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Реферат: Cold War (История)
Ministry of education, science and culture
High College of English
Graduation Paper
on theme:
U.S. - Soviet relations.
Student: Pavlunina I.V.
Supervisor: Kolpakov A. V.
Bishkek 2000
Contents.
Introduction. 3
Chapter 1: The Historical Background of Cold War. 5
1.1 The Historical Context. 5
1.2 Causes and Interpretations. 10
Chapter 2: The Cold War Chronology. 17
2.1 The War Years. 17
2.2 The Truman Doctrine. 25
2.3 The Marshall Plan. 34
Chapter 3: The Role of Cold War in American History and Diplomacy. 37
3.1 Declaration of the Cold War. 37
3.2 Сold War Issues. 40
Conclusion. 49
Glossary. 50
The reference list.
51
Introduction.
This graduation paper is about U.S. - Soviet relations in Cold War
period. Our purpose is to find out the causes of this war, positions of the
countries which took part in it. We also will discuss the main Cold War's
events.
The Cold War was characterized by mutual distrust, suspicion and
misunderstanding by both the United States and Soviet Union, and their
allies. At times, these conditions increased the likelihood of the third
world war. The United States accused the USSR of seeking to expand
Communism throughout the world. The Soviets, meanwhile, charged the United
States with practicing imperialism and with attempting to stop
revolutionary activity in other countries. Each block's vision of the world
contributed to East-West tension. The United States wanted a world of
independent nations based on democratic principles. The Soviet Union,
however, tried control areas it considered vital to its national interest,
including much of Eastern Europe.
Through the Cold War did not begin until the end of World War II, in
1945, U.S.-Soviet relations had been strained since 1917. In that year, a
revolution in Russia established a Communist dictatorship there. During the
1920's and 1930's, the Soviets called for world revolution and the
destruction of capitalism, the economic system of United States. The United
States did not grant diplomatic recognition to the Soviet Union until 1933.
In 1941, during World War II, Germany attacked the Soviet Union. The
Soviet Union then joined the Western Allies in fighting Germany. For a time
early in 1945, it seemed possible that a lasting friendship might develop
between the United States and Soviet Union based on their wartime
cooperation. However, major differences continued to exist between the two,
particularly with regard to Eastern Europe. As a result of these
differences, the United States adopted a "get tough" policy toward the
Soviet Union after the war ended. The Soviets responded by accusing the
United States and the other capitalist allies of the West of seeking to
encircle the Soviet Union so they could eventually overthrow its Communist
form of government.
The subject of Cold War interests American historicans and journalists
as well as Russian ones. In particular, famous journalist Henryh Borovik
fraces this topic in his book. He analyzes the events of Cold War from the
point of view of modern Russian man. With appearing of democracy and
freedom of speech we could free ourselves from past stereotype in
perception of Cold War's events as well as America as a whole, we also
learnt something new about American people's real life and personality. A
new developing stage of relations with the United States has begun with the
collapse of the Soviet Union on independent states. And in order to direct
these relations in the right way it is necessary to study events of Cold
War very carefully and try to avoid past mistakes. Therefore this subject
is so much popular in our days.
This graduation paper consist of three chapters. The first chapter
maintain the historical documents which comment the origins of the Cold
War.
The second chapter maintain information about the most popular Cold
War's events.
The third chapter analyze the role of Cold War in World policy and
diplomacy. The chapter also adduce the Cold War issues.
Chapter 1: The Historical Background of Cold War.
1.1 The Historical Context.
The animosity of postwar Soviet-American relations drew on a deep
reservoir of mutual distrust. Soviet suspicion of the United States went
back to America's hostile reaction to the Bolshevik revolution itself. At
the end of World War I, President Woodrow Wilson had sent more than ten
thousand American soldiers as part of an expeditionary allied force to
overthrow the new Soviet regime by force. When that venture failed, the
United States nevertheless withheld its recognition of the Soviet
government. Back in the United States, meanwhile, the fear of Marxist
radicalism reached an hysterical pitch with the Red Scare of 1919-20.
Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer ordered government agents to arrest
3,000 purported members of the Communist party, and then attempted to
deport them. American attitudes toward the seemed encapsulated in the
comments of one minister who called for the removal of communists in "ships
of stone with sails of lead, with the wrath of God for a breeze and with
hell for their first port."
American attitudes toward the Soviet Union, in turn, reflected profound
concern about Soviet violation of human rights, democratic procedures, and
international rules of civility. With brutal force, Soviet leaders had
imposed from above a revolution of agricultural collectivization and
industrialization. Millions had died as a consequence of forced removal
from their lands. Anyone who protested was killed or sent to one of the
hundreds of prison camps which, in Alexander Solzhenitsyn's words,
stretched across the Soviet Union like a giant archipelago. What kind of
people were these, one relative of a prisoner asked, "who first decreed and
then carried out this mass destruction of their own kind?" Furthermore,
Soviet foreign policy seemed committed to the spread of revolution to other
countries, with international coordination of subversive activities placed
in the hands of the Comintern. It was difficult to imagine two more
different societies.
For a brief period after the United States granted diplomatic
recognition to the Soviet Union in 1933, a new spirit of cooperation
prevailed. But by the end of the 1930s suspicion and alienation had once
again become dominant. From a Soviet perspective, the United States seemed
unwilling to join collectively to oppose the Japanese and German menace. On
two occasions, the United States had refused to act in concert against Nazi
Germany. When Britain and France agreed at Munich to appease Adolph Hitler,
the Soviets gave up on any possibility of allied action against Germany and
talked of a capitalist effort to encircle and destroy the Soviet regime.
Yet from a Western perspective, there seemed little basis for
distinguishing between Soviet tyranny and Nazi totalitarianism. Between
1936 and 1938 Stalin engaged in his own holocaust, sending up to 6 million
Soviet citizens to their deaths in massive purge trials. Stalin "saw
enemies everywhere," his daughter later recalled, and with a vengeance
frightening in its irrationality, sought to destroy them. It was an "orgy
of terror," one historian said. Diplomats saw high officials tapped on the
shoulder in public places, removed from circulation, and then executed.
