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Woodward and Bernstein: Trump's Russia response is 'eerily similar' to Nixon's before the Saturday night massacre
Woodward and Bernstein: Trump's Russia response 'eerily similar' to Nixon's leading up to Saturday Night Massacre
Updated 10:44 AM ET, Sat February 10, 2018
Woodward and Bernstein adapted this piece from their 1976 book, "The Final Days." This excerpt is appearing both in The Washington Post and on CNN.
(CNN)We're
here again. A powerful and determined President is squaring off against
an independent investigator operating inside the Justice Department.
Special counsel Robert Mueller's mission is a comprehensive look at
Russian meddling in the 2016 election -- and any other crimes he
uncovers in the process. President Donald Trump insists it's all a
"witch hunt" and an unfair examination of his family's personal
finances. He constantly complains about the investigation in private and
reportedly asked his White House counsel to have Mueller fired. No
wonder many people are making comparisons to the Saturday Night Massacre
of 1973, when President Richard Nixon fired special prosecutor
Archibald Cox, and Attorney General Elliot Richardson and Deputy
Attorney General William Ruckelshaus resigned.
We
covered that eerily similar confrontation for The Washington Post 45
years ago. Nixon didn't know it at the time, but the Saturday Night
Massacre would become a pivot point in his presidency -- crucial to the
charge that he'd obstructed justice. For him, the consequences were
terminal. A retelling of the episode, adapted from "The Final Days," as
we called our book on the president's last year, can illuminate the
stakes.
• • •
In
April 1973, Nixon persuaded Richardson, his defense secretary, to
switch departments and become the attorney general. The president
invited him to a Camp David meeting that turned out to be part of the
Watergate cover-up: He wanted to ensure that Richardson would be an ally
in a new Watergate investigation.
Richardson's
chilly, formal manner evoked the Eastern, academic establishment that
Nixon despised. The slow, winding rhetoric that weighed down his
conversation drove the president to distraction. Still, he needed
Richardson, with his impeccable reputation, to redeem his Justice
Department and take charge of the Watergate investigation.
Nixon
told him that the investigation must be thorough and complete, though
there might be some areas of national security that would have to be
left alone. "You must pursue this investigation even if it leads to the
president," Nixon said, and his eyes met Richardson's. "I'm innocent.
You've got to believe I'm innocent. If you don't, don't take the job."
Vastly
relieved, Richardson nodded his acceptance: Nixon, he thought, would
never set such an investigation in motion unless he was innocent.
"The important thing is the presidency," Nixon continued. "If need be, save the presidency from the president."
Richardson, writing on a legal pad, paraphrased the thought: "If the monster is me, save the country."
Almost
immediately he appointed his old Harvard law professor, Archibald Cox
-- who had served as President John F. Kennedy's solicitor general -- as
special prosecutor to handle Watergate, promising him full
independence. Cox set about investigating, and three months later he
subpoenaed nine of the White House tapes.
Nixon
did not take kindly to this. White House chief of staff Alexander Haig
warned Richardson that the president might fire Cox if he weren't reined
in, shaking Richardson's faith in the president's innocence. "If we
have to have a confrontation, we will have it," Haig told him.
A
few days later, Haig said he had advised the president to turn over the
tapes, but Nixon had refused. The president would resign first. Haig
told Richardson he didn't know whether the president was hiding
something or whether he was merely concerned about the principle of
confidentiality, but he had never seen Nixon so worked up. "It makes you
wonder what must be on those tapes," said Haig, who himself was only a
few months into the job.
For
now, Richardson decided to give Nixon the benefit of the doubt while he
oversaw his department's investigation of Vice President Spiro Agnew,
who had been accepting illegal cash payoffs from contractors for years,
starting when he was a Maryland official.
In
October, Richardson was leaving an Oval Office briefing about the Agnew
situation when Nixon called after him. "Now that we have disposed of
that matter, we can go ahead and get rid of Cox." Richardson didn't know
how to take the remark. But soon the issue would come to a head.
• • •
President Richard Nixon in January 1973.
