Constructing a Post-War Order: The Rise of US Hegemony and the Origins of the Cold War 1848856369, 9781848856363

Table of contents :
Cover
Contents
Preface
List of Illustrations
Abbreviations
Introduction
Revisionism: a Brief Introduction
The British Commonwealth and Post-War Order
The Organisation of This Study
1. The Imperial World
Imperial Systems
Commonwealth
Good Neighbours
Anglo-American Cooperation
Aviation and the Evolving Idea of World Order
The Messy Business of Integration
2. The Trouble with American Power
Aviation and Regionalism
The Canadian Analysis of American Power
The Canadian Conundrum
Towards a Canadian Policy
Australia, New Zealand and the Big Two
Redefining Imperial Frontiers
Regional Solutions
Smuts and Britain
Smuts and Africa
Greater South Africa and Aviation
3. Planning for Post-War Order
Organising the Peace: the New Global Technocracy
The Peculiar Challenge of the Soviet Union
Post-Hostilities Planning in Britain
Canada
Australia
New Zealand
South Africa
4. Visions of Post-War Order
Britain and the 'Four Power' Plan
The Military Implications of a General Settlement
British Policy: Core Questions
South Africa: Hinge of the Commonwealth?
Canada: Squaring the Quartersphere
America and the Post-War Settlement
The General Settlement and Canadian Security
Defending Australia
Defining Australia Aspirations
Australia and Collective Security
New Zealand Post-War Concerns
The Canberra Conference and After
New Zealand and Collective Security
5. The British Commonwealth in World Affairs
Britain and the Dominions
Diplomatic Drift
British Preparations
The Dominion Premiers' Meeting
Smuts and Atomic Diplomacy
Dumbarton Oaks
Canadian Lobbying
The Canadian Response
The Australian Response
New Zealand
The Wellington Conference
6. Functional Negotiations
Functional Convergence in Planning for Post-War Aviation
The Commonwealth between Britain and America
The Chicago Conference
Towards Multilateralism
The London Technical Talks
The Council
Broad Commonwealth Agreement
7. The Great Powers and Collective Security
Yalta
The San Francisco Conference
The Preamble
Smuts' Shrinking Circle
The Veto
The Security Council
The General Assembly
Trusteeship
Power and the New International Society
8. Failure
The London Preparatory Commission
The Executive Committee
The Preparatory Commission
The General Assembly: 10 January to 15 February, 1946
Council Membership and Elections
Trusteeship
Trends in the General Assembly
The General Assembly: 23 October to 17 December, 1946
The Decline of Australian Foreign Policy
The Defeat of Smuts: Southwest Africa
The Commonwealth and the Revolt against the West
9. Regional Integration, Imperial Disintegration
The Intractable Problems of Post-War Security
The Post-War Disposition of Territory: the South Pacific
The Post-War Disposition of Territory: the Italian Colonies
The 1946 Dominion Premiers' Meeting
The Commonwealth and Military Liaison
The Commonwealth and Scientific Liaison
Pacific Bases
The Italian Colonies
The Peace Treaties
Colonial Retreat
Canada and Commonwealth Defence
Towards the Brussels Pact
Conclusion
Notes on the Political Economy of Post-War Order
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

Andrew Baker holds a DPhil from the University of Oxford. He has lectured in history and politics at Christ Church, Oxford and at the Universities of Hertfordshire and Buckingham.

INTERNATIONAL LIBRARY OF TWENTIETH CENTURY HISTORY Series ISBN: 978 1 84885 227 3 See www.ibtauris.com/ILTCH for a full list of titles 29. Britain and the Weimar Republic: The History of a Cultural Relationship Colin Storer

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32. Afghanistan and the Defence of Empire: Diplomacy and Strategy during the Great Game Christopher M. Wyatt 978 1 84885 610 3

33. Non-Alignment and its Origins in Cold War Europe: Yugoslavia, Finland and the Soviet Challenge Rinna Kullaa 978 1 84885 624 0

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38. Russian Imperialism and Naval Power: Military Strategy and the Build Up to the Russian-Japanese War Nicholas Papastratigkis 978 1 84885 691 2

39. Chelmno and the Holocaust: A History of Hitler’s First Death Camp Patrick Montague 978 1 84885 722 3

40. Frantz Fanon: The Militant Philosopher of Third World Liberation Leo Zeilig 978 1 84885 724 7

CONSTRUCTING A POST-WAR ORDER The Rise of US Hegemony and the Origins of the Cold War

