the Old Left; youthful long-haired radicals of the New Left; university professors; conservatively clad vicars; respectable matronly figures from established women’s groups. (On the eve of the conference the mainstream National Council of Women had passed a resolution protesting against the Vietnam commitment.)147 There was even a smattering of government supporters, including observers from External Affairs and Clark Titman, an American who had lived in New Zealand for some years who was an impassioned advocate of the South Vietnamese cause. Titman had come to public notice earlier in the year by walking from Auckland to Wellington with his wife and young children to counter an anti-Vietnam march between the two cities staged by PYM members.148 Titman made his presence felt at the conference, engaging in heated exchanges with some delegates and drawing far more press attention than the organisers believed he deserved.149 But there were few other discordant notes. Although the speakers were generally received with acclamation, there was sustained hostile questioning of the Opposition MPs Martyn Finlay and Jonathan Hunt about Labour’s vacillation on the immediate withdrawal of New Zealand troops from Vietnam. It was an awkward situation for the two men, firm opponents of the Vietnam commitment who had attended the conference despite the misgivings of some in the Labour caucus.150 But 253

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even this aspect of the conference was positive for the anti-war movement in that it placed pressure on Labour to stiffen its stand. As if to confirm that the tide was finally running in their favour, the conference was dramatically interrupted on 1 April by the announcement of President Johnson’s decision not to seek re-election, which elicited ‘prolonged applause’.151 Buoyed by this news, the conference ended the next day with a march to Parliament led by Ireland’s former representative to the United Nations, Conor Cruise O’Brien.152 The content of the proceedings at the PPP conference were of little significance in themselves. Speakers were unavoidably traversing welltrodden ground and articulating critiques that had been outlined repeatedly in New Zealand and elsewhere.153 As Taylor well understood, what mattered was the atmosphere at the conference and the publicity it generated. Although not satisfied with all aspects of media coverage, Taylor judged the event a ‘huge success’.154 Most participants felt a tremendous sense of empowerment and boost in morale.155 Opposition to the Vietnam War in New Zealand was very much alive. More significantly in the longer term, the conference underlined the extent to which domestic controversy about Vietnam had become a debate about the relative ‘independence’ of New Zealand foreign policy.156 The New Zealand Monthly Review dubbed it ‘the greatest manifestation for an independent foreign policy for New Zealand ever seen in this country’.157 This emphasis was most visible in the conference’s final communiqué, which appealed for a non-aligned foreign policy on the grounds that ‘nonalignment does not mean neutrality, but by avoidance of the Cold War and its rival ideologies, an independence of policy’.158 This was also the underlying theme of the conference proceedings, Peace, Power and Politics in Asia, which were published the following year. According to one scholar, the sentiments expressed in the communiqué would resonate across the following two decades as ‘an antithesis to collective security through alliances’.159 Whatever the longer-term impact of this emphasis on an independent foreign policy, immediate reactions to the PPP conference outside the ranks of the anti-war movement and its sympathisers were mixed. Publicity did not necessarily equate with persuasion. Even officials conceded privately that the conference had ‘secured colossal publicity for the protest cause’, but they regarded its proceedings as an equally ‘colossal confidence trick’.160 There was some sympathetic editorial comment. Though critical of the call for a non-aligned foreign policy, the Dominion surprisingly praised the conference’s ‘serious purpose’ and ‘decorum’. But other editorials were more hostile. The Taranaki Daily Herald, for example, bemoaned the conference’s one-sided, ‘Vietnik’ approach.161 254

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New Zealanders dominate the top table at the opening of the SEATO Ministerial Council meeting at Parliament Buildings on 2 April 1968. From left: LieutenantGeneral Sir Leonard Thornton, Chief of Defence Staff; David Thomson, Minister of Defence; Frank Corner, New Zealand Ambassador in Washington; Holyoake (elected chairman); General Jesus Vargas of the Philippines, Secretary-General, SEATO; David Wraight of New Zealand, Deputy Secretary-General, SEATO. dominion post collection, ep/1968/1428/20a, atl

Although the PPP conference was more colourful than the official meetings taking place at the same time, it did not completely overshadow them. The SEATO, ANZUS and Vietnam Allies conferences actually received more press attention, and went smoothly enough from the government’s perspective.162 Although Johnson’s decision was an awkward surprise, the delegations gathered in Wellington reaffirmed their common resolve to work for stability in Southeast Asia.163 There were demonstrations against SEATO, despite the PPP conference’s dissociation of itself from them.164 At one demonstration outside Parliament, police had to create a ‘demilitarised zone’ between two competing groups of university students: about 300 antiSEATO protesters and about 100 from the Victoria University Friends of Vietnam Society.165 The SEATO meetings also prompted editorial musings about the merits of the organisation itself, many of which focused on its shortcomings as a regional security body.166

Other Developments in 1968 The rest of 1968 was something of an anticlimax as the domestic politics of Vietnam settled into a familiar rut. After the heady days of the PPP conference, the anti-war movement was soon confronting anew now-familiar 255

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problems of limited public support and internal divisiveness. Labour’s discomfort reappeared too, as the party continued to grapple with the challenge of adopting a more clear-cut policy. For its part, the government was content to avoid stirring up debate on the issue. In Wellington, the COV continued to agitate against the war, but nothing it did remotely approached the public relations impact of the PPP conference. Moreover, behind the scenes, there was internal squabbling. Only weeks after the conference, the perennial issue of demonstrations reappeared as a source of contention. Alister Taylor opposed a proposal for demonstrations on the weekend of 26–27 April, querying their effectiveness as a technique for winning the all-important media battle. He argued ‘that we can get the initiative by issuing press statements, holding meetings and so on; that we have come to the stage where we demonstrate because those who want to demonstrate, want to’. Most of the executive committee disagreed, but that did not prevent Taylor arguing at the next full COV meeting that ‘in 3 years of activity, [the] COV has had little effect on policy-making of government’. Others criticised the lack of demonstrations at the time of the PPP conference – a decision Taylor defended on the grounds that some speakers might not otherwise have participated.167 Despite its success, the conference itself also proved a source of acrimony. The major point at issue was whether the COV or the Conference Organising Committee should administer the conference surplus of over $3000. For more than a year Taylor and other COV members argued with increasing ill-temper over the expenditure of these funds and the publication of the proceedings.168 Although the book was eventually published in 1969, a planned film of the conference was never made and its financial affairs were not wound up until 1970.169 Factionalism in the Auckland anti-war movement also reasserted itself after the PPP conference. An argument broke out about the alleged timidity of the Council of Vietnam’s leadership following Len Reid’s unwillingness to challenge an Auckland City Council ban on loudspeakers at a protest meeting of about 1000 people in Myers Park on 28 April. According to a supporter, Reid’s action ‘was greeted with derision by affiliated organizations on the far, far away left, who noisily made it plain they wanted Defiance, Demonstrations and Martyrdom’.170 Angry exchanges over various issues followed, culminating in the PYM and some other radicals splitting off from the council in July 1968. Although further protests were mounted, division continued to bedevil the anti-war movement’s effectiveness in Auckland.171 There were no further nationally coordinated activities in 1968. In August, a Wellington COV member referred at a monthly meeting to the ‘tragic breakdown’ in relations between Wellington and other centres.172 Another problem facing the COV was the difficulty of raising money in 256

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the aftermath of the PPP conference.173 Relations between the anti-war movement and Labour also remained cool. Shortly before the conference, there had been speculation within the anti-war movement that a ‘Labour retreat’ on Vietnam was imminent.174 (This concern may have explained some of the barbs directed at Finlay and Hunt.) Public conjecture about a softening of Labour’s policy grew to such an extent that press reports on the FOL’s annual conference in early May singled out Vietnam as the issue most likely to prevent closer cooperation between the political and industrial arms of the labour movement.175 Labour’s sensitivity to these criticisms was revealed on the opening day of its own conference, 6 May, when Party President Norman Douglas reaffirmed that Labour had not amended its policy since the 1966 elections.176 Vietnam itself received little attention at the conference, but there was clear pressure from delegates for a more radical approach to foreign and defence policies in general.177 The conference passed remits advocating New Zealand’s withdrawal from SEATO and a general dissociation from military alliances to rely on the United Nations.178 Kirk was praised by some newspapers for adopting a more moderate stance and heading off moves to sever New Zealand’s defence commitments in Singapore and Malaysia.179 Despite pressure from within the party, Labour’s parliamentary leadership remained cautious about publicly endorsing the outright withdrawal of the New Zealand combat force.180 About the same time as Labour was holding its conference, the Vietnam peace negotiation process was finally beginning. Although the talks would make no discernible progress, this development and the stalemate in the war on the ground made for flagging public interest in the Vietnam issue over the following months. There were, however, flurries of criticism of related aspects of New Zealand foreign policy. One of the more moderate interventions came from former Secretary of Defence Jack Hunn, who caused a stir at the end of May by writing an article for the Listener publicly questioning many long-standing assumptions of New Zealand’s alliance-based national security doctrine, including forward defence. He advocated instead a policy of ‘constructive defence’ based on ‘qualified alignment’. Although the government ignored them, his arguments continued to be cited in the press for some time.181 There were general demonstrations at the opening of Parliament in late June, mainly by trade unionists protesting at the Arbitration Court’s recent nil wage order, but including protests over Vietnam.182 Then a series of nationwide protests erupted over the possible construction of an Omega radio transmitter in the Southern Alps by the United States Navy as part of its worldwide navigational system. The outcry was driven by fears that the transmitter was intended primarily for military purposes and would lock 257

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New Zealand into a global American defence network that could make the country a target during a nuclear war.183 While not directly involving Vietnam, for many this represented another example of New Zealand kowtowing to malevolent American policies. Holyoake remained ever-attentive to the need to project an image of reasonableness about his government’s policy. When interviewed by a Wellington newspaper on the eve of his 64th birthday in February, he had remarked: ‘I’m certainly not a “hawk”, nor a “dove”, perhaps somewhere in between’.184 Similarly, when in August the Wellington Presbytery passed a motion urging a scaling-down of the war, Holyoake was quick to note that this was not possible ‘when confronted by a cynical determination on the part of the communist aggressors to continue a brutal war’.185 He was also not above making mischief for the anti-war movement from time to time. At the end of October he irritated the Wellington COV by describing a protest as arranged by the ‘Communist party and its Vietnam Committee’.186 With the exception of such intermittent interventions, the government did not pursue new initiatives on the domestic front in 1968. The lull in protest activity was briefly broken in October, when demonstrations were mounted as part of a worldwide Labour Day mobilisation. In Auckland, more than 500 people joined a march organised by the Auckland Ad Hoc Committee on Vietnam down Queen Street and on to the American consulate, demanding an American withdrawal from Vietnam. There was a large police presence but no disturbances. A brief flurry of controversy followed, however, after the police filmed the demonstrators.187 At the time of these protests, Holyoake was visiting the New Zealand soldiers in Vietnam as he neared the end of a three-week tour of the United States and Asia.188 As on other occasions, his time overseas enhanced the government’s standing at home. Early in the tour it seemed he had committed a major gaffe when he was reported to have said that New Zealand was ‘solidly behind’ American policy in Vietnam. This drew cries of dissent from Kirk, the National Council of Churches and other groups, and even prompted a letter of protest to the New York Times signed by 50 Christchurch people, including the city’s Anglican bishop. The controversy deflated when Holyoake explained that he had been misreported.189 Most newspapers praised him for maintaining New Zealand’s international profile and consolidating economic and political ties with the countries he visited.190 Much was made of how ‘blunt’ talking by Holyoake and Muldoon in Washington on trade issues had yielded the prospect of increased defence procurement contracts for New Zealand to supply food to American forces serving in Vietnam.191 The tour was also well-timed, with hopes rising of a breakthrough in the Vietnam peace talks and Johnson announcing a bombing halt as Holyoake returned to New Zealand.192 The trip was soon regarded 258

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in official circles as Holyoake’s most successful overseas foray.193 As one newspaper concluded: ‘All in all, the Asian and American visit ended a year in which the popularity of and confidence in Mr Holyoake’s Government have greatly increased’.194 Labour obviously did not share that confidence. Kirk used Johnson’s suspension of the bombing and the new optimism about the Paris peace talks to argue that Labour’s unstinting support for the more vigorous pursuit of a negotiated solution had been vindicated.195 Opposition speakers in Parliament had some success in November in embarrassing the government on such matters as the absence of a South Vietnamese delegation from Paris and Australian government criticisms of Saigon’s negative response to the negotiations.196 But Labour remained vulnerable in other areas, such as the party’s relationship with unions eager to oppose the war more actively. When the government counter-attacked in November by criticising trade unionists for refusing to service the gigantic visiting aircraft carrier USS America, Kirk publicly distanced Labour from their action. This was a judicious move, given the exuberant welcome the carrier’s crew received from most Wellingtonians. (Interestingly, in his press release on the subject, Kirk stated explicitly for the first time that Labour’s policy was the ‘replacement’ of combat forces.)197 Political point-scoring aside, both major parties welcomed the possibility of progress in Paris and the cessation of the American bombing. The improving prospects for a negotiated conclusion to the war also dampened down opposition from other quarters. The closing months of 1968 saw a diminution in letters to the Prime Minister on Vietnam, in newspaper correspondence on the issue, and in protest activities.198 An official assessment of public opinion in December concluded: Broadly the rights and wrongs of the Vietnam question seem to bulk less largely in public opinion than the sentiment that the war has gone on too long and that the efforts to find a peaceful settlement must be sustained. The Government’s position is accepted by the majority of New Zealanders but the general mood is rather detached. The one thing which might disturb the present quiet would be a decision to increase New Zealand’s armed forces in Vietnam.199

The government had no such intention, especially since the election of Richard Nixon as President of the United States in November only increased the likelihood of an American withdrawal. As another year ended, the government still seemed to be in a favourable position, but the continuation of majority support for its Vietnam policy would depend on external events beyond its control.

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Early in 1967, a sympathiser of the anti-war movement had made an arresting observation about the Vietnam debate in New Zealand. Writing in the country’s leading literary journal, J. W. Winchester suggested: Curiously in so far as there has been debate in New Zealand rather than an adoption of attitudes, it has been carried on largely in American terms with American source materials even, sometimes in the American language. Senators Morse and Fulbright sustain the Committee on Vietnam; the Government is propped up by Dean Rusk. One draws its approach from I. F. Stone the other from the State Department . . . in what has been written so far native vigour and indigenous argument – the work of Keith Sinclair excepted – is missing. . . . Reading it all one feels based in Kansas rather than Karori.200

The lavish use by both the government and its critics of freshly minted American terms such as ‘credibility gap’ seemed to exemplify his point.201 Moreover, given that the Vietnam debate had only arisen because of American actions, it was not surprising that both competing interpretations of the Vietnam War in New Zealand seemed so palpably derivative. Yet the New Zealand debate about Vietnam was not simply the local acting out of an essentially American drama, as was implied by Winchester’s observation. Both the government and its critics were highly conscious of having to justify their respective stances on Vietnam in terms of New Zealand’s national interests. Naturally, they interpreted what those interests might be in different terms. As a result the Vietnam debate had become a debate about national ‘independence’ in foreign policy. Yet the New Zealand debate about Vietnam necessarily derived much of its momentum from international events. A major reason why there were no substantial changes in the New Zealand debate in 1967–8 was that the war itself became stalemated and peace talks began. Having each adopted entrenched stances, the government and its critics were now engaged in an elaborate form of shadow-boxing, with the real punches being landed far away. At the end of 1968, the only realistic prospects for altering this pattern were a change of government or the bringing of the war itself to a conclusion. Neither eventuality was yet on the horizon.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘Concluding a Chapter’: The Diplomacy of Military Disengagement from Vietnam, 1969–72

T

he war in vietnam and the peace talks in paris were equally bogged down when Richard Nixon was inaugurated as the President of the United States in January 1969; but his entry to the White House marked the beginning of the end. The dynamics of the war changed irrevocably during his first term. Having promised a ‘peace with honor’, Nixon was determined to extricate the United States from its Vietnam quagmire. His strategy for doing so was to ‘Vietnamise’ the war, and American troop numbers fell from more than half a million in early 1969 to only 24,000 by December 1972.1 Nixon combined these force reductions and the associated ending of the draft, carefully phased to defuse domestic dissent, with sudden and unpredictable tactical escalations of the war designed to make the North Vietnamese more malleable. As well as introducing even greater secrecy and deception into American policy-making on Vietnam, this Machiavellian approach proved costly in other respects.2 The four years from early 1969 saw the deaths of 15,000 Americans and many more thousands of Vietnamese, the most intense bombing campaigns of the war, and the ‘invasions’ of Cambodia in 1970 and Laos in 1971 which contributed to the destabilisation of the whole of Indochina. Within the United States itself, domestic divisions over the war were at their most vociferous and bitter, even if Nixon proved adept at cultivating the support of the ‘silent majority’ of Americans. Abroad, Washington’s relations with its allies would be strained by such actions as the so-called Christmas bombings in 1972. The whole 261

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tortuous process of shedding the Vietnam burden constituted one of the least noble chapters in American diplomatic history and hardly enhanced the international ‘credibility’ of the United States – supposedly the principal stake in the war. Despite all the pain inflicted, Nixon’s strategy would allow him to attain two key objectives: military disengagement and re-election in 1972 by a massive margin. Moreover, while many viewed his ‘peace with honor’ as more like a ‘retreat with ignominy’, its costs were partly offset by Nixon’s simultaneous pursuit of détente with the Soviet Union and the dramatic ‘opening’ to China, which helped preserve the broader geopolitical interests of the United States vis-à-vis its communist adversaries. Nixon’s strategy meant that New Zealand also entered a new phase in its participation in the Vietnam War in 1969. Instead of facing pressures to expand its commitment, the government now had to manage a military disengagement from Vietnam, but its general approach would not alter. As in the past, its actions would be framed in response to those of the United States and, to a lesser degree, Australia. For the most part, disengagement posed less of a challenge for Wellington than had the escalation of the war. Moreover, as one diplomat observed in 1970, Vietnamisation was ‘quite in accordance’ with New Zealand’s own underlying approach to the war – in fact, more so than the preceding American strategy had been.3 To support Vietnamisation, New Zealand would send military training teams to South Vietnam in 1971 and 1972 as its combat forces were being withdrawn. The government would also back the ongoing Paris peace process, in accord with its steadfastly articulated preference for a negotiated settlement of the war. But disengagement did raise the unavoidable problem – highlighted by domestic critics of the war – that withdrawal without victory appeared to be an admission of failure for the American strategy that New Zealand had publicly supported for so long. This was compounded by fears that disillusionment about Vietnam might prompt broader American disengagement from Southeast Asia and thereby throw New Zealand’s forward defence strategy into disarray, especially now that the British were withdrawing from the region. Then there was more immediate, if intermittent, frustration about the way in which the United States was going about extricating itself from Vietnam with manifest neglect of its allies’ concerns and interests. Ironically, the final years of involvement in Vietnam generated more shortterm tensions on some levels of the New Zealand–American relationship than had been evident during the Johnson administration’s escalation of the war. Like their Australian counterparts, New Zealand policy-makers would be both irritated and embarrassed at times by the Nixon administration’s endemic secrecy, lack of consultation, unpredictability and preoccupation with the domestic political impact of its actions. 262

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In practical terms, New Zealand’s diplomatic challenge after 1969 was threefold. First, policy-makers had to respond with good grace and flexibility to the machinations of the secretive Nixon administration. They could take comfort in not being alone in this respect, for their predicament was shared by all America’s allies, and even by high-ranking officials in Washington. New Zealand officials, moreover, were accustomed to supporting American policy towards Vietnam while voicing private scepticism about particular American tactics. A second challenge was to decide the practicalities of when and how New Zealand forces should be withdrawn. This question required close coordination with Canberra; the pace of Australian withdrawals would do much to determine New Zealand’s own. Finally, and most dauntingly, there was the general challenge of ensuring that New Zealand’s responses to the closing phase of military involvement in Vietnam continued to serve the overarching objectives that had led it to deploy combat forces there in the first place.

Rejecting ‘Premature’ Withdrawal, 1969 By the time Nixon moved into the White House, military involvement in Vietnam had done much to damage the international credibility of the United States. New Zealand diplomats were under no illusions about the enormity of the task facing the new Republican administration. Paul Edmonds warned from Saigon that the ‘ironic outcome’ of the Vietnam War might be a belief among its Asian allies ‘that US commitments are not always to be trusted or at least taken on their face value’. Edmonds, who had been promoted to ambassador in 1968, remained New Zealand’s most perceptive first-hand observer of the war and of the political scene in Vietnam.4 Arguing that the North Vietnamese had successfully exploited the unwillingness of the American public to accept high casualties, he glumly advised Wellington that ‘the Vietnam experience has shaken confidence in American will, and capacity, successfully to fight “revolutionary wars” in Asia’.5 Ironically, as Edmonds despaired of the follies of ‘giganticism’ that had beguiled American strategy in Vietnam,6 New Zealand’s military authorities were eager to add yet another minuscule contribution to the American-led host of forces fighting there. In early 1969 the RNZAF expressed interest in seconding two Canberra crews to serve in Vietnam with the RAAF in order to gain professional experience in combat conditions. Laking told the Secretary of Defence that it would be ‘untimely and politically inappropriate’ to add even such a minor increment to New Zealand’s commitment, and the proposal went no further.7 For the most part, though, New Zealand policy-makers gave little fresh thought to Vietnam during the first half of 1969. Like other allies, they were 263

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waiting on the sidelines to see how American policy would evolve under Nixon and to assess the possible implications. Ambassador Corner reported in April that the State Department was ‘displaying the kind of exhilaration that comes upon officials when they get some guidance from above’. The United States finally seemed to be developing a conscious strategy for disposing of its Vietnam problem. If this strategy was vague in detail and seemingly contradictory in thrust, that reflected the countervailing pressures which Nixon was determined to overcome. As Corner correctly discerned, the new President’s sensitivity to domestic public opinion and his anxiety to contain the protest movement meant he realised that a political compromise was required to bring the conflict to a swift conclusion. To avoid the impression of a ‘sell-out’, which would alienate a significant number of Americans and grievously damage the international credibility of the United States, he needed to buy enough time to quit the war in ‘an orderly way’. Any signs that the Americans were overly willing to make concessions would only encourage North Vietnamese intransigence and deny Nixon his promised ‘peace with honor’.8 The implicitly contradictory nature of his strategy was bound to present diplomatic concerns for New Zealand, as for other allies of the United States. Such concerns first surfaced in June 1969, when Nixon announced, after meeting with South Vietnam’s President Thieu at Midway Island, that 25,000 American troops would be immediately withdrawn from Vietnam. Like his Australian counterpart, Holyoake officially learned of the American decision only hours before it was announced on the 8th.9 But Laking had warned Holyoake two days earlier that there was a distinct possibility of a joint announcement concerning American force reductions. Laking also explained that he had told the American ambassador in Wellington that such a withdrawal would not pose difficulties for New Zealand provided no more than 50,000 soldiers were involved.10 Holyoake evidently agreed: he now stated publicly that it was appropriate for the Americans to make the first withdrawal because they had been bearing ‘such heavy burdens’. New Zealand would begin examining the question of its own eventual withdrawal ‘in concert with her allies’ and in the light of progress toward a negotiated settlement.11 The decision to begin phased withdrawals of American forces caused consternation in Wellington. Although policy-makers knew that domestic considerations would drive the timing and extent of future American withdrawals, they were irritated by the Nixon administration’s conspicuous lack of consultation with its allies. The government did not raise the matter formally with Washington but instructed Corner in late June to remind the Americans that ‘we too have a problem, and that if announcements concerning withdrawals could be designed to take account of 264

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possible embarrassment to allied governments, this would be especially welcome here in an election year’.12 In reality, New Zealand could do little about the absence of consultation, short of unilaterally withdrawing its own forces, which would have undermined the very rationale for the Vietnam commitment. The beginning of the American withdrawal process stimulated the first serious thinking about how to manage New Zealand’s own military disengagement from Vietnam. During the next month, officials devoted considerable energy to responding to the Prime Minister’s request for a study of this question. Though conscious that American policy would constrain New Zealand’s freedom of manoeuvre, they were intent on approaching the issue in ‘a positive manner’ rather than emulating the Australians’ ‘somewhat defensive’ stance.13 One of their first steps was to consult Corner in Washington concerning likely American reactions to any reduction in New Zealand’s contingent. Corner responded in his usual forthright manner with a fusillade of arguments against an early withdrawal. Such a move would work against the prospects for a general peace settlement, harm relations with New Zealand’s Asian allies, and restrict its influence in Southeast Asia generally. The impact on American opinion would be equally disastrous. Given that the importance of New Zealand’s contribution to the United States had ‘always been primarily symbolic and political rather than military’, any unilateral withdrawal would carry negative political repercussions ‘out of all proportion to the numbers of men involved’. New Zealand’s interests would be best served by ‘postponing withdrawals as long as it is politically possible to do so’, because the reasons forces had been sent to Vietnam had not yet changed.14 Corner’s advice sprang from an understandable preoccupation with the alliance dimension of involvement in Vietnam, which he obviously considered should be as much to the fore in planning disengagement from Vietnam as it had been in justifying military involvement.15 Much of Corner’s argument was incorporated into the formal submission Laking presented to Holyoake on 17 July. This document stands as one of the significant milestones in the course of New Zealand policy development toward the Vietnam conflict – comparable to the 1 May 1965 submission setting out the justification for a combat commitment. Its purpose was to advise the government on how to disengage from Vietnam in a way which best preserved New Zealand’s national interests, while taking account of likely allied reactions, domestic public opinion and practical military considerations. Laking began his presentation by candidly recalling the underlying rationale for involvement in Vietnam. He alluded to three major reasons why New Zealand had sent combat forces there: ‘the publicly proclaimed one of 265

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helping the South Vietnamese to resist communist aggression so that they can determine their own political future and the privately held objectives of demonstrating (for our own self-interest) New Zealand’s commitment to the principle of collective defence and of encouraging the United States to remain committed to the defence of the South East Asian area’. Admitting that those objectives had not been fully met, Laking suggested that there was now general acceptance that ‘an unhappy compromise’ was the best that could be hoped for in Vietnam. Nevertheless, New Zealand had established credit with the United States by demonstrating its readiness to share in collective defence efforts, and premature disengagement might encourage those who wanted to reduce the United States’ Asian commitments. In terms of New Zealand’s regional security interests, Laking concluded that an early withdrawal from Vietnam would be unwise: the government might be better to say that while it was considering the issue, any withdrawal ‘would be timed to have the most useful impact upon the course of the negotiations for a peace settlement’. There was also the matter of the likely reactions of New Zealand’s allies. Laking feared that, in Washington, early withdrawal could be seen as ‘a vote of no-confidence’ in American policies and might result in ‘many actions we would find uncomfortable – in the trade field, for example’. He suspected, moreover, that the Americans would ‘push hard’ to have New Zealand retain some troops in Vietnam ‘until the last possible moment’. As for Canberra, the close integration of New Zealand forces in the Australian Task Force meant that unilateral withdrawal would impinge on its military efficacy. More importantly, as the Australians seemed ready to stay as long as possible to encourage the American military presence in Vietnam, they would be ‘exceedingly annoyed’ by any New Zealand actions that undermined their approach. As usual, the South Vietnamese received short shrift: Laking noted that they could do little and if a reduction in the New Zealand presence seemed necessary, ‘then we could go ahead without too much worry about a South Vietnamese response’. Ironically, there was more concern that the other Asian states involved in the conflict (South Korea, Thailand and the Philippines) might interpret an early withdrawal to mean that New Zealand cared simply about its relationship with the United States and ‘was only marginally interested in the future of South East Asia itself’. In terms of allied relations, there seemed no reason to begin disengagement too early. Laking concluded his advice by considering the best timing for withdrawal. There were risks in a premature disengagement, but he was equally certain that New Zealand’s troops should all be home before the last American combat forces were withdrawn. It was difficult to gauge the appropriate time for a reduction, but, ‘as a rough rule-of-thumb’, withdrawal might begin the following year, when the Americans should have reduced their 266

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current force strength by about a third. Laking reminded Holyoake that, for both domestic and diplomatic reasons, any public statements must make clear that, though Washington and Canberra would be consulted, the timing of any withdrawals would reflect New Zealand’s own independent assessment of how they might assist the conclusion of a negotiated settlement of the Vietnam conflict.16 Holyoake was convinced by this advice, and made no move toward any reduction over the next few months. The wisdom of this course was almost immediately validated – at least implicitly – when Nixon unexpectedly enunciated a new American approach to Asian regional security. Acting on his own initiative – even Henry Kissinger, his closest confidant on foreign policy matters, was taken by surprise – the President explained during a press briefing in Guam on 25 July that the United States would henceforth expect its Asian regional allies to demonstrate greater self-reliance in defence if they were to receive American support on the strategic level.17 A few days later in Manila, Nixon reiterated that ‘the United States wanted to continue aiding Asian nations, but they must stand on their own feet’.18 As Corner promptly pointed out to Wellington, the distinct implication was that the United States would be reluctant to engage again in direct ground combat in Asia, which raised major ‘questions about American intentions in Asia, and about our own role in that region’.19 In the short run, this so-called Nixon (or Guam) Doctrine appeared to reinforce the need emphasised by the government’s diplomatic advisers not to imperil the political capital accumulated by having a combat presence in Vietnam. There had been no change in New Zealand’s position on Vietnam or its forward defence posture in Southeast Asia when Holyoake made an official visit to Washington in September. Secretary of State William Rogers had explained various dimensions of the Nixon administration’s foreign policies to Cabinet when he visited New Zealand in August.20 Now Holyoake could speak directly to the President about Vietnam and the implications of the Nixon Doctrine. Holyoake met Nixon on 16 September, only about an hour after the President had announced the next round of American force reductions – without consulting New Zealand.21 Nixon assured Holyoake, however, that the United States would consult fully before announcing new policy initiatives on Vietnam and indicated that no more withdrawals were planned before December. Stressing that disengagement would proceed in ‘an orderly manner’, Nixon explained that the Guam Doctrine was intended to ensure domestic support for continued American engagement in Asia. He described New Zealand and Australian backing as ‘heart-warming to the United States’. Holyoake would have been especially pleased by Nixon’s description of New Zealand’s Vietnam effort as ‘just right’ in terms of its capability, and by his expression of gratitude for Wellington’s steadfast support. Nixon 267

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Holyoake meeting President Richard Nixon in September 1969. dominion post collection, ep-nz orbits-holyoake-10, atl

and other policy-makers expressed sympathy for New Zealand’s economic problems but did not offer anything specific in terms of greater access to American markets.22 When he met Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird later that day, Holyoake made his usual points about the constraints imposed on New Zealand by political opposition at home and the commitment in Malaysia. Despite Nixon’s announcement that morning, Holyoake told Laird that he did not anticipate withdrawing any New Zealand forces ‘at this stage’. He added somewhat grandly that, if necessary, his government would ensure that the New Zealand flag stayed flying in Vietnam ‘for so long as his party is in office’.23 A few weeks later, Corner suggested that Holyoake’s visit had taken place at ‘a particularly significant time’. Nixon was pursuing ‘a very tough policy, tougher than many (including myself) thought that a politically astute man like Mr Nixon would judge that he could sell to a restive American public’. The President appeared confident that the war was being won and that troop reductions would assure him of sufficient domestic support ‘to maintain a United States residual force in South Vietnam and to stay the course for as long as is necessary to achieve “self-determination” there’.24 Within days, however, Corner found himself reporting on the massive protests that swept 268

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across the United States during the so-called anti-war Moratorium of 15 October. Though acknowledging that this resurgence of protest constituted ‘the most vivid demonstration of anti-war sentiment ever to take place in the United States’, the ambassador surmised that it would be premature to discount the popular support for Nixon’s phased withdrawals.25 And on 3 November Nixon delivered a major speech denouncing the protest movement and appealing to the ‘great silent majority’ of Americans to back his policy as the only realistic means of securing an honourable American exit from the war.26 As Corner reminded Wellington, the President’s ‘silent majority’ also wanted the war to end as soon as possible, so Nixon had to demonstrate that the United States remained bound on ‘an irreversible course of disengagement from Vietnam’.27 Although the closing months of 1969 brought little change and there were no major American initiatives requiring a response from New Zealand, the general election in November heightened sensitivity in Wellington about unexpected diplomatic bombshells emanating from Washington. In late October, New Zealand diplomats reminded the State Department about their government’s desire ‘to be consulted as early as possible of any movement in the President’s thinking rather than informed a few hours in advance when any such movement had been crystallised in decisions’. American officials provided soothing assurances that New Zealand’s concerns would certainly be taken into account.28 Immediately after being re-elected, however, the National government had to deal with a potentially awkward question concerning the political credit which New Zealand had always hoped to garner in the United States for its Vietnam contribution. Diplomats in the Washington embassy warned in early December that New Zealand and Australia might find themselves ‘in embarrassing company’ after congressional investigations uncovered substantial American payments to compensate the Philippines for their contingent. Anticipating ‘pointed enquiries’ from the media, the embassy asked to be provided with the precise details of the funding of the country’s troop contribution.29 External Affairs replied that New Zealand covered all the expense of its contingent in Vietnam, at a direct annual cost of around NZ$4 million. Nor had the country received compensatory economic aid or special trade privileges as a consequence of sending forces to Vietnam – ‘as the press will know from our publicised difficulties over meat’.30 The warning of possible congressional criticism proved accurate. On 10 December, one of the most prominent critics in the Senate of American Vietnam policy, William Fulbright, publicly disparaged the ‘token’ contributions by Australia and New Zealand, for which they had received excessively ‘lavish praise and gratitude’ from the United States.31 New Zealand diplomats suggested that Fulbright would have liked to have rel269

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egated New Zealand and Australia to the category of ‘mercenaries’, as he now characterised all other American allies fighting in Vietnam.32 Though the information supplied by Wellington showed clearly that such an accusation could not be thrown at New Zealand, the senator’s allusions to the ‘grudging, minimal contributions’ of Washington’s regional allies were more difficult to counter.33 Former Secretary of Defense Clark Clifford had made a similar observation earlier in 1969 in a Foreign Affairs article explaining why he had become sceptical about United States policy in Vietnam.34 Though such criticisms of New Zealand within the United States were sporadic and received little public attention there, they were always treated with sensitivity by the Holyoake government. Opinions like those of Clifford and Fulbright reinforced Corner’s warning that an early withdrawal from Vietnam would expose New Zealand and other allies to the worrying prospect of becoming ‘scapegoats for the Americans’ own mistakes and failures’.35 It was a typically pragmatic reflection on the overwhelmingly political purpose of New Zealand’s Vietnam commitment.

Edging Closer to Withdrawal As a new decade loomed, policy-makers in Wellington began considering more definitive plans for reducing New Zealand’s Vietnam contribution. As usual, the need for action did not spring from New Zealand’s own initiative. Instead, it came shortly after Australian moves in late December 1969 to begin consulting the United States about disengagement.36 When Nixon announced on 15 December that a further 50,000 American troops would be withdrawn, Prime Minister Gorton immediately stated that some Australian units would be included when the next major withdrawal occurred. Holyoake did not follow suit, reasserting publicly that New Zealand was not currently contemplating any change to its commitment in Vietnam.37 Despite explicit criticism from the Leader of the Opposition, Holyoake’s stance met with obvious approval in Washington.38 Nixon reaffirmed in early 1970 that he hoped ‘New Zealand (and Australia) would stand firm on troop levels’.39 Nevertheless, the signals emanating from Canberra prompted Wellington to clarify ‘basic planning assumptions’ to guide service-level discussions with Australia about disengagement in the coming weeks. On 14 January, Laking reminded Holyoake that, although Gorton had initially favoured withdrawing the Australian Task Force as a whole, his recent statements showed that he had ‘wavered’ and now planned phased withdrawals. Laking favoured the same approach, arguing that security conditions in Phuoc Tuy province would permit reducing the Anzac force in stages, according ‘to the situation in Vietnam and to the actions of our allies’. By the time Washington 270

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made its next withdrawal announcement, the American force level would be around 434,000 – below the number when New Zealand and Australia made their last increase. To avoid intensified domestic criticism of New Zealand force levels, that would be an appropriate time to announce reductions in the Anzac contingent. Stressing the need to be in step with the Australians, Laking suggested beginning by withdrawing one of the infantry companies to fit in with the likely non-replacement of an Australian battalion in either June or November.40 Interestingly, given his habitual aversion to annotations, Holyoake scribbled on the memo: ‘I would have thought that the first N.Z. withdrawal could wait until the November replacement is due but would of course be influenced by Australian proposals. Otherwise I agree with the above reasoning.’41 The Prime Minister’s reaction showed that he was not anxious to alter the level of New Zealand’s commitment. His recent fourth successive election victory may have boosted his confidence that he could weather domestic criticism for a little longer in the long-term interest of healthy alliance relations with the United States. His nonchalance contrasted with a rising sense of concern in Canberra.42 It also made for an interesting reversal of the Australian and New Zealand approaches to Vietnam. In 1965 the Australians had been keener to make a commitment which in 1970 they appeared more anxious to shed. What remained constant was that New Zealand did not take the initiative in either case, but deliberately awaited its allies’ actions. It was classic Holyoake. In favouring a relatively leisurely timetable for withdrawal, Holyoake may also have had in mind the imminent visit of American Vice-President Spiro Agnew. When the two men met on 16 January 1970, their talks were relatively perfunctory but Holyoake expressed his pleasure that New Zealand had been consulted about troop withdrawals and reiterated that his government considered it appropriate for the United States to reduce its forces first, since it ‘was carrying a quite disproportionate share of the burden there’. In view of New Zealand’s modest contribution, ‘even a token withdrawal would be delayed as long as possible’. In keeping with Holyoake’s customary treatment of American visitors, he balanced these assurances with comments about domestic political constraints. He reminded Agnew that all New Zealanders serving in Vietnam were volunteers: if his government had introduced ‘compulsory national service in order to supply troops for insurgency warfare in Asia, it would have been defeated’.43 Following Agnew’s visit, the Cabinet discussed New Zealand troop levels in Vietnam. His fellow ministers agreed with Holyoake ‘that there should be no sense of urgency’ about reducing the New Zealand contingent, though the question should remain ‘under review in the light of events’.44 This position would not change over the following months. 271

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President Richard Nixon and Vice-President Spiro Agnew, who visited New Zealand in January 1970. u1681961/rm/© bettmann/corbis

By early 1970, Vietnamisation was well under way. The Americans had transferred massive amounts of materiel to the South Vietnamese, whose army had grown into one of the world’s largest. It was still difficult, however, to discern whether ‘progress’ was being made. When Edmonds made a brief visit home to Wellington, he reported that, despite improvement since 1964, South Vietnam remained in an ‘Alice in Wonderland’ situation. ‘Almost anything said about Vietnam was true’; the challenge ‘was to assess how much of what was true was also relevant’.45 For New Zealand, however, what continued to matter most was not the military situation on the ground or political stability in Saigon, but its diplomatic interaction with the United States and Australia. Neither of those allies had New Zealand’s interests at the forefront of their attention as they moved inexorably toward disengagement from Vietnam. To Wellington’s surprise, on 20 April Nixon announced that the progress being made on Vietnamisation would allow the United States to withdraw 150,000 troops over the next year.46 This was far more than the 35,000 or so that both New Zealand and Australia had been expecting. The Australian government promptly announced that it would begin withdrawing troops by not replacing a battalion due for rotation in November.47 Holyoake, however, reiterated publicly that New Zealand had ‘no plans to reduce its force commitment in South Vietnam at this stage’, although some troops might be withdrawn later in the year.48 272

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While Nixon would later describe his April announcement as an attempt ‘to drop a bombshell on the gathering spring storm of anti-war protest’, he remained willing to risk a certain level of domestic criticism by balancing troop withdrawals with tough action to demonstrate to Hanoi ‘that we were still serious about our commitment in Vietnam’.49 That action came in the form of an announcement, on 30 April, that 6000 South Vietnamese troops and 25 American advisers had entered Cambodia to destroy North Vietnamese sanctuaries there.50 The move followed a coup in Cambodia against the neutralist Prince Norodom Sihanouk by his Prime Minister Lon Nol, who wanted to end the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong use of Cambodian territory and whose pro-American stance removed Nixon’s earlier inhibitions about breaching Cambodian neutrality. Like Australia, New Zealand was not consulted, but did not protest, even though the incursion into Cambodia intensified anti-war protest activity in New Zealand, as elsewhere around the world.51 Also like the Australians, the New Zealand government allowed some days to pass before publicly defending the American action while explaining that no New Zealanders were involved in the operation.52 New Zealand also followed Australia in demonstrating more tangible support for one specific aspect of Vietnamisation. During a visit to Saigon in early April, Australian Minister of Defence Malcolm Fraser had outlined his government’s plan to send up to 150 army instructors to help train South Vietnamese forces in Phuoc Tuy province.53 By the time this was announced on 22 April, the New Zealand military authorities were investigating the feasibility of contributing to the proposed Australian scheme.54 Thomson asked officials to develop a proposal ‘in general harmony with those of Australia’ but retaining ‘the prospect of a nationally identifiable effort’.55 The government agreed in principle on 8 June to New Zealand participation in the Vietnam/Australia Training project in Phuoc Tuy. It also authorised investigation of the possibility of establishing a nationally distinctive military training programme in South Vietnam when the first New Zealand rifle company was withdrawn.56 Although no forces had yet been withdrawn, this decision marked the beginning of a shift in emphasis toward a training rather then a combat role for New Zealand in Vietnam.57

Beginning and Implementing Disengagement In late June, Thomson agreed to review the future of New Zealand’s force in Vietnam, including the role of training and medical assistance.58 Over the next few weeks, officials planned a possible sequence for withdrawals from Vietnam within the more general context of New Zealand’s troop deployments in Southeast Asia.59 Holyoake still showed no wish to act hastily, but the matter was becoming more urgent as the first Australian withdrawal 273

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in November drew closer. Finally, on 17 August, Laking (who was now Secretary of a new Ministry of Foreign Affairs following the disestablishment of the Department of External Affairs earlier in the year) pointed out to Holyoake that ‘for practical reasons, a firm decision should now be taken’ about the withdrawal of one company – ideally in November. He also recommended making tentative decisions about a complete withdrawal of New Zealand forces during 1971 and a more immediate withdrawal of the medical team at Bong Son, whose workload had diminished. Noting that approval had already been given for five army personnel to join the Australian training team in South Vietnam, Laking suggested that ‘an identifiable New Zealand training team’ should go to Vietnam when the first infantry company left. Some of the troops progressively withdrawn from Vietnam could be used to restore the strength of the battalion in Singapore to about 700 personnel. Holyoake was bound to be attracted by the $3 million a year these moves were likely to save.60 The next day, Holyoake and Thomson met with Laking and members of the Defence hierarchy to thrash out the issue. One company would be pulled out before the end of the year, with the balance to be withdrawn in ‘coordination principally with Australia’. The Bong Song medical team would be gradually reduced in size, and completely withdrawn by the end of 1971. Major-General Richard Webb, the Chief of General Staff, reported that the South Vietnamese were enthusiastic about having a 30-strong New Zealand team to concentrate ‘on training in ambushing, patrolling and small unit tactics’. According to Webb, ‘this suited the Vietnamese purpose better than the United States concept which is much more massive and normally geared to the use of helicopters’. Holyoake and Thomson agreed.61 A week later, the Cabinet approved all the decisions. About this time, Ralph Mullins, the head of the Defence Division of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, visited South Vietnam. He had followed developments in Vietnam closely since 1965, when he had been principally responsible for drafting the White Paper. Mullins’s report on his visit was an elegant and perceptive summary of the changing significance of Vietnam for New Zealand. In his view, there had been a discernible improvement in the ‘military situation and the general atmosphere’: pacification was making some progress. Although the communist forces continued to pose a formidable threat, reliance on a huge – and possibly ‘stifling’ – American presence was giving way to a new self-confidence among the South Vietnamese. Mullins believed that ‘if South Vietnam fails its allies have given it as much time and assistance as it had the right to expect’. New Zealand had consistently approached the war ‘in terms of our relations with the United States’, but that approach was ‘certainly no longer tenable’. New Zealand should think about its long-term national effort in South Vietnam, where 274

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developments ‘are still likely to be of critical importance to the course of events in South-east Asia’. Given that its military effort had been ‘submerged in the Australian’, he suggested a more distinctive national role, perhaps built around the military training operation or through expanded aid and civic action programmes. Mullins concluded: Developments in South Vietnam are moving in a direction that, one can fairly say, is consistent with the basic New Zealand attitude over a period of years. . . . We have consistently been the most dovish of the hawks, and that was a not unreasonable position. Vietnamisation, provided it is not a polite name for surrender, is quite in accordance with our basic approach. But we too should accept that it will require a sustained effort of civic and military assistance to the South Vietnamese.62

The phrase ‘most dovish of the hawks’ could not have been more apposite in describing New Zealand’s position on the Vietnam War. Taking up Mullins’s suggestions, officials contacted the Saigon embassy later in the month on how to ‘assist in the Vietnamization process’. As well as providing personnel for military training, were there opportunities for ‘modest, self-contained’ projects in the civic action area which might be carried out by the small New Zealand engineering unit that was going to Vietnam to build facilities for the training team? After consultation with the embassy and the military authorities, the possibility was raised of building a dispensary near Chi Lang, where the training team would be based. But New Zealand had only modest funds available for such projects. By the end of the year, there was little interest in expanding any aspect of New Zealand’s Vietnam involvement. Instead, the country’s economic difficulties prompted a possible acceleration of the disengagement process. On 21 December, Cabinet resolved in principle that the artillery battery and SAS unit should be withdrawn from Vietnam in February. The remaining infantry company and the rest of the military medical team would leave towards the end of the year.63 When advised, the Australians voiced serious disquiet.64 Gorton queried the need to withdraw 161 Battery so soon and pointed out to Holyoake the political and military embarrassment that would ensue, given that it constituted a third of the Task Force’s artillery support and would need to be replaced by an equivalent Australian unit. Gorton also hoped for a less firm time for the withdrawal of the remaining infantry company, and asked to be consulted about New Zealand’s post-1971 deployment plans in Southeast Asia. Though sympathising with New Zealand’s economic plight, he concluded that ‘the withdrawal of troops for financial reasons had to be weighed against the international implications’. In commenting on this blunt message, the High Commissioner in Canberra emphasised to Wellington that if Australian concerns 275

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were ignored, ‘our defence relations with them could be impaired’.65 It was arguably the most awkward moment in trans-Tasman relations during the Vietnam War. In the event, New Zealand adopted a conciliatory stance. Holyoake assured Gorton on 5 January that he did not wish to ‘cause difficulty or embarrassment for Australia, whatever our own problems’. He certainly did not intend to remove 161 Battery if that would necessitate its replacement by an Australian unit. New Zealand would proceed with the withdrawal of the SAS unit, and they could discuss the battery when they met in Singapore the following week. Holyoake still hoped to effect the latter’s removal in the next few months, and asked for a ‘considered assessment’ of the earliest date when it could be withdrawn without requiring an Australian replacement.66 This Gorton could not yet say.67 By now, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was seriously concerned that New Zealand had ‘clearly got well off-side with the Australians on matters of defence’.68 Things did not improve markedly at the Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ Conference in Singapore, where, according to Laking, there was a ‘disconnected and desultory conversation’ touching on ‘fivepower defence arrangements and the withdrawal of our remaining forces from Vietnam’. Nevertheless, Laking believed it advisable to plan on the basis that 161 Battery could be withdrawn in April or May.69 The process of disengagement was speeding up. On 26 January Cabinet decided that the SAS unit should be withdrawn at the end of February, and a week later it agreed in principle to withdraw the artillery unit at the end of the dry season in April/May.70 By then, Nixon’s reliance on unexpected tactical escalations of the war was again raising concern in Wellington. On 30 January, 20,000 South Vietnamese troops backed by about 9000 American soldiers began Operation Dewey Canyon II to reoccupy 1000 square miles in north-western South Vietnam and prepare for a cross-border operation into Laos.71 After media reports speculated on the likelihood of a move into Laos, the New Zealand embassy protested again about lack of consultation.72 The Americans replied by providing information about another brief South Vietnamese operation against communist border sanctuaries in Cambodia, but said that no decision had yet been made about Laos.73 A few days later, the Saigon embassy reported that it was ‘[i]ronical but typical’ of the Americans in Vietnam that ‘during [a] six day press embargo on Operation Dewey Canyon II reporters were given daily confidential briefings while military attaches Free World commanders and allied ambassadors were not’.74 Nor were the allies of the United States formally given advance notice of the expected attack against the Ho Chi Minh Trail within Laos, Operation Lam Son 719, which began on 8 February and would last into April.75 276

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The Americans told New Zealand of the incursion into Laos only hours before it was due to begin, but had no compunction in simultaneously asking for public statements of support from allied governments. Holyoake issued a statement prepared by Laking that was ‘rather cool’ in tone, pointing out only ‘that this is an inevitable consequence of North Vietnam’s violation of the neutrality of Laos’.76 In fact, as the Washington embassy suggested, the attack on Laos, like the previous year’s incursions into Cambodia was part of ‘the groundwork for the final phases of American involvement in the Indochina War’.77 Given Nixon’s strategy and the need for operational surprise, there was little room to consult allies or observe the niceties of sovereign borders during these final phases. New Zealand too was being challenged regarding consultation. In late February, the Australians asked that New Zealand hold back on the planned announcement of the withdrawal of 161 Battery so that this could be coordinated with the announcement of Canberra’s own intentions.78 But Holyoake was determined to reveal the government’s intentions to the House, which was due to rise shortly, and his announcement on 18 March was made 12 days before that of William McMahon, his new Australian counterpart.79 For a change, announcement of a New Zealand withdrawal had preceded one by Canberra. Even as the endgame of New Zealand involvement in Vietnam was being played out, an unexpected development in the United States in mid-1971 threatened to resurrect troubling questions about New Zealand’s initial combat commitment to the war. In mid-June, the New York Times began publishing leaked excerpts from the so-called Pentagon Papers – a secret history of the course of American involvement in Vietnam that had been commissioned by Robert McNamara in 1967 when he was Secretary of Defense. Laking first alerted Holyoake to the issue on 16 June. There had already been media enquiries about a reference to New Zealand’s 1964 expression to the Americans of ‘grave doubts’ about bombing North Vietnam, and the Washington embassy believed there would be further allusions to New Zealand as publication of the history moved into 1965 and 1966. Laking recommended that the Prime Minister’s best course of action would be ‘not to comment and to preserve the secrecy of your exchanges with other governments’. Holyoake refrained even from commenting on the advice, merely writing ‘seen’ on the memorandum.80 He did, however, ask for an ‘urgent study’ of New Zealand’s own records concerning its entry into the Vietnam War. That study would not be fully completed until August, but Laking on 22 June gave Holyoake a brief summary of events before the commitment of combat forces in 1965. He reassured the Prime Minister that the Pentagon Papers would be unlikely to contain any material of real embarrassment to New Zealand.81 A week later, Laking reported that his staff had 277

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reviewed all the material published by the New York Times to date and that it contained ‘little to cause the Government concern’. The 1964 doubts about bombing were expressed in a qualified manner and did not amount to outright opposition. They pertained more to the ‘specific level’ of the bombing and to excessive American optimism about its likely effects. New Zealand’s muted expression to the Americans of past misgivings about escalation of the Vietnam War now played to its advantage. On the other hand, the wider and ‘more difficult’ problem raised by the Pentagon Papers was ‘the damage done by the suggestions of United States responsibility for the escalation of the war and of United States misjudgment of the problems it posed’.82 Although the Pentagon Papers further undermined the ‘credibility’ of American policy on Vietnam, the internal scrutiny which they prompted in Wellington left the government satisfied that there were no jarring discrepancies between the public and private explanations of its earlier decision-making.83 Even the dominating influence which concerns about alliance relations (rather than a direct South Vietnamese invitation) had played in the decision to send combat troops to Vietnam did not now return to haunt New Zealand to the extent that occurred in Australia.84 Although the government had not emphasised alliance considerations as prominently in its public justifications for sending forces as it did privately, Mullins was able to provide Laking with numerous examples of such public references.85 The Cabinet discussed questions arising from the Pentagon Papers on 19 July.86 By then, there was little sign of any wavering of the government’s confidence that it had embarked on the correct course in committing forces to Vietnam, even if the Pentagon Papers cast American policy in a negative light. By this stage of the war, the whole issue of New Zealand’s combat involvement was becoming increasingly academic. At the end of July, the Cabinet agreed that New Zealand should aim to withdraw its remaining forces from South Vietnam by May 1972. Although this timing was in line with Australian planning, Holyoake considered that the Anzac withdrawals ‘need not necessarily’ coincide precisely and that New Zealand’s forces could ‘come out a little in advance’.87 In fact, consultation and coordination with Australia now became key determinants of the timing of withdrawal. By late July, for economic reasons, the Australian government was hastily reviewing its force level in Vietnam with an eye to accelerating its withdrawal plans; but Australian officials assured the High Commission in Canberra that consideration of New Zealand’s position was ‘at the top of the list’.88 As it happened, the Australians had already decided on 26 July, without consulting any allies, that it would withdraw its two remaining battalions in October and December. The decision had evidently been influenced heavily by Nixon’s unexpected announcement on 15 July that he would make an official visit to the People’s 278

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Republic of China.89 McMahon did talk to allied governments, however, before telling Holyoake on 13 August that, in the light of growing South Vietnamese self-reliance, Australia had decided not to await Washington’s next withdrawal announcement but would substantially disengage its combat forces by the end of 1971.90 Holyoake confirmed immediately that his government agreed: New Zealand’s remaining combat forces would be withdrawn at the same time.91 Although the Australian decision raised no problems for New Zealand, it had not involved genuine consultation, as the disgruntled New Zealand High Commissioner in Canberra pointed out to Sir Keith Waller, the Australian Secretary of Foreign Affairs.92 When they advised the State Department, New Zealand’s diplomats discovered that the Australians had already done so and that Kissinger had asked Canberra to delay any announcement until after the South Vietnamese presidential elections in October.93 After that request was declined, the embassy told the Americans that New Zealand’s decision would probably be announced within a few days.94 Holyoake announced the withdrawal to the House the next day, 18 August.95 The possibility of retaining a residual combat presence arose in September, when Thomson suggested that two RNZAF pilots could continue to serve as forward air controllers in South Vietnam until the American air force units to which they were attached were withdrawn. Laking opposed the idea, which was inconsistent with Holyoake’s recent public statement that ‘we were now concluding a chapter in the history of our relations with South Vietnam, a chapter in which New Zealand had been directly involved in combat’, and the Prime Minister promptly rejected it.96 The commitment to a complete withdrawal of combat forces had been confirmed. Like Australia, New Zealand had not chosen to delay announcing its withdrawal until after the South Vietnamese presidential elections. When Ky and another candidate withdrew from the race, Thieu resolved to hold an uncontested election. A worried Edmonds recommended that New Zealand express its misgivings, because the elections were critically important ‘for our own credibility in answering domestic critics and supporting [a] peace settlement based on self-determination’. Moreover, while ‘Singapore may get away with uncontested elections’, the South Vietnamese could not. He thought it advisable to ascertain what the Americans were going to tell Thieu, for, ‘while we should not wish to get out in front we should be careful not to fall behind them.’97 At Laking’s suggestion, Holyoake wrote to Thieu on 31 August, expressing his apprehensions and his hopes that ‘even now, steps can be taken to ensure that the Presidency will be the subject of a genuine political contest’.98 A few days later, Nicholas Turner, the seasoned New Zealand Press Association representative in Vietnam, filed a story stating that Edmonds had 279

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told Thieu his effort to push Ky out of the election had been ‘ill-advised’.99 Although it was attributed to ‘foreign diplomatic sources’, as the government hoped, the story bolstered New Zealand’s ‘credibility’ with respect to the elections. When Edmonds discussed Holyoake’s letter to Thieu with the American and Australian ambassadors in Saigon on 7 September, it became clear that New Zealand had been considerably more forthright than its allies. Arthur Morris of Australia, who had been asked by Canberra to treat the issue more ‘gingerly’, commented that it was unfortunate ‘more of us’ had not acted along New Zealand’s lines. Ellsworth Bunker of the United States thought it ‘excellent, a helluva good letter’, and conveyed his thanks to Holyoake. But, though highly critical of Thieu, he needed to maintain good relations with him so that the referendum would be ‘as democratic and reasonable as possible’.100 The real problem for the Americans, as the Washington embassy noted, was that, however displeased they were with Thieu, they had ‘no desire seriously to weaken his power for they can see no adequate replacement’.101 The elections proceeded with a single candidate for the presidency of the Republic of South Vietnam, and Thieu was endorsed by almost 95 per cent of those voting.102 Heeding Laking’s advice to avoid ‘expansive or enthusiastic comment’, Holyoake did not comment publicly.103 When the question of New Zealand representation at Thieu’s inauguration came up, Holyoake insisted that only the ambassador attend, not a minister as Laking had suggested. As on other occasions, Holyoake seemed comfortable for New Zealand to be slightly out of step with its allies. At the ceremony on 4 November, Australia, among others, was represented by its Minister of Foreign Affairs, and South Korea by its Prime Minister.104 By then, New Zealand’s direct involvement in combat was almost at an end. In December, the sole remaining infantry unit, V Company, was withdrawn, along with the services medical team. After more than six years of combat commitment, New Zealand’s military presence was now confined to the training team in Chi Lang.

Toward a Peace Settlement With the country’s combat forces withdrawn and American disengagement proceeding apace, there would be few developments concerning Vietnam in 1972 requiring significant New Zealand diplomatic activity. The government remained as politically committed as ever to the cause of a secure and independent South Vietnam, but New Zealand’s material role in helping attain that goal had become distinctly peripheral. It only remained to watch and hope that Vietnamisation had worked sufficiently to facilitate the ‘peace with honor’ which Nixon had pursued so determinedly for the past three years. 280

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At the beginning of 1972, New Zealand’s most experienced Vietnam ‘hand’ remained pessimistic that such ‘peace with honor’ was near. After four years in Saigon, Edmonds still saw South Vietnam as ‘a Lewis Carroll wonderland’ with ‘a truly remarkable capacity for getting better and better without convincing people it is really good enough to survive’.105 The newly appointed Minister of Defence, Allan McCready, was considerably more upbeat, telling the National caucus in March that ‘Vietnam is a success story’. He had just been there, and found ‘the countryside . . . quiet, pacified’ – an achievement he attributed to the South Vietnamese themselves, though it would not have been possible without the assistance of allied forces such as New Zealand’s.106 By then, New Zealand had a new Prime Minister. In February, Holyoake had finally stepped down after almost 12 years at the helm to allow his successor time to establish himself before the general election. The transition to his long-time deputy, John Marshall, went smoothly and made no difference to policy on Vietnam, partly because Holyoake remained Minister of Foreign Affairs. Marshall represented the urban liberal wing of the National Party but was strongly anti-communist and had been one of the Cabinet’s hawks on Vietnam.107 New Zealand’s involvement was by now so limited that he had no discernible personal impact on policy. Like Holyoake, he was content to leave military trainers there while continuing the government’s political support for a non-communist, independent South Vietnam. In early 1972 that goal did not seem as unattainable as it once had. The security situation in the South had improved since 1968, partly because of the heavy losses inflicted on the Viet Cong during the Tet offensive. At the end of March, however, all those gains were threatened when Hanoi’s regular forces launched a surprise invasion of South Vietnam and decisively transformed the war into more of a conventional conflict than an internal guerrilla insurgency. Using 120,000 troops, the North Vietnamese made rapid gains and were soon advancing on several major southern cities. Determined not to allow South Vietnam to fall, Nixon responded with massive air attacks on the North in April. Secretly, the American administration also indicated to both Moscow and Hanoi for the first time that it would accept the continued presence of North Vietnamese forces in South Vietnam after a ceasefire. When neither the aerial bombing nor the secret talks persuaded North Vietnam to end its offensive, Nixon decided in early May to take the risky step of imposing a naval blockade on North Vietnam and mining the entrances to all its ports. This had ominous potential implications for relations with the Soviet Union, which provided many of North Vietnam’s supplies and whose leaders Nixon was due to meet at the end of the month as part of his general strategy of détente.108 281

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When announcing this controversial action, Nixon wrote to Marshall that it was a response to ‘Hanoi’s escalation on the battlefield’ and was intended to bring about a negotiated settlement.109 The previous month, Holyoake had hesitated to publicly condemn the North Vietnamese offensive until New Zealand’s new ambassador in Saigon, Sir Leonard Thornton, urged Wellington to follow the lead of other American allies and do so.110 This time, Marshall promptly responded that New Zealand would publicly support Nixon’s actions, even though they involved ‘serious risks’.111 A few days later, Cabinet resolved to withdraw the training teams by the end of the year, ‘subject to the views of the Australians and Americans’.112 This decision did not signal a change in policy but reflected the government’s assumption that Washington’s unwavering pursuit of Vietnamisation would soon clear the way for the final removal of any New Zealand military presence in Vietnam. In the event, Nixon’s drastic measures appeared to pay off. There was no widening of the war and the Soviet Union did not cancel the planned summit meeting. In the following months both the Soviet Union and China placed secret pressures on North Vietnam to make peace. The combination of continued American bombing and the effects of the blockade on North Vietnamese supplies eventually helped to blunt the communist offensive in mid-1972. With the war once again stalemated, progress toward a diplomatic solution finally began in September.113 As usual, New Zealand could only wait on the sidelines while its diplomats speculated about how much progress was being made in Paris. But it was by no means alone in this. As the Washington embassy noted on 10 October: ‘Only three or four members of the Administration can claim to know exactly what is going on and, as Kissinger said some weeks ago, those who know do not talk’.114 In fact, at almost exactly that time, the American and North Vietnamese negotiators had agreed to a draft settlement that left only two issues unresolved, and Washington and Hanoi tentatively agreed to sign a ceasefire agreement on 31 October. Thieu was less amenable. Even Kissinger, sent by Nixon to Saigon, was unable to move him, in large part because the draft agreement allowed North Vietnamese forces to remain in the South.115 Holyoake learned of the draft peace agreement on 25 October, after the South Vietnamese Foreign Minister revealed it to Thornton in order to explain Saigon’s rejection of it.116 After the draft was made public by Hanoi, officials in Wellington assessed it and found it satisfactory. As Laking pointed out: The Americans have secured what they, and we, have been fighting for – the right of self-determination for the people of South Vietnam. The North Vietnamese have failed to overthrow the Government of South Vietnam and have achieved only

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the diplomacy of military disengagement from vietnam, 1969–72 what our side has long been willing to concede – the right to take part in the political life of South Vietnam. It can reasonably be claimed that we have achieved our objective of preventing North Vietnam from imposing its will on South Vietnam by force.117

Although conscious that ‘serious risks’ remained, Marshall publicly endorsed the draft agreement and hoped that ‘it will provide a basis for a lasting peace in Indochina’.118 The Australians were less satisfied, while the South Vietnamese remained even more dismayed.119 Nixon was not prepared to take Kissinger’s advice and proceed without Saigon’s agreement. Confident of victory in the upcoming presidential election, he decided to give Thieu more time ‘to make whatever domestic preparations were necessary before agreeing to sign’ while still trying ‘to keep the negotiations going’ with Hanoi.120 On 7 November, Nixon defeated the Democrats’ George McGovern by one of the largest margins in American electoral history. He then pressed the North Vietnamese for further concessions that might make it easer for Saigon to agree. While these tough negotiations continued, New Zealand was absorbed with its own election campaign, in which the Vietnam War was only a very minor issue. The final significant act of the National government concerning Vietnam was a public statement by Marshall on 23 November indicating that New Zealand would join other countries in contributing to the postwar rehabilitation of Indochina.121 Two days later, National lost the election by the unexpected margin of 23 seats and Norman Kirk’s Labour Party stood ready to assume power. This outcome ensured that New Zealand’s military involvement in Vietnam would be completely ended before the end of the year, for it was Kirk’s intention to withdraw the two training teams ‘as soon as practicable’ after taking office on 8 December.122

During the American disengagement from Vietnam between 1969 and 1972, the government maintained the consistency of purpose that had always characterised its approach to the conflict. Wellington’s policy-makers demonstrated considerable tact and finesse in coordinating New Zealand’s disengagement from Vietnam with the sometimes peremptory actions of their counterparts in Washington and Canberra. Despite some painful moments, the government adhered to the orthodoxy that forward defence in Southeast Asia and the American security guarantee were the indispensable mainstays of New Zealand’s national security. By 1972, however, much had changed in the geopolitical complexion of the Southeast Asian region, in American foreign policy, and in New Zealand itself. 283

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Fracturing of Foreign Policy Consensus, 1969–72

T

he bitterest moments in new zealand debates about the Vietnam War would occur between 1969 and 1972. In the very years when American and New Zealand military withdrawal was proceeding apace, the Vietnam issue would most sorely test the domestic foreign policy consensus, leaving it fractured, if not completely shattered. At first, the apparent winding down of the war would favour the government, with public interest in the issue waning in 1969. But, after winning a fourth successive term in office that year, Holyoake and his colleagues found themselves more frequently on the back foot with respect to Vietnam. In a rapidly changing international environment, the National government seemed – especially to young New Zealanders – mired in outdated thinking and ill-suited to lead the country into a post-Vietnam era in foreign policy. In contrast, Labour grew in confidence, buoyed by the perception that events were vindicating its stance on the war. Although the party narrowly lost the 1969 election, over the next three years Labour criticised the government more effectively than ever before on Vietnam. Most significantly, Kirk began to promote a vision of a more independent and morality-based foreign policy, even if this meant questioning elements of the Cold Wardominated foreign policy consensus. The early 1970s also represented a high point for the anti-war movement. After a loss of momentum in 1969 and amidst continuing internecine divisions, activists regrouped to mobilise the largest demonstrations of public opposition to the Vietnam War seen in New Zealand. In part, their activities more than ever echoed wider international trends – especially in the United States itself. Amongst these trends were the growing prominence of young 284

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people in the anti-war movement and the contemporaneous emergence of other movements pressing for political, social and cultural change, such as the women’s movement. As in other developed countries, the Vietnam War helped usher in a new and wider-ranging politics of protest. While the evidently broadened popularity of the anti-war cause was part of an international phenomenon, its manifestation in New Zealand did nevertheless assume distinctive national features.