On
Monday, October 15, the United States Court of Appeals for the District
of Columbia ruled that the president, who had fought the order to turn
over the nine subpoenaed tapes, must hand them over -- unless the White
House could reach "some agreement with the Special Prosecutor" out of
court. Nixon had until midnight Friday to comply, to appeal to the
Supreme Court or to reach a compromise with Cox. Richardson was doubtful
that the White House and Cox could agree on much of anything in five
days.
After the court decision came
down, Haig and White House lawyer J. Fred Buzhardt summoned Richardson.
They presented the attorney general with a plan: Nixon would personally
listen to the subpoenaed recordings and supervise the preparation of
transcripts that would be turned over to the court as a substitute for
the tapes. Cox -- long a bone in Nixon's throat and a bad idea in the
first place -- would be fired. And there would be no more litigating
over other tapes.
Richardson,
outwardly calm, raised an objection. The plan was contrary to the
agreement he had made with the Senate Judiciary Committee during his
confirmation hearings. He had promised that the special prosecutor could
be removed only for "extraordinary improprieties." If he were ordered
to fire Cox, he might instead have to resign himself.
Haig
and Buzhardt held their ground. Cox would have to go. Richardson left
the White House bewildered and uncertain of what would happen next.
Haig
called him 40 minutes later to suggest a compromise: Sen. John C.
Stennis, the 72-year-old Mississippi Democrat who chaired the Senate
Armed Services Committee, would be asked to make a comparison between
the transcripts and the tapes. His authenticated version would be
submitted to the court. (No mention was made of the fact that the
senator was partially deaf and that the tapes were difficult to hear
under the best of circumstances.) If Richardson accepted, Cox would not
have to be fired, but Richardson would forbid any further demands for
tapes. The president, Haig added, would expect Richardson's support if
it came to a showdown with Cox.
Later
that day, Richardson called Haig back and made it clear that he was
committed only to the Stennis authentication of the nine subpoenaed
tapes. He couldn't make any other promises.
Now
Richardson had to sell the Stennis compromise to Cox, who wanted to see
the terms in writing. Richardson drafted an agreement that said it
would "cover only the tapes heretofore subpoenaed by the Watergate grand
jury at the request of the Special Prosecutor." When he sent it to the
White House on Wednesday morning, October 17, Buzhardt cut that section.
The president, he knew, didn't ever want to hear about future requests
for tapes. The White House also wanted to empower Stennis to "paraphrase
language whose use in its original form would in his judgment be
embarrassing to the President."
Richardson
wanted to avoid a confrontation with Nixon, and he acquiesced. But Cox
flatly rejected the compromise. "The public cannot fairly be asked to
confide so difficult and responsible a task to any one man operating in
secrecy, consulting only with the White House," he wrote to the attorney
general on Thursday afternoon. And Cox wanted an agreement that would
"serve the function of a court decision in establishing the Special
Prosecutor's entitlement to other evidence." A court might want the
actual tapes, the best evidence, for any trial.
Richardson
took Cox's memo to a 6 p.m. meeting at the White House. Haig was
unaccepting. The White House was seeking a compromise, he said, and Cox
was making it impossible. He should be fired, Haig said. Three other
Nixon lawyers in the meeting agreed. They were confident that the
president could convince the public he'd acted reasonably.
Richardson
did not think so. He made it clear that he could live with Cox's
voluntary resignation but that he could not fire him for refusing the
Stennis plan.
Later that night,
Richardson sat in his study in McLean, Virginia. The rush of the Potomac
River was barely audible in the distance. He wrote at the top of a
yellow legal pad: "Why I Must Resign." He was sure that Cox could not be
persuaded to acquiesce, and he knew that the president wanted Cox out.
Richardson's
first reason for resigning was his promise to the Senate to guarantee
the independence of the special prosecutor. Second, he wrote that Cox
was being required to accept less than he had won in two court
decisions. "While Cox has rejected a proposal I consider reasonable, his
rejection of it cannot be regarded" as grounds for his removal. The
next morning Richardson planned to make that clear to the president.
