[L]

HARPER'S

FOUNDED IN 1850 / VOL. 269, NO. 1612

SEPTEMBER 1984

Letters

6 John Lukacs, Rod McKuen,
Gen. Frederick J. Kroesen Jr.

Notebook

The armed teddy bear

10

Lewis H. Lapham

Harper's Index

13

Readings

15

America's Reluctant Realism
The Myth of Imperial Russia
Report on Martial Law
With the Chinese at Disneyland
"The Lives of Penguins"
The L. L. Bean Sublime
"Post-Modernism"
And...

Henry Kissinger
Alexander Zinoviev
Marek Nowakowski
Annie Dillard
a poem by Amy Clampitt
Benjamin DeMott
a story by Max Apple
Sidney Sheldon, Walter Karp,
Soviet Ministry of Defense

Forum

SHOULD THE U.S. FIGHT SECRET WARS?

Overt Talk on Covert Action

33

George W. Ball, Ray S. Cline, Angelo Codevilla,
William Colby, Leslie Gelb, Morton Halperin,
Ralph W. McGehee, Daniel Patrick Moynihan,
John Stockwell

Essay

THE MIND OF WINTER

Reflections on life in exile

49

Edward W. Said

Annotation

A TYPOLOGY OF THE LURID
On the making of tabloid sensations

56

Harold Evans

Story

THE CHAIR

60

Guy Davenport

Report

THE REVOLT WITHIN
Existentially, Filipinos have already defeated Marcos

66

T. D. Allman

Revision

JOHN O'HARA AND HIS HOUNDS

Dead fourteen years, but not buried

73

George V. Higgins

Acrostic

77 Thomas H. Middleton

Puzzle

80 E. R. Galli and Richard Maltby Jr.

Cover: Detail of Street Scene Autumn, by Sidney Goodman, from the
collection of Sydney and Francis Lewis. Courtesy of Terry Dintenfass Inc.

Owned and published monthly by Harper's Magazine Found. tion, Two Park Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016. Leon Botstein, Chairman. Copyright © 1984 by the Harper's Magazine Foundation. All rights reserved. The trademark Harper's is used by Harper's Magazine Foundation under license, and is a registered trademark owned by Harper & Row Publishers, Incorporated. Printed in the United States. Second-class postage paid at New York, N.Y. In Canada, second-class postage paid at Mississauga, Ontario. POSTMASTER: Send all address changes to Harper's Magazine, P.O. Box 1937, Marion, Ohio 43305. ISSN0017-789X. CHANGE OF ADDRESS: Please provide both old address (use address from last issue) and new address, including new zip code. Allow six weeks advance notice. SUBSCRIPTIONS: $18.00 one year. Canada and United States possessions, add $2.00; other foreign, add $3.00 per year. Please send orders to Harper's Magazine, P.O. Box 1937, Marion, Ohio 43305. All requests for PERMISSIONS and REPRINTS of stories appearing in this issue must be made in writing to Harper's Magazine, 2 Park Avenue, New York, New York 10016. UNSOLICITED MANUSCRIPTS cannot be considered or returned unless accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. Harper's does not publish unsolicited fiction or poetry.

[L]

READINGS

[Lecture]

AMERICA'S
RELUCTANT REALISM

From "Reflections on a Partnership: British and American Attitudes to Post-War Foreign Policy," a lecture delivered by Henry Kissinger at the Royal Institute of International Affairs, in London, on the occasion of the bicentennial of the office of foreign secretary. The full text of the lecture will appear in a volume of Kissinger's essays to be published next spring by Little, Brown.

American foreign policy is the product of a very different tradition from Great Britain's. Where America always imagined itself isolated from world affairs, Britain for centuries was keenly alert to the potential danger that any country's domination of the European continent would place British survival at risk. Where Americans have tended to believe that wars are caused by the moral failure of leaders, the British view is that aggression has thrived on opportunity as much as on moral propensity, and must be restrained by some balance of power. Where Americans have treated diplomacy as episodic—a series of isolated problems to be solved on their merits—the British have always understood it as an organic historical process requiring constant manipulation to keep it moving in the right direction.

The Founding Fathers, to be sure, were so-
phisticated men who understood the European
balance of power and skillfully manipulated it
to win independence. But for a century and
more after that, America, comfortably protect-
ed by two oceans—which in turn were secured
by the Royal Navy—developed the idiosyncrat-
ic notion that a fortunate accident was a natural

state of affairs, that America's involvement in
world politics was purely a matter of choice.
Americans imagined the entire Western Hemi-
sphere to be a special case, safely insulated from
the rest of the world. We had created a nation
consciously dedicated to "self-evident" truths,
and it was taken for granted in most American
public discourse that our participation (or non-
participation) in the world could be guided ex-
clusively by moral precepts. That geography
gave us this luxury was only evidence of God's
blessing; we owed him that *quid pro quo*. The
competitive, sometimes cynical, and always rel-
ativistic style of European power politics was
viewed in America as an unsavory example of
what to avoid and as further evidence of our
moral superiority.

Until very recently, in discussions of foreign
policy in America, the phrase "balance of pow-
er" was hardly ever written or spoken without a
pejorative adjective preceding it—the "out-
moded" balance of power, the "discredited"
balance of power. When Woodrow Wilson
took America into World War I it was in the
expectation that, under American influence,
the postwar settlement would be governed by a
"new and more wholesome diplomacy" tran-
scending the wheeling and dealing, secrecy,
and undemocratic practices that were thought
to have produced the Great War. Franklin
Roosevelt, on his return from the Crimean con-
ference in 1945, told Congress of his hope that
the postwar era would "spell the end of the sys-
tem of unilateral action, the exclusive alli-
ances, the spheres of influence, the balances of
power, and all the other expedients that have
been tried for centuries—and have always
failed." Both Wilson and Roosevelt put their
faith in a universal organization for collective
security in which the peace-loving nations

READINGS 15

would combine to deter, or combat, the aggressors. It was assumed that all nations would come to the same conclusions regarding what constituted aggression and be equally willing to resist it, no matter where it occurred and irrespective of the national interests involved.

In the American view, nations were either inherently peaceful or inherently warlike. Hence, after World War II, the "peace-loving" United States, Britain, and the Soviet Union had together to police the world against Germany and Japan, even though the former enemies had been rendered impotent by unconditional surrender. If there were doubts about the peace-loving virtues of our wartime allies, they seemed to many American leaders to apply as much to Britain as to the Soviet Union: Roosevelt toyed with the idea of non-alignment between a balance-of-power-oriented, colonialist Britain and an ideologically obstreperous Soviet Union. The secret dream of American leaders, if great-power conflict proved unavoidable, was to arrogate to themselves the role to which the nonaligned nations later aspired: that of moral arbiter, hurling descending judgments down on all those engaged in the dirty game of international diplomacy.

Until the last decade, American attitudes have embodied a faith that historical experience can be transcended, that problems can be solved permanently, that harmony can be the natural state of mankind. Our diplomacy has often stressed the concepts of international law, as if all political disputes were legal issues, on the premise that reasonable men and women could always find agreement on some equitable basis. There is also the perennial American assumption that economic well-being automatically ensures political stability, a belief that has animated our policies from Herbert Hoover's relief efforts after World War I to the Marshall Plan to the Caribbean Basin initiative—never mind that in many parts of the world, the time frames for economic progress and the achievement of political stability may be seriously out of phase. In our participation in the two world wars of this century, and afterward, our bursts of energy were coupled with the conviction that our exertions had a terminal date after which the natural harmony among nations would be either restored or instituted.

Disillusionment was inevitable. America fluctuated between moral crusading and isolationism, between overextension and escapism, between extremes of intransigence and conciliation. But history was kind to us. For a long time it spared us from the need to face up to fundamental choices.

Even when the United States finally entered

the world stage of permanent peacetime diplomacy after 1945, it did so under conditions that seemed to confirm our historical expectations. For several decades we had the overwhelming resources to give effect to our prescriptions and conducted foreign policy by analogy to the great formative experiences of the 1930s and 1940s: the New Deal translated into the Marshall Plan; resistance to Nazi aggression translated into the Korean "police action" and the policy of "containment." We tended to attribute our dominance in the Western alliance to the virtue of our motives rather than to the preponderance of our power. In fact, the United States enjoyed nearly half of the world's gross national product and an atomic monopoly; our NATO allies, given their dependence, conducted themselves less as sovereign nations than as lobbyists in Washington's decision-making.

It was therefore a rude awakening when, in the 1960s and 1970s, the United States became conscious of the limits of even its resources. With a little over a fifth of the world's GNP, America was powerful but no longer dominant. Vietnam was the trauma and the catharsis, but the recognition was bound to come. Starting in the 1970s, the United States for the first time has had to conduct a foreign policy in the sense with which Europeans have always been familiar: as one country among many, unable either to dominate the world or to escape from it, with a need for accommodation and maneuver, a sensitivity to marginal shifts in the balance of power, an awareness of continuity and of the interconnections between events. (Ironically, today it is the United States that is accused of being obsessed with the balance of power, and it is our European allies that are charged by us with moralistic escapism.)

Our domestic debates reflect the pain, and incompleteness, of that adjustment. The American right still yearns for ideological victory without geopolitical effort; the American left still dreams of reforming the world through the exercise of goodwill unsullied by power. We are edging toward a synthesis, but it will be a slow, painful, perhaps bitter process.

16 HARPER'S / SEPTEMBER

READINGS

[Lecture]

AMERICA'S
RELUCTANT REALISM

(You had it capitalized: Him)

(you had "of")

FROM SEPTEMBER 1984
HARPER'S MAGAZINE

[L-C]

READINGS 15

16 HARPER'S / SEPTEMBER

8786G14 Galley 2

[Lecture]

KISSINGER ON
AMERICAN DREAM

Adopted

From "Reflections on a Partnership: British and American Attitudes to Post-War Foreign Policy," a lecture delivered by Henry Kissinger at the Royal Institute of International Affairs, in London, on the occasion of the bicentennial of the office of foreign secretary. The full text of the lecture will appear in a volume of Kissinger's essays to be published in TK by Little, Brown.

American foreign policy is the product of a very different tradition (from Great Britain's, which helps account for the exasperations that periodically arise between America and its ally.) Where America always imagined itself isolated from world affairs, Britain for centuries was keenly alert to the fact that any country's domination of the European continent placed British survival at risk. Where Americans have tended to believe that wars are caused by the moral failure of leaders, the British view is that aggression has thrived on opportunity as much as on moral propensity, and must be restrained by some balance of power. Where Americans have treated diplomacy as episodic—a series of isolated problems to be solved on their merits—the British have always understood it as an organic historical process requiring constant manipulation. A

The Founding Fathers, to be sure, were so
phisticated men who understood the European
balance of power and skillfully manipulated it
to win independence. But for a century and
more after that, America, comfortably protect-
ed by two oceans—which in turn were secured
by the Royal Navy—held to the idiosyncratic
notion that a fortunate accident was a natural
state of affairs, that America's involvement in
world politics was purely a matter of choice.
Americans imagined the entire Western Hemi-
sphere to be a special case, safely insulated from
the rest of the world. We had created a nation
consciously dedicated to “self-evident” truths,
and it was taken for granted in most American
public discourse that our participation (or non-
participation) in the world could be guided ex-
clusively by moral precepts. That geography
gave us this luxury was only evidence of God’s
blessing; we owed him that quid pro quo. The
competitive, sometimes cynical, and always rel-
ativistic style of European power politics was
viewed in America as an unsavory example of
what to avoid and as further evidence of our
moral superiority.

8786G14 Galley 3

Until very recently, in discussions of foreign policy in America, the phrase "balance of power" was hardly ever written or spoken without a pejorative adjective preceding it—the "outmoded" balance of power, the "discredited" balance of power. When Woodrow Wilson took America into World War I it was in the expectation that, under American influence, the postwar settlement would be governed by a "new and more wholesome diplomacy" transcending the wheeling and dealing, secrecy, and undemocratic practices that were thought to have produced the Great War. Franklin Roosevelt, on his return from the Crimean conference in 1945, told Congress of his hope that the postwar era would "spell the end of the system of unilateral action, the exclusive alliances, the spheres of influence, the balances of power, and all the other expedients that have been tried for centuries—and have always failed." Both Wilson and Roosevelt put their faith in a worldwide organization, in which the peace-loving nations would combine to deter, or combat, the aggressors. It was assumed that all nations would come to the same conclusions regarding what constituted aggression and be equally willing to resist it, no matter where it occurred and irrespective of the national interests involved.

