The following is mirrored from its source on The Internet Archive

The U.S. Nuclear Weapons Cost Study Project was completed in August 1998 and resulted in the book Atomic Audit: The Costs and Consequences of U.S. Nuclear Weapons Since 1940 edited by Stephen I. Schwartz. These project pages should be considered historical.
CNN Film recording (58:11)

An Address by General George Lee Butler at the National Press Club February 2, 1998

MR. HARBRECHT: Good afternoon, and welcome to the National Press Club. This is our 90th anniversary year. My name is Doug Harbrecht. I’m president of the National Press Club and Washington news editor of Business Week, a McGraw-Hill Companies publication. . . .

[picks up at 03:47]
The last time General George Lee Butler spoke at the National Press Club, his speech cornered worldwide attention. “We can do better than condone a world in which nuclear weapons are accepted as commonplace,” he said. It is a remarkable comment to come from a man who was once the chief commander of America’s nuclear forces.

But his is not entirely a voice crying in the wilderness, not even among people with backgrounds similar to his. Sixty retired American, Russian and other generals and admirals have joined General Butler in calling for the phased elimination of nuclear arms.

But General Butler was the first commander of U.S. nuclear forces ever to call for their abolition, as the Washington Post pointed out in a magazine profile recently. And the Post called him “one of the most effective advocates of this cause, an improbable ally of liberal peace activists whose views on nuclear arms were rejected for years by the American political mainstream.”

General Butler has said that if he had not been accepted into the Air Force Academy in 1957, he might have become a minister in an evangelical church. Instead he joined the military and learned what he called “the cataclysm—catechism of nuclear deterrence”—(laughter)—Freudian slip—“of nuclear deterrence and nuclear confrontation.”

He flew combat missions out of Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam in 1968, and by the 1970s was assigned to the Pentagon, working on the Strategic Arms Limitations Talks. He went on to command B-52 wings, and by the end of the Reagan era was sorting through the Pentagon’s master plans for waging a nuclear war. By 1989, he now says, he knew that the Cold War was coming to an end, but he would go on to take charge of the Strategic Air Command. He won President Bush’s approval in 1991 for taking the combat bombers off their hair-trigger alert.

All this time, General Butler carried in his wallet a quotation from General Omar Bradley, the first chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who had once said, “Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war than we know about peace, more about killing than we know about living.”

Edward Land of Polaroid is said to have commented that the important thing is not to come up with a new idea, but to get rid of the old ideas. This is the mindset that General Butler has brought to his career. It used to be widely assumed that abolition of nuclear weapons was an impossible fantasy. But there are now those who feel, as Jonathan Shell in the current double issue of The Nation magazine devoted entirely to this subject, that the barrier of impossibility has fallen. General Butler is one of them.

Please join me in extending a warm National Press welcome to General George Lee Butler, United States Air Force, retired. (Applause)

GEN. BUTLER: Thank you, and good afternoon. Someone once said when you’re going to give a speech to the National Press Club, timing is everything. I’m astonished that all of you are here today, and we are very gratified by your presence, and particularly by the more familiar faces that are in the audience. It makes this moment all the more special for us.

Dorene and I are, in fact, now proud residents of Nebraska. Note the obligatory wearing of the team colors. (Laughter) And I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly thank Senator Kerrey for the role he played in our national championship. (Laughter) Did I get that right, Bob?

I have two roles to serve this afternoon, both very much akin to the events marking my appearance here just over a year ago. As your speaker, I intend to address two matters that, in my view, go to the heart of the debate over the role of nuclear weapons: Why these artifacts of the Cold War continue to hold us enthralled, and the severe penalties and risks entailed by policies of deterrence as practiced in the nuclear age.

But first, it is my privilege to announce a compelling addition to the roster of distinguished international figures who have joined their voices in calling publicly for the abolition of nuclear weapons. Last year General Andrew Goodpaster and I unveiled a list of some 60 retired generals and admirals from a host of nations who declared their strong conviction that the world would be better served by the total elimination of these weapons.

Today, at a press conference following my remarks, Senator Alan Cranston and I will present the names of more than 100 present and former heads of state and other senior civilian leaders who have signed their names to a powerful statement of common concern regarding nuclear weapons and who have endorsed a reasoned path toward abolition.

