Chapter 420: Neither Glory Nor Peace
On the shores of Lake Geneva, after concluding negotiations with North Vietnam, Lin Ran met here with Mr. Qiao, a diplomat from China.
More precisely, it was the other party who had requested to meet him.
The distant Alps were already dusted with early snow.
Lin Ran was walking alone by the lake, the entire area heavily guarded by American security personnel.
After passing security checks, the Chinese diplomat slowly approached from afar.
“Professor, long time no see.” Mr. Qiao’s voice arrived before he did.
As a figure indispensable in modern Chinese diplomatic history, Lin Ran’s first meeting with him was also in Geneva.
That time it was negotiations on the Berlin Crisis, where China played the role of an intermediary mediator; the other party had come along with the Chinese delegation, ranking as the third figure in the Chinese delegation at the time.
“Professor, we hope to promote the normalization of relations between China and America, and ideally return to the United Nations.” Mr. Qiao, upon learning that Lin Ran had accepted his meeting request, had already prepared thoroughly.
The instructions from Yanjing were: you need to be as candid as possible with the other side, tell them our true purpose, even what we are willing to pay, and the negotiation bottom line can all be shared with them.
After receiving such strange instructions, Qiao once doubted whether Lin Ran was truly, as rumored, one of their “own people.”
He then felt endless regret, because if the other party really was one of their own, it would be far too regrettable.
Our country’s top-tier talent cannot be directly used by us.
“Of course, of course, that time point will come soon, but this is still far from enough.” Lin Ran turned to gaze at the serene lake surface and said thoughtfully.
From Qiao’s attire and complexion, he could tell that China’s China in this worldline was considerably wealthier than the original China; the country had money on hand, so the living conditions of these diplomats were also much better.
From attire to complexion, there were no signs of hardship.
Not enough? What wasn’t enough? Doubt surged in Qiao’s heart.
“We once stationed troops in Japan; at that time, the occupation forces’ garrison centered on Aichi Prefecture, including Shizuoka and Mie Prefectures.
Later, for various reasons, we withdrew from Japan in 1946, but legally speaking, China has this right.
You want to seek return to the United Nations, which means you must accept all rights from the ROC, to be recognized globally as China’s sole legitimate representative.”
Lin Ran’s tone was calm, but his words made Qiao’s blood boil.
This held extraordinary significance for every Chinese person, and Qiao was no exception; just thinking about it already left him greatly excited.
Tokyo’s Red Tide would only grow fiercer, America’s predicament in the Vietnam War would only worsen, and in this timeline, Nixon wanting to push the US dollar out of the Bretton Woods Agreement would become an impossible task.
The entire East Room was packed with reporters and photographers, flashbulbs popping incessantly.
The reporters’ hearts were filled with tension and anticipation.
Three chairs were already prepared on the podium.
In the center was President Nixon, to the left the current NASA Director and this time’s negotiator Randolph Lin, to the right Secretary of State William Rogers.
Nixon and Rogers sat first, with Lin Ran arriving slightly later.
But when he arrived, the intensity of the flashbulbs surged, and whispers among the reporters rose and fell.
Two months without seeing Lin Ran, the reporters were nearly dying to see him; this was a guarantee of sales volume.
President Nixon cleared his throat, and the entire hall instantly fell silent.
“My fellow Americans,” Nixon’s voice was loud and forceful, yet carrying an unusual gravity: “I stand here not to announce a victory, but to announce the beginning of peace.”
He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over the reporters below the stage:
“In the past few weeks, we held unprecedented secret talks in Geneva.
I sent my special representative, the most sincere and wisest person I could find, to engage in direct dialogue with Hanoi.
He brought no preconditions, no boasts of victory; he only brought our sincerity and our deepest longing for peace.”
Nixon nodded toward Lin Ran.
Everyone had long known about Lin Ran’s negotiations with the Hanoi representatives in Geneva.
The special report from New York Times Editor-in-Chief Jenny Hearst from Geneva, while Lin Ran was on the plane returning to Washington, had the latest issue with the report already flying like paper to American households’ mailboxes.
“Now, I can tell everyone that we have reached a principled agreement.” Nixon’s words were like a bombshell, detonating the scene: “According to the agreement, America will, on a clear timetable, withdraw all combat troops from Vietnam in phases.
At the same time, North Vietnam will immediately release all American POWs and promise restraint in the peace process.”
“This is a difficult decision, and a brave one,” Nixon continued. “It is not a perfect agreement, but it is the most real agreement.
It means we will bring our boys home, we will end this war tearing our nation apart.
It also means we will return Vietnam’s future to the Vietnamese people themselves.”
After speaking, Nixon leaned back in his chair, signaling Lin Ran to speak.
Randolph did not take the microphone, merely leaning his body slightly forward.
“What I did was merely bring human language to the negotiating table.” Randolph’s voice was low and clear, piercing the entire hall: “I represented no one’s interests, only one fact: war is humanity’s greatest failure.
When two opposing systems are willing to sit down and discuss shared pain rather than each other’s positions, peace truly becomes possible.
This agreement is no one’s victory, but everyone’s relief.”
His words did not elicit a burst of applause from below the stage.
Next was the Q&A session. A reporter from the New York Times was the first to ask, standing up and calling out loudly:
“Mr. President, does this agreement mean we have not achieved an honorable peace? Can this be seen as a unilateral concession to the enemy?”