But
that night, Nixon was drawing his own red lines. Even if Richardson was
on his side, the Stennis deal was not sufficient if it didn't block
future demands for tapes. Buzhardt wanted him to leave it alone -- the
Stennis compromise for now would be a giant step toward the end of
Watergate.
Eventually, Nixon blew up at him. "No," the president said. "No, period!"
Buzhardt
had been sure he could maneuver Cox into a position where the special
prosecutor would have to resign, since the White House and Richardson
would be lined up against him. But to do it, he needed some negotiating
room. The president had just denied him exactly that. By asserting that
the special prosecutor could not subpoena additional evidence, they were
laying credible grounds for Cox's defiance -- instead of his
resignation. And they were probably throwing Richardson into Cox's arms.
Now a showdown was inevitable.
• • •
Early
the next morning, Friday, October 19, Richardson had "Why I Must
Resign" typed and put it in his pocket. He called Haig and asked to see
the president. But when Richardson arrived at about 10 a.m., Haig had a
new deal. "Suppose we go ahead with the Stennis plan without firing
Cox," he said. Instead, they would persuade the appeals court to accept
the transcripts instead of the tapes, allowing use of the Stennis
compromise without Cox's assent. Perhaps the Senate Watergate Committee
would also accept transcripts.
Richardson
was taken aback. That would be fine, he said, thinking to himself that
he wouldn't have to resign, either. Haig said he would try to persuade
the president.
Richardson was in
for another surprise when he learned at the meeting that White House
lawyers had asked Cox "not to subpoena any other White House tape, paper
or document." Obviously, the special prosecutor could not accept that,
and this had not been part of the proposal Richardson had submitted to
Cox. Buzhardt said the president had forced them to add this new
condition the previous night.
Haig
left his office and came back soon to announce that Nixon had agreed to
keep Cox. It had been "bloody, bloody," Haig said. "I pushed so hard
that my usefulness to the president may be over."
Richardson
tried to add things up in his own mind. The Stennis compromise had a
new element: no future access. He was willing to accept it -- barely.
Cox could resign or keep his job, as he chose, and Richardson would not
have to fire him. Negotiations could continue. Richardson's reasons for
quitting, neatly typed, stayed folded in his pocket. Now Haig thought he
had Richardson on board.
Buzhardt
said that the next problem was how to contain Cox. Couldn't Richardson
simply order him not to go to court again for tapes? Cox would probably
resign, but nobody appeared particularly concerned by that prospect.
Richardson left the meeting, sure that there would be further discussion
before any such orders were issued to Cox.
Back
at his office, Richardson reviewed the White House meeting with his
aides. They had expected him to resign, and they were not convinced that
he could permit a restriction on Cox's future access without violating
his agreement with the Senate. So Richardson called back Haig and then
Buzhardt, insisting that the question of future access must not be
linked to the Stennis plan. They promised to take up the question with
the president again. Richardson relaxed, sure that he had avoided the
immediate bind.
But the president
was immovable. Whatever solution was arrived at, it had to solve the
problem of the tapes once and for all, he told Buzhardt and Haig.
At
7 p.m., Haig called Richardson to read him a letter from the president
that, he said, was on its way to him: "I am instructing you to direct
Special Prosecutor Archibald Cox of the Watergate Special Prosecution
Force that he is to make no further attempts by judicial process to
obtain tapes, notes or memoranda of Presidential conversations."
Richardson
was distressed that he had not been consulted. Haig said he had done
his best. He had twice tried to make Richardson's position clear to the
president. He had failed. Richardson took care to avoid saying whether
he would issue the order.
But after
Haig hung up, Nixon aides decided to announce the order through a White
House news release, thus eliminating Richardson as intermediary. The
order, in the president's name, was made directly to Cox, "as an
employee of the executive branch."
This
was too much for Richardson. "I will not do what the White House asks
of me," he told another Nixon aide. "I've never been so shabbily treated
in my life." He began drawing up his own press statement.
Haig
called him and persuaded him to calm down. Prominent members of both
parties were favorably disposed toward the compromise, he pointed out.
