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How the North Vietnamese exploited McCain’s nicotine habit for propaganda purposes, and how, since then, McCain—and everyone else—can’t see the forest for the tobacco plantation

Hugh E. Scott, the maintainer and registrant of unfitmccain.com, offers “eight reasons for voting against” McCain, most of which are mainstays of leftish commentary. But one reason treads on a subject that most leftish commentators steer clear of (if only to avoid this): “6. McCain distorted his so-called heroic POW record and exploited it for political gain.” Scott describes himself as a “freelance journalist, newspaper feature writer, novelist, Vietnam veteran, ex-USAF pilot, lifelong registered Republican and author of the 2004 nonfiction book, George Dub-ya Bush, THE PHONY FIGHTER PILOT“ (Philadelphia: Xlibris Corporation [a print-on-demand shop], 2004). Another site registered to Scott, freedomcentralusa.com (“dedicated to the destruction of domestic fascism—also known as neoconservatism—using truth and the Internet as WMDs”) provides more biographical detail: “Texas A&M graduate (Class of 1956) [...] and Goldwater conservative with a family history of honorable military service going back to 1776.”

On the unfitmccain.com site’s "McCain POW record" page (awkwardly titled “Donations”), Scott talks about the problem that smoking poses for POWs:

In 1964, while a pilot in the Strategic Air Command, I went through SAC’s infamous Combat Crew Survival School at Stead AFB near Reno, Nevada.

Part of the course involved POW training. It began with classroom instruction on how to behave after capture. For example, we were taught deceptive play-acting techniques for use during enemy interrogations, to avoid disclosing military secrets. Later in the field, to practice the techniques during make-believe Q&A’s, we were required to say more than just name, rank and serial number.

In one exercise while being held “prisoner” in a mock Russian POW camp, I was taken to a small office for questioning, seated and left alone. Displayed on the table before me were three items: a cigarette, Zippo lighter and Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate. I knew the drill. I could drink the hot chocolate but not smoke the cig.

Accepting favors such as cigarettes while in captivity is a blatant violation of the Code of Conduct for prisoners of war. Food is different; a POW is obligated to eat all he can, when he can, and then share the information with fellow POWs so his rations can be divided among the other men based on the estimated calories consumed. This was especially important during WWII to fight starvation in German and Japanese internment camps. Conversely, cigarettes have no food value and are considered enemy gifts with a price tag attached—such as revealing classified information.

Section III of the Code of Conduct states, “I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.” Alone in the mock POW interrogation room, by lighting up with the Zippo, I would have been accepting a “special favor.” I also would’ve signaled weakness on my part, which is typical of persons addicted to one of the most powerful stimulants known to man: nicotine.

Even though I was a heavy smoker back then and had the craving—big time!—I avoided the temptation and grabbed the cup of hot chocolate instead.

Before I could drink the nourishing beverage, my “Russian interrogator” rushed back into the room and slapped the cup out of my hand. Later, during a critique of my POW performance, I was commended for not going for the weed.

Scott goes on to discuss, in much more accusatory language, the specific issue of McCain’s smoking:

In McCain’s 1999 autobiography, Faith of My Fathers, he admitted to smoking cigarettes provided him by his captors. It’s reasonable to assume the North Vietnamese weren’t aware he was addicted to nicotine. Thus, if McCain, a two packs a day smoker, had initially refused the tobacco favor, nothing would’ve been said or inferred.

On the other hand, when he took that first puff, his captors knew instantly McCain had a weakness that could make him more vulnerable to disclosing military secrets during interrogations, which he did. [...]

During his six-week hospital stay and for months afterwards, McCain continued to cooperate with NVA interrogators. He made more radio broadcasts for the enemy and met with foreign dignitaries, enjoying hot tea, coffee and cigarettes in posh settings while back at the Hanoi Hilton and other internment camps, his fellow POWs struggled to stay alive.

In one case, while meeting with Cuban journalist Fernando Barral, McCain voluntarily spoke in Spanish, even though he was obligated as an American POW to be evasive during their conversation. Had McCain feigned ignorance of Barral’s native language, the meeting might not have lasted five minutes.

The Barral interview took place in 1970, more than two years after McCain’s capture when he was no longer being physically abused. Cuban diplomats in Hanoi told Barral to say he was a Spanish psychologist, even though he hadn’t lived in Spain since he was 11.