In the American view, nations were either inherently peaceful or inherently warlike. Hence, after World War II, the "peace-loving" United States, Britain, and the Soviet Union had to police the world against Germany and Japan even though they had been rendered impotent by unconditional surrender. If there were doubts about the peace-loving virtues of our wartime allies, they seemed to many American leaders to apply as much to Britain as to the Soviet Union: Roosevelt toyed with the idea of pursuing a policy of nonalignment favoring neither a balance-of-power-oriented, colonialist Britain nor an ideologically obstreperous Soviet Union. The secret dream of American leaders, if great-power conflict proved unavoidable, was to arrogate to themselves the role to which the nonaligned nations now aspire: that of moral arbiter, hurling condescending judgments down on all those engaged in the dirty game of international diplomacy.

8786G14 Galley 4

Until the last decade, American attitudes have embodied a faith that historical experience can be transcended, that problems can be solved permanently, that harmony can be the natural state of mankind. Our diplomacy has stressed the concepts of international law, as if all political disputes were legal issues, on the premise that reasonable men and women could always find agreement on some equitable basis. There is also the perennial American assumption that economic well-being automatically ensures political stability, a belief that has animated our policies from Herbert Hoover's relief efforts after World War I to the Marshall Plan to the Caribbean Basin initiative—never mind that, in many parts of the world, economic progress and the achievement of political stability may be seriously out of phase. In our participation in the two world wars of this century, and afterward, our bursts of energy have been coupled with the conviction that there is a final answer, that our exertions would have a terminal date after which the natural harmony among nations would begin.

Disillusionment was inevitable. America fluctuated between moral crusading and isolationism, between overextension and escapism, between intransigence and conciliation. But history was kind to us. For a long time it spared us from have to make fundamental choices.

Even when the United States finally entered the world stage of permanent peacetime diplomacy after 1945, it did so under conditions that seemed to confirm our historical expectations. For several decades we had the resources to give effect to our prescriptions and conducted foreign policy by analogy to the great formative experiences of the 1930s and 1940s: the New Deal translated into the Marshall Plan; resistance to Nazi aggression translated into the Korean " police action" and the policy of "containment." We tended to attribute our dominance in the Western alliance to the virtue of our motives rather than to the preponderance of our power. In fact, the United States enjoyed nearly half of the world's gross national product and an atomic monopoly; our NATO allies, given their independence, conducted themselves less as sovereign nations than as lobbyists in Washington's decision-making.

It was therefore a rude awakening when, in the 1960s and 1970s, the United States became conscious of the limits of even its resources. With a little over a fifth of the world's GNP, America was powerful but no longer dominant. Vietnam was the trauma and the catharsis, but the recognition was bound to come. Since the 1970s, the United States for the first time has had to conduct a foreign policy in the sense with which Europeans have always been familiar: as one country among many, unable either to dominate the world or to escape from it. It has had to acknowledge the necessity of accommodation and manoeuvre, and has had to develop a sensitivity to marginal shifts in the balance of power, an awareness of continuity and of the interconnections between events. (Ironically, today it is the United States that is accused of being obsessed with the balance of power, and it is our European allies who are charged by us with moralistic escapism.)

8786G14 Galley 2

[Lecture]

KISSINGER ON
AMERICAN DREAM

Adopted

American foreign policy is the product of a very different tradition (from Great Britain's, which helps account for the exasperations that periodically arise between America and its ally. Where America always imagined itself isolated from world affairs, Britain for centuries was keenly alert to the fact that any country's domination of the European continent placed British survival at risk. Where Americans have tended to believe that wars are caused by the moral failure of leaders, the British view is that aggression has thrived on opportunity as much as on moral propensity, and must be restrained by some balance of power. Where Americans have treated diplomacy as episodic—a series of isolated problems to be solved on their merits—the British have always understood it as an organic historical process requiring constant manipulation. A

The Founding Fathers, to be sure, were so-phisticated men who understood the European balance of power and skillfully manipulated it to win independence. But for a century and more after that, America, comfortably protect-ed by two oceans-which in turn were secured by the Royal Navy-held to the idiosyncratic notion that a fortunate accident was a natural state of affairs, that America's involvement in world politics was purely a matter of choice. Americans imagined the entire Western Hemi-sphere to be a special case, safely insulated from the rest of the world. We had created a nation consciously dedicated to "self-evident" truths, and it was taken for granted in most American public discourse that our participation (or non-participation) in the world could be guided ex-clusively by moral precepts. That geography gave us this luxury was only evidence of God's blessing; we owed him that quid pro quo. The competitive, sometimes cynical, and always rel-ativistic style of European power politics was viewed in America as an unsavory example of what to avoid and as further evidence of our moral superiority.

13

7

2-

3

4

aop

Fortunately, Britain had a decisive influence over America's rapid awakening to maturity in the years following. In the 1940s and 50s our two countries responded together to the geopolitical challenge of the Soviet Union and took the lead in creating the structures of Western cooperation for the postwar era which brought a generation of security and prosperity.

In the process a rather ironic reversal of positions took place. Today it is the United States that is accused of being obsessed with the balance of power, and it is our European allies who are charged by us with moralistic escapism.

I believe that the extraordinary partnership among the democracies will overcome the occasional squabbles that form the headlines of the day and, even more important, meet the objective new challenges that our countries face.

## Philosophies of Foreign Policy

The disputes between Britain and America during the Second World War and after were, of course, not an accident. British policy drew upon two centuries of experience with the European balance of power, America on two centuries of rejecting it.

Where America had always imagined itself isolated from world affairs, Britain for centuries was keenly alert to the potential danger that any country's domination of the European continent--whatever its domestic structure or method of dominance--placed British survival at risk. Where Americans have tended to believe that wars were caused by the moral failure of leaders, the British view is that aggression has thrived on opportunity as much as on moral propensity, and must be restrained by some kind of balance of power. Where Americans treated diplomacy as episodic--a series of isolated problems to be solved on their merits--the British have always understood it as an organic historical process requiring constant manipulation to keep it moving in the right direction.

Britain has rarely proclaimed moral absolutes or rested her faith in the ultimate efficacy of technology, despite her achievements in this field. Philosophically, she remains Hobbesian: She expects the worst and is rarely disappointed. In moral matters Britain has traditionally practiced a convenient

Product and an atomic monopoly; our NATO allies, given their dependence, conducted themselves less as sovereign nations than as lobbyists in Washington decision-making.

It was therefore a rude awakening when in the 1960s and 70s the United States became conscious of the limits of even its resources. Now with a little over a fifth of the world's GNP, America was powerful but no longer dominant. Vietnam was the trauma and the catharsis but the recognition was bound to come (in any event.) Starting in the 70s, for the first time, the United States has had to conduct a foreign policy in the sense with which Europeans have always been familiar: as one country among many, unable either to dominate the world or escape from it, with the necessity of accommodation, maneuver, a sensitivity to marginal shifts in the balance of power, an awareness of continuity and of the interconnections between events.

Our perennial domestic debates reflect the pain, and incompleteness, of that adjustment. The American Right still yearns for ideological victory without geopolitical effort; the American Left still dreams of reforming the world through the exercise of goodwill unsullied by power. We are edging towards a synthesis but it will be a slow, painful, perhaps bitter process.

## The Nature of the Special Relationship

That two countries with such divergent traditions could form a durable partnership is remarkable in itself. The periods of the close Anglo-American "special relationship," the object of such nostalgia today, were also times of occasional mutual exasperation.

For quite a while we stressed different aspects of our histories; in more senses than one, we lived in different time zones. It was only some while after the settlement of the *Alabama* affair just over a century ago that American and British interests began to run parallel. The need for intimacy seemed to be greater on this side of the Atlantic (that is, in Britain), and Britain began to avoid alliances that could entangle her against the United States--including a tantalizing offer from Germany around the turn of the century.⁴ American memories were longer: The First World War was a temporary exertion, after which we withdrew into isolationism; during the 20s the US Navy Department still maintained a "Red Plan" to deal with the contingency of conflict with the British fleet.

REFLECTIONS ON A PARTNERSHIP:
BRITISH AND AMERICAN ATTITUDES
TO POSTWAR FOREIGN POLICY*

Henry A. Kissinger†

MICHAEL HOWARD, in his earlier lecture in this series, confirmed what I had suspected: that the United States deserves some of the credit for Britain's decision to create a Foreign Office in the first place. The Foreign Office was founded only a few months after the battle of Yorktown. The 'politicians' of the time having just mislaid America, the need was evidently felt for some more professional machinery to run Britain's newly expanded sphere of 'foreign' affairs.

Since then, Britain and America have never ceased to play important roles in each other's history. On the whole it has been a productive and creative relationship, perhaps one of the most durable in the history of nations. In the last 200 years, we have approached each other sometimes warily, and dealt with foreign affairs often from different perspectives. Still, on balance the relationship has been of considerable benefit to world peace. This has been true particularly of the period since the Second World War.

All accounts of the Anglo-American alliance during the Second World War and in the early postwar period draw attention to the significant differences in philosophy between Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill, reflecting our different national histories. America, which had never experienced a foreign threat to its survival, considered wars an historical aberration caused by evil men or institutions; we were preoccupied with victory defined as the unconditional surrender of the Axis. Britain had seen aggression take too many forms to risk so personal a view of history; she had her eyes on the postwar world and sought to gear wartime strategy towards forestalling Soviet domination of Central Europe. Many American leaders condemned Churchill as needlessly obsessed with power politics, too rigidly anti-Soviet, too colonialist in his attitude to what is now called the Third World, and too little interested in building the fundamentally new international order towards which American idealism has always tended. The British undoubtedly saw the Americans as naive, moralistic, and evading responsibility for helping secure

* Dr Kissinger was Secretary of State, United States, 1973-77, and has been University Professor of Diplomacy, School of Foreign Service, Georgetown University, since 1977.
† This article is the text of a lecture given by Dr Kissinger at Chatham House in May 1982 to mark the Bicentenary of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. His lecture, and three other lectures given to mark the same anniversary, have been published in *The Listener*.

[cc]

571

572

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS

the global equilibrium. The dispute was resolved according to American preferences—in my view, to the detriment of postwar security.

Fortunately, Britain had a decisive influence over America's rapid awakening to maturity in the following years. In the 1940s and 1950s our two countries responded together to the geopolitical challenge of the Soviet Union and took the lead in creating the structures of Western co-operation for the postwar era which brought a generation of security and prosperity. In the process a rather ironic reversal of positions took place. Today it is the United States that is accused of being obsessed with the balance of power, and it is our European allies who are charged by us with moralistic escapism.

I believe, nevertheless, that the extraordinary partnership among the democracies will overcome the occasional squabbles that form the headlines of the day and, even more important, meet the objective new challenges that our countries face.

## Philosophies of foreign policy

The disputes between Britain and America during the Second World War and after were, of course, not an accident. British policy drew upon two centuries of experience with the European balance of power, America on two centuries of rejecting it. Whereas America had always imagined itself isolated from world affairs, Britain for centuries was keenly alert to the potential danger that any country's domination of the European continent—whatever its domestic structure or method of dominance—placed British survival at risk. Where Americans have tended to believe that wars were caused by the moral failure of leaders, the British view is that aggression has thrived on opportunity as much as on moral propensity, and must be restrained by some kind of balance of power. Where Americans treated diplomacy as episodic—a series of isolated problems to be solved on their merits—the British have always understood it as an organic historical process requiring constant manipulation to keep it moving in the right direction.

Britain has rarely proclaimed moral absolutes or rested her faith in the ultimate efficacy of technology, despite her achievements in this field. Philosophically, she remains Hobbesian: She expects the worst and is rarely disappointed. In moral matters Britain has traditionally practiced a convenient form of ethical egoism, believing that what was good for Britain was best for the rest. This requires a certain historical self-confidence, not to say nerve, to carry it off. But Britain has always practised it with an innate moderation and civilised humaneness such that her presumption was frequently justified. In the nineteenth century, British policy was a—perhaps *the*—principal factor in a European system that kept the peace for 99 years without a major war.

American foreign policy is the product of a very different tradition. The Founding Fathers, to be sure, were sophisticated men who understood the European balance of power and skilfully manipulated it to win independence.

REFLECTIO

But for a century and more after oceans—which in turn were s idiosyncratic notion that a fortun our involvement in world politics: Canning viewed the Monroe I 'call[ing] the New World into ′Americans imagined the entire insulated from the rest of the ′ dedicated to 'self-evident' truth! American public discourse that ′ world could be guided exclusively this luxury was only evidence of *quid pro quo*. The competitive, si of European power politics was vi what to avoid and as further evid

In American discussion of i twentieth century, the phrase 'b spoken without a pejorative adjec power, the 'discredited' balanc America into the First World American influence the postwar more wholesome diplomacy' tran and undemocratic practices that War.¹ Franklin Roosevelt, on h 1945, told the Congress of his h of the system of unilateral act influence, the balances of power, tried for centuries—and have al their faith in a universal organisat loving nations would combine t assumed that all nations would co constituted aggression and be eq occurred, regardless of how far fr interest involved.

