In 1994, Henry Kissinger published the book Diplomacy. He was a renowned scholar and diplomat who served as the United States National Security Advisor and Secretary of State. His book provides an extensive sweep of the history of foreign affairs and the art of diplomacy, with a particular focus on the 20th century and the Western World. Kissinger, known for his alignment with the realist school of international relations, inquires into the concepts of the balance of power, raison d’État, and Realpolitik across different eras.
His work has been widely praised for its scope and intricate detail. Yet, it has also faced criticism for its focus on individuals over structural forces, and for presenting a reductive view of history. Also, critics have also pointed out that the book focuses excessively on Kissinger’s individual role in events, potentially overstating his impact. In any case, his ideas are worthy of consideration.
This article presents a summary of Kissinger’s ideas in the twenty-ninth chapter of his book, called “Detente and Its Discontents”.
You can find all available summaries of this book, or you can read the summary from the previous chapter of the book, by clicking these links.
The Nixon Administration sought to move the United States beyond the costly and demoralizing Vietnam War, aiming to establish what it termed a “structure of peace.” This strategy hinged on leveraging the triangular relationship between the U.S., the Soviet Union, and China. As a result, several diplomatic breakthroughs followed: the war in Vietnam ended, an agreement secured access to divided Berlin, Soviet influence in the Middle East diminished, and the Arab-Israeli peace process began. These events were interconnected, creating a situation where diplomatic progress in one area facilitated advancements in others.
In Europe, détente introduced a new level of diplomatic flexibility after years of stagnation. Until 1969, West Germany maintained the Hallstein Doctrine, refusing to recognize East Germany or maintain ties with any nation that did. After the Berlin Wall’s construction in 1961, the question of German unification faded from international negotiations. Meanwhile, French President Charles de Gaulle pursued a policy of détente with Moscow, believing that if the Soviet Union saw Europe as independent rather than an American satellite, it might ease its grip on Eastern Europe. He hoped West Germany would follow France’s lead and distance itself somewhat from Washington.
Although de Gaulle’s assessment of the situation was insightful, he overestimated France’s ability to influence the geopolitical landscape. West Germany remained committed to its alliance with the U.S. However, some German leaders saw potential in de Gaulle’s approach, believing that Germany had leverage that France lacked. Willy Brandt, then Germany’s Foreign Minister, observed that de Gaulle’s vision ultimately laid the groundwork for what would later become Ostpolitik. However, the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968 shattered de Gaulle’s aspirations. Ironically, this event also created an opening for Brandt, who became Chancellor in 1969 and pursued a more pragmatic approach to East-West relations.
Brandt proposed a shift in strategy, arguing that instead of relying solely on the West, Germany should improve relations with the communist bloc. He advocated for recognizing East Germany, accepting the postwar border with Poland, and building stronger ties with the Soviet Union. The goal was to ease tensions in a way that might eventually open the door for German unification or, at the very least, improve conditions for East Germans.
Initially, the Nixon Administration was skeptical of Ostpolitik. There were concerns that West and East Germany, each trying to influence the other, might ultimately align in a way that weakened the Western alliance. While West Germany had the stronger political and social system, once it recognized East Germany, that decision would be irreversible. Washington also feared that Germany might eventually adopt a nationalist or neutralist stance, undermining NATO. France had already disrupted Western unity by withdrawing from NATO’s military command and pursuing its own détente policy with Moscow. If West Germany acted independently, it could further weaken the Western bloc.
As Brandt’s Ostpolitik gained traction, however, Nixon and his advisors recognized that the existing approach—clinging to the Hallstein Doctrine—was becoming untenable. By the mid-1960s, even Bonn had modified the doctrine, acknowledging that Eastern European communist governments were not free to make their own diplomatic decisions. More importantly, there was no realistic path to German unification without Soviet cooperation. Moscow was unlikely to let East Germany collapse without triggering a major crisis, which could divide the Western alliance. Western nations had long paid lip service to German unity while taking no real steps to achieve it, and that strategy had reached its limit. The existing approach to German policy was falling apart.
Realizing that resisting Ostpolitik could push West Germany away from NATO and the European Community, the Nixon Administration decided to support Brandt’s initiative rather than risk losing influence. At the same time, Nixon used U.S. backing for Ostpolitik as leverage to resolve the long-standing Berlin crisis. The administration insisted that any recognition of East Germany had to be tied to guarantees of free access to Berlin and Soviet restraint in international affairs. Without such guarantees, Berlin—surrounded by East German territory—would become vulnerable to communist interference, a situation that previous Soviet leaders had sought to create through blockades and ultimatums.
Since Berlin was technically still under the control of the four victorious powers of World War II, negotiations had to involve the U.S., the U.K., France, and the Soviet Union. Both the Soviet leadership and Brandt’s key negotiator, Egon Bahr, reached out to Washington for help in breaking the deadlock. After a complex negotiation process, a four-power agreement was finalized in 1971. This agreement ensured Western access to Berlin and protected its freedom, effectively removing the city from the list of global flashpoints. The next time Berlin reemerged in international discussions was in 1989, when the Berlin Wall fell and East Germany collapsed.
