Arms Control Without Negotiation: From the Cold War to the New World Order 9780585127750

Citation preview

Arms Control Without Negotiation

Arms Control Without Negotiation From the Cold War to the New World Order edited by

Bennett Rambert

b o u l d e r l o n d o n

Published in the United States of America in 1993 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80301

and in the United Kingdom by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 8LU

© 1993 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Arms control without negotiation : from the Cold War to the new world order / edited by Bennett Ramberg. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1-55587-376-6 (alk. paper) 1. Disarmament. I. Ramberg, Bennett. JX1974.A76929 1993 327.1'74—dc20 93-9339 CIP British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library.

Printed and bound in the United States of America

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1984.

To Betty For being my heroine

Contents

1

Contents

Acknowledgments List of Acronyms

Arms Control Without Negotiation: A Conceptual Overview Bennett Ramberg

Part 1 UNILATERAL ARMS CONTROL TO INDUCE RECIPROCATION 2 The Psychology of Arms Control and Reciprocation Daniel Druckman 3 Unilateralism in Soviet and Russian Arms Control Rose Gottemoeller 4 Arms Control Moratoria: Case Studies in Three Areas Warren Heckrotte & Arthur Steiner

Part 2 DEFENSE PRACTICE AS UNILATERAL ARMS CONTROL 5 Nuclear Strategy, Force Procurement, and Deployment as Arms Control Colin Gray 6 Technology Deployment and Denial: A Unilateral Approach to Arms Control? Joseph Pilat 7 Unilateral Self-Restraint on Nuclear Proliferation: Canada, Sweden, Switzerland, and Germany George H. Quester 8 The Politics of Unilateral Nuclear-Free Zones: The Case of the South Pacific T. V. Paul vii

ix xi 1 19

21 43

71

95

97 113 141 159

viii 9

Contents

Reducing the Negative Consequences of Arms Transfers Through Unilateral Arms Control Edward J. Laurance

Part 3 THE DOMESTIC POLITICS OF UNILATERAL ARMS CONTROL 10

11 12

The Politics of Unilateral Arms Control Between the Two World Wars Bradford A. Lee The Western Antinuclear Movement During the 1980s: Roots, Motivations, Goals Richard A. Bitzinger Congressional Politics to Induce Reciprocation Through Procurement Restraint Lloyd Jensen

Part 4 CONCLUSION 13 Unilateral Arms Control in the New World Order Bennett Ramberg The Contributors Index About the Book

175 199 201 229 247 265

267 273 277 281

Acknowledgments

Acknowledgments

Several years ago Michael Intriligator, then director of the UCLA Center for International and Strategic Affairs, approached me to direct a project on the role of unilateral arms control in international politics as part of the center’s work on new approaches to arms control. The subject was new to me, but all the more intriguing after I discovered the paucity of literature on the subject, while evidence suggested that arms control without negotiation—broadly defined—often characterized Cold War behavior with important implications for the post–Cold War New World Order. As a result of Mike’s efforts, the center conducted several workshops on the subject, one widely attended at the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. The result of Mike’s prodding is this book. I also wish to thank the contributors for their willingness to work with me to see this project to its fruition. Bennett Ramberg

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Acronym List

ABM ASAT AWACS BW CD CFE CSBM CTB EMP GRIT IAEA ICBM INF LTBT MIRV MTCR NPT PAL PNET SALT SDI SPNFZ START TTBT

Acronyms

anti-ballistic missile antisatellite Airborne Early Warning and Control System biological weapons Conference on Disarmament conventional force reduction confidence- and security-building measure comprehensive test ban electromagnetic pulse graduated and reciprocated initiative in tension-reduction International Atomic Energy Commission intercontinental ballistic missile intermediate-range nuclear forces Limited Test Ban Treaty multiple independently targeted reentry vehicle missile technology control regime Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty permissive action links Peaceful Nuclear Explosions Treaty Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty Strategic Defense Initiative South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone Strategic Arms Reduction Talks Total Test Ban Treaty xi

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1 Arms Control Without Negotiation: A Conceptual Overview Bennett Ramberg

Arms Control Without Negotiation: A Conceptual Overview Bennett Ramberg

In December 1988 Mikhail Gorbachev appeared before the United Nations General Assembly to announce that the Soviet Union would unilaterally reduce its armed forces by 500,000 men, 10,000 tanks, 8,500 artillery systems, and 800 aircraft within twenty-four months. Although both Moscow and Washington had previously engaged in arms limitation without negotiation, the action by the Soviet leader marked a turning point. In the years that followed, the Kremlin and the White House practiced arms limitations and reductions without negotiation with uncommon abandon. This effort culminated in the fall and winter of 1991–1992 in Washington’s announcements that it would withdraw all land- and seabased tactical nuclear weapons, halt the day-to-day alert status of strategic bombers, stand down all ICBMs scheduled for deactivation under START, cancel new production of ICBMs and short-range attack cruise missiles, and limit production of the B-2 bomber. Moscow responded in kind and went further, seeking limitations untouched by the Bush administration; for example, it declared a nuclear test moratorium and promised to reduce strategic nuclear warheads below figures required under START I.1 These reciprocal unilateral actions, which bore further fruit in a US nuclear test moratorium and in laying the foundation for START II, exposed a rich vein of opportunities to control arms. However, it would be overreaching to conclude that these measures were an untried path for ending the Cold War earlier. Rather, the rapid disassembly of the superpower arsenals reflected the end of the superpower competition much as demobilization in 1945 reflected the end of a hot war. The time was ripe for disarmament.2 By contrast, arms control in the heart of the Cold War proved daunting due to the Soviet-US contest. The hopes of arms controllers for quelling the competition lay in negotiated arms limitations and reductions in order to “manage” the superpower contest.3 “Less means more” was a theme that encapsulated this view: less arms meant more security, more money avail1

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able for social programs, better political relations with adversaries, and more survivors in the event war broke out. This book argues that arms control during the Cold War was, and in the post–Cold War “New World Order” will be, much more complex than negotiated covenants. The authors see arms control as a menu of unilateral actions, including but not limited to weapons reductions and limits, as well as unilateral research, development, procurement, and reconfiguration decisions that collectively are as important, if not more important, than formal agreements. To provide perspective, this chapter assesses the role, function, and practice of unilateral and independent initiatives during the Cold War, first in the context of negotiated arms control and then on their own terms. I return to the implications for the New World Order in my concluding chapter. The Negotiated Arms Control Context

The intermediate nuclear force reduction treaty (INF) marked the first negotiated nuclear arms reduction accord of the atomic age. The Reagan administration hailed the agreement as a revolution in strategic thinking: To the extent that the treaty moved the nuclear weapons control agenda away from arms limitations that “managed,” toward reductions that “eliminated” nuclear forces, the superpowers embarked on a new course in their relationship. The administration further contended that the accords demonstrated the utility of “negotiation from strength”: But for an expansion of the arsenal—the deployment of Pershing and cruise missiles in Europe and the Strategic Defense Initiative—the United States would not have had leverage to budge the Soviets toward compromise.4 The INF treaty was widely applauded on both sides of the Atlantic. The United States Congress overwhelmingly ratified the treaty. At the same time there was ambivalence in some circles and outright hostility in others. Some Europeans compared the agreement to the 1938 Munich appeasement.5 Ironically, the most biting critique came from the earliest successful practitioners of strategic arms control through negotiation, Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger. Writing in the Los Angeles Times in April 1987 and reiterating their views on subsequent occasions,6 Nixon and Kissinger argued that the INF treaty was simply too good to be true. Speaking of Gorbachev, they asked, “Why does a leader whose entire career in the Communist Party with its emphasis on balance of power offer apparently unequal reductions?” On balance they suggested the Soviet action was a sleight of hand. Gorbachev knew, Kissinger and Nixon wrote, “that the Soviet cuts do not reduce in any significant manner the Soviet capacity to attack Europe with nuclear weapons and that they increase the Soviet conventional threat to Europe.”

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Moscow’s withdrawal from Eastern Europe and the collapse of the Soviet Union itself erased Kissinger and Nixon’s particular concerns. Still, in their skepticism, the two policymakers raised a fundamental issue. What is arms control? Is it simply the popular notion of people meeting around conference tables, negotiating limits and reductions of military forces consummated in a treaty, or is it something more? In their critique, Kissinger and Nixon implicitly questioned whether the treaties we negotiated with the Soviets were all that valuable. Such skepticism is not a new notion. Robert Osgood, characterizing strategic arms control agreements in the Nixon years, wrote, “[W]hile SALT moderated the intensity of arms competition temporarily, it stimulated competition before the decade was over. The agreements failed to confirm even the modest claim for arms control that it moderates the arms race and makes it more predictable.”7 In the aftermath of his experience heading the State Department Bureau of Politico-Military Affairs in the Carter administration, Leslie Gelb concluded, “Arms control has essentially failed. Three decades of US-Soviet negotiations to limit arms competition have done little more than codify the arms race.”8 More recently, Ronald Reagan’s arms control director, Kenneth L. Adelman, reflecting his skepticism over negotiated reductions, declared, “Quickie historians are now calling the INF Treaty one of the high points of the Reagan administration. Perhaps future historians will prize it just as highly. If so, this treaty will be unique in the annals of history. For despite all the hoopla accompanying arms control over the years, little has been accomplished by it. And little can be.”9 Finally, Bruce D. Berkowitz, reviewing arms control during the twentieth century, found that negotiated covenants have “not limited arms, [have] not limited the development of military technology, and [have] not reduced defense spending. It would probably be an overstatement to say that arms control . . . has been a complete failure, but it has at least been sorely disappointing by most objective measures.”10 Is such cynicism warranted? Does it accurately reflect the record of negotiated arms control since World War II? If negotiated arms control failed to control arms, what did? An evaluation of Cold War arms control treaties provides perspective. In 1961, Thomas Schelling and Morton Halperin provided the standard by which to measure arms control, namely, reduction of the probability of war, specifically nuclear war, reduction of the costs of defense, and limitation of damage should war take place. To these criteria we may add political confidence–building.11 For brevity’s sake, I will review three accords, the Limited Test Ban Treaty (LTBT), the SALT I interim agreement, and the ABM Treaty. Limited Test Ban Treaty (LTBT). The 1963 LTBT forbids the testing of nuclear weapons in the atmosphere, outer space, and under water. Most

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analysts cite it as the first major nuclear arms limitation convention. Did it reduce the probability of war during the Cold War? It certainly did not abolish conventional conflict. However, this would be expecting too much from a treaty that focused on nuclear weapons. Did it reduce the probability of Soviet-US nuclear conflict? As between the superpowers, we don’t know. In the absence of the treaty, would there have been a greater probability of nuclear conflict? Since history went in another direction, we will never know. Did continued testing, albeit underground, reduce the chance of war? Defenders hypothesize that it did by permitting development of more robust, usable, and safer arsenals. Detractors contend that development of more survivable and “discriminate” nuclear weapons increased the opportunity for and likelihood of their use. However, neither conclusion is readily proven. Did the LTBT save money? In some regards perhaps; in others decidedly not. The treaty certainly did not stop testing; indeed, the number of underground tests surpasses the number of atmospheric detonations. And precisely because they are carried out underground, they are more expensive. Did the agreement stop development of nuclear weapons and thereby save money? It may have limited our knowledge about certain atmospheric and exoatmospheric critical effects. Was this a money saver? Perhaps not, if the superpowers compensated by more expensive underground tests. While such costs mounted, the ecosystem may have benefited from the reduction of radioactive contamination. Some radiobiologists contend that atmospheric test contamination contributed to illness and death in populations downwind. But this is uncertain given the 20 percent naturally induced cancer morbidity rate, which cloaks cancers resulting from humancaused radioactivity. Did the LTBT limit damage in war? We do not know, fortunately, since we have not fought a nuclear war. Some contend that lower-yielding weapons developed through continued testing, coupled with precision delivery vehicles, allow damage limitation. Skeptics rebut that the large numbers of nuclear weapons that the superpowers would have detonated in a major nuclear war make the thought of material damage limitation fanciful. What was the treaty’s political impact? In the late 1950s and early 1960s atmospheric testing was a bone of contention in Soviet-US relations. The breaking of the test moratoria by Moscow in 1961 sowed political distrust. The treaty both reflected and contributed to an improvement in Soviet-US relations in the aftermath of the Cuban missile crisis and may have slowed the spread of nuclear weapons to other countries. SALT I. The 1972 SALT I interim five-year agreement froze the number of strategic offensive missiles at 1,710 for the United States and 2,848 for the Soviet Union.

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Did the accord reduce the chance of nuclear war? It is uncertain. To assume that it did, one would have to believe that greater numbers of launchers or warheads beyond treaty limits ipso facto would have increased the probability of conflict. Did SALT I reduce the defense burden? Some contend that it merely codified the status quo, allowing both countries to do what they otherwise wanted. Others suggest that the agreement prevented both countries from racing into the unknown, multiplying their arsenals with fear as the driver. At the same time evidence suggests that SALT I stimulated defense expenditures in such areas as cruise missile technology as decisionmakers sought to reassure Congress that they were not letting the country’s guard down. Did the treaty diminish potential damage in war? We don’t know because we did not fight a nuclear war. But given the vast arsenals of the superpowers, it is doubtful that the treaty itself would have had a material effect. What was the accord’s political impact? As in the case of the LTBT, SALT I both reflected and contributed to detente. However, as distinct from the test ban, the treaty served to sour political relations over compliance, e.g., Soviet encoding of test telemetry; US shelters placed over missile silos during modification and hardening.

ABM Treaty. In the ABM Treaty and its later amendment, the United States and the Soviet Union agreed to limit their ballistic missile defenses to one site each. The treaty bars nationwide defense. Did the ABM Treaty reduce the probability of war? The authors believed it would by assuring a mutual hostage relationship. Whether it has done this is difficult to prove. Did the treaty reduce the defense burden? The United States never went forward with deployment; this reduced the burden it otherwise would have had to bear. Still, it continued an active research program that grew from $156 million in 1972 to $202 million in 1977. The treaty did not prevent the Reagan administration from substantially accelerating allocations under the Strategic Defense Initiative. Nor did it prevent the Soviets from doing the same. Did the treaty reduce the consequences of war should it occur? The absence of strategic defense probably would not make a difference in a major war. However, its absence in the event of an accidental launch increases the potential for damage. What impact did the ABM Treaty have on political relations? As the SALT I interim agreement had done, it first promoted and later undermined confidence building as the United States alleged Soviet cheating in the construction of territorial defense, testing of mobile ABM system components, and concurrent testing of ABM and non-ABM components, including surface-to-air missiles in ABM mode. Moscow alleged that experiments

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planned for SDI would violate the ABM Treaty. At times Soviet concerns put a damper on political relations. All the same, mutual vulnerability may have contributed to political stability. One may apply the Schelling-Halperin criteria to the two dozen arms control treaties the United States and the Soviet Union are parties to and find that each made an uncertain or modest contribution toward reducing the probability of war. The treaties rarely afforded savings. In some cases Moscow and Washington kept obsolete weapons in their inventories to bargain away. 12 More often than not, once treaties entered into force, the superpowers accelerated military expenditures in uncontrolled realms to prevent a “lulling effect.”13 Even verification proved surprisingly costly.14 As for limiting damage in war, there is little to suggest that the agreements would have had a material impact. Politically, their impact over the long term proved uncertain as differences in compliance sowed distrust. The Emergence and Role of Unilateral Arms Control

If the benefits of treaties during the Cold War proved modest, what did control arms? One can argue that neither the Soviet Union nor the United States had any intention of using force to attain its objectives. John Mueller contends that the devastating imprint of World War II, particularly on the psyche of Europeans, prevented World War III.15 However, given conflicting national interests and near misses over such matters as Berlin in the 1950s and 1960s, the Cuban missile crisis, wars fought by one superpower against the proxy of the other in Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, and Africa, and conflicts in the Middle East that almost engaged the United States and the Soviet Union, we may question such propositions. In seeking answers, conceptualizing arms control as self-restraint and/or self-help, i.e., as the result of unilateral/independent initiatives that codification complements, provides a different twist. As Hedley Bull put it in his seminal book, The Control of the Arms Race, almost three decades ago, “[T]he promotion of international security is of course a matter of unilateral armaments policy as well as arms control. Military situations favorable to general international security may be brought by unilateral action, whether this takes the form of rearmament, disarmament, or other forms.”16 The thought that arms control is attainable without negotiation flies in the face of the conventional wisdom that treaties are the primary vehicle.17 But there is much in the behavior of states to suggest that unilateral measures serve the same objectives, arguably with equal if not better results. Countries often pursue such steps with so little fanfare that we could characterize them as “unilateral arms control by anonymity.” Space permits only a few illustrations. To prevent a nuclear Pearl Harbor, the United States inaugurated a number of early warning radars beginning in

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the 1950s and in the ensuing decades rapidly expanded its “national technical means” through aircraft and satellite monitoring. To diminish the possibility of war by accident, in the 1960s Washington unilaterally installed permissive action links (PALs)—electronic locks on bombs—on most nuclear weapons and ended airborne bomber alerts.18 It also increased the sophistication of command and control, in part to address mishaps. And, to reduce Soviet apprehensions that the United States intended to achieve a first-strike capability, in the 1960s Washington reduced its commitment to antisubmarine capabilities.19 Military export policy is another case in point. To enhance deterrence and minimize the expenditures required to overcome Soviet technological advances, Washington acted alone and in concert with other allies in the Coordinating Committee on Export Controls (COCOM) to restrict the export of sophisticated technology with military applications to the Soviet bloc. To curb the spread of nuclear weapons and weapons technology, the United States acted unilaterally at first and then through the nuclear nonproliferation regime. In the conventional weapons sphere, the United States in its solo decisions to export, license, or deny weapons seeks to manage regional balances of power and thereby reduce the probability of war. Where nations use unilateral limitations to induce reciprocation—as distinct from “arms control by anonymity”—the strategy often has stimulated debate. Controversy and skepticism stem from failed applications during the first half of this century. To stimulate progress at the Second Hague Conference on Disarmament in 1907, London scaled back procurement of dreadnoughts, destroyers, and submarines. The purpose of unilateral restraint, according to Prime Minister Campbell-Bannerman, was to put an end to Anglo-German naval rivalry. The consequences may have been quite the reverse. Imperial Germany concluded that Britain was exhausted, a condition that Germany sought to exploit by accelerating its own construction schedule. Restraint to induce reciprocation reappeared in the interwar period. It was during this time that the strategy attained a dubious reputation that was to influence policy after World War II. Britain allowed its armed forces to decline after World War I. Naval expenditures, which reached a peak of over 300 million pounds at the height of World War I, stood at roughly 50 million pounds at the time of the 1922 Washington Naval Conference. They remained roughly at that figure until the late 1930s, reflecting the impact of naval arms control codification and unilateral restraint.20 It would not be until six months before the outbreak of World War II that London ordered maximum production of such military ordnance as aircraft, regardless of the financial consequences.21 London’s motivation to disarm in the early post–World War I period reflected the end of the war, economic costs in retaining large armed forces, revulsion over what happened on the western front, the absence of

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an obvious enemy, and the anticipation that the League of Nations would play an important role in maintaining peace. But there was also the objective of restraining competition by example, coupled later to the fiscal pressures imposed by the Great Depression. An underlying presumption was that war itself was obsolete. Speaking to the League of Nations Disarmament Conference in February 1932, Sir John Simon, the British foreign secretary, declared, An immense change has come over the judgement of the world. The proposition that the peace of the world is to be secured by preparing for war is no longer believed by anybody, for recent history manifestly disproves it. A high level of armament is no substitute for security. At best, it only creates the illusion of security in one quarter while at the same time aggravating the sense of insecurity in another.22

In 1934 Ramsey MacDonald claimed that Britain had gone further in disarmament than any other country. But he concluded that “no one thinks of following our example.”23 Indeed, disarmament by example had completely broken down. Nonetheless, political sentiment to restrain military procurement persisted even after Nazi Germany’s belligerence became commonly recognized, reflecting in part a continuing desire to induce German behavior in kind. With the advent of nuclear weapons, there arose a new call for unilateral reductions based on the belief that the atomic instrumentality made war itself obsolete; that nuclear weapons, not the Soviet Union, were the world’s greatest enemy. With pacifist underpinnings, there emerged the bomb movements: “abolitionists”24 comprised of scientists—many disenchanted as a result of their work on the atomic bomb—pacifists, and humanitarians, along with journalistic sympathizers. The intellectual roots of the movement can be traced to the moral, religious, or pacifist underpinnings of such men as Victor Gollancz, Lewis Mumford, Bertrand Russell, Stephen King-Halland, and C. Wright Mills, most of whom, while not opposed to the use of force under all circumstances, were uncompromisingly opposed both to thermonuclear war and to all and any preparation for it. A common thread in the writings of these individuals and of contemporary peace groups, according to Erich Fromm, was a “critical attitude toward the irrational aspects of international politics and by their deep reverence for life”25 coupled to their reluctance in taking part in making millions of people noncombatant hostages to the behavior of their governments. During the Cold War, the movement toward unilateral nuclear disarmament went through peaks and valleys, periodically reflecting, as Josef Joffe concluded, less a commitment to the principle of eliminating nuclear weapons than as a convenient vehicle for political groups to capture power either nationally or within their own political party.26 In the United States

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the domestic politics of unilateral arms control manifested itself in congressional-executive wrestling over how much defense is enough. Although the executive is the dominant actor and usually gets much of its budgetary request, to which Congress attaches pet projects, Congressional efforts to unilaterally restrain or reformulate administration policy have not been inconsequential. In the realm of strategic defense, Congress contained spending and held the Reagan administration to the narrow interpretation of the ABM Treaty. It slowed development of antisatellite systems, halted development of a maneuverable reentry warhead and a twelve-warhead Trident II, and used the nuclear nonproliferation act to stem the spread of nuclear weapons technologies to countries that fail to apply full-scope safeguards. Congress also forced various administrations to rethink procurement.27 In another regard, Congress has sought to restrain weapons procurement or deployment in the hope that the Soviet Union would respond in kind. In 1984, for a short time, it withheld funds for fifteen MX missiles. That same year it authorized bills for a moratorium on ASAT testing.28 Such actions, which harken back to the unilateral restraint to induce reciprocation during the interwar period, have antecedents since the war in actions by the executive branch. Some of these efforts may trace their intellectual roots to the 1950s and 1960s writings of Charles Osgood, a psychologist at the University of Illinois.29 Osgood argued that there was little doubt that a proposal for unilateral disarmament, i.e., the dismantling of a nation’s military establishment, would not be acceptable to either the United States or to the Soviet Union. He proposed graduated unilateral action, or GRIT, i.e., graduated and reciprocated initiatives in tension-reduction. Founded on the principle that we have reached our present armed state not as a result of negotiation but after a long series of unilateral steps, Osgood proposed standing the process on its head by unilaterally reducing arsenals in a measured fashion, eliciting what Steve Weber calls perceptions of indebtedness.30 This would be done not to discard obsolete weapons—the principal reason for abandonment—but to eliminate systems of actual and potential value to enhance mutual security. Thus the US decision to eliminate the B-29 or B-36 bomber, or to reduce the explosive power of its nuclear arsenal by threequarters and its warheads by one-third since 1960 and to substitute less numerous with more sophisticated weapons, was not GRIT but modernization. GRIT requires public announcements at some reasonable interval prior to execution. The initiative must include an explicit invitation to reciprocation in some form. It must be executed on schedule regardless of any prior commitments to reciprocate by the opponent. The action should be continued over a considerable time regardless of the degree or even absence of reciprocation. Finally, it must be as unambiguous and susceptible to verification as possible.

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The most widely cited application of GRIT, which may have reflected Osgood’s communication with the White House staff, was John Kennedy’s American University declaration that the United States would not conduct nuclear tests in the atmosphere “so long as other states do not do so.” 31 Khrushchev responded with a conciliatory speech resulting in reciprocal initiatives that may have contributed modestly to the final negotiation of a partial nuclear test ban in 1963.32 Mixed results characterized other GRIT-like applications. Success reflected a menu of mutual strategic and economic benefits, clear signaling by the initiator, accurate interpretation by the receiver, a common currency in the quid pro quo demanded, a favorable state of international relations, verifiability,33 and, most critically, the importance, or more to the point the lack thereof, of the capability one wishes to cede. For example, in late 1962 the United States announced that it would not orbit nuclear or other weapons of mass destruction in space, ground-based ballistic missiles being more reliable and subject to better command and control. Initially Moscow sought to link the clearly understood proposal to a broader disarmament package. By September 1963, after further clarification, it modified its position. Concern about orbiting US nuclear weapons, alternative strategic delivery modes, nonintrusive verification, and Washington’s commitment to a position that did not intrude upon other Soviet capabilities, all played a role. Moscow’s decaying relations with Beijing and concomitant need to improve relations with Washington, particularly in the aftermath of the Cuban missile crisis, also contributed.34 Other applications that induced comparable responses were the 1964 US withdrawal of 8,000 troops from Europe, Lyndon Johnson’s 1964 suspension of highly enriched uranium production, and Nixon’s 1969 declaration that the United States would no longer produce bacteriological weapons (which later resulted in codification). In other instances, success was more momentary. US restraint in antisatellite deployment during the late 1950s may have slowed Soviet development35 but did not stop it; likewise, “sluggish” US pursuit of ballistic missile defense in the 1960s.36 Despite its Cold War achievements, GRIT was no panacea. US and Soviet failures to induce reciprocation often reflected an effort to give away something transparently obsolete, overabundant, and not preferential and/or to play to world opinion to embarrass the other party. Lyndon Johnson’s suspension of highly enriched uranium production in 1964 and his invitation to Moscow to follow suit is a case in point. The offer was less an attempt to reduce arms than to control the overabundance of nuclear material. At the same time Washington sought to play to world opinion—to “squeeze” Khrushchev according to Glenn Seaborg, chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission—by suggesting that Moscow’s failure to reciprocate would illustrate antipathy toward arms control. 37 Similarly, Gorbachev’s spring 1989 declaration that he would terminate weapons-

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grade plutonium production at two reactors was a sleight of hand given the fact that the plants’ useful life had come to an end, and production continued at twelve other reactors while new construction was under way. Other failed attempts to induce reciprocation—variably in good faith— issued from both superpowers. These include Washington’s 1964 decision to phase out the B-47 bomber,38 cessation of nuclear weapons tests in the late 1950s, 39 and halting production of chemical weapons (1969). 40 Forbearance in deployment of accurate warheads (1969–1973), 41 new strategic missiles (late 1960s and 1970s), cruise and intermediate ballistic missiles in Europe (1979–1983), ABM (1960s–1970s),42 the B-1 bomber and neutron bomb (late 1970s), and antisatellite weapons (1970s–1980s) provide additional examples. Soviet illustrations include the large reduction of military manpower during the Khrushchev years, Brezhnev’s 1979 withdrawal of 20,000 servicemen and 1,000 tanks from East Germany,43 and particularly, Gorbachev’s 1985 suspension of nuclear weapons tests. The test suspension was particularly interesting because of the almost perfect application of GRIT. In unambiguous language in his July 1985 announcement, Gorbachev urged the United States to respond in kind. He remained unfazed when Washington refused and implementation took place on August 6, the anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. Notwithstanding US reticence, he extended the moratorium three times over an eighteenmonth period. In the end, the initiative failed. The United States did not bite. The condition precedent for cooperation—“shared goals”44—was not present. It continued testing throughout the Soviet moratorium arguing that nuclear self-help (to modernize the arsenal), not reciprocation, best served national security. In making the argument and in its procurement and deployment policies—including the MX, the Trident submarine and D5 missile, the B-lb, cruise missiles, an active research and development program to develop an advanced strategic bomber, the Midgetman missile, longer-range and stealthier cruise missiles, and SDI—the early Reagan administration manifested commitment (one it never fully achieved45)—to major weapons procurement as the linchpin to deal with Moscow. Thus there would be no agreement for the sake of agreement; no unilateral arms limitations in the hope that the Soviets would reciprocate; the United States would avoid coupling force modernization with negotiation. Programs would be pushed on the merits. Providing an intellectual foundation was arms control director Kenneth Adelman’s winter 1984–1985 article in Foreign Affairs in which he argued that “making our forces less inviting to a Soviet first strike” enhanced security through modernization. The statement defined a strategy that preceded the Reagan administration and continued into the Bush administration’s plans to place MX missiles on rail cars and continue research and development on the mobile Midgetman. Remarkably, Adelman suggested that the

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policy, which could induce Soviet responses in kind including new stabilizing procurement, was arms control.46 Reinforcing the foundation were the views of Thomas Schelling. Writing in Foreign Affairs one year later, Schelling asserted that discerning weapons modernization that enhances the invulnerability of second-strike forces likewise is arms control. Whether this results in weapons reductions is of little account. In his words, “nobody ever offers a convincing reason for preferring smaller numbers. Those who think we already have ten times what we need never explain why having merely five times as many should look better.”47 Undergirding the argument is the presumption of rationality, a calculus that adversaries would appreciate the inordinate costs of nuclear war and a resulting “balance of prudence” that would inevitably follow. Indeed, Schelling concludes that such prudence replicates our daily lives. “People regularly stand at the curb watching trucks, buses, and cars hurtle past at speeds that guarantee injury and threatened death if they so much as attempt to cross against the traffic. They are absolutely deterred. But there is no fear. They just know better.”48 Can we be satisfied with this analogy? The fact of the matter is that deterrence—the balance of prudence, if you will—does not always work. It fails to prevent numerous pedestrian fatalities and injuries across the country each year. It is imperfect in preventing homicide, notwithstanding the coercive and deterrent institutions of police, the courts, and penal systems. Nor does it always work to deter conventional conflict, even when the defender is believed to be superior, as the Israelis, for example, learned in the 1973 war. To assume that nuclear deterrence is different assumes a common appreciation that nuclear weapons are different. Indeed, this became the common wisdom during the Cold War. In the words of Robert Osgood, “a consensus has emerged that nuclear weapons have created a new kind of international order based primarily on the unprecedented common interest of all states in avoiding nuclear war.”49 However, such conclusions may not be quite as neat in the real world as they are on paper. They fail to concede the frailty of human nuclear handlers, as manifest in Chernobyl, where man more than machine was the weak link, notwithstanding numerous redundant safeguards. They fail to appreciate complications and dangers of false warnings, human error, computer failure, and the potential misreading of signals. 50 They fail to acknowledge the perils of decisionmaking under stress during crisis, the irrational decisionmaker, and the potential breakdown of command and control. Finally, they fail to recognize that nuclear modernization, even with the best of intentions, may at times decrease strategic stability. MIRV (multiple independently targeted reentry vehicle) is a case in point. In the effort to economize and make launchers more lethal at the same time, the technology increased US ICBM vulnerability when the Soviets mounted them on missiles capable of carrying larger numbers than their US counter-

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Arms Control Without Negotiation Table 1.1  Alternative Approaches to Arms Control During the Cold War Methods

Bilateral

Multilateral

2. Elimination of certain weapons

INF Treaty, 1987; START I, 1990; START II, 1992

3. Agreements/ decisions not to deploy

ABM Treaty, 1972

CD ban on chemical Bacteriological weapons weapons Elimination of obsolete weapons Elimination of nuclear from the US and Soviet strategic and tactical nuclear arsenals

5. Changes in types, bases configuration, and new technologies

New system limitations SALT II, 1976; START

6. Limits on testing

TTBT, 1990; PNET, 1990

LTBT, 1963

8. Nuclear-free zones

Germany Brazil-Argentine agreement

9. Confidencebuilding transparency measures

Austria State Treaty, Norway 1955; Antarctica Japan Treaty, 1959; Outer Space Treaty, 1967; Seabed Treaty, 1973

Sharing intelligence IAEA, 1953 CSBMs in Europe

1. Limitations/ SALT, 1972; SALT, CFE, 1990 reductions in 1979; START I, numbers of weapons 1990; START II, 1992

4. Commerce in arms and limits in arms transfers

7. Limiting attacks on nuclear reactors

10. Crisis management

Hotline agreement, 1973

11. Avoiding accidental nuclear war

Accidents agreement

Budget constraints, cuts in Soviet/Russian–US nuclear, conventional weapons, and manpower 1988–present

Treaty of Tlateloco, Restraint on ASAT, ABM 1967; NPT, 1968; Neutron bomb MTCR, 1987 COCOM UN sanctions

Indo-Pakistan agreement

Unilateral

Risk reduction centers Security council resolutions

Note: This table was coauthored with Michael D. Intriligator.

Weapon export limits on numbers, types Provision of arms to stabilize a region Hardened silos, SLBM deployments Modernization via stealth, mobile missiles deMIRVing Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe Unilateral moratorium

National technical means Human and signal intelligence Glasnost C3I improvements

PALs Improved warning, communication

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Arms Control Without Negotiation

parts. Thus, in the nuclear age, if deterrence is threatened even in the name of arms control as modernization, the consequences could be grave. Fortunately, the end of the Cold War and the emergence of the New World Order reduces many of these concerns, at least in the East-West context. The decision to take nuclear forces off alert diminishes the danger of early purposeful or accidental use and may contribute toward making command and control easier. By diminishing the number of weapons and fingers on the trigger, both unilateral and negotiated cutbacks lessen the danger of human error, computer failure, and misreading of signals that might launch a particular device. Improved political relations makes serious crises less likely, and modernization can be undertaken with greater deliberation. The contribution arms control made in getting both the East and the West to this point must be understood in a broader conceptual context than heretofore. During the Cold War, arms control was more than negotiated covenants. Rather, as the above discussion suggests, the superpowers produced a collage of measures that included unilateral research, development, procurement, and reconfiguration (see Table 1.1). Until both Moscow and Washington open their archives it would be presumptuous to weight the importance of negotiated versus unilateral arms control in keeping their competition relatively “cold.” The following chapters elaborate the unilateral dimension: Part 1 reviews the theory and practice of unilateral limitations and reductions to induce reciprocal responses noted in the unilateral components of segments 1, 2, 3, and 6 of Table 1.1. Part 2 looks at arms control as defense planning, as described in segments 4 and 5 of the table. Part 3 looks deeper into the domestic politics of unilateral arms control, while Part 4 examines implications for the future.

1992.

Notes

1. New York Times, September 28, 29, and October 6, 1991; January 25, 27,

2. On the matter of ripeness, see Richard Haas, Conflicts Unending (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990). 3. Albert Carnesale and Richard N. Haas, eds., Superpower Arms Control: Setting the Record Straight (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1987); Gloria Duffy, Compliance and the Future of Arms Control (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1988), p. 1. 4. Summing up the Reagan administration’s strategy, former secretary of defense Weinberger wrote that the INF treaty “shows negotiations and peace through strength works. It shows that by sticking with a negotiating position, refusing to be intimidated by Soviet walkouts, and not permitting America’s goals to be linked to Soviet demands that weaken strategic defense, we can successfully achieve our security goals in a negotiation.” Caspar W. Weinberger, “Arms Reductions and Deterrence,” Foreign Affairs, Spring 1988, pp. 701–702.

Arms Control Without Negotiation

15

5. David S. Yost, “France,” in Fenn Osler Hampson, et al., The Allies and Arms Control (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), p. 177. 6. Los Angeles Times, April 26, 1987. See also subsequent remarks by Kissinger and Nixon, Valery Giscard d’Estaing, Yasuhir Nakasone, and Henry Kissinger, “East-West Relations,” Foreign Affairs, Summer 1989, p. 8; Richard M. Nixon, “Comment and Correspondence,” Foreign Affairs, Summer 1989, p. 162; and Henry Kissinger, Los Angeles Times, February 4, 1990, pp. M1–M2. 7. Robert E. Osgood, “Arms Control: A Skeptical Appraisal and Modest Proposal,” Foreign Policy Briefs (Foreign Policy Institute, Johns Hopkins University School for Advanced International Studies, April 1989), p. 6. 8. Leslie Gelb, “A Glass Half Full,” Foreign Policy, Fall 1979, p. 21. 9. Kenneth L. Adelman, The Great Universal Embrace: Arms Summitry Skeptics Account (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Simon and Schuster, 1989), p. 161. See also Weinberger, note 4, p. 704. 10. Bruce D. Berkowitz, Calculated Risks (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1989). 11. Thomas Schelling and Morton Halperin, Strategy and Arms Control (Twentieth Century Fund, 1961). Today Thomas Schelling argues that economic savings is not a criterion but an “objective.” See Thomas C. Schelling, “From an Airport Bench,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, May 1989, p. 29. Note he argues that while lowering costs is a laudable objective, given a definition that includes acquisition of weapons to reduce the probability of war, arms control may and often does increase costs. 12. For example, the Soviet Union slowed retirement of SS-4s and SS-5s to get leverage in the INF talks; the United States retained B-52s in the arsenal it would otherwise have retired “so that the number of our strategic bombers, and thus of our overall strategic systems could be as high as possible. We needed them for leverage in the [START] talks. . . .” Adelman, note 9, pp. 169–172. 13. Sean M. Lynn-Jones, “Lulling and Stimulating Effects of Arms Control,” in Superpower Arms Control: Setting the Record Straight, ed. Albert Carnesale and Richard N. Haass (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1987), pp. 223–273; Adelman, ibid., pp. 182–185. Debate over the B-2 in July 1989 underscored this point, the US Air Force taking the position that Washington needed the bomber to compensate for the prospective loss of ICBMs under a START accord. 14. Barry M. Blechman, “Cost Reduction Dubious,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, May 1989, pp. 38–40; Barry Blechman with Ethan Gutmann, “A $100 Billion Understanding,” SAIS Review, Summer/Fall 1989, pp. 73–100. Using different accounting, Kenneth Adelman places the cost to verify INF in the first year at $82 million; over the lifetime of verification, $300 million. Adelman, ibid., p. 179. 15. John Mueller, Retreat from Doomsday: The Obsolescence of Major War (New York: Basic Books, 1989), p. 214. For a skeptical review of Mueller’s book see Sir Michael Howard, “A Death Knell for War,” New York Times Book Review, April 30, 1989, p. 14. For a contrasting view on the impact of nuclear weapons see Robert Jervis, The Meaning of the Nuclear Revolution (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989). 16. Hedley Bull, The Control of the Arms Race, 2d ed. (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1965). 17. In a recent edited book produced at Harvard University’s Kennedy School evaluating the arms control record, the authors defined the topic almost exclusively as treaties. Carnesale and Haas, eds., note 3. 18. Paul Bracken, “Accidental Nuclear War,” Hawks, Doves and Owls: An Agenda for Avoiding Nuclear War (New York: Norton, 1985), pp. 42, 44.

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19. Patrick Glynn, Closing the Pandora’s Box (New York: Basic Books, 1992), p. 203. 20. Bruce D. Berkowitz, note 10, p. 39. Note, however, that the per-unit cost of new ship construction increased in Britain to provide its new naval vessels under the treaty greater firepower. See ibid., p. 45 for elaboration. 21. Philip Towle, “Unilateralism or Disarmament by Example,” Arms Control, May 1981, p. 108. 22. Philip Towle, Arms Control and East West Relations (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1983), p. 11. 23. Philip Towle, note 21, May 1981, p. 109. 24. Robert Osgood refers to these groups as “proponents for abolition.” See Robert E. Osgood, The Nuclear Dilemma in American Strategic Thought (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1988), p. 7. 25. Erich Fromm, “The Case for Unilateral Disarmament,” in Arms Control and Disarmament and National Security, ed. Donald G. Brennan (George Braziller, 1961), p. 189. 26. Josef Joffe, “Peace and Populism: Why the European Anti-Nuclear Movement Failed,” International Security, Spring 1987, pp. 3–40. 27. Lloyd Jensen, “Congressional Politics to Include Reciprocation Through Procurement Restraint,” in this volume; James M. Lindsay, Congress and Nuclear Weapons (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991). 28. Ibid., pp. 12, 19. 29. Charles Osgood, An Alternative to War or Surrender (Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1962). 30. Steve Weber, Cooperation and Discord in Soviet Arms Control (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Unversity Press, 1991), p. 30. 31. Warren Heckrotte and Arthur Steiner, “Arms Control Moratoria: Case Studies in Three Areas,” in this volume. 32. Although Heckrotte and Steiner find that GRIT may have influenced Kennedy’s decision to suspend nuclear tests, they uncover little evidence that the moratorium was conclusive in bringing the parties together. More determinative were the desire of the superpowers to improve relations after the Cuban missile crisis, the personal commitments of Kennedy and Khrushchev to stop atmospheric testing which overcame “expert” opposition, and the availability of underground testing as an option. 33. William Rose, U.S. Unilateral Arms Control Initiatives (New York: Greenwood, 1988); William Rose, “Single Shot, Conditional Unilateral Arms Control Initiatives: Lessons From Six Cases,” Fletcher Forum, Winter 1992, pp. 99–113. 34. For elaboration see William Rose, U.S. Unilateral Arms Control, note 33, pp. 47–62. 35. John Wertheimer, “The Antisatellite Negotiations,” in Carnesale and Haas, note 3, p. 149. 36. Fen Osler Hampson, “SALT I: Interim Agreement and ABM Treaty,” in Carnesale and Haas, note 3, pp. 96–97; and Rose, note 33, U.S. Unilateral Arms Control, p. 87. 37. Glenn T. Seaborg, Stemming the Tide: Arms Control in the Johnson Years (Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, 1987), pp. 19–23, 39–50. 38. Rose, U.S. Unilateral Arms Control, note 33, pp. 75–86. 39. See Heckrotte and Steiner, note 31. 40. Elisa D. Harris, “The Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention,” in Haass and Carnesale, eds., note 3, pp. 205–206.

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41. Patrick Glynn, “The Moral Case for the Arms Buildup,” in Nuclear Arms: Ethics, Strategy and Politics, ed. James R. Woolsey (San Francisco, CA: Institute for Contemporary Studies, 1984), p. 39. 42. Carnesale and Haas, note 3, p. 337. 43. Rose Gottemoeller, “Unilateralism in Soviet and Russian Arms Control,” in this volume. 44. Weber, note 30, p. 49. 45. William Arkin, “The Buildup That Wasn’t,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, January/February, 1989, pp. 6–10. 46. Kenneth L. Adelman, “Arms Control With and Without Agreements,” Foreign Affairs, Winter 1984/85, pp. 240–263. 47. Thomas C. Schelling, “What Went Wrong with Arms Control?” Foreign Affairs, Winter 1985/86, p. 226. See also Thomas C. Schelling, “From an Airport Bench [interview], Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, May 1989, pp. 29–31. 48. Schelling, “What Went Wrong,” note 47, p. 233. 49. Robert E. Osgood and Robert W. Tucker, Force, Order and Justice (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1967), p. 123. 50. Michael D. Intriligator and Dagobert L. Brito, “Accidental Nuclear War: A Significant Issue for Arms Control,” Current Research on Peace and Violence, Vol. 11, Nos. 1–2, 1988, pp. 14–23.

Part 1

Part 1 Unilateral Arms Control to Induce Reciprocation

UNILATERAL ARMS CONTROL TO INDUCE RECIPROCATION

Chapter 1 suggested that unilateral arms control restraint to induce reciprocation has been common practice in the twentieth century. However, the nexus between these initiatives and the Schelling-Halperin arms control criteria—reduction in the probability of war, cost of defense, and damage in the event of conflict—were often more apparent than real. In some cases initiators, e.g., Britain in the interwar period, anticipated adversary reciprocation but were disappointed. In the post–World War II period, the superpowers often spoke arms control in their unilateral limitations when ulterior motives—e.g., weapons obsolescence, economics, propaganda— drove their actions. Still, Chapter 1 cited successful unilateral limitations, however motivated, that contributed to arms control. The chapters that follow elaborate these themes. Daniel Druckman provides theoretical grounding from the social-psychological perspective to demonstrate the difficulty of using unilateral initiatives to induce reciprocation. In a literature survey sprinkled with illustrations of arms selfrestraint—cessation of nuclear testing, renunciation of space-based systems, demobilization of armed forces, etc.—Druckman seeks to ascertain strategies that induce cooperation between adversaries. In the process he reviews reinforcement, conciliation, conditional offers, tit for tat, and information processing complicated by bureaucratic factors, perceptual problems coupled to history. Druckman notes the difficulty of measuring reciprocal responses, making a unilateral action strategy all the more difficult to implement confidently. The next two chapters move away from theory to practice. With examples drawn from Soviet restraint in deployment of intermediate-range ballistic missiles in Europe, a blue water navy, to manpower cuts, Rose Gottemoeller seeks to uncover Moscow’s motivations. In finding propaganda, strategy, and economics high on the list, Gottemoeller’s survey illustrates the extent to which the utterance of unilateral arms control often is the veneer for other considerations. She also questions the utility of unilat19

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Unilateral Arms Control to Induce Reciprocation

eral reductions for whatever purpose in the crisis-ridden post-Soviet Russia where conservative circles see such measures as giveaways. By evaluating nuclear testing, biological weapons, and antisatellite moratoria in Chapter 4, Steiner and Heckrotte take a different cut at selfrestraint to induce reciprocation. The authors find that moratoria in each of these domains provided imperfect stimuli for progress in efforts to negotiate limits. In sum, the chapters suggest that unilateral restraint to induce reciprocation during the Cold War were at best modest contributors to arms control, and the legacy for the New World Order is uncertain. At best, self-limits saved money—Moscow’s unilateral manpower reductions and the US decision to abstain from developing biological weapons being cases in point. But as Chapter 1 noted, in the case of moratoria, unilateral initiatives were not sine qua non for savings, at least in the long term. Rather, moratoria coupled to subsequent agreements steered expenditures in other directions—in the case of nuclear testing, underground, where detonations proved more expensive. More problematic is the contribution unilateral restraints made toward reducing destruction in war. Fortunately, Washington and Moscow never tested this criterion in the Cold War. For example, it is doubtful that had there been a nuclear conflict, atmospheric limits on testing would have made any difference in reducing damage. Likewise, it is questionable that Soviet manpower and equipment reductions reported by Rose Gottemoeller during the Khrushchev and Brezhnev years would have materially lessened consequences had Europe been subjected to a conventional war after 1945. Finally, it is difficult to prove that the unilateral measures discussed in the chapters below reduced the probability of war. We may speculate that Moscow’s manpower and blue-water naval restraints abated tension by suggesting that opposite Soviet behavior could have exacerbated relations with Washington. But it is difficult to extrapolate that war diminished as a consequence. —Editor

2

2 The Psychology of Arms Control and Reciprocation Daniel Druckman

The Psychology of Arms Control and Reciprocation Daniel Druckman

A large literature has accumulated on the role of psychological factors in international relations. These factors are now widely regarded as important, along with economic, political, and military dimensions. The psychological approach is concerned with those human factors that impinge on interactions between nations or their representatives. One topic that has benefited from these developments is the use of unilateral initiatives in arms control. In this chapter I attempt to elucidate the conditions that affect the execution and consequences of unilateral initiatives. A unilateral initiative in arms control can be defined as “an action of military restraint undertaken by state A without prior agreement by state B to reciprocate that restraint.”1 The initiator, state A, acts tactically in the sense of attempting to induce a reciprocal decision by the recipient, state B, or by improving the relationship between the states. Conceived of in this way, the initiative is regarded as an influence strategy. As such it can be understood in the framework of a body of literature on social influence. Drawing largely upon that literature, we focus on those influence processes germane to reciprocity. The literature on strategies for achieving cooperation between nations distinguishes between “bargaining” strategies used in formal negotiations and strategies involving “reciprocity” employed outside of a negotiation context. The former strategies are designed to facilitate agreement on specific issues that involve conflicts of interest. The latter are often conceived in terms of tension reduction or atmospherics designed to improve the relationship between the nations. Central to both settings, however, is the importance of responsiveness. In bargaining this takes the form of mutual concessionmaking. In the broader interactions among leaders it consists of a less specific response referred to by Keohane as diffuse reciprocity. 2 Agreement may be the objective of both types of interaction; so too might improving the relationship be a goal of either form of exchange. The distinction between agreements and relationships is discussed below in terms 21

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Unilateral Arms Control to Induce Reciprocation

of effects of alternative strategies for achieving cooperation. One issue is whether bargaining or diffuse reciprocity strategies are more effective in attaining agreements, on the one hand, or in improving relationships, on the other. These questions turn on an understanding for the role played by perceptions, information processing, and attributions of another party’s intentions. An attempt is made in this chapter to elucidate these processes in relation to the formulation of a response to unilateral initiatives. The theme of unilateral initiatives places our focus on “reciprocity strategies” as these are defined outside the framework of formal negotiations or with respect to a broader conception of negotiating. The analytical issue of interest concerns the conditions under which such initiatives are likely to be reciprocated, leading to cooperation between adversaries. This issue is treated in some detail in the social-psychological and gaming literatures. While recognizing the complexity of the problem, these studies define reciprocity in terms of exchanges that may occur either within or outside of negotiation: the distinction between negotiation and other types of interactions is not made. For this reason, it is important to ask whether this broad conception of reciprocity, and the insights obtained within such a framework, apply to the international settings of interest. This question is discussed in the section on extrapolation from small group to international contexts. Policy Perspectives on Unilateral Initiatives

The psychological approach to unilateral initiatives is represented best by a strategy proposed initially by Osgood3 and referred to as GRIT (graduated and reciprocated initiatives in tension-reduction). The essence of GRIT as a strategy is one in which a nation devises a series of small steps, within its own limits of security, designed to reduce tensions and to induce reciprocating steps by another nation. According to Osgood, if such unilateral initiatives are persistently applied and reciprocation is obtained, then the margin for risktaking is widened and larger steps can be taken. Although evidence has been obtained from laboratory experiments, which will be reviewed in this chapter, the most compelling demonstration is a real-world application referred to by Etzioni as the Kennedy experiment.4 Seizing upon this apparent success, Osgood testified in 1973 to the House Committee on Foreign Affairs that “the present situation in Europe would appear to be generally favorable for a successful use of GRIT strategy to unfreeze this force posture.”5 Conceived in this way, GRIT was suggested as a parallel process to the more formal MBFR talks. More recently, GRIT has been advocated as an approach to the problem of a defense-protected build-down6 and as an approach to the deep cuts

The Psychology of Arms Control and Reciprocation

23

required for nuclear disarmament.7 These policy-oriented treatments envision an incremental build-down in forces structured around a limited number of unilateral initiatives. They also assume that the small steps taken by GRIT strategists would improve the atmosphere between the superpowers. The enthusiasm for GRIT in both articles derives from a judgment that the other party will indeed reciprocate in the prescribed manner. Not examined in either article or in the technical security policy literature generally, are the conditions required for reciprocity and, specifically, whether the GRIT procedures provide the conditions likely to encourage reciprocal exchanges. Unilateral initiatives also play a central role in proposals for unilateral restraint through tacit agreements. Citing the dysfunctions of formal treaty negotiations, Adelman advocates informal discussions that result in tacit understandings about mutually beneficial restraints.8 In laboratory studies of bargaining, many of the problems identified by Adelman are indeed shown to be constraints on agreements. However, whether the proposed alternative formats are more effective remains an empirical issue. Effectiveness depends to a large extent on a willingness to reciprocate unilateral decisions. The assumption of reciprocation is central to both the Osgood and Adelman approaches. We will examine this assumption in the context of a growing literature on attribution and influence processes. Particularly relevant are the two parts of the problems emphasized in the literature: the processing of information and the management of impressions. Psychological research contributes to an understanding of these two processes. Information processing refers to the interpretation of messages for making inferences about another person’s or nation’s intentions. Impression management refers to the communication of messages for impact on another’s perceptions or evaluations. Interpretation is made by an observer who aspires to an “inside” view of the other. Impact is from the standpoint of an actor who displays a repertoire to be viewed from the “outside.” In the context of international politics, this distinction is similar to that made between intelligence and policy execution. Less apparent perhaps is the relevance of this kind of analysis to foreign policy–making. Analytical distinctions such as these may greatly oversimplify a very complex process. The settings from which most of our knowledge is acquired may hardly resemble any real-life situation or structure in which policy decisions are made. Relevance is gained as we develop more complex conceptualizations such as depicting the relationship between managing impressions (“policy execution”) and processing information (“intelligence”) or by describing the linkages between micro and macro levels of analysis. Such progress in this direction has been made and shall be discussed in later sections.

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Unilateral Arms Control to Induce Reciprocation

Relevance to foreign policy–making may be more apparent in analyses done on actual initiatives taken by governmental decisionmakers. A number of arms control initiatives have been taken by US administrations from Eisenhower to Bush; so too have we seen a recent stream of initiatives taken by Gorbachev and Yeltsin. Retrospective analyses of these initiatives may provide insights into the condition and motivations of the players both with regard to the decision to initiate a move and the decision to reciprocate. For example, Eisenhower’s decision to refrain from ASAT development marked the beginning of an era of mutual restraint. However, a later US decision to dismantle its system resulted in a Soviet decision to improve its ASAT capabilities.9 This example illustrates the possible difference between decisions to restrain systems, serving to invite reciprocation, and decisions to abandon programs, serving to encourage exploitation in order to gain an advantage. On the other hand, decisions to abandon systems may lead to successful negotiations as illustrated by the unilateral US decision to ban biological weapons. The Johnson administration’s decision to cut back on the production of enriched uranium by 25 percent occurred during a period of arms control initiatives taken in both countries (early to middle 1960s): examples of initiatives include the formation of the US Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, Khrushchev’s plea for independent, reciprocal actions, and Johnson’s 1964 State of the Union address.10 The Bush administration’s decisions in September 1991 to take unilateral steps in returning strategic and tactical nuclear weapons to storage areas were made during a period when the Cold War was winding down. These examples illustrate a possible effect of the international climate. There are, however, shortcomings with this approach. The motives implied and the conditions identified from the cases are merely speculations, hypotheses to be tested in a more rigorous fashion rather than “data” to be used as evidence that confirms or disconfirms a theory. While reflecting the context within which decisions are made, the cases are ambiguous with respect to causation. Several problems exist: (a) the intentions of the initiator are largely unknown, e.g., whether the moves are intended to induce reciprocation or are a result of internal cost-benefit concerns; (b) the adversary’s response is difficult to code as either reciprocation or lack of reciprocation due to long delays and incommensurate counterproposals; (c) the conditions surrounding the initiative and response are vaguely defined and difficult to isolate from other possible influences; and (d) the impacts on future policy decisions and on the bilateral relationship are difficult to track, making an assessment of long-term effectiveness problematic. The progress made in current research on responsiveness in negotiation shows what can be done.11 Better information and more careful coding of moves and countermoves would enable an investigator to use the examples of actual initiatives as evidence in an analytical tradition. Meanwhile, the case

The Psychology of Arms Control and Reciprocation

25

examples serve as valuable illustrations of processes and will be discussed appropriately below. A Starting Mechanism

Theories of reciprocity have focused primarily on normative aspects that define relations among members within a group or society. It is regarded as an expectation among people who have positive sentiments toward one another or who are members of cohesive groups. But what about reciprocity among adversaries? Our primary concern is with the conditions for reciprocity when the norm is weak or nonexistent. Little attention is given in the earlier literature to the problem of how relations develop among adversaries, and this is central to discussion of the role of unilateral initiatives in arms control. Recent work does, however, provide some insights into how unilateral initiatives can be executed to encourage an adversary to reciprocate cooperation. Antagonists must also regulate their interactions even though they are not guided by shared cooperative norms. It is likely that they are guided by cost-benefit considerations. Such utilitarian theories are prevalent in social science, particularly in behavioral psychology and the game-theoretic approaches to microeconomics and decisionmaking. They are also the framework for the gradualist approaches to tension reduction in international relations, including Osgood’s GRIT proposal: Osgood’s strategy, in particular, is rooted in principles of reinforcement learning or instrumental conditioning and has been evaluated by gaming experiments. This framework addresses the issue of how parties can break out of escalatory cycles caused by mutual distrust. Referred to as starting mechanisms, the approach emphasizes unilateral initiatives as alternatives to such mechanisms as backchannel communications and intermediaries. Unilateral initiatives are forms of “mismatching” since they are cooperative responses to the other’s noncooperative behavior. The goal is to elicit a cooperative response from the other party. Research by Lindskold and his collaborators12 has identified some ways by which a strategist can more effectively execute initiatives and the conditions under which initiatives are likely to work. Actions taken by the strategist include adding words to clarify the intention behind the strategy, not requiring reciprocity too soon, rewarding reciprocity when it occurs, and making it difficult for the other party to explain away the initiatives. Conditions favoring the desired impact of initiatives include perceived dependence by the target on the strategist, a perception that the strategist cannot be exploited, and a judgment that the benefits of cooperation outweigh those of competition. It is of interest to observe that these conditions existed for the dramatic initiatives taken by two national leaders, Anwar Sadat in his 1977 trip to

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Jerusalem and John Kennedy in his 1963 announcement of a suspension of US nuclear tests and call for a relaxation of East-West tensions. The strongest cases can perhaps be made for a strategy that combines TFT (tit-for-tat) with unilateral conciliatory initiatives. This would consist of responding in kind equally to conciliatory and to coercive moves made by an adversary while retaining the option of unilateral moves when the interaction becomes locked into a cycle of mutual competition. The posturing here is designed to convey the message of being firm but fair. Indeed, evidence from different settings supports this observation as Patchen notes.13 Experiments, computer simulations, and field studies of actual interactions among nations show a remarkable convergence of findings. In most cases, the use of conciliatory initiatives to break out of competitive spirals were effective. The rare exception discussed by Patchen is the case of an adversary that is more powerful than one’s own side and that has exploitative aims. This strategy is similar to other concepts in the negotiation literature. Examples are Deutsch’s firm but friendly attitude, Pruitt and Lewis’s flexible rigidity, and Fisher and Ury’s invocation to negotiators to be “soft on the people but hard on the problem.”14 Each of these concepts refers to a problem-solving approach characterized by a posture of firm nonbelligerence, self-confidence, and a friendly attitude. This posture is intended to transform an adversary into a collaborator. To accomplish this, however, may entail transforming a destructive system of relationships into a constructive system, and this will require repeated and varied attempts to achieve mutually beneficial interactions. One desired outcome is that messages sent be interpreted as intended, to wit, as an attempt to cooperate. At issue are indicators of the psychological preconditions or atmosphere for such communications. The laboratory studies provide information about posturing tactics that can be used in communicating initiatives or in managing impressions. They do not illustrate the broader political context within which messages are transmitted and received. For this we must turn to research done with historical materials. A start in this direction is Rose’s analysis of four cases where unilateral initiatives were taken. 15 Among the conditions that favored reciprocity by a target of a unilateral initiative were a clear signaling of demands, no internal bureaucratic conflicts concerning the response, and no threats to political status, security, or economic or military capabilities. Of all these conditions, the most important concern was risks to security; a nation that perceived itself at risk did not reciprocate the cooperative move made by its adversary. Although regarded as tentative, these conditions suggest that domestic political factors are likely to play an important role in determining a nation’s response to another nation’s initiative. Further complexity is introduced by the cognitive models to be discussed.

The Psychology of Arms Control and Reciprocation

Agreements and Relationships

27

The concept of a starting mechanism refers to an initiative taken by one party to unfreeze an established bilateral pattern. The pattern can take the form of competitive moves and countermoves leading to impasses. It can also be defined in broader terms as an antagonistic relationship. This difference between “moves” and “relationships” has important implications for strategy in terms of the kinds of initiatives taken. In Getting Together, Fisher and Brown argue that “trying to pursue titfor-tat on relationship issues may be dangerous.”16 Their argument is based on assumptions about the way people perceive each other’s behavior, particularly on relationship issues. Biasing tendencies cause individuals to evaluate another’s behavior as “worse than mine” and reciprocate with behavior that is equal in “my” eyes, but worse in “yours.” Referred to by Fisher and Brown as partisan bias, this tendency can lead to a deteriorating spiral in a relationship for those who employ a policy of tit for tat. An alternative to TFT is unconditional cooperation where each party pursues “cooperation on the relationship issues, regardless of how the other responds.”17 This policy recommends that if the parties desire to build a working relationship, rather than merely to reach bargaining agreements, it would be in their interest to take unilateral initiatives without demanding or even expecting reciprocation. While unconditional cooperation may be indeed the best approach to fostering a strong relationship, it has not been a frequently used policy by the superpowers in the area of arms control. Initiatives taken by both the former Soviet Union and the United States, inside and outside formal negotiations, have largely been conditional offers. This was clearly the case with regard to the stream of initiative taken by then General Secretary Gorbachev in 1985–1986 culminating in the INF agreement signed by the two nations in December 1987. The Soviet proposals covered a wide range of issues discussed in negotiations over strategic (START), intermediate (INF), and conventional (MBFR) forces: for example, proposals for reductions in land- and space-based missiles, of tactical nuclear weapons, and troops in Europe. Most proposals were invitations (to the US) to reciprocate on the same item such as mutual reductions by 50 percent and renunciation of space-based systems or a mutual demobilization of l50,000 soldiers in the first years of troop reductions. Some proposals were trade-offs on different items such as reductions of Soviet troops in Europe in exchange for US tactical nuclear weapons, Soviet land-based missiles for US spacebased weapons, or a willingness to permit on-site inspection of Soviet systems for a US test moratorium. Some of Gorbachev’s earlier proposals for troop and weapons reductions may have been conditional in a broader sense. The Soviets may have been hoping that the resulting relaxation of

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tensions would contribute to increased US economic assistance or concessions. Only one proposal made by the Soviets during this period took the form of unconditional cooperation: Gorbachev announced in November 1985 that he would open Soviet space-weapons laboratories to outside inspection. This offer was not linked to a demand that the United States reciprocate or concede on a position taken in a similar or different domain. These proposals were unilateral initiatives taken by the Soviet leader. They served as a starting mechanism by unfreezing a long impasse between the superpowers on these substantive issues. Although the United States was placed on the defensive, their counterproposals were often positive. Examples include Reagan’s acceptance in November 1985 of the Soviet proposal to cut nuclear arms by 50 percent, the United States administration’s admission that Gorbachev’s January 1986 proposal was unusually comprehensive, and Reagan’s letter to Gorbachev in February 1986 welcoming his proposal for a treaty that would ban medium-range nuclear missiles. (Note the signing of the INF agreement less than two years later.) In each of these instances, the United States accepted the Soviet idea, sometimes extending its scope to include such items as a reduction of Soviet missiles targeted on China and Japan. In other instances, the United States rejected the Soviet offer such as the proposed trade of on-site inspections of Soviet test sites for a moratorium on underground testing. In the spirit of cooperation, the United States made a unilateral move not contingent on a Soviet response. They announced a dismantling of two nuclear submarines. However, even this announcement was coupled with the uncooperative statement that Soviet violations prevented the United States from adhering to the SALT II limits. The successful outcome of these initiatives—an INF agreement—was due to a willingness by the other nation to reciprocate. Gorbachev’s proposals were contingent upon a US acceptance of the proposed reductions. The willingness of the United States to do so illustrates the utility of unilateral moves. Such moves work when the required reciprocated response can be gauged in terms of fairness. This assessment is more likely for substantive issues that can be quantified, e.g., number of weapons or troops in certain categories, numbers of on-site inspections for verification. It is less likely to work for issues concerning elements of a relationship. These are usually highly subjective issues, on which perceptions may well be influenced by partisan biases.18 The problem is that one party’s intention to reciprocate is often judged by the other party as falling short of an equal exchange. Conditional cooperation, implied by TFT, can lead to ever-worsening behavior as each party responds with increasing anger to the other’s renewed attempt to reciprocate on relationship issues. What are the implications of the agreements for the overall long-term relationship between the superpowers? According to Fisher and Brown,

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conditional offers, even if accepted, do not contribute to an improved or changed relationship. What is required is a willingness by both parties to make cooperative moves that are unconditional. Until the end of the Cold War neither party showed such willingness, as illustrated by the offers and counteroffers documented above. To unfreeze the “relationship impasse,” it will be necessary to take another kind of unilateral initiative, an initiative taken without the stipulation that the other side must reciprocate. The apparent reluctance by both nations to make such moves may have been due to a dilemma in their historical relationship. Altering Cold War patterns of conditional cooperation and competition in the direction of unconditional cooperation required dealing with the problem of mutual threat perceptions. Referred to by Jervis as the security dilemma,19 such perceptions caused each nation to increase its own arsenals in the attempt to reduce the threat posed by the other to its survival. By expanding its own defenses, each country posed a more serious threat to the other in the endless quest for superiority, or at least parity. Each reacted to the other with extreme caution, protecting against the possibility of being disadvantaged by any agreement. A paradox inherent in this dilemma is that it is self-perpetuating: While unconditional cooperation may be a necessary starting mechanism for unfreezing the mutually perceived threat and mistrust, it is very likely to occur under conditions of threat perceptions. Defined in this way, the problem is to develop the conditions for changed perceptions and attributions about the other nation or adversary. Changed conditions have come about largely because of the stream of initiatives taken by Gorbachev and later Yeltsin. As a result, Bush offered a sweeping set of reduction proposals to which Moscow has responded with additional reductions on its side as noted in the discussion above. Additional insights about paths to changed perceptions and behavior toward an adversary are found in the recent experimental literature on conflict resolution. Small changes in the situation can have dramatic effects on the way an opponent is viewed and on the ease with which conflicts are resolved. Initial resistance to reaching agreement can be overcome by redefining a situation. For example, differences in bargaining behavior were obtained among situations presented as problem-solving discussions following an exploration of value differences, as issue-oriented negotiations where values play a limited role, and as bargaining over issue positions that derive from explicit value differences. Both types of communications between opposing parties (such as frequencies of contingent versus noncontingent offers) and view of the opponent and negotiating climate (in terms of trust and win-lose versus problem-solving) were affected by the way the situation was defined. Although the experimental work is merely suggestive, it does provide a basis for third-party strategies in designing situations or

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structures rather than identifying salient solutions from a range of available options. It also makes evident the importance of a more complex approach to reciprocity, one that emphasizes the processing of information and the attributing of intentions to other parties. Information-Processing Approaches to Reciprocity

The utility-theory approaches to reciprocity emphasize strategies for eliciting desired responses from another person or nation. Tactical maneuvering depends for its impact on responsiveness, which is understood best by models of information processing. These models treat such problems as attentiveness to another’s moves, interpretation of the information received, adjustments of expectations, and conflicting interpretations by different actors involved in the decisionmaking process. A more complete understanding of reciprocity as a strategy and as a response to initiatives is likely to result from a model that integrates the acquisition of information into the bargaining or exchange process. One of these models is the theory proposed by the economist, Coddington.20 Attempts to extend this model to problems of international negotiations and to international crisis decisionmaking were made by Snyder and Diesing.21 A discussion of these models provides a transition between the utility theories of inter-nation influence discussed above and more elaborate cognitive theories of influence to be discussed in the next section. While theories of reciprocity assume that parties are attentive to one another’s moves, several studies designed to answer the question “Do nations interact?” reveal that in many domains national decisionmakers do not respond directly to another nation’s moves.22 Exceptions are the highly intense interactions that occur in such conflict regions as the Middle East and face-to-face interactions such as those that occur in negotiations and related diplomatic activities. These findings suggest that parties (nations or individuals) are unlikely to respond to one another until a certain level of attentiveness has been achieved. This observation has implications for theories of reciprocity and for information processing. Assuming attentiveness between parties, we can examine the process where each party keeps track of or monitors moves made by the other. Coddington’s model attempts to capture this process in terms of cycles involving decisions, expectations, and adjustments. A critical aspect of this model is a delay in responding due to the time needed to ascertain the other’s strategy and to evaluate moves in terms of expectations. But additional considerations come into play during an extended sequence of interactions between national decisionmakers. Not only must we take account of the details of processing such evaluations, readjustments, and comparisons; we must also account for the decisions made with regard to appropriate tac-

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tics to employ at each stage in the sequence. This type of model has been shown to depict the ongoing exchanges between the national representatives to a base-rights negotiation and to the nuclear test–ban talks.23 The model emphasizes the importance of monitoring the opponent’s actions. Negotiators adjust their strategies on the basis of an evaluation of “where he is at” and “where I am at.” The adjustment is usually toward synchronous moves (concessions or rhetoric). In the base-rights talks an attempt was made by the “softer” team to toughen its stands when the gap between the teams was still large, leading to an impasse as both teams refused to concede. In the nuclear test–ban talks, the “tougher” team softened its posture in the direction of its most conciliatory opponent, leading to an agreement. In both cases, the pattern of responsiveness took the form of an adjustment made by one team in reaction to an observed difference in actions taken by both teams. However, in order to provoke a reaction, the difference had to be large enough to be noticed, i.e., to reach a “threshold” value. In the SALT context, this pattern has been depicted as a model where negotiators respond to a comparison between B’s actions in the previous round and A’s actions in that round. Nation A reacts to the higher or lower concessions made by nation B. Using data compiled from SALT I and II, Stoll and McAndrew24 tested this model of reciprocity against two alternative models referred to as trend reciprocity and directional reciprocity: the former posits that A responds to changes in B’s actions from round t2 to t1; the latter posits that A simply responds to B’s action (concession or retraction) in the previous round. Correlations computed between the observed data and predicted patterns indicated that comparative reciprocity was the best-fitting model for both the Soviet Union and the United States. Negotiating representatives responded to the difference in concessions, increasing their concessions when their opponent had a higher concession score and decreasing their concessions when the opponent’s score was lower. This pattern of cooperative reciprocity is similar to the pattern referred to as “threshold-adjustment.”25 In both conceptualizations bargainers adjust their moves in the direction of their opponent’s previous moves. The three models of reciprocity have been tested with data from other arms-control negotiations. Overall, patterns of reciprocity—directional, trend, or comparative—were shown to vary with the type of negotiation and, within a negotiation, between the teams. For example, comparative reciprocity depicted both the Soviet and US concessions in the postwar disarmament talks (1946–1960) while different models depicted the actions taken by the Soviet and the US teams during the nuclear test–ban talks (1958–1963) and in the early rounds of MBFR (1974–1977). These results suggest that negotiating context may influence the way in which a nation’s representatives respond to initiatives taken by another nation. And those patterns of response could well determine the effectiveness of a strategy,

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leading either to impasses or agreements. The patterns of reciprocity may also vary with phases of a negotiation. Directional or simple reciprocity may depict actions taken early in the interaction before either team has developed a history of concessions or moves. Trend reciprocity may occur later, after the teams have developed patterns through time, each team responding to the other’s pattern. Comparative reciprocity may be a later process, occurring at the juncture where it becomes possible to compare the other’s pattern to one’s own. These hypotheses remain to be tested in international settings. The three models progress from relatively simple to complex monitoring requirements. Directional reciprocity requires only attention to the other’s previous move. The trend and comparative reciprocity models require sustained attention to an unfolding pattern of moves made through time. Such delayed responsiveness is assumed also by GRIT and other unilateral strategies for influencing another nation or eliciting a desired response to one’s initiatives. As we move from face-to-face negotiation settings to more distant communications among nations, it may be the case that the more complex modes (trend and comparative reciprocity) more accurately depict the pattern of responsiveness. Whether these models are indeed applicable to those settings is an issue of relevance to the effectiveness of unilateral initiatives. A distinctive feature of these theories is that they describe the way information is used in the process of bargaining. Less clear is whether the theories also capture the kinds of interactions that occur between decisionmakers outside of negotiation settings. Noting that these types of exchanges are less mechanistic than depicted by Coddington, Snyder, and Diesing26 propose a more elaborate rendition of the problem of interpretation. Their model incorporates more conscious mental activity in the form of belief systems that filter received messages. Two aspects of belief systems emphasized by these authors are theories of international politics and images of the opponent. Mistakes made about the opponent’s tactics, transmission systems for indirect communication, and varying rates at which strategies and tactics are adjusted are some of the elements of this expanded model. Drawing on a literature that interprets international communications in terms of perceptions and misperceptions, Snyder and Diesing highlight the role of cognitive processes in inter-nation responsiveness and influence. They also acknowledge the importance of symbolic communication. Domestic factors serve to further complicate the demands made on decisionmakers. A variety of domestic influences can constrain or encourage the decisionmaker to take unilateral initiatives, as well as sway the direction of these initiatives toward either cooperation or competition. Consideration of these factors extends the monitoring process depicted by Coddington, Snyder, and Diesing, and others to the various publics or con-