The willingness of this extraordinary assembly of international leaders to speak so public and directly to these issues is very much in keeping with what I have experienced since I became engaged in the abolition debate some two years ago. I have met legions of remarkable men and women from every corner of the earth who have labored long and patiently in this cause. Their ranks have now been swelled by tens of millions of citizens of our planet who reject the prospect of living in perpetuity under a nuclear sword of Damocles.

My purpose in entering the debate was to help legitimize abolition as an alternative worthy of serious and urgent consideration. My premise was that my unique experience in the nuclear weapons arena might help kindle greater antithesis for these horrific devices and the policies which continue to justify their retention by the nuclear weapon states.

My purpose this afternoon is to share with you the abiding concern I harbor about the course of the debate. I accepted the Press Club invitation because I believe this forum is well suited to speaking to that concern. In so doing, I intend to render a much more explicit account than I have given to date of the lessons that I have drawn from over 30 years of intimate involvement with nuclear weapons.

Permit me, however, to preface my remarks by postulating that with respect to legitimizing the prospect of abolition, there is much to applaud on the positive side of the ledger. Nuclear issues now compete more strongly for the attention of policymakers in the media that often shapes their interests. Converts are being won on many fronts to the proposition that these issues matter, that nuclear arsenals can and should be sharply reduced, that high-alert postures are a dangerous anachronism, that first-use policies are an affront to democratic values, and that proliferation of nuclear weapons is a clear and present danger.

I am persuaded that in every corner of the planet the tide of public sentiment is now running strongly in favor of diminishing the role of nuclear weapons. Indeed, I am convinced that most publics are well out in front of their governments in shaking off the grip of the Cold War and reaching for the opportunities that emerge in its wake.

Conversely, it is distressingly evident that for many people, nuclear weapons retain an aura of utility, of primacy and of legitimacy that justifies their existence well into the future in some number, however small. The persistence of this view, which is perfectly reflected in the recently announced modification of U.S. nuclear weapons policy, lies at the core of the concern that moves me so deeply.

This abiding faith in nuclear weapons was inspired and is sustained by catechism instilled over many decades by a priesthood who speak with great assurance and authority. I was for many years among the most avid of these keepers of the faith of nuclear weapons, and for that I make no apology.

Like my contemporaries, I was moved by fears inspired by beliefs that date back to the earliest days of the atomic era. We lived through a terror-ridden epoch punctuated by crises whose resolutions held hostage the saga of humankind. For us, nuclear weapons were the savior that brought an implacable foe to his knees in 1945 and held another at bay for nearly a half-century. We believed that superior technology brought strategic advantage, that greater numbers meant stronger security, and that the ends of containment justified whatever means were necessary to achieve them.

These are powerful, deeply-rooted beliefs. They cannot and should not be lightly dismissed nor discounted. Strong arguments can be made on their behalf. Throughout my professional military career I shared them, I professed them and I put them into operational practice. And now it is my burden to declare with all of the conviction I can muster that, in my judgment, they served us extremely ill. They account for the most severe risks and most extravagant costs of the U.S.-Soviet confrontation. They intensified and prolonged an already acute ideological animosity.

They spawned successive generations of new and more destructive devices and delivery systems. They gave rise to mammoth bureaucracies with gargantuan appetites and global agendas. They incited primal emotions, stirred zealotry and demagoguery, and set in motion forces of ungovernable scope and power.

Most important, these enduring beliefs and the fears that underlie them perpetuate Cold War policies and practices that make no strategic sense. They continue to entail enormous costs and expose all mankind to unconscionable dangers. I find that intolerable. And thus I cannot remain silent. I know too much of these matters—the frailties, the flaws, the failures of policy and practice.

At the same time, I cannot overstate the difficulty this poses for me personally. No one who ever entered the nuclear arena left it with a fuller understanding of its complexity nor greater respect for those with whom I served its purposes. I struggle constantly with the task of articulating the evolution of my convictions without denigrating or diminishing the motives and sacrifice of countless colleagues with whom I lived the drama of the Cold War.

I ask them and I ask you to appreciate that my purpose is not to accuse but to assess, to understand and to propound the forces that birthed the grotesque excesses and hazards of the nuclear age. For me, that assessment meant first coming to grips with my experience and then coming to terms with my conclusions.