Foreigners were subject to constant surveillance. It was as if, George
Kennan noted, outsiders were representatives of "the devil, evil and
dangerous, and to be shunned."
On the basis of such experience, many Westerners concluded that Hitler
and Stalin were two of a kind, each reflecting a blood-thirsty obsession
with power no matter what the cost to human decency. "Nations, like
individuals," Kennan said in 1938, "are largely the products of their
environment." As Kennan perceived it, the Soviet personality was neurotic,
conspiratorial, and untrustworthy. Such impressions were only reinforced
when Stalin suddenly announced a nonaggression treaty with Hitler in August
1939, and later that year invaded the small, neutral state of Finland. It
seemed that Stalin and Hitler deserved each other. Hence, the reluctance of
some to change their attitudes toward the Soviet Union when suddenly, in
June 1941, Germany invaded Russia and Stalin became "Uncle Joe."
Compounding the problem of historical distrust was the different way in
which the two nations viewed foreign policy. Ever since John Winthrop had
spoken of Boston in 1630 as "a city upon a hill" that would serve as a
beacon for the world, Americans had tended to see themselves as a chosen
people with a distinctive mission to impart their faith and values to the
rest of humankind. Although all countries attempt to put the best face
possible on their military and diplomatic actions, Americans have seemed
more committed than most to describing their involvement in the world as
pure and altruistic. Hence, even ventures like the Mexican War of 1846 - 48
- clearly provoked by the United States in an effort to secure huge land
masses - were defended publicly as the fulfillment of a divine mission to
extend American democracy to those deprived of it.
Reliance on the rhetoric of moralism was never more present than during
America's involvement in World War I. Despite its official posture of
neutrality, the United States had a vested interest in the victory of
England and France over Germany. America's own military security, her trade
lines with England and France, economic and political control over Latin
America and South America - all would best be preserved if Germany were
defeated. Moreover, American banks and munition makers had invested
millions of dollars in the allied cause. Nevertheless, the issue of
national self-interest rarely if ever surfaced in any presidential
statement during the war. Instead, U.S. rhetoric presented America's
position as totally idealistic in nature. The United States entered the
war, President Wilson declared, not for reasons of economic self-interest,
but to "make the world safe for democracy." Our purpose was not to restore
a balance of power in Europe, but to fight a war that would "end all wars"
and produce "a peace without victory." Rather than seek a sphere of
influence for American power, the United States instead declared that it
sought to establish a new form of internationalism based on self-
determination for all peoples, freedom of the seas, the end of all economic
barriers between nations, and development of a new international order
based on the principles of democracy.
America's historic reluctance to use arguments of self-interest as a
basis for foreign policy undoubtedly reflected a belief that, in a
democracy, people would not support foreign ventures inconsistent with
their own sense of themselves as a noble and just country. But the
consequences were to limit severely the flexibility necessary to a
multifaceted and effective diplomacy, and to force national leaders to
invoke moral - even religious - idealism as a basis for actions that might
well fall short of the expectations generated by moralistic visions.
The Soviet Union, by contrast, operated with few such constraints.
Although Soviet pronouncements on foreign policy tediously invoked the
rhetoric of capitalist imperialism, abstract principles meant far less than
national self-interest in arriving at foreign policy positions. Every
action that the Soviet Union had taken since the Bolshevik revolution, from
the peace treaty with the Kaiser to the 1939 Nazi-Soviet pact and Russian
occupation of the Baltic states reflected this policy of self-interest. As
Stalin told British Foreign Minister Anthony Eden during the war, "a
declaration I regard as algebra ... I prefer practical arithmetic." Or, as
the Japanese ambassador to Moscow later said, "the Soviet authorities are
extremely realistic and it is most difficult to persuade them with abstract
arguments." Clearly, both the United States and the Soviet Union saw
foreign policy as involving a combination of self-interest and ideological
principle. Yet the history of the two countries suggested that principle
was far more a consideration in the formulation of American foreign policy,
while self-interest-purely defined-controlled Soviet actions.
The difference became relevant during the 1930s as Franklin Roosevelt
attempted to find some way to move American public opinion back to a spirit
of internationalism. After World War I, Americans had felt betrayed by the
abandonment of Wilsonian principles. Persuaded that the war itself
represented a mischievous conspiracy by munitions makers and bankers to get
America involved, Americans had preferred to opt for isolation and
"normalcy" rather than participate in the ambiguities of what so clearly
appeared to be a corrupt international order. Now, Roosevelt set out to
reverse those perceptions. He understood the dire consequences of Nazi
ambitions for world hegemony. Yet to pose the issue strictly as one of self-
interest offered little chance of success given the depth of America's
revulsion toward internationalism. The task of education was immense. As
time went on, Roosevelt relied more and more on the traditional moral
rhetoric of American values as a means of justifying the international
involvement that he knew must inevitably lead to war. Thus, throughout the
1930s he repeatedly discussed Nazi aggression as a direct threat to the
most cherished American beliefs in freedom of speech, freedom of religion,
and freedom of occupational choice. When German actions corroborated the
president's simple words, the opportunity presented itself for carrying the
nation toward another great crusade on behalf of democracy, freedom, and
peace. Roosevelt wished to avoid the errors of Wilsonian overstatement, but
he understood the necessity of generating moral fervor as a means of moving
the nation toward the intervention he knew to be necessary if both
America's self-interest-and her moral principles-were to be preserved.
The Atlantic Charter represented the embodiment of Roosevelt's quest
for moral justification of American involvement. Presented to the world
after the president and Prime Minister Churchill met off the coast of
Newfoundland in the summer of 1941, the Charter set forth the common goals
that would guide America over the next few years. There would be no secret
commitments, the President said. Britain and America sought no territorial
aggrandizement. They would oppose any violation of the right to self-
government for all peoples. They stood for open trade, free exchange of
ideas, freedom of worship and expression, and the creation of an
international organization to preserve and protect future peace. This would
be a war fought for freedom—freedom from fear, freedom from want, freedom
of religion, freedom from the old politics of balance-of-power diplomacy.