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stituencies with a stake in the outcome. These “constituencies” include bureaucratic agencies, interest groups, opinion leaders within and outside of government, and an amorphous public whose opinion is gauged periodically. Their input may take the form of positions on issues or expressions of sentiment in favor of or opposed to the taking of particular initiatives in foreign policy. The positions or sentiments are construed by informationprocessing approaches as weighted factors contributing to the ultimate decision. A key question is whether domestic politics work in favor of or against the taking of unilateral initiatives. Arguments have been made in both directions, largely without supporting evidence from research studies. Yet, despite a lack of documentation, the debate has served to identify the kinds of pressures impinging on decisionmakers, and, in so doing, the factors that must be included in an information-processing model of decisionmaking. One such factor is the way that decisionmakers respond to their perceptions of public opinion. To the extent that US public opinion sets boundaries for what is acceptable, decisionmakers were required to steer a course between appearing too soft or too harsh in relations with the Soviet Union. They had to balance the US public’s anticommunist sentiment (tougher posturing) against fear of nuclear war (softer posturing). Such a middle course seemed to preclude taking dramatic initiatives. However, the decision may have been due more to timing of events than to a consistent policy. With respect to timing, many observers note more bellicose posturing of leaders during electoral campaigns.27 With regard to events, economic problems within a country, like “hurting stalemates” between countries, may encourage leaders to take cooperative or deescalatory initiatives. (See the discussion above of Gorbachev’s initiatives leading to the INF agreement.) Whether due to timing or events, the decisions are responsive to the perception of public support—and it is that perception, not a precise statement, that is communicated, thus helping to shape opinions in a cycle of reciprocal influences between leaders and publics. Decisions are also responsive to the more immediate influences of bureaucratic elites and interest groups, both of which are likely to be less malleable than the “public.” The policymaking process requires that decisionmakers be responsive to diverse positions taken by government agencies and interest groups. Referred to in the negotiation literature as a boundary role conflict,28 the problem consists of reconciling the conflicting interests of the opponent with the coalition of interests that make up the national position. For policymakers contemplating unilateral initiatives, the conflict forces reside primarily within their nation’s bureaucratic structures. Information-processing models depict this as a weighting problem with differing emphases placed on different parts of a national position or package. The decisionmaker is viewed as a passive recipient of information who has limited influence over the policymaking process. Further development of the models would need

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Unilateral Arms Control to Induce Reciprocation

to take into account a more complex process of mutual influence where Coddington-type adjustments are made by both the leader and the various bureaucratic actors. Rather than viewing decisions to take unilateral initiatives simply as outcomes of an individual’s calculations, this conception places decisions in the context of an interaction process where each decision is a group product subject to continuous modifications in style and content. By incorporating important elements of bureaucratic politics, this approach moves the utility models of national decisionmaking away from the dominant rational actor. The Role of Attributions in Cognitive Theory

Further implications for a theory of reciprocity come from the literature on cognitive social psychology. Little evidence is found in that literature that would support broad generalities about a person’s responses to another’s moves or strategies in various situations. The evidence favors a contingent theory of reciprocity where a person’s response is understood in relation to his or her beliefs and the situation in which the other’s initiatives are taken.29 It would be useful, from this perspective, to identify the beliefs and conditions that mediate between the other’s initiatives and one’s response, which may or may not be reciprocation. The central idea in this literature is that responses or decisions derive from attributions about why others behave as they do. With regard to unilateral initiatives by others, the attributions of interest concern their motives for making a concession or for offering cooperation. Four factors in particular are hypothesized to influence these attributions: the recipient’s (target of initiative) orientation toward cooperation or competition; the recipient’s images of the initiator as ally or enemy; the initiator’s situation and characteristics; and the implications of the interaction for a longer-term relationship between the parties. Each of these factors is discussed in this section. The distinction between “cooperators” and “competitors” made in the gaming literature is relevant. Competitors are subjects with relative gain orientations who defect regardless of the strategy facing them. An interesting finding, reported by Kelley and Stahelski,30 is that cooperators are assimilated to competitors, i.e., cooperators eventually defect while competitors do not change their strategy to cooperation. Similar findings also have been reported for national decisionmakers in real-world settings: softer negotiators adjusted their rhetoric toward their harder counterparts in intergovernmental negotiations; the soft-liners in various governments were seen to change their background images in a harder direction while the hard-liners were not seen to adjust their images of an adversary’s motives.31 In all these studies, the competitors or hard-liners seemed to

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view the world as composed primarily of people like themselves, and, for the most part, their experience justified this belief. Such an orientation mitigates against reciprocation of another’s cooperative initiatives. If predominant, this approach, similar in may respects to realpolitik, would serve to qualify suppositions about a norm or general theory of reciprocity to cooperative moves. Other psychological obstacles to reciprocity are the kinds of perceptions that result from nationalistic orientations. Nationalistic sentiments may magnify the propensity for misperception. They may influence the interpretation of reciprocal exchanges as being “equal” or “unequal” as discussed in the section above on “Agreements and Relationships.” Referred to as bad-faith images, ethnocentric bias, or partisan bias, these are evaluations of another’s actions determined by whether he or she is labeled a friend or an enemy. The same actions are viewed differently if carried out by an ally or an enemy; a double standard is involved. While regarded in the psychological literature as universal, and supported by many anecdotes drawn from cases of international interactions, this biasing tendency is likely to vary in strength depending on certain conditions. Included among these conditions are external (international system) and internal (national) stress and various group or national attributes such as cohesion. Impression management plays an important role in the process of attributing intentions to the initiator of a cooperative move. Reciprocity is more likely if the initiator is seen as genuinely trying to be helpful or conciliatory rather than seeking to induce indebtedness or create a good impression. It is also more likely to occur when the initiator is viewed as being benevolent, i.e., he or she is not believed to have ulterior motives, when the initiative is seen as being voluntary, and when it is seen as being intentional rather than accidental, i.e., given with the intention of encouraging a cycle of cooperation rather than serving self-interests. Each of these perceptions can be managed or orchestrated by the initiator. Each can also be the result of inferences made from attributes and circumstances of the initiator. One attribute is power. Initiatives are likely to be reciprocated when the actor is powerful; more powerful actors do not need to be generous in order to gain influence, making their “generosity” appear less ingratiatory. One circumstance is the cost of being generous, as illustrated, for example, by Sadat’s trip to Jerusalem. Other conditions for reciprocity to another’s initiatives are discussed in the literature. Two in particular are worth noting—implications for a longterm relationship and the costs of continued conflict. Both these conditions influence the perceived value of cooperation. When one expects future interaction, he or she is more likely to value the other’s cooperation, making him or her more prone to reinforce the cooperation (unilateral initiative) when it occurs. The mutual dependence implied by a long-term relationship is sustained largely by adherence to the norm of reciprocity. The

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desire to reciprocate is especially strong when the mutually dependent parties are in a costly conflict. Some evidence suggests that unilateral initiatives are most effective when both parties are experiencing a “hurting stalemate.”32 Classic examples of this relationship are Sadat’s successful trip to Jerusalem following a war between Egypt and Israel and Kennedy’s testban proposals following the Cuban missile crisis. From Micro to Macro Levels of Analysis: Social Psychology and International Relations

The literature reviewed in this chapter has consisted largely of studies conducted at the interpersonal level of analysis. Since we are concerned primarily with processes at the international level, it is appropriate to raise the issue of isomorphism: Are there sufficient correspondences between the levels to apply insights gained from the social-psychology literature to the development of strategies for inter-nation influence? Arguments in favor of application are based on a common focus on relational processes.33 Those against application emphasize the importance of systemic features not captured in laboratory experiments. While some progress on this issue has been made in the empirical literature,34 it remains unclear whether the observed correspondences are sufficient to underwrite prescriptions based on social-psychological findings. For this reason, it would seem advisable not to stretch the analogies too far. Rather, we may gain important insights from the exercise of searching for correspondences, noting that dissimilarities are instructive in identifying system processes that may affect the impact of unilateral initiatives. More recent conceptualizations of the levels-of-analysis issue have emphasized the recurring patterns of effects of behaviors (e.g., communication flows and structures as in formal relationships among nations). Intertwined as they are in the dynamics of international politics, behaviors and structures are viewed as affecting each other in a reciprocal manner. Such relationships may cause a kind of rigidity in both behaviors and structures: structures set the tone for patterns of behavior that unfold; the behavior, in turn, serves to perpetuate the existing structures. Examples are found in the literature on formal negotiations. Sharp 35 notes how the MBFR process framed the policy debate in terms of narrow aspects of military security. Chayes36 discusses the ways by which negotiation outcomes can create domestic bureaucracies that serve to institutionalize the new relationship. The connections suggested here between behaviors and structures reveal some possible dysfunctions of formal negotiations. The same connections may, however, also reveal some functions of other types of interactions between national representatives. Just as formal negotiation may create structural rigidities, so too might

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other forms of behavior serve to break down existing rigidities. Positive effects can result from the setting and from postures taken by representatives. Adelman37 argues for an arms-control process without formal negotiations, treaties, or agreements. He advanced the idea of evolving parallel policies and informal discussions with the Soviets. The informal setting reduces pressures to define a “public” stance and to achieve a contractual outcome. Deutsch38 advocates taking a proactive stand in one’s efforts to transform an adversary into a collaborator. Repeated and varied attempts to communicate in a firm but friendly or nonbelligerent manner make it possible to move from a destructive to a constructive system of relationships. And, much earlier, Galtung shows how representatives, by their own behavior, can “consciously create rank incongruities, break down isomorphisms, make interpersonal relations less rank-dependent, [and] in short, try to avoid the pitfalls of perfect equilibrium and consonance that may lead to a strong identification and feelings of behaving correctly, but also to strong rigidity.”39 Each of these proposals has implications for a second track that would supplement traditional diplomacy, for tacit bargaining similar to the GRIT idea, and for unilateralism in arms control. The proposals illustrate the variety of forms that initiatives can take. They may be substantive or procedural statements; they may also consist of styles of communication. Each is an attempt made by a national leader or representative to influence an existing pattern of relations or another nation’s decision. Actual impacts of initiatives are largely unknown to date. This is due to problems of documentation and coding rules as well as to the conceptual complexities of dual causation and a confounding of variables defined at the micro and macro levels of analysis. A first step consists of assembling a data set of sequential statements and actions taken by both the Soviet and US leaders throughout a defined period of time. Translating these events into codes is a task that can benefit from quantitative research on indicators of negotiating behavior and international tension. Those research traditions also contribute statistical models designed to deal with complex time-series data characterized by lagged effects and multicollinearity. Analyses of this sort would clarify linkages between microand macro-level processes as recurring patterns of effects of initiatives and relationships between nations or the international climate. Conclusion

This chapter has attempted to identify the conditions under which unilateral initiatives are likely to be reciprocated, leading to cooperation among adversaries. Implications for this issue were developed from recent work in social psychology, especially from research on attributions of intentions and information processing in political decisionmaking. Three conclusions

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are suggested: (1) reciprocity among adversaries, as in tit for tat, is unlikely to be an effective strategy; (2) unilateral initiatives in the form of unconditional moves are unlikely to be taken; and (3) the effectiveness of initiative depends to a large extent on the nature of the relationship between the nations and on the international climate. Each of these conclusions is discussed briefly. Reciprocity can be problematic for several reasons: 1. Reciprocated responses reward competitive as well as cooperative moves, leading to escalatory cycles that may be difficult to reverse. 2. Reciprocated responses reinforce a pattern of contingent initiatives that may contribute to a deterioration, rather than to an improvement, in the relationship between the nations. 3. Perceptions of “equivalence” are difficult to establish: Is the other’s response to my offer an equivalent concession? What is an equivalent response to the other’s initiative? 4. Delays in responding, due to information-processing requirements, complicate the process of evaluating the eventual move as a reciprocated response to the original initiative. 5. Initiatives taken by the other may not be intended to elicit reciprocation toward mutual reductions. They may be the result of international or domestic pressures. 6. In a climate of mistrust, reciprocation is likely to be misinterpreted. Suspicions about the other’s motives and related attributions can lead to a denial that the initiator’s proposal has indeed been reciprocated.

These problems would not arise if initiatives were taken without demands for reciprocity. Such unconditional initiatives are difficult to make in an international climate where national decisionmakers view other nations as threatening. The dynamics of the security dilemma come into play, placing governments in the position of reactor rather than initiator. Fearing exploitation, governments are cautious in taking initiatives, construing them as conditional cooperation or firm but fair strategies with the attendant difficulties of evaluating reciprocity. Added reinforcement for these postures comes from domestic constituencies including both public opinion and bureaucratic stakeholders, who oppose moves that do not contain within them demands for reciprocated concessions. Responding to these pressures, decisionmakers use bargaining strategies that may on occasion produce agreements; such strategies rarely contribute to an improved overall relationship. What, then, is the role of unilateral initiatives in a policy whose goal is to create the conditions for cooperation? The question of interest concerns direction of causation: Do unilateral

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initiatives contribute to an improved international climate? Or do initiatives reflect changes that have already taken place or are in the process of occurring? The evidence reviewed in this chapter and elsewhere suggests that changes in perceptions of the relationship or international climate are necessary conditions for the effectiveness of initiatives. The reluctance of governments to take unconditional initiatives stems from the psychology of adversarial relationships. That “psychology” results in attitudes that are highly resistant to change in the absence of changes in the structure of relations. Implied here is the proposition that initiatives are unlikely to contribute to relationship changes or reduced tension, as Osgood and others have argued, but are symptomatic of a changing situation—in other words, they are more likely to be made and reciprocated under conditions of cooperation or reduced tension. Bush’s “response” (60,000 troops withdrawn from central Europe, announced in February 1990) to Gorbachev’s unilateral troop reductions was made in the context of changes in the former Soviet-US relationship. These changes may well have set in motion the larger unilateral reduction announced by both sides in September 1991. Relationship changes also made it possible for the United States to withdraw some naval forces off the coast of China and, perhaps, the US withdrawal of nuclear weapons from Korea. As the climate continues to improve, reductions are accelerated as Moscow and Washington engage in a reciprocal arms limitation dance. Notes

1. William M. Rose, “Unilateral Initiatives: A Theoretical and Historical Analysis,” Paper presented at the International Studies Association, 1985, p. 3. 2. Robert Keohane, “Reciprocity in International Relations,” International Organization, Winter, pp. 1–28. 3. Charles E. Osgood, An Alternative to War or Surrender (Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1962). 4. Amitai Etzioni, “The Kennedy Experiment,” Western Political Quarterly 20, pp. 361–380. 5. Charles E. Osgood, “GRIT for MBFR: A Proposal for Unfreezing ForceLevel Postures in Europe,” Testimony to Subcommittee on Europe of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs, June 26, 1973, p. 14. 6. Jack N. Barkenbus and Alvin Weinberg, “Defense-Protected Build-down,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, October 1984, pp. 18–23. 7. R. Delson, “Unilateral Reciprocated Nuclear Disarmament,” Disarmament, 1987. 8. Kenneth L. Adelman, “Arms Control Without Treaties,” Foreign Affairs, Winter 1984/85, pp. 240–263. 9. John Wertheimer, “The Antisatellite Negotiations,” in Superpower Arms Control, ed. Albert Carnesale and Richard Haas (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1987), pp. 139–164. 10. Glen T. Seaborg, Stemming the Tide: Arms Control in the Johnson Years

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(New York: Lexington Books, 1981). 11. Daniel Druckman and P. Terrance Hopmann, “Behavior Aspects of Negotiations on Mutual Security,” in Behavior and Society, ed. Philip Tetlock, et al., (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990). 12. Sven Lindskold et al., “Transforming Competitive or Cooperative Climates,” Journal of Conflict Resolution, March 1986, pp. 99–114. 13. Martin Patchen, “Strategies for Eliciting Cooperation From an Adversary,” Journal of Conflict Resolution, 1987, pp. 164–185. 14. Morton Deutsch, Distributive Justice: A Social-Psychological Perspective (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1985); D. G. Pruitt and S. A. Lewis, “The Psychology of Integrative Bargaining, “ in Negotiations: Social Psychological Perspectives, ed. Daniel Druckman (Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, 1977); and Roger Fisher and William Ury, Getting to Yes: Negotiating Agreement Without Giving In (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1981). 15. William M. Rose, U.S. Unilateral Arms Control Initiatives: When Do They Work? (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1988). 16. Roger Fisher and William Ury, Getting Together (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1988), p. 201. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. Robert Jervis, “Security Regimes,” in International Regimes, ed. Stephen D. Krasner (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983). 20. A. Coddington, Theories of the Bargaining Process (Hawthorne, NY: Aldine, 1968). 21. Glen H. Snyder and Paul Diesing, Conflict Among Nations (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1977). 22. P. T. Hopmann and T. D. King, “Interactions and Perception in the Test Ban Negotiations, 1962–1963,” International Studies Quarterly, March 1976, pp. 105–142. 23. Ibid., and Daniel Druckman, “Stages, Turning Points and Crises: Negotiating Military Base Rights: Spain and the United States,” Journal of Conflict Resolution, June, 1986, pp. 327–370. 24. Richard J. Stoll and William McAndrew, “Negotiating Strategic Arms Control, 1969–1979: Modeling the Bargaining Process,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 30, 1986, pp. 315–326. 25. See Druckman, note 23. 26. Snyder and Diesing, note 21. 27. John Mueller, War, Presidents, and Public Opinion (New York: Wiley, 1973). 28. Richard E. Ealton and Robert B. McKersie, A Behavioral Theory of Labor Negotiations: An Analysis of a Social Interaction System (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1965). 29. R. Nisbett and L. Ross, Human Inference: Strategies and Shortcomings of Social Judgment (New York: Prentice-Hall, 1980). 30. H. H. Kelley and A. J. Stahelski, “Social Interaction Basis of Cooperators’ and Competitors’ Beliefs About Others,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 16, 1970, pp. 66–91. 31. Snyder and Diesing, note 21. 32. Saadia Touval and I. William Zartman, eds., The Man in the Middle: International Mediation in Theory and Practice (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1985). 33. Johan Galtung, “Small Group Theory and the Theory of International Relations: A Study of Isomorphism,” in New Approaches to International

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Relations, ed. Morton A. Kaplan (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1968). 34. G. Matthew Bohnam and Harold Guetzkow, “Simulating International Disarmament Negotiations,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 15, 1971, pp. 300–315. 35. Jane Sharp, “MBFR as Arms Control,” Arms Control Today (January, 1976). 36. Abram Chayes, “An Inquiry into the Working of Arms-Control Agreements,” Harvard Law Review, March 1972, pp. 905–969. 37. See Adelman, note 8. 38. See Deutsch, note 14. 39. See Galtung, note 33, p. 293.

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3 Unilateralism in Soviet and Russian Arms Control Rose Gottemoeller

Unilateralism in Soviet and Russian Arms Control Rose Gottemoeller

The former Soviet Union’s approach to unilateralism in the arms control arena varied sharply over time as its goals in foreign policy and position in the world changed. Today, the Russian leadership has embarked on a burst of unilateral initiatives that appear to carry the former Soviet Union further than ever before toward serious decreases in military capability. The skepticism that initially greeted these initiatives in the West, however, sprang from the memory of earlier Kremlin forays into unilateralism, many of them political or propagandistic feints with little impact on military deployments. But political or propaganda gains were by no means the only motivation for Soviet leaders. Even at the height of the Cold War, troop reduction proposals were made that led to major drops in the size of the Soviet armed forces and, as we shall see, significant dislocation and disaffection of military personnel, especially the officer corps. Thus, the contrast cannot be drawn between the current period and an earlier, less serious era. Instead, the Soviet and now Russian unilateral initiatives have to be considered individually, within the context of the particular policy goals that they were and are designed to serve. This chapter takes such an approach in considering Soviet unilateral initiatives from the immediate post-Stalin era (mid-1950s) to the present. It places individual proposals in three different categories, devised on the basis of the national policy goals that were preeminent at the various times. It focuses, in detail, on several cases: Khrushchev’s 1956–1960 force reductions, Brezhnev’s 1979 force reductions and accompanying initiatives, and Gorbachev’s 1988 force reduction proposals. It concludes by arguing that the political backlash resulting from Yeltsin’s 1991–1992 unilateral initiatives makes future Russian unilateral limitations and reductions more difficult. The seriousness with which the Soviet Union sought and Russia today seeks reciprocity, or, perhaps, the degree to which they expect reciprocity, 43

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seems to be an important sign of their motivation for proposing unilateral action. The factors that contribute to that motivation, however, are many. They can range from the instinct for propaganda advantage to serious internal economic considerations. The categories devised in the course of this research attempt to capture the breadth of that range. The first category encompasses unilateral initiatives undertaken primarily for propaganda purposes, which had little impact on Soviet force posture, military doctrine, or strategic position. This category was perhaps best defined in the words of Andrei Gromyko, the longtime Soviet foreign minister. Arkady Shevchenko recounts that, as a young foreign ministry staffer in the mid-1950s, he asked Gromyko how the Soviet leadership could justify a radical change in Soviet policy toward a unilateral cessation of nuclear weapons testing. “No explanation of the change is necessary,” Gromyko reportedly said. “The crux of the matter is that our decision will have a tremendous political effect. That is our main objective.”1 In terms of inducing reciprocity, the underlying assumption of a decisionmaker operating in this category seems to be that his foreign counterparts will not react with similar behavior. Therefore, he is free to reap the full benefit of positive public reactions, both at home and abroad. Most Western observers found that initiatives of this nature during the Soviet period—certain troop withdrawals, no-nuclear-use proposals, pledges to restrain targeting—had a minimal impact on the continued effectiveness of the Soviet fighting force. At times, in fact, Moscow used them to mask the deployment of troops or capabilities of greater effectiveness. This was true, for example, of the initial withdrawal of troops from Afghanistan in 1980. Although the Soviets touted it as a significant unilateral move, it actually masked the introduction of troops better trained and equipped for mountain warfare. An interesting facet of this category of unilateral initiatives is that, although top leadership figures proposed them under the conviction that Soviet military strength would not be unduly affected, others in the Soviet or East European leadership structure considered them to be quite serious or significant. Thus, Leonid Brezhnev apparently had to justify his 1979 unilateral reduction proposals not only to the Soviet military, but also to certain East European audiences. What to Brezhnev was a politically motivated act, to others threatened more serious unilateralism to come. This point will be discussed in greater detail below. The second category encompasses unilateral initiatives in which Soviet national style, conviction, or preferences were exploited for political or propaganda purposes. The national tendencies or predilections, however, had a true restraining effect on Soviet force posture, military doctrine, and weapon acquisition policy. Probably the prime example of this type of unilateralism is the restraint on naval development that extended from the 1950s through the early

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1960s, then began to change somewhat as the Soviet navy enjoyed an upsurge in prestige (and investment) under Admiral Gorshkov. But even at the height of Gorshkov’s campaign to boost the navy’s role, the Soviet Union continued publicly to repudiate a widespread expansion in the use of foreign bases, amphibious and lift capabilities, and aircraft carriers. Unilateral restraint of this type was in some sense a free good to the Soviets, allowing them to reap benefits in public diplomacy from wellestablished national policies. Moreover, public advertisement that certain types of military development were not encouraged or sanctioned by the Soviet state may have served as a useful tool for checking overzealous actors inside the military. The internal debate over the utility of aircraft carriers had just this flavor to it, with Admiral Gorshkov and his partisans arguing that aircraft carriers were the proper tools of a superpower while his opponents argued that aircraft carriers were linked irrevocably to the imperialists’ game, gunboat diplomacy. The free-good nature of this category of unilateralism means that any reciprocity induced in Soviet opponents was an added benefit of pursuing and advertising restraint. But reciprocity would not be expected. Indeed, certain actions, if labeled “reciprocal,” might in the end have removed a unique Soviet propaganda advantage while not seriously impairing the other side’s military capabilities. These might include closure of a base or retirement of an aircraft carrier or other major surface combatant. The third category of unilateralism involves initiatives undertaken with due consideration of their propaganda value, but not primarily for that purpose. These initiatives actually had an impact on national policy, military doctrine, force posture, or other status of the USSR. Over time, this category was the most tendentious, because many people doubted that Moscow would undertake unilateral actions that would affect in an important way its military posture and capabilities. From the Soviet leadership’s point of view, however, inducing reciprocity was probably a very important aspect of this type of unilateralism, because reciprocal behavior by the opponent would confirm the correctness of a policy initiative that was likely to appear radical or dangerous to many Soviets. Reciprocity legitimized the policy, and improved the authority of the leadership itself. Inducing reciprocity was probably not the only motivating factor, however. More likely, the Kremlin would be faced with difficult economic or internal political problems that would impel it in the direction taken in the unilateral initiative. This seems to have been the case with Khrushchev’s unilateral force reductions of 1956–1960, as seems to be the case with the more recent Gorbachev and Yeltsin reductions. Having defined three categories to describe Soviet unilateralism, we now turn to discussing the cases in detail. The cases are organized according to the categories they best fit. Although this does not have the neatness

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of a chronological approach, it permits like events and proposals to be considered together, easing analysis and comparison. Thus, Brezhnev’s 1979 proposals are covered first, as an example of initiatives undertaken primarily for political or propaganda purposes. We then return to Soviet naval policy of the postwar period, ending this discussion in the present. Finally, the force reductions of the 1956–1960, 1980, and early 1990s periods provide a sense of Kremlin initiatives that impacted on Moscow’s force posture and other military capabilities. The conclusions focus on the cycle of Soviet policies toward unilateralism over time, summarizing the internal and external forces that were seemingly driving that cycle. They also provide a perspective on likely future directions for Russian unilateral arms control policy. Category One: Unilateralism as Pure Politics or Propaganda

1979 Brezhnev Initiatives: Attempt to Preempt the Dual-Track Decision

On October 6, 1979, Leonid Brezhnev delivered a speech in Berlin celebrating the 30th anniversary of the German Democratic Republic (GDR). After congratulating the East Germans, he pledged to remove 20,000 Soviet troops and 1,000 tanks from the GDR over the next twelve months, and to reduce the number of intermediate-range nuclear weapons deployed in the western USSR. At the same time, however, he warned the West Europeans, particularly the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG), against the deployment of any new intermediate-range nuclear missiles in NATO Europe. “It is not hard to see,” said Brezhnev, “what consequences the FRG would have in store for itself if one day these new weapons were put to use by their owners.”2 Brezhnev was referring, of course, to the United States, which, with its NATO allies, was considering deployment of 572 new Pershing 2 intermediate-range ballistic missiles and ground-launched cruise missiles. The fifteen NATO nations were preparing to meet in December 1979 to decide on a course of action to address the USSR’s modernization of its own intermediate-range nuclear forces. For some years the Soviet Union had been replacing its old, single-warhead SS-4 and SS-5 missiles with new, more accurate, triple-warhead SS-20s. At the time of Brezhnev’s speech, the Soviets had deployed about one hundred SS-20s, and had removed a correspondingly larger number of SS-4s and SS-5s, because of the SS-20s’ triple warheads.3 For that reason, Brezhnev was able to state that “medium-range nuclear weapons on the territory of the European part of the Soviet Union have not been increased by a single missile . . . during the past ten years.

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On the contrary, the number of medium-range missiles . . . has even been somewhat decreased.”4 In offering to continue to decrease the number of missiles deployed in the western USSR, Brezhnev was proposing, in essence, to continue the modernization process that had been going on for some time. This fact was noted by President Carter a few days later when he asserted in a press conference that the proposal was “not quite as constructive as at first blush it appears to be. In my judgement,” Carter continued, “the decision ought to be made to modernize the Western allies’ military strength and then negotiate with a full commitment and determination mutually to lower armaments on both sides.”5 Carter’s proposed solution actually became NATO’s so-called twotrack decision. Taken at the December 1979 meeting that Brezhnev was attempting to preempt, the decision called for the deployment of 572 intermediate-range nuclear missiles in five NATO European countries, and for simultaneous negotiations with the Soviet Union to reduce the deployments. The decision became a symbol of NATO cohesion during a difficult period of alliance relations, when US nuclear guarantees in Europe were being called increasingly into doubt by a growing preponderance of Soviet nuclear and conventional forces. The troop- and tank-reduction proposals that Brezhnev offered were also designed to contribute to the impression that the Soviet Union was serious about negotiating to address European fears of Soviet superiority. In addition to NATO concerns about the SS-20, the Mutual Balanced Force Reduction (MBFR) Talks had been stalled over varying NATO and Warsaw Pact counts of troops and equipment, and Brezhnev apparently hoped to get them moving again through his unilateral initiative. He called it “a new concrete demonstration of the peaceableness and good will of the Soviet Union and its allies,” and urged NATO to “properly assess” the proposal.6 NATO recalled only too well, however, that the Soviet Union deployed a total of twenty-two divisions in East Germany: 400,000 personnel and 7,000 tanks, many of them outmoded and ready for retirement. The Brezhnev proposal to remove 20,000 personnel and 1,000 tanks was therefore rapidly judged to represent no change in the unfavorable military balance. 7 In fact, when the reductions commenced a few months later, NATO’s concern that only obsolescent tanks and equipment would be removed was confirmed. But as inadequate as these unilateral initiatives appeared to Western eyes, they apparently evoked concern among certain Soviet and East European audiences. The East German Communist Party newspaper Neues Deutschland considerably hardened Brezhnev’s threat to the Federal Republic of Germany should new intermediate-range nuclear missiles be accepted for deployment. Instead of threatening unspecified “conse-

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quences,” as cited above, the East German paper stressed ominously that “the danger of a counterstrike against the FRG itself would increase many times if these new weapons were some day to be used by their masters and overlords.”8 Although the difference between the German newspaper version and Brezhnev’s spoken text (which was carried by TASS and Pravda) may have been accidental, this seems unlikely. Textual nuance was carefully guarded in the case of major Soviet leadership speeches, and the differences in the German and Russian versions are substantial. It thus seems more likely that conservative elements in the East German leadership had decided that Brezhnev’s tone was too conciliatory and should be hardened as a warning to the West Germans. This version of the events surrounding the Berlin speech was later augmented by rumors that Brezhnev had had to further reassure the Warsaw Pact allies that he was not adopting too soft a line in dealing with NATO on the INF deployment decision. According to some versions of the story, he delivered a secret speech in Prague, Czechoslovakia, in which he stressed the limited nature of the measures that he had proposed, and their minimal effect on the military strength of the alliance. Reaction also occurred inside the Soviet Union, with certain military men apparently expressing concern that the proposals were too reminiscent of Khrushchev’s unilateral force reductions in the early 1960s. They might have feared that the proposals could be interpreted in the West as a sign of weakness, especially since Brezhnev asserted that they were made “without preconditions.” Thus, although Brezhnev’s Berlin proposals impressed Western audiences as exercises in public diplomacy that would not affect Soviet force posture, the proposals evidently worried certain Soviet and East European audiences. To them, the proposals appeared to be either harbingers of worse unilateralism to come, or signs of an overly conciliatory approach to NATO’s plans for nuclear modernization in Europe. In this sense, placing the 1979 initiatives in the category of initiatives chosen for political effect with little or no effect on force posture is only relevant from certain standpoints. The top Politburo leadership may have been thinking in that way when they devised the proposals, and many Westerners rapidly interpreted them as falling into that category. For others in the Eastern bloc, however, the initiatives appeared to be much more serious and troubling. We next turn to discussing Soviet restraint on naval development and deployment, which falls into our second category, unilateral initiatives undertaken for political effect, but with real effect on Soviet military posture because of national style or preference.

Unilateralism in Soviet and Russian Arms Control

Category Two: Unilateral Restraint as National Preference

The Soviet Navy: Symbol of Restraint or Empire?

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In the years immediately following World War II, the Soviet navy continued to operate, as it had during the war years, in the shadow of the ground forces. The navy concentrated mostly on defensive missions, which Stalin personally defined in terms of an “active” defense. He envisioned a large, strong surface fleet to supplement expanded submarine and naval air forces. This modernized navy, although bearing a resemblance to the powerful navies of Great Britain and the United States, would not be used to challenge them on the high seas. It would remain tied to Soviet coastal areas and perform a complicated defensive mission. According to Admiral Gorshkov, the longtime activist commander-in-chief of the Soviet navy, practical attempts to carry out this mission would have involved “forcing enemy vessels to enter mined [inshore] areas, placing them in an unfavorable position for battle, and then destroying them with torpedo boats, aviations, naval and shore artillery.”9 After Stalin’s death in March 1953, his conception of a large, powerful navy for defensive missions lost favor quickly. It was not replaced, however, by more of a “great power” concept for the navy. Indeed, Khrushchev, compelled by budgetary stringencies, brought the Stalinist construction program to a halt, claiming that large surface vessels such as the Sverdlovclass cruisers were “floating coffins” in the face of the nuclear attack potential of US aircraft carriers. To implement his vision of an economical navy focused on submarines to defeat US carrier battle groups, Khrushchev chose Admiral Gorshkov to replace Admiral Kuznetsov, a supporter of Stalin’s shipbuilding program. Thus Khrushchev abandoned the concept of a strong surface fleet, evidently concluding that the Soviet Union had no place for it, either in ideological or budgetary terms. Khrushchev’s views on the issue, strongly expressed in his memoirs, were evidently shared by others in the party hierarchy. Khrushchev admitted to a nagging desire to deploy aircraft carriers like those of the United States and Great Britain, but conceded that the Soviet state budget simply could not afford them.10 Khrushchev’s response to these constraints on naval shipbuilding was to make a virtue out of necessity. The Soviet Union would not build a large fleet of surface vessels because these were the weapons of imperialism. Never was his attitude so clearly expressed as when he discussed amphibious forces: “We are a socialist country; in accordance with Lenin’s principle of peaceful coexistence, we are against imperialist wars, and we do not aspire to occupy other countries. Therefore we have no need for those ves-

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sels that are used by countries like the United States to pursue aggressive and imperialist goals. We were satisfied to be able to deter the hostile forces in the world by means of our ICBMs.”11 Long after Khrushchev’s departure from office in October 1964, these sentiments continued to be expressed by the party leadership. Indeed, they were an official part of the navy’s public policy, often appearing in naval literature. However, as Gorshkov matured in his job as naval commanderin-chief, he increasingly subverted the bias against an “imperialist” surface fleet in his campaign for greater naval autonomy within the armed forces. This process began as early as the Cuban missile crisis of 1962, an event that forcefully demonstrated the case for globally deployable surface naval forces and defensible sea lines of communications. The crisis, in fact, served to dramatize Soviet naval inadequacies and heavily influenced the subsequent development of Soviet naval power-projection capabilities. Subsequently, the fleet’s presence during crises such as the 1967 ArabIsraeli War plainly highlighted the benefits of a visible surface navy deployed in potential trouble spots. Admiral Gorshkov began to advertise this fact, noting that the navy could be used in “peacetime as well [as war], for demonstrating the economic and military power of the State beyond its borders. . . . Among all the branches of the armed services, the Navy is best suited to operationally serving the State’s interests beyond its borders.”12 By the early to mid-1970s, this view began to dovetail with a more activist and expansionist Soviet foreign policy. The Soviet leadership under Brezhnev and Minister of Defense Grechko seemed resolved to step into the vacuum created by the US national malaise after the fiasco in Vietnam. They began to expand Soviet influence in the Third World, undertaking to project military power into Angola, Somalia, and Ethiopia. Gorshkov’s navy, especially the capable surface fleet that he envisioned, could play a major role in power projection. Gorshkov also extended his arguments to wartime, however, asserting that the navy’s inherent nature and its deployment on the high seas gave it an independence of action that could not be matched by the services that were tied to the land theater. It was this argument that put Gorshkov on a collision course with the Soviet ground forces and its predominant combined arms strategy. The conflict between the ground forces and the navy was reflected most clearly in the first (1976) edition of Sea Power of the State, Gorshkov’s signature work. The book criticized the majority of the military leadership’s preoccupation with continental theaters of military operations, and its inability to comprehend the navy’s importance.13 It stressed that the navy would often be involved in the first battles of the war, before the campaign could develop in the land theaters. Thus, Gorshkov argued, the navy might have a decisive effect on the course of the war in its earliest stages. These arguments, behind which lay important initiatives to garner

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increasing portions of the defense budget, amounted to heresy against the dominant combined arms strategy and its principle executor, the ground forces. They also contradicted the restrained “anti-imperialist” rhetoric that had been attached to the Soviet navy for many years. Gorshkov was clearly embracing wartime and peacetime power projection roles that were not in tune with this long-standing public theme. But Gorshkov evidently had important supporters, among them an influential military spokesman, Marshal of the Soviet Union Bagramyan, a retired artillery officer who was known to have links to Minister of Defense Grechko. His favorable reception of the book fueled Western speculation that the Brezhnev/Grechko activism in the Third World would be backed up by a changed national attitude toward the Soviet navy. From a service tied closely to defense of the homeland, it would become a powerful, forward-based instrument of Soviet policy in peacetime and an independent actor in war. By the late 1970s, however, the leadership of the Soviet Union was entering a transition period. National policy goals were also changing as the rosy opportunism of the post-Vietnam period was replaced by concern over a stagnating economy and a reemergent United States. In addition, the Soviet military was mounting a major reorganization to address serious concerns about an explosion of new military technologies in the West. These factors combined to counteract the independence and importance that Gorshkov had garnered for his institution. As Francis Fukuyama argues, Grechko’s priorities were radically different from those of his successor, Minister of Defense Dmitry Ustinov, and from those of the new chief of the General Staff, Nikolay Ogarkov, who was appointed in 1977.14 Instead of an urge to establish power-projection capabilities for the Soviet navy, these men were more concerned with implementing the reorganization that would make the Soviet armed forces better able to fight a modern war. They also recognized that they would have limited budgetary resources with which to accomplish this goal. Under these circumstances, Gorshkov’s arguments for aircraft carriers and heavy battle cruisers no doubt received a less sympathetic hearing. In addition to this military restraint, Brezhnev had apparently decided, like Khrushchev before him, that the construction of aircraft carriers did not fit the Soviet Union’s international role. In 1978, when the long-awaited Soviet big-deck aircraft carriers were finally beginning construction, Brezhnev announced that aircraft carriers were inconsistent with Moscow’s “exclusively defensive” military doctrine.15 This sudden return to an old theme must have been disquieting to Gorshkov and his “big navy” allies, who had battled long and hard for big-deck carriers similar to those of the United States. But despite these challenges, Gorshkov and his partisans did not retire from action. Indeed, they renewed their arguments during the early 1980s,

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when Chief of the General Staff Ogarkov was pushing hard for a rapid, high-technology modernization of the Soviet armed forces. In this context, Gorshkov continued to press for recognition that the navy had unique qualities that enhanced the Soviet Union’s status and the effectiveness of its armed forces. Gorshkov’s efforts were to no avail, however. He was retired from office in December 1985, and Admiral Chernavin, his successor, seemed to discard the theme of a “great power” navy that Gorshkov had returned to again and again. Instead, Chernavin contrasted the Soviet emphasis on “defensive naval weapons” such as submarines with that of the United States, which “considers its surface ships and naval aviation to be the most important component of its naval strike forces designed to ensure supremacy in regions of vital interest to the United States.” The Soviet navy, Chernavin asserted, has no such aspirations, for it has no aircraft carriers or battleships.16 To a striking degree, the transition from Gorshkov to Chernavin mirrored the transition from Kuznetsov to Gorshkov that had occurred almost thirty years earlier. Like Gorshkov, Chernavin was praised for being a submariner, capable of understanding that the Soviet navy could not challenge the United States for command of the sea, but could use its submarines to defend itself effectively from the much more powerful US and NATO fleets. Chernavin, like the Gorshkov of the 1950s, seemed to embrace the bias against major surface combatants that had reemerged in the late 1970s, advertising that bias as evidence of Soviet restraint in naval power projection. In some sense, the return to the theme of unilateral naval restraint was natural to the political environment of the times, for the Gorbachev leadership was increasingly advertising its commitment to a defensive military strategy that eschewed at least by some definitions military power projection beyond Soviet borders in any event of war or peace. The military leadership itself, however, probably also provided powerful incentives to dampen navy efforts at self-promotion. Perhaps better than any institution in the Soviet Union, the military had recognized well before Gorbachev that resource constraints would demand severe choices. Construction of capital ships was bound to come under review by the General Staff, which was responsible for planning and procuring for the armed forces overall. And the General Staff, dominated by the ground forces, was almost bound to decide against Gorshkov’s plans for the navy. The current return to naval restraint was played out in several ways in the Soviet media. One was to advertise a deemphasis of out-of-area naval exercises as evidence that Soviet strategy is becoming “defensive” in character. Another was to resume criticism of the “imperialist” nature of aircraft carriers and other large surface combatants, as noted above. Both were echoes from the post-Stalinist period.

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We now turn to two cases in which unilateral initiatives were evidently planned to make a difference to Soviet force posture. They are the Khrushchev 1956–1960 force-reduction proposals, and the Gorbachev 1988 force-reduction proposals. Category Three: Unilateral Initiatives That Affect Force Structure

1956–1960 Khrushchev Initiatives

Even during the first post–World War II years, the Soviet Union was involved in a web of disarmament activities in the UN Disarmament Subcommittee, discussions that involved, on the Western side, Canada, France, Great Britain, and the United States. By 1948 these discussions had culminated in the establishment of a basic Soviet position on conventional force reductions, a position that called for multilateral reductions corresponding to the number of troops being withdrawn from “ex-enemy countries,” and also involved more general reductions in national armed forces. This position was adjusted slightly over time, but there were no significant Soviet initiatives in this arena from 1949 to 1953. The first major shift in tactics occurred in 1954, after Stalin’s death, when the Soviets proposed a two-phase cut in conventional forces, armaments, and appropriations to be accomplished in one year. By 1956, they were publicly accepting proposed Western force levels and removing the important precondition that conventional force reductions be contingent on progress in nuclear disarmament. But significant difficulties remained on the question of verification of the reductions. The Soviet Union differed radically with the Western powers on the rationale for intrusive verification measures such as on-site inspection. Although the Soviets showed themselves to be amenable to significant inspections of conventional force reductions in a May 1955 proposal, the United States wanted evidence of further movement on the issue. Then, later that year, the question of intrusive verification became wrapped up in the controversy over the Eisenhower administration’s “open skies” proposal, which called for complete freedom for reconnaissance aircraft to overfly and photograph the territory of participating countries. By the following April, Nikita Khrushchev was once again arguing strongly against intrusive verification measures, at the same time suggesting that reciprocal unilateral reductions might provide a solution to the impasse. In a conversation with Harold Stassen, he was characteristically both direct and colorful: Perhaps there is no need to reach formal agreement and sign documents. Supposing we take a unilateral decision and disarm a million men, would

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there be no response from your side to such a gesture? We want to do it but we are not ready to have controllers in our bedrooms. We would be glad for you to send some friends to watch us wave goodbye to the demobilized soldiers.17

One month later, in May 1956, Khrushchev did announce a unilateral reduction of 1.8 million personnel. Writing on this initiative, Soviet Deputy Foreign Minister Valerian Zorin claimed that in rationale it was linked to the East-West difficulties over verification. According to Zorin, the Soviet leadership hoped that the public pressures generated by the unilateral reduction would compel the Western powers to abandon their insistence on inspection.18 These cuts were followed, in January 1960, by Khrushchev’s announcement that the Soviet Union would unilaterally reduce its forces by an additional 1.2 million personnel. This initiative was part of a dramatic speech in which Khrushchev declared his own convictions with regard to nuclear weapons and national requirements for military capability. Khrushchev asserted that nuclear missiles should be the main element in modern war, and that the traditional branches of the armed forces were becoming obsolete.19 The ground forces, clearly, were chief among those slated for obsolescence. Khrushchev’s initiative actually did result in the demobilization of large numbers of officers and enlisted men, and in the dissolution of the ground forces as a separate command. Khrushchev spoke for the necessity of the cuts in his speech, claiming that the human resources were needed elsewhere in the national economy. Indeed, a Soviet source published a few years later asserted that the cutbacks permitted the Soviets to transfer significant economic means to the civilian economy, along with a large number of “blue-collar workers, farm workers, and brain workers” or white-collar workers in Western parlance.20 The motivations for the reductions, however, were not portrayed solely as economic. The Soviets claimed that the unilateral cuts in personnel, and the drop in the defense budget that accompanied them, were designed to encourage detente and induce other governments to follow suit.21 This bid for reciprocity was often repeated, and was sweetened by an offer to continue reducing forces if other countries followed the Soviet example. But both of Khrushchev’s unilateral initiatives caused considerable pain and upheaval in Soviet society, especially in the Soviet military. The public optimism that accompanied the announcement and the subsequent period of implementation masked significant private resistance. According to Raymond Garthoff, the Soviet military leadership disagreed with Khrushchev’s policy of retrenchment during 1959–1960. “Above all,” wrote Garthoff, “they disagreed with the unilateral military force reductions that were undertaken in 1960.”22

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The Khrushchev leadership tried to manage the resistance through efforts both to mollify the officer corps and to create loyalty to the regime within its ranks. Although 250,000 officers were “herded into premature retirement,” 300 were promoted at the same time to the rank of general.23 These efforts were not entirely successful, however, a fact attested to by the temporary halt in the reductions called at the 22nd Party Congress in October 1961. Another indicator of the tension induced by Khrushchev’s initiative was the public behavior of the senior military leadership. Although Marshal Malinovskiy, the minister of defense, publicly supported Khrushchev at the January 1960 Supreme Soviet session where the proposal was approved, he also spoke frankly of the problems that had been encountered in resettling demobilized personnel after the earlier round of unilateral reductions.24 Moreover, Malinovskiy was not joined in his approval by any of the senior veterans of World War II, Marshals Konev, Sokolovskiy, and Rokossovskiy. Instead, a group of district military commanders that included Zakharov, Grechko, Chuikov, and Moskalenko provided public support of the Khrushchev proposal at the Supreme Soviet session.25 It is probably significant that following the January 1960 announcement, Marshals Grechko and Zakharov were promoted to replace Marshals Konev and Sokolovskiy in their respective positions, commander-in-chief of Warsaw Pact forces and chief of the General Staff. The veteran military leadership was probably expressing normal concern about a clear attack on their protected bailiwick, the defense establishment. The problems that emerged in implementing the reductions, however, pointed to the inability of the Soviet economy to actually absorb and utilize demobilized personnel. Since this transfer was the primary rationale offered for the initiative, its failure was in the end a very serious issue. The economy simply did not seem to possess the elasticity that was the publicly touted advantage of central planning, i.e., the ability to shift industry and manpower according to a centrally devised and directed plan. Khrushchev apparently intended many demobilized officers and enlisted men to move into the agricultural sector, to support the ambitious “Virgin Land” development program then being undertaken. Exhortations, however, evidently failed to appeal. Demobilized personnel seemed to prefer unemployment and dislocation in the cities to the hardship of life in the countryside. Khrushchev was removed from office in October 1964, and one of the many reasons for his political demise was doubtless his insistence on the unilateral force reductions that extended from the mid-1950s to the early 1960s. By the time of his removal, Khrushchev had alienated the officer corps to the point where they would not rescue him as they had at the time of the “anti-party” coup attempt in 1957. After Khrushchev’s fall, military theoreticians began to dismantle the intellectual underpinnings for many of Khrushchev’s forays into military

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theory. The writings that were relevant to his unilateral force reductions focused on the fallacy of abandoning large armies even in the missile age. Contradicting Khrushchev, these theorists argued that the new technologies that had brought enormous power to the USSR’s strategic missile forces had not reduced requirements for manpower in the armed forces. Ground armies, they asserted, continued to be necessary to impose final defeat on the enemy.26 This theme became the dominant rationale for maintaining a massive military establishment over the next twenty-five years. Until Gorbachev arrived on the scene in the mid-1980s, no political leader questioned the policy so far as to propose major unilateral reductions in that establishment. One probable reason was that the rationale was a deeply held conviction of a majority of the post-Khrushchev party leadership. Another reason, however, was no doubt the memory of the painful upheaval that the Khrushchev initiative imposed on Soviet society. As we have seen, it deeply colored the reaction to Brezhnev’s very modest 1979 initiatives. It also lay in wait for Gorbachev. Let us now turn to discussing the Gorbachev initiative of December 1988. 1988 Gorbachev Initiative

On December 7, 1988, Soviet General Secretary Gorbachev mounted the rostrum at the United Nations to offer significant unilateral reductions of the Soviet armed forces. These included 500,000 troops, 50,000 of them from among those stationed in the GDR, Czechoslovakia, and Hungary; and 10,000 tanks, 5,000 of them from those same East European countries. Other systems to be reduced included 8,500 artillery pieces, 800 combat aircraft, and an unspecified number of assault landing troops and pieces of river-crossing equipment.27 Such numbers, Soviet spokesmen were quick to point out, were significant, for 10,000 tanks were numerically equivalent to almost 30 US tank divisions, and 500,000 men represented a figure equal in strength to the entire West German army, the Bundeswehr.28 Western commentators were not so quick to publicize that the reductions were significant, but they did grant that the initiative would affect Soviet strength in Eastern Europe. The withdrawal of 5,000 tanks, for example, would require the Soviets to move well beyond obsolescent tanks, to initiate the premature retirement of some of the most modern tanks in the Soviet inventory, including the T-64 and T-72. In short, the reductions that Gorbachev proposed could not be labeled simply as “playing to the galleries” for public opinion, in Europe or elsewhere. Unlike the Brezhnev 1979 initiatives, the Gorbachev proposal required serious examination for its impact on the East-West balance. An indicator of the potential importance of the initiative was the dis-

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cussion that preceded and followed it in the Soviet press. The reductions were evidently under consideration for some time prior to Gorbachev’s December trip to New York. Thanks to the glasnost or openness that Gorbachev had brought to Soviet public discourse, the pros and cons of unilateralism received unusually open attention over the months before the initiative was actually announced. One debate, which cannot be linked solely to Gorbachev’s proposal, erupted between General Dmitry Volkogonov, then deputy chief of the main political administration, and, the Belorussian writer Adamovich. Volkogonov, responsible for the morale of Soviet troops, had long been among those military leaders expressing concern at the pacifism developing among Soviet youth due for military service. Adamovich fanned this concern into an open exchange when he asserted in print that Soviet military power—especially nuclear power—was, in effect, useless in the modern era.29 Volkogonov’s response was extraordinarily strong. He saw in Adamovich’s remarks the roots of pacifism, but asserted that “pacifism and the battle for peace are not one and the same thing.”30 Exchanges between Volkogonov and Adamovich continued over the next month, and broadened to include a group of scientists who publicly attacked compulsory military service. They were especially critical of the practice of drafting students between their first and second years of university study, thus interrupting their education at a critical period.31 As might be expected the military’s reaction to this criticism was strong, appearing in published rebuttals from both Volkogonov and a deputy chief of the General Staff, General M. A. Gareyev.32 Volkogonov also used this occasion to post an indictment of unilateralism in the nuclear arena. “Just as it is impossible to applaud with one hand,” he said, “so it is impossible to create a nuclear free world with only unilateral efforts.”33 In an interview given some months later, Volkogonov elaborated on his debate with Adamovich and the indictment of unilateralism that it included: I must say at the outset: I respect the writer for a frank exposition of his views, though I differ with him in principle. His ideas and utterances on the problem of survival boil down to the following: “Survival at any price.” He thinks that there is no need for a deterring capability to make a retaliatory strike. It is a “shame” to have an atomic bomb. The military are good only in the cloak of pacifists. Education should be “antiwar-patriotic,” etc. According to his logic, we should not stop even at unilateral disarmament. . . . An adequate way to survival lies through compromises, negotiations and mutual concessions, but only provided these are based on equal security.”34

The theme of maintaining equal security began to show up increasingly in Soviet military discussions of reasonable sufficiency, the term that

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became attached to Gorbachev’s concept of what was necessary to maintain the defense and security of the Soviet Union. As time went by, various civilian defense analysts began to argue that an adequate Soviet defense capability need not be based on an assessment of the threat around Soviet borders alone, but should also take into account such factors as the availability of resources, performance of the Soviet economy, and overall likelihood of war. These analysts argued that war on the European periphery of the Soviet Union had become extremely unlikely in an age of strategic nuclear parity and interdependence between East and West.35 In their view, Soviet defense requirements could be determined without slavish attention to the military capabilities of the Soviet Union’s traditional adversaries. The key question, they asserted, was the likelihood of war. And absent a major threat to the USSR, these analysts argued, unilateral cuts could play a role in the Soviet Union’s quest for a lower level of confrontation in Europe. They praised the Khrushchev initiatives, saying that “these unilateral measures . . . by no means weakened the international position of the USSR . . . nor did these measures undermine the security of the USSR.”36 Although they saw unilateral measures as part and parcel of bi- and multilateral arms control agendas, these civilian analysts seemed to have concluded that the Soviet Union could offer up the excess in its arsenal to encourage progress in negotiations. Such views probably provided a justification for Gorbachev’s December 1988 proposals, but they were firmly contested by the military establishment. According to military writers, Soviet defense requirements still depended strongly on the threatening posture and capabilities of likely Soviet adversaries, especially the United States and its NATO allies. This theme was voiced at the highest level of the military leadership, by Minister of Defense Yazov and Chief of the General Staff Akhromeyev.37 What was needed was defense sufficiency, the term that became associated with the military participants in the debate, not reasonable sufficiency. In an arms control context, the military’s insistence on equal security produced calls for a continued dependence on negotiations to produce measured reductions in the military forces of the NATO and Warsaw Pact countries. General Gareyev, deputy chief of the General Staff, stated this position in a speech before the Royal United Services Institute in London in October 1988: “The problem of defence sufficiency cannot be solved unilaterally. The attainment of the lowest level of military confrontation of the two sides would be in the interest of the Soviet Union and the other Warsaw Pact member-states. . . . Overall, the defence might of the socialist countries is assembled taking account of the fact that it must be equal and identical as between the USSR and the USA and between the Warsaw Pact and NATO; and also that their security must be mutual and, in international terms, universal.”38 Gareyev was not alone in his skeptical view of unilateralism. Fellow

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military leaders such as Chief of the General Staff Akhromeyev spoke out on the need for negotiated rather than unilateral reductions.39 Perhaps the most critical of those commenting from the military side of the house was Marshal Tretyak, a ground forces career man who had been named commander-in-chief of the air defense forces in the aftermath of the Rust affair involving the landing of a West German civil aircraft in Red Square. He recalled the unilateral cuts of the Khrushchev era as a bitter experience from which the defense capability of the USSR had not totally recovered. Thousands were demobilized, he intimated, but then were not usefully absorbed into the Soviet economy.40 As they had in 1979, memories of the Khrushchev initiatives were continuing to exert a powerful influence on defense cadres. Military service for the officer corps, which had been an honorable profession and a means to acquire scarce amenities such as housing, had become less secure. Moreover, the inelasticity of the Soviet system appeared to guarantee, in the minds of at least some young officers, that they would be neither easily absorbed into the civilian economy nor rewarded for past service with a decent apartment. The waiting lists on the civilian side, after all, were just as long as on the military side. Thus, the Soviet military continued to express doubts about unilateralism right up to the time when Gorbachev announced his initiatives in New York. During this prelude period, variants of the proposed reductions were being discussed in Moscow, and the military doubtless hoped, at a minimum, to remind the political leadership of the repercussions of the Khrushchev reductions. At a maximum, they probably hoped to blunt the initiatives or totally stop them. Certainly speculation that the initiative had not found favor with the defense leadership continued to swirl around the events that followed Gorbachev’s December 7 speech. Prime among these was the departure of Marshal Akhromeyev from his position as chief of the General Staff and his replacement by a relative unknown from the Soviet Far East, General Moiseyev. Although it later became clear that Akhromeyev was to be a high-level military adviser to Gorbachev, the coincidence of his departure from the General Staff with Gorbachev’s announcement seemed to signify continued military disagreements with the political leadership over unilateralism. Moreover, grass-roots concern about the initiatives continued to be expressed in the months after the Gorbachev speech. Two issues appeared to be paramount for Soviet citizens: the problems of resettling and reemploying demobilized personnel, and the question of the combat readiness of the Soviet armed forces. Housing, medical care, and jobs, however, seemed to carry greater emphasis than defense capability in these public expressions of concern.41 An interesting facet of the military’s reaction to the Gorbachev initia-

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tives was the lack of use to which the political leadership put it. During the unilateral moratorium on nuclear tests that took place during 1985–1986, the Kremlin leadership was constantly reminding foreign and domestic audiences that then Chief of the General Staff Akhromeyev and other senior military figures had serious reservations about the moratorium, especially its effect on defense R&D. These arguments were used to justify the significance of the moratorium. Gorbachev’s unilateral initiatives may have needed no justification, but they also may have produced such debate and concern at so many levels of the military establishment that the political leadership judged it prudent not to advertise the pain that they were causing. Discontent in the military would, in itself, endanger the policy momentum that Gorbachev was seeking to establish. In comparing the Khruschchev and Gorbachev initiatives it is important to emphasize that they took place within a very different historical context. The Soviet Union had achieved significant technological breakthroughs in the late 1950s, especially the ballistic missile, and these allowed Khrushchev to exercise his native optimism in declaring that nuclear missiles would replace large ground armies in modern war. The Soviet Union’s world position would be based on its technological prowess, but as translated into a new form of military power, the nuclear missile weapon. By contrast, underlying Gorbachev’s initiative was an overall realization that military power was of limited utility in bolstering the Soviet Union’s world position. Gorbachev was therefore arguing that nuclear missiles and ground armies alike should be dismantled to permit scarce resources to flow into the development of other areas of the national economy. The aim, as Gorbachev expressed it, was not to replace one form of military power with a technologically superior one, but to replace military capability in general as the basis of Soviet power. Khrushchev and Gorbachev thus differed over one critical issue: the utility of military power in defining the status of the Soviet Union and its role in world affairs. Khrushchev would probably not have agreed with Gorbachev’s January 1986 proposal to make nuclear weapons impotent and obsolete by the year 2000. To Khrushchev, nuclear weapons were a cheap guarantor of national power and security. To Gorbachev, it appears, military power—nuclear or conventional—was neither cheap nor as useful as his predecessors believed. And unlike Khrushchev, Gorbachev did not overtly take steps to mollify the officer corps. Far from promoting additional officers to the rank of general, as Khrushchev did, the Gorbachev regime moved to eliminate a reported overabundance of officers at the upper end of the military hierarchy. Particularly striking in this regard was the rapid removal of officers of marshals’ rank from responsible positions.

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In other respects, however, the Khrushchev and Gorbachev initiatives produced reactions that were eerily alike, despite the thirty-year separation between them. In both periods, protests were loud over the difficulty of resettling and reemploying men who had made their careers in the Soviet armed forces. The problems have in fact been eerily alike, although thirty years have separated the two periods: both regimes were eager to move demobilized soldiers into undesirable sectors, such as agriculture, but resistance was high. In 1962, the ex-serviceman was promised collective farm life “far different from ten years ago”; in 1989, he was promised the chance to “build his own home in the countryside.”42 Memories of the earlier failure colored domestic reaction to the Gorbachev proposal. The Soviet people believed that Gorbachev’s reduction represented a major effort to transfer resources from the military to the civilian economy. In that sense, it represented an initiative that would cause real pain to the Soviet military requiring real national effort to implement a category-three initiative, according to our definition. Retrospectively, it was a prelude to the end of the Soviet state. Unilateral Initiatives During the Soviet Period: Some Reflections

The internal and external factors that drove Soviet policy toward unilateral arms control are not unique to a single Soviet historical period. Rather, they seemed to emerge and recede according to the overall strategy of the Soviet leadership. And, like most other forces at work in the Soviet system, their influence was heavily dependent on the goals of the top Kremlin leader, the general secretary of the Communist party. In the postwar period, the internal factors that were most important were the urge to reform or restructure the Soviet economy and the emergence of new technologies in the military sphere. Externally, the factors of greatest importance were establishing the legitimacy of the Soviet leadership through successful dealings with important adversaries and the urge to constrain military competition at the negotiating table. All of these factors, of course, are closely interwoven, for a commitment to negotiate to constrain forces is often publicly linked to the need to reform the economy at home, while technological advances are linked to maintaining the viability of Soviet defenses even as radical cuts in force levels occur. As inseparable as the factors are, however, their details have differed from period to period. Khrushchev was pursuing significant internal economic goals, especially in the agricultural sector, and these motivated him to try to divert resources from the defense sector through major reductions in the armed forces. He justified the unilateral initiative that emerged as a result by plac-

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ing the burden of Soviet defenses on a new weapon technology, the nuclear ballistic missile. The external situation that motivated him, however, had to do with lack of progress in East-West negotiations, especially an impasse over the issue of verification of treaty compliance. Khrushchev could evidently not marshal the forces to overcome a long-standing resistance to on-site inspection within his own government. Faced with an impasse that did not allow him to pursue his internal economic goals, he disposed of the verification issue by sidestepping it with a unilateral initiative. Khrushchev repeatedly urged reciprocal responses to his unilateral force-reduction proposals, at least partly to establish the legitimacy of his actions with Soviet domestic audiences, especially important military and party elites. His failure to elicit a cascade of unilateral responses from Soviet negotiating partners is probably one important reason why his policies were ultimately deemed unsuccessful by his colleagues in the Soviet leadership. It probably contributed, too, to his eventual removal from office. But at least as important as reciprocity was the ultimate failure of the transfer of resources that Khrushchev was attempting. The manpower tied up in the military was not easily transferred to useful labor elsewhere; instead, demobilization created a morass of disaffected ex-servicemen unwilling to move to areas where services, pay, and status were seriously wanting. This disaffection, in turn, was magnified by serious doubts among the military leadership that manpower could, after all, be sacrificed. Nuclear missiles or no, large ground armies remain a necessity in the minds of many military leaders. Khrushchev’s initiatives, therefore, were strongly disposed to fail from internal pressures alone. Reciprocal action on the part of the Western countries may have changed this calculus somewhat by creating conditions for a rethinking of manpower requirements among the professional military. However, this process would have had to take place against the backdrop of other events—the Cuban missile crisis, the building of the Berlin Wall— that could have strongly influenced the pace of it. At the same time, the basic failure of the transfer of resources would have continued. In the end, Khrushchev’s unilateral reductions probably seemed to his colleagues to be at best hapless—another harebrained scheme—and at worst, a serious threat to the defense capability of the Soviet Union. Unilateral initiatives that came later would have to deal with this legacy. Brezhnev’s unilateral reduction proposals, which came almost two decades later, bore the strong marks of the failure of Khrushchev’s initiative. Meager to begin with, the initiatives were further advertised as such to Soviet and East European audiences, apparently to assuage fears that they represented a reemphasis of unilateralism by the top party leadership. Furthermore, internal and external factors did not coalesce to create a

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strong rationale for the initiatives. Although the Soviet economy had been gripped by serious stagnation since at least the mid-1970s, Brezhnev had evidently not grasped the need for major reform, nor had he connected resource savings to a transfer of manpower from the military. In an internal sense, therefore, the initiatives seemed to emerge in a vacuum. The reductions were not required to have an influence on Soviet economic problems. Externally, while the initiatives were connected to the stalemate at the Vienna Mutual Balanced Force Reduction (MBFR) Talks, they were far more closely associated with an upcoming NATO meeting to decide on the modernization of intermediate-range nuclear forces in Western Europe. As such, they were designed to effect a Soviet policy—stopping the modernization decision—that had little to do with either conventional force reductions or the Soviet economy’s developing crisis. Thus, the intervening of internal and external factors that was so important to the Khrushchev era was totally lacking in the Brezhnev period. The numbers in the Brezhnev initiative were small, but also absent was an assumption that external solutions could be applied to internal problems. Gorbachev, unlike Brezhnev, immediately grasped the need for reform throughout the Soviet system, but especially in the Soviet economy. Even before his unilateral initiative was announced in December 1988, the notion of transferring resources from the defense sector to the rest of the economy had been frequently expressed, and had gained acquiescence from a major cross section of the Soviet leadership, including the Soviet military. After the proposal was announced, a transfer of manpower into the civilian economy became its major public rationale. Gorbachev’s problem, which differed from Khrushchev’s, was to prove to the outside world that the Soviet Union was committed to eschewing military superiority and broadening the basis of Soviet national power. Faced by Westerners demanding proof of Soviet intentions in the EastWest negotiating arena, Gorbachev returned to unilateralism as a means to express Soviet good faith: superiority in conventional forces would be reduced as radical reductions in nuclear weapons were pursued. Khrushchev had evidently resolved to reduce the armed forces for internal reasons, and turned to unilateralism when his resolution was hampered by an impasse in negotiations. Gorbachev’s problems were in some ways similar, as it became clear that the negotiations on conventional force reductions would be complex and lengthy. His initiative was different, however, in that it came as an expression of good faith early in the negotiating process. The Khrushchev and Gorbachev cases illustrate the essential element that makes up what I described as a category-three initiative: a unilateral reduction that has a real effect on Soviet force posture. This essential element is a close relationship between internal goals, often linked to economic reform, and the external factors driving the decision. In the two cases

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examined here, these external factors were, first, a need to circumvent the effects of an impasse; and second, a requirement to establish good faith prior to negotiations. Category-one initiatives, which were undertaken for propaganda or political effect with no impact on force structure, seem to emerge when this link between internal and external factors is absent. Brezhnev, in the case examined here, made no commitment to transfer resources from the military to the civilian economy. There was no positive reason offered for the reduction on the domestic front, and the Brezhnev leadership in fact offered a negative rationale by promising that it was not a return to the unilateralism of Khrushchev’s day. Furthermore, the modest reduction in conventional forces that was offered was linked to a NATO nuclear modernization decision, where it made little sense except as an influence on public opinion. The Brezhnev leadership was eager neither to establish credentials nor to move forward for its own benefit. Instead, it was taking a negative action that ultimately—because of its efforts to rationalize the initiative on the domestic front and in Eastern Europe—was quite transparent. The other category examined here, unilateral restraint based on national preference but exploited for public advantage, provides the least varying and, in some ways, the least interesting of the cases studied. Despite the influence of a strong leader, Admiral Gorshkov, the Soviet navy remained tied over time to the combined arms strategy that dominated thinking about how the theater campaign would unfold on the ground. Unilateralism in Russia: An Epilogue

The legacy of Soviet unilateralism extended into the new post–Soviet Union era. In June 1992, Boris Yeltsin took the bold step of declaring that the age in which the United States and Soviet Union threatened each other was past, and that now Russia and the United States could dispense with parity in strategic arms reductions. The occasion was a summit meeting in Washington, during which Boris Yeltsin and George Bush agreed to reduce strategic nuclear weapons far below the numbers that had been agreed to in the first Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (START I). Whereas START I levels were to drop from approximately 11,000 to 7,000 for the Soviet successor states, this START II agreement called for cuts to 3,000–3,500 by the year 2003. This result was principally to be achieved by de-MIRVing the ICBM force. In the 1970s and 1980s, each side had acquired large numbers of nuclear warheads in its strategic arsenal by building missiles with multiple, independently targetable reentry vehicles, or MIRVs. The large Soviet SS18 ICBM carried ten warheads per missile, as did the US MX Peacekeeper

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missile. This trend had created for each side an arsenal that was attractive to strike first—the side that did so could achieve with the launch of one missile, the “kill” of ten warheads still on the ground. In their tendency to make a first strike seem attractive, highly MIRVed missiles were seen as highly destabilizing. Thus, the Bush-Yeltsin agreement to de-MIRV the ICBM force was a major advance in strategic arms control, moving far beyond what had been achieved in START I. Because the Russian arsenal depended more heavily than its US counterpart on MIRVed ICBMs, most of the de-MIRVed warheads would come out of its force structure. That reality accounts for the fact that the two sides agreed to a range of numbers—3,000 to 3,500—for the final result of the reductions. Whereas the US side could achieve 3,500 by destroying a number of different kinds of weapons (bomber and submarine as well as ICBM), the Russian side, forced to remove all MIRVs from its heavily MIRVed ICBM force, would inevitably hit the lower number, 3,000. It was in this context that Boris Yeltsin proclaimed that parity in strategic nuclear forces was no longer necessary, that 3,000 weapons were essentially as good as 3,500. The reaction in Moscow was a firestorm. Conservative military leaders and right-wing parliamentarians strongly objected to the assertion that Russia could somehow accept a lesser strategic arsenal, and more rigid constraints on a technology—MIRVs—in which the Soviet Union had always excelled. In vain it was argued that the constraints were actually equal on US and Russian MIRVs alike—it so happened that the Russian side had more MIRVs on ground-based missiles, and so was disproportionately affected. Both arms control communities, however, well understood the destabilizing nature of highly MIRVed ICBMs and had agreed that they would be the focus of future reductions in strategic nuclear arms. This agreement had been formalized in a joint statement of presidents Bush and Gorbachev, signed at another Washington summit in June 1990. In July 1991 the START I Treaty was signed in Moscow, and the two sides were, in theory, ready to move on to the next phase of reductions, which involved reductions in MIRVed systems. But the signing of START I, ironically, occurred on the verge of the Soviet Union’s breakup. Within three weeks of the Moscow summit, the August coup began the process of forcing President Gorbachev out of office. By December the USSR had unravelled, leaving fifteen independent states, four of which—Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Russia, Belorussia—had strategic nuclear weapons on their territories. In the midst of the tension produced by this unprecedented situation, the consensus in Moscow that MIRVed ICBMs must be the next focus of strategic arms negotiations evaporated, at least to the public eye. This nowold consensus was overtaken by a new discontent over loss of empire, loud-

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ly articulated in the press by right-wing nationalists and conservative military leaders. Not only, they complained, had the country lost its external empire in Eastern Europe, but it had also lost its internal coherence. Even Russia was threatened by centrifugal forces that should never have been unleashed. A key aspect of these arguments was a return to Cold War threat assessments, with the United States the prime suspect. And the United States, the logic went, could only be directly threatened in return by strategic nuclear weapons: The United States and many other possible enemies are inaccessible to general purpose forces. There remain the Strategic Nuclear Forces and above all the Strategic Missile Forces [emphasis added]. . . . Statements about “nonfirst use of nuclear weapons,” “retaliatory strikes,” and “defensive character” indicate a repetition of past years designed for political leaders’ self-advertisement and irreparably damaging our defense. . . . In the future, nuclear weapons are the primary means for deterring possible aggression.43

Arguments of this kind fueled opposition to a de-MIRVing of the ICBM force, which was perceived to be the last and richest heritage of the Soviet Union’s military might. They also forced the Yeltsin government away from declarations that parity no longer mattered. The 3,000-warhead endpoint for reductions was lost to assertions that Russia would maintain the same level as the United States, 3,500—the high end of the band agreed to at the Washington summit. This higher number would require them to retain in place older missiles, particularly SS-19s, that they would have dismantled otherwise. Because the de-MIRVing rule remained in place, even these older systems would have to go through an expensive process to replace their front ends with a new single warhead. Given the economic crisis gripping Russia, this decision made little sense except in the geopolitical terms laid out by Rodionov: if no Russian counterbalance was available, the United States would quickly come to dominate globally. Under these circumstances, Russia could do nothing to take reductions that would produce a unilateral disadvantage with regard to its one remaining source of unargued military might—strategic nuclear weapons. This outcome must be viewed in the context of what was happening in the general purpose forces. The chaos that had descended on the Soviet empire with withdrawal from Eastern Europe and the subsequent breakup of the country had destroyed any strategy of unilateralism with regard to conventional weapons. The Soviet army was in retreat, and its essentially forced withdrawal from Europe and the fringes of the former Soviet Union could not be used for any wider arms control advantage, to influence NATO to downsize and withdraw.

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Such a view was widely held among conservative circles in Moscow, who failed to recognize that the withdrawal of the Soviet army from Europe was having a profound effect, not only on future deployment levels of US forces in Europe, but also on the policy debate over NATO’s purpose and force structure. One might say, therefore, that the effect of this “unilateral reduction” was dramatic, but it went unnoticed or unexploited. Once it was perceived that the process set in motion by Gorbachev’s new thinking was leading to an uncontrolled rout of the Soviet/Russian army, all efforts by Yeltsin, Gorbachev’s successor, to reap domestic policy benefits from it were in vain. An effect of this kind was at the core of conservative opposition to Andrei Kozyrev, Yeltsin’s minister of foreign affairs, who continued to articulate a Gorbachevian line that the withdrawals from Europe were influencing threat perceptions and behavior in the West. Conservative critics strongly objected to this view, arguing that it was such “proAmericanism” that led to the disaster in the first place. Some went so far as to argue an irredentist line that Russia should try to claim back the borders of the former Soviet Union, or even Eastern Europe. The concrete result of the right’s domination of this issue was a slowdown in the withdrawal of troops from the Baltics, where citizenship laws favoring local national groups over the Russian population were a major irritant. In this context, Russia’s conservatives were ready to prevent any reduction in strategic nuclear weapons that could not be couched in terms of the strictest parity. Therefore, Yeltsin’s statement at the time of the June 1992 summit, that parity in strategic nuclear forces no longer mattered, was completely dead as a spur to policy by December of that year. Even if Russia would further bankrupt itself to do so, it would come out of the START II negotiations with the right to download and retain an obsolescent missile, the SS-19, that it had earlier been ready to destroy. This change, it must be stressed, took place regardless of the professional opinion of military leaders in the General Staff and strategic nuclear forces, who too long entertained the view that they could somehow hold on to more modern missiles—the SS-24—deployed in Ukraine, even while Ukraine was increasingly claiming ownership of them. The SS-19 was not a missile that the strategic forces would have chosen to retain, given its age and the difficulty of maintaining it. The breakup of the Soviet nuclear arsenal was thus a core factor affecting policy in this area. It did not have as focused an influence, however, as the perceived lack of parity with the United States. Economic necessity and a recognition of the benefits of more advanced technology are thus not a sufficient underpinning to unilateral arms control policy when a country is in extreme political crisis. Unilateralism can work well when the political environment inside the country is stable, and the

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dominant attitude toward foreign policy initiatives is, at best, consensus; at worst, indifference. But when the president is threatened from the right, as Yeltsin is in Russia, then unilateral arms control initiatives are no longer productive. In cases such as this, the Russian president is practically obliged to return to negotiation, where the perceived event of winning concessions can provide him with fuel against conservative critics. This effect was present in the endgame of achieving the START II Treaty, and will likely be present as long as the situation in Russia fails to stabilize, and tensions remain among the countries of the former Soviet Union.

p. 87.