I knew, the moment I entered the nuclear arena, I had been thrust into a world beset with tidal forces, towering egos, maddening contradictions, alien constructs and insane risks. Its arcane vocabulary and apocalyptic calculus defied comprehension. Its stage was global and its antagonists locked in a deadly spiral of deepening rivalry. It was, in every respect, a modern-day holy war. The stakes were national survival, and the weapons of choice were eminently suited to this scale of malevolence.

The opposing forces each created vast enterprises, each of these in turn giving rise to a culture of messianic believers infused with a sense of historic mission and schooled in unshakable articles of faith. As my own career progressed, I was immersed in the work of all of these cultures, either directly in those of the western world or through penetrating study of communist organizations, teachings and practices.

My responsibilities ranged from the highly subjective, such as assessing the values and motivations of Soviet leadership, to the critically objective, such as preparing weapons for operational launch. I became steeped in the art of intelligence estimates, the psychology of negotiations, the interplay of bureaucracies and the impulses of industry.

I was engaged in the labyrinthian conjecture of the strategist, the exacting routines of the target planner, and the demanding skills of the air crew and the missileer. I’d been a party to their history, shared their triumphs and tragedies, witnessed heroic sacrifice and catastrophic failure of both men and machines. And in the end, I came away from it all with profound misgivings.

Ultimately, as I examined the course of this journey, as the lessons of decades of intimate involvement took greater hold on my intellect, I came to a set of deeply unsettling judgments: That from the earliest days of the nuclear era, the risks and consequences of nuclear war have never been properly weighed by those who brandished it; that the stakes of nuclear war engage not just the survival of the antagonists but the fate of mankind; that the likely consequences of nuclear weapons have no politically, militarily or morally acceptable justification; and therefore that the threat to use nuclear weapons is indefensible.

These judgments gave rise to an array of inescapable questions. If this be so, what explains the willingness—no, the zeal—of legions of cold warriors, civilian and military, to not just tolerate but to multiply and to perpetuate such risks?

By what authority do succeeding generations of leaders in the nuclear weapon states usurp the power to dictate the odds of continued life on our planet? Most urgently, why does such breathtaking audacity persist at a moment when we should stand trembling in the face of our folly and united in our commitment to abolish its most deadly manifestation?

These are not questions to be left to historians. The answers matter to us now. They go to the heart of present-day policies and motivations. They convey lessons with immediate implications for both contemporary and aspiring nuclear states. As I distill them from the experience of three decades in the nuclear arena, these lessons resolve into two fundamental conclusions: First, I have no other way to understand the willingness to condone nuclear weapons except to believe they are the natural accomplice of visceral enmity. They thrive in the emotional climate born of utter alienation and isolation.

The unbounded wantonness of their effects is a perfect companion to the urge to destroy completely. They play on our deepest fears and pander to our darkest instincts. They corrode our sense of humanity, numb our capacity for moral outrage, and make thinkable the unimaginable.

What is anguishingly clear is that these fears and enmities are no respecter of political systems or values. They prey on democracies and totalitarian societies alike, shrinking the norms of civilized behavior and dimming the prospects for escaping the savagery so powerfully imprinted on our genetic code. That should give us great pause as we imagine the task of abolition in a world that gives daily witness to acts of unspeakable barbarism. So should it compound our resolve.

The evidence to support this conclusion is palpable. But as I said at the outset of these remarks, for much of my life I saw it differently. That was a product of both my citizenry and my profession. From the early years of my childhood and through much of my military service, I saw the Soviet Union and its allies as a demonic threat, an evil empire bent on global domination. I was commissioned as an officer in the United States Air Force as the Cold War was heating to a fever pitch.

This was a desperate time that evoked on both sides extreme responses in policy and technology and in force postures; bloody purges and political inquisitions; covert intelligence schemes that squandered lives and subverted governments; atmospheric testing of nuclear weapons with little understanding or regard for the long-term effects; threats of massive nuclear retaliation to an ill-defined scope of potential provocations; the forced march of inventive genius that ushered in the missile age, arm in arm with the capacity for spontaneous global destruction; reconnaissance aircraft that probed or violated sovereign air space, producing disastrous encounters; the menacing and perilous practice of airborne-alert bombers loaded with nuclear weapons.