In the American view, nations warlike. Hence, after the Second Britain and Soviet Union had to and Japan, even though the form unconditional surrender. If there our wartime allies, they seemed to Britain as to the Soviet Union: Ro between a balance-of-power-ori

1. Woodrow Wilson, address before the League

2. Franklin D. Roosevelt, address to Congress

REFLECTIONS ON A PARTNERSHIP

573

But for a century and more after that, America, comfortably protected by two oceans—which in turn were secured by the Royal Navy—developed the idiosyncratic notion that a fortunate accident was a natural state of affairs, that our involvement in world politics was purely a matter of choice. Where George Canning viewed the Monroe Doctrine in terms of the world equilibrium, ‘call[ing] the New World into existence to redress the balance of the Old’, Americans imagined the entire Western Hemisphere a special case, safely insulated from the rest of the world. We had created a nation consciously dedicated to ‘self-evident’ truths, and it was taken for granted in most American public discourse that our participation (or non-participation) in the world could be guided exclusively by moral precepts. That geography gave us this luxury was only evidence of God’s blessing upon us; we owed Him that *quid pro quo*. The competitive, sometimes cynical, and always relativistic style of European power politics was viewed in America as an unsavoury example of what to avoid and as further evidence of our moral superiority.

In American discussion of foreign policy, even through much of the twentieth century, the phrase ‘balance of power’ was hardly ever written or spoken without a pejorative adjective in front of it—the ‘outmoded’ balance of power, the ‘discredited’ balance of power. When Woodrow Wilson took America into the First World War, it was in the expectation that under American influence the postwar settlement would be governed by a ‘new and more wholesome diplomacy’ transcending the wheeling and dealing, secrecy and undemocratic practices that were thought to have produced the Great War.¹ Franklin Roosevelt, on his return from the Crimean Conference in 1945, told the Congress of his hope that the postwar era would ‘spell the end of the system of unilateral action, the exclusive alliances, the spheres of influence, the balances of power, and all the other expedients that have been tried for centuries—and have always failed’.² Both Wilson and Roosevelt put their faith in a universal organisation of collective security in which the peace-loving nations would combine to deter, or combat, the aggressors. It was assumed that all nations would come to the same conclusions regarding what constituted aggression and be equally willing to resist it, no matter where it occurred, regardless of how far from their borders, irrespective of the national interest involved.

In the American view, nations were either inherently peaceful or inherently warlike. Hence, after the Second World War the ‘peace-loving’ United States, Britain and Soviet Union had together to police the world against Germany and Japan, even though the former enemies had been rendered impotent by unconditional surrender. If there were doubts about the peace-loving virtue of our wartime allies, they seemed to many American leaders to apply as much to Britain as to the Soviet Union: Roosevelt toyed with the idea of nonalignment between a balance-of-power-oriented, colonialist Britain and an ideologically

1. Woodrow Wilson, address before the League to Enforce Peace, Washington. D.C., May 27, 1916.

2. Franklin D. Roosevelt, address to Congress on the Yalta (Crimea) Conference, March 1, 1945.

574

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS

obstreperous Soviet Union. Even Truman took care not to meet with Churchill in advance of the Potsdam conference; he did not want to appear to be 'lining up' with Britain against Russia. The secret dream of American leaders, if great power conflict proved unavoidable, was to arrogate to themselves the role to which the nonaligned later aspired: that of moral arbiter, hurling condescending judgments down at all those engaged in the dirty game of international diplomacy.

As late as 1949, the Department of State submitted to the Senate Foreign Relations Committee a memorandum that strove mightily to distinguish the new North Atlantic Treaty from traditional military alliances and above all from any relationship to the very balance of power it was supposed to establish. The Treaty, the memorandum said, 'is directed against no one; it is directed solely against aggression. It seeks not to influence any shifting "balance of power" but to strengthen the "balance of principle".'³

American attitudes until quite literally the last decade have embodied a faith that historical experience can be transcended, that problems can be solved permanently, that harmony can be the natural state of mankind. Thus our diplomacy has often stressed the concepts of international law, with its procedures of arbitration and peaceful settlement, as if all political disputes were legal issues, on the premise that reasonable men and women could always find agreement on some equitable basis. Theodore Roosevelt won a Nobel Peace Prize for helping mediate the Russo-Japanese war in 1905; thus Alexander Haig's recent efforts in the Falklands dispute have a long tradition behind them. There is also a perennial American assumption that economic well-being automatically ensures political stability, a belief which has animated American policies from Herbert Hoover's relief efforts after the First World War to the Marshall Plan to the recent Caribbean initiative—never mind that, in many parts of the world, the timeframes for economic progress and the achievement of political stability may be seriously out of phase. In our participation in the two world wars of this century, the timeframes for economic progress and the achievement of political stability may be seriously out of phase. In our participation in the two world wars of this century, the bursts of energy were coupled with the conviction that our exertions had a terminal date, after which the natural harmony among nations would be either restored or instituted.

Disillusionment was inevitable. America fluctuated between moral crusading and frustrated isolationism, between overextension and escapism, between extremes of intransigence and conciliation. But history was kind to us. For a long time it spared us from the need to face up to fundamental choices. Not being called upon to help preserve the equilibrium—a service rendered gratis by Great Britain—we could avoid the responsibility of permanent involvement in world politics, of unending exertion with no final answers or ultimate resolution.

3. U.S. Senate, Committee on Foreign Relations, *Hearings on the North Atlantic Treaty*. 81st Cong., 1st sess. (1949), pt. 1, Appendix, p. 337.

REFLECTIC

peacetime diplomacy after 1947 confirm our historical expectation, of course, of the overwhelming resources to give foreign policy by analogy to the 1940s: the New Deal translated into the 'containment'. We tended to attack the virtue of our motives rather than the United States enjoyed in Europe, and a monopoly in the atomic bomb conducted themselves less as Washington decision-making. In 1960s and 1970s the United States Resources. Now with a little overpowerful but no longer dominant, the recognition was bound to the first time, the United States had with which Europeans have always been unable either to dominate the world or to accommodate, manoeuvre, a new power, an awareness of continuity.

Our perennial domestic debate adjustment. The American Right geopolitical effort; the American Left through the exercise of goodwill in synthesis but it will be a slow, pain

The nature of the 'special relat

That two countries with such partnership is remarkable in itself 'special relationship', the object of occasional mutual exasperation.

For quite a while we stressed senses than one, we lived in different the settlement of the *Alabama* affair. British interests began to run parallel greater on this side of the Atlantic. alliances that could entangle avoid alliances that could entangle tantalising offer from Germany and memories were longer: the First World War, which we withdrew into isolation.

4. See R. B. Mowat, *The Diplomatic Relatic*
    p. 92.

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575

peacetime diplomacy after 1945, it did so under conditions that seemed to confirm our historical expectations. For several decades we had the overwhelming resources to give effect to our prescriptions, and thus conducted foreign policy by analogy to the great formative experiences of the 1930s and 1940s: the New Deal translated into the Marshall Plan; resistance to Nazi aggression translated into the Korean 'police action' and the policy of 'containment'. We tended to attribute our dominance in the Western Alliance to the virtue of our motives rather than to the preponderance of our power. In fact, the United States enjoyed nearly half the world's Gross National Product and a monopoly in the atomic bomb; our NATO allies, given their dependence, conducted themselves less as sovereign nations than as lobbyists in Washington decision-making. It was therefore a rude awakening when in the 1960s and 1970s the United States became conscious of the limits of even its resources. Now with a little over a fifth of the world's GNP, America was powerful but no longer dominant. Vietnam was the trauma and the catharisis but the recognition was bound to come in any event. Starting in the 1970s, for the first time, the United States has had to conduct a foreign policy in the sense with which Europeans have always been familiar: as one country among many, unable either to dominate the world or escape from it, with the necessity of accommodation, manoeuvre, a sensitivity to marginal shifts in the balance of power, an awareness of continuity and of the interconnections between events.

## The nature of the 'special relationship'

That two countries with such divergent traditions could form a durable partnership is remarkable in itself. The periods of the close Anglo-American 'special relationship', the object of such nostalgia today, were also times of occasional mutual exasperation.

For quite a while we stressed different aspects of our histories; in more senses than one, we lived in different time zones. It was only some while after the settlement of the *Alabama* affair just over a century ago that American and British interests began to run parallel. The need for intimacy seemed to be greater on this side of the Atlantic (that is, in Britain), and Britain began to avoid alliances that could entangle her against the United States—including a tantalising offer from Germany around the turn of the century.⁴ American memories were longer: the First World War was a temporary exertion, after which we withdrew into isolationism; during the 1920s the US Navy

4. See R. B. Mowat, *The Diplomatic Relations of Great Britain and the United States* (London: 1925), p. 92.

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Department still maintained a 'Red Plan' to deal with the contingency of conflict with the British fleet.

It was not until the war with Hitler that the gap closed permanently. In the immediate postwar period we were held together by strategic circumstances which imposed the same necessities, whatever the different philosophical premises. American resources and organisation and technological genius, and British experience and understanding of the European balance of power, were both needed to resist the sudden threat from the Soviet Union. The Marshall Plan and North Atlantic Treaty, while formally American initiatives, were inconceivable without British advice and British efforts to organise a rapid and effective European response. Ernest Bevin was the indispensable architect of the European response as well as the staunch helmsman of Britain's journey from power to influence.

Even then, Anglo-American difficulties persisted occasionally. The anguished disagreements over immigration into Palestine; the misunderstandings over atomic co-operation; competition over Iranian oil; the abrupt, unilateral ending of Lend-Lease; the race to demobilise; these were only some of the items in a stream of irritants. More serious policy differences were to follow in the 1950s, causing Anthony Eden to reflect on the 'tough reality of Anglo-American relations'.⁵ Even when the politics were parallel, the personalities were often divergent. Eden and Dean Acheson were friends as well as colleagues; the same could not be said for Eden and John Foster Dulles. Misunderstandings and conflicts of interest continued through European integration, the rearmament of Germany, and Indochina, right up to the tragic climax of Suez—to which I will return below.

That these irritations never shook the underlying unity was due to statesmanship on both sides. One factor was a brilliant British adjustment to new circumstances. To the outside world it may have seemed that Britain clung far too long to the illusion of Empire; in her relations with Washington, she proved that an old country was beyond self-deception on fundamentals. Bevin, the unlikely originator of this revolution in British diplomacy, shrewdly calculated that Britain was not powerful enough to influence American policy by conventional methods of pressure or balancing of risks. But by discreet advice, the wisdom of experience, and the presupposition of common aims, she could make herself indispensable, so that American leaders no longer thought of consultations with London as a special favour but as an inherent component of their own decision-making. The wartime habit of intimate, informal collaboration thus became a permanent practice, obviously because it was valuable to both sides.

The ease and informality of the Anglo-American partnership has been a source of wonder—and no little resentment—to third countries. Our postwar diplomatic history is littered with Anglo-American 'arrangements' and 'understandings', sometimes on crucial issues, never put into formal

5. Anthony Eden, *Full Circle* (Cambridge, Mass.: Houghton Mifflin, 1960), p. 225.

REFLECTION

documents. The stationing of B- agreed between political and serv happily, only general principles agreed in 1942 to co-operate in died, Clement Attlee reflected w friends. It didn't seem necessary t

The British were so matter-of- in internal American deliberation between sovereign nations. In my part in certain American bilateral they helped draft the key docum kept the British Foreign Office be I did the American State Depart things British, I would not rec symptomatic.⁷

For a brief moment in the earl end to the special relationship in c year that it entered the European By 1976, James Callaghan and A close relationship—without resu: valuable, indeed indispensable, in in that year. In my negotiations c with British spelling even when I working paper and a Cabinet-appro thrives to our day, with occasion Falkland crisis, an inevitable return

## Britain, America and Europe

Clearly, British membership of t dimension. But the solution, in m of the Anglo-American connecti rather to replicate it on a wider European allies; whether bilateral Community is for Europe to decid have been originally resorted to as now be even more essential in the the future relations between Amer.

Europe has been a traumatic is Americans often forget that Britai at least as far as Europe was conce

6. Clement Attlee and Francis Williams, *Twili*

7. Henry Kissinger, *Years of Upheaval* (L. pp. 274-86.

8. *Ibid.*, pp. 140-43.