Roosevelt deeply believed in those ideals and saw no inconsistency
between the moral principles they represented and American self-interest.
Yet these very commitments threatened to generate misunderstanding and
conflict with the Soviet Union whose own priorities were much more directly
expressed in terms of "practical arithmetic." Russia wanted security. The
Soviet Union sought a sphere of influence over which it could have
unrestricted control. It wished territorial boundaries that would reflect
the concessions won through military conflict. All these objectives-
potentially-ran counter to the Atlantic Charter. Roosevelt himself-never
afraid of inconsistency-often talked the same language. Frequently, he
spoke of guaranteeing the USSR "measures of legitimate security" on
territorial questions, and he envisioned a postwar world in which the "four
policemen"-the superpowers-would manage the world.
But Roosevelt also understood that the American public would not accept
the public embrace of such positions. A rationale of narrow self-interest
was not acceptable, especially if that self-interest led to abandoning the
ideals of the Atlantic Charter. In short, the different ways in which the
Soviet Union and the United States articulated their objectives for the
war—and formulated their foreign policy—threatened to compromise the
prospect for long-term cooperation. The language of universalism and the
language of balance-of-power politics were incompatible, at least in
theory. Thus, the United States and the Soviet Union entered the war
burdened not only by their deep mistrust of each other's motivations and
systems of government, but also by a significantly different emphasis on
what should constitute the major rationale for fighting the war.
1.2 Causes and Interpretations.
Any historian who studies the Cold War must come to grips with a
series of questions, which, even if unanswerable in a definitive fashion,
nevertheless compel examination. Was the Cold War inevitable? If not, how
could it have been avoided? What role did personalities play? Were there
points at which different courses of action might have been followed? What
economic factors were central? What ideological causes? Which historical
forces? At what juncture did alternative possibilities become invalid? When
was the die cast? Above all, what were the primary reasons for defining the
world in such a polarized and ideological framework?
The simplest and easiest response is to conclude that Soviet-American
confrontation was so deeply rooted in differences of values, economic
systems, or historical experiences that only extraordinary action— by
individuals or groups—could have prevented the conflict. One version of
the inevitability hypothesis would argue that the Soviet Union, given its
commitment to the ideology of communism, was dedicated to worldwide
revolution and would use any and every means possible to promote the
demise of the West. According to this view—based in large part on the
rhetoric of Stalin and Lenin—world revolution constituted the sole
priority of Soviet policy. Even the appearance of accommodation was a
Soviet design to soften up capitalist states for eventual confrontation.
As defined, admittedly in oversimplified fashion, by George Kennan in his
famous 1947 article on containment, Russian diplomacy "moves along the
prescribed path, like a persistent toy automobile, wound up and headed in
a given direction, stopping only when it meets some unanswerable force."
Soviet subservience to a universal, religious creed ruled out even the
possibility of mutual concessions, since even temporary accommodation
would be used by the Russians as part of their grand scheme to secure
world domination.
A second version of the same hypothesis—argued by some American
revisionist historians—contends that the endless demands of capitalism for
new markets propelled the United States into a course of intervention and
imperialism. According to this argument, a capitalist society can survive
only by opening new areas for exploitation. Without the development of
multinational corporations, strong ties with German capitalists, and free
trade across national boundaries, America would revert to the depression
of the prewar years. Hence, an aggressive internationalism became the only
means through which the ruling class of the United States could retain
hegemony. In support of this argument, historians point to the number of
American policymakers who explicitly articulated an economic motivation
for U.S. foreign policy. "We cannot expect domestic prosperity under our
system," Assistant Secretary of State Dean Acheson said, "without a
constantly expanding trade with other nations." Echoing the same theme,
the State Department's William Clayton declared: "We need markets—big
markets—around the world in which to buy and sell. . . . We've got to
export three times as much as we exported just before the war if we want
to keep our industry running somewhere near capacity." According to this
argument, economic necessity motivated the Truman Doctrine, the Marshall
Plan, and the vigorous efforts of U.S. policymakers to open up Eastern
Europe for trade and investment. Within such a frame of reference, it was
the capitalist economic system—not Soviet commitment to world
revolution—that made the Cold War unavoidable.
Still a third version of the inevitability hypothesis—partly based on
the first two—would insist that historical differences between the two
superpowers and their systems of government made any efforts toward postwar
cooperation almost impossible. Russia had always been deeply suspicious of
the West, and under Stalin that suspicion had escalated into paranoia, with
Soviet leaders fearing that any opening of channels would ultimately
destroy their own ability to retain total mastery over the Russian people.
The West's failure to implement early promises of a second front and the
subsequent divisions of opinion over how to treat occupied territory had
profoundly strained any possible basis of trust. From an American
perspective, in turn, it stretched credibility to expect a nation committed
to human rights to place confidence in a ruthless dictator, who in one
Yugoslav's words, had single-handedly been responsible for more Soviet
deaths than all the armies of Nazi Germany. Through the purges,
collectivization, and mass imprisonment of Russian citizens, Stalin had
presided over the killing of 20 million of his own people. How then could
he be trusted to respect the rights of others? According to this argument,
only the presence of a common enemy had made possible even short-term
solidarity between Russia and the United States; in the absence of a German
foe, natural antagonisms were bound to surface. America had one system of
politics, Russia another, and as Truman declared in 1948, "a totalitarian
state is no different whether you call it Nazi, fascist, communist, or
Franco Spain."
Yet, in retrospect, these arguments for inevitability tell only part of
the story. Notwithstanding the Soviet Union's rhetorical commitment to an
ideology of world revolution, there is abundant evidence of Russia's
willingness to forego ideological purity in the cause of national interest.