Richardson
let one more opportunity for confrontation pass. He did not like
bloodletting. He thanked Haig for his call. Richardson had negotiated
Agnew's resignation, and he felt he could once again avert a national
trauma.
But Cox was now faced with
an order from the president to abstain from seeking more tapes. In fact,
Cox was getting no tapes -- merely transcripts. He reasoned that he had
the court, the law and the attorney general on his side. He announced
that he would have a news conference early the next afternoon, Saturday,
October 20.
Buzhardt expected Cox
would announce his resignation. That will be tough, he thought to
himself, but the president can weather it. Yet when Cox stepped before
the cameras, he said he would continue pressing in court for the tapes.
He might be compelled to ask that Nixon be held in contempt if the White
House refused to turn them over.
Still,
Cox acknowledged the obvious: "Now, eventually a president can always
work his will," he said. "You remember when Andrew Jackson wanted to
take the deposits from the Bank of the United States and his secretary
of the treasury wouldn't do it. He fired him and then he appointed a new
secretary of the treasury, and he wouldn't do it, and he fired him. And
finally he got a third who would. That's one way of proceeding."
• • •
To
Nixon, this was the ultimate defiance. He had issued a clear order to
Cox, who was an employee of the executive branch. The president needed
to show that he was in control. He told Haig to have Cox fired.
Haig
called Richardson and ordered him to fire Cox. He was pretty sure
Richardson wouldn't do it. As expected, Richardson replied that he
wanted to see the president, to submit his resignation. In the
midafternoon he went to the White House, and Haig started working him
over: He must not resign now. Fire Cox, wait a week, and then resign.
"What
do you want me to do," Richardson asked sarcastically, "write a letter
of resignation, get it notarized to prove I wrote it today, and let it
surface in a week?"
"That's not a bad idea," Haig replied matter-of-factly.
"I want to see the president," Richardson said.
He
walked into the Oval Office at 4:30 p.m., and immediately Nixon urged
him to delay. Nixon knew that firing Cox would invite a move to impeach.
Richardson
said he could not. He was thinking to himself that this was the worst
moment in all his years of service in government. He was standing there,
refusing an urgent demand of the president of the United States. He had
considered himself a team player.
"I'm
sorry you feel that you have to act on your commitment to Cox and his
independence," the president said, "and not the larger public interest."
There
was a flash of anger. "Maybe," Richardson replied hotly, "your
perception and my perception of the public interest differ."
That was the end.
Deputy
Attorney General William D. Ruckelshaus was now the acting attorney
general. Haig phoned him, painting a picture of cataclysm if Ruckelshaus
did not fire Cox. "As you probably know," he said, "Elliot Richardson
feels he cannot execute the orders of the President."
"That is right, I know that."
"Are you prepared to do so?"
"No."
"Well, you know what it means when an order comes down from the commander in chief and a member of his team cannot execute it."
"That is right."
Haig thought Ruckelshaus was fired. Ruckelshaus presumed he had resigned.
At
about 6 p.m., Solicitor General Robert Bork, the third in command at
the Justice Department, accepted the order and signed the White House
draft of a two-paragraph letter firing Cox. At 8:22 p.m., White House
press secretary Ron Ziegler announced this news, adding that, further,
"the office of the Watergate Special Prosecution Force has been
abolished as of approximately 8 p.m."
After
9 p.m., Haig sent FBI officers to seal off the offices of Richardson,
Ruckelshaus and Cox to prevent any files from being removed.
The
television networks offered hourlong specials. The newspapers carried
banner headlines. Within two days, 150,000 telegrams had arrived in the
capital, the largest concentrated volume in the history of Western
Union. Deans of the most prestigious law schools in the country demanded
that Congress commence an impeachment inquiry.
By
the following Tuesday, 44 separate Watergate-related bills had been
introduced in the House. Twenty-two called for an impeachment
investigation.
• • •
Soon
thereafter, Nixon made two fateful miscalculations: He appointed
another special prosecutor to replace Cox, and he turned over an initial
batch of tapes, including one that vividly incriminated him. The
Trump-Mueller history is yet to be written.
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