Notes

1. Arkady N. Shevchenko, Breaking With Moscow (New York: Knopf, 1985),

2. Moscow TASS in English, October 6, 1979, in Foreign Broadcast Information Service (Hereafter FBIS), Soviet Union Daily Report, October 9, 1979, p. F3. 3. New York Times, October 7, 1979. 4. Moscow TASS in English, October 6, 1979. 5. New York Times, October 10, 1979, p. A20. 6. New York Times, October 7, 1979, p. 1. 7. New York Times, October 12, 1979. 8. Neues Deutschland text of Brezhnev speech, October 7, 1979. 9. S. G. Gorshkov, “Development of Soviet Naval Art,” Norskoy sbornik, No. 2, 1967, p. 17. 10. Strobe Talbott, ed., Khrushchev Remembers: The Last Testament (Boston: Little Brown, 1974), p. 32. 11. Ibid. 12. S. G. Gorshkov, Morskaya moshch’ gosudarstva (Sea Power of the State) 2d ed., Voyenizdat, 1979, p. 9. 13. A full discussion of this appears in Michael McGwire, Military Objectives in Soviet Foreign Policy, Appendix C: “The Debate Over Naval Roles and Missions” (Washington: The Brookings Institution, 1987), pp. 470–471. 14. Francis Fukuyama, Soviet Civil Military Relations and the Power Projection Mission, R-3504-Af, Rand, 1987. 15. Quoted in Jeremy Azrael, The Soviet Civilian Leadership and the Military High Command, 1976–1986, R-3521-AF, Rand, June 1987. 16. V. Shmyganovskiy, Interview with Admiral V. N. Chernavin, Izvestiya, July 26, 1987, p. 2. Chernavin’s assertion that the Soviet navy had no aircraft carriers was disingenuous, since the Soviet Union had deployed helicopter and vertical takeoff and landing carriers for over a decade, and was in the process of deploying the first of its large-deck carriers at the time of the interview. The statement may have been meant, however, to signal a downturn in these programs. 17. Quoted in Janet Morgan, ed., The Backbench Diaries of Richard Crossman (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1981), p. 492. 18. V. A. Zorin, ed., Bor’ba Sovetskogo Soiuza za razoruzhenie, 1946–1960 gody (Struggle of the Soviet Union for Disarmament, 1946–1960) (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Instituta mezhdunarodnykh otnoshenii, 1961), pp. 212, 302.

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19. Text of speech by N. S. Khrushchev, Pravda, January l5, 1960. 20. The Russian phrase was “rabochikh, kolkhoznikov, rabotnikov umstvennogo truda.” See I. S. Glagolev, ed., SSSR, SShA i razoruzhenie (USSR, USA and Disarmament) (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo “Nauka,” 1967), p. 95. 21. Ibid., pp. 92, 95. 22. Raymond Garthoff, “Military Role in National Policy Formulation,” Discussion paper (unpublished) prepared for the Columbia University Study of Soviet Attitudes on Disarmament and Arms Control, July 13, 1963. 23. Herbert Ritvo, “Internal Divisions on Disarmament in the USSR,” in Disarmament: Its Politics and Economics, ed. Seymour Melman (Cambridge, MA: American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1962). 24. Krasnaya zvezda, January 20, 1960. 25. Ritvo, note 23. 26. See, for example, V. Larionov, “New Weapons and the Duration of War,” Krasnaya zvezda, March 19, 1965; and G. Miftiev, “War and Manpower Resources,” Krasnaya zvezda, June 4, 1965. 27. New York Times, December 8, 1988, p. A16. 28. S. Guk, Interview with Maj. Gen. Yurily A. Markelov, Izvestiya, December 11, 1988. 29. Moskovskiye novosti (Moscow News), March 8, 1987. 30. Literaturnaya gazeta, May 6, 1987. 31. Literaturnaya gazeta, May l3, 1987. 32. Krasnaya zvezda, May 22, 1987; Literaturnaya gazeta, June 8, 1987. 33. Krasnaya zvezda, May 22, 1987. 34. Asia and Africa Today (Moscow, in English), January 1988. 35. The main proponents of these views have been Vitaly Zhurkin, Sergey Karaganov, and Andrey Kortunov. Their major articles on the subject are “O razumnoy dostatochnosti” (About reasonable sufficiency), SShA: Ekonomika, politika, idiologiya, No. 12, 1987; and “Vyzovy bezopasnosti—staryye i novyye” (Challenges to Security—Old and New), Kommunist, No. 1988. 36. Ibid., Zhurkin, et al., “O razumnoy.” 37. D. T. Yazov, Na strazhe sotsializma i mira (On Guard for Socialism and Peace) (Moscow: Voyenizdat, 1987); S. F. Akhromeyev, “Diktrina predtvrashecheniya voyny, zashchity mira i sotsializma” (The Doctrine of War Prevention, Defense of Peace, and Socialism), Problemy mira i sotsializma, No. 12, December 1987. 38. Address by Col.-Gen. M. A. Gareyev, “Soviet Military Doctrine at the Present Stage of Its Evolution,” Royal United Services Institute, London, October 19, 1988. 39. Akhoromeyev, note 37. 40. Moscow News, February 21, 1988. 41. An excellent example is Interview with Army Gen. D.S. Sukhorukov, USSR Deputy Defense Minister, Sovietskaya Rossiya, March 8, 1989, p. 2. 42. Harriet Fast Scott, “Top Leaders of the Soviet Armed Forces,” Air Force Magazine, March 1989, p. 77. 43. Presentation by Col. Gen. I. N. Rodionov, Chief of General Staff Military Academy, at the Academy’s Military-Science Conference, May 27–30, 1992, in Voyennaya myslí, July 1992, pp. 6–14.

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4 Arms Control Moratoria: Case Studies in Three Areas Warren Heckrotte and Arthur Steiner

Arms Control Moratoria: Case Studies in Three Areas Warren Heckrotte & Arthur Steiner

A moratorium is a cessation of some activity for a limited or unlimited time. Unlike a treaty, however, it does not represent a formal commitment between the parties, but is a related set of unilateral actions. A moratorium thus does not represent as deep a commitment as a treaty; withdrawal from the constraint of a moratorium does not break an agreement. A moratorium may be dependent not only upon reciprocal actions of others, but may also be made dependent on the satisfaction of other conditions. On the other hand, a moratorium, being a unilateral action, could be instituted by a state irrespective of the actions of others. The historical record on moratoria encompasses a number of variations. The following examples of moratoria will be examined: • The US moratorium on the possession and acquisition of biological weapons, announced in 1969. This was an unconditional and unilateral step without the requirement of reciprocity. • Moratoria on the testing of nuclear weapons, including that initiated in 1958 in conjunction with the start of negotiations on the cessation of nuclear weapons tests between the United States, the United Kingdom, and the Soviet Union; the moratorium on atmospheric nuclear weapons tests announced in June of 1963; and the Soviet/Russian moratoria of 1985–1987 and 1991–1992. • The moratorium on the testing of antisatellite (ASAT) weapons between the United States and the Soviet Union, initiated on the US side by the Congress, not the administration. The Moratorium on Biological Weapons

On November 25, 1969, President Nixon delivered a statement regarding chemical and biological weapons.1 With respect to chemical weapons (CW) 71

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and warfare he stated that the United States reaffirms its renunciation of the first use of lethal chemical weapons and extends this renunciation to the first use of incapacitating chemicals. Next, the administration would submit to the Senate, for advice and consent, the Geneva Protocol of 1925, which prohibits the use of “Asphyxiating, Poisonous or other Gases and of Bacteriological Methods of Warfare.”2 Of biological weapons (BW), he said that they had “massive, unpredictable and potentially uncontrollable consequences.” He decided that the United States would renounce the use of lethal biological agents and all other methods of biological warfare, confine its biological research to defensive measures such as immunization and safety measures, and he ordered the Department of Defense to make recommendations for the disposal of existing stocks of bacteriological weapons. President Nixon went on to say that the United States would not be caught by surprise by others who did not observe the same constraints, for the intelligence community would carefully watch the programs of other states. He also stated that the United States associated itself with the principles and objectives of the UK Draft Convention, which would ban the use, production, and possession of biological weapons. This draft had been presented to the Eighteen Nation Disarmament Conference (ENDC) in Geneva earlier in the year. This statement by the president initiated a moratorium by the United States on the production of biological weapons and a commitment to destroy existing stockpiles of such weapons. This moratorium was not dependent on any response from other states and was initiated against a background of activity and concern over chemical and biological weapons. The United States was facing strong criticism for its use of chemical agents in Vietnam—defoliants and riot control gases. Several UN General Assembly resolutions on CW and BW had been adopted in the preceding years. A product of the Conference of International Traffic in Arms was the Geneva Protocol of 1925 which reaffirmed the 1899 Hague Conference prohibition on the use of poisonous gases, but now extended the prohibition to include bacteriological weapons. CW and BW became linked at this time. The US Senate did not give its advice and consent. By World War II all the major powers except the United States and Japan had ratified the Geneva Protocol. Poisonous gases were not used in World War II. 3 Following World War II, the Geneva Protocol was withdrawn from the Senate along with other inactive treaties. In July 1969, the United Kingdom introduced at the ENDC a draft convention on biological weapons: it was to ban the use, production, and acquisition of such weapons.4 The United Kingdom was thus separating biological weapons from chemical weapons. This represented an assess-

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ment, clearly stated by the UK representative, that a convention applying to BW had a greater chance of adoption than a CW ban on possession and production which posed difficult problems of definition and verification because of the ubiquitous character of the chemical industry in the civilian economy. In support of its initiative, the United Kingdom argued that BW would lead to potentially greater contamination than any other weapons; that they were difficult to control in use; they were more unpredictable in their effects; and were more indiscriminate. The United Kingdom added that it was impossible to verify a ban on the production and acquisition of BW; nevertheless, they were prepared to accept the ban without verification procedures. This lack of a verification requirement was, of course, the reason for the assessment that a BW ban had a better chance than a CW ban. Implicit in the British position was the assessment that biological weapons are not good or effective weapons. Later, the United States dealt explicitly with this question, which no doubt lay behind the US announcement of its unilateral moratorium. In September 1969, the Soviets introduced at the United Nations a draft treaty prohibiting the production and acquisition of CW and BW.5 The Soviets argued that CW and BW should be kept together. To move first on BW, as the United Kingdom proposed, would have the effect of indefinitely postponing action on CW. They contended that verification by means of on-site inspection was not practical; this would require the presence of inspectors in every laboratory and chemical facility. Verification in their plan was to be national—each country would in effect police itself. Any state that suspected another state of a violation could appeal to the Security Council. This position was little different from that of the United Kingdom for BW, but much different for CW. At the Conference of the Committee on Disarmament (CCD—the successor to the ENDC), most of the attending nations did not support the UK proposal. The general view was that BW and CW should be kept together. The United States, which supported the United Kingdom, detailed its views why CW was more difficult to prohibit and why BW alone was an important measure. Chemical weapons, it was argued, were weapons of real utility on the battlefield (but not for wide-scale use as weapons of mass destruction because of the logistics of use). Because CW posed a military threat, a deterrent of like kind was needed to prevent their use. Accordingly, for one party to surrender their weapons, it must have confidence that others have given them up also; effective verification was needed to justify surrendering one’s deterrent. Verification was difficult for CW and so it followed that one could not look forward to a timely negotiation of a CW treaty. In contrast with chemical weapons, biological weapons, the United States argued, were not battlefield weapons. They could be used in a first strike or for sabotage; BW could impose great damage on an unprotected

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civilian population. However, the best military response to such an attack would not be the use of BW, given their character. Deterrence would rest on other types (unspecified) of arms. Accordingly, BW did not have a deterrent role; thus there was no need for verification measures to accompany a ban on such weapons.6 Although most of the states at the CCD did not support a separate BW ban and the pro and con arguments did not produce change, the US moratorium was welcomed and praised; it was, in the words of one representative, a “spectacular renunciatory action.”7 Others, however, warned that this action could produce a variety of declarations, possibly contradictory, and could even stand in the way of achieving a binding agreement. The Soviets seconded this latter view. Negotiations for a BW agreement remained at an impasse; arguments were repeated but to no effect, for as long as the Soviets opposed a separate BW agreement there was no hope of progress. In March 1971, the break came. The Soviets announced that they were prepared to accept a separate BW agreement,8 a decision, they said, “dictated by political realism”; it appeared there would be no speedy action on CW, because, they said, of the reluctance of the United States9 to give up chemical weapons. All the arguments against the separation of BW and CW were now reversed; action on BW would not delay action on CW, but would help ensure progress on CW; partial measures were of value and the Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963 was cited as an example. A draft treaty was submitted which was essentially their CW-BW draft treaty revised to apply to BW only. By the summer of 1971 there was a joint US-Soviet draft convention. In the spring of 1972 there was a completed convention.10 Under the terms of this agreement, the parties undertake not to develop, produce, stockpile, or otherwise acquire biological agents or toxins that have no justification for prophylactic, protective, or other peaceful uses, or weapons that use such agents. Existing stockpiles were to be destroyed within nine months after entry into force of the convention. The parties undertake to consult and cooperate in solving any problems that may arise. Any party that finds another party in a breach of obligation of the convention may lodge a complaint with the Security Council and the parties undertake to cooperate with any investigation which the Security Council may initiate. The US administration had submitted the Geneva Protocol to the Senate for its advice and consent in 1970. However, differences between the foreign relations committee and the administration over the use of herbicides and riot control agents prevented action. The BW treaty was caught in this impasse and it was not until 1975 that the BW convention and the Geneva Protocol were ratified. At this time the administration accepted limitations on the use of herbicides and riot control agents in the framework of the Geneva Protocol. This resume of the history of CW and BW shows that CW was the

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principal concern. Chemical weapons had been used in war on a large scale and their use strongly feared and condemned. Biological weapons had not been used and were assessed not to be useful weapons on the battlefield and their use in any fashion unpredictable and possibly uncontrollable. Most of the international community did not support splitting BW from CW, as the United Kingdom proposed, out of concern that this would dilute the effort toward a CW agreement. The action of the United States in adopting a comprehensive moratorium on BW pushed this issue to the forefront. Action on BW, breaking through the opposition, required Soviet support. The UK initiative, which the United States supported, did not pose any basic obstacle for the Soviets; in particular, there was no problem with verification. The US moratorium, however, did put pressure on the Soviets. There was nothing for them to gain by holding out against a separate BW agreement, nothing to lose by accepting this approach, and something to gain by adopting it—sponsorship of an agreement that showed Soviet support of the disarmament process. Once the Soviets switched and supported a separate BW convention, agreement was quickly reached. 11 The US moratorium on BW had succeeded. The moratorium on BW and the resulting convention did not, however, have any direct effects toward furthering progress on other arms control measures. The BW convention established no precedents to deal with the problems associated with a CW agreement. Indeed, the verification provisions of the BW agreement, cooperation and consultation, did not prove useful in resolving questions of compliance that arose between the United States and the Soviets. The BW convention indicates the need of definite, unambiguous procedures to give confidence that the terms of the agreement are being followed. There are concerns that new developments in biology might make possible the development of biological weapons that would be seen to have greater military utility.12 The BW convention has undoubtedly helped to check or rein in the pressures to engage in the pursuit of such weapons; and, one would surmise, more so than a moratorium. In the case of the Soviets, however, the BW convention did not extinguish the development of biological weapons. The Soviets did cheat. The 1979 Sverdlovsk anthrax epidemic, they steadfastly insisted, was caused by infected black-market meat. Beginning in March 1990, articles in the Soviet (later Russian) press corroborated the US charges that the epidemic was the result of an accident at a prohibited BW facility, and in May 1992 Russian president Yeltsin acknowledged that military BW research was the cause.13 In September 1992, Russia admitted massive violations of the BW convention by the Soviet Union, continuing until Yeltsin abolished these activities in March of that year. The Russians agreed to greatly strengthened compliance procedures, including reciprocal inspections of military facilities suspected of BW activity.14 The BW convention shows that con-

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cerns about verification were not misplaced, and that even for this lessdecisive type of weapon, the temptation to cheat was decisive in the absence of effective verification. Nuclear Weapons Testing Moratoria

Moratorium on Nuclear Weapons Testing, 1958 to 1961

The idea of a ban on the testing and thus the further development of nuclear weapons arose in the aftermath of the US BRAVO nuclear weapon test in the Pacific Ocean in March 1954. This was the first test by any state of a thermonuclear weapon. The yield was 15 megatons. The effects of the fallout from the test and the great size of the explosion led to worldwide calls for a ban on further tests. The United States considered the idea and rejected it on the basis that further nuclear weapon development was needed to counter the Soviet threat. The Soviets after a time adopted the ban as an element in their arms control proposals. Public concern over fallout kept testing and the idea of a ban in the public arena. A moratorium on nuclear weapon testing was first proposed by the Soviet Union in June 1957. The United States quickly countered with its own proposal for a moratorium. Both proposals were attached to conditions that the other party found unacceptable. On March 31, 1958, the Soviets announced that they would unilaterally cease testing as of that date and not resume as long as others did not test. This announcement came after the conclusion of an extensive Soviet test series, and preceded a planned US test series. The United States labeled the Soviet announcement a “propaganda gesture.” It was however a very successful “gesture” which put pressure on the United States in the international arena and caused some rethinking in the US leadership. Shortly after this, in an exchange of letters with Premier Khrushchev, President Eisenhower proposed that as a first step toward a ban a conference of scientific experts be convened to establish the basis for a control or verification system for a test ban. Khrushchev agreed. The conference of experts from East and West met in Geneva in the summer of 1958. They arrived at an agreed report that described the elements of “a workable and effective system for the detection of violations of a possible agreement of the worldwide cessation of nuclear tests.”15 With this agreed report in hand, Eisenhower announced the next day that the United States was prepared to proceed promptly to negotiate an agreement and proposed October 31 as the date to open negotiations. He added that the United States was prepared, “in order to facilitate the detailed negotiation,” to withhold testing for a period of one year from the beginning of negotiations if others also did. This suspension of testing

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would be extended on a year-by-year basis subject to two conditions: that an agreed inspection system was installed and working and that satisfactory progress was made on reaching agreement implementing major arms control measures, a category into which the president did not place a test ban. A testing agreement would be significant only if it led to more substantial disarmament measures.16 The Soviets accepted the US proposal to begin negotiations but “emphatically rejected” the proposed suspension of tests and criticized the two conditions laid down by Eisenhower. The Soviets said they were prepared to accept only a complete cessation, but not merely a temporary suspension, of testing. The negotiations began on October 31, 1958. One week later Eisenhower announced that the Soviets had continued testing beyond the beginning of the conference. Accordingly, the United States was relieved of any obligation under its offer to suspend tests. Nevertheless, the United States would continue the suspension of testing; if the Soviets did not stop the United States would reconsider. In response, the Soviets repeated their criticism of the suspension, which they said was an attempt by the United States to gain a “one-sided advantage” following an extensive US test series.17 Nevertheless, the Soviets did apparently stop further tests although this was not accompanied by any statement to that effect at this time. A mutual moratorium was thus in effect from November 7, 1958. It is not the purpose here to track the ups and downs of these negotiations.18 There were, however, profound differences between the United States and the Soviet Union over the control system, differences that were manifested almost immediately with the beginning of the negotiations, in spite of the agreed experts’ report. This difference led some in the United States to call for a retreat on the moratorium—to resume underground tests, foregoing atmospheric tests only. Opposition to the moratorium and the test ban persisted in the Eisenhower administration.19 In August of 1959, the United States announced that it would extend the moratorium to the end of the year.20 Within the US administration it was understood that the moratorium would be withdrawn at the end of the year, although it had not been decided that this would lead to an immediate resumption of tests.21 Shortly after this announcement, the Soviet Union stated that it would not resume tests if the “Western powers” did not do so.22 This was the Soviet Union’s first public commitment to the moratorium. On December 29, 1959, Eisenhower noted that no satisfactory agreement on a ban was yet in sight.23 Prospects for an agreement had been “injured” by the recent unwillingness of Soviet scientists to give serious scientific attention to the effectiveness of seismic techniques for the detection of underground nuclear explosions. Eisenhower went on to say that while the United States would continue to seek an agreement, “in the mean-

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time, the voluntary moratorium on testing will expire on December 31. Although we consider ourselves free to resume nuclear weapons testing, we shall not resume nuclear weapons tests without announcing our intention in advance of any resumption.”24 On January 14, 1960, Khrushchev gave a mildly optimistic assessment of the progress of the test ban conference. With respect to the Eisenhower statement of December 29 he said that it “obviously means that the United States can now resume nuclear explosions at any moment.” He reiterated the Soviet Union’s pledge not to resume tests if the Western powers did not.25 Did the Soviets take the Eisenhower statement seriously—that is, as a notice to resume testing? Khrushchev’s response suggests they may have. His mildly optimistic assessment of the negotiations, for which there was little basis at this point, suggests they were preparing an appropriate propaganda stance if the United States resumed testing. If they did take it seriously, it is also possible that they directed their weapons establishment to undertake preparations for testing so as to be able to respond expeditiously if and when the United States resumed testing. In the spring of 1960 there was positive movement in the negotiations on several important issues. There was an expectation and optimism that those issues could be resolved at the Paris summit, set for May 16, which in turn might lead the way to a negotiated treaty. The U-2 affair led to the cancellation of the summit and in turn ended any hope that a treaty could be achieved by the Eisenhower administration. In December at the United Nations several resolutions were introduced calling upon the nuclear weapon states to continue their voluntary suspension of tests. In response, the United States reaffirmed Eisenhower’s announcement of the previous year that “the U.S. was free to resume tests but would not resume without stating in advance its intention.” The United States expressed its concern “over the possibility that an indefinite extension of the voluntary suspension of nuclear testing may come to be regarded as an acceptable alternative to the achievement of a safeguarded agreement on nuclear testing.” The statement continued that “the U.S. does not wish to encourage any such belief. . . . A system of agreed controls is an absolutely indispensable prerequisite to the permanent cessation of nuclear tests.”26 The Kennedy administration came in with the determination to try to bring the negotiations to a successful conclusion. It soon became clear, though, that the Soviet side was no longer interested in achieving a negotiated agreement. There was not, however, any sense that the Soviets were interested in having the moratorium come to an end. It was as though the Soviets had achieved a test ban without the price of an intrusive and unwanted control system. In the United States there were pressures for the administration to resume tests. 27 The Atomic Energy Commission was

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asked to make preparations for the resumption of tests, although this did not represent a decision to resume. Circumstances had evolved much as had been stated at the United Nations the previous December, and the chances of resumed testing had increased. France had begun nuclear weapons testing in February 1960 and following each test the Soviets warned that continued French testing could adversely affect the negotiations. They also took the United States to task for not persuading the French to stop, and claimed that such testing was evading the constraints of the moratorium for the “Western powers.” Their strongest statement followed the fourth French test in April 1961. From Geneva the Soviets condemned the test and stated that French tests “threatened to reduce to nought the possibility of concluding a treaty. . . . The continuance of nuclear weapons tests by France places the Soviet Union in a situation which may compel it to resume atomic and hydrogen bomb tests.”28 The United States did not attach literal significance to these statements but interpreted them as tactical maneuvering in the negotiating process.29 Khrushchev in several private conversations with US negotiators said he was under pressure to resume tests.30 He also said this to Kennedy at the June 1961 Vienna summit meeting but added that the Soviets would not test before the United States did. There did not seem to be any suspicion in the United States that the Soviets might be planning to resume nuclear weapon tests.31 The Soviets announced the resumption of nuclear weapon tests on August 30, 1961, while negotiations in Geneva were still in session, and began tests the next day. They sought to justify their action in a long statement that pointed to political tensions in the world, the aggressive policies of NATO, hints that the United States was ready to resume tests, and the continued French testing.32 The United States and the United Kingdom harshly condemned the Soviet actions. There was a deep sense of betrayal. The Soviets had clearly spent many months in secret preparations for their test series while at the same time ostensibly negotiating in Geneva for a cessation of testing. The Soviet statements that they would not resume testing as long as the “Western powers” did not, as well as Khrushchev’s assurances to Kennedy in Vienna, now were seen as false and deceptive. Nevertheless, the Soviets did not break an agreement. Secretary of State Dean Rusk said several years later that “the moratorium was based, in effect, on unilateral declarations. It was not a contractual relationship between the parties. . . . The Soviet Union did not break an agreement when it resumed atmospheric tests.”33 This moratorium was invoked to “facilitate the negotiations,” in Eisenhower’s words. Did the moratorium facilitate the negotiations? Given the great and persisting difference between the two sides over verification,

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one would find it hard to identify any “facilitation.” There was an inherent contradiction from the US perspective. The moratorium represented acceptance of a test cessation without the controls that the United States regarded as necessary, controls that were the object of the negotiations. Indeed, the Soviets had argued in the negotiations that the observance of the moratorium by both sides demonstrated the control system under negotiation was not necessary. The United States had stated initially that the continuation of the moratorium would be contingent upon establishing an agreed control system. A control system was not established and the United States withdrew from the moratorium, but not to resume tests; in effect, the moratorium did continue. The resumption of tests would have been a severe setback to the negotiations (as proved true when the Soviets did resume). On the other hand, the United States did not want the continuation of the moratorium to be seen as a substitute for an agreed test ban with controls; this view might impede the goal of a negotiated agreement, if one was possible. The moratorium had not facilitated the negotiations and had become a contradiction and impediment to US policy goals. By the summer of 1961 there were strong pressures on the United States to resume tests. Whether the United States would have if the Soviets had not first is a matter of speculation; but it seems reasonable to presume that the United States would have resumed in time, at least underground. But the Soviets did resume first, so they also did not find the status quo acceptable. Khrushchev’s remarks that he was under pressure to resume tests, and other indications that factions in the Kremlin were dissatisfied with the state of affairs, also reflect this although the underlying reasons remain hidden. The moratorium was not a stable situation. The lack of careful specification and conditions for a test cessation inevitably made the moratorium transient. One can ask what effect continued testing, confined underground, would have had on the negotiations? One can’t answer that for the 1958–1961 negotiations, though considering the results of the moratorium, underground testing could hardly have made matters worse. But one can consider the 1977–1980 CTB negotiations. Underground testing continued during these negotiations without negative impact. Significant progress was made in resolving outstanding issues despite testing; the Soviet test rate actually increased, perhaps a sign that they expected a successful outcome of the negotiations. The cause of the failure of these talks lies elsewhere.

The 1963 Nuclear Test Moratorium

Following the Cuban missile crisis, efforts intensified to reach a nuclear test ban. On December 19, 1962, Khrushchev wrote Kennedy a long letter offering to allow two or three annual inspections of suspicious seismic

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events, signifying important progress on the key verification issue. 34 Kennedy felt at that time he could not go below eight annual inspections, and negotiations stalled again in January 1963. However, in a futile attempt to improve the atmosphere for these talks, in late January 1963 Kennedy publicly announced the postponement of scheduled underground tests for several weeks.35 Even though the postponement was of short duration—the United States resumed underground testing in Nevada on February 8—the United States had therefore undertaken a unilateral moratorium on underground testing. AEC chairman Glenn Seaborg had cautioned the president “that this would have an adverse effect on the AEC laboratories and might also disturb AEC commissioners because it might seem to be the first step toward another unpoliced moratorium.”36 The renewed Geneva negotiations made no progress. The president was becoming more and more anxious to secure agreement, feeling that time was running out to use a test ban as a tool to retard nuclear proliferation. He was especially concerned over the impending Chinese acquisition of a nuclear weapons capability.37 Following Khrushchev’s indications to unofficial emissary Norman Cousins that the Soviets still wanted a treaty, Kennedy continued his efforts. British prime minister Harold Macmillan also urged Kennedy to try once more, and Khrushchev responded positively to their joint letter. Agreeing with Cousins that Khrushchev was under pressure from the Chinese and his own “hawks” to be tough, Kennedy reflected, “One of the ironic things about this entire situation is that Mr. Khrushchev and I occupy approximately the same political positions inside our governments. He would like to prevent a nuclear war but is under severe pressure from his hard-line crowd, which interprets every move in that direction as appeasement. I’ve got similar problems.”38 On May 13, Kennedy directed the AEC to postpone three nuclear tests indefinitely, two of them atmospheric, scheduled for Nevada later that month. The postponement was front-page news, and was publicly linked to a recent favorable letter from Khrushchev.39 Kennedy had taken a step toward a unilateral atmospheric testing moratorium. Combined with his brief unilateral underground moratorium earlier in the year, his indefinite postponement of these nuclear tests showed an inclination to try this type of initiative, discredited though it was after the 1958–1961 experience. Aside from Cousins, Macmillan, and encouragement from Khrushchev, another influence seems to have had an effect on Kennedy at this time. This is the idea of GRIT (graduated and reciprocated initiatives in tension-reduction). This scheme, emphasizing unilateral initiatives to reduce tension between Cold War adversaries, was developed in 1960 by psychologist Charles Osgood. There is evidence that some members of the administration tried to practice his ideas, and Osgood was informed that Kennedy had read his book, An Alternative to War or Surrender. In June

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1963, Osgood himself was personally communicating with several members of the White House staff who were particularly interested in peace issues and improving Soviet-US relations.40 Kennedy decided to use a previously scheduled commencement address at American University on June 10 for his statement on SovietAmerican relations. The speech was a careful review of the obstacles to bettering Soviet-US relations, notable for its acknowledgement of Soviet suffering in World War II and areas where Soviet and US interests did not clash. Near the end, after calling once again for a test ban, the president said: “To make clear our good faith and solemn convictions on the matter, I now declare that the United States does not propose to conduct nuclear tests in the atmosphere as long as other states do not do so. We will not be the first to resume. Such a declaration is no substitute for a formal binding treaty, but I hope it will help us achieve one.”41 While the speech drew relatively little attention at home, it was well received in Britain and the Soviet Union. Yet the effects of the speech and other attempts at reducing tension—for example, the signing of the Moscow-Washington “hot line” agreement on June 20—did not achieve an agreement on the inspection issue, which was a prerequisite for a comprehensive test ban treaty. In a speech in East Berlin on July 2, Khrushchev rejected the possibility of on-site inspection (he had earlier withdrawn his December 1962 offer of two or three per year) but announced Soviet readiness to accept a test ban in the atmosphere, outer space, and under water. This type of agreement, which removed the need for on-site inspection, had been proposed by Eisenhower in 1959, and by Kennedy and Macmillan in August 1962, but as a fallback in case a CTB were impossible. In his instructions to Averell Harriman, the chief US negotiator, Kennedy stated, “The achievement of a comprehensive test ban treaty outlawing testing in all environments remains our objective. However, Chairman Khrushchev’s speech makes it unlikely that we can reach agreement with the Soviets on a comprehensive treaty at this time. Therefore, we should seek an agreement banning testing in three environments along the lines of the August 27, 1962 draft treaty.”42 Harriman and his opposite numbers, Andrei Gromyko and Lord Hailsham, concluded the negotiations for the Limited Test Ban Treaty in only ten days. Kennedy’s refraining from atmospheric testing may have helped to improve the prospects for a friendly negotiation, but it did not permit him to achieve his major objective, the CTB. The June 10 announcement was his third brief moratorium of 1963. The first had failed in January, and the second, in May, was one part of a series of events that prepared the ground for the success of July. As Eisenhower’s testing moratorium was no magic bullet, neither was Kennedy’s. However, the general peaceful and conciliatory tone of the American University speech, just as

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intended, may have strengthened the hand of Khrushchev and other advocates of Soviet-US detente within the Soviet leadership.

Two Testing Moratoria From Moscow

In July 1985, Soviet General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev announced a Soviet testing moratorium, to continue through January 1, 1986. “It will continue to remain in effect beyond that date, however, if the United States for its part refrains from conducting nuclear explosions.” The Reagan administration regarded Gorbachev’s unilateral moratorium as an idea definitely not worth emulating, for several reasons. The Soviets were ahead, and the United States needed further tests to catch up. More testing was necessary to assure the safety and reliability of US weapons. An unpoliced moratorium had been tried before, and had failed. With no verification, the Soviets might cheat. Similar statements greeted the two extensions of the Soviet moratorium, which stretched eighteen months, to February 1987, before Moscow tested again. The United States continued to test as usual. While the administration remained adamantly opposed, other parts of the US government were more favorably inclined to the idea of a comprehensive test ban. The House of Representatives responded to Gorbachev by passing a ban on tests over one kiloton (believed by some seismologists to be the lowest level at which underground tests could be distinguished from earthquakes by seismic methods alone) if the Soviets likewise did not test above that level, and allowed on-site technical verification. The Senate did not go along, and the House restrictions on testing were dropped on the eve of the November 1986 Reykjavik summit, on the argument that the president’s freedom of action should not be restricted entering an important negotiation.43 In a parallel with the 1963 events, the Soviets attempted to appeal to and support the factions within the US government that supported a test ban, just as Kennedy had aimed to strengthen Khrushchev against his more bellicose foes by demonstrating the US desire for peace. For example, in March 1986 the Supreme Soviet publicly requested the US Congress “to do everything within its power to ensure that the U.S. stance is consonant with carrying out the task of ending nuclear tests.”44 But this appeal failed, as the House could not overcome the pro-testing views of the Senate and the administration, and the Soviet moratorium was not reciprocated. In 1992, another moratorium from Moscow brought a surprising response from Washington, with the result that the United States entered 1993 in a testing moratorium for the first time since the presidency of John Kennedy. While this mutual moratorium took place in the era of what has been called the “New World Order,” it possessed several similarities with

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those that had come and gone during the Cold War. As in 1985–1987, the US administration was adamantly opposed to a cessation of testing. The US military and the Livermore and Los Alamos laboratories also favored more testing. Those favoring stopping tests gave high priority to preventing nuclear proliferation, just as Kennedy had in 1963. This time there were two major differences: Russia was seen as less threatening than before, and the verification issue was absent. In late September 1991, as one of a flurry of arms control initiatives by the United States and the USSR, President Gorbachev called for the end of nuclear testing; an unannounced moratorium was already in effect.45 This test cessation was continued by Russian president Yeltsin after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Like the Reagan administration, the Bush administration refused to respond by halting tests. In April 1992, France also announced a moratorium, to continue through the end of the year. This time Congressional sentiment, in both the House and the Senate, was enough to override administration policy. The House first passed a simple moratorium. This was changed in the Senate to a moratorium followed by a period of sharply restricted testing, followed by a permanent end to testing if other nations likewise do not test. After several months of negotiation among Congressional supporters, both houses passed identical restrictions attached to a key appropriations bill, which President Bush reluctantly signed. From October 2, 1992, the United States has been in a testing moratorium that will last until July 1, 1993. After that date, a limited number of tests will be allowed for safety only—not weapons improvement—except that one reliability test per year will be allowed against the number of safety tests. This set of restrictions will be in force until September 30, 1996. At that time, the United States will cease all nuclear testing for any reason, unless another country tests after that date.46 Reading of the Congressional debates on the moratorium resolutions establishes that nonproliferation was the major issue, with supporters emphasizing the important effect a test ban would have in persuading potential nuclear weapons states that the present nuclear powers were serious about their obligation, undertaken in the Non-Proliferation Treaty of 1968, “to pursue negotiations in good faith on effective measures relating to cessation of the nuclear arms race at an early date” (Article VI). They pointed to the 1995 NPT review conference as a date by which the United States must be well advanced toward stopping testing. Opponents of the moratorium believed that no conciliatory US move could dissuade from acquiring nuclear weapons the states the United States was really concerned about, such as Iraq or Libya. There was also disagreement over the safety of US weapons, with pro-ban legislators saying they are safe enough, and the anti-ban forces insisting that further improvements are necessary. There was little evidence of distrust of Russia. The pro-ban legislators emphasized the importance of supporting President Yeltsin against his

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hard-line foes, suggesting Kennedy’s desire to strengthen Khrushchev. The opponents of a moratorium argued that Russia should test, too, in order to improve the safety of their weapons—an indication of how far fear of Russian military might has fallen in the post–Cold War era. Nevertheless, the Russian unilateral moratorium was mentioned repeatedly by pro-ban speakers as an important factor. Interestingly, though, almost everyone who mentioned this also spoke favorably of the French moratorium. It seems clear that the United States would not have stopped testing if Russia and France had not stopped; perhaps the vote would have been more decisive if China had stopped also.47 Moratorium on Antisatellite Testing

The launching of the first artificial earth satellite, Sputnik, by the Soviets in 1957 led the United States to consider developing responses to the new perceived threat. 48 Nonetheless, the United States acted with restraint, although pursuing research and development on an antisatellite (ASAT) capability. The restraint reflected an assessment that the United States had more need and perforce put more value than the Soviets on space reconnaissance and surveillance. The United States instituted a limited deployment of one ASAT system in the period 1963–1967 and another in the period 1967–1975 (each was located on a Pacific island). These developments were motivated by the possibility that the Soviets would deploy orbital bombs, a threat that never materialized. In 1968 the Soviets began the testing, continuing to 1971, of their ASAT system. This Soviet effort did not lead the United States to seek improvements in its system, which was retired in 1975. In 1976 the Soviets resumed testing to improve their ASAT system. In response, the Ford administration initiated an ASAT program. The immediate military justification for the program was to pose a wartime counter to Soviet ocean reconnaissance satellites observing US naval deployments. There is no dispute that this new US system represented a superior approach and, once developed, a superior system to the Soviets. The launch sites would not be limited, as with the Soviet large rocket–based ASAT, and the F-15s carrying ASAT rockets could be positioned to quickly respond when required to destroy a Soviet satellite. The Carter administration continued ASAT development but also initiated negotiations on ASAT limitations with the Soviet Union. The first step was to seek a ban on attacks and a moratorium on testing. This was to give time to develop a treaty and avoid the concern that technological developments would outpace political efforts. The Soviets did initiate a test moratorium at the beginning of the negotiations. The Soviet incursion into Afghanistan halted the negotiations. In March 1981, the Soviets successfully resumed ASAT tests.

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In August 1981, the Soviets submitted a draft ASAT treaty at the United Nations that proposed to ban deployment of an ASAT system in space. It did not ban ground-based or air-launched systems. The treaty was directed at future technologies, not at those in existence or immediate development. The United States did not respond favorably. In 1982 Congress began to take an active interest in the ASAT issue,49 and took direct action in the following year. The defense authorization bill barred tests of an ASAT against a target in space unless the president could show that the United States was endeavoring to negotiate an ASAT ban in good faith or certified that testing was necessary to avoid clear and irrevocable harm to US national security interests. Testing meant, in this case, a test against a man-made object in space. This then instituted on the US side a unilateral moratorium on the testing of an ASAT system of the general character of the US system under development, which depended upon a warhead to intercept the satellite; tests of a laser-type ASAT were not ruled out. In this same period the Soviets stated that they were prepared to ban all ASAT systems, prohibit testing, and eliminate existing systems. They advanced a draft treaty incorporating these ideas. The Soviets also declared a unilateral test moratorium, preceding the US action. There was thus now a mutual ASAT test moratorium, similar to the nuclear testing moratoria of 1958–1961 and the present. The motivation behind the Congressional action was to prevent the development of a military technology that would make a future agreement more difficult to achieve. The US system under development, because of its small size and deployment flexibility, would make an ASAT ban difficult to verify. This mutual moratorium was, though, a very peculiar situation, since the executive branch of the US government did not support it, or an eventual ASAT treaty. (This closely resembles the nuclear testing moratorium of 1992–1993.) Indeed, in March 1984, the United States rejected the Soviet proposal to ban all ASAT systems. The concerns of the supporters of the moratorium and an eventual ban were the classic ones. An unbridled ASAT development by the United States and the Soviets would lead in time to Soviet developments that would put US space assets at risk, assets which most US observers believed were more important to the United States than Soviet space assets were to them. Moreover, in time of crisis the threat to early warning and communication satellites of both countries could introduce destabilizing uncertainty into the superpower relationship. Then there were the escalating costs of the program under development, which could but prefigure the costs of future systems, if no restraints were imposed.50 The administration, to support its opposition to an ASAT restraint, pointed to the existing Soviet system, which put the Soviets ahead of the United States in ASAT capability. The administration claimed that if there

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were a ban, given the uncertainties of verification, this Soviet system could enable the Soviets to maintain a covert capability; if not that, at least a latent capability which would enable them to break out at a later time. In addition, a US system would serve as a deterrent to the Soviet capability. However, at the same time, the administration claimed that an ASAT was necessary to combat certain Soviet satellites; this claim, though, posed a contradiction to the deterrent role. Additionally, existing weapons, though not deployed as ASAT weapons, could be converted to an ASAT role (ICBMs, for example); a treaty could not contain this possibility. To all the claims of both sides there were counterclaims and rebuttals, none of which led to conversion.51 The Congress extended the test moratorium for the next few years, and US ASAT development also continued. Tests that began in January 1984 were, with one exception, confined to laboratories and thus did not violate the Congressional moratorium. The exception was a successful test performed in outer space in October 1985, against an existing US satellite. The president had certified, as required, that the test was necessary “to avoid clear and irrevocable harm.” Congressional Democrats unsuccessfully sought to prevent the test through the courts. The administration did not, however, attempt another such test, as the claim of “clear and irrevocable harm” was difficult to defend. The Soviets threatened to break off their moratorium if there were any more such tests. In 1987 the military stated that if the test moratorium were not lifted the development program for the F-15 ASAT system would be endangered. Congress nevertheless reimposed the test ban. In January 1988, the Air Force canceled the development program. That fall, ASAT opponents sought to extend the test ban and make it permanent. This time ASAT proponents turned the vote around and the ban was revoked. ASAT research and development continued, with each service having a program. At the end of 1992, however, the United States had no current large-scale ASAT program and the subject was not an issue with Congress or arms control negotiations.52 The purpose of the moratorium on ASAT testing was to delay the development of a weapon technology that could make a treaty banning ASATs more difficult or impossible to achieve. The moratorium was successful in delaying the technological development. Whether a treaty could have been negotiated, if the US administration had sought one, must be a matter of conjecture. Yet there can be no doubt that the moratorium was successful in setting the stage for such an attempt. What the moratorium did not do was settle the issue of ASATs within the United States (and probably the Soviet Union as well). In time, the impasse led to the demise of the US ASAT moratorium.

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Conclusion

At the time President Nixon initiated the moratorium on biological weapons, he associated the United States with the principles and objectives of the United Kingdom’s Draft Convention, which would ban the production and use of biological weapons. The moratorium on nuclear weapons tests announced by President Eisenhower was “to facilitate the negotiations.” When President Kennedy announced the moratorium on atmospheric nuclear tests, he added that “such a declaration is no substitute for a formal binding treaty, but I hope it will help us achieve one.” Presidents Gorbachev and Yeltsin likewise hoped their nuclear testing moratoria would lead to more permanent arrangements. The ASAT moratorium was meant to prevent developments that could make achieving an ASAT treaty more difficult. Moratoria have been used generally not as ends in themselves but as a step toward a formal binding agreement. In contrast to the aim of leading to a formal agreement, they could be seen as an alternative to negotiated treaties. Certainly a moratorium, being a unilateral action (even though it may call for reciprocal action of others) avoids the complexities of the treaty-making process. It is a concrete step in contrast to the generally lengthy and sometimes elusive goal of the negotiated treaty. But the complexities of treaty making, which extend the negotiating time, result from seeking desirable or politically necessary features associated with the cessation of the activity; avoiding complexity can mean achieving less. More pertinently, a permanent moratorium (an oxymoron) may be impossible because of its limitations. Thus, President Eisenhower’s moratorium was achieved by declaration without detailed negotiations or specifications. But it was politically impossible for the United States to cease testing indefinitely without adequate verification procedures. Only a treaty with admittedly complex verification procedures was a satisfactory basis for permanently stopping nuclear weapons tests. If there is little or no complexity, a moratorium might be acceptable; but then, negotiating a treaty should be no problem. This was the case with the biological convention. The United States could accept a moratorium because verification was not considered a serious problem—because even the actions of others, including possible cheating, were not considered dangerous. Once the Soviets accepted the principle of a treaty it was quickly negotiated. This was also true for the Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963. Verification was not a problem for the atmospheric moratorium; this allowed a treaty to be quickly negotiated once the Soviets accepted the idea of a partial step, permitting underground tests. A moratorium does not legally bind any participant to this course of action; it is simply a declaration that can be undone. It does not bind other countries, nor even others within the country. Thus, in the 1958–1961

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nuclear test moratorium, opposition flourished, both in the United States and Soviet Union. The ASAT moratorium, somewhat bizarre, had the same feature; in this case, as in the Gorbachev and Yeltsin nuclear test moratoria, the US executive branch did not accept the goal of the moratorium. As the ASAT and 1992 nuclear testing examples show, Congressional action can override executive opposition. A treaty, on the other hand, represents a national decision or commitment that, at least for some time, will not be subject to attempts at revision or rejection. (This is illustrated by the long controversy over revising the ABM Treaty. The 1992 revelations about the BW Treaty, however, show that it may be easier to continuously violate a treaty than to formally amend it.) A treaty is more likely to be a stable arrangement than a moratorium. The BW moratorium of President Nixon was a success—it was most probably the action that brought the Soviets to accept a treaty (although the value of the treaty itself was questionable). The ASAT moratorium was a success—it delayed a new weapon development and, if the Reagan administration had sought a binding agreement, might have been a positive element in achieving a treaty. The 1958–1961 nuclear test moratorium was not a success. It accepted conditions—no verification—which were contrary to the goals of the negotiations—a treaty with verification arrangements. If the negotiations had been short, this would not have been a problem. But the technical and political complexities insured that the negotiation would be difficult and lengthy. The moratorium was incompatible with this; and, it could be argued, was detrimental to the negotiating process. The Kennedy 1963 atmospheric testing moratorium was a partial success. It had some effect in bringing about the LTB, but not the CTB he hoped for. The 1985–1987 Gorbachev testing moratorium was not a success, except perhaps in improving his and his country’s image. But the 1991–1992 Gorbachev/Yeltsin testing moratorium succeeded in eliciting US reciprocity, despite the opposition of the administration. Two aspects of the experience with moratoria show the difficulties of treating states as unitary organizations with a single purpose at any one time. First, as noted, there may be differences of opinion about the wisdom of the moratorium in both the state that initiates it and the one(s) that are invited to reciprocate. Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Gorbachev, at least, had internal opposition to their testing initiatives. The US ASAT test ban was opposed by the administration, as was the 1992–1993 testing moratorium, but both were imposed by Congress. Kennedy and apparently Gorbachev took note of the divisions of opinion within the target state and designed policies to appeal to the forces they hoped to strengthen. Second, it is very difficult for a country, especially a great power with myriad interests, to follow an entirely consistent foreign policy. Kennedy delivered a conciliatory speech, stopped atmospheric tests, and took other

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steps toward relaxing tensions in the spring and summer of 1963. There is evidence that he was influenced by Osgood’s strategy of GRIT. A wellknown analysis of this period recounts the peaceful actions.53 Yet at the same time, the United States was taking actions against Soviet allies that can be called belligerent. On June 19, 1963, only nine days after his celebrated American University speech, Kennedy approved a sabotage program against Cuba; there had been none since the previous October’s crisis.54 On June 25, National Security Action Memorandum 249 records the president asking “that the question be explored whether additional US actions should be taken in Laos before any action be directed against North Vietnam.”55 In 1992, Yeltsin was generally conciliatory to the United States and the West, not surprising considering his economic problems. But those same problems led Russia to sell arms to Iran, India, and China, actions to which the United States objected.56 Despite these actions, both moratoria enjoyed some success. While the technical and political dimensions are too varied to set rules for a successful moratorium, the record stands primarily as a cautionary note for the post–Cold War New World Order which may apply moratoria to such realms as arms transfers, weapons acquisition, weapons development, and so forth. A moratorium is not a substitute for a treaty. A moratorium may be a way to assist a negotiation, politically and technically. A moratorium should not be inconsistent or incompatible with the goals of the negotiation. A moratorium over a long period, which lacks some essential requirements or procedures, will have built-in tensions that will threaten the moratorium and thus, also, an eventual treaty. Notes

1. “Statement by President Nixon on Chemical and Biological Weapons, November 25, 1969,” Documents on Disarmament 1969 (Washington: United States Arms Control and Disarmament Agency [USACDA], 1970), pp. 592–593. 2. Arms Control and Disarmament Agreements: Texts and Histories of Negotiations (Washington: USACDA, 1980), pp. 9–18. 3. An exception is the use of poison gas by the Japanese in China. Yuli Tanaka, “Poison Gas: The Story Japan Would Like to Forget,” Bulletin of The Atomic Scientists, October 1988, pp. 10–19. 4. “British Draft Convention on Biological Warfare,” Documents on Disarmament 1969, pp. 324–326. 5. “Soviet Draft Convention on the Development, Production, and Stockpiling of Chemical and Bacteriological (Biological) Weapons and on the Destruction of Such Weapons,” Documents on Disarmament 1969, September 19, 1969, pp. 455–457. 6. The United States added toxins to its self-imposed ban in 1970. Though chemical, toxins are produced by bacteria, and their mode of production requires BW facilities. “White House Statement on the President’s Decision to Renounce Toxins as a Method of Warfare, February 14, 1970,” Documents on Disarmament

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1970, pp. 5–6. 7. “Statement by the Swedish Representative (Myrdal) to the Conference of the Committee on Disarmament,” Documents on Disarmament 1970, pp. 132–140. 8. “Statement of the Soviet Representative (Roschin) to the Conference of the Committee on Disarmament: Chemical and Bacteriological Weapons,” Documents on Disarmament 1971, pp. 183–190. Shevchenko states that the Soviet acceptance of the separate BW agreement was for “propaganda purposes.” He also states that the Soviet military had no intention of giving up biological weapons after the BW convention went into effect—an assertion apparently supported by revelations in 1992; see below. Arkady Shevchenko, Breaking with Moscow (New York: Knopf, 1985), pp. 173–174, 179. 9. “Communist Draft Convention on the Prohibition of the Development, Production and Stockpiling of Bacteriological (Biological) Weapons and Toxins and on their Destruction, March 30, 1971.” Documents on Disarmament 1971, pp. 190–194. 10. “Convention on the Prohibition of the Development, Production and Stockpiling of Bacteriological (Biological) and Toxin Weapons and on their Destruction,” Arms Control and Disarmament Agreements Texts and Histories of Negotiations (Washington: USACDA 1980), pp. 120–131. 11. US and Soviet/Russian agreement on a measure at the Geneva Conference on Disarmament is no longer sufficient to obtain general acceptance. In 1979, the United States and the Soviet Union submitted a joint draft treaty text to ban the development, production, stockpiling, and use of radiological weapons (Documents on Disarmament 1979, pp. 357–361). There is still no agreement at the CD on this subject. Some of the arguments used against the proposed ban on radiological weapons are similar to those that were used against the BW initiative. 12. S. Wright, “New Designs for Biological Weapons,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, January/February 1987, pp. 43–47; V. Haddock, “Biological Weapons Revive in the ’80s,” San Francisco Examiner, March 5, 1989, p. 1. 13. Milton Leitenberg, “Anthrax in Sverdlovsk: New Pieces to the Puzzle,” Arms Control Today, April 1992, pp. 10–13; Los Angeles Times, June 16, 1992, p. A7. 14. Los Angeles Times, September 15, 1992, pp. A1, A6. 15. “Communique and Report of the Conference of Experts to Study the Possibility of Detecting Violations of a Possible Agreement on the Suspension of Nuclear Tests, August 21, 1958,” Documents on Disarmament 1945–1959 (Washington: US Department of State, 1960), pp. 1090–1111. 16. “Statement by President Eisenhower: Experts Report in Detection of Nuclear Tests, August 22, 1958,” Documents on Disarmament 1945–1959, pp. 1111–1112. 17. “Statement by President Eisenhower Regarding Recent Soviet Nuclear Tests, November 7, 1958”; “TASS Statement on Nuclear Weapons Tests, November 14, 1958”; Documents on Disarmament 1945–1959, pp. 1221, 1224–1227. 18. Harold Karan Jacobson and Eric Stein, Diplomats, Scientists and Politicians (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1966) provides a history of the negotiations. Glenn T. Seaborg, assisted by B. S. Loeb, Kennedy, Khrushchev and the Test Ban (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981) provides a review of the earlier phases of the negotiations and a detailed description of the negotiations from the Washington end after Kennedy assumed office. 19. Differences, though much less visible, certainly existed in the Soviet Union. Christer Jonsson, Soviet Bargaining Behavior: The Test Ban Case (New York: Columbia University Press, 1979) examines how these differences interacted

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with the negotiating process. 20. “Statement by the Department of State: Extension of Voluntary Suspension of Nuclear Weapons Tests, August 26, 1959,” Documents on Disarmament 1945– 1959, pp. 1439–1440. 21. George B. Kistiakowsky, A Scientist at the White House (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976), pp. 36, 52. The dissension in the administration over the test ban comes through clearly in this account. 22. “Statement by the Soviet Government Regarding Continued Suspension of Nuclear Weapons Tests, August 28, 1959,” Documents on Disarmament 1945– 1959, pp. 1440–1441. 23. “Statement by President Eisenhower: Nuclear Weapons Tests, December 29, 1959,” Documents on Disarmament 1945–1959, pp. 1590–1591. The decision that tests would not resume without advance announcement (and thus not immediately) appears from Kistiakowsky’s account (see note 21, p. 212) to have been finally decided on December 28. 24. Eishenhower, ibid. 25. “Address by Premier Khrushchev to the Supreme Soviet (Extracts), January 14, 1960,” Documents on Disarmament 1960, pp. 4–15. 26. “Statement by the United States Representative (Wilcox) to the First Committee of the General Assembly, December 19, 1960,” Documents on Disarmament 1960, pp. 369–372. 27. Seaborg, see note 18, describes in Chapter 5 in some detail the considerations given to the question of whether or not to resume nuclear tests. 28. “Statement of the Soviet Representative (Tsarapkin) at the Geneva Conference for the Discontinuance of Nuclear Weapons Tests, May 15, 1961,” Documents on Disarmament 1961, pp. 147–149. 29. Personal notes of the author (W. H.), who was a member of the US delegation at this time. 30. Seaborg, see note 18, pp. 74, 83; Theodore C. Sorenson, Kennedy (New York: Harper and Row, 1965), pp. 544, 617–618; Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., A Thousand Days (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1965), p. 373. 31. Seaborg, note 18; this is clearly seen in Chapters 5 and 6. 32. “Statement by the Soviet Government on the Resumption of Nuclear Weapons Tests, August 30, 1961,” Documents on Disarmament 1961, pp. 337–348. 33. Testimony of Dean Rusk in Hearing Before the Committee on Foreign Relations, United States Senate, on Executive M, 88th Congress, 1st Session, Nuclear Test Ban Treaty (Washington: USGPO, 1963), p. 53. 34. Documents on Disarmament 1962, pp. 1239–1242. 35. Seaborg, see note 18, pp. 183–184. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid., pp. 198–199, 239. 38. Norman Cousins, The Improbable Triumvirate (New York: Norton, 1972), pp. 113–114. 39. New York Times, May 14, 1963, pp. 1, 8. 40. Letter, Charles Osgood to Arthur Steiner, September 8, 1981. 41. Text in Department of State Bulletin, July 1, 1963, pp. 2–6. 42. Declassified Documents Reference System, document 1986–2252. 43. Congressional Quarterly Almanac 1986 (Washington: CQ, Inc., 1987), pp. 461–462. 44. Foreign Broadcast Information Service, USSR, March 20, 1986, p. A2. 45. Los Angeles Times, October 1, 1991, pp. A1, A12. 46. Dunbar Lockwood, “U.S. Begins Testing Moratorium; Ban on U.S. Tests

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Set for 1996,” Arms Control Today, October 1992, pp. 32, 40; Tom ZamoraCollina, “Nuclear Weapons Take a Dive,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, December 1992, pp. 6–8. 47. See especially Congressional Record–House, June 4, 1992, pp. 4159–4174; and Congressional Record–Senate, August 3, 1992, pp. 11167–11212. 48. The historical developments are described in detail in Paul B. Stares, The Militarization of Space: U.S. Policy, 1945–1984 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1985). See also Steve Weber, Cooperation and Discord in U.S.-Soviet Arms Control (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), pp. 204–271, 291–295. 49. William Sweet, “Anti-Satellite Treaties,” Physics Today, November 1984, pp. 99–103. This provides a review of this period and the issues. It points out the role of scientists in advising Congress. 50. Both the US and Soviet systems would be able to attack only low-orbit satellites. The most valuable assets are at high orbits. Inevitably in the Cold War, without restraints, ASATs would have been developed to attack these systems. 51. These issues are discussed in the following: R. Jeffrey Smith, “Aerospace Experts Challenge ASAT Decision,” Science, May 18, 1984, pp. 693–696; US Congress, Office of Technology Assessment, Anti-Satellite Weapons, Counter Measures, and Arms Control (Washington: USGPO, 1985); Paul B. Stares, Space and National Security (Washington: Brookings Institution, 1987). 52. Weber, see note 48, pp. 271, 294–295. The information about the status of ASAT in late 1992 comes from telephone inquiries by one of the authors (A.S.) to ACDA and the Air Force Arms Control Office. 53. Amitai Etzioni, “The Kennedy Experiment,” Western Political Quarterly, June 1967, pp. 361–380. Etzioni had made proposals similar to Osgood’s at about the same time. 54. US Senate, Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities, Interim Report, “Alleged Assassination Plots Involving Foreign Leaders,” November 20, 1975, pp. 147–148, 173. 55. The Pentagon Papers, Senator Gravel edition (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971), vol. 2, p. 726. 56. Los Angeles Times, November 6, 1992, pp. A8, A9; and November 30, 1992, pp. A1, A9.

Part 2

Part 2 Defense Practice as Unilateral Arms Control

DEFENSE PRACTICE AS

UNILATERAL ARMS CONTROL

Part 1 took a rather conventional view of unilateral arms control as selfrestraint to induce reciprocation and thereby reduce the probability of war, cost of defense, and damage should war take place. However, as noted in Chapter 1, Adelman, Schelling, and Osgood look to unilateral and multilateral defense planning as arms control. US defense planners who see their mission as synonymous with arms control contend that by reducing the vulnerability of retaliatory forces, modernization—which does not come cheaply—is more effective in diminishing the probability of war than negotiation is. In this view, modernization must continue to control unforeseen threats that may emerge in the post–Cold War New World Order. During the Cold War and its aftermath other nations have argued that defense planning need not always include acquisition and modernization. Rather, self-denial may be in the nation’s best interest—for example, the decision by industrialized nuclear-capable states not to acquire atomic weapons. Part 2 elaborates, beginning with Colin Gray, who takes traditional arms controllers to task in Chapter 5 arguing that nuclear strategy, force procurement, and deployment functionally constitute a superior form of arms control as compared to negotiated limitations. In Chapter 6, Joseph Pilat concurs by casting his argument in the military technology a nation acquires, does not acquire, and allows and prevents other nations from acquiring. Where Pilat is often dubious about self-denial, George Quester and T. V. Paul find utility in the decisions of Canada, Germany, Sweden, Switzerland, and island states of the South Pacific—the latter three driven in part by a desire to avoid becoming nuclear targets in the event of war— not to acquire nuclear weapons. Laurance takes self-denial in another direction examining both unilateral and multilateral arms exporter restraint and arms transfers as part of defense policy—and the failure of exporter defense policy—to reduce the probability of war and damage in the event of war. 95

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In sum, the chapters in Part 2 take an unconventional tack in their treatment of arms control. The authors do not find defense planning and arms control as conflicting objectives. Rather, they see unilateral defense planning—including self-denial and denial to others—as arms control, the legacy of which will continue into the unchartered waters of the New World Order. —Editor

5

5 Nuclear Strategy, Force Procurement, and Deployment as Arms Control Colin S. Gray

Nuclear Strategy, Force Procurement, and Deployment as Arms Control Colin Gray

For reasons of political culture rather than strategic logic, the United States has chosen to house its Arms Control and Disarmament Agency (ACDA) within the State Department rather than within the Department of Defense. That choice speaks volumes to the perception of the arms control process that is prevalent in the US body politic. Specifically, arms control is regarded far more as a thread of diplomacy than as a dimension to military planning. It is the purpose of this chapter to explore the proposition that nuclear strategy, force procurement, and deployment can perform functionally as arms control. To approach arms control nearly exclusively as a process of formal negotiation is to fail to understand the nature and opportunities of this subject. However, it is the intention here not so much to indicate the pitfalls of formal arms control negotiations, as to suggest the positive merits for the goals of arms control of a sensible defense program, the underpinnings of which remain applicable to the post–Cold War “New World Order.” Writing in 1961, Thomas C. Schelling and Morton H. Halperin defined arms control, distinctly inclusively, as “all the forms of military cooperation between potential enemies in the interest of reducing the likelihood of war, its scope and violence if it occurs, and the political and economic costs of being prepared for it.”1 Key propositions include the ideas that an arms control dialogue, or parallel monologues, formal or tacit, may diminish the political tensions that help fuel incentives to fight, and may in some ways reduce the technical “dynamics of mutual alarm.”2 In addition to the superordinate goal of war prevention, the classic goals of arms control, following Schelling and Halperin, long have been held to include reduction in the scale of damage that might otherwise be suffered should war occur, and the saving of money in peacetime defense preparation. Needless to say, perhaps, these three classic goals of arms control are less than authoritative. Critics of so-(mis)called war-fighting approaches to 97

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nuclear strategy have worried that the illusion of a more discriminate deterrent—in service of the second goal of arms control—might be acquired at the expense of that allegedly existential deterrent whose undifferentiated menace of nuclear holocaust arguably best serves the master goal of war prevention. Furthermore, the trinity of arms control goals that is orthodox in Western thinking was not derived inductively from careful historical research. Instead, the three classic goals of arms control are mightily Western value–laden, summarize a normative theory, and deliberately ignore a salient paradox. The founding fathers of modern arms control theory—Schelling and Halperin in particular, though certainly not exclusively—took an almost puckish delight in turning on its head the traditionally assumed relationship among putative enemies. Namely, the basis for arms control is the fact that the states in question might fight each other. Limited cooperation between or among enemies was held to be the key to the arms control approach.3 Unfortunately, in their hubris, or intellectual excitement, the founding fathers chose to ignore one paradox while they embraced another. The alleged necessity for arms control, which stems logically from the prospects for war—i.e., it is putative enemies who need to cooperate—is offset by the no-less-powerful paradox to the effect that political enmity has a way of precluding meaningful arms control. In the minds of many people in the West, arms control is a distinctively noble cause. In fact, formal arms control negotiations comprise no more noble an activity than does the defense policy and program behavior, which both fuel the incentives to negotiate and constitute the variable strength of the “hands” of the negotiators. Historically assessed, as contrasted with speculatively intoned, the formal arms control process is no more about a quest after the three classic goals than it is about the quest for such unilateral advantage as may serve the ends of coercive diplomacy, old-fashioned military planning, or political subversion. Common sense and historical experience suggest that a broad functional view should be taken of arms control. However, one has to beware of becoming unduly oxymoronic. The Israeli destruction of the Iraqi nuclear reactor at Osirak in 1981, and the US-led coalition’s destruction of Iraq’s nuclear facilities during and after Operation Desert Storm in 1991, plainly served the goals of arms control, as would US destruction of the Libyan chemical plant at Rabta. However, if the waging of preventive attacks upon nuclear reactors under construction is an example of a muscular nonproliferation policy in action—assertive disarmament4—so a Soviet invasion of Western Europe could have been excused as a case of active defense. Through semantic imperialism and linguistic agility offense can become defense and arms control motives can be invoked to legitimize a myriad of sins. The generally positive connotations of the vague idea of arms control all but invite the unscrupulous to expropriate its blessing.

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Over the course of the past three decades arms control has acquired the narrow meaning of arms control negotiations.5 Similarly, the concept of an, or perhaps the, “arms control process” has crept into popular usage—a concept which suggests administration and orderly procedures. Arms control, with or without a “process,” should no more be confined in meaning to formal negotiations than particular weapons should be labeled “strategic.” All weapons are applied tactically for greater or lesser strategic effect. The alleged importance of arms control, whether or not accurately assessed, has flowed directly from the unprecedented structure of international security from 1945 until the ending of the Cold War late in 1989. Superpower arms control has been judged important precisely because competitive superpower armaments were the most important variable in the evolving balance of power. The armaments of great powers have always been important. But never in modern history until 1945 had two great states so outrun all of the others that those others, singly or even in combination, could add relatively little to the weight behind one great state’s policies. It follows of necessity that when great states cannot compete effectively by the making and breaking of coalitions, they will compete where they can, in the realm of substantially unilateral military prowess. The Causes of War and the Goals of Arms Control

Arms control theory, if that is not too grand a term, has always had difficulty effecting the transition between the all-but-canonical truths of the three great goals already cited, and policy implementation. Leaving aside for the moment the complications of possible incompatibilities among the three broad goals and large residual doubts about the transcultural authority of those goals, what is known—really known, that is—about the ways in which those goals best might be achieved? In practice, a formal negotiating process for arms control tends to shunt aside questions of net strategic effectiveness. The functions of forces have a way of descending to that of counters for the players in negotiations. If the purpose of forces is for the competitive armament of negotiators, what—one should ask—is the purpose of the negotiations? The answer, again in practice, tends to be to reach agreement. If arms control negotiations effectively are in the hands of diplomats rather than statesmen (let alone military planners), ceteris paribus they will reach agreement. The agreement may well make little or no military sense, but then the negotiators were not striving to achieve militarily sensible agreement as an overriding goal. Every US administration enters office issuing great truths or platitudes about the essential unity of arms control and defense, yet each finds that it cannot behave strategically with regard to either arms control negotiations

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or strategic weaponry. The practice of arms control, properly so called, has to be admitted to be exceedingly difficult. Consistent with supporting vital national interests (another very slippery concept), all people can agree that “reducing the likelihood of war” should be the top priority of government. How is the likelihood of war best reduced? “By arms control” or “by the arms control process” is no answer, because arms control—a form of diplomacy—is empty of content. If the concept of arms control is provided with normative traffic, it can provide only a circularity of thought for those who earnestly seek a reduced risk of war. Arms control, tacit or formal, cannot help but be a target and a vehicle for the same policy and strategic disputes that occupy public debate over doctrine, posture, and international relations. Arms control does not offer an alternative administrative realm to the world of politics. It is arguable that through cooperative administrative measures, tacit or formal, rival arsenals might be rendered marginally less liable to trigger politically unintended conflict. However, the historical evidence to date suggests strongly that great powers have gone to war when they intended, for reasons that seemed good and sufficient at the time, and that any arms control regime would have been irrelevant at best. Political goals and relations drive military competition. The relationship between politics and arms admittedly can be complex. Nonetheless, it is a general truth that states who perceive themselves to be sliding towards war tend to be unwilling to accept the artificial constraints of arms control upon their military preparations. Virtually all of the arms control treaties of the 1920s and 1930s fell political victim to the deterioration in international relations of the mid- to late 1930s. Even the Anglo-German Naval Agreement of 1935—which did not constrain German naval rearmament at the time—was denounced by Hitler on April 27, 1939, following Britain’s somewhat ambivalent guarantee of Poland’s frontier at the end of March 1939. Given that arms can be controlled in some senses by means as varied as assertive disarmament, political dialogue, and (above all) budgetary constraints, the discussion of arms control can have a discipline problem. Unilateral policy on nuclear strategy and strategic forces can, indeed should, serve goals that include those of formal arms control. That fact is a theoretical strength of arms control, but it can also be a practical weakness. In practice in the United States there tends to be rhetorical affirmation of the principle that arms control and defense policies are one, but actually the two streams of activity perennially diverge markedly. A double fallacy pervades the arms control literature: (1) It continues to be believed that arms control negotiations can make changes to the security environment, changes that might be important for decisions on peace or war; (2) It is a fallacy to believe that important changes in military posture or procedures can be achieved more effectively by a formal process of cooperation, rather than unilaterally and perhaps by tacit agreements.

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It was always possible that Murphy’s Law would trigger World War III. However, both superpowers worked hard to minimize the likelihood and consequences of critical technical and human errors in what came to be called the deterrence system.6 Although there are no grounds for complacency over the possibility that the Cold War might have turned hot, neither were there good grounds for alarm or for believing that arms control ingenuity could render the deterrence system very much more fireproof than it was already (by the 1970s and 1980s). This is not to say that some series of accidents or miscalculations could not trigger World War III. But Murphy probably could have been trusted to ensure that safety features attributable to the arms control process would miss the problems that actually arose. Hot lines, crisis centers, and the like are all very well, but they need to be considered against the backdrop of the historical fact that states have demonstrated a quite unremarkable tendency to go to war, deliberately, when they judged that that was the best way to protect their vital interests.7 To repeat the old but true formula: Weapons do not wage war, governments (or states and societies) do.8 As a general rule the causes of war have had little to do with the typical subject of arms control negotiations, discussion, and debate. The formal character of an arms control process considerably narrows the range of feasible goals for national military effort in the areas under discussion. Some approximation to parity—even if disguised, as in the 5:5:3 ratios of the Washington treaty regime—is the only zone of formal negotiability (no self-respecting state will formally agree to inferiority). Nominal inferiority has proved negotiable on the Russian part now that the Cold War has ended and the arms competition is over, conditions that indicate why parity was the magnetic pole of negotiations in previous decades. The strain toward parity has to be appreciated in the context of the everpartial character of arms negotiations. The parity principle is likely to reward the side best able to secure parity-plus in the areas of competition not covered by agreement; or, it will favor the side whose geostrategic condition does not logically mandate some nominal military advantage according to prominent and simple accounting rules. Two Cases

This central section of the chapter looks briefly at two specific cases where it can be argued with particular clarity that national or coalition military effort served or could have served the goals of arms control admirably in the waning years of the Cold War. The logic of conflict holds that arms control agreements capable of making a major difference to international peace and security are either nonnegotiable or in reality are unnecessary. Almost certainly, states prepared to legislate a massively cooperative

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restructuring of their strategic relationship are heading toward political peace, if not entente or alliance, and are in no need of an arms control regulator of their competition. Formal negotiations and unilateral defense effort are not really alternative paths to the same goals, because formal negotiations between the states most in need of arms control assistance (i.e., the states that might fight each other) can rarely register achievements of more than marginal significance. Even radical-seeming disarmament or arms control regimes (the Washington treaty, START I) on closer inspection generally turn out only to have registered an approximation to the status quo. If a state wishes to negotiate a major change in the terms or character of a strategic relationship, it will first have to demonstrate the ability and will to effect the change unilaterally. If that change is believed by the other state to redound greatly to its disadvantage, there will not be a negotiation option for its cooperative implementation. The three classic goals of arms control can be brought into play only with reference to some more or less explicit assumption about the terms and nature of international conflict, and the relevance of and effective approaches to deterrence. Schelling, Halperin, and the other participants in “Golden Age” theorizing about arms control,9 were anything but dewyeyed over the promise of their subject. Indeed, arms control arguably had been reinvented in the late 1950s in fairly formal opposition to the erstwhile sway of noble and wholly impracticable visions of a disarmed world. The new arms control theory was seriously flawed,10 but wishful thinking on the need for muscular support for Western security interests was not prominent among those errors. Although an inevitable strain toward (apparent) parity is inseparable from a formal arms control process, it is not by any means self-evident that parity—in strategic effect, not simply in some mindless arithmetical sense—must serve international peace and security. All armed forces are not equal, and weapons do not make war. It matters for peace and security whether a coalition of status quo powers enjoys an arguable edge in net military prowess, or whether that edge (which may reside in quality of leadership, training, motivation, and plans, rather than in numbers or quality of weapons)11 is owned by a multinational continental empire beset by endemic problems of political legitimacy and by a worsening international competitive position. It is the political motivation behind, and direction of, policy that gives weapons an offensive or defensive, destabilizing or stabilizing, character.