The interview lasted between 45 minutes and an hour, according to Barral. He said the meeting took place at the offices of Hanoi’s Committee for Foreign Cultural Relations where cookies, oranges, coffee and cigarettes were offered to McCain and accepted. [...]

Although McCain claimed he didn’t discuss military matters with Barral, the Hanoi Hilton’s U.S. commander, SRO [Senior Ranking Officer] Jeremiah Denton, later issued an order forbidding POWs to be interviewed by visitors. Said McCain on page 305 of Faith of My Fathers (hardcopy edition), “[Denton’s] decision was a sound one, even though it deprived me of further opportunities to demonstrate my psychic equilibrium...not to mention the [loss of] extra cigarettes and coffee.

Also in his 1999 autobiography, while admitting to accepting special favors from the enemy—i.e. drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes—McCain conveniently omitted the fact he had conversed with Barral in Spanish, a more serious Code of Conduct violation.

McCain’s interview appeared in the Cuban newspaper Granma on 24 Jan ’70 (a translation and transcription are available here). In it, Barral immediately and explicitly casts doubt on McCain’s account of his injuries:

“I bailed out, colliding in the air with the remains of the plane, and I landed in one of the lakes in the center of Hanoi, in the middle of the water. On landing I tried to get free of my parachute, but I could not move, and I did not realize why I could not move my arms or legs, but it was because of the injuries.”

Injuries?

“Yes, as a result of colliding with the remains of the plane, I fractured my right leg at the knee, and both arms, the right one in three places. Moreover, I dislocated both shoulders.”

When he told me this I superficially examined his ability to move his arms, which is almost unrestricted (only he has some difficulty bending his arm all the way). Also his grip is normal. Aside from this, he uses a crutch on the right side only, which shows normal functional ability of the extremity most affected by the traumatism. [p. 2]

Throughout the interview, Barral’s questions and commentary dwell on the ease with which McCain could, for example, sip coffee:

Were you the object of any physical or moral violence?

“No, although at the time of capture I could sense the peoples’ hate or indignation, there were no insults of violence of any type. On the contrary, you have seen how I am recovering from my injuries.”

But were you not afraid of being the object of violent treatment if you were captured...?

“Actually, I never thought I would become a prisoner; therefore those fears never came up.”

Did you never think of the possibility of being captured?

“No, I was traveling at a high altitude. I felt completely safe in the plane...I am considered one of the best pilots...”

We had closed one subject, between sips of coffee enjoyed equally by the pilot and me, but the cakes and oranges have not been touched. I motioned to the pilot, and I began to peel an orange. Soon afterward, we reopened the conversation. [p. 2]

The rest of the interview makes it plain (if there were any doubt) that Barral’s aims are propagandistic (see, for example, his “psychological point of view” on page 5), and that his emphasis on what McCain consumes is central to this goal. In particular, he sought to show McCain’s willingness to accept Vietnamese treats:

During the interview he quietly drank three cups of coffee and smoked one of the cigarettes the Vietnamese had placed on the central table. [p. 5]

Barral’s account is suspect in the extreme, of course—and the interview was published 27 months after McCain was shot down. Nevertheless, though McCain veils it with sarcasm, he seems to confirm that he did in fact accept these treats when he wrote that SRO Denton’s ban on interviews “was a sound one, even though it deprived me of further opportunities to demonstrate my psychic equilibrium...not to mention the extra cigarettes and coffee.”

It isn’t surprising that McCain would confirm this, given that a photo of the interview published in Granma clearly shows coffeecups on the table:

But what about smoking? Barral’s account is specific: there were “cigarettes” in the plural on the table, but in the interview (which Scott says “lasted between 45 minutes and an hour, according to Barral”—a claim that doesn’t appear in the transcript cited), McCain smoked just one. Maybe he smoked more (the sarcastic McCain later used the plural), maybe none at all, but Barral seems to have felt that this detail was important.

If this were just some odd detail, it’d be silly to attend to, but it’s not: cigarettes play a starring role in how McCain’s captors portrayed him.