By the early 1960s, a superpower nuclear arms race was underway that would lead to a ceaseless amassing of destructive capability spilling over into the arsenals of other nations. Central Europe became a powder keg, trembling under the shadow of Armageddon, hostage to a bizarre strategy that required the prospect of nuclear devastation as the price of alliance.

The entire world became a stage for U.S.-Soviet rivalry. International organizations were paralyzed by its grip. East-West confrontation dominated the nation-state system. Every quarrel and conflict was fraught with potential for global war.

This was the world that largely defined our lives as American citizens. For those of us who served in the national security arena, the threat was omnipresent. It seemed total. It dictated our professional preparation and career progression and cost the lives of tens of thousands of men and women in and out of uniform.

Like millions of others, I was caught up in the holy war, inured to its costs and consequences, trusting in the wisdom of succeeding generations of military and civilian leaders. The first requirement of unconditional belief in the efficacy of nuclear weapons was early and perfectly met for us. Our homeland was the target of a consuming evil poised to strike without warning and without mercy.

What remained for me, as my career took its particular course, was to master the intellectual underpinning of America’s response—the strategic foundation that today still stands as the central precept of the nuclear catechism. Reassessing its pervasive impact on attitudes toward nuclear weapons goes directly to my second conclusion regarding the willingness to tolerate still the risks of the nuclear age. That also brings me to the focal point of my remarks, to my purpose in coming back to this forum.

For all of my years as a nuclear strategist, operational commander and public spokesman, I explained, justified and sustained America’s massive nuclear arsenal as a function, a necessity and a consequence of deterrence. Bound up in this singular term, this familiar touchstone of security dating back to antiquity, was the intellectually comforting and deceptively simple justification for taking the most extreme risks and expenditure of trillions of dollars.

It was our shield, and by extension our sword. The nuclear priesthood extolled its virtues and bowed to its demands. Allies yielded grudgingly to its dictates, even while decrying its risks and costs. We brandished it at our enemies and presumed they embraced its suicidal corollary of mutual assured destruction. We ignored, discounted or dismissed its flaws and cling still to the belief that it obtains in a world whose security architecture has been wholly transformed.

But now I see it differently, not in some blinding revelation but at the end of a journey, in an age of deliverance from the consuming tensions of the Cold War. Now, with the evidence more clear, the risks more sharply defined and the costs more fully understood, I see deterrence in a very different light.

Appropriated from the lexicon of conventional warfare, this simple prescription for adequate military preparedness became in the nuclear age a formula for unmitigated catastrophe. It was premised on a litany of unwanted assumptions, unprovable assertions and logical contradictions. It suspended rational thinking about the ultimate aim of national security to ensure the survival of the nation.

How is it that we subscribe to a strategy that required near-perfect understanding of an enemy from whom we were deeply alienated and largely isolated? How could we pretend to understand the motivations and intentions of the Soviet leadership absent any substantive personal association? Why did we imagine a nation that had survived successive invasions and mind-numbing losses would accede to a strategy premised on fear of nuclear war?

Deterrence in the Cold War setting was fatally flawed at the most fundamental level of human psychology in its projection of western reason through the crazed lens of a paranoid foe. Little wonder that intentions and motives were consistently misread. Little wonder that deterrence was the first victim of a deepening crisis, leaving the antagonists to grope fearfully in a fog of mutual misperception.

While we clung to the notion that nuclear war could be reliably deterred, Soviet leaders derived from their historical experience the conviction that such a war might be thrust upon them, and if so, must not be lost. Driven by that fear, they took Herculean measures to fight and survive no matter the odds or the cost. Deterrence was a dialogue of the blind with the deaf. In the final analysis, it was largely a bargain we in the West made with ourselves.

Deterrence was flawed equally in that the consequences of its failure were intolerable. While the price of undeterred aggression in the age of uniquely conventional weaponry could be severe, history teaches that nations can survive and even prosper in the aftermath of unconditional defeat. Not so in the nuclear age.

Nuclear weapons give no quarter. Their effects transcend time and space, poisoning the earth and deforming its inhabitants for generation upon generation. They leave us wholly without defense, expunge all hope for meaningful survival. They hold in their sway not just the fate of nations but the very meaning of civilization.

Deterrence failed completely as a guide for setting rational limits on the size and composition of military forces. To the contrary, its appetite was voracious, its capacity to justify new weapons and large stocks unrestrained. Deterrence carried the seed born of an irresolvable internal contradiction that spurred an insatiable arms race.