First Strike/Second Strike and Technical Stability

The record of the past two decades demonstrates unambiguously that although the arms control process did not create vulnerability problems for

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strategic forces, that process did not help the search for viable solutions and, indeed, on balance would seem to have hindered the quest for such solutions. Overall, arms control negotiations came to be part of the problem rather than an important element in a solution. Since the time of the Rand strategic-basing study in the early 1950s,12 the first strike/second strike distinction has been as fundamental to strategic theory as, say, the law of gravity is to physics. A mixture of true, false, and distinctly arguable propositions achieved near-canonical acceptance. By way of illustration, in the Athanasian Creed of a mainstream, middle-ofthe-road, arms-control-favoring defense analyst:

1. Weapon systems, and certainly (in the ICBM case) weapon systems in particular basing modes, reliably can be categorized as first or second strike in character. 2. First-strike weapons are inherently destabilizing, second-strike weapons are inherently stabilizing.13 3. Stability—as in “crisis stability”—refers to the incentive, or lack thereof, to strike first rather than second. 4. Arms control agreements can ban or at least control the development, test, and deployment of destabilizing weapons.14

Two classes of critical observation need to be recognized with reference to the merit in the argument that a formal arms control process can advance or has advanced the cause of stability. First, formal negotiations on the control of arms have not been helpful for the goal of technical stability as outlined above. (The START II agreement at the Bush-Yeltsin summit in June 1992 might appear to contradict this claim, since MIRVed ICBMs were scheduled for abolition. The truth is that by 1992 there was no strategic nuclear relationship with political meaning for security between Russia and the United States which needed stabilization!) To the uncertain degree to which there is anything of importance for international peace to the technical idea of a crisis instability pertaining to the character and details of military posture or procedures, such instability has been handled by unilateral measures that may or may not qualify as examples of tacit arms control. For example, if—as seems likely—surprise attack is discouraged by the need to go after enemy forces that are large in number, diverse in kind, physically well protected, agile in deployment, and redundantly controlled via multiple command channels, such discouragement flowed in the Cold War from the unilateral postural and operating procedural decisions taken in Moscow and Washington. A triadic (plus) structure for the strategic forces, missile silos, and EMP (electromagnetic pulse) protection for communication nodes were not mandated or even encouraged explicitly by the formal arms control process. The second category of critical observation referred to above is the

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dubious merit in the propositions at issue here. With matching reference to the four points advanced above:

1a. Since weapons do not “go to war” they cannot have a first- or second-strike character. Given that a particular class of weapons (say the ICBM), let alone a particular weapon system, would not wage war all on its own, its first- or second-strike character—if one grants the authority of the technical distinction—can be assessed only in the full context of the triad. For example, ICBMs in silos might not be able to ride out an attack, but does it make sense to refer to first-strike ICBMs, given that they comprise and could threaten only a fraction of the enemy’s military assets? 2a. Stability is a mixed blessing. If there is zero incentive to fire first, how could US extended nuclear deterrence work?15 It is important not to confuse first strike with first use, just as it is essential to comprehend the full context in question.16 First strike refers to the theoretical option of menacing all of the adversary’s strategic forces; first use refers simply to the first use of some weapons (though, by implication, it excludes the firststrike case with which it is so often confused). 3a. Incentives to use weapons are political, not military-technical. Weapons are not used because they could not ride out an attack. Instead they are fired for the purpose of providing strategic effectiveness in pursuit of political goals. The ghost of a mad engineer has haunted the pages of the literature on crisis stability. One is asked to believe that ICBMs in silos are a threat to peace because a force commander allegedly would use them rather than lose them. The fact that supposedly vulnerable strategic weapons could not be used for war-winning effect tends to escape logical notice, as does the fact that this caveat destroys the instability charge against a silo-housed or runway-bound fraction of the triad. 4a. If it is policy—or identity of political ownership—rather than technology that renders weapons “good” or “bad,” it follows that the arms negotiator is unlikely to register many useful steps for mankind if he proceeds in quest of dragons to slay or domesticate. A further problem for the formal arms control process is that if it is tied—in relevant political contexts (i.e., not in an era of political peace)—to ambitious goals it attempts the impossible. If the superpower arms competition had been essentially a technical process between two closely interacting military-industrial complexes, each driven only by fear of technical instabilities, then the arms negotiator might have been able to accomplish something useful. But for better or for worse “the arms race is [or, strictly, was] about politics.”17 Offense and Defense: From the ABM Treaty to SDI

The ABM Treaty of 1972 is the proudest achievement of the US arms control community. This formal measure of arms control was almost precisely

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the act of arms race surgery for which many theorists had been lobbying for years. It was argued, with great persistence, vehemence, and logical rigor that the arms race was driven primarily by anxieties over the survivability of strategic offensive forces. Supposedly, fear of active defense was a key dynamic of the race. Therefore, if both sides could be confident that strategic defenses would not be deployed, at least not without a long period of warning, they could relax the pace and perhaps alter the character of their offensive modernization or buildup programs. If arms race and crisis instabilities could be important as conditioning agents or even directly as triggers for war,18 then plainly an ABM treaty that broke some varieties of offense-defense interaction chains might provide magnificent service on behalf of the goals of arms control. Subsequent strategic history, alas, has not been kind to the ABM Treaty regime or to the authority of the leading items of speculative arms control theory that underpin it. The ABM Treaty: • Did not have any plausibly attributable dampening effect upon offensive arms programs • Removed an important candidate solution to land-based offensiveforce survivability problems, while the associated endeavor to limit offensive arms virtually licensed “business as usual” • Appeared to rest upon a fallacious reading of Soviet political motives (witness the character and intensity of ABM-era Soviet programs) and doctrinal desiderata • Contained important, indeed in some cases deliberate, ambiguities • Was violated by Moscow with a promptness and an indifference to the adversary-partner’s reasonable concerns, which highlighted the continuing fact that the United States lacked a policy on treaty compliance

The arms race theory proposed in the late 1960s by such well-meaning people as George Rathjens and Herbert Scoville was, like the notion of a flat earth, plausible to the senses, but wrong.19 This historical fact is not necessarily an argument for tacit as contrasted with formal arms control. A faulty theory of how the arms race works cannot inspire arms control practices likely to achieve the goals of arms control, whether those practices be informal or formal. If a dominant idea in a period is incorrect, however, as was the proposition of there being a tight linkage between (Soviet) offensive arms programs and (Soviet) fears of (US) active defenses, it is much easier to correct the error if one does not first have to tackle an international legal instrument. The idea that inevitably imperfect legal (really political) instruments can be amended down the road in the light of new circumstances, is substantially false. That idea fails to take proper account of the likelihood of a political struggle over treaty amendment or reinterpretation.

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Experience with the ABM Treaty amply illustrated the wisdom in the following words of Laurence Martin: Entering into over-simplified agreements about particular aspects of a complex strategic environment [e.g., defense but not offense], where politics and technology interact in ever-changing patterns, entails the danger of losing the flexibility with which to adapt to change. . . .20 The rigidity you legislate today may deny you the evasive maneuver you want to take tomorrow.21

More than thirty years of modern arms control theory and some practice have not yielded much by way of robust countertheory. In particular, as this chapter has suggested in passing already, there is a distinct possibility that arms control, formal or tacit, rests upon unstable theoretical foundations. If arms race and crisis instabilities are not important causes of war, underlying or precipitating, then it should follow that the goals of arms control simply cannot be achieved by arms control means. Too much of the conservative critique of liberal arms control theory and practice has argued within the framework of arms control assumptions, or was variably, albeit suitably, distrustful of the Soviet empire.22 Now, with the Cold War and even the Soviet state no longer extant, the time is long overdue for scholars to reexamine the premises of arms control theory; a Copernican revolution might be the result! What if weapons do not cause wars in any important senses? The case of President Reagan’s SDI exemplified the problems underlying the analysis in this chapter. Rival speculative theorists argued that the SDI: • Would advance all three of the classic goals of arms control, or would harm all three • Could be implemented only subsequent to an agreement with the Soviet Union that would render it militarily feasible, or could be implemented only by the determination to make it work unilaterally—following which demonstration of will and ability Moscow should be prepared to negotiate a cooperative transition

Some advocates of SDI advanced the familiar argument that deployment would have meant the virtual attrition of a growing number of Soviet (et al.) missiles. In principle, the objectives behind SDI deployment could best have been achieved via a formal cooperative transition to a heavily defended world. But in practice formal agreement would have had to postdate demonstration of US will to proceed with new defenses. If the prevention of war were best achieved through Cold War Moscow believing it would be denied victory in conflict, then the cause of peace with security

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could probably best be promoted by means of a formally unregulated military environment. Such an environment would have maximized Western ability to compete, yet would have left Soviet leaders with some hope for competitive success tomorrow. Qualitative races are the stuff of which hopes for advantage, not wars, are made.23 SDI was important for the goals of arms control not, as was typically assumed, because it helped quicken Soviet interest in offensive arms reductions (as a means to choke off and delegitimize new US active defenses). Instead, the SDI made an incalculable contribution to the overriding objective of arms control, the reduction in the risk of war, by helping persuade then-Soviet leaders to alter the political terms of their external security, at least pending restoration of Soviet ability to compete in military effectiveness. US commitment to SDI highlighted for the Soviet Union their relative backwardness as nothing else did of recent decades. SDI was one, though only one, of the vital parents of the policy determination to achieve perestroika. As we now know, the Soviet Union was not capable of being reformed. Cause and effect are difficult to establish in the social sciences, but a strong argument can be made that SDI was of critical importance in helping to push the post-1985 Gorbachev leadership down the politically fatal path of reform. Turning to a more conventional line of analysis, ten years after Reagan’s speech the debate remains open over the contribution or otherwise of the SDI to strategic stability. Some of the indeterminacy in the debate in the1980s flowed from the facts that the government did not clearly specify which missions SDI deployment would be chosen to fulfill, while political sensitivities often dictated the ways in which the program was described. The complexity of the debate may be illustrated by the confrontation of but one assertion on each side, with commentary.

• Pro-SDI: Even a modest level of SDI deployment would have increased Soviet attack planning uncertainties and hence aided the stable deterrence of war. (Deterrence was stable enough and there were many ways of increasing attack uncertainties without deploying active defenses.) • Anti-SDI: Even a modest level of SDI deployment must be assumed by the adversary to herald a very extensive system, and such a system would be interpreted as a threat to second-strike capability. Furthermore, the presence of active defenses would provide an important incentive to strike first in a time of acute crisis, for fear that a decision to wait would flatter defensive counterforce attrition, functioning as it would on top of offensive counterforce attrition. In other words, active defenses are crisisunstable; they make war more likely when political tension is high. (Of course SDI deployment would threaten some second-strike capability. But that deployment would not have threatened the Soviet ability to wreak

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intolerable damage in a retaliatory mode upon the United States, and it is difficult to see why its presence would have driven the USSR to commit a suicidal act. Even if Soviet forces would have done better if they struck first rather than second, so what? Why would they have been expected to do well enough so as to be able to deliver some meaningful condition of victory?)

The case of strategic defense in the United States over the past twentyfive years provides a glorious confrontation of arms control policy positions, resting upon contrasting speculative theories of arms race dynamics. The ABM Treaty embodies the erstwhile US belief that maximum feasible regulation of the defense was the high road to control of the offense. The SDI program of the 1980s, however, in part was motivated by the belief that maximum freedom for development, testing, and ultimately deployment of the defense, is by far the best way to motivate the adversary to restrict offensive force-modernization plans. It was believed by pro-SDI strategic thinkers that classes of weapons cease to be funded when they are shown to be obsolete. A successful SDI should have persuaded even the heavy-artillery mentality on the Soviet General Staff that long-range ballistic missiles would not work reliably any longer. Conclusions

Schelling and Halperin’s three goals for arms control are compatible, but not synonymous, with the goals of national or coalition defense policy. Just as the peacetime condition sought by US policy is maintenance of peace with security, so the wartime condition is military success for enhanced postwar security, rather than simply to limit the damage that might be suffered. This is not to deny that military success would be of little interest if societal defeat were its corollary. Indeed, if the overriding goal of arms control is to reduce the risk of war, deterrees will need to be persuaded that they are unlikely to win wars. These points are provided here lest too close a fit be assumed between arms control and defense policy. Since the analysis in this chapter has not fought shy of drawing conclusions or advancing sweeping speculative arguments, only four points need to be emphasized as explicit conclusions here:

1. The history of formal arms control negotiations is not a distinguished one. In their careful study of arms control, Albert Carnesale and Richard Haass judged it to be no more than modestly useful.24 The evidence suggests to this author that “modestly unhelpful” is a more tenable conclusion. However, the point of significance is not whether arms control

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is judged modestly useful or modestly unhelpful, but rather that arms control is important neither as a threat to liberty and safety nor as the savior of mankind. 2. There is a strong case to be made to the effect that arms control, formal or tacit, is fundamentally flawed in its logic. Specifically, the promise of arms control is betrayed by the fatal paradox that states who need arms control assistance in their strategic relationship cannot receive it for the very same reasons why, and roughly to the degree that, they need it. Also, to escape the bounds of conventional credos, there is a great deal to be said for the proposition that arms control processes, tacit or formal, have had little if any impact in alleviation of the kind of problems that tend to produce wars. 3. Probably the most damaging consequence of treaties and other formal agreements is that, at least for those High Contracting Parties which are popular democracies, such regimes can impose militarily significant rigidities. Those rigidities may or may not much matter for the ability to deter war, but they can certainly matter a great deal for the course and outcome of a war that might occur. An arms control treaty, drafted on the Western side with a view to promoting fashionable (stabilizing) and discouraging unfashionable (destabilizing) classes of weapons, amounts to a body of technological and doctrinal prediction. In signing or ratifying an arms control treaty, the United States is guessing about technological progress and rendering many military program options for the future politically hostage to the consent of the other High Contracting Parties (and of an organized domestic interest group inside the United States). In this period of rapid technological change, and given the record of evolving official preferences as between, say, strategic offense and defense, agreements which limit the flexibility to adjust to change in a timely fashion will rarely be in the national interest (particularly since Western countries enjoy a systemic advantage in technological competition). 4. Finally, the occurrence of acute crisis or war would remind people that the real military business of national and international security is conducted via defense programs and not by an arms control process. When political peace breaks out, as in Soviet-US relations after 1989, arms control both follows and becomes all but irrelevant. Fortunately, the United States has not suffered an acute international crisis since October 1962. Unfortunately and paradoxically, the long absence of crisis has provided conditions wherein people become confused as between the important (defense programs) and the essentially trivial (the arms control process). After all, can so many presidents, analysts, authors, and media pundits be wrong?

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Notes

1. Thomas C. Schelling and Morton H. Halperin, Strategy and Arms Control (New York: Twentieth Century Fund, 1961), p. 2. Also see Donald G. Brennan, “Setting and Goals of Arms Control,” in Arms Control, Disarmament, and National Security, ed. Brennan (New York: George Braziller, 1961), pp. 19–42; Hedley Bull, The Control of the Arms Race: Disarmament and Arms Control in the Missile Age (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1961), chap. 1; and Bernard Brodie, “On the Objectives of Arms Control,” International Security, Summer 1976, pp. 17–36. 2. The classic investigation of the value of such dialogue is Jeremy J. Stone, Strategic Persuasion: Arms Limitations Through Dialogue (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967). The words in quotation marks are the title of Chapter Six in Thomas C. Schelling, Arms and Influence (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1966). 3. “The view we have taken is that arms control is essentially a means of supplementing unilateral military strategy by some kind of collaboration with the countries that are potential enemies.” Schelling and Halperin, note 1, p. 142. 4. See William R. Van Cleave, “Assertive Disarmament in the New World Order,” unpublished paper, 1992. 5. This narrow association of arms control with the conduct of formal arms control negotiations and explicit agreements has been challenged in Stone—see note 2; Kenneth L. Adelman, “Arms Control With and Without Agreements,” Foreign Affairs, Winter 1984/85, pp. 260–263; Thomas C. Schelling, “What Went Wrong With Arms Control?” Foreign Affairs, Winter 1985/86, pp. 219–233; and William Rose, U.S. Unilateral Arms Control Initiatives: When Do They Work? (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1988). 6. Superior treatment of this subject—with which this author has many differences of opinion, great and small—are Ashton B. Carter, John D. Steinbruner, and Charles A. Zraket, eds., Managing Nuclear Operations (Washington: Brookings Institution, 1987); and Kurt Gottfried and Bruce G. Blair, eds., Crisis Stability and Nuclear War (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988). 7. This elementary, yet strangely overlooked, point, is well made in David Kaiser, “Deterrence or National Interest? Reflections on the Origins of Wars,” Orbis, Vol. 30, No. 1 (Spring 1986), pp. 5–11. 8. For protracted exposition of this argument, see Colin S. Gray, Weapons Don’t Make War: Policy, Strategy, and Military Technology (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1993). 9. For the “Golden Age” hypothesis, see Colin S. Gray, Strategic Studies and Public Policy: The American Experience (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1982), pp. 44–49. Also see Barry Buzan, An Introduction to Strategic Studies: Military Technology and International Relations (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1987), pp. 144–155. 10. Robin Ranger, Arms and Politics, 1958–1978: Arms Control in a Changing Political Context (Toronto: Macmillan of Canada, 1979), remains useful. More recent comprehensive assaults upon arms control theory are Patrick Glynn, Closing Pandora’s Box: Arms Races, Arms Control, and the History of the Cold War (New York: Basic Books, 1992); and Colin S. Gray, House of Cards: Why Arms Control Must Fail (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1992). 11. See Allan R. Millett and Williamson Murray, eds., Military Effectiveness (3 vols.) (Allen and Unwin, 1988). 12. A. J. Wohlstetter, F. S. Hoffman, R. J. Lutz, and H. S. Rowen, Selection and Use of Strategic Air Bases, R-266, Rand Corporation, April 1954; and E. S.

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Quade, “The Selection and Use of Strategic Air Bases: A Case History,” in Analysis for Military Decisions, ed. Quade (Skokie, IL: Rand McNally, 1964), pp. 24–63. 13. For close to an inadvertent self-parody of this approach, see Jerome H. Kahan, Security in the Nuclear Age: Developing U.S. Strategic Arms Policy (Washington: Brookings Institution, 1975), pp. 272–273. 14. It became an article of faith, even among the genuine cognoscenti, that “arms control can . . . help channel modernization into stabilizing rather than destabilizing paths.” The President’s Commission on Strategic Forces, Report, White House, April 1983, p. 3. There is no evidence to support this claim. 15. The classic, if irresponsible, answer is through a competition in risktaking and by threats that “leave something to chance.” The intellectual basis for this affront to common prudence was laid in Thomas C. Schelling, The Strategy of Conflict (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1960). 16. A substantial fraction of the ICBM force might be “mission survivable,” even if most of the force could not ride out a surprise attack. A prompt retaliatory launch (PRL) of some ICBMs could be ordered and executed on confirmation of notice that a nuclear assault was under way. See Colin S. Gray, “ICBMs and Deterrence: The Controversy Over Prompt Launch,” The Journal of Strategic Studies, September 1987, pp. 285–309. 17. Title of my article in Foreign Policy, Winter 1972/73, pp. 117–129. The state of understanding of arms race dynamics is summarized well in George W. Downs, “Arms Race and War,” in Behavior, Society, and Nuclear War, ed. Philip E. Tetlock et al. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), pp. 73–109. 18. On the possible contributions of arms control to the reduction of a somewhat technical notion of crisis stability, see note 6, Gottfried and Blair, chap. 11. 19. George Rathjens, “The Dynamics of the Arms Race,” Scientific American, April 1969, pp. 15–25; idem, The Future of the Strategic Arms Race: Options for the 1970s (Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1969); and Herbert Scoville, Jr., Towards a Strategic Arms Limitation Agreement (Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1970). 20. Laurence Martin, The Two-Edged Sword: Armed Force in the Modern World (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1982), p. 72. 21. Ibid., p. 73. 22. See Brian D. Dailey and Patrick J. Parker, eds., Soviet Strategic Deception (New York: Lexington Books, 1987). 23. See Samuel P. Huntington, “Arms Races: Prerequisites and Results,” in Public Policy, 1958, ed. Carl J. Freidrich and Seymour E. Harris (Cambridge, MA: Graduate School of Public Administration Harvard University, 1958), pp. 41–86. 24. Albert Carnesale and Richard N. Haass, “Conclusions: Weighing the Evidence,” in Superpower Arms Control: Setting the Record Straight, ed. Carnesale and Haass (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1987), pp. 329–355.

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6 Technology Deployment and Denial: A Unilateral Approach to Arms Control? Joseph Pilat

Technology Deployment and Denial: A Unilateral Approach to Arms Control? Joseph Pilat

In recent years, we have witnessed a flourishing of arms control, with the conclusion of agreements on the elimination of intermediate- and shorterrange nuclear forces, the reduction of strategic nuclear forces, the limitation of conventional armed forces in Europe, the elimination of chemical weapons, and the establishment of a regime of aerial overflights to promote transparency and openness, as well as a host of lesser agreements regulating arms and promoting confidence primarily in US-Soviet and European arenas. This “Golden Age” of arms control marked the end of an era, and arms control as we have known it during the Cold War has only a limited role in the post–Cold War era. As East-West tensions have declined so precipitously that even the terms now seem meaningless, it must not be forgotten that massive nuclear and nonnuclear capabilities will remain on the territory of the former Soviet Union, and that the future of this vast Eurasian landmass is by no means clear. Moreover, new threats have emerged or can be expected to emerge, confronting the United States and its allies with potentially serious challenges in the decades ahead. In this fluid environment, where arms will remain significant in the relations among states, and where the proliferation of advanced arms is a growing concern, we will not see most categories of arms reduced to zero. Nonetheless, it seems likely that arms control will have a future. The future, however, will be quite unlike the past. With the dramatic successes of traditional arms control already realized—which we understand as bilateral (and multilateral) efforts to reach agreement on quantitative force levels and the like—what more can be done in this sphere? In the changing world that can be anticipated for the next several decades, traditional arms control may not be a particularly effective means to ensure security and could be counterproductive. There is a growing interest in qualitative rather than quantitative arms control. Yet, insofar as such an approach attempts to control technologies, the prospects are not particularly promising. 113

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After all, traditional arms control has frequently sought to prevent, restrict, or promote technological change in the weapons area under consideration. However, in those rare cases where this arms control process has exerted some influence on the rate and direction of technological change, this influence has either been minimal or in areas that are judged to be peripheral at the time of the agreement. Not only has technology not been significantly affected by arms control covenants, but also agreements and negotiations have been undermined by technological developments that have, or are perceived to have, strategic significance, or to be attractive for economic, political, or other reasons.1 On this basis, traditional arms control has been, and has been seen as, unsuited for influencing technological change because of the rapidity of the changes 2 and the potentially insurmountable difficulties, and, in many cases, the unacceptable costs of controlling R&D. Specifically, arms control in this area confronts • The perceived growing importance of maintaining technological superiority in an uncertain, unstable world • Verification problems, especially if the full range of a class of technologies is unknown • Competition with the benefits of the technologies being considered for military, commercial, or other areas • Asymmetric capabilities and divergent interests of the parties in assessing the strategic or other impacts of given technologies • The concern of each party with “technological surprises” should they attempt to restrict or ban R&D3

These problems will reappear in efforts to negotiate the qualitative limits of arms and related technologies, or rapid technological change will undermine any such agreements that might be achieved. If, then, negotiated quantitative or qualitative arms control has only a limited role in this area, what are the prospects for unilateral measures? This chapter will attempt to assess the desirability and feasibility of unilateral efforts to influence technological change, in light of recent and foreseeable technological developments. It addresses four areas where choosing or denying certain technologies could in principle have an impact on arms control objectives: • technology deployments by a state • efforts to influence the technology decisions of other states in directions perceived as beneficial, e.g., stabilizing • technological self-denial • explicit attempts to deny technology to other states.

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In each of these areas, the following discussion: (1) raises critical questions; (2) points out examples in the areas under consideration of specific actions that have been taken in the past, are presently in effect, or are being discussed in the academic or policy communities; and (3) offers some preliminary thoughts about the prospects for unilateral actions. Technology Deployments

A long-standing tenet of US arms control policy is that arms control agreements should serve to enhance US security—that agreements that would weaken our security are, on their face, unacceptable. As the debates over the SALT II and other arms control agreements suggest, it can be argued that we have at times confused the means (arms control), with the end (security). However this may be, there is a fundamental relationship between arms control and security. The objectives of arms control as outlined by Thomas Schelling are consistent with if not identical to those of sound defense policy. We have chosen defense capabilities, including weapon systems, on the basis of stability, damage limitation, and costeffectiveness, among other criteria. Some of our choices have enhanced the arms control process; others have complicated arms control. If certain capabilities are viewed as essential for deterrence and defense, they will ultimately be deployed, whatever their impact on arms control. Very possibly the choice will produce results that strengthen arms control, or that promote established arms control objectives. In other cases, there may be alternative systems, deployment modes, or other options that facilitate arms control without reducing the military utility of the capability in question. When such alternatives exist, they have found their scientific, bureaucratic, and political advocates. Technology choices can affect arms control, then, both positively and negatively; it is arguable that they have had a far greater impact than negotiated agreements. As we consider the choice of technologies as a potential means of pursuing arms control without negotiations, a series of critical questions present themselves for consideration: • Can choices to pursue given technologies serve a party’s strategic interests, whether or not other parties reciprocate? • Can technology choices be used to develop favorable asymmetries? • In any event, will unilateral choices by a party thereby fulfill its military missions or, from another angle, not preclude their being fulfilled? • Can such choices reduce the risks of war or, in the event of conflict, reduce its destructive consequences?

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• Will a party engender security, political, or other risks by undertaking such actions? • Does the choice of a specific technology provide an opportunity for reducing costs? • Is the reciprocity of the other party desirable, essential, or, in fact, inimical to the interests of the side?

The Ambiguous Past

As suggested, technology choices clearly can complicate arms control. The introduction of multiple independently targeted reentry vehicles (MIRVs) is one example. The US decision to develop and deploy MIRVed missiles was not made on arms control grounds; its principal attractions were costeffective force multiplication and penetration of ABM defenses. Testing of the Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) and the Poseidon submarine-launched ballistic missile (SLBM), which were the first MIRVed systems, began in 1968, a year before the beginning of the SALT talks. The United States and Soviet Union could not agree on terms to limit MIRVing during SALT, with each side proposing positions the other did not accept. It is likely that neither side wished to forego the perceived economic and strategic benefits of MIRVing, although the US lead in MIRV technology at the time and the difficulties with verifying a ban may have precluded formal agreement. Did the US decision foster arms control? Did it enhance US national security or undermine it by forcing the US-Soviet arms competition in a destabilizing direction? While the United States deployed MIRVed systems first, Soviet MIRVing coupled with improvements in accuracy in the latest generation of Soviet missiles gave them a superior hard-target capability relative to the United States. If we had foregone MIRVing, would we have prevented the situation that emerged in the 1980s, in which the land-based leg of our deterrent became vulnerable to a Soviet first strike? Would the USSR have pursued MIRVs independently? Of course, spinning scenarios of pasts that never were does not reveal to us any truths, especially since political developments are eclipsing the importance of the issue, but it is by no means clear that the world would be fundamentally different had the United States decided to forego MIRVing, especially in light of recent developments in controlling strategic arms. It must be remembered that the technology necessary for MIRVing derived from the civil space program, and could not in itself be banned. Moreover, we should not assume that the Soviet decision to MIRV was merely a reaction to our own. The Soviets, with the greater throw-weight of their ICBMs, might not have been able to avoid the temptation of MIRVing; even if they had, Soviet production of ICBMs during the 1970s and 1980s, along with the priority they accorded ICBMs in their force structure, suggests that in time, as accuracies devel-

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oped, they would have been in a position to put our ICBM force at considerable risk. While it is widely believed that we erred in our pursuit of MIRV technology, does it make sense in terms of arms control or national security to unilaterally de-MIRV? In a televised speech on September 27, 1991, President Bush announced dramatic reductions in the US nuclear arsenal, primarily through unilateral cuts in short-range nuclear forces. He also described several stabilizing measures that the United States would undertake unilaterally, and proposed that the United States and the Soviet Union agree to de-MIRV their ICBMs in formal negotiations. In his State of the Union address on January 28, 1992, President Bush proposed far-reaching arms control measures that, if realized, would reduce US strategic nuclear warheads to approximately 4,700, 40 percent below START counting limits and 50 percent below the post-START planned levels (including weapons deployed on nuclear bombers). A number of proposals, as with his September 27 initiatives, were unilateral; others depend upon reciprocal actions by Russia. On the condition that Russia and other states of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) eliminate all land-based MIRVed ICBMs (and, according to vugraphs prepared for then Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney, reduce their strategic nuclear forces to levels consistent with the absence of a threat from the West), President Bush announced that the United States would inter alia eliminate all fifty Peacekeeper missiles, reduce the warheads on each of all five hundred Minuteman III missiles from three to one, and reduce planned SLBM warheads by about one-third. It is notable that the administration appeared willing to effectively deMIRV on a unilateral, reciprocal basis without the formal negotiations mentioned in September 1991. However, because Russian president Yeltsin in his response on January 24, 1992, stated that the proposed trade-offs favor the United States, and has vaguely proposed moving to a much lower level for strategic forces (2,000–2,500 warheads), some informal negotiations occurred leading to the Washington Summit “Joint Understanding” of June 17, 1992. In that understanding, codified January 3, 1993, the presidents of the United States and Russia agreed, inter alia, that by the year 2003 (or by the end of the year 2000 if the United States can contribute to the financing of the destruction or elimination of strategic offensive arms in Russia), they will eliminate all MIRVed ICBMs. Yet, the experience of MIRVing aside, a number of technology choices, for whatever reasons they were taken, have had the effect of facilitating arms control or objectives associated with arms control. The development of technologies that together constitute our national technical means (NTM) of verification and our command, control, communications, and intelligence (C3I) capabilities, as well as development of ballistic mis-

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sile submarines (SSBNs) and nuclear weapons technologies, are cases in point. Concerning NTM and C3I technologies, Charles Townes has argued that one “positive technological development . . . is surveillance from space, which provides information about what each side is doing and thus enhances confidence and stability.”4 Indeed, the development of photoreconnaissance satellites and other systems capable of monitoring objects and activities on earth, coupled with advanced communications systems capable of instantaneously transmitting this information, have created a capability for appraising the development, testing, and deployment of the adversary’s strategic and theater nuclear forces, as well as aspects of its conventional forces. Such national technical measures have enhanced targeting capabilities, but they have also allowed for previously unthinkable arms control arrangements. Perhaps most importantly, they provide early warning of attack, and can help to reduce uncertainties, misperceptions, and miscalculations about the other side and the reactions they might promote or provoke. Thereby, these national capabilities not only promote the traditional arms control process, but also such objectives associated with arms control as crisis and arms race stability. In the same vein, according to the report of the Commission on Integrated Long-Term Strategy, “the revolution in micro-electronics (and photonics), along with advances in certain space technologies, have multiplied the modes of telecommunication available to command centers and generally made survivable command and control more achievable. They have made possible the creation of a command system based on multiple centers, protected by its redundancy. The image of a ‘decapitated’ nuclear force should become extinct.”5 The development of SSBNs by the United States is widely recognized to have enhanced the survivability of the US deterrent, and, barring unforeseen antisubmarine warfare (ASW) developments, SSBNs should help to ensure strategic stability for the foreseeable future. We have employed a large portion of our strategic nuclear forces in this leg of the triad. Our relative lack of success in getting the former Soviet Union to reciprocate, however, has not diminished the value of our own decision for improving our security and enhancing stability, although greater reciprocity could perhaps have improved stability even more. The significant reductions in the US nuclear arsenal in the last twenty years (but before the most recent reductions) were made possible, in part, because of technological innovations that allowed the substitution of conventional for nuclear weapons in most anti-air and -submarine missions. In response to the geopolitical changes of the last few years, massive further reductions in tactical weapons became achievable. But this may have occurred without the dramatic global shifts we witnessed, as emerging technologies on the horizon make it possible to use conventional weapons on certain ground targets that currently require nuclear weapons. “This

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trend,” as the Commission on Integrated Long-Term Strategy states, “runs exactly counter to the notion of a ‘qualitative arms race’ which sees innovation as the principle cause of the ‘nuclear arms race.’”6 In the same manner, technological improvements derived from US nuclear weapons testing have resulted in greater efficiency, reduced yields, and increased safety and security for US nuclear weapons. Greater efficiency has produced economies in the use of strategic nuclear materials. Reduced yields have decreased the collateral damage that a weapon can produce; however, due to greater accuracies they have not reduced military effectiveness. Safety and security features have greatly reduced the risk of accidental or unauthorized use. Such improvements can be argued to have advanced aims associated with traditional arms control through unilateral actions. Did continued nuclear weapon testing allow the Soviet Union to move in the same direction as the United States? Does this constitute an advantage for the United States? While little is publicly known about weapon design in the former Soviet Union, it can be assumed that the old USSR took actions similar to those of the United States to improve efficiency, safety, and security, and that testing was an integral part of the process. Whether such actions run parallel to those the United States has undertaken is doubtful, but any move in the direction of safety and security should be welcome from the US perspective. In this context, it is often argued that had there been a Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT) in 1963, the United States would have locked itself into a position of permanent superiority due to the larger number of tests we had conducted by that time. However, this ignores the unprecedented series of detonations the Soviets conducted in the early 1960s, which moved them past the United States in some areas. As well, it considers neither the implications of a world in which Soviet heavy, dirty bombs, which were probably deficient in safety and security features, would have been a coin of deterrence, nor the consequences of eroding confidence in the US deterrent.

Present and Future Choices

Considered in the context of this ambiguous record, are US efforts to pursue advanced conventional weapons and SDI in our interests?7 The Soviets pursued R&D in these areas, and the Russians have continued this work. Were they driven by our decisions, or we by theirs? There is no evidence to suggest that they were driven by our decisions in any of these areas. Soviet R&D in strategic defenses, for example, was extensive and predates the Strategic Defense Initiative. Whatever their origins—and action-reaction explanations are clearly insufficient—none of these decisions is less costly than their alternatives, but all arguably could promote certain other objectives associated with arms control, at least in certain scenarios.

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As suggested, the development and deployment of advanced conventional weapons, either theater or strategic, that could perform at least some of the missions now only achievable by nuclear means, could possibly provide viable alternatives to nuclear weapons for such missions and thereby, in principle, raise the nuclear threshold. However, the use of such systems to destroy the other side’s nuclear assets during any conventional phases of a conflict might very well entail a nuclear response or, from another angle, they might make the world safe, or safer, for conventional war. The SDI debate has now focused on US-Russian cooperation to create a system capable of countering accidental or unauthorized missile launches from existing nuclear-weapon states and new nuclear-weapon states. However, the debate had in recent years revealed a far more complex relationship between new technologies and arms control, not least because improvements in sensors, signal and data processing, and other technologies are as important as revolutionary developments in directed energy and kinetic weapons for the pursuit of the program. The debate, which was intensified at the time of the Reykjavik summit, has changed dramatically over the past five years, but for most of this period until the last year or so it has focused on whether the SDI might kill arms control or, on the contrary, serve as a useful bargaining chip. In the latter case, a unilateral decision to develop SDI technologies could foster arms control, although not necessarily in the area of defense and space. Clearly, developments in technologies with potential applications for strategic defenses have posed a challenge to the ABM Treaty. At the time the treaty was concluded, existing defensive technologies were regarded as marginal; other defensive technologies were being researched, but none was at a stage where it was a high priority for either side. In the ABM Treaty the United States sought to ban not only existing ballistic-missile defense (BMD) technologies, but also future technologies. However, it is arguable whether the Soviets accepted a ban on future technologies at the time the treaty was negotiated, or if they only came to accept the US interpretation when faced by the prospect of the Strategic Defense Initiative. In any case, a number of space-based and other technologies, some of which fit very imperfectly into the terms and prohibitions of the treaty, have begun to appear more promising and attractive in recent years, raising the question of the feasibility as well as the desirability of the long-term continuation of the treaty. Whatever the future of the ABM Treaty, is a comprehensive defense and space agreement any longer relevant or possible? It must be recognized that an agreement in the defense and space arena is not high on any leader’s agenda, and, if pursued, would be extremely difficult to craft, primarily because we do not now understand the full range of technologies that could be used in various types of space-based weaponry. How could a treaty be

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verified effectively if its scope was unclear or unknown? What are the “signatures,” or observables, of various systems? Do we have the means to detect and monitor them? Will the search for verification techniques result in keeping weapon options alive? Neutral particle beams (NPBs) are, for example, being explored in the SDI program, although at a relatively low priority. At very low power, NPBs might be employed in a verification role to examine objects in space to determine their nature—whether space mines, orbiting nuclear weapons, or other space objects; at higher powers, these beams could provide an excellent means of discriminating between decoys and warheads in the mid-course of an engagement, thereby resolving a difficult problem for deployment of a layered defensive system; at still higher powers, NPBs could become powerful weapons. The multiple uses of the technologies under consideration in the SDI extend well beyond strategic defense. The potential benefits of some key SDI technologies in the commercial sphere, in arms control verification, or in the development of advanced conventional weapons that could replace certain nuclear missions (and raise the nuclear threshold) also underline the difficult choices that will be raised in the traditional arms control context. Given the problems of controlling such technologies, is there scope for unilateral moves in this area? Walter B. Slocombe characterized the president’s March 23, 1983, speech as “quite explicitly, nothing short of a proclamation of a long term effort to use technology to reverse basic assumptions of the current U.S.-Soviet strategic relationship.”8 Aside from the question of whether technology can achieve this objective, is the objective itself desirable in our relations with Russia? Obviously, there are elements of the current US-Russian strategic relationships that are more or less stabilizing, and the manner in which we characterize them may change if we view them in the short or long terms. The old set of concerns about stability is no longer as high a priority, but new concerns have arisen. Even a thin defensive cover could effectively negate an unauthorized or accidental launch, thereby reducing the prospects of a tragic nuclear confrontation or a threat by a new nuclear power (however unlikely at present). Would unilateral measures regarding the testing, weaponization, etc., of certain SDI technologies be stabilizing? Clearly cooperation, if achieved, would reduce if not also remove this concern.

Prospects

It would appear, and this should not be surprising, that technological changes fostering or facilitating arms control can be influenced more by unilateral national decisions than by bilateral or multilateral agreements. The most effective unilateral decisions, e.g., development and deployment of SSBNs, have not required reciprocity. However, unilateral decisions can

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be changed unilaterally, resulting in uncertainty and possibly in instability. (The relative ease with which such decisions can be reversed, of course, depends on the change, its benefits, and, especially in the case of big-ticket defense items, its costs.) Such uncertainty could conceivably be disruptive and destabilizing, introducing problems that appear in traditional arms control primarily when there are questions about militarily significant noncompliance. Equally important, some of the problems of influencing technological change through traditional arms control addressed earlier, e.g., verification, reappear, in large part, when unilateral measures involving choices of technology are contemplated. Further, unilateral technological development that can be beneficial for some arms control objectives may be harmful to others. For example, technologies which might reduce prospects for conflict could increase the destructiveness of a confrontation, should it occur; while technologies designed to reduce damage in a conflict might be viewed as potentially destabilizing if they made conflict more likely, particularly if developed and deployed unilaterally. Other difficult choices are certain to be confronted. For example, choosing technologies that appear to be stabilizing because they are survivable—second-strike weapons, for example—is rarely less expensive than their alternatives and may actually be more costly. Finally, some options that are attractive if pursued unilaterally may be less so if emulated by the other side. Influencing the Technology Deployments of Others

As we pursue certain technological paths to enhance security and arms control, the reciprocity of the other party or parties is not always essential. However, there may be cases where reciprocity is a requirement, or where it is desirable because it either amplifies the benefits of our unilateral action or ameliorates other problems. We have frequently sought to influence the technology choices by other states, and we have witnessed attempts to alter or abort choices we have made, or were in the process of making. This process is intrinsically difficult, especially for democratic states, and may involve “carrots” or “sticks” or a combination of both. Key questions need to be understood and addressed in assessing the viability of this unilateral approach to arms control: • Can one party, through offers of technology or other incentives, influence the technology choices of the other party or parties? • Can real or prospective asymmetries be used to influence or inhibit certain technology choices on the other parties, with a view to moving them in a desired direction?

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We have sought, primarily through the arms control process, to influence the understanding of deterrence, as well as perspectives on force structure requirements, in the former Soviet Union. In particular, we attempted to convince the USSR that it was in their interest to emulate us by moving their strategic forces to sea, and to achieve a greater balance between their land and sea forces. While we have achieved some limited success in this endeavor, and the strategic forces have shifted somewhat, we are still unlikely to see ICBM/SLBM ratios in the former Soviet Union that are similar to those in the United States. In the past this was apparently due to Soviet concerns about their SSBNs, problems with command and control, and, perhaps, to an unwillingness to accept any lesser accuracy and diminished hard-target kill capability of their SLBMs in comparison to their ICBMs. Now it may be a matter of principle, and of economics. We had in the past sought Soviet reciprocity not in order to move the Soviet force to a deployment mode that is more difficult to target—which would have been one consequence of a Soviet decision to deploy larger numbers of SLBMs—but because the large number of their land-based forces are seen to pose too great a first-strike threat to the land leg of the US triad.

Sharing Technology

In the area of strategic defenses, President Reagan publicly stated that he wished the Soviets well on their research and development in the area of strategic defenses, explicitly saying that there would be no better outcome than if both sides developed effective strategic defenses. Indeed, he offered to share the benefits of SDI with the Soviets, should this prove necessary. The offer, no doubt well-intentioned and seriously put forward, was not likely to have been acted on during the Cold War. However, the idea was revived several years ago by Edward Teller in a debate with Andrei Sakharov, and is now being seriously pursued by representatives of Presidents Clinton and Yeltsin. Was President Reagan’s original offer advantageous to the United States? Did the tremendous shocks to the old Soviet system change the calculations for Presidents Bush and Clinton? These technologies have use in other spheres: antisatellite (ASAT) and satellite defense (DSAT) capabilities, conventional offensive systems, as well as commercial applications. Would it be possible to effect such a transfer without improving military capabilities in the former Soviet Union in ways that would undermine US national security? Are there technologies that could be transferred without unacceptable costs? Other proposals to share technology have been proposed, such as providing permissive action links (PALs) to proliferants. Although the United

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States has reportedly shared PAL technology with the British and French, and has discussed this technology with the former Soviet Union, would it be wise to offer it to any new nuclear state? By providing PALs or other technological means to improve the safety and security of nuclear weapons to proliferants, do we increase US security? Do we risk undermining US nonproliferation policy? Using Technological Asymmetries

In regard to using prospective technological asymmetries to influence or inhibit certain choices by the other side, we can recall an old Soviet statement suggesting they might develop biological weapons as a means of countering a future US decision to deploy effective strategic defenses. While the Soviet statement was clearly designed to kill SDI, it was not, and cannot be, taken too seriously, and it failed to influence the official or public debates over SDI within the United States or in the West. In another area, the possibility that states may decide to use chemical weapons to counter the emerging nuclear capabilities of their neighbors could conceivably influence their adversaries’ decision to go nuclear, but this is unlikely.

Public Opinion and Diplomacy

Can public opinion and diplomacy be used to effectively deny technology to one’s adversary? Of course, this has been conceivable only from East to West, and within the West, but not from West to East, during the Cold War. We witnessed major Soviet campaigns in Western Europe designed to influence alliance decisions on deploying enhanced radiation weapons (ERW) and intermediate-range nuclear forces. Now that the East-West confrontation has almost disappeared, and glasnost and public movements are appearing in the former Soviet Union, there are prospects that the influence may operate in the other direction as well.

Prospects

In sum, efforts to influence the technology choices of the other side in positive directions should continue to be considered; efforts to stop Western programs will be continued by the survivors of the Soviet Union, probably more effectively under Yeltsin than under his predecessors. Witness the Russian positions on fissile material production restraints on nuclear weapon testing. There appears only a limited chance that constructive results can be achieved in this area. Sharing, or opening channels for exchanges of those technologies we would like the other parties to incorporate does not appear realistic. Even if one could point to specific benefits in the arms control arena, the prospect of providing significant military or

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other advantages to a competitor with an uncertain future will not be appealing to the Department of Defense, members of Congress, and others. Certainly, without full reciprocity and mutual benefit from such an exchange, it would not be in a party’s interest, even in the new world. Technology Self-Denial

In a sense, unless a choice is made to pursue all technologies with potential military applications, a state is in principle denying itself, at least for a time, those technologies it did not select for research, development, testing, and evaluation (RDT&E). However, self-denial imposed by legislative, budgetary, or other constraints, while maybe no less important, is less interesting than prospective choices to forego promising military technologies on the grounds that they do not promote objectives associated with arms control. It is widely recognized that for the foreseeable future the selection of defense technology base programs will be severely constrained by budgetary considerations in the United States, Russia, and in most other countries. It is possible that the difficult choices we will confront can also be guided by prudent unilateral or bilateral arms control decisions, but it is difficult to be sanguine about the prospects. However, it is clear that if we choose poorly under these circumstances, we can severely damage the possibility of advancing traditional arms control, not to speak of national security. On the other hand, if our choices are not made unilaterally, and are tied with formal agreements, our ability to take necessary actions if we have erred will be constricted. With this understanding, and the recognition that it is difficult even to conceive of significant limits on technology that do not adversely affect other national interests, let us look more closely at the prospects. In considering the prospects of technology self-denial, critical questions include: • Will decisions to forego certain technologies serve a party’s interest? • To what extent will finances, domestic politics, or other factors force a party to take such actions unilaterally? • What are the consequences for arms control? • What happens when these technologies proceed in military areas where there is no desire for controls? In the civil area?

Technological Surprise

It has been argued that “arms-control agreements, in addition to constraining the level of forces and diverting the competition from the most dangerous areas, may help to permit the parties to forego complex, expensive, or

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dangerous programs that would be embarked upon chiefly out of fear of the other side’s filling a technological vacuum.”9 However limited the record of the traditional arms control process in promoting the last objective, as Donald M. Kerr, Walter Slocombe, and others have suggested, it may reasonably be argued that it would be imprudent for states to forego areas of technological development unilaterally, precisely because of the prospect of technological surprise. With respect to surprise, it has been argued from a different perspective that the fear of being surprised by a new secret weapon is only one motive for military R&D. “Clearly, the hope of producing one, too, is a motive.”10 It is obvious that military R&D has both roles, and that they are not unrelated. This relationship is evident in the area of ASW. A unilateral move to preclude ASW research and development, in the mistaken belief that this would ensure the long-term invulnerability of our submarines, would be debilitating. To forego ASW R&D would in fact prevent the United States from improving SSBNs, and could result in our being surprised by possible ASW developments by other states. According to Townes, In the submarine case, with its close interplay between offensive and defensive methods, the important technology of detection is under continual development—on one hand, to develop techniques for better detection, and on the other, not to be detected. The game of detection can be played secretly and hence would be a difficult one to control. Obviously, we would be surprised and made very uncomfortable by a new and successful possibility of localizing submarines. Time delay is another factor to consider in the problem of surprise. We may need to be advanced enough in technological ideas and in science to foresee the range of possible developments and counter them if necessary, even though we may choose to exercise self-restraint and not produce or emplace certain types of weapons.11

In the new international security environment, these concerns have not disappeared; indeed, SSBNs will become even more critical in a reduced force structure. Another variation on this theme has been suggested as a means to limit the first-strike capability of an adversary, namely that formal or tacit agreement might be reached on “limitations on strategic ASW and/or creation of sanctuaries for strategic submarines, to reinforce invulnerability of the seabased deterrent against hypothetical future breakouts in ASW.”12 While the vagueness of this proposal makes it difficult to judge, it implicitly recognizes that it is not possible to bring research and development in ASW under full control. It also suggests that R&D can be restrained, however, and could if carried out result in the problems Townes has eloquently recognized.

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Are there other options? Uncertainty about future military technology requirements in a fluid international security environment would seem to militate against broad arms control agreements.13 In the areas where, and to the extent that, this reasoning is valid, e.g., defense and space, there may be grounds for temporary unilateral measures, perhaps including moratoria. Such measures could in theory preclude premature development of technologies that are later found not to promote deterrence and stability— developments that might preclude an arms control agreement in the traditional sense. However appealing such arguments may be, moratoria are problematical. Both the United States and the Soviet Union in the late 1950s, and the Soviets in the early 1980s, entered into nuclear weapons testing moratoria without formal agreement. In both cases, testing was resumed on the grounds of the national security interests of the parties. In the late 1950s, the Soviets used this period to their advantage, preparing an unprecedented series of tests in an effort to reduce US advantages and in some cases to overtake the United States in this area. President Kennedy said “Never again.” Despite this position, we are almost certain to join Russia and France in unilateral but parallel testing moratoria within a year. However strong the opposition to testing moratoria in the US government, testing restraints have been advocated as stabilizing and fully consistent with one view of deterrence. In this view, Testing is less necessary for weapons for deterrent purposes and probably essential for counterforce weapons: an optimal degree of confidence in weapons would be one which was not enough for their use as counterforce weapons but enough for their credibility for deterrence. It would increase stability in two ways, by stopping the continuing development of tailored, or third-generation, nuclear weapons. It would halt the further development of enhanced radiation weapons which are advertised as being more usable, and which therefore threaten to lower the nuclear threshold. It would also impede development of nuclear explosive driven X-ray lasers for possible incorporation into ballistic missile defense systems. Both developments are harmful to stability. Enough confidence in existing stockpiles would be preserved to maintain adequate deterrence.14

Whatever the technical merits of third-generation weapons, they are not likely to be developed in the current political climate. Nonetheless, history has shown that unilateral testing moratoria have certain real problems. Even if originally precisely defined and limited, moratoria develop dynamics of their own, and it may be difficult to extricate one’s side, even if anticipated benefits do not appear or even subside, and risks rise. From another perspective, it has been suggested that testing moratoria—whether

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bilateral or unilateral—could actually increase rather than decrease the pace of technological change, primarily because they disallow an important means of determining the status of military programs on our own and the other side; this could create a situation in which realistic decisions on slowing or canceling one’s own or the other party’s R&D or procurement programs would become more difficult, if not practically impossible. Moreover, moratoria do entail a decrease of capabilities, some of which may be necessary for security, if not also desirable for arms control. Is this a desirable goal? The view that we should consciously reduce the effectiveness, range, or other parameters of performance for our weapons systems, especially at a time when substantial reductions in strategic forces are being undertaken, appears problematic. Test limitations that impede us in developing or maintaining capabilities such as accuracy and precision would neither allow us to reduce our reliance on nuclear weapons to the extent that might otherwise be possible nor be in our broader national security interests. Despite these very real problems, there may be instances in which unilateral testing moratoria of limited duration for certain emerging technologies could be undertaken pending the conclusion of an agreement; both advocates of bans on testing MIRVs in the late 1960s, and of testing ASATs in the early 1980s, argued for delays in US field tests in the belief that the Soviets would not be interested in a test ban after testing had already taken place. However, it is not clear that the Soviet ASAT moratorium in the early 1980s had any significant impact on the USSR’s ability to field an antisatellite capability. This approach would appear at best to have limited utility, and can embody significant risks.

Production Cutoffs

Can such unilateral measures actually preclude traditional agreements if they are seen to signal unilateral concessions that result in unacceptable demands by the other side? The United States decided in the late 1960s to forego production of chemical weapons. This move was not reciprocated at the time by the USSR. At the time the United States was pushing a Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC) in the mid-1980s, it decided to resume production. The earlier US nonproduction decision was not perceived as inimical to US common defense and security at the time it was taken, and there do not appear to have been demands for Soviet reciprocity at the time of the decision. However, continued Soviet chemical weapon development, coupled with the obsolescence of existing US chemical stockpiles, came to be seen in the Cold War context as threatening the US chemical deterrent; this prospect was ultimately responsible for the US decision to resume production. Was the US decision to resume production debilitating to arms control or responsible for movement in the arms control area? Either case may of course be argued.15 In the different environ-

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ment that emerged with the end of the Cold War, the US decision to again forego modernization may have furthered the conclusion of the CWC. The role of unilateral actions may also be critical in the area of biological weapons. Even though the BWC was concluded in 1972, it is threatened by the revolution in biotechnology. The BWC has no verification provisions. There have been reports of noncompliance, and even prudent defensive measures—which would involve development of novel agents in order to fully appraise the threat—could undermine the current convention because they would be virtually indistinguishable from activities with offensive intent. In light of these flaws, the effective control of biological weapons in the future may depend less on the convention than unilateral decisions by states, based on their real interests and the realization that these weapons are not in their interest. Indeed, it may be argued that the convention has always been irrelevant and that unilateral restraint has been paramount in this area over the last fifteen years. Given this view of the situation, is continued US self-denial under these circumstances potentially dangerous? Would US abstinence promote reciprocity among other states? We have had confirmation that the former Soviet Union was and perhaps remains developing biological weapons. Does the United States need to respond in kind? What if other states developed biological weapons, as is suggested by many observers? We have not yet concluded that such a response is necessary and are seeking evidence that Russian claims of nonproduction are now true. If a response were viewed as necessary, would a threat by the United States to develop other means of responding to a militarily significant biological weapon capability in another state promote stability? Would it foster other objectives associated with arms control?

Controlling or Cutting Military R&D

Do unilateral efforts to control or cut military R&D have promise? Any discussion of this issue has to begin with an understanding of the interrelationship between civil and military technologies. In this vein, Kerr has argued that efforts to get military technology under control and prevent or reduce the consequences of war have followed several paths in recent years. One approach, advocated by the neo-Luddites, is to limit or control scientific and technological progress, either in directly military areas, or across the board. . . . Efforts to constrain technology ignore several important facts, however. . . . [M]ilitary and civilian technologies are symbiotic and inseparable. Military technology has long contributed to civilian uses. For example, microprocessors and cryptology, developed in military programs, have found wide applications in civilian equipment. Recently, civilian technology has come to play a larger role in military capabilities. Developments in computer technology and materials research, conducted in the private sector for commercial applications, have made major contributions to improving military systems. So again, limits on overall techno-

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logical advance are perhaps possible, but they would severely affect our prosperity, our world standing and economic competitiveness, and our overall national security. They would also affect our social structure, probably requiring a major (and undesired) alteration in our way of life. In addition, limiting technological progress would eliminate one of the key functions that scientific R&D traditionally plays, that of providing insurance against technological surprise and obsolescence.16

While an agreement to cut military R&D would be unworkable, undesirable, and perhaps irrelevant to the problem of constraining technological change in the military arena, unilateral steps in this direction would have no rationalization and would pose unacceptable costs and risks. Nonetheless, there are advocates of cuts in military R&D. They believe, in essence, that military R&D is to a very considerable extent a self-propelled process. Much of it continues, or continues to rise, because of institutional inertia or pressure and other mechanisms largely independent of perceived political or military need. Large research institutions are concerned to think up new military uses of scientific developments, largely independently of what the threat is from the potential adversary. The benefits of reducing or stopping military R&D are clear—the qualitative arms race would slow down and the danger of destabilizing developments would be diminished. Arms control agreements which close off “exotic options” help here.17

The proponents of this view believe there is a “fundamental lesson” that “whenever military R&D has proved the technological feasibility of new weapons, there has been no force to halt their acquisition and development—even where there was awareness of the precarious consequences.”18 Even among proponents of deep cuts in military R&D, however, there is a fundamental realization that incentives to channel these funds to the civilian R&D sector are not worth pursuing, not only because of verification, but because military R&D accounts for a high proportion of scientific resources and is, in some cases, the most advanced sector, creating pressures against change. If, as we are now witnessing, the civil sector is driving advances in key areas such as electronics, informatics, and the like, would not the shift from military R&D be acceptable and desirable? Verification remains an unresolvable problem, and, for the critics of military R&D, such a proposal creates a conundrum, because a diversion of military funds to the civil sector would not only be aiding civil economy, but would be defining the areas of innovation also applicable to military systems. Reciprocal Restraint

Given these concerns, is reciprocity an absolute necessity in all cases where technology denial is contemplated? It would appear so; indeed, the require-

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ment for reciprocity has been implicitly recognized. This is evident in the interest shown in self-denial conditioned on certain actions, if not necessarily direct reciprocity, by the other side. In theory, according to Herbert Scoville, Jr.: “One nation could announce that it was not going to proceed with a new weapons development or deployment provided that future events did not indicate that such restraint would prejudice its security. It could then watch the reaction of the other side which, in turn, might exercise reciprocal restraint either in the same or a related area.”19 The inherent difficulties of this approach should be appreciated. However, we do have some empirical evidence—a data base. In practice, this approach has been more or less attempted. The United States unilaterally declared in SALT I that the development of a mobile ICBM by the USSR would result in a reconsideration of the ABM Treaty. Yet, there was no such response to the development of the SS-X-16, a mobile ICBM. President Carter suggested that the United States might delay the MX ICBM program if the USSR would forego deploying the SS-20 intermediate-range ballistic missile; and, in a more complex move in which domestic and alliance interests were intermingled, he decided to delay the enhanced radiation weapon (ERW) provided that the Soviets would cooperate in arms control. Do these obvious failures evince the impracticability of this approach, or were they merely inept? While this approach has not been successful in practice, it has not been demonstrated that it is wholly impracticable. Prospects

While self-denial may be imposed by budgetary or other restraints, it is not particularly promising as an area of unilateral initiatives. To the extent it is undertaken by choice, it would appear to demand reciprocity. Some have argued for limited-duration unilateral testing moratoria for certain technologies; however, the problems of moratoria could make even ostensibly limited actions somewhat risky. The difficulties, security risks, and other costs of unilaterally limiting or controlling military R&D cannot be minimized. For any such initiative that might be conceived, verification remains a fundamental and probably unsolvable problem, especially given the need to ensure oneself against technological surprise. Denying Technology to Others

Despite the rapid spread of science and technology with proven or potential military applications around the globe, unilateral efforts to restrict the flow of technology to one’s adversaries, to the extent that they are successful, deny them the opportunity to utilize those technologies in their own systems, at least until they can develop them independently. Again, to the

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extent that such controls are successful, they can in principle prevent, but more likely only delay, the time when countermeasures or entirely new capabilities will be required on one’s own side. By slowing the pace of an adversary’s improvements of its capabilities, or at least forcing them in different directions (as defined by its own technological or other advantages), a side can in principle promote cost savings as well as so-called arms race stability. In practice, other outcomes might result. Competition, it has been argued, may be forced into new, costly, and destabilizing channels by the introduction of strategic defenses, for example. Controls over technology were most developed in the old East-West context, but were also important in the North-South context, where a web of controls over the proliferation of advanced weaponry, including weapons of mass destruction, can help to control destabilizing regional developments and to prevent them from disturbing international security and stability. In thinking about this approach, it is important to consider the following questions: • Do efforts to control exports of technology to an adversary serve a party’s interest, or, as some argue, weaken it in various ways? • Can denial ever be more than a stopgap measure, designed to slow down rather than preclude technological development on the other side? • On the other hand, can a relaxation of controls under certain conditions, e.g., in exchange for arms control concessions by the other side, be useful?

Technology Security and Export Control

The United States regards technology security programs as essential to maintaining the West’s qualitative superiority, which is regarded as necessary for deterrence and defense. In the past, this perspective was largely directed to East-West relations, and the objective of offsetting the quantitative advantages in former Soviet and now-defunct Warsaw Treaty Organization (WTO) troops and weapons. They sought to prevent or delay the former Soviet Union’s exploitation of military technologies developed in the United States and the West, thereby to protect investments in defense and to avoid, as much as possible, the even greater military expenditures necessary to counter deployments of more advanced systems utilizing these technologies. It is clear that the former Soviet Union maintains a high priority in the acquisition of US and Western high technology by both legitimate and illegitimate means. To this end, it sought to acquire high-technology information that is publicly available, and has participated extensively in foreign exchange programs with the United States under the auspices of

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agreements on nuclear energy cooperation and the like. As well, clandestine procurement of Western high technology by the former Soviet Union was described as a “hemorrhage” that resulted in an estimated reduction of the US lead in military technology, including electronics, of from ten to twelve years in the early 1970s to from two to four years in the mid-1980s. The gap was reportedly widened again, to seven years, but access to Western technology has been estimated to have resulted in savings of billions of dollars a year for the old Eastern Bloc before its demise. According to one military official, writing before the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Soviets can reduce their own research and development time and costs by using Western designs and technology, including production technology and equipment. They let us see and solve the problems, and then pilfer or purchase the solutions. They can also reduce the risk and uncertainty inherent in the weapons development process by copying proven Western designs. And, early in their own development process, they can incorporate countermeasures to our systems, based on the knowledge they obtain either openly or clandestinely.20

There is reason to believe that Russia and other Soviet successor states will still have an interest in acquiring US and Western technology by all available means. Effective technology security remains essential; it requires a collective effort to ensure that weak links do not weaken the chain and to enable effective technology sharing with allies. The United States has long cooperated with its allies in the Coordinating Committee on Export Controls (COCOM), which includes all NATO allies (except Iceland) and Japan, to control strategic products and technologies through collective measures. Foreign availability has led to cooperation with states outside of COCOM, usually through comprehensive strategic trade agreements, which in theory facilitate trade in sensitive goods while reducing risks of diversion. Even with such controls, effective implementation is imperative, as the Toshiba–Kongsberg Vaaperfabrikk case demonstrates.21 As COCOM restrictions to the old Eastern bloc fade away, the United States is concerned more with limiting access to Western technology by the Third World as evidenced by vocal concern about the proliferation of advanced military technologies. Recognizing that COCOM provided a nonproliferation machinery that was eroding, the United States has been working with other states to control nuclear materials, technologies, and equipment, including dual-use equipment; to control some chemicals that might be used in weaponry; and to control missile technologies, equipment, and production facilities. The proliferation of nuclear weapons, ballistic missiles, and other advanced military technologies threatens the interests of the United States, its allies, and friendly countries, and poses potentially grave

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dangers for regional and global peace and security. While these technologies do not themselves cause wars, their presence in sensitive regions can be destabilizing and, in the event of conflict, they can be used. Efforts to control the spread of nuclear weapons and advanced delivery systems such as ballistic missiles are not only important in themselves, but their success provides an important condition for the success of East-West arms control efforts. Nonproliferation has always been regarded as a sine qua non for US-Soviet arms control, and may affect any reduction lower than those agreed by presidents Yeltsin and Bush at the Washington summit in 1992. The presence of additional nuclear-weapon states, and particularly of states capable of delivering nuclear weapons by ballistic missiles, further complicates already difficult and complex negotiations. Zero-option solutions, which are a stated long-term goal of both the United States and Russia, become a logical absurdity in such a world. Would we consider substantial reductions or elimination of our nuclear weapons if France and China retained their nuclear arms? Could we do so if Iraq, Iran, Libya, or India, or other states, developed small nuclear arsenals and ballistic missile capabilities? For realistic arms control prospects, then, our efforts to control further proliferation must be effective because proliferation can be deadly to arms control. Controls and Concessions

Export controls over goods and technologies, whether directed against the Russians and other Soviet successor states, the Chinese, or Third World states attempting to develop advanced weaponry, are difficult to implement. They are costly and politically contentious. They can at best delay programs, and their efficiency almost inevitably erodes over time. Scientific knowledge and technological competence have been spreading, and they will continue to spread. Although controls over exports and technology transfers have had an impact, their political and economic costs, as well as their intrinsic limitations as an instrument for controlling arms, have promoted almost continued calls from within control regimes for relaxations of controls in exchange for pledges or positive actions among potential recipients. Political changes have now allowed this to occur between the West and the old Eastern bloc. Concessions were made, and were tied to behavior. However, even today caution is warranted because behavior can be reversed long before the strategic significance of certain exports, made during a thaw in relations, diminishes. In similar fashion, there are recurring efforts to allow trade in nuclear materials, equipment, and technologies or dual-use items useful for weapons programs, to states believed to be proliferation risks, if the intended recipient is willing to pledge nonnuclear or nonexplosive use, and accepts end-use conditions, inspections, and the like. While some such exports may be recommended

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on broader foreign policy grounds, they rarely foster nonproliferation objectives. Prospects

Effectively denying advanced technologies to one’s adversaries can result in considerable savings, in terms of one’s own systems that do not require replacement or upgrades as a result of the enhanced capabilities of the other side, and in terms of the direct requirement for countermeasures that certain technology leaks might require. Moreover, an effective export control policy can prevent the adversary from obtaining superior capabilities at considerable savings. In this area, then, technology security programs are essential; export controls remain a limited but useful area. Relaxation of trade restrictions, if positive actions are taken by adversaries, may have some limited benefits, but should be approached with considerable caution. Conclusions

What, then, are the prospects for unilateral actions designed to influence or restrain technologies and technology change in support of arms control objectives? Commentators with widely divergent perspectives on technology and arms control agree that if technology can be, and is to be, guided or restrained, it must be done unilaterally. In this vein, Jack Ruina has argued that “limiting technology by agreement is almost a hopeless pursuit. Unilateral restraints have much more promise and should be used more.”22 According to Donald M. Kerr, “there is scope for prudence and political guidance in choosing the direction of military technology and in the weapon applicators we choose to develop. It is in these areas of directing and applying technology, not in attempting to control the growth of knowledge, that some mitigation of military effects may be hoped for.”23 And, in the view of Charles Townes, “while self-restraint is a possibility, the enforcement of a complete cut-off of technology is essentially impossible—and may be limiting from the point of view of benign and highly desirable human advances.”24 Despite this general agreement on the role of unilateral initiatives in this area, there would be no consensus among these experts as to what is to be done. While this question is beyond the scope of this review, a tentative evaluation of the areas which do and do not have promise can be proffered. All in all, the evidence suggests that the most promising of the areas addressed involves the technology choices we ourselves make to promote arms control objectives. This approach is most consistent with the national security objectives that arms control is designed to serve, and, in most cases, does not require the reciprocity of the other side to be successful.

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Actions we take to deny technologies to the other side can be useful, it would appear, but in a more limited manner. Efforts to influence technology choices on the other side should be considered but appear to have little prospect of success; however, offering those technologies to an adversary to promote arms control objectives such as stability may not have the intended consequences. Moreover, such offers may be unwise on economic and security grounds. Finally, there appears to be virtually no benefit from conscious self-denial. Efforts to limit military R&D are impracticable, while other measures, including unilateral testing moratoria, are risky and ultimately demand the reciprocity of the other side if they are to have an impact. Notes

1. There are growing fears that the 1972 Biological Weapons Convention (BWC) is threatened by the revolution in biotechnology, with its enormous economic potential, because techniques such as gene-splicing have potential military as well as medical and agricultural uses. Any impact of new technologies on the BWC is likely to be decades away; the Anti–Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty has for a decade been challenged by the emergence of promising new technologies applicable to the creation of strategic defenses. 2. One of the major problems of quantitative arms control is that by its very nature it is too slow to respond to rapid technological changes, yet alone the even more rapid political changes of recent years. The pace of technological development has long appeared to many observers to be undermining existing arms control regimes; technologies under development seemed likely to make future agreements more difficult to negotiate and sustain. It has been argued that “the speed of the race in military technology has outpaced and overtaken arms control negotiators, with some evidence that the protracted negotiations have been deliberately used to gain time for further military build-ups and the enhancement of nuclear war-fighting capabilities.” (Marek Thee, “Military Technology, the Arms Race and Arms Control,” Bulletin of Peace Proposals, Vol. 17, Nos. 3–4 [1986], p. 536.) Do such concerns have any relevance in the new world? Technological change has indeed proceeded rapidly and stressed the arms control process, arguably reducing it to irrelevance in some areas; however, the belief that arms control can somehow control technology is patently undemonstrated. Moreover, the view that negotiations have been delayed solely to exploit technological advances appears to ignore the complexity of arms control negotiations during the Cold War. Even at present, it is by no means clear that any future negotiations could or should be conducted and concluded more rapidly than those in the past, especially the politically driven negotiations of recent years. 3. Moreover, until recently, the dynamics of the traditional arms control process have not favored certain unilateral actions because they were seen to undermine a party’s position in bilateral or multilateral negotiations. To unilaterally give up a technology development or weaponization program was viewed by some as abandoning a position of strength, by others as sacrificing a potential “bargaining chip.” 4. Charles Townes, “Discussion of Part 3: Arms Control and Technology,” in

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Arms Control and International Security, ed. Roman Kolkowitz and Neil Joeck (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1984), p. 82. 5. Discriminate Deterrence: Report of the Commission on Integrated LongTerm Strategy (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, January 1988) p. 37. 6. Ibid., p. 40. 7. The mobile ICBM debate was of interest until the recent post-START initiatives mooted it. It may reemerge in the future in some form and is worth reviewing. Mobile ICBMs are in principle more survivable than fixed, land-based systems, and, as a consequence, are widely viewed in the United States as likely to promote stability, a traditional goal of arms control. According to Brent Scowcroft, John Deutch, and R. James Woolsey: “Strategic stability can be enhanced by assuring the survivability of our strategic weaponry, and not locking ourselves into systems such as silo-based ICBMs, even if that means not using arms control to block Soviet survivability improvements, such as a shift to mobile forces. . . . Such an approach would require some modernization of American offensive forces—including the development of a small mobile ICBM.” (“A Way Out of Reykjavik,” New York Times Magazine, January 25, 1987.) However, mobile ICBMs, aside from being costly and politically contentious in projected basing areas in the United States, posed serious problems for achieving verifiable accords on strategic nuclear systems. Moreover, dealing with mobiles in the START negotiations was difficult. In any event, the Soviets moved ahead with mobiles unilaterally, deploying both the SS-24 and the SS-25. This raised questions for US military planners about whether such forces are targetable, and what might be targeted in their stead. These issues were viewed as important before the collapse of the Soviet Union. Did the Soviet unilateral move toward mobiles promote arms control objectives such as stability? Would US development of mobiles also have promoted such objectives? Would it have assured US national security? It was with such questions in mind, it would seem, that the US administration proposed a ban on mobile ICBMs in 1985, despite the conclusions of the Scowcroft Commission. However, Scowcroft, before becoming President Bush’s national security advisor, along with Deutch and Woolsey, argued that a ban on mobiles does not make national security sense, stating: “Ever since the 1980 campaign, the world has stood by in bewilderment while the administration has, in a seemingly random pattern, requested funding for both survivable [SICBM, or Midgetman] and nonsurvivable [MX] ICBM deployments, while at the same time proposing arms-control bans on the survivable ones.” (Washington Post, June 14, 1988.) Of course the reason for proposing the ban on mobiles was a matter of concern from the vantage of the traditional arms control process, i.e., the difficulty of verifying deployments of mobile ICBMs, but it would also have sacrificed another objective of arms control, namely stability. 8. Walter B. Slocombe, “Technology and the Future of Arms Control,” in New Technology and Western Security Policy, Part 2, IISS, Adelphi Papers 198 (Summer 1985), p. 42. 9. Ibid., p. 39. 10. Mary Acland-Hood, “Restraining the Qualitative Arms Race,” Bulletin of Peace Proposals, Vol. 17, Nos. 3–4 (1986), p. 532. 11. Townes, note 4, pp. 83–84. 12. Francesco Calogero, “Dynamics of the Nuclear Arms Race,” in Scientists, the Arms Race and Disarmament: A UNESCO/Pugwash Symposium, ed. Joseph Rotblat (London: Taylor and Francis Ltd.; Paris: UNESCO, 1982), p. 23. 13. See Joseph F. Pilat and Paul C. White, “Technology and Strategy in a Changing World,” The Washington Quarterly (Spring 1990), p. 85. 14. Acland-Hood, note 10, p. 528. Concerning third-generation weapons, Ted

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Taylor stated that their “accent is on enhancing certain forms of energy in the explosives and, in some cases, suppressing other forms of energy that are for some reason undesirable. The opportunities for developing third generation weapons are practically unlimited. One reason is that the number of significantly different forms of energy released in a nuclear explosion is large: gamma rays, x-rays, neutrons, radioactive materials, and plasmas. Under certain conditions, an explosive can produce hypervelocity solid or liquid pellets, electromagnetic radiation at longer wavelengths than light, ranging all the way from radar and microwaves to radiation that can have important effects with wavelengths that are many kilometers long. There are possibilities not only for enhancing the design of the warheads and its attachments, but also for developing new types of warheads that at least some people— particularly the ‘weaponeers’ who think of them—may find worthwhile.” (Pugwash Symposium on Scientific and Technological Aspects of Development of New Weapons, Verification Issues, and Global Security, in cooperation with the UN Department for Disarmament Affairs and the UN University, New York, May 11–12, 1988 [New York: United Nations, 1988], p. 20.) Despite Taylor’s apparent derision of these systems, and those who design them, his views suggest that thirdgeneration weapons can be tailored to perform missions we cannot now contemplate or undertake, because of undesirable consequences or effective countermeasures (e.g., underground bunkers). Taylor, of course, believes that such capabilities would increase prospects for the use of nuclear weapons; he does not seem to recognize that, at least in some cases, their absence could result in a weakening of deterrence. 15. See Karlheinz Lohs, “Other Weapons and New Technologies,” in Scientists, the Arms Race and Disarmament, note 12, p. 43. 16. Donald M. Kerr, “The Threat of the Neo-Luddites,” in Arms Control and International Security, note 4, pp. 72–73. 17. Acland-Hood, note 10, p. 527. 18. Thee, note 2, p. 535. 19. Herbert Scoville, Jr., “A Different Approach to Arms Control—Reciprocal Unilateral Restraint,” a paper presented at the ISODARCO Conference, Italy, June 1976, p. 4, quoted in Christoph Bertram, Arms Control and Technological Change: Elements of a New Approach, IISS, Adelphi Papers 146 (Summer 1978), p. 16. 20. Remarks by Lt. Gen. John H. Moellering, USA, assistant to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, to the Joint DoD/Security Affairs Support Symposium on Technology Security, State Department, September 10, 1986. 21. In one of the most significant cases of clandestine procurement by the USSR, the Soviets obtained high-technology milling equipment from Japanese and Norwegian firms during 1982–1984, in violation of those countries’ COCOM obligations. Toshiba Machine Co. of Japan exported four nine-axis and four five-axis milling machines to the USSR. The software for the machines was provided by the Norwegian firm Kongsberg Vaaperfabrikk. These machines, installed in the Soviet Baltic Sea shipyard in Leningrad, have greatly enhanced the Soviets’ ability to manufacture quieter marine propellers, making detection of Soviet submarines more difficult. While the Soviets knew how to hand-manufacture quieter propellers that make the detection of their submarines more difficult, these sales provided the Soviets with the ability to produce the propellers efficiently. The diversion required US responses in its own boats, as well as in ASW capabilities. One estimate of the cost attributable to the diversion, that of Rep. Duncan Hunter of California, is $30 billion; the amount, he argued, is required to build new US boats capable of dealing with the new Soviet threat. While this figure is undoubtedly high, official Pentagon estimates at the time were in the billions of dollars.