Andrew Baker

To my Grandmother, Ellen Johnson Liek

Published in 2011 by I.B.Tauris & Co Ltd 6 Salem Road, London W2 4BU 175 Fifth Avenue, New York NY 10010 www.ibtauris.com Distributed in the United States and Canada Exclusively by Palgrave Macmillan 175 Fifth Avenue, New York NY 10010 Copyright © 2011 Andrew Baker The right of Andrew Baker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. International Library of Twentieth Century History 35 ISBN: 978 1 84885 636 3 A full CIP record for this book is available from the British Library A full CIP record for this book is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress catalog card: available Typeset by Newgen Publishers, Chennai Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham

CONTENTS

Preface

ix

List of Illustrations

xii

Abbreviations

xiii

Introduction Revisionism: a Brief Introduction The British Commonwealth and Post-War Order The Organisation of This Study

1 5 7 14

1

The Imperial World Imperial Systems Commonwealth Good Neighbours Anglo-American Cooperation Aviation and the Evolving Idea of World Order The Messy Business of Integration

19 21 22 24 28 30 37

2

The Trouble with American Power Aviation and Regionalism The Canadian Analysis of American Power The Canadian Conundrum Towards a Canadian Policy Australia, New Zealand and the Big Two

42 44 47 51 52 54

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Redefining Imperial Frontiers Regional Solutions Smuts and Britain Smuts and Africa Greater South Africa and Aviation

58 62 66 69 72

3

Planning for Post-War Order Organising the Peace: the New Global Technocracy The Peculiar Challenge of the Soviet Union Post-Hostilities Planning in Britain Canada Australia New Zealand South Africa

75 77 81 83 87 88 90 92

4

Visions of Post-War Order Britain and the ‘Four Power’ Plan The Military Implications of a General Settlement British Policy: Core Questions South Africa: Hinge of the Commonwealth? Canada: Squaring the Quartersphere America and the Post-War Settlement The General Settlement and Canadian Security Defending Australia Defining Australian Aspirations Australia and Collective Security New Zealand Post-War Concerns The Canberra Conference and After New Zealand and Collective Security

95 98 101 103 104 106 107 109 110 112 113 116 117 119

5

The British Commonwealth in World Affairs Britain and the Dominions Diplomatic Drift British Preparations The Dominion Premiers’ Meeting Smuts and Atomic Diplomacy Dumbarton Oaks

121 123 124 127 129 132 133

CONTENTS

Canadian Lobbying The Canadian Response The Australian Response New Zealand The Wellington Conference 6 Functional Negotiations Functional Convergence in Planning for Post-War Aviation The Commonwealth between Britain and America The Chicago Conference Towards Multilateralism The London Technical Talks The Council Broad Commonwealth Agreement

vii 136 137 140 142 143 147 149 151 155 159 162 165 166

7

The Great Powers and Collective Security Yalta The San Francisco Conference The Preamble Smuts’ Shrinking Circle The Veto The Security Council The General Assembly Trusteeship Power and the New International Society

168 171 174 177 178 179 185 190 192 196

8

Failure The London Preparatory Commission The Executive Committee The Preparatory Commission The General Assembly: 10 January to 15 February, 1946 Council Membership and Elections Trusteeship Trends in the General Assembly The General Assembly: 23 October to 17 December, 1946

199 201 202 204 209 211 214 217 217

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The Decline of Australian Foreign Policy The Defeat of Smuts: Southwest Africa The Commonwealth and the Revolt against the West

220 223 227

9 Regional Integration, Imperial Disintegration The Intractable Problems of Post-War Security The Post-War Disposition of Territory: the South Pacific The Post-War Disposition of Territory: the Italian Colonies The 1946 Dominion Premiers’ Meeting The Commonwealth and Military Liaison The Commonwealth and Scientific Liaison Pacific Bases The Italian Colonies The Peace Treaties Colonial Retreat Canada and Commonwealth Defence Towards the Brussels Pact

