He stood on the steps of the Army VC-137C, the gleaming silver bird that served as Air Force One. It was August 9, 1974. The humid D.C. air hung heavy. Most men, having just resigned the presidency in total disgrace, might have ducked their heads. They might have slipped into the cabin with a somber wave. Not him. Richard Nixon turned back. He thrust both arms into the sky. His fingers formed two stiff "V" shapes. He was grinning—sort of. It was that tight, awkward grimace we’ve all seen in history books.
The Richard Nixon peace sign wasn't really about peace. Not in the way the hippies meant it, anyway.
When we think of that gesture, we usually think of Woodstock, flower power, and "make love, not war." But for Nixon, those two fingers represented "Victory." It was a carryover from the Eisenhower years and the shadow of World War II. It’s one of the most jarring images in American political history because the context and the creator were so wildly at odds. You had the man who expanded the Vietnam War into Cambodia using the literal shorthand for the anti-war movement.
It’s bizarre. Honestly, it’s a little haunting.
The Origins of the Double V
Nixon didn't just start doing this during Watergate. He had been flicking the double-V for decades. During his time as Vice President under Dwight D. Eisenhower, it was his trademark move on the campaign trail. Back then, it wasn't a "peace sign." It was the Churchillian V for Victory.
Think about the psychology there.
Nixon was a man defined by struggle. He was the "New Nixon," then the "Old Nixon," then the "Resurrection." Every time he stepped off a plane, he wanted to project a sense of triumph over his enemies. By the time 1968 rolled around, the meaning of the gesture had shifted under his feet. The counterculture had hijacked it. To the kids in the streets, it meant "Peace." To Nixon, it remained a defiant assertion of winning. This created a weird semiotic friction. When he flashed the Richard Nixon peace sign to a crowd of screaming protesters, he was basically speaking a different language than they were, even though they were using the same hand signal.
He was essentially reclaiming—or perhaps stubborn about—a symbol that the world had already redefined.
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That Final Flight from the South Lawn
The most famous iteration of this gesture happened when everything was over. Watergate had gutted his administration. The "smoking gun" tape had been released. His support in the Senate had evaporated. On that final morning, after a rambling, emotional goodbye to his staff where he talked about his mother being a saint, he walked the red carpet to the helicopter.
He looked like a man who had finally cracked, yet he still performed the ritual.
Historians like Stephen Ambrose have noted that Nixon was obsessed with optics, even when the optics were failing him. That double-V gesture on the stairs of the helicopter was a final act of defiance. It was as if he were saying, "You didn't beat me," even though he was the first president in U.S. history to quit. It was deeply uncomfortable to watch. To the millions of people watching on live television, it didn't look like victory. It looked like a delusion. Or maybe just a reflex.
Some people think it was his way of trying to maintain dignity. Others see it as a final "screw you" to the press corps he hated so much.
Why the Gesture Became a Pop Culture Caricature
If you watch The Simpsons or old episodes of Saturday Night Live, the Nixon caricature is incomplete without the hunched shoulders and the double-V. It’s become the universal shorthand for "corrupt politician pretending everything is fine."
Comedians like David Fry and Harry Shearer turned the Richard Nixon peace sign into a comedic beat. It represents the gap between political theater and reality. Because Nixon’s version of the sign was so stiff—his elbows never seemed to quite straighten, and his fingers were always taut—it felt performative rather than natural. It lacked the casualness of a protester at a rally.
It’s fascinating how a single gesture can be stripped of its original intent. Churchill used it to defy the Nazis. The 60s youth used it to demand an end to the draft. Nixon used it to say he was still the man in charge, even when he wasn't.
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The Evolution of the Symbol
- 1940s: Churchill popularizes the V for Victory. It is a symbol of state power and military success.
- 1950s: Nixon adopts it as his "arrival" signal. It’s part of his "fighter" persona.
- Late 1960s: The "Peace" movement flips the meaning. It becomes an anti-establishment icon.
- 1974: Nixon uses it during his exit, cementing it as a symbol of political irony.