Adjusting to Vietnamisation and the 1969 Election The Vietnam issue receded from public prominence in New Zealand for most of 1969, as peace talks ground on and the Nixon administration set the United States on the path of withdrawal. Even with an election due by the end of the year, political correspondents were dismissing Vietnam as a ‘non-issue’as early as February.1 In this situation, the anti-war movement lost momentum. While the Nixon administration’s foreign policy demanded nimble diplomacy from its allies, the Holyoake government was at ease in publicly defending the goals of Vietnamisation and a phased withdrawal in conjunction with a negotiated settlement of the conflict. Indeed, the first months of Nixon’s term raised hopes in Wellington that the Vietnam debate could soon be put to rest. In a major foreign policy speech on 6 March, Holyoake referred to the Vietnam War only to express his hope that it was ending, which would clear the way for an examination of ‘our broad policy and national needs’ without ‘emotional overtones and distortions’. He also had Vietnam in mind when rejecting neutralism and extolling the virtues of collective defence: We can only have good allies by proving ourselves a good ally. A good ally is not subservient, he has judgement and a voice and uses them; but he is also prepared to take up his share of the burden. Our voice can be all the more effective by having an accepted place with our close friends, rather than sitting on the sidelines. To take our share of the burden does not diminish our national independence. It is a mark of independent policy.2

This speech represented one of the government’s most direct efforts to counter charges that New Zealand diplomacy was somehow not ‘independent’. A speedy end to the war would bolster this argument and vindicate the application of an alliance-based approach to the Vietnam problem. Holyoake’s address drew favourable press reactions, though not without qualifications.3 The Dominion supported the thrust of his comments but warned that the country could ‘not build independence and respect by 285

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surrendering our sovereignty’. It urged the Prime Minister to address the ‘real and earnest concern that our alliance with the United States commits us willy-nilly to that nation’s course of action, sometimes in the defence of unpopular and repressive leadership, because of our need to demonstrate our dependability as an ally and as an investment in our own defence should we ever have to call on American assistance’.4 Such commentary from a newspaper supportive of the government signalled unease about Vietnam’s potentially corrosive effect on public support for an alliance-based foreign policy. If enthusiasm for the war was restrained, nor was there great interest in debating it. Media commentaries on New Zealand’s involvement in Vietnam were few and far between in the first half of 1969.5 The public apathy evident in late 1968 only seemed to deepen. The government was not averse to this trend and Holyoake began to talk of withdrawal – albeit in vague terms.6 Although there would be no large-scale demonstrations in 1969, the anti-war movement was not completely dormant and scattered protests did occur in the early months of the year. In March, about 300 people marched through Christchurch and a smaller group in Nelson protested at the visit of an American destroyer.7 In Auckland, a few dozen protesters occupied the American consulate in March, with many being convicted for minor offences, and in early April another small group protested against the visit of an American warship to the city.8 Shortly afterwards, the Wellington COV chairman mused publicly that the time had come for ‘more militant, hard-hitting methods’: the committee could no longer ‘hold banners at street corners and expect to be noticed’.9 It was an unwitting expression of frustration at failing to rekindle public interest in the anti-war cause. If they were subdued on the protest front, those concerned about the war did engage in other activities. In early March, about 3000 people attended an art festival held at a Patea farm to raise money for charities in Vietnam. The resulting $3000 was divided between the Sir Walter Nash Memorial appeal (for a hospital in Vietnam), the Buddhist School of Youth for Social Services and the NLF Red Cross, which organisers explained was ‘pledged to give aid to all who need it whatever their political allegiance’.10 More controversially, the New Zealand Medical Aid Committee continued its work amid reports that it was sending money directly to the NLF. Denying this charge in mid-1969, the group explained that about $9000 had been sent to the British Medical Aid Committee over the past three years to buy medical supplies that were sent to official distribution agents in Saigon.11 Labour, too, adopted a low profile on Vietnam in early 1969. After the Prime Minister’s March address on foreign policy, Kirk himself suggested that Vietnam was fading as an issue because of the Paris peace talks.12 At 286

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about the same time, Martyn Finlay attracted press interest when he said that, speaking as an individual, he believed New Zealand troops should not be withdrawn too precipitously to avoid upsetting the peace talks.13 Other Labour members stressed that he was not representing the party’s policy, which, as Jonathon Hunt put it, stated quite clearly that New Zealand troops should be withdrawn immediately, with increased civilian aid substituted.14 This ‘clear’ policy had, of course, only been explicitly articulated for the first time in late 1968 (see Chapter 10). But Vietnam remained a contentious issue within the labour movement. In April 1969, differences over Vietnam provoked ‘one of the stormiest sessions for years’ at an FOL annual conference. Controversy arose when some trade unionists objected to a section in the FOL’s annual report which denounced the United States for denying ‘the Vietnamese people the right to work out their own economic and political future’ and for occupying ‘their country to control all of the area surrounding South-east Asia and to obtain access to the wealth of that area’. These charges elicited cries of ‘brain-washing’, ‘anti-Americanism’ and ‘Comrade Mao-loving’ from more conservative delegates like Philip Mansor and Tony Neary, who had voiced similar concerns at the 1968 conference. Despite the report’s intemperate language, an amendment to delete the offending clauses was lost on a card vote by 297 to 103.15 This was probably an accurate reflection of the balance of opinion on the issue within the union movement, but it highlighted the continuing reluctance of many unionists to take a radical stance on American policy in Vietnam. Vietnam received hardly any attention at the Labour Party’s annual conference. In his report Kirk mentioned the party’s policy only in observing that its correctness was being demonstrated.16 He showed little interest in drawing public attention to the issue. The lower profile of the Vietnam issue was also evident at the opening of Parliament on 15 May. Unlike the previous year, the formal proceedings went ‘like clockwork’. There was only a token presence of some 40 anti-war protesters, who stood outside Parliament for less than an hour with banners and placards.17 Inside the House, debates about the war continued, but with less divergence between government and Opposition. Holyoake endorsed Vietnamisation at the opening of Parliament, and then launched a debate on international affairs in early June by vigorously defending the commitment in Vietnam.18 The ensuing exchanges covered much the same ground as in previous years.19 Robert Muldoon declared in typically aggressive style: ‘The Labour Party policies on Vietnam, and I emphasise the plural, have in fact been a mass of clap-trap and, what is more, they change with every turn of the wind’.20 Labour members repeated past criticisms of official policy, 287

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but put forward a very moderate motion urging more emphasis on technical, economic and medical aid and commending the ‘efforts of the allies to bring about an honourable peace in Vietnam’.21 (The New Zealand Monthly Review sneered that this ‘could have been formulated by President Nixon himself’ and represented ‘bi-partisanism at it worst’.)22 Rather than focusing narrowly on Vietnam, Labour speakers preferred to raise wider questions, especially the irrelevance of SEATO.23 Kirk in particular sought to broaden the debate, asking how New Zealand would confront a changed Southeast Asian scene in which there was no forward deployment by major Western powers.24 Some Labour parliamentarians also pressed the government on whether New Zealand forces would be withdrawn if the United States pulled out of South Vietnam.25 From mid-1969, the timing of any such withdrawal became less abstract. After Nixon announced the first major American withdrawal on 9 June, Holyoake promptly commented that the withdrawal of some New Zealand troops might be discussed soon with Australia.26 Fortunately for the government, the small size of the New Zealand force and the modest scale of the initial American draw-down meant that there was little immediate domestic pressure to follow suit. Holyoake chose the same week to draw public attention to a different potential source of irritation with Washington. On 11 June he announced that he had sent Nixon a letter warning of ‘far-reaching consequences’ if the United States went ahead with proposed legislation imposing quotas on New Zealand lamb, and explaining that ‘New Zealand’s capacity to play its part as a good ally’ was directly related to ‘its ability to earn from fair trading opportunities overseas’.27 The anti-war movement accused Holyoake of reducing the New Zealand soldiers in Vietnam to the status of mercenaries and selling out principles for possible economic gains. ‘It almost sounded,’ suggested a left-wing commentator, ‘as if Government policy were determined on the basis of so many Kiwi corpses as quid pro quo for the import of so many carcasses.’28 It was unusual for Holyoake to link Vietnam policy with trade policy, and his public release of the letter was clearly intended to show how doggedly he was battling on behalf of New Zealand’s primary producers. Newspapers reported Nixon’s reply in late July: he would make serious efforts to ensure New Zealand’s interests were advanced rather than harmed in ‘all decisions related to our mutual affairs’.29 The government would soon have the opportunity to discuss this issue and others with American Secretary of State William Rogers, who was to visit Auckland in early August. Press commentators predicted that the talks would focus on trade, though ministers were also likely to quiz him on Washington’s intentions in Vietnam.30 The Dominion noted – accurately – that the government was ‘less than happy with the amount of information 288

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In one of the most striking images created by opponents of New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War, a maniacal Nixon looms over Muldoon, Marshall and Holyoake. eph-c-vietnam-1970-01, atl

given by the United States about its intentions in Vietnam’ and wanted more warning of future troop withdrawals.31 In fact, the visit was of more interest to the anti-war movement, which had lacked recent opportunities to highlight opposition to the war. There had been some attempt in late June to exploit an article by Clark Clifford which mentioned that concerns about New Zealand and Australian reluctance to commit further forces had contributed to his decision to recommend disengagement to Johnson.32 Wellington COV chairman Conrad Bollinger claimed that the protest movement had ‘surely justified’ its four years of existence, in view of Clifford’s disclosure ‘that the small size of New Zealand’s military contribution, together with the determination of anti-war protesters here, helped to open his eyes to the futility of the war’.33 But the issue generated little further media interest. Like so much else, Vietnam was overshadowed in the following weeks by the build-up to the historic moon landing on 21 July. Even before Rogers arrived there was considerable, though not entirely welcome, publicity for one element of the protest movement. On 8 August, the New Zealand Herald reported that the latest issue of the PYM’s newsletter had featured instructions for making a Molotov cocktail, and that the 289

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Tim Shadbolt (second from right) walks nonchalantly up Queen Street, Auckland, during a protest march by about 200 demonstrators in July 1968. c-28274-1/2, atl

Minister of Police had ordered an investigation. On the same day, police officers executed eight search warrants in Auckland, raiding the offices of the Peace Council and Progressive Books as well as the homes of six members of the PYM and the extravagantly named Auckland University Society for the Active Prevention of Cruelty to Politically Apathetic Humans (AUSAPOCPAH) – a small, colourful group led by Tim Shadbolt.34 The police seized various items from the home of PYM coordinator Bill Lee, including three rifles which were subsequently found to be legally registered.35 By this time, the PYM had emerged as the major nucleus of potentially violent disruption at anti-war demonstrations. Although most active in Auckland, the PYM also had a presence in other cities. A few weeks earlier, a group of about 40 demonstrators said to be PYM members had burned an American flag outside the home of the American honorary consul in Christchurch.36 Denouncing the police raids of 8 August as ‘a political witch hunt’ and a ‘paranoiac fiasco’ intended to deter attendance at the planned demonstrations against Rogers, the PYM was present in force the next day for Rogers’s arrival at the Intercontinental Hotel in Auckland for a meeting with Holyoake. After the official cars arrived, numerous scuffles broke out; newspaper reports emphasised that the 120 police in attendance had ‘a 290

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hectic time’ restraining demonstrators and dodging projectiles such as flour bombs, eggs and paint. The police arrested 11 demonstrators, including the flamboyant Shadbolt.37 There were also demonstrations in other parts of the country. In Wellington about 400 people protested outside Parliament. In Christchurch, on 10 August, 20 members of the Outcasts motorcycle gang temporarily disrupted a protest meeting that was being addressed by the Labour MP Jock Mathison, but were soon despatched by demonstrators using their banners as clubs. Ironically, Mathison had been stressing the need for orderly, non-violent protests and had dissociated himself from those in Auckland the previous day.38 The talks with Rogers were of little moment in themselves, but they allowed a reaffirmation of general press support for the government’s backing of Nixon’s foreign policy.39 Holyoake said publicly that New Zealand found changing American policies in Asia acceptable, and Kirk commented that Labour too welcomed the shifting emphasis in Washington’s approach to the region – especially with respect to more economic assistance.40 Rogers confirmed that the Nixon administration would do all it could to prevent protectionist measures adversely affecting New Zealand–United States trade.41 According to the Dominion, Rogers’s visit emphasised that ‘the United States is swinging into line with New Zealand policy and that it is not a case of New Zealand deferring to overseas opinion. Though we cannot claim that the New Zealand attitude has influenced that of the United States, it should be more widely known that we thought of it first.’42 There was extensive press condemnation of the increasing violence associated with anti-war demonstrations.43 Intermittent protest activity continued in the months before the election campaign. Although not all of it was directly related to Vietnam, continuing opposition to the war had undoubtedly helped to make young people more radical. Shortly after the Rogers visit, the first so-called Radical Activists’ Congress was held at the University of Otago in Dunedin, with over 100, mainly young, ‘radicals’ in attendance.44 The New Zealand Monthly Review enthused that such a gathering ‘would have been unthinkable’ only two years earlier; it ‘was an important demonstration of a qualitatively new consciousness among the present generation of materially well-off New Zealanders’ – especially those in universities.45 Of all the radical groups represented at the congress, it was the non-university-based PYM that continued to receive the most public prominence and closest police attention in the closing months of 1969. After further police raids on 29 August on the homes of Bill and Barry Lee and the PYM office in Auckland, the group organised a demonstration on Sunday 7 September which ended in violence and 13 arrests when a crowd of about 200 marched on the Auckland Central Police Station. The police then arrested 291

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Demonstration in Parliament grounds in 1969, a typical sight by that stage of New Zealand’s participation in the Vietnam conflict. dominion post collection, f-16710-1⁄4, atl

Bill Lee on various charges, including inciting disorder by publishing the Molotov cocktail article; he was later acquitted on grounds of insufficient evidence.46 The PYM held another demonstration the following Sunday, which may have attracted as many as 2000 people but drew no media attention – allegedly because it proceeded peacefully.47 Newspapers did report a more explicitly anti-war protest held in Auckland on 16 October, when 800 people marched from the university to the Northern Military District Headquarters. Twenty of the demonstrators, wrapped in sheets and with red paint splattered on their shoulders, were carried on litters to represent the New Zealand soldiers killed in Vietnam. This march was timed to coincide with that of more than 50,000 protesters converging on the White House to declare a ‘Moratorium on usual business in Washington’.48 There was little nationally significant protest activity in the lead-up to the 1969 election. The anti-war movement’s habitual divisions of opinion continued, however. In Auckland, it was so deeply split that Terry Auld, secretary of the Wellington COV, observed privately in August that ‘We do not have an Auckland branch: the two main Auckland groups are quite autonomous’.49 The question of demonstrations remained especially contentious, with speakers at the Dunedin Radical Activists’ Congress disagreeing over whether the more controversial protest activities in Auckland in 1969 had 292

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been counterproductive.50 The issue even divided the Wellington COV, with Auld complaining to the NZBC in October that a recent Gallery television programme had not made it ‘sufficiently clear’ that, in criticising the Auckland demonstrations during the Rogers visit, Barry Mitcalfe was expressing his own personal opinion rather than speaking on behalf of the COV. Auld insisted that the Wellington group had ‘never condemned the demonstration held in Auckland, nor will it do so’.51 The COV in Wellington continued to hold together despite its heterogeneity of ideological disposition, but there was invariably a degree of internal tension.52 With its critics making no real headway, the government put little effort into public relations on the Vietnam front before the 1969 election campaign. In September, Holyoake went to Washington for his first talks with Nixon since the latter had become President. While his plea for increased beef shipments was unsuccessful, the opportunity of being photographed alongside an American leader was always welcome.53 During a Vietnam allies’ conference in New York, Holyoake confirmed that New Zealand would like to reduce its troop contribution, but ‘of course, we cannot put a time limit on it now’.54 This was a stance he was happy to maintain going into the 1969 election. He told the House in late October that New Zealand ‘could not in justice or humanity’ withdraw while South Vietnam was trying to strengthen its political system and military forces against communist aggression.55 In contrast, Labour was becoming more forceful in its insistence that both ‘justice’ and ‘humanity’ demanded a different course of action. In September, Labour MPs ridiculed the Minister of Defence’s evasive replies to questions about the $30 compensation paid for Vietnamese civilians accidentally killed by New Zealand forces.56 The following month, Faulkner confirmed publicly that Labour was still firmly committed to an early withdrawal of the troops, and Kirk then declared that his party would ideally like to see the New Zealand soldiers home by Christmas.57 With the election campaign about to begin, the positions of the two major parties on Vietnam were more clearly differentiated than they had been in 1966, though neither emphasised the war as an election issue.58 Anti-war activists were of a different mind. Throughout the campaign, unprecedented numbers of rowdy hecklers, most of them protesting against the Vietnam involvement, confronted National speakers at election meetings. From the moment Holyoake launched National’s bid for re-election in Christchurch, he received a stormy reception, often being drowned out by about 100 young people in the 1200-seat Civic Theatre. Expecting him to speak about Vietnam, 50 PYM members made plain their irritation when he ignored the subject.59 Holyoake encountered more such protests at subsequent campaign meetings in Dunedin and Wellington.60 293

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The young hecklers did not necessarily harm National’s election chances, and Holyoake responded to them by paying somewhat more attention to Vietnam. He charged that a Labour government ‘would scuttle its allies’ and dismissed Kirk’s promises of a prompt troop withdrawal by saying that New Zealand’s ‘boys’ were all volunteers who did not want to come home until South Vietnam could safeguard itself.61 He suggested that the hecklers were winning votes for National from people disgusted at their behaviour.62 National MPs backed their leader in denouncing the behaviour of the PYM in particular.63 Some National candidates even went out of their way to draw attention to Vietnam. Air Commodore Frank Gill, for example, cited Labour’s support for immediate withdrawal of the troops as one of two major differences between the two parties. Ironically, the only candidate standing specifically on an anti-Vietnam plank was the former National candidate, Colonel Harry Low, who campaigned as an independent.64 Labour had a smoother path on the election trail. In his opening speech, Kirk referred to having the ‘boys back by Christmas’ – a catch-cry he would repeat throughout the campaign.65 For the most part, though, Labour played down the Vietnam issue.66 It took to heart Holyoake’s observation that the hecklers at his meetings were helping the government’s cause, and Kirk’s deputy, Hugh Watt, publicly dissociated Labour from organised disruption of election meetings.67 There was also press criticism of Kirk for the allegedly glib and unrealistic ‘home by Christmas’ slogan.68 This prompted a Labour spokesperson to clarify that, to give allies adequate notice, a withdrawal might not be possible before March 1970.69 This explanation confirmed the suspicions of some on the left that Labour was still not unreservedly committed to an immediate withdrawal.70 One test of support for the anti-war cause during the election campaign suggested that protesters over Vietnam, while vociferous, still lacked mass appeal in New Zealand. The American Student Mobilisation Committee to End the War in Vietnam had called for an International Day of Protest against the war on 15 November. Supporters of the anti-war movement publicised the appeal in New Zealand and planned demonstrations.71 The day produced the largest anti-war march ever in Washington DC, but drew only modest support in New Zealand. In Auckland the planned burning of compulsory military training cards was abandoned when not enough card burners appeared. While 800,000 marched in Washington and thousands elsewhere, fewer than 1000 people protested in Auckland, and just a few hundred attended the protests in Wellington, Dunedin and Christchurch.72 But only days later came the most dramatic moment of protest during the election campaign. Speaking at the Auckland Town Hall on 18 November, Holyoake experienced what he described as his ‘worst ever’ election meeting. Police were hard-pressed to handle 2000 mainly young 294

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Tim Shadbolt sits at centre foreground in this photograph of a 1969 anti-war demonstration in Wellington. ans westra

protesters, some of whom brandished black flags, struggled to break through police lines, and even threw firecrackers. Inside, Holyoake battled to make himself heard over constant jeering. One young man briefly seized the microphone and began denouncing the government’s Vietnam policy before being seized by police. The Mayor of Auckland, who was chairing the proceedings, ordered the police to clear the entire upper gallery of the hall. Outside, protesters jostled with police, saluted the Prime Minister with clenched fists and tried to rush his car. About 30 were arrested during the evening.73 Although Holyoake gave only passing attention to Vietnam in his election addresses, the war was the single most prominent focus of protest for demonstrators. Press reactions to the disruption of National’s election meetings were overwhelmingly critical, with the PYM singled out for particular opprobrium.74 After the incidents at Holyoake’s Auckland meeting, the Dominion fulminated: ‘The campaign of those who would abandon the long struggle in Vietnam has been carried out with such shocking behaviour in this election campaign that a massive backlash against the demonstrators may outweigh all other factors in returning the Government to office’.75 The Monthly Review was a conspicuous exception: ‘we can be proud of these hecklers. . . . there will be no end to the revolt of the young until the war in Vietnam is over and we have repaired the damage we have done there, by 295

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assisting its people in peace to rebuild a unified Vietnam without fear of any interference by us’.76 After the violence in Auckland, Holyoake was generally well received in his remaining election meetings, all held in provincial centres.77 At these he spoke more freely about Vietnam and criticised the ‘credibility gap’ in Labour’s Vietnam policy.78 In one of his last meetings, at Taupo, Holyoake blasted the ‘wreckers’ of his meetings, alleging that they included ‘well-known Labour Party supporters, trade union people, members of the Communist Party, drug addicts and some well-known criminals’.79 True to form, this charge was timed to leave Labour almost no time before the election to rebut it. In contrast, Kirk encountered more jeering in provincial centres such as Wanganui, where Holyoake had received a warm reception.80 He continued to declare right to his last meeting of the campaign that, if elected, Labour would strive to get the troops home by Christmas.81 Clearly, deep feeling on Vietnam was centred in urban New Zealand. The gap between the cities and the provinces was widening, and would be even more noticeable little more than a decade later during the 1981 Springbok tour protests. As the election campaign drew to a close, National continued to enjoy broad press support for its Vietnam policy. In an editorial just before the election, the Dominion commended Labour for abandoning its previous equivocation but condemned its desire to play ‘upon a genuine and understandable popular sentiment to have the troops home’. This was not the majority view among voters, who wanted ‘an end to the commitment certainly – but with honour’.82 Among others, the Christchurch Star, the Press and the New Zealand Herald all expressed similar preferences.83 Not unexpectedly, one of the few to offer an alternative view was the Waikato Times.84 In the end, the election was the closest for 12 years, with National narrowly winning the popular vote and securing a six-seat majority. It is difficult to assess the impact of Vietnam on the outcome. If protesters had not drawn attention to it, both major parties would probably have played down the issue even more than they did. The Monthly Review subsequently noted that ‘the disturbances were almost uniformly an expression of disgust with New Zealand’s policies in Vietnam’.85 But there may have been something to the Dominion’s prophecy of a backlash against the demonstrators. An opinion poll published just over a week before the election showed Labour and National at 43 per cent support each, while one published on the eve of the election showed National ahead by 46 to 38 per cent.86 Kirk himself said after the election that, while the Wainui industrial dispute (involving a seamen’s strike) was a significant factor in Labour’s loss, the disturbances at Holyoake’s meetings had also played a role. In contrast, Holyoake said he thought Vietnam was ‘a non-issue long before the election’.87 Commenting 296

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on the election, the Australian Bulletin suggested one reason for Holyoake’s political longevity: ‘More than some of his colleagues, he sensed rising public distaste for the war and perhaps realized that Vietnam had created for him his own personal credibility gap’.88 W. P. Reeves, writing in the Dominion, was probably correct in concluding that National had won because it had delivered material prosperity.89 The result was obviously disappointing for the anti-war movement. The Monthly Review lamented: That our country should consider to dishonour itself in this dirty war is a heavy burden on the conscience of all those New Zealanders who understand something about the past, present and future of the peoples of the world oppressed by colonialism and imperialism. The fight against New Zealand’s participation in this horrible war of aggression by the biggest power on earth against a poor but heroic peasant nation must go on.90

And so it would. Despite National’s victory, the next three years would see New Zealand’s greatest manifestations of anti-Vietnam feeling. National had won re-election, but Vietnam would not be a political asset for the government over the next triennium.

From the Agnew Protests to the Mobilisations, 1970–1 Although neither the government nor Labour changed their stance on Vietnam after the 1969 election, they would limit their comments on the subject over the next three years and the war would become much less significant in mainstream domestic politics. Both parties viewed the process of withdrawal as inexorable, but differed on the degree of change that would be required in New Zealand foreign policy after the war ended. Ironically, for the anti-war movement, these years marked the high point of its capability to mobilise protesters on the streets. Anti-war activists spent little time nursing disappointment at National’s re-election. Instead, they began preparing to protest against the mid-January visit to Auckland by American Vice-President Spiro Agnew.91 Despite the divisions plaguing that city’s anti-war movement, the Council on Vietnam was still functioning and took the lead in coordinating the protests. Hoping to maintain a ‘dignified atmosphere’, the council asked the PYM to keep its protest activities separate during the Agnew visit.92 The government, fearing the worst, sent police from around the country.93 When Agnew arrived at the Hotel Intercontinental on 15 January, over 500 demonstrators awaited him; 15 were arrested. Although the police acted determinedly to clear the streets around the hotel that evening, they 297

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described the protest as ‘quiet compared with what we’ve had before’.94 The next night would be a different matter. The demonstrations on Friday 16 January were timed to coincide with a state dinner for Agnew, at which he was to address 300 guests. About 700 people marched from the Town Hall to the hotel. According to one veteran activist, ‘all heeded the Council’s request to carry banners on the theme of suffering in Vietnam, with not a provocative flag of any colour in sight, not a chant to be heard’.95 Outside the hotel, they encountered some 200 policemen drawn up in two rows behind chain barriers.96 Numerous clashes ensued.97 Cries of ‘fascist pigs’ and anti-war slogans from the crowd greeted guests arriving for the dinner; Muldoon drew especially spirited booing. During jostling between the police and the demonstrators, a smoke canister was thrown. The Council on Vietnam ended its demonstration around 8.30 p.m., but about 300 PYM and other protesters stayed on. When a senior officer ordered the crowd to disperse around 11.45 p.m., the police moved quickly and forcefully to disperse the demonstrators. Accounts differed about the degree of force used, with some dubbing it a ‘police riot’. By the end of the night there had been 11 arrests, though only two after 11.45. Wherever the responsibility for the violence during the Agnew protests lay, it illustrated the tension that had developed between the police and anti-war demonstrators, especially the PYM. As it happened, the degree of violence seen during these protests would never be matched again at anti-war demonstrations. Bitter controversy about the events of 16 January lingered for some time.98 On the Sunday, Labour MP Phil Amos addressed over 300 people who marched to Auckland’s central police station to protest against the police action. Erstwhile Labour parliamentary candidate Hamish Keith then took up the cause by launching a petition to demand an inquiry, and a Public Inquiry Committee sprang up to gather information about the incident. Minister of Police David Thomson quickly responded that he saw no grounds for such an inquiry and had been impressed by the restraint shown by the police. He suggested that specific complaints could be dealt with through internal police inquiries. The Public Inquiry Committee did eventually secure an investigation after approaching the Ombudsman, Sir Guy Powles. While finding fault on both sides, Powles’s report included criticism of police conduct and procedures. When this report was tabled in Parliament some months later, the police announced that they had developed new guidelines for handling demonstrations which emphasised restraint and encouraged dialogue with protesters.99 The report prompted press reproof of both the government and the police.100 Immediately after the incidents in Auckland, however, press opinion tended to side with the police, even though reporting of the violence during 298

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Police actions during the anti-Agnew demonstrations in 1970 provided good copy to the anti-war movement. auckland vietnam committee collection, eph-b-vietnam-1970-01, atl

Agnew’s visit was relatively sympathetic to the demonstrators.101 The New Zealand Herald, for example, ran its initial report under the headline ‘Police Wade into Crowd’, but a later editorial described the police as a ‘disciplined force’.102 Other newspapers adopted similar stances.103 Truth was characteristically hyperbolic, describing the Auckland protesters as ‘hairy ruffians, trouble makers, casually-dressed citizens, drunks, thrill seeking onlookers and a surprising number of pretty girls’. In contrast, two other weeklies, the New Zealand Listener and the Tablet, expressed concerns about police insensitivity. The Monthly Review went even further in condemning the police and the authorities.104 The Agnew visit also caused ruffles within Labour’s ranks that showed yet again that the party was still not at one with the anti-war demonstrators. The intensity of feeling on the war on the part of some Opposition MPs was shown when Arthur Faulkner, Martyn Finlay, Jonathan Hunt and Robert Tizard boycotted the state dinner in protest at American policy in Vietnam. Their action was derided as discourteous and excessively self-righteous, with one newspaper pointing out that Agnew would be discussing the Nixon Doctrine, which was in accord with Labour policy.105 Not only did 299

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other Labour parliamentarians attend the dinner, but Kirk even met Agnew for a half-hour chat which focused on Asia in the post-Vietnam War era.106 The clashes between police and demonstrators on 16 January also caused dissension within the party. When Amos pressed for a public inquiry, the Labour caucus did not support him.107 Some weeks after the Agnew visit, Kirk warned that the public had had enough of unruly behaviour by protesters.108 His stance suggested that he did not consider that the middle ground of New Zealand politics could be secured by supporting demonstrators over police. By then, Vietnam was just one of several issues pitting the government and an older ‘establishment’ against youth and radicals. Opponents of apartheid in South Africa mobilised greater numbers than ever before to protest against a forthcoming rugby tour of the republic by the All Blacks. A nascent women’s liberation movement was beginning to make its presence felt, especially through a campaign for equal pay. The Save Manapouri movement had organised a petition signed by 265,000 people to oppose environmental damage associated with the development of an aluminium smelter in Southland. The issue of Maori rights was also receiving new prominence. Although the proponents of these various causes came together in overlapping and haphazardly linked ways, in many respects, especially in terms of tactics, they built on the experience of the anti-war movement. Anti-Vietnam protest had become woven into the fabric of cultural and generational change. The synergies between these overlapping groups and issues were well illustrated at the official opening of Parliament by the Queen on Friday 13 March 1970. Two hundred demonstrators came to protest over various issues. Alongside anti-war placards and NLF flags were banners inscribed with slogans such as ‘Equal Pay for Women’ and ‘Treaty of Waitangi yet overseas business interests take Maori land’.109 Their messages failed to impress the many spectators who had come to see the Queen. They booed the protesters and there was considerable criticism about staging a protest in the royal presence.110 If voices of protest were multiplying and diversifying, in the case of Vietnam at least the government remained impervious to their clamour. As a columnist noted in late March: ‘Without undue pressure to bring the minuscule force home and with no election for another two and a half years, the Government can take its time and make international political capital from its military presence’.111 This was precisely what National continued to do.112 Holyoake did nonetheless stick to his well-worn script of expressing hopes for a negotiated peace settlement.113 He also joined those calling for an international conference on Laos and Cambodia in view of the spread of conflict and instability to those parts of Indochina.114 300

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When Nixon announced a further withdrawal of American troops over the next year, Holyoake told the House on 21 April that New Zealand would not yet reduce its force but repeated the government’s hope of withdrawing some forces in 1970. Kirk immediately expressed his regret that the New Zealand troops would not be leaving sooner.115 In late February Labour’s disappointment at losing the election had turned to jubilation when it won a stunning by-election victory in Marlborough with the greatest swing against a government in power for at least 40 years.116 Vietnam was not an issue in the by-election and was not regarded as a major issue for the party. Labour nevertheless continued to press its long-standing criticisms of the Vietnam commitment in Parliament, and in April Kirk argued that ‘de-escalation’ was a vindication of his party’s policy. But his emphasis in parliamentary debates continued to broaden in vision. ‘When we look back over the past decade we see the crumbling of the basis on which New Zealand’s defence and foreign affairs policies were established. The whole basis on which we built our defence thinking is being dissolved, and we might well ponder that the dissolution has taken place because of the decisions of our friends rather than the actions of our enemies.’ Whatever sort of settlement emerged in Vietnam, ‘the end result will be a reduction to a mere shadow of the present American military presence, and certainly the almost total elimination of the British military presence. Those events will shift the whole balance of power in Asia, and must of themselves compel a complete reappraisal of our defence policies.’ He urged fresh thinking: SEATO probably needed to be replaced by arrangements involving more Asian countries, though he acknowledged that ANZUS should continue.117 While Labour’s tone in Parliament was moderate, Kirk was quietly identifying the need for a new foreign policy that went beyond Cold War nostrums and forward defence in Asia. He was, however, still far from being at one with the anti-war movement. As one journalist noted astutely, Kirk’s watchword was flexibility, which extended to foreign policy – one area where he was ‘scathing’ about the left wing.118 (Some left-wingers returned the favour by criticising Labour for not vigorously urging the immediate withdrawal of New Zealand’s forces.)119 Kirk was particularly reluctant to have Labour associated with unruly demonstrators. In April, he criticised the Auckland PYM’s intention to lay a wreath on Anzac Day, calling this ‘an impudent affront to decency and a mockery of the sacrifice made by thousands of New Zealanders to preserve the very freedom the P.Y.M. delights in abusing’.120 The pragmatic Kirk was ever aware that Labour’s electoral base needed to be wider than the anti-war movement and radical youth. By mid-1970, the apparent winding down of the war seemed to have rendered the protest movement quiescent. There were no significant anti301

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Anti-war poster produced for the May 1970 mobilisation which highlights its international context. eph-c-vietnam-1970s-01, atl

war demonstrations in the months after the Agnew protests, which would be the last action organised by the Auckland Council on Vietnam.121 Even the Monthly Review conceded in April that: ‘The Government’s foreign and defence policy hasn’t been debated as extensively lately as it was during the early days of our Vietnam commitment’. But it also argued that, in contrast to earlier conflicts, opposition to the war remained deep-seated and was growing, especially among the young. To underline its point, it urged its readers to support a new round of nationwide demonstrations that were planned to occur during the first week in May as part of an Australasian protest.122 A shock development in the war lent greater weight to these protests. When South Vietnamese and American troops crossed the border into Cambodia to attack North Vietnamese base camps on 30 April there was a worldwide outcry, especially in the United States. Often violent demonstrations broke out on campuses across the nation, one of which ended in tragedy when National Guardsmen shot dead four students at Kent State University. The incident triggered even greater anger and more demonstrations. The start of the American-backed incursion into Cambodia coincided with the first events in the planned week of protest in New Zealand, when 20 student members of the COV in Wellington staged an all-night vigil 302

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outside the American Embassy on 1 May after a march by 100 students to picket outside the South Vietnamese and American embassies.123 The next day, 400 people attended a protest meeting in the city’s Concert Chamber.124 There were also protest marches in Palmerston North and Auckland, where demonstrators burnt an effigy of Nixon outside the American consulate.125 In Christchurch, between 600 and 1000 young people responded to an Adhoc May Mobilisation Committee’s call to march in protest at the war on 1 May.126 On 4 May, there were 17 arrests at an Auckland demonstration which began as a non-violent, sit-down protest in the American consul’s office ‘and ended in a vociferous and sometimes rough confrontation in the street outside’ between police and about 100 protesters. Cries of ‘fascists’ and ‘pigs’ were heard as police moved into the crowd to make an arrest. The official seal of the United States in the office was smeared with red paint, and a Nazi flag was hung up.127 The planned protests were augmented by spontaneous outpourings of anger at the events in Cambodia and the Kent State killings. On 6 May in Auckland, police arrested eight people during a sit-down demonstration after 300 protesters gathered outside the AMP Building housing the American consul’s office to protest about the Kent State shootings. There were also student boycotts of lectures on 8 May at Victoria, Massey and Waikato universities.128 In Auckland, students participating in graduation week capping processions carried four bloodstained coffins bearing the names of those killed in Ohio and left them ‘outside the US Consulate draped with the Stars and Stripes surmounted by swastikas, and honoured with a twominute silence’.129 The prominence of the universities in these protests was noteworthy, leading one author to argue that Cambodia and Kent State changed the anti-war movement in New Zealand: ‘As in the US opposition to the war became centered on the Universities and among young people with a new and dramatic militancy’.130 At the time, the Monthly Review also discerned a growing militancy and depth of feeling: Effigies have never been burned in our streets before. Students at our universities have never boycotted classes before in protest at an incident occurring on the other side of the world. Graduation ceremonies have never before seen, added to the colourful array of academic gowns and hoods, anything like white armbands labelled ‘cambodia, kent’ worn by ‘a large number of graduands and many of the staff’. A New Zealand Catholic priest already once suspended for participating in a peace demonstration has never before defied the church authorities by participating in another. . . . The list could be carried on almost indefinitely.131

The incursion into Cambodia had less impact on mainstream politics, but it did cause temporary embarrassment for the government. Even support303

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ive newspapers dubbed Nixon’s move ‘an operation in quicksand’ and ‘a dangerous gamble which was very difficult to justify’.132 Holyoake’s own defence of the American action was tardy and rather half-hearted. He commented on 14 May that New Zealand had known about the incursion in advance, and justified it in terms of North Vietnam’s lack of good faith in deploying forces in Laos and Cambodia.133 For the columnist W. P. Reeves, Holyoake’s ‘pointed delay in publicly defending Mr Nixon’s strategy may disclose a reluctance to endorse his inglorious policy, but it won’t save him if the gamble fails’.134 Kirk condemned the spread of the war to Cambodia but was less critical than some of his colleagues.135 Nixon’s apparent re-escalation of the war gave new momentum to the anti-war cause. In June the Monthly Review pronounced, probably correctly, that ‘opposition to the war, and especially to New Zealand’s involvement in it, is wider and deeper now than ever’.136 The anti-war movement now began planning its first fully-fledged nationwide ‘mobilisation’. Building on an American precedent, the idea was to coordinate the efforts of the maximum number of sympathetic groups to create simultaneous mass demonstrations around the country designed to counter lingering public complacency about the war.137 The term ‘Moratorium’ was preferred in the United States and Australia, but the concept of a mobilisation perhaps even better captured the essential idea of building a public show of mass support. Though using a different name, the New Zealand mobilisations would signal their international character by drawing on the logo used by the organisers of the American and Australian moratoriums. The mobilisations would mark the zenith of visible public support for the anti-war movement in New Zealand. The first ‘mobe’ was scheduled for 17 July. The Wellington COV coordinated the planning through a July 17 Anti-war Mobilisation Committee which organised a poster for nationwide use and a leaflet entitled ‘End This Slaughter’.138 From the outset, the anti-war movement’s perennial sectarianism did not sit easily with the new emphasis on coordinated, broadly based protest activities which could accommodate diverse shades of anti-war opinion from NLF supporters and socialists to clergy, pacifists and liberals. In Christchurch, there were disagreements between mobilisation organisers and other members of the city’s Joint Council on Vietnam.139 In both Auckland and Christchurch, the PYM in particular decried mobilisations as ‘over-cautious’ projects which would only ‘bog down the activists and let important issues pass untouched’.140 The PYM’s subsequent actions in disassociating itself from the Mobilisations effectively marginalised it within the anti-war movement.141 Despite such divisions, the first Mobilisation Day went ahead as planned. In Auckland, street theatre performances by masked students enlivened a 304

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Poster produced for the 17 July 1970 mobilisation. mspapers-2511-5/1/25-9, atl

Friday-night march of between 800 and 1000 protesters, although a teachin at the university the next day was not well attended.142 Wellington’s 17 July efforts included a march by 600 protesters, a teach-in, a concert, a film and a speech by an American anti-war speaker, Andrew Pulley.143 The largest protest was in Christchurch, where a march through Cathedral Square attracted a crowd of perhaps 2000, most of whom went on to a forum at the University of Canterbury, where Tim Shadbolt was the principal guest speaker.144 There were also marches in Dunedin, Hamilton, Nelson and, for the first time, Whangarei. In some cities groups of ‘High School Students Against the War’ demonstrated for the first time.145 As a coordinated and orderly national protest the mobilisation was successful, with more than 4000 protesters nationwide. But the numbers were not dramatically higher than in the past and, despite coverage of the marches themselves, the media impact of the mobilisation was limited. Ironically, the orderly nature of the protests may have conspired against them. For the rest of 1970 and into the first months of 1971, anti-war agitation was again subdued. The success of the 17 July event did inspire an ad hoc committee – ironically, drawn mainly from PYM and Communist Party circles – to organise a mobilisation in Auckland on 30 October 1970 to 305

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coincide with protests being held in the United States. With limited involvement from university-based groups and designed to attract working-class support, the protest drew only about 600 in Auckland and was not emulated elsewhere.146 There were also critical public comments about the war from clergymen in late 1970. On 31 October, the new President of the Methodist Church, the Reverend W. F. Ford, criticised New Zealand’s involvement in the conflict at the church’s annual conference in Christchurch.147 After its annual meeting the National Council of Churches sent a letter advocating withdrawal to the Prime Minster and all MPs.148 For the most part, though, there was little debate in the closing months of 1970. The little Holyoake said about Vietnam was intended to show that New Zealand was following the United States in pulling out, but not with undue haste. After stating in July that the government was considering switching a number of troops to a training role in Vietnam, the Prime Minister announced in August that New Zealand would withdraw an infantry company of 144 men by the end of the year and send a small group of jungle instructors in their place.149 His comments drew little reaction. Nor was there much press coverage of the first New Zealand troop withdrawal from Vietnam in November, when ‘Whisky’ Company was redeployed to Singapore, leaving about 400 New Zealand soldiers in Vietnam.150 When Nixon made a ceasefire offer to the North Vietnamese in October, Holyoake publicly endorsed the move.151 These sporadic statements aside, Holyoake was more preoccupied with domestic and trade issues (especially the implications of Britain’s looming entry into the European Economic Community). The National government was in difficulty by the end of 1970. Holyoake’s own status as the elder statesman of New Zealand politics had been enhanced by the announcement that he was to be knighted, the first Prime Minister to receive such an honour while in office since 1907.152 But his elevation did not help the government’s popularity. A National Research Bureau opinion poll in November showed that Labour would have easily won an election held that month by 48.9 to 30.4 per cent.153 In December, the political columnist Colin James concluded that ‘1970 was a bad year for the Establishment’, because of the Agnew demonstrations, the Save Manapouri protests, opposition to the rugby tour of South Africa, and growing industrial unrest. He noted that National was struggling after its surprise win in 1969, with a lacklustre Cabinet and falling morale.154 In contrast, the Opposition had been positively ebullient, with Kirk coming into his own as a credible Prime Minister in waiting who was determined to win the political centre.155 Above all, National was hurt by a faltering economy and by its manifest failure to tame soaring inflation.156 Amidst the government’s woes, scattered protests about Vietnam did not figure prominently. 306

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Despite the controversial Cambodian incursion, the prevailing impression conveyed by the media was that the war was drawing to a close. As one newspaper concluded, ‘Internationally, the nicest thing about 1970 has been the way the Vietnam conflict has shown signs of petering out’.157 The same was true of New Zealand’s role. Though it was less exuberant and more guarded than in earlier years, there was still general press support for New Zealand policy, especially after journalists took officially sponsored trips to Vietnam.158 It was clear that the anti-war movement had still not achieved its aims. When the small SAS force was withdrawn from Vietnam in February, the New Zealand Herald pointedly noted: ‘Voices of dissent and protest have not been able to prevail at the ballot box. There will be general appreciation of the way the New Zealand servicemen have done their duty.’159 As that comment implied, neither the New Zealand troop deployment in Vietnam nor its progressive withdrawal had been influenced by the anti-war movement. But activists were not chastened. They now prepared to show how great the depth of opposition to the war had really become in New Zealand. The decision to hold another major mobilisation was made at a planning meeting convened by the Wellington COV on Sunday 29 November. Among the groups represented at the meeting were political parties, the Wellington branch of the Peace Council, trade unions, the PYM and university students. The organisers argued that, because the Vietnam conflict was ‘by no means over’, another mobilisation was needed; the evening of Friday 30 April 1971 was proposed. A date close to May Day was chosen because of its symbolic association ‘with working class struggle throughout the years’, especially since the anti-war movement had so far lacked ‘support from the working class’. It was also a date on which students would have time to be involved, and allowed sufficient time for careful organisation. There was energetic debate about the most appropriate slogan. The COV suggested ‘Withdraw all U.S., N.Z. and allied troops from Indo-China now!’ This ‘would unite the greatest numbers of the New Zealand people in opposition to the Vietnam War; and named the U.S. as the principal aggressor in Indo-China, with New Zealand as its accomplice’. More radical voices argued that the mobilisation should be more forthright in denouncing ‘U.S. imperialism’ and in backing the Indochinese people. They offered as an alternative: ‘Victory for the NLF.!’ After much debate, the COV’s slogan was adopted ‘in a suitably sharpened form’. The meeting also resolved to call a national planning meeting of all organisations associated with the protest movement: ‘Vietnam Committees, peace organisations, trade unions, churches, political parties or branches of political parties opposed to New Zealand’s intervention in Indo-China, students and youth organisations’. Reflecting the often delicate internal politics of the anti-war movement, it was agreed that participating 307

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The New Zealand Peace Council features prominently in an Anzac Day protest against the Vietnam War, Wellington, 1971. ans westra

groups ‘would be free to pursue their independent publicity concerning the Mobilisation without fear of repudiation by the Mobilisation organisation, provided that its publicity was truthful and did not usurp the name of the Mobilisation organisation’.160 A National Anti-war Conference was held in Wellington on 13–14 March, sponsored by the Wellington COV and other organisations, including the New Zealand Monthly Review.161 The conference attracted 400 people from across the whole spectrum of New Zealand opposition to the war. There were two speakers from the United States, Patti Iiyama and Michael Uhl, whose address was later published as a secondary school text. Other conference activities included teach-ins, folk-singing, street theatre and a seminar at Victoria University involving such well-known media commentators as Brian Edwards, David Beatson, Ian Johnstone, Hamish Keith and Conrad Bollinger. Phil Amos, who chaired the conference, explained that he was doing so in a personal capacity rather than as a Labour MP, though he said that Labour had consistently advocated withdrawal.162 Those attending agreed to establish a Wellington-based National Liaison Committee to coordinate the planning of the mobilisation. As usual there was some left-wing bickering, with the CPNZ’s People’s Voice denouncing the conference as a diversion from true ‘revolutionary opposition’ to the war.163 Nevertheless, the organisers considered it ‘highly successful’ and the Monthly Review predicted that it would ‘undoubtedly revitalise the protest movement’.164 308

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Meanwhile, New Zealand’s military presence in Vietnam continued to diminish. On 18 March Holyoake announced that the artillery battery would be withdrawn at the beginning of May, leaving about 264 New Zealand service personnel in Vietnam. Kirk applauded the announcement and hoped that medical and civil assistance would continue.165 (Upon their return, the gunners of 161 Battery would encounter a mixed reception when driving up Auckland’s Queen Street on their way to a civic reception. PYM members and other protesters sought to disrupt the parade but, according to the New Zealand Herald, spectators’ cheers for the troops drowned out the protesters’ jeers.)166 Invariably ignored by the government, the anti-war movement returned the favour by not allowing either American or New Zealand withdrawal plans to affect the planning for the April mobilisation. After the March conference, the National Liaison Committee worked on an unprecedented scale, producing newsletters, posters, leaflets, badges and newspaper advertisements. Some groups also prepared their own leaflets, including trade unions and a new organisation styling itself Women Against the War.167 The elaborate preparations paid off: 30 April 1971 was the largest demonstration against war ever seen in New Zealand, as between 29,000 and 35,000 people took to the streets in largely peaceful and orderly protests.168 The largest turnouts were in Auckland (10,000 to 15,000) and Christchurch (7000 to 8000), though the numbers in Wellington (5000) and Dunedin (2300) were still records for those cities. The numbers in provincial centres, some running their first protests, were also higher than ever before: 440 in Hamilton, 50 in Masterton, 100 in Feilding, 260 in Wanganui, 50 in New Plymouth, 2600 in Palmerston North and 300 in Nelson. Those marching included students and staff from the universities and teachers’ training colleges, representatives of churches, trade unions, and Labour Party branches, high school students, members of left-wing political groupings such as the Socialist Action League, peace groups, young radical Maori from the new Nga Tamatoa organisation, and the female activists who had formed Women Against the War. The mobilisation, considered a glittering success by its organisers, was an invigorating morale-booster for the antiwar movement.169 In many ways, the 30 April mobilisation marked a high point of unity within the anti-war movement. As had happened so many times before, ideological and tactical differences soon re-emerged. This time, the main source of contention concerned the Socialist Action League (SAL). Formed in 1969, this university-based Trotskyist group had come to the fore as a key player in organising the Mobilisation, especially in Auckland.170 (Alleged SAL domination was one factor that led the PYM to dismiss the mobilisations.)171 When activists from around the country met in Wellington on 309

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Demonstrators accused New Zealand soldiers of being murderers during the parade in Auckland for the return of 161 Battery in May 1971. new zealand herald

12 June to plan another mobilisation, heated disagreement about the role and location of the National Liaison Committee culminated in a disruptive walkout by SAL delegates led by Keith Locke. According to Wellington COV leaders, this action was prompted by the SAL’s failure to seize control of the mobilisation process. The stormy meeting left the Wellington COV responsible for coordinating planned 30 July activities.172 But divisions between the SAL and others in the anti-war movement persisted. A more minor source of dissent came from the Dunedin COV, which opposed the mounting of another mobilisation so soon after 30 April.173 Meanwhile, the government had more public controversies on the Vietnam front. The first, in May, was self-induced, resulting from Defence Minister Thomson’s claim during an interview in Saigon that NZBC television coverage of the war was distorted, one-sided and lacked integrity. The claims were rejected by the corporation, now chaired by Walter McKinnon, who, in his former role as Chief of the General Staff, had been a leading advocate of the initial combat commitment in 1965. Interviewed on Gallery, Thomson proved unable to defend his claims with specific examples, other than to criticise the ‘saturation’ coverage of the My Lai incident (the most notorious publicly recorded case of the killing of Vietnamese villagers by American soldiers), which he considered a murder and an isolated 310

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Poster produced for the April 1971 mobilisation. eph-a-vietnam-1971-02, atl

occurrence.174 His comments drew criticism from the Monthly Review, the Listener and some newspapers.175 Thomson did receive partial support from other newspapers for drawing attention to the fact that, because of its emphasis on visually dramatic images, television coverage was ill-suited to portraying the ‘growing stability of South Vietnam’.176 The government was in the firing line again when Dr Benjamin Spock, the eminent American child psychologist, visited New Zealand in June 1971. His trip was sponsored by the Wellington COV in cooperation with the Australian anti-war movement.177 Shortly after arriving, Spock criticised Thomson for an article he had written for the Auckland Star defending New Zealand’s policy on Vietnam.178 Spock received considerable media coverage, including an appearance on Gallery. He spoke in all the main centres, denouncing his own government’s policy in Vietnam and encouraging New Zealanders to continue demonstrating against the war.179 This was just what the anti-war movement had wanted. The COV considered his visit ‘extremely useful’, and though expensive, it had ‘proved to be self financing’.180 The Dominion was less impressed. In an editorial entitled ‘The Doc Spock Flock’, it noted: ‘Many New Zealanders who respected the courage at home of Dr Benjamin Spock as he fought established American attitudes on such subjects as the war in Vietnam must have begun to query 311

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This 1971 poster illustrates the association between anti-war protest and the growing youth culture of the period. auckland resistance collection, eph-d-vietnam-1971-01, atl

their judgment as they have read reports of his speeches in New Zealand’.181 The government simply ignored him. In the same month, the release of the Pentagon Papers gave Labour an opportunity to criticise the government for inconsistencies. The Opposition pressed ministers to comment on revelations about New Zealand’s Vietnam policy, and Jonathan Hunt asked the Prime Minister if he would follow the Australian government in launching an ‘immediate investigation into the manner of New Zealand’s committal to the Vietnam War’. Holyoake replied that he was familiar with the facts, saw no need for an investigation, had no comment to make, and would observe the ‘private character’ of exchanges with Washington. He remained unwilling to comment when probed again by Arthur Faulkner on the question of pressure from the United States to send forces in 1965.182 The government also came in for press criticism. The Dominion was reassured to learn from the New York Times that New Zealand had conveyed its ‘grave doubts’ about bombing North Vietnam in late 1964, and to be told by the Prime Minister that New Zealand had expressed its views on security to other countries ‘with full candour and continues to do so’. The newspaper, however, criticised Holyoake for not being equally candid with the New 312

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A poster publicising the visit to New Zealand in 1971 of Dr Benjamin Spock, world-famous pediatrician and anti-war campaigner. eph-c-vietnam-1971-03, atl

Zealand public, urging him ‘to come down from his high horse and join in a much more communal debate on foreign affairs’.183 W. P. Reeves endorsed this view. ‘New Zealand entered the Vietnam war principally because it believed it necessary to demonstrate to the United States our willingness to shoulder arms in an American undertaking in order to insure against our abandonment should trouble ever come our way’. While policy-makers would have disagreed with his remark that ‘this was neither an adequate nor an honourable motive’, they would perforce have had to acknowledge that his reading of New Zealand’s rationale for involvement was precisely on the mark.184 On 13 July, Holyoake stated that the government had not deceived New Zealanders in sending troops to Vietnam and that the Pentagon Papers were being misused to suggest otherwise. He had explained the reasons at the time and ‘nothing had happened since to invalidate’ them.185 Continuing to press for a more open diplomacy, the Dominion challenged him for not addressing ‘the main point of interest here’. He ‘gave no hint’ of any reservations expressed by New Zealand concerning escalation of the war. The issue at hand was ‘not whether the Government was right in committing New Zealand combat troops to fight with the Americans and Australians in Vietnam, 313

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This flyer produced for the 30 July 1971 mobilisation suggests support for a military victory by the Viet Cong. eph-a-vietnam-1971-01, atl

but whether it gave the public a full picture of the situation complete with its own thinking and an indication of how its decision was affected by American and Australian thinking’.186 These were criticisms from a friendly source which only a month earlier had run a three-part series by its editor, J. A. Kelleher, presenting an optimistic assessment of South Vietnam’s prospects acquired during his government-sponsored trip to Vietnam.187 While the revelations about New Zealand policy-making in the Pentagon Papers were limited, they probably contributed to further disenchantment about the war. The anti-war movement seized upon the Pentagon Papers as further vindication of its stance. Lindsay Wright told a national meeting of anti-war leaders in Wellington that their publication had created an upsurge in anti-war activity because of a realisation that both the American and New Zealand governments had deceived New Zealanders about the nature of the war.188 Even at this point in the war, Labour continued to maintain some distance from the anti-war movement. There was no doubt that the party shared the latter’s objective of an immediate withdrawal of New Zealand military forces, as Hunt reiterated in Parliament in late July.189 When National MPs criticised demonstrators in Parliament, Faulkner replied that it might be worth listening to them.190 But when Kirk addressed students at Victoria University on 27 July, he received a hostile reception when he said that 314

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A sombre Sir Keith Holyoake wedged against a wall by demonstrators outside the Dunedin Town Hall during the National Party’s annual conference, July 1971. dominion post collection, ep-nz obits-holyoake-04, atl

Labour would not support the 30 July mobilisation. Kirk’s general attitude toward the anti-war movement was perhaps best illustrated when he told the students: ‘If you can convince me that all the protests in New Zealand have made any difference to policy I’d be interested to hear’.191 Coming from a fellow critic of government policy, this was a more damning indictment of the anti-war movement’s limited impact than any newspaper could have come up with. On the eve of the mobilisation, Holyoake said in Parliament that the government had not decided when forces would be withdrawn. Australian Prime Minister McMahon had stated the previous day that the remaining Australian forces would soon be withdrawn.192 Privately, Holyoake was now keen to expedite withdrawal of the New Zealand force, but he was not about to give the impression that either Canberra or the mobilisation were dictating the timing.193 The 30 July mobilisations drew roughly the same total number of protesters onto the streets as in April.194 About 32,000 marched, with over 10,000 in Christchurch and a new high of 8000 in Wellington, but numbers were down in Auckland. In the provinces, marches took place for the first time in Tauranga and Tokoroa. Much media coverage focused on Dunedin, where the protest coincided with the annual National Party conference. After 1500 people attended a march organised by the Dunedin COV, about 400 went 315

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Protesters parade down Willis Street, Wellington, during the July 1971 national anti-war mobilisation. ans westra

on to protest outside the Town Hall, where borer bombs were thrown when Cabinet ministers arrived. Holyoake and his wife were jostled by the crowd. Although the Dunedin COV dissociated itself from the scuffles outside the Town Hall, these predictably drew the most headlines. The other marches were free of incident. Indeed, one newspaper said that ‘a funereal silence gave unprecedented dignity to the Wellington march of the national mobilisation against the war in Indo-China’.195 The 30 July mobilisation was the last large-scale expression of anti-war opinion while New Zealand combat forces were still in Vietnam.

The End in Sight: Toward the 1972 Election and the Final Withdrawal On 18 August, in a statement timed to coincide with an announcement in Canberra to the same effect, Holyoake told Parliament that the remaining combat force would be withdrawn before the end of the year. Kirk seized upon the announcement as a vindication of Labour’s policy, and urged the continuation of constructive aid.196 A spokesman for the Wellington COV said that the withdrawal reflected the growth of the anti-war movement in the United States, Australia and New Zealand.197 Asked during a television interview if the withdrawal represented a victory for the anti-war move316

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ment, Holyoake was theatrically dismissive: ‘Come, come, even they don’t believe that’.198 Most press commentaries on the withdrawal announcement were, like the government, philosophical about the Vietnam experience. The Christchurch Star summarised the prevailing view: There will be a general sigh of relief that New Zealand’s combat role in South Vietnam is all but over. The end of a not always easy chapter, said the Prime Minister (Sir Keith Holyoake) in the House last night – a masterly piece of understatement. In fact Vietnam has been a politically hot potato for all the countries involved. Nevertheless New Zealand has not been deeply split over the war. There has been an abundance of sound and fury but with this country’s military contribution never rising above 550 men – more a moral than an effective commitment – Vietnam did not personally affect the majority of people.199

Like Kirk, the newspaper argued that it was time to boost civil aid. Among others, the Gisborne Herald, the Dominion and a columnist in Dunedin’s Evening Star voiced similar sentiments, with the latter also stressing that there had been only minority opposition to involvement in Vietnam.200 A few press commentaries were more critical. One columnist observed that after ‘six years, $13 million and 35 lives’, New Zealand was withdrawing; but ‘the political climate in Saigon is nearly as confused, as uncertain and as autocratic as it was when we went in’.201 Thereafter the issue of New Zealand involvement in Vietnam generally faded from public view, apart from the occasional specific development. For instance, at its annual meeting in August 1971 the National Council of Churches agreed to encourage churches to promote closer links with both North and South Vietnam, and discussed the possibility of bringing orphans of mixed racial origins to New Zealand for adoption.202 Thieu’s re-election in a one-horse race in October also brought some embarrassing moments for the government, with critical press commentaries bemoaning its undemocratic nature.203 There was also a brief controversy in November when the government said that no decision had been made about training Cambodian troops, even though Australia’s Prime Minister had stated in Canberra that both New Zealand and Australia had agreed in principle to do so.204 Eventually Thomson announced in December that the government would provide an 18-strong second training team. This would work with an American training team instructing Cambodians at Dong Ba Thin in South Vietnam.205 Faulkner, Labour’s defence spokesman, described the minister’s statement as ‘a confession that he preferred to abide by the suggestions of American officials than the obvious distaste of the New Zealand public for further involvement in the war in Indo-China’.206 The New 317

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Zealand Monthly Review denounced New Zealand’s ‘subservient villainy’ in training ‘these mercenaries who keep Cambodia safe for the American bloodbath’.207 The Dominion, by contrast, characterised the Cambodian decision as ‘minimal assistance’. It criticised the government for being ‘too sensitive to the political unpopularity of involvement in Southeast Asia’, arguing that ‘the invasion of Cambodia’ differed from ‘the strife in South Vietnam and New Zealand has no need to be so hesitant, if it has beliefs in help for the oppressed’.208 Anti-war protest subsided again for the rest of 1971 and into early 1972. The Wellington COV did arouse the ire of the Dominion in October 1971 by inviting members of the Viet Cong’s Paris delegation to visit New Zealand. Describing the invitation as the COV’s ‘most lamentable moment’, the newspaper likened the anti-war activists to ‘old footballers living on their reunions’ and trying to revive ‘a controversy that isn’t there’.209 The COV countered by characterising the editorial as ‘a grudging confession of the defeat of the National Government’s policy without the saving grace of an admission that the Committee on Vietnam has been proven correct by the American withdrawals and the Pentagon Papers’.210 But the imminence of the withdrawal of the combat force undoubtedly reduced the impetus for protest activities. When another National Anti-war Conference was held on 13 and 14 November 1971, the future of the movement was a major subject of discussion. The situation was aptly summarised by Rod Lyall of the Palmerston North Mobilisation Committee: The announced withdrawal of New Zealand and (some? most? all?) U.S. combat forces from Vietnam means that the anti-war movement is about to enter a new phase. The successful mobilisation campaigns of April and July have proved both a growing disillusionment with the war and our ability to organise mass demonstrations on an unprecedented scale. But these successes could not be repeated now that the heat is off the Government, and a change of direction will obviously be necessary.

He noted the irony that the anti-war movement ‘had its greatest successes when it was too late to make much difference’ and had been ‘largely REACTIVE’ in its activities. Lyall advocated taking ‘a more far-sighted approach’ and striving ‘for a re-appraisal of New Zealand’s role in Asia’. The movement now faced longer-term challenges that were not necessarily glamorous ‘and do not usually involve mass action’ but required patient and effective organisation. These included seeking official recognition of ‘the legitimacy of the Indochinese peoples’ goals’ and tackling ‘those factors – ignorance and fear of Asia, a militarist and imperialist habit of mind, failure to develop 318

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A protest at the opening of Parliament in 1972. The placard shows that some in the anti-war movement supported one side in the Vietnam conflict rather than a negotiated peace. dominion post collection, ep/1972/2827/25a, atl

independent and constructive foreign policies – so that we do not have to start again from scratch at the beginning of Thomson’s next war’.211 Resolutions passed at the conference included support for the seven-point Provisional Revolutionary Government’s Peace Proposal and the launching of ‘a large scale campaign to raise funds to be remitted to the Vietnamese people through the New Zealand Medical Aid Committee’.212 As 1972 began, many would have agreed with the Dominion’s judgement that ‘Vietnam is a receding agony’.213 Domestically, the big political news early in the year was Holyoake’s long-anticipated announcement that he was retiring. A week after John Marshall was elected as his successor on 2 February, General William Westmoreland visited Wellington. Protesters damaged a decoy car which they mistakenly thought was taking the general to Parliament.214 Although they drew only about 150 demonstrators, the Wellington COV would later claim that these protests showed that the Vietnam question was not ‘a dead issue’.215 There were no reported protests, however, when Marshall Green, the American Assistant Secretary of State for East Asian affairs, visited in March to brief the government on Nixon’s historic February 1972 visit to China.216 At another anti-war conference held on 22 April, the tone was more radical than ever before. Those present argued that the intensified American bombing in response to a recent major communist offensive had ‘shattered 319

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Some of the scuffles between young protesters and returned servicemen during an Anzac Day wreath-laying ceremony in Christchurch, 25 April 1972. the press

any illusions people might have had that the war is about to end’. Despite the withdrawal of the combat force, New Zealand was still lending ‘political, military and economic support to this war, and is still tied to the aggressive military alliances of the U.S., ANZUS and SEATO’. The movement had to continue arousing opposition to war by building on the successes of the 1971 mobilisations. The conference decided to plan another mobilisation for 14 July, a mass protest that would complement ongoing actions such as the Medical Aid Campaign and general educational activities. The mobilisation was to make various demands, including the ‘immediate and unconditional withdrawal’ of all Western armed forces from Southeast Asia and New Zealand withdrawal from all military alliances. The resolutions adopted by the November 1971 conference, including acceptance of the PRG peace programme, were also endorsed. Interestingly, the conference added a resolution denouncing French nuclear tests in the Pacific ‘as a denial of human rights, restriction of the political freedom of a colonial people and the pollution of the atmosphere’.217 It was a telling hint of an emerging link to the anti-nuclear cause which would be taken up by many anti-war activists after the Vietnam conflict ended.218 The anti-war conference itself went unnoticed in the press, but a few days later anti-war protesters made headlines after Anzac Day clashes in Christchurch between protesters and RSA members and soldiers over attempts 320

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A poster prepared for the July 1972 mobilisation which highlighted the most consistently controversial aspect of American military strategy in Vietnam, the air war. auckland mobilisation committee collection, eph-c-vietnamcov-1972-02, atl

to lay Vietnam-related wreaths at the war memorial. In Wellington, more than 100 demonstrators from the Students’ Anti-war Organisation held an all-night vigil at the Citizens’ War Memorial.219 Around this time, the resurgence in fighting in Vietnam elicited another surprise announcement from Washington. After intensified American bombing in April failed to deter the Communists from continuing their offensive, the Nixon administration made public in early May its intention of blockading North Vietnam and mining the entrances to all its ports. Marshall publicly supported this controversial move, which he characterised as a ‘bold new plan to end the war’ – albeit one involving serious risks.220 The Wellington COV denounced it as ‘a serious escalation of the war in Vietnam’ and for the Monthly Review it was ‘a measure of the murderous bankruptcy of Nixon’s war policy’.221 Faulkner said that Labour viewed ‘with the most serious concern the proposals to escalate the naval war in the Gulf of Tonkin’, and urged all the governments concerned to come to the negotiating table.222 The party’s annual conference, which was being held at the time, went even further in passing a motion condemning Nixon’s ‘escalating policy’. By referring for the first time to ‘stepped up American aggression’, this motion signalled a real hardening of attitude.223 Yet at the same conference there was strong pressure, especially from the party hierarchy, on Labour Youth delegates to tone down their report, partly because 321

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A poster urging participation in the July 1972 mobilisation by trade unionists, members of one of the key interest groups in New Zealand’s anti-war coalition. eph-c-vietnam-1972-02, atl

it called for support for North Vietnam and the NLF’s Provisional Revolutionary Government (PRG).224 Under Kirk’s moderating influence, the party was not about to jeopardise its new confidence on Vietnam by appearing too radical for middle New Zealand. Even with planning for another mobilisation under way and New Zealand’s combat involvement over, divisions continued to beset the anti-war movement. The Wellington COV was sceptical about attempting another mobilisation in 1972.225 There were other tensions too. In early June, for example, an activist resigned from the Wellington executive because COV meetings had become ‘more and more a complete waste of time’ as ‘groups of obviously sincere left-wingers spend most of the time reviling each other’.226 The most graphic illustration of the disputes wracking the Wellington anti-war movement was the establishment during 1972 of a separate, SAL-dominated July 14 Mobilisation Committee, which operated virtually in competition with the COV. This development was a result of long-running disputes between the SAL and others in the anti-war movement in Wellington.227 Among the issues in contention was whether the main slogan for the demonstration should be ‘Victory for the Indo-Chinese People’ or ‘Out Now’.228 At one point, the tensions threatened to assume a national character when the Auckland Mobilisation Committee ‘recognised’ the breakaway group in Wellington.229 322

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As in Wellington, there were differences in the Auckland Mobilisation Committee between the SAL and others over tactics, slogans and support for the NLF.230 One university-based activist, Robert Mann, had told his Wellington COV colleagues in March that SAL members dominated the Auckland Mobilisation Committee but were in general causing few problems.231 In contrast, the New Zealand Peace Council sent an open letter of support to the PRG in May expressing its confidence that ‘the long and heroic resistance of the people of Indo China’ would soon ‘be crowned by victory’.232 Although sapping the energies of some anti-war activists, these internal divisions did not generally spill over into the public arena. Despite the anti-war movement’s divisions, the 14 July mobilisation went ahead. The materials prepared for the event were more extensive than ever before, with the Auckland Mobilisation Committee producing 10,000 posters, 7000 buttons, 2000 sheets of stickers and 250,000 leaflets for nationwide distribution.233 There was again a large turnout in Christchurch, where 10,000 marched, including such groups as the Gay Liberation Movement, Asians Against the War, Teachers and Lecturers Against the War, and the Student Anti-War Movement, as well as a wider representation of trade unions.234 In Wellington, 3000 demonstrators, less than half the number in July 1971, marched through the city, exchanging taunts with some bystanders and cheering when an American flag was burned. Brian Edwards, a media personality who was the Labour candidate for Miramar in the forthcoming election, told the protesters that, through its involvement in the war, New Zealand was complicit in ‘the most heinous crimes against humanity’.235 In Dunedin, the mobilisation was very similar to earlier marches, attracting 2000 protesters according to the local COV, but only 1000 according to the Otago Daily Times.236 The mobilisation highlighted how the politics of identity had become entangled with the politics of anti-war protest. During the April 1972 National Anti-war Conference, there had been a Polynesian workshop in addition to churches’ and women’s workshops. For the 14 July demonstrations, a pamphlet appeared in Auckland entitled ‘POLYNESIANS UNITE AGAINST THE WAR’. Put out by a group describing itself as ‘Polynesians Against the War, the Polynesian Contingent of the Auckland Mobilisation Committee to end the war in Indochina’, its underlying theme was that both the peoples of Indochina and Polynesians in New Zealand were victims of a racist war: Polynesians are oppressed right here in New Zealand, so why should we be expected to oppress and destroy other people. The government is responsible for sending Polynesians to kill Vietnamese. Since Polynesians aren’t given equal educational, housing and job opportunities, it is an easy way out for the government to

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This poster illustrates how the politics of anti-war protest were becoming associated with the politics of identity by 1972. auckland mobilisation committee collection, eph-b-roth-vietnam1972-04-front, atl

export young Polynesians to Indochina to do their dirty work for them and import them back in coffins. They deny us the right to determine our own future whilst urging us to deny the Vietnamese people’s right to self-determination.

The argument had distinct echoes of the sorts of language used in the United States by black anti-war activists, to the extent that the pamphlet included the phrase: ‘NO VIETNAMESE EVER CALLED ME A COCONUT’, a take on the by then familiar ‘No Vietnamese ever called me a nigger’.237 There were no distinctively Maori anti-war groups marching in July 1972. After Nga Tamatoa members marched in the first 1971 mobilisation, the group’s council had narrowly voted not to support the anti-war movement as a body, mainly because this was outside the scope of its immediate objects. Individual Nga Tamatoa members actively supported the anti-war movement, however, and were ‘particularly concerned at the manner in which young New Zealanders, especially Maoris, are being lured into the army for Viet Nam service’.238 Women emerged as another distinctive group within the movement as the politics of identity began to flow out of the politics of anti-war protest.239 Like the Polynesian opponents of the war, Women Against the War sought to link the plight of women in Indochina with their own position. Their pamphlet urged that: 324

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One of the many sets of protesters who identify themselves as a distinctive group within the anti-war movement in 1972. eph-b-rothvietnam-1972-05-front, atl

Women must help to stop this war, by demanding that the huge amounts of money spent on sending troops and equipment to massacre the people and ravage the countryside of Indochina be used instead to provide child care centres, better education, and vastly improved medical care. . . . The government refuses women our right to abortion on the grounds that it is violating the ‘sanctity of human life’. Yet it thinks nothing of involving New Zealand in the ruthless slaughter of the Indochinese people. The Vietnamese, like us, are demanding their right to control their own lives. If we do not make our opposition known, we are counted among the ‘silent majority’ who are supposed to support the war. This government, this war, is dependent on half the population, women, not acting.240

A women’s workshop held at the April 1972 National Anti-war Conference discussed the suffering of Indochinese women and ‘the need to draw more women into active participation in the anti-war movement at all levels, and to aim at equalising the position of women within it’.241 The 30 July mobilisation was the last large-scale protest against the war in New Zealand, and Vietnam received almost no attention for the rest of 1972. There was a short-lived controversy about the apparent training of under-age Cambodian recruits by one of the New Zealand military training teams in Vietnam, but this blew over quickly.242 Like the government, 325

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A 1972 anti-war poster which features one of the most widely recognised images of the Vietnam War. committee on vietnam collection, eph-b-rothvietnam-1972-03, atl

opponents of involvement spent the rest of 1972 watching on the sidelines as peace talks proceeded against a backdrop of continued warmaking. When a draft peace settlement was first announced in late October, Marshall publicly supported its terms in principle and welcomed the prospect of an early end to the war.243 It then became clear that neither Saigon nor Washington was going to accept the draft terms. Peace talks were still continuing when the New Zealand general election campaign began, but Vietnam was barely touched on by either major party or the media during the campaign.244 Although the electoral battle ended with a landslide victory for Labour on 25 November, the Vietnam issue had no visible influence on that outcome.245 Labour’s election, however, would have an impact on New Zealand policy towards Vietnam and effectively ended its significance as a domestic political issue.

