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Requirements for the training program brought out in discussion the reluctance of military policy-makers in Washington to become further involved. But given a mission, the good soldier carries it out without question. General O’Daniel, the MAAG commander, drew up a schedule of procedures and requirements for the training program and pleaded for an enlarged staff to be despatched before the Geneva cut-off for additional personnel.

With ample reports about the mood and uncertain loyalties of the Vietnamese army, the Joint Chiefs were thoroughly skeptical; they did not want to be held responsible for failure, or worse, in case of a clash, having American troops drawn in to rescue an inadequate force. They concluded in an unambiguous memorandum of August 1954 that it was “absolutely essential” to have “a reasonably strong stable civil government in control,” and that it was “hopeless to expect a United States training mission to achieve success” unless the nation concerned could effectively perform all functions necessary to recruitment and maintenance. They foresaw “a complete military vacuum” if French forces were withdrawn and, if the United States took over, an unwanted American “responsibility for any failure of the program,” and they judged in conclusion that the United States “should not participate.” They hastened to add, with the care of government advisers never to be too definitive, that if “political considerations are overriding” they would “agree to the assignment of a training mission.” In official process, advice tends to be flexible because it is afraid of closed options.

Strenuous arguing ensued about the force levels to be trained, the cost of maintaining the French army in place—$100 million for 1955, $193 million for 1956—and the timing of phased French withdrawals, while the Joint Chiefs’ doubts of success grew all the while stronger. In November 1954, given the chaotic internal political situation in Vietnam, they found “no assurance … of loyal and effective support for the Diem Government” or of “political and military stability within South Vietnam.” Unless the Vietnamese themselves showed the will to resist Communism, “no amount of external pressure and assistance can long delay complete Communist victory in South Vietnam.” With hindsight, it is impossible to avoid asking why the American government ignored the advice of the persons appointed to give it.

Harassed by internal opponents and rivals, and by incompetence, dissent and corruption, Diem had also to cope with an influx of nearly a million refugees from the North during the 300 days allowed by Geneva for exchange of populations. In response to Catholic propaganda spreading the word that “Christ has moved south” and “the Virgin Mary has moved south,” the mass movement was 85 percent Catholic. It represented nevertheless a significant group who did not want to live under Communism, and by providing Diem with a coherent body of support actually helped to consolidate his rule, although his favoring them in official positions aroused antagonism. The United States assumed much of the burden; the Navy transported 300,000 of the refugees and their resettlement was underwritten by an outpouring of funds raised by Catholic Charities and others.

“Highly placed officials from Washington,” after visiting Saigon, according to one report, privately indicated their conclusion that “Vietnam probably would have to be written off at a loss.” Assailed by contrary advice, struggling with the problem of how to strengthen and stabilize Diem, of how to retain the French forces while eliminating their interests, of what to decide about training the Vietnamese army, of what degree of investment to make in general, American policy found itself in a morass. The French, who never liked Diem, reported him, in the words of Premier Faure, “not only incapable but mad.” Senator Mansfield, on the other hand, after a second fact-finding trip, reported him to be a genuine nationalist whose survival was essential