- Modern Day: It is almost exclusively used in satire to denote a "Nixonian" fall from grace.
Was it a "Peace" Sign or a "Victory" Sign?
Technically, Nixon always called it the victory sign. He was a man of the 1940s and 50s. He didn't have much use for the "peace" terminology of the hippies, whom he famously referred to as "bums" in certain private conversations.
However, by the 1970s, the distinction was lost on the public.
If you look at the photos from his 1972 trip to China, you see him doing it there, too. In that context, it almost worked. He was opening doors to the East. He was actually practicing "realpolitik" and seeking a kind of global stability. But even then, the gesture felt like a relic. It was a 1950s man trying to navigate a 1970s world.
The Richard Nixon peace sign is ultimately a lesson in how leaders lose control of their own narrative. You can throw up the fingers for victory all you want, but if the public sees "peace" or "irony," then that's what it becomes.
The Visual Legacy
Even decades later, photographers and political consultants study that image. It’s taught as what not to do when leaving a position of power. It’s too much. It’s too aggressive. It lacks the grace of a peaceful transition.
But then again, Nixon was never about grace. He was about grit.
The image of him on the helipad is one of the few political photos that almost everyone in America can identify. It ranks right up there with the "Dewey Defeats Truman" headline or the LBJ "Beagle" photo. It captures the sheer complexity of the man—the awkwardness, the ambition, and the refusal to go quietly into the night.
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If you ever find yourself in Yorba Linda at the Nixon Library, you'll see the helicopter. It’s there, sitting on the grounds. You can walk up the same steps. And almost everyone who stands there for a photo feels the urge to put their hands up in that double-V. It’s an irresistible bit of historical roleplay.
Understanding the "Nixonian" Style
To truly get why this matters, you have to look at Nixon’s relationship with his body. He was never a "cool" president. He wore dress shoes on the beach. He sweated under the hot lights of the 1960 debate with JFK. The Richard Nixon peace sign was his attempt at a "cool" or "strong" signature move, but it always came off as slightly uncoordinated.
That’s why it lingers. It’s the visual manifestation of a man trying way too hard.
In the end, the gesture didn't save his legacy. It didn't make people forget the tapes or the break-in. But it did give us a permanent icon for the strange, turbulent era that was the early 70s. It stands as a reminder that in politics, the image you think you’re projecting is rarely the one the people actually see.
How to Analyze Political Imagery Yourself
Next time you see a politician use a specific hand gesture or "trademark" move, ask yourself these three things:
- What is the historical origin? (Like Nixon’s WWII-era V).
- How does the current culture interpret it? (Like the 70s peace movement).
- Does the gesture match the person's current situation? (Like a resigning president claiming victory).
If you want to dive deeper into this specific moment in time, I'd highly recommend looking up the archival footage of Nixon’s departure. Watch the way his arms move. It’s not a smooth motion; it’s jerky and deliberate. You can also check out the work of Frank Gannon, one of Nixon's aides, who has spoken extensively about the atmosphere on that final day. Seeing the context of the speech he gave right before that photo makes the gesture even more surreal.
Don't just look at the photo—look at the silence that followed it. Once he was inside the helicopter and it lifted off, the "Nixon Era" was officially over. The fingers came down, the door closed, and the country moved on to Gerald Ford’s "long national nightmare is over" speech. But we never really forgot those two V’s held high against the sky.
Actionable Insights for History Buffs and Students
- Visit the Source: If you’re ever in California, the Richard Nixon Presidential Library and Museum offers a deep look into how he viewed himself versus how the world viewed him.
- Primary Documents: Read the transcript of Nixon’s resignation speech alongside the photos of his departure to see the disconnect between his words and his visual cues.
- Media Literacy: Use the "Nixon V" as a case study in how symbols change meaning over time. It’s a perfect example for anyone studying communications or political science.
The Richard Nixon peace sign remains a masterclass in unintentional irony. It reminds us that symbols belong to the public, not the person using them.