Of Peace and Politics

For better or worse, the speech would be his own--all his own. As he worked past midnight in his hideaway study in the Executive Office Building and in isolation at Camp David, there were no proposed drafts, no stacks of memos, no turgid position papers to help. "He's writing it himself--with his pen on his little yellow pad," confided Communications Director Herb Klein. Although he may not have wanted it that way, President Nixon's speech on Viet Nam this week had shaped up as one of the most important of his Administration to date.

Nixon tried to hold his more routine appointments down to steal time for the speech. Lunch on several days was off a tray. Not since he secluded himself to draft the speech accepting his party's nomination had he devoted himself so totally to a writing job. He kept the content to himself, brushing off even the specific questioning of Republican congressional leaders at their weekly White House breakfast. He revealed only that the speech would be a review of "where we've been, where we are and where we're going."

For formal advice, Nixon held just one meeting. It was a conference of a close quartet: Secretary of State William Rogers, Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird, National Security Adviser Henry Kissinger and Attorney General John Mitchell. In the past, Laird and Rogers have privately advocated more urgent action to speed up troop withdrawals. Some White House observers assumed that Mitchell was there to help Kissinger argue for a more cautious troop policy that would enable the Administration to maintain negotiating pressure on Hanoi.

Boxed In. Even Administration officials conceded that the early announcement (Oct. 13) of the speech had been a tactical mistake. It had allowed speculation about sensational new offers of breakthroughs to soar. It gave critics time to offer public suggestions that created new pressure and expectations. A few critics expressed such surprising optimism about the speech that they seemed to be deliberately setting the President up for a public letdown. Even if there was no Machiavellian scheming, it was obvious that Nixon himself, perhaps unwittingly, had created a situation in which anything short of a dramatic announcement might lead to disappointment. But repeated White House warnings not to anticipate anything sensational finally managed to lower the pitch of public expectation.

Why had the President timed the speech in such a way? The reasoning seemed to be that advance notice would dilute some of the antiwar fervor, put the protesters in an awkward position and buy time. Then the President could deliver a calm, judicious review of his strategy, contrast it with the situation he had inherited and try to win more public understanding.

Rebuff Ahead. Despite the importance of the Viet Nam speech, other events converged on the President demanding his attention. His address on Latin America, which proved more pragmatic than inspiring, drew a mixed response south of the border. The General Electric strike posed a threat to the economy (see THE WORLD and BUSINESS). Nixon was stung by the Supreme Court decision insisting on the instant school integration that he had earlier termed "extreme."

All that was rough enough. But, barring a last-minute reversal, the sharpest rebuff to the Administration looms ahead on Nixon's nomination of Judge Clement Haynsworth to the Supreme Court. A hard count of Senate votes taken by the Republican leadership showed at week's end that a minimum of 53 Senators, including 17 of the Senate's 43 Republicans, plan to vote no.

The President also prodded Congress again about its slow legislative pace, claiming that he might not even be able to propose a federal budget on time if appropriations bills continued to lag. Two days later, the Senate made it clear that it would not act this year on his proposal for a lottery procedure for the draft. The bill passed the House, but Democratic leaders in the Senate want to reform the whole Selective Service Act and contend that this requires more time. The issue apparently will reemerge next year, but Nixon need not wait. He can institute certain reforms, short of a lottery system, by executive decree.

Thus it appeared to be a relief for Nixon to leave Washington and return to an activity that seems to refresh his spirit. He engaged in his first wholly partisan political stumping since he took office. Campaigning for Republican gubernatorial candidates in Virginia and New Jersey. Nixon mentioned the war only once --and that was to tell an airport crowd in Morristown, N.J., to be sure to listen to his speech this week "on that particular matter."

But he could not really escape the war. Several hundred demonstrators in the wealthy, conservative area awaited him in front of the Gouverneur Morris Inn. They held candles and chanted "Peace now." A few held up placards reading EFFETE SNOBS FOR PEACE.

Partisan Outing. In both New Jersey and Virginia, the President's enthusiastic fans far outnumbered the peace demonstrators. In Salem, Va., Nixon jumped onstage to do a jig with G.O.P. Candidate Linwood Holton. Three times Nixon tried to start his speech, only to be halted by sustained ovations. When the crowd finally paused, he devoted almost the entire message to extolling his concept of a New Federalism. "For 50 years," he said, "politicians in both parties have been saying that we had to decentralize government, that power should go back to the states. But for 50 years nobody has really done anything about it until this Administration came to power. We have offered the most revolutionary legislation in the history of the republic in this respect." That legislation includes proposals for revenue-sharing with the states, welfare reforms and decentralized control of job-training programs.

Nixon's political pitch in New Jersey was a broader one, accenting Republican efforts to combat crime, improve transportation and check pollution. Campaigning for Republican William Cahill, Nixon did not stray outside friendly Bergen and Morris Counties. They gave him a 96,000-vote plurality over Hubert Humphrey last year, though he carried the state by only 61,000 votes (out of nearly 3,000,000). As in Virginia, the crowds were large, jubilant and overwhelmingly Republican.

Nixon clearly enjoyed the partisan outing. His arms held aloft to acknowledge applause, his brisk rhetoric--even many of the lines--were part of last year's familiar campaign platform performances. Only one thing had changed: Nixon omitted the two-fingered V-sign with which he had once signaled victory. That has been appropriated by the petitioners for peace in Viet Nam.

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