I hadn’t read anything about the Korean War and I’ve
thoroughly enjoyed David Halberstam’s
work on baseball and culture (Summer of ‘49
and October 1964). So I was glad to
read his book on “the forgotten war,” The
Coldest Winter. At 661 pages, it was a bit of a slog and I skimmed in
places. But it was immensely helpful for understanding the war’s primary causes,
key battles, main characters, and the implications of our failures in Korea.
In his epilogue, Halberstam traces the origins of this
book to an interview with Fred Ladd during his research for The Best and the Brightest—on the
failures of the Vietnam War (659-660). After a decade of writing and 43 years
after the interview that planted the seed, Halberstam finally completed the
book in 2007. (Sadly, this was his final book. He died at age 73 in a car
accident on the way to an interview for his next book—again, on baseball.)
“The
Forgotten War”
I should probably start with an apology and an
explanation. If you’re familiar with the Korean War, my review of Halberstam’s
book may be somewhere between old news and reinventing the wheel. But I’ve
never read anything substantial about it—and I’m not nearly alone. Why has it
received so little attention?
The Korean War should be a big deal in the American
memory. It lasted three years (June 1950 – July 1953); it occurred near the
outset of the Cold War; it involved Russia, Japan, China, and what would become
Taiwan; it featured the best decision and worst antics of Douglas MacArthur’s
famed career; it resulted in 33,000 dead and 105,000 wounded Americans (1.2
million dead when you include the Koreans and the Chinese); and it led
inexorably to the disaster in Vietnam (4).
But from the beginning, its place in history has been
diminished. Truman labeled it a “police action” rather than a “war,” not
wanting to ramp up the temperature of the Cold War (2). This greatly upset the
soldiers—then and afterwards, harming their legacy. Of course, maybe we’d
remember it differently if the outcome had been a lot better. Halberstam notes
that it “was a grinding, limited war.” After the first nine months, the
“action” certainly didn’t rise to the level of WWII excitement. It was not a
“great national war of unifying singular purpose”; it was a “puzzling, gray,
very distant conflict…seemingly without hope or resolution.” (2)
It didn’t divide us—and thus haunt us—like Vietnam. It
didn’t receive ample TV coverage; the news was still largely black-and-white. Elie
Wiesel said the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. And indifference
was the standard response here—at least for those not in the battle. Most folks
back home were enjoying the consumer boom of the 1950s. In contrast, aside for
a few brief ecstatic moments, the news from Korea “was almost always so grim.” (4-5)
The upshot: the Korean War was “orphaned by history.”
(2) Halberstam went into a public library in Florida in 2004. He found 88 books
on the Vietnam War and only four on the Korean War. No popular movies have been
made about the Korean War. Its only significant pop-culture reference is the TV
show M*A*S*H—a series set in Korea, but ultimately about Vietnam, at a time when
one couldn’t criticize Vietnam directly. (Halberstam notes that the shaggy
haircuts in M*A*S*H tell us that the show was really about Vietnam, since crew
cuts were still required in Korea.)
Korea’s seeming obscurity was a problem from the
outset. First, it was considered a backwater in terms of foreign policy.
Halberstam’s second sentence fingers Secretary of State Dean Acheson with “a
colossal gaffe” (1), by leaving South Korea out of America’s Asian defense perimeter.
Second, Douglas MacArthur was busy running post-war Japan as its governor. He
did “an admirable job of modernizing Japan.” (62) But he was not particularly
concerned with the military there. He gave Korea even less attention, saying
that it was a State Department issue (60-61). Third, when conflict began in
Korea, most experts worried that it was merely a Soviet feint to disguise a
larger and more important move in the budding Cold War.
Beyond inattention to Korea, America’s military had
declined at a surprising and debilitating rate. Halberstam provides many
reasons for this: a desire to return to a peacetime mindset post-WWII (and
post-Great Depression—it’d been a tough 16 years!); being ill-at-ease with its
new world-power role; an over-dependence on the nuclear option, imagining that
it displaced the need for conventional military resources (142, 149); and the
fiscal conservatism of Truman who didn’t want to continue paying so much for a military.