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By the time New Zealanders voted in 1972, many of the once seemingly secure domestic moorings of the country’s post-war foreign policy had come adrift, due in no small part to Vietnam. Although foreign policy and security issues had not really figured in the election campaign, New Zealanders appeared ready to seek new directions in these spheres under Norman Kirk’s more consciously ‘moral’ and ‘independent’ vision of diplomacy. Commenting on the significance of the election for New Zealand’s approach to world affairs, one newspaper suggested: ‘Whatever radicalism there may be in the new Government will want to show itself in foreign policy as anywhere’.246 It was far from certain, however, that Labour’s policy on Vietnam would be sufficiently ‘radical’ to fulfil the desires of all elements of the anti-war movement as the conflict moved into its closing stages.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

New Zealand and the Ending of the Vietnam War, 1972–5

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abour’s 1972 campaign slogan, ‘it’s time’, had been well chosen. After 12 years of National, there was a pent-up desire for change in many quarters, not only amongst Labour’s traditional trade-union and working-class supporters but also amongst groups associated with the emerging politics of identity, such as women, Maori, young people and the ‘peace movement’.1 Hopes were high that Norman Kirk’s new administration would take an innovative approach more in tune with the social, cultural, political and economic changes that had occurred in New Zealand since the mid-1960s. Prominent amongst the expectations generated by the sweeping Labour victory was a fresh approach to foreign policy. Like Holyoake, though with more demonstrable passion for the portfolio, Kirk opted to become Minister of Foreign Affairs. By this time, his commitment to a more ‘independent’ and ‘moral’ foreign policy was well-known. Some in his party were even more eager to strike out in bold new directions. Such were Labour’s stated differences on foreign policy from its predecessor that the Dominion expressed a commonly held assumption in suggesting after the election that, ‘On the face of it, the bipartisanship which so long characterised Parliament’s approach to world affairs has ended’. Unlike some, however, the newspaper conjectured that ‘the differences may turn out to be more a matter of emphasis than direction’.2 The Vietnam issue would offer an early test of the magnitude of the shift in foreign policy. But it was a portent of times to come that it was overshadowed even before the new government was sworn in by the issue of French nuclear testing in the Pacific.3 328

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A New Approach to Vietnam From the moment the outcome of the election was known, the swift withdrawal of New Zealand’s small remaining troop presence in Vietnam was widely anticipated. True to its word, within days of being elected Labour began planning the return of the training teams.4 Only two hours after being sworn in as Prime Minister on 8 December, Kirk publicly confirmed that the ‘severance of New Zealand military involvement in Vietnam and its replacement with some sort of civil aid’ would be amongst his government’s first priorities.5 After presiding over his first Cabinet meeting a few days later, he announced the withdrawal of the two training teams and the allocation of $10 million over five years to assist the reconstruction of Indochina, double the current level of bilateral civil aid.6 Expressing another of Labour’s longstanding hopes, Kirk also stated that New Zealand would channel as much of the additional assistance as possible through the United Nations, which he saw as ‘another casualty of the Vietnam War’.7 In many respects, Kirk’s actions seemed to bear out the Dominion’s postelection prediction that changes in foreign policy would amount more to a shift in emphasis than in direction. Though the promised financial assistance was greater than National had planned to offer, Marshall had indicated in his own final statement on Indochina before the election that aid would be increased.8 Like Labour, National had been well-disposed to channelling part of New Zealand’s aid through the United Nations.9 Moreover, it had been Foreign Affairs officials, in the days before Labour took office, who conceived the idea of offering extra aid via the UN.10 Perhaps most significantly, the previous government had also hoped to withdraw the training teams by the end of 1972.11 The international impact of withdrawal would be mitigated by the small number of men involved, the fact that the Americans were anticipating such a move from the new Labour governments on both sides of the Tasman, and the imminent United States withdrawal.12 Kirk instructed officials to assure Washington and Saigon that Labour had ‘at no time’ envisaged outright withdrawal; its policy had always been ‘one of replacing military assistance with civil assistance’.13 Nevertheless, the removal of the training teams was significant symbolically in concluding a decade of military involvement in Vietnam. The way in which the United States severed its own entanglement in the conflict proved more contentious for New Zealand–American relations. As Christmas drew near, the peace negotiations were once again stalled and New Zealand diplomats found their regular Washington contacts less than forthcoming. With hopes fading for an early settlement, the Nixon administration applied an array of diplomatic and military pressures, including the resumption on 18 December of full-scale bombing and mining.14 The 329

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A protest in Wellington against Nixon’s ‘Christmas bombing’ of North Vietnam, 1972. dominion post collection, ep/1972/6154/10, atl

President also issued a public ultimatum to both North and South Vietnam to sign a peace agreement.15 The American bombing triggered renewed protests in New Zealand and around the world. On 21 December, FOL Secretary Jim Knox led a delegation to the American embassy in Wellington to protest against the renewed air strikes. The group included representatives of the leading interest groups which had opposed involvement in the war: the Committee on Vietnam, the Wellington Trades Council, the New Zealand University Students’ Association, the National Council of Churches and the Public Service Association. About 50 other people also protested outside the embassy.16 The next day, Auckland’s Vietnam Committee organised a similar protest by 70 people outside the American consulate.17 Even the mainstream press criticised the bombing, with one newspaper urging the government to tell Nixon ‘to stop this senseless bombing offensive’.18 Kirk needed no prompting. Shocked by the bombing, he conveyed his concern in a personal note to Nixon. While affirming New Zealand’s commitment to ANZUS and to close relations with the United States, he stressed the futility of the bombing and its cost in civilian lives, as well as its negative repercussions in New Zealand and internationally. He told Nixon that he found it difficult to understand what issue at stake in the peace talks ‘can be so overwhelmingly important as to justify throwing away the chance of 330

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peace and returning to the bloody business of war’. While sympathising with the difficult position the President was in, he implored him to end the bombing and ‘do all that is necessary to conclude a peace settlement without delay’.19 Though measured in tone, Kirk’s message was the most direct New Zealand criticism of American policy since the fighting began in the early 1960s, and in sending it the Prime Minister had ignored a warning from Frank Corner, the new Secretary of Foreign Affairs, that Nixon was ‘a vindictive man’.20 It was in line with the rationale that had long underpinned Labour’s stance on the Vietnam War: that it was possible to express dissent about particular American actions without imperilling the ANZUS alliance relationship. A single initiative, of course, did not constitute a full-blooded test of that general tenet. This was just as well, for the result was not encouraging. Kirk’s letter provoked a curt response from Washington that Corner aptly described as ‘sharp and aggrieved’.21 Nixon found it ‘most difficult to accept the implication that somehow the United States has not done everything it can to conclude a peace agreement and that somehow the United States has deliberately thrown away the chance of peace and callously returned “to the bloody business of war”’. He found it disquieting that an ally had adopted such a stance ‘without having heard from us our explanation of the circumstances which led to the current situation’, and added tersely that the American chargé in Wellington would explain the situation.22 This was the bluntest letter sent to Wellington by an American President in the whole Vietnam era. (Nixon’s evident irritation with New Zealand may have been tempered by his even greater anger with Gough Whitlam’s new Australian Labor government. Although Whitlam sent a similar letter to the President, he was not even accorded the courtesy of a reply – probably because of vituperative public statements by several of his ministers condemning the bombing and referring to ‘murderers and maniacs in the White House’.)23 Kirk was pleased with neither the reply nor the perfunctory briefing provided by the American chargé, Chalmers Wood. Corner told Wood that, with respect to Nixon’s comment about awaiting an explanation, ‘Your ally has pleaded for a long time for precisely the information the President says Mr Kirk should have waited to receive: but about all your ally has been vouchsafed is an unclassified transcript of remarks made by an official to the press’.24 Corner told a fellow New Zealand diplomat that the Prime Minister did not want ‘to score points or make a public scene’, but was genuinely ‘distressed at the destruction and killing of civilians going on at this late stage’.25 Kirk’s subsequent behaviour confirmed this assessment. He resisted pressures to make the contents of his letter to Nixon public,26 but did publicly express satisfaction with the ‘widespread support for the Government’s action’ after receiving a telegram supporting his protest 331

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Frank Corner, one of New Zealand’s most influential diplomats during the Vietnam War, who served as Ambassador to Washington from 1967 to 1972 before succeeding George Laking as Secretary of Foreign Affairs. abhs w5310, box 16, anz

against the bombing, signed by 1500 people attending a music festival at Ngaruawahia.27 By then, the press was commenting on the differences between Labour and its predecessor. The Dominion noted that the ‘back-room experts in Foreign Affairs’ had long been convinced that bombing would not solve the Vietnam problem, and it now appeared that ‘New Zealand will no longer voice just vague doubts in private about such policy’.28 Similarly, the New Zealand Herald suggested that Kirk’s criticism of the bombing would command broad public support, and contrasted his approach favourably with National’s reluctance to express public doubts about American policy in Vietnam.29 Unlike the aid announcement, this was a difference in direction, not just emphasis. Kirk said that his government’s diplomacy was aimed at getting New Zealand ‘into the position where it can work effectively for independent policies’; it was important to have ‘a policy which is in our own interests rather than consent to events’. The alternative was ‘to live in the ashes of other people’s policies’, and that was simply ‘not good enough’.30 Labour’s stance on Vietnam in its first months in office was sufficiently forceful to win praise from the New Zealand Monthly Review as ‘a welcome symbol of change’ and ‘a genuine break’ from National’s policies.31 Labour also acted boldly on other foreign policy fronts during its first months in office. On the very day that he wrote to Nixon, Kirk announced 332

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the government’s decision to establish diplomatic relations with the People’s Republic of China and sever ties with Taiwan. Reflecting his concern with poverty and underdevelopment, he also moved swiftly to increase New Zealand’s international development assistance. Within six months of being elected, his government showed the depth of its opposition to apartheid by blocking the scheduled rugby tour of New Zealand by the South African Springboks. It also took a stronger stance against the menace of nuclear weapons, most visibly in the June 1973 despatch of a frigate, with a Cabinet minister aboard, to bear silent witness to French nuclear testing in the Pacific. For Kirk and his supporters, these and other initiatives were hallmarks of the more ‘independent’ foreign policy which Labour wished to champion.32 In the case of Vietnam, however, Kirk took no further steps to press the Nixon administration. As a result, relations with Washington over the Christmas bombing were far less strained than was the case for the Whitlam government, whose criticisms were both more mordant and more public.33 Kirk described the resumption of the peace talks early in January 1973 as a ‘great relief’. He ignored calls from domestic critics for more radical action, such as a request to support an Auckland-based boycott of American goods. Nor did he take up a suggested three-point formula for ending the war put forward by a Hamilton group, the Indo-China Committee, which asked him to urge the United States publicly to sign the draft peace agreement, provide humanitarian aid to North Vietnam and recognise the Provisional Revolutionary Government (PRG) in South Vietnam. One outspoken new Labour MP, Dr Michael Bassett, was more openly sympathetic to such calls and stated publicly that the text of Kirk’s message to Nixon should be released.34 But there was a studied silence from Wellington as the peace talks teetered in the balance over the next few weeks. Only when a peace agreement was imminent did Kirk issue a statement, on 16 January, praising Nixon’s suspension of air strikes. He also appealed to Thieu to be flexible, as there was nothing ‘as important now as ending the war’.35 Foreign Affairs advised the embassy in Saigon that the Prime Minister’s comment aimed ‘to dispel any illusion the South Vietnamese Government may have about New Zealand’s attitude, specifically to make it clear that, if Thieu were to reject the draft agreement again, he could expect neither sympathy nor support from the New Zealand Government’.36 Whether New Zealand ‘sympathy’ or ‘support’ carried any weight in Saigon would not be tested. After a few anxious days, American pressures on Thieu to accede to the agreement prevailed. On 23 January, Nixon announced that a ‘just and fair’ peace had been achieved; a ceasefire would take effect within a few days. After 12 years of continuous fighting, an end to the Second Indochina War was in sight. Kirk 333

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enthusiastically welcomed the agreement: ‘at last the dreadful carnage in Vietnam can end and a start made back on the long road to rehabilitation and peaceful development’.37 After receiving details of the ceasefire accord, Corner told Kirk that it appeared to represent a ‘genuine compromise’ with a considerable chance of success.38 Some newspapers were more guarded about the likely durability of the settlement, voicing concern at the continued presence of North Vietnamese regulars in the South.39 The ending of direct American involvement marked the closing of a significant chapter in the Vietnam War, but this historic occasion evoked precious little sentimentality in the Nixon White House with respect to its allies’ efforts. On 25 January, the American chargé in Wellington sent Corner a one-sentence note thanking New Zealand for its contribution: Since at last my country and North Vietnam have been able to reach agreement on a Viet-Nam peace treaty, I would respectfully ask you to tell the Prime Minister how very grateful we are for the fact that New Zealand in the early days of the war was one of the first to help the people of Indochina both with troops and aid, and that when peace with Viet-Nam came in sight, again New Zealand was one of the first to offer its generous assistance to the people of Indochina.40

That these few words were the only formal acknowledgement of New Zealand’s support was a final reminder of New Zealand’s relative insignificance in Washington’s policy-making on Vietnam. Kirk did receive a personal letter from President Thieu thanking him ‘for the valiant contribution of New Zealand in the struggle to defend freedom in Viet-Nam’. In his reply, Kirk welcomed the ceasefire agreement and hoped that it would be observed by all parties. He reiterated that, though all New Zealand’s troops had been withdrawn, ‘there is no question of our losing interest in your country’.41 True to his word, Kirk continued to take an interest in developments in Vietnam, though not necessarily in ways that would be to Thieu’s liking. When Ambassador Thornton returned to Wellington in late February to brief Kirk on developments, the Prime Minister told him that while he did not intend commenting publicly in the near future, the embassy in Saigon should continue to exert diplomatic pressure for reform, for the government could not ‘justify giving aid to a country that is “in bad odour” in New Zealand’. He also asked for ‘first-hand reports on the conditions under which political prisoners are held’.42 A diplomat subsequently called on South Vietnam’s Prime Minister to explain that while Kirk’s government was willing to consider providing more assistance for refugees, the issue of political prisoners continued to attract ‘considerable public interest in New Zealand’.43 Short of closing the embassy, there was little else the government 334

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could do. Despite the contempt in which some Labour supporters held the Thieu regime, Kirk did not consider this option. In fact the government adopted a relatively hands-off approach to the still-simmering conflict. New Zealand did not follow Australia in recognising North Vietnam early in 1973. While signalling that recognition would be forthcoming eventually, Kirk first wanted to see Hanoi observe more scrupulously the terms of the Paris agreement.44 The government did take a first step toward normalising relations by ending the embargo on trade with North Vietnam in July 1973.45 It had no intention, however, of recognising the PRG; whatever the extent of its popular support, the Thieu regime remained ‘the effective government of South Vietnam’. More generally, as one policy brief noted, because of the country’s limited resources Labour did not want ‘to sustain the same degree of direct and active New Zealand involvement in Indochina as over the past few years’, but would focus instead ‘on other areas, of more immediate importance to us, such as the Pacific and ASEAN countries’.46 New Zealand eventually recognised the Democratic Republic of Vietnam on 30 September.47 Kirk, who was visiting the United States at the time, considered this an opportune moment because the move could conveniently be used ‘as balance, if needed, to any criticism that very cordial treatment in Washington might cause him to abandon independent policies’.48 In the event, New Zealand would not establish diplomatic relations with Hanoi until after the war finally ended in 1975.49 Opposition politicians did not seek to revive debate about Vietnam – probably because of their awareness that Labour held the high ground on the relationship between national identity and foreign policy. As one member of the Opposition, George Gair, observed in an August 1973 caucus discussion, Kirk was able to claim a distinctly national consciousness, whereas National was ‘more internationally minded’. With chagrin, Brian Talboys agreed that Labour was riding various ‘emotional waves’ on issues such as nuclear testing and an ‘independent foreign policy’ that was associated with the ‘nerve ends of nationalism’. Revealing the pragmatism that would become his ministerial trademark in later years, Bill Birch suggested that it was ‘not too early’ to start thinking about a strategy for the 1975 election that might build on New Zealand nationalism.50 Under Robert Muldoon’s leadership, the party would soon assert its own brand of populist nationalism. But in 1973 Vietnam was not an issue which could serve that end. Ironically, the only significant domestic criticism of Labour’s Vietnam policy in 1973/74 came from the rump of the anti-war movement. With their numbers drastically reduced, those who remained active tended to be more radical and more openly supportive of the communist cause in Vietnam. In the two years after the Paris peace agreement, they pressed the government 335

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to recognise both North Vietnam and the PRG, oppose alleged American and South Vietnamese violations of the 1973 peace agreement, seek the release of the thousands of political prisoners held by the Thieu government, and oppose aid to that regime.51 They were so frustrated and disappointed in the pursuit of most of these objectives that, in July 1974, the Monthly Review retracted its earlier praise and remarked: ‘Today the Foreign Policy of New Zealand remains as limpet-like as ever in its relationship with United States policy towards Indo-China’.52 But, beyond a committed few, events in Vietnam drew very little interest in New Zealand after the American withdrawal in 1973, even though the signing of the Paris agreement was followed by two years of lower-level conflict that left tens of thousands dead.53 Instead, on the foreign affairs front, New Zealanders were more preoccupied with issues such as sporting links with South Africa, anti-nuclear policies, and Britain’s entry into the European Economic Community. Moreover, the country and the government were shaken in August 1974 by the premature death of Kirk just as he was establishing himself as a respected national leader and international statesman. He was succeeded by Wallace (Bill) Rowling, who would have to cope with a steady decline in popular support for Labour in the face of a sharp economic downturn. Meanwhile the Opposition regained its confidence under Muldoon’s pugnacious leadership after he replaced Marshall as National’s leader in July 1974. As the battle lines for the 1975 election began to be drawn, the Vietnam conflict seemed a distant memory.

The Collapse of South Vietnam The renewal of fighting on a massive scale early in 1975 brought the Vietnam War suddenly and dramatically back onto the front pages of New Zealand’s newspapers. The Dominion observed that the so-called Ho Chi Minh offensive launched by the North Vietnamese in January 1975 was clearly intended ‘to crack the military-political stalemate that has prevailed since the Paris agreements of January 1973’.54 As the offensive gathered momentum, the newspaper decried what it perceived as a double standard in Western opinion: Those New Zealanders who have assisted North Vietnam in different so-called liberal ways may feel some responsibility to lead the way in querying this offensive and what it aims to destroy and achieve. The regime which controls South Vietnam is controversial only because it has the cold stare of the free Press of the world upon it. The regime of the North is not burdened with the freedoms of a basically democratic society and so it is able to command the minds and wills of its people. This is readily tolerated in the West.55

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The Press echoed this point, contending that the silence of all the anti-war protesters who had ‘expressed hostility to the war in the name of “peace” implies an inconsistent satisfaction with the military solution being imposed by North Vietnam’.56 Those who had opposed New Zealand combat involvement in Vietnam, including most members of the Labour government, would not have agreed, but not one of them publicly took up the press challenge to speak out against the communist offensive. There was certainly no sympathy from the anti-war movement when the South Vietnamese ambassador in Wellington sought condemnation of the communists’ ‘aggressive war’.57 Instead, two leaders of student organisations called for recognition of the PRG and accused the media of distorting news concerning Vietnam.58 The Dominion responded with the observation that: ‘New Zealand friends of the Hanoi forces would continue to insist that this is a popular revolution springing from the south as much as it is aided by the regime in the north; but evidence in the field has not supported this’.59 Though this view would be substantially validated, the anti-war movement disputed it vehemently at the time and the government appeared anxious to avoid making judgements on the issue. Thieu wrote to Rowling on 25 January cataloguing ‘the numerous and increasingly brazen violations of the Paris Agreement of January 27, 1973 by the communist side’. He asked the New Zealand Prime Minister to ‘strongly denounce and severely condemn’ these violations and urge the communists to return to the negotiating table.60 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs counselled Rowling to avoid assigning blame and to reiterate publicly the government’s conviction that the conflict could not be resolved by force.61 The government heeded this advice as the endgame in Vietnam was played out. Caution was clearly the watchword when Rowling gave a press conference on 25 March. He rejected the domino theory but expressed grave concern about developments in Indochina, arguing that these confirmed ‘our earlier view that there just simply is no military solution to the problem in that area’. He still, however, hoped for a political solution and noted that New Zealand, along with Australia, had offered to mediate. Rowling added that ‘New Zealand, as a party that – certainly under the present administration – has removed itself from the direct arena of conflict, thinks that along with a number of other nations we are in a sufficiently independent position to be able to at least assist in mediation if there is a will to mediate between the conflicting groups’.62 Given the accumulating communist successes on the battlefront in South Vietnam, it was a preposterously unlikely proposition that any ‘will to mediate’ would materialise. Three of New Zealand’s most influential newspapers were quick to criticise Rowling. The New Zealand Herald suggested that it was ‘ostrichlike’ to 337

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reject the domino theory when there was ‘not a shred of evidence to justify the belief that once Indo-China is subdued, the Communist appetite for expansion will be satisfied’.63 From Christchurch, the Press questioned the consistency of the government’s commitment to ‘peaceful negotiation’ when it chose to raise ‘no word against the military onslaught’.64 Wellington’s Dominion was the most scathing, dismissing Rowling’s ‘wishy-washy’ expressions of concern and criticising his failure ‘to denounce the aggression of forces which have so trampled the Paris ceasefire agreement as to be taking over entire provinces and sending thousands of refugees streaming south’. The paper considered it ‘scandalous’ that the South Vietnamese embassy in Wellington had had to appeal for a New Zealand condemnation of the North Vietnamese offensive which should have been offered spontaneously.65 The government’s response to events in Indochina encouraged National to consider breaking its virtual silence on the Vietnam War since losing office. At a caucus meeting the day after Rowling’s press conference, Muldoon declared that his instinct was to acknowledge the fact that the communists were winning, which would bring ‘some joy to those who supported’ them. Former Defence Minister David Thomson also thought that National should speak out on the dubious ‘value of agreements with Communists’ and express regret that the ‘free world [was] not prepared to support [the] maintenance of rights’. But the party’s elder statesman, who had presided over New Zealand’s combat involvement in Vietnam, was of a different mind. Sir Keith Holyoake believed there would be ‘no profit in any comment’, for the ‘American situation [was] fouled up’, with no will in Washington ‘to carry on’. His counsel prevailed.66 During a radio interview a few days later, Muldoon observed that the events in Vietnam belied the arguments of ‘so many people who had said things would settle down after the cease-fire agreement of 1973’.67 He also criticised the government in Parliament for making a ‘political’ decision to recognise North Vietnam in 1973 on the understanding that it would pursue its goals peacefully.68 In contrast, Don Carson, the International Vice-President of the New Zealand University Students’ Association (NZUSA), declared that his organisation attributed the ongoing fighting primarily to the Thieu regime’s violations of the 1973 peace agreement. He praised Rowling’s mediation offer as ‘a bold step towards implementing for Indo-China the long promised independent and moral foreign policy of the Labour Government’. Carson sought recognition of the legitimacy of the PRG’s control ‘of substantial parts of Vietnam’; the government should take up the call of the 1974 Labour Party conference to send a delegation to these areas.69 But just as the government ignored editorial calls to condemn the North Vietnamese, so too did it refrain from taking up suggestions such as Carson’s.70 338

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On 2 April the New Zealand embassy in Saigon reported that the situation was deteriorating rapidly and signs of panic were appearing. Having been told by other diplomats that the fall of South Vietnam might be only days away, Ambassador Norman Farrell recommended the evacuation of all non-official New Zealand citizens and the medical team.71 The government quickly gave him full authority to act as he saw fit, and placed two Bristol Freighter aircraft on standby in Singapore. While stressing that personal safety was ‘the over riding consideration’, Wellington expressed the hope that, if there was a peaceful transfer of power, a small diplomatic team might be able to stay on to resume dealings with any new administration.72 The government would cling to this ‘foot-in-the-door’ policy for several weeks, but some diplomats already judged it a vain hope. British officials, for instance, considered the PRG a spent force, with the North Vietnamese ‘directly in charge of operations’ and decisions ‘being taken in Hanoi, not at PRG HQ’. In their view, there would be ‘no alternative to a single Vietnam under a Hanoi Government’.73 On 3 April officials advised Rowling that the United States had asked New Zealand to assist with the evacuation of refugees and the movement of emergency supplies. They recommended that the government make available the two Bristol Freighters in Singapore; this ‘would represent probably the quickest and most tangible form of on-the-spot aid’ and would probably ‘be well received in New Zealand’. (These aircraft would, in any case, be needed to evacuate New Zealand personnel from South Vietnam.) Rowling agreed, although hoping that ‘we are not just compounding the problem’.74 The Prime Minister had been typically cautious in his public pronouncements on the issue: a few days earlier he had said that New Zealand was ready to send aid to the throngs of refugees on both sides of the military demarcation lines in South Vietnam, but was awaiting advice on where this could most effectively be directed. He had also announced that the government would subsidise a national appeal for funds to aid Vietnamese refugees.75 While the evacuation of refugees was controversial, the possibility of bringing South Vietnamese orphans to New Zealand was an even more sensitive issue. This prospect was raised publicly in early April by Jocelyn Franklin, Director of the Auckland Catholic Mission’s Overseas Aid and Development Committee, who proposed cutting through bureaucratic red tape to bring 100 orphans, preferably of mixed blood and under two years of age, to New Zealand for adoption. She hoped to work through an American airline company, World Airways, whose president was behind a planned ‘Operation Babylift’ that aimed to take 500 Vietnamese orphans to the United States. After news broke of Franklin’s intention, more than 300 New Zealand families expressed interest in adopting Vietnamese orphans. An Auckland woman, Yvonne Wilcox, even launched a peti339

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tion denouncing alleged bureaucratic obstacles to the entry of Vietnamese orphans.76 The government was again cautious. Rowling indicated that the aircraft available to assist refugees might be used to evacuate some orphans, after consultation with the South Vietnamese authorities. When an RNZAF Hercules left New Zealand a few days later with relief supplies for refugees, an official from the Department of Social Welfare was on board, charged with assessing the situation concerning orphans.77 But, just as some New Zealanders were agitating for urgent action on the orphans, representatives of other groups (such as the Citizens’ Association for Racial Equality, the New Zealand Medical Aid Committee for IndoChina, the New Zealand Association of Social Workers, the Auckland COV, the Council of Organisations for Relief Services Overseas [Corso] and the Save the Children Fund) were arguing that it would be wrong to remove Vietnamese children from their own social and cultural environment.78 This was not necessarily a popular argument: Joris de Bres, a regional organiser for Corso, was booed at a meeting of about 600 people in Auckland when he expressed it.79 Nevertheless, a group of church leaders who met the Prime Minister on 7 April commended the government for not acting hastily. Rowling stated after the meeting that, despite the understandable wave of concern about the orphans, New Zealand’s immediate priority was ‘to put aid on the ground in Vietnam, where it was most needed’.80 The government’s cautious approach failed to deflect criticism on this emotionally charged issue. The Dominion was again to the fore, recognising that the issue represented a symbolic touchstone of the war’s meaning for groups on both sides of the debate: ‘It would be true that some benefactors would not mind if the transfer of children memorialised the tyranny of the invaders, just as a remarkable number of welfare agency people these days side with revolutionary movements – in South Vietnam with the forces endeavouring to overthrow the Government’. While accepting that Vietnamese orphans would generally be better brought up in their own country, the newspaper feared that the same could not be said for children of mixed blood, who were likely to face a bleak future. The government should ‘see what it can do for these outcasts’; New Zealand could draw a line ‘outside of politics’ by focusing on this group.81 While sympathetic to the plight of orphans, the Press was more supportive of the government’s approach and suggested it ‘should not be stampeded into doing anything that might encourage the mass uplift of children who will almost certainly be better off if they are properly cared for in their own country’.82 The Opposition sensed that here at last was a Vietnam-related issue with which it could goad the government and strike a popular chord. Rowling reacted angrily to Muldoon’s exhortations in Parliament on 10 April to follow Australia’s 340

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lead in admitting Vietnamese orphans, especially those of partial American parentage.83 This was a rare heated exchange between Labour and National speakers on Vietnam since New Zealand forces had been withdrawn. The next day Rowling said that while the government would do all it could to bring orphans to New Zealand in cases ‘where we are convinced that this will be in their best interests’, the South Vietnamese authorities had made it clear that there were not substantial numbers of children awaiting immediate evacuation.84 As the debate about orphans continued, those who had protested against the war rallied to support the government in not bowing to pressure to seek them out for removal to New Zealand. A visiting representative of the Liberation Women’s Union of the PRG, Ma Thi Chu (invited by the COVs and women’s groups as part of activities to mark International Women’s Year) urged that all orphans remain in Vietnam.85 Helen Clark, the President of Labour’s Youth Advisory Council (and a future New Zealand Prime Minister), publicly reaffirmed the council’s ‘longstanding opposition to attempts by foreigners to impose solutions on the Vietnamese’. She congratulated the government ‘on its refusal to take unwise or precipitate action’; it was preferable to help the Vietnamese care for the orphans in their own country.86 Michael Bassett also entered the fray, lambasting National in a newspaper column that reiterated comments he had made in Parliament: On behalf of the thousands of New Zealanders who opposed our military involvement in Vietnam 10 years ago next month, I say only this: After the loss of millions of lives, the blood from Indo-China is partly on the National party’s hands and on National’s conscience. We warned them; they didn’t listen. Every orphan there is partly their creation and every maimed child partly their responsibility. They owe it to us and to the world to demonstrate some contrition.

Paradoxically, with North Vietnam’s armed forces relentlessly advancing upon Saigon, Bassett saw fit to echo Rowling in declaring that ‘there is certainly no military solution possible to the war in Indo-China short of destroying the country and the people living in it’.87 Even more remarkably, some New Zealanders still hoped to help prevent the fall of South Vietnam. Clark Titman, long the most prominent individual supporter of the South Vietnamese cause in New Zealand, attempted to organise a group of volunteers to fight alongside Saigon’s beleaguered forces. Absurd as this project may have seemed, about 80 men responded to his call in mid-April and he selected an initial contingent of 14, all but one of whom had already seen service in Vietnam.88 The South Vietnamese ambassador publicly welcomed Titman’s initiative and said that he was sounding out his government about the proposal.89 These men’s willingness 341

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to risk their lives would not be tested; the final collapse of a non-communist South Vietnam was only days away. Anticipating this outcome, Rowling stated publicly on 16 April that New Zealand would follow established precedents and recognise whatever governments were in control in Cambodia and South Vietnam. He explained that while there were increasing difficulties in relation to receiving possible orphans, with the South Vietnamese government not enthusiastic, New Zealand was prepared to take small groups.90 A few days later Rowling told Parliament that, while he respected the genuine desire of many to help these orphans, they would be most effectively cared for in Vietnam.91 By then Cambodia had fallen to the Communists, and on 21 April New Zealand recognised the new Royal Government of National Union in Phnom Penh.92 Events over the following week rendered the debate about orphans meaningless, and only a handful ever came to New Zealand.93 New Zealand’s diplomatic presence in Saigon was now the most pressing issue facing the government. On 15 April Farrell had cabled Wellington on the imminent collapse of South Vietnamese resistance and suggested an urgent review of New Zealand’s ‘foot in the door’ policy. Noting possible transport problems, he questioned the value of leaving a few New Zealanders at risk: For what? To continue relations with the Thieu Government which seems to me to be doomed? Or with some other non-Communist Government which might take its place (which seems to me unlikely)? Or with a Government set up by the PRG (which could not be relied upon to forget that we once had forces here even though they are not here now)?94

Officials in Wellington reassured Farrell that the Bristol Freighters in Saigon would not move without his authorisation and gave him complete discretion to evacuate all remaining New Zealanders immediately if he thought them at risk. But they also reminded him why the government was still clinging to its ‘foot in the door’ policy: (a) While possibility remains of a peaceful transfer of authority the Government would like for general political reasons to retain a capacity to deal with a successor administration in Saigon. (b) Enquiries going on about orphans may be reaching a point at which Government will wish to arrange for a[t] least some limited movement. (c) The Government feels a degree of responsibility for ‘in-laws’ (as covered in other telegrams) and would hope to be able to help at least some of these people. (d) Finally, having regard to our past support we would not want to signal to South Vietnamese until we have to that we regard them as beaten.95

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Over the next few days, however, it became clear that the South Vietnamese were well and truly ‘beaten’ and that there would be no ‘peaceful transfer of authority’. The policy was quickly abandoned. With the military noose around Saigon rapidly tightening, Rowling announced on 21 April that the few remaining New Zealand embassy personnel would be leaving. Although they ‘might be safe from invading troops, they would be exposed to danger in the event of a breakdown of internal law and order’. The next day, he greeted news of Thieu’s resignation with the hope that this might pave the way for a negotiated end to the hostilities. He also announced that 33 civilians had been evacuated from Saigon to Singapore early that day.96 As the final days of an independent South Vietnam were played out, the different sides in the Vietnam debate in New Zealand continued to reprise their respective arguments. Reminding its readers that it was ‘one of the few western nation newspapers’ to have condemned the American formula as an unacceptable basis for peace, the Dominion argued that it had been shown for what it was, ‘a monstrous sell-out’. It would now be a ‘test of communist sincerity’ whether North Vietnam and the Viet Cong would create the three-sided ‘Council for National Unity and Concord’ they had promised.97 For its part, the anti-war movement continued to press the government to recognise the PRG. For instance, Wellington COV members who were active in the youth section of the Labour Party agreed to check that there were references to recognition of the PRG in the Youth and Women’s reports to the forthcoming Labour Party conference.98 The government was still not prepared to move quickly in recognising a new regime in South Vietnam. Rowling, who was attending a meeting of Commonwealth leaders in Kingston, Jamaica, stated on 28 April that New Zealand would not immediately recognise the PRG because it needed to clarify who was in control in Saigon – it might be the North Vietnamese government. He added that rule from Hanoi would pose no problems for diplomatic recognition.99 The end finally came on 30 April. The government was informed by its high commission in Singapore ‘that according to a UPI report that has yet to be confirmed Saigon has surrendered’.100 The Vietnam War was over. The remnants of the anti-war movement were delighted. On 1 May the Wellington COV held a special executive meeting which decided to hold ‘celebrations for the victory in Indochina’ on the 19th to coincide with Ho Chi Minh’s birthday: the slogan would be ‘Victory of the Indochinese people and Peace in Vietnam’.101 The fall of South Vietnam also prompted the presentation to Parliament of a petition calling for immediate recognition of the PRG.102 The New Zealand Monthly Review applauded ‘the final triumph of the PRG ‘as ‘primarily a victory for the Vietnamese people’. But it also 343

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represented ‘a victory for the world peace movement, and an index of the dramatic growth of that movement, conspicuously in the central fortress of western warmongering, the United States itself’.103 Around New Zealand, there was satisfaction amongst those who had opposed the country’s military involvement that the conflict had had a positive outcome. Other reactions in New Zealand to the fall of Saigon were more philosophical. The Otago Daily Times, which had long supported the New Zealand military commitment, felt the Americans should have realised that: there was no future for any further injection of military assistance to prop up a regime which had crumbled because of its ineptitude and because it did not have behind it the spirit which motivated its opponents. Despite the Communist labels stuck to the North Vietnamese Administration, history suggests it is nationalism as much as any other ism which has given the power to keep on against the limited might of the United States. The Chinese and the Russians might have supplied the money and the machinery but it was the Vietnamese themselves who won the fight.104

The Press was less confident that ‘Vietnamese Communism will be exceptional’. It, too, acknowledged the deficiencies of successive administrations in Saigon but still considered that, ‘given a fair opportunity’, South Vietnam ‘would almost certainly have been a more open society than is likely to be permitted under Communist rule’.105 Listener editor Ian Cross offered one of the most thoughtful appraisals of the situation. He agreed with the anti-war movement that ‘the protestors and demonstrators of the 1960s, the people who marched in the streets and sometimes made nuisances of themselves, were right: we had no just cause in Vietnam; our military intervention increased and prolonged the agony of a divided people’. But he added a note of warning: Yet that dissent has yet to demonstrate that it can move from being a negative to a positive force in the Western world. What it fought for in the 1960s has come to pass. But what does it propose to do and say about the consequences? Is it going to lapse into passiveness in the face of other evils and refuse to display the same conscience? If it does, it will lose its claim to any moral authority and finally have to be condemned just as harshly as the inadequacies of leadership that took us into Vietnam in the first place. . . . Now terror and destruction have befallen South Vietnam, two years after American troops left and four years after New Zealand’s token military presence was withdrawn. Is a retrospective criticism of the former policies of Western governments the only response by yesterday’s dissenters to the successful militarism of

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new zealand and the ending of the vietnam war, 1972–5 North Vietnam and the Viet Cong? Is the execution, suffering and exile of hundreds of thousands of people acceptable now because they mean the triumph of the side that deserved to win?106

The government itself reacted pragmatically to the fall of Saigon. New Zealand granted asylum to the South Vietnamese ambassador, Nguyen Hoan, and 22 other Vietnamese nationals associated with the embassy. Acting Prime Minister Bob Tizard explained that it was acting ‘solely on humanitarian grounds’ and without any ‘special political considerations’. South Vietnamese students in New Zealand would not be obliged to return home.107 Anxious not to impair relations with South Vietnam’s new rulers, officials privately assured the North Vietnamese that New Zealand had taken no part in the American evacuation from Saigon and reiterated that the South Vietnamese embassy staff’s request for political asylum had been accepted for humanitarian reasons. They also directed the ambassador in Beijing, Bryce Harland, to advise his North Vietnamese counterpart that New Zealand was unlikely to accept many of the refugees evacuated by the Americans.108 As the Prime Minister had foreshadowed, however, concerns about future relations with North Vietnam were insufficient to prompt New Zealand to move swiftly in according formal recognition to Saigon’s new communist rulers. Rowling waited until 12 May to announce to over 500 delegates at the Labour Party conference that New Zealand had recognised the Revolutionary Government of South Vietnam, thereby following the example of Australia, Japan, France and Malaysia, among others. ‘Vietnam has been through hell,’ he said, ‘but there’s no point in recriminations now.’ His comments received a standing ovation from more than 100 of the delegates, but most of those in the hall ‘stayed seated and clapped politely’.109 The majority reaction was probably more appropriate: as the Press pointed out, ‘recognition does not imply approval’.110 The gesture was merely a pragmatic recognition of de facto control, no different from the government’s rationale for recognising the Thieu regime. It proved of little significance in any case, for Vietnam was reunified under Hanoi’s control within less than a year. For its remaining time in office, Labour would seek to offer reconstruction aid but otherwise show little interest in Vietnam. Despite initial hopes, most of those associated with the anti-war movement also ceased to take an active interest in Vietnam. When the Wellington COV’s executive met on 20 May, its members agreed that the previous day’s celebration of the communist victory had been successful and Carson reported that many had suggested the formation of a Friendship Society with the Indochinese People. It was unanimously agreed that ‘the COV must continue its work’.111 In fact, on the advice of representatives from 345

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Indochina, the idea of a society would be abandoned, and the COV was wound up in 1976. Its records were presented to the Alexander Turnbull Library, thereby bequeathing to historians the most comprehensive archive of documents from New Zealand’s anti-war groups. The disappearance of the anti-Vietnam War movement in New Zealand, and around the world, underlined how much it had been driven by opposition to American-led intervention in a Southeast Asian conflict rather than intrinsic and lasting concern for the fate of the Vietnamese people.

In November 1975, Labour was swept from office in an electoral landslide as great as the one that had elected it. By then, the Vietnam War had well and truly receded from public consciousness in New Zealand, and it played no role in Labour’s defeat, which was largely attributable to the country’s flagging economic fortunes. In fact, the war had not figured prominently as either a diplomatic or a domestic issue since 1973 – unlike in Australia.112 The strain in New Zealand–United States relations caused by Kirk’s prompt withdrawal of the training teams and criticism of Nixon’s Christmas bombing offensive was brief and without lasting repercussions. The third Labour government went on to enjoy reasonably smooth relations with the United States. Given its stance on the Vietnam War for almost a decade before achieving office in 1972, the most noteworthy feature of Labour’s time in office proved to be its moderation. National’s virtual silence on Vietnam once in opposition may have reflected a sense that it was now on the wrong side of the issue – especially if Labour could exploit it to touch on those ‘nerve ends of nationalism’ mentioned by Talboys in caucus in 1973. National’s behaviour foreshadowed its pragmatic repositioning in later years to reflect public opinion on the anti-nuclear dispute with the United States. In the case of Vietnam, another factor behind the party’s silence may have been that supporting regimes such as Thieu’s in Saigon had never been a task National relished. Once the American presence in Vietnam was removed, it no longer seemed a cause worth risking political capital on. National spoke out on the emotive question of rescuing war orphans, but even then did not seek to rekindle a full-blown debate on what had clearly become a lost cause. The same was true for most newspaper criticism of the Labour government, with some press commentaries lamenting the hypocrisy of Western acceptance of a communist military victory but acknowledging the fatal weaknesses of successive South Vietnamese administrations and offering no viable alternative policies. By 1975, most newspapers – including those which had supported the New Zealand military commitment – seemed to 346

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agree that the intervention of the United States and its allies in the conflict had been a regrettable error. On the face of it, the war’s outcome came as a long-awaited vindication for the anti-war movement – especially for those who had always looked to the creation of a unified, socialist Vietnam. But despite their satisfaction with Kirk’s withdrawal of the training teams, many activists became increasingly disillusioned with Labour’s even-handed approach after the signing of the Paris peace agreement. Their efforts to arouse interest in such issues as the plight of political prisoners in South Vietnam were hampered by rapidly fading public interest. Apart from a few committed activists, the anti-war movement gradually faded away and, perhaps not surprisingly, dissolved entirely by 1976. Well before then, many activists had shifted their focus to causes such as opposition to nuclear weapons and the anti-apartheid and women’s movements. While those who had protested for so long could be satisfied that the fighting was finally over, the inherently repressive regime that would rule Vietnam thereafter was not what most had hoped might emerge from the ashes. In general, the final phases of the Vietnam War were anticlimactic in their impact on New Zealand in comparison with the heated controversies generated by the conflict in earlier years. While Labour’s handling of the issue differed from National’s, the actions of both parties between 1973 and 1975 suggested that the foreign policy consensus which Vietnam had splintered was not necessarily irreparable. For the most part, the Dominion was proven accurate in its prediction of a difference in foreign policy emphasis rather than direction over Vietnam. Thanks to the American withdrawal, the proposition that New Zealand could express dissent on a particular issue without jeopardising the alliance with the United States was not robustly tested in this period. In political terms, the way in which the final stages of the Vietnam War unfolded meant that Labour and National avoided confronting the full implications of the differences between them that had first been exposed earlier in the Vietnam era. The real test of that unresolved legacy would be postponed until another Labour government came to power in 1984 to confront very different domestic circumstances and a very different international environment.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Historical Significance of New Zealand’s Vietnam Experience

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he account set out in this book of the causes, course and consequences of New Zealand’s entanglement in the Vietnam conflict has developed two general theses concerning the diplomatic and domestic dimensions of that experience. This chapter briefly recapitulates those lines of argument and highlights the most important themes which emerge from them. It closes with some reflections on the longer-term significance of New Zealand’s most divisive experience of war in the twentieth century.

New Zealand’s Diplomatic Involvement in the Vietnam War Any assessment of New Zealand’s Vietnam War diplomacy must take into account its geopolitical and ideological context. In general terms, it grew out of the intersection of certain major trends in New Zealand’s external relations after 1950: the dominance of the Cold War in shaping national security policies in New Zealand and other Western nations; a growing reliance on the United States as the guarantor of New Zealand’s security; a corresponding, if reluctant, shift in alliance orientation away from Great Britain; a gradually increasing cooperation with Australia in regional affairs; a burgeoning interest in the Asia–Pacific region; and a fear that the spread of communism in Southeast Asia, especially as promoted by the People’s Republic of China, constituted a strategic threat to New Zealand. There has long been widespread agreement that these developments dominated the conceptual framework within which policy-makers in Wellington responded to the Vietnam War, eventually drawing New Zealand into that 348

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conflict because of alliance commitments and the logic of the security policies sustaining them.1 These contextual factors initially came into play during the First Indochina War. As in the United States and Australia, however, most historical interest in the impact of the Vietnam conflict on New Zealand has focused on the 1960s, the decade when it was justifiably considered by many to be ‘the greatest foreign policy issue’ for the country, as one member of the Holyoake government noted shortly afterwards.2 As a consequence, there has been insufficient recognition that the bloody struggle of France and its local allies against the communist-led Vietminh from 1946 to 1954 also affected New Zealand. This book has sought to redress the balance by treating those largely forgotten years as an integral part of New Zealand’s Vietnam experience. During the early 1950s policy-makers in Wellington adopted working assumptions about the Vietnam conflict which would endure with remarkable consistency for more than two decades. Despite early (and long-lasting) qualms about the strength and legitimacy of indigenous non-communist forces in Vietnam, two central considerations came to the fore between 1950 and 1954: a recognition that reliance on the United States as the ultimate guarantor of New Zealand’s security required the paying of appropriate alliance dues when necessary; and a belief that a communist triumph in Vietnam would have adverse consequences for Southeast Asia’s stability and, by implication, New Zealand’s security. The internal debates during the United Action crisis showed that even in the 1950s these assumptions were sufficiently powerful for New Zealand to seriously consider making a combat contribution in Vietnam as part of a coalition of Western powers. That possibility was foreclosed by British opposition and by the ending of the First Indochina War. There was no reason to suppose, however, that in different circumstances where American (and Australian) pressure was more overt and British opinion was irrelevant, New Zealand would not respond in accordance with the underlying principles adopted in official circles during the early 1950s. The First Indochina War thus stands as an overlooked but crucial prologue to New Zealand’s response in 1965, when policy-makers in Wellington would be confronted with precisely those circumstances. Developments in the decade after the end of the First Indochina War only strengthened the likelihood that New Zealand would support American intervention in Vietnam. Membership of SEATO and the adoption of a strategy of forward defence meant formal acceptance of a New Zealand security commitment in Southeast Asia. This regional reorientation in security policy did not immediately bring closer involvement in Vietnam, primarily because of the lull in fighting there during the late 1950s as the competing non-communist and communist regimes of Ngo Dinh Diem and 349

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Ho Chi Minh consolidated power in their respective parts of the partitioned country. During this time, New Zealand’s regional defence commitment was implemented under the Commonwealth umbrella in Malaya (and then Malaysia). Vietnam itself remained of secondary interest to New Zealand even during the early 1960s, when the Holyoake government had to respond to growing pressures for ‘more flags’ to support American military intervention in Vietnam. As prefigured by the Chiefs of Staff in late 1961, the key issue for New Zealand was not ‘the need to restore stability in South Vietnam’, but rather the perceived requirement ‘to preserve our position with the United States as our major ally’.3 In fact, policy-makers in Wellington would have preferred not to confront the problem at all: the decision to make a combat commitment in 1965 was taken reluctantly. Even during the war, both supporters and critics of that decision occasionally noted as much. But any reservations which the Holyoake government harboured were not highlighted publicly, and at least one writer has argued that New Zealand’s involvement was not reluctant.4 It is important, therefore, to be clear about the precise character of this ‘reluctance’ and its influence on New Zealand’s participation in the Vietnam War. From the time of the First Indochina War New Zealand officials had doubts about the democratic credentials, national popularity and political effectiveness of the non-communist side in Vietnam. They questioned the likely efficacy of American-led military intervention, especially without widespread allied support or United Nations ‘cover’. Events in the late 1950s and early 1960s did little to alter these misgivings, which were intensified after the coup against Diem in 1963 by the ineptness of the revolving-door governments in Saigon and by Washington’s obvious frustration. After American intentions to intervene more extensively grew clearer, along with pressures for ‘more flags’ to back them, New Zealand’s reservations only seemed to widen. Prognoses made in Wellington from late 1964 proved strikingly prescient about the likely ineffectiveness of the American bombing strategy and the slim chances of success for external military intervention. Then there was Holyoake’s own laconic, noncommittal influence. His parsimony, pragmatism and aversion to domestic political controversy all contributed to New Zealand’s restrained response to American entreaties until late 1964, and its hesitation when allied pressures intensified in the early 1965. Both he and his officials were acutely conscious of the limitations of New Zealand’s military resources, and viewed Malaysia as the priority area for their deployment. At bottom, though, New Zealand’s reservations were pragmatic. It was always probable that they would be outweighed by more important considerations of principle if Washington’s desire for support in Vietnam became a fundamental test of the alliance350

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based approach which had guided New Zealand’s national security doctrine since the late 1940s. In mid-1965, Holyoake’s principal advisers presented the options facing the country in exactly such terms. After grappling with the classic choices of ‘exit’, ‘voice’ and ‘loyalty’, they recommended the third.5 To ‘exit’ would be virtually unthinkable. Not only did policy-makers fear that refusing to make a combat commitment would jeopardise alliance relations but – unlike many domestic critics of American policy toward Vietnam – they firmly supported the overall strategy of containing communism in Southeast Asia. Though privately sceptical about Washington’s proposed means of achieving that end, they were convinced that there was no workable alternative. In this context, the second option was also ruled out, for it would have been self-defeating to voice disquiet publicly. Moreover, the possibility of privately outlining practical objections to military intervention was effectively removed when Australia so promptly backed American escalation of the war in 1965. ‘Loyalty’ in the form of a combat commitment appeared the only palatable alternative, and New Zealand dutifully lined up alongside the hawks. To have acted otherwise would have required questioning the most basic assumptions on which the country’s post-war national security policies rested. Having embraced the role of loyal ally, New Zealand would not waver from it while National remained in power. The 1965 decision to make a token combat commitment was the defining moment in New Zealand’s Vietnam policy. It represented the government’s carefully considered attempt to balance genuine support for an alliancebased strategy of forward defence in Southeast Asia and for an independent, non-communist South Vietnam against practical concerns about the depressingly unpromising nature of the latter cause. New Zealand’s challenge thereafter – and the paradox of its involvement in the Vietnam War – was how to demonstrate the alliance solidarity to which it was philosophically committed while limiting its participation on the ground. In general terms, the Holyoake government responded cannily to this challenge by acting as the ‘most dovish of the hawks’. Although it was only ever used explicitly by Ralph Mullins, the phrase is a useful one because it highlights the distinctiveness of New Zealand’s approach to the Vietnam War when compared to those of its two ANZUS allies. Even more importantly, it encapsulates vividly the creative tension between the roles of loyal ally and reluctant participant which determined so much of the diplomatic aspect of New Zealand involvement in the Vietnam War. Any reflections on the evolution and efficacy of this distinctive New Zealand diplomatic response to the dilemmas raised by the Vietnam War must acknowledge the decisive influence of both Holyoake himself and leading officials. To a greater extent than occurred in either Washington or 351

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Canberra, New Zealand’s Vietnam policy was brokered between the Prime Minister and his non-political diplomatic advisers, with other National Party politicians playing no more than bit roles. Together, they forged and implemented the strategy that ensured New Zealand would be the ‘most dovish of the hawks’. It was a stance befitting Holyoake’s general style as a foreign policymaker. Holyoake was not an original thinker on issues of foreign policy and did not engage with them with passion or in great intellectual depth.6 Indeed, it is somewhat ironic that he was New Zealand’s longest-serving foreign minister, for Holyoake is primarily remembered as an astute domestic politician who led National to four successive election victories in the 1960s. Always domestically focused, he kept his distance from the Department of External Affairs, and his chronic reluctance to sanction the expenditure of precious overseas funds on foreign affairs was a source of strain.7 Nevertheless, he relied heavily on officials for detailed information on world affairs and policy advice, and when he rejected the latter he usually did so for pragmatic rather than philosophical reasons. He and his department tended to be at one on issues of national security and alliance relations, sharing the general conceptual framework which determined New Zealand’s approach to the Vietnam War. He appeared, moreover, to be viscerally anti-communist. When confronted with the challenge of Vietnam, Holyoake’s instinct was to express general support for Saigon’s cause while avoiding any potentially costly and politically controversial involvement. From the time of his first visit there, he took little interest in the details of Vietnam’s problems. Just as he had been hazy about Diem’s religious affiliation during that visit, so in later years he would have to ask Laking to remind him of the name of the South Vietnamese Prime Minister who had formally requested New Zealand send combat troops in 1965.8 At the same time, his general commitment to the American alliance and forward defence in Southeast Asia meant that he was readily persuaded by his advisers in 1965 that New Zealand’s national interests necessitated sending a combat force. A significantly different policy would have required him to challenge the prevailing orthodoxies about New Zealand national security, and Holyoake was not a man to do this. Indeed, his success as a politician was largely due to his consummate skill in embracing the orthodoxies of his age, presenting them in their best possible light and papering over their deficiencies. That is precisely how he approached the Vietnam commitment. Holyoake was consistently supportive of the American effort in public, but his pragmatism, frugality and sensitivity to domestic political criticism ensured that he would work with equal determination to limit New Zealand’s military contribution. Not having been in the armed forces during the Second World 352

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War, he may also have ‘felt a reluctance to send men into battle in light of his own lack of similar service’.9 Those qualities ensured that he played the leading role in seeking to present New Zealand’s approach as a balanced one – an objective best illustrated by his almost obsessive concern to be seen to support all initiatives for a negotiated peace. His aversion to documenting his thoughts on paper makes it impossible to determine how self-consciously he played the role of ‘dovish hawk’ on Vietnam. It is worth recalling, though, that when asked about his position on the war in 1968, Holyoake responded: ‘I’m certainly not a “hawk”, nor a “dove”, perhaps somewhere in between’.10 Whatever their differences with the Prime Minister on other issues, his diplomatic and military advisers took a very similar position to him on Vietnam. If anything, they were slightly more hawkish than Holyoake for much of the war. In that sense, Vietnam was as much ‘the officials’ war’ (and most especially that of the Department of External Affairs) as it was ‘Mr Holyoake’s War’. They were the ones who applied the most significant pressures on the government in 1965, pointing out the potential alliance costs of non-involvement and emphasising that it was in New Zealand’s own national interests to counter communism in Southeast Asia. Their commitment to an alliance-based policy was all the greater because they were playing that role despite their inherent scepticism about the American strategies for achieving a favourable outcome in Vietnam. Having made such a difficult decision based on their assessment of where the national interest lay, they were understandably irate when anti-war activists accused the government of not pursuing an ‘independent’ foreign policy and of bowing to American pressures. That is why the country’s leading diplomats and military officials have featured so prominently in this book. They were New Zealand’s closest equivalent to ‘the best and the brightest’ in Washington – the intellectually gifted group of policy advisers who had gravitated to Kennedy’s Camelot and who, despite their brilliance, tragically convinced two Presidents of the need to plunge ever deeper into the disastrous quagmire of the Vietnam War.11 In part because of Holyoake’s style as a foreign policy-maker, it fell to these officials first to rehearse the arguments for and against involvement, and then to develop the key rationales for the Vietnam commitment. Their prominence in the decision-making process helped to ensure that neither domestic political considerations nor judgements about the intrinsic merits of the Vietnam situation determined New Zealand’s commitment. Rather it evolved from tough-minded assessments of how national interests would be best served by demonstrating alliance solidarity with the United States and Australia. In reluctantly recommending a token combat commitment in 1965, McIntosh and his department knew there were no easy options. They had no illusions that the American-led alliance strategy would succeed, 353

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but they sympathised with the dilemmas confronting Washington. They also feared that not supporting the United States could have dire long-term consequences for New Zealand, and they instinctively understood that hard cases were the true tests of the strength of an alliance relationship. This realisation helps to explain why Jack Hunn was alone among high-level officials in opposing the Vietnam commitment. Many of his colleagues shared his reservations about the Vietnam conflict itself, but, unlike Hunn, they did not have significant reservations about the general strategy of containment in Southeast Asia. They were also more sensitive to the point made by Ambassador Laking from Washington in April 1965 that Australia’s response would be ‘the yard-stick’ by which the United States would measure New Zealand’s reliability as an ally.12 Holyoake and his key advisers also shared a certain dispassionate quality about the nature of New Zealand’s commitment, in marked contrast to the passion and partisanship of many of their domestic critics. When officials prepared policy documents and speeches for Holyoake concerning Vietnam, they did so with conviction, for they were defending their own professional and intellectual judgements. At the same time, because they were justifying an alliance-based decision, they could be critical behind the scenes about aspects of Washington’s policy, but they did no more than suggest to Holyoake that he voice those concerns privately and mildly. Despite their frequent frustration about the inadequacy of consultation by the United States, these officials were ultimately not concerned about the war itself. They could therefore respond with relative equanimity to both the escalation and the gradual withdrawal of American military involvement. Averting the fall of Saigon to communism was certainly a desirable outcome from Wellington’s perspective, but it was not the sine qua non of the policy which officials persuaded Holyoake to adopt on Vietnam. What mattered most to them was maintaining harmonious alliance relations with the United States, and that was the basis on which they guided the government’s response to the issue for over a decade. Perhaps that is why they were less disillusioned by the experience than their American and Australian counterparts, for their psychic investment in the cause of an independent, non-communist South Vietnam was never as great. For New Zealand’s diplomats and military officials, as for Holyoake, Vietnam was a war fought in cold blood. In such circumstances, it is not surprising that New Zealand’s general diplomatic response to the war from 1965 to 1972 was that of a ‘dovish hawk’. Strategically and symbolically, the government aligned itself with the hawks by despatching a combat force. This strategic decision represented a public affirmation of the key principles underlying New Zealand’s national security policy. The necessity of reaffirming those principles was reinforced for policy-makers in Wellington in the late 1960s by ongoing instability 354

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in Southeast Asia, by Britain’s evident eagerness to withdraw from the region, and by the perceived persistence of communist threats there. If New Zealand’s hawkishness was based on principles, its dovishness was driven by pragmatism and was manifested in the way in which its commitment was configured. Acting as ‘the most dovish of the hawks’ simply represented the working through of the 1965 decision. It meant that New Zealand could expand or decrease its force contribution at any time in the light of alliance-related considerations without undermining the principle behind its involvement, for its commitment was not influenced directly either by domestic considerations or by the situation on the ground in Vietnam. In retrospect, this approach may seem flawed. It certainly carried costs, most significantly an unavoidable association with the American failure in Vietnam and a related long-term decline in domestic support for the alliance with the United States. One might even argue that if New Zealand had worked with Australia to declare its doubts more forcefully in 1965, it might have helped avert the whole Vietnam débâcle. After all, once New Zealand signed up with the hawks, its efforts behind the scenes had no discernible restraining effect on American Vietnam policy. But in 1965, Australia’s robust approach made a combined effort to dissuade Washington untenable, and a lone New Zealand voice would have had no effect.13 Given these constraints, how effective was the position of being the most dovish of the hawks? On one level, it represented a tacit admission of the limits to a small ally’s ability to influence the United States. On the other hand, by acting as a hawk on the strategic level, the government preserved the sound alliance relations on which it believed the country’s long-term security depended. Not only did New Zealand remain on good terms with the United States and Australia, but its relations with most Southeast Asian states were not visibly harmed by its stance.14 By acting as a dove on the tactical level, New Zealand limited its involvement in Vietnam to a token symbolic scale, minimising the potential financial, military and electoral costs of that intervention. The domestic political costs could only have been averted by complete non-intervention. Moreover, those costs were not really felt in electoral terms in either 1966 or 1969. Consequently, from an alliance perspective, being the most dovish of the hawks was ‘a not unreasonable position’ to adopt, as Mullins put it in 1970.15 This conclusion does not imply that the diplomatic side of New Zealand’s involvement could not have been conducted more effectively and imaginatively, especially when the general geopolitical environment in Southeast Asia began to change after about 1969. Rather, it suggests that, faced with a set of troubling alternatives, the Holyoake government adopted a policy in line with the principles behind its vision of New Zealand’s place in the world. It then proceeded to implement this in a way that would minimise 355

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the domestic and international costs of combat involvement in Vietnam. Although increasing numbers of New Zealanders came to challenge the principles on which this policy rested, the Holyoake government’s approach was reasonably successful in maintaining a sound relationship with the United States and limiting electoral damage at home. (Given that National was in office for 16 of the 20 years after the mid-1965 decision, involvement in Vietnam does not appear to have been a significant electoral liability for the party in direct terms.) Whatever specific failings and missed opportunities may have characterised New Zealand diplomacy in relation to the country’s involvement in Vietnam, it is difficult to avoid the overall conclusion that the Holyoake government pursued a relatively effective and coherent diplomatic strategy which both met its objectives and differed significantly from those of its American and Australian allies. This conclusion does not hold true for the domestic consequences of New Zealand policies during the Vietnam War.

The Domestic Debate About New Zealand’s Involvement in the Vietnam War The second major thematic strand in this book has concerned the domestic dimensions of involvement in the Vietnam War. Here the impact of the conflict was felt primarily through the debate about the wisdom of a combat commitment, which featured three major actors: the National government, the Labour Opposition and the anti-war movement. The Holyoake government was an even more reluctant participant in this debate than it was in the war itself. Apart from a brief period in 1965 when the government engaged with its critics, it was generally deaf to their arguments, which had virtually no impact on official policy-making on Vietnam. Though Holyoake frequently referred to that opposition in justifying New Zealand’s inability to make a greater commitment in Vietnam, this was an argument of convenience used before there was any large-scale protest; it never appeared in internal policy documents. That is not to say, however, that the government was insensitive to public opposition. The government was obliged by its critics on the Opposition benches and outside Parliament to mount an unprecedented public relations campaign on a foreign policy issue. Its purpose was never to win over these critics, but to secure broad public support for its Vietnam policy. Much of its effort was based on the dissemination of information through very public means, such as press releases, white papers and public addresses by Holyoake and his colleagues. But it also involved less public activities, such as monitoring press coverage, funding travel to Vietnam by journalists and – most controversially – surveillance of opponents of official policy. This book has not 356

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been able to draw on the archives of the state security services, which merit further scholarly investigation as part of New Zealand’s Vietnam story; but the use of those services to investigate dissident groups was not unique to the Vietnam issue. It appears in any case to have had a negligible impact on the activities of the anti-war movement. In general, it is not surprising that the government used the full panoply of available resources to secure public support for its policy. What stands out about Vietnam is that it had to use them so extensively and consistently to sustain a public relations campaign on the issue for such a long period. In putting such a positive spin on its Vietnam policy, the government laid itself open to the retrospective charge of deceiving the New Zealand public. After all, its public stance on Vietnam was one of unwavering support for the United States, despite its numerous misgivings and reluctance to commit a combat force. Although some commentators guessed as much, this potentially embarrassing disjunction was not publicly documented until the release of the Pentagon Papers in 1971 brought with it news of New Zealand’s ‘grave’ concern about the American bombing strategy in late 1964. Although the subsequent internal review of statements about the Vietnam War uncovered no glaring inconsistencies between public and private utterances, it did reveal that there was less public than private emphasis on alliance considerations as a justification for New Zealand’s involvement. Holyoake did not disclose all the details of official decision-making, especially confidential dealings with allied governments. Instead, he invariably couched both public statements to the New Zealand people and private assurances to allied governments in terms which left open as many options as possible while avoiding conscious deception. It was not inconsistent for Holyoake to do this, for the doubts voiced privately in official circles were a far cry from actual dissent from a shared alliance stance. The government did not deceive the New Zealand people by publicly supporting the United States, for it genuinely shared the objectives of its more powerful ally in seeking to sustain an independent, non-communist South Vietnam. It was reluctant only for practical reasons relating to the slim chances of achieving that objective. This may help to explain why so few interest groups actively campaigned alongside the government to support the South Vietnamese cause. Apart from Clark Titman’s Friends of Vietnam, no pressure groups emerged to counterbalance the COVs. Even among established interest groups, only the RSA consistently expressed public support for a combat presence in Vietnam. Yet traditionally pro-National groups such as Federated Farmers never broke ranks to join the critics of official policy on Vietnam. Like Holyoake and his advisers, they seemed to accept tacitly that involvement in Vietnam was an unfortunate necessity. In taking such a low-key approach, the government did not encourage vocal support, preferring instead to dampen down debate 357

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on the issue. It was probably satisfied with the relative silence of its traditional supporters, which could be read as either support or indifference, but not dissent. It also avoided the potential embarrassment exemplified by the actions of Titman and his group, whose enthusiasm for the South Vietnamese cause was so much less equivocal than that of the government itself. The noteworthy absence of ‘pro-war’ activists ranged against the thousands of anti-war activists should not therefore be seen as evidence of limited support for New Zealand’s involvement in Vietnam. It was more a reflection of the muted reactions which a war fought in cold blood was likely to arouse amongst those who accepted the necessity for such involvement. For much of the war, the government was further buoyed by a sympathetic press. With few exceptions, most newspapers echoed National’s rationales for involvement. The print media sometimes more openly questioned the wisdom of American policy, especially in the war’s later stages, but few ever published anti-war editorials.16 Ironically, the government was probably less satisfied with the coverage of the war by the state-owned broadcast media. But if there were more critical reports and commentaries on radio and television, this reflected efforts to produce balanced assessments of the whole gamut of New Zealand opinion on the war. In general, media coverage was probably not a decisive factor in determining the success or failure of the government’s performance in the domestic debate about Vietnam. The overall efficacy of that performance is not easy to assess – especially in the absence of sustained contemporary public opinion polling on Vietnam – but the government probably did as well as it could have in pressing its case. After being taken aback in early 1965 by the surge of criticism about sending combat troops, Holyoake soon recovered his composure and generally heeded his officials’ advice to avoid being drawn into detailed arguments but rely on a more general public relations campaign. That effort was conceived essentially as an exercise in damage control, for Holyoake certainly did not expect that involvement in Vietnam would yield domestic political gains for National (though he seized these when he could). And the government may have exceeded its own expectations in the Vietnam ‘debate’: National appeared to enjoy the support of the ‘silent majority’ for most of the war, and especially in the 1966 election. Even its electoral loss in 1972 was not a verdict on Vietnam. Holyoake’s deputy and successor, Jack Marshall, may well have been correct when he observed that ‘the great New Zealand public . . . never got really worked up about the Vietnam War’.17 To National’s relief, the issue simply did not matter enough personally for most people to serve as a major determinant of their political allegiance. However, the government’s medium-term success in maintaining electoral support may have involved a longer-term cost in terms of domestic support for the alliance-based national security policy on which the Vietnam commitment was based. 358

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Labour’s experience was rather different. Unlike the government, it failed to win over public opinion during most of the war. Its experience was aptly summarised in Arthur Faulkner’s 1967 concession that ‘I do not claim that Labour’s policy [on Vietnam] is popular; I only claim that it is right’.18 Labour could take consolation in having adopted a principled stance, but its opposition to combat involvement in Vietnam remained somewhat ambivalent until as late as 1969. For reasons of both principle and pragmatism, the party was fearful of appearing pro-communist and anti-American. Eventually, emboldened by growing international and domestic criticism of the American war in Vietnam, Labour did adopt a clear policy to immediately withdraw New Zealand forces, but even then its leaders took care to couch that policy in more moderate terms than did the anti-war movement. In particular, Labour argued that it was acceptable to dissent from American policy on a specific issue while still supporting the alliance relationship with the United States. The latter qualification notwithstanding, Labour’s adoption of this approach brought with it the first significant crack in the bipartisan consensus which had characterised New Zealand’s approach to national security since the beginning of the Cold War. As it happened, the opening of this crack did not completely shatter that consensus during the Vietnam years. By the time Labour won office in 1972, almost all New Zealand’s troops had returned home and the Americans themselves were on the brink of a final withdrawal. As a consequence, the abrupt withdrawal of the training teams barely caused a ripple in Washington, and the Kirk government’s policies on Vietnam generated few tensions with the United States. Moreover, the moderation which had been a hallmark of Labour’s policy toward Vietnam while in opposition was carried over into its time in power under the leadership of Kirk and then Rowling. In fact, the third Labour government’s policies on Vietnam generated notably fewer tensions with the United States than did those of the Whitlam government, in part perhaps because there was a less dramatic shift in New Zealand policy from Holyoake’s ‘dovish hawk’ stance than there was from Canberra’s ‘all the way with LBJ’ exuberance. Labour’s term in office saw no significant discord with the United States, even though Nixon’s sharp response to Kirk’s criticism of the Christmas bombing suggested that open disagreement with Washington would not be brooked. The fact was that, during the Vietnam War, the possible consequences of open opposition to American policy by a Labour government were never tested. Labour’s moderation in this period contrasts with its more open confrontation with the United States in the 1980s over the issue of nuclear ship visits, when voicing dissent led to an unwanted exclusion from ANZUS. Of course, Labour’s commitment to the adoption of an anti-nuclear policy may be seen as the culmination of the Vietnam anti-war movement’s 359

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exhortations to adopt an ‘independent’ foreign policy and, in retrospect, its greatest triumph. Given the contemporary experience of the anti-war movement, this outcome is ironic. At first glance, the anti-war movement might be summarised as a failure. Amongst the thousands of pages of official documents on which the research for this book rests, not one confirmed that any significant New Zealand decision about military involvement in Vietnam was affected by protest activities. The anti-war movement was singularly unsuccessful from 1965 to the early 1970s in achieving its core objective of ending the New Zealand combat deployment in Vietnam.19 When the military commitment did end, neither the reasons for this nor its timing were of the anti-war movement’s making. The COVs can certainly claim responsibility for influencing how the government defended the war and for requiring it to mount an extensive public relations campaign, but that is different from affecting policy-making. In part, this limited impact resulted from the associated failure to secure sufficient public support to remove National from office. But the anti-war movement did not even achieve full support from the Labour Opposition. The effectiveness of the movement was also hampered by its endemic internal divisions, which persisted into the final stages of the war, when public support for its cause was at its greatest. And the movement soon faded away once direct New Zealand involvement in Vietnam ended, underscoring its essentially oppositional and ephemeral character. To be even harsher, it could be argued that the ignominy of failure was compounded by hypocrisy. Once the war ended, most of those who had opposed New Zealand and American policy in the 1960s took little further interest in Vietnam. Given the moral concern for the civil rights of Vietnamese they had so often expressed, it seems curious that former protestors appeared unperturbed by the undemocratic character of the regime that has ruled Vietnam since 1975. Nor do they seem to have been troubled by the irony that the last elections held in South Vietnam in 1971, which were so scathingly criticised at the time, were more open than any held since in the country. On the other hand, it is equally possible to view the story of anti-war protest in New Zealand during the Vietnam years as one of courageous, principled and inspirational dissent, crowned by retrospective vindication for the general critique of official foreign policy which underpinned it. Creating a distinctive anti-war movement that was able to sustain momentum for about a decade was an achievement in itself. Only a few groups and individuals on the margins of political life were criticising New Zealand’s foreign policy in the 1950s. The spontaneous growth of the COVs in the 1960s not only transformed protest against the Vietnam War into a more mainstream political issue but created a vibrant movement encompassing a range of views. The ingeniously loose, localised and flexible structure of the 360

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COVs allowed ample scope for ideological diversity while still mobilising opposition to involvement in Vietnam. Such was the success of the model for protest pioneered by the Vietnam anti-war movement that both its structure and its methods of protest profoundly influenced how other movements for change, such as the anti-apartheid and anti-nuclear movements, went about moving their own causes from the fringes of political life into the mainstream. Though the Vietnam anti-war movement did disperse at the end of the war, by then it had contributed decisively to the creation of a climate for dissent, and many of its supporters went on to become activists in other protest movements, such as the women’s movement.20 But the impact of the Vietnam War protest movement in New Zealand was not only felt in its style, form and methods. It could also be measured in terms of ideas and arguments. The Vietnam conflict was the first foreign policy issue of the post-war era to polarise public opinion in New Zealand – and the anti-war movement played no small part in that. Like their counterparts in the United States, Australia and elsewhere, local anti-war activists succeeded in highlighting publicly all that was considered wrong about the war, including the needless loss of (especially Vietnamese) lives. In fact, they were more successful than American or Australian protesters in seizing the nationalist high ground in New Zealand’s domestic debate about Vietnam. In so doing, they created a political space within which criticism of the United States from a non-communist perspective was legitimised in tandem with the assertion of an independent New Zealand identity in international affairs.21 They may not have persuaded the government, but they did succeed in persuading large numbers of New Zealanders – especially within the generation coming to political maturity at the time (including future Prime Minister Helen Clark) that the Vietnam involvement was a symptom of a larger malady afflicting the country’s foreign policy.22 Growing public acceptance of the anti-war movement’s critique challenged the presiding Cold War consensus and led to more widespread questioning of the costs of unstinting support for the United States. It also meant that foreign policy could no longer be the exclusive domain of politicians, diplomats and bureaucrats. The anti-war movement may well have lost almost all the battles in its struggle with the government during the Vietnam conflict, but there are strong grounds for concluding that it ultimately won the allimportant local struggle for ‘hearts and minds’ which the United States and its allies woefully failed to win in Vietnam itself.

The Significance of New Zealand’s Involvement in the Vietnam War Over three decades have now passed since New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War ended. Despite all the controversy it engendered, Vietnam 361

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has steadily receded from public consciousness.23 Most of those who so passionately protested against New Zealand’s combat commitment have paid scant attention to Vietnam’s political and economic development since the 1970s, but nor have those who supported military involvement in the war put much effort into criticising the absence of democracy in post-1975 Vietnam or actively defending the Holyoake government’s Vietnam policies. The exodus of so-called boat people from Vietnam after the fall of Saigon also had little national impact, and many of the relatively small number of refugees who entered New Zealand in the late 1970s subsequently gravitated to the larger Vietnamese communities in Australia. Nor has there been a particularly significant Vietnamese presence among the groups of Asian migrants and students who have entered New Zealand in more recent years. Bilateral economic and diplomatic links have also been minimal to date, even though with 80 million people Vietnam is the second most populous nation in Southeast Asia. This relative lack of bilateral interaction does not mean that the Vietnam conflict was of little significance for New Zealand or that the divisions which it provoked did not have longer-term reverberations. Rather, it serves to underline how the Vietnam debate of the 1960s and 1970s was not ultimately about that country, but about sharply divergent visions of how New Zealand foreign and security policies should reflect national interests, ideals and identity. (The same point is broadly true of the corresponding debates in the United States and Australia.)24 Accordingly, it is in this context that the most important conclusions about the significance of the Vietnam experience for New Zealand are to be drawn. There is bound to be disagreement about the longer-term significance of involvement in the Vietnam conflict. The following comments are not intended to elicit universal agreement, but to offer a brief overview of the war’s most salient legacies in the context of the interpretation of New Zealand’s Vietnam experience that has been set out in this book. In particular, these closing observations focus on the nexus between the international diplomatic and the national political dimensions of New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War, which have constituted the book’s dual emphases. This nexus is most clearly visible in the impact of the Vietnam War on New Zealand’s approach to alliance relations, principally in terms of the retrospective success of the local critics of military involvement in Vietnam. Above all, this ‘victory’ brought widespread public approval for the pursuit of an ‘independent’ foreign policy as opposed to an alliance-based approach, which had valued the importance of maintaining general solidarity with an alliance leader over that of expressing dissent publicly about particular issues. The acceptance of this view has reflected an associated shift in public perceptions about the absence of direct threats to national security 362

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and the greater irrelevance of indirect, transcendent threats such as that once avowedly posed by international communism. Another aspect of the anti-war movement’s efforts that has borne fruit is a heightened emphasis on injecting expressions of national identity into New Zealand diplomacy. Policy-makers have had to pay greater attention to the views of relevant interest groups and the general public, thereby rendering it unlikely that there would be any more ‘wars of the officials’. Finally, there has been the significant splintering of the bipartisan consensus that held the two major political parties together for most of the Cold War period.25 All these developments came to a head when the Lange Labour government’s nuclear ship dispute with the United States resulted in the suspension of ANZUS as a tripartite pact, and with it of the alliance framework that had undergirded New Zealand’s national security doctrine since the Second World War. Although the Vietnam anti-war movement had long disappeared by then, the intellectual, political and sociological foundations for New Zealand’s stance during the ANZUS crisis were laid down during the Vietnam years.26 This interpretation of the background to the ANZUS crisis underlines how the criticism of alliances first popularised during the Vietnam debate related most especially to relations with the United States. Indeed, if bilateral relations with Vietnam have not been important as a legacy of that debate, those with the United States most assuredly have. As a result of the Vietnam experience, a significant sector of New Zealand society came to view with instinctive suspicion the way in which the United States wields its power around the world. In effect, the external debate with the United States, which some New Zealanders initiated during the Vietnam era, became irretrievably intertwined with an internal debate about national identity. What is striking about that process is how the rejection of particular aspects of American foreign policy became symbolic for many New Zealanders of independence in foreign policy to a greater degree than did the state of relations with any other country.27 Yet, if this development marks a retrospective victory for the anti-war movement, it needs to be set against wider international trends since the time of the American setback in Vietnam. In some ways, this shift in relations with the United States based on essentially negative views of that country can be misleading and may overstate the extent of the anti-war movement’s ‘victory’. It is certainly true, as the leading Cold War historian John Lewis Gaddis has argued, that the Vietnam War represented ‘the single greatest error the United States made in fighting the Cold War’.28 But ‘defeat’ in Vietnam did not necessarily mean that the larger strategy of containment was basically unsound. Indeed, as Gaddis has also pointed out, the United States went on to triumph so resoundingly over its principal adversary that the Soviet Union no longer exists. Internationally, communism now appears 363

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to be a spent force: even China, the world’s largest communist state, has effectively repudiated it except to justify an authoritarian system of political rule. Contrary to some expectations in the 1970s, the global influence of the United States in political, military, economic and socio-cultural terms has only become more pronounced.29 In this context, it is important to note one possible consequence of the Vietnam conflict that did not come to pass: the regional expansion of communism and its strengthening as an alternative developmental model to capitalism for Southeast Asia. Instead, 30 years after the end of the Vietnam War, the sorts of Western-oriented, non-communist regimes which the United States, New Zealand and their allies hoped would bring economic and political stability to Southeast Asia have taken root in much of the region. For some time now, governments of all stripes in Wellington have interacted positively with those regimes and New Zealanders have come to view Southeast Asia primarily as a region offering economic opportunities rather than posing security threats. There is now no discernible dissent in New Zealand from a general approach toward Southeast Asia that is essentially that advocated by Keith Holyoake’s government. Only a handful of New Zealanders now champion the virtues of the communist model of development to which the Vietnamese government continues to cling. It seems clear, then, that the general principles of containment championed by New Zealand policy-makers during the Vietnam War have proven more resilient than those of many of their critics. As it is for the United States, it is important to set this general ‘success’ alongside New Zealand’s more specific ‘failures’ in Vietnam. But Vietnam was not a good testing ground for those principles. The American-led strategy of containment made a positive contribution to the evolution of a more democratic and prosperous Southeast Asia only through bolstering indigenous anti-communist leaders who managed to exercise effective governance with minimal external backing. Beginning with Bao Dai, successive anti-communist leaders in Vietnam failed to mobilise essential domestic support – in no small part because their nationalist credentials were perceived as tainted by excessive dependence on Western powers. That charge undoubtedly strengthened the connection between communism and nationalism in Vietnam – helping to explain why that country is one of the very few in the world where a communist regime remains entrenched in power. The residing tragedy, therefore, of New Zealand’s involvement in the Vietnam War is that it joined its allies on a course in which the broadly sound strategy of containing communism and fostering capitalist development in Asia was applied ineptly and without sensitivity to the specific historical, political and socio-cultural circumstances prevailing in Vietnam. 364

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There are no easy answers about who was ‘right’ in New Zealand’s Vietnam debate. Nor is New Zealand’s Vietnam story one with clear-cut heroes and villains. Pragmatism and principle were prominent to varying degrees at different times in the motivations and actions of those on both sides of the debate. It does a disservice to those on either side to suggest otherwise. While this book has not sought to defend the positions of any of the protagonists, it has sought to clarify why they adopted those positions, and why that debate ensured that involvement in the Vietnam War was an historically significant experience for the making of New Zealand foreign policy – especially with respect to domestic influences on foreign policy and to alliance relations with the United States. History, though, moves on. In a very general way, the Vietnam War retains some resonance as a salutary example of the perils of external intervention in intra-state conflicts. The specifics of the Vietnam experience, however, have become steadily less important for New Zealand’s foreign policy-making. Even the powerful legacies of debates about an ‘independent’ and more overtly nationalist foreign policy are now played out in rather different contexts, especially with respect to an international political environment that has been transformed by the ending of the Cold War at the beginning of the 1990s and by the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001. Nevertheless, the dilemmas which the Vietnam War presented for New Zealand will continue to recur in one guise or another, requiring difficult choices about the reconciliation of competing interests and principles. As the case of Vietnam illustrated, there are few black-and-white situations in the world of international diplomacy, and it is often a matter of choosing the least unpalatable option in the knowledge that any stance will have certain costs. For New Zealand, there will always be the question of how a small state with very limited resources can best contribute to global and regional security in ways which strengthen international norms while safeguarding national interests. A resounding legacy of the Vietnam experience is that there will invariably be debates about how to answer that question. Such debates are likely to be as much about what sort of general role New Zealand should play in global affairs as about the specific international issue at hand. On balance, this legacy is a positive one, for vigorous debate about foreign policy-making is healthy for any mature democracy. New Zealanders would be better served, however, if such debates were conducted in future with less intemperance, and with more willingness on all sides to adjust outworn assumptions to changing circumstances, than was the case during the Vietnam conflict.