231 233

240 242 245 247 247 252 254 255 256 260

Conclusion Notes on the Political Economy of Post-War Order

263 265

Notes Bibliography Index

270 307 323

235

PR EFACE

I set out, many years ago, to write a multi-archival, interdisciplinary study of the British Commonwealth during and after the Second World War. Little did I know how complex this would prove, particularly at point of presentation. I am going to begin by begging tolerance of my readers: experience suggests that working in a wide range of archives and with a diverse array of material is a good way to open questions, but much more detailed research is necessary before they can be answered with any certainty. It is my hope that this book will generate debate and suggestions for how further investigations might proceed. Since this is a multi-archival study, I will say a word about abbreviations and notations. A few common ones (‘f’ for folio, ‘p’ for page, ‘i’ for item, ‘n’ for note and ‘col’ for column) appear in the footnotes. The only potentially confusing abbreviation is ‘BNA’ for British National Archives; this is because the BNA calls itself The National Archive (or TNA). This study relies on research in many national archives; calling one of them The National Archive would be most presumptuous, so I have risked a constitutional crisis and appended ‘British’ to the front. I should also say a word about archival citations. In all cases, citations move from general to specific: I do not separate volumes from files, since these are different (or extraneous) in different archives; personal papers all begin with their proper name; specific pages, items or folios are only identified for precisely ordered collections. ‘King/

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J4/H1517/323, f.277,517’ therefore refers to the King Papers, accession J4, reel H1517, volume 323 (meaningless), folio 277,517. Readers should note a few idiosyncrasies. In Australia, the tripartite registry (e.g. 43/735/1) has sometimes been modified in later years by the addition of a 19 (1943/735/1), but not consistently. Researchers must therefore search for both, and I account for this by bracketing the 19. In New Zealand, accessions have been preserved by chronological order of accession, without culling or integrating material. The result has been duplication and inconsistency; it is difficult to dispel a sense of speculation pertaining to material from this archive. While writing this book, I have incurred very many debts of gratitude to the people and organisations that helped make it possible. My research expenses were borne by the Beit Fund and the Cyril Foster Fund. My studies at Oxford University were made possible by generous grants: the British Government awarded me an Overseas Research Studentship; Oxford University awarded me a Clarendon Fund Bursary, and Christ Church generously provided me an American Friends’ Scholarship. I have completed my research and writing while working for a variety of institutions: Christ Church, the University of Buckingham and the University of Hertfordshire. Helen Boak, John Clarke, Owen Davies, Martin Grossel, Sarah Lloyd, Mike McCrostie, Malcolm Rees, Jane Ridley, Ronald Truman and Linda Waterman were all especially welcoming, supportive and stimulating. I also owe a debt to my undergraduates, who listened to my arguments and identified many (but not, I am sure, all) of the prejudices and stupidities contained therein. As for research itself, I relied heavily upon the cheerful, ungrudging assistance of library staff and archivists at the Bodleian Library, the (British) National Archive, Churchill College, Cambridge, the University of Birmingham, the University of Durham, the National Archives of Canada, Queen’s University, Kingston, the University of Toronto, the National Archives of South Africa, the National Archives of Australia and Archives New Zealand. I would like to specially thank Mr. David Mole, of the Public Record Office, who helped me to correct a series of file endorsements; and Mr. John Mills, of the New Zealand Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade, who advised me

PREFACE

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on files retained by the MFAT and those moved into Archives New Zealand. Many people provided friendly assistance to me along the way. Toni Putter graciously shared his house in Pretoria with me and, along with Clive Stannard, endured my appalling Afrikaans. Rebecca Ploeger put me up in Kingston and introduced me to the uniquely Canadian phenomenon of Tim Hortons. Brian Ball prevented me from wandering unprepared into the Canadian winter. British Airways very kindly permitted me to use the cover image, and I am especially grateful to Mr. Paul Jarvis of the Heritage Centre there. Many academics have provided valuable advice and criticism on my work. I would particularly like to thank John Dunbabin, Wm. Roger Louis and Adam Roberts, who have read part or all of my work. Chris Bickerton, Barry Buzan, Tim Dunne, Lee Jones, Richard Little, Emily Paddon, Robbie Shilliam and Hew Strachan have all listened to ideas and papers, and provided valuable insights and criticism. My editors at I.B.Tauris, Maria Marsh and Joanna Godfrey, have been a welcome font of advice. Jonathan Wright has been a constant source of warmth, support and wisdom. I owe an especially large debt of gratitude to John Darwin, who has helped shape this project from its conception. Last but not least, I owe a tremendous debt to Rachel for her patience, support and understanding, from beginning to end. All responsibility for this work is my own.