Beyond the Berlin agreement, Ostpolitik led to several key treaties: West Germany signed agreements with Poland, East Germany, and the Soviet Union. The Soviets, despite their status as a nuclear superpower, were particularly eager for West Germany to recognize the borders established by Stalin, suggesting an underlying insecurity. These treaties also encouraged Soviet restraint. While the treaties were being debated in the West German parliament, Moscow avoided actions that might jeopardize their ratification. Even after their approval, the Soviets were careful not to push Germany back toward the more rigid policies of Adenauer’s era.
This dynamic played into broader Cold War diplomacy. When Nixon escalated the Vietnam War by mining North Vietnamese harbors and resuming the bombing of Hanoi, the Soviet response was measured. The framework of détente had created a global system of interlinked diplomatic incentives. If the Soviets wanted to benefit from reduced tensions, they had to contribute to maintaining stability as well.
In the Middle East, the Nixon Administration leveraged détente as both a diplomatic tool and a means to reduce Soviet influence. Throughout the 1960s, the Soviet Union had become the primary arms supplier to Egypt and Syria while also providing technical and organizational support to radical Arab groups. In international forums, Moscow often acted as the leading voice for Arab interests, sometimes advocating the most extreme positions. This dynamic created a situation where any diplomatic progress could be credited to Soviet support, while continued deadlock risked triggering repeated crises. The only way to break this impasse was to confront all involved parties with the geopolitical reality: Israel was too strong to be defeated militarily, and the United States was determined to prevent Soviet intervention. Thus, the Nixon Administration insisted that no real progress could occur unless all sides—not just America’s allies—were willing to make compromises.
The Soviet Union was adept at escalating tensions but lacked the ability to resolve conflicts or secure lasting diplomatic victories for its allies. It could threaten to intervene, as it had in 1956, but historically, Soviet leaders had retreated in the face of firm U.S. opposition. Consequently, the true key to resolving Middle Eastern conflicts lay in Washington, not Moscow. If the United States managed its approach carefully, it could force the Soviet Union to either contribute to a genuine solution or risk losing influence among its Arab allies. This strategic assessment underpinned the Nixon Administration’s policy, which sought to gradually push the Soviets out of the Middle East.
Soviet leaders failed to grasp their own strategic vulnerability and attempted to lure the United States into supporting diplomatic resolutions that would bolster Soviet standing in the region. However, as long as Moscow continued arming radical Arab regimes and aligning itself with their most extreme positions, Washington saw no benefit in cooperating. Nixon and his advisers believed that the best approach was to expose the Soviets’ inability to resolve crises. By rewarding moderate Arab leaders with American support when their demands were reasonable, the U.S. encouraged pragmatism. The goal was clear: force the Soviet Union to either participate in a meaningful peace process or be sidelined.
To achieve this, the United States implemented two complementary strategies. First, it blocked any Arab initiative that relied on Soviet military support or direct Soviet intervention. Second, it took control of the peace process once Arab leaders became frustrated with the stalemate and sought U.S. mediation instead of Soviet backing. This shift occurred in the aftermath of the 1973 Middle East War.
Before that turning point, American efforts encountered significant obstacles. In 1969, Secretary of State William Rogers introduced a peace plan proposing that Israel withdraw to its 1967 borders with minor adjustments in exchange for a comprehensive peace agreement. The proposal failed: Israel rejected it due to concerns over territorial security, while Arab nations dismissed it because they were not yet prepared to commit to peace, even in vague terms.
By 1970, military conflicts further destabilized the region. Along the Suez Canal, Egypt launched a war of attrition against Israel, prompting Israeli airstrikes deep into Egyptian territory. In response, the Soviet Union deployed a sophisticated air defense system in Egypt, manned by 15,000 Soviet military personnel. The region’s volatility was not limited to Egypt. That same year, the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) had established near-autonomous control in Jordan. After the PLO hijacked four planes and brought them to Jordan, King Hussein launched a military offensive against the organization. Syria, supporting Palestinian factions, invaded Jordan, prompting Israel to mobilize its forces. As tensions escalated, the U.S. reinforced its naval presence in the Mediterranean and made it clear that outside intervention would not be tolerated. The Soviet Union, unwilling to risk direct confrontation with the United States, refrained from further escalation. The crisis revealed to Arab leaders which superpower held the decisive influence over Middle Eastern affairs.
The first major sign of the Nixon strategy’s success came in 1972 when Egyptian President Anwar Sadat expelled all Soviet military advisors and technicians from Egypt. Simultaneously, secret diplomatic contacts between Sadat and the White House began, though these early efforts were complicated first by the U.S. presidential election and then by the Watergate scandal.