Military spending fell from $91 billion to $10-11 billion and Truman wanted to
get it down to $6-7 billion (177). As the war proceeded, spending would
eventually rise to $55 billion (201).
This caused all sorts of trouble—directly and
indirectly. The troops were poorly armed and poorly prepared. When trouble
came, the lack of preparation and the resulting reluctance to enter the war
necessarily led to charges of “appeasement.” (90) In light of the weak, early European
approach to the Nazis and concerns about Communist aggression, many people
reasonably believed that a strong response was ideal. Halberstam also argues
that its ripple effects extended well beyond the war—that Korea “would poison
American politics” and result in “deeply flawed” policy toward Asia and
ultimately Vietnam.
Because of the Korean War, Truman took a beating in
domestic politics. History has rescued his reputation and elevated the merit of
his choices, but it’s gone too far. Truman was famous for insisting that “the
buck stops here.” As such, he bears the blame for the poor preparation in the
run-up to the War (138) and especially in failing to deal appropriately with
General Douglas MacArthur.
One can still have sympathy for Truman. He was
“dealing with a war he did not want, in a part of the world his national
security people had not thought important, and relying from the start on a
commander in the field whom he did not like, and who in turn did not respect
him. The stars were not aligned from the start.” (102) But an objective history
must find his approach to the military and the war to be far less than ideal.
Key
Players on the World Stage: Rhee, Kim, Stalin, and Mao
Halberstam focuses considerable attention on the
relevant world leaders. The president of South Korea (SK), Syngman Rhee, is largely
described as a figurehead and a puppet (65-68). His ascension to power was a
function of circumstances—the right man at the right time, given that he was in
America when things were going poorly in Korea before WWII. His leadership was unimpressive;
his troops were ill-prepared and ineffective. At least, relative to his
American sponsors, the North Korean belligerents, and their Chinese
accomplices, Rhee was largely a non-factor.
The leader of North Korea (NK), Kim Il Sung, was a
much larger player—as the primary instigator of hostilities. Although Kim
exaggerated his role, he had been a key guerrilla leader in the war against
Japanese occupation (74). He had been installed by the Soviets and was loaded
with help from Russian generals, but during the war, almost all of his
assistance came from the Chinese. He “was somewhat of a contradiction, a fierce
nationalist who was the creation of an imperial power.” (71) He was not
charismatic, but he was a true believer in Communism and his own right to
power. Long after the USSR had fallen and China had compromised, “Kim remained
the last great Stalinist in power: rigid, doctrinaire, inflexible, a man who
believed all the old truths even as so many of them had turned out to be
false.” (77)
Stalin gets some play (346) as a foil to Mao and as someone
who was trying to stir the pot behind the scenes. Stalin held the stronger hand
and played it (361), treating Mao like a peon (352-354) and repeatedly breaking
promises to support China’s effort in Korea (360). (Halberstam tells a wild
story about Mao returning the favor later, holding a meeting with Khrushchev in
a swimming pool, forcing him to wear a life preserver since he couldn’t swim!
[352])
Coming into the Korean War, Mao and the Communists
had driven out the Nationalist forces of Chiang Kai-Shek, forcing him to
Taiwan. Stalin’s quiet machinations and Chinese success vs. Chiang and America allowed
Mao to become as a man of unprecedented power in China and for China to emerge
as a world power (633). Of course, from there, things get increasingly brutal
for China under Mao—the “Great Leap Forward” (634), staggering persecution, and
Stalin-like purges of his “enemies”—or those who became known as “enemies of
the people.” (636)
MacArthur believed that China would stay out of the
Korean theater, leading him to be aggressive in pushing north. But Mao had
other ideas. He “believed it was good for the new China and necessary for the
future of the revolution, both domestically and internationally.” (338) Mao
believed in “a single strand of history and in [himself] as its principal
figure—in effect, serving as history’s man…powerful stuff.” (338-339) “Epic
revolutions probably demand someone with a supreme, invincible sense of self, a
belief in the price that others men have to pay for the good of their
vision…rationalize great suffering for the good of the cause…no boundaries, no
restraints…what began as an all-consuming vision became almost inevitably a
great nightmare as well.” (339)
Pride
and Prejudice
One recurring theme is that the leaders grossly
overestimated their military prowess and underestimated their enemies (631).