Nuclear deterrence hinges on the credibility to mount a devastating retaliation under the most extreme conditions of war initiation. Perversely, the redundant and survivable forces required to meet this exacting test is readily perceived by a darkly suspicious adversary as capable or even designed to execute a disarming first strike. Such advantage can never be conceded between nuclear rivals. It must be answered, reduced, nullified.

Fears are fanned. The rivalry intensifies. New technology is inspired. New systems roll from production lines. The correlation of force begins to shift and the bar of deterrence ratchets higher, igniting yet another cycle of trepidation, worst-case assumptions and ever-mounting levels of destructive capability.

Thus it was that the treacherous axioms of deterrence made seemingly reasonable nuclear weapon stockpiles numbering in the tens of thousands. Despite having witnessed the devastation wrought by two primitive atomic devices, over the ensuing decades the superpowers gorged themselves at the thermonuclear trough.

A succession of leaders on both sides of the East-West divide directed a reckless proliferation of nuclear devices tailored for delivery by a vast array of vehicles to a stupefying array of targets. They nurtured, richly rewarded, even reveled in the industrial base required to support production at such levels.

I was part of all of that. I was present at the creation of many of these systems, directly responsible for prescribing and justifying the requirements in technology that made them possible. I saw the arms race from the inside, watched as intercontinental ballistic missiles ushered in mutual assured destruction and multiple-warhead missiles introduced genuine fear of a nuclear first strike.

I participated in the elaboration of basing schemes that bordered on the comical and force levels that, in retrospect, defied reason. I was responsible for nuclear war plans with over 12,000 targets, many struck with repeated nuclear blows, some to the point of complete absurdity. I was a veteran participant in an arena where the most destructive power ever unleashed became the prize in a no-holds-barred competition among organizations whose principal interest was to enhance rather than constrain its application. And through every corridor and every impassioned plea and every fevered debate rang the rallying cry, “Deterrence, deterrence, deterrence.”

As nuclear weapons and actors multiplied, deterrence took on too many names, too many roles, overreaching an already extreme strategic task. Surely nuclear weapons summon great caution and superpower relationships. But as their numbers swelled, so mounted the stakes of miscalculation, of a crisis spun out of control. The exorbitant price of nuclear war quickly exceeded the rapidly depreciating value of a tenuous mutual wariness between the antagonists. Invoking deterrence became a cheap rhetorical power trip, a verbal sleight of hand. Proponents persist in dressing it up to court changing times and temperaments, hemming and rehemming it to fit shrinking or distorted threats.

Deterrence is a slippery conceptual slope. It is not stable, nor is it static. Its wiles cannot be contained. It is both master and slave. It seduces the scientist yet bends to his creation. It serves the ends of evil as well as those of noble intent. It holds guilty the innocent as well as the culpable. It gives easy semantic cover to nuclear weapons, masking the horrors of employment with siren veils of infallibility. At best, it is a gamble no mortal should pretend to make. At worst, it invokes death on a scale rivaling the power of the creator.

Is it any wonder that at the end of my journey I am moved so strongly to retrace its path, to examine more closely the evidence I would not or could not see? I hear now the voices long ignored, the warnings muffled by the still-lingering animosities of the Cold War. I see with painful clarity that from the very beginnings of the nuclear era, the objective scrutiny and searching debate essential to adequate comprehension and responsible oversight of its vast enterprises were foreshortened or foregone. The cold light of dispassionate scrutiny was shuttered in the name of security, doubts dismissed in the name of an acute and unrelenting threat, objections overruled by the incantations of the nuclear priesthood.

The penalties proved to be severe. Vitally important decisions were routinely taken without adequate understanding. Assertions too often prevailed over analysis. Requirements took on organizational biases. Technological opportunity and corporate profit drove levels and capabilities. And political opportunism intruded on calculations of military necessity.

Authority and accountability were severed, policy dissociated from planning, and theory invalidated by practice. The narrow concerns of a multitude of powerful interests intruded on the rightful role of key policymakers, constraining their latitude for decision. Many were simply denied access to critical information essential to the proper exercise of their office.