Stalin, after all, had turned away from world revolution in committing
himself to building "socialism in one country." Repeatedly, he indicated
his readiness to betray the communist movement in China and to accept the
leadership of Chiang Kai-shek. George Kennan recalled the Soviet leader
"snorting rather contemptuously . . . because one of our people asked them
what they were going to give to China when [the war] was over." "We have a
hundred cities of our own to build in the Soviet Far East," Stalin had
responded. "If anybody is going to give anything to the Far East, I think
it's you." Similarly, Stalin refused to give any support to communists in
Greece during their rebellion against British domination there. As late as
1948 he told the vice-premier of Yugoslavia, "What do you think, . . . that
Great Britain and the United States . . . will permit you to break their
lines of communication in the Mediterranean? Nonsense . . . the uprising in
Greece must be stopped, and as quickly as possible."
Nor are the other arguments for inevitability totally persuasive.
Without question, America's desire for commercial markets played a role in
the strategy of the Cold War. As Truman said in 1949, devotion to freedom
of enterprise "is part and parcel of what we call America." Yet was the
need for markets sufficient to force a confrontation that ultimately would
divert precious resources from other, more productive use? Throughout most
of its history, Wall Street has opposed a bellicose position in foreign
policy. Similarly, although historical differences are important, it makes
no sense to regard them as determinative. After all, the war led to
extraordinary examples of cooperation that bridged these differences; if
they could be overcome once, then why not again? Thus, while each of the
arguments for inevitability reflects truths that contributed to the Cold
War, none offers an explanation sufficient of itself, for contending that
the Cold War was unavoidable.
A stronger case, it seems, can be made for the position that the Cold
War was unnecessary, or at least that conflicts could have been handled in
a manner that avoided bipolarization and the rhetoric of an ideological
crusade. At no time did Russia constitute a military threat to the United
States. "Economically," U.S. Naval Intelligence reported in 1946, "the
Soviet Union is exhausted.... The USSR is not expected to take any action
in the next five years which might develop into hostility with Anglo
Americans." Notwithstanding the Truman administration's public statements
about a Soviet threat, Russia had cut its army from 11.5 to 3 million men
after the war. In 1948, its military budget amounted to only half of that
of the United States. Even militant anticommunists like John Foster Dulles
acknowledged that "the Soviet leadership does not want and would not
consciously risk" a military confrontation with the West. Indeed, so
exaggerated was American rhetoric about Russia's threat that Hanson
Baldwin, military expert of the New York Times, compared the claims of our
armed forces to the "shepherd who cried wolf, wolf, wolf, when there was no
wolf." Thus, on purely factual grounds, there existed no military basis for
the fear that the Soviet Union was about to seize world domination, despite
the often belligerent pose Russia took on political issues.
A second, somewhat more problematic, argument for the thesis of
avoidability consists of the extent to which Russian leaders appeared ready
to abide by at least some agreements made during the war. Key, here, is the
understanding reached by Stalin and Churchill during the fall of 1944 on
the division of Europe into spheres of influence. According to that
understanding, Russia was to dominate Romania, have a powerful voice over
Bulgaria, and share influence in other Eastern European countries, while
Britain and America were to control Greece. By most accounts, that
understanding was implemented. Russia refused to intervene on behalf of
communist insurgency in Greece. While retaining rigid control over Romania,
she provided at least a "fig-leaf of democratic procedure"—sufficient to
satisfy the British. For two years the USSR permitted the election of
noncommunist or coalition regimes in both Hungary and Czechoslovakia. The
Finns, meanwhile, were permitted to choose a noncommunist government and to
practice Western-style democracy as long as their country maintained a
friendly foreign policy toward their neighbor on the east. Indeed, to this
day, Finland remains an example of what might have evolved had earlier
wartime understandings on both sides been allowed to continue.
What then went wrong? First, it seems clear that both sides perceived
the other as breaking agreements that they thought had been made. By
signing a separate peace settlement with the Lublin Poles, imprisoning the
sixteen members of the Polish underground, and imposing—without regard for
democratic appearances—total hegemony on Poland, the Soviets had broken the
spirit, if not the letter, of the Yalta accords. Similarly, they blatantly
violated the agreement made by both powers to withdraw from Iran once the
war was over, thus precipitating the first direct threat of military
confrontation during the Cold War. In their attitude toward Eastern Europe,
reparations, and peaceful cooperation with the West, the Soviets exhibited
increasing rigidity and suspicion after April 1945. On the other hand,
Stalin had good reason to accuse the United States of reneging on compacts
made during the war. After at least tacitly accepting Russia's right to a
sphere of influence in Eastern Europe, the West seemed suddenly to change
positions and insist on Western-style democracies and economies. As the
historian Robert Daliek has shown, Roosevelt and Churchill gave every
indication at Tehran and Yalta that they acknowledged the Soviet's need to
have friendly governments in Eastern Europe. Roosevelt seemed to care
primarily about securing token or cosmetic concessions toward democratic
processes while accepting the substance of Russian domination. Instead,
misunderstanding developed over the meaning of the Yalta accords, Truman
confronted Molotov with demands that the Soviets saw as inconsistent with
prior understandings, and mutual suspicion rather than cooperation assumed
dominance in relations between the two superpowers.
It is this area of misperception and misunderstanding that historians
have focused on recently as most critical to the emergence of the Cold War.
Presumably, neither side had a master plan of how to proceed once the war
ended. Stalin's ambitions, according to recent scholarship, were ill-
defined, or at least amenable to modification depending on America's
posture. The United States, in turn, gave mixed signals, with Roosevelt
implying to every group his agreement with their point of view, yet
ultimately keeping his personal intentions secret. If, in fact, both sides
could have agreed to a sphere-of-influence policy—albeit with some
modifications to satisfy American political opinion—there could perhaps
have been a foundation for continued accommodation. Clearly, the United
States intended to retain control over its sphere of influence,
particularly in Greece, Italy, and Turkey. Moreover, the United States
insisted on retaining total domination over the Western hemisphere,
consistent with the philosophy of the Monroe Doctrine. If the Soviets had
been allowed similar control over their sphere of influence in Eastern
Europe, there might have existed a basis for compromise. As John McCloy
asked at the time, "[why was it necessary] to have our cake and eat it too?