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577

documents. The stationing of B-29 atomic bombers in Britain in 1948 was agreed between political and service leaders but not committed to writing. Less happily, only general principles were recorded when Churchill and Roosevelt agreed in 1942 to co-operate in producing the atomic bomb. After Roosevelt died, Clement Attlee reflected with admirable restraint: 'We were allies and friends. It didn't seem necessary to tie everything up'.⁶

The British were so matter-of-factily helpful that they became a participant in internal American deliberations, to a degree probably never before practised between sovereign nations. In my period in office, the British played a seminal part in certain American bilateral negotiations with the Soviet Union—indeed, they helped draft the key document. In my White House incarnation then, I kept the British Foreign Office better informed and more closely engaged than I did the American State Department—a practice which, with all affection for things British, I would not recommend be made permanent. But it was symptomatic.⁷

For a brief moment in the early 1970s, Britain seemed to decide to put an end to the special relationship in order to prove itself a 'good European' in the year that it entered the European Community. The attempt was short-lived.⁸ By 1976, James Callaghan and Anthony Crosland had restored the traditional close relationship—without resurrecting the label—and it was enormously valuable, indeed indispensable, in the Southern Africa negotiations that began in that year. In my negotiations over Rhodesia I worked from a British draft with British spelling even when I did not fully grasp the distinction between a working paper and a Cabinet-approved document. The practice of collaboration thrives to our day, with occasional ups and downs, but even in the recent Falkland crisis, an inevitable return to the main theme of the relationship.

Clearly, British membership of the European Community has added a new dimension. But the solution, in my view, is not to sacrifice the special intimacy of the Anglo-American connection on the altar of the European idea, but rather to replicate it on a wider plane of America's relations with all its European allies; whether bilaterally or with a politically cohesive European Community is for Europe to decide. The special frankness and trust that may have been originally resorted to as compensation for a disparity of power may now be even more essential in the partnership of equals that must characterise the future relations between America and Europe.

Europe has been a traumatic issue for both Britain and the United States. Americans often forget that Britain, too, has been a reluctant internationalist, at least as far as Europe was concerned. Tradition pulled Britain across distant

6. Clement Attlee and Francis Williams, *Twilight of Empire* (New York: A. S. Barnes, 1962), p. 108.

7. Henry Kissinger, *Years of Upheaval* (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson/Michael Joseph, 1982), pp. 274-86.

8. *Ibid.*, pp. 140-43.

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oceans. The glory of foreign policy was identified with Empire and Commonwealth, its problems and perils with the continent of Europe. It was Czechoslovakia, in the heart of Europe, which Chamberlain described as a small faraway country of which Britons knew little—after a century and a half of fighting on the borders of India.

In Britain, reluctance to enter Europe was always bipartisan, and somewhat
mystical. Eden once said that Britain knew 'in her bones' that she could not
join it; and Hugh Gaitskell spoke of the impossibility of throwing off 1,000
years of history. But there were more substantial reasons: worries about
sovereignty—which on the Left were combined with concern for the unfettered
development of socialist planning; an instinctive disinclination to deal with
continentals on an equal footing; trade ties with the Commonwealth; and the
special relationship. Even Churchill, despite his intimations of the future,
remained as ambivalent in government as he had been prescient in opposition
when he had called as early as 1947 for a United States of Europe. In office, he
never quite found the balance among his three concentric circles—the
Commonwealth, Europe, and the English-speaking peoples.

Only after Suez did the risks of isolation become obvious, as did the
opportunity that the emerging Europe offered for exercising in a different but
equally effective form Britain's traditional role of guardian of continental
equilibrium. If the economic benefits were ambiguous, the political necessities
were not: only as one of the leaders of Europe could Britain continue to play a
major role on the world scene.

By entering the European Community, Britain did not abandon her instinct
for equilibrium. But for the first time in peacetime she threw herself into the
scales. As I have already noted, she did so with the fervour of a frustrated
convert who had been kept waiting for a decade at the doors of destiny.

If Britain has had a difficult adjustment to make in its relationship to
Europe, so has the United States. After the war, American leaders applied a
heavy dose of their usual missionary zeal and the full rigour of their 'problem-
solving' energy to the task of promoting European integration. Federalism, of
course, was a hallowed American principle. Shortly after the Philadelphia
Convention, Benjamin Franklin was urging on the French the attractions of a
federal Europe. A similar evangelism, in a more practical form, shone through
the Marshall Plan. Even Acheson, not usually seen as a moralist, was carried
away by the European idea; he recalled listening to Robert Schuman outlining
his plan for a European Coal and Steel Community: 'As he talked, we caught
his enthusiasm and the breadth of his thought', Acheson wrote, 'the rebirth of
Europe, which, as an entity, had been in eclipse since the Reformation'.⁹

Despite the idealism of our commitment, tensions between America and a
unified Europe were inherent in the logic of what we were so enthusiastically
endorsing. We had grown accustomed to the devastated, temporarily impotent
Europe of the postwar period; we forgot the Europe that had launched the

9. Dean Acheson, *Sketches from Life* (New York: Harper & Bros., 1961), pp. 36-37.

REFLECTIC

industrial revolution, invented
operated a complex balance of p
its personality was bound to se
United States; Charles de Gaulle
Jean Monnet, who never disgi
European voice.

Thus, later American disillusioned for Americans to take for
like us, that a united Europe would
that it would continue to follow
early postwar years of European

Yet even if some of our mor
our original judgment was c
confidence are essential for
psychological resources of the U
sole or even the principal cent
Communist world. (This is one
British and French nuclear d
unification was therefore an ex
the banner of altruism; it was to
the coin of clashing perspective
unity on fundamentals.

Britain, Europe, the United:

The central foreign policy pro
had to confront together since
need for creative unity among u

One thing that is clear from
Atlantic has had a monopoly o
the war had ended, both Britain
demobilise. All American troops
visit to Moscow in May 1945,
saw no major sources of conflict

After Churchill left office, Britain to some of the same illusions Labour Government at first hot moment of nostalgia reflected the unbridled capitalism of the U resolution calling for 'progress Communist parties was only a fact, that once the United States programme in 1947, some i

10. Attlee and Williams, op. cit., p. 161.

REFLECTIONS ON A PARTNERSHIP

579

industrial revolution, invented the concept of national sovereignty, and operated a complex balance of power for three centuries. A Europe reasserting its personality was bound to seek to redress the balance of influence with the United States; Charles de Gaulle in this respect differed largely in method from Jean Monnet, who never disguised his hopes for a more powerful and effective European voice.

Thus, later American disillusionments were inherent in our goals. It was naive for Americans to take for granted that a federal Europe would be more like us, that a united Europe would automatically help carry our burdens, and that it would continue to follow American global prescriptions as it had in the early postwar years of European recovery and dependency. That cannot be so.

Yet even if some of our more unhistorical expectations were disappointed, our original judgment was correct: European unity, strength, and self-confidence are essential for the future of the West. It is beyond the psychological resources of the United States—not only the physical—to be the sole or even the principal centre of initiative and responsibility in the non-Communist world. (This is one reason why I always favoured the independent British and French nuclear deterrents.) American support for European unification was therefore an expression of self-interest even if it paraded under the banner of altruism; it was to our advantage even if we paid occasionally in the coin of clashing perspectives—provided we found a way toward creative unity on fundamentals.

## Britain, Europe, the United States and the Soviet Union

The central foreign policy problem that Britain, America, and Europe have had to confront together since 1945 is, of course, the Soviet Union. And the need for creative unity among us as we do so has not ended.

One thing that is clear from the historical record is that neither side of the Atlantic has had a monopoly of special insight into this problem. As soon as the war had ended, both Britain and America fell over each other in the rush to demobilise. All American troops were due to leave Europe by 1947. After a visit to Moscow in May 1945, Harry Hopkins told President Truman that he saw no major sources of conflict between America and Russia on the horizon.¹⁰

After Churchill left office, British policy for a brief period ironically fell prey to some of the same illusions that had bedevilled American leaders. The Labour Government at first hoped that 'Left could speak unto Left'. The brief moment of nostalgia reflected the hope that Britain would stand neither for the unbridled capitalism of the United States nor for Soviet communism. A resolution calling for 'progressive unity' between the British Labour and Communist parties was only narrowly defeated. There is not much doubt, in fact, that once the United States was committed after the Greek-Turkish aid programme in 1947, some in Britain were tempted—as Roosevelt and

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Truman a few years earlier—by the idea of enhancing British influence by remaining aloof not just from Europe but from the emerging superpower confrontation, adding to her traditional role as manipulator of the balance in Europe that of intermediary between East and West. This attitude has reappeared in some circles in Europe today.

No amount of revisionist distortion can change the fact that it was the Kremlin which turned Anglo-American hopes into mirages. There is today in some circles a curious assumption of diabolic Soviet cleverness and foresight. Yet in those years, Stalin's conduct of relations with his former allies made him the chief architect of NATO. A few more fleeting smiles on the wooden features of Mr Molotov, and a modicum of self-restraint and diplomatic delicacy, would have done much to prise apart the young and still brittle Atlantic co-operation: and all the boys might have been home, as planned, by 1947.

The Soviets did not manage this degree of subtlety. Instead, Moscow went out of its way to estrange and alienate, where it could have softened through a little courtship, however heavy-handed. The Russians declined Britain's invitation to send a Soviet contingent to a victory parade, and Stalin sidestepped an offer from Attlee to renew the wartime alliance. Every door that Ernest Bevin, mindful of the influential left wing of his party, was careful to keep open was resoundingly slammed and loudly bolted. As was soon to be shown in the persecution of social democrats in Eastern Europe, the Soviet Union countenanced only one form of 'socialism' and fought other, democratic versions even more bitterly than capitalists. The outright Soviet rejection of the Marshall Plan was an egregious blunder; a mild expression of interest, however disingenuous, could have caused untold disruption and delay in the Western camp. Acceptance would have changed the face of postwar politics.

It was one of those moments when America's activism and idealism brought out the best in her. The 1940s were years of imaginative men and bold measures on both sides of the Atlantic: The Marshall Plan, the Truman Doctrine, the Berlin airlift, the Brussels treaty, and finally NATO, were inspired and creative initiatives. And in the years following, the United States and its allies stood fast against Soviet pressures and blackmail in crises over Korea, Berlin, and missiles in Cuba.

But we in America had only begun to scratch the surface of the long-term problem of US-Soviet relations in the nuclear age, which would soon produce more ambiguous challenges. The problem was, at bottom, conceptual. Americans were uncomfortable with the notion of a cold war. They tended to treat war and peace as two distinct phases of policy. Total victory was the only legitimate goal for war; conciliation the appropriate method for peace. In this sense the postwar period fulfilled neither of America's conceptual expectations. If in wartime we lacked a sense of political strategy, in peacetime we had difficulty forming an understanding of the permanent relation between power

REFLECTION

and diplomacy. The policy of containment from strength', were based on the focused on the build-up of military greater parity; it aimed at eventuating Union, but offered no clue as to either definition of the nature of the re-famous 'X' article in *Foreign Affairs* 'mellowing' of the Soviet system; of strength' which, somewhere do recognize the facts ...'.¹¹ But how to what end it would be conducted

The flaw in containment was never overly preoccupied with military that the West in the immediate post-World War II relative strength. Containment that encountered with the Soviet Union was only have grown. In 1945 the Un-SoVIet Union was devastated by 20 years of war, gave the Kremlin time to consolidate imbalance. The West's military and Union was never more favourable containment policy in the late 1940s discussion on the future of Europe.

As so often, Winston Churchill's speech at Llandudno in October 1944

The question is asked: What themselves and have accumulated what will happen then by what in the green wood, what will month after month disturbing Christian and altruistic inhibitors against them, what will the quantities of atomic bombs? ... have a limitless period of time head and make a final settle improvident, incompetent, will mean waiting for something it will be far more likely to reach they formulate their just demands before the Russian Communists.

11. U.S. Senate, Committee on Armed Services, *Military Situation in the Far East*, 82nd Cong., 15th session.

12. Winston Churchill, speech at Llandudno, 1948.

[L.C]

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and diplomacy. The policy of containment, and its variant called 'negotiation from strength', were based on the experience with the anti-Hitler coalition. It focused on the build-up of military strength towards some hypothetical day of greater parity; it aimed at eventual negotiation of some kind with the Soviet Union, but offered no clue as to either its timing or its content, nor even a clear definition of the nature of the relevant military strength. George Kennan's famous 'X' article in *Foreign Affairs* in 1947 looked vaguely to the eventual 'mellowing' of the Soviet system; Dean Acheson spoke of building 'situations of strength' which, somewhere down the road, would induce the Kremlin 'to recognize the facts ...'.¹¹ But how precisely this negotiation would emerge or to what end it would be conducted was left vague.