LIST OF ILLUSTR ATIONS

Maps 1 Pan-American’s Air Empire 2 The Polite Scramble for Africa 3 The Quartersphere 4 Aviation and the Education of Desire 5 American Requests in the Pacific

25 36 47 63 236

Diagram 1

The San Francisco Conference

175

ABBR EVIATIONS

ANZ BNA BOAC COS CRP DAFP DEA DCER DO ECOSOC FAO FO FRPS FRUS GIO JPS MSC NAA NAC NASA PHP SEC

Archives New Zealand British National Archive British Overseas Airways Corporation Chiefs of Staff Committee on Reconstruction Problems (UK) Documents on Australian Foreign Policy Department of External Affairs Documents on Canadian External Relations Dominions Office (UK) Economic & Social Council (UN) UN Food and Agriculture Organisation Foreign Office (UK) Foreign Research & Press Service (Balliol) Foreign Relations of the United States General International Organisation Joint Planning Staff (UK) Military Staff Committee (for the UN) National Archives of Australia National Archives of Canada National Archives of South Africa Post-Hostilities Planning (Problems, in Canada) Social & Economic Council (South Africa)

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SSRC UN UNRRA USAAF

South Seas Regional Commission United Nations UN Relief & Rehabilitation Administration United States Army Air Force

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INTRODUCTION

Just as Englishmen had safeguarded themselves against the power of the Crown, not by denying it, but by ‘tying the instruments it was to act by’; so now the Canadians set out, not to destroy, but – a subtler task – to harness the sovereign parliament. They led their captivity captive. They so bound imperial sovereignty – a dangerous monster once, but now an amiable, complaisant creature – that it could move, in their business, only at their bidding.1 – W.K. Hancock, 1937 This is a book about the origins of post-war order and the expansion of international society. The ‘expansion of international society’ means the long-term transformation of the global landscape, as a world of empires gave way to a world of states; ‘post-war order’ explains why the global landscape changed, addressing the political, technological and social advances which describe the political economy of international relations. The structure of post-war order explains America’s rise to globalism, the decline of European empires, and the origins of the Cold War. ‘Hegemony’ broadly defines the role of American power in this new order, a power mediated by and through institutions which protected the position of independent, sovereign states in world affairs. This argument falls broadly within the revisionist school of postwar historiography, though it must be pointed out immediately that this is not a Marxist history. We may summarise relevant elements of the revisionist position as follows. The United States, like other states, was territorially expansionist and aggressive in the pursuit of

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commercial interest. Prior to the Second World War, many American relations were of an imperial character. The United States controlled important networks of territories and bases, including the Philippines, Midway Island, Hawaii, the Panama Canal Zone, and parts of Cuba; it was able to project force with impunity, for instance in Mexico in 1917 or in Nicaragua from 1912 to 1933; and it was able to structure affairs in the western hemisphere to suit its global interests, as it did when it created an informal ‘dollar bloc’ after 1933. Much American ‘anti-imperialism’ was self-serving, manifesting when other empires impeded American interests. Finally, during the Second World War, the United States sought a post-war order which would give the United States further scope for expansion and development after the war, especially in Europe and the territories comprising the British Empire. Here is where this book diverges from the core arguments of revisionism. The United States was expansionist, true, but the world was substantially different from the one that Europeans had colonised centuries ago. As America’s global presence expanded – especially in the British Empire – and as the United States attempted to develop post-war institutions which would facilitate the pursuit of American interests, they encountered resistance which forced them to alter course in crucial ways. The resistance they encountered was not military, which would have been fruitless; rather, it was normative, and it was pushed by small, developing states keen to defend a newfound sovereignty. Broadly speaking, ‘norms’ are ideas about how things ought to be in the world: it may be true that the crooked timber of man never made any straight thing, nevertheless ideals of straightness, of order, justice, reason, continue to serve for many as guiding lights. People generally prefer to act in ways that confirm their beliefs about themselves and the world; normative principles are thus important. How important, especially in international politics, is hotly debated. This is not the place to engage with that theoretical debate, though interested readers might refer to the excellent work by Simon Caney, Justice Beyond Borders.2 What will be discussed here is the way in which material interests and normative principles intersected in particular negotiations and particular outcomes.