. . . To be free to operate under this regional arrangement in South
America and at the same time intervene promptly in Europe." If the United
States and Russia had both acknowledged the spheres of influence implicit
in their wartime agreements, perhaps a different pattern of relationships
might have emerged in the postwar world.
The fact that such a pattern did not emerge raises two issues, at least
from an American perspective. The first is whether different leaders or
advisors might have achieved different foreign policy results. Some
historians believe that Roosevelt, with his subtlety and skill, would have
found a way to promote collaboration with the Russians, whereas Truman,
with his short temper, inexperience, and insecurity, blundered into
unnecessary and harmful confrontations. Clearly, Roosevelt himself—just
before his death—was becoming more and more concerned about Soviet
intransigence and aggression. Nevertheless, he had always believed that
through personal pressure and influence, he could find a way to persaude
"uncle Joe." On the basis of what evidence we have, there seems good reason
to believe that the Russians did place enormous trust in FDR. Perhaps—just
perhaps—Roosevelt could have found a way to talk "practical arithmetic"
with Stalin rather than algebra and discover a common ground. Certainly, if
recent historians are correct in seeing the Cold War as caused by both
Stalin's undefined ambitions and America's failure to communicate
effectively and consistently its view on where it would draw the line with
the Russians, then Roosevelt's long history of interaction with the Soviets
would presumably have placed him in a better position to negotiate than the
inexperienced Truman.
The second issue is more complicated, speaking to a political problem
which beset both Roosevelt and Truman—namely, the ability of an American
president to formulate and win support for a foreign policy on the basis of
national self-interest rather than moral purity. At some point in the past,
an American diplomat wrote in 1967:
[T]here crept into the ideas of Americans about foreign policy ... a
histrionic note, ... a desire to appear as something greater perhaps than
one actually was. ... It was inconceivable that any war in which we were
involved could be less than momentous and decisive for the future of
humanity. ... As each war ended, ... we took appeal to universalistic,
Utopian ideals, related not to the specifics of national interest but to
legalistic and moralistic concepts that seemed better to accord with the
pretentious significance we had attached to our war effort.
As a consequence, the diplomat went on, it became difficult to pursue a
policy not defined by the language of "angels or devils," "heroes" or
"blackguards."
Clearly, Roosevelt faced such a dilemma in proceeding to mobilize
American support for intervention in the war against Nazism. And Truman
encountered the same difficulty in seeking to define a policy with which to
meet Soviet postwar objectives. Both presidents, of course, participated in
and reflected the political culture that constrained their options.
Potentially at least, Roosevelt seemed intent on fudging the difference
between self-interest and moralism. He perceived one set of objectives as
consistent with reaching an accommodation with the Soviets, and another set
of goals as consistent with retaining popular support for his diplomacy at
home. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that he planned—in a very
Machiavellian way—to use rhetoric and appearances as a means of disguising
his true intention: to pursue a strategy of self-interest. It seems less
clear that Truman had either the subtlety or the wish to follow a similarly
Machiavellian course. But if he had, the way might have been opened to
quite a different—albeit politically risky— series of policies.
None of this, of course, would have guaranteed the absence of conflict
in Eastern Europe, Iran, or Turkey. Nor could any action of an American
president—however much rooted in self-interest—have obviated the personal
and political threat posed by Stalinist tyranny and ruthlessness,
particularly if Stalin himself had chosen, for whatever reason, to act out
his most aggressive and paranoid instincts. But if a sphere-of-influence
agreement had been possible, there is some reason to think—in light of
initial Soviet acceptance of Western-style governments in Hungary,
Czechoslovakia, and Finland—that the iron curtain might not have descended
in the way that it did. In all historical sequences, one action builds on
another. Thus, steps toward cooperation rather than confrontation might
have created a momentum, a frame of reference and a basis of mutual trust,
that could have made unnecessary the total ideological bipolarization that
evolved by 1948. In short, if the primary goals of each superpower had been
acknowledged and implemented—security for the Russians, some measure of
pluralism in Eastern European countries for the United States, and economic
interchange between the two blocs—it seems conceivable that the world might
have avoided the stupidity, the fear, and the hysteria of the Cold War.
As it was, of course, very little of the above scenario did take place.
After the confrontation in Iran, the Soviet declaration of a five-year
plan, Churchill's Fulton, Missouri, speech, and the breakdown of
negotiations on an American loan, confrontation between the two superpowers
seemed irrevocable. It is difficult to imagine that the momentum building
toward the Cold War could have been reversed after the winter and spring of
1946. Thereafter, events assumed an almost inexorable momentum, with both
sides using moralistic rhetoric and ideological denunciation to pillory the
other. In the United States it became incumbent on the president—in order
to secure domestic political support—to defend the Truman Doctrine and the
Marshall Plan in universalistic, moral terms. Thus, we became engaged, not
in an effort to assure jobs and security, but in a holy war against evil.
Stalin, in turn, gave full vent to his crusade to eliminate any vestige of
free thought or national independence in Eastern Europe. Reinhold Niebuhr
might have been speaking for both sides when he said in 1948, "we cannot
afford any more compromises. We will have to stand at every point in our
far flung lines."