Over time, planning was increasingly distanced and ultimately disconnected from any sense of scientific or military reality. In the end, the nuclear powers, great or small, created astronomically expensive infrastructures, monolithic bureaucracies and complex processes that defied control or comprehension.

Only now are the dimensions, the costs and the risks of these nuclear netherworlds coming to light. What must now be better understood are the root causes, the mindsets and the belief systems that brought them into existence. They must be challenged. They must be refuted. But most importantly, they must be let go. The era that gave them credence, accepted their dominion and yielded to their excesses is fast receding.

But it’s not yet over. Sad to say, the Cold War lives on in the minds of those who cannot let go the fears, the beliefs and the enmities born of the nuclear age. They cling to deterrence, clutch its tattered promise to their breast, shake it wistfully at bygone adversaries and balefully at new or imagined ones. They are gripped still by its awful willingness not simply to tempt apocalypse but to prepare its way.

What better illustration of misplaced faith in nuclear deterrence than the persistent belief that retaliation with nuclear weapons is a legitimate and appropriate response to post-Cold War threats properly abhor and condemn? Who can imagine our joining in shattering the precedent of non-use that has held for over 50 years? How could America’s irreplaceable role as leader of the campaign against nuclear proliferation ever be rejustified? What target would warrant such retaliation? Would we hold an entire society accountable for the decision of a single demented leader?

How would the physical effects of the nuclear explosion be contained, not to mention the political and moral consequences? In a singular act, we would martyr our enemies, alienate our friends, give comfort to the non-declared nuclear states and impetus to states who seek such weapons covertly.

In short, such a response on the part of the United States is inconceivable. It would irretrievably diminish our priceless stature as a nation noble in aspiration and responsible in conduct even in the face of extreme provocation. And as a nation, we have no greater responsibility than to bring the nuclear era to a close.

Our present-day policies and plans and postures governing nuclear weapons make us prisoners still to an age of intolerable danger. We cannot at once keep sacred the miracle of existence and hold sacrosanct the capacity to destroy it. We cannot hold hostage to sovereign gridlock the keys to final deliverance from the nuclear nightmare. We cannot withhold the resources essential to break its grip, to reduce its dangers. We cannot sit in silent acquiescence to the faded homilies of the nuclear priesthood. It is time to reassert the primacy of individual conscience, the voice of reason and the rightful interests of humanity.

Thank you. (Applause)

MR. HARBRECHT: [How do you respond to calls that we need to retain nuclear weapons to attack] Iraq or in response to any chemical or biological weapon threat?

GEN. BUTLER: At the risk of reiterating something I just said, I think it’s worth reiterating perhaps in a slightly different context. I had the opportunity to go through this calculus. When I was the director of strategic plans and policy in the 1989 to ’91 time frame, it was my direct responsibility to draw up the strategic objectives of our prospective war in the Persian Gulf, to imagine outcomes and to set war termination objectives.

At the very heart of that calculus was to imagine the prospect of using nuclear weapons. And I would point out to those of you here who might have read Colin Powell’s memoirs that he goes through this himself in the latter stages of his book, because he was asked to imagine the kinds of targets in the Persian Gulf that might be struck with nuclear weapons. I share his reservations absolutely.

The first issue, of course, is the one that I posed in my remarks. If we rightfully abhor and condemn the resort to the use of a weapon of mass destruction, how is it we could possibly justify—we, the United States, a democratic society—ourselves steeping to such ends?

Number two, can you imagine the impact in a part of the world where we worked so assiduously for so many years to build our presence, to build support and credibility, of being the nation that used a nuclear weapon against Arab peoples? Only the second time in history that such a device had been used, and it would be the United States, and it would be in a part of the world where even today those actions raise powerful suspicions.

Secondly, what would—thirdly, what would have happened to the coalition? How painstakingly we worked to put together a coalition of some 30 nations from very disparate points on the ideological and cultural compass in order to provide the proper underpinnings of the international community for that war. Can you imagine the impact on that coalition if we, the United States, had used a nuclear weapon, even in response to the use of a weapon of mass destruction by the Iraqis? It would have been devastating.

There’s the question of targets. If you were the target planner for the use of a nuclear weapon in the Persian Gulf, what would be your choice? Surely it would not be the city of Baghdad. Would you hold hundreds of thousands of people accountable for the acts of their leader? Would it be an Iraqi division in the far western reaches of that nation? You might be interested to know the calculation of how many tactical nuclear weapons it requires to bring even one division to its knees when it’s spread over such a vast expanse.