The flaw in containment was not only, as the cliché has it today, that it was overly preoccupied with military counter-force, but that it misunderstood that the West in the immediate postwar period was precisely at the apex of its relative strength. Containment thus deferred the moment for a diplomatic encounter with the Soviet Union to a later time by which Soviet power could only have grown. In 1945 the United States had an atomic monopoly and the Soviet Union was devastated by 20 million casualties. Our policy paradoxically gave the Kremlin time to consolidate its conquests and to redress the nuclear imbalance. The West's military and diplomatic position relative to the Soviet Union was never more favourable than at the very *beginning* of the containment policy in the late 1940s. *That* was the time to attempt a serious discussion on the future of Europe and a peaceful world.

As so often, Winston Churchill understood it best. In a much neglected speech at Llandudno in October 1948, out of office, he said:

> The question is asked: What will happen when they get the atomic bomb themselves and have accumulated a large store? You can judge yourselves what will happen then by what is happening now. If these things are done in the green wood, what will be done in the dry? If they can continue month after month disturbing and tormenting the world, trusting to our Christian and altruistic inhibitions against using this strange new power against them, what will they do when they themselves have huge quantities of atomic bombs? ... No one in his senses can believe that we have a limitless period of time before us. We ought to bring matters to a head and make a final settlement. We ought not to go jogging along improvident, incompetent, waiting for something to turn up, by which I mean waiting for something bad for us to turn up. The Western Nations will be far more likely to reach a lasting settlement, without bloodshed, if they formulate their just demands while they have the atomic power and before the Russian Communists have got it too.¹²

11. U.S. Senate, Committee on Armed Services and Committee on Foreign Relations, *Hearings on the Military Situation in the Far East*, 82nd Cong., 1st sess. (1951), p. 2083.

12. Winston Churchill, speech at Llandudno, October 9, 1948, reported in *New York Times*, October 10, 1948.

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So the postwar world came into being. A precarious peace was maintained, based on a nuclear equilibrium, with occasional negotiations to ease tensions temporarily, but ultimately dependent on a balance of terror. The problem of maintaining security took on an unprecedented new dimension. Technology was soon to make the United States directly vulnerable to attack; the Atlantic Alliance increasingly based its defence strategy on reliance on weapons of mass destruction that posed risks more and more difficult to reconcile with the objectives being defended.

In the nuclear age, peace became a moral imperative; and it imposed a new dilemma. The desire for peace is the mark of all civilised men and women. Yet the democracies' desire for peace, if divorced from a commitment to defend freedom, could turn into a weapon of blackmail in the hands of the most ruthless; if the desire to avoid nuclear war turns into undifferentiated hysteria, nuclear blackmail may well be encouraged. The problem of the relationship of power to peace, the balance between ends and means, has been evaded for a generation by an abdication to technology. But history tolerates no evasions. To develop a strategy that relates ends to means, to build military forces that avoid the choice between Armageddon and surrender, is a pre-eminent moral as well as political problem for our period. Of at least equal importance is to develop an Allied consensus behind proposals of arms control based on analysis, not panic, and freed of either the quest for confrontation or the tendency towards abdication.

Third World perspectives: what is the limit of inter-allied conflict?

In a period of nuclear stalemate, ironically, conflict became more likely at the level of local, non-nuclear crisis. In an age of decolonisation, many of these clashes were bound to occur in the Third World. This was another area in which, in the immediate postwar period, American and European attitudes diverged sharply.

Americans from Franklin Roosevelt onwards believed that the United States, with its 'revolutionary' heritage, was the natural ally of peoples struggling against colonialism; we could win the allegiance of these new nations by opposing and occasionally undermining our European allies in the areas of their colonial dominance. Churchill, of course, resisted these American pressures, as did the French and some other European powers for a longer period than did Britain.

As Europe decolonised, partly under American pressure, there began a reversal of roles, the march by each side towards the philosophical positions vacated by the other—to an America focused on international security and a Europe affirming general moral precepts of conduct. On Third World issues especially, many in Europe have ended up adopting the attitude embodied in Roosevelt's anticolonialism and Eisenhower's conduct over Suez. Now Europe would seek to identify with Third World aspirations, economic and political,

REFLECTION

intensifying its efforts at conciliating that Third World demand. States, at least in some administrative Eden's: that appeasement of radical challenges.

Different perceptions of national India-Pakistan war of 1971 Britain country which had opened the nostalgia for India was too strong crisis America hesitated between vocations. But neither of these decisions we came together; the old friends

The lesson I draw is that in the end we come together; the old friends reach a point where they undertake mission of the other party, lest we transcend the immediate issue.

In this context the experience never-reconciled clash had lasting and the Third World but also for the British-French

The details of that disaster are not yet clear. British-French expedition against the United States was a radical, pro-Soviet game in an extremely crucial questions: to what extent is relevant; to what extent it was wise to be the long-term consequence?

Britain and France, in my view, may have been traditional and even radical, but the American approach was a dangerous precept. The radicalist Nasser was the first Third World leader, and his radical, pro-Soviet game in an extremely crucial question was that a dangerous precept. The radicalist Nasser was the first Third World leader, and his radical, pro-Soviet game in an extremely crucial question was that a dangerous precept. As it turned out, Nasser's spread in the Middle East in the folkways of the Third World today around the world relying on the same to destabilise their neighbours.

Even more important, our humilis a shattering blow to these countries shedding of international responsibility we saw in succeeding decades what we call shoes—in the Persian Gulf, to take over from Suez that we thus added enormously to

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intensifying its efforts at conciliation the more insistent, peremptory, and
radical that Third World demands become. At the same time, the United
States, at least in some administrations, has come to a perception closer to
Eden's: that appeasement of radical challenges only multiplies radical
challenges.

Different perceptions of national interest were involved as well. Thus in the
India-Pakistan war of 1971 Britain did not share our sense of concern for the
country which had opened the first tenuous links to China; the historic
nostalgia for India was too strong. So too in the early stages of the Falkland
crisis America hesitated between its Atlantic and its Western Hemisphere
vocations. But neither of these disagreements did any lasting damage. In the
end we came together; the old friendship prevailed over other considerations.

The lesson I draw is that in the Third World we may occasionally operate
from different perspectives. But we must take care not to let these differences
reach a point where they undermine the basic self-confidence and sense of
mission of the other party, lest we threaten prospects for progress and stability
transcending the immediate issue.

In this context the experience of Suez is instructive. Our prolonged and
never-reconciled clash had lasting consequences not only for the Middle East
and the Third World but also for the long-term evolution of Western policies.

The details of that disaster are not relevant to my immediate purpose. The
British-French expedition against the Suez Canal was clearly misconceived.
The fact remains that Eden had got hold of what was intellectually the right
problem, while the American reaction, among other things, begged some
crucial questions: to what extent our 'revolutionary' historical analogy was
relevant; to what extent it was wise to humiliate one's closest ally; and what
would be the long-term consequence of such a course.

Britain and France, in my view, were acting on a strategic analysis which
may have been traditional and even self-serving but was far from frivolous.
Nasser was the first Third World leader to accept Soviet arms and to play the
radical, pro-Soviet game in an attempt to blackmail the West. Eden's
perception was that a dangerous precedent was being set: can there be any
dispute of this today? Had Nasser's course been shown a failure, a quite
different pattern of international relations would have developed, at least for a
decade or more. As it turned out, Nasser's policy was vindicated; revolutions
spread in the Middle East in the following years, and he has countless imitators
today around the world relying on Soviet arms to increase their influence and
to destabilise their neighbours.

Even more important, our humiliation of Britain and France over Suez was
a shattering blow to these countries' role as world powers. It accelerated their
shedding of international responsibilities, some of the consequences of which
we saw in succeeding decades when reality forced us to step into their
shoes—in the Persian Gulf, to take one notable example.

Suez thus added enormously to America's burdens—and simultaneously

584

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS

fuelled a European resentment at America's global role which continues to this day.

It is clear that a world of progress and peace requires that more than 100 new and developing nations be made part of the international system; no international order can survive unless they feel a stake in it. It is incontestable that many conflicts in the developing world arise from legitimate social, economic, or political grievances; this, however, does not exclude the possibility that these can be exploited by extremists and turned against the long-term security interests of the West. The democracies, whatever their shifting positions, have failed to relate their philosophical and moral convictions to a coherent analysis of the nature of revolution and an understanding of how best to foster moderation. Above all, disputes among the democracies over this problem should not be permitted to turn into a kind of guerrilla warfare between allies. Whatever the merit of the individual issue, the price will be a weakening of the West's overall psychological readiness to maintain the global balance.

The strategic position or self-confidence of a close ally on a matter it considers of vital concern must not be undermined. It is a principle of no little contemporary relevance. In this sense the Falkland crisis in the end will strengthen Western cohesion.

Suez, by weakening Europe's sense of its own importance as a world power, accelerated the trend of Europe's seeking refuge in the role of 'mediator' between the United States and the Soviet Union. The role that some American leaders naively saw the United States as playing between Churchill and Stalin, in the end too many Europeans seek to adopt between Washington and Moscow.

It is not a new phenomenon. It began, at least where Britain was involved, as wise advice to us that negotiation could be an element of strategy. This is a lesson of which Americans often need to be reminded. It has its antecedents in Atlee's flight to Washington for reassurance when Truman seemed to hint at using nuclear weapons in Korea; in Eden's efforts at various Geneva conferences to sponsor a dialogue in the era of Dulles's moralism; in Macmillan's appearance in an astrikhan hat in Moscow in 1959; in the strenuous Western European importunings of the Nixon administration in 1969 to join Europe in the pursuit of detente. But carried too far, it runs the risk of abdicating any share of responsibility for a cohesive Western strategy toward the Soviet Union, or toward anti-Western radicalism in the Third World.

And thus we see the ironic shift of positions reflected in some of our contemporary debates. The deprecation of the importance of power, the abstract faith in goodwill, the belief in the pacific efficacy of economic relations, the evasion of the necessities of defence and security, the attempt to escape from the sordid details of maintaining the global balance of power, the presumption of superior morality—these features, once characteristic of America, now seem

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REFLECTIONS ON A PARTNERSHIP

585

to be more common in Europe. Where the United States has never quite abandoned its earlier moralism or fully developed a concept of equilibrium as Europe had once maintained, many in Europe paradoxically seem to have adopted some of the illusions that Americans clung to in years of isolation from responsibility.

The unity of the industrial democracies remains crucial to the survival of democratic values and of the global equilibrium. We must at last answer the perennial questions of all alliances: How much unity do we need? How much diversity can we stand? An insistence on unanimity can be a prescription for paralysis. But if every ally acts as it pleases, what is the meaning of alliance? There is no more important task before the Alliance than to deal with these problems concretely, seriously, and above all immediately.

## The contemporary debate

I do not claim that the United States is always correct in its perceptions. But Europeans ought to take care not to generate such frustrations in America that either an embittered nationalism, or unilateralism, or a retreat from world affairs could result.

I fully acknowledge that the United States by its actions has sometimes stimulated or intensified the feelings in Europe that Europe had to strive to maintain its own interests, its own policies, its own identity. Indeed, as I said, naive American expectations that a rejuvenated Europe would follow its lead are partly responsible for the sometimes petulant reaction to Europe's assertions of its own role. In recent times the United States may have appeared unintentionally callous towards the danger of nuclear wars or insufficiently alert toward the opportunities for peace. But the United States has nevertheless been more nearly correct than its critics in warning that those who seek peace not backed by strength will sooner or later find the terms of peace dictated to them; that peace to be meaningful must be just; that nations live in history, not utopia, and thus must approach their goals in stages. To ask for perfection as a precondition of action is self-indulgence, and in the end an abdication.

Observers, including myself, have been sounding the alarm for decades about this or that 'crisis' in the Western Alliance. But today's, I am afraid, is more genuinely, objectively, serious than ever. It comes after decades of a relentless Soviet military buildup, when the West, for a decade, is edging in some areas toward a dangerous dependency on economic ties with the East; while in Poland the Soviet Union enforces the unity of its empire, its clients press on to undermine the security interests of the West from South-east Asia to the Middle East to Africa to Central America. Not all our difficulties are caused by the Soviet Union, but the Soviet Union has shown little restraint in exploiting them, and their solution—whatever their cause—has been impeded by the lack of a unified Western response.