In 1973, Egypt and Syria launched a surprise attack on Israel, catching both Israeli and American intelligence off guard. Preconceptions about Israel’s military dominance had led American analysts to dismiss Arab warnings of war. Although there was no evidence that the Soviet Union encouraged Egypt and Syria to launch the attack, and in fact, Moscow urged a ceasefire from the start, the conflict demonstrated the shifting dynamics in the region. While the Soviets provided some resupply to their Arab allies, it was nowhere near the scale of the massive U.S. airlift that replenished Israel’s forces.
The outcome of the war reinforced a critical realization for Arab leaders. Despite performing better than in previous conflicts, Egypt and Syria were once again outmatched by Israel. Israeli forces had crossed the Suez Canal, reaching within 20 miles of Cairo, while also advancing to the outskirts of Damascus. It became clear that future Arab gains would require American diplomatic support rather than continued reliance on Soviet military aid.
Sadat was the first Arab leader to internalize this lesson. He abandoned his all-or-nothing approach and shifted his focus toward incremental progress, turning to Washington rather than Moscow for assistance. Even Syrian President Hafez al-Assad, traditionally seen as the more radical of the two leaders and a closer Soviet ally, reached out to the United States for help in negotiating over the Golan Heights. This shift led to a series of diplomatic breakthroughs. In 1974, Egypt and Syria signed interim agreements with Israel, initiating a process of phased Israeli withdrawals in exchange for security assurances. In 1975, Egypt and Israel concluded a second disengagement agreement. This set the stage for the landmark 1979 peace treaty between Egypt and Israel, brokered by President Carter. The pattern of U.S.-led Middle East diplomacy continued in later years, culminating in direct Arab-Israeli negotiations organized by Secretary of State James Baker in 1991 and the Israeli-Palestinian agreements under President Clinton in 1993. Notably, the Soviet Union played no significant role in any of these diplomatic milestones.
The core objective of Nixon’s Middle East policy was not to detail every aspect of regional diplomacy but to demonstrate how the U.S. used its relationship with Moscow to curtail Soviet influence without provoking a major crisis. Critics of Nixon’s approach often derided his emphasis on negotiating agreements with the Soviet Union, dismissing it as an empty pursuit of détente. However, Nixon’s Middle East diplomacy exemplified his broader strategy of structuring peace. It was not driven by an idealistic belief in cooperation for its own sake but by a calculated effort to shape geopolitical competition. American strategy forced the Soviet Union to choose between maintaining ties to radical Arab clients at the cost of diminishing influence or adapting to the changing political landscape.
The Nixon Administration pursued two parallel courses to implement this strategy. First, it maintained regular communication with Soviet leaders during the Middle East War to prevent hasty or ill-informed decisions that could escalate into a larger crisis. This approach did not eliminate all tensions but reduced the likelihood of misunderstandings that could spiral out of control. Second, it engaged in broader negotiations across multiple fronts, giving the Soviet leadership incentives to avoid reckless behavior. The Berlin negotiations, for instance, contributed to Soviet restraint in the Middle East through 1973. Later, the European Security Conference helped moderate Soviet responses to American diplomatic efforts in the region.
This careful balancing act ensured that détente did not become an end in itself but remained a tool for achieving strategic goals. The policy’s success was evident: the Soviet Union, rather than gaining ground in the Middle East, ultimately accepted a significant geopolitical retreat. Meanwhile, the United States emerged as the primary mediator and power broker in Middle East diplomacy, a role it has maintained ever since.
The Nixon Administration’s foreign policy successes did not shield it from mounting controversy. Any major shift in policy meets resistance, and Nixon’s approach—particularly the strategy of linkage, the opening to China, and détente with the Soviet Union—challenged deeply ingrained traditions. The American foreign policy establishment had long favored a legalistic approach, while many policymakers and commentators preferred to view nations as either allies or adversaries, rather than as complex actors capable of both cooperation and conflict. The China opening angered the staunchly anti-communist China lobby, and the concept of détente was unsettling to those who believed in unwavering ideological confrontation with the Soviet Union.
The debates over Nixon’s foreign policy were reminiscent of earlier moments in U.S. history when presidents had reoriented America’s role in global affairs. Wilson had faced fierce opposition in moving an isolationist America toward international engagement during and after World War I. Roosevelt had encountered resistance when steering the country to support Britain before America’s entry into World War II. Truman had navigated a contentious period while laying the foundation for Cold War containment. However, Nixon’s challenge was even greater, as his policies unfolded against the backdrop of the Vietnam War and, later, the Watergate scandal.
In the American system, the president is uniquely positioned to define and execute foreign policy over the long term. Congress tends to focus on discrete legislative actions, while the media can recommend broad directions but lacks the ability to manage the intricate details of diplomacy. Only the president can integrate these elements into a coherent strategy. While other institutions can modify or obstruct presidential foreign policy, they rarely provide a unified alternative. Historically, significant shifts in foreign policy have come from strong presidents who shaped debates and guided the nation’s direction. Had Watergate not undermined Nixon’s leadership, his foreign policy could have been institutionalized as a lasting framework, much as Roosevelt had reshaped domestic policy and Truman had established containment as America’s Cold War strategy.