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22. Jack Ruina, “Discussion of Part 3: Arms Control and Technology,” in Arms Control and International Security, note 4, p. 82. 23. Kerr, note 4, p. 73. 24. Townes, note 4, p. 84.

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7 Unilateral Self-Restraint on Nuclear Proliferation: Canada, Sweden, Switzerland, and Germany George H. Quester

Unilateral Self-Restraint on Nuclear Proliferation: Canada, Sweden, Switzerland, and Germany George H. Quester

This will be a comparison of the experiences of four countries that could have built nuclear weapons a long time ago, and did not—Canada, Sweden, Switzerland, and the Federal Republic of Germany. We will be seeking to extract the lessons these cases might offer for the worldwide nonproliferation effort, and for the role of unilateral moves in arms control more generally. The four are quite comparable as advanced countries with advanced nuclear industries. All four are also currently democracies, with the first three of them never having been in doubt on this through the twentieth century, but with the German experience having been substantially different. Yet, as will be shown in our detailed discussions, these countries have indeed followed four substantially different patterns of self-restraint on the nuclear weapons option, perhaps thus allowing us to sort out some important distinctions on the importance of unilateral action, and of world community influence, for nonproliferation. For each of these countries, we will therefore try to sort out the categories of factors affecting the decision, just as these might affect other decisions elsewhere. Among such factors will be the following: • Plausible foreign military threats, both nuclear and conventional • External nonmilitary influences, both national and multinational • Economic considerations • Domestic political considerations

If each of these countries had been unilaterally inclined to reject nuclear weapons for itself in every year of the period since 1945, our story would be quite encouraging but rather dull. We will find the stories somewhat more lively than this, however, including at least two instances (Sweden and Switzerland) of a preliminary enthusiasm for nuclear weapons; two instances (Canada and West Germany) of ventures into a 141

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sharing of control over nuclear weapons of the United States; and two instances (West Germany and Switzerland) of a strong initial reluctance to adhere to the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty. If these cases seem to be decided today, will they always remain so? If they were decided in earlier decades, does this show something at work more specific to those decades, and hence less relevant to the postwar “new world order”? Or could the end result, by which none of these countries now attracts any real concern about nuclear weapons proliferation in the 1990s, reflect some kind of very beneficial process ar work over time, a process that may similarly help stop nuclear weapons spread elsewhere? In all these cases, we will be very interested in how international pressures have had an impact in speeding up or slowing down any exploitations of the weapons options that technology is so inexorably generating. We will be looking for international pressures deliberately configured to constrain nuclear proliferation. But we will also be looking at some international forces that have had this kind of impact without anyone ever so designing them. It has to be remembered that some of the international components for a unilateral selfrestraint were falling into place, at least relative to the countries discussed here, before anyone had so clearly phrased the issues of an external resistance to nuclear weapons spread. We will thus be discussing the time before the Irish UN resolutions at the end of the 1950s, which first proposed a “nonnuclear club,” before either the United States or the Soviet Union had become clear about opposing nuclear proliferation, indeed at a time when both Moscow and Washington were still experimenting with assistance to the nuclear weapons programs of their allies, to Britain and even France in the case of the United States, and to China in the case of the Soviet Union.1 It would perhaps be sad, but nonetheless fascinating, if it turned out that the Canadian decision or any of the others was actually determined by international factors not at all so opposed to nuclear proliferation, and perhaps even by international suggestions favoring such a national nuclear arsenal, i.e., if the local country was so perverse as to reject nuclear weapons for itself precisely because another power was proffering them. Some defenders of the Reagan administration policies on nuclear proliferation early in the 1980s argued that these policies were the more successful for being less resolute or less obvious about opposing such weapons spread, with the Carter administration supposedly having launched initiatives that backfired because of their fervor. Such a reversal of impacts would be too good to be true, of course, as an absolute rule, or we could otherwise halt the further spread of weapons of mass destruction around the globe, simply by favoring such a spread. The lessons of these earlier success stories in the nonproliferation array will inevitably be a little more

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complicated, and therefore that much more interesting. If the more general rule were to be that international pressures can be counterproductive, or can have an impact the opposite of what was intended, it is important to be aware of this, and to try to determine where this occurs and where it does not. Canada

Canada is the best country with which to start this story of unilateral nonproliferation, for at least two reasons. It is the first on our list to have had all the components on line for what could easily have been a bomb project. And it is the country most totally free of any serious expressions of interest, by its military officers, civilian officials and diplomats, and by its citizens at large, in the possession of nuclear weapons.2 Canadian facilities and scientists had been involved in the World War II Allied effort to beat Nazi Germany in what was seen to be a race to acquire the first atomic bomb. By the late 1940s, Canada possessed significant quantities of uranium and heavy water, and had in operation reactors and plutonium reprocessing facilities—in short, it possessed all the portions of the nuclear fuel cycle that today would be ringing the alarm bells of our nonproliferation regime. But it is fascinating how little concern or speculation one can find in these years around the world about Canadian nuclear capabilities and intentions. It is equally fascinating how little debate there was about such possibilities in Canada, and how casually the Canadian public and government themselves shrugged off the nuclear weapons option. Apart from having been able to produce nuclear weapons perhaps even earlier than the Soviets or the British, and unilaterally not having done so, Canada has more recently distinguished itself on the nuclear proliferation question in two other ways. After 1958, Canada had to debate whether to go ahead with the agreements by which some US nuclear weapons might be handled by Canadian personnel either within Canada as part of NORAD air defense arrangements, or in the deployment to West Germany of “tactical nuclear weapons” for a defense against a conventional or nuclear attack by the Warsaw Pact.3 The latter have been very analogous to similar “two key” agreements whereby such weapons have been handled by West Germans, Turks, Greeks, and other allies of the United States. These agreements never would have given Canadians an independent ability to escalate to nuclear weapons use—rather, they offered a “safety catch” over this portion of the US nuclear arsenal, since neither partner can fire the weapons without the other’s cooperation. Nonetheless, it is striking how Canadians

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were even opposed to such relatively safe nuclear weapons arrangements. Mirroring similar debates about such deployments elsewhere, Canadians may have been responding to the simple image of physical proximity to and connection with such weapons, thus refusing to dwell on the logic of triggers versus safety catches. Or, perhaps more astutely, there may have been an apprehension that such arrangements could sooner or later devolve into an independent capacity for firing such weapons, rather than just for either vetoing or cooperating in the firing. Moving away from two-key arrangements, it is also interesting to speculate a little further about the command and control arrangements that have applied over the years to the nuclear weapons assigned to NORAD, the joint Canadian-US North American command entrusted with the defense of the continent against bomber or missile attack.4 Here is one of the few instances where we have testimony that the authority to use nuclear weapons may have been predelegated to US military commanders by the US president, on the argument that an attack on the United States itself would not leave anyone enough time to contact the president first, or to consult otherwise with other civilian officials or with the Congress.5 Yet, the deputy commander of NORAD has always been a Canadian general officer, while the commander has been from the United States, and there were thus days when the highest officer in the Colorado Springs NORAD command post would be Canadian. Had a Canadian officer thus also been predelegated the authority to use nuclear weapons to respond to incoming Soviet bombers or missiles? In such a case, the target would never, of course, have been value items inside the USSR: since they were being detonated over the United States or Canada, these nuclear weapons would presumably have done no damage to anything but an incoming military target. Yet the precedent that may have been set here would not have pertained only to the civilian-military distinction, for it would have amounted also to a de facto nuclear proliferation from the United States to Canada. The facts here are important. The imagery is also important. And of the greatest interest and importance have been the apparent Canadian responses to such imagery, in governmental decisions (typically drawing strong backing from all the parties) to refuse or terminate the deployment of nuclear warheads for Bomarc missiles or for CF-100 interceptor aircraft. Feeling pressed by US governments from Eisenhower to Kennedy and Johnson to Nixon to accept this kind of generic involvement with nuclear weapons, Canadians have not asserted their sovereign independence in the manner that Gallois6 would have prescribed for any such state—by reaching for such weapons and demanding independent control over them—but rather by refusing to accept this involvement. The second major Canadian involvement with nuclear proliferation has

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come on the supplier side. The Indian “peaceful nuclear explosion” of 1974, referred to by some people in New Delhi as the “peaceful bomb,” was conducted with materials extracted from a CANDU reactor Canada had supplied to India.7 In retrospect, it would be easy to accuse the Canadian government of having been gullible or naive about Indian intentions in this regard. It is sometimes waggishly observed that Canada is the first country to give away the atomic bomb without having made any for itself. One clear result was that Ottawa determined to be much stricter in the future about the uses to which its assistance would be put, cutting off further nuclear assistance to India and more generally now demanding that “full-scope safeguards” be applied to any country to which it would be selling any kind of nuclear services.8 The Indian detonation did not produce the kind of indignation among Canadians by which anyone said “If the Indians can use our technology to make bombs, we must assert our prerogative and do the same for ourselves.” Rather the result was all the more to reinforce an aversion to nuclear weapons for Canada and to make Canada an even more resolute supporter of the nonproliferation regime. It will not be our primary intention to compare these four countries as nuclear supplier states, for we are instead dwelling on their own abstentions from (or temptations toward) becoming nuclear weapons states. Yet, where a policy of abstention persists, the most important role of these states on the future nuclear proliferation issue may indeed pertain to their supplier policies. And these supplier policies will also be affected by the experiences and attitudes that steered these nations away from weapons. A portion of Canadians’ attitudes here thus have to be explained by a comparison they are always being asked to make, implicitly or explicitly, between themselves and their southern neighbors. Canadians generally resent being told that they are “just like Americans,” and they do not mind finding opportunities to prove that they can behave differently. Canadians, like Britishers, also now have reversed international power politics roles with the United States on who must be the first to react to challenges to the existing status quo and to world peace. In world wars I and II, it was the United States which could remain more detached as an observer for a time, expressing moral opinions about the relative merits of the two sides, while it was the subjects of the British Empire that had to commit their economies and lives earlier. At the end of World War II, this situation was reversed, as Britishers and Canadians could take more time to ponder the relative merits of Cold War arguments, with the United States having to invest its energies earlier. If the United States thus had to be engaged in the East-West conflict from its very beginning, some Canadians could see themselves as gobetweens and detached judges and peacemakers. As the United States built tens of thousands of nuclear weapons, the Canadians were less likely to try

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to be distinctive by building hundreds of their own, and would indeed be distinctive by building none at all. Sweden

Sweden is significantly different from Canada in that its military leadership, and to some extent its entire government, had at the end of 1950s settled into assuming that nuclear weapons should be acquired; this was thus a decision that somehow had to be reversed, rather than never being made.9 The interaction of domestic politics and international dealings (one hesitates yet to call them international “pressures”) is thus extremely important in changing this Swedish outlook and policy on nuclear weapons, with the process of arms control negotiations playing a very significant role, strengthening the hands of those in Stockholm who opposed the bomb, and weakening those who favored it. Sweden has been an active and indeed enthusiastic participant in the processes of the United Nations, and of such disarmament fora as the Eighteen Nation Disarmament Conference (ENDC), which produced the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty in Geneva in 1968. One of its nationals, Dag Hammarskjold, was the second secretary-general of the United Nations, and another, Sigvard Eklund, was serving as the director of the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), in the years when the NPT was presented for signature. Swedish troops have been involved in most of the United Nations peacekeeping operations, and Ms. Alva Myrdal, sometime head of the Swedish delegation to the ENDC, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1982 for all of her efforts in the disarmament field.10 All such activities have thus conditioned Swedish elites and Swedish public opinion to attach some importance to the role of their country as a leader of responsible neutral opinion, avoiding the grandstand plays of the nonaligned leadership, but able to offer expert opinions on a host of questions of ecology and other science policy and arms control, and hence well suited for staffing key positions of the UN operations in New York, Geneva, or Vienna. All of this thus militates against Sweden getting nuclear weapons. Yet, on the other side of the scales in the Swedish decision, arguments were pressed by senior military officers and civilian defense experts that the country would be best served by developing a nuclear arsenal of its own. In the 1950s and early 1960s, nuclear weapons were often simply seen here, and around the world, as the most modern of weapons—but as a weapon nonetheless, one that had first been acquired by those nations most able to afford the research and technological inputs, but which then, like every other weapon in history, would be acquired by other states as well, as soon as they attained the requisite economic and scientific capability.11

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Despite its assertions of neutrality, there was no doubt in Sweden about who Sweden was “neutral against.” No one seriously expected a war with the United States, West Germany, or Norway. All serious Swedish defense plans anticipated an attack from the East. Indeed, if it were not for the special status of Finland, allowed to have a noncommunist government even while it has been required to make some concessions to Moscow on foreign and defense policy—and thus spared the treatment the Soviets meted out after World War II to all the rest of Eastern Europe, it is thinkable that Sweden would have given up its nonalignment or neutrality and joined NATO alongside Denmark and Norway. As things stood, one could see an interesting bargain applying after 1945, whereby Sweden stayed out of NATO in exchange for Finland’s being spared an imposition of Communist rule. If Sweden had elected to join NATO, Moscow might not have restrained itself about the government in Helsinki. And if Stalin or his successors had imposed a Communist rule on Finland, Sweden would probably have been quick to join NATO. If Sweden’s sympathies thus have been Western instead of Eastern here, the most immediate practical interest of the country would be to avoid the outbreak of Soviet aggression and war in Europe, and if such a war nonetheless broke out, to avoid becoming involved in it. Geography helped here, in that the Baltic Sea, and then the Skaggerak and Kattegat, amounted to a double water barrier, precluding anyone in Moscow from seeing a Swedish path as an easy way to outflank the defenses of NATO on the road to Paris. Also helpful was Sweden’s extensive investment in a conventional defense, with universal military service and with what was for a long time the largest air force per capita in the world, as Sweden’s armed forces could impose substantial costs on anyone trying to take a shortcut across its territory. Many thus saw the important new nuclear question in the 1950s as deriving from this preexisting geographic and military situation: Would neutral Sweden be better able to assist in deterring Soviet adventures, and be better able to escape having its territory drawn into such aggressions whenever they occurred, it if had in the meantime acquired some nuclear weapons for itself? Sweden was certainly not equipped with the basic ingredients for a nuclear weapons program as early as Canada was. The important point is indeed that the Swedish government, as part of a long-term plan to acquire weapons, committed itself to deliberately acquiring these components, including the assurance of uranium supplies, and an investment in naturaluranium-fueled reactors. Canada had woken up at the sudden end of World War II with the bits and pieces of a nuclear weapons project already in place on its own territory. Sweden had to go out in quest of such bits and pieces, and the story of this quest has at times been interesting enough to draw headlines.12 The Swedish program for assuring a nuclear bomb capability was not a

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success in its own terms, and for a very interesting reason: The original plan was that a series of nuclear power plants would be constructed in Sweden to be fueled with natural uranium, thus remaining independent both of any foreign supply of enriched uranium and of any requirement for safeguards (the United States by the 1960s was already requiring IAEA safeguards over any such fuel it was exporting). Yet the most plausible estimates of cost-effectiveness in nuclear power plants shifted in the mid1960s, toward enriched-uranium reactors ahead of natural-uranium fueling. This was in part because the United States, then the world leader in the development of such electricity-producing reactors, had concentrated on this type and thus had some tested designs to offer; and it was possibly also because the United States had a substantial spare capacity to offer for uranium enrichment services. Some Swedish and some other observers (French and Canadian, for example) have argued that the latter “cost-effectiveness” of the enricheduranium route basically reflected only the heavy investment the United States had made in the 1940s and 1950s in uranium enrichment for military purposes. Because the United States had built a large nuclear arsenal, and had invested in the means to produce weapons-grade uranium for this arsenal, it was thus in a position to make it less natural for Sweden or any other country to acquire its own bombs. Because the United States had thousands of atomic bombs, it could tempt Sweden to go to a cheaper way of producing electricity by nuclear means, but this was a way that would require international safeguards, and international commitments to foregoing any use of such materials for the production of atomic bombs in Sweden. Much of the rest of the Swedish nuclear weapons program nonetheless continued, as FOA (the Swedish defense research agency) went ahead with basic theoretical research on how nuclear weapons could be produced with various sorts of plutonium or uranium. If anyone inquired in the 1960s as to why Swedish researchers were doing so much work on bomb design, the somewhat lame explanation was offered that this was merely intended so that the Swedish soldiers in any future war could be told what kind of Russian or other atomic bombs they were being hit with. As Sweden was signing the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty in 1968, the Swedish delegation to the ENDC was still involved in a strenuous effort to get FOA to terminate these efforts, as work on the general outlines of bomb design was to continue at least until 1972. A certain amount of excitement was stirred in 1985, when the Swedish technology magazine Ny Teknik published a somewhat sensational set of articles describing this research.13 Despite the excitement of this “discovery,” even producing some commotion on Capitol Hill in Washington, the world today does not think of Sweden as a nuclear-weapons state, or even as a “bomb in the basement” state. There are thus only a few people in the rest of the world who are really

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upset or surprised by how much knowledge the Swedes have accumulated on the techniques of nuclear weapons assembly. There are more probably more people at FOA and elsewhere around Stockholm who are more upset that their nation had so subtly given up both its access to unsafeguarded fissionable materials and its legal option of producing nuclear weapons. Most of the world’s scientists indeed expect such knowledge to spread, even as the physical capabilities for enriching uranium or reprocessing plutonium spread. The hope is that all of such knowledge and capacity can sit in reserve, that bombs will not be produced, that a combination of internal and external factors can be mobilized (as in Sweden) to make nonproliferation look increasingly legitimate and advisable. Switzerland

The Swiss Confederation is very different from Canada in its history of considering nuclear weapons options, and is different again from Sweden.14 One could have begun by instead noting some strong parallels between Sweden and Switzerland. The Swiss military and political situation in the late 1950s and early 1960s was very much like that of the Swedish, in that important military leaders had convinced themselves and many of their fellow citizens that nuclear weapons somehow made sense for national defense. Each of these traditionally neutral countries has taken pride in being able to defend itself; each has had policies and traditions of universal military training, with every male belonging to a military reserve unit for most of his adult life. Each of these countries has then had to ask itself whether nuclear weapons would fit in with, or corrupt and alter, this tradition. Yet Switzerland was notably later than Sweden in signing and ratifying the Nonproliferation Treaty (NPT), just as it was also later in acquiring the rudiments of what anyone would see as the latent physical capability for acquiring nuclear weapons. And the role of international commitments, and of participation in international processes and negotiations, has also been very different in the Swiss case, bizarrely different in some instances. Switzerland plays host to many of the activities of the United Nations, housed in Geneva. Yet this is the same country that in a 1986 national plebiscite voted not to join the United Nations, when almost every other state in the world regards attendance at General Assembly gatherings as an essential sign of the attainment of sovereignty.15 The argument advanced by Swiss officers for nuclear weapons was remarkably like that presented for such weapons in Sweden (and indeed like the official explanation put forward for the deployment of such weapons by NATO): that such weapons would keep an aggressor from bunching its forces as it prepared to advance, since such a massing of

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forces, the classic preparation for a breakthrough, would offer too tempting a target for a tactical use of nuclear weapons. The official discussion had thus not gotten into scenarios analogous to those voiced in France, where the target for the Force de Frappe would be Moscow and other Soviet cities—where the deterrent impact would thus come in the countervalue destruction that would be inflicted on the Soviet homeland, rather than on Soviet military forces. Another portion of the scenario in such Swiss military officers’ arguments for nuclear weapons was again quite parallel to the arguments offered in Sweden. Switzerland is to the south of the main axis of how any replay of World War II would flow across the North German Plain, just as Sweden is to the north of this axis. The political and military leaders of either country, if they think first of their own national interest, could thus hope to duplicate their experiences in world wars I and II, where the belligerents found it advisable to go around rather than through these territories. The geographic factors of location help the Swiss and the Swedes here. Also of great help was the maintenance of plausible defenses, with universal military training, and with a very visible commitment to resisting any foreign intrusion. In the 1950s and 1960s, the question for the senior officers in both countries was whether a national nuclear arsenal would also help here. If one took seriously the official NATO argument for such “tactical nuclear weapons,” that they might be a reinforcement for the defensive side (as compared with the side that had taken the initiative and had its forces in motion, bunched for breakthroughs, etc.), and that they might be a reinforcement for the numerically weaker side (facing the large Asian forces that Moscow could bring to bear), then Sweden and Switzerland might also need such weapons. Yet all such projections of the battlefield impact of theater nuclear weapons remained (happily) untested, and the opposite has often enough loomed just as likely in the years since, that nuclear weapons might actually favor the attacker, or might actually favor the side with the larger initial forces (and hence the larger reserves).16 Thus, the military planners of either neutral state had to consider whether their possession of nuclear weapons might not draw Soviet attention rather than rebuffing it, might not force the Soviets to aim nuclear weapons at both these countries as soon as any nuclear escalation had occurred on the central European front, or even as soon as any major fighting had broken out there. Such considerations were especially cogent if one accepted the analyses whereby the Soviets would themselves see benefit in an early or immediate escalation to the use of nuclear weapons, or might launch such an immediate escalation simply because they expected the same from NATO forces. The question is not resolved (for either side of the argument) with simple battlefield assessments of “who will win” through the deployment or

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use of nuclear weapons. Much more important, for those opposing as well as those favoring nuclear proliferation, is the impact beyond the battlefield, the countervalue damage that would be inflicted, perhaps taking all the meaning out of any victory in such a war. Skeptics about anyone’s ability to limit destruction once nuclear weapons have come into use would contend that Soviet cities would indeed have suffered soon enough, once NATO, Swedish, or Swiss nuclear warheads had come into use, because of inevitable escalation processes; and that this devastation would then be spread immediately in retaliation to all the cities of Western Europe and North America as well. Nuclear conflict would thus be suicide for the Western powers that had elected to “defend” themselves in this way, perhaps a telling argument against an investment in a nuclear arsenal. But it would be suicide as well for the Soviet leaders who had launched the war of aggression in the first place, and hence might amount to a magnificent reinforcement for deterrence, even if the impact was indirect and somewhat different from what had been officially claimed. If the real impact of a Swiss nuclear arsenal would thus fit more with the arguments of a Gallois, and less to the scenarios developed by Swiss military officers, Switzerland’s interests might still have been served. But in the meantime the outside world also took note of all this collateral damage portended by nuclear weapons. Being somewhat unimpressed by UN General Assembly votes (and apparently not very eager to join in casting such votes), the Swiss have nonetheless also obviously been realistic enough to sense that some kinds of policies would upset the outside world more, and others less, i.e., that there is indeed a price in this world if one totally ignores the preferences and desires of others. No one will get particularly upset if Switzerland passes up the option of joining the United Nations; but many nations would be perturbed if Switzerland acquired nuclear weapons. Canada, Sweden, and Switzerland could all have obtained nuclear weapons in the 1940s and 1950s without drawing much world anger and condemnation, while the Germans at the end of the 1940s could not even lay their hands on conventional weapons without encountering foreign objections and vetoes. But this all changed through the 1960s and 1970s. Yesterday’s self-restraint had now become more of a mixed self- and externally imposed restraint. The Swiss, like everyone else we are discussing here, are also aware that they would not gain from rampant nuclear proliferation around the globe, that all will lose if Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Australia, Indonesia, Argentina, and Brazil all acquire nuclear weapons. Even without any mobilization of foreign anger, a sensible interpretation of future worlds takes this into account. For a country like Switzerland to refuse to adhere to the NPT makes it easier for some other country, much less reliable in its policies and attitudes, to refuse to adhere; and if a country like Switzerland

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acquires nuclear weapons, it becomes much easier for other countries to acquire their own weapons of mass destruction. Switzerland thus signed the NPT in 1969 and ratified it at last in 1977. There are hardly any analysts of the nuclear proliferation issue who would now spend much time worrying about whether Switzerland will cheat on its treaty commitments, for the high tide of any Swiss tendency to see nuclear weapons as “just another weapon” is past. As is even more the case with the former West Germany, the world’s most immediate concerns on Switzerland’s relationship to nuclear nonproliferation today relate instead to the sensitive materials and items that might be sold by Swiss firms, to the regimes whose intentions and commitments are much more suspect here—Argentina and Pakistan being prime examples.17 All four of the relatively self-restrained countries we are discussing here like to see their firms earning foreign exchanges by exports, and all might thus be tempted to wink at a marginal transaction here and there. Canada may have the tightest export controls in nuclear technology, also having been the first to become actively engaged in nuclear exports; Sweden would probably come next, with West Germany lagging behind, and Switzerland lagging still further back. Indeed, there have been cases of West German firms using Swiss companies as go-betweens and fronts in questionable transactions. The processes of regulation are imperfect in countries that have as hefty a dose of private enterprise as these four have. But these are again issues of supplier policy, issues that could arise in a country which never intended to make bombs for itself, and never was remotely able to make such bombs for itself. Germany

We turn to the Federal Republic of Germany last, because it is the case where one sees the most serious military arguments for acquiring nuclear weapons, and where one also sees the most explicit, tailored, and visible international pressures against such proliferation.18 Here the world still must also ponder whether the case has been settled once and for all, or whether it must continue to worry that Germany might actually use its capability for producing nuclear weapons. The FRG was perhaps the first of our set to renounce the possession of such weapons in an international legal compact, this by the terms of the West European Treaty of 1955. This treaty was the first postwar agreement allowing West Germany any kind of rearmament at all, after the strains of the Cold War had terminated Moscow’s and Washington’s intentions of keeping all the Germans totally disarmed. But for an unfortunate haziness

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of wording whereby the FRG was forbidden to build nuclear weapons “on its territory,” causing some lawyers to speculate that Bonn had not thereby renounced the right to build them on someone else’s territory, the NPT might thus have seemed to be totally redundant when it was proposed in 1967.19 (Here one must remember that the years in which West Germany is already bound are years when Swiss voters were still rejecting plebiscites by which their country would have renounced nuclear weapons.) Yet these earlier bans on the FRG are all directly related to the horrors Germany inflicted on the world in World War II, and thus can not be taken as an example of German unilateral self-restraint in any pure sense, or of any definitive conclusion by Germans that nuclear weapons played no role in their future. Indeed, the political independence and economic prosperity of the FRG since its very inception in 1949 had been a fruit of what had been demonstrated at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. When we wish to consider a real case where nuclear weapons have kept other weapons from coming into use, i.e., where the risk of a World War III has plausibly prevented recurrences of the kinds of conventional warfare we remember from World War II, we have turned again and again to the West German example.20 If one is to account for German self-restraint here, one more very important difference thus has to be noted. Alone of the countries being analyzed in this chapter, West Germany for decades had foreign nuclear weapons deployed on its territory, and it had sizable contingents of foreign troops deployed there as well. No such nuclear weapons or troops have been deployed in Sweden or Switzerland. The US nuclear weapons that were once deployed in Canada have been removed, and the few US military personnel stationed there did not have any real role in defending Canada, or in being some kind of trip-wire for deterrence purposes. Indeed, while Sweden and Canada each were distinctive in that they faced the Soviet Union on a maritime frontier, the West Germans confronted the Soviets in a much more operational and daily sense, conscious of the need to prevent Soviet tanks from rolling forward across the demarcation line, a problem that has loomed large ever since such tanks stopped rolling approximately at this line in 1945.21 At least until the Warsaw Pact or the Soviet Union itself was dissolved, the likely consensus was that it had been the presence of US nuclear weapons that explained the nonuse of Soviet tanks. Any assessment of Germany’s abstention from obtaining nuclear weapons must thus inevitably assign more significance to outside factors here than in the other three cases. Until the Soviet tank forces were definitively eliminated from the scene, Germany remained the most geopolitically vulnerable. And, if the US nuclear umbrella was no longer to be extended, the classic French argument for national nuclear forces as a deterrent could always look relevant. When the threat of a conventional war is lowered, Germans, like any-

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one else on the front line, will dislike having nuclear trip-wires looped around their homes. If the threat of a conventional invasion ever loomed larger, however, they might seek such nuclear deployments (allied or their own), on the logic that these deter wars from breaking out in the first place. And they would only with some reluctance have their nuclear options foresworn by something like the NPT. West Germany was certainly later in approaching a nuclear weapons capability than was Canada or Sweden, although it was ahead of Switzerland. Yet the sheer volume of the nuclear power enterprise in the FRG would still have posed the possibility of a substantial production of nuclear weapons, if political commitments and safeguards arrangements were not in place to assure the world that this was not taking place. One way of comparing latent bomb production capacities around the globe would address the length of time it would take to produce a bomb in an emergency; here Sweden or Canada may be leading. Another comparison would point instead to the total bombs that could be produced in any year in the absence of safeguards; in this respect the potential is certainly the greatest in West Germany, among the countries under discussion here.22 It is normally conjectured that Germany had thus been dissuaded from nuclear proliferation by the opposition of the United States, Great Britain, and France (its closest allies), and by the fierce opposition of the Soviet Union, which had suffered so terribly from German aggression during World War II. Commentators discounting the significance of such external threats sometimes point to the statements emerging often enough from the Germans themselves, statements rejecting all suggestions of a desire for a nuclear arsenal, statements indeed acknowledging that the guilt of World War II imposes special conditions on Germany, just as it does on Italy and Japan. Here we might thus have some substance for an argument of internal restraint or self-restraint, but it would be a self-restraint also imposed on the Germans already in 1945 by the military victory of the Allies over Hitler’s armed forces. Yet time passes along and memories can fade. In effect, we have been comparing four such special statuses here, comparing the images of nuclear weapons—and of national roles in world politics—carried about by the Canadian, Swedish, Swiss, and German electorates. Only the last of these four groups of voters has had to include a guilt about the past as an important part of this baggage. If the political and military situation in the next two decades were ever to seem to make a German nuclear arsenal into more of the solution again for a security dilemma, can we really count so fully on the Germans sticking by a policy of nuclear self-restraint, if a feeling of guilt has been a central part of that sense of self-restraint? No human being likes to feel guilty, or likes to feel that his nation is particularly suspect and disqualified for the military preparations that other countries have been allowed to undertake.

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If someone was not even born at the time of Nazi atrocities, or even by the end of World War II, will it not be a very easy and tempting move for him or her to shake off such feelings? Other kinds of self-restraint can be induced from abroad, of course, besides the impositions of the victors of World War II. The examples of Sweden, Switzerland, Canada, Japan, and Australia may thus count for more in the end in nourishing German self-restraint. But it may then be crucial to maintain an environment where Germany does not see itself as much more prone to invasion than all these other states. Some Conclusions

It is never so easy to determine whether restraints on anything as important as nuclear proliferation are self-imposed or imposed from the outside. Our most important conclusion here would probably be that what were initially unilateral self-restraints are so no longer, since each side by restraining itself has come to somewhat restrain others, and then to become more restrained by others in turn. This has indeed been the character of much of the interaction we have been discussing here, and of whatever optimistic expectations we can muster about containing proliferation. Some distinctions can nonetheless be drawn. On this first scale, Canada clearly was the least restrained by outside states at the outset, and Germany was the most, with Sweden and Switzerland falling in between. The intensifying of restraints then on Sweden and Switzerland, and the maintenance of restraints on West Germany, has been accompanied by a continued absence of need for external restraints in the Canadian case. History makes a difference for most of the things we care about, and it makes an important difference here. Canada was on the winning side in World War II, while Sweden and Switzerland were neutral; and Germany was the defeated enemy, the very country against which the original British-US-Canadian cooperation on a nuclear weapons project had been directed. These last comments relate to another important scaling, the degree of outside conventional military threat directed against the country involved. Here Canada has obviously been the least threatened, and West Germany has been the most, with the sense of threat in Sweden and Switzerland never being as high as for West Germany, and actually declining somewhat. Whether this threat stays low or declines for the Germans, or instead increases again, will thus play a very important role in whether external restraints on nuclear weapons capabilities remain effective, since the premise of such restraints, the special role of Germany in World War II, inevitably has a half-life. Economic factors always play an important role in nuclear prolifera-

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tion discussions because it is the pursuit of the civilian benefit of nuclear production of electrical power that makes nuclear weapons so cheap and accessible. The trend over the forty years I have been dealing with here is that such options have tended to grow in each of the cases discussed. However, the comparative advantages of different kinds of nuclear equipment—with some requiring more reliance on outside supplies and thus bringing IAEA safeguards into play—have had a more complicated impact on national restraints here. In the Swedish case this has played a major role in turning the country away from the acquisition of nuclear weapons. Finally, the intertwining of external and self-restraints relates to very important factors of domestic politics and domestic public opinion. In Canada and Sweden, such opinion remains mobilized against national nuclear weapons programs for a variety of reasons—some of which make more sense, some of which are more symbolic. This has held less powerfully in Switzerland, and because of geopolitics and history the situation may always be more complicated in Germany. Notes

1. The earlier patterns on nuclear proliferation are discussed in Leonard Beaton and John Maddox, The Spread of Nuclear Weapons (London: Chatto and Windus, 1962). 2. For an overview of the Canadian experience on nuclear choices, see William Epstein, “Canada,” in Nuclear Proliferation: The Why and the Wherefore, ed. Jozef Goldblat (London: Taylor and Francis, 1985), pp. 171–184. 3. The Canadian-US agreements are discussed in J. B. McLin, Canada’s Changing Defense Policy (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Press, 1967). 4. On the general origins of NORAD, see Joseph. T. Jockel, No Boundaries Upstairs (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1988). 5. For reports of such predelegation of nuclear use authority, see Bruce G. Blair, Strategic Command and Control (Washington: Brookings Institution, 1985), pp. 112–113. 6. Pierre Gallois, The Balance of Terror (Boston: Houghton-Mifflin, 1961). 7. On the pattern of the Indian move to nuclear explosives, see Ashok Kapur, India’s Nuclear Option (New York: Frederick A. Praeger, 1976). 8. The Canadian resolve in support of full-scope safeguards after 1974 is discussed in Mark E. Moher, “Nuclear Suppliers and Non-Proliferation: A Canadian Perspective,” in The Nuclear Suppliers and Non-Proliferation, ed. Rodney W. Jones, Cesare Melini, Joseph F. Pilat, and William C. Potter (Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, 1985), pp. 39–54. 9. For an overview of Swedish nuclear decisions, see Jan Prawitz, “Sweden—A Non-Nuclear Weapon State,” in Security, Order and the Bomb, ed. Johan Jorgen Holst (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1972), pp. 61–73; and Mitchell Reiss, Without the Bomb (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), chapter 2. 10. New York Times, October 14, 1982, p. 10. 11. On the recommendations in favor of a Swedish bomb program, see Karl Birnbaum, “The Swedish Example,” in A World of Nuclear Powers? ed. Alastair Buchan (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1966), pp. 68–75.

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12. On the steps taken to ensure a bomb option for Sweden, see Jan Prawitz, “A Nuclear Doctrine for Sweden,” Cooperation and Conflict, Vol. 13 (August 1968), pp. 184–193. 13. Christer Larssen, “Build a Bomb!” Ny Teknik (April 25, 1985), pp. 55–83. 14. On the general Swiss attitudes on nuclear choices, see Gustav Daniker, Strategie des Kleinstaates (Fraunefeld: Verlag Huber, 1966). 15. New York Times, March 17, 1986, p. 9. 16. For arguments that tactical nuclear weapons will not help the smaller defensive side, see Daniel Charles, Nuclear Planning in NATO: Pitfalls of First Use (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1987). 17. Some of the problems caused by Swiss suppliers for avoiding nuclear proliferation to other countries are discussed in Leonard S. Spector, The New Nuclear Nations (New York: Vintage Books, 1985), pp. 220–223. 18. On the tailoring of nonproliferation arrangements to West Germany, see William B. Bader, The United States and the Spread of Nuclear Weapons (New York: Pegasus, 1968). 19. The legal status quo on West German nuclear options prior to the NPT is outlined in Theo Sommer, “The Objectives of Germany,” in A World of Nuclear Powers? ed. Alastair Buchan (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1966), pp. 39–54. 20. A comprehensive and detailed analysis of the evolution of West German attitudes on nuclear weapons is to be found in Catherin M. Kelleher, Germany and the Politics of Nuclear Weapons (New York: Columbia University Press, 1975). 21. A strong West German endorsement of nuclear escalation threats as an insurance against conventional attack from the East can be found in Karl Kaiser, Georg Leber, Alois Mertes, and Franz-Josef Schulze, “Nuclear Weapons and the Preservation of Peace,” Foreign Affairs, Vol. 60, No. 5 (Summer 1982), pp. 1157–1170. 22. For estimates of likely plutonium production in light of projected levels of nuclear electrical power production, see William C. Potter, Nuclear Power and Nonproliferation (Cambridge: Oelgeschlager, Gunn and Hain, 1982).

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8 The Politics of Unilateral Nuclear Free Zones: The Case of the South Pacific T. V. Paul

The Politics of Unilateral Nuclear-Free Zones: The Case of the South Pacific T. V. Paul

Traditional approaches to arms control and disarmament tend to focus largely on the role of great powers and their initiatives in this respect. A neglected area of study has been the arms control and defense policies of small powers, which constitute a great number of states in the international system. What policies do they pursue individually and collectively to enhance their security while delimiting the global and regional effects of nuclear arms buildup? What constraints do they face in these endeavors? And what effect do these initiatives exert on the arms control policies of nuclear weapons states? Small states are traditionally viewed under the category of “system ineffectuals,” i.e., states whose actions often do not make a substantial difference in world politics. Since they are highly vulnerable to systemic pressures, especially from the “system determining” and “system affecting” actors, they are expected to follow flexible and low-risk policies that would not invite aggressive responses from the great powers.1 At the same time, ideological or security imperatives could force many of them to join one alliance or other. During the Cold War era, alignment, nonalignment, and neutrality were the major policy options pursued by the small states. Within the Cold War alliance structures, some small states maneuvered and initiated unilateral policies, often at the chagrin of their great-power patron. Such independent initiatives were the result of a crucial problem that small states in alliances face, the “alliance dilemma,” under which a state is confronted with the problem of how firmly to commit itself to the alliance partner’s conflict interactions with the adversary. The options such as complete cooperation in adversarial policies can lead to a situation of entrapment in which the small state may be dragged into a conflict over an ally’s interests that it need not share all the time. The risk of entrapment can increase along with a high degree of dependence of the small state on the alliance partner.2 Withdrawing from an alliance or avoiding solidarity on a specific issue entails major risks as the costs of an alternative defense strat159

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egy may be very high.3 The dependence of these states on the world market for their economic survival also necessitates their careful consideration of external policies. In recent years, the South Pacific has emerged as a region where small states have undertaken unilateral and multilateral arms control initiatives, as the fear of being caught up in the nuclear arms race grew rapidly among the countries of this region. The ANZUS partners of the United States— New Zealand and Australia—experienced the fear of entrapment. A few states in the region actively pursued unilateral antinuclear policies for brief periods, before engaging in low-risk diplomatic initiatives to remove a perceived nuclear threat. New Zealand and Vanuatu had engaged in activist antinuclear policies, while other states had been content with low-level rhetoric. The Nuclear Problem in the South Pacific

The South Pacific has long been involved in the nuclear programs of the nuclear weapon powers through nuclear and missile testing, providing base and intelligence facilities, furnishing transit route and port facilities for nuclear-weapon-carrying craft, and more recently as a proposed (to be publicly sanctioned) dumping ground for nuclear waste. Significant testing of nuclear weapons was conducted by France on its French Polynesian territory until Paris declared a one-year moratorium in April 1992, while the United States maintains communications and surveillance facilities in Australia as part of its nuclear force structure. Nuclear-armed ships and aircraft are stationed in the area and make port calls in the region. Land-based weapon facilities exist in American Guam and French Polynesia. 4 The United States, USSR, and China have conducted missile testing in the region. In the past, China had used international waters east of the Solomon Islands, and the USSR used an area near the Cook Islands for missile testing. The United States maintains a permanent missile testing site at the Kwajalein Atoll in the Marshall Islands.5 The region has been a theater of nuclear activity ever since an aircraft based on the Mariana Islands carried out the nuclear attack on Japan in 1945. The radioactive fallouts from the nuclear tests conducted on Bikini and Eniwetok atolls in the Marshall Island group during the 1946–1958 period resulted in such severe contamination of the area that only by 1980 were the people of Eniwetok able to return to parts of the atoll. According to a UN visiting mission study, Bikini Atoll would not be ready for habitation for another fifty to sixty years.6 During the 1950s, both the United Kingdom and the United States conducted a number of nuclear tests in the Christmas Islands. The fallout from a hydrogen explosion over Bikini Atoll

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in March 1954 resulted in high rates of thyroid tumors and birth defects among the population of Rongelap and Utirik, two other atolls in the Marshall Islands group. By 1987 about eighty-six people of Rongelap had been treated for epidemic levels of thyroid tumors. 7 While the United States and the United Kingdom stopped their testing program in the region, partially due to the Limited Test Ban Treaty and regional and international pressures, France continued its underground testing at Mururoa until 1992. These nuclear activities and their effects explain why the states in the region have been so sensitive to nuclear weapons. Despite arguments by the French that their tests have had no adverse effects on the environment of the region, the island states have been skeptical of their long-term effects. They perceive a danger for fishing and livestock. The presence of nuclear weapons in the waters makes them realize that the tranquil South Pacific will not be left alone even in the least probable scenario of a nuclear war. These states fear that they may be drawn inadvertently into great-power rivalry and war, as their strategic significance would increase if nuclear weapons are stationed in their territories or territorial waters. New Zealand’s Unilateral Initiatives

Of the thirteen South Pacific Forum states, New Zealand has been the most active in initiating unilateral antinuclear measures. These initiatives have treated issues such as nuclear testing, nuclear waste dumping, and the visits of nuclear-weapon-carrying ships to the country’s harbors. During the Cold War era, the New Zealand rationale for undertaking independent action was that such measured, but strong, unilateral initiatives might stimulate more progress on US-Soviet arms control negotiations and wean the superpowers away from their excessive reliance on nuclear weapons.8 New Zealand also argued that those initiatives were consistent with its policy of nonpossession, nonstationing, and nonuse of nuclear weapons, and with the obligations under the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) and the South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone (SPNFZ) Treaty.9 Under the Labor governments (1985–1990), New Zealand radicalized its defense policy by overhauling its long-standing relationship with the United States and initiating a series of measures that included a law banning US nuclear warships from visiting its ports. It also sponsored the SPNFZ Treaty, banning certain categories of nuclear activities from the region. New Zealand undertook pioneering steps against the French testing in the region, and by the 1980s, it moved toward a neutral foreign policy posture. The transition of New Zealand from a loyal ally, first of Britain and later of the United States, to an antinuclear, semi-neutral state is largely the result of a growing perception in the country of the dangers of involvement

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in the nuclear arms race. The popular opinion increasingly has favored taking independent initiatives for New Zealand’s own benefit even if it upsets their alliance relationship with the United States. In New Zealand’s domestic political debates, nuclear questions were viewed less in the strategic or ideological context of US-Soviet nuclear balance, but on a moral-survival basis. This perception grew as New Zealanders became increasingly sensitized to environmental issues. To them, the physical environment of New Zealand remained its most important asset for agriculture and tourism. Any possible threat to these precious assets, including those from nuclear weapons and nuclear reactors, has been viewed with skepticism and in some cases with outright hostility.10 Popular opposition was evident to any kind of nuclear activity, from establishing nuclear power stations to the visit of nuclear-powered ships, due to the fear of the possibility of contamination. Until the 1970s, successive governments in Wellington viewed the participation in alliances with a powerful state as the only guarantee against external aggression on New Zealand and as a compensation for its geographical isolation. New Zealand was an active participant in both world wars, when its defense policy was based on the concept of “empire defense,” a notion that insisted on the necessity of the continuation of British power as a guarantor of New Zealand’s security. In the postwar era, New Zealand participated in the Korean and Vietnam wars as an ally of the United States, in support of the latter’s containment drives. This was justified, in that New Zealand was being protected by the defense umbrella of the United States and therefore had a duty to pay the “insurance premium” even though its vital interests were not directly threatened.11 The involvement in Vietnam was a turning point in New Zealand’s foreign and defense policies. For the first time, a national debate took place on whether participation in distant battles was in the interests of New Zealand’s national security. New concepts on security were aired, arguing that New Zealand should be prepared to maintain security around its strategic perimeter, rather than fighting in distant battles. This could be achieved through forming constructive partnerships with the developing countries of Southeast Asia and the South Pacific.12 A growing realization had crept into public and official thinking, i.e., that the interests of a small, isolated nation such as New Zealand did not always coincide with the economic and strategic interests of the large industrialized Western countries.13 Instead, bold unilateral initiatives were essential to protect New Zealand’s vital economic and strategic interests. Protest movements, mostly led by students, demanded the removal of all US military bases from New Zealand and the cancellation of the proposed Omega Navigation Station. These protests were partially attributed to the US decision to move the Omega station to Australia and not to maintain facilities at Woodbourne.14 Within the domestic political spectrum of New Zealand, the Labor

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party took the initiative to launch unilateral measures aimed at removing the threat of nuclear confrontation from the South Pacific region. The second Labor government, under the premiership of Walter Nash, was a major advocate of banning atmospheric nuclear tests in the South Pacific and nuclear weapons from Antarctica. 15 In 1974, the Labor government of Norman Kirk, with Australia as a second party, approached the International Court of Justice for a ban on French atmospheric testing in the region. The court ruled in favor of New Zealand, although Paris refused to comply with the court order. In another action, the government officially sanctioned the launching of a naval frigate carrying cabinet minister Fraser Coleman to register its protest against French nuclear testing at the Mururoa Atoll. Whatever the motivating factor may be, France soon announced that it would not conduct atmospheric testing in the future and instead would confine itself to underground testing.16 The Kirk government also imposed a temporary ban on US nuclear-powered ships visiting New Zealand ports. Peace movements in New Zealand were long-term advocates of banning nuclear ships from visiting the country’s harbors. They argued that despite the absence of major US military bases or nuclear weapon support facilities, the occasional visits by nuclear-weapon-carrying ships had made the country a probable target for Soviet nuclear attack in times of a crisis.17 These peace movements, especially the New Zealand Nuclear Weapon Free Zone Committee, were instrumental in campaigning nationwide to declare local councils, schools, etc., as nuclear-free zones. According to one estimate, about 65 percent of the New Zealand population lived in 94 nuclearweapon-free zones in 1985, mainly established by local municipalities.18 In many respects, the nuclear ban legislation of the David Lange government attracted wide international attention and domestic popular support. The Lange government argued that the people of New Zealand felt a deep frustration at the failure of the superpowers to halt and reverse the nuclear arms race. The scenarios of nuclear war and its aftereffects in the Northern and Southern hemispheres were intensely discussed by New Zealanders as their animosity regarding nuclear weapons grew to wider proportions.19 Prime Minister Lange contended that unlike NATO, the ANZUS alliance had been treated as a conventional alliance and that there were no provisions in the treaty that obliged New Zealand to accept nuclear weapons on its territory. Furthermore, he argued that it was in the interest of the South Pacific and the Western alliance as a whole that the region did not become part of a nuclear confrontation between the superpowers.20 Lange believed that New Zealand did not face any serious external threat even though the country had been involved in many wars in this century. To him, it was futile to surround a country that did not face any serious external threat with nuclear weapons. New Zealand was beginning to see

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that it was highly undesirable to become part of another country’s tactical or strategic nuclear battleground.21 The Nuclear Free Zone, Disarmament and Arms Control Bill, which Lange introduced in parliament in December 1985, said: “Every country has an obligation to pursue measures of disarmament and arms control which reduce the elements of risk inherent in the possession and threatened use of nuclear weapons.” The bill unilaterally declared New Zealand’s total disengagement from nuclear strategy for its defense.22 Pursuant to its nuclear ship ban policy, in January 1985 the Lange government refused permission for the USS Buchanan to visit New Zealand ports when the United States refused to state whether the ship was carrying nuclear weapons or not. In June 1987, the New Zealand Parliament approved the legislation, which the prime minister labeled as a limited measure of arms control that would have an international impact.23 The Lange government’s antinuclear policies had received strong popular support in New Zealand. Public opinion polls in 1986 showed that 92 percent of New Zealanders opposed the stationing of nuclear weapons in their country; over 97 percent of the respondents opposed the testing of nuclear weapons by any country outside its territory; 75 percent opposed the right of countries to test unarmed missiles in the South Pacific; 66 percent of the respondents wanted nuclear-armed ships banned from visiting New Zealand ports; 41 percent proposed that nuclear-powered ships should also be banned; and 73 percent wanted a nuclear-free defense policy for New Zealand, even though 72 percent wanted New Zealand to remain in alliances.24 A majority of New Zealanders also supported independent arms control initiatives. According to one opinion poll, 58 percent of voters rejected the notion of working for nuclear disarmament while supporting Western allies and their nuclear deterrent capabilities.25 Such popular support to the antinuclear posture might be ascribed to the Labor government’s winning a second term in August 1987, the first such reelection of a Labor government since 1935. The Labor party captured 47.6 percent of the popular vote, up 4.8 percent from the 1984 election, and a 15-seat majority in the 97-member parliament with 56 seats.26 Although Labor lost the elections in 1990 to the conservative National party, even the latter had to change its pronuclear policies, a reflection of how strongly ingrained the nuclear opposition in New Zealand’s public opinion had been. Unilateral Initiatives by Australia and Other South Pacific States

Contrary to the highly visible unilateral initiatives by New Zealand, Australia often pursued a low-profile, minimum-risk strategy that had ele-

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ments of independent initiatives. Officially, successive Australian governments opposed unilateral arms control as they thought the continuation of a strategic nuclear deterrent was essential to Western as well as Australian security. This was due to the specific threat perceptions of Australia, which differed significantly from those of New Zealand. For Australia, a strong military alliance with the United States had been the ultimate guarantee against possible threats from Asia and Communist countries. Therefore, any challenge to the ANZUS alliance was viewed as a threat to Australian security itself.27 In the 1980s, the Labor government in Australia took some independent steps to further the cause of arms control and disarmament. It not only increased the budgetary allocations for arms control and disarmament research activities, but appointed Australia’s first ambassador for arms control and disarmament, while instructing all its foreign embassies to redouble their work on these questions. 28 The Australian government also stepped up its campaign for a Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty. A major initiative in regional arms control was the proposal by the Hawke government soon after its election in March 1983 to pursue the goal of attaining a nuclear-weapon-free zone in the South Pacific. The renewed Australian interest on the NFZ proposal was the result of a French determination to continue testing in the region. However, this initiative was a whittled-down measure, much less than what other states wanted, as the Australian government insisted on retaining US communications and satellite surveillance facilities on its territory and allowing US nuclear-armed ships and submarines to visit Australian ports.29 The Hawke government also took some other independent initiatives. In 1985, his government refused to allow US aircraft to use Australian bases to monitor MX missile tests, despite the fact that an agreement to this effect had been reached with the previous Australian government. The Pentagon finally agreed to make alternative arrangements for the monitoring of the tests. In 1984, Australia voted for a UN resolution calling on the superpowers to freeze missile tests.30 Australia also refused to participate in the lucrative SDI research program initiated by the Reagan administration, as it feared the program would undermine nuclear deterrence. In early 1985, US officials repeated their invitation to Australia to participate in SDI research, especially in the rail gun research technology in which Australia had some capability.31 Finally, the Australian government decided to stop its research on the electromagnetic rail guns that was being conducted by Australian scientists under a previously signed joint AustralianUS research agreement.32 During periods of intense US-Soviet rivalry, the feeling of entrapment had come to Australia as well. Leading Australian scholars had argued that in the event of all-out war, Australia would be a target of nuclear attack by

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the Soviet Union, because the US facilities in Pine Gap, Nurrungar, and Northwest Cape functioned as the bedrock of the US nuclear forces in the Pacific. Since the Soviets could not match the US submarine forces in the event of a war, it would be easier for them to immobilize the US sea-based forces by destroying its communications. This strategy would be equally valid whether in an all-out or a limited nuclear war. In a controlled attack, the destruction of these communication facilities would remove the US advantage significantly and prevent US participation in the sequential exchange. The Australian strategists were also concerned that since these installations were US-owned but on Australian territory, they could be attacked under certain circumstances without the same political and strategic consequences a similar attack would have on the US mainland. The fear had been especially visible in the post–Vietnam War period.33 Many of the small island states of the region also undertook unilateral and multilateral initiatives to remove a perceived nuclear threat from the region. In their perspectives, the introduction of nuclear weapons and nuclear materials into the region had the potential of endangering the island lifestyles and the unpolluted environment of the region. Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands, and Vanuatu—the three Melanesian countries— often took radical postures on the nuclear question. In 1982, Vanuatu banned US naval vessels from visiting its port. Solomon Islands did allow US ships to visit its ports, even though there was strong support in the country for a nuclear ship ban. Papua New Guinea allowed US ships in its ports, but challenged the French testing in the region. These three states were in the forefront at the 1985 South Pacific Forum meeting at Rarotonga to endorse a strong nuclear-free zone that would have banned the transit of nuclear weapons through the South Pacific. Both Solomon Islands and Vanuatu refused to sign the SPNFZ Treaty, initially arguing that it was too weak, especially on the visits of nuclear-armed and -powered warships to the territorial waters. However, in May 1987, Solomon Islands signed the treaty after reaffirming the country’s policy of prohibiting nuclear waste dumping and the passage of nuclear-armed or -powered ships or aircraft in its territory. In March 1987, Vanuatu again refused to sign the treaty and criticized the regional states for not declaring themselves nuclear-free before attempting to develop a nuclear-free South Pacific. While Papua New Guinea signed the treaty in September 1985, in May 1986 it declared that it would not ratify it without major changes.34 The Polynesian countries—Western Samoa, Tonga, the Cook Islands, and Niue—were less vocal on nuclear issues, even though they all ratified the SPNFZ Treaty. Independent Micronesian states Nauru and Kiribati were opposed to the nuclear dumping plans of Japan, but not very active on the anti–nuclear testing campaign.35 At the 1984 meeting of the South Pacific Forum, Nauru introduced a proposal to amend the London Nuclear Waste Dumping Convention to totally prohibit the dumping of nuclear waste. The meeting

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agreed to Nauru’s contention that the dumping and disposal of nuclear waste in the region was unacceptable.36 The UN Trust territory of Palau, which is administered by the United States, had in the past opposed US plans to introduce nuclear weapons in the territory. Washington offered a “Compact of Free Association” with a $1 billion aid plan spread over fifty years, in return for the deletion of the antinuclear provisions from Palau’s constitution. This would have allowed the stationing of US nuclear weapons, the establishment of a jungle warfare training center, and the construction of nuclear dumping facilities on the islands. Proposals to amend the constitution to accommodate these US interests were presented before popular referenda three times, but were consistently rejected by the people. Palau’s high chief, Ibedul Gibbons, appeared before the UN Trusteeship Council in 1983 to register his people’s concern about nuclear and other proposals being thrust upon his territory.37 The proposal was finally accepted in a 1987 referendum with over 70 percent of the voters favoring the compact, with the United States maintaining control of the island’s defenses. Even though the compact prohibited the ownership, storage, or testing of nuclear weapons on Palau, it allowed port visits by US warships, both nuclear powered and nuclear armed.38 Fiji has been a longtime advocate of a nuclear-free zone in the South Pacific. It has taken independent and multilateral initiatives to denuclearize the region. It was a cosponsor of the South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone Resolution at the UN General Assembly in 1975. Fiji continued its effort in this respect even after the governments of Australia and New Zealand shelved their plans in the same year. In February 1982, Fiji announced a nuclear ship ban under which it disallowed all nuclear-powered and nuclear-weapons-carrying ships to visit its ports. The Fijian ban also affected ships that refused to disclose whether or not they were carrying nuclear weapons. Such ships would then be presumed to have nuclear weapons and entry would automatically be refused.39 Subsequently, this ban was canceled in 1983. The unilateral initiatives of the states in the region received multilateral sanction with the conclusion of the SPNFZ Treaty in 1986.40 The treaty partially satisfied the antinuclear aspirations of the island states as it banned five out of some nineteen major nuclear activities in the region. These provisions pertain to the ban on nuclear weapons acquisition by the signatory countries, nuclear weapon testing in the region, permanent stationing of nuclear weapons on land, inland waters, or the seabed within the territories of the zone member countries, the use or threat of use of nuclear weapons against the zone members by nuclear weapon powers and nuclear waste dumping by the zone adherents themselves.41 Other major nuclear activities in the region, such as the transit of nuclear weapons through the national and international waters and airspace of the zone, nuclear commu-

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nication facilities, military exercises that involve nuclear-armed vessels and nuclear waste disposal on land, were not prohibited by the treaty.42 The treaty did not unequivocally ban the port calls of nuclear-powered or nuclear-armed submarines and ships and nuclear-weapon-carrying aircraft, but left it to individual countries to decide the periods of such visits. Constraints

Small states face major constraints in undertaking independent initiatives that have a bearing on great-power conflict because of their vulnerability to external pressures. They are especially susceptible to economic pressures, and their independent initiatives could be the first victims of dramatic changes in the external and internal economic environment. During the 1970s New Zealand experienced such a turnaround in foreign policy as the country’s economic conditions worsened. In 1974, the price of New Zealand’s export commodities fell considerably and its current account surplus of $130 million in June 1972 was converted into a deficit of $334 million in two years, reaching a staggering $1,067 million by mid-1975. The Labor party’s independent foreign policy initiatives gave way to a more traditional National party policy, which lifted the nuclear ship ban in 1976.43 French economic sanctions, especially the barring of New Zealand imports into New Caledonia and the erection of barriers against New Zealand products to France, contributed to New Zealand’s 1986 decision to release two French agents imprisoned in the country in connection with the sinking of the Greenpeace vessel, “Rainbow Warrior,” in the Auckland harbor. The release was ordered after France agreed to pay New Zealand $7 million in compensation, lift blocking of export of New Zealand products to Europe, and tender a formal apology for the incident.44 External economic constraints played a major role in Fiji’s 1983 decision to call off its nuclear ship ban policy. The unilateral initiative was shelved because of a fear of possible French retaliation, especially with regard to Fiji’s sugar market in the EEC.45 The United States also succeeded in forging closer relations with Fiji by offering $1.5 million annual aid.46 Similarly, the people of Palau voted in 1987 to remove a constitutional provision banning nuclear weapons and technology from the islands after the United States promised a $1 billion aid. In justifying the outcome, Palau’s president, Lazarus Salii, said, “It was a matter of economic survival for us.”47 Yet another serious constraint a dissociating small state faces is the difficulty in building alternative defense structures to compensate for the loss of alliance relationships. This is especially problematic if the country has a poor economic base and cannot allocate more money for defense pur-

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poses. While the alternative defense policy could downplay the significance of military force, such policies could be the first victims of any serious setbacks in the country’s external and internal security environment. However, small states facing less severe external threats may succeed in creating alternative defense arrangements with less emphasis on military forces. New Zealand’s nuclear ship ban legislation attracted strong adverse reaction from the United States. This was partially responsible for Wellington’s decision not to take up the cause of the nuclear ship ban in other parts of the world. New Zealand believed that advocating strong arms control or disarmament initiatives during the period of strained relationship with the United States might have a negative impact. Other small countries might view New Zealand’s isolation as a lesson against taking unilateral initiatives.48 This view was especially strong ever since Washington’s decision to sever its ANZUS relationship with New Zealand and downgrade its status from that of an “ally” to that of a “friendly nation.” The United States also blocked the flow of military intelligence information to New Zealand and withdrew invitations for joint exercises with the US and Australian forces. In August 1986, the United States withdrew its security commitment to New Zealand stipulated under the ANZUS Treaty. The effect of these moves on the operations of New Zealand’s armed forces was severe. The curtailment of military exercises and training with the United States and the supply of military equipment reportedly affected the morale of the New Zealand forces.49 In the US view, the ports and waters of allies are integral parts of the US strategic operations and indispensable for an effective nuclear deterrent. The New Zealand position on the nuclear ship visit collided with a longstanding US policy of neither confirming nor denying the nuclear status of its warships. With regard to nuclear-powered ships, the United States held that in the vast Pacific Ocean, nuclear power was essential to reduce the fleet’s refuel requirements.50 Washington was also anxious not to accept any precedent-setting antinuclear policies by allies and friendly nations. In the aftermath of the USS Buchanan incident, the United States called off its military maneuvers involving New Zealand forces in order to “demonstrate that allies could not impose limits on the movements of American military forces and ‘get off cost free.’”51 Failure to achieve national consensus on nuclear matters could lead to reversal of earlier policies when the opposition parties come to power. Thus the unilateral initiatives of the then Australian and New Zealand governments vanished with their electoral defeat in 1975 as the opposition party governments quickly shelved the nuclear-free-zone ideas. Similarly, by the early 1990s, the antinuclear fervor of the New Zealand government declined largely due to the end of the Cold War.

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Favorable Factors

Under what conditions can a small state engage effectively in unilateral initiatives that may be inconsistent with the wishes of the great powers? The potential for great-power intervention depends greatly on the strategic significance of the small power. The countries of the South Pacific had the advantage of being far away from conflict zones. The area also does not have a state with nuclear weapon development plans since almost all of the states are signatories to the NPT. The absence of any threshold nuclear weapon state and the lack of an intense rivalry between the states of the region also facilitate creation of a nuclear-free zone. Membership in a regional organization such as the South Pacific Forum and the special relationship with Australia and New Zealand had enabled the microstates of the South Pacific to be more active in their antinuclear policies. New Zealand’s nuclear initiatives were strengthened partly due to its bilateral relationship with Australia in the defense realm, such as joint procurement of defense systems.52 Membership in the UN and other international organizations and the acceptance of their arms control proposals also have been viewed by these states as favorable factors in determining the effectiveness of their initiatives. Such participation has been seen by the small states as a means to attain international legitimacy and multilateral support for specific policies that aim at strengthening their security. New Zealand, for instance, justified its legislation on nuclear ship ban as consistent with the provisions of the SPNFZ Treaty. The treaty, in fact, sanctions independent initiatives by signatories on the question of nuclear ships visiting their ports. Despite threats of retaliation, New Zealand escaped major economic sanctions by the United States. Washington refrained from imposing economic sanctions because of the fear that such measures might not alter the New Zealand position. The sanctions might have resulted in engendering more popular passions in the target state and more support for the antinuclear policies. A more belligerent policy by Washington would also have foreclosed any prospects for the rescinding of the policy by a National party government as a consensus might have emerged against any changes in the established policy framework on the nuclear ship visit question. The reelection of the Labor government in 1987 with more popular support indicated that a majority of the New Zealand people were behind the antinuclear policies and the negative external pressures had solidified new nationalistic forces in the country. Although Labor lost in the 1990 elections, the National government maintained the nuclear ban policy, despite their desire to strengthen ties with the United States. The National party fears the losing of the 1993 elections if it changed the policy as over 73 percent of New Zealanders supported the ban even in 1991.53 This national consensus might have been a reason for the United States not resorting to stringent economic sanctions.

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A significant factor that makes it possible for a small state to take unilateral initiatives is its security environment. A benign security environment could lower the threat perceptions of the state and thereby the need for external alliance support, while higher levels of security threat can augment the need for external support. New Zealand and most other small states in the region do not fear a large-scale attack by an external power in the foreseeable future. This helps them to view alliance partnership as a source of external attention. The 1987 Defense Policy Review of New Zealand argued that the contingency of invasion was so remote that it need not form the basis for New Zealand’s defense strategy. The review suggested that New Zealand’s defense efforts should focus more on credible, lower-level threats than on serious external aggression.54 The demise of the age of gunboat diplomacy helped the process of declining threat perceptions by the island states, yet the superpower nuclear arms race increased their fear of being entrapped in military confrontations. Yet another factor that helps a small state to initiate unilateral actions is the effectiveness of its effort to strengthen regional security through accepting a greater defense burden, a condition that would lessen the security dependence of its neighbors on extraregional powers. The neighboring states should not, however, view the assumption of more responsibilities as a sign of dominance, or they may become suspicious of the state. New Zealand had made some strides in this respect, especially through its regional security plan and joint military exercises with Papua New Guinea, Fiji, and other small island states in the region. Special constitutional rights allowed New Zealand to control the defense and foreign policies of Cook Islands and Niue Islands. It has also administrative authority over Tokelau. Several small island states with large exclusive economic zones have allowed New Zealand to patrol their waters.55 Significance for Arms Control

The countries of the region with active nuclear-free-zone policies believe that disengagement from the superpower nuclear weapon strategies could make modest contributions to the nuclear arms control process and in promoting their own security. They perceive that together with the SPNFZ Treaty and independent initiatives by the states, a significant negative security guarantee can be assured under which the nuclear powers will desist from using the weapons against them in times of acute international crises. If the nuclear weapon powers accept the legitimacy of such zones, it could increase the security environment of the countries in the nuclear-free zones as the nuclear powers would be obliged not to use or threaten to use such weapons against them. Such initiatives were perceived as an important pressure on nuclear weapon states to desist from testing and deploying weapons in this area. In this respect, it may be argued that the Soviet policy

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not to deploy large-scale nuclear forces in the South Pacific region was partially influenced by antinuclear feelings in the region. The British and US decision in the 1960s to stop nuclear weapon testing in the region, and a one-year moratorium on nuclear testing announced by France in April 1992, may be cited as examples of nuclear powers heeding the sensitivities of the states in the region and affirming their own commitment to the PTBT. In December 1991, New Zealand announced the lifting of a ban on British navy warships from visiting New Zealand ports after Britain agreed not to send any ships carrying nuclear weapons to New Zealand waters.56 The Chinese and Soviet willingness to sign the protocols of the SPNFZ Treaty also suggests that regional and national initiatives have made some impact on their approach to deploying nuclear weapons in the region. All these point out that small states in the South Pacific have succeeded to some extent in averting the possibility of inadvertent or open nuclear confrontation in the region and in ensuring that their region may not be an early target of a nuclear attack in case a nuclear war breaks out. Their actions have provided incentives to similar nuclear-free proposals in Southeast Asia and other regions. For instance, a meeting of antinuclear groups from twenty-one countries in Manila in November 1987 urged the nations in the Pacific to declare their region and countries nuclear free as New Zealand had done.57 Antinuclear groups in Norway and Denmark have also stepped up their protests against nuclear ship visits to their countries in the wake of the ANZUS crisis involving New Zealand and the United States.58 Unilateral and multilateral initiatives by small states can strengthen the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and the nonproliferation regime as the major objective of the treaty is to halt the spread of nuclear weapons to additional areas of the world. The South Pacific countries have made an effort to express their collective and individual consciousness against the potential for further nuclearization of the region through such initiatives. By declaring their countries nuclear-free zones, some of these states perceive that they are strengthening their commitment to the NPT. However, any such initiatives by small states can become successful only if the nuclear powers accede to their desires and take positive steps in this direction. Notes

1. For this classification, see Robert Keohane, “Lilliputian’s Dilemmas: Small States in International Politics,” International Organization, Vol. 23, No. 2, Spring 1969, pp. 291–310. In this perspective, “system determining” actors are the superpower(s), while the “system influencing” nations include the United Kingdom, France, China, and India.

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2. Glen H. Snyder, “The Security Dilemma in Alliance Politics,” World Politics, Vol. 36, July 1984, pp. 461–495. 3. Barry Buzan, “Security Strategies for Dissociation,” in The Antinomies of Interdependence: National Welfare and the International Division of Labor, ed. John Gerard Ruggie (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), p. 370. 4. Greg Fry, “Australia, New Zealand, and Arms Control in the Pacific Region,” in The ANZAC Connection, ed. Desmond Ball (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1985), p. 98. 5. Greg Fry, “A Nuclear-Free Zone For the South-West Pacific: Prospects and Significance,” Working Paper No. 75 (Canberra: Australian National University, Strategic and Defense Studies Center, 1983), pp. 18–19. 6. Report of the UN Visiting Mission to the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands, 1982. Trusteeship Council, Official Records, 50th Session, May–June 1983, T/1850 (New York: United Nations, 1983), p. 63. 7. Giff Johnson, “Nuclear Study: A Political Hot Potato,” Pacific Islands Monthly, Vol. 58, No. 8, August 1987, pp. 42–43. 8. Kevin P. Clements, “New Zealand Paying for Nuclear Ban,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, Vol. 43, No. 6, July/August 1987, pp. 41–44. 9. Kennedy Graham, “New Zealand’s Non-Nuclear Policy: Towards Global Security,” Alternatives, Vol. 12, No. 2, April 1987, pp. 217–242. 10. Paul Reynolds, “Popular Responses to the New Zealand Government’s Nuclear Weapons Policy: 1984–86,” Unpublished Paper (Brisbane: University of Queensland, April 1985), p. 4. 11. John Henderson, “New Zealand Foreign Policy,” in New Zealand and the Pacific, ed. Roderic Alley (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1984), p. 92. 12. Malcolm Booker, Last Quarter: The Next Twenty Five Years in Asia and the Pacific (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1978), pp. 95–101. 13. John Henderson, “The Foreign Policy of a Small State,” in Henderson et al., Beyond New Zealand: The Foreign Policy of a Small State (Auckland: Methuen Publications, 1980), p. 2. 14. Henderson, see note 11, p. 103. 15. Reynolds, see note 10, p. 3. 16. See Jason Salzman, “The Genesis of New Zealand’s Ban,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, Vol. 43, No. 6, July/August 1987, pp. 45–49. 17. Ibid. 18. Kevin P. Clements, “New Zealand’s Relations with U.K., the U.S., and the Pacific,” Alternatives, Vol. 10, No. 4, 1985, pp. 591–605. 19. See Prime Minister David Lange’s Address at the UN General Assembly, September 26, 1984, reprinted in New Zealand Foreign Affairs Review, Vol. 34, No. 3, July/September 1984, pp. 7–15. 20. Lange’s Address on February 26, 1985 in Los Angeles, quoted in New Zealand Foreign Affairs Review, Vol. 35, No. 1, January–March 1985, p. 5. 21. Address at Oxford University, Oxford, England, March 1, 1985, quoted in New Zealand Foreign Affairs Review, Vol. 35, No. 1 January–March 1985, pp. 7–11. 22. “Nuclear Free-zone Legislation: Anti-nuclear Bill Introduced,” New Zealand Foreign Affairs Review, Vol. 35, No. 4, October–December 1985, pp. 4–5. 23. New York Times, June 5, 1987, p. 2. 24. Defence and Security: What New Zealanders Want, Report of the Defence Committee of Enquiry (Wellington: Government Printer, July 1986), pp. 42–43. 25. Quoted in David Campbell, “The Domestic Sources of New Zealand Security Policy in Comparative Perspective,” Working Paper No. 16 (Canberra: Peace Research Center, Australian National University, February 1987), p. 18.

