WHEREVER Richard Nixon went in Asia last week, the U.S. moon landing formed an impressive backdrop for his visit. The President was not shy about capitalizing on the feat, even promising bits of moon rock to his hosts. One Far Eastern Foreign Minister, in fact, described Nixon's approach on the Asian tour as "Apollo diplomacy." Whether that was fair or not, Nixon certainly moved with space-age speed, visiting seven countries in as many days. His whirlwind schedule and the resulting mood of if-it's-Tuesday-this-must-be-Djakarta were not very conducive to thoughtful consultations. Still, at a time when American prestige was riding high around the world, Nixon had come to Asia for more than a token visit.
As he carefully explained in Guam before jetting on to Manila, he intended to signal a reduction in the American military commitment to Asia. Above all, Nixon wants no more Viet Nams, and he has formulated new guidelines for U.S. policy designed to prevent any recurrence. His proposal: a "lower profile" for the U.S. in Asia (see following story). At stop after stop, Nixon reiterated what he told Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos: "Peace in Asia cannot come from the U.S. It must come from Asia. The people of Asia, the governments of Asia—they are the ones who must lead the way."
Extraordinary Boast. Sometimes, however, Nixon's dictum became obscured in an ambiguity that, however appropriate to the Orient, was ill suited for communicating his message. While he repeatedly emphasized that local efforts must have the primary role in putting down local subversion and revolution, he forgot his own doctrine in Bangkok, when he declared: "The U.S. will stand proudly with Thailand against those who might threaten it from abroad or from within." Although Nixon has begun to withdraw U.S. troops from Viet Nam in what is obviously an effort to cut losses and repair mistakes, he made an extraordinary statement. "In this dreary, difficult war," he said, "I think history will record that this may have been one of America's finest hours, because we took on a difficult task and succeeded." Viet Nam has unquestionably been a difficult task, but to say that the U.S. succeeded there —or to use a phrase that equates the U.S. performance with Britain's fight for survival in 1940—seemed almost grotesquely inappropriate.
Nixon seemed to be saying different things to different audiences. True, his comments were aimed at a variety of listeners, both face to face and far away: the Vietnamese and the Thais are still deeply involved in the outcome of a shooting war; others in Asia—and in the U.S.—are already looking beyond the end of that war; the North Vietnamese and Chinese Communists raptly read the tea leaves of presidential pronouncements for clues to the seriousness of the U.S. resolve. Yet precisely because what the U.S. President says in one place is instantly replayed in many others, consistency becomes not a hobgoblin but a necessity in the sober conduct of foreign affairs.