Watergate, however, destroyed Nixon’s ability to lead effectively. Though he continued to act decisively on immediate issues, he lacked the moral authority to shape long-term policy debates. Without a strong presidential voice to integrate competing perspectives, foreign policy discussions devolved into factional disputes. The 1970s thus became a period of contention over the themes Nixon had introduced, but without the synthesis necessary for a clear strategic direction.
Nixon’s approach challenged the deeply held American belief that foreign policy should be based on moral principles rather than power politics. Traditionally, Americans had seen the international order as fundamentally shaped by goodwill and compromise, with hostility viewed as an anomaly. Nixon and his advisers, however, saw a world driven by competing national interests, where diplomacy was about managing complexity rather than seeking final resolutions. In this perspective, no foreign policy decision would ever be absolute or final; every solution would lead to new challenges requiring further adaptation.
This vision required a foreign policy focused on resilience rather than idealistic aspirations. While traditional American values remained important, they could no longer be translated into simple, immediate goals. Instead, they would serve as the underlying strength that guided America through ongoing uncertainties, always striving for a better, though never perfect, world.
Nixon’s willingness to engage the Soviet Union as both an adversary and a negotiating partner was a central pillar of his strategy. He saw communism as a fundamental ideological challenge but believed it could be contained through diplomacy rather than outright confrontation. However, this approach clashed with a growing desire among Americans—particularly after the disillusionment of Vietnam—to reaffirm a moral commitment rather than pursue a calculated balance of power.
Without a president capable of articulating a compelling moral rationale for his policies, opposition grew from both the left and the right. Liberals viewed Nixon’s emphasis on national interest as lacking a moral compass, while conservatives saw détente as a dangerous concession to communism. American foreign policy had long been shaped by the Wilsonian tradition, which emphasized collective security, legal arbitration, and disarmament. Nixon rejected this approach, focusing instead on power dynamics and strategic balance. This put liberals in an awkward position: they supported outcomes such as improved U.S.-Soviet relations and the opening to China, but they were uneasy with the pragmatic, interest-driven principles that underpinned these successes.
For conservatives, Nixon’s approach was even more unsettling. They viewed the Cold War as primarily an ideological battle, not a geopolitical contest. Many had already abandoned Vietnam under the Johnson Administration, seeing it as a distraction from the broader fight against communism. Unlike Nixon, who saw Vietnam as a key front in a global struggle, conservatives preferred a more rigid confrontation with the Soviet Union, rejecting any form of compromise as weakness. While some reluctantly accepted the China opening as a tactical move against Moscow, they remained deeply skeptical of broad negotiations with the Soviet Union.
A new group—neoconservatives—emerged from an unexpected source: liberal, anti-communist Democrats who had grown disillusioned with their party’s shift to the left. The 1972 McGovern candidacy cemented their break from mainstream liberalism, and the 1973 Middle East War gave them their first major platform to articulate their foreign policy views. Though they were ardent anti-communists, neoconservatives did not align with Nixon. Many had opposed the Vietnam War and, despite their hawkish stance, did not credit Nixon with persevering in the conflict for the sake of America’s global credibility. They viewed Nixon with suspicion, fearing that he might sacrifice U.S. interests to salvage his presidency.
Compounding these challenges was Nixon’s decision to concentrate foreign policy decision-making within the White House, sidelining traditional bureaucratic channels. During his first term, he had shifted diplomatic authority away from the State Department, creating direct backchannels with foreign leaders. The most notable of these was his direct line of communication with Soviet Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin, which allowed high-level decisions to be made without interference from career diplomats. This approach, while efficient, alienated the bureaucratic establishment.
Diplomatic negotiations always involve mutual concessions, yet those excluded from the process often believe that a better deal could have been secured if only their input had been sought. By bypassing the usual channels, Nixon and his advisers invited resentment from officials who felt disregarded. As opposition mounted from conservatives, liberals, and neoconservatives alike, Nixon found himself defending a foreign policy that had, in many respects, been remarkably successful.
Critics urged the Administration to adopt a more confrontational stance at a time when America was deeply divided. The Peace Movement was at its peak, the President was facing impeachment, and Congress was actively curtailing executive authority over defense and foreign policy. While critics demanded a harder line against the Soviet Union, Nixon saw détente as a necessary tool for managing Cold War tensions while America recovered from Vietnam. Liberals viewed détente as an end in itself, while conservatives rejected it outright, preferring ideological confrontation.