586

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS

One of Britain's contributions to the Western Alliance has been to supply a needed global perspective: the knowledge, from centuries of experience in Europe, that peace requires some clear-eyed notion of equilibrium and a willingness to maintain it; the insight, from centuries of world leadership, that Europe's security cannot be isolated from the broader context of the global balance; the awareness, from heroic exertions in this century, that those who cherish the values of Western civilisation must be willing to defend them. In the Falkland crisis, Britain has reminded us all that certain basic principles such as honour, justice and patriotism remain valid and must be sustained by more than words.

The issue before the allies now is not to assess blame but to face our future. An alliance at odds over central issues of East-West diplomacy, economic policy, the Middle East, Central America, Africa, and relations with the Third World is in serious, and obvious, difficulty. Indeed it cannot be called an alliance if it agrees on *no* significant issue. Sooner or later such divisions *must* affect the field of security. For too long, all of us in the community of free nations have put off the uncomfortable questions; our evasions are now coming home to roost.

Thirty-five years ago, after the war, the democracies for a time overestimated the immediate dangers and underestimated their own capabilities; yet in the end they came up with a creative and effective response. Today, too, we may be underrating our own capacities and confusing long- and short-term dangers.

The strange aspect is that the disarray is taking place at the precise moment that the bankruptcy of the system that denies the human spirit seems to become clear beyond doubt. The communist world has fundamental systemic problems and has not shown any ability to solve them except by recurrent brute force, which only delays the day of reckoning. In its sixty-five-year history, the Soviet state has never managed a legitimate, regular succession of its political leadership; the country faces the demographic time-bomb of its growing non-Russian population, soon to be a majority. The system has failed to deal seriously with the desire for political participation of its intellectual and managerial elite. Or else it has sought to pre-empt their political aspirations by turning the ruling group into a careerist 'new class' bound to produce stagnation if not corruption. Its ideology is a discredited failure, without legitimacy, leaving the Communist Party a smug, privileged elite with no function in the society except its own self-perpetuation, struggling to deal with bottlenecks and crises which its own rigidity has caused. It is an historic joke that the ultimate crisis in every communist state, latent if not evident, is over the role of the Communist Party.

Soviet economic performance is a disaster. It seems impossible to run a modern economy by a system of total planning, yet it seems impossible to maintain a communist state *without* a system of total planning. How ironic that the West is tearing itself apart over how best to coordinate Western

REFLECTIO

financial, technological, and a,
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the democratic nations are the n

REFLECTIONS ON A PARTNERSHIP

587

financial, technological, and agricultural *aid* to a so-called 'superpower' incapable of sustaining a modern economy.

In short, if Moscow is prevented by a co-ordinated Western policy from deflecting its internal tensions into international crises, it is likely to find only disillusionment in the boast that history is on its side. It is the communist world, not the West, that faces a profound systemic crisis. Ours are problems of coordination and policy, theirs are those of structure. And therefore it is not beyond the realm of hope that a coherent, unified Western policy could at long last bring into view the prospect of a negotiated global settlement that Churchill foresaw at Llandudno.

The solutions to the West's problems are, to a significant degree, in our own hands. One problem is that the democracies have no forum for addressing the future in a concrete way, let alone harmonising disagreements or implementing common policies. As my friend Christopher Soames has recently emphasised, the Atlantic Alliance has no institutional machinery for addressing economic or Third World issues, or any long-term political strategy; the European Community, while eminently successful in its political co-ordination, has no mechanism as yet for formulating a coherent European view on matters of defence. The economic summits of Western and Japanese leaders, begun in the mid-1970s, are an attempt to surmount this procedural impasse, but they can do little more than call key leaders' attention to key problems in an informal, unsystematic way. Procedures do not solve substantive problems. Nevertheless, creating an appropriate forum for broader and deeper consultation would be an important first step.

America has learned much in the postwar period, perhaps most of all from Britain. In the last decade we have also learned something of our limits, and in the new administration we have shaken off the trauma of perhaps excessive preoccupation with our limits. An America that has recovered its vitality and its faith in the future is as much in the interests of the West as a Europe shaping its identity.

Both Britain and America have learned that whatever their histories, their futures are part of the common destiny of freedom. Experience has taught that moral idealism and geopolitical insight are not alternatives but complementary; our civilisation may not survive unless we possess *both* in full measure. Britain and America, which have contributed so much to the free world's unity and strength, have another opportunity now, together with our allies, to show that the democratic nations are the masters of their destiny.

CONTENTS

<table><thead><tr><th></th><th>Page</th></tr></thead><tbody><tr><td>Introduction</td><td>1</td></tr><tr><td>Philosophies of Foreign Policy</td><td>2</td></tr><tr><td>The Nature of the Special Relationship</td><td>6</td></tr><tr><td>Britain, America, and Europe</td><td>9</td></tr><tr><td>Britain, Europe, the United States and the Soviet Union</td><td>11</td></tr><tr><td>Third World Perspectives: What is the Limit of Inter-Allied Conflict?</td><td>15</td></tr><tr><td>The Contemporary Debate</td><td>18</td></tr></tbody></table>

BY HENRY A. KISSINGER

Introduction

Michael Howard, in his earlier lecture in this series, confirmed what I had suspected: that the United States deserves some of the credit for Britain's decision to create a Foreign Office in the first place. The Foreign Office was founded only a few months after the battle of Yorktown. The "politicians" of the time having just mislaid America, the need was evidently felt for some more professional machinery to run Britain's newly expanded sphere of "foreign" affairs.

All accounts of the Anglo-American alliance during the Second World War and in the early postwar period draw attention to the significant differences in philosophy between Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill reflecting our different national histories. America, which had never experienced a foreign threat to its survival, considered wars an historical aberration caused by evil men or institutions; we were preoccupied with victory defined as the unconditional surrender of the Axis. Britain had seen aggression take too many forms to risk so personal a view of history; she had her eyes on the postwar world and sought to gear wartime strategy toward forestalling Soviet domination of Central Europe. Many American leaders condemned Churchill as needlessly obsessed with power politics, too rigidly anti-Soviet, too colonialist in his attitude to what is now called the Third World, and too little interested in building the fundamentally new international order towards which American idealism has always tended. The British undoubtedly saw the Americans as naive, moralistic, and evading responsibility for helping secure the global equilibrium. The dispute was resolved according to American preferences--in my view, to the detriment of postwar security.

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form of ethical egoism, believing that what was good for Britain was best for the rest. This requires a certain historical self-confidence, not to say nerve, to carry it off. But she has always practiced it with an innate moderation and civilized humaneness such that her presumption was frequently justified. In the nineteenth century, British policy was a--perhaps the--principal factor in a European system that kept the peace for 99 years without a major war.

[American foreign policy is the product of a very different tradition.] The Founding Fathers, to be sure, were sophisticated men who understood the European balance of power and skillfully manipulated it to win independence. But for a century and more after that, America, comfortably protected by two oceans--which in turn were secured by the Royal Navy--developed the idiosyncratic notion that a fortunate accident was a natural state of affairs, that our involvement in world politics was purely a matter of choice. [Where George Canning viewed the Monroe Doctrine in terms of the world equilibrium, "calling" the New World into existence to redress the balance of the Old," Americans imagined the entire Western Hemisphere into a special case, safely insulated from the rest of the world. We had created a nation consciously dedicated to "self-evident" truths, and it was taken for granted in most American public discourse that our participation (or non-participation) in the world could be guided exclusively by moral precepts. That geography gave us this luxury was only evidence of God's blessing upon us; we owed Him that quid pro quo. The competitive, sometimes cynical, and always relativistic style of European power politics was viewed in America as an unsavory example of what to avoid and as further evidence of our moral superiority.]

4

In American discussion of foreign policy, even through much of the twentieth century, the phrase "balance of power" was hardly ever written or spoken without a pejorative adjective in front of it--the "outmoded" balance of power, the "discredited" balance of power. When Woodrow Wilson took America into the First World War, it was in the expectation that under American influence the postwar settlement would be governed by a "new and more wholesome diplomacy" transcending the wheeling and dealing, secrecy, and undemocratic

5

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practices that were thought to have produced the Great War.¹ Franklin Roosevelt, on his return from the Crimean Conference in 1945, told the Congress of his hope that the postwar era would "spell the end of the system of unilateral action, the exclusive alliances, the spheres of influence, the balances of power, and all the other expedients that have been tried for centuries--and have always failed."² Both Wilson and Roosevelt put their faith in a universal organization of collective security in which the peace-loving nations would combine to deter, or combat, the aggressors. It was assumed that all nations would come to the same conclusions regarding what constituted aggression and be equally willing to resist it, no matter where it occurred, regardless of how far from their borders, irrespective of the national interest involved.

In the American view, nations were either inherently peaceful or inherently warlike. Hence, after World War II the "peace-loving" US, Britain, and USSR had together to police the world against Germany and Japan even though the former ✓ enemies had been rendered impotent by unconditional surrender. If there were doubts about the peace-loving virtue of our war-time allies, they seemed to many American leaders to apply as much to Britain as to the USSR: Roosevelt toyed with the idea of nonalignment between a balance-of-power-oriented, colonialist Britain and an ideologically obstreperous Soviet Union. Even Truman took care not to meet with Churchill in advance of the Potsdam conference; he did not want to appear to be "lining up" with Britain against the USSR. The secret dream of American leaders, if great power conflict proved unavoidable, was to arrogate to themselves the role to which the nonaligned later aspired: that of moral arbiter, hurling condescending judgments down at all those engaged in the dirty game of international diplomacy.

> is directed against no one; it is directed solely against aggression. It seeks not to influence any shifting "balance of power" but to strengthen the "balance of principle."³

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American attitudes until quite literally the recent decade have embodied a faith that historical experience can be transcended, that problems can be solved permanently, that harmony can be the natural state of mankind. Thus our diplomacy has often stressed the concepts of international law, with its procedures of arbitration and peaceful settlement, as if all political disputes were legal issues, on the premise that reasonable men and women could always find agreement on some equitable basis. // Theodore Roosevelt won a Nobel Peace Prize for helping mediate the Russo-Japanese war in 1905; thus Alexander Haig's recent efforts on the Falklands have a long tradition behind them.// There is also a perennial American assumption that economic well-being automatically ensures political stability, a belief which has animated American policies from Herbert Hoover's relief efforts after World War I to the Marshall Plan to the recent Caribbean initiative--never mind that, in many parts of the world, the timeframes for economic progress and the achievement of political stability may be seriously out of phase. In our participation in the two world wars of this century, and afterward, our bursts of energy were coupled with the conviction that our exertions had a terminal date, after which the natural harmony among nations would be either restored or instituted.

Disillusionment was inevitable. America fluctuated between moral crusading and frustrated isolationism, between overextension and escapism, between extremes of intransigence and conciliation. But history was kind to us. For a long time it spared us from the need to face up to fundamental choices. Not being called upon to help preserve the equilibrium--a service rendered gratis by Great Britain--we could avoid the responsibility of permanent involvement in world politics, of unending exertion with no final answers or ultimate resolution.

Even when the United States finally entered the world stage of permanent peacetime diplomacy after 1945, it did so under conditions that seemed to confirm our historical expectations. For several decades we had the overwhelming resources to give effect to our prescriptions, and thus conducted foreign policy by analogy to the great formative experiences of the 1930s and 40s: The New Deal translated into the Marshall Plan; resistance to Nazi aggression translated into the Korean "police action" and the policy of "containment." We tended to attribute our dominance in the Western Alliance to the virtue of our motives rather than to the preponderance of our power. In fact, the United States enjoyed nearly half the world's Gross National

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It was therefore a rude awakening when in the 1960s and 70s the United States became conscious of the limits of even its resources. Now with a little over a fifth of the world's GNP, America was powerful but no longer dominant. Vietnam was the trauma and the catharsis but the recognition was bound to come (in any event.) Starting in the 70s, for the first time, the United States has had to conduct a foreign policy in the sense with which Europeans have always been familiar: as one country among many, unable either to dominate the world or escape from it, with the necessity of accomodation, maneuver, a sensitivity to marginal shifts in the balance of power, an awareness of continuity and of the interconnections between events.

Our perennial domestic debates reflect the pain, and in- completeness, of that adjustment. The American Right still yearns for ideological victory without geopolitical effort; the American Left still dreams of reforming the world through the exercise of goodwill unsullied by power. We are edging towards a synthesis but it will be a slow, painful, perhaps bitter process.

For quite a while we stressed different aspects of our histories; in more senses than one, we lived in different time zones. It was only some while after the settlement of the *Alabama* affair just over a century ago that American and British interests began to run parallel. The need for intimacy seemed to be greater on this side of the Atlantic (that is, in Britain), and Britain began to avoid alliances that could entangle her against the United States—including a tantalizing offer from Germany around the turn of the century.⁴ American memories were longer: The First World War was a temporary exertion, after which we withdrew into isolationism; during the 20s the US Navy Department still maintained a "Red Plan" to deal with the contingency of conflict with the British fleet.