The tragedy, of course, was that such a policy offered no room for
intelligence or flexibility. If the battle in the world was between good
and evil, believers and nonbelievers, anyone who questioned the wisdom of
established policy risked dismissal as a traitor or worse. In the Soviet
Union the Gulag Archipelago of concentration camps and executions was the
price of failing to conform to the party line. But the United States paid a
price as well. An ideological frame of reference had emerged through which
all other information was filtered. The mentality of the Cold War shaped
everything, defining issues according to moralistic assumptions, regardless
of objective reality. It had been George Kennan's telegram in February 1946
that helped to provide the intellectual basis for this frame of reference
by portraying the Soviet Union as "a political force committed fanatically"
to confrontation with the United States and domination of the world. It was
also George Kennan twenty years later who so searchingly criticized those
who insisted on seeing foreign policy as a battle of angels and devils,
heroes and blackguards. And ironically, it was Kennan yet again who
declared in the 1970s that "the image of a Stalinist Russia, poised and
yearning to attack the west, . . . was largely a product of the western
imagination."
But for more than a generation, that image would shape American life
and world politics. The price was astronomical—and perhaps— avoidable.
Chapter 2: The Cold War Chronology.
2.1 The War Years.
Whatever tensions existed before the war, conflicts over military and
diplomatic issues during the war proved sufficiently grave to cause
additional mistrust. Two countries that in the past had shared almost no
common ground now found themselves intimately tied to each other, with
little foundation of mutual confidence on which to build. The problems that
resulted clustered in two areas: (1) how much aid the West would provide to
alleviate the disproportionate burden borne by the Soviet Union in fighting
the war; and (2) how to resolve the dilemmas of making peace, occupying
conquered territory, and defining postwar responsibilities. Inevitably,
each issue became inextricably bound to the others, posing problems of
statecraft and good faith that perhaps went beyond the capacity of any
mortal to solve.
The central issue dividing the allies involved how much support the
United States and Britain would offer to mitigate, then relieve, the
devastation being sustained by the Soviet people. Stated bluntly, the
Soviet Union bore the massive share of Nazi aggression. The statistics
alone are overwhelming. Soviet deaths totaled more than 18 million during
the war—sixty times the three hundred thousand lives lost by the United
States. Seventy thousand Soviet villages were destroyed, $128 billion
dollars worth of property leveled to the ground. Leningrad, the crown jewel
of Russia's cities, symbolized the suffering experienced at the hands of
the Nazis. Filled with art and beautiful architecture, the former capital
of Russia came under siege by German armies almost immediately after the
invasion of the Soviet Union. When the attack began, the city boasted a
population of 3 million citizens. At the end, only 600,000 remained. There
was no food, no fuel, no hope. More than a million starved, and some
survived by resorting to cannibalism. Yet the city endured, the Nazis were
repelled, and the victory that came with survival helped launch the
campaign that would ultimately crush Hitler's tyranny.
Such suffering provided the backdrop for a bitter controversy over
whether the United States and Britain were doing enough to assume their own
just share of the fight. Roosevelt understood that Russia's battle was
America's. "The Russian armies are killing more Axis personnel and
destroying more Axis materiel," he wrote General Douglas MacArthur in 1942,
"than all the other twenty-five United Nations put together." As soon as
the Germans invaded Russia, the president ordered that lend-lease material
be made immediately available to the Soviet Union, instructing his personal
aide to get $22 million worth of supplies on their way by July 25—one month
after the German invasion. Roosevelt knew that, unless the Soviets were
helped quickly, they would be forced out of the war, leaving the United
States in an untenable position. "If [only] the Russians could hold the
Germans until October 1," the president said. At a Cabinet meeting early in
August, Roosevelt declared himself "sick and tired of hearing . . . what
was on order"; he wanted to hear only "what was on the water." Roosevelt's
commitment to lend-lease reflected his deep conviction that aid to the
Soviets was both the most effective way of combating German aggression and
the strongest means of building a basis of trust with Stalin in order to
facilitate postwar cooperation. "I do not want to be in the same position
as the English," Roosevelt told his Secretary of the Treasury in 1942. "The
English promised the Russians two divisions. They failed. They promised
them to help in the Caucasus. They failed. Every promise the English have
made to the Russians, they have fallen down on. . . . The only reason we
stand so well ... is that up to date we have kept our promises." Over and
over again Roosevelt intervened directly and personally to expedite the
shipment of supplies. "Please get out the list and please, with my full
authority, use a heavy hand," he told one assistant. "Act as a burr under
the saddle and get things moving!"
But even Roosevelt's personal involvement could not end the problems
that kept developing around the lend-lease program. Inevitably,
bureaucratic tangles delayed shipment of necessary supplies. Furthermore,
German submarine assaults sank thousands of tons of weaponry. In just one
month in 1942, twenty-three of thirty-seven merchant vessels on their way
to the Soviet Union were destroyed, forcing a cancellation of shipments to
Murmansk. Indeed, until late summer of 1942, the Allies lost more ships in
submarine attacks than they were able to build.
Above all, old suspicions continued to creep into the ongoing process
of negotiating and distributing lend-lease supplies. Americans who had
learned during the purges to regard Stalin as "a sort of unwashed Genghis
Khan with blood dripping from his fingertips" could not believe that he had
changed his colors overnight and was now to be viewed as a gentle friend.
Many Americans believed that they were saving the Soviet Union with their
supplies, without recognizing the extent of Soviet suffering or
appreciating the fact that the Russians were helping to save American lives
by their sacrifice on the battlefield. Soviet officials, in turn, believed
that their American counterparts overseeing the shipments were not
necessarily doing all that they might to implement the promises made by the
president. Americans expected gratitude. Russians expected supplies. Both
expectations were justified, yet the conflict reflected the extent to which
underlying distrust continued to poison the prospect of cooperation.
"Frankly," FDR told one subordinate, "if I was a Russian, I would feel that
I had been given the runaround in the United States." Yet with equal
justification, Americans resented Soviet ingratitude. "The Russian
authorities seem to want to cover up the fact that they are receiving
outside help," American Ambassador Standley told a Moscow press conference
in March 1943. "Apparently they want their people to believe that the Red
Army is fighting this war alone." Clearly, the battle against Nazi Germany
was not the only conflict taking place.