Ironically, by 1973, Nixon’s foreign policy had stabilized East-West relations to the point that domestic critics felt safe in challenging it. The deeper question in the debate was whether American diplomacy should focus on long-term strategic management or on moral imperatives. Nixon believed that change had to be gradual, requiring patience—a quality not traditionally associated with American foreign policy. His critics, reflecting American exceptionalism, demanded an immediate and transformative challenge to Soviet communism.
This national debate was both inevitable and necessary. Some saw foreign policy as a disciplined strategy for managing a rival superpower; others viewed it as a moral crusade to vanquish evil. However, Watergate disrupted this discussion, leaving it unresolved and preventing the development of a coherent alternative to Nixon’s approach.
Each side in the debate focused on different threats. Nixon feared Soviet geopolitical expansion. Conservatives worried about ideological weakness and potential Soviet military superiority. Liberals were more concerned about excessive U.S. militarization. Nixon pursued a sustainable long-term strategy, while his critics pushed in competing directions. As a result, the administration faced contradictory pressures: liberals demanded arms control while conservatives attacked Nixon for being too conciliatory. Defense spending passed with conservative support against liberal opposition, while arms control agreements were approved with liberal backing over conservative resistance.
At its core, much of the criticism—even from liberals—amounted to a call for returning to the original Cold War strategy of containment, waiting for internal Soviet decay behind strong defenses. Nixon agreed on the need for military strength but rejected a passive stance that allowed Moscow to dictate the diplomatic agenda. His critics feared that active engagement with the Soviets would weaken American resolve. Nixon, on the other hand, saw diplomatic flexibility as essential for reinforcing U.S. resistance to communism. However, this approach was often misinterpreted as importing European-style power politics into what conservatives saw as a purely ideological struggle.
By 1974, skepticism about détente had become widespread. Senator Henry Jackson’s subcommittee released a report arguing that détente was merely a Soviet strategy to advance its goals through non-military means, including subversion and propaganda. Labor leader George Meany expressed similar concerns, warning that détente signified Soviet expansionism rather than genuine peace.
The Nixon Administration understood that Moscow pursued détente for its own reasons, but the real question was whether it also served America’s interests. Nixon believed that prolonged peace would expose the weaknesses of the Soviet system and allow internal pressures to erode communism over time. His approach, though controversial, reflected a belief that time favored the democracies—provided they managed the Cold War with patience and discipline.
The debate over détente might have gradually faded into the background, overtaken by global developments, had it not been for the relentless opposition of Senator Henry Jackson. A Democrat from Washington, Jackson was a towering figure in American politics, widely respected for his expertise on defense and his deep understanding of the Soviet Union. He combined intellectual depth with a sharp political acumen, skillfully navigating the legislative and executive branches to mobilize resistance against Nixon’s approach. His staff, led by the formidable Richard Perle, shared his strategic insight and often outmaneuvered the administration in the bureaucratic battles over arms control.
Jackson had initially been considered by Nixon for the position of Secretary of Defense, and during Nixon’s first term, he had been a strong ally in maintaining America’s military strength. He played a crucial role in securing approval for Nixon’s Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) defense system and had been a reliable supporter of the administration’s broader defense initiatives. However, by the early 1970s, their paths diverged sharply. Jackson opposed the ABM Treaty, which limited missile defense systems to just two sites per country, and his opposition soon expanded to a full-scale challenge of Nixon’s entire approach to U.S.-Soviet relations.
Nixon had originally envisioned a more extensive missile defense system, with twelve sites designed to counter threats from emerging nuclear powers like China and to provide at least a limited defense against Soviet attacks. However, year after year, Congress slashed the number of sites, reducing the program to the point where it had little strategic value beyond serving as an experiment. At the same time, Congress consistently cut proposed defense budgets, forcing the administration to recalibrate its approach. In response to these pressures, the Defense Department became an advocate for arms control, arguing that formal agreements with the Soviet Union were necessary to prevent Congress from unilaterally undermining American strategic capabilities.
By 1970, Deputy Secretary of Defense David Packard warned Nixon that without a new arms control initiative, Congress would continue slashing the defense budget, eroding America’s bargaining power. As a result, Nixon initiated a diplomatic exchange with Soviet Prime Minister Aleksei Kosygin that laid the foundation for the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT). The Soviets had initially demanded that the negotiations focus only on defensive systems—where the U.S. had an advantage—while delaying limits on offensive missiles, which they were rapidly expanding. Nixon rejected this one-sided proposal, insisting that any agreement must cover both offensive and defensive weapons. The Soviets eventually conceded, and negotiations moved forward.
The result was two major agreements. The 1972 ABM Treaty restricted each side to just two missile defense sites with 200 launchers, a number too small to provide meaningful protection against a nuclear strike. Nixon accepted these limits to preserve at least a minimal defense capability, fearing that Congress might eliminate the program entirely if no agreement was reached. At the time, the treaty provoked little controversy.