Almost immediately after McCain was captured, the North Vietnamese filmed him for propaganda purposes. In this film, a smoking cigarette features prominently as the injured McCain recounts how he was shot down and captured (0:06–0:45):

(Note McCain’s apparently casual, repeated gestures with his smoking hand at 0:16, 0:37, 0:44–0:45. Additional material from the interview, also featuring the cigarette, can be seen in one of McCain’s own campaign ads [0:42].)

While we can’t know exactly what was going through the mind of the film’s “director,” various techniques—the lighting that casts the shadow of his broken right arm in the background, the peculiar composition and camera pan—certainly emphasize the fact that he’s smoking.

Moreover, a 29 December interview with “the ‘prominent’ French television reporter Francois Chalaise” (as described in a declassified USG document) shows a similar emphasis on McCain’s smoking:

A meeting which will leave its mark on my life:

My meeting with John Sidney McCain was certainly one of those meetings which will affect me most profoundly for the rest of my life. I had asked the North Vietnamese authorities to allow me to personally interrogate an American prisoner. They authorized me to do so. When night fell, they took me--without any precautions or mystery--to a hospital near the Gia Lam Airport reserved for the military. (Passage omitted)

The officer who receives me begins: I ask you not to ask any questions of political nature. If this man replies in a way unfavorable to us, they will not hesitate to speak of “brainwashing” and conclude that we threatened him. (Passage omitted)

This John Sidney McCain is not an ordinary prisoner. His father is none other than Admiral Edmond John McCain, commander in chief of U.S. Naval forces in Europe. [...]

How are you treated here?

Very well, everybody is very nice to me.

How is the food?

He smiles feebly, obviously, the least reaction hurts him. This isn’t Paris, but it is alright.

Do you have something to read?

They have suggested that I read, but my hands are unable to hold even a newspaper.

His cigarette has gone out.

McCain can’t hold a newspaper (which works best with two hands), but he’s smoking. The interview includes several prisoners, but none of them receive anything like the same novelistic attention to detail—from a journalist who explicitly states, in introducing McCain, that he’d been instructed on how to speak with POWs and why he should speak to them that way.

The North Vietnamese seem to have been intent from early on to show McCain smoking, perhaps for the very reasons that Hugh Scott mentions. If tempting him with cigarettes was a way of exploiting a weakness in a POW, then announcing the fact that they were exploiting this weakness would be an obvious propaganda strategy—and one that the “enemy,” which explicitly trained its soldiers not to accept such favors, would likely recognize.

Phillip Butler, who describes himself as “a long-time acquaintance [going] way back to our time together at the U.S. Naval Academy and as Prisoners of War in Vietnam,” sums it up: “Because John's father was the Naval Commander in the Pacific theater, he was exploited with TV interviews while wounded.” Butler’s account assumes, of course, that McCain’s captors knew of his status, and McCain’s cellmate in the POW camp, Col. George “Bud” Day, confirms it:

“They told me we were gonna get a roommate and it was gonna be the prince. The Vietnamese called him the prince so I asked my nurse what was his name? They said John McCain,” Day told FOX News. [Fox News, “McCain’s Former Hanoi Cell Mate Describes Character in Deplorable Conditions,” 8 May ’08]

Hugh Scott’s explanation—which belongs squarely in his criticism of McCain and not in his more neutral account of his own training—is that

[i]n return for medical treatment at a civilian hospital, a privilege never granted to other injured POWs, McCain reportedly told NVA interrogators the name of his aircraft carrier, how many Navy pilots had been lost, the number of planes in his flight formation, tactics used during bomb runs and the location of rescue ships in the Tonkin Gulf.

According to McCain himself, in statements made in a Viet radio broadcast on 2 June ’69—roughly twenty months after he was shot down—he “received very good medical treatment”:

I was given an operation on my leg, which alowed me to walk again, and a cast for my right arm which was badly broken in three rpt three places. The doctors were very good and they knew a great deal about the practice of medicine. I remined in the hospital for some time, I regained much of my health and strength.

What’s notable about this description (which we should assume was made under duress) is the fact that McCain himself makes no mention of any injuries to his left arm—the arm he casually used for smoking in the film.