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NOTES

Abbreviations Amb ATL CDS CGS COS COV Del DHPANZ DSNA Emb FA FOL FRUS HC MD Min NZ NZA NZH NZHC NZL NZMR NZNP NZPC NZPD NZUSA ODT PFVC PM PRO RAAF RG 59 RNZAF RSA Sec UK UKHC UN US WCOVP

Ambassador Alexander Turnbull Library Chief of Defence Staff Chief of General Staff Chiefs of Staff Committee on Vietnam Delegation Defence Historical Publications, Archives New Zealand Department of State Records, National Archives, Washington DC Embassy Foreign Affairs Federation of Labour Foreign Relations of the United States High Commission[er] Ministry of Defence [file] Minister [of] New Zealand New Zealand Army [file] New Zealand Herald New Zealand High Commission[er] New Zealand Listener New Zealand Monthly Review New Zealand National Party Papers New Zealand Peace Council New Zealand Parliamentary Debates New Zealand University Students’ Association Otago Daily Times Peace for Vietnam Committee Prime Minister Public Record Office Royal Australian Air Force Record Group 59 Royal New Zealand Air Force Returned Services’ Association Secretary [of] United Kingdom United Kingdom High Commission[er] United Nations United States Wellington Committee on Vietnam Papers

Chapter One New Zealand and the First Indochina War, 1945–54 1 NZPD 342: 1. 2 The Otago Daily Times described Holyoake’s ministerial statement as a ‘surprise announcement’. Most commentators – and would-be protesters – appear to have expected that Holyoake would wait until the new session proper to make an announcement. See ODT, 28 May 1965. 3 Ibid. 4 Estimates of total wartime deaths range between 50 and 60 million. See, for example,

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John Keegan, The Second World War, p. 12; Gerhard L. Weinberg, A World At Arms: A Global History of World War II, p. 894. Cited in NZH, 3 Sep 1945. See ODT and NZH, 3 Sep 1945. See Fraser’s statements on VE Day and VJ Day in NZH, 4 May, 16 Aug 1945. See also his speech of 24 Jul 1945 on the United Nations in NZPD 268: 575, 585–6. The quotations from Ho’s speech are from Archimedes Patti, Why Vietnam? Prelude to America’s Albatross, pp. 248–55. For another first-hand account of the ‘Fête de l’Indépendance’ in Hanoi, see Jean Saintegny,

notes to pages 3–6

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Histoire d’une Paix Manquée, pp. 103–4. For descriptions of this event in secondary sources, see William Duiker, The Communist Road to Power in Vietnam, pp. 99–100 and Ho Chi Minh: A Life, pp. 1, 323–4; Ellen Hammer, The Struggle for Indochina, p. 131; Richard Harris Smith, OSS: The Secret History of America’s First Central Intelligence Agency, p. 354. See Andrew Rotter, The Path to Vietnam: Origins of the American Commitment to Southeast Asia, p. 70; George McT. Kahin, Intervention: How America Became Involved in Vietnam, pp. 14–15. Ho’s hopes for American support had been dashed before. Inspired by President Woodrow Wilson’s championing of national self-determination, he had tried to meet the American leader at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919. At the time, Ho proposed only a moderate programme of reform in the French colonial governance of Vietnam. But the meeting never occurred, and nothing came of his appeal. See Stanley Karnow, Vietnam: A History, p. 121. For example, see NZH, 8 Sep 1945; Press, 3 Sep 1945. This was widely recognised in New Zealand in 1945. As one observer noted, the Japanese surrender ceremony ‘marked more than the triumph of the Allies and the formal surrender of the last enemy in the Second World War. It opened the American century in the Pacific, perhaps the American century in the world’. NZH, 3 Sep 1945. For the difficulties posed by the onset of the Cold War, see Michael Ashby, ‘Fraser’s Foreign Policy’, in Margaret Clark, ed., Peter Fraser, pp. 185–9. Although still focused on Japan in 1945, New Zealand fears about potential Asian threats were not confined to that country. As a leading newspaper made clear in the week of the Japanese surrender ceremony: ‘China is an ally, and the tenor of her history indicates that she will return peacefully to her ancient rank, but it is natural that the scanty inhabitants of empty lands should look askance at the movement of an alien race 400,000,000 strong. Apprehension is hypothetical, and its objects doubtless remote, but it will play its part in shaping Anglo-Saxon policy in the Far East.’ NZH, 8 Sep 1945. See, for example, Roberto Rabel, ‘New Zealand and the United States in the Early Cold War Era, 1945–49’, Australasian Journal of American Studies 7 (Dec 1988): 1–10; Trevor R. Reese, Australia, New Zealand and the United States: A Survey of International Relations, 1941–1968. For the most comprehensive analysis of New Zealand defence planning in this period, see W. David McIntyre, Background to the

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ANZUS Pact: Policy-making, Strategy and Diplomacy, 1945–55. For briefer accounts, see Ian McGibbon, ‘The Defence of New Zealand 1945–1957’, in New Zealand in World Affairs, Volume I: 1945–1957, pp. 143–76 and New Zealand and the Korean War, Volume I, pp. 15–33; Malcolm McKinnon, ‘From ANZUS to SEATO’, in New Zealand in World Affairs, Volume I, pp. 115–42; and Independence and Foreign Policy: New Zealand in the World Since 1945, pp. 57–62, 69–81. For New Zealand’s relations with Japan in the immediate post-war period, see Ann Trotter, New Zealand and Japan, 1945– 1952: The Occupation and the Peace Treaty. A. W. Snelling, UKHC, Wellington to Sec State for Commonwealth Relations, 31 Aug 1949, DO35: 3761, PRO. Snelling also observed that Fraser was a typical New Zealander in conceiving ‘New Zealand to be an extension not of Asia but of Europe’. Similarly, the private apprehension of one official in 1953 was typical of New Zealand diplomatic opinion about Southeast Asia throughout most of the decade after 1945: ‘Once we get into that dismal area we shall probably never get out’. Frank Corner to Alister McIntosh, 13 Jul 1953, in Ian McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels: Letters between Alister McIntosh and Foss Shanahan, George Laking and Frank Corner, 1946–1966, p. 145. For New Zealand’s involvement in the Korean War, see the two volumes of McGibbon, New Zealand and the Korean War. Frederick Doidge, New Zealand’s Minister of External Affairs, described an American security guarantee as ‘the richest prize of New Zealand diplomacy’ in a letter of 9 May 1950 to Sir Carl Berendsen, New Zealand’s ambassador to the United States. Printed in Robin Kay, ed., Documents on New Zealand External Relations, Volume III: The ANZUS Pact and the Treaty of Peace with Japan, pp. 545–6. For succinct introductions to the history of Vietnam before the advent of French colonial control, see Joseph Buttinger, A Dragon Defiant: A Short History of Vietnam, pp. 21–57; Karnow, Vietnam, pp. 98–107; John T. McAlister, Jr., Viet Nam: The Origins of Revolution, pp. 3–38; David G. Marr, Vietnamese Anticolonialism, 1885–1925, pp. 9–17. For the origins of this nomenclature, see Karnow, Vietnam, p. 57. For the history of this resistance, see ibid., pp. 107–13, 123–7; McAlister, Viet Nam, pp. 55–106; Marr, Vietnamese Anticolonialism. Ho was born Nguyen Van Cung in 1890 in the province of Nghe An and used many

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aliases in his revolutionary career before settling on Ho Chi Minh (‘the bringer of enlightenment’ or ‘shedder of light’) in the 1940s. For Ho’s aliases, see Douglas Pike, History of Vietnamese Communism, 1925– 1976, pp. 156–7, n. 1. The most up-to-date biography of Ho’s mystery-shrouded life is Duiker, Ho Chi Minh. For an older but still useful biography, see Jean Lacouture, Ho Chi Minh: A Political Biography. For a succinct overview of developments in Vietnam during the Second World War, see David Marr, ‘World War II and the Vietnamese Revolution’, in Alfred McCoy, ed., Southeast Asia under Japanese Occupation, pp. 125–58. See also Kahin, Intervention, pp. 9–10, 13; McAlister, Viet Nam, pp. 109–82; Pike, History of Vietnamese Communism, pp. 41–54. Kahin, Intervention, pp. 11–15; McAlister, Viet Nam, pp. 223–70. The quotation is from Marr, ‘World War II and the Vietnamese Revolution’, p. 125. The following account of the First Indochina War to 1949 is based on: Duiker, Communist Road to Power; Hammer, Struggle for Indochina; Kahin, Intervention, pp. 7–26; Anthony Short, The Origins of the Vietnam War, pp. 47–78. For more detailed analyses of American wartime and immediate post-war policy toward Indochina, see, inter alia: Lloyd Gardner, Approaching Vietnam: From World War II through Dienbienphu, 1941–1954, pp. 21–72; George Herring, ‘The Truman Administration and the Restoration of French Sovereignty in Indochina’, Diplomatic History 1 (Spring 1977): 97–117; Gary R. Hess, ‘Franklin Roosevelt and Indochina’, Journal of American History 59 (Sep 1972): 353–68; Kahin, Intervention, pp. 3–17; Walter LaFeber, ‘Roosevelt, Churchill and Indochina: 1942–45’, American Historical Review 80 (Dec 1975): 1277–95; Christopher Thorne, ‘Indochina and Anglo-American Relations, 1942–1945’, Pacific Historical Review 45 (Feb 1976): 73–96. The following account of American involvement in the First Indochina War is based on: George Herring, America’s Longest War: The United States and Vietnam, 1950–1975, pp. 9–42; Kahin, Intervention, pp. 27–36; Rotter, Path to Vietnam, pp. 93–102; Short, Origins of the Vietnam War, pp. 62–152. For an incisive summary of American interests in Indochina during this period, see Richard Immerman, ‘Prologue: Perceptions by the United States of its Interests in Indochina’, in Lawrence S. Kaplan, Denise Artaud and Mark R. Rubin, eds, Dien Bien Phu and the Crisis of FrancoAmerican Relations, 1954–1955, p. 3. For examples of British ambivalence, see the

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various minutes on FO 371: 65342, 75961, PRO. Cited in Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 12. For British policy toward Indochina in the late 1940s, see Geoffrey Warner, ‘Britain and the Crisis over Dien Bien Phu, April 1954: The Failure of United Action’, in Kaplan et al., eds, Dien Bien Phu, pp. 55–6; Rotter, Path to Vietnam, pp. 159–61. For a detailed analysis of how British and French policymakers interacted with their counterparts in Washington to forge a common ‘Western’ policy on Indochina in the late 1940s, see Mark Atwood Lawrence, ‘Transnational Coalition-Building and the Making of the Cold War in Indochina, 1947–1949’, Diplomatic History 26 (Summer 2002): 453–80. The significance of this decision as a milestone in American policy toward Indochina is explained lucidly in Gary R. Hess, ‘The First American Commitment in Indochina: The Acceptance of the “Bao Dai Solution”, 1950’, Diplomatic History 2 (Fall 1978): 331–50. For analysis of the New Look, see John L. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment: A Critical Appraisal of Postwar American Security Policy, pp. 127–97. Eisenhower later described the French move as ‘most perplexing’ and noted laconically in his memoirs that ‘giving up mobility in favour of occupying an inaccessible static position, dominated by high ground surrounding, was certainly not normal practice’. Dwight D. Eisenhower, The White House Years: Mandate for Change, 1953– 1956, p. 372. The classic account of the battle is Bernard B. Fall, Hell in a Very Small Place: The Siege of Dienbienphu. For the implications of this historic battle, see Kaplan, et al., eds, Dien Bien Phu. For an excellent television documentary on the battle, see Battle for Dien Bien Phu. Cited in Gary Hess, ‘Redefining the American Position in Southeast Asia: The United States and the Geneva and Manila Conferences’, in Kaplan et al., eds, Dien Bien Phu, p. 127. As Hess has noted, ‘While United Action was vague (and in all likelihood, deliberately so), it served a number of purposes: to assure a collective basis for any U.S. intervention, to bolster French morale, to alert the American public to the impending crisis in Southeast Asia, to remind the Soviet Union and China of the importance of the region to the United States, and to strengthen the Western bargaining position at Geneva. Dulles’s statement, which Eisenhower vigorously endorsed at his 31 March press conference, indicated a widening – however imprecisely

notes to pages 10–13

39 40

41

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43 44 45

46 47

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defined – of the American role in Southeast Asia.’ Hess, ‘Redefining the American Position in Southeast Asia’, pp. 127–8. FRUS, 1952–54, 13: 1250–6. For more detailed analysis of the British response to the American call for United Action, see Warner, ‘Britain and the Crisis over Dien Bien Phu’. Cf. Anthony Eden, Full Circle: The Memoirs of Sir Anthony Eden, pp. 91–120. For the Australian response, see Peter Edwards (with Gregory Pemberton), Crises and Commitments: The Politics and Diplomacy of Australia’s Involvement in Southeast Asian Conflicts 1948–1965, pp. 120–38; Gregory James Pemberton, ‘Australia, the United States and the Indochina Crisis of 1954’, Diplomatic History 13 (Winter 1989): 45–66. For American policy toward Indochina at the Geneva Conference, see Hess, ‘Redefining the American Position’, pp. 123–48; Richard H. Immerman, ‘The United States and the Geneva Conference of 1954: A New Look,’ Diplomatic History 14 (Winter 1990): 43–66. For British policy, see Geoffrey Warner, ‘From Geneva to Manila: British Policy toward Indochina and SEATO, May– September 1954’, in Kaplan et al., eds, Dien Bien Phu, pp. 149–67; James Cable, The Geneva Conference of 1954 on Indochina. For an introduction to the course and consequences of the Geneva Conference on Indochina, see R. B. Smith, An International History of the Vietnam War, Volume I: Revolution versus Containment, 1955–61, pp. 19–25. For more detailed studies, see Cable, The Geneva Conference; Robert F. Randle, Geneva 1954: The Settlement of the Indochinese War. The Final Declaration is reprinted in Cable, The Geneva Conference, pp. 146–8. For American views on a Southeast Asian regional security alliance, see Hess, ‘Redefining the American Position’. ‘Protocol to the South-East Asia Collective Defence Treaty’, reprinted in Mark Pearson, Paper Tiger: New Zealand’s Part in SEATO, 1954–1977, pp. 121–2. For Anglo-American disagreement about how these states might be included within the SEATO security umbrella, see Warner, ‘From Geneva to Manila’. Cited in Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 45. Departmental files on Vietnam for the late 1940s consist of little more than information reports on events there, mainly from British and Australian sources. See, for example, PM 316/1/6. The first two parts of this file series are missing, but there is no reason to believe that these differed from the surviving files because New Zealand had no direct diplomatic representation in Asia at the time. EA to NZ Del, UN, 21 Nov 1948; NZ Del, UN to EA, 23 Nov 1948, PM 316/1/6.

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Memorandum on ‘ECAFE Committee of the Whole’, 15 Mar 1949, ibid. For British policy toward recognition of the Bao Dai regime, see Nicholas Tarling, Britain, Southeast Asia and the Onset of the Cold War, 1945–1950, pp. 373–97. UKHC, Wellington to Sec EA, 13 Sep 1949, PM 316/1/6. Memorandum to McIntosh and J. Wilson from Stewart, 21 Sep 1949, ibid. Min EA to NZ Del, UN, 21 Nov 1948; Memorandum to McIntosh and Wilson from Stewart, 21 Sep 1949, ibid. The latter memorandum noted that ‘From the viewpoint of New Zealand there is little to be gained and many potential difficulties involved in an expression of support for the Bao Dai regime at the present time’. This advice mirrored that of the United States Department of State: ‘While Dept desirous French coming to terms with Bao Dai or any truly nationalist group which has reasonable chance winning over preponderance of Vietnamese, we cannot at this time irretrievably commit US to support of native govt which by failing develop appeal among Vietnamese might become virtually puppet govt, separated from people and existing only by presence French military forces’. FRUS, 1949, Volume VII: The Far East and Australasia, Part 1, p. 5. MacDonald to Foreign Office, 28 Nov 1949, FO 371: 75977, PRO. Bevin’s announcement and MacDonald’s comment are reported in ‘Notes on Colombo Conference by Frederick Doidge’, pp. 9, 11, n.d., attached to Sir Bernard Freyberg to Doidge, 31 Jan 1950, PM 153/28/1. MacDonald’s assessment was evidently based on his genuine impressions of Bao Dai. See Rotter, Path to Vietnam, p. 160. ‘Notes on Colombo Conference by Frederick Doidge’, p. 11, n. d., attached to Freyberg to Doidge, 31 Jan 1950, PM 153/28/1. Minutes of 7th Meeting, 12 Jan 1950, Conference of Commonwealth Foreign Ministers, Ceylon, PM 153/28/6. For the Australian position on recognition of the Bao Dai regime, see Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 82–5. NZ Del, Commonwealth Conference, Colombo to Min EA, 13 Jan 1950, PM 153/ 28/4. Rotter, The Path to Vietnam, p. 161, claims that Bevin’s forceful attempt at Colombo to convince other Commonwealth nations to recognise Bao Dai ‘fell on deaf ears’. Though true of India, this observation is incorrect about New Zealand and Australia. The American ambassador in Wellington noted of Doidge around this time that ‘even in this most Empire-minded of dominions’ he was considered ‘an extremist on the subject’ (the British Empire). Cited in McGibbon,

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New Zealand and the Korean War, Volume I, p. 17. ‘Notes on Colombo Conference by Frederick Doidge’, p. 10, n. d., attached to Freyberg to Doidge, 31 Jan 1950, PM 153/28/1. Doidge’s observations were based on his impression that Macdonald had agreed with Nehru that the only solutions for Southeast Asia’s problems were ‘national self-government and freedom from foreign domination’. Secretary of External Affairs Alister McIntosh, who was also in Colombo, believed that Macdonald ‘did not mean it in the sense that Doidge thought it was meant but it gave a chance for Doidge to make a speech on the folly and iniquity of the Western Powers getting out of the Far East before the people were ready for self-government there’. See McIntosh to Berendsen, 1 Feb 1950, in Ian McGibbon, ed., Undiplomatic Dialogue: Letters Between Carl Berendsen and Alister McIntosh, 1943–1952, p. 204. NZH, 10 Feb 1950. Wellington’s decision was conveyed to the Vietnamese through the British authorities. See UK Consul-General, Saigon to Min EA, Wellington, 11 Feb 1950, FO 371: 83633, PRO. Minutes of 7th Meeting, 12 Jan 1950, Conference of Commonwealth Foreign Ministers, Ceylon, PM 153/28/6. Even McIntosh, who was unimpressed by many of Doidge’s assertions, privately lamented that ‘if you don’t back these obviously hopeless causes [such as Bao Dai’s regime] you have got to give the Communists a free hand’. McIntosh to Berendsen, 1 Feb 1950, in McGibbon, ed., Undiplomatic Dialogue, p. 206. For elaboration of this argument, see Roberto Rabel, ‘A Forgotten First Step on the Road to Vietnam: New Zealand and the Recognition of the Bao Dai Regime, 1950’, New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies 2 (Jun 2000): 65–77. Sec EA to Min EA, 29 Nov 1951, PM 316/4/ 8/2. For the evolution of this common ‘Western’ mindset with respect to Indochina, see Lawrence, ‘Transnational CoalitionBuilding’. Sec EA to Min EA, 18 Aug 1952, PM 316/4/ 8/2. Press statement cited in Min EA to Legation, Paris, 15 Sep 1952, ibid. Australia did not send military equipment to Vietnam until April 1953. When the Australian government was considering whether to send such support, it was noted that ‘New Zealand’s earlier provision of a quantity of small arms and ammunition had reportedly proved very useful’. Edwards, Crises and Commitments, p. 112. Corner to McIntosh, 20 Feb 1953, PM 316/ 4/1.

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Munro to Webb, 30 May 1953, Folder 2, Sir Leslie Munro Papers, MS Papers 2230, [hereafter Munro Papers]. ‘Indo China – Recent Developments’, 30 Apr 1953, Brief Prepared for PMs’ Conference, London, Jun 1953, PM 316/4/1. Memorandum on ‘New Zealand Assistance to Indo-China’, Jul 1953, PM 316/4/6. EA to HC, London, 25 Jun 1953, PM 316/4/ 1. Memorandum on ‘New Zealand Assistance to Indo-China’, Jul 1953, PM 316/4/6. ‘Indochina-Survey’, State Department Briefing Paper for ANZUS Council Meeting, Sep 1953, 2 Sep 1953, Folder: ANZUS Council meeting, Washington, September 1953-1, Lot File 55D 388, Bureau of Far Eastern Affairs, 1953, RG 59, DSNA. Memorandum for Mins Def and EA by Major-General W. G. Gentry, 23 Sep 1953, PM 316/4/7. US Minutes of Second Meeting, ANZUS Council in Washington, Sep 9–10, Second Session, 9 Sep 1953, Folder: ANZUS Council meeting, Washington, September 1953-1, Lot File 55D 388, Bureau of Far Eastern Affairs, 1953, RG 59, DSNA. Memorandum for Acting Min Def from Sec EA, 30 Sep 1953; Memorandum for Min Def from Shanahan, 8 Dec 1953, PM 316/4/82. Note for file by Shanahan, 2 Mar 1954, ibid. At least two newspapers reported the loading of these arms onto ‘a British tramp steamer’. See NZH and Press, 17 Mar 1954. A State Department brief in September 1953 noted ‘U.S. satisfaction in Australian offer of aircraft and New Zealand contribution of small arms for Indochina. Also our hope for further aid by our ANZUS allies’. ‘Draft: Brief for Review of World Affairs and U.S. policy for ANZUS Meeting, Sep 9–10, 1953’, Box 8, Bureau of Far Eastern Affairs: Southwest Pacific Desk Files, Australia and New Zealand Desk: Subject files, 1949–58, RG 59, DSNA. Munro to Min EA, 4 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. Corner noted by way of explanation: ‘Just as the Dominions sought a share of United Kingdom power in the days when United Kingdom power made an impact on the world, because the exercise of that power profoundly affected them, so now we all recognise that the source of power (on our Western side) is the United States; and we are therefore seeking to establish the right to some share in the exercise of that power – a power which can involve us in war or determine the stability of our region’. Corner to McIntosh, 20 Feb 1953, PM 316/4/1. See Memorandum from Livingston Merchant to Sec State, ‘Position to be taken with Australia and New Zealand re Indochina’, 29 Mar 1954, Bureau of Far Eastern Affairs, Australia and New Zealand Desk Files, Sub-

notes to pages 18–24

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ject Files, Southwest Pacific Desk Files, Box 9, RG 59, DSNA. About a week later, Dulles reiterated to Munro his hope that Australia and New Zealand would use their influence with the United Kingdom to help secure its adhesion to a United Action coalition. Munro to Min EA, 7 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. Munro to EA, 5 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. See also American Diary entry for 4 Apr 1954, Folder 12, Munro Papers. Cf. the account of this meeting in Gardner, Approaching Vietnam, pp. 207–8, which ludicrously suggests that the United States ‘probably’ wanted both Australia and New Zealand to commit an aircraft carrier. Note for File by McIntosh concerning conversation between Webb and Scotten, 5 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. Note for File by Shanahan: ‘Indo China’, 6 Apr 1954, ibid . Ibid. Such sentiments were not confined to the self-consciously ‘royalist’ Prime Minister, but may have been heightened at the time within the general populace by the recent inaugural royal tour of New Zealand by the young new monarch, Queen Elizabeth II. Indeed, a former leading official has suggested that maintaining a public image of ‘loyalty’ to Britain was the over-riding imperative of New Zealand foreign policy between the Second World War and the early 1960s. Author’s interview with Frank Corner, 19 Mar 1997 [hereafter Corner interview]. Another former leading official has said of Holland: ‘For him foreign policy was what the British Government said it was’. Comment by George Laking in Malcolm Templeton, ed., An Eye, An Ear and a Voice: 50 Years in New Zealand’s External Relations, 1943–1993, p. 52. Malcolm Templeton, Ties of Blood and Empire: New Zealand’s Involvement in Middle East Defence and the Suez Crisis, passim. Holland had similarly looked to British leadership during the Korean War, but not uncritically and with due care to be seen to support the United States as well. See McGibbon, New Zealand and the Korean War, Volume I, especially pp. 80–2, 193–4, 361–2. Note for File by Shanahan: ‘Indo China’, 6 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. Memorandum on ‘Indo-China and the United Nations’, 8 Apr 1954, ibid. EA to Washington, 6 Apr 1954, ibid. EA to NZHCs in London and Canberra, 6 Apr 1954, ibid. NZHC, London to Min EA, 8 Apr 1954, ibid. The minutes of the meeting recorded that: ‘The American Chiefs of Staff were thinking primarily in terms of supporting action by naval and air forces; but, as the New Zealand Prime Minister had pointed out,

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past experience (e.g. in Korea) suggested that limited action of the kind would only be a prelude to intervention by land forces’. C.C. (54) 26th Conclusions, Cabinet Minute 4 (Secret), 7 Apr 1954, PREM 11: 645, PRO. In British eyes, New Zealand’s reaction seemed more negative than that of its transTasman neighbour. After a conversation with the New Zealand High Commissioner, a British official reported that: ‘It was apparent that the New Zealand Government are a good deal more disturbed than the Australian by the latest American proposals’. Record of Conversation between Lord Reading and NZHC, 7 Apr 1954, in Cabinet Memorandum by Sec State for Foreign Affairs, 9 Apr 1954, C.(54) 140, ibid. Cited in ‘Summary of Initial Australian Reactions to the American Proposal on Indo China’, 7 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. See Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 125–6. EA to Amb, Washington, 8 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. Memorandum on ‘New Zealand and the Situation in Indo-China’, 8 Apr 1954, ibid. FRUS, 1952–54, 13, Part 1, pp. 1280–1. Memorandum on ‘New Zealand and the Situation in Indo-China’, 8 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. Memorandum on ‘Collective Action in Indo China’, 6 Apr 1954, ibid. McIntosh to Corner, 12 Apr 1954, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, p. 164. Munro was even more at loggerheads with Webb’s views on Indochina. See American Diary entry for 10 Apr 1954, Folder 193, Munro Papers. Min EA to HC, London, 9 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 11 Apr 1954, ibid. See also American Diary entry for 11 Apr 1954, Folder 193, Munro Papers. Not all New Zealand’s representatives in Washington were as convinced of the wisdom of the American proposal. Two days earlier, George Laking, then counsellor at the embassy, had written to McIntosh voicing scepticism about the course on which the Eisenhower administration had embarked, though not precluding ‘the possibility that the decision taken by the Americans may well be the right one – that now is the time to take a stand in Southeast Asia’. Laking to McIntosh, 9 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. COS Committee, ‘Indo-China: Response by New Zealand to American Call for “United Action”’, COS (54)8, 15 Apr 1954, copy in ibid. The Chiefs of Staff included an essentially political assessment in the report, observing that ‘a contribution by New Zealand irrespective of its size would be an important gesture in the development of the coalition

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suggested by Mr Dulles’. COS (54)8, p. 4, copy in ibid. Deputy UKHC to R.M. Algie, Acting Min EA, 26 Apr 1954, ibid. Min EA to NZ Del, Geneva, 26 Apr 1954, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 27 Apr 1954, ibid. See also American Diary entry for 26 Apr 1954, Folder 193, Munro Papers. NZ Del, Geneva to Min EA, For PM from Webb, 27 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/1. For the classic exposition of this notion, see F. L. W. Wood, ‘The Anzac Dilemma’, International Affairs 29 (1953): 184–92. EA to NZ Del, Geneva, 28 Apr 1954, ibid. NZ Del, Geneva to EA, 30 Apr 1954, ibid. ‘Notes of a Meeting of the ANZUS Council held at the headquarters of the American Delegation to the Geneva Conference, Hotel du Rhone, 4 p.m. to 5.45 p.m., Sunday, 2 May 1954’, PM 434/8/1. NZ Del, Geneva to EA, 3 May 1954, PM 316/4/1. NZ Del, Geneva to EA, 5 May 1954, ibid. For Munro’s rising frustration with both the British and Webb, see American Diary entry for 1 May 1954, Folder 193, Munro Papers. According to Munro, ‘The United Kingdom’s natural preoccupation with Western Europe and the Middle East is not in my judgment the best guide to our own policy because in the development of the present crisis in South East Asia only the United States can effectively help to safeguard our interests’. Amb, Washington to EA, 8 May 1954, PM 316/4/1. PM to Webb, 10 May 1954, ibid. Webb to PM in NZ Del, Geneva to EA, 11 May 1954, PM 434/8/1. McIntosh observed of Webb’s reply to Wellington that: ‘The Minister just would not stay. As you know, he was never keen on coming. He never really had a grasp of the confusion of detail and he kept on riding little hobby horses so hard indeed that it was not his heels that were calloused. I did not alter that particular phrase because I wanted it to be apparent to his colleagues that it was he and not I who had drafted the telegram.’ McIntosh to Shanahan, 13 May 1954, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, p. 166. The minister’s departure was greeted with considerable relief by McIntosh, who used the occasion to vent the frustration experienced by officials in dealing with Webb in Geneva. Perhaps the most telling of his complaints was that Webb ‘did not want to read papers and the opportunities for private meetings were fairly restricted, but when he did go it was terrible’. McIntosh to Shanahan, 13 May 1954, in ibid. Amb, Washington to EA, From Webb, 20 May 1954, PM 316/4/1. For Munro’s continuing dismay with Webb, see American

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Diary entry for 19 May 1954, Folder 193, Munro Papers. PM to Webb, 7 and 13 May 1954, PM 316/ 4/1. NZ Del, Geneva to EA, 3 May 1954, PM 434/8/1. Munro too tried to keep alive New Zealand support for this possibility. See memorandum by Munro, ‘Defence of South East Asia’. 21 May 1954, ibid. See also Gardner, Approaching Vietnam, p. 278, which suggests that the United States was now trying to apply ‘genuine coercion’ on the British ‘through Auckland [sic] and Canberra’. Caucus Minutes, 27 May 1954, Box 103, NZNP, ATL. Webb also told the caucus that ‘The French appear responsible for [the] problem in Indo-China’. This was not a comment he would have made publicly. NZ Del, Geneva to EA, 2 Jun 1954, PM 316/4/1. Amb, Washington to EA, 4 Jun 1954, ibid. Amb, Washington to EA, 5 Jun 1954, PM 434/8/1. Minute of Cabinet Meeting, 8 Jun 1954, C.M. (54) 28, ‘Dulles’ Proposal – Overt Chinese Communist Aggression’, ibid. Webb’s observation was particularly interesting as a New Zealand analogue of the much-quoted sentence from Dwight D. Eisenhower’s memoirs to the same effect: ‘I have never talked or corresponded with a person knowledgeable in Indochinese affairs who did not agree that had elections been held as of the time of the fighting, possibly 80 per cent of the population would have voted for the Communist Ho Chi Minh as their leader rather than Chief of State Bao Dai’. Eisenhower, Mandate for Change, p. 372. Those opposed to New Zealand involvement in Vietnam in the 1960s would have relished unearthing such a quotation from a highlevel New Zealand policy-maker, but Webb’s observation was not declassified until after the end of the Vietnam conflict. Draft cable to Washington in Min EA to HC, Canberra, 22 Jun 1954, PM 434/8/1. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 23 Jun 1954, ibid. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 25 Jun 1954, and Min EA to HC, London, 25 Jun 1954, both in ibid. ‘Telephone Call from Ambassador Munro, Friday, June 25, 1954’, Folder 8, Telephone Conversations Series, John Foster Dulles Papers. Munro noted in his diary that he had conveyed the government’s views on the agreed minute ‘tactfully’. American Diary entry for 25 Jun 1954, Folder 193, Munro Papers. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 30 Jun 1954, PM 434/8/1. Corner interview, 19 Mar 1997.

notes to pages 30–35 139 McIntosh to Laking, 16 Jun 1954, 2/50–55, Laking–McIntosh Correspondence, A. D. McIntosh Papers, [hereafter McIntosh Papers]. 140 Memorandum: ‘New Zealand Association with an Indo-China Settlement,’ 16 Jul 1954, PM 316/4/1. 141 NZPD 303: 838. For Holland’s immediate public reaction welcoming the ceasefire agreement in Indochina, see Dominion, 22 and 24 Jul 1954. 142 Legation, Paris to Min EA, 30 Jul 1954, PM 478/4/1; Memorandum: ‘South East Asian Defence’, 24 Aug 1954, PM 434/8/1. Chapter Two From Geneva to the Tonkin Gulf: 1954–64 1 A May 1954 briefing paper described Thailand as an ‘embarrassing ally’ and deemed the Philippines useful only for its prospective bases. See Pearson, Paper Tiger, p. 28. The British High Commissioner in Wellington reported in the same month that New Zealand was wary of formal treaty links with Asian nations because ‘of the low esteem in which they hold the administrations of many of the Asian countries with which they would not be anxious for too close a relationship, especially in the defence field’. UKHC, Wellington, to Sec State for Commonwealth Relations, 3 May 1954, FO 371, 111872, PRO. See also Brook Barrington, ‘New Zealand and the Search for Security: A Modest and Moderate Collaboration’ (PhD thesis, University of Auckland, 1993), p. 272. 2 As another historian has noted, ‘New Zealand signed SEACDT out of a duty to Western allies, rather than out of a specific concern for the security of Southeast Asia’. Pearson, Paper Tiger, p. 35. 3 For New Zealand policy toward collective defence arrangements in Southeast Asia and the formation of SEATO, see McKinnon, ‘From ANZUS to SEATO’; R. M. Mullins, ‘New Zealand’s Defence Policy’, New Zealand Foreign Affairs Review 22 (Jul 1972): 12–16; Pearson, Paper Tiger, pp. 16–37. 4 Draft Memorandum from Amb in Bangkok to Min EA, 1 Aug 1957, PM 434/8/1. For a more general statement of New Zealand policy toward Asia in this period, see Min EA to Commissioner for NZ in South East Asia, 15 Mar 1957, ibid. 5 The history of this involvement is comprehensively recounted in Christopher Pugsley, From Emergency to Confrontation: The New Zealand Armed Forces in Malaya and Borneo, 1949–1966. 6 McKinnon, Independence and Foreign Policy, p. 153. For differing views, see Ian McGibbon, ‘Forward Defence: The Southeast Asian Commitment’, in Malcolm McKinnon, ed., New Zealand in World

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Affairs, Volume II: 1957–1972, pp. 11–14, 22–5; Pugsley, From Emergency to Confrontation, p. 5. Pearson, Paper Tiger, pp. 45–6. For the growth of a Cold War consciousness in New Zealand in the late 1940s, see Richard Kay, ‘Take That, You Dirty Commie! The Rise of a Cold War Consciousness in New Zealand, 1944–1949’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 1994). For analyses of this redefinition of deeprooted apprehensions, see Keith Jackson, ‘New Zealand and Southeast Asia’, Journal of Commonwealth Political Studies 9 (Mar 1971): 5–6; Michael Stenson, ‘The Origins and Significance of “Forward Defence” in Asia’, in New Zealand in World Affairs, Volume I, pp. 179–96. For a similar analysis of how ‘Cold War perceptions were superimposed upon this pre-existing fear’ of Asia in Australia, see John Murphy, Harvest of Fear: A History of Australia’s Vietnam War, esp. pp. xvii–xix, 39–60 (quotation p. xviii). NZPD 305: 1651–3. Similarly, Shanahan surmised in 1957 that it seemed possible ‘to determine relatively precise policy objectives in respect of various Asian countries simply by deciding that our self-interest lies in opposing Communist expansion in any form, and in securing the confidence of the United States, the United Kingdom and Australia with whom, in the final analysis, we sink or swim’. Commissioner for NZ in South East Asia to Min EA, 1 Aug 1957, PM 434/8/1. McGibbon, ‘Forward Defence’, pp. 11–12. Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 42. Cited in Immerman, ‘Prologue: Perceptions by the United States’, p. 17. Melanie Billings-Yun, Decision Against War: Eisenhower and Dien Bien Phu, 1954, pp. 158–9. Diem’s relative success in the 1950s may in part be attributable to the North Vietnamese regime’s preoccupation with consolidating its power within its own boundaries during this period. ‘Situation in South-East Asia and its Importance to New Zealand,’ Briefing Paper prepared for SEATO Council Meeting, Bangkok, February 1955, 12 Feb 1955, PM 434/8/1. Handwritten comment on Amb in Washington to Min EA, 1 Feb 1955, PM 478/4/1. ‘New Zealand Government Views on Elections in Viet Nam’, in Amb in Washington to Min EA, 19 Jul 1955, ibid. Note by Joint Intelligence Committee, JIC (55) 19, 17 Oct 1955, ibid. Briefing Paper for ANZUS Meeting, ‘Vietnam’, 23 Sep 1955, ibid. Min EA to Washington, 21 Oct 1955, ibid. Min EA to Washington, 21 Oct 1955; Min EA to Commissioner for NZ in South East Asia, 25 Oct 1955; Memorandum by Charles

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Craw, ‘Referendum in Vietnam,’ 25 Oct 1955, ibid. Memorandum by Shanahan, Commissioner for NZ in South East Asia to Min EA, 3 Nov 1955, ibid. Macdonald to PM and Algie, in Commissioner for NZ in South East Asia to Min EA, 8 Nov 1955, ibid. See also Memorandum for File, Commission for New Zealand in South East Asia: ‘Visit to Saigon: Hon. T. L. Macdonald’, 22 Nov 1955, ibid. Note by the Chiefs of Staff Committee–Joint Intelligence Committee: ‘Situation in South Vietnam,’ JIC (55) 21, 2 Dec 1955, ibid. Evening Post, 12 Mar 1957. As the British High Commission in Wellington reported to London, ‘There are no party differences of importance over foreign policy’. ‘Political Situation in New Zealand’, n.d. [approx. Aug 1958], DO35: 8068, PRO. The following account of the Nash government’s policy toward Laos is based on Pearson, Paper Tiger, pp. 80–4; McKinnon, Independence and Foreign Policy, pp. 153–4; McGibbon, ‘Forward Defence’, pp. 25–6. For Australian policy on Laos, see Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 208–28. McIntosh also cited the view of the British ambassador in Saigon that ‘in the Republic of Vietnam, as elsewhere in non-Communist Asia, the star of parliamentary democracy is not exactly bright at present’. Instead, regimes such as Diem’s tended to ‘plump for the repressive alternative as the safer course’. Sec EA to PM, 28 Jan 1960, PM 478/4/1. Memorandum [Drafted KWP]: ‘Political trends in Korea, Vietnam and Laos,’ 11 May 1960, ibid. Extract: New Zealand Report of 6th meeting of SEATO Council of Ministers [May 1960], 11 Jul 1960, ibid. Nash had also conveyed his positive assessment of Diem to British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan the previous year, describing him as ‘probably the best ruler in that part of the world’. ‘Record of a Conversation between the Prime Minister and the Prime Minister of New Zealand, Walter Nash, 4/11/1959’, FO 371: 143733, PRO. The following summary of Holyoake’s trip is based on: Typescript Notes of Keith Holyoake’s Asian Tour as Leader of Opposition, 1960, Folder 1 (South East Asia: Tour, 1960), Box 115, Sir Keith Holyoake Papers, MS 1814, [hereafter Holyoake Papers]. The Communist Party of New Zealand’s publication, People’s Voice, expressed a very different view of Ngo Dinh Diem, criticising Holyoake for meeting with such ‘monsters’. People’s Voice, 16 Mar 1960, p. 7. McIntosh to Holyoake, 9 Dec 1959, Folder 1 (South East Asia: Tour, 1960), Box 115, Holyoake Papers. Michael Shackleton, Operation Vietnam: A

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New Zealand Surgical First, pp. 18–19. One scholar has argued that Holyoake’s 1960 trip did serve to convince him that communism posed a very real threat to Southeast Asia. See Barry Gustafson, The First Fifty Years: A History of the New Zealand National Party, p. 95. Chargé in Washington to Min EA, 16 Jun 1960, PM 478/4/1. Annex to Airmail Bulletin, 7 Jul 1960, ibid. Chargé in Washington to Min EA, 20 Sep 1960, ibid. Theodore Roosevelt was a few months younger than Kennedy when he became President but, like Lyndon Johnson, he first assumed that office as the result of an assassin’s bullet. Chargé in Washington to Min EA, 16 Jan 1961, PM 478/4/1. Memorandum to the President from Walt Rostow, 10 May 1961, Box 193, Countries File: Vietnam, National Security Files, John Fitzgerald Kennedy Library, [hereafter Kennedy Library]. Rostow would nonetheless remain convinced that the American effort in Vietnam was justified and succeeded in buying time for other Southeast Asian nations to inure themselves against the contagion of communism. Author’s interview with Walt Rostow, 14 Dec 1990. This paragraph is based on: John S. Bowman, General Editor, The World Almanac of the Vietnam War, pp. 49–50; Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 198–9; Gabriel Kolko, Vietnam: Anatomy of War, 1940–1975, pp. 104–6. The quotation is from Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 68. Briefing paper, ‘South Vietnam,’ SEATO Council Meeting, 2 Mar 1961, PM 478/4/1. Handwritten comment by Holyoake on draft of Holyoake to Harold Macmillan, 18 May 1961, ibid. Holyoake’s criticism of the first draft was taken literally, as a phrase was included noting: ‘I know it is not difficult to adopt a critical and even a superior attitude towards the shortcomings of the Diem regime’. Holyoake to Macmillan in Min EA to NZHC, London, 19 May 1961, ibid. NZHC, London to Min EA, 29 May 1961, ibid. He added ‘that New Zealand, like Australia, had a direct interest in the South Vietnam security situation and would be well advised to consider very carefully what it could do to assist’. Counsellor, Canberra to Min EA, 22 Jun 1961, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 5 Oct 1961; Amb, Washington to Min EA, 11 Oct 1961, ibid. Five months earlier Rostow had suggested to Kennedy that the United States needed ‘to think through the political, diplomatic, and other conditions under which

notes to pages 43–49

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it would be wise for us to put American troops into Viet-Nam’. Memorandum to the President from Walt Rostow, 10 May 1961, Box 193, Countries File: Vietnam, National Security Files, Kennedy Library. NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 10 Oct 1961, PM 478/4/1. Counsellor, Canberra to Min EA, 6 Nov 1961, ibid. NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 1 Nov 1961, PM 478/4/6. For a summary analysis of the Taylor Mission’s recommendations and Kennedy’s response to them, see Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 80–4. Amb, Washington to EA, 18 Nov 1961, PM 478/4/6. Anthony B. Akers, the American ambassador in Wellington from 1961 to 1963, later recalled that he had been charged with getting the two ANZUS partners ‘to participate in a framework of endeavor in Vietnam that would give multilateral involvement’. Even then New Zealand was wary about involvement in the conflict. See Anthony B. Akers interview, 17 Jul 1971, p. 29, John F. Kennedy Oral History Program, Kennedy Library. Min EA to Washington, 28 Nov 1961, PM 478/4/1. When the New Zealand ambassador in Washington pointed out that difficulties in providing capital aid meant that any further New Zealand aid was likely to be technical, the State Department promptly asked about areas in which New Zealand technical assistance might be increased. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 8 Dec 1961, PM 478/4/6. Counsellor, Canberra to Min EA, 29 Nov 1961, PM 478/4/1. Minutes of Chiefs of Staff Committee, COS (61) M.46, 14 Dec 1961, PM 478/4/6. As usual in such documents, there was a reference to New Zealand’s ‘modest’ practical assistance through relief and Colombo Plan activities, as well as to that fact that ‘there seems to be comparatively little scope for us in the fields in which we are best equipped to help’. Briefing Paper, ANZUS Council Meeting, May 1962, 24 Apr 1962, PM 478/4/1. Annex to Airmail Bulletin 1962/19: ‘South Vietnam: Letter from the Prime Minister to President Ngo Dinh Diem,’ 17 May 1962, ibid. Extract from Chiefs of Staff Committee, COS (62) M.19, ‘Meeting with U.S. Assistant Sec of Defence for International Security Affairs’ 11 May 1962, PM 478/4/6. For American desires for New Zealand assistance, see also FRUS, 1961–1963, 2, pp. 351, 378, 486. Draft Cabinet paper, Annex to JPS (62)25, 15/7/4, 13 Jun 1962, PM 478/4/6. Minutes of Chiefs of Staff Committee–Joint Planning Committee, JPC (62) 41, 30 May

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1962; Draft Cabinet paper, Annex to JPS (62) 25, 13 Jun 1962; Minutes of Chiefs of Staff Committee, COS (62) M.26, 14 Jun 1962, ibid. For a first-hand account of the surgical team’s experience in Vietnam, see Shackleton, Operation Vietnam. Sec EA to PM, 3 Aug 1962, PM 478/4/1. Holyoake to Kennedy, 10 Oct 1962, and Kennedy to Holyoake, 20 Nov 1962, Folder 4, Box 143, Countries File: New Zealand, President’s Office Files (1961–1963), Kennedy Library. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 4 Oct 1962, PM 478/4/1. Pugsley, From Emergency to Confrontation, pp. 125–6. In his usual terse way, Holyoake scribbled, ‘Visits not approved.’ See Sec EA to PM, 12 Dec 1962; Sec EA to PM, 17 Dec 1962, PM 478/4/1. See also Extract: COS(62)M.49, 12 Dec 1962; High Commissioner, Canberra to Min EA, 14 Dec 1962, ibid. Holyoake to S. C. Johnston, NZHC, Canberra, 24 Dec 1962, PM 478/4/6. In early April, Holyoake did approve an army request that two officers en route from New Zealand to a SEATO exercise be permitted to visit Saigon. See Chief of General Staff to Sec EA, 27 Mar 1963, and Sec EA to PM, 5 Apr 1963, PM 478/4/1. As one official observed in mid-1962, ‘it was fairly plain that as far as the State Department was concerned any presence of New Zealand military would be welcome’. Ralph Mullins, Washington to Charles Craw, 17 Jul 1962, PM 478/4/6. Extract from ‘Notes of Conversation between Mr Shanahan and United States Ambassador’, 8 Feb 1963; Note for File: ‘Visit of South Vietnamese Amb, Tran Van Lam’, 14 Feb 1963; Amb, Washington to Min EA, 3 Apr 1963, ibid. As External Affairs acknowledged, the problem was that ‘New Zealand is not well placed to assess the reliability of these optimistic assessments, nor the extent, if any, to which they require modification in the light of developments in the first months of this year. (One of the problems of our present position, in fact, is that while the outcome of the struggle may well be crucial for our relations with South-east Asia and our defence policy, we are completely dependent on external sources and are forgoing valuable sources of information and experience.’ Extract: New Zealand Briefing Paper for SEATO Council Meeting, 1 Apr 1963, PM 478/4/1. Memorandum by RMM: ‘Insurgency Situation in South Vietnam’, 22 Aug 1963, ibid. In part, this problem was due in the early 1960s to Western reliance on misleading statistics provided by the South Vietnamese. See Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 91. For American concerns about the Diem

notes to pages 50–54

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regime and heightened debate about policy toward Vietnam, see: Charles DeBenedetti (and Charles Chatfield, Assisting Author), An American Ordeal: The Antiwar Movement in the Vietnam Era, pp. 86–91; Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 91–5. Extract: ‘Discussions between Mr Rusk and Mr Eyre’, SEATO Meeting, Paris, 9 Apr 1963, PM 478/4/6. Holyoake would pick up on Rusk’s phrase a year later to quip to the Americans that they should give ‘prayerful Presbyterian consideration to the question of China’. See Laking to McIntosh, 24 Apr 1964; McIntosh to Laking, 1 May 1964, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, pp. 314–16. Dean Eyre, Paris to PM, 10 Apr 1963, PM 478/4/6. McIntosh to Laking, 1 May 1964, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, p. 315. Sec EA to PM, 10 May 1963, PM 478/4/6. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 13 May 1963, ibid. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 15 May 1963, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 20 May 1963, ibid. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 22 May 1963, ibid. Joint Planning Committee: Report on ‘New Zealand Military Assistance to South Vietnam’, JPC (63) 42, 19 Apr 1963; Sec EA to PM, 10 May 1963; Cabinet Minute CM (63) 19, 28 May 1963, ibid. Extract: Brief for ANZUS Meeting, Jun 1963, 28 May 1963; Cabinet Minute CM (63) 19, 28 May 1963, ibid. Min EA to Amb, Bangkok, 1 Jun 1963, ibid. Extract: Annex to Division Heads’ Meeting, 23 May 1963, ibid. Ibid.; Min EA to Amb, Bangkok, 1 Jun 1963, ibid. ‘It is suggested that for maximum effect, Mr Harriman should be allowed to do so before he is informed of the Government’s decision and that United States and Australian views on the form this aid might take could then be sought.’ Extract: Brief for ANZUS Meeting, June 1963, 28 May 1963, ibid. Even one of the newspaper editorials supportive of the announcement carried this implication. See Auckland Star, 7 Jun 1963. Extract: Discussion at ANZUS Council Meeting, 6 Jun 1963, PM 478/4/6. Ibid. The American record of Harriman’s comments is worded slightly differently: ‘Mr. Harriman emphasized that any assistance from New Zealand and Australia would be of political value. The U.S. was accused repeatedly of imperialistic designs. A showing of the flag by other countries was important and he hoped they would consider and accede to the requests from Saigon.’ Memorandum of conversation: ANZUS

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Council Meeting, Wellington, Jun 5–6, 1963, Box 211, National Security Files: Regional Security, Kennedy Library. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 3 Jun 1963, PM 478/4/6. Weir was convinced that ‘for its size an engineer force could have a greater impact than anything else suggested in assisting the furtherance of the war effort and the reconstruction of the country’. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 12 Jun 1963, ibid. ‘South Vietnam – Nature and Role of Military Contribution by New Zealand,’ 3 Jul 1963, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 16 Jul, 16 Aug 1963, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 16 Aug 1963, ibid. Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 95–6. The photograph of this event on 11 June 1963 was one of the first of the tragically memorable Vietnam War images that would inhabit Western popular memory. Holyoake to McIntosh, 20 Aug 1963, PM 478/4/6. Sec EA to PM, 26 Aug 1963, ibid. When questioned on the matter in Parliament a few days later, Holyoake explained that ‘the difficult and confused situation’ in South Vietnam meant it was not an appropriate time to make a decision, and that the government was seeking more information. NZPD 336: 1522–3. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 18 Sep 1963, PM 478/4/1. Laking’s message also revealed that the Americans were very concerned about a possible positive response in Saigon to recent ‘peace feelers’ from Hanoi that might lead to the unification and neutralisation of Vietnam. Amb, Washington to PM, 27 Sep 1963, ibid. Min EA to Amb, Bangkok, 16 Oct 1963, PM 478/4/6. Shanahan recollected that ‘Indeed, at about the time of the Prime Minister’s 29 August statement our concern in this Department was not so much to persuade the Government to decide on the form which a New Zealand contribution would take as to deter them from reversing their position altogether, and deciding not to send any contribution at all’. Shanahan to Weir, 14 Oct 1963, ibid. Shanahan subsequently advised Holyoake that Weir had been told ‘that there is no prospect of a decision being taken until early in the New Year and that any decision will depend upon consideration by you of the situation in Vietnam at the time’. Holyoake’s only comment was to scribble ‘Correct’ on the memorandum. Shanahan to Holyoake, 16 Oct 1963, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 3 Nov 1963, PM 478/4/1. This account of the coup is based on Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 103–6; Lawrence Freedman, Kennedy’s Wars:

notes to pages 54–58

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Berlin, Cuba, Laos, and Vietnam, pp. 390–7. For more detailed analyses of the coup, see David Kaiser, American Tragedy: Kennedy, Johnson, and the Origins of the Vietnam War, pp. 248–83; Frederik Logevall, Choosing War: The Lost Chance for Peace and the Escalation of War in Vietnam, pp. 43–74. Among the recently declassified American official sources used by Kaiser are Kennedy’s own taped reflections on the coup, which include the cited comment (p. 276): ‘I was shocked by the death of Diem and Nhu’. Freedman, Kennedy’s Wars, p. 416. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 5 Nov 1963, PM 478/4/1. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 5 Nov 1963, ibid. See also Pro Memoria by US Amb to NZ Government, 5 Nov 1963, ibid. A report received from Canberra the same day suggested: ‘The Australians are a little coy on the question and, like the British, would prefer the Americans to recognise first. However, if the pressure is really applied from Washington, Australia might toe the line.’ Acting NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 5 Nov 1963, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 7 Nov 1963, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 8 Nov 1963, ibid. PM to Min FA, Saigon, 13 Nov 1963, ibid. Mullins noted that: ‘No public announcement was made at that time (or subsequently)’. See Min EA to NZHC, London, 10 Dec 1963, ibid. There has been much speculation that Kennedy, had he lived, would have moved to extricate the United States from Vietnam. For a balanced assessment of this possibility, see Freedman, Kennedy’s Wars, pp. 398– 419. Cf. Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 106–7. Cited in Herring, America's Longest War, p. 110. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 13 Jan 1964, PM 478/4/6. See also extract: SEATO Council Meeting Brief, 4 Apr 1964, ibid. Shanahan to Weir, 16 Jan 1964, ibid. See, for example, Amb, Washington to Min EA, 24 Jan 1964, PM 478/4/1. Memorandum by Shanahan: ‘Vietnam – Military Unit,’ 31 Jan 1964, PM 478/4/6. Shanahan to Weir, 10 Feb 1964, ibid. Weir to Shanahan, 14 Feb 1964, ibid. Handwritten comment by Holyoake on Sec EA to PM, 3 Apr 1964, ibid. Briefing Paper: SEATO Council Meeting, Manila, 13–15 Apr 1964, 7 Apr 1964, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 28 Apr 1964, ibid. At a press conference on 23 April, Johnson said: ‘I would hope that we could see some other flags in there – other nations as a result of the SEATO meeting and other conferences

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we’ve had – and that we could all unite in an attempt to stop the spread of Communism’. Quoted in Amb, Washington to Min EA, 1 May 1964, ibid. Around the same time, SEATO’s Ministerial Council issued a declaration that defeating the Viet Cong was crucial for regional security and that SEATO members needed to meet their treaty obligations. But thereafter the United States sought ‘Free World’ support for South Vietnam outside the SEATO framework, partly because of opposition to its policy from member states such as France. See Stanley Larson and James Collins, Allied Participation in Vietnam, pp. 2–3. Memorandum: ‘Prime Minister’s Visit to Saigon, 16 April 1964: Discussion with General Khanh’, 30 Apr 1964; Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 24 Apr 1964,pm 478/4/1. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 1 May 1964, ibid. United States Amb to PM, 6 May 1964, PM 478/4/6. Note for File by J.K. Hunn, Sec Def, 8 May 1964, JSO 147/1/1. A. Dobbs, who served as Army Secretary from 1959 to 1965, later told an interviewer that ‘Hunn failed during his tenure of the Sec’s position. He succeeded mainly in antagonising the leadership of the three service entities.’ Report of Interview with A. N. V. Dobbs by Research Officer–Historical (Ian McGibbon), 19 May 1972, p. 6, Defence 55/4/15, Defence Historical Publications, [hereafter DHPANZ]. Sec EA to PM, 8 May 1964, PM 478/4/6. For analysis of New Zealand policy on Confrontation around this time, see John Subritzky, Confronting Sukarno: British, American, Australian and New Zealand Diplomacy in the Malaysian–Indonesian Confrontation, 1961–5, pp. 98–9, 106–8, 111–13. For this argument with respect to Australia, see Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 265–6, 298, 379. For a qualified criticism of this thesis, see Subritzky, Confronting Sukarno, pp. 109–11. Cabinet Minute, CM (64)18, 13 May 1964, PM 478/4/6. The 25-man unit was to comprise a ‘command element of one officer and two other ranks and [a] Field Engineer detachment of two officers and 20 other ranks’. Memorandum for Cabinet Defence Committee from Eyre, 19 May 1964; Minutes of Meeting, Cabinet Defence Committee, 20 May 1964, ibid. Cabinet Minute CM (64)20, 27 May 1964; Press Statement by PM, 25 May 1964, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 249/1/1, 5 Jun 1964, ibid. See also Amb, Washington to Min EA, 27 May 1964, ibid. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 1 Jun 1964, ibid. When Weir visited South Vietnam in person

notes to pages 59–66

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from 9 to 15 June, he reiterated how warmly the offer of ‘an Engineer token force’ had been ‘received by the Prime Minister and by all ministers to whom I spoke: it was also most warmly received by our allies, particularly the Americans’. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 23 Jun 1964, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 23 Jun 1964, ibid. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 2 Jul 1964, PM 478/4/6. The modest scope of the unit’s activities, however, was underscored by a comment on a despatch of mid-October 1965 describing the construction of ‘a pig sty for the Chieu Hoi (surrendered Viet Cong)’. A wry External Affairs officer added the marginal annotation: ‘It worries me that the Force Commander is only a Lieutenant-Colonel. The construction of pig sties would – in my view – have warranted the appointment of a Brigadier.’ Handwritten comment on Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 14 Oct 1964, ibid. ANZUS Council Meeting Brief: ‘US Policy in South East Asia’ in Min EA to Amb, Washington, 17 Jul 1964, PM 478/4/1. Ibid. This discussion of the Tonkin Gulf incidents is based on Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 119–24.

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Chapter Three In the Cold War’s Shadow, 1945–64 1 Neither of the other two significant movements of public protest concerning foreign policy in the post-war period to that point – the anti-apartheid and the anti-nuclear – generated as much support or debate. As New Zealand’s most internationally prominent exponent of the latter cause later recalled: ‘The nuclear-free movement had an uphill struggle in the early 1960s. . . . The marches here were poorly attended; we counted it a successful meeting when the numbers reached the hundreds.’ David Lange, Nuclear Free: The New Zealand Way, p. 15. 2 For a rare editorial comment on the conflict in Indochina in the 1945–8 period, see ODT, 16 Dec 1946. One exception to parliamentary silence on the issue was a brief allusion to Indochina on 6 July 1948 by Sidney Holland (then Leader of the Opposition) in the context of concerns about ‘Communist influence spreading by leaps and bounds’. See NZPD 280: 329. The quotation is from ODT, 5 Jan 1949. 3 NZPD 291: 2139. See also ibid., p. 2286; NZPD 295: 239, 340. 4 This point has been a central argument in studies of Labour’s policy on Vietnam. See Jack A. Elder, ‘The New Zealand Labour Party and the Vietnam War: Traditions and

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Policy Until 1973’ (MA thesis, Auckland University, 1973); James R. Murphy, ‘The New Zealand Labour Party and Vietnam: 1963 to 1972’ (MA research paper, University of Canterbury, 1973). NZPD 298: 2122. NZPD 300: 1890. This was a point put less sensitively in an editorial on Indochina in the Labour newspaper in 1950: ‘Backward peoples cannot govern themselves without training.’ Southern Cross, 15 May 1950. See also Letter to Editor, Southern Cross, 26 Apr 1950. NZPD 299: 2. ODT, 5 Jan 1949. Ibid., 1 Feb 1950. On 3 May the newspaper applauded the American decision to provide aid to French ‘for the defence of Indo-China against Communism’ as recognition ‘that the fate of all South-East Asia is bound up with the conflict in Viet-Nam’. Ibid., 10 Jan 1951. On 23 January the newspaper observed that ‘there was a common front of Russian-inspired activity throughout the countries of South-east Asia, and that Indo-China was the key to the whole situation.’ The point was reiterated on 1 March. For subsequent reports in similar vein, see ibid., 23 Jun 1952, 27 Jan, 14 Sep 1953. Auckland’s New Zealand Herald, for example, charged in 1950 that Soviet recognition of Ho Chi-Minh’s government was part of a ‘Russian game … to interest Communist China in a lunge southward into one of the great rice bowls of Asia’. NZH, 9 Feb 1950. New Lynn Branch, NZPC to PM, n.d. [c. Oct 1953], PM 316/4/8/2. See McGibbon, New Zealand and the Korean War, Volume I, pp. 94–5, 311–19. For a more sympathetic, if idiosyncratic, insider’s history of the Peace Council, see John Urlich, Journey Towards World Peace: A History of the New Zealand Peace Council – Half a Century in the Cause of Peace, 1948–1998. R. A. Lochore to Editors of Newspapers, 1 Mar 1954, PM 316/4/8/2; Evening Post, 16 Mar 1954. Standard, 24 Mar 1954. People’s Voice, 17 Mar 1954. ODT, 10 Apr 1954. Ibid., 8 May 1954. Ibid., 10, 15 May 1954. Lilian Fraser to PM, Apr 1954; New Lynn Branch, NZPC to PM, 12 Apr 1954, PM 316/4/10. For similar examples, see N. Hall to PM, 9 Apr 1954, E. Gwynn to PM, 21 Apr 1954, and NZ Railway Tradesmen’s Association to Min EA, 1 Jun 1954, all in ibid. In similar vein, a correspondent labelled the United States ‘mad dog of the world’. ODT, 10 Apr 1954. Another correspondent disputed the newspaper’s claim that criticism of American foreign policy was confined to

notes to pages 66–73

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‘an ignorant or mischievous’ section of the Labour and trade union movement in New Zealand and Britain, adding that ‘the only real hope of the peoples of Southeast Asia for self-government and a rising standard of living comes from the indigenous Communist movements’. ODT, 14 Apr 1954. Not all critics of Western policy on Vietnam were as unsubtle or as removed from the mainstream of New Zealand society. At least one major church group suggested that Western powers needed to be more sensitive to Asian opinion concerning defence arrangements in Southeast Asia and had to bear some responsibility for the situation in Indochina. Speaking on behalf of the Public Questions Committee of the Presbyterian Church, the Reverend J. G. Matheson commented in June 1954 that ‘the fight against the Viet Minh was not simply a fight against Communism – it was much more complicated’. ODT, 2 Jun 1954. Befitting the professed internationalism of communist parties around the world, the booklet included an acknowledgement that it was ‘Adapted from an Australian pamphlet’. See ‘The Truth about Indo China’ (Canterbury District Executive, Communist Party of New Zealand, Jun 1954). I am grateful to Kerry Taylor for allowing me to view his copy of this pamphlet. Macdonald’s comments are in NZPD 303: 273. Between April and August 1954 the government received only six letters from individuals and 12 from organisations concerning Indochina, which External Affairs described as ‘remarkably few’. Extract: Airmail Bulletin, ‘Public Interest in South East Asia’, 25 Aug 1954, PM 434/8/1. For the full debate, see NZPD 303: 208–303, passim. Ibid., p. 66. Ibid., pp. 209, 215, 220. See, for example, ibid., pp. 254, 264, 301. Ibid., p. 211. See, for example, ibid., pp. 151, 216, 262, 277. See, for example, ibid., pp. 65, 225, 257. Ibid., p. 66. This was reiterated in parliamentarians’ reactions to the peace settlement in July. See, for example, ibid., p. 838; NZPD 304: 1046. For a sample of press reactions, see: ODT, Dominion, NZH, all 22 Jul 1954. See, for example: NZPD 305: 53, 55, 71–2, 93, 101–2. P. G. Connolly, ibid., p. 97. Australian Minister of External Affairs Richard Casey had told an electorate meeting in May 1954 that: ‘With the black cloud of Communist China hanging to the north, we must make sure that our children do not end up pulling rickshaws with hammer and sickle signs on their sides’. Cited in Murphy,

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Harvest of Fear, pp. xvii–xviii. NZPD 311: 40–1. See, for example, the comments by Connolly on 13 June 1957 in NZPD 311: 46–7. NZMR (May 1960): 4. In its August 1964 issue, the journal described itself as a publication ‘which wishes to be independent of pressure groups, independent of commercial interests and independent of the public opinion machine (which is the official press and broadcasting)’ (p. 21). Ibid. (Dec 1960–Jan 1961): 14–15. For examples of reports by Freda Cook, see NZMR (Feb 1961): 17–18; (Mar 1961): 8–9; (Apr 1961): 10–12. See, for example, ibid., (May 1961): 12–14; (Jun 1961): 12–13. Ibid., (Dec 1961): 18–19. Ibid., (May 1961): 3. Ibid., (Feb 1963): 16–17; (Mar 1963): 16–17. Ibid., (May 1963): 6–7. Ibid., (Feb 1963): 16–17. Rae commented: ‘Now there is a realisation that we are a Pacific nation, and while we will always retain our ties with the Mother Country, much of our future is tied up with the East’. NZPD 330: 343. Ibid., p. 354. See also pp. 348, 352. NZMR (Jun 1962), p. 9. ‘Notes for Government Members: South Vietnam,’ 1 Jul 1963, PM 478/4/6. See also clippings: Auckland Star, 7 Jun 1963; Wanganui Herald, 19 Jun 1963, ibid. See Director of Security to Sec EA, 8 Jul 1963; Sec EA to Security Service, 30 Jul 1963, ibid. While small, this number was still an increased number of critical representations from the public concerning Vietnam. For two exceptions, see Helen Baker to PM, 2 May 1962; J. G. Saville to PM, 17 May 1962, PM 478/4/1. Statement issued by the National Executive of the New Zealand Peace Council, Auckland, 17 Jun 1963, published in NZMR (Jul 1963): 4. Ibid., (Jul 1963): 3. See ibid., (Oct 1963): 3. The quotation is from ibid., (Mar 1964): 3. NZPD 335: 402–6. Holyoake emphasised that ‘Right from that time [the 1950 Colombo conference], we – and the last Labour Government, too, I know – recognised that the best means of protecting South-East Asia from Communist subversion and aggression was to raise the standard of living of the people, and so the Government has continued to give full support to the programmes of aid to the countries of that area’. He added that the government viewed ‘its proposed action in South Vietnam as similar to, although infinitely smaller than, our efforts in Korea in 1950 and in Malaya in 1955’.

notes to pages 73–77 56 57 58 59 60

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Ibid., pp. 406–9. Nash conceded that ‘both sides are receiving a considerable measure of assistance from outside.’ Ibid., p. 419. Ibid., pp. 468–70. Ibid., p. 461. Ibid., pp. 470–2. This visit deeply affected Muldoon’s views. A decade later, he would write in his first autobiographical book: ‘If I have been outspoken about communist aggression in Vietnam it is because of what I saw there in 1963’. R. D. Muldoon, Rise and Fall of a Young Turk, p. 60. Eyre, for example, spoke of ‘the inescapable fact that South-East Asia is our frontier’, which was why New Zealand needed defence alliances. NZPD 335: 416. A. D. Dick noted the threat posed to New Zealand by communist expansion in Southeast Asia: ‘We in New Zealand today are Pacific Islanders: we are not Europeans. South-East Asia is right on our doorstep and we are virtually part of it’. He urged the promotion of aid and trade links with the region; ‘by so doing we may help crush the cause of communism.’ Ibid., p. 428. Muldoon asserted: ‘I believe our front line is in South-East Asia, that Vietnam and Laos today are fighting our battle and that they need our help.’ Ibid., p. 470. Ibid., p. 473. Ibid., p. 463. See, for example, Willis Airey, Executive Chairman of the New Zealand Peace Council, denouncing the government’s support of ‘a barbarous war to impose an unpopular government on a people’. NZMR (Jun 1964): 17. Ibid., (Mar 1964): 23. See, for example, ibid., (Jun 1964): 6; (Aug 1964): 23. Ironically, Ross was a Canadian and had arrived in New Zealand only in 1962. NZ Times, 2 Mar 1982. L. F. J. Ross, ‘New Zealand Foreign Policy and the Drift Towards War in Asia’, NZMR (May 1964): 8–9. See also Ross, ‘Some Facts About War in Vietnam’, ibid., (Sep 1964): 12–18. Similarly, in August, a Monthly Review columnist deplored military involvement in Southeast Asia and urged New Zealand to declare ‘our Independence’ in foreign policy and not be ‘just a marionetteoutpost of the great Western (colonialist) Alliance’. Ibid., (Aug 1964): 1–3. Ross, ‘Some Facts About War in Vietnam’, Supplement to ibid., (Sep 1964): 14–18. See, for example, V. G. Wilcox, World Communist Differences: N.Z. Party’s Firm Stand (CPNZ pamphlet, n. d., probably 1963 or 1964), p. 34. Copy of pamphlet provided to author by Kerry Taylor. R. Nunes, The Truth about Vietnam, Laos, ‘Malaysia’ and Indonesia (CPNZ pamphlet, Auckland, 1 Aug 1964). The front page

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of this pamphlet featured a photograph reproduced from the Evening Post of 23 May 1964, with the caption: ‘Showing U.S.-advised Vietnamese soldiers torturing an independence fighter by dragging him through a muddy stream’. NZPD 338: 146–9. Ibid., pp. 328–9. Ibid., pp. 329–32. See, for example, ibid., pp. 334–6, 342–4. Ibid., pp. 336–8. Arthur Faulkner angrily rebutted Holyoake’s implication that his party was giving ‘comfort to Communists’. Like other Labour speakers, he spoke of the need for economic and social aid, but affirmed that Labour would ‘honour any obligations, whether of a military or nonmilitary character, so long as we are properly required to do so by any authority which we are pledged to support’. Ibid., pp. 338–40. As Eyre put it, ‘most of the trouble in these areas comes from outside, cloaked under the cry of anti-colonialism, anti-imperialism – have it what you will – and euphemistically called confrontation, although I would call it intimidation’. Ibid., pp. 332–4. In response to Nordmeyer’s query about treaty obligations, see also comments by G. Walsh and D. MacIntyre, ibid., pp. 340–1, 344. NZPD 339: 1138–40. Ironically, there was strong support for the ‘commendably firm’ American stance from the Waikato Times, which from 1965 would consistently oppose New Zealand’s combat involvement in Vietnam. See clipping: Waikato Times, 5 Aug 1964, in PM 478/4/1. NZPD 339: 1145–6. See, in particular, the comments by Nash and Munro in ibid., pp. 1152–7. Replying to Nash, Munro outlined the core argument that would be used privately in official circles the following year to justify a combat commitment. ‘Were that country to fall, our capacity to defend Malaysia would be most gravely in jeopardy. With all the respect I shall always display to the member for Hutt, I am not so much concerned with the terms of the documents he read as I am with our ultimate dependence upon the United States, which in South Vietnam at the moment is, as I have said, discharging a duty to the free world and, in particular, is helping us.’ Ibid., pp. 1650–3. Ibid., pp. 1656–62. Other National speakers argued along similar lines, with a strong anti-communist thrust running through their speeches. See, for example, the comments by Munro, Walsh, G. Grieve and Jack in ibid., pp. 1664–6, 1670, 1674–6, 1678–81. Jack was especially critical of Labour’s ‘lofty detachment’ about American policy toward Vietnam. ‘The attitude of a party that seems to have no criticism at all of North Vietnamese behaviour but is neverthe-

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less prepared repeatedly to criticise, even if faintly, the one Power that gives this country security in the world is, as I say, sadly mistaken.’ He added that ‘though there are unsatisfactory features of the Government of South Vietnam, there are far more unsatisfactory features of the Government of North Vietnam, as the people themselves have shown with their feet. . . . The real cause, I repeat, of the strife in Vietnam is the lust of the Communists for power, and their urge to spread perverted Communist ideals.’ Ibid., pp. 1662–3. See also the comments by Nash, Freer, M. Moohan and R. Tizard in ibid., pp. 1654, 1667–8, 1676–8, 1681–2. Ibid., pp. 1671–4. Finlay ended his speech with a plea for cultural sensitivity: ‘We are faced with people who live in a way entirely differently from the way in which we live, and I am sure, from that, they think differently. We are trying to impose on them our thought processes. We are trying to do something that will not succeed. Unless we try to find out what their thought processes are we shall have no real conception of the problem.’