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26. San Francisco Examiner, August 16, 1987, p. 11. 27. Campbell, see note 25, pp. 41–42. 28. G. G. D. Scholes, “The Strategic Outlook: A View from Canberra,” in The ANZAC Connection, see note 4, p. 16. 29. Greg Fry, “Australia, New Zealand,” in The ANZAC Connection, see note 4, p. 93. 30. New York Times, February 7, 1985, p. 1. 31. National Times, May 17, 1985. 32. Age, Melbourne, March 28, 1985, p. 1. 33. See Desmond Ball, A Suitable Piece of Real Estate: American Installations in Australia (Sydney: Hale and Iremonger, 1980), pp. 133–135. 34. Arms Control Reporter, January 1987, pp. 456-A-1 to 3; The Australian, May 19, 1986. 35. Fry, “Australia, New Zealand,” see note 4, pp. 106–107. 36. Communique Issued at the 15th South Pacific Forum Meeting in Tuvalu, August 27–28, 1984, reprinted in New Zealand and Foreign Affairs Review, Vol. 34, No. 3, July–September 1984, pp. 36–37. 37. Sheila Harden, ed., Small Is Dangerous: Micro States in a Macro World (London: Frances Pinter, 1985), pp. 9–10. 38. New York Times, August 23, 1987, p. 12. 39. Quoted in Fry, “Australia, New Zealand.” See note 4, p. 107. 40. For a discussion of the treaty, see T. V. Paul, “Nuclear-Free-Zone in the South Pacific: Rhetoric or Reality,” The Round Table, No. 299, 1986, pp. 252–262. 41. Michael H. Green, “South Pacific: A Not So Nuclear-Free Zone,” Peace Studies, Melbourne, October 1985, pp. 6–8. 42. Ibid. 43. Keith Jackson, “Attitudes and Alliances 1945–1976,” in Henderson et al., Beyond New Zealand; see note 13, p. 21. 44. See Flora Lewis, “Sanctions Can Work,” New York Times, July 10, 1986, p. 23; and New York Times, July 8, 1986, p. 1. 45. Fry, “Australia, New Zealand,” see note 4, p. 108. 46. Paul F. Power, “The South Pacific Nuclear Weapon Free Zone,” Pacific Affairs, Vol. 59, No. 3, Fall 1986, pp. 455–475. 47. New York Times, August 7, 1987, p. 24. 48. Clements, “New Zealand Paying,” see note 8, p. 41. 49. “Military Morale Plummets: The ANZUS Split Takes its Toll,” Pacific Islands Monthly, Vol. 58, No. 11, November 1987, p. 25. 50. Dora Alves, “New Zealand and ANZUS: An American View,” The Round Table, No. 302, 1987, pp. 207–222. 51. New York Times, February 6, 1985, p. 1. 52. Michael C. Pugh, The ANZUS Crisis, Nuclear Visiting, and Deterrence (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 158. 53. Kevin P. Clements, “Kiwi No-Nuke Policy at Risk,” The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, Vol. 48, No. 1, January/ February 1992, pp. 7–8, 44. 54. Defence of New Zealand: Review of Defence Policy (Wellington: Government Printer, 1987), p. 11. 55. Richard Cain, “New Zealand’s International Role: Towards a New Significance?” New Zealand International Review, Vol. 10, No. 4, July/August 1985, pp. 24–26. 56. Times (London), December 21, 1991, p. 5b. 57. Los Angeles Times, November 16, 1987, p. 2. 58. Michael Pugh, “Wellington Against Washington: Steps to Unilateral Arms Control,” Arms Control, Vol. 7, No. 1, May 1986, pp. 46–58.

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9 Reducing the Negative Consequences of Arms Transfers Through Unilateral Arms Control Edward J. Laurance

Reducing the Negative Consequences of Arms Transfers Through Unilateral Arms Control Edward J. Laurance

International concern for the negative consequences of the international arms trade is not a new phenomenon. During the interwar years and since World War II, almost everyone killed in armed conflict (some 20–30 million) died as a result of conventional, not nuclear, weapons. The same is true of other types of damage—economic, social, and political. The overwhelming majority of this damage has resulted from imported as opposed to indigenously produced armaments. There is no doubt that many of these arms that were traded resulted in negative outcomes, for one or both of the participants in the conflict, as well as the suppliers. Despite this fact, until the Gulf War of 1991 and its aftermath, there was an almost total lack of multilateral arms control discussions, let alone agreements, regarding the reduction or elimination of problems associated with the arms trade. The arms control agenda was almost totally concerned with nuclear weapons. The Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990 and the subsequent response by a coalition of military forces in 1991 has once again brought the negative consequences of the arms trade to the top of the international policy agenda. In April 1991 the United Nations passed Resolution 687, which established a special commission (UNSCOM) whose task is to find and destroy all of the ballistic missiles acquired by Iraq in the buildup to the invasion of Kuwait. An international consensus quickly formed around the proposition that in this case the weapons themselves were a major factor in explaining the conflict and in preventing its reoccurrence. The evidence of this consensus goes beyond television footage and reports of UN inspectors destroying missiles and guns inside Iraq. Many arms-supplying states called for restraint in exporting arms. The president of the United States put forth a major arms trade control proposal for the Middle East. The five permanent members of the UN Security Council (the P5) met several times during both 1991 and 1992 for the purpose of establishing guidelines for controlling the arms trade. And based on major initia175

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tives by Japan and the European Community, the United Nations in December 1991 established a Register of Conventional Arms, which calls for member states to voluntarily report their arms exports and imports.1 Several observations can be made about these recent multilateral and international efforts. First, it is too early to know if these efforts, aimed at reducing the negative consequences of the arms trade, will be effective. By the fall of 1992 key supplier states such as the United States and Russia seemed to be backing off from the post-Iraq environment of control and restraint when they announced major arms deals based on the need to provide jobs.2 China, irked at the US sale of F-16 aircraft to Taiwan, bowed out of the P5 arms trade talks and remained very active as an arms exporter. Transparency and confidence-building measures, such as the UN Register, may very well succeed as the early warning mechanism desired by its architects. But little can be predicted at this point in the rapidly evolving international system. A second observation to be made, and the major theme of this chapter, is that multilateral efforts at controlling the international arms trade have been rare and for the most part unsuccessful. The reasons for this will be described in this chapter, leading to the conclusion that it is at the national or unilateral level that controlling the negative consequences of the arms trade has been successful in recent history. While current multilateral efforts should continue, particularly given the new-found role of international organizations in international security and the need to foster an international environment of arms restraint, we should not ignore the lessons learned from the significant amount of unilateral action taken by arms-supplying states when developing policies to reduce the negative consequences of the arms trade. There is significant evidence that individual arms-supplying states have restricted the export of these commodities, and that in most cases arms have not been treated like tractors or refrigerators. Unlike the experience with nuclear weapons, there have been very few examples of negotiations and agreements to draw on when asked to address the negative consequences of the arms trade. What attempts there have been, for example, the Carter administration’s arms transfer restraint policy, merely make arms controllers more pessimistic. If this is true, it can only mean that the arms trade has been controlled at some level below the international or multilateral level. This chapter seeks to explore the nature and level of the unilateral control of arms exports from the nation states that supply conventional weapons, and puts forth some proposals as to how this control may be expanded to include those situations in which negative effects from arms transfers continue to occur.

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Prior to the Gulf War

Documenting the multilateral efforts to control the arms trade prior to the Gulf War is rather straightforward. At the height of international concern about the arms trade and its “merchants of death” in the interwar years, there were international discussions and fora devoted to identifying, publicizing, controlling, and reducing the international trade in weapons. 3 Despite the high hopes of several of the participants, no international or multilateral agreements to control the arms trade occurred and only very limited success occurred in publicizing the trade. The League of Nations published two editions of The Arms Trade Registers in 1938 and 1939, but most agree that these data did not represent a true picture of the trade, and their publication did not put a damper on the trade as some of their proponents had hoped. 4 World War II, and particularly the necessity for the United States to supply arms to Europe prior to its participation in the war, brought an abrupt end to the entire effort. In the postwar period, the elimination of all but the United States and the USSR as major suppliers of arms solved the problem of control. Both states were involved in wholesale transfer of weapons to their clients in an attempt to create and shore up alliances for the Cold War. There was one example of multilateral arms trade control, the Tripartite Agreement of 1950, in which the United States and other minor Western suppliers embargoed arms to all Middle Eastern states in an attempt to dampen the conflict there.5 However, when the USSR decided to loosen the ideological requirements for receiving arms aid and sold arms to Syria and Egypt in 1955, arms trade control as a tool of conflict control became ineffective. By the mid-1960s, however, the bipolar international system began to loosen a bit. Conflicts and other situations not necessarily East-West in nature prompted arms trade control activities of three types.

1. In the United Nations two unsuccessful attempts were made to register arms with the goal of arousing public opinion against the arms trade.6 2. There were agreements to stop arms shipments to certain states. The United Nations sponsored two embargoes against Rhodesia and South Africa. Attempts to do the same in the Middle East, first by the USSR and then the United States, were unsuccessful. In 1949 the United States and its Western allies formed COCOM in an effort to prevent critical military technologies and equipment from reaching the Soviet bloc and China. This effort received increased emphasis during the Reagan administration, with some reported success.7 The most serious attempt at addressing the negative aspects of the arms trade occurred when President Carter initiated an

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arms transfer restraint policy designed to culminate in the reduction of arms trade. It contained a serious multilateral component (the unilateral components will be addressed later in this chapter) and involved four meetings with the USSR, as well as efforts to convince allies and recipients to cooperate.8 A changing international system in the 1980s led to some realistic multilateral arms trade control attempts, especially on the part of the United States and USSR during the Iran-Iraq War. One example was Operation Staunch, the effort by the United States to convince its Western allies to cease supplying arms to Iran during its war with Iraq.9 3. The third type of effort to control the arms trade involved recipient states limiting imports. There were several Latin American efforts, and the agreements ending the war in Southeast Asia contained clauses that included restrictions on arms transfers.10 The negotiations and agreements which ended the several conflicts in Central America also contained provisions to limit arms imports and advisors. The Post–Gulf War Arms Trade Control Environment

In the aftermath of the Gulf War, an unprecedented number of trends, approaches, and concrete proposals emerged, designed to control what was perceived to be the dangerous proliferation of military capability that threatened the stability of the region and the international system itself. The first of these trends is that of transparency, the opening up of information on the arms trade so as to allow the effected states to dampen and eliminate the negative consequences which ensue. Some of this transparency was unintended, such as the unwanted publicity that Germany received as a result of transfers to Libya and Iraq. “Lists” of firms and the items exported which led to undesirable military capability in these two states provided the most thorough evidence made public as to how a developing state can acquire the ability to produce ballistic missiles with warheads of mass destruction.11 Transparency also began to surface as a purposeful effort. In the spring of 1989 the United Nations sponsored a conference on the subject in Italy and published the papers in 1990.12 In the spring of 1991, in the aftermath of the Gulf War, country after country began to publish details of its arms exports, and put forth proposals for transparency and the idea of an international arms trade register. The French, Germans, Bulgarians, Czechs, and the Soviets all published heretofore unreleasable data on arms exports.13 As the July 1991 G7 summit meeting approached, the leaders of Japan and the United Kingdom put forth formal proposals for an international arms trade register, an idea that was ratified at the actual summit.14 These proposals were merged and became the proposal adopted as General Assembly Resolution 46/36L, Transparency in Armaments, in December 1991. In the fall of 1992 the General Assembly adopted procedures for the

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operation of the register and the first voluntary submission of national data is scheduled for mid-1993. But proposals for arms control were not limited to the concept of transparency and an arms trade register. There was an unprecedented outpouring of more traditional arms trade control proposals from defense trade publications,15 the CEO of Daimler-Benz,16 supplier governments,17 recipient governments,18 and European organizations.19 Contained in these proposals were policies to tighten up export procedures and begin to develop more international controls. On May 29, 1991, President Bush announced the “Middle East Arms Control Initiative,” calling for the five largest arms supplier nations (the United States, USSR, France, the United Kingdom, and China) to meet in Paris to “establish guidelines for restraints on destabilizing transfers of conventional arms, as well as weapons of mass destruction and associated technology.” The proposal also called for expanding the talks to other suppliers and permitting states in the region to “acquire the conventional capabilities they legitimately need to deter and defend against military aggression.” To implement the regime suppliers would commit to “observe a general code of responsible arms transfers, avoid destabilizing transfers, and establish effective domestic export controls on the end-use of arms or other items to be transferred.” The proposal also called for a consultative mechanism. Further, it was recommended that a freeze be put on surface-to-surface missiles in the region, with a goal of their eventual elimination.20 Complementing and sometimes challenging the president’s effort were a series of proposals from the US Congress. They ranged from an outright ban on all arms sales to the Middle East to support for the arms register concept.21 Inherent Limitations of Multilateral Efforts to Control the Negative Effects of the International Arms Trade

As mentioned earlier, it is too soon to predict whether or not the various multilateral efforts mentioned above will succeed in reducing the negative consequences of the arms trade. In the meantime it seems prudent to examine why such efforts have failed in the past due to some fundamental and inherent limitations. Such an assessment must start with the critical questions involved in the “causes of war” debate. There is clearly no consensus as to “what kills,” weapons or the humans who operate them. Some weapons deter conflict, while others exacerbate it. While an answer to this question is crucial to the design of any control measures, it is not easily attained and will always present a barrier to any multilateral efforts. This argument is made most vehemently by recipient nations who depend for their security on imported weapons, and are particularly resentful of supplier states who insist on telling them what they need and don’t need.

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A second factor that looms large in explaining the lack of success in such measures is the fact that nuclear weapons monopolize the arms control agenda. We lack an international norm that conventional weapons represent a threat to mankind. There is no widespread understanding that the use of conventional weapons is unacceptable in most cases. Despite the fact that during the Cold War all of the 20–30 million casualties occurred in Third World countries as a result of conventional weapons, the Third World–dominated United Nations insisted that nuclear weapons control remains the highest priority.22 In effect there is a typology of international concern over the transfer of military capability. Concern is the highest when nuclear weapons are involved, and it is not surprising that the most success in controlling the trade exists at that level (e.g., the Nuclear NonProliferation Treaty). Concern decreases when the type of military capability is less than nuclear—chemical weapons, strategic technology, major conventional weaponry, and down to those weapons used in terrorism, insurgency warfare, domestic crime, and defense of one’s domicile, where concern about trade rarely exists at the national level. Another factor that explains the lack of successful multilateral arms trade control is the inherent difficulty in constructing, monitoring, and verifying such agreements when compared to the nuclear arena. International discussions have been held for years on the banning of particularly “inhumane” weapons, to no avail. Attempts are made to export only arms that are “nonlethal.” “Offensive” weapons are to be limited but “defensive” weapons are to be allowed. It is hard to achieve a consensus on all of these definitions, but crucial to do so if one is to address the negative consequences of using conventional weapons. Presumably one should be looking at which type of weapons actually cause casualties in conflict, an endeavor inherently more difficult when compared to nuclear effects. Assuming some type of satellite photography being made available to the control regime (be it national or international), it may be possible to detect the arrival of a fighter aircraft, helicopter, or tank prohibited by an agreement. But weapons systems are becoming ever smaller and harder to detect. Furthermore, upgrading a country’s capability may be in the form of a new target detection system or other “black box” totally hidden from the traditional means of monitoring or verification. Nuclear arms control suffers from similar verification obstacles but the hurdle is much higher at the conventional level. Nowhere is this more clear than in Iraq’s buildup of military capability prior to its invasion of Kuwait. While much of the evidence is still not public, much has been revealed as to how Iraq acquired the dual-use technologies and equipment needed to develop and modify weapons systems that could threaten Israel and eventually the major powers who formed the coalition against Iraq.23 A critical explanation for the difficulties in achieving success at the multilateral level lies with the security concerns of the recipient states. The fact is that these states have shown great enthusiasm for nuclear-free zones

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and nuclear nonproliferation but resolutely resisted any efforts to control their access to conventional weapons. Added to this is the steady increase in the number of states and now illicit sources able to supply weapons. It is most ironic that the United States and USSR in the 1950s could have instituted a truly international regime to control the arms trade but had no interest in doing so. Now that they and other major suppliers share some interest in arms control, a changed supply-and-demand situation makes it much more difficult. Not only are there more suppliers but other aspects of the trade have conspired to thwart multilateral efforts. Trade increasingly involves not major platforms but rather technological upgrades difficult to detect. Spare parts have become a more important commodity for those states which made major purchases in the boom years of the 1970s. The trade has also become more commercial as innovative and private offset deals conceal much of the traffic from traditional scrutiny. More recently the trade has become blatantly commercial as the former superpower suppliers make export decisions explicitly based on purely economic rationales. Even illegal trade, basically dormant since the 1930s, is making a comeback.24 Arms trade control proposals have typically centered on reduction as a goal. During the interwar years and in the 1970s, two periods when efforts to control the trade were most prolific, it was the magnitude of the trade that so offended its opponents. Debate raged as to the causal linkages between arms exports and economic development, conflict, and influence, but the bottom line was that the trade must be reduced. Magnitude was the one indicator that could be verified. This emphasis had the effect of ignoring what should have been the centerpiece of the effort, the negative consequences of the trade, and the trade-off of these consequences with the accrual of benefits to the supplier state. In addition, reduction impacts on the one type of verifiable benefit to the exporting state—income, jobs, and other economic benefits. The resistance from arms manufacturers and their significant political support has been consistent and remains considerable. But in the 1980s arms trade declined significantly when measured in the traditional terms of numbers of major weapons systems. In many circles the Carter effort was seen as the best, last hope to control the trade. If one focuses just on the reduction aspect of control, the goals of the Carter annual arms export ceiling were achieved as the overall level of the arms trade declined significantly. Yet, as can be seen most vividly in the case of Iraq, the negative consequences remain. The Negative Consequences of the Arms Trade

Too often discussions of the arms trade and what to do about it assume negative consequences. This creates two problems. First, as noted above, when reductions occur yet negative consequences persist, arms control efforts

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appear to be doomed to failure. And second, it precludes any rational discussion of the trade-offs involved. Arms transfers have a long history and for good reason. They have provided many benefits to both supplier and recipient and in many cases to regions and the international system as a whole. Who would not argue that the United States as the “Arsenal of Democracy” was critical to the defense of Europe in the early stages of World War II? Arms exported to a country that is threatened by welldocumented aggression have often deterred such aggression. All one has to do is look at the US Congressional hearings every year which justify the US security assistance program, in order to compile a list of political, military, and economic benefits of the arms trade.25 While a full historical treatment of the negative effects of the arms trade is beyond the scope of this chapter, to simply assume them would echo past unsuccessful efforts. Therefore what follows is a brief typology of effects, the reduction or elimination of which must be the focus of any attempts to control the arms trade. Systemic Effects

The systemic effect most often aired is that of the “arms race” syndrome. Arms transfers are often opposed on the basis that the recipient’s opponent will simply counter the acquisition with an equal amount of military capability, potentially creating a worse situation. In arms control terms this can mean an increase in the likelihood of conflict or an increase in destructive capability should war occur. The arms race dynamic is often assumed by critics of arms transfers, but as Colin Gray has pointed out, arms racing is very often not a bilateral dynamic and it does not always lead to negative consequences.26 On the other hand, weapons transferred to a region are rarely destroyed by their owners and in effect the environment is transformed to one that is more complex from the perspective of conflict control. Sri Lanka is a good example of a conflict that became increasingly difficult to resolve because of the steady and reactive accumulation of modern arms on both sides. In the Iran-Iraq War the acquisition of surface-to-surface missiles followed this pattern with the predictable increase in destruction and casualties, and a prolongation of the conflict. Arms racing can also have negative consequences for the initiating supplier. In 1979 South Korea put significant pressure on the United States to sell them the F-16 aircraft. Due to the Carter arms transfer restraint policy and policy arguments forecasting a reactive purchase by North Korea, the sale was deferred. Early in the Reagan administration, spurred by the sale of F-16s to Venezuela and Pakistan, South Korea finally acquired this aircraft. North Korea promptly ordered the MiG-23 from the USSR, the first such arms link with the USSR since the early 1970s. The MiG-23s also

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came with a heavy dose of Soviet presence in the form of strategic access for Soviet naval and air forces. A second negative effect at the systemic level is the export into a region of weapons that are basically destabilizing or indiscriminate by their very nature. Examples include naval mines and portable air defense systems. In both of these cases unlimited or free trade in these systems would create a chaotic environment in which the perpetrators of destructive acts would be more difficult to identify and conflict resolution would become significantly more complicated. The United States and the USSR, in the Conventional Arms Trade Talks (CATT) of 1978–1979, in fact talked about limiting trade in such systems.27 The Missile Technology Control Regime would be a more recent example of addressing this effect. A third systemic effect, not unrelated to the first two, is that as weapons increase in magnitude and sophistication in a particular region, it becomes more difficult to control the outcome of the conflict. In essence there are cases where the blame for the destruction can clearly be put on the nature of the weapons systems and the inability of the suppliers to control their use. In the bipolar era both the United States and USSR maintained tight control over their clients. In the case of both South Korea and South Vietnam, the United States denied the equipment that would have allowed these states to “go north.” In the case of both Egypt and Syria, the USSR was equally reluctant to allow their clients free reign. But as the international system was transformed in the 1980s, maintaining control became increasingly difficult. Not only did the recipients threaten to go to another supplier, but they did not feel as beholden to their suppliers if they had paid cash for the weapons. In the post–Cold War period, the entire concept of supplier-client relations is being redefined. With economic survival now beginning to dominate the arms trade, the proliferation of inherently destabilizing weapons becomes even more likely.

Negative Consequences for the Supplier State

Another type of effect is that which impacts mainly on the supplier. This becomes important in this discussion of unilateral arms control, since it is in this area where a great deal of control has been exercised. One negative consequence of arms transfers is the unnecessary raising of expectations in recipient states. During the Cold War, US arms exports were justified primarily in political terms. The State Department, not the Department of Defense, makes arms transfer policy. By definition, then, not every country which requests arms will receive them. It was interesting to observe that during the Carter restraint era, unpopular with many in the executive branch, diplomats found it much easier to put off unwanted requests for military equipment simply by citing the policy. In contrast, the unleashing

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of the F-16 as an export commodity in the initial months of the Reagan administration (it was basically embargoed during the Carter administration) meant that the demand increased overnight. In many cases it could not be met and in others it was not desired by certain organizations within the US government. This phenomenon is still alive and well, as can be seen in the reaction by other supplier states to the US proposals in September 1992 to sell F-16 aircraft to Taiwan and F-15s to Saudi Arabia. US efforts to control arms exports to the Middle East and convince the former Sovietbloc states to convert their military industries to civilian products have clearly been hurt by such an export policy.28 Uncontrolled and indiscriminate arms transfers by a supplier state can significantly frustrate diplomatic objectives. A second effect on supplier states is the threat that arms exports will result in the loss of sensitive technology. This has been identified as a risk ever since technology became a factor in determining relative military capability. The United States, USSR, and major West European suppliers traditionally held back various “black boxes” and created export versions of equipment in order to minimize this negative effect. US reluctance to sell sophisticated weapons systems and military technology to India was determined mainly by the risk of US technology going to the USSR through its advisers in India, despite the obvious diplomatic advantages to such a relationship. This phenomenon surfaced during the Gulf crisis. As only one example, the rumor surfaced that French surface-to-air missiles acquired by Iraq had in fact been “infected” with a computer virus that could render the missiles ineffective. While this was denied by France, it points out the dilemma of supplier states. The product exported must be technologically competitive, yet maintaining a technological edge over one’s opponent also constrains the actions of supplier states. During the Cold War, supplier states were also concerned with the impact of transfers on the readiness of their own forces. This concern became a reality for the United States during the 1973 Middle East war when US arsenals were stripped bare of tanks and F-4 aircraft to supply Israel. The aforementioned F-16 sales in the early Reagan years created havoc in the US Air Force as it tried to meet both foreign and domestic requirements. It is hard to sell the operational side of the US military establishment on the diplomatic benefits of an F-16 sale when they do not have enough planes to maintain readiness. This particular risk is so important that when arms sales are notified to the US Congress, the law requires the filing of a statement on the impact of the particular transfer on force readiness. It should be noted that with the end of the Cold War and the concomitant decline in defense budgets and force levels, and rise in excess inventories of major weapons systems available for export, this problem has clearly declined in importance. Another risk for the supplier involves the arms supplied to a client

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being used against the supplier. This risk is countered by the possible benefit that the supplier will be best equipped to counter his own weapons. But evidence indicates that during the development of weapons systems, countermeasures are often developed much more slowly. This became an issue when US forces were deployed to the Gulf and were faced with Hawk and Harpoon missiles in the Iranian inventory. 29 Stinger missiles, illicitly acquired by Qatar, created concerns for the operating forces in the Gulf.30 During the period between the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait (August 1990) and the attack by the coalition forces (January 1991) a furious effort ensued to gain intelligence on the Iraqi arsenal from those countries and companies which had sold armaments and technology to Iraq. This not only included technical data that would allow the development of countermeasures but also such esoteric data as the thickness of shelters that housed Iraqi personnel and equipment. As the UN Special Commission (UNSCOM) combs Iraq looking for missiles and guns, they are aided by intelligence from supplier states such as Russia, which has submitted specific information as to serial numbers, delivery dates, and quantities for Scud missiles.31 The post–Cold War international arms trade environment has produced the potential for several other negative effects on arms suppliers. The current international system is one in which debt levels in the developing world are extremely high. A recent International Monetary Fund study concluded that the world is extremely short of the capital needed to bring all countries up to minimal living standards. As a result, international lending agencies and some major donors such as Japan and Germany now insist that arms acquisitions and exports be reduced as a condition for economic aid. Additionally, the Iraqi situation demonstrated that in such a fragile economic situation, recipients may never pay for the weapons received. The United States, Russia, France, Brazil, and China all lost billions of dollars as a result of arms sold to Iraq on credit, money that they will most likely never see. This new international environment also has as one of its major characteristics a concern for the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. The International Atomic Energy Agency has been modestly effective in enforcing the nonproliferation regime. At the first summit meeting in UN Security Council history in January 1992, this danger to the stability of the world was highlighted. As a result, nation states are now being judged on how well they are controlling sensitive exports and imports. For example, states of the former Soviet bloc are faced with severe restrictions on their economic development as long as they do not have adequate national export controls in place. States which not only export military capability with the potential for negative consequences but also have minimal control over such activities are increasingly being told that they will be ineligible for the cash, credit, and commodities so critical for their economic recovery.

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This, then, is a brief list of what can go wrong for a supplier as a result of an arms transfer, and of what necessarily must be uppermost in the minds of those charged with controlling the trade. This chapter argues that, with the exception of the latter two effects generated in the post–Cold War period, these negative effects have historically been recognized by nation states in their unilateral efforts to control their exports of arms and commodities with military utility. The problems occur when they are ignored or improperly assessed, especially when balanced by the benefits. We now turn to an examination of how these unilateral efforts can diminish the negative outcomes of the arms trade. Unilateral Arms Transfers Controls and Traditional Arms Control Objectives

Reducing the Likelihood of War by Control of Arms Imports

States typically control the negative effects of arms transfers in a variety of ways. The type, modernity, and kind of weapon are considered, as are the numbers of each type of weapon. The timing of a delivery can affect the impact of its use, particularly if misuse impacts negatively on the supplier. Financing is also important, increasingly so given the debt situation of most potential recipients. Training and logistics are very important, as is doctrine. And finally, many arms transfers contain conditional clauses in an attempt to restrict the use of certain types of equipment. How can controls on the arms trade reduce the likelihood that war will occur? At a very basic level a reduction in the importing of arms into a region can reduce emphasis on military solutions. In a sense this deemphasis or reduction of arms imports is an attempt to create a psychological climate for diplomatic solutions, in direct contrast to the warlike sentiments that accompany reactive purchases. This was the motive behind the opposition in the 1980s to supplying the Contras in Central America and support for that part of the Arias Plan that called for no further arms imports and the expulsion of foreign advisers. As mentioned previously, however, the type of equipment reduced or controlled is essential, much as it is in the nuclear arena. In the Central American conflict, agreement was reached that no more advanced fighter aircraft should be imported into the region; but such limitations may have had little to do with Nicaragua’s ability to invade a neighbor or supply guerrilla forces in El Salvador. Some arms transfers decrease the likelihood of war by creating or maintaining a balance. Arms control success, therefore, depends heavily on the art and science of determining the military balance in a region, with particular emphasis on reducing incentives for initiating conflict. The literature in this area is rich indeed32 but is rarely consulted by those involved

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in the practice of arms trade control. Admittedly the task of determining military balances is made difficult by the differing perceptions of the states involved. It is interesting to note that when US government analysts are asked to evaluate the potential impact of an arms transfer on the military balance and potential for conflict initiation, they are asked to evaluate the threat from the perspective of both the United States and the recipient country. The perspective of the participants in a regional rivalry is a very important factor in assessing the arms control impact of arms transfers but is often given very little attention. If a supplier can determine that the recipient of arms is using them to repress its citizens in a manner inimical to the supplier’s interests, cutting off these arms and attempting to curtail others from supplying them is a classic example of arms control. The Carter policy specifically addressed this issue by emphasizing human rights violations and the linkage to arms supplied by the United States. The policy had mixed results for several reasons: (1) Human rights violations (in places like Iran, South Korea, and the Philippines) were balanced by the strategic importance of the client; (2) the link between US arms imports and human rights violations such as the torture of citizens was difficult to identify; and (3) aid to police forces had already been curtailed by Congress, so the Carter administration was left making the argument that arms transfers meant basic support for the recipient’s policy and cutting off these arms distanced the United States politically from such practices. This latter rationale had little to do with the traditional arms control objective of actual prevention of violence and conflict. As previously mentioned, arms races do not always lead to war. But some are more likely to do so than others and it is the task of those charged with arms export control to make this determination. Indeed, the US Arms Control and Disarmament Agency is charged with this responsibility by law, and the Defense and State departments are not uninterested in this question. Here there is a clear difference between nuclear and conventional arms races. In the former the race may reach a critical point when either leaders or populations become frightened enough to dampen the race. Such a point is much harder to determine with conventional weapons.33 While some may say that in nuclear affairs the arms race is a substitute for conflict, most of the weapons involved in conventional arms races end up being used, sooner or later. Often the attempt to prevent the outbreak of conflict through arms export control involves the supply of specific types of weapons systems. Although the offensive-defensive distinction is often difficult to make, it is clearly one of the major tools used by suppliers desiring to control the outbreak of conflict. The United States would not supply Jordan with mobile Hawk surface-to-air missiles in 1976, but did sell Hawks in hardened sites as they were perceived to be more “defensive” in nature. The F-5 series of

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fighter aircraft was an acceptable export due to its rather short-range and air-defense orientation. There are many types of weapons systems that are specifically denied because of their potential contribution to initiating conflict. The USSR was very stingy with equipment such as AWACS and air-refueling aircraft in an attempt to keep its clients on a “defensive” leash. The export of particularly inhumane weaponry such as napalm, which by its very use may exacerbate conflict, is restricted. The denial phenomenon is most prevalent at the high end of military technology. In 1979 the United States did not sell the then Shah of Iran the AWACS aircraft until most of the “black boxes” had been removed. France and the USSR practiced the same technique in an effort to limit the ability of clients to create unwanted conflicts. One of the most interesting observations to make regarding arms transfers and this arms control objective is that in many cases selling the more sophisticated and capable equipment in fact reduces the likelihood of conflict. Consider Latin America in the 1960s. Most of their fighter aircraft supplied by the United States in the 1950s were becoming obsolete. Countries desired modern supersonic aircraft and the United States refused, insisting that it was too expensive and reminding Latin American states that the real threat was from insurgent groups. So rather than buying subsonic aircraft that would actually have been used against insurgents (i.e., armed conflict would have been more likely) they purchased costly, fast aircraft with minimal spare parts. The result was a set of air forces with airplanes that could not be used effectively in a military role. This phenomenon might be termed arms control by “gold plating” or “conspicuous consumption.”34 Indeed, there are countries, such as Sweden and Germany, which have their entire arms export policy based on the principle that “you can buy this equipment if you promise never to use it in anger.” Ever since the 1930s, when the then–major supplier countries gained national control of exports from defense industries, there has been a clear record of success in using national (unilateral) control of the arms trade to reduce the likelihood of conflict. For example, most of these suppliers have continued to use the “end-user certificate” technique of restricting retransfer of imported arms and uses inimical to the national interests of the supplier. Most of these countries have used technicians and advisers to monitor use of the equipment. These countries have a bias against giving industries free reign and have a definite bias against a return to the “merchants of death” era. Adding to this bias toward control is the basic economic orientation of the manufacturers who have long accepted national control of their exports. With the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact, this assumption is being challenged in a major way. Some newly independent states, such as Ukraine, have no export control system at all. Russia is working hard to rebuild its control system after the wholesale disintegration of all previous laws and bureaucratic controls. Hungary is perhaps the most

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advanced, having been taken off the COCOM proscribed list in late 1991 as a result of developing those laws and procedures mentioned above—licensing, end-use certificates, etc. The acquisition of a major arsenal by Iraq in the 1980s indicates that such unilateral or national approaches to arms control may sometimes fail in the implementation stage. However, the speed with which Germany reformed its export control system in the post–Gulf War period indicates the primacy of these national arms export control norms. Reducing the Damage If War Should Occur

To adequately address this arms control objective, it is useful to briefly consider the typology of damage that can result from armed conflict. Human casualties clearly are one type, as certain categories of weapons systems and deployment create more casualties than others. Napalm is one example of a commodity that is controlled by most states with this type of damage in mind. There are other types of damage. Military infrastructure can be directly damaged or altered, leading to imbalances creating further instability and prolongation of the conflict. Economic damage has long been the subject of concern of those addressing the impact of arms imports on economic development.35 The Iran-Iraq tanker war, made possible only by the supply of a precision bombing capability to Iraq, had a devastating impact on Iran’s economy. A recent report indicates that the coalition war against Iraq in 1991 has cost the countries in the region $620 billion.36 Social damage in these wars results from wholesale destruction of a particular age group; for example, the very young Islamic volunteers who were forced to clear minefields by hand due to a lack of military equipment for this mission and others. Finally, arms exports to warring parties can contribute to further escalation of the conflict from a bilateral conflict to a regional or superpower confrontation. The concern over the proliferation of surface-to-surface missiles, which is at the heart of the Missile Technology Control Regime, directly addresses this type of damage and was confirmed in the recent Gulf War. Neuman’s work has shown that in many cases the superpowers were reluctant to support a client once a war has started.37 In the Iran-Iraq War, however, I argue that a lack of superpower involvement, particularly in the arms transfer arena, directly contributed to the prolonging of the war and the resulting damage of all types.38 Arms-supplying countries have historically practiced this type of control in several ways. There have been examples of absolute embargoes of the participants. The United States cut off supplies to Pakistan during two wars with India. The USSR cut off supplies to South Yemen during that recent civil war. Additionally, suppliers have limited only those types of equipment that directly contribute to a conflict deemed undesirable by the supplier. The first two years of the Carter

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administration saw the transfer of items such as helicopters and fighter aircraft to Morocco restricted since they could have been used to attack the Polisario, a group whose territorial claims were supported by the United States and most of the world. Naval arms transfers continued since they were unrelated to the conflict. Agenda for Action

International Arms Export Control Conference

Most of these ideas and concepts in this chapter form the basis for an international Arms Export Control Conference, with the twin purposes of illustrating the negative effects of the arms trade for suppliers, and how unilateral initiatives and procedures can reduce these effects. The goal of the conference would not be any international agreements. Rather, it would be the publicizing of the unilateral methods now in use by many suppliers, from which individual nations could pick and choose. It would resemble the international conferences held to discuss other problems with a greater consensus, such as drugs or violent crime. It must be clear to the participants that it is an international problem with unilateral solutions, that no assumption is made that the arms trade is inherently evil, and there should be no agenda items discussing reductions per se. It should take the more pragmatic approach that in certain cases the national security interests of arms-supplying countries are not served by using arms transfers as an instrument of policy. This chapter contains enough examples of these unilateral practices to ensure that there will be plenty to discuss at the conference, assuming a willingness to do so. This willingness should be forthcoming if enough countries are experiencing negative consequences as a result of their arms trade, i.e., if their national interests are being affected by the arms trade. If their national interests are not affected, no amount of hype by others will get them to the conference. Over fifty years of basically unsuccessful attempts to solve this problem multilaterally stands as evidence. If the conference is not the appropriate arena, some way must be found to share national methods of control. Most states are wary of being labeled a “merchant of death” and should be eager to proclaim and share how much control they have over arms exports. What are the questions asked of applicants? How are the bureaucracies organized and staffed? What are the various approaches to licensing exports? The emphasis should not be on who and what was supplied, i.e., substance—rather, on how the decisions are reached. Some of this work has begun. Starting in 1991 the US State Department began to give presentations to the former Soviet-bloc states on how to get removed from the proscribed state list of COCOM and become

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eligible for high-technology imports. At one such conference in Poland in September 1992, all of the countries of that region assembled for a threeday seminar entitled “International Workshop on Export Controls, Technology Transfer, and Nonproliferation: Learning From the Polish Experience.” Each country shared its experiences, both good and bad, regarding the development of an effective export control system. The US Department of Commerce has published a booklet entitled A Guideline to Establishing a National Export Control System. Following this meeting Hungary hosted a similar meeting for customs officials of these countries, with a similar format. Since there is no international organizational structure involved, the major pitch made by the industrial states, and those such as Hungary which have been removed from the proscribed list, is that there are many economic and political benefits to getting one’s export-control house in order. This clearly involves an effective arms-trade system, first and foremost. Another effort, in the nongovernmental sector, is the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS, former USSR) Nonproliferation Project based at the Monterey Institute of International Studies (MIIS) Program for Nonproliferation Studies. The objective of this project is to develop a community of experts in the CIS among journalists, academics, parliamentarians, and other governmental officials on the issue of nonproliferation. Methods include sending CIS participants in the program to MIIS for study, the installation of databases on nuclear and missile proliferation in these countries, and periodic conferences in CIS states in which US and other Western officials and experts make presentations on policies, programs, and procedures that can enhance the goals of nonproliferation. It is a mid- to long-term effort that relies solely on creating the expertise and political pressure in these states to create control mechanisms that are increasingly seen as being in the national interest of these states, all of whom have military industrial complexes with significant export potential.

Arms Transfer Impact Statement

Most countries with controls on arms exports in effect go through a policy evaluation process in making decisions. Each transfer is considered in terms of the impact it will have on some national goal. An effort should be made to develop a standard Arms Transfer Impact Statement. Models include the now-defunct Arms Control Impact Statement, which was applied to new weapons systems in the Carter administration,39 or paragraph 36b of the 1976 Arms Export Control Act in the United States.40 The latter is a requirement that arms exports above a certain threshold must be reported to Congress, with answers to a series of questions that have been written into the law. For example, every sale reported under 36b must state the impact of the sale on the readiness of US forces, arms control efforts,

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etc. The goal would be to develop this approach into a standard set of questions that suppliers consider prior to exporting arms. Obviously the standard questions will reflect and parallel the negative consequences to suppliers that have been mentioned throughout this chapter. The Arms Transfer Impact Statement could be developed either by some regional or international organization, a subgroup of interested nations, or a nongovernmental research organization. It could then be circulated, perhaps at an international conference, for discussion, modification, and adoption in some form. The mere attempt at such an approach would increase awareness among suppliers as to the problems resulting from a lack of unilateral control of arms exports.

Improving Capability and Incentives to Monitor and Publicize Military Balances

Assuming some knowledge of how arms transfers impact on military (im)balances and increase the likelihood of war, nations could improve their capability to perform this critical arms control function. First, those states and private corporations with technology that could be used to monitor military balances, could export or lease it to international peacekeeping organizations or states involved in potential conflicts. Such technology includes satellite photography and electronic communication intercept devices. This is not a new idea but needs to be mentioned in light of what has been said about the importance of military balances and the initiation of armed conflict. No one will argue against the idea that knowledge of the nuclear military balance has been the cornerstone of the “mutual assured destruction” approach used by the superpowers for over forty years. It should be remembered that in 1938 and 1939 the League of Nations published two annual Arms Trade Registers in the hope that knowledge of the military balance would deter war. It was unsuccessful mainly due to the fact that knowledge of the military balance (i.e., the generation of data for the Arms Trade Registers) was derived from information provided by nation states and was therefore invalid and unreliable. It was also not clear that imbalances were in fact the primary cause of war. Current technology allows the United States to generate military balance data that eliminates the first problem experienced in the Arms Trade Register effort. Assuming the availability of such data to all states involved in the conflict and the peacekeeping forces, the question then becomes, “Will such data contribute to the accomplishment of the first two arms control objectives?” The answer is beyond the scope of this chapter and would certainly have to be generated in order to gain support for such a proposal. However, history is replete with many examples of nations which knew the military balance did not favor their initiating an attack and attacked nevertheless. On the other hand, there are many examples of nations resolving conflicts due to their

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assessment that the military balance precluded any gains through armed conflict. Technology is not the only way to improve knowledge of military balances. The methods used to assess military threats vary significantly from nation to nation. Such an assessment normally considers capabilities and intentions. How do the various nations determine these values? Capabilities include much more than a simple “bean count.” All tanks are not equal, for example, and some method must be used to differentiate one tank from another. How does one integrate the impact of logistics, training, technical support, and doctrine into the threat analysis?41 Every country has a different approach to such an exercise. Indeed, within the United States there are competing approaches. 42 If these various approaches to threat analysis could be shared, the likelihood would increase that a more accurate and universally adopted picture of a particular military balance could be generated. In essence, what is called for is transparency in determining military balances. This is the essence of the previously discussed UN Register of Conventional Arms established by a vote of 150:0 in December 1991. But even in this case the universality of this measure does not insure compliance by member states. Recognizing this, the United Nations and several key states involved in the promotion of the register concept are in the process of developing and staging regional workshops in which individual states may attend to find out more about the register and how to comply with its reporting provisions.43 It will not be any supranational authority that ensures maximum compliance with the register. Rather, as with the other unilateral measures developed in this chapter, it will be a rational assessment that such compliance is in their national interest. Exporting of Arms Transfer Control Technology

Nation states have developed a host of technological approaches to enforcing their arms export control laws. Customs agents and police forces continue to improve their ability to detect illegal arms shipments leaving their respective countries. More should be done to proliferate this technology so as to at least improve the capability to control arms exports. Much of this sharing is already ongoing in regard to other types of criminal behavior on which a consensus exists, such as drugs. The United States, for example, has long exported police assistance, and it should be rather simple to change the focus to one of deterring any arms exports that have obvious negative consequences. This type of assistance program should also have more public support than the police assistance program, which has often been criticized because the receiving countries use such assistance to suppress their own citizens.

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Prognosis

What are the prospects that any of the proposals put forward in this chapter will become a reality? And will they actually result in the reduction of the negative consequences of arms transfers? Success will vary depending on the supplier-recipient relationship involved. For that part of the international system made up of sole or dominant supplier-recipient relationships, the prognosis for unilateral initiatives is good. If a supplier realizes that a particular export of arms will result in a negative outcome, and the recipient cannot or will not turn to an alternative supplier, the rational decision would be to control the export. Any country which is in a sole-supplier relationship (e.g., India-USSR, Pakistan–United States) can attest to this approach. Where supplier-recipient patterns are mixed, success will come much harder. The Iran-Iraq War is a good example, since nonsuperpower supplier countries and illegal private traders became an option for the recipients. The post–Cold War international arms trade system is increasingly becoming one with very mixed supplier-recipient relationships, a trend that will make controls more difficult. Much of the success of these unilateral approaches will depend on the expected outcome of the efforts. As pointed out in this chapter, the “unilateral” efforts of the Carter administration were doomed to fail because the expected outcome was an international agreement to reduce the arms trade. If the objective of the unilateral efforts suggested here is to simply improve the environment for unilateral control of weapons for the purpose of reducing negative consequences, the prognosis for success is much higher. It is clearly an incremental approach, one that will be rejected (as it was in the Carter administration) by those for whom any arms trade is an unsavory and immoral activity. The objective of such unilateral efforts could be eventually elevated to taking unilateral steps in the hope that they would be reciprocated. Too often the benefit of unilateral action is couched in terms of regional or international security. The prognosis is good here only if such unilateral steps can be seen by others as improving the national security situation of the nation taking the unilateral step. The chances for success are limited if the goal of unilateral efforts is some sort of formal agreement. The positive benefits of arms transfers, especially those involving the economic well-being of major defense industries, are too powerful for any nation to risk formally locking itself into such a position. It goes back to a basic principle of arms control—the only successful arms control agreement is one in which the participants are agreeing out of their own selfinterest. The current international arms transfer situation contains both optimistic and pessimistic evidence regarding the prognosis for success of some of the proposals made in this chapter. On the pessimistic side, the tra-

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ditional obstacles remain. Recipient countries remain opposed to measures that excessively hinder the control of their sovereign right to defend themselves with imported weapons systems. Efforts based on recipient cooperation are less likely to succeed.44 Economic incentives to export are greater than ever, given the international economic situation and the rising cost of armaments. Determining military balances and monitoring the arms trade is becoming more difficult as the trade increasingly involves hard-to-monitor “black boxes” and other upgrade packages, not the airframes, tank hulls, and other large items that previously dominated the trade. And the system now includes many suppliers not bound by the unilateral control ethic of the 1930s. Brazil, for example, does not employ end-user certificates and recipients are free to resell the equipment. Most importantly, many of the negative consequences of the arms trade originate with suppliers who do not experience actual damage themselves. As long as the overwhelming majority of the human casualties are borne by the recipients, it will be difficult to make any kind of significant improvement in the situation. On the optimistic side, there is heightened concern among arms-supplying nation states as to the negative consequences of arms transfers, as seen most clearly in the case of Iraq. By definition, private illegal trade produces consequences not controlled by the originating country. The proliferation of ballistic missile technology, combined with trade in chemical weapons, is now seen as producing outcomes not in the interest of the countries supplying the missiles. In the final analysis, we must return to the basic logic of the argument put forth in this chapter. A significant amount of damage has occurred since World War II as a result of wars fought with imported weapons. Much of this damage has been acceptable to both the participants in the conflict and their arms suppliers, but much of it has not and it is presumed that nation states still seek to limit such damage. Further, such damage has been limited throughout this period through the control of arms exports. This control has not been in the form of multilateral agreements, either tacit or formal. Rather it has been achieved by individual supplier states acting in their own interest, reducing the negative consequences of such trade to themselves and their national security interests. The proposals put forward in this chapter have as their goal the proliferation of this experience to those arms-supplier countries which continue to create problems through arms transfers, in the hope that they will act rationally in their own selfinterest. There is a lot of evidence that this process is at long last under way. Notes

1. These measures are discussed later in this chapter.

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2. “Selling Arms Abroad to Keep Jobs: The Signals It Sends Abroad,” New York Times, September 20, 1992; “Mr. Bush Sells Out Arms Control,” New York Times, September 29, 1992; “‘Moscow Is Selling Weapons to China,’ U.S. Officials Say,” New York Times, October 18, 1992. 3. John E. Wiltz, In Search of Peace (Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 1963); The International Trade in Armaments Prior to World War II, ed. Richard Dean Burns (New York: Garland Publishing Co., 1972). 4. Naoum Sloutsky, The League of Nations and the Control of Trade in Arms (Cambridge, MA: Center for International Studies, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, June 1974). 5. Paul Jabbar, Not By War Alone: Security and Arms Control in the Middle East (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981). 6. Coit Blacker and and Gloria Duffy, eds., International Arms Control (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1984), p. 328. 7. For an introduction, see National Security and Technology Transfer: The Strategic Dimension of East-West Trade, ed. Gary K. Bertsch and John R. McIntire (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1983). For a brief but clear treatment of the Reagan policy, see Warren Richey’s three-part series in the Christian Science Monitor entitled “Controlling US High-Tech Exports,” May 16–18, 1984. 8. Michael Salomone, David J. Louscher, and Paul Y. Hammond, “Lessons of the Carter Approach to Restraining Arms Transfers,” Survival, September–October 1981, pp. 200–208. 9. “Europe Arms Network That Supplies Iranians Begins to Draw Fire,” The Wall Street Journal, September 4, 1987; “Level of World Arms Sales to Iran Regarded as Largely Unchanged,” New York Times, April 10, 1987. 10. Blacker and Duffy, note 6, pp. 332–333. 11. The reporting on this development was extensive, much of it in German. One of the most in-depth treatments in English is Kenneth R. Timmerman, The Poison Gas Connection: Western Suppliers of Unconventional Weapons and Technologies to Iraq and Libya (Simon Wiesenthal Center, 1990); and Kenneth R. Timmerman, The Death Lobby (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1991). The best source in German is Hans Leyendecker and Richard Rickelmann, Exporteure Des Todes: Deutscher Rustungsskandal in Nahost. (Gottingen: Steidl Verlag, 1991). 12. United Nations, Transparency in International Arms Transfers, UN Disarmament Topical Papers, No. 3 (New York: United Nations, 1990). 13. “Bulgarians to Share Data on Arms Sent to Terrorists,” New York Times, August 2, 1990; “Germany’s Trade Surplus Down By 20 Per Cent,” Financial Times, February 15, 1991; “French to List Export Details,” Jane’s Defence Weekly, May 11, 1991; “Belousov Details ‘Diminished’ Military Exports,” TASS. English translation in FBIS-SOV-91-006, Foreign Broadcast Information Service, January 9, 1991. 14. “Kaifu Calls On UN to Monitor Conventional Arms,” Defense News, June 3, 1991; “Leaders Call for Register on International Arms Sales,” Financial Times, July 17, 1991. 15. “Unify Arms Control,” Defense News, April 22, 1991. 16. “EC Ponders Single Policy to Regulate Arms Sales,” Defense News, April 1, 1991. 17. “European Governments Take Steps to Tighten Military Export Controls,” Defense News, April 1, 1991; “Italians Seek Global Forum on Arms Sales,” Defense News, March 11, 1991; “France to Urge Export Policy Coordination,” Defense News, April 8, 1991; “Canada Prods United States on Arms Sales,” Arms Control Today, June 1991. 18. “Egypt Proposes Regional Arms Control Plan,” New York Times, July 5,

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1991. 19. “EC Ponders Single Policy to Regulate Arms Sales,” Defense News, April 1, 1991; “EC Export Control Scheme Planned,” Jane’s Defence Weekly, June 8, 1991. 20. Middle East Arms Control Initiative. The White House, Office of the Press Secretary. May 29, 1991. 21. For a complete list, see “Congress’s Actions on Arms Transfers: From Limits to Loans,” Arms Control Today, June 1991. 22. The United Nations Disarmament Yearbook (New York: United Nations, 1984), p. 391. 23. Kenneth Timmerman, The Death Lobby (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1991). 24. Edward J. Laurance, “The New Gunrunning,” Orbis, Spring 1989, pp. 225–237; Edward J. Laurance, “Political Implications of Illegal Arms Exports From the United States,” Political Science Quarterly, Fall 1992. 25. For a brief look at rationales, see Andrew J. Pierre, The Global Politics of Arms Sales (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), pp. 14–38. 26. Colin S. Gray, “The Arms Race Phenomenon,” World Politics, October 1971, pp. 39–79; Colin S. Gray, “The Urge to Compete: Rationales for Arms Racing,” World Politics, January 1974 , pp. 207–233. 27. Janne E. Nolan, “The U.S.-Soviet Conventional Arms Transfer Negotiations,” in U.S.-Soviet Security Cooperation, ed. Alexander L. George, Philip J. Farley, and Alexander Dallin (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), pp. 510–523. 28. Comments made to the author by governmental representatives from Russia, Poland, China, Czechoslovakia, Belorussia, and other states at various international fora in September–October 1992. 29. “U.S. War With Iranians: Fighting Our Own Missiles?” New York Times, August 1, 1987. 30. “Qatar Rejects U.S. Demand For Return of Illicit Stingers,” New York Times, June 28, 1988. 31. Interviews with UNSCOM personnel, 1992. 32. Joshua M. Epstein, Measuring Military Power (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984); US General Accounting Office, Models, Data, and War: A Critique of the Foundation For Defense Analyses. Report No. PAD-80-21, March 12, 1980. 33. Gray, see note 26. 34. I am indebted to my colleague Dan Caldwell for these terms. 35. Steve Chan, “The Impact of Defense Spending on Economic Performance: A Survey of Evidence and Problems,” Orbis, Summer 1985, pp. 403–434. 36. “Gulf War’s Cost to Arabs Estimated at $620 Billion,” New York Times, September 8, 1992. 37. Stephanie Neuman, Military Assistance in Recent Wars: The Dominance of the Superpowers (New York: Praeger, 1986). 38. Edward J. Laurance, The International Arms Trade (New York: Lexington Books, 1992), pp. 156–157. 39. US Congress, House Committee on International Relations, Evaluation of Fiscal Year 1979 Arms Control Impact Statements: Toward More Informed Congressional Participation in National Security Policymaking. Committee Print, January 3, 1979. 40. For a thorough overview of this and other features of the act, see US Congress, House Committee on Foreign Affairs, U.S. Military Sales and Assistance Programs: Laws, Regulations and Procedures. Committee Print, July 23, 1985. 41. Ronald G. Sherwin and Edward J. Laurance, “Arms Transfers and Military

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Capability,” International Studies Quarterly, September 1979, pp. 360–389; Michael Brzoska, “Arms Transfer Data Sources,” Journal of Conflict Resolution, March 1982, pp. 77–108; Edward J. Laurance and Joyce Mullen, “Assessing and Analyzing International Arms Trade Data,” in Marketing Security Assistance, ed. David J. Louscher and Michael D. Salomone, (New York: Lexington Books, 1987), pp. 79–98. 42. US General Accounting Office, Measuring Military Capability: Progress, Problems and Future Direction. Report GAO/NSIAD-86-72, February 1986. 43. The author is a consultant to the UN Transparency in Armaments process and the regional workshops. 44. There is a major debate as to which approach to arms trade control is more likely to succeed, supplier or recipient cooperation. For the most recent work, which emphasizes the necessity of recipient cooperation, see Arms Transfer Limitations and Third World Security, ed. Thomas Ohlson (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988).

Part 3 THE DOMESTIC POLITICS OF UNILATERAL ARMS CONTROL

Part 3 The Domestic Politics of Unilateral Arms Control

Chapter 1 showed that unilateral arms restraint to induce reciprocation often reflected domestic political and economic factors—for example, the impact of the Great Depression on Britain’s failure to rearm during the interwar period. Part 1 treated unilateralism that resulted from such impulses from a “unitary actor” perspective. The chapters below look deeper at the domestic impetus for unilateral restraint as arms control. With the historical perspective of the interwar period, Bradford Lee in Chapter 10 supports the arguments of Gray and Pilat in Part 2 that arms control cannot be defense neglect. In large measure Lee places the origins of World War II at the feet of British, French, and US unilateral military budget limitations reflecting domestic politics and pacifism. Lee anticipates economic factors that contributed to the peace movement in the aftermath of World War II. In Chapter 11, Richard Bitzinger adds moralism, antiestablishmentism, feminism, and, most significantly, antinuclearism, driven by the magnitude of the nuclear weapons management challenge. In the peace movement’s view, holding mankind hostage to nuclear weapons is a suicidal impulse that can only be overcome through unilateral renunciation. In the final chapter Jensen adds to our understanding of domestic stimuli by discussing Congress’s modest use of the purse strings to unilaterally restrain weapons procurement. In sum, the chapters below explore a unilateral mindset quite different from Gray, Pilat, and to a lesser extent Laurance above. Peace movements, whether of the pre–World War II vintage or after, are driven by different instincts. The US debate over gun control provides an analogy. The antigun lobby argues that people, not guns, kill people. Similarly, the peace movement argues that weapons, not nations, threaten peace. The solution: unilaterally eliminate weapons, certainly nuclear weapons. This will reduce the danger of nuclear war, cost of defense, and damage in the event of war. Such sentiment is likely to continue to resonate in the New World Order now that the Soviet Union has been dismantled. —Editor 199

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10 The Politics of Unilateral Arms Control Between the Two World Wars Bradford A. Lee

The Politics of Unilateral Arms Control Between the Two World Wars Bradford A. Lee

Arms control came into its own after World War I. From 1919 to 1935 treaties restricting arms, and further negotiations to restrict them more extensively, loomed large in international politics in Europe and East Asia; all the while, unilateral arms control was being pursued to an unprecedented degree by the leading democratic states. Before 1914, even as peace movements had become better organized and ever more vocal in pursuit of disarmament, the intellectual heavyweight of the British Foreign Office could dismiss their effusions with the comment that disarmament was “a thing no sane man believes in or cares about.”1 But after the carnage of 1914–1918, few policymakers would have ventured any such declamation. Abnormal psychology had been transmuted into sublime theology. If there was little dissent in theological principle in the wake of World War I, there was to be a long fall from grace in political practice in the 1920s and 1930s. Negotiated arms control ended in a slow and agonized death. Arms control without negotiations had an afterlife—but its ultimate result was to encourage Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan to take evergreater strategic risks in pursuit of their grandiose political objectives and thereby to trigger World War II. In Churchill’s summation of that denouement, “the malice of the wicked was reinforced by the weakness of the virtuous.”2 The Limits of Negotiated Arms Control, 1919–1935

In the beginning, there were words of great promise about a general postwar reduction of armaments in the fourth of Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points, in Article 8 of the League of Nations Covenant, and in the preamble to Part 5 of the Treaty of Versailles. At the Washington Conference of 1921–1922, the promising words were followed up by a promising deed, the naval limitations embodied in the Five-Power Treaty, the first signifi201

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cant multilateral arms control agreement in modern history. A second milestone in negotiated arms control came in 1925, when forty-six nations signed what has proved to be the longest-lived arms control agreement in modern history, the Geneva Protocol, banning the use of chemical and biological weapons. But apart from two additional naval accords, the London Treaty of 1930 and the Anglo-German Agreement of 1935, both of which had perverse political results, all other negotiations from the mid-1920s to the mid-1930s broke down short of agreement. The principal political cause of death of negotiated arms control was that Germany and Japan were no longer willing to accept an inferior status. Both claimed in the early 1930s that their national security was in jeopardy. Unilateral Arms Control: The First Phase

Such German and Japanese claims did not do justice to what their main potential adversaries had already done, or were in the process of doing, by way of unilateral arms control. Neither the United States Navy nor the Royal Navy was in a position to challenge Japan in the Western Pacific. And with the arguable exception of the French army, no extant military forces of the three leading Western democracies still had the capability to impose their state’s political will upon Germany. Even the French army had been stripped of its offensive capability. To be sure, in the early 1930s the conventional wisdom was that the French army remained the mightiest force in the world. But few contemporary observers grasped the implications of a reconfiguration of France’s ground forces that took place in the late 1920s. That reconfiguration was primarily shaped by one of the strongest impulses in French domestic politics: an aversion to extended terms of conscripted service in the army. Before August 1914 three-year conscription had generated great political controversy in France. The experience of World War I had broadened as well as deepened the feeling against extended military service. After reductions in the term of conscription to two years in 1921 and to eighteen months in 1923, one-year conscription was put into practice in 1928 as part of a package of legislation reorganizing the French army. French military leaders had reason to be restive over the reduced term of service. With the number of career soldiers set at a maximum of 106,000 by the 1928 legislation, the one-year term for draftees would generate an army of only twenty divisions on active duty. Since the annual contingent was inducted in two halves at six-month intervals, at any given time only half of the year’s draftees would have had even six months of training. By the early 1930s, at the outset of a war the French army could have fielded

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little more than 200,000 trained, battle-ready troops (50,000 less than in 1925 and over 400,000 less than in 1920).3 On the other side, even if one excluded the paramilitary organizations in Germany and assumed that the manpower of the Reichswehr proper was still within the limit imposed by the Treaty of Versailles, the Germans could have fielded 100,000 well-trained troops backed up by a militarized police force of 150,000. Of course, so long as Germany did not accumulate substantial stocks of tanks and heavy artillery in violation of the treaty, France could count on a significant edge in firepower; but the average quality of manpower in the wholly professional German army was higher. Given that French military planners assumed that the offense needed at least a 3:1 advantage in forces over the defense to have a reasonable chance of success, the Germans did not have much cause for concern that France would see a clear military advantage in a sudden attack into Germany. And after the French military occupation of the Rhineland ended in 1930, five years ahead of the schedule laid down in the Treaty of Versailles, the Germans had even less cause for concern. Another unilateral change, in the French system of mobilization, not only further affected France’s offensive capability, but also reflected even more starkly her defensive intentions. Except for the limited number of units deployed forward before the outbreak of war to “cover” the border in Alsace and Lorraine against German attack, the new active-duty French army of twenty divisions, which in peacetime was preoccupied with training draftees, would upon mobilization of reserves in an emergency be broken up to form the basis for a wartime tripling in size. That mobilization could take place in a matter of days for the “ready reserves” (the discharged draftees of the previous three years) and in a matter of weeks for the rest of the reserves. But because the French parliament imposed stringent limits on the length of training of all types of reserves, and because reserves, including officers, commonly did not train with their wartime units, the bulk of the mobilized French army would not be in a position to fight in a cohesive and well-trained manner until months after the outbreak of a war. And since the bulk of the peacetime French army had been reorganized into cadre units, France could no longer use force quickly and offensively to achieve even limited goals without jeopardizing its system of mobilization to fight a total war, if that proved necessary.4 As a result of this unilateral arms control in the late 1920s, the French ended up with an army that could not support their policy of maintaining the status quo in Europe. To sustain the demilitarization of the Rhineland and to ensure the territorial integrity of their East European allies, France needed—as the events of 1936, 1938, and 1939 were painfully to demonstrate—the offensive military capability to move quickly into Germany from the west. Instead the French opted for the army not of their politique

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extérieure but of their politique intérieure. To the extent that international considerations did inform the reconfiguration of the French army, they actually helped to deform it: on the right there was a nervous sensitivity to the image prevalent abroad of a France that had aggressive intentions vis-àvis Germany, and on the left there was a naive supposition that international stability would be served by a France committed to a strategy of pure defense. The reconfiguration of the French army in the late 1920s ranks as the most significant instance of unilateral arms control in the twentieth century. The most notorious instance may also be found in the interwar years: the application of the Ten Year Rule in Britain. In August 1919, the British cabinet decided that the military services should base their budgetary planning on the assumption “that the British Empire will not be engaged in any great war during the next ten years.” Nine years later, at the initiative of Winston Churchill, then chancellor of the exchequer, the cabinet agreed that the rule should be renewed on a rolling basis, year by year. Not until 1932, after the Japanese attacked Shanghai, was the rule set aside.5 The most detailed recent analysis of the Ten Year Rule plays down its actual constraining effect on the level of British military power in the first half of the 1920s. The principle was unevenly applied and subject to conflicting interpretations.6 Still, the financial constraints of which the Ten Year Rule was emblematic resulted in a substantial degree of unilateral arms control on the part of Britain in the 1920s and early 1930s. The British army was hit earliest and hardest. Its comparative disadvantage was that apart from financial constraints it suffered from revulsion over what had happened on the Western Front from 1914 to 1918. By the end of 1920 demobilization and the demise of conscription had left the army at little more than a tenth of its size at the Armistice in 1918. Yet deeper cuts were still to come. As the postwar British economy plunged from an inflationary boom into a severe recession in 1921, the cabinet responded to pressure from members of parliament, from mass-circulation newspapers, and from London financiers for drastic reductions in government expenditure by establishing an official committee that wielded the infamous “Geddes axe” (named after the chairman of the committee). Over 60 percent of its recommended cuts in the 1922–1923 budget were targeted at the military services, and nearly half of the military cuts were to be from the army. In the event, the army fared even worse than it would have simply from the swing of the Geddes axe. It experienced the proverbial “death of ten thousand cuts” over the next ten years. At the trough of the Great Depression, in the wake of the financial crisis of 1931 and of another report by a budget-cutting committee, the equally infamous May Committee, the army’s budget for 1931–1932 was just 40 percent of what it had been in 1921–1922, after postwar demobilization.7

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Unilateral arms control with regard to the British army took a strategic as well as a budgetary form. The combination of a sustained shrinkage of budgetary allocations, a deep-seated determination to avoid involvement on the ground in any future European war, and a traditional system of army organization structured to meet the needs of imperial defense, especially in India, militated against the reconstitution of a British Expeditionary Force (BEF) that could fight against Germany. In 1922, the cabinet instructed the War Office that ground forces stationed in Britain should be organized so as to make possible an expeditionary force of five infantry divisions and one cavalry division for use only in a limited war outside Europe. Though under the Locarno Pact of 1925 Britain became a guarantor of the Belgian and French borders with Germany and of the demilitarized status of the Rhineland, this new political commitment did not lead to a new strategic role for the BEF. By the early 1930s, if the BEF had nevertheless been committed to a war in Europe, only one division would have been able to arrive on the Continent in the first month; three more would have straggled over in the following three months, with equipment cannibalized from one another. Little of that equipment would have been at the cutting edge of military technology; by early 1933, there were only four tank battalions in the British army.8 Germany, which had taken its hardest blows from the British army in 1918, had little cause for concern from that quarter fifteen years later. Earlier in the postwar period, there might have appeared to be some cause for concern from another quarter—the Royal Air Force (RAF). This new military service had managed to elude the Geddes axe of 1922. Indeed, in 1923, the RAF had won government authorization of a five-year program to form fifty-two squadrons, the primary mission of which would be strategic retaliation against a great power that bombed the British Isles. At this time, after the French occupation of the Ruhr, the great power supposed to be deterred was France, not Germany. In 1925, after Anglo-French relations had mended, the British cabinet decided to stretch out completion of the fifty-two-squadron program to 1935–1936. In 1929, a newly elected Labour government, eager to shift budgetary resources from defense to domestic purposes, pushed the completion date back to 1938. By 1931, the RAF had only four hundred front-line aircraft.9 Of course, since British political leaders were not as apprehensive as their French counterparts about a resurgence of German power, it is less remarkable that they engaged in unilateral arms control with respect to the BEF and the RAF, than that political leaders in Paris reconfigured the French army in such an inhibiting fashion. Given Britain’s traditional reliance on maritime power and ingrained sensitivity to even remote threats to the empire, it is more remarkable that British leaders accepted or imposed major restraints on the strategic reach of the Royal Navy in the 1920s and early 1930s. Accepting naval parity with the United States in the

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arms control negotiations of 1921–1922 and 1930 was difficult in principle, but in practice the British could reassure themselves that war with the United States was unthinkable. By contrast, war with Japan, though it seemed improbable before the early 1930s, was not unthinkable to many in London. The essential prerequisite to a maritime defense of Britain’s eastern empire was the construction of a major naval base at Singapore, which the British government endorsed in June 1921 and which the admiralty hoped to complete in 1930. But by as late as 1933, only about one-quarter of the amount necessary to fulfill the base’s strategic purpose had been spent. In many of the years between 1921 and 1933, little or no work was done on the Singapore base. Indeed, for a while, under the Labour government of 1924, the project was canceled; for political and ideological reasons, that government wanted to be seen as leading the world away from seeking security by military means. Other governments of the period were willing to pay lip service to the concept of a Singapore base, but were not eager to pay the costs of actually constructing it. The restraining role of Winston Churchill, as chancellor of the exchequer from 1924 to 1929, is noteworthy. At a time when he sought to return the pound to the gold standard at its prewar parity, and hence needed to present balanced budgets, he wanted to finance tax cuts and increased social expenditure by stretching out the schedule of work on the Singapore base and also by resisting pressure from the admiralty to build “a lot of silly little cruisers.”10 To justify his position, he declared—with a lack of prescience on matters Japanese he was to show again in 1941—that “[h]e did not believe there was any danger to be apprehended from Japan, and he was convinced that the picture of Japan going mad and attacking us had no sure foundation whatsoever.”11 If the reconfiguration of the French army was the most significant instance of unilateral arms control in the 1920s and early 1930s, and if the restraint of British arms under the reign of the Ten Year Rule was the most notorious instance, the military involution of the United States was the most extreme. The demobilization of the US army proceeded even faster, and the subsequent cuts went even deeper, than in the case of the British army. After the end of demobilization, Congress in June 1920 passed a national defense act that authorized a regular army of 280,000 enlisted men and 17,700 officers. But by 1933, the regular army had only 122,000 enlisted men and 14,000 officers. The chief of staff in 1933, Douglas MacArthur, ranked it seventeenth in the world in his annual report. The following year, MacArthur reported that the entire United States Army possessed only twelve modern tanks.12 It was quite unprepared to fight again in Europe. But, as with the British army, that was not its strategic mission at the time. MacArthur himself had done much to reorient planning toward low-intensity conflict, presumed most likely in the Western Hemisphere. In the US case, as in the British case, one would expect the navy to have fared better than the army, and so it did. But one must distinguish

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between construction programs that were authorized and ships that were actually funded and built. Congress voted for large construction programs in 1919, 1924, and 1929. But the programs ended up as “bargaining chips” to draw Britain and Japan to the negotiating table at Washington in 1921–1922, at Geneva in 1927, and at London in 1930. The actual number of US ships of all types appropriated for or actually built from 1922 to 1930 was about a tenth of the Japanese total in the same period. The upshot was that to attain the tonnage ratios set at the 1930 London Conference vis-à-vis Japan, the United States in the ensuing years would have had to engage in substantial construction of cruisers, destroyers, and submarines. The senior leadership of the navy supposed that it would be allowed to pursue a long-term building program to achieve a “treaty navy” by 1936, the date projected for the next naval-limitation conference. But President Herbert Hoover had other ideas. He did not think that the United States had interests across the Pacific worth using force to defend. And though somewhat of a proto-Keynesian in his fiscal policy during the first two years of the Great Depression, from late 1931 he went on a determined drive to cut government spending. By the time Hoover left office in early 1933, the United States was well behind schedule in building a “treaty navy.”13 Without a major naval base in the Philippines, a base forbidden by the nonfortification provision of the Five-Power Treaty, and with only a small margin of numerical superiority over the Japanese navy, the United States Navy in the early 1930s was scarcely more capable than the Royal Navy (without a completed base at Singapore), of effectively projecting naval power into the Western Pacific against Japan. The Japanese argument that their inferior status in negotiated arms control threatened their national security was even less well-founded than the similar German argument. In hindsight, it is easy to deride the unilateral arms control of the Western democracies after World War I. But at the time, there did not seem to be any imminent threat. In the late 1920s, even well-informed observers could suppose that the probability of a major war involving the Western democracies was less than at any previous time in the twentieth century. The two major powers about whom most Western military strategists had the greatest long-term apprehension—Japan and Germany—were either restraining themselves as a result of unilateral or negotiated arms control (as the Japanese were) or were restrained by a treaty they had been compelled to accept (as the Germans were). But in the early 1930s there was a stunning disintegration of all those forms of restraint. From Restraint to Rearmament: Japan and Germany

Japan’s restraint before the early 1930s was manifested not only in the Japanese goverment’s acceptance of naval arms limitation but also in its

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reductions in the size of the Japanese army. In 1922 and 1925, the equivalent of nine divisions was pared from the army’s peacetime strength. Total military expenditure fell by about one-half during the 1920s.14 But the Hamaguchi and Wakatsuki cabinets in 1930–1931 pushed the navy and the army too far for the good of civilian supremacy. At the London Naval Conference in 1930, under Anglo-American diplomatic pressure, the Japanese government accepted a compromise formula for heavy-cruiser tonnage ratios. The general staff of the Japanese navy objected vehemently on the grounds (1) that the compromise jeopardized Japan’s national security, and (2) that Prime Minister Hamaguchi had infringed the Meiji Constitution by overriding the staff. One ramification of the controversy was an attempted assassination of Hamaguchi, the first in a series of such acts in Japan in the 1930s—acts that helped shift the balance of power within the Japanese political system from civilian to military leaders. Another ramification was a shift in the balance of power within the Japanese navy in favor of those who opposed any further arms limitation— a shift that was part of a larger change in the climate of opinion in Japan, away from cooperation with the West and toward a quest for hegemony in East Asia.15 Meanwhile, the Hamaguchi and Wakatsuki cabinets risked a confrontation with the army as well, by seeking further major cuts in the army’s budget, in line with a deflationary fiscal policy designed to support the yen on the gold standard at its overvalued prewar parity (to which it had finally been returned in January 1930). There was also foreboding in the war ministry that the army might suffer the same fate at the forthcoming World Disarmament Conference at Geneva that the navy had suffered at London. And, not least, there was a strong sense among army leaders in Tokyo as well as among field-grade officers in the Kwantung Army in Manchuria that the government was not standing firmly enough against Chinese nationalist pressure on Japan’s Manchurian sphere of influence. It was in these volatile circumstances that the Kwantung Army made its fateful move in September 1931 to seize Manchuria without the authorization of the Japanese government. The war minister, General Minami Jiro, did not fully support the efforts of civilian political leaders to halt the military insubordination on the Asian mainland. It may well be that Minami’s equivocal behavior was conditioned by his sense that a crisis in Manchuria provided a good opportunity to abandon the political and fiscal restraints on the army’s budget.16 In any case, that was the result of the crisis, which in a number of ways promoted a major infusion of resources for sustained rearmament: 1. It helped bring about the fall of the Wakatsuki cabinet in late 1931 and the growth of military influence over national security policy. 2. The finance minister in the succession of governments after the

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Wakatsuki cabinet was Takahashi Korekiyo, a proto-Keynesian whose expansionary fiscal policies not only accommodated increased military expenditure in the short term, but also stimulated a vigorous economic recovery from the Great Depression, which in turn made available a rising flow of resources for even higher defense spending in the long run. 3. The seizure of Manchuria accelerated a Soviet military buildup in Northeast Asia, which provided a self-fulfilling justification for a much bigger budget for the Japanese army. Finally, there was a spillover effect, as Japanese military activity spread from Manchuria into North China, with the ultimate result that a costly war with Chiang Kai-shek broke out in 1937.