Kim wanted to rule the entire country and imagined that his troops would be welcomed
by the South. He overestimated his military strength; he thought NK would be
victorious in three weeks (1). He was fooled by his early dominance on the
battlefield—before U.S. troops stiffened at Pusan, received reinforcements, and
were eventually relieved by the invasion at Inchon. “Kim was still talking
victory—while the Chinese were increasingly sure that he had already been
defeated.” (168)
Second, after Inchon in September, MacArthur and Co.
confidently expected to be done by Christmas (367). Troops sent from Japan were
told to “pack their summer dress uniforms—for the victory parade that was soon
to come in Seoul.” (145) The Joint Chiefs thought about replacing MacArthur
with Matt Ridgway but thought Korea would be short and were worried about USSR
efforts elsewhere in the world (153).
Third, with Mao’s “surprise” attack and early
sweeping success, he imagined that they would easily drive the Americans off
the Korean Peninsula, leading to strategic mistakes in overextending his troops
(507). And then after the war, his success in Korea led him to a great leap
backward for “the people.”
Eventually, each side was sobered a bit by failure—and
with Ridgway in charge, the War settled into its long, slow, grinding phase. But
over and over again, hubris had caused bad decisions and devastating
consequences.
One key reason for the preeminence of pride was that
these leaders used power and fear to control things—and then had sycophants who
sucked up to them. When you scare everybody and then you surround yourself with
yes-men, you quickly move from pride to self-deceit. As M. Scott Peck notes in The People of the Lie, when you start
lying to others and then lying to yourself, it’s quite difficult to recover. Once
you’re divorced from reality and you set up barriers for people to bring you
back to reality, only exceedingly harsh realities have a chance to turn you
around.
It was worst in Communist systems, where the leaders
controlled the mechanisms of power far more completely. “Bad news tended not to
filter back…[it was] sanitized step by step.” (306) But America had its own
burden here. MacArthur was a legend; he was on the cover of Time magazine for the seventh time, immediately
after NK first attacked (103). Halberstam quotes General Joseph Stilwell who
noted that MacArthur got his first star in 1918 and was thus a general for 30+
years: “thirty years of people playing up to him and kissing his ass, and doing
what he wants. That’s not good for anyone.” (104) When Truman didn’t deal
forcefully with MacArthur early-on—and when he failed to prepare America
militarily, especially in Asia—his lack of courage and passivity were at the
crux of the genesis of our problems in Korea.
Another contributing factor was the racism that was prevalent
into the mid-20th century, given evolution, pseudo-science, and
Progressive ideology. The Chinese looked down on the Koreans. The Russians
looked down on the Chinese. Most relevant, many American leaders looked down on
all of the Asians. Racism starts in ignorance, dances with pride, and causes
all sorts of damage.
Key
Events/Battles
Halberstam’s book is not fully chronological, but
it’s easy to follow the key events of the war. Let me provide an overview to
give you a mental picture.
-From the 38th
Parallel (the pre-war and post-war border between NK and SK, approximately
dividing the peninsula in half), the NK’s invaded the South in June 1950. The
SK troops were routed and a handful of heroic SK and American soldiers held on
at the “Pusan Perimeter” (the southeast corner of the peninsula), trying to
avoid another Dunkirk.
-The UN got involved with
“resolutions”—and on the ground, predominantly American troops and material to bolster
the defense. Then MacArthur invaded northwest of Pusan with a bold amphibious
landing at Inchon in mid-September. From there, the Americans quickly routed
the NK’s and pushed them past the 38th Parallel.
