Special mention must be made of the late David Ginsburg, whose storied Washington career spanned 72 years, and who crossed paths with countless major national security figures around the world and in 13 American administrations. Thirty-one years of periodic lunches and serious conversation on issues of the day were an education for me and inspired me to try writing books.
Special thanks also to Richard Perle, who contributed the foreword. Meeting Herb London proved a landmark in my life. He invited me to become a trustee of the Hudson Institute, and has been a constant source of encouragement. Fellow trustees Linden Blue, Jack David, and Scooter Libby, Hudson CEO and president, and Ken Weinstein, and Hudson scholars Douglas Feith, and Christopher Ford provided essential perspectives on nuclear issues, in various contexts. Linden brought in Robert Schleicher, who offered expert advice on nuclear technology basics. Michael Ledeen offered abundant historical perspective. Peter Huessy and Sven Kramer shared their wide knowledge of arms-control and strategic weapons issues. Claudia Rosett and Gordon Chang offered deeply informed perspective on North Korea and China. Laurie Mylroie, as always, educated me on Mideast matters.
If it flies, Stu Johnson and Paul Hart know all about it. Ike Nehama aided my look at missile defense. Alan Salisbury and Marc Gunnels gave me needed military perspective on key issues. Michael Brewer applied his insightful analysis to a wide range of subjects. George Brokaw pointed me to a source I had overlooked. Jeff Gibbs lent his historical scholarship and long experience to various topics; he also pointed me to Thomas Hone, whose essay on the Washington Naval Treaty was very illuminating. Yuri Mamchur tested my Russia arguments, to my benefit. Henry Sokolski’s Nonproliferation Policy Center provided a gold mine of proliferation data and analysis, plus public forums with discussion of the highest quality. Bob Zarate collaborated with Henry on editing the writings of Albert and Roberta Wohlstetter, an invaluable source. Joan Hall, my first cousin, added her insights on Albert, Roberta and issues of the day.
A September 2011 visit to Israel, under the auspices of the Hudson Institute and hosted by the Friends of the Israeli Defense Forces, provided a close-up look at the strategic situation of one of America’s firmest, most trustworthy allies, a world leader in critical military and commercial technologies.
Online publishers The American Spectator, Human Events, and Daily Caller published my national security articles, enabling me to air some of my arguments during the book’s long gestation. Hudson DC’s Grace Terzian shepherded my twin publications on Herman Kahn for Hudson Institute. Hudson NY’s former online editor, Nina Rosenwald, published my comparison between the Washington naval treaties and the SALT treaties.
I give heartfelt thanks to the talk radio hosts who provided me with hundreds of radio opportunities on stations of local, citywide, statewide, and national reach. They gave me a platform to present my national security thoughts to a broad swath of Americans—including those who called in to engage me directly.
I owe a special debt to two permanent members of the strategic community, my late uncle and aunt, Albert and Roberta Wohlstetter. Their work, which spanned the half century following World War II, has been an inspiration to me.
Albert Wohlstetter focused on issues of strategy, force structure, and nuclear proliferation and associated incentives, aiming to avoid nuclear conflict without the free world surrendering. Roberta Wohlstetter addressed nuclear proliferation as well. But she is best known for her seminal work on intelligence and strategic surprise. In Pearl Harbor: Warning and Decision (1962) Roberta examined the intelligence failure that led to Japan’s successful destruction of the fleet at Pearl Harbor. Her work showed that evidence of an attack was never clear enough, nor highlighted sufficiently, to enable decision makers to anticipate what transpired. The perceived improbability of Japan striking such an audacious blow, impermeable bureaucratic walls between agencies, organizational sloth, and the ardent—understandable—human desire to decline to believe the worst among possibilities, combined to lead to disaster. Roberta won the Bancroft Prize in history for her book. To this day, many in the intelligence community refer to the problem of anticipating strategic surprise as a “Roberta problem.” The 9/11 Commission Report dealt with similar issues after what we consider the twenty-first century’s first Pearl Harbor. New disclosures upon the seventieth anniversary of the attack confirm the acuity of the analysis Roberta presented 50 years ago. It was the work of Albert and Roberta that got my attention in junior high school days, and made my study of these issues a lifetime quest.
I finally thank two editors who worked on the book. Louisa Gilder edited early versions of the manuscript, and brought to bear both her knowledge as the accomplished author of a history of physics and the perspective of a younger generation—both with highly positive results. Anne Himmelfarb applied her elegant editing skills to later drafts. She also copy-edited the final manuscript, a service she ably performed for my first book.
I am, needless to say, solely responsible for all errors of analysis, context, and fact, and any other faults in my book.
INTRODUCTION: ORGANIZATION OF THE WORK
THE AIM OF THIS BOOK IS TO EQUIP READERS WITH A BROAD UNDERSTANDING of fundamental nuclear weapons issues and to draw lessons from history that can help us avoid nuclear catastrophe. Two generations ago “the Bomb” was uppermost in the national consciousness. For those of us who grew up in the “duck and cover” 1950s, the national shock of Sputnik’s October 1957 launch is an indelible memory. The race for the moon had suspenseful moments worthy of Hollywood. As for Tinseltown, it plied us with radioactive monster movies in the 1950s, Cold War dramas or satire in the 1960s, and peace pictures in the 1970s.
The real-life parade of nuclear crises peaked with the October 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, which put the entire country on edge for a fearful fortnight. Assassinations, riots, and wars followed. But through it all the concrete prospect of nuclear holocaust cast a baleful shadow over the body politic.
Then came the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, and two years later the end of the Soviet Union’s “evil empire,” as Ronald Reagan famously tagged it. With the “peace dividend” of the 1990s and a “Goldilocks Economy” Americans enjoyed a storied “holiday from history.” Democracy and free markets were increasingly ascendant in many parts of the globe, astonishing to those who remembered how rare they once were.
Cold War–oriented curricula began to disappear from college offerings. Students looked elsewhere for fields of study—finance, law, and ecology. National security threats as a concept came to include climate change and economic growth. Nuclear nightmares receded.
The terrorist atrocities of September 11, 2001 brought home militant Islam’s crusade against the West. Once again the Bomb threatened. This time the most feared threat was not warheads atop ballistic missiles hurtling through space at several miles per second, but Islamist terrorists chauffeuring a crude atomic device inside a truck or slipping a device inside a shipping container.
Lost to a new generation that did not live through the Cold War’s “delicate balance of terror” was the real sense that nuclear catastrophe was more than a theoretical prospect. Al-Qaeda has been pushed back, with its efforts abroad increasingly feeble. Its founder perished ignominiously in his hideout, cowering before the avenging angels of SEAL Team 6.
So while national security specialists continue to worry about growing nuclear threats, our citizenry is preoccupied with global economic crises. Though generally aware of present threats, many lack the grounding offered by the more than half century of tutelage that preceded 9/11. To them the prospect of an actual nuclear detonation must seem remote. It is a comforting, but perilous, assumption. Only history’s lessons can supply what living memory cannot.