Henry
Kissinger analyses how six extraordinary leaders he has known have shaped their
countries and the world
'Leaders,'
writes Henry Kissinger in this compelling book, 'think and act at the
intersection of two axes: the first, between the past and the future; the
second between the abiding values and aspirations of those they lead. They must
balance what they know, which is necessarily drawn from the past, with what
they intuit about the future, which is inherently conjectural and uncertain. It
is this intuitive grasp of direction that enables leaders to set objectives and
lay down a strategy.'
In
Leadership, Kissinger analyses the lives of six extraordinary leaders through
the distinctive strategies of statecraft which he believes they embodied. After
the Second World War, Konrad Adenauer brought defeated and morally bankrupt
Germany back into the community of nations by what Kissinger calls 'the
strategy of humility'. Charles de Gaulle set France beside the victorious
Allies and renewed its historic grandeur by 'the strategy of will'. During the
Cold War, Richard Nixon gave geostrategic advantage to the United States by
'the strategy of equilibrium'. After twenty-five years of conflict, Anwar Sadat
brought a vision of peace to the Middle East by a 'strategy of transcendence'.
Against the odds, Lee Kwan Yew created a powerhouse city-state, Singapore, by
'the strategy of excellence'. Although when she came to power Britain was known
as 'the sick man of Europe', Margaret Thatcher renewed her country's morale and
international position by 'the strategy of conviction'.
To each of
these studies, Kissinger brings historical perception, public experience and -
because he knew each of their subjects, and participated in many of the events
he describes - personal knowledge. The book is enriched by insights and
judgements such as only he could make, and concludes with his reflections on
world order and the indispensability of leadership today.
Leadership by Henry Kissinger review – lessons in
diplomacy from a master of the dark arts
In this analysis of six national leaders, the grand
old man of US politics offers a broad-brush history of international statecraft
but ignores the death and destruction that sometimes resulted
Andrew
Anthony
Tue 21 Jun
2022 07.00 BST
Christopher
Hitchens once called Henry Kissinger a “stupendous liar with a remarkable
memory”. Leaving judgment aside on the first part of that description, at 99
Kissinger seems set on proving Hitchens right on the second.
While many
people who make it to that age struggle to recall their own name, the grand old
man of realpolitik has produced a study of six national leaders – Konrad
Adenauer, Charles de Gaulle, Richard Nixon, Anwar Sadat, Lee Kuan Yew and
Margaret Thatcher – entitled Leadership. As is evident from the subtitle, Six
Studies in World Strategy, Kissinger, the geopolitical guru, is most interested
in how leaders act on the world stage rather than, say, if they lie to their parliaments
or transgress their own laws.
At the
heart of his political outlook is the notion of strategy, and that in turn is
informed by a concept of national interest and power relations that hasn’t
changed much since the mid-17th century and the Westphalian settlement. Of
course, how strategies actually play out in the real world, and to what degree
the best-laid plans are post-rationalised, is a question that lends itself to
creative interpretation or historical revision. Kissinger met or had dealings with
all six of his subjects, most obviously Richard Nixon, for whom he was both
national security adviser and secretary of state. And so there is an added
layer of self-interest.
You sense
that Kissinger, who has never undersold himself, admires De Gaulle’s gall
As such,
his portrait of Nixon is predictably sympathetic, while not hiding some of the
man’s notable character flaws. Unsurprisingly, he hails his efforts in foreign
policy, which were all but indistinguishable from Kissinger’s own. The pair
were famously close, in an operational sense, and both were keenly appreciative
of the benefits of secrecy. Much of his study of Nixon is taken up with two
policies: the protracted effort to extract the US from the Vietnam war, and the
bold attempt to build new relations with China, partly as a means of
undermining the Soviet Union. But behind the headline initiatives were
decisions that left no shortage of death and destruction in their wake. In a
typical piece of Nixon strategy, to bring peace to Vietnam he began secretly
bombing Cambodia, thus helping to create the conditions for the monstrous Khmer
Rouge to prevail. Kissinger, who was initially against the Cambodian campaign
before heartily backing it, skims over this episode.
On a
similar scale of mass murder was the Pakistan armed forces’ and Islamist
militia’s suppression of Bangladesh’s independence movement, as East Pakistan
sought to breakaway from its more powerful sibling, West Pakistan. Estimates of
the death toll vary between 300,000 and 3 million. But while the savagery was
taking place, the US maintained a diplomatic distance, refusing to condemn
Pakistan – not least because it was through Pakistan that it was conducting its
secret negotiations with the Chinese. In any case, Kissinger pats Nixon (and
himself) on the back for averting a global war over Bangladesh. As he puts it,
neatly sidestepping the genocide that took place, what was important to the
White House was “the maintenance of an appropriate international equilibrium”.
The world,
viewed through Kissinger’s eyes, is not so very different from the kinds of
inter-house machinations dramatised in Game of Thrones, and you could picture
him as the Hand of the King, forever whispering fiendish plots and dark truths
to a paranoid master. If Nixon was someone for whom strategic manoeuvres were
often prioritised over moral considerations, then we’ve recently witnessed an
American president who had no strategy – beyond ego fulfilment. One of Donald
Trump’s few achievements in office is that he made Nixon seem, by comparison,
like a towering political giant.
Kissinger’s
treatment of Thatcher, whom he refers to as a dear friend, is uncomplicated by
the societal tensions that are her legacy. The kind of free-market policies she
introduced heralded an asocial individualism that remains a contradiction for
old-style conservatives, which in many respects she was. Instead, he
concentrates on the Falklands, her cold war stance and her handling of the IRA,
none of which is original in presentation.
The most
finely drawn portrait of the six is of De Gaulle. If a vital aspect of
leadership is self-belief, then few leaders have ever displayed more of it in
less auspicious circumstances. When he named himself leader of the Free French,
De Gaulle had had only a fortnight’s political experience as deputy defence
minister. He was barely known in London, where he set about establishing a
government in exile that was to all intents and purposes him.
He annoyed
every ally he met – in particular Franklin Roosevelt but also his host, Winston
Churchill – and yet through sheer determination and a refusal to accept the
weakness of his position he made himself into the figurehead of French
liberation.
After the
D-day landings he gave a speech in the main square of Bayeux addressing the
crowd as if they were all members of the French resistance, celebrating the
French war effort and not even mentioning the British and American troops who’d
suffered terrible casualties fighting their way ashore.
A war hero
in the first world war, De Gaulle enabled the French to see themselves as
staunch resisters to the Nazis, all but removing the stain of Vichy from the
French imagination. He created a political reality, Kissinger writes, “by sheer
force of will”.
You sense
that Kissinger, who has never undersold himself, admires De Gaulle’s gall, but
it’s his statecraft that most commands his respect: “On every major strategic
question facing France and Europe over no fewer than three decades, and against
an overwhelming consensus, De Gaulle judged correctly.”
That’s a
large claim, but then Kissinger prides himself on being able to see the grand
sweep of history, undistracted by minor diversions. It’s made him a kind of
Yoda for foreign policy geeks. To his critics he will always be the man who
told the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet that he was sympathetic with what he
was trying to do. It’s a shame he didn’t include an essay on that brutal
leadership.

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