-With victories in
hand, the Americans confidently continued north with plans to stop at the
Chinese border. But the Chinese sent hundreds of thousands of troops into the
mountains of Northern NK, waiting in ambush. When they struck in late October,
they routed the Americans and quickly pushed them back—all the way past the SK
capital of Seoul in January.
-With more troops and the
emergence of Matthew Ridgway as the top general, the Americans again pushed
north of the 38th Parallel, where the war bogged down for its final
two years. (Now check out this
excellent Gif and its dates—at the Korean War’s Wikipedia
page—to catch the rapid back-and-forth and then the stagnation.)
The surprise amphibious landing at Inchon was the
key moment in the war—for what was accomplished there, but also for where it
led MacArthur and the American effort. Inchon “broke the spirit of the NK
military and opened all of NK to his forces.” (311) The invasion was “a
brilliant, daring gamble…MacArthur at his best: audacious, original,
unpredictable…” (293) Halberstam compares it to his “deft campaign in the
Pacific” in WWII—“vast island-hopping distances accomplished with minimal
casualties, he struck more often than not islands that were not Japanese
strongpoints.” (294)
To pull off Inchon, MacArthur had to be immensely
persuasive with the other commanders, convincing them that the plan was worth
the risks (299). He compared the move to James Wolfe’s bold charge up the
cliffs at Quebec—the pivotal battle of the French-Indian War in 1763 (299). But
the success at Inchon would also lead MacArthur to imagine that such gambles
would always pay off handsomely. Instead, his overconfidence and terrible
strategic decisions led to disaster just a month later.
Once the Americans were off the ropes at Pusan and
pushing the NK’s north, the question was where to stop. The 38th
Parallel was the original border, but it was new and arbitrary, having just
been established by the Russians and Americans after WWII—“almost as an
afterthought, the division done in the most casual way at the last minute at
the Pentagon.” (62)
Moreover, shouldn’t the NK’s be punished for their
aggression? Would failure to push north be seen as appeasement or weakness that
would be exploited by the Chinese or the Russians? Wouldn’t it be smarter for diplomatic
ends to go past the original line and then negotiate back? Or thinking big
picture: If the Chinese were defeated, would this open the door for the
Nationalist Chinese of Chiang Kai-Shek to regain control of the mainland from
Mao and the Communists?
Once you go past the 38th Parallel, how
far do you go? The two basic choices were to take all of NK, pushing to the
Yalu River at the Chinese border—or to capture the NK capital of Pyongyang and
find an easily-defensible line north of there. Going further north was
problematic. It is a mountainous and largely-uninhabited wilderness, with tougher
weather, rougher terrain, and increasingly tenuous supply lines. And the country
broadens out considerably as one goes north (383). If the Chinese entered NK at
all, this would be an indefensible line and a horrible decision.
MacArthur decided to go to the Yalu and even encouraged
soldiers to “piss in the river.” (390) But things went south soon
after—metaphorically and literally. It was “a combination of the Second
Crusade, Napoleon’s march on Moscow and Bataan…a monstrous error. Even if we
battle to the Yalu at a great cost and by mastering logistic obstacles…we would
be further out on a limb with no chance of extrication.” (406)
MacArthur was betting (heavily) that the Chinese
would not enter the war—even though diplomatic channels and troop sightings
provided clear warnings. It was “not so much a strategy as a bet…[and] the bet
had been called.” (403) His gamble also included a low assessment of the
Chinese if they did enter. In part, this was connected to his recent history
(victory over Japan in WWII and the triumph at Inchon), his inflated sense of
his knowledge of “the oriental mind” (369-372), and a then-all-too-common
racism. (One irony here is Chinese and Japanese racism toward Korea as inferior.