Yet the disputes over lend-lease proved minor compared to the issue of
a second front—what one historian has called "the acid test of Anglo-
American intentions." However much help the United States could provide in
the way of war materiel, the decisive form of relief that Stalin sought was
the actual involvement of American and British soldiers in Western Europe.
Only such an invasion could significantly relieve the pressure of massive
German divisions on the eastern front. During the years 1941-44, fewer than
10 percent of Germany's troops were in the west, while nearly three hundred
divisions were committed to conquering Russia. If the Soviet Union was to
survive, and the Allies to secure victory, it was imperative that American
and British troops force a diversion of German troops to the west and help
make possible the pincer movement from east and west that would eventually
annihilate the fascist foe.
Roosevelt understood this all too well. Indeed, he appears to have
wished nothing more than the most rapid possible development of the second
front. In part, he saw such action as the only means to deflect a Soviet
push for acceptance of Russia's pre-World War II territorial acquisitions,
particularly in the Baltic states and Finland. Such acquisitions would not
only be contrary to the Atlantic Charter and America's commitment to self-
determination; they would also undermine the prospect of securing political
support in America for international postwar cooperation. Hence, Roosevelt
hoped to postpone, until victory was achieved, any final decisions on
issues of territory. Shrewdly, the president understood that meeting Soviet
demands for direct military assistance through a second front would offer
the most effective answer to Russia's territorial aspirations.
Roosevelt had read the Soviet attitude correctly. In 1942, Soviet
foreign minister Molotov readily agreed to withdraw his territorial demands
in deference to U.S. concerns because the second front was so much more
decisive an issue. When Molotov asked whether the Allies could undertake a
second front operation that would draw off forty German divisions from the
eastern front, the president replied that it could and that it would.
Roosevelt cabled Churchill that he was "more anxious than ever" for a cross-
channel attack in August 1942 so that Molotov would be able to "carry back
some real results of his mission and give a favorable report to Stalin." At
the end of their 1942 meeting, Roosevelt pledged to Molotov-and through him
to Stalin-that a second front would be established that year. The president
then proceeded to mobilize his own military advisors to develop plans for
such an attack.
But Roosevelt could not deliver. Massive logistical and production
problems obstructed any possibility of invading Western Europe on the
timetable Roosevelt had promised. As a result, despite Roosevelt's own best
intentions and the commitment of his military staff, he could not implement
his desire to proceed. In addition, Roosevelt repeatedly encountered
objections from Churchill and the British military establishment, still
traumatized by the memory of the bloodletting that had occurred in the
trench fighting of World War I. For Churchill, engagement of the Nazis in
North Africa and then through the "soft underbelly" of Europe-Sicily and
Italy-offered a better prospect for success. Hence, after promising Stalin
a second front in August 1942, Roosevelt had to withdraw the pledge and ask
for delay of the second front until the spring of 1943. When that date
arrived, he was forced to pull back yet again for political and logistical
reasons. By the time D-Day finally dawned on June 6, 1944, the Western
Allies had broken their promise on the single most critical military issue
of the war three times. On each occasion, there had been ample reason for
the delay, but given the continued heavy burden placed on the Soviet Union,
it was perhaps understandable that some Russian leaders viewed America's
delay on the second front question with suspicion, sarcasm, and anger. When
D-Day arrived, Stalin acknowledged the operation to be one of the greatest
military ventures of human history. Still, the squabbles that preceded D-
Day contributed substantially to the suspicions and tension that already
existed between the two nations.
Another broad area of conflict emerged over who would control occupied
areas once the war ended? How would peace be negotiated? The principles of
the Atlantic Charter presumed establishment of democratic, freely elected,
and representative governments in every area won back from the Nazis. If
universalism were to prevail, each country liberated from Germany would
have the opportunity to determine its own political structure through
democratic means that would ensure representation of all factions of the
body politic. If "sphere of influence" policies were implemented, by
contrast, the major powers would dictate such decisions in a manner
consistent with their own self-interest. Ultimately, this issue would
become the decisive point of confrontation during the Cold War, reflecting
the different state systems and political values of the Soviets and
Americans; but even in the midst of the fighting, the Allies found
themselves in major disagreement, sowing seeds of distrust that boded ill
for the future. Since no plans were established in advance on how to deal
with these issues, they were handled on a case by case basis, in each
instance reinforcing the suspicions already present between the Soviet
Union and the West.
Notwithstanding the Atlantic Charter, Britain and the United States
proceeded on a de facto basis to implement policies at variance with
universalism. Thus, for example, General Dwight Eisenhower was authorized
to reach an accommodation with Admiral Darlan in North Africa as a means of
avoiding an extended military campaign to defeat the Vichy, pro-fascist
collaborators who controlled that area. From the perspective of military
necessity and the preservation of life, it made sense to compromise one's
ideals in such a situation. Yet the precedent inevitably raised problems
with regard to allied efforts to secure self-determination elsewhere.
The issue arose again during the Allied invasion of Italy. There, too,
concern with expediting military victory and securing political stability
caused Britain and the United States to negotiate with the fascist Badoglio
regime. "We cannot be put into a position," Churchill said, "where our two
armies are doing all the fighting but Russians have a veto." Yet Stalin
bitterly resented being excluded from participation in the Italian
negotiations. The Soviet Union protested vigorously the failure to
establish a tripartite commission to conduct all occupation negotiations.
It was time, Stalin said, to stop viewing Russia as "a passive third
observer. ... It is impossible to tolerate such a situation any longer." In
the end, Britain and the United States offered the token concession of
giving the Soviets an innocuous role on the advisory commission dealing
with Italy, but the primary result of the Italian experience was to
reemphasize a crucial political reality: when push came to shove, those who
exercised military control in an immediate situation would also exercise
political control over any occupation regime.