Far more contentious was the Interim Agreement on strategic offensive weapons, which froze each side’s land- and sea-based missile forces at existing levels for five years. The U.S. had established its missile force levels in the mid-1960s and had not pursued expansion, while the Soviet Union had been rapidly building new missiles. Under the agreement, the Soviets had to dismantle 210 older missiles to comply with the ceiling. Bombers, an area where the U.S. held a clear advantage, were not included in the limitations. Both nations retained the ability to improve their missile technology.
Although the agreement reflected existing U.S. strategic planning, it quickly became a political flashpoint. American missiles were smaller but more accurate, and many were being fitted with multiple warheads. Soviet missiles were larger and more numerous but technologically inferior. The Pentagon had accepted these force levels without issue prior to SALT, yet as soon as the agreement was signed, critics suddenly viewed the disparity in missile numbers as a dangerous concession. This was despite the fact that even after the agreement was replaced in 1974 by the more balanced Vladivostok Accord, the Defense Department never pushed for increasing missile levels beyond what had been set in 1967.
Public perception of the agreement was shaped by the simplistic but politically effective argument that the U.S. had agreed to a numerical missile disadvantage. The administration’s attempts to explain the technological advantages of U.S. forces, the role of multiple warheads, and the overall strategic balance were too complex to counter the visceral appeal of the “missile gap” narrative. By the time Nixon’s team had detailed all the nuances of the agreement, many Americans had already accepted the idea that the U.S. had given up its strategic edge.
The administration saw SALT as a way to safeguard key defense programs from congressional cuts. It pushed Congress to treat the negotiated ceilings as minimum force levels rather than targets for further reductions. Moreover, the administration paired SALT with a $4.5 billion defense modernization initiative that laid the groundwork for future strategic programs. Many of the key weapons systems that defined U.S. strategic power in the following decades—including the B-1 bomber, stealth technology, the MX missile, cruise missiles, and the Trident submarine—originated in this period.
At its core, the dispute over SALT was less about the specifics of missile counts than about deeper concerns over the direction of U.S. defense policy. Jackson and his allies feared that the growing focus on arms control was undermining America’s military preparedness. They worried that new weapons programs were being developed primarily as bargaining chips in future negotiations rather than as tools for maintaining deterrence. This mindset, they argued, would weaken America’s strategic rationale for defense by turning military investments into diplomatic leverage rather than ensuring national security.
Beneath these disagreements lay a broader anxiety about the end of America’s strategic superiority. For over a decade, defense experts had recognized that the sheer destructiveness of nuclear weapons made absolute victory impossible. The Kennedy Administration had responded by embracing the doctrine of “assured destruction,” which assumed that deterrence depended on each side’s ability to inflict catastrophic retaliation. However, this concept raised uncomfortable questions. A strategy based on mutual suicide was bound to reach a psychological breaking point. With SALT making the nuclear balance explicit, the public began to confront a reality that experts had long understood: America’s Cold War security now rested on a precarious equilibrium, not overwhelming strength.
Thus, the SALT debate was, at its heart, a reaction to a world where ideological conflict coexisted with strategic deadlock. Nixon and his advisers believed that, in this environment, the real threat came from Soviet geopolitical advances rather than raw military numbers. Their focus was on preventing creeping Soviet expansion in regions like the Middle East, Africa, and Latin America, where conventional forces and political influence could shift the global balance. By contrast, Jackson and his supporters sought to restore unquestioned U.S. military superiority, fearing that any perceived vulnerability would embolden Soviet aggression.
Jackson’s faction pushed for policies that would force the Soviet Union to restructure its military according to American preferences, but Nixon believed that U.S. leverage was too limited—especially with Congress consistently cutting defense spending. Reagan later demonstrated that a determined military buildup could shift the strategic balance, but during Nixon’s presidency, the constraints were severe. Jackson’s allies were highly sensitive to shifts in nuclear capabilities but relatively indifferent to geopolitical changes. Nixon, on the other hand, prioritized global power dynamics over purely technological military advantages.
As the debate escalated, it became mired in arcane technical disputes, from the capabilities of Soviet Backfire bombers to the comparative effectiveness of cruise missiles. To outsiders, these arguments often resembled obscure theological disputes, with experts deeply divided over highly specialized details. Yet beneath the complexity, the deadlock reflected a deeper reality: the absence of strong presidential leadership. Watergate had left Nixon unable to shape a coherent resolution, and with the presidency weakened, the debate spiraled into an ideological battle rather than a strategic discussion.
In hindsight, the dispute over détente and SALT reflected complementary, rather than opposing, perspectives. Communism ultimately collapsed due to its own internal failures, but also because of sustained pressure from the West. Nixon’s strategy of containing Soviet expansion and Jackson’s insistence on military strength were not mutually exclusive—they were two sides of the same coin. While the two camps were often bitterly opposed, history would come to recognize that both approaches played a role in shaping the eventual outcome of the Cold War.