The Japanese army’s success in freeing itself of unilateral arms control gave a new fillip to the desire of the Japanese navy to be free of negotiated arms control. Indeed, before World War II the navy seems to have been motivated more by budgetary competition with the Japanese army than by strategic rivalry with the British and US navies. Its demand for parity with Britain and the United States in any new multilateral agreement masked a desire to break altogether with the process of formal arms control. Once the naval arms limitation treaties of 1922 and 1930 expired at the end of 1936, the way was open for a fivefold increase in naval construction by Japan by 1940.17 The Japanese army’s drive for hegemony in East Asia came to have a counterpart in the form of the Japanese navy’s drive for hegemony over the so-called South Seas. In Germany, restraints also gave way to massive rearmament in the service of a hegemonic policy. Actually, before the early 1930s, the degree of internal restraint on the German military had not equaled that in Japan in the 1920s, partly because of the nature of civil-military relations in Weimar Germany and partly because German civilian as well as military leaders resented how arms control had been imposed unilaterally on their nation in the 1919 peace settlement. General Hans von Seeckt, chief of the army command from 1920 to 1926, concealed from German political leaders military activities that violated the Treaty of Versailles. But his successor in 1927 was more forthcoming about the illegal activities and got the government to incorporate (and hide) in the Reich budget the expenditure required to continue with them. Even a more leftward-oriented Grand Coalition government formed in 1928 agreed to the Reichswehr’s plans for stepping up covert rearmament.18 After that, the main internal restraint on rearmament was the financial crisis that developed during the Great Depression, but the military escaped the worst of the severe budget-cutting that marked the economic policy of Chancellor Heinrich Brüning from mid-1930 to mid1932. The main external restraint was the possibility that if the German drive to rearm became too obtrusive, it might touch off a crisis with France. But

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by mid-1932 General Kurt von Schleicher, the political busybody of the Reichswehr, had lost patience with Brüning’s sensitivity to this restraint. That seems to have been one reason behind the key role that Schleicher played in the removal of Brüning from office.19 Brüning’s downfall meant the end of whatever chance remained that the Weimar Republic and, with it, some limits on German military power, could survive even in attenuated form. Further political maneuvers by Schleicher had an outcome in 1933 that he did not anticipate—Hitler’s ascension to power—but that in turn opened the way for the strategic result that the general so devoutly desired—massive German rearmament. Hitler not only withdrew Germany from the World Disarmament Conference in October 1933 without provoking French retaliation, but he also got away with his open declaration in March 1935 of two gross violations of the Treaty of Versailles: the reintroduction of conscription and the existence of an air force. By the autumn of 1936, the treaty-constrained Reichswehr of 100,000 troops had become a Wehrmacht of 520,000 troops, organized into thirty-six infantry divisions and three armored divisions. With the remilitarization of the Rhineland since March 1936, with the promulgation in September 1936 of a FourYear Plan to create an autarkic war economy, and with the emergence of a new military plan around the same time to build up by October 1939 an offensive army with 830,000 troops in peacetime and an additional 4,626,000 soldiers after mobilization, Hitler seemed by 1937 to be developing the strategic posture necessary to support his far-reaching political objectives.20 Unilateral Arms Control: The Second Phase

By and large, the unilateral arms control of the Western democracies in the 1920s and early 1930s had not been undertaken either in direct response to restraint, or in immediate anticipation of reciprocation, on the part of other powers. Governed as it was primarily by domestic political and economic constraints, it was indeed unilateral. Nevertheless, the evident fact that other powers also had accommodated themselves to constraints and had seemed to accept the norms of the “new world order” of that era had created an international environment that made unilateral arms control relatively unproblematic for the Western democracies; it was done not so much to make war less probable as because war already seemed improbable in the near future. But German and Japanese rearmament from the early 1930s on posed a big new problem: the most abrupt and most threatening tilt ever in the international balance of power against the Western democracies in a period of peace. The strategic imperative of responding to this change in external environment could not safely be ignored for long. Yet it turned out

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that the internal political and economic impulses behind unilateral arms control in Paris, London, and Washington were more inhibiting than ever as rearmament picked up speed in Berlin and Tokyo. Politically, in the early and mid-1930s, quasi-pacifist sentiment grew more, not less, conspicuous in Britain. There developed extraordinary anxiety about the devastation that air bombardment might cause. The pronouncements of politicians both reflected and reinforced this anxiety. The most notable utterance was that of Stanley Baldwin, leader of the Conservative party, in November 1932: “I think it well . . . for the man in the street to realize that there is no power on earth that can protect him from being bombed. Whatever people may tell him, the bomber will always get through.”21 This new fear came on top of the old revulsion against the horrors of war; stimulated by the recent publication of many of the great literary evocations of life and death in the trenches of the Western Front, the memory of World War I remained very much alive in the early 1930s. Later in the decade, as prime minister, Baldwin looked back at this period: Supposing I had gone to the country and said that Germany was rearming and we must rearm, does anybody think that this pacific democracy would have rallied to that cry at that moment! I cannot think of anything that would have made the loss of the election from my point of view more certain.22

The National government from 1931 to 1935 was politically constrained by more than just the electorate. It was a coalition government that was dominated by the Conservative party, but whose prime minister, Ramsay MacDonald, was the erstwhile Labour leader, and whose foreign minister, John Simon, was a Liberal. Both had opposed British involvement in World War I and, like most of the Labour and Liberal elites, remained strongly committed to disarmament. Across the English Channel, in the early and mid-1930s the ideological cast and inward-looking tendencies of French politics grew more, not less, pronounced. Almost all Socialist leaders and most Radical leaders (who dominated the government from mid-1932 to early 1934) continued to exhibit an ideological reflex toward disarmament despite what was transpiring in Germany. They could tap the condemnation by leading veterans’ organizations of the old saying, “Si vis pacem para bellum” (“If you want peace, prepare for war”), and the opposition among the peasantry to l’impôt du sang (“the blood tax”—the disproportionate number of casualties that French peasants had suffered in World War I and were sure to suffer in the next war). They could also tap the anxiety in France, similar to that in Britain, about what German bombers, perhaps delivering chemical weapons, might do to the urban population.23 By the time of the Rightist riots in Paris in early 1934, that anxiety was

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overshadowed by agitation over what the French might do to each other: a whiff of civil war was in the air. Many politicians on the left were much more concerned with preserving democracy against the threat of political subversion by French crypto-Fascists than with protecting it against the more formidable threat of military attack by German Nazis. The Socialist leader, Léon Blum, was slow to budge from his party’s dogmatic opposition to voting budget credits for the French armed forces. As late as May 1935, he could proclaim: “Without denying the duty to defend the national soil against invasion, we refuse to identify ourselves with the military planning and military organisation of the bourgeoisie.”24 When the prospect began to materialize of a Popular Front government with the Socialist leader as its head, some on the right proclaimed “Better Hitler than Blum.” Across the Atlantic in the United States during the early and mid1930s, isolationist sentiment intensified. People were preoccupied with the upset to their own lives and livelihood in the Great Depression, rather than with the rumblings of instability in Europe and Asia. When President Roosevelt proposed a defense budget in 1935 that amounted to a mere 1.5 percent of national income, a prominent editor complained: “That a Christian nation such as we pretend to be . . . is actually planning to spend $1,125,000,000 . . . upon military and naval expenditures . . . when . . . more than 20,000,000 Americans are on the bread lines and in receipt of doles, is one of the most humiliating and discouraging happenings of recent years.”25 Congress, meanwhile, proceeded to pass a series of neutrality acts, attempting by unilateral legislation to nip in the bud any chance that US power would end up being projected overseas in a replay of World War I. In this political context, Roosevelt until late 1938 put a much higher priority on maintaining support for New Deal reforms at home than on building support for an active US role in the world. Running for reelection in 1936, he told an audience at Chautauqua that I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. . . . I hate wars. I have passed unnumbered hours, I shall pass unnumbered hours, thinking and planning how war may be kept from this nation.26

Those were the most stirring passages in the only speech on foreign policy that the president delivered in the campaign. Economically, from the early 1930s on, all three Western democracies found themselves in a fiscal crunch that materialized as a result of the Great Depression and that was compounded by the shift in the international balance of power. Political leaders in Britain, France, and the United States came under great pressure to alleviate misery and unemployment by spend-

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ing unprecedented sums of money on public works, by stepping up outlays on welfare programs, and by subsidizing farmers and other producers. At the same time, notwithstanding the prevailing climate of domestic opinion, there were compelling strategic reasons to build naval forces and bases to counter Japan halfway around the world, to develop armies that could stand up to Germany, and to find funds for an expensive new military arm, air forces. Yet all the while, there remained a deep attachment to fiscal orthodoxy. Especially after the international financial crisis of 1931, governments seemed to be courting grave economic and political dangers if revenues did not balance expenditures in their budgets. But when a national economy remained in (or had just begun to recover from) the Great Depression, tax increases were likely to be counterproductive. For the democratic leaders caught in this fiscal crunch, at a time when there was little popular demand for rearmament, there was an almost irresistible temptation to take the risk inherent in holding down defense spending.27 J. M. Keynes and other economists made the case in theory for embracing budget deficits, and in practice deficit financing impelled rearmament, and with it the economy, in Germany and Japan; but Britain and France strove furiously to balance budgets at the expense of defense as well as domestic spending. Among the leaders of the Western democracies, only Franklin Roosevelt, from 1933 to 1935, was willing to accept a substantial budgetary imbalance. He did so on an emergency basis, not because he was convinced by economic reasoning, but because he wanted to relieve the strains and suffering that the Great Depression had generated. Not much of the additional spending of the New Deal went for rearmament. Not until 1939 was there a substantial jump in the War Department’s funding for weapons—and then it was the Air Corps that benefited. Roosevelt hoped, in the aftermath of the Munich Conference, that a crash program to build planes might have a deterrent effect on Hitler. Not until after the German blitzkrieg against France in 1940 were US ground forces the beneficiaries of their own crash program. Earlier on, only the navy made any significant gains in the battle of the budget, but it did so under the cover of programs designed for domestic purposes. In early 1934, when Roosevelt got Congress to authorize naval shipbuilding up to the limits of the Washington and London naval treaties, the early funding for ships under that authorization came from an emergency relief bill. In terms of foreign policy, the Roosevelt administration’s main justification for naval rearmament in 1934 was that it would increase US negotiating leverage at the forthcoming (second) London Naval Conference. Yet the shipbuilding program authorized in 1934 was not scheduled to be completed until 1942—six years after that next conference would be over. When preliminary negotiations for the conference were held in the second half of 1934, only one-third of the number of ships by which the United States was short of its treaty quotas were under construction or about to be

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laid down.28 As a result, the United States had little negotiating leverage on the Japanese, who in defense of their claim to de jure parity could simply point out that in practice (thanks to unilateral arms control by the United States) their fleet had long enjoyed close to de facto parity with the US fleet. With the Japanese having broken away from naval arms control agreements by the end of 1936, the United States in 1937 engaged in its most important instances of unilateral arms control in the 1930s. At that point, the Roosevelt administration faced two fateful choices. One was whether or not to enlarge and accelerate its shipbuilding program, now that Japan was no longer bound by treaty limits. The other was whether or not to construct a major naval base in the Philippines, now that the nonfortification agreement of 1922 had expired; without a defendable base there that could accommodate a large fleet, the US Navy would require a very long time, or else a very much greater quantitative edge over the Japanese than it had ever had, in order to achieve command of the seas in the Western Pacific. That Roosevelt would refrain from building a base in the Philippines was not seriously in doubt. The US Army had neither the will nor the wherewithal to build up the necessary defenses.29 It would be politically hazardous for the administration to ask a largely isolationist Congress to spend money on a provocative base far overseas—all the more so since, by virtue of the Tydings-McDuffie Act of 1934, the Philippines were due to attain independence in the next decade. It was more surprising that Roosevelt also shied away from a bigger shipbuilding program. His request for Congressional appropriations for the navy in 1937 was the smallest he ever made. To some extent, political considerations held him back here as well: Roosevelt did not want to expose himself to Congressional charges that he was initiating a naval arms race in the Pacific. The Japanese launched their new shipbuilding program in secrecy, and the US government had no solid intelligence on it. Indeed, there was some wishful thinking in the Roosevelt administration that financial constraints would hold back Japan.30 Such hopes represented “mirror imaging” on the part of the United States. For it was fiscal policy, above all, that kept Roosevelt from stepping up naval construction in 1937. Having run large deficits from 1933 to 1935, the president by 1936 was reversing course and trying to move the budget toward balance. Restraint on naval spending was part of an overall effort at retrenchment that included new limits on the domestic spending and lending agencies of the New Deal.31 After a stunning economic recession hit the United States in the second half of 1937, Roosevelt finally adopted a Keynesian view of the economic stimulus that budget deficits could provide. And after a Japanese attack in December 1937 on a US gunboat in China, the president finally proposed, and in the spring of 1938 got Congress to accept, a 20 percent increase in

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the levels of shipbuilding that had been authorized in 1934. He justified the proposal in terms not of projecting naval power into the Western Pacific against Japan, but of “keeping any potential enemy many hundred miles away from our continental limits.”32 After the Japanese countered with a further building program of their own in 1939, the authorized levels of 1938 were far from sufficient to give the US Navy the relative margin of strength that it would need to pose a credible threat to Japan in the early 1940s, especially if a substantial fleet was called for in both the Atlantic and the Pacific at the same time. Not until the fall of France in mid-1940 did the United States move to the scale of naval expansion required to operate effectively in both oceans. In June and July 1940 funds were provided for almost double the number of ships that had been appropriated for from 1933 to 1939. But this large program would take several years to complete. Meanwhile, as of the autumn of 1941, when a significant portion of the US fleet was in the Atlantic to protect the flow of lend-lease supplies to Britain, Japan had superiority in every major class of warship over the Pacific fleet of the United States.33 Roosevelt had begun too late to build up the strategic instrument necessary to support the policy of deterrence that he had adopted against the Japanese by 1941. And the belated spasm of US naval rearmament in 1940 gave Japan an incentive to attack the United States before she lost her naval superiority. There is indeed evidence that such a “now or never” naval calculation played a role, along with the US imposition of an oil embargo, in Japan’s decision to start the Pacific War.34 In the case of France, a critical instance of unilateral arms control from 1932 to 1934 cast a far-reaching shadow down to the defeat of 1940. After elections in the spring of 1932, a center-left government assumed power under the leadership of the Radical party chief, Edouard Herriot, who had denounced the fiscal profligacy of the previous (Center-Right) governments. More than electoral expediency impelled him to practice as well as preach fiscal conservatism. Etched in his memory was the fact that governments he had headed in the mid-1920s had come to grief over financial crises, and very much on his mind upon his return to power was the fact that the treasury was critically short of resources.35 Herriot proceeded to pursue a budget-cutting drive that sliced sharply into defense expenditure. The Radical governments that succeeded his from late 1932 to early 1934 did more of the same. The upshot was a substantial further reduction in the manpower of the French army, a drastic decline in the funds allocated to a long-term program to modernize its firepower, and a considerable derangement in the plans of the newly independent French air force to develop a strategic bombing capability. All this unilateral arms control took place while the Disarmament Conference was being held at Geneva, but the key impulse behind it at almost all points was fiscal, not diplomatic. 36 In terms of

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domestic politics, the fact that the Radical governments depended on Socialist support for their parliamentary majority, and that Socialist deputies were strongly opposed to reductions in domestic spending, made it certain that the military budget would bear the brunt of the cuts, but the ideological inclination of the Radicals would have tilted that way in any case. By the time that a government oriented more to the right was back in power in early 1934, the French army was in desperate straits and Hitler had pulled Germany out of the Disarmament Conference. The new government, headed by Gaston Doumergue, made a pivotal move in diplomacy, but not in rearmament. A French diplomatic note of April 17, 1934, pointed to a major increase in military credits in Germany’s published budget for 1934–1935 and declared that since Hitler was so clearly bent on rearming, the disarmament negotiations had come to an end and France would take steps to enhance her security. The apparent conclusion to draw was that the French had committed themselves to an arms race with Nazi Germany. It turned out, however, that the Doumergue government was reluctant to run that race. It avoided the political controversy that would have attended an attempt to restore a two-year term of conscription. And though in July 1934 it did obtain parliamentary authorization for a multiyear off-budget defense program, the funding envisaged was largely for the air force, the navy, and cost overruns for the Maginot Line. The most vital need of all—new tanks and other modern weaponry for ground forces—received reduced funding under the Doumergue government. The army had to content itself with a promise from the finance minister that provision for that need would be made off-budget in the next fiscal year. What held back the finance minister was his apprehension over the state of the treasury. In the first two months of the Doumergue government, it was literally on the verge of bankruptcy on twelve different occasions.37 From 1935 the constraints on French rearmament began to give way. The Flandin government took advantage of an escape clause in the 1928 law to keep conscripts on active duty for an extra year. The succeeding Laval government, even as it embarked on a new series of large cuts in the regular budget, got the Bank of France covertly to help finance off-budget outlays in which military expenditure loomed large.38 In 1936, the Popular Front government of Léon Blum dropped the attempt to keep up even the appearance of trying to balance the budget, and then, in an even more important act of liberation from financial constraints, took the franc off the gold standard in September. By that point, the Nazi menace—made all the more palpable by the remilitarization of the Rhineland in March and by the extension of conscription in Germany to two years in August—had at last shaken Blum’s earlier dogmatic attachment to disarmament. French arms spending rose by nearly 30 percent from 1936 to 1938. When Defense Minister Edouard Daladier became prime minister in 1938, he saw to it that military outlays spiraled upward at an ever-increasing rate thereafter.39

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French rearmament, however, proved to be too little, too late. By the time that it picked up major momentum, Germany had already left France behind in reality, and even farther behind in the perception of French leaders. The delay in the rearmament of France had grave political and military consequences. Politically, the perception of having fallen behind the Germans made her more dependent than she would otherwise have been on potential allies, above all Britain; that dependence manifested itself most abjectly in the way that Daladier followed Neville Chamberlain to Munich in 1938. And militarily, the reality of having fallen behind meant that France, despite her spasm of rearmament in the late 1930s, was not able to regain in time the relative level of power that would have given her strategy of forward defense a reasonable chance of success against the German blitzkrieg in 1940.40 Of course, in view of French operational deficiencies, even, say, two additional years of large-scale rearmament might not have been sufficient to enable France to be strong enough everywhere on a long front to withstand the powerful force that the Germans could concentrate at a place and time of their choosing. Be that as it may have been, Hitler did not want to wait to find out. After his victory over Poland in September 1939, he was in a hurry to attack France, before German power diminished in relation to French power. The final saga of the impact of financial constraints on rearmament in the 1930s is that of Neville Chamberlain and Britain. First as chancellor of the exchequer from late 1931 to early 1937, and then as prime minister from the spring of 1937, Chamberlain made sure that budgetary balance remained the overriding priority of the National government. That government had come to power because a financial crisis had brought down a Labour government in August 1931; Chamberlain wanted no reprise of such an episode. He made his presence felt straightaway, in early 1932, when the British chiefs of staff recommended the cancellation of the Ten Year Rule. Though he was willing to have the cabinet conclude in principle that the Ten Year Rule should be set aside, he got it to decide in practice that “this must not be taken to justify an expanding expenditure by the Defence services without regard to the very serious financial and economic situation that still obtains.” The case for waiting longer to start rearmament was given added weight by the fact that the Disarmament Conference in Geneva was just getting under way and that it would be politically awkward, at home and abroad, to choose that moment to begin rebuilding British armed forces.41 At the turn of 1933–1934, after Hitler had withdrawn Germany from the Disarmament Conference and after a year of economic recovery from the Great Depression had eased the British budgetary outlook somewhat, the cumbersome bureaucratic machinery of Whitehall finally got into motion on the issue of rearmament. In February 1934, a Defence Requirements Committee recommended a five-year program to correct the

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worst deficiencies in Britain’s military posture. The program would have meant an annual level of defense spending some 10–15 percent above the very low baseline of 1932. Set against a strategic situation in which two major threats were arising on opposite sides of the globe, that amounted to a very modest recommendation.42 Even so, the cabinet was slow to act. Only after the 1934–1935 budget had been presented to parliament and the French diplomatic note of April 1934 had been circulated, did the DRC recommendations receive more than passing consideration at the ministerial level. And then they came under heavy attack from Chamberlain, who declared that it was financially out of the question to build up at once the air force and army against Germany and the navy against Japan. His position was that Britain should rely largely on an expanded strategic bombing capability in the RAF as a relatively cheap instrument of deterrence. Overall, he wanted to spend only 60 percent of what the DRC envisaged. Chamberlain’s counterproposal ran into considerable opposition from his colleagues, but the outcome of the debate was remarkable for the degree to which he got his way. The total spending finally sanctioned was much closer to his figure than to the DRC’s. His emphasis on the RAF triumphed. He was not able to block acceptance of the principle of an expeditionary force for intervention in Western Europe or new capital ships for deployment in an emergency to the base under construction at Singapore, but he was able in practical terms to starve the army of funds and stave off authorization of a long-term building program for the navy.43 Given that for Chamberlain finance was bound to constrain strategic means, he had the intellectual consistency to insist that foreign policy should fit the constraints, too. Since Britain could not afford to have a navy with the capability to operate effectively in the Western Pacific, he argued that she had to seek a rapprochement with Japan. He and Foreign Secretary Simon bandied about a variety of proposals and stratagems to restrain, through diplomacy, Japanese expansion in China and Japanese naval power, among them a scheme for tacit arms control in which Britain, Japan, and the United States would give each other advance notification of shipbuilding programs. But Japan, eager as she was to burst free from diplomatic and naval restraints, proved to be unreceptive to British overtures.44 As the prospects for a rapprochement with Japan were revealed as illusory and, accordingly, as the possibility of a war in East Asia could not be discounted, British naval strategists hoped to limit any threat that they might have to face in Europe. That hope led to the Anglo-German naval agreement of 1935, according to which Germany was supposed to limit its tonnage to 35 percent of that of the Royal Navy. The agreement served no useful purpose in the long run—when the Germans were ready to embark on a major expansion of their fleet, they simply denounced the agreement in 1939—and it did much harm in the short term, by alienating France from

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Britain at a time when an Anglo-French-Italian coalition seemed to be taking shape against Germany. Mussolini’s invasion of Ethiopia later in 1935 shattered what was left of that embryonic coalition and transformed Italy into the third adversary about which Britain, and especially the Royal Navy, had to worry. Once again, Chamberlain’s reaction was to seek a rapprochement with a potential enemy. Once again, his overtures were to be unavailing. Pressure thus grew on Chamberlain to allocate more and more resources to the Royal Navy to prepare for war in the Mediterranean as well as in the Western Pacific. Meanwhile, with the emphasis of British rearmament still on the RAF, Chamberlain and his colleagues hoped that the highly publicized buildup of a bomber force would not just deter a German strike against Britain, but would reinforce what turned out to be a series of diplomatic efforts, from late 1934 on, to get Hitler to accept Germany’s existing borders and agree to limits on the size of air forces and a mutual-guarantee pact against bombing from the air.45 But Hitler persistently refused to be pinned down to the territorial status quo; and, early on, he trumped Britain’s bid to derive diplomatic utility from air rearmament when he made the (exaggerated) claim in March 1935 that the Luftwaffe already had achieved parity with the RAF. The British government felt compelled to accelerate its buildup of a bomber force in order to match erratic projections of Luftwaffe strength in the future. By 1937, British strategy and diplomacy were in utter disarray, and a reassessment of both was under way that ended in the most startling instance of unilateral arms control and the most notorious instance of appeasement in the 1930s. The chiefs of staff warned that in view of the ever-closer ties between Germany, Italy, and Japan there was an increasing probability that a war with one might expand into a war with all three and that Britain was far from being in a military posture where she could fight them simultaneously.46 Chamberlain and the treasury, for their part, were alarmed that they had lost fiscal control over the pace of rearmament. Military spending had risen in the financial year 1936–1937 by 50 percent over the original provision for it in the previous year, thereby putting the budget back into deficit. Expenditure for rearmament and, with it, the size of the deficit were projected to continue rising at a steep rate into the early 1940s. In these circumstances, the Chamberlain government decided in late 1937 to impose a ceiling on outlays for defense for the next five years.47 It would be difficult to find another historical instance in which a great power has engaged in such drastic unilateral arms control at a time of such international peril. The strategic implications of the ceiling were formidable. The army had its plans for sending even a small expeditionary force to Western Europe virtually wiped away. The navy’s quest for a fleet large enough to shield Britain’s eastern empire from Japanese attack was thwarted yet again. Even the air force’s effort to constitute a retaliatory deterrent

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against Germany was sidetracked; it was now to concentrate less on expensive bombers and more on cheaper fighters. That alone of the strategic consequences of the ceiling was to prove fortunate in the early stage of World War II. Chamberlain, as was his wont, decided in 1937 that just as military power had to give way to financial imperatives, so foreign policy had to be brought into line with restricted military power. The more his financial anxieties mounted, and the more they expressed themselves in unilateral arms control, the further he was willing to go by way of concessions to Hitler. It was that dynamic process that drove him to Munich in late September 1938. As I have noted elsewhere, what he sought in appeasing Hitler was not to gain time for further rearmament, but to gain a settlement that would make further rearmament unnecessary.48 He did not get what he wanted. As the hopes of Munich faded, British rearmament surged to new heights in 1939, well beyond the ceiling of late 1937. The two military services that had previously been most tightly constrained—the army and the navy—finally began to get the resources necessary for the type of war in which they were soon to be engaged. But that war came too soon for the British army to give the French much help in 1940 and for the Royal Navy to avoid disaster in East Asia at the end of 1941. Perhaps the main reason why the war came too soon was that, on the one hand, British weakness born of unilateral arms control before 1939 had encouraged Hitler to think that he could continue to achieve his political objectives without coming face to face with a powerful coalition arrayed solidly against him; and, on the other hand, the spasm of belated rearmament in Britain as well as in France at the end of the 1930s, combined with the growing domestic economic strains generated by rearmament in Germany, gave him reason to calculate that he should take risks before his relative power declined. Thus, the origins of war in Europe and East Asia show a similar pattern. If this interpretation is valid, it follows that the most fundamental mistake that the Western democracies made was to sink so deeply into unilateral arms control that they allowed both Germany and Japan to gain a big jump on them in rearmament. Unreciprocated restraint increased the probability of war. Conclusion: Why the Democracies Dawdled

The story of unilateral arms control between the two world wars is a cautionary tale well worth remembering in the 1990s and beyond. It is a story of how innocent intentions can produce tragic outcomes. I say “innocent

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intentions” rather than “good intentions” because few, if any, of the many instances of unilateral arms control that I have discussed were actually calculated to induce reciprocation on the part of Germany and Japan (and even if they had been, they would not have been reciprocated). Instead virtually all of them were manifestations of inward-looking domestic-political and economic impulses. I speak of “tragic outcomes” in the classical sense, not just in colloquial terms. In a classical tragedy the protagonist engages in a struggle of great moral significance and ends in disappointment and ruin. What leads the protagonist to this unhappy denouement is typically some set of attributes that is an integral part of his greatness. To see how this metaphor applies to the Western democracies in the interwar era, it may be illuminating to lay out some props that I have used elsewhere to make sense of the commitment to the principle of balanced budgets but that can also be turned to the purpose of understanding the attachment to unilateral arms control.49 Set the stage by visualizing a series of concentric circles surrounding the leading policymakers at the center of a democratic political system. The outermost circle is the realm of given circumstances, embracing both the state of international politics and the state of the economy. The circles between that realm and the policymakers at the center represent different layers of the political system, layers that in a democracy often mediate between given circumstances and policy decisions. One circle is the realm of the society at large—the electorate, public opinion, sociopolitical movements, interest groups, and the like. The next circle inward is the arena of political parties and parliament. Still further in is the circle in which the different bureaucracies of the government contend. At the center, where the leading policymakers are concentrated, the focus is their minds—what they value and what their worldviews and ideological tendencies are. From the end of World War I to the beginning of the 1930s, one key set of given circumstances—the economic situation—thrust democratic leaders strongly toward both unilateral and negotiated arms control, while the other key set—the state of international politics—was highly permissive of that thrust. Looking at the world around them, those leaders could see a new moderation in Japanese diplomacy and military policy and could suppose that the restrictions of the Treaty of Versailles would prevent a resurgence of German power in the near future. What preoccupied democratic leaders was the massive overhang of debt incurred in World War I, the severe postwar economic recession, and the international economic disorder that persisted even after that in the absence of a widespread restoration of the gold standard. All these problems, as they were perceived at the time, seemed to dictate restrictions on government expenditure for current purposes. And since the war had of course driven up military outlays much

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more than any other type of expenditure, and since even after demobilization those outlays remained higher (at least in nominal terms) than they had been before the war, defense spending was the obvious target for cuts. The prevailing currents in the circles between given circumstances and the policymakers reinforced the thrust toward unilateral arms control after World War I. In the society at large, there was an intense desire, as the American cliché would have it, to “return to normalcy.” Soldiers wanted to come home and be demobilized. Young people and their parents wanted an end to conscription or at least (as in France) a reduction in the length of conscripted service. Taxpayers wanted a smaller tax bill made possible by cuts in government spending. Activists in peace movements could point to the putative lessons of World War I as vindication for their message that force was an inappropriate instrument of national policy. In political parties and parliaments, mainly though by no means exclusively on the left side of the spectrum, the ideas of Wilsonian New Diplomacy had great resonance, especially the notion that the accumulation of arms had been a cause of the war. And the events of 1914–1918 had given a political boost to two staunchly antimilitarist left-wing parties, the Socialist party in France and the Labour party in Britain. In the bureaucratic arena, many diplomats in the British Foreign Office, the French Foreign Ministry, and the US State Department took seriously the promise of the New Diplomacy and took to heart the putative lessons of 1914. The British Treasury, meanwhile, was determined to assert its control over the budgetary process and restore fiscal orthodoxy. And especially after the inflation and financial crises in France in the mid-1920s, the Ministry of Finance and the Bank of France strove to do much the same. Sooner or later, in both London and Paris, the military services found themselves on the defensive in the bureaucratic battle of the budget. The confluence of the thrust of given circumstances and the prevailing currents in the different layers of the political system swept along, to a greater or lesser extent, virtually all leading policymakers in the Western democracies in the 1920s. To confirm this point, one need only look at two leaders noted for having minds of their own. Raymond Poincaré, who had played a key role in bringing about the offensive orientation and the threeyear term of conscription in the French army before World War I, presided over the reduction to a one-year term of conscription and the defensive reconfiguration of the army in 1927–1928. And Winston Churchill, who had been a major force in British rearmament before World War I and who was to be the most vocal advocate of British rearmament in the 1930s, was the crucial figure in strengthening the grip of the Ten Year Rule in 1925– 1928. The collapse of political restraint and the upsurge of rearmament in Japan and Germany in the early 1930s signified a drastic reversal, and began to point urgently away from unilateral arms control in Britain,

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France, and the United States. But even then, in the international political realm, there was a circumstance that dulled the sense of urgency about rearming in response to the German and Japanese challenge: the ongoing World Disarmament Conference and the upcoming (second) London Naval Conference. And the unfolding of the worst economic depression in modern history was even more distracting. In Western societies, that depression generated an even more intense preoccupation than before with domestic concerns. Isolationist sentiment reached a new peak in the United States, ideological tension rose to alarming levels in France, and the peace movement and the aversion to a continental commitment achieved its broadest influence in Britain. Among political parties and in parliaments, the fiscal crunch that developed with the Great Depression and the German and Japanese challenge made the struggle over national priorities extraordinarily bitter and made any proposal for rearmament even more politically contentious than would otherwise have been the case. Indeed, until the mid-1930s Socialists in France and leaders of the Labour opposition in Britain refused to support any rearmament at all. Governments in all three Western democracies were coalitions of parties (as in Britain and France) or at any rate of diverse groups and ideological tendencies (as in Roosevelt’s New Deal), and some crucial constituent elements of those coalitions remained deeply committed to disarmament. In the bureaucratic arena, after the financial crisis of 1931, the fiscal orthodoxy of the British Treasury and the French Ministry of Finance became a more formidable obstacle than ever to any department, including the military departments, that proposed a costly new program. In theory, the political leaders of Britain, France, and the United States were in the best position to transcend parochial perspectives. In practice, although they could not simply ignore what Germany and Japan were doing, they could engage in wishful thinking to the effect that there were narrow limits to the intentions and capabilities of the Germans and the Japanese. And rather than seriously try to transform the outlook of those in the circles that radiated outward around them, they tended to accommodate themselves to the bureaucratic, ideological, political, social, and economic forces militating against immediate large-scale rearmament. It was not, however, simply political expedience and wishful thinking on the part of democratic leaders that gave such a long life to unilateral arms control in the 1930s. The single most important reason why the democracies dawdled was the profound commitment that their leaders had to the principle of balanced budgets. On this issue, as I have argued in detail elsewhere, the leaders had minds of their own.50 All of them believed that budgetary balance was vital to the maintenance of the political integrity of the democratic state, and most of them also believed that it was vital to the proper functioning of a decentralized market economy. One advantage of thinking about democratic political systems in terms

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of these concentric circles is that it reminds us of the dispersion of political influence in the Western democracies, then as now. One advantage of peering into the minds of the policymakers at the center of those circles and probing for the roots of their commitment to fiscal orthodoxy is that it reminds us that these democratic political systems coexist with decentralized market economies. Those joint features are indeed the historical claim to greatness of Western societies. But in the 1930s they were the bases for the constraints on rearmament that put into jeopardy the security of the Western democracies. Britain, France, and the United States were engaged in a struggle of great moral significance with dangerous antidemocratic forces in the world. That struggle brought France to ruin and put Britain and the United States in peril. What ultimately led them to these outcomes were the very features that had made them great in the first place. That was the tragedy in which unilateral arms control played itself out. Notes

1. Letter from Eyre Crowe to Charles Dilke, October 15, 1907, as quoted in A. J. Anthony Morris, Radicalism Against War, 1906–1914 (White Plains, NY: Longman, 1972), p. 121. 2. Winston S. Churchill, The Second World War, vol. 1, The Gathering Storm (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1948), p. 17. 3. Robert Allan Doughty, The Seeds of Disaster: The Development of French Army Doctrine 1919–1939 (Hamden, CT: Archon, 1985), pp. 19–22. 4. Ibid., pp. 22–32. For the text of the 1927 legislation on the organization of the French army, see Service Historique, Etat-Major de l’Armée de Terre, L’Armée Français de 1919–1939, vol. 3: Col. François-André Paoli, Le temps des compromis (12 juin 1924–30 juin 1930) (Imprimerie Nationale, 1974), pp. 84–92. 5. N. H. Gibbs, Grand Strategy, vol. 1: Rearmament Policy (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1976), pp. 3–6, 55–61, 78–81. 6. John Ferris, “Treasury Control, the Ten Year Rule and British Service Policies, 1919–1924,” Historical Journal, December 1987, pp. 859–883; and, more generally, his book, Men, Money, and Diplomacy: The Evolution of British Strategic Policy, 1919–1926 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989). 7. On the “Geddes axe” and the British army, see Peter Dennis, Decision by Default: Peacetime Conscription and British Defence 1919–39 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1972), p. 12. For the long decline of the army budget, see Brian Bond, British Military Policy Between the Two World Wars (Oxford University Press, 1980), pp. 135, 156. 8. Bond, note 7, p. 159. 9. Gibbs, note 5, pp. 46–49, 64. 10. Martin Gilbert, Winston S. Churchill, vol. 5: The Prophet of Truth 1922– 1939 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977), chaps. 4–6; quotation from p. 70. 11. Quoted in Gibbs, note 5, p. 56. 12. Mark Skinner Watson, Chief of Staff: Prewar Plans and Preparations (Washington: Department of the Army, 1950), p. 24. 13. For an analysis of the US Navy as of the beginning of 1933, see the letter from Carl Vinson (chairman of the Committee on Naval Affairs in the House of

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Representatives) to Franklin Roosevelt (then president-elect), December 28, 1932, President’s Personal File (PPF) 5901, Roosevelt Presidential Library, Hyde Park, New York. Vinson’s letter is summarized in Stephen E. Pelz, Race to Pearl Harbor: The Failure of the Second London Naval Conference and the Onset of World War II (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1974), pp. 77–78. 14. For the decline in Japanese military expenditure, see Table 7 in Hugh T. Patrick, “The Economic Muddle of the 1920s,” in Dilemmas of Growth in Prewar Japan, ed. James W. Morley (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1971), p. 250. For the reductions in the army’s force levels, see Leonard Alfred Humphreys, “The Imperial Japanese Army, 1918–1929: The Disintegration of the Meiji Military System,” Ph.D. thesis (Stanford, CA: Stanford University, 1975). 15. Ito Takashi, Showa shoki seiji shi kenkyu: Rondon kaigun gunshuku mondai o meguru sho seiji shudan no taiko to teikei (A study in the political history of the early Showa era: Cooperation and confrontation among various political groups around the issues of the London Naval Arms-Limitation Conference) (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppanki, 1969); Kobayashi Tatsuo, “The London Naval Treaty, 1930,” trans. Arthur E. Tiedemann, in Japan Erupts: The London Naval Conference and the Manchurian Incident, 1928–1932, ed. James W. Morley (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984), pp. 11–137; James B. Crowley, Japan’s Quest for Autonomy: National Security and Foreign Policy 1930–1938 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1966), chap. 1; and Asada Sadao, “The Japanese Navy and the United States,” in Pearl Harbor as History: Japanese-American Relations 1931–1941, ed. Dorothy Borg and Shumpei Okamoto (New York: Columbia University Press, 1973), pp. 225–243. 16. There is no direct evidence on this point, but in a highly publicized and highly political speech in August 1931 Minami had juxtaposed the army’s concern over government efforts further to restrain its budget with its concern over Manchuria. See Minami Jiro denki (A biography of Minami Jiro), Mitari Tatsuo, (Minami Jiro Denki Kankokai, 1957), pp. 217–218; Takehiko Yoshihashi, Conspiracy at Mukden: The Rise of the Japanese Military (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press), pp. 102–106; and Crowley, note 15, pp. 91–93, 102–109. 17. Pelz, note 13, pp. 172–174, 196–197. 18. For the deal cut between the government and the army in 1927, see F. L. Carsten, The Reichswehr and Politics 1918–1933 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1966), pp. 265–267, 274–275. On the stance of the Grand Coalition, see Das Kabinett Müller II, 28. Juni 1928 bis 27. Marz 1930, vol. 1, no. 42, ed. Martin Vogt, (Rhein: Harald Boldt Verlag, 1970). 19. On Schleicher’s role in 1932, see Edward W. Bennett, German Rearmament and the West, 1932–1933 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979), chaps. 1, 4. 20. Wilhelm Deist, “Die Aufrüstung der Wehrmacht,” in Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg, Militärgeschichtlichen Forschungsamt vol. 1: ed. Wilhelm Deist et al., Ursachen und Voraussetzungen der Deutschen Kriegspolitik (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1979), pp. 371–532; and Deist, The Wehrmacht and German Rearmament (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1981), pp. 44–53. 21. Parliamentary Debates: Official Report (House of Commons), ser. 5, vol. 285, November 10, 1932. 22. Parliamentary Debates, vol. 317, November 12, 1936. 23. On the attitude of the veterans’ organizations, see Maurice Vaïsse, Sécurité d’abord: La politique francaise en matière de désarmement, 9 décembre 1930–17 avril 1934 (Paris: Pedone, 1981), p. 157. On pacifism among the peasantry and on anxiety about la terreur aérochimique, see Ladislas Mysyrowicz, Autopsie d’une

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défaite: Origines de l’effrondrement militaire français de 1940 (Paris: L’Age d’Homme, 1973), pp. 174–178, 336–343. 24. Quoted in Joel Colton, Léon Blum (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1974), p. 107. 25. Oswald Garrison Villard, editor of the Nation, as quoted in Robert Dallek, Franklin D. Roosevelt and American Foreign Policy, 1932–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), p. 101. 26. Quoted in Robert A. Divine, Roosevelt and World War II (New York: Penguin Books, 1970), p. 9. For the political context of the speech, see Wayne S. Cole, Roosevelt and the Isolationists, 1932–45 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1983), pp. 200–203. 27. Bradford A. Lee, “The Miscarriage of Necessity and Invention: ProtoKeynesianism and Democratic States in the 1930s,” in The Political Power of Economic Ideas: Keynesianism across Nations, ed. Peter A. Hall (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1989), pp. 147–150. 28 Robert H. Levine, “The Politics of American Naval Rearmament, 1930–1938,” Ph.D. thesis, Harvard University, 1972, p. 241. 29. The Army’s stance on the defense of the Philippines can be traced in the records of the Joint Army-Navy Board, Serial 573, File 305, Box 7, RG 225, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 30. Pelz, note 13, pp. 200–203; Levine, note 28, pp. 301, 314n. 31. Lee, note 27, pp. 162, 165–167, offers an explanation of Roosevelt’s return to fiscal orthodoxy in 1936 and 1937. 32. Quoted in Cole, note 26, p. 264. 33. Stephen W. Roskill, The War at Sea 1939–45, vol. 1 (Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1954), pp. 560–561. 34. Pelz, note 13, pp. 218, 223, 226. 35. For the political expression of the fiscal ideas of Herriot and other Radicals, see the documents in journal, vol. 10, Herriot MS, archives of the Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, Paris. For the state of the Treasury in mid-1932, see the records in F30/2340, Ministère des Finances, Paris. 36. For confirmation of this point, see Joseph Paul-Boncour, Entre Deux Guerres, vol. 2 (Paris: Librairie Plon, 1945), p. 224. Paul-Boncour was a central figure in the formulation of French policy toward the Disarmament Conference. 37. See the records in F30/2342, Ministère des Finances, and in Box 6N364 and Box 7N4209, Archives du Service Historique de l’Armée, Château de Vincennes. The best published account of the defense program of 1934 is in Robert Frankenstein, Le prix du réarmament français (1935–1939) (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1982), pp. 52–57. 38. Meetings of the Conseil General of the Bank of France in June and July 1935, archives of the Bank of France, Paris; and various memoranda in F30/2343, Ministere des Finances. 39. The details of the evolution of French rearmament can be followed in Frankenstein, note 37. A table on p. 315 of his book gives reliable figures for defense spending. 40. Bradford A. Lee, “Strategy, Arms and the Collapse of France, 1930–40,” in Diplomacy and Intelligence during the Second World War, ed. Richard Langhorne, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985), pp. 43–67. 41. Cabinet meeting, March 23, 1932, CAB 23/70, Public Record Office (PRO), London. See also a Treasury memorandum, March 11, 1932, CAB 24/229. 42. The DRC report is in CAB 16/110, PRO. The standard published account is Gibbs, note 5, chap. 4.

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43. For Chamberlain’s counterattack on the DRC recommendations, see the minutes of the Ministerial Committee on Disarmament in 1934, CAB 16/110– 111, PRO. For his satisfaction with the outcome, see his letter to his sisters, July 28, 1934, 18/1, Neville Chamberlain MS, Birmingham University Library. 44. W. N. Medlicott et al., eds., Documents on British Foreign Policy 1919– 1939 (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1973), 2d. ser., vol. 13; entries for October and November 1934 in Diary, 2/23, Chamberlain MS; and CAB 29/149 (a Cabinet Committee), FO 371/17597-17602 (Foreign Office records), and T172/1831 (Treasury records), PRO. 45. W. N. Medlicott, Britain and Germany: The Search for Agreement, 1930– 1937 (London: Athlone Press, 1969); and Uri Bialer, The Shadow of the Bomber: The Fear of Air Attack and British Politics 1932–1939 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1980), chap. 3. 46. Report by the Chiefs of Staff, November 12, 1937, CAB 4/26, the key passage from which is quoted in Bradford A. Lee, Britain and the Sino-Japanese War, 1937–1939 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1973), p. 80. The report urged the government “to reduce the numbers of our potential enemies.” 47. The sharp acceleration of rearmament from early 1936 can be followed from the vantage point of the Treasury in T171/324, 332, and 340 and in the relevant files in T161/783, PRO. For the imposition of the ceiling on defense expenditure, see the report by Sir Thomas Inskip (Minister for Co-ordination of Defence), December 15, 1937, CAB 24/273, and the Cabinet meeting of December 22, 1937, CAB 23/90, PRO. 48. Lee, note 46, p. 219. 49. Lee, “Miscarriage,” note 27, pp. 152–167. 50. Ibid., pp. 152–170.

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11 The Western Antinuclear Movement During the 1980s: Roots, Motivations, and Goals Richard A. Bitzinger

The Western Antinuclear Movement During the 1980s: Roots, Motivations, Goals Richard A. Bitzinger

The popular campaign in the West calling upon governments to unilaterally discard nuclear weapons (also called the antinuclear movement or the “peace movement”) has been waged, off and on, for over thirty years. Although one can debate its impact and influence, one cannot doubt its staying power, albeit through several mutations. The antinuclear movement may rise in the New World Order, as it did in the late 1950s and late 1970s; and fall, as it did in the mid-1960s and late 1980s—but it is unlikely that it will ever disappear entirely. The antinuclear movement in North America and Western Europe, particularly during its most recent phase of activity in the late 1970s and early 1980s, has been the object of a great deal of scrutiny. Little, however, has been written of the causes behind this movement. During the two peaks of the antinuclear campaign, several highly visible issues surrounding nuclear weapons arose in the West. In the late 1950s and early 1960s, NATO’s decision to deploy nuclear-armed medium-range ballistic missiles in Western Europe, concerns about the health hazards of atmospheric nuclear testing, and continuing expansion of the US-Soviet nuclear arms race all evoked a strong public response. Twenty years later, the neutron bomb and the issue of NATO intermediate nuclear force (INF) modernization revitalized the movement, both in America and in Europe. Yet these issues were only the catalysts to the emergence or reemergence of the antinuclear movement; deeper forces were also at work behind the strength of this movement. What social factors, therefore, drove the antinuclear movement, especially during its most recent incarnation in the 1980s? Is it possible to identify the main philosophical roots or motivations behind this movement? That is, what were the primary values that ran through the movement and influenced its leaders and participants? Moreover, how did these motivations in turn affect the particular course that the antinuclear movement took during this period and how did they influence the activities, methods, and 229

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goals of the movement? Finally, what influence, if any, did the peace movement have over the arms control process, in particular on nonnegotiated disarmament? This chapter has two broad objectives: (1) It seeks to explore and discuss those philosophical motivations and values that drove the antinuclear movement, particularly during the 1980s and even up to the present; (2) It tries to examine how these motivations and values in turn influenced and even sharply delineated the activities, aims, and processes of the movement. The antinuclear movement has been described as a “complex phenomenon,” meaning that the movement has no well-defined ideology.1 One observer listed the Western peace movement’s participants as a motley crew of “pacifists, Quakers, communists, Roman Catholics, conservatives, ecologists, and just-plain-worrieds.”2 No single value-set appears to provide the definitive answer as to what motivated and empowered the antinuclear movement; instead, it appears that people joined for a variety of reasons. The antinuclear campaign is obviously nonmonolithic and apolitical—that is, it is not dictated by any single rigid set of ideas, nor is it firmly wedded to any political philosophy. This does not mean that political ideologues (such as communists) do not get involved in the antinuclear movement or that the movement does not try to influence national politics in its particular country (such as the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament— CND—does in the United Kingdom). However, it is apparent that the movement is philosophically decentralized and politically broad-based. It is possible, therefore, to identify several key motives behind individuals’ participation in the movement. These include pacifism, the immorality of nuclear weapons, feminism, politics, and the simple fear of nuclear war (“antinuclearism”). These will all be addressed in this chapter. At the same time, however, not all of these motivations exerted equal weight within the movement or should be placed on the same plane of importance. Rather, it is possible to isolate a more fundamental and overarching set of motivations that unified and focused the movement. In particular, the antinuclear campaign should be seen as an expression of a growing “antiestablishment” movement that saw nuclear arms as one of the worse manifestations of a society whose structures and values its members rejected. A combination of an antiestablishment philosophy and antinuclearism appeared to wield the strongest influence over the peace movement, and this was especially apparent in the movement’s agenda for disarmament. Pacifism

Pacifism is perhaps the most obvious of historical motivations behind the antinuclear movement. The peace movement has often been thought of as

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synonymous with the campaign against nuclear weapons. In fact, the peace movement predates the existence of nuclear weapons by over a hundred years. In the United States, the pacifist movement dates back to before the Civil War, with the founding of the American Peace Union in the middle of the nineteenth century; it survived in various manifestations such as the War Resisters League and World Without War, up to the opening of the atomic era. Religion has also played an important role within the US pacifist movement, and sects such as the Mennonites and the Society of Friends (Quakers), and religious organizations like the Fellowship of Reconciliation, have been major actors within this movement. In Europe, pacifism in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was largely the domain of the political left. Many social democratic and labor parties, or significant segments of them, embraced the idea of antimilitarist “socialist internationalism.” A strong streak of internationalist pacifism could be found within much of the European left right up to the outbreak of World War II, particularly within the left wing of the German Social Democrats, the socialist parties of Scandinavia and the Low Countries, and the Independent Labour Party of Britain. Even during the postwar period, antimilitarism, coupled with the hope for a neutral, disarmed Europe situated between the two superpowers, was able to find a receptive home in the far left of most West European social democratic and labor parties. Pacifism is straightforward in its philosophy: War is categorically abhorrent. It is an unnatural state of man that robs mankind of human lives and of human dignity, that draws away resources that better serve the cause of mankind, and that promotes violence in the human race and saps our humanity. Finally, it is pointless, for war is about greed, and its accomplishments are always fleeting or fruitless. In actuality, war achieves nothing but death and destruction. These motivations are doubly reinforced for religious pacifists. War, in the minds of such sects as the Quakers and the Mennonites, is not only wrong but a sin against God. War violates the very core of Jesus’ teachings, which is based upon the recognition of universal brotherhood and the love of all humanity. To pacifists, nuclear weapons represent the most extreme manifestation of the unnaturalness, stupidity, and indignity of war. The sheer destructiveness of nuclear weapons demonstrates more than ever the fact that war does not serve the human or national goals of mankind. If anything, these weapons only reveal more clearly how self-destructive war is to the human race. The suicidal nature of modern war has not only made the idea of war unacceptable, it has made also the concept of national security based on the threat of nuclear-backed violence even more intolerable. Pacifists demand complete disarmament—in particular nuclear disarmament but also conventional disarmament as well. All weapons not only make wars possible, they hold back the attainment of the true peaceful state of man.

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The difficulty, however, is that not every member, or even a majority, of the antinuclear movement during the late 1970s and early 1980s was a pacifist, nor did the movement necessarily oppose all weapons. The largest antinuclear group in the United States, SANE/Freeze, never embraced total disarmament. Even within the British Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), which demanded unilateral nuclear disarmament, true pacifists were thought to comprise only a quarter of the organization’s membership, and the fraction was probably much less.3 In addition, not everyone within the antinuclear movement would necessarily categorically reject the need for maintaining a credible national defense or even the idea of war serving fundamental national or even humanitarian interests (such as the struggle against Nazism during World War II). A deep and abiding pacifist spirit, therefore, does not by itself satisfactorily explain the rise and strength of the postwar antinuclear movement. Surely, the peace movement and pacifism played an important role within the larger antinuclear protest. In addition, it could be argued that most people, not just those within the antinuclear movement, genuinely crave peace over war and would probably generally agree with basic premises of the pacifist movement—that war is an aberrant state of man and ultimately nihilistic. Yet to be a true pacifist, to absolutely and categorically renounce all war and all armaments, and to be ready to suffer any indignity, even death, for these beliefs, was too extreme and idealistic a road for most members of the antinuclear movement to follow. Moralism

A moral aversion to nuclear weapons is also rather easy to see. In a sense, it is related to the pacifist drive, for pacifists certainly see nuclear weapons as immoral. In addition, religion, as a definer of morality, again comes into play, although the nonreligious (such as humanists) have frequently expressed their opposition to nuclear weapons on so-called moral grounds. The moralist question concerning nuclear weapons tends to be narrow in scope. Unlike pacifism, it does not attempt to denounce all war or all arms (while a pacifist is almost always a moralist, a moralist is not always a pacifist), and it is usually limited to nuclear weapons. Even if certain kinds of weapons or even certain types of wars are permissible, nuclear weapons and nuclear deterrence are totally unacceptable. The sheer destructive power of nuclear weapons and the suicidal nature of nuclear war makes even the contemplation of their use incredible and unimaginable. To toy with the survival of mankind is, to their way of thinking, the most immoral act conceivable, and to use nuclear weapons (or even to threaten to use them), is, quite simply, inexcusable.

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Because it is so broadly painted, the idea of the immorality of nuclear weapons has been extremely appealing. Indeed, the moralist argument was one of the more frequently used within the antinuclear movement. The writings of the early antinuclear activists—Bertrand Russell, Norman Cousins, etc.—were peppered with statements about the “immorality” of the atomic bomb.4 And as one British Labour politician put it: A nuclear war . . . affects the whole of the human race, it affects this planet, it affects future generations, and we have no right, comrades, whatever our beliefs, however strongly we believe in our isms, . . . to commit the destruction of future generations; we have no right to destroy this planet.5

The problem with moral arguments alone is that morality is too often subjective. Generally, the “immorality” of nuclear weapons has been taken for granted. But it was left unclear what it is exactly that makes nuclear weapons so inherently evil. Certainly they can rob individuals of life and threaten civilization, but then so can conventional weapons, particularly advanced-technology nonnuclear weaponry such as cruise missiles and “smart bombs.” Furthermore, one man’s morality is not always the same for the next man. Some, for example, have found very persuasive moral arguments for maintaining nuclear weapons and nuclear deterrence. Nuclear deterrence is based on a philosophical premise that asserts that the destructive power of nuclear weapons—the very thing that is so frightening and immoral to some—has actually exerted a stabilizing and restraining influence over international relations. Ultimately, while cloaking an argument against nuclear weapons in a moralistic suit of clothes may be appealing, too often the philosophical foundation for that morality has been poorly thought through or is simply lacking. Politics

Despite certain efforts to remain apolitical and “above the fray,” the antinuclear movement was never totally divorced from politics and ideology. Indeed, the campaign against nuclear weapons has long been a favorite target of political parties, organizations, and movements which have sought to embrace or exploit antinuclear sentiments for their own political gain. One such example was the quite obvious partisanism of communist parties and communist front organizations. Communist parties in both North America and Western Europe were long active in the peace and antinuclear movements, both directly and through a variety of front organizations, such as the World Peace Council and the Christian Peace Conference. These organizations were usually run by local communist parties and have historically

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attempted to link up and coordinate antinuclear activities with other more “legitimate” antinuclear groups. In actuality, their antinuclear stance was decidedly one-sided: capitalist nuclear forces were evil and therefore the primary object of their protests, while communist nuclear forces were defensive and “peace oriented.” At the same time, however, such partisan antinuclearism did not hold great sway over the antinuclear movement in the West. Not everyone who participated in the antinuclear movement was a communist or a pro-Soviet stooge. While communist front organizations may have been very influential within the movement, they did not control or dictate the entire movement. Some “genuine” antinuclear movements (such as SANE and CND), in fact, went out of their way to avoid even the hint of a collaborative relationship with communist front organizations. For the most part, therefore, the nonpartisan antinuclear movement and these front organizations tended to run along parallel lines. A second, more significant type of politics at work within the movement during the 1980s could be called “opposition politics,” meaning the efforts by political parties—in particular, mainstream social democratic and labor parties (such as those in Britain, Germany, the Low Countries, and Scandinavia)—to embrace the goals of the antinuclear movement and use these sentiments to their own political advantage. At the same time, antinuclear activists were often very active within these political groups in an effort to influence party programs in supporting radical disarmament measures. The result was often a symbiotic relationship between these political parties and antinuclear organizations. By adopting the goals of nuclear disarmament, these parties hoped to tap a wellspring of support that would return them to power. In turn, antinuclear activists hoped to harness the political power of these parties to realize their disarmament agendas. During the 1980s, the German Social Democrats (SPD) and the Labour party came to embrace attitudes increasingly hostile to nuclear forces. The SPD, once a bulwark for NATO’s doctrine of flexible response and a leading supporter of INF modernization, had by 1982 totally reversed itself and called for the unilateral withdrawal of all new medium-range nuclear forces from German soil. That same year, the Labour party adopted a unilateralist stance on nuclear disarmament. It does not necessarily follow that such politics was a primary or critical motivation behind the rise and expansion of the peace movement, however. Indeed, it was often hard to see the advantages accruing to these parties in adopting such an antinuclear stance. It did not aid their return to power; if anything, their radical opposition to nuclear weapons often appeared to have hurt them electorally. Nor did they seem to gain any great influence within the antinuclear movement. All in all, it is hard to see how politics and political ideologies played an instrumental role within the anti-

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nuclear movement. In fact, many antinuclear activists were vehemently apolitical or even antipolitical. For them, politics was less a motivation than it was a means (and perhaps not even a very important one) to an end. Feminism

Feminism was a key component within the antinuclear movement during the 1980s. Women have come to play a critical role in the movement, both individually and within various feminist organizations. Women have been at the forefront of leadership in the campaign against nuclear weapons. Randall Forsberg, founder and executive director of the Institute for Defense and Disarmament Studies, is credited with establishing the idea of the bilateral nuclear freeze. Australian pediatrician Dr. Helen Caldicott breathed new life into the Physicians for Social Responsibility and fashioned it into a major force within the movement. Her film, The Last Epidemic, as well as her book, Missile Envy, had a major impact upon the nuclear weapons debate and probably can be credited with bringing many people into the antinuclear protest movement. In addition, several feminist and women’s interest–oriented organizations have been extremely active within the antinuclear and peace movement. These include the Women’s Strike for Peace (one of the earliest antinuclear protest groups), Mothers Embracing Nuclear Disarmament (MEND), the “Women for Peace” movement in Scandinavia, and Britain’s famed Greenham Common Women (so called for their years-long peace vigil—complete with “peace camps”—outside the US cruise missile base in Greenham Common, England). Some of these organizations were not only led by women but had a women-only policy with regards to membership. For example, the “Women for Peace” (Kvinder for Fred) group in Denmark had a strict “no-males-allowed” principle, in order “to avoid male domination and to enjoy the better working relationships of an all-female milieu.”6 The most fundamental, guiding feminist belief underlying these organizations is that women—and children—are victims of a masculine-based sociopolitical system. The feminist protest against nuclear weapons was, therefore, only a “part of a wider criticism of the value system which a male-dominated society has ‘forced on’ women.”7 Moreover, not only is this system violent and self-destructive, but the existence of nuclear weapons makes the male threat to the innocents all that much more pressing. As a result, Women have been moved to act as women. . . . [T]he women see themselves and their children as a “minority” threatened by what men are doing. While in the past men traditionally killed men in war, in a nuclear

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war women and children would equally be victims. . . . They are moved to act in protest against masculine presumption. As one woman peace leader puts it, “We want to protect our young against the evils of masculinity.”8

Nuclear weapons and the arms race, therefore, is just one more part of the overall equation of male domination. Helen Caldicott even went so far as to claim that the nuclear arms race was at least in part the result of the biological, hormonal, and “psychosexual” makeup of men.9 Aggressive behavior in men, she argued, is to some extent “hormonally controlled” and linked, in good Freudian fashion, to repressed sexuality. She asserted that, “The hideous weapons of mass genocide may be symptoms of several male emotions, reflecting inadequate sexuality, a need continually to prove virility, and a primitive fascination with killing.”10 Caldicott also noted that nuclear weapons terminology is rife with sexual overtones (missile erector, deep penetration, etc.). Women, on the other hand, by virtue of their physiological, hormonal, and psychological makeup, are seen as the hope for the continued survival of the human race. Women, feminist groups argue, are more attuned to peace issues. Caldicott wrote of the “positive feminine principle of nurturing, loving, and caring.” Feminist-led antinuclear organizations, in fact, often couched their arguments in terms of family and child-rearing. In Denmark, for example, Kvinder for Fred stressed “simple moral values such as direct human contact, the substitution of food for arms, love of children, and survival itself.”11 Geopolitics and ideological differences are rejected as a male ploy, while women, by virtue of their role as nurturers and keepers of the family, have a common interest in preserving human survival that transcends frontier, languages, and creeds. Many of these feminist antinuclear groups, in fact, openly eschewed politics in favor of a flat, grass-roots, and decidedly apolitical style of action. The “Women for Peace” movement in the individual Scandinavian countries, for example, maintained no national organization or headquarters, nor did they set a national agenda for themselves. Yet, obviously, feminism does not motivate all antinuclear protesters. Not every participant in the antinuclear movement was female, nor did every woman in the movement adhere to feminist principles surrounding masculine behavior and the women’s role in reshaping the world’s sociopolitical values. Furthermore, it should be noted as well that even feminists could not agree completely on how to run their antinuclear protest. In the late 1980s, the feminist antinuclear movement became divided between those who wanted to pursue a radically militant feminist philosophy and expand their program of action and those who embraced more modest goals.12 In addition, the refusal of some feminist antinuclear movements to create a national organization and coordinate their activities with other anti-

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nuclear and peace groups greatly limited their impact on the overall campaign against nuclear weapons. Antinuclearism

At first glance, this motivation may appear tautological: One opposes nuclear weapons, therefore, one is antinuclear. Yet in the literature of the antinuclear protest, one concern has repeatedly and inevitably surfaced: an overriding fear of nuclear war. This drive should not be played down, therefore. Most participants in the movement are so struck by the unbelievable destructive power of nuclear weapons that even the contemplation of their use (“thinking the unthinkable”), let alone basing one’s security on such weapons, is simply intolerable. Fear of nuclear war, and of nuclear weapons, can be traced back to the very onset of the antinuclear movement. Bertrand Russell, at the height of the CND movement in the 1960s, recalled how struck he was by the “ferocity” of the Hiroshima bomb, and that the danger of nuclear war only pointed out the “obvious” urgency of nuclear disarmament.13 Norman Cousins, writing in his World Federalist days, argued that nuclear weapons have radically altered the global environment and have changed for all time the rules of war. The atomic bomb, he asserted, has erased old frontiers and “man-made barriers,” and the world is now a “single potential battlefield.”14 The 1955 Pugwash Conference argued that there were only two choices facing man at the time: either to put an end to nuclear weapons or else see the end of the human race.15 This nuclear phobia was no less apparent, and no less fervent, at later stages of the antinuclear movement, and “survivalism” became a common theme running through many antinuclear organizations. SANE/Freeze has argued that “the irony is that nuclear weapons, meant at one time to defend individual nations, have united people everywhere in a common peril,” adding that the “threat of nuclear accident or war is nondiscriminatory.”16 In light of such fears, it should come as no surprise that the antinuclear movement generally believed that reducing the risk of nuclear war should take precedence over anything else. Russell argued that the danger of nuclear war and the need for the continued survival of mankind rose above such “petty concerns” as politics or creeds.17 The need for an overarching solution was no less relevant to the antinuclear movement during the 1980s. SANE/Freeze asserted that, “The danger is real. The time is short.” The German Social Democrats argued that the East and West “have no choice but to develop joint procedures for managing conflicts. Opposing ideologies should not deter them from solving the mutual problem of war prevention.”18 Nuclear weapons, therefore, became the embodiment of all their fears

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about the future of mankind. For the leaders and participants in the antinuclear movement, these weapons were the repository of all that is wrong with society today. Ironically, nuclear weapons were often the embodiment of all hopes as well. If one could simply rid the planet of nuclear weapons, the argument went, it would be a much safer and also a better world in which to live. Antiestablishmentism

One of the more interesting arguments about the emergence of the antinuclear movement in the last decade is that it was simply one manifestation of a growing “antiestablishment” attitude toward the current sociopolitical system. Thomas Rochon, in his 1988 study of West European antinuclear groups, identified two strong, intertwined “value contexts” at work within the peace movement: “antimodernism,” a rejection of modern society which is perceived to be bureaucratized, materialistic, and dehumanized; and “postmaterialism,” an emphasis on individual fulfillment and noneconomic, “quality of life” goals.19 Essentially, this antiestablishmentism has at its core “a critical attitude towards established social evaluations.”20 It is, quite simply, “an expression of a deeper criticism of society in the 1980s.”21 At the same time, antiestablishment attitudes embrace an entirely different value system from established industrial society. These two value systems, it is argued, have radically diverging priorities: Production, merit, efficiency, career, power and status are central concepts in [the values of industrial society]. The other type of value system, the so-called post-material values . . . includes a critical attitude towards a ‘derailed welfare state.’ Participation, solidarity and self-determination are central concepts of this value system.22

In turn, these values are embodied in what has been called an “anti-establishment subculture,” comprising a “wide variety of groups” who share this basic criticism of existing society and seek alternatives to it.23 The antinuclear movement during the 1980s was, arguably, an antiestablishment movement. Basically, antinuclear protests arose “outside of the mainstream of normal political life,” and addressed “issues not considered by the mainstream political parties”; therefore, “their appearance and persistence have been widely interpreted as a sign of the weakness and even the failure of the existing party systems.”24 At the same time, the antinuclear movement shared the same opposition to authority that runs through antiestablishment attitudes. A US analyst has succinctly (and rather pessimistically) summed up this antiauthoritarian streak within the antinuclear movement:

The Western Antinuclear Movement During the 1980s

Behind the revival of utopian pacifism and the belief that the main obstacle to true peace in Europe is NATO and not the Soviet Union, there lies in fact a profound denial of the legitimacy, specifically the legitimate authority, of democratic Western governments. (emphasis added)25

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In keeping with antiestablishment attitudes, for example, the antinuclear movement embodied a rejection of the “logic of established security policies.” A criticism of the international security regime that emerged after World War II—particularly the division of the world into two camps, each dominated by mutually distrusting and hostile superpowers, who in turn base their security on the concept of nuclear deterrence—was at the heart of the antinuclear protest. Ultimately, this regime is unstable, as nuclear deterrence and mutual assured destruction are inherently illogical. One simply cannot hope to base one’s continued survival on the continuous threat of mutual suicide. The threat to man, therefore, was basically systemic, with the Cold War and the nuclear arms race constituting the twin evils of this “deterrence system.”26 At the same time, the antiestablishment attitude held an alternative vision for the future of the world. In rejecting the elitist, “business as usual” way of conducting global affairs, it called for a dramatic restructuring of international relations and a reformulation of security policies. It sought nothing less than a new direction in managing interpersonal, national, and global relations. The Grünen (Greens) of the Federal Republic of Germany, perhaps the quintessential antiestablishment movement in the West, summed up this vision: We need a strategy that provides a positive alternative, that enables the initiation of a departure from the dominant conceptions of security policy. We want to transform the arms race spiral into a disarmament race spiral—and not sometime in the future, for we are going to begin now. The “initiation of a departure” from the military deterrence and balance-ofpower system is urgently needed, as the system’s own inner dynamic has long been in the process of bringing about its own destabilization. We have to be ready to begin with clear and concrete measures at our very own doorstep.27

The antinuclear movement also adopted these “positive alternatives” in its aims and objectives. SANE/Freeze, the largest antinuclear protest organization in the United States, asserted in its 1988 statement on immediate and long-term strategy aims and objectives that were classic antiestablishment: “We will seek to articulate a long-range vision of a radically different, peaceful world system. . . . As human beings and as an organization, we are choosing a new course toward lasting world peace.”28 In this regard, SANE/Freeze called for “the development of alternative methods for solving international conflict.”29

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Similiar antiestablishment attitudes, visions, and strategies appeared in the statements of other antinuclear groups. The leader of the American Peace Test, a breakaway faction from the SANE/Freeze organization, implied that the antinuclear movement was part of a larger, “integrated strategy” to create a “multiracial, nonsexist mass movement” combining both an effort to reverse the arms race and to achieve greater social justice. “We cannot,” she argued, “create change by mimicking structures that have been so oppressive in our society.”30 The secretary of the Dutch religiousled peace movement, the Interchurch Peace Council (IKV), once stated that, beyond the abolition of nuclear weapons from the Netherlands, he was interested “in creating an entirely different culture.”31 One of the best-thought-out antiestablishment visions for the antinuclear movement advanced during the 1980s was made by E. P. Thompson, a British historian and founder of European Nuclear Disarmament (END), a loose umbrella organization that linked peace and antinuclear groups in both Western and Eastern Europe. In his criticism and rejection of Cold War politics and the “deterrence system,” he calls instead for a reunified, disarmed, and neutral Europe standing between the two superpowers. This united and reinvigorated Europe, in turn, would act as a force for peace and disarmament throughout the world.32 Such powerful sentiments struck a cord within much of the antinuclear movement within Western Europe, and neutralist tendencies have become very strong within groups like the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) and various movements within Germany, Denmark, and the Netherlands. The antinuclear movement in North America and Western Europe was more than a simple opposition to nuclear weapons, and it came to embrace a far-reaching antiestablishment platform. A “simple focus” on the nuclear arms race was replaced by a “multiple focus that includes other foreign policy issues and domestic social justice.”33 During the 1980s, nonnuclear issues such as El Salvador, aid to the Nicaraguan contras, and domestic social spending also entered the agendas of antinuclear organizations. In particular, peace and antinuclear movements in the West began to toy with the ideas of alternative security systems, and proposals for “common security,” “defensive defense,” and “civilian-based defense” increasingly figured in their literature.34 It is easy to see antiestablishmentism at the root of the other motivations that have been discussed so far, such as pacifism and feminism, which are basically criticisms and rejections of current societal values and institutions. The influence of antiestablishment attitudes could also be found in the organization, strategy, and tactics of the antinuclear movement. Many antinuclear organizations pursued a decentralized, grass-roots strategy. Hierarchical structures were believed to be much of the reason for the unaccountability of established authority to its citizens and a major cause

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of alienation in industrial society. The emphasis in antinuclear organizations, therefore, was less on action at the national level (such as lobbying Congress) than on activity at the local level (such as getting voters to declare their city or town a “nuclear-free zone”). The American Freeze movement, for example, was founded on the principle of a localized and “bottom up” process. For its part, CND in Britain was organized at both a national and local level and maintains two membership roles. Antiestablishmentism and Civil Disobedience

Antiestablishmentism was also a factor in the movement’s adoption of civil disobedience. If antiestablishment attitudes entailed a rejection of the standing sociopolitical order of things, it followed that one must be prepared to break its rules and laws—to some, in fact, such a course of action was considered mandatory. At the same time, however, antinuclear movements generally rejected violence, as violence was seen as a core problem of modern society. Hence, nonviolent yet illegal protest—civil disobedience—became an important weapon in the antinuclear movement’s arsenal. Most civil disobedience involved trespassing on government or military installations, such as entering nuclear submarine bases, blocking the entrances to the cruise missile bases in England, disrupting military exercises, and breaking into the offices of the departments and ministries of defense. It became very popular for antinuclear protesters in the United States to hold sit-down strikes at the nuclear test site in Nevada, provoking mass arrests and putting a massive logistical and financial burden on the local law enforcement and judicial system, much to the embarrassment of regional and national authorities. Greenpeace attempted to sail into the French nuclear testing zone in the South Pacific, echoing a similiar attempt in the late 1950s by the ship Golden Rule to disrupt US atmospheric atomic testing at Eniwetok Atoll. Finally, many antinuclear protesters refused to pay income taxes, arguing that one was morally obliged to deny financial support of the maintenance of a militaristic and self-destructive social system. Antiestablishmentism and Nonnegotiated Arms Control

Finally, one could see the influence of antiestablishment attitudes in the antinuclear movement’s disarmament agenda during the 1980s. Basically, there existed two broad approaches to nuclear disarmament within the movement: unilateralism and reciprocal gradualism. Unilateral disarmament, in keeping with antiestablishmentism, constitutes a radical renuncia-

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tion of the current international relations regime and the related “psychologic of nuclear deterrence.” In other words, “it is not the political and military intentions of the Soviets that endanger world peace, but rather, the instability of mutual deterrence.”35 Unilateralism means not just the disarmament of one side in order to reduce nuclear worries—the “renunciation of one’s own fear-inducing military potential.”36 Rather, by rejecting established security policies, regardless of the other side’s reactions, it proposes a radical change in the way nations maintain national security and conduct their international relations. Unilateralism embraces and advances a higher vision of interpersonal and group relationships. Reciprocal gradualism—such as found in Charles Osgood’s strategy of GRIT (graduated and reciprocated initiatives in tension-reduction) differs from unilateralism mainly in that it takes a more incrementalist approach to weapons reduction and to changing people’s values and perceptions. Osgood, a psychologist by trade, was less concerned about one side or the other “losing” the arms race than with “the struggle for power” embodied in this race eventually leading to a threat to the very survival of mankind.37 This ultimately self-defeating struggle he attributed to “certain dynamic processes in human thinking,” which he dubbed the “Neanderthal Mentality.”38 One irrationally magnified one’s perceived enemy into an absolute bogeyman, with whom cooperation was out of the question. Therefore, the Cold War and the arms race were essentially a “psychological phenomenon,” based on a misplaced mutual distrust that prevented cooperation. Osgood was interested in finding a way of breaking this psychological deadlock, to encourage a fundamental change in the societal and political values that affected international relations and the way states maintained their national security. He understood, however, that such change could not be effected overnight but would have to come in increments. He therefore advocated a graduated unilateral approach to disarmament and Cold War disengagement that would encourage reciprocation. Reciprocal gradualism is unilateral in that it expressly supports onesided measures of disarmament in order to evoke a response from the other side. The hope is that this process will start a downward arms spiral—in other words, a “disarmament race.” Osgood himself described this as using the arms race as a “model for its own reversal.” In particular, he called for continued unilateral actions even in the face of nonreciprocation, since it could take a series of actions to break down old psychological patterns inhibiting cooperation. The process could always be reversed by one side if its unilateral steps were not reciprocated, but the belief was that this process could encourage an international environment that would lead not only to further disarmament but also to a gradual but substantive change in societal and political values.