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Chapter Four: ‘An Acceptable Price to Pay’, 1964–5 1 For comprehensive analyses of American decision-making in the crucial period from December 1964 to January 1965 based on recently declassified American documents, see Logevall, Choosing War, pp. 252–332; Kaiser, American Tragedy, pp. 355–93. 2 Thirty other Americans were wounded and 27 aircraft were damaged or destroyed. FRUS, 1964–1968, 1: Vietnam, 1964, p. 873, n. 2. 3 The group’s deliberations are summarised in FRUS, 1964–1968, 1, pp. 886–984. 4 Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 124–6. For Ball’s own account of his stance on what he called the ‘Vietnam aberration’, see George W. Ball, The Past Has Another Pattern: Memoirs, especially pp. 360–423. 5 FRUS, 1964–1968, 1, p. 968. 6 Ibid., pp. 967–8. See also p. 974, editorial note. 7 Ibid., pp. 969–74. The treatment of the Philippines was especially invidious. Its government would be asked for ‘additional contributions’ without being told of the proposed American action. 8 Amb, Washington to Min EA, 4 Dec 1964, PM 478/4/6. For a summary of Bundy’s record of the meeting, see FRUS, 1964– 1968, 1, pp. 979–81. 9 Amb, Washington to Min EA, 7 Dec 1964, PM 478/4/6; Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 126. 10 Min EA to Amb, Washington, 11 Dec 1964, PM 478/4/6; Guidance Survey 11/64: ‘United

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States Policy in Vietnam’, 14 Dec 1964, PM 478/4/1. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 11 Dec 1964, PM 478/4/6. Ibid. Ibid.; Guidance Survey 11/64: ‘United States Policy in Vietnam’, 14 Dec 1964, PM 478/4/ 1. Cabinet Minute, CM (64) 49, 17 Dec 1964, PM 478/4/6. New Zealand’s ‘grave doubts’ about escalating the war were first reported publicly in 1971. See Neil Sheehan et al., The Pentagon Papers as Published by the New York Times, p. 335. As John Lewis Gaddis has argued in the Vietnam section of his magisterial study of American containment policy, the seemingly infinite expandability of means facilitated a complete loss of perspective about the relationship between ends and means. See Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, chs 7 and 8. The point that the Johnson administration’s Vietnam commitment was a failure ‘above all, of proportion’ is also stressed by Brian VanDeMark, Into the Quagmire: Lyndon Johnson and the Escalation of the Vietnam War, p. 221. For a compelling portrait of the key American policy-makers, whose hubris ensured this failure of proportion, see David Halberstam, The Best and the Brightest: Twentieth Anniversary Edition. Johnson to Holyoake, 12 Dec 1964; Holyoake to McIntosh, n.d. [probably 15 Dec 1964]; Min EA to Amb, Washington, 22 Dec 1964, PM 478/4/6. After Laking expressed concern about the excessively ‘non-committal’ tone of Holyoake’s brief response, a paragraph was added expressing general support for American policy in Vietnam and full sympathy for ‘the dilemma’ confronting the United States. Laking to PM, 23 Dec 1964; PM to Laking, 24 Dec 1964, ibid. Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 338–40, 344–7; NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 21 Dec 1964, 29 Jan 1965; Amb, Washington to Min EA, 29 Jan 1965, PM 478/4/6; Min EA to NZHC, London, 29 Jan 1965, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 18 Jan 1965, PM 478/4/6. Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 127. Ibid., pp. 128–33; VanDeMark, Into the Quagmire, pp. 61–91 (Bundy’s comment to Johnson cited p. 67). Extract: ‘Additional Military Assistance which New Zealand Might Provide to South Vietnam’, JPC(65)7, n.d. [but mid-Feb], PM 478/4/6. After talking to Westmoreland, who had raised the question of more New Zealand aid and specifically requested advisers, Weir made a similar recommendation. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 17 Feb 1965, ibid.

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Sec EA to PM, 9 Feb 1965, ibid. Extract: Minutes of Def Council, 18 Feb 1965, ibid. For Hunn’s acknowledgement that his view was a minority one in official circles, see Sec Def to Min Def, 22 Feb 1965, JSO 147/1/1. Sec EA to PM, 19 Feb 1965, PM 478/4/6. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 24 Feb 1965, ibid. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA (‘For McIntosh from Weir’), 25 Feb 1965; Amb, Washington to Min EA (‘For McIntosh from Laking’), 24 Feb 1965, ibid.; McIntosh to Laking, 25 Feb 1965, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, p. 321. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 24 Feb 1965; Amb, Washington to Min EA, 25 Feb 1965, PM 478/4/1. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 26 Feb 1965, ibid. EA to Amb, Washington, 26 Feb 1965, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 28 Feb 1965, PM 478/4/6. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 1 Mar 1965, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 1 Mar 1965, ibid. Cabinet Minute, CM 65/6/3, 1 Mar 1965, ibid. ‘Discussions with Australian Minister of External Affairs’, 17 Mar 1965, ibid. Corner to McIntosh, 10 Mar 1965, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, p. 323. For another expression of External Affairs’ pessimism about the prospects for progress in South Vietnam, including negotiations, see Min EA to NZHC, London, 1 Mar 1965, PM 478/4/1. Policy Brief for CDS: ‘Contingency Planning for Vietnam’, 26 Mar 1965; Sec EA to PM, 27 Mar 1965, PM 478/4/6. Ironically, given the ‘robust’ stance taken by their representative, the Australian brief for the talks was also cautious and pessimistic. See Edwards, Crises and Commitments, p. 358. CDS to PM, ‘Contingency Planning for Vietnam’, 5 Apr 1965, PM 478/4/6. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 5 Apr 1965, ibid. CDS to PM, ‘Contingency Planning for Vietnam’, 5 Apr 1965, ibid. Min EA to Amb, Washington, 5 Apr 1965, ibid. For the growing caution in Canberra, and for more detailed discussion of how Scherger exceeded his brief, see Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 358–60. See also Peter Edwards, ‘Countdown to Commitment: Australia’s Decision to Enter the Vietnam War in April 1965’, Journal of the Australian War Memorial 21 (Oct 1992): 4–10. Notes for File by R. Mullins, ‘Military Planning for Vietnam’, 1 and 2 Apr 1965, PM 478/4/6. FRUS, 1964–1968, 2, pp. 511–12, 514–16,

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537–9. For a liberally dramatised account of these deliberations, see VanDeMark, Into the Quagmire, pp. 107–13. Cf. Lloyd C. Gardner, Pay Any Price: Lyndon Johnson and the Wars for Vietnam, pp. 202–3. Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 360–1; Memorandum from McGeorge Bundy to President Johnson, 8 Apr 1965, Box 3, National Security File: Memos to the President, Papers of Lyndon Baines Johnson, [hereafter Johnson Papers]. Amb, Washington, to Min EA, 9 Apr 1965, PM 478/4/6. NZHC, Canberra, to Min EA, 9 Apr 1965, ibid.; Edwards, Crises and Commitments, pp. 361–2. Perhaps unrealistically, Gordon Jockel, an Australian official, assured the New Zealand High Commission in Canberra that Australia’s ‘vigorous political support’ for the Vietnam policy of the United States did not mean it was ‘official Australian Government policy to urge the United States to proceed with the establishment of an international ground combat force in Vietnam’. NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 7 Apr 1965, PM 478/4/6. Aide Mémoire, Australian Government to NZ Government, 14 Apr 1965; ‘Note for File: Vietnam’ by Lloyd White, 14 Apr 1965; Draft cable, Min EA to Amb, Washington, 9 Apr 1965; Min EA to Amb, Washington (‘For Laking from McIntosh’, 13 Apr 1965, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 15 Apr 1965; Amb, Bangkok to EA, 15 Apr 1965, ibid. For a comment by McIntosh along similar lines, see Min EA to Amb, Washington (‘For Laking from McIntosh’), 13 Apr 1965, ibid. Brief: ‘Visit of Mr Cabot Lodge’, Apr 1965, PM 478/4/1. Ibid. Note for File: ‘Discussions with Mr Henry Cabot Lodge held at Wellington on Tuesday, 20 April 1965’, PM 478/4/6. Cabinet Minute, CM 65/13/32, 20 Apr 1965, ibid.; Memorandum from McGeorge Bundy to President Johnson, 22 Apr 1965, Box 3, National Security File, Memos to the President, Johnson Papers. FRUS, 1964–1968, 2, pp. 602–3. Laking to McIntosh, 21 Apr 1965, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, pp. 325–8. Laking had a very high-level network of contacts in Washington; author’s interview with Sir George Laking [cited hereafter as Laking interview], 22 Jul 1996. Laking to McIntosh, 29 Apr 1965, PM 478/ 4/6. CDS to Min Defence, 28 Apr 1965, ibid. Report of Interview with J. K. Hunn by Research Officer–Historical (Ian McGibbon), 4 May 1972, p. 11; Report of Interview with Major-General Walter McKinnon by Research Officer–Historical

notes to pages 96–99

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(Ian McGibbon), 1 Jun 1972, p. 4, MD 55/4/ 15, DHPANZ. McKinnon described Hanan as ‘something of a “hawk” on the Vietnam issue’. Sec Def to Acting Min Def, 29 Apr 1965, MD 23/4/1. Hunn was later even more scathing in his dismissal of the domino theory: ‘One thing Hanan was keen on was the cliché about the “domino theory”. This seemed just like absolute nonsense to me, that countries can go to war on some slogan like that, manufactured by propaganda people in the CIA or somewhere like that. Its a complete denial of all reason and education to be motivated by that sort of stuff.’ Report of Interview with Hunn, p. 12. Major-General W. S. McKinnon, ‘New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, unpublished typescript, n.d. but c. 1981 [copy in author’s possession], pp. 3–4. Minute by R. Jermyn to Sec Def, 29 Apr 1965, MD 23/4/1. Jermyn later explained to an interviewer that he broadly agreed with Hunn and did not accept the ‘insurance policy’ argument set out by External Affairs. See transcript of interview with Ray Jermyn by David Dickens [cited hereafter as Jermyn interview], 24 Apr 1991 [copy in author’s possession]. Ibid. Jermyn also put New Zealand’s contribution to date into perspective by asking, ‘What if the Vietcong, who seem to have left our engineers quietly alone to build pig-sties and slides, react by polishing them off?’ Handwritten note by Ian Stewart to Jack Hunn, 4 May 1965, MD 23/4/1. Stewart went to his office on a Saturday morning to draft the paper. After McIntosh approved it, the two men took it in person to Holyoake at his home. Author’s interview with Ian Stewart, 25 Aug 1998. Sec EA to PM, 1 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. McIntosh had believed ‘at the time that the arguments put forward by . . . our military advisers and by the American military advisers were sound enough, and if we were to stick by our alliance we had to go along because the basis of the alliance was if they got into trouble we help them and if we got into trouble they help us’. Interview with Sir Alister McIntosh by F. L. Wood and Mary Boyd, 27 Nov 1975, Acc 80-413, Oral History Archive. Amb, Bangkok, to Min EA, 7 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. McIntosh to Corner, 5 May 1965, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, p. 329. ‘New Zealand’s Decision to Despatch the Artillery Battery to Vietnam, May 1965’, n.d., attached to J. Henderson to Assistant Sec Def (Policy), 7 Jul 1971, MD 23/4/1. Sec Cabinet to PM, 4 May 1965; Sec Cabinet to PM, 12 May 1965, PM 478/4/6; Minutes of 8 Apr 1965, National Party

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Caucus Minutes, Box 173, NZNP. Walter McKinnon also recalled that: ‘Apparently it was Holyoake who was holding things up’. Report of Interview with McKinnon, p. 5. Memorandum by Stewart to McIntosh, 14 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. McIntosh to Laking, 12 May 1965, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, p. 330. McKinnon queried Hunn directly at the time about intruding in foreign policy matters that were not his responsibility. McKinnon, ‘New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, p. 3. The delay puzzled many at the time. In late May 1965 the long-time anti-war campaigner Ormond Burton wrote: ‘against expectation, there is as yet no military combatant unit to leave New Zealand for Vietnam’. Burton to Philip Eastman, 27 May 1965, cited in Ernest Crane, I Can Do No Other: A Biography of Ormond Burton, p. 286. See David Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War: Official Policy Advice to the Government 1960–1972’ (PhD dissertation, Victoria University of Wellington, 1995), pp. 158, 163, 167–9. Dickens claims that ‘in mid-May Holyoake held a series of high level meetings with interest groups opposed to the dispatch of combat troops to Vietnam’, but the only evidence of this is a single meeting on 10 May with a deputation of church leaders. Moreover, Holyoake does not appear to have indicated then that New Zealand was about to send combat forces; he merely offered support for their intended efforts ‘to promote talks between North and South Vietnam through the good offices of the East Asian Christian Conference’. See Sec Cabinet to PM, 12 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. The leading historian of the National Party agrees with this interpretation of Holyoake’s approach. See Gustafson, The First Fifty Years, p. 95. One of the keenest advocates of combat intervention also remembered the Prime Minister’s caution. See McKinnon, ‘New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, p. 4. For a more detailed discussion of this problem with reference to Holyoake’s Vietnam policy-making, see Roberto Rabel, ‘The Dovish Hawk’: Keith Holyoake and the Vietnam War’, in Margaret Clark, ed., Sir Keith Holyoake: Towards a Political Biography, pp. 173–93. Cabinet Sec to PM, 18 May 1965, Holyoake Papers. P. Barnes to Holyoake, 18 May 1965, Holyoake Papers. For Hanan’s reputation as a ‘hawk’, see above. For Marshall’s support for a military commitment in Vietnam, see Gustafson, The First Fifty Years, p. 95. Marshall himself would later comment that ANZUS could have been at risk if New Zealand had opted not to send a combat unit to Vietnam.

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Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 1. Barnes to Holyoake, 19 May 1965, Holyoake Papers. This reconstruction of the meeting of 19 May 1965 is based on: Report of Interview with Hunn, p. 12; Report of Interview with McKinnon, p. 5; McKinnon, ‘New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, pp. 4–6; Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 1. According to McKinnon, ‘After the meeting Hanan told me that we were right. It would go through.’ Report of Interview with McKinnon, p. 5. ‘Timetable (First Draft)’, 20 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. Memorandum from Stewart to McIntosh, 21 May 1965, ibid. See CGS to CDS, 20 Dec 1965, MD 23/4/3; The New Zealand Army in Vietnam 1964– 1972: A Report on the Chief of the General Staff’s Exercise 1972 (Wellington: Ministry of Defence, 1973), pp. 16–17. Emb, Washington (‘From Eyre’) to Min EA, 21 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. See also ‘New Zealand Participation in South Vietnam and Increased Defence Efforts’, Extract from Cable from Washington: ‘Discussions with Mr. McNamara’, 20 May 1965, ibid. A New Zealand diplomat in Washington later observed: ‘Lodge’s gentleness was a little difficult to reconcile with McNamara’s very straight talking in Washington only a few weeks later’. See Memorandum of Conversation: ‘Vietnam’, Washington Embassy, 8 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/1. Cabinet Minute, CM 65/18/53, 31 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. Min EA to Embs in Washington, Canberra and Bangkok, 25 May 1965, ibid. Johnson to Holyoake, 26 May 1965, ibid. The memorandum asking Johnson to sign this letter merely noted: ‘The attached draft letter would give support to Prime Minister Holyoake whose Government has decided to send an artillery battery to South Vietnam’. Bromley Smith to President Johnson, 24 May 1965, National Security File: Memos to the President, Johnson Papers. On 2 June, an American official assured a New Zealand diplomat in Washington that, despite the ‘disappointingly poor press coverage’ in the United States of the New Zealand decision, ‘anyone who mattered in the Administration was well aware of our decision and the President was certainly gratified by it’. Memorandum of Conversation: ‘Vietnam’, Washington Emb, 8 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 29 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. Cabinet Minute, CM 65/19/26, 1 Jun 1965, ibid. Min EA to Amb, Bangkok, 1 Jun 1965, ibid. As Weir had anticipated, Saigon’s response was negative. Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 1

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Jul 1965, ibid. As Holyoake himself later put it: ‘We never had any direct pressure but of course amongst friends and allies we had discussions’. Transcript of interview with Sir Keith Holyoake by Bill Oliver [hereafter Holyoake interview], 14 Jul 1976, p. 16. For a similar recollection, see Laking interview, 22 Jul 1996. Holyoake’s 1976 recollections of the decision, though vague, bear out this conclusion. See Holyoake Interview, pp. 15–17. The recollections of another minister also confirm this view. See transcript of interview with Sir Brian Talboys by David Dickens, 26 Nov 1991 [copy in author’s possession].

Chapter Five The Domestic Politics of Combat Intervention, January–June 1965 1 There were occasional isolated instances of protest against the war in this period. In February, for instance, small deputations, principally of trade union representatives, protested about American policy in Vietnam to Ambassador Herbert Powell in Wellington and United States Consul David Wilson in Auckland. Evening Post, 18 Feb 1965. 2 For the rise of protest against the war in the United States during this period, see DeBenedetti, American Ordeal, pp. 103–8. 3 Among the groups to write letters of protest in late March or early April were the Bertrand Russell Peace Foundation, the New Zealand Peace Council and some of its branches, the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, the North Shore Women’s Peace Group, Mount Roskill Citizens for Peace, the Amalgamated Society of Railway Servants of New Zealand, the New Zealand Rationalists Association, the Society of Friends, the Wellington and Taranaki Footware Operatives Industrial Union of Workers, the Wellington Workers’ Educational Association, the New Zealand Christian Pacifist Society and some branches of the New Zealand Labour Party. See PM 111/1/ 3/2, Part 1. In late March the Department of External Affairs opened a file on ‘Vietnam– Representations from the Public’. 4 P. R. H. Jackman, ‘The Auckland Opposition to New Zealand’s Involvement in the Vietnam War, 1965–72: An Example of the Achievements and Limitations of Ideology’ (MA thesis: University of Auckland, 1979), pp. 2–8. Jackman argues (p. 1) that in Auckland much of the opposition to involvement in Vietnam ‘came from people who, prior to the War had already developed a highly critical view of America’s worldwide influence and role’, and that the initial opposition to the war brought together two threads: a radical, leftist and anti-imperialist critique of the United States; and pacifism.

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Len Reid to PM, n.d. [received 5 Apr 1965], PM 111/1/3/2. For Reid’s membership of the CPNZ (and later of the Socialist Unity Party), see Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 2–3. ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 3, argues: ‘To call the committee a “Communist front” would be a too narrow description. The group was however very much in the mould of what can loosely be called “leftwing” or “radical” pressure groups in which communistic beliefs were important and in particular the tradition of assuming that the working class was politically the most important class and therefore the class that one tried to talk to’. Evening Post, 30 Mar 1965. The deputation, from the Movement for International Cooperation and Disarmament, apparently included CPNZ members. See clipping, Manawatu Standard, 3 Apr 1965; Holyoake to W. H. Brown, MP, 7 Apr 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. The Dunedin branch of the YCND issued a press statement opposing military action and urging talks to reach a political settlement. ODT, 26 Mar 1965. The Christchurch YCND held a street protest on 6 April. Elsie Locke, Peace People: A History of Peace Activities in New Zealand, p. 197. ODT, 26 Mar 1965; Natalie Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors: The Presbyterian Church in New Zealand and the Vietnam War’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 2000), pp. 7–8. See Sec EA to PM, 1 and 2 Apr 1965; Press Statement: ‘Vietnam’, 2 Apr 1965, PM 111/ 1/3/2. For a public statement of the church representatives’ concerns, see Dominion, 5 Apr 1965. Given that Holyoake was responding to concern expressed by church leaders, it is interesting that two of the few letters of support for his statement came from clergymen, one of whom represented a conservative Christian grouping. See Reverend T. P. Cloher to PM, 6 Apr 1965; Reverend R. O. Zorn to PM, 8 Apr 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. ODT, 17 and 19 Apr 1965. DeBenedetti, An American Ordeal, p. 112. Ironically, the only Vietnamese present (students brandishing anti-Viet Cong banners) argued with the protesters. Locke, Peace People, p. 193; Crane, I Can Do No Other, p. 285. According to the recollection of at least one activist, ‘In Wellington . . . and Christchurch . . . CND was the foundation of the anti-Vietnam movement’. Letter from Brian Easton to author, 3 Sep 1994. Barry Mitcalfe, ‘Committee on Vietnam: An Interim History’, Salient, 8 Aug 1965,

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p. 12; Handwritten manuscript by Mitcalfe, p. 1, Box 1, Barry Mitcalfe Papers, [hereafter Mitcalfe Papers]; Locke, Peace People, pp. 193–4; Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 1. ODT, 20 Apr 1965. Ibid., 21 Apr 1965. Cf. Locke, Peace People, pp. 193–4. ODT, 21 Apr 1965; Mitcalfe, ‘Committee on Vietnam’. ODT, 21 Apr 1965. White, quoted in ibid. That ‘the protest was as unexpected to the government as it was to us’, as Mitcalfe later recalled, was illustrated by the fact that the time and place of Lodge’s arrival were publicly announced. Handwritten manuscript by Mitcalfe, p. 1, Box 1, Mitcalfe Papers. Mitcalfe, ‘Committee on Vietnam’, p. 12; Anthony Haas, ‘A Study in Protest: The Wellington Committee on Vietnam, May 1, 1965–March 6, 1967’ (BA Honours research essay: Victoria University of Wellington, 1967), pp. 4–6. At least one scholar (and anti-war activist) has argued that CND members played the leading role in organising the Committees on Vietnam because of ‘the organisational and mobilising skills’ which they had honed in the anti-nuclear movement of the early 1960s. See Kevin Clements, ‘The Influence of Individuals and Non-Governmental Organisations on New Zealand Foreign Policy Making, 1943– 1993’, in Ann Trotter, ed., Fifty Years of New Zealand Foreign Policy Making, p. 126. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 5. McIntosh noted this to Holyoake. Sec EA to PM, 6 May 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. Mitcalfe, ‘Committee on Vietnam’. The Dunedin group consciously emulated its Wellington counterpart in its choice of name. See Peter Bell, ‘The Protest Movement in Dunedin Against the Vietnam War, 1965– 1973’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 1989), p. 5. Bell, ‘Protest Movement in Dunedin’, p. 6; Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 4; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 2–8. Mitcalfe, ‘Committee on Vietnam’, p. 12. Recollection of Len Reid, cited in Jackman, p. 5. Labour’s dilemma is deftly summarised in McKinnon, Independence and Foreign Policy, pp. 162–5. For more extended discussion of the issue, see Elder, ‘Labour Party and the Vietnam War’, chs 6 and 7. Christchurch Star, 28 Apr 1965, cited in McKinnon, Independence and Foreign Policy, p. 163; Evening Post, 30 Apr 1965. ODT, 27 Apr 1965. Dominion, 30 Apr 1965. ODT, 30 Apr 1965. See also Evening Post, 30 Apr 1965. NZH and Evening Post, 3 May 1965; ODT,

notes to pages 110–19 35

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4 May 1965. See Evening Post, 8 May 1965; ODT, 10 May 1965; Clipping: Daily News (New Plymouth), 10 May 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. The latter newspaper argued against a combat commitment in Vietnam. ODT, 10 May 1965; COV pamphlet, 9 May 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. ODT, 10 May 1965. Ibid., 12 May 1965; Locke, Peace People, pp. 194–5. See the relevant portions of PM 111/1/3/2. Among the few organisations to send the government a message of support was the New Zealand Air Force Association. See ODT, 10 May 1965. Sec EA to PM, 10 May 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. Sec Cabinet to PM, 12 May 1965, PM 478/4/6; Minutes: ‘Deputation to the Prime Minister on Vietnam by Group of Church Leaders’, 10 May 1965, Folder 2, Box 323, Holyoake Papers. ODT, 11 May 1965; Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, pp. 8–9. Dominion, 11 May 1965. McIntosh to Laking, 12 May 1965, in McGibbon, ed., Unofficial Channels, p. 330. A clergyman opposed to combat involvement in Vietnam wrote optimistically to a friend that this was the first time in his experience that ‘a Government in New Zealand set on war action has been shaken by the expression of adverse feeling’. Burton to Eastman, 27 May 1965, cited in Crane, I Can Do No Other, p. 286. Press Statement: ‘The Issues in Vietnam’, 13 May 1965, PM 478/4/6. Dominion, 14 May 1965, cited in McKinnon, Independence and Foreign Policy, p. 158. ODT, 15 May 1965. The same newspaper had concluded the previous week that ‘Australia and New Zealand have no alternative but to give military assistance’. Ibid., 4 May 1965. NZH, 5 May 1965; ‘New Zealand and Vietnam’ (Summary of media commentary on Vietnam), n.d. [May 1965], PM 478/4/14. New Zealand Truth, 19 May 1965, cited in Gary Witte, ‘A War of Words: New Zealand Press Opinion and the Vietnam Conflict’ (BA Hons dissertation, University of Otago, 1990), p. 29. ‘New Zealand and Vietnam’ (Summary of media commentary on Vietnam), n.d. [May 1965], PM 478/4/14. For example, Professor Keith Buchanan of Victoria University of Wellington’s Geography Department immediately sought to rebut the key points made in Holyoake’s address. Buchanan, an academic authority on Southeast Asia, had by then emerged as one of the most prominent critics of official Vietnam policy. See Dominion, 14 May 1965.

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ODT, 12 and 13 May 1965. For analysis of the debate at the Labour Party conference, see Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 92–104. Ibid.; Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 1; G. R. Lawry to R. D. Muldoon, 6 Jul 1965, Folder 3, Box 323, Holyoake Papers; McKinnon, Independence and Foreign Policy, pp. 163–4. The Evening Post report of the Wellington meeting, on 15 May, did note that: ‘Though there was near unanimity on the big issue, there was variety of opinion on associated issues and the meeting illustrated the troubled thinking on Vietnam at present in New Zealand.’ President and International Vice-President, NZUSA to PM, 13 May 1965; Press Statement in Circular to Section and Subsection Secretaries, Members of the [PSA] Executive Committee, 19 May 1965; ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/ 3/2; Evening Post, 19 May 1965; Press (Christchurch), 24 May 1965. Evening Post, 17 May 1965. ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. ODT, 24 May 1965. The Dunedin COV had been formally formed on 17 May. ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. See, for example, NZL, 20 May 1965. The Dunedin COV took out advertisements in the Evening Star and the ODT on 26 and 27 May 1965. See P. J. Sutton, Dunedin COV to PM, 25 May 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. Evening Post, 18 May 1965. ODT, 18 May 1965. See the correspondence for 13–30 May in PM 111/1/3/2. Such was the torrent that by late May letters were receiving only perfunctory acknowledgement. Sec EA to Min Justice, 26 May 1965, ibid. ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, ibid. J. R. Marshall interview, Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 1. See also Guidance Survey 25/26: ‘The Debate on Vietnam’, 26 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/1. A parliamentary reporter speculated along these lines shortly before the decision was made. See ODT, 17 May 1965. NZPD 342: 1–2. Ibid., pp. 7–11. Ibid., pp. 11–14. ODT, 17 May 1965. NZPD, 342: 15–18. See, for example, ibid., pp. 21–4, 28–30, 33. McKinnon, Independence and Foreign Policy, pp. 164–5. NZPD, 342: 18, 24–7. Ibid., p. 18. Ibid., p. 31.

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ODT, 28 May 1965. The Dunedin COV also immediately despatched a message of protest to Holyoake. Dominion, 1 Jun 1965. ODT, 29 May 1965. The government’s security services identified Paul Melser as one of the young protesters and assumed that ‘most if not all of those involved were from the militantly pacifist wing of the Committee which has . . . discussed the possibility of passive and non-violent resistance to the Government if New Zealand troops were committed to Vietnam’. ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. See also Locke, Peace People, p. 196, which erroneously suggests that the sit-in took place just before Holyoake’s announcement. ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. NZH, 7 Jun 1965, cited in Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 7. Cf. the report in the CPNZ’s People’s Voice, 16 Jun 1965, which claimed that 800 people attended and stressed that the ‘representative character of the speakers’ panel’ was testimony to the ‘wide extent of the opposition to the Government’s policy on Vietnam’. ODT, 28 May 1965. For the moderate nature of the Presbyterian Church’s stance, see Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, pp. 9–10. ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965; General Sec, PSA to Acting PM, 23 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2; ODT, 28 May 1965; People’s Voice, 16 Jun 1965. ODT, 29 May 1965. The government received more than 250 letters between the beginning of May and mid-June 1965. Although most were letters of protest, it is telling that fewer than 300 groups or individuals chose to express any view. Acting Sec EA to Acting PM, 14 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. See also ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, ibid. An undated copy of Baxter’s poem may be found as an attachment to ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, ibid. Details of this protest march on 8 April 1965 were reported in the ODT, 9 Apr 1965. Rachel Barrowman, Victoria University of Wellington, 1899–1999: A History, p. 333. Dr R. R. Brooks to PM, 21 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. Committee of University of Otago students to PM, 23 Jun 1965, ibid. A student who questioned this group’s claim suggested that the signatures included those of A. Hitler and A. H. Nordmeyer. Evening Star (Dunedin), 10 Jun 1965, cited in Sam Elworthy, Ritual Song of Defiance, p. 100. For the motion, passed on 16 June 1965, there were 220 votes in favour, 189 against

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and 28 abstentions. President, Canterbury University Students’ Association to Acting PM, 17 Jun 1965, Folder 2, Box 278, MS Papers 1403, Sir John Marshall Papers [hereafter Marshall Papers]. See also a letter dissenting from the motion: P. Mcnab and five other University of Canterbury students to the PM, 24 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. ODT, 29 May 1965; Evening Post, 15 Jun 1965. See, for example, Sec, Alexandra Jaycee Chapter to PM, 13 Jun 1965; P. G. Kavanagh, Dannevirke Christian Family Movement to PM, 24 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. Evening Post, 15 Jun 1965. Dominion, 16 Jun 1965. Austin Mitchell, Politics and People in New Zealand, p. 146. See also Waikato Times, 7 Aug 1965. See, for example, W. A. Gunn to PM; Bryan Eatwell to PM, both 16 May 1965, PM 111/ 1/3/2. Waikato Times, 7 Jun 1965 The relevant file (PM 478/4/14) runs from May 1965 to early 1973. ‘New Zealand and Vietnam’ (Second Series newspaper cuttings, May 25 to June 2), No. 2, PM 478/4/14. ODT, 28 May 1965. The next day, a cartoon appeared in the newspaper depicting military intervention in Vietnam as a fitting complement to New Zealand’s diplomatic objectives in Southeast Asia. Ibid., 29 May 1965. See also ibid., 2 Jun 1965. Evening Post, 19 May 1965, cited in Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 24. NZH, 29 May 1965. Waikato Times, 7 Jun 1965. ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. Critic, 10 Jun 1965, cited in Elworthy, Ritual Song of Defiance, p. 100. For example, after noting the various ‘organised groups’ urging Holyoake not to send a combat force to South Vietnam, one newspaper leader writer suggested: ‘Among those who belong to no organised groups must be a large number who subscribe to the proposition that the Communist advance in South-east Asia must be halted where it is now most threatening – in Vietnam’. Dominion, 14 May 1965. ODT, 17 May 1965. Mitcalfe, ‘Committee on Vietnam’, p. 12. DeBenedetti, An American Ordeal, p. 102.

Chapter Six Part of the Way with LBJ: New Zealand Defers an Expanded Commitment, June 1965–December 1966 1 ‘Supplementary Minute on Restricted Session on Vietnam, Thursday, 17 June’, Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ Conference, Minute by McIntosh, 18

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Jun 1965, PM 478/4/1; Harold Wilson, The Labour Government, 1964–1970: A Personal Record, pp. 108–9. See also extract from Report to Cabinet: PM’s Visit Overseas, June–July 1965, 16 Jul 1965. ‘Transcript of Sections Dealing with Vietnam from Prime Minister’s Press Conference on Wednesday, 16 June 1965’, EA to NZHC, London, 17 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/1. For the observation that Holyoake was ‘the first western premier to suggest that the NLF should be a party to negotiations’, see J. D. B. Miller, Survey of Commonwealth Affairs: Problems of Expansion and Attrition, 1953– 1969, p. 72. ‘Transcript of Sections Dealing with Vietnam from Prime Minister’s Press Conference on Wednesday, 16 June 1965’, EA to NZHC, London, 17 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/1. Holyoake may have unintentionally conveyed an image of even greater flexibility. The Leader of the Opposition congratulated him on his ‘new’ stance of ‘supporting negotiations with Viet Cong’ and hoped that he would do his utmost ‘to influence the United States to stop its bombing so that these negotiations could commence’. EA to NZHC, London, 17 Jun 1965, ibid. ‘Supplementary Minute on Restricted Session on Vietnam, Thursday, 17 June’, Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ Conference, Minute by McIntosh, 18 Jun 1965, ibid. NZHC, London to Min EA, 18 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/6. Nkrumah’s ‘great enthusiasm’ for the Commonwealth peace mission is noted with surprise in Wilson, The Labour Government, pp. 110–11. Holyoake later told his Cabinet colleagues that he had decided to offer delaying the despatch of New Zealand troops ‘before I went to the Conference that morning’. See Extract from Report to Cabinet: PM’s Visit Overseas, June–July 1965, 16 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/1. The contrast between Holyoake and Menzies was further highlighted at the end of the conference when the Australian leader publicly denounced Nkrumah’s suggestion as an appeal ‘to perform the most shameful act in Australian history’. Cited in Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 55. Holyoake made this point clear in his Report to Cabinet: PM’s Visit Overseas, June–July 1965, 16 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/1. Minutes of ANZUS Council Meeting, Washington, 28 Jun 1965, ibid. NZHC, London to Min EA, 18 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/6. Menzies, in contrast, held a press conference to criticise Nkrumah’s proposal and ‘deprecated the way in which the newly expanded Commonwealth conducted its affairs’. Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 54. Acting Sec EA [unsigned] to Acting PM, 21 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/6.

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Ibid.; Cabinet Minute CM 65/22/38, 21 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/6. McIntosh to Weir, 24 Jun 1965, Personal Correspondence with Sir Stephen Weir, 4/4/ 65, McIntosh Papers. ‘ANZUS Council Meeting, Washington, 28 June 1965’, PM 478/4/1. Extract from Report to Cabinet: PM’s Visit Overseas, June–July 1965, 16 Jul 1965, ibid. Ibid. For the mission’s failure and some of the larger implications for the Commonwealth of the Vietnam War, see Miller, Survey of Commonwealth Affairs, pp. 73–82. EA to Emb, Tokyo (for PM from Marshall), 30 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/6. PM, Tokyo to NZHC, London and to EA, 3 Jul 1965, ibid. NZHC, London to Emb, Tokyo (for PM from Macdonald), 3 Jul 1965, ibid. Lloyd White (for Sec EA) to Acting PM, 7 Jul 1965; Acting PM to PM, 8 Jul 1965, ibid. Lloyd White to McIntosh, 8 Jul 1965, ibid. Emb, Bangkok (Pope, Saigon) to Min EA, Wellington, 1 Jul 1965, ibid. Holyoake explained the decision to Wilson in terms of military requirements and because no ‘prompt and favourable’ response had been forthcoming from the communist side. EA to NZHC, London, 14 Jul 1965, ibid. NZHC, London to EA, 15 Jul 1965, ibid. Although Wilson expressed understanding, several left-wing British Labour MPs moved in the House of Commons that ‘this House deeply regrets the New Zealand Government’s decision to follow Australia in sending a force of combatant troops to fight in Vietnam on behalf of the United States of America and the American financed Government of Vietnam, and expresses its support of the New Zealand labour movement opposition to this dangerous involvement, particularly at a time when delicate initiatives for peace in Vietnam are being made on behalf of the whole British Commonwealth’. See NZHC, London to EA, 12 Jul 1965, ibid. Extract from Report to Cabinet: PM’s Visit Overseas, June–July 1965, 16 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/1. The preceding account is based on Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 136–43. Johnson to Holyoake, 26 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/6. Menzies received a virtually identical request. See Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 56. EA to NZHC, Canberra, 28 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/6. Cabinet Minute CM 65/28/25, 2 Aug 1965, ibid. The Americans may have anticipated that the Australians would be more forthcoming. Although Johnson’s letter to Menzies was

notes to pages 135–42

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largely identical to that sent to Holyoake, it differed in its conclusion: ‘we will both have many hard decisions to take in the following days’. See NZHC, Canberra to EA, 29 Jul 1965, ibid. NZHC, Canberra to EA, 18 Aug 1965; NZHC, Canberra to EA, 19 Aug 1965, ibid. For more detailed analysis of Australian responses to Johnson’s letter of 26 July 1965, see Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 56–8. Press Statement issued by EA, 18 Aug 1965, PM 478/4/6. CDS to Sec EA (Seen by Holyoake), 30 Jul 1965; CDS to Sec EA, S.15/23, 2 Aug 1965, ibid. In a handwritten comment on the latter memorandum, Ian Stewart noted: ‘The fifth gun (about which the PM, harbours some suspicions) is of course a reserve – a sensible precaution when a combat unit is operating some 5000 miles from its base. There are only 4 gun crews – although the fifth is sometimes manned and operated by cooks and bottlewashers.’ CGS to CDS, 29 Oct 1965, ibid. The Chiefs of Staff supported the proposal after receiving confirmation that the army could meet ‘rotation or casualty replacement requirements for an enlarged battery’. Extract from COS(65)M27, Minutes of the Chiefs of Staff Committee, 11 Nov 1965, ibid. CDS to Min Def, 12 Nov 1965, ibid. CDS to Min Def, 17 Dec 1965, ibid. Stewart subsequently rejected as ‘complete nonsense’ McKinnon’s observation to Thornton that External Affairs considered it a ‘propitious’ time to raise the issue. Stewart explained that he had told McKinnon the government was unlikely to agree but there was ‘no reason why he should not put forward the operational case for a 6 gun battery if he wished to do so’. Handwritten minute on CDS to CDS, 29 Oct 1965, ibid. See Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, pp. 162–3. For Stewart’s own views on the issue, see author’s interview with Ian Stewart, 25 Aug 1998. Handwritten minute on CDS to Min Def, 17 Dec 1965, PM 478/4/6. Laking conjectured that President Johnson had ‘the recent New Zealand casualties’ in mind when he expressed to the Ambassador ‘his gratitude to the Government for what is being done in Vietnam’. See Amb, Washington to PM, 17 Sep 1965, ibid. Muldoon later stressed that Holyoake’s aversion to casualties was a major reason why he had favoured the despatch of an artillery battery. Interview with Sir Robert Muldoon by David Dickens [cited hereafter as Muldoon interview], 29 May 1991 [copy of interview transcript in author’s possession]. See, for example, EA to Emb, Washington (and other posts), 29 Aug 1965, PM 478/4/1. Johnson added pointedly during his conver-

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sation with Laking: ‘If we don’t clean up that situation it will be left to you and Australia to deal with it’. Amb, Washington to PM, 17 Sep 1965, PM 478/4/6. Weir also noted that Westmoreland implied that ‘the New Zealand military effort is proportionately less impressive than that of other allies’. See Amb, Bangkok to Min EA, 11 Nov 1965, ibid. For the implications for New Zealand of this policy shift, see McGibbon, ‘Forward Defence’, pp. 31–3; McKinnon, Independence and Foreign Policy, pp. 167–8; Subritzky, Confronting Sukarno, pp. 178–84. George C. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam: A Different Kind of War, p. 66; Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 165–6. Amb, Washington to EA, 28 Dec 1965 and 4 Jan 1966, PM 478/4/1. Johnson to Holyoake, 5 Jan 1966, ibid. Emb, Washington to EA, 11 Jan 1966, ibid. This estimate is cited in Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 164. Amb, Washington to EA, 28 Jan 1966, PM 478/4/1. Johnson to Holyoake, 30 Jan 1966, ibid. Draft cable from EA to Amb, Washington, attached to Sec EA to PM, 31 Jan 1966, ibid. See also Sec EA to PM, 3 Feb 1966, ibid. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, p. 67. Sec EA to PM, 8 Feb 1966, PM 478/4/1. See also Memorandum (summarising information ‘conveyed orally to the Deputy Sec EA on February 6’) from the Embassy of the United States of America, Wellington, 7 Feb 1966, ibid. Cited in Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, p. 495. Almost a year earlier Johnson had told an aide: ‘We’ve got to see that the South Vietnamese government wins the battle, not so much of arms, but of corps and heart and caring, so their people can have hope and belief in the word and deed of their government’. Cited in Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, p. 67. Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 156. For a critical analysis of the subsequent difficulties encountered by the United States in implementing effective non-military ‘pacification’ programmes in South Vietnam, see Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, pp. 68–88. Sec EA to PM, 17 Feb 1966, PM 478/4/1. Ibid. ‘Visit to New Zealand of United States Vice-President the Honourable Hubert Humphrey’, Notes of Discussion, 21 Feb 1966, PM 478/4/6. Press Statement: ‘Visit of Vice-President Humphrey’, 21 Feb 1966; Press Statement: ‘Vice-President Humphrey’s Speech’, 21 Feb 1966, PM 478/4/1. Holt to Holyoake, 4 Mar 1966, ibid. CDS to Min Def, 4 Mar 1966; Cabinet Sec to

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PM, 8 Mar 1966, ibid. Memorandum by Ian Stewart on ‘Talk with General Westmoreland and Visit to New Zealand Battery in South Vietnam’, n.d. [Mar 1966], ibid. During their conversation, Westmoreland made clear that his real preference was for the deployment of an entire New Zealand battalion; Stewart then explained why that was unrealistic. Johnson also welcomed New Zealand’s apparent intention to increase the size of its medical team in Binh Dinh province. See Johnson to PM, 10 Mar 1966, in EA to Emb, Washington, 25 Mar 1966, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 11 Mar 1966, ibid. Cabinet Minute, CM 66/8/44, 21 Mar 1966, ibid. The details of the increased medical aid are set out in Holyoake to Johnson, in EA to Emb, Washington, 24 Mar 1966, ibid. Extract: Chiefs of Staff Meeting, COS(66)M.6, 11 Mar 1966, ibid.; CGS to CDS, 11 Mar 1966, MD 23/4/3. See also Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, pp. 206–8. Sec EA to PM 25 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/6. Press Statement: ‘Increased Aid to Vietnam’, 25 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/1. EA to Emb, Bangkok, 23 Mar 1966; Emb, Bangkok to EA, 25 Mar 1966; McIntosh to D. C. Williams, Official Sec, Government House, 28 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/6. Holyoake to Johnson, in EA to Emb, Washington, 24 Mar 1966, ibid. Memorandum from Robert Komer to Johnson, 24 Mar 1966, Box 6, National Security File: Memos to the President, Johnson Papers. Johnson’s reply even implicitly acknowledged the domestic political costs of supporting America’s Vietnam policy: ‘We also share vocal critics of our joint efforts in Vietnam’. Johnson to Holyoake, 29 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/6. Memorandum from Komer to Johnson, 29 Mar 1966, Box 6, National Security File: Memos to the President, Johnson Papers. NZHC, Canberra to EA, 24 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/6. For an analysis of how Holt, from the outset of his time as PM, ‘linked his political reputation to the Vietnam commitment’, see Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 89–98. Acting Sec Def to Min Def, 15 Apr 1966, PM 478/4/1. According to Eyre, Thieu added that ‘it was not diplomatic of him but frankly Australians and New Zealanders “were more adaptable to jungle warfare than Americans”’. For PM from Min Def, Emb, Bangkok to EA, 12 Apr 1966, PM 478/4/6. Sec EA to PM, 12 Apr 1966, PM 478/4/1. Note for File: Visit of Hon. Paul Hasluck, Minister of External Affairs of Australia, 11 May 1966, ibid. Extract: ‘Visit of Hon. Paul Hasluck’, 7 May

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1966, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 24 May 1966, PM 478/4/6. PM to Min Def, 24 May 1966, ibid. CDS to CDS, 27 May 1966, MD 23/4/1. For McKinnon’s earlier letter, see CGS to CDS, 8 Mar 1966, MD 23/4/3. Min Def to PM, 2 Jun 1966, ibid. Ibid. See also Sec EA to PM, 1 Jul 1966, PM 478/4/6. For McIntosh, the substantive merit of the proposal was that: ‘Operational flying experience of the kind that only Vietnam can provide would be of great practical benefit in building up our own helicopter unit in New Zealand and would no doubt also give a fillip to the men’s enthusiasm’. Sec EA to PM, 1 Jul 1966, ibid. PM to Min Def, 1 Jul 1966, ibid. Sec Cabinet to Min Def, CM 66/27/10, 28 Jul 1966, ibid. Cabinet Minute CM 67/2/30, 1 Feb 1967; Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, p. 225. For eventual External Affairs support for the proposal, see Acting Sec EA to Sec Def, 17 Nov 1966, PM 478/4/6. Johnson to Holyoake, 24 Jun 1966, PM 478/4/1. For Washington’s less than sincere commitment to meaningful negotiations, see Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 166– 70. Press Statement by Acting PM: ‘Bombing of Petrol and Oil Installations in the Hanoi and Haiphong Areas’, 30 Jun 1966, PM 478/4/1. Emb, Washington to Sec EA, 30 Jun 1966, ibid. For this description and for Holt’s statement, see Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 112–13. Briefing Paper: ‘ANZUS Council Meeting, Canberra, 30 June–1 July 1966: Vietnam’, 30 Jun 1966, PM 478/4/1. See also Briefing Paper: ‘Eleventh SEATO Council Meeting, Canberra, 27–29 June 1966: Vietnam’, 26 Jun 1966, ibid. T. C. Larkin to McIntosh and minute by McIntosh, 4 Jul 1966, ibid. See also the draft telegram to President Johnson attached to this memorandum. Sec EA to PM, 20 Jul 1966, ibid. Holyoake to Johnson, 25 Jul 1966, PM 478/4/6. As Lloyd White later explained to Laking: ‘The Prime Minister was concerned at the public anxiety over the direction American military action might take. His letter therefore sought to register the point that he would be better able to guide public reactions in the future if it were possible for him to be informed of important steps the United States might contemplate. The draft submitted to him by the Department underwent several changes at his hands and was sent in accordance with his wishes. It may have caused visceral rumblings at the time but no lasting harmful effects appear to have ensued.’ EA to Emb, Washington (for Laking

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from White), 8 Nov 1966, PM 478/4/1. Emb, Washington to EA (Personal for McIntosh from Laking), 26 Jul 1966, ibid. Draft telegram, EA to Emb, Washington, attached to Sec EA to PM, 26 Jul 1966, ibid. The information to which McIntosh alluded was conveyed in Emb, Washington to EA, 26 Jul 1966, ibid. Johnson to Holyoake, 1 Aug 1966, PM 478/ 4/6. Jack Shepherd to Tom Larkin, 9 Aug 1966, PM 478/4/1. Note for File by McIntosh, 26 Sep 1966, ibid. Press Statement: ‘Manila Conference’, 27 Sep 1966, ibid. For the background to this visit, see Memorandum from Walt Rostow, 14 Oct 1968, Box 277, National Security File, Country File: Asia and the Pacific: New Zealand, Johnson Papers. Cited in Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, p. 227. Minutes of Special Cabinet Meeting with President Johnson, 20 Oct 1966, PM 478/4/1. Press Statement by Acting PM, 25 Oct 1965, PM 478/4/6. Note for Rostow from Alfred Jenkins, ‘Subject: Effects of the President’s Visit In New Zealand’, Box 277, National Security File, Country File: Asia and the Pacific: New Zealand, Johnson Papers. Herbert Powell, United States Ambassador, Wellington to Bill Moyers, Special Assistant to the President, 28 Oct 1966, Box 57, White House Central File, Subject File, ibid. While Queen Elizabeth II’s royal visit in 1953–54 had elicited an even greater public response, it is difficult to think of other exceptions to Powell’s claim. ‘Press Statement by the Prime Minister on Return from the Manila Summit Conference’, 27 Oct 1966, PM 478/4/1. In contrast, Thornton observed to the Minister of Defence that South Vietnam’s social, economic and political problems could not be addressed without improved security, which would require a larger allied military contribution on the ground. CDS to Min Def, 28 Oct 1966, RNZAF 226/1/1. Note for File by G. D. L. (Lloyd) White, 1 Nov 1966, PM 478/4/6. For advice from New Zealand’s military authorities concerning how to respond to possible requests for additional contributions to South Vietnam, see COS(66)101, ‘Manila Meeting on Vietnam – October 1966, Briefs for Chief of Defence Staff’, 17 Oct 1966, MD 23/4/1.

Chapter Seven ‘A War of Words’, June–December 1965 1 Laking acknowledged this when he observed toward the end of the Vietnam era that

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‘decisions in the field of foreign policy can no longer be taken in the expectation that they will not be scrutinized and criticized by the public’. G. R. Laking, ‘Throwing Off Our Colonial Shackles’, NZL, 17 Sep 1973, pp. 18–19. For an elaboration of this view, see Laking, ‘The Public and Foreign Policy’, in New Zealand Foreign Policy: Occasional Papers 1973–74 (Wellington: New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1975), pp. 13–20. The phrase is borrowed from the American historian Lawrence Goodwyn, who coined it to analyse the development of late-nineteenth-century American populism as a movement of mass democratic insurgency. The term is applicable to what he would describe as other such movements of ‘democratic promise’ in different historical and geographical settings. See Lawrence Goodwyn, The Populist Moment: A Short History of the Agrarian Revolt in America, especially pp. xviii–xx. The contentious debate preceding the Fraser government’s referendum in 1949 on compulsory military training was comparable in some respects, but much more short-lived. For a succinct discussion of that debate, see John Muir, ‘“Our Bounden Duty”: An Analysis of the Arguments Justifying the Introduction of Compulsory Military Training in New Zealand, 1949’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 1996). A contemporary External Affairs memorandum began: ‘The Government has been concerned at the level of public reaction to the decision on Vietnam and has decided that measures should be taken to provide information concerning the Vietnam situation and to persuade the public of the necessity for a New Zealand involvement’. ‘Vietnam: Information Programmes’, n.d. [c. 18 Jun 1965, despite bearing the handwritten date 15/5/65], PM 478/4/10. See, for example, the speeches by Munro and Harrison in NZPD 342: 50–60. Muldoon also argued that ‘it is no exaggeration to say that today one man and his resolution stands between New Zealand and an Asiatic Communist tide, and that man is Lyndon Johnson, the President of the United States’. Ibid., pp. 144–5. See also the comments by R. G. Gerard on Labour’s internal divisions over Vietnam in ibid., pp. 150–2. See, for example, the comments by Haddon Donald and Brian Talboys in ibid., pp. 222, 243. See, for example, the comments by Warren Freer, R. Bailey and Nash in ibid., pp. 108–9, 120, 142–5. See ‘Vietnam Issue – Fourth Series Newspaper Clippings (June 2 to June 16)’, PM 478/4/14.

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The New Zealand Herald stated that Holyoake’s stance in London ‘supplies answers to many of his critics’ and represented ‘an emphatic reply to claims that N.Z. could achieve nothing by committing troops to Vietnam’. Cited in ‘Vietnam Issue – Fifth Series of Newspaper Clippings (June 12 to June 22)’, ibid. Ibid. ODT, 22 Jun 1965. The Nelson Evening Mail expressed a similar view: ‘Vietnam Issue – Fifth Series of Newspaper Clippings (June 12 to June 22)’, PM 478/4/14. See Nordmeyer’s statement of 17 June 1965 in NZPD 342: 496. For the CND’s approval, see National Secretary, CND to PM, 19 Jul 1965, and attached press statement, PM 111/1/3/2. R. M. Chapman, ‘The Terms of the Debate’, in Michael Bassett and Robert Nola, eds, New Zealand and South-East Asia: Lectures Given at a ‘Teach-in’ on South East Asia, 12 September 1965, p. 98. ‘Vietnam Issue – Sixth Series of Newspaper Clippings (June 18 to June 28)’, PM 478/4/ 14. Sec EA to PM and handwritten annotation by Holyoake, 3 June 1965; ‘Vietnam: Information Programmes’, n.d. [c. 18 Jun 1965, though bearing the handwritten date 15/5/65]; [G. D. L. White for] Sec EA to General Manager, Department of Tourist and Publicity, 10 Jun 1965, PM 478/4/10. ‘Vietnam – Information Programmes – Principles’, n.d. [c. 18 Jun 1965, though bearing the handwritten date 15/5/65], ibid. See New Zealand Assistance to the Republic of Vietnam. Ibid., p. 5. David Holborow to McIntosh, 20 Sep 1965, PM 478/4/10; General Sec, NZ RSA to Sec EA, 10 Aug 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. The NZRSA had suggested to the government that it issue a White Paper when it was already in preparation. See Hamilton Mitchell, Dominion President, NZRSA, to PM, 9 Jul 1965, ibid. [H. Templeton for] Sec EA to Mr F. Davies, Sec, Northland COV, 10 Aug 1965, ibid. National Party Caucus Minutes, 26 Aug 1965, NZNP. ‘Vietnam – Eleventh Series of Newspaper Clippings (9 to 18 July)’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Vietnam – Tenth Series of Newspaper Clippings ( 8 July–16 July)’, ibid. General Sec, NZRSA to Sec EA, 10 Aug 1965, ibid. A Wellington Rotary leader also congratulated Holyoake on the White Paper, indicating he was sending a copy to every Rotary club in his district. Russell Laurenson to PM, n.d., Folder 3, Box 323, Holyoake Papers. See, for example, John A. Hunter, ‘The White Paper on Vietnam’, Landfall 19 (Sep 1965): 274–8.

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Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 31–2. Sec EA to Deputy PM, 30 Sep 1965, Folder 2, Box 278, Marshall Papers. Deputy PM to R. Nola, University of Auckland, 20 Oct 1965. Copy in author’s possession. I must thank Dr Rod Alley for providing this item. It is also possible that those who had prepared the White Paper took umbrage at the questioning of its intellectual merit by academics, some of whom may have been their former teachers. One wrote that ‘A Government White Paper is not a thesis submitted by an undergraduate to a university lecturer’. See ‘Commentary on “Vietnam”: A Critical Examination of the New Zealand Government “White Paper” by the Committee on South-east Asia of Auckland’, Wellington, 19 Oct 1965. Appended to Deputy PM to R. Nola, University of Auckland, 20 Oct 1965 [copy in author’s possession]. DeBenedetti, American Ordeal, pp. 107–9, 115. ‘Vietnam – Ninth Series of Newspaper Clippings (July 1–July 12)’, PM 478/4/14. For general press support for the government, see ‘Vietnam Issue – Fifth Series of Newspaper Clippings (June 12 to June 22)’; ‘Vietnam Issue – Sixth Series of Newspaper Clippings (June 18 to June 28)’, ibid. For instance, new COVs were formed in Palmerston North, Hawke’s Bay and Greymouth in June and July. See ‘Vietnam – Seventh Series of Newspaper Clippings (June 25 to July 6)’; ‘Vietnam – Ninth Series of Newspaper Clippings (July 1–July 12)’; ‘Vietnam – Tenth Series of Newspaper Clippings ( 8 July–16 July)’, ibid. Clipping: Wanganui Herald, 6 Sep 1965, ibid. See also New Zealand High Commissioner, Canberra to Sec EA, 26 Aug 1965, PM 478/4/10; ‘Vietnam – Ninth Series of Newspaper Clippings (July 1–July 12)’, PM 478/4/14. For a succinct account of the teach-in at the Australian National University and of the general impact of teach-ins in Australia, see Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 67–71. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 56. Clippings: Wanganui Herald, 6 Sep 1965; Evening Post, 19 Jul 1965; Auckland Star, 24 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/14; Keith Sinclair, Walter Nash, p. 364. NZL, 6 Aug 1965, p. 10. This account of the 18 July teach-in is based on the following sources: ‘Dominion – Treatment of Vietnam Situation (July 14–July 19)’; Clippings: Evening Post, 19 Jul 1965; Auckland Star, 24 July 1965; ‘Notes on Radio and Television News – S. E. Asia, 18 July, ’65’, PM 478/4/14; Sinclair, Walter Nash, pp. 364–5. Ian Templeton, a journalist with two brothers serving in External Affairs, suggested that

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the scant time and attention given to ‘the one person who brought first-hand knowledge and recent experience of the Viet Nam war to the teach-in’ made his observations seem almost ‘irrelevant or unwanted’. This treatment implied that the organisers ‘preferred their own theories, derived from reading or other second-hand experience, to more factual material presented by Mr Nick Turner, formerly Reuters correspondent in Saigon, now roving correspondent in South East Asia.’ Clipping: Auckland Star, 24 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/14. For Turner’s own later reflections on how media coverage exaggerated the shortcomings of the South Vietnamese side, see Nick Turner, ‘Media and War: Reflections on Vietnam’, New Zealand International Review 27 (Jul/Aug 2003): 22–4. Clipping: Auckland Star, 24 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/14; Salient, 8 Aug 1965, p. 12; ‘Notes on Radio and Television News – S. E. Asia, 19 July, ’65’, PM 478/4/14; T. P. Shand to Editor, NZL, 13 Aug 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. One newspaper report noted: ‘The New Zealand Government has not got academic support for its decision to send an artillery battery to South Vietnam, speakers and audience made it clear at the Teach-In on Vietnam at Victoria University yesterday’. Clipping: Evening Post, 19 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/14. Similarly, Ian Templeton concluded his long article on the teach-in by noting that: ‘In the final analysis, the teach-in served a useful purpose in demonstrating the depth of intellectual opposition to the Viet Nam war’. Clipping: Auckland Star, 24 Jul 1965, ibid. Cf. Salient, 8 Aug 1965, p. 12. ‘Newspaper Coverage, Vietnam and Malaysia – Twenty-Second Series of Clippings, August 14–25; Clipping: Wanganui Herald, 6 Sep 1965, PM 478/4/14. This account of the Auckland teach-in is based on: ‘Note on the Auckland University “Teach In”’, by D. Caffin’, 12 Sep 1965, ibid.; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 3–37; Sinclair, Walter Nash, p. 365; Bassett and Nola, eds, New Zealand and South-East Asia. National Party Caucus Minutes, 26 Aug 1965, Folder 1, Box 9, NZNP. National Party Caucus Minutes, 2 Sep 1965, ibid. See the comments by Munro, McCready and Brown in National Party Caucus Minutes, 26 Aug 1965 and 16 Sep 1965, ibid. Handwritten amendment by PM, draft press release [held], 3 Sep 1965, Folder 5, Box 323, Holyoake Papers. National Party Caucus Minutes, 16 Sep 1965, Folder 1, Box 9, NZNP. Marshall later wrote to one of the organisers: ‘The manner in which the Teach-in in Auckland was conducted, in some contrast to others, leads me to believe that the Committee [on Southeast

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Asia] is anxious to promote information and understanding and that it would not willingly present a distorted picture of the facts’. See also Deputy PM to R. Nola, 20 Oct 1965 [copy in author’s possession]. Clipping: NZH, 26 Oct 1965, Folder 5, Box 323, Holyoake Papers. PM to S. Harris, Canterbury District Trades Council, 27 Oct 1965, ibid. For criticism of Thomson’s comment, see NZL, 6 Aug 1965, p. 10; W. H. Oliver, ‘Attitudes to Dissent’, in Bassett and Nola, eds, New Zealand and South-East Asia, p. 74. McIntosh provided this advice in early September with respect to charges made by Mitcalfe, noting: ‘I suggest that it is not appropriate for a Prime Minister to take too much notice of Mr Mitcalfe and give him added publicity. I still think we made the same mistake in taking on Professor Buchanan.’ He also dismissed the teach-ins: ‘Quite obviously these Teach-Ins are a stunt but they will attract quite decent and seriousminded people’. Sec EA to PM, 2 Sep 1965, Folder 5, Box 323, Holyoake Papers. Press, 17 Jul 1965, cited in ‘Vietnam – Eleventh Series of Newspaper Clippings (9 to 18 July)’, PM 478/4/14. Cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage, Vietnam and Malaysia – Twenty-Second Series of Clippings, August 14–25’, ibid. Ironically, given the American pedigree of the teachins, one newspaper even attacked the ‘violent anti-American coloration’ of some of those who participated in them. Cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage, Vietnam and Malaysia – 31st Series of Clippings, 16–24 September’, ibid. Salient, 8 Aug 1965, p. 12; T. P. Shand to Editor, NZL, 13 Aug 1965, clipping in PM 111/1/3/2. NZL, 6 Aug 1965, p. 10. DeBenedetti, American Ordeal, p. 109. The term ‘cross-over’ is borrowed from Malcolm McKinnon, who uses it to describe an analogous process at work in the New Zealand anti-nuclear movement in the early 1980s. See McKinnon, ‘Realignment: New Zealand and its ANZUS Allies’, in Bruce Brown, ed., New Zealand in World Affairs, 1972–1990, p. 156. For an argument that there was a parallel ‘cross-over’ from the anti-nuclear movement of the early 1960s to the COVs, see Clements, ‘The Influence of Individuals and Non-Governmental Organisations’, p. 126; Easton letter, 3 Sep 1994. For examples of press commentaries carrying these implications, see clipping: Auckland Star, 24 Jul 1965; ‘Newspaper Coverage, Vietnam and Malaysia – TwentySecond Series of Clippings, August 14–25’; ‘Newspaper Coverage, Vietnam and Malaysia – 31st Series of Clippings, 16–24 September’, PM 478/4/14.

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Salient, 8 Aug 1965, p. 12. For press commentary critical of the intellectual condescension implied by the very notion of ‘teach-ins’, see ‘Newspaper Coverage, Vietnam and Malaysia – Twenty-Second Series of Clippings, August 14–25’, PM 478/ 4/14. This sense of division was evident, for instance, in a recollection about this period by Michael Bassett, one of COSEA’s founders: ‘There has been no time in my life when there was more unanimity amongst the academic world. I mean you couldn’t in fact find somebody who would go out of the University and defend the Government’s position.’ Cited in Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 37. ‘Vietnam – Ninth Series of Newspaper Clippings (July 1–July 12)’, PM 478/4/14. Ibid. The distribution of this pamphlet to schools in Wellington prompted one concerned parent, a Treasury official, to seek government action to counter this ‘insidious propaganda’. Barnes to PM, 19 Jul 1965, Folder 3, Box 323, Holyoake Papers. COV Minutes, 1 Nov 1965, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, 21 Jul 1965–6 Feb 1967, MS Papers 2511, Wellington Committee on Vietnam Papers [hereafter WCOVP]. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, pp. 13, 16. Haas notes that Colombo Plan students from South Vietnam spoke from the floor at the 27 November meeting, supporting New Zealand involvement and opposing the Communists. COV Minutes, 6 Dec 1965, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, 21 Jul 1965–6 Feb 1967, WCOVP. Though COV members complained about the ‘misleading way in which the activities of the Protest Weekend had been covered by the daily papers’, they did draw satisfaction from the fact that ‘Mr Noel Harrison had, in his T.V. programme the week before, slated the offending newspapers for their unprofessional reporting’. COV Minutes, 1 November 1965, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, 21 Jul 1965–6 Feb 1967, WCOVP. ‘Good assurances’ were evidently received from the editor. For a series of essays highlighting the diversity of the Vietnam anti-war movement in the United States, see Melvin Small and William Hoover, eds, Give Peace a Chance: Exploring the Vietnam Antiwar Movement. See also DeBenedetti, American Ordeal. For a comparison between the American and Australian anti-war movements, see Ann Curthoys, ‘The Anti-war Movements’, in Jeffrey Grey and Jeff Doyle, eds, Vietnam: War, Myth and Memory – Comparative Perspectives on Australia’s War in Vietnam, pp. 81–107. According to Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 73, there were COVs in 18 New Zealand cities by the end of 1965.

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For examples of these differences, see Bell, ‘Protest Movement in Dunedin’, pp. 23–6; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 23–4. Austin Mitchell, The Half-gallon Quarteracre Pavlova Paradise, p. 115. The following paragraph is based on the many materials pertaining to the early years of the Wellington COV’s history to be found in WCOVP. See Wellington COV ‘Constitution’, n.d., Folder 111/1/1, Constitution and Miscellaneous Materials, 1967–68; General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 6 Feb 1967, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. Bell, ‘Protest Movement in Dunedin’, pp. 6– 7, 20–3, 27, 65–6. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. vii– viii, 1–27; Bassett and Nola, eds, New Zealand and South-East Asia. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 28–39. DeBenedetti, An American Ordeal, p. 138. For examples of these arguments, see A. R. Entwisle, ‘Our Business in Vietnam’, Landfall 19 (Sep 1965): 261–74; W. H. Oliver, ‘Moralism and Foreign Policy’, ibid.: 375–82; J. O. Gamby, ed., Vietnam: Question and Answer Booklet, pp. 5–7; T. McGee, ‘Some Considerations of New Zealand Foreign Policy in South-East Asia’, in Intervention in Vietnam, pp. 12–13. See, for example, McGee, ‘Some Considerations’, pp. 13–14. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 4. Auckland Committee on South East Asia, Vietnam: A Critical Examination of the NZ Government White Paper, p. 2. A Source Book on Vietnam: Background to Our War. Holborow to McIntosh, 20 Sep 1965, PM 478/4/10. See also ‘Vietnam Information Activities’ and attachment, 17 Nov 1965; Sec EA to PM, 15 Oct 1965; Sec EA to PM, 26 Oct 1965, ibid.; Vietnam – Background to the Conflict; ‘Vietnam Information Programme, New Zealand’, 2 Nov 1965. Note for File by D. G. Holborow, 18 Aug 1965, PM 478/4/10. See also NZHC, Canberra to Sec EA, 26 Aug 1965, ibid. For evidence that censorship was considered, see Holborow to McIntosh, 20 Sep 1965, ibid. National Party Caucus Minutes, 26 Aug 1965, Folder 1, Box 9, NZNP. For a similar observation about the effect of a visit to Vietnam under American sponsorship by P. V. Harkness, managing editor of the Waikato Times, see ‘Vietnam – Sixteenth Series of Newspaper Clippings (July 25–August 5)’, PM 478/4/10. See also the comment by an official: ‘Since New Zealand troops had been sent to Vietnam a more balanced quality of reporting has been apparent from the press representatives who have

notes to pages 172–5

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visited Vietnam and the photographs had been notably more sympathetic’. NZHC, Canberra to Sec EA, 26 Aug 1965, ibid. ‘Vietnam Information Programme, New Zealand’, 2 Nov 1965, ibid. See McGibbon, New Zealand and the Korean War, Volume 1, p. 316. Holborow to McIntosh, 20 Sep 1965, PM 478/4/10. Sec EA to PM, 15 Oct 1965, ibid. When McIntosh suggested that recent official responses to such critics as Ross and COSEA be distributed in a more targeted way to a few people in Auckland and Christchurch – editors, university staff, teachers and the like – Holyoake wrote ‘Good show’ on the memorandum. Sec EA to PM, 26 Oct 1965, ibid. Handwritten amendment by PM, draft press release [held], 3 Sep 1965, Folder 5, Box 323, Holyoake Papers. See, for instance, Marshall’s comments on communist influences in the protest movement in ‘Address Delivered by the Hon. J. R. Marshall to the Annual Meeting of the Wellington Divisional Committee [New Zealand National Party]’, 12 Jun 1965, ibid. One National MP charged publicly in June 1965 that ‘much of the opposition to the Government’s decision to send combat troops to Vietnam reeks of the stench that is known as Communism.’ Clipping: Waikato Times, 7 Jun 1965, ibid. For further examples and analysis of this tactic, see Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, pp. 23– 32; Oliver, ‘Attitudes to Dissent’, in Bassett and Nola, eds, New Zealand and South-East Asia, pp. 74–80; Bell, ‘Vietnam Protest Movement in Dunedin’, pp. 51–2. NZPD 342: 222. Ibid., p. 243. For critical commentaries on Talboys’ observation, see Oliver, ‘Attitudes to Dissent’, in Bassett and Nola, eds, New Zealand and South-East Asia, p. 77; Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 24. NZPD 344: 2658. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 23, noted that Holyoake’s comment was ‘an accurate but embarrassing statement for Labour’. Norman Douglas, for instance, responded to Holyoake’s comments in September by querying: ‘Is this not just another instance of McCarthyism – guilt by association?’ NZPD 344: 2658. Oliver, ‘Attitudes to Dissent’, in Bassett and Nola, eds, New Zealand and South-East Asia, pp. 74–80. Ironically, when interviewed by Oliver a decade later, Holyoake said that he supposed most of those opposed to involvement in the conflict were ‘genuine people’. Holyoake interview, 14 Jul 1976, p. 22. For contemporary views that the government was indulging in smear tactics, see Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, pp. 23–32.