As arms control proved too complex to sustain the broader philosophical debate over American foreign policy, the focus gradually shifted to an issue more aligned with American idealism—human rights. This new emphasis resonated strongly with the public, evolving from a call to improve Soviet treatment of its own citizens into a strategy aimed at provoking internal change within the Soviet Union. Much like the arms control debate, the core objective—supporting human rights—was not in dispute. The real question was whether ideological confrontation should become the dominant priority in U.S. foreign policy.
The issue of Jewish emigration from the Soviet Union, which would later become a major public battle, had initially been a quiet diplomatic initiative of the Nixon Administration. Before 1969, no U.S. administration had seriously challenged Soviet policies on emigration, considering it an internal matter. In 1968, only 400 Jews were allowed to leave the Soviet Union, and no Western government had raised the issue. But as U.S.-Soviet relations improved, Nixon began raising the subject discreetly through backchannel diplomacy, making it clear that Soviet actions would not go unnoticed at the highest levels of the American government. Soviet leaders, eager to maintain a stable relationship with Washington, began allowing more Jewish emigration. By 1973, the annual figure had risen to 35,000. In addition, the White House regularly submitted lists of individual cases—those denied exit visas, separated from family members, or imprisoned—and many of these individuals were eventually allowed to leave.
This approach was an example of what diplomats call “tacit bargaining.” There were no formal demands or official agreements, only an unspoken understanding that positive Soviet actions would be quietly acknowledged. The Nixon Administration adhered strictly to this approach, never publicly taking credit for the rising emigration numbers, even during election campaigns. This low-profile strategy was disrupted when Senator Henry Jackson transformed the issue into a public confrontation.
In the summer of 1972, the Soviet government unexpectedly imposed an “exit tax” on emigrants, supposedly to reimburse the state for the cost of their education. The precise motive for this decision remains unclear. Some speculate that it was an attempt to appease the Arab world following the Soviet military’s expulsion from Egypt. Others believe the Soviets expected that American Jewish organizations would cover the tax, providing the USSR with much-needed foreign currency. Alarmed that this new tax might drastically reduce emigration, Jewish advocacy groups sought help from both the Nixon Administration and their longtime ally, Senator Jackson.
While Nixon’s team worked privately with Soviet Ambassador Dobrynin to resolve the issue, Jackson devised a highly effective public strategy to pressure Moscow. He introduced an amendment tying the Soviet Union’s “Most Favored Nation” (MFN) trade status to its emigration policies. Though MFN simply meant normal trading privileges, the term carried weight in public perception. The amendment ensured that Soviet emigration practices became not just a matter of diplomacy but of U.S. law.
The Nixon Administration agreed with Jackson on substance but differed on tactics. Nixon had already pressed the Soviets on human rights issues, including securing the emigration of dissident writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. However, Nixon favored quiet diplomacy over public confrontation. Jackson, by contrast, believed that America’s commitment to human rights had to be visibly demonstrated, with successes publicly celebrated and failures met with penalties.
Initially, congressional pressure reinforced the administration’s diplomatic efforts. But soon, Jackson and his allies sought to go further, demanding a doubling of Jewish emigration and the removal of restrictions on other Soviet nationalities. They also imposed financial penalties through the Stevenson Amendment, which restricted U.S. loans to the Soviet Union. Ironically, rather than benefiting from détente, the Soviet Union found itself in a worse commercial position than before relations had improved.
Nixon, leading a country still recovering from Vietnam and embroiled in Watergate, was unwilling to risk a full-scale confrontation with the Soviet Union over human rights. But his critics saw this as an opportunity to push for a broader ideological struggle. The very same political figures and media outlets that had once warned against using trade as a tool to pressure the Soviets now reversed their positions, insisting that human rights should take precedence over détente.
Nixon’s original strategy had been to use trade incentives to encourage Soviet restraint in foreign policy. His critics took linkage even further, seeking to use trade as a means to provoke domestic upheaval within the Soviet Union. Just a few years earlier, Nixon had been attacked as a Cold Warrior; now, he was accused of being too trusting of Moscow. The very concept of improving U.S.-Soviet relations came under attack, with some arguing that détente was impossible unless the Soviet Union liberalized its internal policies.
America was reverting to the earlier Cold War doctrine that fundamental changes in the Soviet system had to precede meaningful diplomacy. But unlike the early Cold Warriors, who relied on containment to achieve this over time, Nixon’s critics now advocated direct American pressure to accelerate internal Soviet change. The administration had already confronted the Soviet leadership on multiple occasions and found them to be formidable adversaries. Engaging in a full-scale ideological offensive while the U.S. was still reeling from Vietnam and Watergate was unrealistic. Yet Nixon’s critics dismissed these concerns, viewing them as pessimism rather than strategic caution.
The debate was part of a long-standing American conflict over whether to uphold moral values through example or to actively impose them on others. Nixon believed in aligning American ideals with its capabilities, advancing values where possible but avoiding reckless overreach. His critics rejected this incremental approach, arguing that universal principles should be applied immediately and unconditionally. Many of those advocating for aggressive human rights policies had been vocal opponents of the Vietnam War, yet they now promoted a global moral crusade with little consideration of its feasibility.