But this stands in absolute contrast to the the “prince” on his arrival at the POW camp, in Day’s description:

“He had this gimpy knee where he’d busted his knee, this arm had been fractured in a couple places, he’d been bayoneted in the leg, this arm was out at the shoulder and, in fact, during that time it was out at the shoulder so long it wore a hole in this bone,” Day said. [...] “I mean you could smell him for 25 feet. Bunch of food and nasty stuff in his hair, and down his neck and inside his cast. The cast was not lined so every time he would move inside this cast, it was just eating a hole in his arm or his elbow or someplace, and he was just in—he was in pain,” Day recalled. [emphasis added; Fox “McCain’s Former Hanoi Cell Mate Describes Character in Deplorable Conditions”]

“When he came to me he was in a monstrous body cast that came down over his shoulders and down to his hips,” said retired Air Force Col. Bud Day, who befriended McCain at the POW prison. “His arm was sticking out like a stick out of snowman. His left shoulder was fractured and it was out of the socket. His right knee was fractured and he had been bayoneted in the left leg.” Ryan, “POW Cellmate Helps Illinois Get Rallying for McCain,” (Chicago-area) Daily Herald, 2 Sep ’08]

Navy Lt. Cmdr. John S. McCain III, who was shot down on October 26, 1967, looked anything but princely when Day first saw him: “I was confronted by a white-haired skeleton….He looked exactly like a survivor of Dachau.” In fact he was the son of Admiral John S. McCain Jr., who became the commander in chief of the U.S. Pacific Command about nine months later.

Day, 12 years older than McCain, guessed his weight at 100 pounds or less. But he also remembers that McCain’s eyes “burned fever bright.” McCain wore a body cast that started at buttocks level and went all the way over his shoulder. “His right arm was propped up, sticking out of the cast like a broomstick protruding from a snowman,” Day remembered.

McCain’s right knee was torn up, and his left arm and shoulder were broken, but neither had been set or attended to. He was helpless and could not wash himself, relieve himself or do anything without assistance. Since no one had cleaned him at all, he was filthy from head to toe. But, after seven weeks of isolation, he was happy to have roommates. Air Force Major Norris Overly nursed both Day and McCain back to health, and they both credit him with their survival. McCain remembers emotionally: “Overly took care of us. He probably saved my life.”

The Vietnamese also wanted to improve McCain’s health—but with the hidden agenda of releasing him early to cause dissension in the ranks of the war’s supporters in the United States. The ploy failed when McCain refused to accept early return. [Barrett, “Bud Day: Vietnam War POW Hero,” Historynet.com, 8 May ’08]

In the film, McCain is obviously injured and in pain, but he’s far from “a survivor of Dachau”: he looks fit, speaks like someone who’s convalescing, has a modest five-o’clock shadow, and (apparently) is smoking with his left hand—indeed, gesturing repeatedly and easily with it without so much as a wince.

While it’s probably impossible to determine the precise chronology, it seems likely that after receiving immediate medical treatment in a civilian hospital—and being interviewed on film while smoking—McCain was starved, severely beaten (probably injuring his left shoulder and arm), and put in a body cast. In Barrett’s chronology, this would have been during the “seven weeks of isolation.”

Even without relying on Scott’s criticism of McCain, the evidence suggests that McCain received rewards (cigarettes, medical treatment) and punishments (starvation, severe beatings or worse) in the several weeks between when he was shot down and when he arrived at the POW camp; and that, in that same period, his captors learned at least his significance, and more. His subsequent career has been viewed through the lens of the abuses he suffered, but it seems likely that the favors he received—in particular, his weakness for cigarettes—played an equally or maybe even more important role in his experiences as a POW. The North Vietnamese certainly seem to have thought so.

No doubt, there are vets and former POWs who will find in McCain’s weakness the blackest treason, and that’s their right—a right they fought and suffered for. But what’s at issue isn’t McCain’s honor; rather, it’s his shame. Like the president he embraces and the neocons he surrounds himself with, his appeal to marshal values—bravery, heroism, valor, and the like—rides shotgun for the sad fact that he’s human, all too human, just like everyone else. McCain isn’t a “Manchurian” candidate: he’s a Virginian candidate, a Kentuckian candidate, and a Turkish candidate all rolled into one. And while it’s vaguely possible that, buried somewhere in its archives, the Vietnamese government has the dirt on him and could blackmail him into a beneficial trade agreement, the sadder and much more relevant truth is that the tobacco companies and the broader front of corporate addiction they exemplify have owned him the entire time.