Note for file by HCT [Hugh Templeton], 20 May 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. See also Holyoake interview, 14 Jul 1976, p. 22. 95 See, for example: Sec EA to PM, 10 May 1965, PM 111/1/3/2; Riley to Holyoake and handwritten note from Holyoake to Riley, 20 May 1965, Folder 4, Box 323, Holyoake Papers; ‘Protests on New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, 10 Jun 1965, PM 111/1/3/2; Director of Security to PM, 11 Mar 1966, Folder 4, Box 369, Holyoake Papers. 96 Despite CPNZ efforts to stress the widespread opposition to the government’s Vietnam policy, some of its own rhetoric was unlikely to win over middle New Zealand to the anti-Vietnam War cause and served only to confirm the government’s charges about the motivations of the anti-war movement. See, for instance, People’s Voice, 16 Jun 1965. 97 For Professor Herd’s view of this incident, see Bell, ‘Protest Movement in Dunedin’, pp. 19–20. For contemporary criticism in Parliament of the NZBC’s handling of the issue, see Freer’s comments in NZPD 342: 107–8. 98 ‘Address Delivered by the Hon. J. R. Marshall to the Annual Meeting of the Wellington Divisional Committee [New Zealand National Party]’, 12 Jun 1965, Folder 5, Box 323, Holyoake Papers. 99 Though the files of the Security Service remain closed to researchers, there are sufficient documents in External Affairs files and the Holyoake Papers to indicate that there was surveillance and investigation of the anti-war movement. See, for example, Director of Security to PM, 11 Mar and 16 Jun 1966, Folder 4, Box 369, Holyoake Papers. For perceptions of the activities of the Security Service among members of the anti-war movement, see Sarah Campion to Minister of Security, 10 Jun 1966, Folder 4, Box 369:4, Holyoake Papers; Bell, ‘Protest Movement in Dunedin’, pp. 41–2. 100 General Director, New Zealand National Party to PM, 5 Aug 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. He also told Holyoake that ‘delegates were unanimous in their support of the Government’s actions in the defence field’. 101 In fact, there was considerable division within the churches on the Vietnam issue. For evidence to this effect with respect to the Presbyterians, see Natalie Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, especially pp. 11–15. 102 National Party Caucus Minutes, 26 Aug 1965, Folder 1, Box 9, NZNP; NZPD 344: 2659. In an interview, the principal of the firm that conducted this poll for a newspaper said the sampling was thorough, ‘taking in all classes right throughout the country’. Notes on Radio and Television News – S. E. Asia, 29 Sep 1965, PM 478/4/14.

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notes to pages 175–82 103 National Party Caucus Minutes, 7 Oct 1965, Folder 1, Box 9, NZNP. See also President, Canterbury University Students’ Association to PM, 26 Sep 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. 104 Sec EA to PM, 15 Oct 1965, PM 478/4/10. Chapter Eight: The Domestic Politics of the Vietnam War in an Election Year, 1966 1 See, for example, ‘Pulse of Politics’ column, ODT, 10 Jan 1966. For a more left-wing expression of the same assessment, see ‘Notes and Comments’, NZMR (Feb 1966): 1. 2 For this difference in approach between Kirk and Nordmeyer, see Barry Gustafson, ‘Arnold Nordmeyer: A Politician of Integrity, Principle and Courage’, in Margaret Clark, ed., Three Labour Leaders: Nordmeyer, Kirk, Rowling, p. 20. 3 Clipping: Evening Post, 13 Jan 1966, PM 478/4/14. Kirk had been reported as making similar comments previously: Press, 22 Dec 1966. See also NZPD 346: 45–6. 4 Clipping: Daily Telegraph, 14 Jan 1966, PM 478/4/14. 5 Press Statement by Norman Kirk, 11 Feb 1966, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War,’ p. 151. 6 These points are made forcefully in ibid., p. 152. 7 Clipping: Auckland Star, 9 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/6. 8 FRUS, 1964–1968, Volume IV: Vietnam, 1966, p. 257. 9 Clipping: Auckland Star, 25 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/14. See also NZH, 25 Mar 1966. 10 Clippings: Auckland Star, 25 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/14; Auckland Star, 9 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/6; NZH, 28 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/14. For additional criticism of Kirk’s stance, see Mataura Ensign, 6 Apr 1966, ibid. 11 Auckland Star, 20 Apr 1966, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 152. 12 ‘Joint Statement by the New Zealand Federation of Labour and New Zealand Labour Party on Vietnam’, cited in ibid., p. 153. 13 See ibid., pp. 154–6. 14 ODT, 5 May 1966. 15 NZH, 5 May 1966, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 157. 16 Ibid., pp. 156–7. 17 Clipping: Timaru Herald, 7 May 1966, PM 478/4/14. Timaru Herald, 9 May 1966, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 67th Batch of Cuttings – 26 April to 21 May’, ibid. For similar criticisms of FOL ‘dictation’ to the Labour Party, see NZH, 6 May 1966. 18 ODT, 10 May 1966. For other press criticisms of Labour’s policy, see: ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 66th Batch of Cuttings – 23 April to 18 May’; ‘Newspaper

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Coverage – South-East Asia; 68th Batch of Cuttings – 7 May to 31 May’, PM 478/4/14. See Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 160; Evening Post, 11 May 1966, cited in ibid., p. 162. ODT, 12 May 1966. See Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 163–5. See ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 70th Batch of Clippings – 24 May to 14 June’, PM 478/4/14. NZPD 346: 89–90. Ibid., p. 308. At least two provincial newspapers, the Taranaki Herald and the Gisborne Herald, criticised Nash’s remarks. See ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 71st Batch of Clippings – June 6–June 21’, PM 478/4/14. NZPD 346: 154. Ibid., pp. 89, 378. For other criticisms of the South Vietnamese government by Labour MPs, see pp. 154–5, 365–8. See, for example, ibid., pp. 106, 239–40, 365–8. Ibid., p. 251. Ibid., pp. 238, 344. See, for example, the comments by Kirk, Watt, MacDonald and Finlay in ibid., pp. 89, 153, 240, 365. Gisborne Herald, 9 Jun 1966, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 71st Batch of Clippings – June 6–June 21’, PM 478/4/14. See also NZH, 22 Jun 1966, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 166. ‘Comments from the Capital’, NZMR (Jul 1966): 6. COV Minutes, 7 Feb 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, 21 July 1965–6 February 1967, WCOVP. The following account of this protest is based on ODT, 21 Feb and 12 Mar 1966; Locke, Peace People, p. 207; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 50th Batch of cuttings – 8–24 February, 1966’, PM 478/4/14. The case was taken to the Court of Appeal, which upheld the original judgement. See Robert K. Paterson, ‘New Zealand Law and Political Dissent’, in Stephen Levine, ed., New Zealand Politics: A Reader, pp. 502–4. Clipping: Manawatu Evening Standard, 14 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/1/4. The same point is made in Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 16. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 10. ODT, 21 Feb 1966; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 50th Batch of cuttings – 8–24 February, 1966’, PM 478/4/14. The New Zealand Security Service had warned Holyoake both of American sensitivities about security arrangements for Humphrey and of likely COV protests, including the possible repetition of ‘the sort of “direct action” demonstration’ outside the Prime Minister’s office in 1965. See Director of

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Security to PM, 15 Feb 1966, Folder 369:3, Holyoake Papers. Campion added that, by bowing to American pressures, Holyoake had shown a lack of faith in New Zealand’s own security men and had highlighted ‘that peculiar arrogance and violence inherent in the current American way of life’. Campion to Min Security, 28 Feb 1966, Folder 369:4, ibid. Clipping: Mercantile Gazette, 9 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/14. These comments prompted a similar expression of concern by the Manawatu Evening Standard, a provincial daily not known for its sympathy to anti-war protesters. Clipping: Manawatu Evening Standard, 14 Mar 1966, ibid. For a more predictably critical assessment of the incident, see ‘Notes and Comments’, NZMR (Mar 1966): 1. Cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 50th Batch of cuttings – 8–24 February, 1966’, PM 478/4/14. Cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 54th Batch of cuttings – 28 February to 12 March’, ibid. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 47. Ibid., p. 16. Ibid., p. 22. NZPD 345: 3691. S. Scott, a prominent exCPNZ member, was of the same view, writing to Holyoake that ‘I am sure you know as well as I do that the Vietnam Medical Aid Committee is a Communist Party front – although this is not realised by all the sponsors’. S. W. Scott to PM, 31 Oct 1965, PM 111/1/3/2. NZ Truth, 29 Mar 1966. For another article by Sinclair emphasising that the Red Cross Society of the National Liberation Front in South Vietnam was not recognised by the International Committee of the Red Cross, see clipping: NZ Truth, 4 May 1966, PM 478/4/14. Governor of the Reserve Bank to PM, 8 Mar 1966; PM to Min Finance, 23 Mar 1966, Folder 369:4, Holyoake Papers. A ‘highly delicate source’ advised the Security Service that the committee’s request was a CPNZ ploy to prompt an official rejection, which could then be used to criticise the government’s apparent callousness. Director of Security to PM, 8 Mar 1966, ibid. NZ Medical Aid Committee for South Vietnamese Peoples (National Liberation Front Areas) to PM, 3 Apr 1966; Clipping: NZH, 5 Apr 1966, ibid. See also Barnes to Holyoake, 4 Apr 1966, ibid. ‘Newspaper Coverage, 76th Batch of Clippings – 29 June to 14 July’, PM 478/4/ 14. The following account of Slingsby’s activities and his book is based on J. D. Maling (For Director), Security Service to Sec EA and attachments, 27 Jan 1966; Director of

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Security to PM, 28 Jan 1966, PM 478/4/10; H. G. Slingsby, Rape of Vietnam. See, for example, the reference to Slingsby’s book in ‘The Missing Editor’, NZMR (Mar 1966): 4. It was also promoted in Quote, although at least one COV executive member refused to have anything to do with it. See Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 46. Slingsby later penned another book, Vietnam Fights Back, on the war between 1965 and 1970 (this again features his trademark back-cover photograph). General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 2 May 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. For similar observations by an Auckland anti-war activist, see Margot Roth, ‘Auckland Letter’, NZMR (Mar 1966): 21. Quote 10 (May 1966), PM 111/1/3/2. General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 2 May 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. Plans to picket the destroyer when it visited both Wellington and Auckland were also publicised in that month’s COV newsletter. See Quote 10 (May 1966), PM 111/1/3/2. For the protests during the destroyer’s visit to Auckland, see Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 13. For a more detailed, sympathetic account of the April protest activities in Christchurch, see ‘Vietnam Weekend in Christchurch’, NZMR (May 1966): 19. General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 6 Jun 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP; Claire Loftus Nelson, Long Time Passing: New Zealand Memories of the Vietnam War, p. 42. Even the usually moderate Dunedin COV wrote to its Wellington counterpart protesting at the letter to Ho Chi Minh, in which ‘accusations are made that his government has refused to consider proposals for negotiation’. Dunedin COV to Wellington COV, 20 May 1966, cited in Bell, ‘Protest Movement in Dunedin’, p. 24. See also Quote 9, 19 Apr 1966, which includes a letter complaining: ‘This uncalled-for letter from the Committee sacrifices all pretensions to morality by a futile attempt to foster public relations out of fear of the red smear from those who support the war criminals we condemn’. Copy in John and Monica Fyson Papers. General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 4 Apr 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 30. Clipping: Manawatu Evening Standard, 3 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/14. Similarly, Len Reid from the PFVC noted, when addressing the Wellington COV in February, that ‘one of the main purposes of the protest movement was to awaken the working class conscience to the realities of the Vietnam War’. General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 7

notes to pages 186–90

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Feb 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. See also Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 1, 3–5, 23–4. Campion to Wellington COV, 13 Jul 1966, cited in Jackman, 'Auckland Opposition', p. 24. Dunedin COV to Wellington COV, 2 Jun 1966, cited in Bell, ‘Protest Movement in Dunedin’, p. 24. Quote 10 (May 1966), PM 111/1/3/2. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, pp. 25, 31, 47. Ibid., p. 26. Michael Bassett of COSEA later commented: ‘there seemed to be so many of us who had never had anything to do with the Communist party that we had strength on our own and we really didn’t need to saddle ourselves with these people whose loyalty to New Zealand was pretty dubious’. Cited in Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 28; see also pp. 19–20. He added: ‘The Communists have tended to weaken the influence of the Committee on Vietnam’s success’. Interview with Anthony Haas, Aug 1967, cited in Haas, ‘A Study in Protest’, p. 31. For another example of Labour’s sensitivity to association with communism, see Roth, ‘Auckland Letter’, NZMR (May 1966): 11. Party membership was estimated at 400 in ‘New Zealand’, Yearbook on International Communist Affairs, 1966, p. 368; a fuller account of the local reverberations of the Sino-Soviet schism and of the general state of communism in New Zealand at the time is at pp. 368–71. R. Nunes, ‘Role and Tasks of the Party on the Question of Vietnam’, New Zealand Communist Review (Mar 1966): 5. NZ Truth, 5 Apr 1966. The article also cited a comment by National MP Peter Gordon that ‘Nunes’s statement succinctly places the responsibility for the fomenting of agitation and protest exactly where it belongs: that is with the Communist Party’. Clipping: Manawatu Standard, 13 Apr 1966, PM 478/4/14; ODT, 2 May 1966. Clipping: Taranaki Daily News, 24 May 1966, PM 478/4/14. See also: ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 62nd Batch of Cuttings – 18 April to 2 May’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 69th Batch of Cuttings – 12 May to 8 June’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 70th Batch of Clippings – 24 May to 14 June’, PM 478/4/14. For Mitcalfe’s impassioned insistence that ‘we are neither Communist, nor Communist-led’, see also letter to editor by Mitcalfe for COV, 18 Jun 1966, Box 1, Mitcalfe Papers. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 27. The Wellington COV’s records are somewhat opaque in their coverage of this incident, but include a brief outline chronology with an

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entry for June 1966 which reads: ‘Attempted expulsion of communists’. See ‘Some of the Main Events in Wellington in the Anti-War Movement since April 1965’, Folder 11/1/23, Series 11: Correspondence, WCOVP. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 24–5. General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 6 Jun 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. See also letter to editor by Mitcalfe for COV, 18 Jun 1966, Box 1, Mitcalfe Papers. General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 4 Jul 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 78th Batch of Cuttings – 15 July to 26 July’, PM 478/4/14. See ‘Vigilantes’, NZMR (Nov 1966): 7; Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 27. For a more detailed discussion of the PFVC as a small left-wing protest group, see Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, ch. 1. Quote 10 (May 1966), PM 111/1/3/2. See Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOV Papers. Clipping: Manawatu Evening Standard, 3 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/14. For a highly critical account of the reporter’s use of false pretences to gain access to the PFVC meeting, see Sarah Campion, ‘The Sly American’, NZMR (Jul 1966): 17. See also Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 16–17. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 17; Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, pp. 19–20. Ibid., p. 45. Clipping: NZL, 29 Apr 1966, PM 111/1/3/2. A supplementary list of individuals opposed to New Zealand’s military involvement in Vietnam appeared in NZL, 20 May 1966. ODT, 31 Aug 1966; Clipping: Press (Christchurch), 24 Aug 1966; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 85th Batch of Clippings – 17 August to 1 September’, PM 478/4/14. See also Director of Security to PM, 19 Aug 1966, ibid. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 78th Batch of Clippings – 15 July to 26 July, 66’, ibid. Press Statement: ‘Increased Aid to Vietnam’, 25 Mar 1966, ibid. For evidence of the effectiveness of this tactic, see clipping: Auckland Star, 28 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/6. Press Statement: ‘Mr Kirk on Vietnam’, 25 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/1. See, for example, ODT, 6 and 7 May 1966. For Holyoake’s consistent willingness to seize upon any perceived weakness in his political opponents, see Barry Gustafson, ‘The Sorcerer and his Apprentice’, in Clark, ed., Sir Keith Holyoake, pp. 199, 201, 203– 4. One report of this incident noted that ‘Seldom has the puckish humour of Mr Holyoake been better demonstrated’. ODT,

notes to pages 190–5

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10 May 1966. For an anecdotally rich account by Holyoake’s son-in-law, which highlights that ‘puckish humour’, see Ken Comber, ‘Personal Reflections on my Fatherin-Law’, in Clark, ed., Sir Keith Holyoake, pp. 17–28. For typical examples of press support see clippings: Auckland Star, 9 Mar 1966, PM 478/4/6; Mataura Ensign, 6 Apr 1966; Marlborough Express, 11 Apr 1966, PM 478/4/14. For a dissenting view from one of the few newspapers consistently critical of the government’s Vietnam policy, see clipping: Waikato Times, 13 Apr 1966, ibid. As one newspaper put in later in the year, ‘There are no doubters in the Government ranks in this country, or they have not declared themselves’. Manawatu Evening Standard, 7 Sep 1966. The most ironic exception to this statement was probably M. O’Reilly, a former National Party candidate who was active in organising a COV in Timaru, the electorate held by Sir Basil Arthur, the most prominent internal dissenter from Labour’s policy on Vietnam. See ‘Events at Timaru’, NZMR 72 (Oct 1966): 8. NZPD 346: 986, 988–9; 347: 1170, 1174–5, 1178, 1198–1219, 1224–5, 1236–7. NZPD 347: 1168–9. See, for example, speeches by Walsh, Riddiford, Shelton and Talboys in ibid., pp. 1181–3, 1186–8, 1220–1, 1226–9. Ibid., pp. 1229, 1247. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 1 July, 66’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 76th Batch of Cuttings – 29 June to 14 July’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 74th Batch of Clippings – 24 June to 7 July’, ibid. See also NZH, 14 Jul 1966. See ‘Longbow Looks at the Week’, ODT, 9 Jul 1966. Another newspaper suggested that New Zealand’s diplomacy had taken on ‘a new stature’. Clipping: Auckland Star, 2 Jul 1966, Folder 369:5, Holyoake Papers. Mitchell, Politics and People, pp. 146–7. Handwritten note from Holyoake to McIntosh, attached to Caffin to McIntosh, 6 Jul 1966, PM 478/4/1; Larkin to McIntosh, ‘The American Press and the Vietnam War’, 13 Jul 1966, PM 478/4/10. Sec EA to PM, 19 Aug 1966, ibid. Sec Cabinet to PM, 2 Aug 1966, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 4 Aug 1966, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 19 Sep 1966, ibid. Handwritten note by Holyoake on Sec EA to PM, 19 Sep 1966, ibid. Barnes to Holyoake, 14 Oct 1966; Sec EA to PM, 17 Oct 1966, ibid. Vietnam: Questions and Answers, p. 3. An internal paper produced by External Affairs in July 1965 stated more bluntly: ‘in recent months there has probably been more public debate on the question of New Zealand’s

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involvement in Vietnam than on any previous foreign policy issue’. Guidance Survey 25/26: ‘The Debate on Vietnam’, 26 Jul 1965, PM 478/4/1. Barnes to Holyoake, 14 Oct 1966; ‘Meeting of Wellington Committee, Four Power Information Group, on 20 July 1967’, PM 478/4/10. Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 190. Clipping: Dominion, 21 Nov 1966, PM 478/ 4/10. ‘Meeting of Wellington Committee, Four Power Information Group, on 20 July 1967’, ibid. See, for example, ODT, 28 Sep, 7 Oct 1966. Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, p. 227, also ch. 6. As one columnist noted immediately after Johnson’s visit, ‘It was the consensus round the capital corridors that the timing of the Presidential visit tended to embarrass Mr Holyoake, coming just a few weeks before an election but he is probably breathing freely again’. ODT, 22 Oct 1966. Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War,’ p. 187. NZPD 349: 3342. ODT, 8 Oct 1966. NZPD 349: 3342, 3344. Ibid., p. 3366. ODT, 15 Oct 1966. Ibid., 21 Oct 1966. Even such a firm critic of American and New Zealand policy on Vietnam as Elsie Locke, Peace People, p. 207, later noted of Johnson’s visit: ‘With a royal touch the great man ignored security to shake hands with pensioners and children’. ODT, 21 Oct 1966. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 11–12. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 97th Batch of Clippings – 17 October to 9 November’, PM 478/4/14. See, for example, ODT, 20 Oct 1966. Ibid. The author, present that day and blissfully unaware as a ten-year-old of the Vietnam protests, recalls disappointment that he caught only a fleeting glimpse of the President’s car passing through the gates of Government House. Locke, Peace People, p. 207. At the time, Ormond Burton wrote to a friend that he had protested outside Parliament alongside about 200 others. See Crane, I Can Do No Other, p. 287. ODT, 21 Oct 1966. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – Southeast Asia, 20 October, ’66’, PM 478/4/14. Policy Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 5 Nov 1966, Folder 1/01, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. In a survey of press coverage of the Johnson visit, the Tourist and Publicity Department noted that ‘Protest demonstrations were mentioned, but without undue emphasis’. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-

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East Asia; 96th Batch of Clippings – 7 October to 1 November’, PM 478/4/14. Almost all the 83 Vietnam-related editorials surveyed by the Tourist and Publicity Department around this time were favourable to the government. See: ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 96th Batch of Clippings – 7 October to 1 November’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 97th Batch of Clippings – 17 October to 9 November’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia; 98th Batch of Clippings – 17 October to 11 November’, PM 478/4/14. NZH, 21 Oct 1966. ODT, 22 Oct 1966. Ibid., 24 Oct 1966. Ibid., 27 Oct 1966. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 96th Batch of Clippings – 7 October to 1 November’, PM 478/4/14. ODT, 1 Nov 1966. See for example, reports of some of Holyoake’s major election meetings in ibid., 4, 8, 17 Nov 1966. See also Gustafson, The First Fifty Years, p. 96. National was sufficiently confident about the efficacy of this argument that one of its 1966 election campaign advertisements urged New Zealanders to ‘Keep the government that keeps faith with our allies’ and contrasted its balanced approach to Vietnam with ‘the futility of idealism without realism’. Reproduced in ibid., p. 97. ODT, 25 Nov 1966. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, pp. 21–2. M. Finlay interview, Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 2; Barry Gustafson, ‘Arnold Nordmeyer: A Politician of Integrity, Principle and Courage', in Margaret Clark, ed, Three Labour Leaders: Nordmeyer, Kirk, Rowling, pp. 20–1. Gustafson, himself a Labour candidate for the marginal seat of Taupo in 1966, irritated Kirk by ignoring his advice and continuing to speak out against military involvement in Vietnam. Gustafson lost to National by only 275 votes. See also Barry Gustafson, His Way: A Biography of Robert Muldoon, p. 88. ODT, 29 Sep, 1 Oct 1966; NZH, 8 Nov 1966, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 189. For more detailed discussion of the defensive tone of Labour’s approach to Vietnam on the campaign trail, see Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 189–90. See also Muldoon, The Rise and Fall, p. 81; Murphy, ‘Labour and Vietnam’, p. 38. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia; 101st Batch of Clippings – 4 November to 8 December 1966’, PM 478/4/14. NZH, 14 Nov 1966. ODT, 23 Nov 1966. A similar view was expressed in the NZH, 22 Nov 1966, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 189.

150 ODT, 21 Nov 1966. 151 Ibid., 28 Nov 1966. 152 Muldoon, Rise and Fall, p. 81. Muldoon later reiterated this point to an interviewer, adding that he had no doubt that Johnson’s visit ‘helped us win the 1966 election’. Muldoon interview, 29 May 1991. 153 NZMR (Dec 1966). The next issue claimed that Vietnam was one of the few matters of real difference between the parties and that ‘The fact that Labour did, comparatively, so well at this election must have been thanks to its Vietnam policy as much as to anything else’. NZMR (Jan 1967), p. 2. 154 As one political scientist noted of Holyoake’s stance on Vietnam in the 1966 election, ‘Even on Vietnam he appeared more concerned to exploit Labour’s embarrassment than to show any passion about the military situation’. Mitchell, Politics and People, p. 164. 155 Holyoake stated publicly in March 1967 that since the 1966 election ‘had been fought on the Vietnam issue a Government policy had been endorsed by the electorate’. Dominion, 10 Mar 1967. For similar conclusions by historians, see Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, p. 233; Ian McGibbon, ‘New Zealand’s Commitment of Infantry Companies in South Vietnam 1967’, in Peter Dennis and Jeffrey Grey, eds, The Australian Army and the Vietnam War 1962–1972, p. 184. Chapter Nine Paying a Higher Premium: The Escalation of New Zealand’s Military Effort, 1967–8 1 For the significance of the 1966 election outcome for Australian Vietnam policy, see Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 137–9. 2 NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 2 and 7 Dec 1966, PM 478/4/6. 3 Amb, Washington to Min EA, 9 Dec 1966, PM 478/4/1. 4 Acting Sec EA to PM, 14 Dec 1966, PM 478/4/6. 5 Acting Sec EA to PM, 16 Dec 1966; NZHC, Canberra to Sec EA, 15 Dec 1966; NZHC, Canberra to Sec EA, 17 Dec 1966, ibid. 6 Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 140–1. 7 Extract from Notes of Division Heads Meeting, 15 Dec 1966; NZHC, Kuala Lumpur to Sec EA, 21 Dec 1966, PM 478/4/ 6. 8 ‘Chief of Defence Staff – Visit to South Vietnam: December 1966’, 20 Dec 1966; CDS to Min Def, 21 Dec 1966, ibid. 9 NZ Mission, Saigon to Sec EA, 27 Dec 1966, ibid. This cable refers to a similar message from the embassy in Washington. 10 ODT, 21 Dec 1966. 11 Acting Sec EA to PM, 19 Jan 1967, PM 478/ 4/6.

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Johnson to Holyoake, in US Amb, Wellington to PM, 23 Jan 1967, ibid. Amb, Washington to Sec EA, 13 Jan 1967, PM 478/4/1. Speech delivered by Air Vice Marshal Ky, following State Luncheon on Tuesday, 24 Jan 1967, ibid. ‘Notes of Cabinet Discussion on Tuesday, 24 Jan 1967 with the Prime Minister of South Vietnam’, ibid. Acting Sec EA to PM, 27 Jan 1967, PM 478/ 4/6. External Affairs advised the Secretary of Defence of its support for the proposal as early as mid-November 1966, but had correctly assessed that Cabinet would be unlikely to reach an ‘early decision’. See Acting Sec EA to Sec Def, 17 Nov 1966, ibid. Cabinet Minute, CM/2/30, 30 Jan 1967, ibid. It would be some time before this decision was acted on and publicised. See Evening Post and Dominion, 21 Jun 1967. ‘Notes for Discussion with Mr Holt: February 1967’, 1 Feb 1967; Min Def to PM, 2 Feb 1967; CDS to Min Def, 2 Feb 1967; Report by Defence Planning Staff, 31 Jan 1967, DP(67)10, PM 478/4/6. Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 144; Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, p. 246. Holyoake to Johnson in Min EA to Emb, Washington, 7 Feb 1967, PM 478/4/1. Notes of Division Heads Meeting, 8 Feb 1967, PM 478/4/6. Sec EA to PM, 13 Feb 1967, ibid. White signed the memorandum on Laking’s behalf. Presenting the recommendation for Laking’s approval, Ian Stewart warned that he had little doubt ‘that the P.M. will get out his pencil and start striking out . . .!!’ Handwritten note by Stewart to Laking, 13 Feb 1967, ibid. Cabinet Minute, CM 67/5/27, 20 Feb 1967, ibid. Memorandum for Cabinet by PM, 3 Mar 1967; NZHC, Kuala Lumpur to Min EA, 28 Feb 1967, ibid. Memorandum for Cabinet by PM, 3 Mar 1967; CDS to Sec EA, 20 Feb 1967; Cabinet Minute, CM 67/7/30, 6 Mar 1967, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 6 Mar 1967, and attached draft press statement, ibid. The Malaysians would have preferred no reference at all to the rotation of companies, but agreed not to object, since the first rotation of troops back to Malaysia would not occur until 1968. NZHC, Kuala Lumpur to Min EA, 7 Mar 1967; Min EA, to NZHC, Kuala Lumpur, 7 Mar 1967; NZHC, Kuala Lumpur to Min EA, 8 Mar 1967; Sec EA to PM, 8 Mar 1967, ibid. Johnson to Holyoake, 16 Mar 1967, PM 478/4/1. For evidence of National Party support for an increased New Zealand military contribution to the Vietnam conflict, see the response

30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37

38 39 40

41 42 43

401

prepared for Holyoake to a remit submitted to the July 1967 National Party conference, in Sec EA to PM, 19 Jul 1967, PM 478/4/6. Evening Post, 7 Apr 1967; Dominion, 8 Apr 1967. ‘Second Seven-Nation Conference on Vietnam, Washington, 20 and 21 April 1967’, PM 478/4/6. Ibid. McGibbon, ‘Forward Defence’, p. 32; Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, pp. 256–8; Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 146–7. Cited in Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, p. 258. Robert S. McNamara, In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam, pp. 214– 15. Ibid., p. 214. See Robert Buzzanco, Vietnam and the Transformation of American Life, pp. 1–3; Alexander Kendrick, The Wound Within: America in the Vietnam Years, 1945–1974, p. 235. King’s speech was made at the so-called Spring Mobilization against the war in New York City after he had joined Dr Benjamin Spock and Harry Belafonte, among others, in leading 100,000 marchers to United Nations Plaza. King’s widow later reflected that his ‘peace activity marked uncontestably a major turning point in the thinking of the nation’. Coretta Scott King, My Life with Martin Luther King, Jr., p. 276. In early 1967, however, his stance generated considerable controversy, even within the black civil rights movement, and prompted one of the President’s advisers to tell Johnson that he had ‘thrown in with the commies’. See David J. Garrow, Bearing the Cross: Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, pp. 539– 57 (quote p. 554). McNamara, In Retrospect, p. 276. Lloyd Gardner, Pay Any Price: Lyndon Johnson and the Wars for Vietnam, pp. 352– 77. CDS to Min Def, 12 Jul 1967, PM 478/4/6. For evidence of the RNZAF’s eagerness to seize the ‘ideal opportunity’ which the Vietnam War offered for combat operational experience, see Chief of Air Staff to CDS, 12 Jul 1967, MD 23/4/1. For CDS from Trigance (Air Attaché), Emb, Washington to Department EA, 13 Jul 1967, PM 478/4/6. Johnson to Holyoake, 15 and 19 Jul 1967, in Min EA to Emb, Washington, 20 Jul 1967, ibid. New Zealand diplomats in both Washington and Bangkok confirmed that one purpose of the Clifford–Taylor mission was to elicit more forces from allied nations, although ‘there would be no arm-twisting’. Emb, Bangkok to EA, 25 Jul 1967; Emb,

notes to pages 210–17 44 45 46 47

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50

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Washington to Min EA, 24 Jul 1967, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 27 Jul 1967, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 30 May, 1 Aug 1967; Min EA to Emb, Washington, 30 May 1967, PM 478/4/1. ‘Discussions with Mr. Clark Clifford and General Maxwell Taylor, Tuesday, 1 August 1967’, ibid. Appendix, ‘Clifford–Taylor Report to the President, 5 August 1967’, Folder: Vietnam, 5D(1) Allies: Troop Commitments, Other Aid (General Material), 3-67–1/69, Boxes 85–91, National Security File, Country File: Vietnam, Johnson Papers. NZHC, Canberra to EA, 1 Aug 1967, PM 478/4/6; Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 150–2. ‘Discussions with Mr. Clark Clifford and General Maxwell Taylor, Tuesday, 1 August 1967’, PM 478/4/1; Sec EA to Amb, Washington, 2 Aug 1967, PM 478/4/6. Appendix, ‘Clifford–Taylor Report to the President, 5 August 1967’, Folder: Vietnam, 5D(1) Allies: Troop Commitments, Other Aid (General Material), 3-67–1/69, Boxes 85–91, National Security File, Country File: Vietnam, Johnson Papers. ‘Discussions with Mr Clark Clifford and General Maxwell Taylor – Tuesday, 1 August 1967’, PM 478/4/1. Laking to Corner, 3 Aug 1967, ibid. Laking considered the visit more successful than he had anticipated in allowing discussion of a wider range of issues; he was especially impressed with Clifford. EA to Emb, Washington, 2 Aug 1967, PM 478/4/6. Clark Clifford with Richard Holbrooke, Counsel to the President: A Memoir, pp. 451–2. Ibid., p. 450. Appendix, ‘Clifford–Taylor Report to the President, 5 August 1967’, Folder: Vietnam, 5D(1) Allies: Troop Commitments, Other Aid (General Material), 3-67–1/69, Boxes 85–91, National Security File, Country File: Vietnam, Johnson Papers. Clifford, Counsel to the President, pp. 450–1. Note on file, 7 Aug 1967, PM 478/4/1. Sec EA to PM, 9 and 11 Aug 1967, PM 478/ 4/6. Johnson to Holyoake, 17 Aug 1967, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 18 Aug 1967, ibid. 2 Min EA to Emb, Washington, 29 Aug 1967, ibid. For a memorandum setting out those options in detail, see CDS to Min Def, Annex to COS(67)102, 26 Sep 1967, ibid. Extract: Amb, Washington to Min EA, 15 Sep 1967, PM 478/4/1. NZHC, Canberra to Min EA (for PM from NZHC), 20 Sep 1967, Box 412, Folder 1, Holyoake Papers; ‘Record of Discussions

66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

74 75 76

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between the Australian and New Zealand Prime Ministers and Australian and New Zealand Officials: 2–3 October 1967’; Draft Memorandum for Cabinet from PM, 6 Oct 1967; CDS to Min Def, 6 Oct 1967, PM 478/4/6. Sec EA to PM, 6 Oct 1967, ibid. Draft Memorandum for Cabinet from the PM, 6 Oct 1967, ibid. Cabinet Minute, 10 Oct 1967, ibid. Draft message from Holyoake to Holt, 10 Oct 1967, ibid. See also Sec EA to PM, 13 Oct 1967, ibid. Memorandum from Min Def to Cabinet Def Committee, 10 Oct 1967; CDS to Min Def, 6 Oct 1967, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 11 Oct 1967, ibid. Cabinet Minute, CM 67/40/4, 16 Oct 1967, ibid. External Affairs was so determined to derive maximum political capital from the announcement that it even tried to secure from Saigon a ‘renewal or reaffirmation of the request originally made to us by Dr Quat as Prime Minister in May 1965 for New Zealand to send combat troops’. EA to Emb, Saigon, 13 Oct 1967, ibid. For the background to this method of proceeding, see Sec EA to PM, 13 Oct 1967, ibid. Emb, Washington to EA, 16 and 18 Oct 1967, ibid. See also Emb, Washington to Sec EA, 25 and 31 Oct 1967, ibid. Corner was also irritated that New Zealand had been omitted from a lunch at the White House for the ambassadors of Australia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia and Taiwan. He observed that ‘if New Zealand was left out because we matter little in high levels in Washington, or are taken for granted, or both, this would be consistent with every impression I have gained here in these last few months’. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 3 Nov 1967, ibid. Minutes Def Council, 15 Dec 1967, ibid. Sec EA to Sec Def, 22 Dec 1967, ibid. Sec EA to PM, and Holyoake minute, 22 Dec 1967, ibid. McNamara descibes how he came to change his thinking on the Vietnam War, and the personal toll this took on him remarks that, almost 30 years later, he still did not know ‘whether I quit or was fired. Maybe it was both.’ McNamara, In Retrospect, p. 311. Cf. Clifford, Counsel to the President, pp. 456–9. Lyndon Baines Johnson, The Vantage Point: Perspectives of the Presidency, 1963–1969, pp. 372–8. In Canberra, Holyoake also met with President Thieu, who impressed him and who ‘appeared generally confident with progress in the war’. NZHC, Canberra to Sec EA (from PM), 21 Dec 1967, PM 478/4/1.

notes to pages 217–25 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92

93

94

95

96 97 98 99

Johnson to Holyoake, 25 Dec 1967, PM 478/4/6. Holyoake to Johnson, 3 Jan 1968, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 5 Jan 1968, ibid. Johnson to Holyoake, 13 Jan 1968, ibid. Memorandum by CDS to Def Council, 16 Jan 1968, ibid. Minutes Def Council, DO(68)2, 16 Jan 1968, ibid. NZ Mission, Saigon to Min EA, 3 Jan 1968, ibid. Sec EA to PM, 2 Feb 1968, ibid. CDS to Min Def, 1 Feb 1968, ibid. The summary in this paragraph is based on Don Oberdorfer, Tet!, pp. 329–30; Peter Braestrup, Big Story: How the American Press and Television Reported and Interpreted the Crisis of Tet 1968 in Vietnam and Washington, pp. viii–xviii; Gardner, Pay Any Price, pp. 417–32. A North Vietnamese general later conceded that ‘the offensive had been misconceived from the start’, while another admitted that it failed to achieve the Vietnamese Communists’ ‘main objective, which was to spur uprisings throughout the South’. He added that: ‘As for making an impact in the United States, it had not been our intention – but it turned out to be a fortunate result’. Generals Tran Van Tra and Tran Do, cited in Karnow, Vietnam, pp. 544–5. Edmonds provided Wellington with an assessment along these lines only days after the offensive began. He reported on 2 February that the Viet Cong had suffered heavy casualties and that their hopes for a popular insurrection and mass defections from the South Vietnamese armed forces had failed to materialise. Indeed, ‘after some initial confusion’, the South Vietnamese troops appeared to have performed well. On the other hand, ‘whatever the ratio of losses, the other side has no doubt scored an important psychological and propaganda victory’. NZ Mission, Saigon to Min EA, 2 Feb 1968, PM 478/4/1. This paragraph is based on Gardner, Pay Any Price, pp. 416–20. For a careful analysis of the general impact of American media coverage of the Tet offensive, see Braestrup, Big Story. For a New Zealand journalist’s perspective on media coverage of Tet and other events in the Vietnam War, see Turner ‘Media and War’, pp. 22–4. NZ Mission, Saigon to Min EA, 7 Feb 1968, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 6 Feb 1968, 478/4/1. Ibid. For a brief overview of the political impact of the Tet offensive in the United States, see Todd Gitlin, The Sixties: Years of Hope, Days of Rage, pp. 298–301.

100 Cited in Jules Witcover, 85 Days: The Last Campaign of Robert Kennedy, p. 48. For a more detailed analysis of the significance of this speech, see Witcover, 85 Days, pp. 48–50. The New York Times described the speech as ‘the most sweeping and detailed indictment of the war . . . yet heard from any leading figure in either party’. Cited in Richard Goodwin, Remembering America: A Voice from the Sixties, p. 485. 101 Cited in Gardner, Pay Any Price, p. 66. 102 Sec EA to PM, ‘Additional New Zealand Forces in Vietnam’, 3 Feb 1968, PM 478/4/6. 103 NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 9 Feb 1968, ibid. 104 Sec Cabinet to PM, CM 68/4/26, 16 Feb 1968; Sec Cabinet to Min Def, CM 68/4/20, 13 Feb 1968; CDS to Min Def, 12 Feb 1968, MD 123/4/1. Memorandum for Cabinet Def Committee from Min Def, 18 Feb 1968, PM 478/4/6. See also Sec Def to CDS in Min EA to NZHC, Kuala Lumpur, 28 Feb 1968, ibid. 105 CDS to Sec Def in NZHC, Kuala Lumpur to Min EA, 29 Feb 1968, ibid. For the army’s strong desire for an expanded military contribution to create ‘a New Zealand unit that is more operationally viable and nationally identifiable’, see CGS to CDS, 29 Feb 1968, MD 23/4/1. 106 Thomson directed that the submission take into account: ‘the desire to obtain maximum political credit for our contribution, draw attention to the cost in overseas funds of constituting an infantry battalion in Vietnam and indicate the possible embarrassment to the Australians which the constitution of such a unit might create (as a consequence of the need for re-arrangements within the Australian Task Force)’. Extract: Def Council Minutes, 12 Mar 1968, PM 478/4/6. 107 Memorandum for Cabinet Def Committee from Min Def, 18 Mar 1968, ibid. 108 Draft memorandum [Not sent] from Sec EA to PM, 20 Mar 1968, ibid. 109 Extract: ‘Cabinet Discussions with Mr. Gorton, Prime Minister of Australia, 28 March 1968’, ibid. 110 For his own explanation of the background to his momentous address, see Johnson, The Vantage Point, pp. 425–37 (quote p. 435). For analyses of the significance of the address, cf. Clifford, Counsel to the President, pp. 522–6; Gardner, Pay Any Price, pp. 456–8. 111 The lines of division are described in Clifford, Counsel to the President, p. 528. 112 Interestingly, this survey included the observation that: ‘The thing which New Zealand must help avoid, if at all possible, is the development of a situation in which the United States becomes too firmly committed to a course of action which is likely to prove untenable. . . . New Zealand has already performed this function in the case

403

notes to pages 226–32

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115 116 117 118 119

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of its more flexible approach on the question of representation of the National Liberation Front (an attitude the United States was happy to adopt somewhat later) and there are likely to be other opportunities for us to help the Americans moderate the more rigid attitudes of some of their other allies. By pursuing this approach New Zealand may be able to help the United States modify its policies gradually (if this does indeed become necessary) instead of drastically and accordingly reduce the risk that the United States will be tempted to cut its commitments in the area.’ ‘Vietnam: The Present Position, VTC Brief, Wellington 1968’, n.d.[Apr 1968], PM 478/4/1. Sec EA to PM, 19 Apr 1968; Cabinet Minute, CM 68/15/17, 29 Apr 1968, PM 478/4/6. Sec EA to Sec Def, 21 May 1968; Cabinet Minute, CM 68/26/14, 15 Jul 1968, ibid. For the arguments for and against the deployment of the Forward Air Controllers, see Memorandum for Cabinet Def Committee: ‘RNZAF Forward Air Controllers for Service in South Vietnam’, 28 Jun 1968, ibid. Sec Cabinet to Min Def, CM 68/36/11, 23 Sep 1968, MD 123/4/1. The latter minute records that ‘at the meeting on 23 September 1968 Cabinet approved the attachment of two RNZAF officers at a time to the US 7th Air Force as Forward Air Controllers for six months tours of duty’. See also Draft memorandum [not sent] from Sec EA to PM, 12 Jul 1968; Sec EA to PM, 23 Dec 1968, PM 478/4/6; Acting Sec Def to Min Def, 12 Nov 1968, MD 23/4/1. Sec Cabinet to Min Def, CM 68/26/13, 16 Jul 1968, ibid. Draft memorandum from Sec EA to PM, 12 Jul 1968, PM 478/4/6. Memorandum for Cabinet from Min Def, n.d. [Sep 1968], ibid. Cabinet Minute, CM 68/37/6, 30 Sep 1968, ibid. Scope Paper: ‘Visit of Keith Jacka Holyoake, Prime Minister of New Zealand, October 9–10, 1968’, 16 Sep 1968; United States Emb, Wellington to Sec State, 3 Oct 1968, Folder: New Zealand Memos, Vol 1: 11/ 63–11/68, Box 277, National Security File, Country File: New Zealand, Johnson Papers. Memorandum from William Bundy to Sec of State, 5 Oct 1968, ibid. Memorandum from Rostow to Johnson, 18 Sep 1968, ibid. For another account of the redeployment of the two infantry companies (offering a similar interpretation to that set out in this chapter), see McGibbon, ‘New Zealand’s Commitment of Infantry Companies’, pp. 180–98. Scope Paper: ‘Visit of Keith Jacka Holyoake, Prime Minister of New Zealand, October

9–10, 1968’, 16 Sep 1968, Folder: New Zealand Memos, Vol 1: 11/63–11/68, Box 277, National Security File, Country File: New Zealand, Johnson Papers. Chapter Ten Dialogue of the Deaf: The Domestic Politics of the Vietnam Conflict, 1967–8 1 James K. Baxter, ‘A Letter to Mr Holyoake’, NZMR (Oct 1967), p. 7. 2 NZPD 350: 669. Later in the year, another frustrated commentator on the Vietnam issue categorised the interaction between the government and its critics in these terms: ‘In spite of the fact that those concerned speak, read, and write what seems to be the same language, in spite of the fact that they are, broadly speaking, of the same physical, cultural and spiritual heritage, communication did not take place. It would not have taken place if the number of words used was doubled, nor if it was decimated.’ NZMR (May 1967), p. 25. 3 NZL, 10 Feb 1967, p. 12. 4 Dominion, 7 Jan 1967, p. 1. The possibility of a visit by Ky had first been mooted publicly in late December. See NZH, 28 Dec 1966. 5 For an attempt to set the remark about Hitler into context, see the article by Nicholas Turner, ‘Ky the Man’, Evening Post, 18 Jan 1967. For the anti-war movement’s repeated references to the comment, see Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 53. 6 Even a major newspaper sympathetic to the government’s cause ran its first story about the visit under the headline, ‘Controversial Visit’. See Dominion, 5 Jan 1967. 7 This account of the Auckland anti-war movement’s preparations for the Ky visit is based on: Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 41–4; NZMR (Mar 1967), p.11. 8 Song sheet, Wellington COV, Folder 111/2/1 (Leaflets, April 1965–October 1974), Series 3, WCOVP. 9 Dominion, 12 Jan 1967. 10 Cited in Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 142. 11 Holyoake stated that: ‘Prime Minister Ky came to power not as a result of a coup but because a previous civilian administration, finding itself unable to hold together a country torn apart by one of the most terrible wars of modern times, asked the military forces to step in and assume responsibility’. Dominion, 20 Jan 1967. Cf. NZMR (Jan– Feb 1967), p. 3. 12 The paper added half-heartedly: ‘Even so, we would still be foolish to pass by the opportunity of hearing at first hand the viewpoint of the South Vietnam leader’. Dominion, 23 Jan 1967. Similarly, the Otago Daily Times described his visit as ‘justifiable’ but noted the public misgivings. ODT, 11 Jan 1967.

404

notes to pages 232–5 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

20 21 22

23 24

25 26

27 28 29

30

‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 107th Batch of Clippings – 9 to 28 January, 1967’, PM 478/4/14. Both cited in ibid. NZH, 12 Jan 1967. Evening Post, 18 Jan 1967. See Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 142–4. NZHC, Canberra to EA, Wellington, 20 Jan 1967, Folder 3, Box 392, Holyoake Papers. The preceding account is based on a report in the Dominion, 24 Jan 1967. The positive reception accorded the Kys in Christchurch led one left-wing publication to categorise as ‘gutless dupes’ the 2000 people ‘who welcomed that vile dictator and executor of his own people at his arrival in Christchurch’. NZMR (Jan–Feb 1967), p. 11. Dominion, 25 Jan 1967. The preceding account is based on reports in the Dominion, 25 Jan 1967. One left-wing commentator bemoaned the tendency of many New Zealanders to treat such visitors as almost ‘royal’. NZMR (Jan–Feb 1967), p. 11. NZL, 10 Feb 1967, p. 12. Dominion, 26 Jan 1967. See also NZMR (Jan–Feb 1967), p. 3, which observed with premature satisfaction before Ky’s arrival that the dairy factory workers had ‘caused a minor readjustment in the visitor’s proposed tour by threatening strike action if he comes to their work place’. Dominion, 25 Jan 1967; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 44, 88. Dominion, 25 Jan 1967. While this newspaper referred to a ‘a screaming crowd of 300’, the police estimated the crowd outside the hotel to number between 500 and 800. See Assistant Police Commissioner (Mahood) to Min Police, 25 Jan 1967, Folder 4, Box 392, Holyoake Papers. Assistant Police Commissioner to Min Police, ibid. For the demonstrators’ perspective, see: Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 45–6; NZMR (Mar 1967), pp. 10–11. Dominion, 26 Jan 1967. This time the police had a lower estimate of the crowd size at 1000. See Assistant Police Commissioner (Urquhart) to Min Police, 26 Jan 1967, Folder 4, Box 392, Holyoake Papers. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 47–9. Cf. Assistant Police Commissioner (Urquhart) to Min Police, 26 Jan 1967, Folder 4, Box 392, Holyoake Papers: ‘the conduct of the large majority of the demonstrators who chanted and cat called and carried banners amounted to disorderly behaviour which would have subjected those persons to arrest had the police not exercised their powers with the discretion which has been shown during the past two days. The conduct of many of the demonstrators was

31 32

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36

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puerile and has been so described in the Press.’ Dominion, 27 Jan 1967. K. Baxter, Sec FOL to PM, 28 Feb 1967, Folder 4, Box 392, Holyoake Papers. See also telegram from Graeme Whimp to PM, 26 Jan 1967; Len Reid, Chairman, Ky Protest Committee to PM, 27 Jan 1967, ibid. PM to K Baxter, 22 Mar 1967; PM to L. Reid, 7 Feb, 20 Mar 1967, ibid. Clipping: NZH, 26 Jan 1967, ibid. Like Holyoake, the newspaper upheld the right of minorities to engage in peaceful protest but did not consider that the Auckland demonstrations fell into that category. It concluded indignantly: ‘Arrant exhibitionism, mass incitement, mob emotion – such things are alien to the New Zealand character and an affront to decent citizens’. This press condemnation was underscored in the titles of newspaper editorials on the subject: ‘Extremists Damage National Character’ (Rotorua Daily Post); ‘Disorder For Its Own Sake’ (Gisborne Herald); ‘New Zealand’s Own Red Guards’ (Wairarapa Times–Age). ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 109th Batch of Clippings – 21 January to 9 February’, PM 478/4/14. See also ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 110th Batch of Clippings – 26 January to 13 February’, ibid. Dominion, 26 Jan 1967; Evening Post, 25 Jan 1967, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 107th Batch of Clippings – 9 to 28 January, 1967’, PM 478/4/14. The New Zealand Herald made similar observations and criticised Labour MPs for failing ‘to accept the opportunity to widen their knowledge of the subject’, especially since Ky had placed more emphasis on civil than on military assistance. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 108th Batch of Clippings – 12 January to 2 February’, ibid. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 109th Batch of Clippings – 21 January to 9 February’, PM 478/4/14. At least one newspaper concluded that the visit had ‘provided ample evidence’ of majority support for the New Zealand commitment in Vietnam. ODT, 27 Jan 1967. ‘Notes for Discussion with Mr Holt: February 1967: Vietnam’, 1 Feb 1967, PM 478/4/1. The government’s press monitors expressed the same sentiments. See ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 107th Batch of Clippings – 9 to 28 January, 1967’, PM 478/4/14. NZMR (Jan–Feb 1967), p. 12. The preceding account is based on Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 48–57; NZMR (Mar 1967), pp. 10–11. Amongst the demonstrators deeply affected by the experience was Tim Shadbolt, who would go

notes to pages 237–41

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42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

50

51 52 53

54

55 56

on to become one of the country’s most wellknown and animated anti-war protesters. See his Bullshit and Jellybeans, p. 40. Taranaki Herald, 8 Feb 1967, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 111th Batch of Clippings – 7 to 18 February ’67’; Taranaki Herald, 18 Feb 1967, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 112th Batch of Clippings – 13 February to 3 March, 1967’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 112th Batch of Clippings’, ibid. Dominion, 9 Mar 1967. For the continuing divisions on the issue in the Presbyterian Church, see Natalie Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, p. 17. Dominion, 9 Mar 1967. Auckland Star, 9 Mar 1967, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 197. ‘Press Coverage – South-East Asia, 114th Batch of Clippings – 23 February to 15 March’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 10 Mar 1967. ‘Press Coverage – South-East Asia, 114th Batch of Clippings – 23 February to 15 March’, PM 478/4/14. The Greymouth Evening Star was the most critical of the government’s lack of candour, charging on 9 March that ‘those in New Zealand who feel that the Government is not in error in joining the battle against the flow south of the poison of Asiatic Communism may well feel that their faith has been shaken by the circuitous course taken by the Administration’. Cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 115th batch of Clippings – 7–23 March’, ibid. As one publication put it, Holyoake’s approach was ‘bad politics and bad public relations’. NZ Economist and Taxpayer, 1 Apr 1967, p. 11. Extract: Quote 16, 12 Jan 1967, attached to Director of Security to PM, 20 Jan 1967, PM 478/4/10. General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 6 Feb 1967, Folder I/01, Series I: Minutes, WCOVP. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 56–8. For a more detailed analysis of the Auckland Council on Vietnam’s effectiveness, see ibid., pp. 58–74. ‘Peace for Vietnam Committee Newsletter’ (Apr/May 1967) [copy in author’s possession, for which I am grateful to Robert Mann]; ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 28 March ’67’, PM 478/4/ 14; NZMR (May 1967), p. 7. General Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 6 Feb 1967, Folder I/01, Series I: Minutes, WCOVP. In noting the possibility of other demonstrations, Carrad added that ‘we shall look to you with confidence at least to keep order in the streets of your country, and

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61 62 63

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65 66

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protect us in our lawful demonstrations from occasional violence on the part of people excited by the side-effects of war publicity’. David Carrad to PM, 14 Jun 1967, Folder 5, Box 411, Holyoake Papers. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 58–67. General ideological tensions also continued to divide anti-war activists in Auckland. See, for example, Len Reid, ‘An Open Letter to Anna Louise Strong’, NZMR (Sep 1967), pp. 12–13; Anna Louise Strong, ‘Some Recollections of Hanoi: An Open Letter’, ibid. (Nov 1967), pp. 11–12. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 75–9. For a documentary film based around the recollections of Wellington and Christchurch PYM members at a twentieth anniversary reunion and stressing the centrality of Vietnam anti-war protest in the PYM’s activities, see Rebels in Retrospect. Dominion, 26 Apr 1967; NZMR (Jun 1967), p. 9; (Aug 1967); p. 2; (Sep 1967), p. 12. Carrad added: ‘The Committee might be forced to take steps to demonstrate that the opposition was strongly alive’. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 20 May, ’67’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 1 August, ’67’, ibid. Dominion, 4 May 1967. NZH, 8 May 1967, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 122nd Batch of Clippings – 2 May to 15 May, ’67’, PM 478/ 4/14. When one delegate suggested that Labour’s stance on Vietnam had cost the party the 1966 election, Kirk responded that ‘it would be a sad day if the Labour Party changed its policy with every wind that blew’. NZMR (Jun 1967), p. 3. Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 198–200. See, for example, the comments by Munro, A. McCready and Thomson, NZPD 350: 371–2, 375–6, 378–9. See also those by Talboys a week later: ibid., p. 685. Ibid., p. 722. For criticism of Labour’s timidity on Vietnam, see, for example, NZMR (Mar 1967), p. 9; (Jun 1967), p. 22. Clipping: Waikato Times, 11 Aug 1967, PM 478/4/14. Indeed, there was critical comment by anti-war activists about the conspicuous absence of Labour MPs from the large demonstration outside Parliament on 1 August 1967 protesting at the visit of Clark Clifford and General Maxwell Taylor. See NZMR (Sep 1967), p. 12. Brockett suggested that there was at least one notable ideological difference between Labour and the anti-war movement: ‘The Labour Party policy is specifically directed at removing New Zealand troops from the Vietnam War. It is not obviously anti-

notes to pages 241–6

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American nor is it calling for American withdrawal from Vietnam. The Committee on Vietnam, however, has shown itself as much anti-American on the question of the Vietnam War as it is anti-New Zealand participation.’ Clipping: Waikato Times, 11 Aug 1967, PM 478/4/14. For criticism of the conference’s ‘way-out extremism’ in adopting this stance, see NZMR (Sep 1967), p. 2. Dominion, 31 Jul 1967. According to one source, when dissenting voices on Vietnam were raised at a National conference for the first time in 1967, they received a very cool reception. Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 19. ‘Meeting of Wellington Committee, Four Power Information group, on 20 July 1967’, PM 478/4/10. See the views summarised in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 130th Batch of Cuttings – 10 to 20 July, ’67’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 18 Jul 1967. Taranaki Daily News, 15 Jul 1967, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 130th Batch of Cuttings – 10 to 20 July, ’67’, PM 478/4/14. Manawatu Evening Standard, 18 Jul 1967, cited in ibid. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 132nd Batch of Clippings – 24 July to 4 August, ’67’, ibid.; Dominion, 21 Jul 1967; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 131st Batch of Clippings – 15 to 27 July, ’67’, PM 478/4/14. See ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 26 July, ’67’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 131st Batch of Clippings – 15 to 27 July, ’67’, ibid.; Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, p. 17. Dominion, 28 Jul 1967. Low’s hard-driving leadership style as commander of the First Battalion, Fiji Infantry Regiment in Malaya from 1953 to 1955 is described in Pugsley, From Emergency to Confrontation, pp. 32–3. Press Statement by Holyoake, 28 Jul 1967, PM 478/4/1; Dominion, 29 Jul, 4 Aug 1967. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 132nd Batch of Clippings – 24 July to 4 August, ’67’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 1 August, ’67’, ibid.; Nelson, Long Time Passing, p. 42; NZMR (Sep 1967), pp. 10–11. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 133rd Batch of Clippings – 31 July to 8 August, ’67’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 12 August, ’67’, ibid. Hawke’s Bay Herald–Tribune, 2 Aug 1967, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 133rd Batch of Clippings – 31 July to 8 August, ’67’, ibid. For example, when briefing his caucus later

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in the year about an imminent increase in the Vietnam commitment, Holyoake told them that: ‘Defence Committee has met and discussed what we can do, short of conscription’. National Party Caucus Minutes, 12 Oct 1967, Folder 4, Box 9, NZNP. EA to NZ Emb, Washington, 8 Sep 1967, PM 478/4/10. On the issue of giving more prominence to New Zealand’s Colombo Plan medical team, see Sec EA to NZHC, Ottawa, 16 Oct 1967, ibid. Sec EA to Sec Def, 13 Sep 1967, ibid. For examples of such coordination and consultation, see Amb, Washington to Sec EA, Wellington, 29 Aug 1967; EA to Emb, Washington, 8 Sep 1967; Sec EA to Amb, Washington, 22 Sep 1967, ibid. ‘Meeting of Wellington Committee, Four Power Information Group, on 20 July 1967’, ibid. Clipping: Dominion Sunday Times, 6 Aug 1967, ibid. Mel Taylor to Sec EA, 17 Aug 1967, ibid. The first draft was presented to Holyoake in late August. See Sec EA to PM, 22 Aug 1967, ibid. Public statement by Prime Minister, ‘Aspects of the Vietnam Problem’, 1 Oct 1967, ibid. For a report on Holyoake’s statement, see Dominion, 27 Nov 1967. Holyoake described the elections as ‘an impressive achievement’, especially as they ‘were held freely in a country torn by war and comparatively untutored in the traditions of parliamentary democracy’. Public Statement by Prime Minister, ‘Aspects of the Vietnam Problem’, 1 Oct 1967, PM 478/4/10. See, for example, Dominion, 16 and 30 Aug 1967; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 134th Batch of Clippings – 2–14 August, ’67’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 135th Batch of Clippings – 10–22 August, ’67’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion and ODT, 5 Sep 1967; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 137th Batch of Clippings – 29 August to 9 September’, PM 478/4/14. Clipping: Wairarapa Times–Age, 3 Sep 1967, ibid. For even sharper criticism of the elections, see NZMR (Oct 1967), pp. 18–20. Dominion, 10 Oct 1967. Clipping: Auckland Star, 10 Oct 1967; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 142nd Batch of Clippings – 2 to 14 October’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia,143rd Batch of Clippings – 3–23 October, ’67’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 144th Batch of Clippings – 4–25 October, ’67’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 145th Batch of Clippings – 12 October to 2 Nov. ’67’, ibid. See also

notes to pages 246–51 104 105 106 107 108 109 110

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NZL, 3 Nov 1967, p. 12. Clipping: Dominion, 18 Oct 1967, PM 478/ 4/14. Clipping: Dominion, 19 Oct 1967, ibid. ‘To Church People Re Vietnam’ (National Council of Churches in New Zealand, 1967), p. 16 [copy in author’s possession]. Clipping: Dominion, 18 Oct 1967, PM 478/ 4/14. Clipping: Dominion, 19 Oct 1967, ibid. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 145th Batch of Clippings – 12 October to 2 Nov. ’67’, ibid. Director of Security to Sec EA, 4 Oct 1967, PM 478/4/10. See also Director of Security to Sec EA, 16 Oct 1967; Sec EA to PM, 16 Oct 1967, ibid. The duration of the vigil was apparently reduced because there were insufficient volunteers. See Director of Security to Sec EA, 16 Oct 1967, ibid ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 144th Batch of Clippings – 4–25 October, ’67’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 145th Batch of Clippings – 12 October to 2 Nov. ’67’, PM 478/4/14. ODT, 21 Oct 1967. In commenting on this report, one of the government’s press monitors noted: ‘Above this report were two large photographs, one of a small section of the crowd, mostly strangely-clad adolescents with flowers in their hair, and one of Jimmy Baxter, the poet, whose towsled hair, gaunt face and staring eyes prompted the thought that genius was close to insanity’. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 145th Batch of Clippings – 12 October to 2 Nov. ’67’, PM 478/4/14. Baxter, ‘A Letter to Mr Holyoake’, p. 8. This scene is memorably described in Norman Mailer, The Armies of the Night, pp. 120–3. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 61–3, 81–3; clipping: Dominion, 30 Oct 1967, PM 478/4/14; ODT, 30 Oct 1967; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 146th Batch of Clippings – 18 October to 7 November’, PM 478/4/14; Shadbolt, Bullshit and Jellybeans, pp. 39, 95–6. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 146th Batch of Clippings – 18 October to 7 November’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 147th Batch of Clippings – 27 October to 11 November’, PM 478/4/14; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 62–3, 83–4. Even before this incident, a commentator associated with the Auckland Council on Vietnam had noted the emergence of ‘obvious rifts among its affiliated groups’. NZMR (Nov 1967), p. 6. National Party Caucus Minutes, 2 Nov 1967, Folder 4, Box 9, NZNP. At least one PYM leader later acknowledged that the

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CPNZ had encouraged the formation of the group. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 76. NZPD 354: 3987–8; Dominion, 4 Nov 1967. Sec EA to PM, 6 Nov 1967, PM 478/4/10. See, for example, Dominion, 9 Nov, 4 Dec 1967. Dominion, 22 Nov 1967. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 155th Batch of Clippings – 27 December to 18 January’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 156th Batch of Clippings – 5 to 26 January ’68’, PM 478/4/14. Executive Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 12 Oct 1967, Folder 1/02, Series I: Minutes, WCOVP. H. G. Slingsby, New Zealand, SEATO and the War in Vietnam. Interview extract, cited in Nelson, Long Time Passing, p. 42; Haas, ‘Study in Protest’, p. 19. Interview extract, cited in Nelson, Long Time Passing, p. 42. NZMR (Apr 1968): 9. In a radio interview in the 1990s, Taylor stated that he had been removed ‘because the American Ambassador had given the then head of broadcasting, Gilbert Stringer, a phone call and said that I had been organising this conference. I was reinstated, but it became an untenable situation’. Interview extract, cited in Nelson, Long Time Passing, p. 42. ODT, 2 and 8 Feb 1968. The Taranaki Daily News was similarly pessimistic about the impact on American prestige. Cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 159th Batch of Clippings – 2–19 February ’68’, PM 478/4/14. Clipping: Zealandia, 15 Feb 1968, ibid. Similarly, in its post-Tet assessment, the Auckland Star expressed concern that Johnson was about to respond positively to Westmoreland’s call for 50,000 to 100,000 more troops and urged Holyoake to oppose any such move and press for a revision of American policy. Clipping: Auckland Star, 1 Mar 1968, ibid. NZH, 12 Feb 1968; Evening Star, 14 Feb 1968, both cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 159th Batch of Clippings – 2–19 February ’68’, ibid. For another editorial supportive of American policy, see Dominion, 8 Feb 1968. NZH, 27 Mar 1968, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 206. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 15 March, ’68’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 16 Mar 1968; ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 15 March, ’68’, ibid. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 17 March, ’68’; ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 20 March, ’68’,

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ibid.; Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, p. 26. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 21 March, ’68’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 163rd Batch of Clippings – 6 to 21 March ’68’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 164th Batch of Clippings – 11 to 23 March’, ibid. The Rotorua Post also supported the government’s denial of overseas funds. See ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 166th Batch of Clippings – 13 March to 10 April’, ibid. NZ Truth, 19 Mar 1968, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 164th Batch of Clippings – 11 to 23 March’, ibid. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 25 March, ’68’, ibid. See also Dominion, 23 Mar 1968. NZ Truth, 19 Mar 1968, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 164th Batch of Clippings – 11 to 23 March’, ibid. Dominion, 16 Mar 1968; Locke, Peace People, p. 217. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 28 March, ’68’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 1 Apr 1968; ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 30 March, ’68’, ibid. ‘Peace, Power and Politics in Asia’, Report to Conference Members, Observers and Supporters, 30 May 1968, Folder 11/1/27, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP; NZMR (May 1968): 10. Sec EA to PM, 6 Nov 1967, PM 478/4/10. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 29 March, ’68’, PM 478/4/14. For reports on both marches, see Dominion, 12, 13, 15, 18 Jan 1968. ‘Peace, Power and Politics in Asia’, Report to Conference Members, Observers and Supporters, 30 May 1968, Folder 11/1/27, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. NZMR (May 1968): 9; Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 206–7; Murphy, ‘Labour and Vietnam’, p. 52. Dominion, 2 Apr 1968; ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 1 April, ’68’, PM 478/4/14. Locke, Peace People, p. 218. In the less sympathetic view of an official, ‘the whole conference had been simply a marshalling and re-exposition, on a grand scale, of the old protest arguments’. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 166th Batch of Clippings – 29 March to 15 April ’68’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Peace Power and Politics in Asia’, Report to Conference Members, Observers and Supporters, 30 May 1968, Folder 11/1/27, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. While he expressed disappointment about aspects

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of media coverage in this report, Taylor would claim in an interview more than 20 years later that ‘because of the media skills of a number of us, we got total media penetration’. Interview extract, cited in Nelson, Long Time Passing, p. 42. See, for example, the euphoric assessments in NZMR (May 1968): 9–10 This point has also been stressed by a leading scholar of New Zealand peace movements. See Clements, ‘Influence of Individuals and Non-Governmental Organisations’, pp. 127–8. Another scholar has argued: ‘For a younger generation, the Vietnam War was not so much a reaction as a regrouping, a gathering together of the various bits and pieces of an unfinished and incomplete search for independence in foreign relations’. Roderick Alley, ‘The Road from Vietnam’, in Malcolm McKinnon, ed., The American Connection, p. 151. NZMR (May 1968): 10; also (Jul 1968): 1. ‘Communiqué of the Conference’, in Alister Taylor, ed., Peace, Power and Politics in Asia, p. 276. Clements, ‘Influence of Individuals and NonGovernmental Organisations’, p. 128. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 166th Batch of Clippings – 29 March to 15 April ’68’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 3 and 4 Apr 1968; Taranaki Daily Herald, 1 Apr 1967, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 166th Batch of Clippings – 29 March to 15 April ’68’, PM 478/4/14. See also Taranaki Daily Herald, 4 Apr 1967, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 169th Batch of Clippings – 1 to 29 April ’68’, ibid. The Marlborough Express and New Zealand Herald were also critical; the latter described the conference’s aim as ‘peace with dishonour’, ibid. See ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 167th Batch of Clippings – 25 March to 16 April ’68’, ibid.; Dominion, 25, 29, 30 Mar, 1–5 Apr 1968. See, for example, Dominion, 5 Apr 1968. NZMR (May 1968): 10. Dominion, 4 Apr 1968. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 167th Batch of Clippings – 25 March to 16 April ’68’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 169th Batch of Clippings – 1 to 29 April ’68’, PM 478/4/14. Executive Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 23 Apr 1968; COV Monthly Meeting, 29 Apr 1968; Special Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 12 May 1968, Folder 1/03, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. For details of this dispute, see: Special Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 12 May 1968, Folder 1/03, Series 1: Minutes, ibid.; ‘Personal Note to Conference Members and Donors’ from Alister Taylor, 5 Jun 1968,

notes to pages 256–63

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Folder 11/1/27, Series 11 – Correspondence, ibid.; T. Auld to Secretary, Auckland C.O.V., 6 Jun 1968, Folder 11/1/27, Series 11 – Correspondence, ibid.; Executive Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 4 Jun 1968, Folder 1/03, Series 1: Minutes, ibid.; Executive Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 2 Jul 1968, Folder 1/03, Series 1: Minutes, ibid. See, inter alia: Alister Taylor to the Executive, Wellington COV, 27 Jan 1968 [sic; should be 1969]; Executive Committee Meetings, Wellington COV, 26 Jun and 10 Jul 1969, Folder 1/04, [Executive Committee Meetings] Series 1: Minutes, ibid.; Report by R. J. Lowe on ‘Peace, Power and Politics in Asia’ Conference, 16 Jan 1970, Folder iv/2, Series iv: Conferences, ibid. Roth, ‘Auckland Letter’, NZMR (Jun 1968): 12. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 64–9. Monthly Meeting, Wellington COV, 26 Aug 1968, Folder 1/14, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. Policy Committee Meeting, Wellington COV, 10 Dec 1968, Folder 1/3, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. Quote and Comment (Mar 1968), cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 207. Dominion, 3 May 1968. See also Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 207. Dominion, 7 May 1968. This development was part of what some observers described approvingly as an emerging ‘new look’ Labour Party. See NZMR (Jun 1968): 6–7. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 8 May, ’68’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 171st Batch of Clippings – 17 April to 11 May ’68’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 173rd Batch of Clippings – 6 to 17 May 1968’, ibid.; Dominion, 10 May 1968. See, for example, the comments by Faulkner in NZPD 358: 3109. J. K. Hunn, ‘Constructive Defence’, NZL, 31 May 1967; Jack Kent Hunn, Not Only Affairs of State, pp. 204–7; Dominion, 21 Oct 1968. Dominion, 27 Jun 1968. For reports of these protests, see, for example, ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 29 June, ’68’, PM 478/4/ 14. See also Locke, Peace People, pp. 262–4; Owen Wilkes, ‘Omega Radio Invites Nuclear Retaliation’, NZMR (Jul 1968): 4. Dominion, 10 Feb 1968. Press Statement by Holyoake, 9 Aug 1967, PM 478/4/1. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 1 November, ’68’, ibid. Cf. Dominion, 1 Nov 1968. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 28 October, ’68’; Dominion, 29

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Oct 1968; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 190th Batch of Clippings – 19 October to 5 November ’68’, PM 478/4/14; Dominion, 30 Oct 1968. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 28 October, ’68’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 16 Oct, 1 Nov 1968; Clipping: Press, 1 Nov 1968, PM 478/4/14. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 190th Batch of Clippings – 19 October to 5 November ’68’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 192nd Batch of Clippings – 2 November to 27 November ’68’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 193rd Batch of Clippings – 8 to 25 November ’68’, PM 478/4/14. See Dominion, 12 and 14 Oct, 25 Nov 1968. Clipping: Evening Star (Dunedin), 31 Oct 1968, PM 478/4/14; Dominion, 4 Nov 1968. Dominion, 25 Nov 1965. Taranaki Daily News, 4 Nov 1968, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 192nd Batch of Clippings – 2 November to 27 November ’68’, PM 478/4/14. NZPD 358: 2892. Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 210–11. Dominion, 19–21 Nov 1968. See also Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 212–13. ‘Public Opinion’, 12 Dec 1968, PM 478/4/ 10; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 196th Batch of Clippings – 9 December ’68 to 8 January ’69’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Public Opinion’, 12 Dec 1968, PM 478/4/ 10. J. W. Winchester, ‘Writing on Vietnam’, Landfall 21 (Mar 1967): 101–2. When, for example, this term was used against the government by Labour President Norman Douglas, Holyoake riposted that the Opposition suffered from a ‘credibility chasm’. ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia, 3 August, ’67’, PM 478/4/14. Some months earlier, Minister of Agriculture Brian Talboys had accused Labour of a ‘credibility gap’ in asking how Douglas could support Labour’s policy when in 1963 he had visited South Vietnam and ‘reported that the war in Vietnam was a sectional struggle of a world conflict between freedom and coercion’. NZPD 350: 685.