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It was not until the war with Hitler that the gap closed permanently. In the immediate postwar period we were held together by strategic circumstances which imposed the same necessities, whatever the different philosophical premises. American resources and organization and technological genius, and British experience and understanding of the European balance of power, were both needed to resist the sudden threat from the Soviet Union. The Marshall Plan and North Atlantic Treaty, while formally American initiatives, were inconceivable without British advice and British efforts to organize a rapid and effective European response. Ernest Bevin, as Professor Howard pointed out in the first lecture, was the indispensable architect of the European response as well as the staunch helmsman of Britain's journey from power to influence.

Even then, Anglo-American difficulties persisted occasionally. The anguished disagreements over immigration into Palestine; the misunderstandings over atomic cooperation; competition over Iranian oil; the abrupt, unilateral ending of Lend-Lease; and the race to demobilize were only some of the items in a stream of irritants. More serious policy differences were to follow in the 50s, causing Anthony Eden to reflect on the "tough reality of Anglo-American relations."⁵ Even when the politics were parallel, the personalities were often divergent. Eden and Dean Acheson were friends as well as colleagues; the same could not be said for Eden and John Foster Dulles. Misunderstandings and conflicts of interest continued through European integration, the rearmament of Germany, and Indochina, right up to the tragic climax of Suez--to which I will return in a few moments.

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[cc]

consultations with London as a special favor but as an in-
herent component of our own decision-making. The wartime
habit of intimate, informal collaboration thus became a
permanent practice, obviously because it was valuable to
both sides.

The ease and informality of the Anglo-American partner-
ship has been a source of wonder--and no little resentment--
to third countries. Our postwar diplomatic history is
littered with Anglo-American "arrangements" and "understand-
ings," sometimes on crucial issues, never put into formal
documents. The stationing of B-29 atomic bombers in Britain
in 1948 was agreed between political and service leaders but
not committed to writing. Less happily, only general princi-
ples were recorded when Churchill and Roosevelt agreed in
1942 to cooperate in producing the atomic bomb. After Roosevelt
died, Clement Attlee reflected with admirable restraint:
"We were allies and friends. It didn't seem necessary to
tie everything up."⁶

The British were so matter-of-factly helpful that they
became a participant in internal American deliberations, to
a degree probably never before practiced between sovereign
nations. In my period in office, the British played a seminal
part in certain American bilateral negotiations with the Soviet
Union--indeed, they helped draft the key document. In my
White House incarnation then, I kept the British Foreign Office
better informed and more closely engaged than I did the Ameri-
can State Department--a practice which, with all affection
for things British, I would not recommend be made permanent.
But it was symptomatic. ⁷

For a brief moment in the early 1970s, Britain seemed to
decide to put an end to the special relationship in order to
prove itself a "good European" in the year that it entered the
European Community. The attempt was short-lived.⁸ By 1976,
James Callaghan and Anthony Crosland had restored the traditional
close relationship--without resurrecting the label--and it was
enormously valuable, indeed indispensable, in the Southern
Africa negotiations that began in that year. In my nego-
tiations over Rhodesia I worked from a British draft with
British spelling even when I did not fully grasp the dis-
tinction between a working paper and a Cabinet-approved
document. The practice of collaboration thrives to our day,
with occasional ups and downs but even in the recent Falkland
crisis, an inevitable return to the main theme of the relation-
ship.

13

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Clearly, British membership in Europe has added a new dimension. But the solution, in my view, is not to sacrifice the special intimacy of the Anglo-American connection on the altar of the European idea, but rather to replicate it on a wider plane of America's relations with all its European allies, whether bilaterally or with a politically cohesive European Community--that is for Europe to decide. The special frankness and trust that may have been originally resorted to as compensation for a disparity of power may now be even more essential in the partnership of equals that must characterize the future relations between America and Europe.

## Britain, America, and Europe

In fact, Europe has been a traumatic issue for both Britain and the United States.

Americans often forget that Britain, too, has been a reluctant internationalist, at least as far as Europe was concerned. Tradition pulled Britain across distant oceans. The glory of foreign policy was identified with Empire and Commonwealth, its problems and perils with the continent of Europe. It was Czechoslovakia--in the heart of Europe--which Chamberlain described as a small faraway country of which Britons! knew little--after a century and a half of fighting on the borders of India.

In Britain, reluctance to enter Europe was always bipartisan, and somewhat mystical. Eden once said that Britain knew "in her bones" that she could not join it; and Hugh Gaitskell spoke of the impossibility of throwing off 1000 years of history. But there were more substantial reasons: worries about sovereignty--which on the Left was combined with concern for the unfettered development of socialist planning; an instinctive disinclination to deal with continentals on an equal footing; trade ties with the Commonwealth; and the special relationship. Even Churchill, despite his intimations of the future, remained as ambivalent in government as he had been prescient in opposition when he had called as early as 1947 for a United States of Europe. In office, he never quite found the balance among his three concentric circles--the Commonwealth, Europe, and the English-speaking peoples.

Only after Suez did the risks of isolation become obvious, as well as the opportunity that the emerging Europe offered for exercising in a different but equally effective form

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Britain's traditional role of guardian of continental equilibrium. If the economic benefits were ambiguous, the political necessities were not: Only as one of the leaders of Europe could Britain continue to play a major role on the world scene.

By entering the European Community, Britain did not abandon her instinct for equilibrium. But for the first time in peacetime she threw herself into the scales. As I have already noted, she did so with the fervor of a frustrated convert who had been kept waiting for a decade at the doors of destiny.

After the war, American leaders applied a heavy dose of our usual missionary zeal and the full rigor of our "problemsolving" energy to the task of promoting European integration. Federalism, of course, was a hallowed American principle. Shortly after the Philadelphia Convention, Benjamin Franklin was urging on the French the attractions of a federal Europe. A similar evangelism, in a more practical form, shone through the Marshall Plan. Even Acheson, not usually seen as a moralist, was carried away by the European idea; he recalled listening to Robert Schuman outlining his plan for a European Coal and Steel Community: "As he talked, we caught his enthusiasm and the breadth of his thought," Acheson wrote, "the rebirth of Europe, which, as an entity, had been in eclipse since the Reformation."⁹

Despite the idealism of our commitment, tensions between America and a unified Europe were inherent in the logic of what we were so enthusiastically endorsing. We had grown accustomed to the devastated, temporarily impotent Europe of the postwar period; we forgot the Europe that had launched the industrial revolution, that had invented the concept of national sovereignty, and that had operated a complex balance of power for three centuries. A Europe reasserting its personality was bound to seek to redress the balance of influence with the United States; Charles de Gaulle in this respect differed largely in method from Jean Monnet, who never disguised his hopes for a more powerful and effective European voice.

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continue to follow American global prescriptions as it had
in the early postwar years of European recovery--and de-
pendency. That cannot be so.

Yet even if some of our more unhistorical expectations
were disappointed, our original judgment was correct:
European unity, strength, and self-confidence are essential
for the future of the West. It is beyond the psychological
resources of the United States--not only the physical--to
be the sole or even the principal center of initiative and
responsibility in the non-Communist world. (This is one
reason why I always favored the independent British and
French nuclear deterrents.) American support for European
unification was therefore an expression of self-interest even
if it paraded under the banner of altruism; it was to our
advantage even if we paid occasionally in the coin of clashing
perspectives--provided we found a way toward creative unity
on fundamentals.

Britain, Europe, the United States, and the Soviet Union

One thing that is clear from the historical record is
that neither side of the Atlantic has had a monopoly of
special insight into this problem. As soon as the war had
ended, both Britain and America fell over each other in the
rush to demobilize. All American troops were due to leave
Europe by 1947. After a visit to Moscow in May 1945, Harry
Hopkins told President Truman that he saw no major sources
of conflict between America and Russia on the horizon. ¹⁰

After Churchill left office, British policy for a brief
period ironically fell prey to some of the same illusions that
had bedeviled American leaders. The Labour Government at first
hoped that "Left could speak unto Left." The brief moment
of nostalgia reflected the hope that Britain would stand
neither for the unbridled capitalism of the United States nor
for Soviet Communism. A resolution calling for the "pro-
gressive unity" between the British Labour and Communist
parties was only narrowly defeated. There is not much doubt,
in fact, that once the US was committed after the Greek-

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Turkish aid program in 1947, some in Britain were tempted-- as Roosevelt and Truman a few years earlier--by the idea of enhancing British influence by remaining aloof not just from Europe but from the emerging superpower confrontation, adding to her traditional role as manipulator of the balance in Europe that of intermediary between East and West. This attitude has reappeared in some circles in Europe today.

No amount of revisionist distortion can change the fact that it was the Kremlin which turned Anglo-American hopes into mirages. There is today in some circles a curious assumption of diabolic Soviet cleverness and foresight. Yet in those years, Stalin's conduct of relations with his former allies made him the chief architect of NATO. A few more fleeting smiles on the wooden features of Mr. Molotov, and a modicum of self-restraint and diplomatic delicacy, would have done much to prise apart the young and still brittle Atlantic cooperation: and all the boys might have been home, as planned, by 1947.

The Soviets did not manage this degree of subtlety. Instead, Moscow went out of its way to estrange and alienate, where it could have softened through a little courtship, however heavy-handed. The Russians declined Britain's invitation to send a Soviet contingent to a victory parade, and Stalin side-stepped an offer from Attlee to renew the wartime alliance. Every door that Ernest Bevin, mindful of the influential left wing of his party, was careful to keep open was resoundingly slammed and loudly bolted. As was soon to be shown in the persecution of social democrats in Eastern Europe, the Soviet Union countenanced only one form of "socialism" and fought other, democratic versions even more bitterly than capitalists. The outright Soviet rejection of the Marshall Plan was an egregious blunder; a mild expression of interest, however disingenuous, could have caused untold disruption and delay in the Western camp. Acceptance would have changed the face of postwar politics.

It was one of those moments when America's activism and idealism brought out the best in her. The 40s were years of imaginative men and bold measures on both sides of the Atlantic: The Marshall Plan, the Truman Doctrine, the Berlin airlift, the Brussels treaty, and finally NATO, were inspired and creative initiatives. And in the years following, the United States and its allies stood fast against Soviet pressures and blackmail in crises over Korea, Berlin, and missiles in Cuba.

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But we in America had only begun to scratch the surface of the long-term problem of US-Soviet relations in the nuclear age, which would soon produce more ambiguous challenges. The problem was, at bottom, conceptual. Americans were uncomfortable with the notion of a Cold War. They tended to treat war and peace as two distinct phases of policy. Total victory was the only legitimate goal for war; conciliation the appropriate method for peace. In this sense the postwar period fulfilled neither of America's conceptual expectations. If in wartime we lacked a sense of political strategy, in peacetime we had difficulty forming an understanding of the permanent relation between power and diplomacy. The policy of containment, and its variant called "negotiation from strength," was based on the experience with the anti-Hitler coalition. It focused on the buildup of military strength towards some hypothetical day of greater parity; it aimed at eventual negotiation of some kind with the Soviet Union but offered no clue as to either its timing or its content, nor even a clear definition of the nature of the relevant military strength. George Kennan's famous "X" article in *Foreign Affairs* in 1947 looked vaguely to the eventual "mellowing" of the Soviet system; Dean Acheson spoke of building "situations of strength" which, somewhere down the road, would induce the Kremlin "to recognize the facts..."¹¹ But how precisely this negotiation would emerge or to what end it would be conducted was left vague.

The flaw in containment was not only, as the cliché has it today, that it was overly preoccupied with military counterforce but that it misunderstood that the West in the immediate postwar period was precisely at the apex of its relative strength. Containment thus deferred the moment for a diplomatic encounter with the Soviet Union to a later time by which Soviet power could only have grown. In 1945 the United States had an atomic monopoly and the Soviet Union was devastated by 20 million casualties. Our policy paradoxically gave the Kremlin time to consolidate its conquests and to redress the nuclear imbalance. The West's military and diplomatic position relative to the USSR was never more favorable than at the very *beginning* of the containment policy in the late 40s. *That* was the time to attempt a serious discussion on the future of Europe and a peaceful world.

