To understand Kissinger’s legacy, talk to a refugee
Most Americans never met the storied diplomat and foreign policy expert Henry Kissinger.
They likely knew his voice, that gravely rasp and the lingering reverberations of his native German. Or Kissinger’s burly, recognizable silhouette.
But did they know the man himself, and the policies he had a large hand in crafting? Likely not.
Now that Kissinger has passed, we take a moment to assess his 100-year life. We have the accounts of historians, pundits and foreign policy experts who dove deeply into episodes of the world history that framed Kissinger’s work: the Vietnam War, Cold War policies, arms control agreements, the collapse of the former Soviet Union, the opening of relations with the People’s Republic of China, military coups and the rise of Latin American dictators.
And yet, virtually everyone in the U.S. has likely met some of the legions of people whose lives he upended, who became refugees, as collateral damage of Kissinger’s work.
America is touted as a land of immigrants, but those who arrive as refugees have a special status. Unlike many others, they don’t choose to emigrate. They’re forced to do so. They wind up being assigned to the U.S., part of a global relocation process involving refugee camps and official head counts to determine who lands where and which agencies have the capacity to help them resettle.
Entering the U.S. with the special immigration status as “refugee” means that the person had no other choice but to leave the land of their birth due to political or religious persecution, often displaced by war and, yes, the threat of genocide.
Kissinger was disastrously adept at sowing such global chaos.
He was famously quoted as saying, “I came here as a refugee,” a statement he made in 2017, noting that his Jewish family fled Nazi Germany for the U.S. in 1938.
Gaining a firsthand, accurate assessment might be as easy as stepping out for lunch or going to a salon. There are hundreds of thousands of former refugees and their descendants living in the U.S. who have Kissinger to thank, or despise, for their lives here — Cambodians, Hmong, Vietnamese and many others.
One list, popular on social media after Kissinger’s death on Nov. 29 and credited to The International magazine, chronicles Kissinger’s impact. Titled “Henry Kissinger’s Crimes,” the list goes like this:
Cambodia bombing: 500,000 killed. U.S. support for East Timor invasion: 200,000 deaths. Chile government overthrow: U.s.-backed Pinochet dictatorship. Bangladesh killings: 3 million deaths. Argentina’s “Dirty War”: 30,000 killed and 30,000 disappeared. Laos Bombing: 200,000 deaths. Vietnam War total: 2.5 to 3 million deaths.
Notice anything? The countries and regions listed are all populated primarily by people of color. They’re from nations that did not hold high political clout, but were useful to the U.S. in geopolitical terms.
Ask southeast Asians, who were affected by Kissinger’s policies, how and when their families arrived in the U.S. It’s likely that you’ll first hear statements of gratitude. But refugees reveal far more significant and personal insights. Trauma is endemic to being a refugee; a credible fear of persecution is required.
Cambodians might recount hiding from the murderous Khmer Rouge. Hmong can speak about the so-called “secret war” involving massive bombings and use of the C.I.A. to disrupt supply chains that the North Vietnamese used in Laos during the Vietnam War.
Chileans speak of losing family businesses, land, stature, their very lives, when the U.S. supported a dictator over the democratically elected socialist government of Salvador Allende. Many families would share stories of executions, torture and forced disappearances.
Kissinger’s imprint changed the world, in some ways ushering in positive change, helping to uplift some nations economically, stabilizing others and helping to end wars. But his statement that “there are no just wars” could be written on his memory plaque.