Counting the "Unwinnable Agreements" of the United States, why don't I mention Vietnam?

The article from the day before yesterday said that the U.S. had three wars it didn't win but signed ceasefire agreements for. The first was the Korean War, and many friends reminded me that I forgot Vietnam. I haven't forgotten, but there's a reason I didn't mention Vietnam. In 1953 at Panmunjom, the ceasefire at the 38th parallel was maintained, and the south was preserved. But in 1973, after the U.S. signed the Paris Agreement, Saigon fell two years later, and even the south wasn't preserved. So it's not that I didn't mention it; the Vietnam War example is just too big and too typical. Once it's brought up, Clark's words get overshadowed because the core point of that article is his statement.
So today, let's add Vietnam. On January 27, 1973, the U.S. signed the "Agreement on Ending the War and Restoring Peace in Vietnam" in Paris. The main points of the agreement are simple: the U.S. would withdraw all troops within 60 days, and North Vietnam would release all American prisoners of war. On January 27, 1973, at the Clarion Hotel International Conference Center in Paris, representatives of the Provisional Revolutionary Government of South Vietnam, Nguyen Thị Bình, signed the ceasefire agreement, with U.S. and other representatives witnessing.
The U.S. fought in the mountainous jungles of Vietnam for over a decade, spent billions of dollars, lost over 50,000 lives, and finally got a "I'm leaving, you return my people" agreement. What's the biggest difference between this and the Korean War? After the Korean War, the Americans signed the agreement and at least kept U.S. troops in South Korea, and the government south of the 38th parallel remained. But in Vietnam, the Americans truly withdrew—completely and cleanly. At that time, U.S. military commander Westmoreland said a very classic line: "Throughout the entire war, we never lost a single battle."
That statement is true. In terms of individual battles, the U.S. military indeed never lost. But the problem is, they won every battle but lost the entire war. That's interesting—how can a military that never lost on the battlefield end up losing the war? The answer lies at the negotiation table.
Back then in Paris, there was a very interesting exchange. U.S. representatives repeatedly claimed, "You have never defeated us on the battlefield." The Vietnamese representatives responded with, "Does that matter?" That retort dismantled the American logic.
In 1973, U.S. National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger and North Vietnamese Special Advisor Lê Đức Thọ shook hands during negotiations in Paris, with the delegations in the background.
The American logic is: victory or defeat is decided on the battlefield; whoever wins, makes the rules. The Vietnamese logic is: you fight your fight, I fight mine. You didn't lose on the battlefield, but you can't afford it—you have anti-war sentiment at home, your allies won't follow, every day you drag it out costs you. I don't care if I win or lose battles; I only care that you can't win the war.
The Americans later indeed won every battle, but they couldn't sustain politically. During the 1968 Tet Offensive, North Vietnam suffered heavy casualties and was militarily defeated. But what did the American public see? "Why are we still fighting after all these years?" Public opinion completely turned around, and President Johnson announced he wouldn't seek re-election. That was a political defeat. This was the real turning point of the Vietnam War. After the Tet Offensive, the division in the U.S. spread from the streets to Congress. The media began broadcasting war scenes directly into thousands of homes, and the government could no longer maintain public patience with "victory in sight."
The stronger the military, the greater the political backlash, because the public realizes that a military giant can't win a war sustained solely by willpower. When public opinion forces a change at the White House, the only way out is to retreat with dignity.
Therefore, the 1973 Paris Agreement, like the 1953 Korean Armistice Agreement, is an unwinnable deal. But their nature isn't exactly the same. The Korean War was not won; it was stopped. The Vietnam War was fought and won every battle but couldn't continue, so they acknowledged defeat and withdrew.
Clark lamented that he was the first U.S. military commander to sign a ceasefire agreement without having achieved victory, but he probably didn't expect that twenty years later, the U.S. would sign an even more humiliating agreement. And two years after signing, in April 1975, the last helicopter took off from the roof of the U.S. Embassy in Saigon in a frantic escape, captured in photos—one of the most shameful images in American history.
On April 30, 1975, "Saigon fell." This iconic historical photo became a symbol of the end of the Vietnam War.
If Clark saw this, he might think his pain back then was somewhat dignified. So, returning to the original question: why didn't I mention Vietnam yesterday? Because once I did, Clark's "I'm the first" would turn into "I'm the first, but not the last," and the Vietnam War is precisely the best example to illustrate "not the last." It explains better than Korea why a military power as strong as the U.S. at the time could suffer a political defeat.
Victory or defeat on the battlefield is ultimately converted into numbers on the political ledger. Whoever can't withstand domestic pressure first, who can't calculate the costs, loses the entire game outside the ceasefire agreement. This logic applies to any major power involved in long-term conflicts and is worth reconsidering. What does that saying go? "You haven't defeated us." "Does that matter?" Indeed, it doesn't matter. The way a war ends is often not just decided on the battlefield, just like today with Iran. $ETH