Chapter Eleven ‘Concluding a Chapter’: The Diplomacy of Military Disengagement from Vietnam, 1969–72 1 Bowman, World Almanac of the Vietnam War, p. 335. 2 For a comprehensive critical assessment of the Nixon administration’s policy on Vietnam, see Jeffrey Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War. 3 Mullins to Laking, 3 Sep 1970, PM 478/4/1. 4 For Edmonds’ promotion to ambassador, see

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External Affairs Review 18 (Mar 1968): 45. Amb, Saigon to EA, 27 Jan 1969, PM 478/4/ 1. Ibid. Sec EA to Sec Def, 14 Jan 1969, PM 478/4/6. NZ Amb, Washington to EA, 10 Apr 1969, PM 478/4/1. Nixon to Holyoake, 8 Jun 1969, PM 478/4/ 23. Sec EA to PM, 6 Jun 1969, PM 478/4/1. A message from Saigon to Wellington the next day confirmed that the South Vietnamese were also expecting an announcement about American force reductions to be made at Midway. NZ V Force to EA, 7 Jun 1969, ibid. NZH, 10 Jun 1969. EA to Amb, Washington, 23 Jun 1969, PM 478/4/6. EA to Amb, Washington, 14 Jul 1969, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Washington to Sec EA, 15 Jul 1969, PM 478/4/6. Corner had already argued against an early withdrawal some weeks earlier on the grounds that this would only confirm Clark Clifford’s recent charges about the meagre size of the New Zealand and Australian contributions. See Amb, Washington to Sec EA, 23 Jun 1969, PM 478/4/1. New Zealand’s ambassador in Saigon offered similar advice. In opposing an early withdrawal, Edmonds reiterated his familiar plaint about New Zealand’s Vietnam commitment representing the ‘the worst of all possible worlds’ because, while suffering domestic criticism for its action, ‘it failed to reap the benefits which might have accrued in its relations with the USA (and other allies) had it sent an identifiable infantry battalion’. He warned: ‘It would be invidious if now, by talking about a more responsible course of action, we fell into much the same trap’. Amb, Saigon to Sec EA, 21 Jul 1969, PM 478/4/6. See also Amb, Saigon to Sec EA, 18 Jul 1969, PM 478/4/1. Sec EA to PM, 17 Jul 1969, PM 478/4/6. Joan Hoff, Nixon Reconsidered, pp. 164–5. NZH, 28 Jul 1969. Amb, Washington to Sec EA, 28 Jul 1969, cited in Amb, Washington to Sec EA, 18 Nov 1969, PM 478/4/6. At least one New Zealand newspaper noted at the time that Nixon had been ‘vague about the details’ of his new policy, and his comments on it had been ‘contradictory’. NZH, 30 Jul 1969. ‘Visit of United States Secretary of State, Mr Rogers – Notes of Discussion with New Zealand Ministers, Hotel Intercontinental, Auckland’, 9 Aug 1969, MD 95/1. Dominion, 17 Sep 1969. PM’s Discussion with Nixon, Emb, Washington to Mission, New York, Shepherd to Laking and Corner, 19 Sep

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1969, Box 513:6, Holyoake Papers. PM’s Visit to Washington: Discussion with Sec Def, Melvin Laird, 4.00 p.m., 16 Sep 1969, Embassy, Washington to Mission, New York, ibid. For New Zealand’s prior knowledge of Nixon’s withdrawal announcement, see Sec EA to PM, 16 Sep 1970, PM 478/4/1. In Wellington, Acting Prime Minister Marshall publicly echoed Holyoake’s assurance to Laird: the government ‘was not at present considering the reduction of New Zealand forces in South Vietnam’. Dominion, 17 Sep 1969. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 9 Oct 1969, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 16 Oct 1969, ibid. Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 229. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 17 Nov 1969, PM 478/4/1. Sec EA to PM, 24 Oct 1969, ibid. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 1 Dec 1969, PM 478/4/6. EA to Amb, Washington, 5 Dec 1969, ibid. See also Sec EA to PM, 9 Dec 1969, ibid. The relevant portion of Fulbright’s speech was passed on to New Zealand from Australian sources. See Australian Emb, Washington to Australian Min EA, 10 Dec 1969, ibid. Amb, Washington to Sec EA, 11 Dec 1969, ibid. At least one New Zealand newspaper dismissed Fulbright’s charges as inappropriate, pointing out that the American commitment in Vietnam was made unilaterally in ‘the interests of the great and strong’, while ‘the not so great and the not so strong merely joined the fray with a marked lack of enthusiasm’. Nelson Evening Mail, 20 Dec 1969. See Amb, Washington to Sec EA, 23 Jun 1969, PM 478/4/1. The Foreign Affairs article caused some consternation in Wellington and prompted Laking to present a memorandum to Holyoake clarifying the sequence of events surrounding Clifford’s 1967 visit to New Zealand. Laking’s account appeared to belie the American’s recollection of those events. See Sec EA to PM, 24 Jun 1969, ibid. Amb, Washington to Sec EA, 23 Jun 1969, ibid. For a scholarly reconstruction of these Australian moves and American reactions, see Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 239–41. For contemporary New Zealand reporting on Australian thinking about withdrawal, see NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 16 Dec 1969; NZHC, Canberra to Min EA, 23 Dec 1969, PM 478/4/1; Amb, Washington to Min EA, 13 Jan 1970, PM 478/4/6. Dominion and NZH, 17 Dec 1969. For Kirk’s criticism of Holyoake’s position, see Press, 17 Dec 1969. On 19 December the Christchurch Star called on the Prime

notes to pages 270–6

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Minister to provide more definite information on the prospects for a New Zealand troop withdrawal, complaining that ‘New Zealanders had to be content with another dose of vague generalities from Mr Holyoake’. Cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 224th Batch of Clippings – 10 December 1969 to 8 January 1970’, PM 478/4/14. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 13 Jan 1970, PM 478/4/6. Sec EA to PM, 14 Jan 1970, ibid. Minute by Holyoake on Sec EA to PM, 14 Jan 1970, ibid. The growing anxiety about the issue in Canberra is neatly summarised in Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 241–3. Extract: Visit of Spiro Agnew, 16 Jan 1970, PM 478/4/6. Cabinet Sec to PM, 28 Jan 1970, ibid. Meeting of Division Heads, Department of External Affairs, 5 Mar 1970, PM 478/4/1. Shortly before his return to Wellington, Edmonds had been told by President Thieu that New Zealand’s contribution was ‘very important’ in political rather than military terms. Thieu added that an early withdrawal ‘would be exploited by the other side’ politically, but seemed to have no concern about any military impact. Amb, Saigon to Sec EA, 14 Feb 1970, ibid. The Washington embassy described Nixon’s decision as ‘a compromise reflecting the conflicting military and political pressures on him’. Emb, Washington to Min FA, 23 Apr 1970, ibid. Sec FA to PM, 14 Apr 1970, PM 478/4/6; Sec FA to PM, 20 and 21 Apr 1970, PM 478/4/1; Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 243–4. For the draft text of Holyoake’s statement, see Min FA to NZHC, Canberra, 20 Apr 1970, PM 478/4/1. In commenting on Holyoake’s stance, the Otago Daily Times noted that Gorton was under more political pressure to begin withdrawing Australian forces because they included conscripts. ODT, 23 Apr 1970. Richard Nixon, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon, pp. 445, 448. Dominion, 1 May 1970. Less than a week before the Cambodian incursion, an American general refused to confirm to a New Zealand representative in Washington that any American military action was about to occur. Emb, Washington to Sec FA, 24 Apr 1970, PM 478/4/1. For the Australian reaction, see Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 263. Press Statement by PM: ‘Indochina’, 8 May 1970, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Saigon to Sec FA, 4 Apr 1970, ibid. See, for example, CGS to CDS, 14 Apr 1970, MD 23/4/1. For a fuller description of these early planning initiatives by the military

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authorities, see Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’, pp. 318–20. Extract: Minutes of Meeting of Def Council, 15 May 1970, PM 478/4/6. Cabinet Minute, 8 Jun 1970, CM 70/22/11, MD 23/4/1. For analysis of the New Zealand experience in this training role, see Shane Capon, ‘A Symbolic Presence? New Zealand’s Involvement in the Combat Training of South Vietnamese and Cambodian Troops, 1968–1972’ (DPhil thesis, Waikato University, 1997). Sec Cabinet to Min Def, 29 Jun 1970, MD 23/4/1. Memorandum for Min Def from CDS, 17 Jul 1968, ibid.; Memorandum for Cabinet from Min Def, ‘Troop Deployments in South East Asia’, 23 Jul 1970, PM 478/4/6. Sec FA to PM and Min Def, 17 Aug 1970, ibid. This paper was prepared jointly by the Ministries of Foreign Affairs and Defence. Minutes of Discussion held in PM’s Office on Tuesday, 18 Aug 1970; Cabinet Minute CM 70/35/34 Amended Minute, 24 Aug 1970, ibid. Mullins to Laking, 3 Sep 1970, PM 478/4/1. For a comprehensive overview by the same official of New Zealand’s defence challenges in the early 1970s, see R. M. Mullins, ‘Defence Outlook’, in Ken Keith, ed., Defence Perspectives, pp. 37–68. Sec Cabinet to Min Def, CM 70/54/41, n.d. [Dec 1970], PM 478/4/1. Aide Mémoire from New Zealand Government to Australian Government, 23 Dec 1970, in Australian Department of Foreign Affairs to Australian HC, Wellington, 24 Dec 1970; NZHC, Canberra to PM, 23 Dec 1970, PM 478/4/6. NZHC, Canberra to Min FA, 24 Dec 1970, ibid. Min FA to NZHC, Canberra, 5 Jan 1971, ibid. NZHC, Canberra to Min FA, 6 Jan 1971, ibid. Memorandum by JHW to Laking, 11 Jan 1971, ibid. Note for File by Laking, 27 Jan 1971, ibid. Cabinet Minute, CM 71/1/41, 26 Jan 1971, ibid. On 29 January, the Saigon embassy advised Wellington that ‘We have decided not to publish PM’s press statement here as its failure to mention consultations past or planned with Vietnamese authorities (or even in general terms with other allies save Australia) would be embarrassing to GVN and to us’. Emb, Saigon to Min FA, 29 Jan 1971; Cabinet Minute, CM 71/2/31, 1 Feb 1971, ibid. See CDS to Min Def, 18 Feb 1971, ibid., for subsequent consultations with the American and Australian military authorities about the details of the withdrawal.

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Bowman, World Almanac of the Vietnam War, p. 275. Min FA to Amb, Washington, 2 Feb 1971, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Washington to Min FA, 3 Feb 1971, ibid. Emb, Saigon to Min FA, 6 Feb 1971, ibid. Bowman, World Almanac of the Vietnam War, p. 276. Sec FA to PM, 8 Feb 1971, PM 478/4/1; NZH, 9 Feb 1971. Amb, Washington to Min FA, 12 Feb 1971, PM 478/4/1. Memorandum by Laking, 23 Feb 1971, PM 478/4/6. Sec FA to PM, 5 and 16 Mar 1971, ibid.; NZPD 371: 577–8; Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 297. Sec FA to PM, 16 Jun 1971; Amb, Washington to Min FA, 14 Jun 1971, PM 478/4/1. For Holyoake’s compliance with Laking’s recommendation, see the press statement by the Prime Minister in Sec FA to Amb, Bangkok and six other posts, 16 Jun 1971, ibid. Sec FA to PM, 22 Jun 1971, ibid. Sec FA to PM, 29 Jun 1971, ibid. See, for example, Sec FA to PM, 3 Aug 1971, ibid. For the impact of the publication of the Pentagon Papers on the Australian government, see Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 299–300. Memorandum by R. Mullins to G. Laking, 15 Jul 1971, PM 478/4/6. Cabinet Minute, CM 71/28/27, 19 Jul 1971, ibid. The Cabinet discussion was based on briefing papers provided to all ministers by Foreign Affairs at Holyoake’s request. Cabinet Sec to PM, 28 Jul 1971, ibid. NZHC, Canberra to Sec FA, 30 Jul 1971, ibid. Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 303. William McMahon to Holyoake in Sec FA to NZHC, Canberra, 14 Aug 1971, PM 478/4/ 6. Holyoake to McMahon in ibid. Waller responded that he himself had only learned of the message when it was sent out by the Prime Minister’s Department; he ‘understood that the step was entirely McMahon’s decision’. NZHC, Canberra to Sec FA, 15 Aug 1971, ibid. Amb, Washington to Sec FA, 14 Aug 1971, ibid. Amb, Washington to Sec FA, 16 Aug 1971, ibid. NZPD 373: 2483–4. For the draft of this statement, which Holyoake approved with minor amendments, see Sec FA to PM and attached draft statement, 17 Aug 1971, PM 478/4/6. Sec FA to PM, 10 Sep 1971; PM to Min Defence, 10 Sep 1971, ibid.

97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107

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111 112

113

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Amb, Saigon to Sec FA, 27 Aug 1971, PM 478/4/1. Sec FA to PM, 30 Aug 1971; Sec FA to Amb, Saigon, 31 Aug 1971, ibid. Christchurch Star, 2 Sep 1971. Amb, Saigon to PM, 7 Sep 1971, PM 478/4/ 1. Amb, Washington to Sec FA, 14 Sep 1971, ibid. Amb, Saigon to Sec FA, 9 Oct 1971, ibid. Sec FA to PM, 4 Oct 1971, ibid. Sec FA to PM, 15 Oct 1971; Amb, Saigon to Sec FA, 4 Nov 1971, ibid. Paul Edmonds to Min FA, 7 Jan 1972, ibid. National Party Caucus meeting, 23 Mar 1972, NZNP. Marshall had repeatedly argued that New Zealand’s Vietnam commitment ‘was a small premium to pay for the insurance cover ANZUS provided New Zealand’. Gustafson, The First Fifty Years, p. 95. The preceding paragraph is based on Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 246–8. Nixon to Marshall, in US Amb, Wellington to PM, 9 May 1972, PM 478/4/1. Holyoake may have hesitated because of Laking’s advice that a statement condemning North Vietnamese aggression might prompt the question: ‘Why is New Zealand not doing more to help?’ See Sec FA to Min FA, 14 Apr 1972; Amb, Saigon to Sec FA, 25 Apr 1972; Sec FA to Min FA, 26 Apr 1972, ibid. For Holyoake’s press statement as eventually published, see NZH, 28 Apr 1972. Marshall to Nixon in PM to Amb, Washington, 11 May 1972, PM 478/4/1. Sec Cabinet to Min Def, 17 May 1972, MD 23/4/1. This decision was prompted by a military request for political guidance concerning the future of the New Zealand Army Training Groups in Vietnam. See CDS to Min Def, 10 May 1970, ibid. The preceding paragraph is based on Herring, America’s Longest War, pp. 248– 51. For Kissinger’s personal recollections of the progress and eventual breakthrough made in the negotiations during September and October, see Henry Kissinger, White House Years, pp. 1331–59. Amb, Washington to Min FA, 10 Oct 1972, PM 478/4/1. Herring, America’s Longest War, p. 251; Nixon, RN, pp. 691–705. Sec FA to Min FA, 25 Oct 1972, PM 478/4/1. See also Sec FA to Min FA, 24 Oct 1972, ibid. Sec FA to PM, 27 Oct 1972, ibid. Press Statement by PM, 27 Oct 1972, ibid. The High Commission in Canberra reported on 30 October that: ‘In sum, the Australians’ assessment of the United States/North Vietnamese negotiations is much more pessimistic than yours. While not disagreeing with any of the main points of your assess-

notes to pages 283–91 ment, the Australians believe that the GVN is being expected to make a large number of concessions and that the risks involved for the GVN are more numerous than you have concluded.’ NZHC, Canberra to Sec FA, 30 Oct 1972, ibid. Amb, Saigon to Sec FA, 28 Oct 1972, ibid. 120 Nixon, RN, p. 702. 121 Press Statement by PM, 23 Nov 1972, PM 478/4/1; Press, 24 Nov 1972. 122 Sec FA to Amb, Saigon, 1 Dec 1972, PM 478/ 4/6. Chapter Twelve The Fracturing of Foreign Policy Consensus, 1969–72 1 Dominion, 24 Feb 1969. 2 Ibid., 7 Mar 1969. 3 The Otago Daily Times, for example, commended his robust justification of official policy and ‘his determination to maintain the forward defence policy in South-East Asia’. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 201st Batch of Clippings – 1–22 March, 1969’, PM 478/4/14. 4 Dominion, 7 Mar 1969. 5 For instance, after its commentary on Holyoake’s speech on 7 March, the Dominion did not run another editorial on Vietnam for four months. See ibid., 10 Jul 1969. 6 For Holyoake’s first public statement concerning possible New Zealand troop withdrawals from Vietnam in 1969, see ibid., 9 Apr 1969. 7 ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 202nd Batch of Clippings – 18 March to 11 April’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, 201st Batch of Clippings – 1–22 March, 1969’, PM 478/4/14. 8 ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia’, 1 April, ’69’, ibid.; Dominion, 2 Apr 1969. 9 ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia’, 1 April, ’69’, PM 478/4/14. 10 ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 201st Batch of Clippings – 1–22 March, 1969’, ibid. Cf. Locke, Peace People, p. 235. 11 ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 212th Batch of Clippings – 11 July to 4 August, ’69’, PM 478/4/14. 12 ‘Radio and Television Coverage – South-East Asia’, 6 March, ’69’, ibid. 13 ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 201st Batch of Clippings – 1–22 March, 1969’, ibid. 14 NZH, 12 Mar 1969, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 214. For National’s attempts to exploit this evident disagreement in Labour’s ranks, see the comments by Muldoon in NZPD 360: 598–9. 15 The preceding quoted material is taken from Dominion, 19 Apr 1969. 16 Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 214;

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Dominion, 22 Apr 1969. Ibid., 16 May 1969. NZPD 360: 1–2, 535–6. See, for example, the comments by Marshall in ibid., pp. 540–4. Ibid., p. 598. Ibid., p. 536. NZMR (Jul 1969): 2. See, for example, the comments by Faulkner, Tizard and Moyle in NZPD 360: 537, 545, 550–2. Ibid., pp. 594–8. See, for example, Tizard’s comments in ibid., p. 545. See also Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 215. Dominion, 10 Jun 1969. Ibid, 12 Jun 1969. For more detailed analysis of this lobbying effort and its relationship with New Zealand participation in the Vietnam conflict, see Ray F. Goldstein, ‘New Zealand “Lobbies” America: A Case Study’, Political Science 21 (Dec 1969): 16–33. NZMR (Aug 1969): 4, 19 (quote). See, for example, Dominion, 29 Jul 1969. Holyoake later recalled that he was uncertain if New Zealand’s support for the United States in Vietnam, ‘which was taken at our initiative’, had ‘any effect’ in encouraging American sympathy for New Zealand’s trade problems. But he believed the United States ‘did take note – at least on occasions – to ensure that our prospects were not ruined in certain markets’. Holyoake interview, 25 Aug 1976. For a similar viewpoint from an official who served in the New Zealand embassy in Washington from 1969 to 1973, see transcript of interview with Gerald Hensley by David Dickens [cited hereafter as Hensley interview], 24 Jun 1991 [copy in author’s possession]. Dominion, 1 Aug 1969. Ibid., 4 Aug 1969. Clark Clifford, ‘A Viet Nam Reappraisal: The Personal History of One Man’s View and How It Evolved’, Foreign Affairs 47 (Jul 1969): 607. Dominion, 21 Jun 1969. For similar views on Clifford’s revelations, see NZMR (Aug 1969): 19. For AUSAPOCPAH’s activities, see Shadbolt, Bullshit and Jellybeans, pp. 97–100. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 86–7; Dominion, 16 Aug 1969. Cf. Locke, Peace People, p. 222, who lists several items seized by the police during the 8 August raids but omits mention of the rifles. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 212th Batch of Clippings – 11 July to 4 August, ’69’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 11 and 12 Aug 1969. Cf. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 87; Locke, Peace People, pp. 222–4. Dominion, 11 Aug 1969; Locke, Peace People, pp. 224–6; Clipping: Christchurch

notes to pages 291–6 39

40 41

42 43

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50 51 52

Star, 11 Aug 1969, PM 478/4/14. For the official record of the talks, see ‘Visit of United States Secretary of State, Mr Rogers – Notes of Discussion with New Zealand Ministers, Hotel Intercontinental, Auckland’, 9 Aug 1969, MD 95/1. Dominion, 11 Aug 1969. Rogers’s public assurance that the new administration remained committed to fulfilling its treaty obligations towards New Zealand was characterised by Dunedin’s Evening Star on 11 August as ‘something of real and lasting value’ which showed how the government’s Vietnam stance served the country’s self-interest, notwithstanding the demonstrators’ ‘witless’ abuse of the United States. Evening Star, 11 Aug 1969, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 215th Batch of Clippings – 5 to 29 August 1969’, PM 478/4/14. For a similar assessment, see Gisborne Herald, 11 Aug 1969, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 216th Batch of Clippings – 11 August to 15 September ’69’, ibid. Dominion, 12 Aug 1969. See, for example, the editorial comments in Manawatu Evening Standard, 12 Aug 1969; Westport News, 12 Aug 1969, both cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 215th Batch of Clippings – 5 to 29 August 1969’, PM 478/4/14. See also Gisborne Herald, 11 Aug 1969, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 216th Batch of Clippings – 11 August to 15 September ’69’, ibid. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 215th Batch of Clippings – 5 to 29 August 1969’, ibid. NZMR (Nov 1969): 24. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 88–90; Locke, Peace People, p. 224; Dominion, 21 Oct 1969. Locke, Peace People, p. 224; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 90; Shadbolt, Bullshit and Jellybeans, pp. 110–12. Dominion, 17 Oct 1969; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 220th Batch of Clippings – 13 October to 10 November, ’69’, PM 478/4/14. T. S. Auld to Mr Kelly, 4 Aug 1969, on COV letterhead, Folder 11/1/2, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. For the views of some of those involved in debates within the Auckland anti-war movement, see the exchange of correspondence in NZMR (Feb 1969): 21–2. Clipping: ODT, 19 Aug 1969, PM 478/4/ 14; Clippings: NZH, 18 and 19 Aug 1969, WCOVP. T. S. Auld, Wellington COV to DirectorGeneral, NZBC, 15 Oct 1969, Folder 11/1/2, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. The implications of this point were spelled out in a reply written on behalf of the COV

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by Hugh Fyson to a pacifist correspondent who had criticised a COV pamphlet for siding with the NLF. See Beryl Pears to COV, 23/7/69; M. H. Fyson to Beryl Pears, 16/9/69, both in Folder 1/04, [Executive Committee Meetings] Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. Dominion, 19 Sep 1969. Ibid., 22 Sep 1969. Ibid., 23 Oct 1969. NZPD 363: 2833–7; Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 216. For similar criticism, see NZMR (Oct 1969): 4. For a poem written by Alan Taylor on this issue, see ibid. (Nov 1969): 5. Dominion, 23 and 29 Oct 1969. In late October, both the Auckland Star and the NZH suggested that foreign policy was unlikely to figure prominently in the election campaigns of either major party. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 220th Batch of Clippings – 13 October to 10 November, ’69’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 4 and 5 Nov 1969. Ibid., 6 and 12 Nov 1969. Ibid., 12 Nov 1969. Ibid., 13 Nov 1969. See also Ross A. Doughty, The Holyoake Years, pp. 194–5. See, for example, the comments by A. D. Dick, the National member for Waitaki. Dominion, 17 Nov 1969. Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 218. Dominion, 5 Nov 1969. Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 217–18. One newspaper noted that Kirk was ‘wisely circumspect on this issue which so burned his reputation in the last election’. Dominion, 25 Nov 1969. Ibid., 18 Nov 1969. Ibid., 13 Nov 1969. See the comments by Faulkner as reported in ibid., 20 Nov 1969. Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 218. For left-wing criticism earlier in 1969 of Labour for not being sufficiently forceful on Vietnam, see NZMR (Jul 1969): 2. See, for example, NZMR (Nov 1969): 5. Dominion, 17 Nov 1969. Cf. Locke, Peace People, p. 226. The preceding account is based on the Press Association report in Dominion, 19 Nov 1969. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 221st Batch of Clippings – 27 October to 19 November, ’69’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 222nd Batch of Clippings – 11 November to 2 December ’69’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 223rd Batch of Clippings – 21 November to 23 December ’69’, PM 478/4/14. See also Locke, Peace People, p. 226. Dominion, 21 Nov 1969. NZMR (Dec 1969): 1. See the reports of Holyoake’s meetings in

notes to pages 296–300

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Kaikohe, Wanganui, Nelson, Taupo and Palmerston North in Dominion, 20, 21, 22, 27, 28 Nov 1969. See, for example, ibid., 21 Nov 1969. In an election forum, Holyoake also declared that ‘New Zealand’s participation in the Vietnam War was as morally right as its involvement in the two world wars and Korea’. See ibid., 26 Nov 1969. Ibid., 27 Nov 1969. Cf. the reports on Kirk’s and Holyoake’s election meetings in Wanganui in ibid., 21 and 22 Nov 1969. Ibid., 28 Nov 1969. Ibid., 25 Nov 1969. The newspaper went on to endorse ‘the government’s record in support of its allies, and preferred its way of handling the transfer of defence arms to the South Vietnamese’. Ibid., 28 Nov 1969. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 221st Batch of Clippings – 27 October to 19 November, ’69’; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 222nd Batch of Clippings – 11 November to 2 December ’69’, PM 478/ 4/14. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 221st Batch of Clippings – 27 October to 19 November, ’69’, ibid. NZMR (Dec 1969): 1. See Dominion, 21 and 28 Nov 1969. Ibid., 1 Dec 1969. Bulletin, 23 Dec 1969, cited in NZMR (Apr 1970): 2. Dominion, 3 Dec 1969. NZMR (Dec 1969): 5. Agnew’s visit had been announced just before the 1969 election. See Dominion, 28 Nov 1969. The proposed visit prompted the Christchurch PYM to compile a list of demands on Vietnam, including the withdrawal of all forces of the United States and its allies and the disbanding of the armed forces of South Vietnam. Clipping: Press, 15 Jan 1970, PM 478/4/14. Len Reid announced the Council on Vietnam’s planned protests to the media in late December. See ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 224th Batch of Clippings – 10 December 1969 to 8 January 1970’, ibid.; Roth, ‘Auckland Letter’, 17. See also Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 69–70. Dominion, 13 Jan 1970. Ibid., 16 Jan 1970. Cf. Locke, Peace People, p. 227. Roth, ‘Auckland Letter’, 17. A newspaper estimated that there were only 350 marchers. See Clipping: NZH, 17 [mislabelled 23] Jan 1970, PM 478/4/14. In addition to the police, there were American security personnel and, according to Locke: ‘Invisible to the marchers were personnel from the air force and the Army, and police dogs with their handlers were in reserve’. Locke, Peace People, p. 228.

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The following account is based on: Clipping: NZH, 17 [mislabelled 23] Jan 1970, PM 478/4/14; Dominion, 17 Jan 1970; Roth, ‘Auckland Letter’, 17–18; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 92–102; Locke, Peace People, pp. 227–8. The following account on the aftermath is based on: Dominion, 19 Jan 1970; Roth, ‘Auckland Letter’, 17–18; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 94–102; Locke, Peace People, p. 228. See Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 101; Dominion, 19 and 20 Aug 1970. See, for example, Dominion, 20 and 25 Aug 1970. See Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 100; Dominion, 17 Jan 1970. Clipping: NZH, 17 [mislabelled 23] Jan 1970, PM 478/4/14. For one explanation of why this report was sympathetic to the demonstrators, see Roth, ‘Auckland Letter’, 17–18. See also Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 94; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 225th Batch of Clippings – 10–29 January 1970’, PM 478/4/14. ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 225th Batch of Clippings – 10–29 January 1970’, PM 478/4/14; Dominion, 20 Jan 1970. NZ Truth, 27 Jan 1970; NZL, 6 Feb 1970; NZ Tablet, 4 and 28 Feb 1970, all cited in Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 101; NZMR (Mar 1970): 3. They announced their intention to boycott the dinner weeks before Agnew arrived. See Dominion, 27 and 29 Dec 1969; Auckland Star, 5 Jan 1970, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 222; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 225th Batch of Clippings – 10–29 January 1970’, PM 478/4/ 14. NZH, 17 Jan 1970, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 214. See the columns by Colin James in Dominion, 6 Jul and 25 Aug 1970. Some Labour parliamentarians were willing to join Amos in criticising the police handling of the anti-Agnew demonstrations. See the comments by Hunt and Finlay in NZPD 366: 1093–8. NZH, 6 Mar 1970, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 226th Batch of Clippings – 12 February to 25 March’, PM 478/4/14. Photographs, Folder 3, Fred Clements Papers, 91–1; Dominion, 14 Mar 1970. See also letter to the Editor from David Butcher of the Victoria University Labour Club explaining ‘Why We Marched’: Dominion, 18 Mar 1970. In an editorial before the event on 6 March 1970, the NZH dubbed the planned demonstrations at the Queen’s opening of Parliament as a ‘Protest Without Cause’. See

notes to pages 300–6

111 112

113

114

115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126

‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 226th Batch of Clippings – 12 February to 25 March’, PM 478/4/14. The scene outside Parliament illustrated a point made by the veteran anti-war campaigner Sarah Campion about the impact of youthful rebellion in Auckland: ‘There’s now a fizz in the air. Ideas are in the air, ideas of protest (young); and counter-protest (as old as the pleated hills of the Waikato, as futile as the outraged roars of the “Stag at Bay”).’ NZMR (Mar 1970): 9. Dominion, 23 Mar 1970. Defence Minister David Thomson commented publicly after returning from a trip to Southeast Asia that there would be no sudden withdrawal of New Zealand troops from Vietnam. He noted that, although progress was being made, allied military assistance would be needed ‘for some time to come’. Ibid., 11 Mar 1970. Launching Parliament’s foreign affairs debate for 1970, Holyoake endorsed Vietnamisation but added that he had never considered this ‘a complete substitute for negotiation’. NZPD 365: 499. Reviving a line he had used many times before, Holyoake declared: ‘I intend to ensure that New Zealand plays its full part in pursuing a peaceful settlement’. Dominion, 9 Apr 1970. For further reports on Holyoake’s call for an international conference and an editorial reaction, see ibid., 10, 22, 24, 25 Apr 1970. For COV questioning of the motives for his suggestion, see ibid., 1 May 1970. NZPD 365: 576–7. Dominion, 23 Feb 1970. NZPD 365: 503, 504, 505. Dominion, 6 Jul 1970. NZMR (May 1970): 3. NZH, 22 Apr 1970, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 222. ‘After the Agnew visit, the Council held no further major meetings or events’. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 70. NZMR (Apr 1970): 2, 6. Ibid., 1, 2 May 1970. Cf. Locke, Peace People, pp. 230–1. NZMR (Jun 1970): 13; Dominion, 2 May 1970. Locke, Peace People, p. 231. When part of the group proceeded to the Southern Military District Headquarters, someone kicked in a set of wooden doors – a gesture described in one newspaper ‘as a finale to the largest, loudest and most unruly demonstration in Christchurch against the Vietnam War’. Despite this, there were no arrests and the demonstration ended peacefully, with three cheers for the police. A few days later, however, eight people were charged with trespass after an incident at the Christchurch Army Area Office in Cashel

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Street on the morning of 4 May. Dominion, 2 and 5 May 1970; NZMR (Jun 1970): 14–15. Dominion, 5 May 1970. Ibid., 7 and 9 May 1970. Locke, Peace People, p. 231. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 108–9. NZMR (Jun 1970): 5. Dominion, 4 May 1970; ODT, 5 May 1970, cited in ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 227th Batch of Clippings – 11 April to 29 May’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 15 May 1970. Ibid., 5 May 1970. Ibid.; Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 227–8. NZMR (Jun 1970): 5. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 112; Locke, Peace People, p. 231. Locke, Peace People, p. 233; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 112. NZMR (Jul 1970): 21. Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 103. One PYM member later considered this decision to be a crucial mistake. See Jackman, ibid. NZMR (Aug 1970): 19. See also ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, 231st Report – 8 July to 4 August’, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 18 Jul 1970; ‘Newspaper Coverage – South-East Asia, No. 230 – 25 June to 14 July ’70’, ibid. Pulley also spoke in other centres during a visit sponsored by the Socialist Workers’ Party of the United States, an ideological soulmate of the Socialist Action League. See NZMR (Aug 1970): 19; (Sep 1970): 21. NZMR (Sep 1970): 21; Dominion, 18 Jul 1970. NZMR (Sep 1970): 20; Locke, Peace People, p. 233; Dominion, 18 Jul 1970. See Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, who notes (p. 113) that ‘it was after this action that the PYM said it would no longer be involved in organising Mobilisations which were described as “bogging down the activists”’. Dominion, 2 Nov 1970. Colin Brown, Forty Years On: A History of the National Council of Churches in New Zealand, 1941–1981, p. 188. See also Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, p. 29. Dominion, 7 Jul, 21 Aug 1970. See Dominion, 5 Nov 1970; clipping: Wairarapa Times–Age, 12 Nov 1970, PM 478/4/14. Dominion, 9 Oct 1970. Ibid., 13 Jun 1970. Ibid., 30 Nov 1970. Ibid., 23 and 28 Dec 1970. Ibid., 24 Dec 1970. In a New Year message, Holyoake singled out curbing inflation as the major challenge confronting New Zealand in 1971. Ibid., 31 Dec 1970.

notes to pages 307–15 157 Ibid., 30 Dec 1970. 158 For example, one of the government’s press monitors noted in mid-1970: ‘Some editorials, as well as articles, in this batch of clippings, bear witness of the value of the Ministry of Defence sponsored visits to South Vietnam and other South-East Asian countries by parties of senior New Zealand journalists’. ‘Newspaper Coverage – SouthEast Asia, No. 228 – 12 May to 17 June 1970’, PM 478/4/14. 159 Clipping: NZH, 24 Feb 1971, ibid. 160 The preceding account of the 29 November planning meeting is based on ‘MOBILIZE AGAINST THE WAR – 30th APRIL 1971’, T. Auld, Chairman, Wellington COV [n.d.], Folder 11/1/20 Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. 161 The following account of the March 1971 National Anti-war Conference is based on Annual Report of the Chairman for Year Ending March 1972, Wellington COV, Folder 11/1/19 Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP; NZMR (Apr 1971): 12, 21; Memorandum from Lindsay Wright, Coordinator, National Liaison Committee, New Zealand Anti-war Mobilisation, Folder 11/1/4, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP; Dominion, 15 Mar 1971; Locke, Peace People, p. 235. 162 Dominion, 15 Mar 1971. 163 This criticism prompted the Monthly Review to note: ‘The dismal in-fighting of the Left . . . still rears its disruptive head and bids fair to torpedo much of the positive radical activity that gets under way in this South Pacific backwater’. NZMR (Apr 1971): 12. 164 Annual Report of the Chairman for Year Ending March 1972, Wellington COV, Folder 11/1/19 Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP; NZMR (Apr 1971): 12, 21. 165 Dominion, 19 Mar 1971. While also welcoming the decision, the Dominion suggested that the Prime Minister’s confidence concerning the state of war ‘will not be widely shared’, as the South Vietnamese forces had still not shown the capacity to hold out alone. 166 NZH, 11, 12, 13 May 1971. For PYM members’ recollections of this protest and film footage of the parade, see Rebels in Retrospect. See also Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 3. 167 Locke, Peace People, p. 235. 168 The lower estimate is from the Dominion, 1 May 1971, the higher from Locke, Peace People, p. 235. 169 The preceding account is based on Locke, Peace People, pp. 235–7; NZMR (Jun 1971): 8, 14; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 129–32; Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 3. 170 Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 115, 121–30; Locke, Peace People, pp. 231–3.

171 Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, p. 103. 172 The preceding account of the 12 June meeting is based on: ‘Minutes of Nationally representative meeting called by the National Liaison Committee for the April 30 Mobilisation and held at Victoria University on June 12, 1971’, Folder 11/1/4, Series 11 – Correspondence; ‘Report on Planning Conference for July 30 Mobilisation’, by David Cuthbert, Folder v/1/21, Series v: Subject, WCOVP. For a contrasting report of the meeting’s outcome accusing the Wellington COV’s ‘bureaucrats’ of redbaiting, see NZMR (Jul 1971): 11. Cf. also Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 142–3. 173 Bell, ‘Vietnam Protest Movement in Dunedin’, pp. 56–7. 174 Dominion, 5 and 14 May 1971. 175 NZMR (Jun 1971): 8–9; NZL, 7 Jun 1971: 3; Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 234–5. 176 Clipping: Press, 15 May 1971, PM 478/4/14. Surprisingly, the columnist W. P. Reeves also argued that: ‘The tragedy is that there is some substance to the Minister’s criticism’, for ‘there is no mistake that the actionpacked snippet view of South Vietnam to which we are erratically treated is a distorted picture’. Dominion, 21 May 1971. 177 Annual Report of the Chairman for Year Ending March 1972, Wellington COV, Folder 11/1/19, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. 178 Dominion, 4 Jun 1971. 179 For reports on his visit, see ibid., 9 Jun 1971; NZMR (Jul 1971): 12; Annual Report of the Chairman for Year Ending March 1972, Wellington COV, Folder 11/1/19, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. 180 Ibid. 181 Dominion, 9 Jun 1971. 182 NZPD 372: 1138–9, 1482–3. For Labour’s attempts to exploit the Pentagon Papers controversy, see Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 232–4. See also NZMR (Sep 1971): 11. 183 Dominion, 21 Jun 1971. 184 Ibid., 25 Jun 1971. 185 Ibid., 14 Jul 1971. 186 Ibid., 15 Jul 1971. 187 Ibid., 16, 17, 18 Jun 1971. 188 Ibid., 19 Jul 1971. 189 NZPD 373: 1990. 190 See NZPD, 372: 1607, 1608. 191 Dominion, 28 Jul 1971. 192 Ibid., 30 Jul 1971. 193 See Chapter 11 for the private diplomatic interaction between Wellington and Canberra concerning withdrawal plans. 194 The following account of the 30 July mobilisation is based on Locke, Peace People, p. 241; Dominion, 31 Jul 1971; NZMR (Sep 1971): 11, 13; Jackman, ‘Auckland Opposition’, pp. 143–4; Bell, ‘Vietnam

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212 213 214 215

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Protest Movement in Dunedin’, pp. 58–9. Dominion, 31 Jul 1971. NZPD 373: 2483–4. Dominion, 20 Aug 1971. ‘Gallery Interview with the Prime Minister, 19 August 1971’, PM 478/4/14. At least one newspaper criticised the programme for being slanted against involvement in Vietnam and for seeming to be ‘under the spell of the protest movement’. See Dominion, 20 Aug 1971. Clipping: Christchurch Star, 19 Aug 1971, PM 478/4/14. Clipping: Gisborne Herald, 20 Aug 1971; Clipping: Evening Star (Dunedin), 24 Aug 1971, ibid.; Dominion, 19 Aug 1971. See Dominion, 27 Aug 1971. Ibid., 25 Aug 1971; Beath, ‘Protestants and Protestors’, p. 34. See, for example, the opinion piece by W. P. Reeves, ‘Thieu’s Vietnam Fiasco’, Dominion, 25 Aug 1971. See Dominion, 4 Nov 1971; Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 236. For the government’s sensitivity on the issue, see FA to Emb, Washington, 3 Nov 1971, copy in NZA 34/15. Dominion, 17 Dec 1971. For the background to this decision, see Sec FA to PM, 22 Jun 1971; Sec FA to PM, 8 Nov 1971, copies in MD 23/6/1; Cabinet Minute 71/46/26, 22 Nov 1971, copy in NZA 34/15. Dominion, 17 Dec 1971. NZMR (Apr 1972): 4. The decision to train the Cambodians even inspired a short critical poem by James Edwards, entitled ‘New Zealand Strikes Again’, which read: ‘Another token farce /To placate the Pentagon /18 professionals /to instruct the innocent /On how to kill each other’. NZMR (May 1972): 4. Dominion, 18 Dec 1971. Ibid., 25 Oct 1971. Letter to the Editor from Michael Law, ibid. ‘Some Comments on the Future of the AntiWar Movement (abbreviated)’ by Rod Lyall in ‘Some Documents from the November 1971 Conference Against the War’, [n.d.], Folder iv/4, Series iv: Conferences, WCOVP. Resolutions adopted by the National Conference, held in Wellington on November 13th and 14th, ibid. Dominion, 3 Jan 1972. Ibid., 10 Feb 1972. Annual Report of the Chairman for Year Ending March 1972, Wellington COV, Folder 11/1/19, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. Dominion, 16 and 17 Mar 1972. ‘Major Resolutions from the Anti-War Conference of April 22nd, 1972’, Folder 11/ 1/34, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. For this linkage, see, for example, Lange, Nuclear Free, p. 16. Dominion, 26 Apr 1971.

220 221 222 223 224 225

226

227

228

229

230 231

419

Ibid., 10 May 1971 Ibid.; NZMR (Jun 1972): 5. Dominion, 10 May 1971. Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, pp. 238–9. Dominion, 11 May 1971. The Chairman of the Wellington COV noted in his annual report: ‘While the two Mobes brought a large number of protestors into the streets, I personally have yet to be convinced that this type of activity should be attempted this year. The Mobes involved a great deal of organization and I look forward to hearing suggestions on alternative and perhaps more effective forms of activity.’ Annual Report of the Chairman for Year Ending March 1972, Wellington COV, Folder 11/1/19, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. He was also dismayed by ‘the continued scorn voiced against anything to do with the Labour Party’. John F. [Fyson?] to Mike L. [Law], 1 Jun [1972 – misfiled as 1970], Folder 1/05, Series 1: Minutes, ibid. For examples of these disputes, see Executive Meeting Minutes, 1 Jun 1972, Folder 1/07, Series 1: Minutes; Chairman’s Annual Report, 11 Apr 1973, Folder 1/08, Series 1: Minutes; General Meeting Minutes, 19 May 1972, Folder 1/12, Series 1: Minutes; General Meeting Minutes, 7 Jun 1972, Folder 1/12, Series 1: Minutes; General Meeting Minutes, 21 Jun 1972, Folder 1/12, Series 1: Minutes; General Meeting Minutes, 12 Jul 1972, Folder 1/12, Series 1: Minutes; Michael Law, Wellington COV to Peter Rotheram, Wellington Mobilisation Committee, 24 Jul 1973, Folder 11/1/4, Series 11 – Correspondence, all ibid. See also ‘“A Pride and an Honour”: The Vietnam Ceasefire Agreement – A Rejoinder to the Socialist Action League’, pp. 1–2, Folder 13, David Wickham Papers, ATL. NZMR (Jul 1972): 3. See also the COV’s response to the latter article claiming that it distorted the debate on the issue and that ‘there never was any question of us organising solely on the basis of a single slogan’. NZMR (Sep 1972): 23–4. Executive Meeting Minutes, 1 Jun 1972, Folder 1/07, Series 1: Minutes; Chairman’s Annual Report, 11 Apr 1973, Folder 1/08, Series 1: Minutes, WCOVP. Bob [Mann] to Michael [Law], Terry [Auld], Rona [Bailey], 31 May 1972, Folder 11/1/6, Series 11 – Correspondence, ibid. He did add that they ‘are behaving as if the November 13–14 Conference had never taken place, let alone resolved democratically to collect for the Medical Aid (NLF areas) Committee. The Trots are very quiet about their disapproval of the NLF – they refuse to publish it in their paper.’ Robert Mann to Michael Law, 21 Mar 1972, Folder 11/1/19, Series 11 – Correspondence, ibid.

notes to pages 323–30

232 233 234

235

236 237

238

239

240

241 242 243 244

In his reply, Law noted: ‘The Trots down here are also trying to ignore the novembe [sic] Conference. He added, ‘As well as COV Chairman, I am presently Chairman of HART and will be holding a meeting in the student union somewhere on the 20th. I guess you have also noticed that the trots don’t support the seven point peace proposal of the PRGSVN. Enclosed is the report of the delegates from COV to the Anti-War meeting in Versailles. This is slightly edited as there were a few anti-trot comments in the original and “Harmony” is my policy for 1972.’ Michael Law [unsigned] to Mann, 21 Mar 1972, Folder 11/1/19, Series 11 – Correspondence, ibid. H. G. Slingsby, President, New Zealand Peace Council to Mme N. T. Binh, n.d., published in NZMR (May 1972): 5. Locke, Peace People, p. 244. NZMR (Aug 1972): 13. According to this source, ‘the only discordant note’ during the orderly protest in Christchurch was an unsuccessful attempt to seize the leadership of the demonstration by ‘a very small group of pseudo-revolutionists’ who considered themselves ‘the true defenders of the Vietnamese people’ and viewed the thousands of other protesters as ‘misguided by the nasty Trotskyists’. Cf. Locke, Peace People, p. 245. Dominion, 15 Jul 1972. The Wellington COV later claimed that 3500 to 4000 people participated in the march. See NZMR (Sep 1972): 23. Bell, ‘Vietnam Protest Movement in Dunedin’, p. 59. ‘POLYNESIANS UNITE AGAINST THE WAR’’ pamphlet for July 14 Mobilisation, Folder 11/1/21, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. Tamihana A. Paki, Tamatoa Council to AntiWar Mobilization Committee, 6 Jul 1971, Folder 11/1/36, Series 11 – Correspondence, ibid. For a brief discussion of the role of women in protest against the Vietnam War, see Roberto Rabel and Megan Cook, ‘Women and the Vietnam Anti-War Movement in New Zealand,’ Oral History in New Zealand 10 (1998): 1–5. ‘WOMEN march against the war JULY 30’, pamphlet for 30 Jul 1971 Mobilisation, Folder 11/1/35, Series 11 – Correspondence, WCOVP. ‘National Antiwar Conference: Women’s Workshop – Report’, [n.d.], Folder iv/5, Series iv: Conferences, ibid. Dominion, 31 Aug, 4 and 5 Sep 1972. Ibid., 28 Oct 1972. See, for example, ibid., 16 Nov 1972; Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 240. There were only minor Vietnam-related incidents during the election campaign, such as the dis-

ruption of Minister of Defence McCready’s final election meeting in Levin by youths chanting ‘Vietnam, Vietnam’ and waving an NLF flag. See NZH, 23 Nov 1972. 245 Kirk himself later noted as much. See Norman Kirk, ‘The Philosophy of the Labour Party’, in Stephen Levine, ed., New Zealand Politics: A Reader, p. 142. 246 Dominion, 1 Dec 1972. Chapter Thirteen New Zealand and the Ending of the Vietnam War, 1972–5 1 Sir John Marshall, the defeated Prime Minister, later acknowledged that the 1972 election outcome was ‘a vote for change’. See J. R. Marshall, ‘And That Was It’, in Brian Edwards, ed., Right Out: Labour Victory ’72 – The Inside Story, p. 40. 2 Dominion, 1 Dec 1972. 3 See, for example, ibid., 28 and 29 Nov 1972. 4 Sec FA to NZ Amb, Saigon, 1 Dec 1972, PM 478/4/6. 5 Dominion, 9 Dec 1972. 6 ODT, 12 Dec 1972. 7 Press statement by Kirk in FA to Emb, Saigon, 11 Dec 1972, PM 478/4/1. 8 Press Statement by PM, 23 Nov 1972, ibid.; ODT, 24 Nov 1972. Marshall even indicated that North Vietnam would receive rehabilitation assistance from New Zealand; one of the consequences of a peace settlement would be that ‘artificial divisions in aid programmes would be crossed’. NZH, 23 Nov 1972. 9 See FA to Del to UN, New York, 27 Nov 1972, PM 478/4/1. 10 Among the reasons for suggesting that part of the aid be sent through the United Nations were that New Zealand had found it ‘very difficult to spend money on a bilateral basis in Indochina’, and that ‘more credit’ might be gained by channelling it through that route. See FA to Del to UN, New York, 27 Nov 1972, ibid. 11 Sec Cabinet to Min Def, 17 May 1972, MD 23/4/1. 12 For evidence that the United States had been expecting the withdrawal of the training teams, see Amb, Washington to Sec FA, 11 Dec 1972, ibid. 13 Sec FA to Amb, Saigon, 1 Dec 1972, PM 478/4/6. For evidence that American officials ‘seemed gratified by the government’s continuing interest in Indochina’, see Amb, Washington to Sec FA, 11 Dec 1972, PM 478/4/1. 14 See, for example, Amb, Washington to Sec FA, 18 and 20 Dec 1972, ibid. 15 ODT, 22 Dec 1972. 16 Dominion and NZH, 22 Dec 1972. 17 A group representing four church and anti-war groups, led by the President of the Methodist Church in New Zealand, presented a petition on the bombing to the

420

notes to pages 330–6 18 19 20

21 22 23

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

32

American consul in Auckland. NZH, 23 Dec 1972. ODT, 29 Dec 1972. See also NZH, 26 Dec 1972. Kirk to Nixon in Sec FA to Amb, Washington, 22 Dec 1972, PM 478/4/1. Corner did, however, recall having a moderating influence on Kirk’s message. See Corner interview. Hayward, Diary of the Kirk Years, p. 108 Sec FA to Amb, Tokyo, 28 Dec 1972, PM 478/4/1. Nixon to Kirk in Chalmers Wood to Kirk, 27 Dec 1972, ibid. For the text of Whitlam’s message and for his explanation of the comments by ‘maverick Ministers’, see Gough Whitlam, The Whitlam Government, 1972–1975, pp. 42– 3. See also Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 322–3. In recollecting Kirk’s first trip to Washington as Prime Minister in September 1973, Corner noted that Nixon had been briefed that Kirk ‘was not like Whitlam, who had so infuriated the President!’ See Frank Corner, ‘Kirk Presents a New Zealand Face to the World’, in Margaret Clark, ed., Three Labour Leaders: Nordmeyer, Kirk, Rowling, p. 160. Sec FA to Amb, Washington, 28 Dec 1972, PM 478/4/1. This point is also stressed in Hayward, Diary of the Kirk Years, p. 108. Sec FA to Amb, Tokyo, 28 Dec 1972, PM 478/4/1. Auckland Star, 23 Dec 1972, cited in Elder, ‘Labour and the Vietnam War’, p. 242. See also Dominion, 28 Dec 1972. Sec FA to Amb, Washington, 10 Jan 1973, PM 478/4/1. Dominion, 28 Dec 1972. NZH, 26 Dec 1972. Dominion, 28 Dec 1972. The journal considered that ‘the last ten years have done something to Labour policy. It is a tribute, no doubt, to the strength and effectiveness of the popular movement which has been built up against the war in Indo-China, and which has evidently succeeded in persuading a sizeable segment of New Zealanders to question the whole basis of traditional foreign policy’. NZMR (Feb 1973): 9. For Kirk’s own explanation of Labour’s ‘new’ approach to foreign policy, see Norman Kirk, ‘New Zealand: A New Foreign Policy’, in Levine, ed., New Zealand Politics, pp. 428–34. For more detailed analyses of Labour’s early foreign policy initiatives, see Corner, ‘Kirk Presents’, pp. 146–65; Michael Bassett, The Third Labour Government: A Personal History, especially pp. 26–7, 36–42, 46–53, 66–70. For a more sceptical perspective on the degree of innovation in Labour’s foreign policy, see William P. Reeves, ‘The “New”

33

34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

45 46 47 48

49

50 51 52 53

54

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Foreign Policy: A Dissenting View’, in Levine, ed., New Zealand Politics, pp. 435– 7. See Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 322–5; David McCraw, ‘New Zealand’s Foreign Policy Under National and Labour Governments: Variations on the “Small State” Theme?’, Pacific Affairs (Spring 1994): 23. Dominion, 4 Jan 1973. Press statement by Kirk in Sec FA to Amb, Saigon, 16 Jan 1973, PM 478/4/1. Sec FA to Amb, Saigon, 17 Jan 1973, ibid. Dominion, 25 Jan 1973. Amb, Washington to Sec FA, 24 Jan 1973; Sec FA to PM, 25 Jan 1973, PM 478/4/1. Clipping: Press, 25 Jan 1973, ibid.; Dominion, 26 Jan 1973. Wood to Corner, 25 Jan 1973, PM 478/4/1. Thieu to Norman Kirk, 28 Jan 1973, ibid.; Kirk to Thieu, 19 Feb 1973, PM 478/4/6. Sec FA to Amb, Saigon, 28 Feb 1973, PM 478/4/1. Amb, Saigon to Sec FA, 14 Mar 1973, ibid. Officials also believed the government wished to avoid ‘seeming to trail along too closely behind the Australians’. FA to NZHC, Canberra, 7 Feb 1973, PM 58/521/1. Press Statement by PM, 11 Jul 1973, ibid. Briefing Paper: The Seventh New Zealand/ Japanese Official Talks’, 26–27 Jul 1973, PM 478/4/1. Press Statement by Acting PM, 30 Sep 1973, PM 58/521/1. See also FA to Emb, Washington, 29 Sep 1973, ibid. Emb, Washington to FA, For Norrish from Corner, 28 Sep, 1973, ibid. When Thornton complained to Wellington about the lack of prior notification of South Vietnam, he was told that officials had wanted Kirk to consider the proposal after his return from Washington but that, ‘to everyone’s surprise’, he decided the announcement should be made while he was still in the United States. See Norrish to Thornton, 12 Oct 1973, ibid. The Labour government’s unwillingness to recognise the PRG would be the major impediment to establishing diplomatic relations in the period up to May 1975. See, for example, Acting Sec FA to PM, 20 Dec 1974; Harland to Sec FA, 31 Dec 1974; Harland to Sec FA, 28 Feb 1975, ibid. Minutes of 30 Aug 1973, National Party Caucus Minutes, Box 5, NZNP. See, for example, statements by the Auckland Vietnam Committee in NZMR (Jul 1973): 8–10; (Jul 1974): 8–9. Ibid., (Jul 1974): 8. As one newspaper observed drily at the beginning of 1975, since ‘peace’ had broken out in 1973, some 30,000 South Vietnamese troops and even more communist fighters had died. Dominion, 6 Jan 1975. Ibid.

notes to pages 336–49 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

66 67

68 69 70

71 72 73 74 75

76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86

Ibid., 18 Jan 1975. Press, 2 Apr 1975. Dominion, 17 Jan 1975. Ibid., 17 and 30 Jan 1975. Ibid., 30 Jan 1975. Thieu to Rowling, 25 Jan 1975, PM 478/4/1. Sec FA to PM, 28 Jan 1975, ibid. Sec FA to Amb, Saigon, 25 Mar 1975, ibid. NZH, 3 Apr 1975. Press, 2 Apr 1975. Dominion, 27 Mar 1975. A few days later, the newspaper would again lament New Zealand’s failure to stand by ‘the beleaguered in South Vietnam’ or voice ‘condemnation for an invasion which was a complete betrayal of a ceasefire agreement we piously approved’. See ibid., 2 Apr 1975. Minutes of 26 Mar 1975, Box 5, National Party Caucus Minutes, NZNP. Dominion, 2 Apr 1975. Muldoon had made clear his contempt for New Zealand ‘apologists’ for the Vietnamese communists in his 1974 autobiography. See Muldoon, Rise and Fall, pp. 61–2. NZPD 396: 115. Don Carson, NZUSA International VicePresident to PM, 1 Apr 1975, PM 478/4/1. No New Zealand Labour Cabinet minister would generate the sort of controversy occasioned in Australia around this time by Jim Cairns, the third-ranked minister in the Whitlam government, who remarked publicly that the optimum outcome for the Vietnamese would now be the fall of Saigon. Edwards, A People at War, p. 331. Emb, Saigon to Sec FA, 2 Apr 1975, PM 478/4/1. Sec FA to Emb, Saigon, 3 Apr 1975, ibid. NZHC, London to Sec FA, 3 Apr 1975, ibid. Sec FA to PM and minute by Rowling, 3 Apr 1975, ibid. Dominion, 2 Apr 1975; NZH, 2 Apr 1975; Press, 1 Apr 1975. Labour MP Russell Marshall told a press conference that the government would match dollar-for-dollar the amount raised through Corso’s emergency appeal for aid to Cambodia and Vietnam. Dominion, 3 Apr 1975. NZH, 3 and 4 Apr 1975; Dominion, 3 Apr 1975; Press, 3 and 4 Apr 1975. NZH, 4 and 7 Apr 1975; Dominion, 4 and 7 Apr 1975; Press, 7 Apr 1975. NZH, 7 and 8 Apr 1975; Dominion, 7 Apr 1975. Press, 7 April 1975. Dominion, 8 Apr 1975. Ibid. Press, 4 Apr 1975. NZPD 396: 411, 414–17. See also Dominion and NZH, 11 Apr 1975. NZH, 11 and 12 Apr 1975; Dominion, 12 Apr 1975. Dominion, 12 Apr 1975. Ibid., 14 Apr 1975.

87 88 89 90 91 92 93

94 95 96

97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112

Ibid., 12 Apr 1975; NZPD 396: 262–3. NZH, 14 Apr 1975. Press, 15 Apr 1975. Dominion, 17 Apr 1975. Ibid., 21 Apr 1975. Ibid., 22 Apr 1975. See, for example, the report on the arrival of two Vietnamese war orphans in NZH, 8 May 1975. In reply to a parliamentary question on 28 May 1975, the Associate Minister of Foreign Affairs, Joe Walding, advised that New Zealand had received four Vietnamese orphans; 289 had gone to Australia. Amb, Saigon to Sec FA, 15 Apr 1975, PM 478/4/1. Sec FA to Amb, Saigon, 17 Apr 1975, ibid. Dominion, 22 and 23 Apr 1975. See also ‘Report: RNZAF Detachment Saigon, 4th April to 21st April 1975’, by Squadron Leader R. Davidson, in Officer Commanding, No 41 Squadron RNZAF to Commanding Officer, RNZAF Singapore, 12 May 1975, C4/Air, MD 23/4/1. Dominion, 23 Apr 1975. Minutes of Executive Meeting, 24 Apr 1975, Folder 1/11, Series 1 – Minutes, WCOVP. Dominion, 30 Apr 1975. NZHC, Singapore to Sec FA, 30 Apr 1975, PM 478/4/1. Minutes of Special Executive Meeting, 1 May 1975, Folder 1/11, Series 1 – Minutes, WCOVP. ODT, 2 May 1975. NZMR (Jun 1975): 12. ODT, 1 May 1975. Press, 1 May 1975. NZL, 24 May 1975, p. 6. ODT and Press, 2 May 1975. Sec FA to Amb, Peking, 2 May 1975, PM 478/4/1. Press and ODT, 13 May 1975. Press, 14 May 1975. Minutes of Executive Meeting, 20 May 1975, Folder 1/11, Series 1 – Minutes, WCOVP. For the more controversial domestic and diplomatic impact of the Vietnam War on Australia during the term of the 1972–75 Whitlam government, see Edwards, A Nation at War, pp. 318–39.

Chapter Fourteen The Historical Significance of New Zealand's Vietnam Experience 1 See Richard Kennaway, New Zealand Foreign Policy, 1951–1971, pp. 69, 75; David McCraw, ‘Reluctant Ally: New Zealand’s Entry Into the Vietnam War’, New Zealand Journal of History 15 (Apr 1981) pp. 49–60; W. David McIntyre, ‘The Road to Vietnam’, in McKinnon, ed., The American Connection, pp. 141–7. Australian scholars have outlined a similar set of underlying reasons for their country’s intervention in the Viet-

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notes to pages 349–61

2

3 4 5

6 7

8 9 10 11

12 13

nam War, although Australia tended to take a closer interest in the conflict. See, for example: Glen St J. Barclay, A Very Small Insurance Policy: The Politics of Australian Involvement in Vietnam, 1954–1967; Edwards, Crises and Commitments and A Nation at War; Murphy, Harvest of Fear; Gregory Pemberton, All the Way: Australia’s Road to Vietnam. H. Templeton, ‘“New Era” for “the Happy Isles”: The First Six Months of Labour Government Foreign Policy in New Zealand’, Australian Outlook 27 (Aug 1973): 156. Similarly, one of New Zealand’s most distinguished historians has written that ‘the trauma of Vietnam’ was ‘New Zealand’s major shared experience of the 1960s’. See W. H. Oliver, ‘The Awakening Imagination’, in W. H. Oliver, ed. with B. R. Williams, The Oxford History of New Zealand, p. 456. Minutes of Chiefs of Staff Committee, COS(61)M.46, 14 Dec 1961, PM 478/4/6. See Dickens, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War’. For the classic exposition of this concept, see Albert O. Hirschman, Exit, Voice and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms, Organizations and States. Holyoake conceded as much in an interview with Bill Oliver. Holyoake interview, 14 Jul 1976. In this respect, Malcolm Templeton’s assessment of Holyoake as a minister is instructive: ‘Holyoake kept his officials at arms length and elevated the put down to an art form. Submissions which he found unpalatable came back marked “Seen” or “KJH” or with no mark at all, leaving puzzled officials to work out what was wrong with them. Policy statements were reduced to the bare minimum by the judicious exercise of his blunt pencil. Holyoake was an expert in not exposing flank.’ Malcolm Templeton, ‘Introduction: Moving on from Suez’, in McKinnon, ed., New Zealand in World Affairs, Volume II: 1957–1972, pp. 6–8 (quote p. 7). Sec FA to PM, 15 Jul 1971, PM 478/4/6. McKinnon, ‘New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, p. 4. Dominion, 10 Feb 1968. David Halberstam coined the phrase, and his book with this title remains the most arresting study of the group of remarkably self-assured men in the Kennedy and Johnson administrations who presided over America’s involvement in the Vietnam War. See Halberstam, The Best and the Brightest. Amb, Washington to Min EA, 15 Apr 1965, PM 478/4/6. As the official historian of Australia’s involvement in the Vietnam War has noted, Canberra’s actions in 1965 undermined

14

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20

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‘New Zealand’s chances of escaping involvement in Vietnam’. Edwards, A Nation at War, p. 347. Muldoon was certainly of this opinion, as he told an interviewer in 1991: Participation in the Vietnam War ‘stood us very much in good stead with our friends in South East Asia and the United States. . . . Our relationship with the United States was very warm indeed because we supported them in their time of need.’ Muldoon interview, 29 May 1991. For similar perspectives, see Jermyn interview, 24 Apr 1991; Hensley interview, 24 Jun 1991; transcript of interview with John Robertson by David Dickens, 6 Jun 1991 [copy in author’s possession]; transcript of interview with Sir Leonard Thornton by David Dickens, 7 May 1991 [copy in author’s possession]. For fuller discussion of this point, see Roberto Rabel, ‘“The Most Dovish of the Hawks”: New Zealand Alliance Politics and the Vietnam War’, in Grey and Doyle, eds, Vietnam: War, Myth and Memory – Comparative Perspectives on Australia’s War in Vietnam, pp. 14–30. The Waikato Times was a notable exception. Marshall interview, Vietnam: The New Zealand Story, Part 1. NZPD 350: 722. For a similar, if harsher, evaluation of the impact of the American anti-war movement, see Adam Garfinkle, Telltale Hearts: The Origins and Impact of the Vietnam Antiwar Movement. There is considerable scope for more detailed historical studies of the relationship between protest against the Vietnam War and other movements seeking political, social and cultural change in New Zealand in the late 1960s and early 1970s. For a brief article examining one of those relationships, see Rabel and Cook, ‘Women and the Vietnam Anti-War Movement’. See also Clements, ‘The Influence of Individuals and NonGovernmental Organisations’, pp. 126–8. This achievement is perhaps ironic, given the inherent internationalism which drove much of the pre-1965 protest against the Vietnam War. In fact, the anti-war movement would come to embody dual internationalist and nationalist dimensions. But, significantly, the driving vision for the anti-war movement of those on the far left in New Zealand who espoused a proletarian internationalism (and opposed the war in that context) would end up being trumped by bourgeois nationalism as the dominant impetus for opposing war. For discussion of a ‘Vietnam Generation’ in New Zealand, see Colin James, The Quiet Revolution: Turbulence and Transition in Contemporary New Zealand, pp. 30–2; Ramesh Thakur, In Defence of New Zealand: Foreign Policy Choices in the

notes to pages 362–4

23

24

25

Nuclear Age, p. 205. Though Helen Clark has described herself as only ‘a foot soldier’ in the anti-war movement, she considers that protesting against the Vietnam War had ‘a major influence’ on her ‘political thinking in the late 1960s and early 1970s’. Letter from Helen Clark to author, 1 Feb 1996. For a brief discussion of the limited memorialising of New Zealand’s military experience in Vietnam, see Deborah Challinor, Grey Ghosts: New Zealand Vietnam Vets Talk About Their War, pp. 238–44. A telling observation in a leading study of the American anti-war movement is worth noting: ‘The critical issue was the purpose of the American people. The antiwar movement did not force the United States to quit the war. Its political significance was, instead, that it persistently identified that choice as the essential issue of American foreign policy and national identity.’ DeBenedetti, American Ordeal, p. 408. For the application of a comparable argument in the New Zealand context, see Roberto Rabel, ‘The Vietnam Antiwar Movement in New Zealand’, Peace and Change 17 (Jan 1992): 3–33. As a former Secretary of Foreign Affairs and Trade has noted: ‘It is commonly accepted that the Vietnam War was the first serious crack in New Zealand’s traditional bipartisanship on foreign policy issues affecting national security’. Richard Nottage, ‘Contemporary Foreign Policy Making

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28 29

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and the Role of the Ministry’, in Trotter, ed., Fifty Years of New Zealand Foreign Policy Making, p. 211. Former diplomat Bryce Harland made the same point, Bryce Harland, ‘Time to Choose? New Zealand in a World of Regionalisms’, in ibid., p. 189. For similar arguments from divergent ideological perspectives, see Clements, ‘The Influence of Individuals and NonGovernmental Organisations’, especially pp. 126–8; Frank Corner, ‘ANZUS et cetera – June 1991’, unpublished typescript [copy in author’s possession], especially pp. 11–12; Thakur, In Defence of New Zealand, p. 103. For elaboration on this point, see Roberto Rabel, ‘Debating America: The United States and New Zealand’s Quest for an “Independent” Foreign Policy’, in Proceedings of the American Historical Association 1992 Conference. See also Alley, ‘The Road from Vietnam’, in Malcolm McKinnon, ed., The American Connection, pp. 150–2; Corner, ‘ANZUS et cetera – June 1991’. John Lewis Gaddis, We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History, p. 189. For a brief overview of the extent of that global dominance at the beginning of the twenty-first century, see Roberto Rabel, ‘Introduction’, in Roberto Rabel, ed., The American Century? In Retrospect and Prospect, pp. 1–12.