As later events would show, a more confrontational policy toward the Soviet Union had its merits. The Reagan Administration would successfully pressure the USSR by combining military buildup with ideological challenge. However, this strategy succeeded only after America had recovered from Vietnam and Watergate, and after generational shifts in Soviet leadership. In the early 1970s, the detente debate lacked balance, as critics oversimplified their case while the Nixon Administration responded too rigidly. Stung by attacks from former allies, Nixon dismissed much of the criticism as politically motivated, missing the deeper question of why so many found it politically expedient to join Jackson’s camp.
By the end of Nixon’s presidency, American policy was in a stalemate. The promise of increased trade had been withdrawn, but no corresponding increase in defense spending or willingness to confront Soviet adventurism had emerged. Arms control stalled, Jewish emigration declined, and the Soviets resumed their geopolitical offensive—most notably when Cuban forces intervened in Angola to establish a communist government. Yet while conservatives had opposed arms control, they also resisted decisive American action against Soviet expansionism.
The result was a divided and ineffective American foreign policy. Nixon had sought a balance between realism and idealism, but his presidency ended with neither prevailing. Even his greatest diplomatic achievements, such as the transformation of U.S. policy in the Middle East, were initially criticized before their long-term impact became clear.
One of the most significant but controversial outcomes of détente was the 1975 Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, which produced the Helsinki Accords. The Soviets had long sought a European security agreement to legitimize their postwar territorial acquisitions. Despite their massive military power, Soviet leaders remained obsessed with securing international recognition of their empire. Moscow hoped that the conference would produce a formal endorsement of the Cold War status quo.
However, the Soviets miscalculated. NATO countries had no intention of replacing their military alliance with a symbolic diplomatic agreement. Instead, the Helsinki Accords ended up granting the West an unexpected advantage by providing a framework for political engagement in Eastern Europe. The very legitimacy that the Soviets sought would, in time, become a tool for challenging their hold over their satellite states. In their eagerness for international recognition, the Soviet leaders inadvertently opened the door to future pressures that would contribute to the erosion of their empire.
The Nixon Administration initially hesitated on the European Security Conference but ultimately saw an opportunity to use it as leverage to encourage Soviet restraint. The Soviets sought to solidify their territorial gains in Eastern Europe, but by 1971, Nixon’s team strategically linked U.S. participation in the conference to Soviet cooperation on other issues. The administration insisted on progress in the Berlin negotiations and mutual force reduction talks in Europe before committing to the conference. Once these conditions were met, thirty-five nations convened in Geneva, leading to the 1975 Helsinki Accords.
The agreements included provisions that formally recognized existing European borders, though only under the condition that changes could still be made peacefully and in accordance with international law. Since no Western power had the means or intention to alter Eastern European borders by force, this clause gave little real advantage to the Soviet Union. More importantly, the Helsinki Accords included “Basket III,” a section on human rights that ultimately had far-reaching consequences. Initially designed to encourage Soviet moderation, it became a powerful tool for dissidents in Eastern Europe. Leaders like Vaclav Havel in Czechoslovakia and Lech Walesa in Poland used its provisions to challenge communist rule, turning what the Soviets had hoped would be a diplomatic victory into a source of internal instability.
Despite its long-term impact, the Helsinki Conference was met with skepticism in the West. President Ford faced heavy criticism for signing the Final Act, with some accusing him of legitimizing Soviet dominance in Eastern Europe. The New York Times dismissed the entire process as a pointless diplomatic exercise. However, the administration defended the agreements, arguing that, for the first time, human rights had become an official subject of East-West negotiations. Rather than being on the defensive, the U.S. had successfully inserted its values into the international dialogue.
The broader debate over détente reflected deeper tensions in American foreign policy. Nixon’s vision of a “structure of peace” was meant to satisfy public exhaustion with military interventions. However, Americans had historically viewed peace as a given rather than as an actively managed process. The administration’s approach—prioritizing geopolitical balance over ideological confrontation—represented a necessary shift in foreign policy, but it lacked the familiar moral framework that previous American policies had emphasized.
Critics, in contrast, treated American values as absolute and sought to impose them on the international stage, often without considering the practical limitations. Nixon’s team leaned too far into geopolitical realism, while his opponents overcompensated with rigid ideological demands. This division was worsened by the political turmoil of Vietnam and Watergate, which eroded domestic unity and made foreign policy debates more contentious.
Despite the struggles of the détente era, America ultimately regained its footing. The Cold War ended with the collapse of the Soviet Union, validating elements of both Nixon’s strategic approach and the more confrontational stance later adopted by his successors. Yet the disappearance of the Soviet threat left the United States facing an unexpected challenge in the 1990s: redefining its national interest in a world no longer shaped by Cold War rivalries.
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