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Conclusion

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“Antiestablishmentism” goes a long way in explaining the rise, actions, and aims of the antinuclear movement. Again, however, it is not clear that a majority in the antinuclear movement held fervently antiestablishment attitudes. Many participants were likely to have had much more limited goals than altering all societal and “systemic” values, nor did they appear to totally reject the institutions of modern society. Their antiestablishmentism was more directed against the “politics as usual” way of conducting international relations policy than against all “politics.” Rochon termed this a “third way” between theories of “new social movements,” which are rejectionist and seek nothing less than the reconstitution of society, and theories of resource mobilization, which are more oriented toward interest-group policymaking. He added: The peace movement is far more integrated with established institutions than the new social movement theory would allow. At the same time, the alternative security programs championed by the peace movement would require departure from existing patterns of international relations that are more dramatic than the policy reforms envisaged by the resource mobilization school.39

Moreover, the extent and parameters of antiestablishment attitudes have never been clearly defined. To speak of a world free of racism, sexism, and a “societal substructure” based on nuclear deterrence still leaves this philosophy pretty vague. The fact is, antiestablishmentism remains a murky concept. To a certain extent, most people are “antiestablishment,” in that most have a bone to pick with the way society works and in that most would have things they would like to see changed. Most people desire peace and would like to see nuclear weapons banished from the earth, but it does not necessarily follow that this constitutes a radical departure from the current values or sociopolitics. Ultimately, the difficulty with antiestablishment arguments is that they do not sufficiently distinguish between that which is merely reformist and that which is truly revolutionary. In fact, by the late 1980s this had led to a “crisis of the soul” within the antiestablishment forces. There emerged very evident and often very dramatic splits within this front. Frustrations with the slow pace of change occasionally but increasingly exploded into violence, and there was an upsurge in incidents of sabotage and armed attacks against authority by members of antinuclear or antiestablishment groups (such as by the Chaoten, an offshoot of the German Green/Alternative movement, who shot at the police on at least one occasion). Increasingly, this violence was felt to be justified by many within the antiestablishment subculture.40 By itself, therefore, antiestablishmentism is directionless and prone to

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frustration and violence. In order for the peace protest to be focused and effective, therefore, it required the input of antinuclearism. A simple and straightforward opposition to nuclear weapons was perhaps the one thing that united antiestablishment sentiments and groupings. It stood as the lowest common denominator of the antinuclear movement. At the same time, antinuclearism “went to the gut.” It was basic, often emotional, narrow in scope, and easy to grasp. The desire to abolish nuclear weapons, therefore, provided the direction and discipline that antiestablishment attitudes required if the peace movement was not to become aimless and fracture into dozens of warring groups. Antiestablishmentism alone is simply too amorphous; antinuclearism narrows its focus. At the same time, antinuclearism needs the alternative vision of the antiestablishment subculture. By itself, antinuclearism is too often an emotional response; it needs broader connections to channel it in a positive way. Without the hope that people can change their situation and that a better world can be created, those concerned about nuclear weapons and the future of mankind would fall into depression and despair. Essentially, therefore, each motivation needed the other for the antinuclear movement to most effectually function and thrive: at least a mild form of antiestablishmentism coupled with a strong dose of antinuclearism. Each defined and refined the other, and together they largely provided the philosophical foundation for the antinuclear movement. The Western antinuclear movement during the 1980s would appear to have been a complicated, complex phenomenon. In a sense, it contained both limited goals and boundless objectives. At the very least, it demanded the abolition of nuclear weapons from the face of the earth. Yet within this apparently narrow aim lay the kernels of an alternative vision for mankind, one based on a value system that departed radically from current norms and which ultimately seeks to create a new world order. Admittedly, this movement had only limited influence over the process of arms control and disarmament. In several instances, its efforts were overshadowed by other events. The 1989 revolutions in Central and Eastern Europe, the failed Soviet coup in August 1991, and the subsequent collapse of communism were certainly more critical in reducing international tensions and promoting disarmament and a more peaceful, cooperative international order. It could also be argued that a steadfast NATO stance regarding the Soviets, backed by nuclear deterrence, ended the Cold War by effectively “winning” it. While the movement has faded significantly since its halcyon days in the early 1980s, many of its former participants are still present, and many of them remain firmly committed to postmaterialist, antiestablishment ideals and goals, still “politically engaged” and internationalist in their outlook.41 New issues and new enthusiasms could easily replace the previous preoccupation with nuclear disarmament, such as new defense strategies (e.g., civilian-based defense), international environmen-

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tal issues, and a truly new world order. One can assume, therefore, that the peace movement will continue to act as a pressure group for antiestablishment values and structures. Notes

The author would like to thank Thomas Rochon of the Claremont Graduate School for helpful comments on an early draft of this chapter. 1. J. A. Emerson Vermatt, “New Trends in the West European Peace Movement,” Aussenpolitik, 1987, p. 70. 2. Economist, April 2, 1983, p. 47. 3. Economist, February 4, 1984, p. 48. 4. See, for example, Bertrand Russell, Has Man A Future? (Greenwood Press, 1984); Norman Cousins, Who Speaks for Man? (New York: Macmillan, 1953); and Linus Pauling, No More War! (Dodd, Mead and Co., 1958). 5. Denzil Davies, quoted in William B. Messmer, “If Labour Wins,” Foreign Policy, Summer 1987, p. 142. 6. Michael A. Krasner and Nikolaj Petersen, “Peace and Politics: The Danish Peace Movement and Its Impact on National Security Policy,” Journal of Peace Research, June 1986, p. 161. 7. Kim Salomon, “The Peace Movement—An Anti-Establishment Movement,” Journal of Peace Research, June 1986, p. 125. 8. Roy Finch, “The New Peace Movement—Part II,” Dissent, Spring 1963, p. 140 (emphasis in original text). 9. Helen Caldicott, Missile Envy: The Arms Race and Nuclear War, rev. ed. (New York: Bantam Books, 1986), pp. 235–242. 10. Ibid., p. 238. 11. Krasner and Petersen, see note 6, p. 159 (emphasis added). 12. For example, soon after the signing of the INF treaty the Greenham Common Women became split over their future course of action. While some were prepared to claim credit for putting pressure on the Western governments for negotiating the removal of these missiles—implying that they might soon abandon their vigil—others wanted to enlarge their protest to include more general issues of sexual and racial discrimination, and they accused the former of being “mired in middleclass values.” See New York Times, December 7, 1987, p. 4. 13. Russell, see note 4, pp. 19, 32–33. 14. Cousins, see note 4, pp. 17, 225–265. 15. Russell, see note 4, pp. 38–46, 53–59. 16. Nuclear Weapons Freeze Campaign pamphlet, We the People. 17. Russell, see note 4, pp. 38–46. 18. Peace and Security, Resolutions adopted by the Party Conference of the Social Democratic Party of Germany, Nuremberg, 1986, p. 5. 19. Thomas Rochon, Mobilizing for Peace: The Antinuclear Movements in Western Europe (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988), pp. 30–37. 20. Salomon, see note 7, p. 118. 21. Salomon, see note 7, p. 121. 22. Salomon, see note 7, p. 118. 23. Salomon, see note 7, pp. 124–126. 24. Krasner and Petersen, see note 6, p. 154. 25. David Gress, Peace and Survival: West Germany, the Peace Movement,

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and European Security (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press, 1985), p. 112 (emphasis added). 26. For a fuller discussion of the peace movement’s perceptions and criticisms of postwar security policy, see Richard A. Bitzinger, “The Threat, the Conventional Balance and ‘Common Security’: The Emerging ‘Alternative View’ in Europe,” Defense Analysis, June 1990, especially pp. 39–40. 27. Statement by the Greens, Peace and Freedom Through Unilateral Disarmament—Let Us Begin, quoted in Volker Böge and Peter Wilke, “Peace Movements and Unilateral Disarmament: Old Concepts in a New Light,” Arms Control, May 1986, p. 167. 28. SANE/Freeze, SANE/Freeze Strategy for 1988, Long-Term Strategy for 1989–1999, p. 2. 29. SANE/Freeze, SANE/Freeze: For a Just and Peaceful World. 30. Jessie Cocks, quoted in Bruce Ferguson, “Different Agendas, Styles Shape SANE/Freeze,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, April 1988, p. 26. 31. Salomon, see note 7, p. 121. 32. E. P. Thompson, Beyond the Cold War: A New Approach to the Arms Race and Nuclear Annihilation (New York: Pantheon Books, 1982). 33. Bruce Ferguson, “Different Agendas, Styles Shape SANE/Freeze,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, April 1988, p. 26. 34. Bitzinger, see note 26, pp. 42–45. 35. Böge and Wilke, see note 27, p. 158. 36. Böge and Wilke, see note 27, p. 158. 37. Charles E. Osgood, “Suggestions for Winning the Real War With Communism,” Conflict Resolution, December 1959, p. 297. 38. Charles E. Osgood, “The GRIT Strategy,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, May 1980, p. 58. See also Osgood, “Suggestions,” see note 41, pp. 306–309, 312–314. 39. Rochon, see note 19, p. xviii. 40. Crocker Coulson, “Platzkrieg,” The New Republic, September 12, 1988, p. 12. 41. Rochon, see note 19, p. 45.

12

12 Congressional Politics to Induce Reciprocation through Procurement Restraint Lloyd Jensen

Congressional Politics to Induce Reciprocation Through Procurement Restraint Lloyd Jensen

The United States Congress has come under increasing attack for attempting to micromanage foreign policy. Criticism has been particularly intense as the Congress has attempted to play an ever-expanding role in affecting defense and arms control policy. The purpose of this chapter is to explore the role that Congress can play and has played in inducing unilateral restraints on weapons development. Such restraints can be seen in the military procurement process, in which Congress has become far more assertive in recent years. We are far from the days when Representative Carl Vinson and Senator Richard B. Russell, as chairpersons of their respective armed services committees, were able to dominate the defense budget in Congress. No longer can military procurement bills sail through Congress in a matter of hours with little change from requests made by the administration. The defense appropriations bill reported out by the House Armed Services Committee for FY 1989, for example, was greeted with no fewer than 240 amendments, most of which passed since the vast majority of them dealt with the pet projects of individual members. Congressional involvement in the details of military procurement begins long before an appropriations bill reaches the floor. The Navy estimated in 1985 that some twenty-four committees and forty subcommittees played a role in writing legislation affecting military procurement. 1 Numerous and often redundant hearings have been held on military procurement. One study, for example, found that in the case of the 1984 budget a total of 1,306 Department of Defense witnesses testified before ninety-six committees and subcommittees for a grand total of 2,160 hours of testimony.2 In keeping with its assertive role in military procurement and spending, Congress has limited the discretion of the executive with respect to shifting and impounding funds, carrying over unspent funds, or using contingent funds. Particularly important in this regard is the 1974 Budget Control and Impoundment Act that created the Congressional Budget Office, empow247

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ered to provide Congress with economic forecasting, policy analysis, and cost projections. By 1983 the entire defense budget required prior authorization from the armed services committees, in contrast to only 2 percent in 1961.3 Congressional activism in the arms control area goes much beyond that taking place in the procurement process, as additional legislative devices have been developed over the years to assure Congressional input. Among these is legislation requiring the executive to provide reports on specific weapons and strategy developments that have implications for arms control as well as legislation designed to punish nuclear proliferators and to control conventional arms transfers. Resolutions and amendments to defense appropriation and authorization bills have also been used by Congress to press a sometimes reticent administration to take certain arms control initiatives such as establishing testing moratoria, remaining in compliance with SALT, or supporting a nuclear freeze. Noting the increased activity of Congress in the arms control area, however, is not the same as saying that Congress has been effective in helping to achieve arms control objectives. The following sections will evaluate the extent to which Congress may have contributed to the specific arms control objectives of saving money, eliminating or reducing the number of destabilizing weapons, and participating in successful arms control initiatives. Saving Money

If one contrasts total defense authorization requests made by the various administrations with what was eventually authorized, it becomes apparent that the United States Congress has generally given presidents pretty much what they have wanted. Congressional Conference Committee authorizations during the period FY 1964–1968 actually exceeded administration requests, but only by less than 0.45 percent on average.4 During the 1970s Congressional budgets only differed by about 5 percent from presidential requests. Even during the early 1980s, according to the Office of Management and Budget, President Reagan received 97 percent of military purchasing power he requested, when adjusted for inflation.5 Although one can look at the aggregate figures and conclude that Congress has provided the president with close to what has been requested, and any downward adjustments may even have been anticipated by the president’s asking for more than expected or desired, Congress through the arms procurement process has clearly had an input upon the specific weapons that have been purchased. According to one recent estimate, Congress changes about 60 percent of the individual line items in presidential budget requests.6

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In some instances, short-term savings have been achieved as a result of Congressional intervention, as in 1969 when skeptical Congressional reviews of the Manned Orbiting Laboratory contributed to cancellation and savings of $1 billion and pressures forced the Air Force to cut back requests for the C5A and F-111. It was not until FY 1971, however, that Congress totally rejected a major weapons system requested by the administration, when it denied funds for the Cheyenne helicopter.7 Only persistent challenges on the test results of the Army’s Divad antiaircraft gun, led by the bipartisan Military Reform Committee in Congress, made possible the 1985 cancellation of the $4.5 billion Divad program, generally acknowledged to be ineffective.8 Instead of completely eliminating weapons systems, even those about which there are reservations, the tendency has more often been for Congress to reduce the amounts allocated and to stretch out production or research on the system. Yet attempting to generate savings by stretching the production schedule of various weapons is often very shortsighted, for the unit cost of a weapons system is increased, resulting in the production of fewer weapons at greater cost. Estimates by the military services, for example, have suggested that a 50 percent decrease in the annual rate of production will increase the real unit costs of aircraft by 7–35 percent and that of tactical missiles by 8–60 percent.9 Congressional demands for delaying procurement of a weapons system can save time and money when such systems have not been tested adequately and rushing to production would only produce unworkable weapons systems. Had Congress acceded to President Nixon’s schedule for the Safeguard system, the country would have spent billions of dollars on an ineffective system that would have had to be mothballed. A similar waste of money would have resulted if the Reagan administration’s proposed schedule for early SDI deployment had been followed. The objective of saving money on defense is often frustrated by the political pressure felt by members of Congress in connection with the need to provide defense-related jobs in their districts—a pressure that has only escalated during periods of economic downturn. To a certain extent individual members have been immunized politically on the issue of base closings in their districts as a result of legislation passed in 1988 requiring an up or down vote on an entire list of closings proposed by a federal commission. For pet projects that might benefit their individual districts, Congress has often been guilty of adding expenditures beyond those requested by the Pentagon. For example, Senator Robert Dole complained of at least $4.3 billion worth of items that Congress added to the FY 1989 defense appropriations bill. 10 Among these pet projects was one pressed upon the Congress by Les Aspin and Marvin Leath that would have forced the Army to buy almost 5,000 unwanted trucks in FY 1988 and FY 1989. Despite the

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deletion from administration requests, Congress in recent years has insisted upon funding the production of the Seawolf attack submarine and the V-22 Osprey helicopter, primarily in an effort to save jobs. The executive is far from immune from similar pork-barrel politics. President George Bush, confronted with a stagnant economy and trailing Governor Bill Clinton in public opinion polls, ignored arms control objectives in September 1992 by offering to sell Taiwan and Saudi Arabia over $15 billion worth of F-15 and F-16 fighters. It is a curious paradox that arms control negotiations themselves may thwart any possible Congressional efforts to restrain armaments by unilateral constraints, since conventional wisdom holds that a state must negotiate from strength. Any effort by Congress to reduce spending on weapons systems on the eve of or during ongoing arms control negotiations is likely to be viewed as having an adverse effect on the bargaining position of the United States. Recognizing this, the Nixon administration agreed to open the Mutual Balanced Force Reduction talks in Vienna in 1973. A major objective and expectation of these talks was not so much to gain agreement on the reduction of conventional forces as it was to counter Senator Mike Mansfield’s proposal to withdraw US troops unilaterally from Europe. The ongoing talks allowed the administration to make the case that one should not unilaterally reduce such forces but rather that something should be gained in return in the form of a Soviet agreement to reduce its forces. The Nixon administration was also effective in obtaining additional funding for the Safeguard ABM system, as SALT negotiator Gerard Smith communicated with a number of senators on the eve of the funding decision in August 1970, urging that they reject a proposal to reduce the number of Safeguard sites from twelve to two. A division between the executive and legislative branches, he warned, would prejudice prospects for a SALT agreement. Without such an intervention, the restriction on Safeguard quite likely would have passed instead of losing as it did by five votes.11 The Reagan administration similarly made use of the bargaining-chip argument in its efforts to impede Congressional efforts to prevent procurement of certain weapons systems. In 1981 pressure was exerted against the critics of the B-1 bomber, who were accused of undermining the US negotiating position at the START negotiations. It has been suggested that a major factor in President Reagan’s decision to meet with Mikhail Gorbachev at the hastily arranged summit in Reykjavik in October 1986 was the desire to undercut ongoing Congressional efforts to attach arms control restraints to the FY 1987 defense appropriations bill.12 If this were the purpose, it was certainly an effective strategy, as Congress agreed to abandon its efforts to ban all but the smallest nuclear tests, compromised on SDI funding, and acquiesced to the administration’s exceeding the SALT II Treaty limits. Rather than producing a specific bargaining chip, Congress sometimes

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merely threatened to build a weapons system if the Soviet Union did not demonstrate arms constraint. In May 1984 the House of Representatives passed an amendment to the FY 1985 military authorization bill calling for the production and deployment of fifteen MX missiles, but the spending of funds for the missiles would be delayed depending upon Soviet behavior. If the Soviets returned to the arms talks within six months, spending on the MX would be delayed for another six months, but if no significant concessions were made by the Soviet Union during that time, the funds would be spent. Instead of following its own proposal, however, Congress made the funds available before the time limits had expired and the Soviet Union had still not returned to the talks. Eliminating Destabilizing Weapons

Efforts by Congress to facilitate arms control objectives by restricting the development and production of destabilizing weapons have had only limited success for a variety of reasons. In the first place, there is far from unanimous agreement on which systems are destabilizing. Although highly accurate counterforce weapons are viewed by many deterrence experts as destabilizing, too much restriction on accuracy may undermine assured destructive capability. The issue of weapons mobility remains controversial from the perspective of stable deterrence and arms control, since the ability to make retaliatory weapons mobile serves to enhance deterrence but undermines verification potential. Similarly, the Strategic Defense Initiative can facilitate the objective of deterrent stability to the extent that it can protect retaliatory capabilities, but it undermines that stability to the extent that it increases incentives for a first strike or accelerates an offensive arms race. Whatever the relative merits of their arguments, a number of members of Congress over the years have believed themselves to be pursuing genuine arms control objectives by restricting certain kinds of weapons. Had Henry Kissinger listened more attentively to a handful of senators who were pleading against the testing and development of the multiple independently targeted reentry vehicle (MIRV) in the late 1960s, he would not have had subsequently to wish that he had thought more carefully about the destabilizing characteristics of that weapons system. Senator Edward W. Brooke, among others, attacked the system on grounds of the vast multiplication of weapons systems involved, its first-strike implications, and its effect upon missile survivability, and the fact that it made verification all the more difficult. Having failed to stop MIRV, Congress in 1983 undertook an initiative to reverse the destabilizing effects of MIRV as it attempted to induce the Pentagon to accept the single-warhead Midgetman missile. Interest in

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Midgetman evolved from Congressional rejection of various basing systems for the MX missile and demands that the administration develop a better basing plan than its Dense Pack proposal. The result of such pressure was the creation of the President’s Commission on Strategic Forces. This blue-ribbon commission, commonly referred to as the Scowcroft Commission, failed to come up with an acceptable basing plan as it recommended the interim placement of 100 MX missiles in existing silos for bargaining purposes. It also recommended an eventual restructuring of the US deterrent posture with increased reliance upon a single-warhead missile rather than the multi-warhead MX, which offered such a vulnerable and attractive target. Congressional efforts to slow or stop the development of more accurate counterforce weapons have also shown limited results. In one of its few victories in affecting counterforce capabilities, the Senate in June 1975 approved by a vote of 43 to 41 a ban on the flight testing of the maneuverable reentry vehicle (MARV) unless the president certified to Congress that the Soviet Union was also testing such a system. Similarly, Congress was successful in delaying the development of the highly accurate Trident D5 by about three years, but eventually military interests were successful in placing the system in production. In a careful review of the role of Congress in the debate over the anti–ballistic missile system in the late 1960s and early 1970s, Alton Frye concluded that had Congress not been reticent about the Sentinel and Safeguard systems proposed, respectively, by the Johnson and Nixon administrations, by 1972 the United States would likely have been well on its way to a full twelve-site defensive deployment at a cost of billions of dollars.13 The fact that fewer sites were under development than planned probably made negotiation of the 1972 ABM Treaty an easier task. It is much more difficult to obtain agreement on dismantling systems already deployed than to stop those that are still on the drawing board. This is all the more the case if one side enjoys considerable deployment and the other has little or none. The side with extensive deployment has little incentive to negotiate seriously, and the one lacking such capabilities has a fear of negotiating.14 Perhaps the greatest controversy between Congress and the executive over a weapons system has revolved around the Strategic Defense Initiative, which President Reagan proposed in a speech delivered in March 1983. The initial reaction of the press, informed opinion, and many in Congress was largely one of skepticism, particularly insofar as the image of a national defensive shield was concerned. Gradually, however, public interest in the notion began to grow, putting pressure on the Congress for continued funding for SDI research. Unable to stop the program, Congress succeeded in cutting about $5

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billion from the $18 billion requested for SDI by the Reagan administration during the period 1983 to 1988.15 Admittedly, part of this reduction reflected inflated requests habitually presented by Secretary of Defense Casper Weinberger. For example, for FY 1989 the secretary asked for $6.3 billion—reduced by his successor to a more realistic $4.5 billion. Congressional cuts of about a billion dollars in SDI funding from administration proposals became the norm during the Bush administration. Congress has sought to play a major role in defining precisely where SDI funds would be spent. In the case of military appropriations for FY 1988 the conferees specified precise amounts for favored SDI programs such as boost surveillance and tracking systems and anti–tactical ballistic missiles while prohibiting funds for full-scale engineering or deployment of space-based interceptors. In slashing almost a billion dollars from the FY 1989 SDI budget request, Congress directed that the cuts were not to be made proportional across the board but rather were to be made in research dealing with space-based X-ray laser systems, leaving the development of ground-based systems untouched. The SDI program has also been restrained by Congressional prohibition of any tests that would conflict with the traditional or “narrow” interpretation of the ABM Treaty. Secretary of Defense Weinberger, in his rush to begin SDI deployments in the early 1990s, had scheduled tests that would have violated the narrow interpretation, but under continuing Congressional pressure his immediate successor, Frank C. Carlucci, indicated that no such tests were scheduled for FY 1989.16 Congressional pressures were also critical in leading Secretary of State George Shultz to announce in Copenhagen on December 13, 1987 that the administration would no longer insist on a broad interpretation of the ABM Treaty, but would instead seek funds on a case-by-case basis. In an unusual action designed to assure restraint by the Reagan administration on SDI, particularly any actions that would violate the ABM Treaty, several members of a Congressional delegation visited Geneva in an effort to strike a deal directly with US negotiators there. The final arrangement called for Congress to allow some growth in SDI funding and to defer legislated constraints on SDI research in exchange for a White House commitment to postpone some controversial SDI tests and to give instructions to the US negotiating team to explore with the Soviets “an appropriate way of limiting” future research.17 Continued Congressional opposition, particularly to space-based SDI, influenced revision of the program in the fall of 1991. Plans for what is now dubbed Global Protection Against Limited Strikes (GPALS) call for a limited land-based defensive system to be deployed beginning in 1996 at a total cost estimated at $25–48 billion. Although the Bush administration continued to support future development of Brilliant Pebbles space

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weaponry, Congress favored a much less ambitious ground-based plan designed to stop the nuclear threat from terrorists, accidental missile firings, or rogue states.18 Congress appears to have had somewhat more success in slowing the development of antisatellite (ASAT) systems which tend to destabilize nuclear deterrence by threatening the satellites upon which both the United States and the Soviet Union rely for coordinating a strategic response. The utility of showing unilateral restraint on these systems is obvious when the record of the 1960s and 1970s is reviewed. During this period, restraint on both sides, rather than formal negotiation, was successful in keeping ASAT development to a minimum.19 Congressional interest in stopping proposed ASAT development was initially aroused by Soviet leader Yuri Andropov, who promised a group of visiting US senators in the summer of 1983 that the Soviet Union was willing to dismantle existing ASATs and to ban new ones. This offer was followed by a unilateral declaration later that fall at the United Nations in which the Soviet Union promised that it would not be the first to introduce any type of antisatellite weapons into outer space—a pledge to which its successor states still subscribe. In response to such Soviet initiatives the House of Representatives passed amendments to various defense authorization bills asking for a moratorium on ASAT testing as long as the Soviet Union abided by its moratorium. In September 1985 four members of Congress took the unusual move of filing suit in US District Court seeking to block a planned ASAT test, arguing that President Reagan had not met a Congressional requirement that he certify he was negotiating in good faith to get an agreement with the Soviets limiting such weapons. However, the case was dismissed on the grounds that it constituted a political rather than a judicial question. The continuing series of Congressional prohibitions of ASAT tests appear to have led to the 1988 Defense Department decision to eliminate the F-15–launched antisatellite weapon after spending almost $2 billion on the system.20 Following a single 1985 test of the system, which the General Accounting Office criticized as incorrectly performed and under unchallenging conditions, Congress refused funds for any more tests as long as the Soviet Union maintained its ASAT testing moratorium. The Air Force, as a result, is now considering the more promising technology of a groundbased laser system and the Navy has gotten into the picture as well with proposals for research on a kinetic-energy antisatellite weapon that could be based on a ship or a barge. Congress has also been sensitive to those weapons systems that might undercut arms control objectives as a result of the difficulty in verifying their existence or capabilities. Considerable effort was exerted to slow the development of the submarine-launched cruise missile (SLCM), which the Pentagon wanted to use for both conventional and nuclear missions. In May 1985, for example, the House voted to prohibit nuclear SLCMs until such

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time as the president submits a report describing a verifiable method of distinguishing it from a conventional SLCM. It was also concern about arms control that led Congress to exert pressure on the administration to cancel the proposed test of a twelve-warhead Trident II missile in November 1987. A number of congressmen believed that such a test would require that all Trident missiles be counted in any future agreement as carrying twelve warheads rather than the usual eight, because of the established procedure of counting all warheads on a given missile as equal to the highest number tested even though some of the missiles may be deployed with fewer warheads. The postponement of the test, though, was more likely the result of the administration’s concern not to antagonize the Senate on the eve of confirmation hearings for Frank C. Carlucci as secretary of defense than it was an indication that the administration was persuaded by the arguments presented by Congress.21 In its zeal to control nuclear warheads in the hands of the republics of the former Soviet Union, the Senate Foreign Relations Committee may have unnecessarily hamstrung future strategic arms control negotiations by demanding in pending budgetary legislation for FY 1993 that stockpiles of nuclear warheads be monitored in any future agreement. In the past such requirements have been limited to delivery systems, which are far easier to account for than warheads. The only way to detect the latter, if placed in a box, would be to pry the box open with a screwdriver or hammer. Initiatives directed toward controlling the spread of nuclear weapons to other states have also received considerable attention from Congress over the years, culminating in passage of the Nuclear Nonproliferation Act in 1978, which mandated that any recipient of US nuclear exports has to apply comprehensive safeguards to the entire nuclear fuel cycle. Few states other than Canada have established such requirements. Efforts by the Carter, Reagan, and Bush administrations to ignore such requirements when broader national security interests seemed to justify exceptions have generally been met with considerable opposition on the part of Congress. The House of Representatives voted 298 to 98 against the Carter plan in 1980 to send nuclear fuel shipments to India, which refused to cooperate with the prescribed safeguards. However, Congress was ultimately unsuccessful in stopping the shipments. Similar conflicts arose during the Reagan and Bush administrations with respect to the nuclear programs of the People’s Republic of China and Pakistan, among others. The Reagan administration, concerned about retaining Pakistan’s support in view of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, was able to obtain an exception to the Congressionally mandated cutoff of foreign aid to Pakistan as required by the Glenn-Symington amendment to the 1961 Foreign Assistance Act. Over the next decade, aid to Pakistan amounted to more than $4 billion, including delivery of the nuclear-capable F-16. Senator Claiborne Pell also asserted in March 1992

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that the State Department knowingly violated a 1985 federal law by permitting commercial arms sales to Pakistan. Pakistan’s own foreign secretary had even admitted in a speech to the General Assembly the previous January that his country had the capability to make nuclear weapons.22 Opposition within Congress to a thirty-year nuclear assistance pact with the People’s Republic of China, signed in 1984, delayed implementation of the accord for almost two years. In return for Congressional acquiescence to the pact, China was forced to accept additional nonproliferation assurances. Similar opposition was raised in Congress in late 1987 to the revised US-Japan nuclear pact, which many felt relinquished too much US control over what Japan does with nuclear material originally supplied by the United States. Concerned that the Reagan administration was not adequately vigilant to the problem of nuclear proliferation, in 1982 Congress prohibited the use of plutonium for commercial power plants and sought to restrict the availability of plutonium by cutting off funding for the Barnwell spent-fuel reprocessing plant and the Clinch River breeder reactor. A year later the House passed an amendment to the Export Administration Act that sought to close loopholes in that act by requiring full-scope safeguards as a condition for nuclear exports. In addition, both the House and the Senate passed nonbinding resolutions banning administration-approved nuclear transfers to India, Argentina, and South Africa. Restricting conventional arms transfers as a way of reducing the dangers of destabilizing regional arms races or keeping such weapons out of the hands of irresponsible political leaders has also been an important issue on the Congressional arms control agenda. The Arms Export Control Act of 1974 empowers Congress to disapprove of such transfers in three specific categories: sales, third-party sales, and leases and loans of US defense articles. Congress, however, has yet to pass a concurrent resolution disapproving an arms transfer. It even failed, despite strong Israeli lobbying against the plan, to obtain the necessary votes for defeating the proposed sales of AWACS to Saudi Arabia in 1977 and 1981. In April 1988, fifty-eight senators wrote to urge Secretary of State George Shultz to reconsider $450 million in arms sales to Saudi Arabia. About the same time, Congressional questions raised about arms sales to Kuwait resulted in the latter simply turning to Britain. Because there are other potential suppliers, arms control objectives pursued by Congress may prove both ineffective and costly. Even if other suppliers choose to be restrictive, one is still confronted with the dove’s dilemma in which a state desiring arms and being refused them will simply seek to open its own lines of production, supplying not only its own weapons needs but those of others as it seeks to obtain the economy of large-scale production.

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Congressional Arms Control Initiatives

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As far as unilateral arms control initiatives are concerned, Congress finds it difficult to compel a reluctant administration to adopt its suggestions on when and how to negotiate. The limits on the initiatory power of Congress in the diplomatic arena were established early in US history when President Washington refused a House of Representatives request to provide papers related to the negotiations of the Jay Treaty, arguing that negotiating treaties was exclusively a power of the president. Even if Congress does not use its power of the purse to affect arms control policy, it enjoys considerable persuasive powers because failure to pay attention to the wishes of Congress may be costly for an administration in policy areas other than defense and arms control, where cooperation is also critical to success. The fact that Congress can enter into the public debate over arms control issues with the administration through its resolutions, hearings, and studies also assures a role for Congress in arms control policy. There are numerous examples of Congressional attempts to instruct the administration to undertake specific unilateral arms control initiatives, although most of these have failed, often as a result of vigorous administration lobbying to defeat the move, or, in some instances, the use of a presidential veto. Among illustrations of this sort are efforts in 1968–1969 designed to forestall MIRV testing and development and Senator Edward Kennedy’s resolution in February 1976 calling for a moratorium on the flight testing of cruise missiles. In both instances, the sponsors of such restraints arguably had a clearer long-term grasp of security interests than did the administration. Resolutions have also been introduced in Congress suggesting to the administration what sorts of proposals should be made in arms control negotiations. Senator Cranston, for example, introduced an amendment asking the Carter administration to propose a Vladivostok-plus formula during the SALT negotiations. Members of Congress conceived of the notion of nuclear risk reduction centers, which was accepted in a formal US-Soviet agreement in 1987 following considerable Congressional efforts to persuade both sides.23 In 1983 Congress was also successful in getting the Reagan administration to accept the build-down proposal, which required that the United States and the Soviet Union dismantle extra missiles for every new missile built. After the administration accepted the build-down concept as part of its own proposals presented in Geneva, Senator Charles Percy noted that “this is the first time in the history of the Congress and the executive branch that we have worked out jointly an arms control proposal in which we are truly united.”24 Some have suggested that the build-down proposal was accepted by President Reagan not because it

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made sense in terms of arms control but rather because the administration wanted Congressional support for a critical vote on the MX. On his return to the Geneva negotiations, General Edward L. Rowny was reported to have suggested to his Soviet counterpart “that the old START proposal was the real one and that build-down was an ornament to placate the Congress.”25 The role that Congress played with respect to pressuring the Reagan administration to comply with existing ratified and nonratified treaties should not be underestimated. It must remembered that President Reagan assumed office with a belief that no arms control agreement had ever been beneficial to the United States. The advisers and departmental heads he selected to direct national security policy held a similar view. Concerned about such an attitude, Congress passed a number of resolutions, supported by many within the president’s own party, calling for compliance. In July 1982 the House of Representatives voted to bar funds for the development, testing, procurement, and operation of nuclear weapons, thus undercutting the SALT agreements. Although the amendment was deleted in conference, the administration agreed in 1982 to scrap provisions for fifty Minuteman III missiles from the Air Force budget, because their multiple nuclear warheads threatened to violate SALT II limits. The administration also agreed to place identifying devices (FRODs) on B-52 bombers carrying airlaunched cruise missiles so that those missiles could be identified as such by the Soviet Union as required by the treaty. 26 In addition to the Congressional role on the issue of compliance with the SALT treaties, other political forces were also important. The Joint Chiefs of Staff and some military experts, for example, vigorously supported the no-undercut policy, for they wanted to see the Soviet Union restricted to the limitations established by the treaties. After many years of attempting to force the administration to support ratification of the 1974 Threshold Test Ban Treaty and the 1976 Peaceful Nuclear Explosions Treaty, the Senate finally succeeded in voting for ratification of the two treaties in December 1990. As part of the compromise worked out with the Reagan administration on the eve of the 1986 Reykjavik summit meeting, House leaders agreed to withdraw their resolution calling for a moratorium on nuclear testing. In return the administration agreed to submit the Threshold Test Ban Treaty and the Peaceful Nuclear Explosions Treaty to the Senate for ratification. Fulfillment of the promise did not occur until the Bush administration had succeeded Reagan’s, delaying ratification of those two treaties until 1992. Congressional efforts favoring a comprehensive nuclear test ban showed success in 1992 when for the first time the Senate was successful in passing legislation calling for a nine-month moratorium on all underground tests, a limit of no more than five explosions per year over the next three years, as well as negotiations for a comprehensive test ban treaty. According to the legislation, which amended an FY 1993 appropriations

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bill for energy and water, no further US tests are to be conducted after September 30, 1996, unless Russia begins testing again. Despite these various initiatives that Congress has taken in the arms control area, members of Congress have been very sensitive about being accused of supporting unilateralism. As a result, most Congressional resolutions have been phrased so as to require mutual and verified restraints affecting all parties. They have also generally been nonbinding resolutions as in the case of the Brooke MIRV resolution as well as the various nuclear freeze resolutions in the early 1980s. 27 Further underscoring the Congressional attitude on unilateralism, the Senate in September 1988 accepted an amendment to a defense appropriations bill that stated: “Neither the Congress nor the President should take actions which are unilateral concessions to the Soviet Union.” Even though Congress rejects unilateralism without reciprocation, a case can be made that had it not been for Congressional responsiveness to the Gorbachev unilateral arms control initiatives that were presented in quick succession beginning in 1985, the progress made on arms control and the even brighter prospects for the future may never have occurred. For unilateral initiatives to succeed, some responsiveness on the part of the other side is necessary, but the Reagan and early Bush administrations tended to react negatively to each Soviet initiative, particularly in the case of the various moratoria on nuclear testing offered by the Soviet Union. Successive offers were also made by the Soviet Union to accept increasingly intrusive on-site inspection to reassure the United States that it was complying with the Threshold Test Ban Treaty and other arms control agreements. These received little in the way of reciprocation from the US government. Such was also the case with respect to the September 1988 offer by the Soviet Union to place the Krasnoyarsk phased-array radar system under international control for use in the peaceful exploration of space. The failure to be responsive to Soviet initiatives followed an earlier rejection in July of the Soviet offer to dismantle the radar system entirely if the United States agreed to abide by a strict interpretation of the ABM Treaty. In the last instance, the administration at least called the Soviet move a “positive step.”28 The fact that the United States failed to declare the Soviet Union to be in material breach of the ABM Treaty, despite the desire of many within the Reagan administration to do so, must be partially attributed to the pressure exerted by Congress. A number of hearings were held on the subject of the interpretation of the treaty as Congress paraded several former negotiators before it to argue that the Reagan administration’s broad interpretation of the ABM Treaty, the so-called Sofaer Doctrine, was in error. Reference was also made to interpretations given the Senate by the Nixon administration during the ratification debates on the ABM Treaty in 1972. In an effort to minimize such differences from erupting in the future over the interme-

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diate nuclear force reduction treaty, the Senate voted 72 to 27 to attach the Biden Condition to its ratification of the INF treaty. According to the Biden amendment, the United States is obligated to interpret the treaty in accordance with the common understanding shared by the president and the Senate at the time the Senate gave its advice and consent to ratification. Although President Reagan subsequently wrote a letter to the Senate after the INF treaty was ratified, casting doubt that the Biden Condition was binding, Senator Sam Nunn retorted: “The President’s letter is entertaining but irrelevant. . . . The treaty, including this Condition, is now the supreme law of the land. And the President can no more change it with a letter than he can change any other law with a letter.”29 Similar efforts to affect administrative arms control policy were made during the senatorial debate on the Conventional Forces in Europe treaty (CFE) in 1991. In this instance the Senate was successful in pressing a pact that would require the administration to seek parallel agreements with breakaway republics and to obtain Senate approval for any treaty changes. Not only did the persistent prodding by Congress play an important role in making the Reagan and Bush administrations more responsive than they might have been to the unilateral initiatives offered by the Soviet Union in recent years, but it might also be argued that the mere fact that there was a deep division between the administration and the Congress on how best to proceed on arms control may have encouraged the Soviet Union to introduce such initiatives in the first place. Some of the unilateral initiatives may have even been disingenuous, having as their primary purpose the division of political forces in an enemy state. Certainly this was the case with some of the offers made by the Soviet Union on intermediate nuclear force levels in Europe as it sought to make proposals which it knew would serve the purpose of dividing the European allies from the United States. The April 1987 Soviet offer to eliminate all shorter-range nuclear weapons along with intermediate-range nuclear weapons in Europe, for example, created considerable alliance strain as various European states feared such a move would decouple the US nuclear deterrent. Even though in making unilateral offers the Soviet Union may have believed it would not have to make good on them, given deep divisions over the issue within the United States or between the NATO allies at the time, once such concessions were made it became more difficult to withdraw them. Either way, through prodding the administration to be more responsive or serving as a factor in inducing Soviet concessions, Congress played a useful role in the unilateral arms control process. In many respects it has been Congress rather than the administration that has taken an assertive arms control posture in dealing with the implications of the end of the Cold War. Congress, despite concern about the issue of jobs in a weak economy, has tended to support the greater reductions in

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defense expenditures. A Congressional initiative was also responsible for transferring millions of dollars from the Pentagon budget to assist the former Soviet Union in controlling and destroying its nuclear weapons. Senate minority leader Robert J. Dole indicated that he was “not certain what the administration position is” on this all-important arms control issue.30 Conclusions

Congress obviously has an important role to play in the arms control process, but in view of the fact that arms control negotiations are an executive prerogative rather than a legislative one, Congressional influence is more likely to be felt in the area of unilateral restraint upon weapons development than in disarmament negotiations. In negotiating treaties, Congress can do little more than provide advice and consent to the executive through the constitutional powers of the Senate. Nevertheless, through its power of the purse Congress is able to prevent or limit research, testing, production, and deployment of those weapons systems that it believes to be destabilizing, too costly, or unneeded. In evaluating the role Congress has played in supporting unilateral arms restraint as a way of saving money, the record is mixed. Most administrations have received pretty much what was requested in total dollar amounts, but Congress has shown an increased tendency to modify specific line items. Occasionally, Congressional challenges to the efficiency and wisdom of a weapons system such as the Cheyenne helicopter and the Divad antiaircraft gun have led to considerable monetary savings. But just as often, Congress, in stretching out military appropriations, has added considerable cost to the per-unit price of various weapons. Congress has begun to play an increasingly assertive role in raising questions about potentially destabilizing weapons systems in the hope that unilateral restraint on the part of the United States might preclude their global production and development. Unfortunately, not enough attention was paid to the efforts in the late 1960s to stop the development of the MIRVed missile or Senator Edward Kennedy’s attempt in the 1970s to delay the testing of the cruise missile. Although often finding themselves unable to defeat those systems that they view as destabilizing, Congressional arms control advocates have been successful in forcing various administrations to think through the arms control implications of systems before rushing to production and deployment, as the continuing debate over the MX and Midgetman missiles illustrates. Congress has also been successful in slowing SDI and ASAT development, given the great concern over the systems’ potentially destabilizing qualities. Although Congress is limited in what it can do in the way of introducing unilateral arms control initiatives, it has passed resolutions directing an

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administration to continue to adhere to existing and expired treaty obligations. It has also directed the president to negotiate various arms control agreements or to introduce specific arms control proposals as in the case of build-down, but these have had varying degrees of success. Finally, Congress may have contributed to the process of reciprocal unilateral initiatives by showing considerable responsiveness to Russian arms control concessions while the administration responded with either indifference or hostility. There must at least be some hope of reciprocation if unilateral initiatives are to have any success. Moreover, by assuming a different position than the administration on a number of the initiatives, Congress may have invited additional offers as the Russians sought to exploit Congressionalexecutive divisions. Whether one looks at the role that Congress has played in unilateral arms restraint in a positive or a negative light depends largely upon whether one favors the Congressional arms control position or that of the administration. Advocates of arms control tend to be critical of the role played by Congress in complicating the arms control process with the Jackson amendment in 1972 but approving of the Congressional role in pressing the Reagan administration to take the issue of arms control more seriously. Notes

1. Washington Post, June 26, 1988, p. C2. 2. Jaques S. Gansler, “The Weapons Procurement Process,” in American Defense Annual, 1986–1987, ed. Joseph Kruzel (New York: Lexington Books, 1986), p. 162. 3. Barry M. Blechman, The Politics of National Security: Congress and U.S. Defense Policy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), p. 31. 4. Nancy J. Bearg and Edwin A. Deagle, Jr., “Congress and the Defense Budget,” in American Defense Policy, ed. John E. Endicott and Roy W. Stafford, Jr. (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Press, 1977), p. 345. 5. International Herald Tribune, May 22, 1985, p. 1. 6. Kenneth L. Adelman and Norman R. Augustine, The Defense Revolution (Merrillville, IN: ICS, 1990), p. 172. 7. Alton Frye, A Responsible Congress: The Politics of National Security (New York: McGraw Hill, 1975), p. 111. 8. Hedrick Smith, The Power Game (New York: Random House, 1988), pp. 168–173. 9. Congressional Budget Office, Effects of Procurement Stretch-Outs on Costs and Schedules (Washington: Government Printing Office, November 1987), p. xiii. 10. Congressional Record, July 14, 1988, 100th Congress, 2d Session, p. S9662. 11. Gerard Smith, Doubletalk: The Story of SALT I (New York: Doubleday, 1980), pp. 148–149.

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12. Stanley J. Heginbotham, “Congress and Arms Control in 1987,” Congressional Research Service Review, June 1987, p. 23. 13. Alton Frye, see note 7, p. 45. 14. For a fuller discussion of the issue, see Lloyd Jensen, Bargaining for National Security: The Postwar Disarmament Negotiations (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1988), pp. 81–85. 15. Washington Post, May 5, 1988, p. A10. 16. Washington Post, February 20, 1988, p. A4. 17. Washington Post, March 15, 1987, p. A28. 18. Washington Post, May 20, 1992, p. A1. 19. For an intriguing analysis of the tacit bargaining involved in the consensus that evolved on satellite reconnaissance and ASAT systems, see Gerald Steinberg, Satellite Reconnaissance: Informal Bargaining (Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 1983). 20. Philadelphia Inquirer, October 3, 1988, p. A6. 21. Washington Post, November 10, 1987, p. A4. 22. Los Angeles Times, March 7, 1992, p. A4. 23. Blechman, see note 3, pp. 19–20. 24. New York Times, October 4, 1983, p. A1. 25. Washington Post, October 5, 1983, p. A1. 26. Washington Post, November 27, 1982, p. A1. 27. For an inside view of efforts to pass the freeze resolutions in Congress, see Douglas C. Waller, Congress and the Nuclear Freeze (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1987). 28. New York Times, September 1, 1988, p. A9. 29. Quoted in Joseph R. Biden, Jr. and John B. Ritch III, “The End of the Sofaer Doctrine: A Victory for Arms Control and the Constitution,” Arms Control Today, September 1988, p. 8. 30. Washington Post, November 26, 1991, p. A17.

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13 Unilateral Arms Control in the New World Order Bennett Ramberg

Unilateral Arms Control in the New World Order Bennett Ramberg

This volume has attempted to broaden the conceptualization of arms control beyond its customary association with negotiated conventions. It argues that beyond treaties arms control manifests in unilateral limits and reductions as well as unilateral military research, development, procurement, and reconfiguration. The book appears at a time of intellectual ferment about what arms control ought to be in the New World Order. Several contending schools have emerged. John Mueller’s writings represent the unilateral reduction school, which is critical of arms control negotiation.1 According to Mueller, arms control talks often are counterproductive: They preserve weapons as bargaining chips, fail to control modernization, require ratification, and simply take too long. His solution: “Just do it. The arms buildup, after all, was not accomplished through written agreement; instead, a sort of free market arose in which each side, keeping wary eye on the other, sought security by purchasing varying amounts of weapons and troops. As requirements and perspectives changed so did the force structure of each side. If arms can be built up that way, they can be discarded in the same manner. It would be a negative arms race, similar to the one . . . more than a century ago between the United States and British Canada.”2 The post–Cold War New World Order appears receptive to Mueller’s argument—witness the reciprocal unilateral reductions of Moscow and Washington. Traditional arms controllers take issue and continue to argue that negotiated covenants remain superior to unilateral limits and reductions: They are less reversible than unilateral limitations, which have no legal standing; they provide a numerical benchmark by which to measure reductions and reversals and preserve stability, which is difficult to coordinate via unilateral reductions; they offer a framework for follow-on talks and deeper cuts; they allow verification, which deters violation and provides reassurance; they encourage mutual learning, which reduces misconception and provides a currency to measure progress in political relations generally. 3 In this 267

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view, negotiated conventions will become increasingly important as the international community seeks multilateral controls over arms transfers, modernization, and the spread of technologies that contribute to weapons of mass destruction. While the aforementioned schools see arms control as limits and restraints, proponents of arms control as unilateral defense planning take issue. They point to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait to underscore that even in the New World Order military might remains the ultimate arbiter. They argue that the ability of the United States—as the only remaining superpower in the New World Order—to effectively wage both conventional and nuclear war is the most important means to reduce the probability of war. (France amends this contention, arguing that it is “the nuclear weapon which prevents wars.”4) Accordingly a US conventional and nuclear posture that is capable but not provocative is in the interests of the United States and the international community at large: It will reduce the probability of war in regions vital to US security and provide a stabilizing influence generally; it will reassure allies and dissuade them and others from acquiring nuclear weapons; it will provide insurance against a revival of the military threat from Russia and thereby reassure our NATO allies and former Soviet republics; and it will provide comfort to the international community that the United States has sufficient military depth to address small changes in military balances, depth that a disarmed United States would not have.5 A newly emerging school of arms control—the confidence builders— argues that arms control is more than force limitations, whether unilateral or negotiated. Rather this school contends that lifting the veil of military secrecy à la CSCE transparency measures—e.g., annual exchange of military information (personnel strength, numbers of weapons), annual calendars of military exercises, foreign observers at exercises, foreign visits to military installations, publication of military budgets, open skies, etc.— reduces the probability of war by deterring surreptitious preparations for surprise attack, clarifying ambiguities, and reducing incidents that could result in conflict.6 Detractors contend that confidence-building measures— which to date, in Europe, are political and not legally binding agreements— mean little in a world where intentions can change rapidly unless they coincide with destruction of actual military capabilities. Taking issue with all the aforementioned schools, a final “arms doesn’t matter any more anyway” school suggests that the end of the Cold War marks the end of arms control—at least in the post–Cold War Soviet–US–European context. In this view arms control is irrelevant; there remains little to control and what remains are relics—“museum pieces”7 of a bygone age in international politics. In the words of Lawrence Freedman, “Many of the premises upon which arms control negotiations were based— a continuing alliance system backed by superpowers in which the possibili-

Unilateral Arms Control in the New World Order

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ty of war had diminished but not to zero—now appear invalid. Europe may not yet be free of the risk of violence. . . . However, the likelihood of the set piece NATO/Warsaw Pact confrontation which has dominated the strategic studies and arms control literature for decades has become a contingency of only historical interest.”8 Catherine M. Kelleher adds, “What is now apparent is that if arms control is to be of major value for the construction of a new European security system, it must reflect a fundamentally different set of assumptions about the sources of political stability and peaceful international change. Classical arms control’s focus on weapons and military relationships, its underlying assumption of political stasis are, at best, irrelevant to the Europe that is emerging and at worst, damaging. The old ‘preventive’ arms control agenda has been overtaken. The goal for many is to create new cooperative security structures and processes, neither embedded in an exclusively military definition of stability nor tied to a set of fixed military formulas that will inevitably block bolder aspirations and absorb the creative political energies now unleashed.”9 Such views have stimulated calls for creation of a new European collective security order based on the Western European Union (WEU), a CSCE or European Community with expanded responsibilities, a new concert of Europe based on a liberal democratic economic order, and/or regional European security/economic arrangements for central Europe, the Baltic states and southeastern Europe.10 While skeptics have attacked these schemes for a variety of reasons—the WEU is an empty shell, the EC must focus on economic unity above all else, the CSCE is too large to generate consensus in time of crisis, concerts and regional arrangements inevitably founder as conflicting interests emerge—this debate demonstrates the search for new strategic formulas to stabilize peace in Europe. I do not propose to resolve the debate between these contending schools here other than to suggest each has merit and each has a place in the post–Cold War New World Order. Unilateral measures will be an important variable in this equation. Table 13.1 provides the collage of possible measures applicable to the period ahead. The weight we assign to these measures will differ depending upon the strategic situation. Now that the Cold War is over, in the European–former Soviet–US context, governments will attempt to create a “cooperative arms control”11 regime. As the value of military power has declined, this regime will give less weight to unilateral and alliance defense planning, military procurement and reconfiguration, and negotiated reductions and limitations. It will give more weight to unilateral reductions and limitations— e.g., slowdown in modernization and procurement—which can be implemented rapidly, as well as confidence-building transparencies. Still, negotiated restraints, limitations as well as concert building and integration, will provide added insurance and will be pursued. In the Middle East and South Asia, the Koreas and volatile ethnic tinderboxes such as the former

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Table 13.1 Possible Approaches to Arms Control in the New World Order

Methods

Bilateral

Multilateral

2. Elimination of certain weapons

Elimination of ballistic missiles and discarded warheads in storage; START I & II

Comprehensive or Destruction of discarded regional (e.g., Middle warheads and missiles East) elimination of in storage; Further United ballistic missiles; States and Russian Elimination of reductions; Destruction of nuclear weapons: all nuclear warheads Israel, India, without PALs; Pakistan, Britain, Cessation of nuclear etc.; Elimination of production, e.g., suspect facilities, Pakistan. e.g., Korea

1. Limitations/ reductions in numbers of weapons

Implementing START I and II; Limits in military exercises à la South Korea in the Middle East; South Asia

3. Agreements/ decisions not to deploy

Ballistic missile defense

5. Changes in types, bases, new configuration, and technologies

Elimination of ballistic missiles; of ICBMs only

4. Limits on arms transfers and transfers to

6. Limits on testing 7. Limiting attacks on nuclear reactors 8. Nuclear-free zones

9. Confidencebuilding transparency measures

Multilateral negotiations, all nuclear weapons states

Middle East, South Asia, subnational groups

Middle East, South Asia, subnational groups

CTB

CTB

Elimination of ballistic missiles

Agreements among Middle East countries

Unilateral

Reducing discarded warheads in storage; Restraint in pace of military modernization and introduction of new military systems procurement

Nuclear weapons: Iran, Pakistan, North Korea Middle East, South Asia, subnational groups

Slowing modernization rate of deployment of new forces Unilateral cessation

Improving security and defenses around nuclear plants

South Asia, Europe, Former Soviet republics; Middle East, Koreas Termination of nuclear weapons programs of India, Pakistan, Israel, North Korea, Britain

Sharing intelligence Open Skies Middle Democratization; East, South Asia, Military exclusion zones the Koreas; in vicinity of borders; Application of Compliance with arms CSCE/CSBM control treaties; measures to these Reduction or elimination regions, e.g., prior of military exercises near notification of borders military exercises, limits on size and duration, presence of foreign observers; annual calendars; a Middle East Pugwash; international satellite monitoring agency.

Unilateral Arms Control in the New World Order Table 13.1 (Continued)

Methods

10. Crisis management

11. Avoiding accidental nuclear war

Bilateral

271

Multilateral

Unilateral

Notification of accidents

Command and Control improvements; Missile launch destruct capability; Removal of nuclear weapons from zones of potential conflict

Risk reduction centers; Security Council action; Hot line action by a concert system

C3I improvements

Yugoslavia where adversarial relations exist, a “competitive arms control regime”12 akin to that which managed the Cold War will weight the control of arms through unilateral defense planning and secondarily unilateral and negotiated arms limitations and confidence-building measures. This will continue until such time that political relations ameliorate and the focus turns to building a cooperative arms control regime, the objective of which, in the end, is the ultimate arms control: a “warm” peace similar to that which characterizes US-Canadian or British-French relations. Notes

1. John Mueller, “A New Concert of Europe,” Foreign Policy, Winter 1989–1990, pp. 3–16. 2. Ibid., p. 6. 3. Matthew Bunn, “Arms Control’s Enduring Worth,” Foreign Policy, Summer 1990; Robert R. Bowie, “Arms Control in the 1990s,” Daedalus, Winter, 1991, p. 64; A. A. Kokoshin, “Arms Control: A View from Moscow,” Daedalus, Winter 1991, p. 134. 4. President Mitterand, quoted in Arms Control Reporter, 1992, p. 408B140. 5. Robert J. Art, “A US Military Strategy for the 1990s: Reassurance Without Dominance,” Survival, Winter 1992/93, pp. 3–24; Michael J. Mazarr, “Nuclear Weapons After the Cold War,” Washington Quarterly, Summer 1992, pp. 185–201; Leon Sloss, “U.S. Strategic Forces After the Cold War: Policies and Strategies,” Washington Quarterly, Autumn 1991, pp. 145–156; Carl E. Vuono, “Desert Storm and Conventional Forces,” Foreign Affairs, Spring 1991, pp. 49–68; John J. Mearsheimer, “Back to the Future: Instability in Europe After the Cold War,” International Security, Summer 1990, pp. 5–56; Charles Glaser, “Nuclear Policy Without an Adversary,” International Security, Spring 1992, pp. 43. See also Paul H. Nitze, “Keep Nuclear Insurance,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, May 1992, p. 34. Richard Perle noted that it would be a mistake for the United States and Russia

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to cut their nuclear stocks much further. If both countries scrapped their weapons it would be “hopelessly unstable [because] the first scoundrel to get a hold of an atomic weapon would be able to threaten everyone.” Los Angeles Times, June l7, 1992, p. A6. 6. James E. Goodby, “Can Arms Control Survive Peace?” The Washington Quarterly, Autumn 1990, p. 94. 7. Daniel Druckman conveyed this characterization to the author March 23, 1991. 8. Lawrence Freedman, “Arms Control: Thirty Years On,” Daedalus, Winter 1991, p. 70. 9. Catherine M. Kelleher, “Arms Control in a Revolutionary Future: Europe,” Daedalus, Winter 1991, p. 122. 10. Charles A. Kupchan and Clifford A. Kupchan, “Concerts, Collective Security and the Future of Europe,” International Security, Summer 1991, pp. 114–161; Joseph Joffe, “Collective Security and the Future of Europe: Failed Dreams and Dead Ends,” Survival, Spring 1992, 36–50; Richard Rosecrance, “A New Concert of Powers,” Foreign Affairs, Spring 1992, pp. 64–82. 11. Ivo Daalder, “The Future of Arms Control,” Survival, Spring 1992, pp. 51–73. 12. Ibid.

Contributors

The Contributors

Bennett Ramberg acted as editor of this volume under the auspices of the UCLA Center for International and Strategic Affairs. A long-time senior associate of the center (recently renamed Center of International Relations), he also has served with the State Department’s Bureau of Politico-Military Affairs and has been a consultant to Congress, the Rand Corporation, the Nuclear Control Institute, and the Henry L. Stimson Center. He was a research associate at Princeton and Stanford and is currently director of research with the Committee to Bridge the Gap, a Los Angeles–based public policy organization. His publications include Energy and Security in the Industrializing World (co-edited with Raju Thomas), 1990; Global Nuclear Energy Risks: The Search for Preventive Medicine, 1986; Nuclear Power Plants as Weapons for the Enemy, 1984; and Globalism vs Realism: International Relations’ Third Debate (co-edited with Ray Maghroori), 1982.

Richard A. Bitzinger is research associate with the Defense Budget Project, Washington D.C. Prior to his current appointment, he was a research associate with the Rand Corporation, under whose auspices he authored a number of papers dealing with European security. Among his most relevant studies is “Gorbachev and GRIT: Did Arms Control Succeed Because of Unilateral Actions or In Spite of Them,” 1991. He is also author of a number of journal articles, the most recent appearing in International Security.

Daniel Druckman is senior research scholar with the National Academy of Sciences, where he directs the Committee on Techniques for the Enhancement of Human Performance for the National Research Council. He is also an adjunct professor of conflict management at George Mason University and was a researcher for Booz Allen and Mathematica and a consultant to the U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency and the 273

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Foreign Service Institute. Dr. Druckman currently serves on the editorial boards of the Journal of Conflict Resolution and Negotiation Journal. The author of dozens of professional articles on negotiation, conflict resolution, and the psychology of human performance, among his most recent books are Global Environmental Change: Understanding the Human Dimensions (co-edited with Paul Stern and Oran Young), 1992; Brain and Cognition: Some New Technologies (co-edited with John I. Lacey); and Enhancing Human Performance: Issues, Theories, and Techniques (co-edited with J. A. Swets) 1988.

Rose Gottemoeller, a long-time senior researcher with the Rand Corporation’s Washington D.C. office, currently is on the National Security Council staff. An expert on the Soviet Union and Russia who served on the START delegation during the Bush administration, Dr. Gottemoeller is the author of numerous Rand papers on Soviet strategic policy as well as an Adelphi Paper on the implications of cruise missiles.

Colin Gray is chairman of the National Institute for Public Policy Research. A past scholar with the Hudson Institute and the International Institute for Strategic Studies and a member of the President’s General Advisory Committee on Arms Control and Disarmament from 1982 to 1987, Dr. Gray is a prolific author on national security issues. Among his recent publications are Weapons Don’t Make War, 1992; House of Cards: Why Arms Control Must Fail, 1992; and War Peace and Victory, 1990.

Warren Heckrotte was, until his retirement, a senior scientist and policy analyst with the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. Dr. Heckrotte served as a senior adviser during various nuclear test ban negotiations with the Soviets. He is editor, with George Smith, of Arms Control in Transition, 1983.

Lloyd Jensen is professor of political science at Temple University. He has taught at a number of institutions including the University of Kentucky, Northwestern University, and Johns Hopkins. Dr. Jensen is an expert on international bargaining behavior, arms control, and international politics generally and is the author of a number of books, including Bargaining for National Security: The Postwar Disarmament Negotiations, 1988; Explaining Foreign Policy, 1982; and, Return From the Nuclear Brink, 1974. Edward J. Laurance is professor of political science at the Monterey Institute for International Studies and associate director of the institute’s Program for Non-Proliferation Studies. Dr. Laurance has devoted much of his scholarship to the study of the relationship between conventional

Contributors

275

weapons commerce and international politics and applies his expertise as a consultant to the United Nations Office of Disarmament Affairs and the Register on Conventional Arms Control. He is the author of The International Arms Trade, 1992.

Bradford A. Lee is professor of history at the Naval War College. He has devoted much of his scholarship to arms control during the interwar period and is the author of Britain and the Sino-Japanese War, 1937–1939, 1973. He is currently working on a book dealing with economic and security policy during the interwar period.

T. V. Paul is assistant professor of political science at McGill University. A specialist on international politics and security policy, he is author of Reaching for the Bomb: The Indo-Pakistani Nuclear Scenario, 1984 and Asymmetric Conflicts: War Termination by Weaker Powers, forthcoming 1994.

Joseph Pilat is a senior social scientist with the Center for National Security Studies, Los Alamos National Laboratory. Dr. Pilat brings to his contribution to this volume a wealth of government experience on arms control, having served in the Office of the Secretary of Defense and on delegations dealing with nuclear nonproliferation and Open Skies. His scholarship includes such edited books as Beyond 1995: The Future of the NPT Regime, 1990; Atoms for Peace (with Robert E. Pendley and Charles K. Ebinger) 1985; and The Nonproliferation Predicament, 1985.

George H. Quester is professor of political science at the University of Maryland and a well-established scholar on nuclear nonproliferation and the role of force in international politics. Among his many publications are The Future of Nuclear Deterrence, 1986; Offense and Defense in the International System, 1977; The Politics of Nuclear Proliferation, 1973; and Deterrence Before Hiroshima, 1966.

Arthur Steiner is an independent consultant who for many years worked on strategic matters with Albert Wohlstetter at Pan Heuristics. He was lecturer in political science at De Paul University and has published articles in Minerva and The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists.

Index

Index

ABM Treaty, 3, 5–6, 11, 13, 89, 252–253, 259 Accidental War, 12 Adamovich, 57 Adelman, Kenneth, 3, 11, 23, 37, 95 Akhromeyev, S. F., 58–59 Andropov, Yuri, 254 Antarctica Treaty, 13 Anti-nuclear movement, 230–246 Arms control (See arms control definition, arms control in the interwar period, arms control under specific countries, arms transfers and arms control, negotiated arms control, reciprocal arms control, unilateral arms control) Arms control definition, 3, 6–7, 98, 100–113 Arms control in interwar period, 7–8 Arms transfers and arms control, 175–198 ASAT (antisatellite), 10–11, 10, 24, 71, 85–89, 123, 128, 254, 261 Aspin, Les, 249 ASW (antisubmarine warfare) and arms control, 126 Australia and unilateral arms control, 164–167, 170 Austrian State Treaty, 13

B–1 bomber, 11 Baldwin, Stanley, 211 Berkowitz, Bruce D., 3 Biological weapons and arms control, 20, 71–76, 129 Blum, Léon, 212, 216

Brezhnev, Leonid, 11, 43, 46–48, 50–51, 62–64 Brooke, Edward, 251, 259 Brown, S., 27 Bruning, Heinrich, 209 Bull, Hedley, 6 Bush, George Herbert Walker, 1, 12, 24, 39, 64, 84, 103, 123, 134, 179, 250, 255, 259, 260

Caldicott, Helen, 235–236 Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), 232, 234, 237 Canada and nuclear proliferation, 141–146, 153–156 Carlucci, Frank, 253, 255 Carnesale, Albert, 108 Carter, Jimmy, 3, 47, 85, 142, 176, 182, 184, 189, 194, 255 CATT (Conventional Arms Transfer Talks), 183 CFE (conventional forces in Europe), 13, 260 Chamberlain, Neville, 218–220 Chayes, Abram, 36 Chemical weapons and arms control, 11, 128–129 Chernavin, V. N., 52 Chernobyl, 12 Churchill, Winston, 201, 206, 222 Clinton, Bill, 250 Coddington, A., 30, 32, 34 Coleman, Fraser, 163 Congress and arms control, 9, 83–84, 86–87, 247–263 Cook Islands and arms control, 166, 171

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278

Cousins, Norman, 81, 233 CSBM (confidence- and securitybuilding measures), 13, 270 CSCE (Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe), 268–269, 270

Index

Deising, Paul, 30, 32 Deutsch, Morton, 26, 37 Dole, Robert, 249, 261 Doumergue, Gaston, 216

Egypt, 183 Eisenhower, Dwight David, 24, 76–79, 82, 88 Etzioni, Amitai, 22 European Community, 269 European Nuclear Disarmament, 240

Fiji and arms control, 167–168, 171 Fisher, Roger, 26–28 Ford, Gerald, 85 France and interwar arms control, 202–204, 211–212, 215–217, 222–224 Freeman, Lawrence, 268 Fromm, Eric, 8 Frye, Alton, 252 Fukuyama, Francis, 51

Galtung, Johan, 37 Gareyev, M. A., 58 Garthoff, Raymond, 54 Gelbe, Leslie, 3 Germany, 7, 46–48, 143 Germany and interwar arms control, 202, 207–210 Germany and nuclear proliferation, 141, 152–155 Gibbons, Ibedul, 167 Gollancz, Victor, 8 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 1, 10–11, 27–29, 33, 43, 52, 56–61, 65, 83–84, 88–89, 250, 259 Gorshkov, Sergei, 49, 50–52 Gray, Colin, 182 Great Britain and arms control, 7–8, 73, 75, 79 Great Britain and interwar arms control, 204–206, 211–212, 218–220, 222–224 Greenpeace, 241

The Greens, 239, 243 GRIT (graduated and reciprocated initiative in tension-reduction), 9–10, 22–25, 32, 37, 81, 90, 242 Gromyko, Andrei, 44, 82

Haas, Richard, 108 Halperin, Morton, 3, 6, 97–98, 102, 108 Harriman, Averell, 82 Herriot, Edouard, 215 Hitler, Adolph, 210, 213, 216–217, 219–220 Hoover, Herbert, 207

IAEA (International Atomic Energy Agency), 13 India, 184, 189 INF (intermediate-range nuclear forces), 1, 13, 27–28, 33 Interchurch Peace Council, 240 Interwar arms control, 201–227 Iran, 182, 187–189, 194 Iraq, 175–176, 178, 185, 189, 194, 268

Japan and interwar arms control, 207–209 Jiro, Minami, 208 Joffe, Joseph, 8 Johnson, Lyndon and Johnson administration, 10, 24, 252 Jordan, 187

Kelleher, Catherine, M., 269 Kelley, H. H., 34 Kennedy, Edward, 261 Kennedy, John F. and Kennedy administration, 26, 36, 78, 80–83, 85, 88–90 Keohane, Robert, 39 Kerr, Donald, 126, 129–130, 135 Keynes, J. M., 213–214 Khrushchev, Nikita, 10–11, 20, 43, 48–49, 53–56, 60–61, 63–64, 78, 80 King-Halland, Stephen, 8 Kiribati and arms control, 166 Kirk, Norman, 163 Kissinger, Henry, 2–3, 251 Kozyrev, Andrei, 67 Kuwait, 285, 268

Lange, David, 163–164 Leath, Marvin, 249

Lewis, S. A., 26 Limited Nuclear Test Ban Treaty (See nuclear test ban) Lindskold, Sven, 40

McAndrew, William, 31 MacDonald, Ramsey, 8, 211 Macmillan, Harold, 81–83 Mansfield, Mike, 250 MBFR (Mutual and Balanced Force Reduction Talks), 22, 27, 32, 47, 63, 250 Missile Technology Control Regime (MTCR), 183, 189 Moiseyev, 59 Mothers Embracing Nuclear Disarmament, 235 Moratoria and arms control, 71–90, 127–128 Mueller, John, 6, 267 Mumford, Lewis, 8 Mussolini, Benito, 219

Nash, Walter, 163 Nauru and arms control, 166–167 Negotiated arms control, 3, 13, 269–271 New Zealand and unilateral arms control, 161–164, 167–172 Niue and arms control, 166 Nixon, Richard M. and Nixon administration, 2–3, 10, 71–72, 88–89, 249–250, 252, 259 North Korea, 182, 270 NPT (Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty), 23, 84 Nuclear test ban, 3–4, 11, 13, 20,28 31, 71, 76–85, 89, 258 270 Nuclear nonproliferation, 84 Nunn, Sam, 260

Ogarkov, Nikolay, 51–52 Osgood, Charles, 9–10, 22–25, 39, 81–82, 90, 242 Osgood, Robert E., 3, 12, 95 Outerspace treaty, 13

Pakistan, 182, 189 PAL (permissive action links), 7, 13, 123–124, 270 Palau and arms control, 167 Papua New Guinea and arms control, 166, 171

Index

Patchen, Martin, 26 Pell, Claiborne, 255 Poincaré, Raymond, 222 Pruitt, Dean, 26

279

Qatar, 185

Rand, 103 Reagan, Ronald and Reagan administration, 2–3, 9, 11, 28, 83, 123, 142, 165, 182, 184, 248, 250, 252–253, 255, 258–260 Reciprocal arms control, 1, 7–11, 21–39, 45, 53, 62, 71, 76, 88, 122–123, 130–131, 136, 262, 267 Register of Coventional Arms, 176 Rochon, Thomas, 238, 243 Roosevelt, Franklin, 212–214 Rose, William, 26 Rowny, Edward, 258 Ruina, Jack, 235 Russell, Bertrand, 8, 233, 237, 247 Russia and arms control, 64–68, 84, 88

Sadat, Anwar, 25, 35–36 Sakharov, Andrei, 123 Salii, Lazarus, 108 SALT (Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty), 3–5, 13, 31, 248, 250, 257 SANE/Freeze, 232, 234, 237, 239 Saudi Arabia, 184 Seabed Treaty, 13 Seaborg, Glenn, 10, 81 Schelling, Thomas, 3, 6, l2, 43, 95, 97–98, 102, 108, 115 Schleicher, Kurt von, 210 Schultz, George, 253, 256 Scoville Jr., Herbert, 131 Seeikt, Hans von, 209 Sharp, Jane, 36 Shevechenko, Arkady, 44 Simon, John , 8, 211 Slocombe, Walter, 126 Smith, Gerard, 250 Snyder, Glen H., 30, 32 Solomon Islands and arms control, 166 Soviet Union and unilateral arms control, 1, 10–11, 13–14, 43–69, 76 SPNFZ (South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone), 166–167, 172 Sri Lanka, 182 Stahelski, A. J., 34

280

Stalin, Joseph, 49 START (Strategic Arms Reduction Talks), 1, 13, 27, 270 Stassen, Harold, 53 Stoll, Richard J., 31 Sweden and nuclear proliferation, 141, 146–149, 150–151, 153–156 Switzerland and nuclear proliferation, 141, 149–153, 155–156 Syria, 183

Taiwan, 184 Teller, Edward, 123 Test ban (See nuclear test ban) Thompson, E.P., 240 Tit-for-tat, 23, 26–38, 37 Tonga and arms control, 166 Townes, Charles, 126, 135 Tretyak, 59

Unilateral arms control, 1–2, 6–14, 21–41, 100 Unilateral arms control and technological choices, 113–139

Index

Unilateral nonproliferation, 141–157 United States interwar arms control, 206–207, 212, 213–214, 223–224 United States unilateral arms control, 6–7, 10–14, 22, 24, 64, 72, 79, 81–82 Ury, William, 26 Ustinov, Dmitry, 51

Vanuatu and arms control, 166 Venezuela, 182 Vinson, Carl, 247 Volkogonov, Dimitry, 57

Weinberger, Casper W., 14, 253 Western Samoa and arms control, 166 WEU (Western European Union), 269 Women for Peace, 235 Women’s Strike for Peace, 235

Yazov, 58 Yeltsin, Boris, 24, 29, 64, 84, 88–90, 103, 123–124, 134

Zorin, Valerian, 54

About the Book

About the Book

Beginning with Mikhail Gorbachev’s December 1988 announcement that Moscow intended to unilaterally reduce its conventional armed forces, the spotlight on arms control has turned away from negotiated treaties toward unilateral reductions, and we have witnessed a number of reciprocal reductions not subject to negotiation. While these initiatives appear novel, this book demonstrates that they are only the tip of a unilateral arms control iceberg. The authors argue that arms control without negotiation—broadly defined to include unilateral reductions to induce reciprocation, as well as unilateral military research, development, procurement, reconfiguration, and nondeployment—is as important as treaties, if not more so. The authors discuss the utility of unilateral measures in inducing reciprocation, review the links between defense planning and unilateral arms control, address the domestic politics of arms control issues, and consider implication for the future.

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