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bibliography New Zealand Parliamentary Debates, 1945–75 Vietnam: Background to the Conflict (Wellington, Government Printer, 1965) Vietnam: Questions and Answers (Wellington: Government Printer, 1966) UNITED STATES Foreign Relations of the United States, 1949, Volume VII: The Far East and Australasia, Part 1 (Washington: US Government Printing Office, 1975) Foreign Relations of the United States, 1952–1954, Volume XIII, Part 1 (Washington: US Government Printing Office) Foreign Relations of the United States, 1961–1963, Volume II: Vietnam, 1962 (Washington: US Government Printing Office, 1990) Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964–1968, Volume I: Vietnam, 1964 (Washington: US Government Printing Office, 1992) Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964–1968, Volume II: Vietnam, January–June 1965 (Washington: US Government Printing Office, 1996) Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964–1968, Volume IV: Vietnam, 1966 (Washington: US Government Printing Office, 1998) Larson, Stanley and James Collins, Allied Participation in Vietnam (Washington: Department of the Army, 1985)

Unpublished unofficial sources Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand David Carrad Papers Fred Clements Papers John and Monica Fyson Papers Sir Keith Holyoake Papers Sir John Marshall Papers A. D. McIntosh Papers Barry Mitcalfe Papers Sir Leslie Munro Papers New Zealand National Party Papers Wellington Committee on Vietnam Papers David Wickham Papers Oral History Archive: Interviews with Sir Keith Holyoake by Bill Oliver, 14 July, 28 July, 25 August and 27 October 1976 Interview with Sir Alister McIntosh by F. L. Wood and Mary Boyd, 27 November 1975, Acc 80-413 Oral Histories, Interviews and Correspondence Interviews by the author: Frank Corner, 19 March 1997 Sir George Laking, 22 July 1996 Walt Rostow, 14 December 1990 Ian Stewart, 25 August 1998 Interviews by David Dickens: Gerald Hensley, 24 June 1991 Ray Jermyn, 24 April 1991 Sir Robert Muldoon, 29 May 1991 John Robertson, 6 June 1991 Sir Brian Talboys, 26 November 1991 Sir Leonard Thornton, 7 May 1991 Letters: Helen Clark to author, 1 February 1996 Brian Easton to author, 3 September 1994 Typescripts Corner, Frank, ‘ANZUS et cetera – June 1991’ McKinnon, Major-General W. S., ‘New Zealand Involvement in Vietnam’, n.d. but c. 1981

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bibliography Published unofficial sources Newspapers and Magazines Dominion (Dominion) Sunday Times Evening Post New Zealand Herald New Zealand Listener New Zealand Monthly Review New Zealand Truth Otago Daily Times People’s Voice Quote (later Quote and Comment) Salient Standard Numerous other New Zealand newspapers are cited intermittently, usually from clippings held in official files. Contemporary Booklets Auckland Committee on South East Asia, Vietnam: A Critical Examination of the NZ Government White Paper (Auckland: R. Nola, 1965) Gamby, J. O., ed., Vietnam: Question and Answer Booklet (Wellington: Committee on Vietnam, 1965) Intervention in Vietnam (Wellington: Wellington Committee on Vietnam, 1965) Nunes, R., The Truth about Vietnam, Laos, ‘Malaysia’ and Indonesia (Auckland: Communist Party of New Zealand, 1 August 1964) Slingsby, H. G., New Zealand, SEATO and the War in Vietnam (Wellington: New Zealand Peace Council and Wellington Committee on Vietnam, 1968) The Truth about Indo China (Canterbury District Executive, Communist Party of New Zealand, June 1954) Wilcox, V. G., World Communist Differences: N.Z. Party’s Firm Stand (Communist Party of New Zealand, n.d., probably 1963 or 1964) Memoirs, Autobiographies, Diaries, Correspondence and Documentary Collections Ball, George W., The Past Has Another Pattern: Memoirs (New York: Norton, 1982) Bassett, Michael, The Third Labour Government: A Personal History (Palmerston North: Dunmore Press, 1976) Clifford, Clark with Richard Holbrooke, Counsel to the President: A Memoir (New York: Random House, 1991) Eden, Anthony, Full Circle: The Memoirs of the Rt. Hon. Sir Anthony Eden (London: Cassell, 1960) Eisenhower, Dwight D., The White House Years: Mandate for Change, 1953–1956 (London: Heinemann, 1963) Hayward, Margaret, Diary of the Kirk Years (Queen Charlotte Sound and Wellington: Cape Catley and A. H. & A. W. Reed, 1981) Hunn, Jack Kent, Not Only Affairs of State (Palmerston North: Dunmore Press, 1982) Johnson, Lyndon Baines, The Vantage Point: Perspectives of the Presidency, 1963–1969 (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1971) King, Coretta Scott, My Life with Martin Luther King, Jr., rev. edn (New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1993) Kissinger, Henry, White House Years (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1979) Lange, David, Nuclear Free: The New Zealand Way (Auckland: Penguin, 1990) McGibbon, Ian, ed., Undiplomatic Dialogue: Letters between Carl Berendsen and Alister McIntosh, 1943–1952 (Auckland: Auckland University Press in association with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade and the Historical Branch, Department of Internal Affairs, 1993) McGibbon, Ian, ed., Unofficial Channels: Letters between Alister McIntosh and Foss Shanahan, George Laking and Frank Corner, 1946–1966 (Wellington: Victoria University of Wellington Press in association with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade and the Historical Branch, Department of Internal Affairs, 1999) McNamara, Robert S., In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam (New York: Times Books, 1995) Muldoon, R. D., The Rise and Fall of a Young Turk (Wellington: A. H. & A. W. Reed, 1974) Nixon, Richard, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1978) Saintegny, Jean, Histoire d’une Paix Manquée (Paris: Librairie Fayard, 1967) Shackleton, Michael, Operation Vietnam: A New Zealand Surgical First (Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 2004)

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SECONDARY WORKS Books Barclay, Glen St J., A Very Small Insurance Policy: The Politics of Australian Involvement in Vietnam, 1954–1967 (St Lucia, Queensland: University of Queensland Press, 1988) Barrowman, Rachel, Victoria University of Wellington, 1899–1999: A History (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 1999) Bassett, Michael and Robert Nola, eds, New Zealand and South-East Asia: Lectures Given at a ‘Teachin’ on South East Asia, 12 September 1965 (Auckland: Committee on South-East Asia, 1966) Belich, James, Paradise Reforged: A History of the New Zealanders from the 1880s to the Year 2000 (Auckland: Allen Lane, The Penguin Press, 2001) Billings-Yun, Melanie, Decision Against War: Eisenhower and Dien Bien Phu, 1954 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988) Bowman, John S., ed., The World Almanac of the Vietnam War (New York: Bison Books, 1985) Braestrup, Peter, Big Story: How the American Press and Television Reported and Interpreted the Crisis of Tet 1968 in Vietnam and Washington, abridged and updated edn (Novato, California: Presidio Press, 1994) Brown, Bruce, ed., New Zealand in World Affairs, 1972–1990 (Wellington: Victoria University Press in association with the New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1999) Brown, Colin, Forty Years On: A History of the National Council of Churches in New Zealand, 1941– 1981 (Christchurch: National Council of Churches, 1981) Buttinger, Joseph, A Dragon Defiant: A Short History of Vietnam (New York: Praeger, 1972) Buzzanco, Robert, Vietnam and the Transformation of American Life (Malden, Massachusetts: Blackwell, 1999) Cable, James, The Geneva Conference of 1954 on Indochina (London: Macmillan, 1986) Challinor, Deborah, Grey Ghosts: New Zealand Vietnam Vets Talk About Their War (Auckland: Hodder Moa Beckett, 1998) Clark, Margaret, ed., Sir Keith Holyoake: Towards a Political Biography (Palmerston North: Dunmore Press, 1997) Clark, Margaret, ed., Three Labour Leaders: Nordmeyer, Kirk, Rowling (Palmerston North: Dunmore Press, 2001) Crane, Ernest, I Can Do No Other: A Biography of the Reverend Ormond Burton (Auckland: Hodder & Stoughton, 1986) Crawford, John, ed., Kia Kaha: New Zealand in the Second World War (Auckland: Oxford University Press, 2000) DeBenedetti, Charles (and Charles Chatfield, Assisting Author), An American Ordeal: The Antiwar Movement in the Vietnam Era (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1990) Dennis, Peter and Grey, Jeffrey, eds, The Australian Army and the Vietnam War 1962–1972: The 2002 Chief of Army’s Military Conference (Canberra: Army History Unit, Department of Defence, 2002) Doughty, Ross A., The Holyoake Years (Feilding: Ross A. Doughty, 1977) Duiker, William, Ho Chi Minh: A Life (New York: Hyperion, 2000) Duiker, William, The Communist Road to Power in Vietnam (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1977) Edwards, Brian, ed., Right Out: Labour Victory ’72 – The Inside Story (Wellington: A. H. & A. W. Reed, 1973) Edwards, Peter, A Nation at War: Australian Politics, Society and Diplomacy During the Vietnam War 1965–1975 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin in association with the Australian War Memorial, 1997) Edwards, Peter (with Gregory Pemberton), Crises and Commitments: The Politics and Diplomacy of Australia’s Involvement in Southeast Asian Conflicts 1948–1965 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin in association with the Australian War Memorial, 1992) Elworthy, Sam, Ritual Song of Defiance: A Social History of Students at the University of Otago (Dunedin: Otago University Students’ Association, 1990) Fall, Bernard B., Hell in a Very Small Place: The Siege of Dienbienphu (London: Pall Mall Press, 1967)

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bibliography Freedman, Lawrence, Kennedy’s Wars: Berlin, Cuba, Laos, and Vietnam (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000) Gaddis, John L., Strategies of Containment: A Critical Appraisal of Postwar American Security Policy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982) Gaddis, John Lewis, We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997) Gardner, Lloyd, Approaching Vietnam: From World War II through Dienbienphu, 1941–1954 (New York: Norton, 1988) Gardner, Lloyd, Pay Any Price: Lyndon Johnson and the Wars for Vietnam (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 1995) Garfinkle, Adam, Telltale Hearts: The Origins and Impact of the Vietnam Antiwar Movement (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1995) Garrow, David J., Bearing the Cross: Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (New York: William Morrow, 1986) Gitlin, Todd, The Sixties: Years of Hope, Days of Rage (New York: Bantam Books, 1987) Goodwin, Richard, Remembering America: A Voice from the Sixties (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1988) Goodwyn, Lawrence, The Populist Moment: A Short History of the Agrarian Revolt in America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978) Grey, Jeffrey and Jeff Doyle, eds, Vietnam: War, Myth and Memory – Comparative Perspectives on Australia’s War in Vietnam (St Leonards, New South Wales: Allen and Unwin, 1992) Gustafson, Barry, His Way: A Biography of Robert Muldoon (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2000) Gustafson, Barry, The First Fifty Years: A History of the New Zealand National Party (Auckland: Reed Methuen, 1986) Halberstam, David, The Best and the Brightest: Twentieth Anniversary Edition (New York: Random House, 1992) Hammer, Ellen, The Struggle for Indochina (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1966) Herring, George, America’s Longest War: The United States and Vietnam, 1950–1975, 2nd edn (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1986) Herring, George C., LBJ and Vietnam: A Different Kind of War (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1994) Hirschman, Albert O., Exit, Voice and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms, Organizations and States (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1970) Hoff, Joan, Nixon Reconsidered (New York: Basic Books, 1994) James, Colin, The Quiet Revolution: Turbulence and Transition in Contemporary New Zealand (Wellington: Allen & Unwin/Port Nicholson Press, 1986) Kahin, George McT., Intervention: How America Became Involved in Vietnam (New York: Knopf, 1986) Kaiser, David, American Tragedy: Kennedy, Johnson, and the Origins of the Vietnam War (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2000) Kaplan, Lawrence S., Denise Artaud and Mark R. Rubin, eds, Dien Bien Phu and the Crisis of FrancoAmerican Relations, 1954–1955 (Wilmington, Delaware: Scholarly Resources, 1990) Karnow, Stanley, Vietnam: A History, revised edn (New York: Viking, 1983) Keegan, John, The Second World War (New York: Viking, 1989) Keith, Ken, ed., Defence Perspectives (Wellington: Price Milburn for the New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1972) Kendrick, Alexander, The Wound Within: America in the Vietnam Years, 1945–1974 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1974) Kennaway, Richard, New Zealand Foreign Policy, 1951–1971 (Wellington and London: Hicks Smith and Methuen, 1972) Kimball, Jeffrey, Nixon’s Vietnam War (Lawrence, Kansas: University Press of Kansas, 1998) Lacouture, Jean, Ho Chi Minh: A Political Biography (New York: Random House, 1968) Levine, Stephen, ed., New Zealand Politics: A Reader (Melbourne: Cheshire Publishing, 1975) Locke, Elsie, Peace People: A History of Peace Activities in New Zealand (Christchurch: Hazard Press, 1992) Logevall, Frederik, Choosing War: The Lost Chance for Peace and the Escalation of War in Vietnam (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999) Mailer, Norman, The Armies of the Night (New York: New American Library, 1968) Marr, David G., Vietnamese Anticolonialism, 1885–1925 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971) McAlister, John T., Jr., Viet Nam: The Origins of Revolution (London: Allen Lane, The Penguin Press, 1969) McCoy, Alfred, ed., Southeast Asia under Japanese Occupation (New Haven: Yale University Southeast Asia Studies, 1980) McGibbon, Ian, New Zealand and the Korean War, Volume I: Politics and Diplomacy (Auckland:

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bibliography Oxford University Press in association with the Historical Branch, Department of Internal Affairs, 1992) McGibbon, Ian, New Zealand and the Korean War, Volume II: Combat Operations (Oxford University Press in association with the Historical Branch, Department of Internal Affairs, 1996) McGibbon, Ian, ed., The Oxford Companion to New Zealand Military History (Auckland, Oxford University Press, 2000) McIntyre, W. David, Background to the ANZUS Pact: Policy-making, Strategy and Diplomacy, 1945–55 (New York and Christchurch: Macmillan and University of Canterbury Press, 1995) McKinnon, Malcolm, Independence and Foreign Policy: New Zealand in the World Since 1945 (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1993) McKinnon, Malcolm, ed., New Zealand in World Affairs, Volume II: 1957–1972 (Wellington: New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1991) McKinnon, Malcolm, ed., The American Connection (Wellington: Allen & Unwin/Port Nicholson Press in association with the Stout Centre for the Study of New Zealand Society, History and Culture, 1988) Miller, J. D. B., Survey of Commonwealth Affairs: Problems of Expansion and Attrition, 1953–1969 (London: Oxford University Press, 1974) Mitchell, Austin, Politics and People in New Zealand: Studies (Christchurch: Whitcombe & Tombs, 1969) Mitchell, Austin, The Half-gallon Quarter-acre Pavlova Paradise (Christchurch: Whitcombe & Tombs, 1972) Murphy, John, Harvest of Fear: A History of Australia’s Vietnam War (Boulder, Colorado: Westview, 1994) Nelson, Claire Loftus, Long Time Passing: New Zealand Memories of the Vietnam War (Wellington: National Radio, 1990) New Zealand in World Affairs, Volume I: 1945–1957 (Wellington: New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1977) Oberdorfer, Don, Tet! (New York: Doubleday, 1971) Oliver, W. H., ed. (with B. R. Williams), The Oxford History of New Zealand (Wellington: Oxford University Press, 1981) Patti, Archimedes, Why Vietnam? Prelude to America’s Albatross (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980) Pearson, Mark, Paper Tiger: New Zealand’s Part in SEATO, 1954–1977 (Wellington: New Zealand Institute of International Affairs in conjunction with the Ministry of External Relations and Trade, 1989) Pemberton, Gregory, All the Way: Australia’s Road to Vietnam (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1987) Pike, Douglas, History of Vietnamese Communism, 1925–1976 (Stanford, California: Hoover Institution Press, 1978) Pugsley, Christopher, From Emergency to Confrontation: The New Zealand Armed Forces in Malaya and Borneo, 1949–1966 (Melbourne: Oxford University Press in association with the New Zealand Ministry for Culture and Heritage, 2003) Rabel, Roberto, ed., The American Century? In Retrospect and Prospect (New York: Praeger, 2002) Randle, Robert F., Geneva 1954: The Settlement of the Indochinese War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969) Reese, Trevor R., Australia, New Zealand and the United States: A Survey of International Relations, 1941–1968 (London: Oxford University Press for Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1969) Rotter, Andrew, The Path to Vietnam: Origins of the American Commitment to Southeast Asia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987) Short, Anthony, The Origins of the Vietnam War (London: Longman, 1989) Sinclair, Keith, Walter Nash (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1976) Slingsby, H. G., Rape of Vietnam (Wellington: Modern Books Press, 1966) Slingsby, H. G., Vietnam Fights Back (Christchurch: Caxton Press, New Zealand Monthly Review Society, 1972) Small, Melvin and William Hoover, eds, Give Peace a Chance: Exploring the Vietnam Antiwar Movement (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1992) Smith, R. B., An International History of the Vietnam War, Volume I: Revolution versus Containment, 1955–61 (London: Macmillan, 1983) Smith, Richard Harris, OSS: The Secret History of America’s First Central Intelligence Agency (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972) Subritzky, John, Confronting Sukarno: British, American, Australian and New Zealand Diplomacy in the Malaysian–Indonesian Confrontation, 1961–5 (London: Macmillan, 2000) Tarling, Nicholas, Britain, Southeast Asia and the Onset of the Cold War, 1945–1950 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998) Taylor, Alister, ed., Peace, Power and Politics in Asia (Wellington: Organising Committee of the Peace,

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bibliography Power and Politics in Asia Conference, 1969) Templeton, Malcolm, Ties of Blood and Empire: New Zealand’s Involvement in Middle East Defence and the Suez Crisis (Auckland: Auckland University Press in association with the New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1994) Thakur, Ramesh, In Defence of New Zealand: Foreign Policy Choices in the Nuclear Age (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1986) Trotter, Ann, ed., Fifty Years of New Zealand Foreign Policy Making (Dunedin: University of Otago Press in association with University Extension, 1993) Trotter, Ann, New Zealand and Japan, 1945–1952: The Occupation and the Peace Treaty (London: Athlone Press, 1990) Urlich, John, Journey Towards World Peace: A History of the New Zealand Peace Council – Half a Century in the Cause of Peace, 1948–1998 (Wellington: Lake Ohia Publications, 1998) VanDeMark, Brian, Into the Quagmire: Lyndon Johnson and the Escalation of the Vietnam War (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995) Weinberg, Gerhard L., A World At Arms: A Global History of World War II (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994) Witcover, Jules, 85 Days: The Last Campaign of Robert Kennedy (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1969) Wood, G. A., Supplement to Ministers and Members in the New Zealand Parliament: Ministers 1987– 1991; Members of Parliament 1911–1990 (Dunedin: Tarkwode Press, 1992) Yearbook on International Communist Affairs, 1966 (Stanford, California: Hoover Institution Press, 1967) Articles Clifford, Clark, ‘A Viet Nam Reappraisal: The Personal History of One Man’s View and How it Evolved’, Foreign Affairs 47 (July 1969): 603–22 Edwards, Peter, ‘Countdown to Commitment: Australia’s Decision to Enter the Vietnam War in April 1965’, Journal of the Australian War Memorial 21 (October 1992): 4–10 Entwisle, A. R., ‘Our Business in Vietnam’, Landfall 19 (September 1965): 261–74 Goldstein, Ray F., ‘New Zealand “Lobbies” America: A Case Study’, Political Science 21 (December 1969): 16–33 Harper, Glyn, ‘Threat Perception and Politics: The Deployment of Australian and New Zealand Ground Forces in the Second World War’, Journal of the Australian War Memorial 20 (April 1992): 36–43 Herring, George, ‘The Truman Administration and the Restoration of French Sovereignty in Indochina’, Diplomatic History 1 (Spring 1977): 97–117 Hess, Gary R., ‘Franklin Roosevelt and Indochina’, Journal of American History 59 (September 1972): 353–68 Hess, Gary R., ‘The First American Commitment in Indochina: The Acceptance of the “Bao Dai Solution”, 1950’, Diplomatic History 2 (Fall 1978): 331–50 Hunter, John A., ‘The White Paper on Vietnam’, Landfall 19 (September 1965): 274–8 Immerman, Richard H., ‘The United States and the Geneva Conference of 1954: A New Look’, Diplomatic History 14 (Winter 1990): 43–66 Jackson, Keith, ‘New Zealand and Southeast Asia’, Journal of Commonwealth Political Studies 9 (March 1971): 3–18 LaFeber, Walter, ‘Roosevelt, Churchill and Indochina: 1942–45’, American Historical Review 80 (December 1975): 1277–95 Laking, G. R., ‘The Public and Foreign Policy’, in New Zealand Foreign Policy: Occasional Papers 1973–74 (Wellington: New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1975), pp. 13–20 Lawrence, Mark Atwood, ‘Transnational Coalition-Building and the Making of the Cold War in Indochina, 1947–1949’, Diplomatic History 26 (Summer 2002): 453–80 McCraw, David, ‘New Zealand’s Foreign Policy Under National and Labour Governments: Variations on the “Small State” Theme?’, Pacific Affairs 67 (Spring 1994): 7–25 McCraw, David, ‘Reluctant Ally: New Zealand’s Entry Into the Vietnam War’, New Zealand Journal of History 15 (April 1981): 49–60 Mullins, R. M., ‘New Zealand’s Defence Policy,’ New Zealand Foreign Affairs Review 22 (July 1972): 12–16 Nunes, R., ‘Role and Tasks of the Party on the Question of Vietnam’, New Zealand Communist Review (March 1966): 2–13 Oliver, W. H., ‘Moralism and Foreign Policy’, Landfall 19 (December 1965): 375–82 Pemberton, Gregory James, ‘Australia, the United States and the Indochina Crisis of 1954’, Diplomatic History 13 (Winter 1989): 45–66 Rabel, Roberto, ‘A Forgotten First Step on the Road to Vietnam: New Zealand and the Recognition of the Bao Dai Regime, 1950’, New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies 2 (June 2000): 65–77

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bibliography Rabel, Roberto, ‘Debating America: The United States and New Zealand’s Quest for an “Independent” Foreign Policy,’ in Proceedings of the American Historical Association 1992 Conference (Ann Arbor, Michigan: University Microfilms, 1993) Rabel, Roberto, ‘New Zealand and the United States in the Early Cold War Era, 1945–49’, Australasian Journal of American Studies 7 (December 1988): 1–10 Rabel, Roberto, ‘The Vietnam Antiwar Movement in New Zealand,’ Peace and Change 17 (January 1992): 3–33 Rabel, Roberto and Megan Cook, ‘Women and the Vietnam Anti-War Movement in New Zealand’, Oral History in New Zealand 10 (1998): 1–5 Templeton, H., ‘“New Era” for “the Happy Isles”: The First Six Months of Labour Government Foreign Policy in New Zealand’, Australian Outlook 27 (August 1973): 155–71 Thorne, Christopher, ‘Indochina and Anglo-American Relations, 1942–1945’, Pacific Historical Review 45 (February 1976): 73–96 Turner, Nick, ‘Media and War: Reflections on Vietnam’, New Zealand International Review 27 (July/ August 2003): 22–4 Winchester, J. W., ‘Writing on Vietnam’, Landfall 21 (March 1967): 101–2 Wood, F. L. W., ‘The Anzac Dilemma’, International Affairs 29 (1953): 184–92 Unpublished Theses Barrington, Brook, ‘New Zealand and the Search for Security: A Modest and Moderate Collaboration’ (PhD thesis, University of Auckland, 1993) Beath, Natalie, ‘Protestants and Protestors: The Presbyterian Church in New Zealand and the Vietnam War’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 2000) Bell, Peter, ‘The Protest Movement in Dunedin Against the Vietnam War, 1965–1973’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 1989) Capon, Shane, ‘A Symbolic Presence? New Zealand’s Involvement in the Combatant Training of South Vietnamese and Cambodian Troops, 1968–1972’ (DPhil thesis, Waikato University, 1997) Dickens, David, ‘New Zealand and the Vietnam War: Official Policy Advice to the Government 1960– 1972’ (PhD thesis, Victoria University of Wellington, 1995) Elder, Jack A., ‘The New Zealand Labour Party and the Vietnam War: Traditions and Policy Until 1973’ (MA thesis, Auckland University, 1973) Haas, Anthony, ‘A Study in Protest: The Wellington Committee on Vietnam, May 1, 1965–March 6, 1967’ (BA Honours research essay, Victoria University of Wellington, 1967) Jackman, P. R. H., ‘The Auckland Opposition to New Zealand’s Involvement in the Vietnam War, 1965–72: An Example of the Achievements and Limitations of Ideology’ (MA thesis, University of Auckland, 1979) Kay, Richard, ‘Take That, You Dirty Commie! The Rise of a Cold War Consciousness in New Zealand, 1944–1949’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 1994) Muir, John, ‘“Our Bounden Duty”: An Analysis of the Arguments Justifying the Introduction of Compulsory Military Training in New Zealand, 1949’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 1996) Murphy, James R., ‘The New Zealand Labour Party and Vietnam: 1963 to 1972’ (MA research paper, University of Canterbury, 1973) Witte, Gary, ‘A War of Words: New Zealand Press Opinion and the Vietnam Conflict’ (BA Honours dissertation, University of Otago, 1990) Audio-visual Sources Battle for Dien Bien Phu (Peter Batty Productions, 1989) Rebels in Retrospect (Vanguard Films, 1991) Vietnam: The New Zealand Story (Television New Zealand, 1982)

433

INDEX

Ad Hoc Committee on Vietnam (Auckland), 258 Ad-hoc May Mobilisation Committee (Christchurch), 303 Agnew, Spiro, 271–2, 297–300, 302, 306 Amos, Phil, 298, 300, 308 Anglicans, 121, 237, 246, 251, 258 anti-Americanism, 118, 123, 146, 173, 186, 240–1, 287, 359 anti-communism, 17, 115, 122, 125, 170, 173–4, 183–4, 186, 244, 352; Vietnamese, 34–5, 40, 52, 364; see also New Zealand Labour Party; New Zealand National Party anti-nuclear movement, 320, 347, 361 anti-war demonstrations and protest meetings, 185, 239, 256–7; Auckland, 104, 181, 195, 234–5, 239–40, 247–8, 256, 258, 286, 290–5, 297–9, 303–6, 309, 315, 323, 330; Christchurch, 181, 195, 247, 286, 290–1, 294, 303, 305, 309, 315, 320, 323; Dunedin, 108, 195, 247, 291, 293–4, 305, 309, 315–16, 323; Feilding, 309; Hamilton, 305, 309; Masterton, 162, 309; Napier, 113; Nelson, 286, 305, 309; New Plymouth, 309; Palmerston North, 105, 303, 309; Tauranga, 315; Tokoroa, 315; Wanganui, 309; Whangarei, 305; Wellington, 105–7, 166, 181, 185, 195–6, 232, 239–40, 255, 259, 291, 294, 302–3, 305, 308–9, 314–16, 319, 321, 323, 330; see also anti-war movement; teach-ins anti-war movement, 71, 122, 300, 356–7, 360–1; activities of, 176, 181–90, 192, 195–6, 231–2, 234–43, 247–8, 250–8, 259, 284–6, 288–326, 335–7, 343–4; and communism, 123–4, 171, 173–4, 183–4, 186–8, 190, 323; criticism of, 122–24; critique of Western policy on Vietnam, 75, 155, 169–71, 254, 361; development of in 1965 and ‘movement culture’, 105, 107–8, 125–6, 156, 160, 164–71, 173; mobilisations, 166, 302, 304–5, 307–10, 314–16, 320–2, 324–5; origins of, 63, 66–7; and outcome of Vietnam conflict, 344–7; see also anti-war demonstrations and protest meetings; Australia; Committees on Vietnam; New Zealand and First Indochina War; New Zealand and Vietnam War; New Zealand Labour Party; Peace, Power and Politics in Asia Conference; teach-ins; United States and Vietnam War Anzac Day, 240, 301, 308, 320 ANZAM, 4, 33, 208 ANZUS, 5, 26, 29, 32, 67, 75, 84, 88, 133, 208, 218, 301, 320, 330–1, 351, 359, 363; Council meetings, 16, 26, 29, 35–6, 51, 59, 128–31, 149, 191, 207, 255 Arthur, Basil, 109, 113 ASEAN, see Association of Southeast Asian Nations Asia, Asians, 16, 22, 28, 68–9, 75, 92, 97, 112, 123–4, 146, 200, 213, 221, 252, 263, 267, 300, 318, 364; and New Zealand, 4–5, 32–3, 38, 64, 164, 214, 246, 249, 259, 265, 271, 301, 348;

values, 37; see also communism; Southeast Asia Asian Evangelists’ Commission, 245 Asians Against the War, 323 Associated States of Indochina, 10, 14, 20, 26 Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), 335 Association of University Teachers, 161 Atlantic Charter, 3, 8 Auckland Catholic Mission Overseas Aid and Development Committee, 339 Auckland Labour Representation Committee, 120 Auckland Mobilisation Committee, 322–3 Auckland Peace Council, 104 Auckland Seamen’s Union, 104 Auckland Star, 123, 157, 178, 232, 238, 246, 311 Auckland Trades Council, 120 Auckland University Society for the Active Prevention of Cruelty to Politically Apathetic Humans (AUSAPOCPAH), 290 Auld, Terry, 292–3 Australia, 32, 94, 211, 232; anti-war protest in, 165–6, 189, 241, 302, 304, 311; combat commitment in Vietnam (1965), 84–5, 87–91, 93, 94, 114, 129, 355; and First Indochina War, 10, 13, 15–16, 18–21, 26–8, 30, 349; and Laos, 37; and Malaysia, 200–1, 215; and national and regional security, 4, 60, 66, 68, 77, 146, 207, 213; and Pentagon Papers, 312; and United States, 81, 91, 101, 141, 149, 152, 203, 223, 262, 267, 329, 331, 333, 351; and Vietnam War (1961–4), 43–7, 49–52, 54, 56, 58; (1965–6) 135, 143–4, 148–9, 154, 351, 359; (1967–8) 200–1, 204–5, 209–10, 215, 220, 222, 224, 230, 259; (1969–Nov 1972) 262, 264, 269–71, 273–5, 277–80, 283, 315, 317; (Dec 1972–1975) 329, 331, 335, 337, 340–1, 345–6; see also New Zealand and Vietnam War Australian Cabinet Foreign Affairs and Defence Committee, 91 Australian Chiefs of Staff, 84; Australian Chiefs of Staff Committee, 89 Australian Labor Party, 241 Australian Task Force, 142, 145, 200, 202, 205, 215, 218, 220, 266, 270, 275 Baines, H. W., 121 Ball, George, 81, 134 Bao Dai, 8, 11, 14, 34, 364 Bassett, Michael, 333, 341 Baxter, James K., 121, 230, 243, 247 Baxter, Ken, 252 Beatson, David, 308 Bertrand Russell Peace Foundation, 113, 232 Bevin, Ernest, 12 Birch, Bill, 335 Bollinger, Conrad, 188, 243, 289, 308 Bong Son, New Zealand military medical team at, 206, 274

434

index Borneo, 55 Britain, British, 7, 32, 93, 147, 184; declining power of, 3–4, 31, 207; entry into European Economic Community, 306, 336; and First Indochina War, 8–10, 12–19, 21–8, 30, 349; and Malaya/Malaysia, 53, 55, 84, 111, 200, 208–9; and Vietnam War, 43, 47, 49, 54, 81, 101, 116, 148, 205, 339; withdrawal from east of Suez, 127, 138, 199–200, 207–8, 212, 214, 216–18, 262, 301, 355 British Commonwealth, 13, 31; Colombo Conference (1950), 12–13; and defence, 4, 142; and First Indochina War, 29; Malayan/ Malaysian commitment, 32, 43, 48, 50, 53, 55, 61, 147, 200, 208, 350; Prime Ministers’ Meetings, Kingston, Jamaica (1972), 343, London (1966), 128–30, 157, Singapore (1971), 276; see also Commonwealth Peace Mission British Medical Aid Committee, 184, 286 Brockett, Tom, 241 Brown, George, 207 Brzezinski, Zbigniew, 160 Buchanan, Keith, 161, 171 Buddhism, Buddhists, 38, 52–4, 84, 145; Buddhist School of Youth for Social Services, 286 Bulletin (Sydney), 297 Bundy, McGeorge, 85, 90 Bundy, William, 81–2, 87, 216, 218, 221, 227 Bunker, Ellsworth, 280 Burton, Ormond, 105 by-elections: Marlborough (1970), 301; Palmerston North (1967), 249 Cabinet Defence Committee, 58 Calwell, Arthur, 232 Cambodia, 6, 10, 14, 67, 148, 204, 210, 261, 276–7, 300, 302–3, 306, 317–18, 325, 342 Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), 104–6, 108, 110, 113, 114, 121, 158 Campion, Sarah, 182, 186–8 Canada, 11, 49 Canterbury Trades Council, 191 Canterbury University Students’ Association, 122, 175 Carrad, David, 239–40 Carson, Don, 338, 345 Casey, R. G., 19, 26 Chambers of Commerce, 242 Chi Lang, as base for New Zealand training team, 275, 280 Chiefs of Staff, 24, 45–6, 53, 86, 350 China, Chinese, 5–7, 137 China, People’s Republic of, 5, 15, 64, 77, 131, 133, 348, 364; Cultural Revolution in, 208; and First Indochina War, 10, 16, 19–20, 22–3, 26, 29, 64, 67; and New Zealand, 69, 161; and United States, 83, 134, 208, 262, 278–9, 319; and Vietnam War, 49, 53, 60, 73, 75–6, 150, 170, 282, 344 Christchurch Star, 157–8, 296, 317 Christian Pacifists, 104–5 churches, 117, 243, 246, 251; and First Indochina War, 66; protest against United States and New

Zealand policy on Vietnam, 98, 104–6, 108, 110–11, 113, 120–1, 168, 174, 189, 237, 242– 3, 249, 253, 304, 306–7, 309; support for New Zealand policy on Vietnam, 121–2, 193, 237, 245, 340; see also specific denominations Churchill, Winston, 10 Citizens’ Association for Racial Equality (CARE), 340 Clark, Helen, 341, 361 Clifford, Clark, 209–14, 217, 242–5, 270, 289 Cold War, 2–5, 33, 64, 69, 79, 101, 348, 363, 365; in Asia, 5, 12, 14–15, 31, 33; conflict in Indochina as microcosm of, 3, 5, 20–1, 60, 64–5, 73, 92; see also New Zealand and First Indochina War; New Zealand and Vietnam War; United States Colombo Plan, 32, 64, 68, 245 colonialism, 3–4, 68, 70; French, 6, 12, 14, 18, 21, 34, 64; see also decolonisation Committee on Southeast Asia (COSEA), Auckland, 159–60, 162, 168, 170–1, 186 Committees on Vietnam (COVs), 119, 124, 160, 165–7, 169, 173–4, 181, 186–7, 239, 241–2, 253, 260, 307, 341, 357, 360–1; Auckland, 108, 168, 185, 248, 256, 292, 330, 340; Christchurch, 108; Dunedin, 108, 113, 168, 186, 189, 310, 315–16, 323; Greymouth, 188; Nelson, 108; Northland, 159; Palmerston North, 108, 318; Southland, 189; Wellington, 107–10, 113, 119–20, 124, 161, 165–6, 168, 171, 181–3, 185–90, 192, 195, 231, 239, 243, 250, 256–8, 286, 289, 292–3, 302, 304, 307, 310–11, 316, 318–19, 321–3, 330, 343, 345; see also anti-war movement Commonwealth Peace Mission (1965), 128–32, 157–8 Commonwealth Strategic Reserve, 147, 202, 204–5, 209, 214 communism, communists, 27, 130, 132, 169, 173, 180, 262, 363–4; Asian, 5, 61, 68, 76–7, 102, 145, 170; in New Zealand, 65, 108, 113, 122–3, 160, 162–3, 171, 183–4, 187–8, 235, 248; threat to Asia and Australasia, 1, 8–9, 13–14, 16, 20, 22, 24, 28, 31, 64, 69, 72, 77–9, 92, 100–1, 112, 117–18, 133, 157–8, 170, 348, 355, 363; threat to Vietnam, 14, 16–21, 26, 34–5, 38, 42, 45, 47, 59–60, 64–6, 72–3, 76, 80, 88, 91, 101, 111–12, 115–16, 143, 207, 224, 245, 251, 258, 266, 274, 282, 293, 321, 337, 349, 354; Vietnamese, 2, 6, 11, 23, 35, 42, 78, 161, 220–1, 224, 335, 343–5, 364; see also anti-communism; Communist Party of New Zealand; containment; Marxism; socialism; Trotskyists Communist Party of New Zealand (CPNZ), 66–7, 74–5, 104, 121, 123–4, 168, 173–4, 183–4, 186–8, 239, 258, 296, 305, 308 Confrontation (Indonesia–Malaysia), 55, 84, 91, 137, 154, 199–200, 203, 208, 228 Connolly, P. G., 123 conscription, conscripts, 196, 218, 220, 244, 271; Australian use of, 205 containment (of communism), 9, 14, 34, 47, 69, 72, 76–9, 85, 101, 109, 111, 117, 145, 180,

435

index 208, 351, 354, 363–4 Cook, Freda, 69–71, 74, 189 Corner, Frank, 15–17, 23, 88, 98; as ambassador to United States, 214, 216, 218, 221–2, 255, 264–5, 267–70; as Secretary of Foreign Affairs, 331–2, 334 Council for National Unity and Concord (Vietnam), 343 Council of Organisations for Relief Services Overseas (Corso), 340 Council on Vietnam (Auckland), 169, 235, 239, 247–8, 256, 298, 302 Craw, Charles, 22–3 Cross, Ian, 344 Da Nang, possible deployment of New Zealand force to, 90 Daily Telegraph (Napier), 177 Dawson, R. B., 48 de Bres, Joris, 340 decolonisation, 4, 14, 64, 71 Defence, Department of, 50, 52, 57, 96–7, 102 Defence Council, 86, 224 defoliants, 242 Democratic Party, Democrats, 41, 83, 134, 222, 251 Democratic Republic of Vietnam, see Vietnam, North Democratic Society, 166 demonstrations, see anti-war demonstrations and protest meetings détente, 262, 281 Dien Bien Phu, 9–10, 25–6, 34, 66 Doidge, Frederick, 12–4 Dominion (Wellington), 111–12, 122, 166, 232–3, 235, 238, 254, 285–6, 288–9, 291, 295–7, 311–13, 317–19, 328–9, 332, 336–8, 340, 343, 347 Dominion Sunday Times (Wellington), 245 domino theory, 9, 21, 77, 96–7, 112, 170, 180, 211, 337–8 Donald, Haddon, 173 Dong Ba Thin, training team at, 317 Douglas, Norman, 73–4, 257 Dulles, John Foster, 9–10, 17–19, 24–9, 34, 66, 88 Dunedin Voice of Women, 121 East Asian Christian Conference, 110, 116 Eden, Anthony, 10, 19 Edmonds, Paul, 219–21, 263, 272, 279–81 Edwards, Brian, 308, 323 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 9–11, 21, 23, 25, 28, 34 elections – New Zealand, 352, 355; (1949) 5; (1960) 37, 41; (1963) 54–5; (1966) 127, 143, 145, 151–3, 176, 180–1, 190, 192–9, 201, 230, 236, 238, 241, 244, 293; (1969) 265, 269, 271, 284, 293–7, 306; (1972) 281, 283, 300, 326, 358–9; (1975) 335–6, 346; see also by-elections elections – United States, 41, 86, 259, 262, 283 elections – Vietnam, 11, 23, 29, 139, 179; (1956) 11, 23, 30, 34–5; (1967) 246; (1971) 279–80, 317, 360 Electrical Workers’ Union, 240 Europe, 4, 8, 26, 64, 83

European Economic Community, 306, 336 Evening Post (Wellington), 232, 235, 238 Evening Star (Dunedin), 251, 317 External Affairs, Department of (and Foreign Affairs, Ministry of), 274, 352–4; and antiwar protest, 106–7, 158–60, 172, 193, 253; and Diem regime, 35–6, 40, 42, 44–5, 51; and First Indochina War, 14, 16, 20–30; and New Zealand involvement in air war in Vietnam, 147–9, 226; and policy toward Vietnam (1967– 8), 202–4, 206, 215–16, 224–6, 245, 249; (1969–72) 264–5, 269, 274, 276, 329, 342–3; (1973–5) 333, 337, 339; responses to American pressures, 44, 46, 48–52, 56–60, 135–6, 139–40, 142, 145–6, 150; role in decision to make combat commitment and implementation thereof (1965), 82, 87, 91–3, 96–7, 99–100, 102, 129–30, 351; and White Paper (1965), 158–60, 274 Eyre, Dean, 49, 58, 77, 100, 142, 145, 147–8 Fall, Bernard, 160 Far East, 17, 26, 88, 202 Farrell, Norman, 339, 342 Faulkner, Arthur, 73, 118, 180, 241, 293, 299, 312, 314, 317, 321, 359 Federated Farmers of New Zealand, 169, 193, 242, 357 Fergusson, Bernard, 132 Finlay, Martyn, 76, 78, 120, 162, 180, 253, 287, 299 Five Power Staff Agency, 27 Ford, W. F., 306 Foreign Affairs, 270 Foreign Affairs, Ministry of, see External Affairs, Department of Foreign Office (UK), 15, 43 Formosa, see Taiwan forward defence (against communism), 31–2, 61, 79, 101, 103, 111, 170, 207–8, 257, 262, 267, 283, 301, 349, 351 France, French, 2, 6, 25, 32, 34, 345; and First Indochina War, 7–12, 14–18, 20, 23, 25–6, 64, 66, 68, 349; nuclear weapons testing in Pacific, 320, 328, 333 Franklin, Jocelyn, 339 Fraser, Ian, 252 Fraser, Peter, 2, 4, 11, 125 Freer, Warren, 72 Friends of Vietnam, 357 Fulbright, J. William, 250, 260, 269–70 Gaddis, John Lewis, 363 Gair, George, 335 Gallery (television programme), 293, 310–1 Gay Liberation Movement, 323 Geneva Accords on Indochina, 10–11, 30, 32, 34–5, 43–4, 47–8, 88, 170 Geneva Conference (1954), 9–11, 19, 23, 25–9, 34, 67, 104, 110 Gentry, William, 16 Ghana, 129 Giap, Vo Nguyen, see Vo Nguyen Giap Gill, Frank, 294

436

index Gisborne Herald, 181, 317 Goldwater, Barry, 61 Gorton, John, 222–4, 227, 270, 275–6 Gough, J., 253 Gould, Flora, 104 Green, Marshall, 319 Grey River Argus (Greymouth), 158 Guam (or Nixon) Doctrine, 267, 299 Gulf of Tonkin incident (1964), 60, 77

White Paper (1965), 159; see also conscription; elections; New Zealand National Party Honolulu: Declaration of (and associated talks, 1966), 139, 141, 146, 177; military planning talks in (1965), 88–90, 177 Humphrey, Hubert, 139–42, 177–8, 182–3, 185, 190, 226 Hunn, Jack, 53, 57–8, 86, 96–9, 102, 257, 354 Hunt, Jonathan, 253, 287, 299, 312, 314

Halstead, Eric, 68 Hanan, Ralph, 96, 99, 118, 141 Harland, Bryce, 345 Harriman, Averell, 47, 51, 141 Hasluck, Paul, 90, 128, 130, 135, 146 Hawke’s Bay Herald-Tribune, 244 Hazlett, Luke, 200 Herd, Eric, 174 Herter, Christian, 38, 40 Hieatt, Steve, 234 High School Students Against the War, 305, 309 Hilsman, Roger, 55 Ho Chi Minh, 2–3, 6, 12, 29, 65, 70, 184–5, 231, 343, 350 Ho Chi Minh offensive (1975), 336 Ho Chi Minh Trail, 42, 276 Hoffman, Abbie, 247 Holcroft, Monte, 163 Holland, Sidney, 5, 18, 24, 26–7, 29, 33, 125, 172 Holt, Harold, 142, 144, 149–50, 152, 200–1, 204–5, 210, 212, 214–17 Holyoake, Keith: knighting of, 306; resigns as Prime Minister, 281, 319; style as Minister of External (Foreign) Affairs, 328, 350–3; success as domestic politician, 125, 197, 228, 297, 352 Holyoake, Keith, and Vietnam War, 338, 350–3, 356–8, 364; announcement of non-combatant military commitment (1963), 72; of combat commitment (1965), 1–2, 114–15, 156; of combat commitment increases (1966–7), 143, 190, 216, 237, 246–7; and Commonwealth Peace Mission, 128–33, 157–8; decision to make combat commitment, 80, 82, 84, 86, 88, 90–1, 93–4, 98–100, 102–3, 113, 125, 350; and Johnson visit, 145, 152–3, 193; and Ky visit, 231–2, 235; and New Zealand involvement in air war in Vietnam, 147–51, 217, 279; and opposition to government policy, 105, 108, 110–11, 119–20, 123, 171, 173–4, 179, 182–4, 189–91, 198, 200, 238, 243, 248–9, 268, 285, 288, 293–6, 312–13, 316–17, 353, 358; policy toward Vietnam (1961–4), 43, 45–6, 50, 52–3, 55–8; (1965–6) 127–32, 142–5, 147, 151–3; (1967–8), 199–201, 204–6, 209–15, 218, 220, 227–8, 255; (1969–72), 264–5, 267–8, 270–1, 273–4, 276–7, 279–80, 289–90, 293; public comments and defence of Vietnam policy (1961–4), 72–3, 75, 77, 105; (1965), 109, 111–13, 116–18, 126, 128–9, 132, 157–8, 162; (1966), 143, 156, 176, 190–2, 194; (1967–8), 231, 238, 242–3, 245–6, 248, 258; (1969–72), 277, 279–80, 282, 284, 286–8, 291, 293–4, 296, 300–1, 303, 306, 309, 312–13, 315–16, 318; visits to Vietnam, 38–9, 56, 352; and

Iiyama, Patti, 308 India, 11–12, 66 Indochina, 5–6, 8–11, 18, 27, 34, 36, 63, 66–7, 277, 307, 318, 323–4, 329, 337, 341, 345; security of and communist threat to, 10, 14–17, 20–4, 26, 64, 68, 80, 261, 300, 338 Indochina Committee (Hamilton), 333 Indonesia, 21, 34, 50, 55, 58, 66, 75, 84, 91, 111, 137, 208 Inter-Church Council on Public Affairs, 105 Interim Peace for Vietnam Committee (Auckland), 104, 108; see also Peace for Vietnam Committee International Control Commission, 47, 185 Isbey, Eddie, 105 Ivon Watkins-Dow, 242–3 Jack, Roy, 73 James, Colin, 306 Japan, 2–6, 16, 34, 345 Jaycees, 122 Jermyn, Ray, 96–7 Jermyn, W., 183 Johnson, Lyndon B., 42, 61, 226–7, 229; and ‘Great Society’, 80, 85, 134, 208; and nonmilitary assistance to Vietnam, 115–17, 139, 177; and peace initiatives, 115–16, 130, 138–9, 185, 224; and Vietnam policy, 55, 57, 61, 80–1, 83–5, 90, 94–5, 100, 103, 133–4, 137–9, 142, 144, 152, 146, 177, 202–3, 208–9, 212–14, 217–18, 222, 224, 228, 259, 289; visit to New Zealand (1966), 145, 152–3, 193–6; withdrawal from 1968 presidential race, 224, 250, 254–5 Johnstone, Ian, 308 Joint Council of Labour, 179–80 Joint Council on Vietnam (Christchurch), 186, 189, 304 July 14 Mobilisation Committee, 322 July 17 Anti-war Mobilisation Committee, 304 Keith, Hamish, 298, 308 Kelleher, J. A., 314 Kennan, George, 208 Kennedy, John (editor of New Zealand Tablet), 243 Kennedy, John F., 41, 43–4, 47, 49–50, 53–5, 83, 353 Kennedy, Robert, 222 Kent State University, killings at, 302–3 Khanh, Nguyen, 55–8 King, Martin Luther, Jr, 208, 250 Kirk, Norman, 118; as Leader of Opposition, 176–81, 183, 185, 190–8, 230–1, 237–8, 241,

437

index 251, 257–9, 270, 284, 286–8, 291, 293–5, 300–1, 304, 306, 309, 314–15, 317, 322, 327; as Prime Minister and Minster of Foreign Affairs, 283, 328–36, 346, 359 Kissinger, Henry, 267, 279, 282–3 Knox, Jim, 120–1, 330 Komer, Robert, 144 Korea, North (Democratic People’s Republic of Korea), 5, 115 Korea, South (Republic of Korea), 5, 34, 101, 115; and Vietnam War, 90, 94, 143, 266, 280 Korean War, 5, 9, 21, 50, 65, 101, 115; see also New Zealand – foreign and national security policy Kuna, Elemer, 182 Ky, Mrs, 203, 232–3 Ky, Nguyen Cao, see Nguyen Cao Ky Ky Protest Committee, 231, 235 Lacouture, Jean, 252 Laird, Melvin, 268 Laking, George: as ambassador to the United States, 44, 50, 53–4, 57, 61, 80, 82, 84–5, 87– 8, 90–1, 93–5, 137–9, 151, 200, 202, 205, 354; as Secretary of External Affairs, 202, 204–5, 208–10, 212–13, 215, 217–18, 220, 222, 226, 245, 249, 252, 263–4, 266, 270–1; as Secretary of Foreign Affairs, 274, 276–7, 279–80, 282 Lange, David, 363 Laos, 6, 10, 14, 16, 36–8, 47, 75, 79, 81, 89, 210, 261, 276–7, 300, 304 Larkin, Tom, 146 Lee, Barry, 291 Lee, Bill, 290–2 Lee Kwan Yew, 137 Lions (service clubs), 169, 193 Locke, Keith, 310 Lodge, Henry Cabot, 54, 91–4, 105–8, 141, 182 Low, Harry, 243, 294 Lyall, Rod, 318 MacArthur, Douglas, 2 McCarthy, Eugene, 222 McCready, Allan, 281 MacDonald, Malcolm, 12 Macdonald, Thomas, 35–6, 67 McElwee, Jane, 182 McGovern, George, 283 McIntosh, Alister, 39, 50, 94, 353; and First Indochina War, 15, 17, 22–3, 28, 30; and New Zealand involvement in air war in Vietnam, 147–8, 150; and opposition to official policy, 105, 110, 158, 164, 172, 175, 192; and policy toward Diem regime, 37, 48; role in decision to make combat commitment (1965), 85–6, 88, 96, 98–9, 102, 130, 132, 353; and Vietnam policy (1961–4), 52, 58; (1965–6) 136, 143, 150–1 McKeefry, Peter, 121 McKinnon, Walter, 99–100, 135–6, 310 McMahon, William, 277, 279, 315 McNamara, Robert, 53, 100, 134, 148–9, 202, 208–9, 211, 217, 277 Malaya, Malaysia, 10, 21, 24, 32, 34, 43, 64,

75, 77, 84, 111, 116, 137, 142, 208, 216; and Vietnam War, 54, 200, 202, 206, 345; see also New Zealand – foreign and national security policy Manapouri, Lake (and Save Manapouri campaign), 300, 306 Manawatu Evening Standard, 242 Manila, 32, 152–3, 192–3, 195, 267; see also Philippines Mann, Robert, 323 Mansor, Philip, 287 Mao Zedong (Mao Tse-tung), 8, 208, 287 Maori, Maori rights, 4, 300, 309, 324, 328 Marshall, John, 289, 358; as Deputy Prime Minister, 99, 114, 117–18, 162–3, 173–4; as Prime Minister, 281–3, 319, 329; as Leader of Opposition, 336 Marxism, Marxists, 67, 75 Massey University, 121, 303 Mathison, Jock, 177–8, 291 May, Henry, 74 Melser, Paul, 106, 182 Melser, Peter, 106 Menon, Krishna, 252 Menzies, Robert, 20, 44, 84, 90–1, 128–9, 142 Mercantile Gazette, 182 Methodists, 105, 237, 246, 306 Middle East, defence of, 4, 17–18 Mitcalfe, Barry, 106–8, 113, 119, 125, 163, 173, 183, 185, 187–8, 240, 293 Mitchell, Austin, 167 Mitchell, Hamilton, 122, 238, 247 mobilisations, see anti-war movement Moratorium: Australia, 304; United States, 269, 292, 304 Morgenthau, Hans, 160 Morris, Arthur, 280 Morse, Wayne, 78, 260 Muldoon, Robert, 73, 157, 197, 251–2, 258, 287, 289, 298, 335; as Leader of Opposition, 336, 338, 340 Mullins, Ralph, 274–5, 278, 351 Munro, Leslie: as ambassador to the United States, 15, 17, 23, 25–7, 29, 88; as National MP, 76, 78, 118, 162 My Lai incident, 310–11 napalm, 105, 189, 326 Nash, Walter, 36–8, 40, 73, 79, 125, 161–2, 180; Sir Walter Nash Memorial appeal, 286 National Anti-War Conferences, 308, 318, 323, 325 National Council of Churches, 116, 243, 246, 251, 258, 306, 317, 330 National Council of Women, 253 National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam (NLF), 42, 49, 71–2, 104, 121, 161, 170, 183, 186, 245, 286, 300, 304, 307, 322–3; see also Viet Cong National Liaison Committee (Wellington), 308–9 National Observer, 183 nationalism, 22, 68; New Zealand, 74, 335, 346, 361; Vietnamese, 1–2, 5–7, 19–21, 34, 42, 64, 344, 364

438

index Navarre, Henri, 9 Neary, Tony, 240, 287 New Left, 105, 253 New York Times, 216, 258, 277–8, 312 New Zealand – economy and trade, 4, 141, 197, 200, 210–11, 214, 228, 249–50, 257, 275, 306, 336, 346; and United States trade relations, 121, 152, 227, 229, 242, 258, 266, 268–9, 288, 291, 293 New Zealand – foreign and national security policy, 3–4, 14, 30–1, 80, 92–3, 115–16, 119, 142, 155, 158–9, 164, 169–71, 200, 245, 249, 254, 257, 262, 265–6, 283–5, 301–2, 327–8, 332, 335, 351, 354, 361–5; and AngloAmerican unity, 4, 17, 19, 26, 32, 61; and Australia, 4, 204, 216, 276, 348; and Britain, 3–4, 17–18, 20, 22, 27, 129, 199, 205, 214, 216, 348; and China, 67, 161, 333, 348; and Cold War, 3–5, 21, 31, 33, 63–4, 69, 115, 156, 159, 189, 254, 348, 361; and Korea, 5, 50, 65, 142, 172; and Laos, 36–8, 47; and Malaya/ Malaysia/Singapore, 32, 39, 48, 50, 52–3, 55, 57, 61, 82–6, 88–9, 92, 96, 100, 111–12, 115, 117, 135, 138, 141–2, 144, 157, 177, 200–2, 204–6, 208–10, 212–13, 215–16, 218, 228, 243–4, 246, 257, 268, 274, 306, 350; and Southeast Asia, 1–2, 17, 30–4, 36–8, 45, 47, 50, 52, 60–1, 69, 71–2, 76–7, 82, 85, 91, 103, 111, 115, 117, 119, 137–8, 146, 170, 197, 204, 207, 265–7, 273, 275, 283, 288, 301, 318, 348–9, 351, 354–5, 364; and Southeast Asian Treaty Organisation (SEATO), 31–4, 36, 38, 40, 43, 49, 54–5, 57, 68, 75, 116, 128, 250, 255, 257, 301, 320, 349; and United States, 17–20, 22–3, 27, 31–2, 44–5, 50, 58, 60–1, 89, 93, 97, 112, 116, 127, 141, 170–2, 190, 199, 208, 214, 225, 227–9, 246, 258–60, 262, 265–7, 269–70, 272, 274, 278, 282–3, 286, 291, 313, 331–4, 346–51, 353–5, 357, 359, 363, 365; and Western security, 4, 17; see also ANZUS; forward defence New Zealand and First Indochina War, 10–11, 17, 31, 349–50; and Geneva Accords, 30, 32, 68; influence of Cold War on domestic debate, 63, 66; media commentaries on, 63–6, 68; opposition to New Zealand and Western policy on, 65–7; parliamentary debates about, 64, 67–8; public interest in, 63, 67–8; recognition of Bao Dai administration, 12–14; transfer of surplus arms to French, 14–17, 64–5; and United Action appeal, 17–29, 66, 349; visit of William Gentry to Indochina, 16 New Zealand and Vietnam War: civil and medical assistance to Vietnam, 40, 44, 46, 50, 64, 73, 78, 82, 142–3, 177, 179–80, 190, 194, 223, 237, 245, 273–5, 283, 288, 309, 317, 329, 332, 339, 345; combat commitment (1965), 1–2, 80, 83–103, 277, 313, 348–50, 357; influence of Cold War on domestic debate, 69, 78–9, 125, 127, 155–6, 159, 186, 189–90, 284, 301, 359; interaction with Australia, 51, 89–90, 93, 98–100, 102, 115, 125, 127, 135–7, 142, 144, 146–7, 204–5, 212–14, 219–20, 223, 228, 262–3, 265–6, 270–9, 288, 314–17, 349,

354–5; involvement in air war in Vietnam, 147–9, 215–17, 226, 263, 279; interaction with Johnson administration, 55–62, 80–2, 127, 130–1, 133–54, 199–229, 245–6, 314; interaction with Kennedy administration, 43–51, 53–4; interaction with Nixon administration (1969–Nov 1972), 262–83, 301, 320; interaction with Nixon and Ford administrations (Dec 1972–1975), 328–47; media commentary (1960–4), 69–71, 74–5; (1965) 111–12, 117, 122–3, 126, 158–60, 171–2; (1966) 177–84, 187, 190–1, 193–5, 197; (1967–8) 232–3, 235, 237, 240, 242–4, 246, 249–51, 254–5, 257–9; (1969–72) 285–6, 288–9, 291, 294–6, 298–9, 304, 307, 309–15, 317–19, 323, 328–30, 332; (1973–5) 336–8, 340, 343–6; and military authorities, 136, 142, 147, 204, 209, 216–18, 220, 223–4, 226, 246–7, 263, 274; official reactions to antiwar protest, 104, 156, 158–60, 171–5, 192, 244–6, 251–2, 259–60, 285, 307, 312, 338; opposition to New Zealand and United States policy (1960–4), 70–2, 74, 79; (1965) 104–15, 145, 155, 157, 160–71; (1966) 176–90; (1967–8) 200, 214, 228, 230–2, 234–44, 246–60; (1969–72) 284–326, 330; (1973–5) 333, 335–6, 339–40; parliamentary debates (late 1950s), 68–9; (early 1960s) 71–3, 76–8; (1965) 115–19, 157, 173; (post-1965) 180, 190–1, 193–4, 241, 249, 287, 301, 314–5, 317, 340–1; policy toward Diem regime, 42, 44–6, 48, 53–4; public interest in, 69, 79, 103, 247, 249, 257, 286, 302, 336; public opinion and official policy, 82, 86, 92–3, 108, 113–14, 122, 125, 175, 191, 230, 296, 317, 358; support for official policy, 114, 121–3, 126, 150, 156, 175, 190–1, 197, 241–4, 249, 259, 307, 317, 340, 344, 357–8, 360; White Paper (1965), 158–61, 164–5, 168, 170–1, 192, 274 New Zealand Army, 100, 142, 145, 202, 243; artillery (161 Battery), 95, 97–101, 109, 113– 15, 118, 123, 129–32, 135–6, 142–3, 145–7, 154, 157–8, 160, 177–8, 180, 275–7, 309–10; engineers, 52, 58–9, 62, 76, 81–2, 86, 100–1, 143, 202, 205, 216, 218; field ambulance unit, 143; helicopter pilots, 147, 224; infantry, 202, 205, 209, 215–17, 220, 222, 224, 226, 228, 271, 274–5, 280, 306; medical team, 206, 274–5; Special Air Service (SAS), 86, 202, 205, 215–16, 218, 220, 222, 224, 226, 275–6, 307; training teams, 262, 273–5, 280–3, 317, 325, 329, 346, 359 New Zealand Association of Social Workers, 340 New Zealand Broadcasting Corporation, 174, 250, 293, 310 New Zealand Communist Review, 187 New Zealand Federation of Labour (FOL), 98, 111–13, 120–1, 179, 182, 190, 235, 240, 251, 257, 287, 330 New Zealand Herald (Auckland): and First Indochina War, 15; and Vietnam War, 112, 159, 178, 183–4, 195, 197, 232, 235, 240, 251, 289, 296, 299, 307, 309, 332, 337 New Zealand Labour Party, 5, 36–7, 197, 306,

439

index 328, 336, 346–7, 359; anti-communism of, 74, 79, 103, 109, 125, 156, 180, 183, 186, 359; and anti-war movement, 108–9, 116–17, 120–1, 156–7, 169, 173, 177, 181–3, 186, 196, 231, 241, 253, 257, 298–9, 301, 308, 314–15, 323, 327, 335–6, 338, 343, 347, 360; and combat commitment (1965), 98, 103, 109–10, 112–13, 115, 117–19, 123–4, 156–7, 174–5; and First Indochina War, 64, 67–8; and Malaya/ Malaysia, 109, 113, 117; and Vietnam in late 1950s, 68–9; and Vietnam War (1960–4), 72–8; (1966) 153, 176–81, 190–1, 193; (1967–8) 231, 237, 240–2, 246, 249, 253–4, 256–7, 259; (1969–Nov 1972) 283–4, 286–8, 291, 293–4, 296–7, 299, 308–9, 312, 316–17, 321–2, 326–8; (Dec 1972–1975) 328–43, 325–47, 359; Youth Advisory Council, 341, 343; see also elections New Zealand Listener, 164, 186, 189, 195, 233, 235, 257, 299, 311, 344 New Zealand Medical Aid Committee for Indochina, 340 New Zealand Medical Aid Committee for South Vietnamese Peoples (National Liberation Front Areas), 183, 286, 319–20 New Zealand Monthly Review, 69–72, 74–6, 181, 197, 254, 288, 291, 295–7, 299, 302–4, 308, 311, 317–18, 321, 332, 336, 343 New Zealand National Party, 5, 12, 28, 37, 40, 197, 249, 281, 284, 297, 306, 352, 358; and anti-communism, 123–5, 173–4, 187, 228, 281; and combat commitment (1965), 112–13, 115, 118, 124, 126, 157, 159; and First Indochina War, 67–8; and opposition to National policy, 104, 122–3, 156, 162–3, 169, 171–5, 187, 190–1, 195–6, 241, 284, 293–4, 296, 300, 314–15, 318, 341; and Vietnam (late 1950s), 68–9; and Vietnam War (early 1960s), 72–3, 76, 79; (1966–8) 153, 190, 193, 196, 206, 241, 243; (1969–72) 268, 281, 283, 297; (1973–5) 335–6, 338, 340–1, 346–7; see also elections New Zealand Peace Council, 65–6, 72, 74–5, 104, 106, 108, 121, 184, 290, 307–8, 323 New Zealand Press Association, 119, 279 New Zealand Returned Servicemen’s Association (RSA), 114, 122, 159, 193, 238, 247, 320, 357 New Zealand Tablet, 243, 299 New Zealand Truth, 112, 183, 187, 251–2, 299 New Zealand University Students’ Association, 113, 330, 338 Nga Tamatoa, 309, 324 Ngo Dinh Diem, and Diem regime, 34–8, 40–5, 49, 52, 69–71, 73, 349, 352; coup against, 53–6, 350 Ngo Dinh Nhu, 54 Nguyen Cao Ky, 138–9, 146, 177, 231, 246, 279–80; visit to New Zealand, 203, 230–7, 239–41, 247 Nguyen Hoan, 345 Nguyen Ngoc Loan, 221 Nguyen Van Thieu, 138–9, 145, 177, 231, 246, 264, 279–80, 282–3, 317, 333–8, 342–3, 345–6

Nitze, Paul, 45 Nixon, Richard M., 41, 226, 228, 259, 261–4, 267–70, 272–3, 276–8, 281–4, 288, 290–1, 301, 303–4, 319, 321, 329–31, 333–4, 346, 359; and Guam (or Nixon) Doctrine, 267 Nkrumah, Kwame, 129 NLF, see National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam Nordmeyer, Arnold, 73–5, 77–8, 109, 117–18, 158, 176, 186 Northern Drivers’ Union, 104 Northey, Richard, 105 nuclear weapons, 75; and New Zealand, 320, 328, 333, 335–6, 346, 359 Nunes, Ray, 75, 187–8 NZ–USSR Society, 174 O’Brien, Conor Cruise, 254 Odell, R. S. (Sid), 172 Old Left, 105, 108, 253 Oliver, W. H., 173 Omega protests, 257 Operation Dewey Canyon II, 276 Operation Flaming Dart, 84–5 Operation Lam Son 719, 276 Operation Rolling Thunder, 85 Otago Daily Times: and First Indochina War, 64–6; and Vietnam War, 112, 123, 158–9, 179– 80, 187, 191, 195, 197, 237, 251, 323, 344 Pacific region, 17, 24, 27, 29, 164, 203, 333, 335 pacifism, pacifists, 105, 110, 124, 163, 168–9, 173, 304; see also Christian Pacifists Pakistan, 11, 32 Paris peace talks and agreement (1968–73), 226–7, 257, 259, 261–2, 282–4, 286, 326, 330, 333–6, 338, 347 Paritai Drive incident (1967), 248–9 Pathet Lao, 36 Peace for Vietnam Committee (Auckland), 120–1, 167–9, 181–2, 185–9, 195, 231, 239 peace movement, peace groups, 66, 79, 169, 307, 309, 328, 344; see also anti-war movement; New Zealand and First Indochina War Peace, Power and Politics in Asia (PPP) Conference (1968), 250–6 Pentagon Papers, 277–8, 312–14, 318, 357 People’s Voice, 66, 308 Perry, Norman, 110, 116 PFVC, see Peace for Vietnam Committee (Auckland) Pham Van Dong, 70 Phan Huy Quat, 231 Philippines, 10–11, 32, 66, 92, 94, 266, 269 Phipps, Peter, 88–90, 99 Poland, 11 Polynesians Against the War, 323–4 Potsdam Conference (1945), 7, 9 Powell, Herbert, 57, 152 Powles, Guy, 298 Presbyterians, 104, 110, 246, 251, 258 Press (Christchurch), 163, 296, 337–8, 340, 344–5 PRG, see Provisional Revolutionary Government

440

index Progressive Books, 290 Progressive Youth Movement (PYM), 239–40, 248, 253, 256, 289–93, 295, 297–8, 301, 304–5, 307, 309 Provisional Revolutionary Government (PRG), 319–20, 322–3, 333, 335–9, 342–3, 345; Liberation Women’s Union of, 341 public opinion, see New Zealand and Vietnam War Public Service Association (PSA), 113, 121, 251, 330 Pulley, Andrew, 305 Qui Nhon, despatch of New Zealand medical team to, 73 Quote, 165–6, 185–6, 189, 239 Radical Activists’ Congress (Dunedin, 1969), 291–2 Rae, Duncan, 69 Red Cross Society of the NLF, 183–4, 286 ‘red smear’, 75, 124, 163, 173, 186–7 Reeves, W. P., 297, 304, 313 Reid, Len, 104, 120–1, 181, 256 Republic of Vietnam, see Vietnam, South Republican Party, Republicans, 42, 61, 263 Reserve Bank, 183–4, 251–2 RNZAF, see Royal New Zealand Air Force Rogers, William, 267, 288–91, 293 Roman Catholics, 34–5, 38, 40–1, 121, 237, 246, 251, 303 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 8 Rose, Denis, 252 Rosenberg, Nicholas, 182 Ross, L. F. J. (Larry), 74–5, 170–1 Rostow, Walt, 41–2, 216, 227 Rotary, 169, 193 Rowling, Wallace (Bill), 336–43, 359 Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF), 204, 226, 263 Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF), 148, 215–16, 226, 263; Bristol Freighters, 202, 339, 342; forward air controllers, 226, 279; helicopter pilots, 203–4, 217, 224, 226; Hercules, 340 Royal New Zealand Navy (RNZN), 202; frigate, 215–18, 220, 224 RSA, see New Zealand Returned Servicemen’s Association Rusk, Dean, 44, 46, 49–50, 130, 149, 151, 260 Russia, see Soviet Union Savage, Michael Joseph, 118 Save the Children Fund, 340 Schlesinger, Arthur, Jr, 250 Scott, Walter, 252 Scotten, Robert, 18 SEATO, see South East Asia Treaty Organisation Second World War, 2, 3, 6, 33, 48, 92, 105, 125, 136, 164, 212, 352–3, 363 Security Council, see United Nations Security Council Security Service, 174, 184 self-determination, 2–3, 64, 179, 279, 287, 324;

American commitment to, 8, 268, 282 Shadbolt, Tim, 290–1, 295, 305 Shanahan, Foss, 23, 32–3, 35–6, 47, 49, 53, 55 Shand, Tom, 118, 161, 163, 191–2 Sharp, Ulysses S. Grant, 89 Sherger, Frederick, 89–91 Sinclair, Keith, 161, 260 Sinclair, Kevin, 183 Singapore, 3, 32, 137, 208, 210, 212–13, 216, 279, 339, 343 Sino–Soviet schism, 187 Skinner, Tom, 112, 179 Slingsby, Harry, 184, 189, 250 Smith, Bedell, 25 Social Credit Political League, 114, 197 socialism, socialists, 79, 168, 170, 185–6, 347 Socialist Action League, 309–10, 322–3 Socialist Unity Party, 187, 239 South Africa, opposition to apartheid and rugby tours, 296, 300, 306, 333, 336 South East Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO), 11, 32, 34, 36, 43–4, 47, 54, 68, 75, 94; Council meetings, 36, 38, 40, 49, 55, 149, 191, 207, 250, 252, 255; see also New Zealand – foreign and defence policy South-East Asia Collective Defence Treaty (SEACDT), 11, 32 Southeast Asia, 1–2, 6, 24, 26–7, 59, 71, 189–90, 203–4, 283, 346; security of and communist threat to, 9, 14–16, 21, 24, 27–32, 47, 61, 64, 66–9, 77, 84–5, 92, 100–2, 109, 127, 138, 146, 159, 207, 212, 255, 275, 287, 320, 349, 354–5, 364; see also New Zealand – foreign and defence policy Soviet Union, 4, 36, 364; and First Indochina War, 10, 15, 24, 64, 66, 67; and United States, 134, 262, 281–2; and Vietnam War, 49, 150, 281–2, 344 Spender, Percy, 13, 18, 28–9 Spock, Benjamin, 311, 313 Standard (Labour newspaper), 66 Stewart, Ian, 96, 99, 136, 142 Stone, I. F., 260 Student Anti-War Movment, 323 Student Mobilisation Committee to End the War In Vietnam (US), 294 students, see universities Students’ Anti-war Organisation, 321 Students for a Democratic Society (US), 105 Suez crisis (1956), 18, 88 Suharto, General, 137, 208 Sukarno, President 137 Taiwan (Formosa), 134, 333 Talboys, Brian, 173, 335, 346 Taranaki Daily News, 123 Taranaki Herald, 237, 254 Taylor, Alister, 250–4, 256 Taylor, Maxwell, 43–4, 53, 84, 209–14, 217, 242–5 Te Awamutu, 233 Teachers and Lecturers Against the War, 323 teach-ins, 156, 160–5, 168, 174, 305, 308, 312 Tet offensive (1968), 220–3, 228, 250–1, 281

441

index Thailand, 10–11, 32, 39, 92, 112; and New Zealand, 46–7, 53, 141–2, 266 Thieu, Nguyen Van, see Nguyen Van Thieu Thompson, R. G. K., 53 Thomson, David, 163–4, 206, 209, 215–16, 218, 223, 225, 273, 279, 298, 310–11, 317, 319, 338 Thornton, Leonard, 137, 142, 202, 209, 220, 226, 255, 334 Timaru Herald, 179, 191 Titman, Clark, 253, 341, 357–8 Tizard, Robert (Bob), 178–80, 299, 345 Tonkin Gulf resolution (1964), 60 Tourist and Publicity Department, 122, 158, 171–2 trade unions, 257, 296, 328; and First Indochina War, 66, 74; and Vietnam War, 105, 108, 112, 120–1, 165, 233, 239, 246, 259, 287, 307, 309, 322–3 Tran Van Do, 101 Trotskyists, 309 Truman, Harry, 8, 83 Turner, Nicholas, 161, 232, 279 U Thant, 116 Uhl, Michael, 308 United Action, 10, 17–29, 66, 88, 349 United Nations Association of New Zealand, 113, 251 United Nations Economic Commission for Asia and the Far East (ECAFE), 11 United Nations Organisation, 2, 5, 69, 79, 88; and First Indochina War, 19–20, 350; and Vietnam War, 36, 53, 76–7, 94, 109–11, 116, 118, 128, 149, 329 United Nations Security Council, 140, 149 United States: anti-colonialism of, 8; anticommunism of, 8–9; and China, 83, 278–9, 319; and Cold War, 3, 8, 10, 83, 101; Congress, 45, 49–50, 53, 57, 134, 216, 269; Defense Department, 227; and First Indochina War, 8–12, 14–19, 21–30, 32, 349; Joint Chiefs of Staff, 90, 133; National Security Council, 8; and Southeast Asia, 32, 46–7, 85, 102, 203–4, 207, 212, 221, 225, 227, 262–3, 266–7, 291, 301; State Department, 40, 50, 53, 55, 75, 94, 144, 228–9, 260, 264, 269, 279; and United Nations; see also Australia; China; Cold War; New Zealand; New Zealand and Vietnam War; Soviet Union United States and Vietnam War: anti-war movements and protests, 105, 126–7, 134, 160, 164, 166, 169, 174, 189, 247, 261, 264, 269, 284, 294, 303, 311, 324, 344; Eisenhower administration policy, 34–5, 38, 40, 350; Johnson administration policy, 55–7, 60–1, 80–5, 89, 94–5, 115, 117, 125, 127, 130–1, 133, 137, 139, 148, 153, 199–203, 205–6, 208–14, 216–18, 220–2, 224–5, 227–8, 245, 277–8, 355; Kennedy administration policy, 41, 43–4, 49, 53–4; Nixon administration policy, 228, 261–5, 267–73, 276–84, 291, 306, 321, 329–30, 333–4; see also Johnson, Lyndon B.; Kennedy, John F.; Nixon, Richard M.; Vietnam, North

United States military forces: 173 Airborne Brigade, 99; Marines, 82, 85, 90; Seventh Air Force, 226; Seventh Fleet, 215–6 universities, 251, 253; South Vietnamese students at, 110, 245, 255, 345; and Vietnam War, 106, 108, 121, 165, 175, 303, 307, 309, 314–15, 323; see also Association of University Teachers; Canterbury University Students’ Association; Massey University; teach-ins; University of Auckland; University of Canterbury; University of Otago; University of Waikato; Victoria University of Wellington University of Auckland, 110, 162, 168, 173, 305 University of Canterbury, 305; see also Canterbury University Students’ Association University of Otago, 121, 174, 291 University of Waikato, 303 V-Force, 129–31, 211, 215–16, 218–19, 226 Vargas, Jesus, 255 Victoria University Friends of Vietnam Society, 255 Victoria University of Wellington, 110, 121, 161, 164, 303, 308, 314; National Club, 250; Students’ Association, 161 Viet Cong, 42–3, 47, 49, 51, 55, 61, 72, 76, 80, 82, 84–5, 87, 89, 99, 128, 130–1, 146, 157, 183–4, 186, 220–3, 245–6, 251, 281, 314, 318, 343, 345; see also National Liberation Front Vietminh, 6–11, 16–17, 20–1, 24, 28, 30, 35–6, 42, 65–7, 349 Vietnam: Bao Dai administration, 8–9, 12, 14; colonial history of, 2–3, 6–11; independence proclaimed (1945), 2–3, 63; partition of, 10– 11, 19, 26; proposed elections (1956), 30, 35; see also communism; nationalism; Vietminh; Vietnam, North; Vietnam, South Vietnam, North (Democratic Republic of Vietnam), 2, 7, 36, 38, 40, 72; American military action against, 60–1, 81, 84–5, 89, 103, 128, 130, 133, 138–9, 148–50, 162, 190, 191, 210, 217, 224, 245–6, 261, 276–8, 281–2, 312, 319–20, 329–31, 333; and ceasefire accord (1973), 334–5, 337–8; conflict with South Vietnam, 55, 60–1, 73, 76–7, 87, 88, 111, 143, 146, 161, 220, 245, 251, 263–4, 277, 281–3, 304, 336–9, 341, 343–4; criticism of within New Zealand, 179, 245, 283, 304, 337–8, 345; and New Zealand, 184, 335, 338, 343, 345, 360; and NLF, 42, 161; and peace talks, 110, 128, 222, 227, 261, 282–3, 306; and PRG, 339, 343; reporting on by Freda Cook, 69–71; support for within New Zealand, 322, 333, 335–6 Vietnam, South (Republic of Vietnam), 132, 276; and ceasefire accord (1973), 333–4, 336–7; criticism of within New Zealand, 70, 126, 159–60, 169, 178–80, 231, 282, 317, 335, 337, 346; diplomatic interaction with New Zealand and requests for assistance, 97, 114, 117, 143, 203, 205–6, 219, 242, 262, 272, 274, 278–80, 333–4, 342–3, 345; establishment and development of in 1950s, 34–5; fall of, 339–47, 362; National Leadership Committee, 138;

442

index New Zealand media commentary on, 70–2, 246, 317, 336, 344; New Zealand official views on, 51–2, 58–9, 82, 85–7, 145, 245–6, 263, 266, 274–5, 281–3, 293, 333–5, 342–3, 350, 352, 354, 357; orphans from, 317, 339–42, 346; and peace talks, 110, 117, 259, 283, 326; political instability and insurgency in, 52–3, 55–7, 60, 78, 84, 113, 116–17, 138–9, 145, 149, 161, 170, 207, 220–1, 224–5, 251, 274–5, 281, 350; support for within New Zealand, 177, 253, 286, 311, 336. 338, 341–2, 357; see also communism; elections; universities; United States; Vietnam; Vietnam, North Vietnam: Quote and Comment, see Quote Vietnamisation policy, 228, 261–2, 272, 275, 280, 282, 285, 287; see also Nixon, Richard M. Vo Nguyen Giap, 9 Waikato Times, 123, 172, 232, 247, 296 Wairarapa Times-Age, 163, 246 Waller, Keith, 81, 279 Washington Post, 216 Watt, Hugh, 120–1, 180, 294 Webb, Richard, 274 Webb, T. C. (Clifton), 14–16, 18, 20, 23–8, 68

Weir, Stephen, 47–9, 52–3, 55–6, 58–9, 86, 91, 96, 101, 137 Wellington Teachers' Training College, 106, 120 Wellington Trades Council, 196, 330 Westmoreland, William, 85, 133, 137, 142, 153, 202, 209, 223, 319 White, Lloyd, 106–7, 132, 201–2 White, William, 94 Whitehead, Stan, 118 Whitlam, Gough, 331, 333 Wilcox, Yvonne, 339 Wilson, Harold, 116, 128, 131–2, 207 Winchester, J. W., 260 Women Against the War, 309, 324–5 women’s movement, 285, 300, 325, 328, 347, 361 Wood, Chalmers, 331 Wraight, David, 255 Wright, Linsday, 314 Youth Action Committee on Vietnam, 240 Youth Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (YCND), 104–5, 110, 113 Zealandia, 251

443