“Korea was a small proud country that had the misfortune to lie in the path of
three infinitely larger, stronger, more ambitious powers—China, Japan, and
Russia. Each of them wanted to use it either as an offensive base from which to
assault one or the others or as a defensive shield to negate the possible aggressive
designs of the other two.” [63])
So, MacArthur’s successes led to big trouble. Inchon
and the subsequent weeks were so successful that “the appetite for a larger
victory had been whetted…The more successful the U.S. was in the South, the
harder it was to set limits going north. Anyone who tried to limit the
offensive into the North would be labeled an appeaser.” (323) MacArthur wanted
the glory of a bigger victory and would have been happy for a bigger war with
China—for the glory and the opportunity to reestablish Chiang Kai-Shek. So, he
over-extended his troops and stumbled into a huge Chinese ambush.
The results of the Chinese counterattack were quick
and devastating. Halberstam quotes Frank Gibney: “Inchon was the most expensive
victory we ever won because it led to the complete deification of MacArthur and
the terrible, terrible defeats that happened next.” (332) All told, the retreat
“was the greatest defeat suffered by the American military since the Battle of
Bull Run in the Civil War.” (471)
Elements of the retreat were particularly brutal,
especially what came to be known as “The Gauntlet.” (451ff) Troops were
retreating through narrow valleys with the Chinese holding the high ground. The
large American weapons and equipment became an impediment. If the Chinese could
disable a large vehicle, it created “fish in a barrel.” The most famous battle
from this phase of the war is the Marine heroics in breaking out of the Chosin
Reservoir area—“certainly one of the great moments in the Corps’ history” (431),
the result of “great individual courage and exceptional small-unit leadership.”
(468)
On top of the defeat and the hubris that led to it,
MacArthur aggressively tried to blame everybody else (440). But he could not
evade responsibility effectively. Truman sent Matthew Ridgway to Korea—in
essence, supplanting MacArthur from the most powerful position. Ridgway turned
things around—completing the fast-moving phases of the war—in pushing the
Chinese back across the 38th Parallel. The bulk of the U.S. renaissance
occurred with three key battles in February 1951. Halberstam spends much time
on the battles at Twin Tunnels, Wonju, and Chipyoungni (all of part 9: chs.
38-47). These defeats were “devastating” to the Chinese logistically and
psychologically, with “grievous casualties” of “frontline” troops who had been
forced to flee (587).
Once they reached the stalemate, it was still
difficult to end the war—with battles, diplomacy, and politics dragging things
out for another two years. There were “cruel costly battles” (including “Pork
Chop Hill”) with “few breakthroughs” and no “turn-of-the-tide victory.” (624)
One of the key problems was that many Chinese prisoners did not want to return
to China! (625) The two Koreas were forced to recognize each others’
legitimacy. Americans also had to come to terms with a stalemate as a
conclusion—and American politics had to express its distaste for Truman and the
Democrats in the 1952 election. Finally, in late July 1953, the sides reached a
truce.
Key
Players in the U.S. Military
Dean Acheson plays a huge role in the book.
Halberstam is rough on him—probably combined with his criticisms of Acheson
about the Vietnam War. Halberstam points to Acheson’s racism, pseudo-science,
and classism—and thus, his failure to understand Korea and Vietnam (186). He
pokes at Acheson for his defense of Alger
Hiss,
particularly in such a difficult historical moment (188). Still, Halberstam
notes that Acheson faced tremendous challenges—“as tumultuous a tour as any
secretary of state ever endured, perhaps the single most difficult four-year
stretch in the country’s history in terms of its foreign policy.” From Chiang
to Mao, from the Soviets’ first atomic weapon to the Korean War, it was a tough
time to be king or one of his lieutenants (187).
Walton “Johnnie” Walker was a prominent but
relatively unsung general. He was in charge on the ground during the Pusan
Perimeter defense and did a terrific job during the dark early days of the
conflict. (Halberstam also devotes a big chunk of space to a Lieutenant Beahler
who did vital work during this time, including going against bad orders from a
superior [270-276, 279].) For those seven weeks, Walker “was nothing less than
a remarkable, fearless commander, doing almost everything right.” (254) And
yet, he was “the forgotten commander of the forgotten war.” (255) He was not
one of MacArthur’s favorites, so he was overlooked in favor of generals like
Ned Almond (who Halberstam crushes). Walker is also pivotal in an ironic way:
his death in a car accident (486) led to the emergence of Matt Ridgway as the
top general on the ground in Korea. (MacArthur formally gave the Eighth Army to
Ridgway when he arrived on December 26 [491, 494].)