What would have happened to the fallout from the blast? If you want to do maximum damage, you use a surface burst. How is it that the fallout patterns would have arrayed themselves beyond the borders of Iraq, perhaps even to the south if the wind had been blowing in that direction?

The real point of the exercise is that the United States has put itself happily in a position where it has no need to resort to weapons of mass destruction to respond to such provocation. We brought Iraq to its knees conventionally. We could have decimated that country. We could have occupied it as we did Japan and Germany at the end of World War II. We chose not to do that, but it was within our capacity to do so. And if we could do that in 1991, when they had the fourth-strongest army in the world and a significant air force, can you imagine the task today when we’ve reduced all of that by at least two-thirds?

It is wrong from every aspect. It is wrong politically. It makes no sense militarily. And morally, in my view, it is indefensible.

MR. HARBRECHT: General, what happens to an officer—(applause). What happens to an officer who breaks, as you have, from the orthodoxy of our military? Is the military changing in this respect?

GEN. BUTLER: It is, of course, very difficult and probably presumptuous in the extreme to answer on behalf of something called the military. And so I won’t pretend to do that. But I think that I can speak to it from this regard.

It has been very gratifying over the last two years to receive countless phone calls and letters from colleagues who were on active duty with me, now retired, or who continue to serve, who support the arguments that I have tried to make, who believe, as I do, that it was near-miraculous that we escaped the Cold War without a nuclear holocaust, and that our number one foreign policy and national security priority should be the normalization of relations with the former Soviet Union and to walk back from the abyss that we created by the amassing of nuclear weapons in the tens of thousands.

And, so, no, I would not pretend to speak for the military. And with regard to what happens, it’s also gratifying to have the comfort and to experience the fact that we live in a country where people can express their views freely. And while some, many, might take exception to them, no one in my experience has yet but to do anything but to applaud the fact that we’re trying to bring this issue back to the forefront of policy discourse in this country.

MR. HARBRECHT: Do you also believe that the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was unnecessary or counterproductive?

GEN. BUTLER: I don’t know. I don’t know. There are some historical eras into which I can put myself with some comfort; I’ve got the context right. But they’re really only those eras in which I actively participated. I was in uniform as an officer for 33 years. I understand that era very, very well.

As an itinerant associate professor of political science, formerly with the Air Force Academy, and an historian, particularly a military historian, I have some understanding of the challenges that were faced by political leaders and military forces in early eras.

It’s very difficult for me yet to recreate in my own mind the intensity of the period in which that decision was made by the president of the United States. And as I said in my speech, my purpose is not to accuse but to assess. It’s to try to understand the lessons that might be drawn from that. It’s to try and understand the consequences of having dropped atomic devices on Japan.

At the time and today, we still believe that we spared the lives of tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, perhaps a million U.S. and allied soldiers. But at the same time, we took the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians. And now we have the opportunity, thank God, to step back, to pause and reflect on that in a different political, military and moral climate. And that’s what I’m trying to do. So I can’t make that judgment, but I certainly can try and draw my own observations.

MR. HARBRECHT: General, it’s widely believed that Israel not only possesses nuclear weapons but would use them if its survival depended upon them. Is Israel’s reliance on its nuclear weapons in the dangerous Middle East ill-advised?

GEN. BUTLER: I think that it is a perfect illustration of the short-sightedness that tends to surround this issue of whether or not nations should acquire nuclear capability. What was it that prompted Iraq to try and acquire weapons of mass destruction, a nuclear weapon arsenal of their own? Could it have in any way been tied to the fact that Israel acquired such capability? And what of Syria or Iran? What of Libya?

These things have causes and they have effects. They’re related. The circumstances in which nuclear weapons capability is created and sustained aren’t static. As a consequence, in my view, it is dangerous in the extreme that in the cauldron of animosities that we call the Middle East, one nation has armed itself, ostensibly, with stockpiles of nuclear weapons, perhaps numbering in the hundreds, and that that inspires other nations to do so. And, of course, that’s not the only regional conflict where we see this perilous confrontation.

I will tell you what I do think. I cannot imagine any regional quarrel or conflict that is or will be made easier to resolve by the presence of the further introduction of nuclear weapons.