The shoe was on the other foot when it came to Western desires to have
a voice over Soviet actions in the Balkan states, particularly Romania. By
not giving Russia an opportunity to participate in the Italian surrender,
the West-in effect-helped legitimize Russia's desire to proceed
unilaterally in Eastern Europe. Although both Churchill and Roosevelt were
"acutely conscious of the great importance of the Balkan situation" and
wished to "take advantage of" any opportunity to exercise influence in that
area, the simple fact was that Soviet troops were in control. Churchill-and
privately Roosevelt as well-accepted the consequences. "The occupying
forces had the power in the area where their arms were present," Roosevelt
noted, "and each knew that the other could not force things to an issue."
But the contradiction between the stated idealistic aims of the war effort
and such realpolitik would come back to haunt the prospect for postwar
collaboration, particularly in the areas of Poland and other east European
countries.
Moments of conflict, of course, took place within the context of day-to-
day cooperation in meeting immediate wartime needs. Sometimes, such
cooperation seemed deep and genuine enough to provide a basis for
overcoming suspicion and conflict of interest. At the Moscow foreign
ministers conference in the fall of 1943, the Soviets proved responsive to
U.S. concerns. Reassured that there would indeed be a second front in
Europe in 1944, the Russians strongly endorsed a postwar international
organization to preserve the peace. More important, they indicated they
would join the war against Japan as soon as Germany was defeated, and
appeared willing to accept the Chiang Kaishek government in China as a
major participant in world politics. In some ways, these were a series of
quid pro quos. In exchange for the second front, Russia had made
concessions on issues of critical importance to Britain and the United
States. Nevertheless, the results were encouraging. FDR reported that the
conference had created "a psychology of ... excellent feeling." Instead of
being "cluttered with suspicion," the discussions had occurred in an
atmosphere that "was amazingly good."
The same spirit continued at the first meeting of Stalin, Churchill,
and Roosevelt in Tehran during November and early December 1943. Committed
to winning Stalin as a friend, FDR stayed at the Soviet Embassy, met
privately with Stalin, aligned himself with the Soviet leader against
Churchill on a number of issues, and even went so far as to taunt Churchill
"about his Britishness, about John Bull," in an effort to forge an informal
"anti-imperial" alliance between the United States and the Soviet Union. A
spirit of cooperation prevailed, with the wartime leaders agreeing that the
Big Four would have the power to police any postwar settlements (clearly
consistent with Stalin's commitment to a "sphere of influence" approach),
reaffirming plans for a joint military effort against Japan, and even—after
much difficulty—appearing to find a common approach to the difficulties of
Poland and Eastern Europe. When it was all over, FDR told the American
people: "I got along fine with Marshall Stalin ... I believe he is truly
representative of the heart and soul of Russia; and I believe that we are
going to get along very well with him and the Russian people—very well
indeed." When pressed on what kind of a person the Soviet leader was,
Roosevelt responded:
"I would call him something like me, ... a realist."
The final conference of Stalin, Churchill, and Roosevelt at Yalta in
February 1945 appeared at the time to carry forward the partnership,
although in retrospect it would become clear that the facade of unity was
built on a foundation of misperceptions rooted in the different values,
priorities, and political ground rules of the two societies. Stalin seemed
to recognize Roosevelt's need to present postwar plans—for domestic
political reasons—as consistent with democratic, universalistic principles.
Roosevelt, in turn, appreciated Stalin's need for friendly governments on
his borders. The three leaders agreed on concrete plans for Soviet
participation in the Japanese war, and Stalin reiterated his support for a
coalition government in China with Chiang Kaishek assuming a position of
leadership. Although some of Roosevelt's aides were skeptical of the
agreements made, most came back confident that they had succeeded in laying
a basis for continued partnership. As Harry Hopkins later recalled, "we
really believed in our hearts that this was the dawn of the new day we had
all been praying for. The Russians have proved that they can be reasonable
and far-seeing and there wasn't any doubt in the minds of the president or
any of us that we could live with them and get along with them peacefully
for as far into the future as any of us could imagine."
In fact, two disquietingly different perceptions of the Soviet Union
existed as the war drew to an end. Some Washington officials believed that
the mystery of Russia was no mystery at all, simply a reflection of a
national history in which suspicion of outsiders was natural, given
repeated invasions from Western Europe and rampant hostility toward
communism on the part of Western powers. Former Ambassador to Moscow Joseph
Davies believed that the way to cut through that suspicion was to adopt
"the simple approach of assuming that what they say, they mean." On the
basis of his personal negotiations with the Russians, presidential aide
Harry Hopkins shared the same confidence.
The majority of well-informed Americans, however, endorsed the opposite
position. It was folly, one newspaper correspondent wrote, "to prettify
Stalin, whose internal homicide record is even longer than Hitler's."
Hitler and Stalin were two of the same breed, former Ambassador to Russia
William Bullitt insisted. Each wanted to spread his power "to the ends of
the earth. Stalin, like Hitler, will not stop. He can only be stopped."
According to Bullitt, any alternative view implied "a conversion of Stalin
as striking as the conversion of Saul on the road to Damascus." Senator
Robert Taft agreed. It made no sense, he insisted, to base U.S. policy
toward the Soviet Union "on the delightful theory that Mr. Stalin in the
end will turn out to have an angelic nature." Drawing on the historical
precedents of the purge trials and traditional American hostility to
communism, totalitarianism, and Stalin, those who held this point of view
saw little hope of compromise. "There is as little difference between
communism and fascism," Monsignor Fulton J. Sheen said, "as there is
between burglary and larceny." The only appropriate response was force.
Instead of "leaning over backward to be nice to the descendents of Genghis
Khan," General George Patton suggested, "[we] should dictate to them and do
it now and in no uncertain terms." Within such a frame of reference, the
lessons of history and of ideological incompatibility seemed to permit no
possibility of compromise.
But Roosevelt clearly felt that there was a third way, a path of mutual
accommodation that would sustain and nourish the prospects of postwar
partnership without ignoring the realities of geopolitics. The choice in
his mind was clear. "We shall have to take the responsibility for world
collaboration," he told Congress, "or we shall have to bear the
responsibility for another world conflict." President Roosevel | |