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The question is asked: What will happen when they get the atomic bomb themselves and have accumulated a large store? You can judge yourselves what will happen then by what is happening now. If these things are done in the green wood, what will be done in the dry? If they can continue month after month disturbing and tormenting the world, trusting to our Christian and altruistic inhibitions against using this strange new power against them, what will they do when they themselves have huge quantities of atomic bombs?... No one in his senses can believe that we have a limitless period of time before us. We ought to bring matters to a head and make a final settlement. We ought not to go jostling along improvident, incompetent, waiting for something to turn up, by which I mean waiting for something bad for us to turn up. The Western Nations will be far more likely to reach a lasting settlement, without bloodshed, if they formulate their just demands while they have the atomic power and before the Russian Communists have got it too.¹²

So the postwar world came into being. A precarious peace was maintained, based on a nuclear equilibrium, with occasional negotiations to ease tensions temporarily, but ultimately dependent on a balance of terror. The problem of maintaining security took on an unprecedented new dimension. Technology was soon to make the United States directly vulnerable to attack; the Atlantic Alliance increasingly based its defense strategy on reliance on weapons of mass destruction that posed risks more and more difficult to reconcile with the objectives being defended.

In the nuclear age, peace became a moral imperative. And it imposed a new dilemma: The desire for peace is the mark of all civilized men and women. Yet the democracies' desire for peace, if divorced from a commitment to defend freedom, could turn into a weapon of blackmail in the hands of the most ruthless; if the desire to avoid nuclear war turns into undifferentiated hysteria, nuclear blackmail may well be encouraged. The problem of the relationship of power to peace, the balance between ends and means, has been evaded for a generation by an abdication to technology. But history tolerates no evasions. To develop a strategy that relates ends to means, to build military forces that avoid the choice between Armageddon and surrender, is a preeminent moral as well as political problem for

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our period. Of at least equal importance is to develop
an Allied consensus behind proposals of arms control based
on analysis not panic and freed of either the quest for
confrontation or the tendency towards abdication.

In a period of nuclear stalemate, ironically, conflict be-
came more likely at the level of local, nonnuclear crisis. In
an age of decolonization, many of these clashes were bound to
occur in the Third World. This was another area in which, in
the immediate postwar period, American and European attitudes
diverged sharply.

Americans from Franklin Roosevelt onward believed that the United States, with its "revolutionary" heritage, was the natural ally of peoples struggling against colonialism; we could win the allegiance of these new nations by opposing and occasionally undermining our European allies in the areas of their colonial dominance. Churchill, of course, resisted these American pressures, as did the French and some other European powers for a longer period than did Britain.

As Europe decolonized, partly under American pressure, there began a reversal of roles, the march by each side towards the philosophical positions vacated by the other--to an America focused on international security and a Europe affirming general moral precepts of conduct. On Third World issues especially, many in Europe have ended up adopting the attitude embodied in Roosevelt's anticolonialism and Eisenhower's conduct over Suez. Now Europe would seek to identify with Third World aspirations, economic and political, intensifying its efforts at conciliation the more insistent, peremptory, and radical that Third World demands become. At the same time, the United States, at least in some administrations, has come to a perception closer to Eden's: that appeasement of radical challenges only multiplies radical challenges.

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The details of that disaster are not relevant to my immediate purpose. The British-French expedition against the Suez Canal was clearly misconceived. The fact remains that Eden had got hold of what was intellectually the right problem, while the American reaction, among other things, begged some crucial questions: to what extent our "revolutionary" historical analogy was relevant; to what extent it was wise to humiliate one's closest ally; and what would be the long-term consequence of such a course.

Britain and France, in my view, were acting on a strategic analysis which may have been traditional and even self-serving but was far from frivolous. Nasser was the first Third World leader to accept Soviet arms and to play the radical, pro-Soviet game in an attempt to blackmail the West. Eden's perception was that a dangerous precedent was being set: can there be any dispute of this today? Had Nasser's course been shown a failure, a quite different pattern of international relations would have developed, at least for a decade or more. As it turned out, Nasser's policy was vindicated; revolutions spread in the Middle East in the following years, and he has countless imitators today around the world relying on Soviet arms to increase their influence and to destabilize their neighbors.

Even more important, our humiliation of Britain and France over Suez was a shattering blow to these countries' role as world powers. It accelerated their shedding of international responsibilities, some of the consequences of which we saw in succeeding decades when reality forced us to step into their shoes--in the Persian Gulf, to take one notable example.

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Suez thus added enormously to America's burdens--and simultaneously fueled a European resentment at America's global role which continues to this day.

Suez, by weakening Europe's sense of its own importance as a world power, accelerated the trend of Europe's seeking refuge in the role of "mediator" between the United States and the Soviet Union. The role that some American leaders naively saw the United States as playing between Churchill and Stalin, in the end too many Europeans seek to adopt between Washington and Moscow.

It is not a new phenomenon. It began, at least where Britain was involved, as wise advice to us that negotiation could be an element of strategy. This is a lesson of which Americans often need to be reminded. It has its antecedents in Attlee's flight to Washington for reassurance when Truman seemed to hint at using nuclear weapons in Korea; in Eden's efforts at various Geneva conferences to sponsor a dialogue in the era of Dulles's moralism; in Macmillan's appearance in an astrakhan hat in Moscow in 1959; in the strenuous Western European importunings of the Nixon Administration in 1969 to join Europe in the pursuit of détente. But carried too far,

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it runs the risk of abdicating any share of responsibility for a cohesive Western strategy toward the USSR, or toward anti-Western radicalism in the Third World.

And thus we see the ironic shift of positions reflected in some of our contemporary debates. The deprecation of the importance of power, the abstract faith in goodwill, the belief in the pacific efficacy of economic relations, the evasion of the necessities of defense and security, the attempt to escape from the sordid details of maintaining the global balance of power, the presumption of superior morality--these features once characteristic of America now seem to be more common in Europe. Where the United States has never quite abandoned its earlier moralism or fully developed a concept of equilibrium as Europe had once maintained, many in Europe paradoxically seem to have adopted some of the illusions that Americans clung to in years of isolation from responsibility.

## The Contemporary Debate

Let me make a few general points, therefore, about the contemporary debates between America and Europe.

I fully acknowledge that the United States by its actions has sometimes stimulated or intensified the feelings in Europe that Europe had to strive to maintain its own interests, its own policies, its own identity. Indeed, as I said, naive American expectations that a rejuvenated Europe would follow our lead are partly responsible for the sometimes petulant

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reaction to Europe's assertions of its own role. In recent
times the United States may have appeared unintentionally
callous toward the danger of nuclear war or insufficiently
alert toward the opportunities for peace. But the United
States has nevertheless been more nearly correct than
its critics in warning that those who seek peace not backed
by strength will sooner or later find the terms of peace
dictated to them; that peace to be meaningful must be just;
that nations live in history, not utopia, and thus must
approach their goals in stages. To ask for perfection
as a precondition of action is self-indulgence, and in the
end an abdication.

Observers, including myself, have been sounding the
alarm for decades about this or that "crisis" in the Western
Alliance. But today's, I am afraid, is more genuinely,
objectively, serious than ever. It comes after decades
of a relentless Soviet military buildup, when the West,
for a decade, is edging in some areas toward a dangerous
dependency on economic ties with the East; while in Poland
the Soviet Union enforces the unity of its empire, its
clients press on to undermine the security interests of the
West from Southeast Asia to the Middle East to Africa to
Central America. Not all our difficulties are caused by
the Soviet Union, but the Soviet Union has shown little
restraint in exploiting them, and their solution --whatever
their cause--has been impeded by the lack of a unified
Western response.

One of Britain's contributions to the Western Alliance
has been to supply a needed global perspective: the knowledge,
from centuries of experience in Europe, that peace requires
some clear-eyed notion of equilibrium and a willingness to
maintain it; the insight, from centuries of world leadership,
that Europe's security cannot be isolated from the broader
context of the global balance; the awareness, from heroic
exertions in this century, that those who cherish the values
of Western civilization must be willing to defend them. In
the Falkland crisis, Britain is reminding us all that certain
basic principles such as honor, justice, and patriotism re-
main valid and must be sustained by more than words.

The issue before the allies now is not to assess blame
but to face our future. An alliance at odds over central
issues of East-West diplomacy, economic policy, the Middle
East, Central America, Africa, and relations with the Third
world is in serious, and obvious, difficulty. Indeed it can-
not be called an alliance if it agrees on *no* significant

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issue. Sooner or later such divisions _must_ affect the field of security. For too long, all of us in the community of free nations have put off the uncomfortable questions; our evasions are now coming home to roost.

Thirty-five years ago after the war, the democracies for a time overestimated the immediate dangers and underestimated their own capabilities; yet in the end they came up with a creative and effective response. Today too, we may be underrating our own capacities and confusing long- and short-term dangers.

The strange aspect is that the disarray is taking place at the precise moment that the bankruptcy of the system that denies the human spirit seems to become clear beyond doubt. The Communist world has fundamental systemic problems and has not shown any ability to solve them except by re-current brute force, which only delays the day of reckoning. In the sixty-five-year history of the Soviet state, it has never managed a legitimate, regular succession of its poli-tical leadership; the country faces the demographic time-bomb of its growing non-Russian population, soon to be a majority. The system has failed to deal seriously with the desire for political participation of its intellectual and managerial elite. Or else it has sought to preempt their political aspirations by turning the ruling group into a careerist "new class" bound to produce stagnation if not corruption. Its ideology is a discredited failure, without legitimacy, leaving the Communist Party a smug privileged elite with no function in the society except its own self-perpetuation, struggling to deal with bottlenecks and crises which its own rigidity has caused. It is an historic joke that the ultimate crisis in every Communist state, latent if not evident, is over the role of the Communist Party.

Soviet economic performance is a disaster. It seems impossible to run a modern economy by a system of total planning, yet it seems impossible to maintain a Communist state _without_ a system of total planning. How ironic that the West is tearing itself apart over how best to coordinate Western financial, technological, and agricultural aid to a so-called "superpower" incapable of sustaining a modern economy.

In short, if Moscow is prevented by a coordinated Western policy from deflecting its internal tensions into international crises, it is likely to find only disillusionment in the boast that history is on its side.

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It is the Communist world, not the West, that faces a profound systemic crisis. Ours are problems of coordination and policy, theirs are of structure. And therefore it is not beyond the realm of hope that a coherent, unified Western policy could at long last bring into view the prospect of a negotiated global settlement that Churchill foresaw at Llandudno.

One problem is that the democracies have no forum for addressing the future in a concrete way, let alone harmonizing disagreements or implementing common policies. As my friend Christopher Soames has recently emphasized, the Atlantic Alliance has no institutional machinery for addressing economic or Third World issues, or any long-term political strategy; the European Community, while eminently successful in its political coordination, has no mechanism as yet for formulating a coherent European view on matters of defense. The economic summits of Western and Japanese leaders, begun in the mid-70s, are an attempt to surmount this procedural impasse, but they can do little more than call key leaders' attention to key problems in an informal, unsystematic way. Procedures do not solve substantive problems. Nevertheless, creating an appropriate forum for broader and deeper consultation would be an important first step.

America has learned much in the postwar period, perhaps most of all from Britain. In the last decade we have also learned something of our limits, and in the new Administration we have shaken off the trauma of perhaps excessive preoccupation with our limits. An America that has recovered its vitality and its faith in the future is as much in the interests of the West as a Europe shaping its identity.

Both Britain and America have learned that whatever their histories, their futures are part of the common destiny of freedom. Experience has taught that moral idealism and geo-political insight are not alternatives but complementary; our civilization may not survive unless we possess both in full measure. Britain and America, which have contributed so much to the free world's unity and strength, have another opportunity now, together with our allies, to show that the democratic nations are the masters of their destiny.

Thank you.

NOTES

1. Woodrow Wilson, address before the League to Enforce Peace, Washington, D.C., May 27, 1916.

3. U.S. Senate, Committee on Foreign Relations, *Hearings on the North Atlantic Treaty*, 81st Cong., 1st sess. (1949), pt. 1, Appendix, p.337.

4. See R.B. Mowat, *The Diplomatic Relations of Great Britain and the United States* (London, 1925), p.92.

5. Anthony Eden, *Full Circle* (Cambridge, Mass., Houghton Mifflin Co., 1960), p.225.

6. Clement Attlee and Francis Williams, *Twilight of Empire* (New York: A.S. Barnes & Co., 1962), p.108.

7. Henry Kissinger, *Years of Upheaval* (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson/Michael Joseph, 1982), pp.274-286.

8. *Ibid.*, pp.140-143.

9. Dean Acheson, *Sketches from Life* (New York: Harper & Bros., 1961), pp.36-37.

10. Attlee and Williams, above, p.161.

11. U.S. Senate, Committee on Armed Services and Committee on Foreign Relations, *Hearings on the Military Situation in the Far East*, 82nd Cong., 1st sess. (1951), p.2083.

12. Winston Churchill, speech at Llandudno, October 9, 1948, in *New York Times*, October 10, 1948.