Nixon was about to answer, but Rogers cut in first, taking the microphone and speaking in his characteristic tone of rationality tinged with slight arrogance:
“This reporter friend, this is a question about reality.
In any conflict, honor is defined by the price of blood.
Mr. Randolph, through his methods, spared us the cost of further bloodshed.
This agreement may lack traditional honor, but it wins for America the most precious thing: an opportunity to reunite the nation and restore its vitality.
From this perspective, it is more valuable than any military victory.”
Nixon then answered:
“This is an honorable peace, without a doubt.
During President Johnson’s time, he even raised the issue of reparations to Vietnam to prompt North Vietnam to agree to peace talks.
In the Paris negotiations at that time, we proposed aid to Vietnam to push forward the talks.
However, due to severe differences between the sides, plus North Vietnam’s firm demand for reparations rather than aid, the Paris negotiations were once suspended.”
Yes, Lyndon Johnson wanted to solve it through aid, but North Vietnam hoped to define it as reparations.
Aid and reparations were worlds apart.
“I think everyone should remember how much President Lyndon Johnson proposed to Congress at the time? A full 10 billion US dollars.”
PS: On April 7, 1965, Johnson reiterated his willingness to engage in unconditional discussions with Hanoi. To increase appeal, Johnson suggested economic cooperation among Southeast Asian nations, “once peaceful cooperation becomes possible, we hope North Vietnam will join,” and he would request the US Congress provide 10 billion US dollars for Southeast Asia’s economic development plan. (Lyndon B. Johnson, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Lyndon B. Johnson, 1965, I, pp. 394-399)
“Only the professor could do it, bringing our soldiers home peacefully without spending a single US dollar.”
Nixon concluded finally.
His summary left the reporters in the room somewhat dazed.
Countless past press conferences in the White House East Room had been like this, with the professor seated beside the president, accomplishing one feat after another that others could not.
Who the president was did not matter; from Kennedy to Johnson to Nixon, what mattered was that the professor was still in the White House.
Thinking of this, the reporters below the stage erupted in the most enthusiastic applause since the press conference began.
“We want peace, we crave peace, we value peace, I will bring peace.”
Lin Ran concluded finally.
Washington, Washington Post editorial office
The press conference in the White House East Room had just ended, and the editorial office’s phone lines were nearly melting.
Executive Editor Ben Bradley paced back and forth in the room like a lion caged, grabbing the phone to hear the news from on-site reporter Carl Bernstein.
“No victory, Ben,” Bernstein’s voice sounded excited. “But the professor brought back peace! He did it.”
Bradley hung up the phone and looked around at every reporter and editor in the room awaiting instructions.
He knew this was not ordinary news; it would be the starting point for discussions of the Nixon Administration for decades to come.
He pointed at a senior editor, Howard Simmons.
“Howard, what do you think?” Bradley asked.
Simmons removed his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge.
“It’s complicated, Ben.
Nixon’s speech is like an apology for his campaign slogan.
The honorable peace he promised did not appear; no matter how beautifully the slogan is shouted, it cannot stop the fact that we will lose South Vietnam.
This is the peace of appeasement, the peace of abandoning Vietnam.
More importantly, this is entirely the professor’s merit, not Nixon’s merit.
Even if Lyndon Johnson were sitting in the White House now, we would hear similar news.
We cannot simply define it as Nixon’s success or failure.”
Bradley nodded, his gaze turning to a young reporter, Bob Woodward.
“Woodward, your take?”
Woodward had just entered the White House press circle not long ago, but his observational skill was extremely sharp.
“It’s like Nixon telling the American people: ‘I can’t win, but I can end it.’
President Johnson’s past problem was that he refused to admit failure, because he started this war.”
Bradley picked up his favorite red marker and heavily wrote a few words on the whiteboard: “Not victory, but peace.”
“This is our core,” Bradley’s voice was filled with a sense of mission. “We will approach from this angle. What we report is not the glory Nixon wants us to see, but the real, contradiction-filled peace this nation faces.
We must tell readers why this peace has applause only for the professor, none for the peace itself; for the Vietnam War itself, we have only sighs.”
He began assigning tasks, his tone decisive:
“Front-page headline: We use the most concise and powerful language to directly highlight the core.
Main article by Bernstein and Woodward teaming up.
Bernstein handles getting more details from White House internal sources, especially the professor’s negotiation remarks in Geneva; we need more golden quotes like his final summary.
Woodward handles depicting the on-site atmosphere, deeply portraying the subtle emotions between the professor and Nixon.
Editorial penned by Simmons.
We analyze from a historical perspective the profound influence of this peace agreement on American foreign policy, and that it is not honorable, defining what Nixon’s so-called honorable peace means—what he must achieve to count as honorable peace.”
Bradley concluded finally, his voice filled with the Washington Post’s distinctive spirit of criticism and reflection.
“We are not the White House’s mouthpiece; we are the eyes of the American people.
Our responsibility is to reveal the truth, no matter how complex.
Today, we take no side; we only record for history.
Go, kids, write the story of this era.”
Just as he finished assigning work, a noisy sound came from outside; the intern Jimmy Wicklin responsible for odd jobs walked in—Bradley was certain he looked no different from a dead man.
This was a face uglier than he had ever seen.
As if he had experienced some unprecedented disaster.
“Mr. Bradley, V sent a video tape; the Soviet people killed Edgar Hoover.”