INTRODUCTION

3

A question that naturally follows this discussion of normative principles is how the world’s preeminent power was bullied by smaller states; it is hardly the greatest of the ironies of global politics, but it does demand investigation and explanation. For the moment, it suffices to observe that Americans adapted their strategy in global politics to the situation they found. Consequently, Americans moved away from an empire-building strategy on the model of the British Empire, and towards a state-building strategy more closely resembling the British Commonwealth. This is a ‘pericentric thesis:’ post-war order did not simply emanate from the capitals of a few great powers like London or Washington; rather, post-war order was a process of compromise which developed on the frontiers of power, and particularly in the interaction between great powers and small states like Canada or Australia. Small powers adapted to great power realities, but they also sought to restrain or manipulate or socialise great powers, very often successfully. This concept of ‘socialisation,’ of structuring a social relationship defined by certain kinds of acceptable and unacceptable behaviour, constitutes a difference with the well-known ‘empire by invitation’ thesis advanced by Geir Lundestad. In Lundestad’s view, the extraordinary post-war expansion of American power may be explained by the invitation extended by small states to the United States to include them in a new American empire.3 As we shall see, Americans were neither isolationist nor reluctant to extend their power in global affairs; nor were small states eager to be incorporated into any empire, American, Soviet or British. Small states willingly cooperated with and participated in the expansion of American power precisely because Americans foreswore empire, developing relationships on the basis of sovereign equality and respect for international institutions. In this sense, the most important aspect of America’s expanding power was not its material character but its normative content; this content, it will be argued, developed out of America’s interaction with new states during the war. In short and quite irrespective of whether Americans were nice people, the power wielded by the United States was always going to be a problem unless relations with America could be ordered in such a way

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as preserved the freedom and independence of other actors. As it happened, the English Constitution was founded on a genius – including the evolution of British imperial relations in the Commonwealth – for doing precisely that, though in this case the actors were states rather than individuals. American power was not thereby banished; rather, much of it was harnessed to common institutions, and while American predominance became widely recognised, it was possible to do so through bonds of mutual consent rather than force. This is why ‘hegemony’ can be helpful as a concept. ‘Hegemony’ refers to an asymmetrical relationship more closely defined by consent between parties than by coercion (though it certainly admits arm twisting). As to how this consent is secured, the most highly developed theory is economic: hegemony rests upon a division of selective incentives, so that the ‘hegemon’ accepts responsibilities (e.g. to lend money to distressed states) in order to secure absolute gains greater than might be available by other means (e.g. the benefits of seigniorage) while weaker parties accept the special privileges of the hegemon (e.g. to dictate borrowing terms) in order to secure greater relative gains than the hegemon (e.g. investments generate greater relative yield in less-developed economies).4 In this theory, hegemony is inherently unstable: either the hegemon will rail against the high costs of hegemony, or else greater relative gains will allow states to catch up with and possibly challenge the hegemon. One unique feature of American hegemony was that it became rooted in international institutions which have been surprisingly stable.5 Furthermore, we must not be too sanguine about the division of selective incentives: there are things people will not sell at any price, and for the statesmen we shall study here this included their freedom and the integrity of their political institutions. If post-war order was defined by a certain economy of transactions, this rested upon the ability to agree certain shared social commitments, including respect for one another’s claims to independence and limitations on the use of force.6 These characteristics, both economic and social, distinguished post-war order from the imperial frameworks which had preceded it (discussed in chapter one), as well as from the Soviet system to which it was only ever partially reconciled.

INTRODUCTION

5

This is a book about the American Century, but it will not be told from the American perspective. Instead, we will examine the development of America’s (and Britain’s) relations with a particular group of small states known as the Dominions, including Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. What we will see is that these small states, to varying degrees and with varying strategies, helped to chart a course to a post-imperial world of sovereign states.

Revisionism: a Brief Introduction What is revisionism? Innumerable undergraduate essays define and dismiss revisionism in post-war historiography as a Marxist critique, yet the term ‘revisionist’ could be applied equally to conservative thinking, for instance Hans Morgenthau’s critique of America’s crusading moralism,7 or Walter Lippmann’s opposition to the Vietnam War.8 The contribution of Marx is at best tangential. Revisionists are supposed to regard American foreign policy as the expression of certain imperatives inherent in American political economy, but this observation is one of the commonest in the social sciences. It would be hard to find any scholar who disagreed with the proposition that the maintenance of international peace and stability after 1945 depended upon the satisfaction of material wants, hence the expansion of global commerce. It is therefore quite banal to argue that revisionism is defined by the interaction between American diplomacy and social and economic forces; rather, revisionists are interested in finding patterns in American diplomacy. Inasmuch as they strive to develop a coherent narrative, revisionists are interested in systems and structures. Here again there is a misapprehension: radical revisionists link everything back to a Marxist appreciation of capitalism. Actually, there is nothing radical (or Marxist) about the observation that capitalism is inherently dynamic and expansionist – indeed, these qualities are widely celebrated. This is important, because one key to understanding post-war order, and why it differed fundamentally from post-1815 or post-1919 order, is the role played by changing technologies and the opening of new frontiers. The revisionist argument, that American policy-makers were eager that

