I’ve lost track of the number of people who are vehemently arguing that the opinions and recommendations of those who supported the Iraq invasion (especially the neocons) regarding what the U.S. should now do in Iraq should either be ignored or instantly rejected. It’s reasonable to assume that the individuals who are asserting this opposed the war from the beginning. Their view, then, is that your initial position on the war is the litmus test for judging the value of your current thinking about our Iraq policy.

Lately, I’ve been reading (and re-reading) a lot about the Vietnam war. The most memorable book written while that war was still raging is David Halberstam’s The Best and the Brightest. Published in 1969, the book is a scathing critique of the rationale for, and the conduct of, the war. I read—consumed might be a better word—the book soon after its publication. I was strongly opposed to the war; I felt that it was a vindication of my antiwar stance. Thus, I can confidently say that individuals who are now opining that the views of those who favored the invasion of Iraq should be dismissed would consider Halberstam to be a kindred soul.

They would undoubtedly be surprised to learn that, as late as 1965, Halberstam opposed both the neutralization of Vietnam (a position that was then sympathetically considered by such luminaries as Walter Lippmann and James Reston) and the withdrawal of American troops from Vietnam. In that year, this is what Halberstam said in The Making of a Quagmire about these two policy alternatives:

The basic alternatives for Vietnam are the same now as they were in 1961: they are no different, no more palatable, no less of a nightmare.

First, there is a great deal of talk about the possibility of a neutral Vietnam. But under present conditions this is out of the question . . . The first step toward a neutral Vietnam would undoubtedly be the withdrawal of all U.S. forces in the country and a cutback in American military aid; this would create a vacuum so that the Communists, the only truly organized force in the South, could subvert the country at their leisure . . . There would simply be no force to resist them, and if Hanoi offered us and the South Vietnamese a neutral solution, it would only mean a way of saving face for the United States.

What about withdrawal? Few Americans who have served in Vietnam can stomach this idea. It means that those who committed themselves fully to the United States will suffer the most under a Communist government, while we lucky few with blue passports retire unharmed; it means a drab, lifeless and controlled society for a people who deserve better. Withdrawal also means that the United States’ prestige will be lowered throughout the world, and it means that the pressure of Communism on the rest of Southeast Asia will intensify. Lastly, withdrawal means that throughout the world the enemies of the West will be encouraged to try insurgencies like the one in Vietnam.

The Halberstam of 1965 was against a face-saving policy, worried about the fate of the South Vietnamese who supported the U.S., concerned about American prestige, and feared the spread of Communism and insurgencies. He bought into the domino theory. He was a hawk.

I hadn’t read his earlier book (in fact, I didn’t know that it existed); consequently I was unaware that the dovish Halberstam of 1969 had once been a hawk. I suspect that few people had read it, as Vietnam wasn’t nearly as significant an issue in 1965 as it later was to become. Had I read The Making of a Quagmire, would I have dismissed what he said four years later? I would like to think that I wouldn’t have, recognizing that the events of the intervening years provided sufficient reason for him to have changed his mind. I would also like to think that those who now automatically reject the views of supporters of the Iraq invasion, upon further reflection, will reach the same conclusion.