MR. HARBRECHT: What can be done to persuade an emerging superpower like China to give up nuclear weapons? Would such a decision have to wait for the emergence of democracy in China?

GEN. BUTLER: There’s a story, perhaps apocryphal, but it’s been in the literature for many years, as to why it was that the Chinese acquired nuclear weapons capability. The story goes that it was proposed to Mao and he said, “Why should I do this?” And he was told, “Well, other nations have them.” And his answer purportedly was, “Well, I guess we should have some.”

If you look at the Chinese nuclear arsenal, it is far from modern. Their forces are not on alert. They’re struggling to bring up its safety and (security?) characteristics. China has avowed time and again that they are a no-first-use nation and that they are strongly on record in favor of nuclear abolition. I don’t know what it would take to persuade China to abandon their nuclear arsenals, but I am comforted by what they say.

I believe that the keys to creating a climate in which the Chinas of the world—Great Britain, France, the non-declared states—are willing to join in a serious-minded, forthright and concrete series of commitments and steps to move steadfastly toward the abolition of nuclear weapons is for the United States and Russia to take the lead.

I believe that we are missing priceless opportunities in what is perhaps a perishable window of opportunity to move forward much more swiftly and boldly in getting our forces off alert, bringing tactical nuclear weapons home from Europe, declaring no-first-use policies, and most importantly, reaching out to our friends in Russia and making the decision that it is time to get on with concrete measures for much more severe cuts in nuclear stockpiles than we’ve been willing to acknowledge to date.

It is, in my view, a sad commentary on the current state of thinking on this issue that we are comfortable with a goal for reductions that would still have 3,500 operational nuclear weapons on alert 10 years from now. It is a dismal commentary on the current state of thinking that we still believe that distant nuclear arsenals that measure in the hundreds is a low number.

It is time for the United States to act much more boldly and with stronger leadership with respect to getting on with getting the nuclear era to a close.

MR. HARBRECHT: General, do you ever feel any guilt for having been so integral a part of building the nuclear machine? Shouldn’t you have spoken up earlier?

GEN. BUTLER: Well, this isn’t about guilt. This is about understanding. This is about reflection. I talked with Bob McNamara about this subject. He took a lot of heat when he published his recent book, Vietnam. And Bob may, in fact, be here today. I told him forthrightly that as a veteran of Vietnam, I was anguished by some of what he said. I felt like that perhaps he hadn’t shown enough guilt.

And he said to me, “Lee, we were who we were and we were where we were.” He said, “I can’t change any of that.” He said, “But what I can do is to try and think through and make public and help others to understand the judgments and the pressures and the outcomes and how I see them now, not in order to assess blame, but in the hope that future generations of policymakers can read those lessons and not make the same mistakes.” That’s all I’m trying to do here. (Applause). . . .

MR. HARBRECHT: Our final question today is, you almost were turned down for the—I’m sorry. You were almost turned down for the Air Force Academy because you weighed only 115 pounds. Do you think you could get into the Air Force Academy today? (Laughter)

GEN. BUTLER: I don’t know if I could get in. And if I did, I don’t know if I’m good enough to stay there. (Laughter) I’m glad I got that done. (Laughs.)

I would simply say this. I think that the nation’s service academies have done a great service for people like myself who came from small towns in northern Mississippi, who didn’t study subjects like biology in high school because they were thought to be a communist plot—(laughter)—who, when he left his little high school in northern Mississippi to come to Virginia, following his dad, who was stationed in the Pentagon, and reported to class for his first day at Washington-Lee High School in his Mississippi uniform with Levi’s, a T-shirt and no shoes, felt like the janitor. (Laughter)

So I’m indebted to the Air Force Academy for having taken me, and I was astonished to be taken. It is, in many respects, miraculous that I stayed there. But at the end of the day, it offered an opportunity for me to have a life and to meet a wife and to create a family that has blessed us with two and a half grandchildren. Yes, Thomas Jackson is on the way, we think the 21st of February.

So, no, I wouldn’t like to have to compete again. It’s a tough outfit. But I am absolutely honored to have had the opportunity the first time. (Applause). . . .

MR. HARBRECHT: Thank you very much for coming. (Applause)

Copyright © 1998 The Brookings Institution
Reproduced for Fair Use Only