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America avail itself of new or developing opportunities, and happy to promote American companies to that end, is about as Leninist as Alan Greenspan’s study of government and monopoly. Revisionism is simply an historical methodology: liberals or conservatives may be revisionists according to their lights.9 This still leaves us with the question: a methodology of what? Most revisionist accounts are an attempt to situate particular aspects of history within a systemic context; in this sense, historical revisionism is akin to theories of international relations. Unsurprisingly, both emerged from a tradition of liberal criticism. This book will situate the making of post-war order within the context of dying empires and rising states: the expansion of international society. What unites revisionist accounts is the drive to ‘think otherwise;’ where they part is in the new kinds of causation they elucidate, the new historical contexts they tease out, and the new sources and perspectives they look to investigate. So what do we want to think otherwise about? This book relies upon many of the key insights of the post-revisionist school and its founder, J.L. Gaddis, but poses some different questions about the context in which post-war order emerged, and how and why it happened. This does not imply any criticism of Gaddis or post-revisionism; if historians could answer every question, there would soon be no historians. One of J.L. Gaddis’ main arguments is that ‘the Western democracies sought a form of security that would reject violence and the threat of it: security was to be a collective good, not a benefit denied to some in order to provide it to others.’10 The western states, especially Britain and the United States, established a multilateral framework for the preservation of post-war order, particularly evident in the development of the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and the United Nations; ‘the Cold War,’ Gaddis argues, ‘developed when it became clear that Stalin either could not or would not accept this framework.’11 This is very sound. When we ask why the US established this framework and not another, however, the argument begins to appear a bit thin. ‘The American empire,’ Gaddis writes, reflected little imperial consciousness or design. An anti-imperial tradition dating back to the American Revolution partially

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accounted for this ... so too did a constitutional structure that forced even imperially minded leaders like Wilson and the two Roosevelts to accommodate domestic attitudes that discouraged imperial behavior long after national capabilities had made it possible ... Americans still found it difficult to think of themselves as an imperial power.12 Americans, ‘having attained their authority through democratic processes,’ were naturally adept at ‘persuasion, negotiation and compromise;’ their knowledge of the world was charmingly parochial, reflected in James Byrnes’ comment, ‘you build a post office in their state, and they’ll build a post office in our state;’ nevertheless, they ‘were not babes in the woods,’ and only acted when they were ‘convinced their actions would advance American interests.’13 I submit that this is somewhat deterministic, amounting to a defence of American exceptionalism in global affairs. To be sure, there is an American civilisation, and this possesses its own virtue; but Americans are as diverse in their motivations as any other people. We must be cautious of substituting a moral argument – that American actions spring from a well of values and virtues – in place of an historical one. Prior to the war, the US did possess both a formal and an informal empire. The question, naturally, is what changed?

The British Commonwealth and Post-War Order For answer, we must turn away from the metropolis, and cast our gaze across the emerging frontiers of post-war order. This is by no means easy, for we are traditionally trained to regard ‘peace’ and ‘order’ as things made by small numbers of great and eccentric men. Yes these men were important; but we must ask what it was they were ordering, and where. It is when we ask these questions that we begin to apprehend, first, why small states like the Dominions might have been important, and second, why post-war order was distinct either from that established at Versailles or any other. Put very simply, the conflict between what is called civilisation and the frontier – a conflict which measures the physical as well as

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the social and political limitations of mankind – is a great engine of change; this is the essence of a pericentric thesis. It is not often that historians impress upon us the limitations of our environment; and yet these limitations, and the struggle against them, are one of the essential characteristics of the human experience. As the great historian Frederick Jackson Turner observed: The stubborn American environment is there with its imperious summons to accept its conditions; the inherited ways of doing things are also there; and yet, in spite of environment, and in spite of custom, each frontier did indeed furnish a new field of opportunity, a gate of escape from the bondage of the past; and freshness, and confidence, and scorn of older society, impatience of its restraints and its ideas, and indifference to its lessons, have accompanied the frontier. What the Mediterranean Sea was to the Greeks, breaking the bond of custom, offering new experiences, calling out new institutions and activities, that, and more, the ever retreating frontier has been to the United States directly, and to the nations of Europe more remotely. And now, four centuries from the discovery of America, at the end of a hundred years of life under the Constitution, the frontier has gone, and with its going has closed the first period of American history.14 Turner thereby supplied an important corrective to the habit of assuming that an unbroken thread runs from past to future. This assumption sometimes leads to the belief that post-1945 order was simply an updated version of post-1919 or post-1815 order. Some, like Jan Smuts, did anticipate a Versailles II in 1945 – but he was wrong. He was wrong because, despite the apparent continuity of affairs, the environment, the pressures of the natural world and the technological capacity to challenge them, had changed radically. The political scientists Barry Buzan and Richard Little argued: As capacities for transportation and communication contract and expand the capacity for interaction, so the nature of the