Ridgway had been on the rise since WWII. In fact,
some military leaders wanted to keep him out of Korea because it might slow
down his rise in the military ranks. But now he was definitely needed in Korea.
“If ever an American officer was perfectly suited for a particular moment in
American military history…to take over the shambles of a dysfunctional Eighth
Army.” (487)
Halberstam points to four key moments in Ridgway’s
career: talking superiors out of an air assault on Rome in 1943; leading the
airborne assault on France for D-Day; helping French forces who were trapped in
Vietnam in 1954; and reinvigorating of the troops in Korea (489). The Rome
story was most impressive—as he challenged but failed to initially persuade his
superiors. He then sent a deputy on “a daring mission behind German lines to
meet with the Italians and recon the situation” (489), verifying his concerns
and carrying the argument. Halberstam concludes that Ridgway was “someone whose
courage away from the battlefield was the same as that on it.” (490)
Ridgway’s leadership style was more conducive than
MacArthur’s to modern times. He was amazing in terms of logistics—working
through the bureaucracy and private manufacturing to get bazookas produced,
creating a “pre-FedEx super-supply system.” (491) He was constantly on the ground in Korea (498),
where MacArthur never made an appearance (11). He emphasized intel (499), where
MacArthur has downplayed it and employed Charles Willoughby to use it for
political purposes (54, 378-279, 382).
One of the ironies of the forgotten war is that its
best general is overlooked because he took over in a phase when Americans were
turning away from the conflict. But he was revered by those who fought there.
Omar Bradley said of him that “his brilliant, driving, uncompromising
leadership would turn the battle like no other general’s in our military
history.” (492)
But Halberstam spends most of his time on MacArthur. He
describes his WWII heroics (121-122, 294). After the war, he was worshipped by the
Japanese and many Americans. Like many Americans, he wanted Nationalist China
to be victorious over Mao and hoped for a bigger war in Korea that might led to
that outcome. But Chiang and his troops were mostly worthless, leading to Mao’s
triumph in 1949 (238-239, 241, 243).
MacArthur’s tremendous ego, his ironic willingness
to defy authority, his vision for a greater war and Chiang’s victory in China,
and his own presidential ambitions led to a simmering long-distance war with
Truman. This put Truman in a tough spot, but his acquiescence led to the
debacle in Korea from start to finish (134, 137, 365, Pt 10, 621-623).
Halberstam discusses MacArthur’s father and his exceedingly impressive Army career (105-113).
Ironically, MacArthur was supplanted politically by Robert Taft among
“conservative” Republicans—as MacArthur’s father had been sacked in the
military realm by Taft’s father, President William Howard Taft (621). (On a
side note, of the 30 people who have “laid in state” at the U.S. Capitol, the
Tafts are the only father-son combination.)
Politically, Truman and the Democrats were in a
difficult position. Years of ruling, through immensely challenging times—along
with an unpopular war, a popular general who opposed the president, and
powerful political symbols such as the prospects of appeasement in the face of
Communism—made voters eager for something different. The GOP had been unable to
take full advantage until 1952. The GOP gained many seats in the House in 1946,
but then Truman upset Dewey after his lackluster campaign in 1948 (207-213).
Democratic woes worsened along with prospects in Korea and Sen. McCarthy’s Red
Scare paid some dividends leading into Eisenhower’s victory (173, 192, 647-656).
Halberstam provides a hopeful ending to his book: SK’s
amazing post-war political and economic success—and the tentative return of
Korean War veterans to the site of so much angst and grief (641-645). At the
end of the day, one wonders how things would have gone without this troubling
war—or if the war had been prosecuted differently. But in the end, life is
amazingly good for the SK’s—and immense gratitude should go to the Americans
who fought for them in the Korean War.