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international system itself must undergo fundamental change. When one looks more closely, it quickly becomes apparent that the capacity for interaction can change within a system over time, may vary from system to system, and will almost certainly vary within a system at any given point in time. As new technologies of transportation and communication spread, they change the quality and quantity of the interactions among and within units in the system as a whole ... even the operation of structural logic depends on the level of interaction capacity. If interaction capacity is low, then structure will have little or no effect. Higher levels of interaction capacity allow structural forces powerfully into play ... interaction capacity captures both the physical and the social aspects of capabilities that are system- or unit-wide. These capabilities both play a role in defining the dominant units, and act as a distinct source of shoving and shaping forces playing alongside those generated by structure.15 If we want to understand the nature of post-war order, then we must consider the revolution brought about by the aeroplane. Aeroplanes had existed for many decades prior to the Second World War, but this should not surprise us: most technologies require some decades before they make a distinct impact on social and political affairs. Passenger air traffic, for instance, only became a serious possibility with the development of monoplanes with stressed-metal frames and cantilever wings, a transformation which took place in the early to mid-thirties. Aviation had two important consequences. The first was the organisation of diplomacy itself. When Woodrow Wilson arrived in France, he had been at sea for two weeks, and he remained in France for six months. If Wilson’s task was politically challenging, it was physically impossible: it was equally vital that he remain connected to the democratic politics of the United States, and that he utilise his personal skill and prestige at Versailles. He killed himself trying to square this circle. A quarter of a century later, the same distance could be traversed inside of two days. The business of diplomacy had heretofore been a personal affair conducted by a handful of statesmen on longish

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journeys over the course of several months of pleasantly sociable seclusion with a view (eventually) to concluding an agreement. The aeroplane changed this forever. For the first time, statesmen could carry on negotiations in absentia, safe in the knowledge they could swoop in anytime to rescue affairs, smooth over outstanding points and issues, take credit or pass blame. Thus equipped, statesmen could also carry on different negotiations at the same time, and do so moreover without ceding positional advantage in domestic politics. This transformation meant that the details of negotiations could be left to expert delegations. Since the substance of negotiations no longer needed to be contained in any single head, whence they might arise at a favourable moment, shaded by alcohol or nicotine, delegations expanded rapidly. Economists, statisticians, jurists and scientists crowded in, forming committees which gave birth to sub-committees and these, in turn, to ad hoc committees. What had once occupied a few corridors in a well-appointed palace now sprawled across half a dozen tasteless hotels. Statesmen, whose presence had once been the point of conference diplomacy, became an adjunct to it: since the real business was conducted in committee, their role was to show up for plenary negotiations at the beginning and end of the conference. The personal prestige of statesmen still mattered, but was less important than a state’s capacity to field a first-rate expert delegation. Information, rather than prestige, became the essential currency of conference diplomacy. This presented a tremendous opportunity to any state, great or otherwise, capable of building a competent and professional foreign policy bureaucracy, for comparative advantage lay in the capacity to collect, process and analyse vast quantities of information, and so position oneself advantageously in committees and sub-committees, rather than in the ability to cut a dashing figure. It was necessary to know precisely what minerals had industrial uses and where they were, to appreciate which language groups happened to live where and why they hated one another, to tease out the economic and strategic implications of every word on every conference document. Foreign policy became technocratic. This is why we know so much about Versailles, which was dominated by complex, engaging, powerful people, and so

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little about San Francisco, which was a humdrum affair dominated by boring professionals. This is why the order established in 1945 is not remotely comparable to that of 1919. Versailles was the last great effort to organise international society on the basis of statesmanship. Thereafter, peace-making was to be a long-term process, as indeed peace after 1945 was a long-term process, with some elements hammered out in 1944, others in 1945, and still others, like Berlin, settled in 1989. The second consequence of aviation was more direct: like the coalfired steamships of the nineteenth century, aeroplanes redrew the map of the world, opening new and pressing commercial opportunities while creating dangerous strategic liabilities. Territories which had once lain at the far end of imperial ‘lines’ of sea communication now found themselves occupying the centre of important new ‘zones’ of aerial communication. The linear transportation networks of a previous age, dominated by interconnected shipping and railway lines, were eclipsed by fluid, overlapping webs of aerial control, dominated by a new infrastructure of aerodromes and weather stations. This novel development placed pressure on states to develop and defend new networks; this, in turn, challenged norms of sovereignty: great states such as the United States sought to extend their reach in order to attain security, while small states, such as the British Dominions, had to find some way of preserving their independence while managing their relations with the great powers and achieving an acceptable level of security. The transformation was particularly relevant to the members of the British Commonwealth, known as the British Dominions, which had grown up secure yet remote in the British Empire, an optimum condition which had allowed them to develop a high level of independence and the fundamentals of statehood. Their position, though unique, would allow them to elucidate a diplomacy in respect of post-war order which would later come to be relevant to, and to benefit, other small states as they emerged in the second half of the twentieth century.16 The Dominions included Australia, New Zealand, Canada and South Africa; Eire was nominally a Dominion, but ‘external association,’ not to mention neutrality, severely constrained Eire’s wartime diplomacy.

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The term ‘Dominion’ had been used by the Canadian premier, Wilfrid Laurier, at the 1907 Colonial Conference to refer to the (mostly) self-governing settler colonies of the British Empire; by 1939, the Dominions possessed all the attributes of independent national states in virtue of the Statute of Westminster (1931), while still remaining within the British Empire. This peculiar position helps explain the emergence of small and independently-minded states in a world which was still defined by empires and imperial relations. Dominion power was magnified through a special relationship with Great Britain, but the attachment was more than sentimental. During the Second World War, the Dominions contributed more than a million men to the British Army and nearly half a million to the Royal Air Force; they gave billions of pounds to Britain, contributed their vast resource base and, in a trade relationship that was connected to London via the sterling area (formalised in 1932), their exports and reserves helped provision Britain with precious dollars.17 The Dominions thereby constituted a vital link between the old world of transnational empires and the new world of national states. More crucial still, the Dominions each occupied important positions on the far frontiers of the old imperial periphery, which was being revolutionised by aviation: Australia and New Zealand on the Asia Pacific Rim and the South Pacific; Canada on the Arctic and Atlantic littoral; South Africa on the Indian Ocean littoral and the vast interior of Africa. For the great majority of post-war diplomacy related, not to the particularities of Anglo-American relations per se (which were worked out in separate negotiations and channelled through bodies like the combined boards), but to the question of who was going to be allowed to do business where, how, and with whom. Far the most delicate issue at stake between Britain and America was how zones of trade, finance and security, hitherto mutually exclusive, were to be integrated; and in this issue, Arctic provinces, African veldt, South Pacific islands, all loomed large. Here, most of all, the Dominions mattered – for they now found themselves the gatekeepers of important frontiers, whose resources and markets held the key to a stable post-war order. And it was here that their experience as small, essentially British states, came to matter as well: for in seeking

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to outline and defend their independence in the face of encroachment, particularly by the United States, the Dominions elucidated a vision of a world of sovereign national states, in which political liberty was conjoined with property rights and an institutional balance of power at a domestic and international level. Aviation and the security and commercial demands of postwar order meant that the United States wanted something of the Dominions; this simple fact provided the Dominions with leverage to make demands of the United States. All parties were responding to fundamental changes in the international system brought about by political and technological developments and the opening of new frontiers. The response of the Dominions to these pressures was particularly interesting, for they set out to tame American power as British power had been tamed by the Statute of Westminster, indeed as the Crown itself had been tamed by the English Constitution. Their conception of sovereignty demanded that they move closer to Britain even as they established principles fatal to the organic unity of the British Empire-Commonwealth. To be sure, Britain was never reappointed to her old role as imperial mistress; rather, she became imperial nanny ministering to the demands of Dominions that were increasingly professional and astute in the conduct of their foreign policy. To be blunt, the Dominions exploited their relationship to Britain mercilessly, utilising the privileged information they received from London in ways which undercut British diplomacy, copying successful British innovations in the organisation of their own bureaucracies, penetrating the imperial metropolis in London with their best diplomats, and leveraging their position in the British Empire to secure access to American or Soviet diplomats. The Dominions came to exert an influence in British politics that was by no means reciprocal: Britain had no shortage of good people, but aside from Malcolm MacDonald (whose dispatch to Canada was punitive), it had never been considered that they ought to be sent to the most stable, secure and loyal provinces of the Empire. Nevertheless, the real objective for the Dominions was to exchange the institutional equality they enjoyed within the British Empire for some global institutional framework in which all states would

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have an equal voice, and particularly vis-à-vis the United States. This offered the key to their survival as independent states in a world in which avaricious new competitors coveted their trade and their territory, and in which technology and the balance of power were changing rapidly.

The Organisation of This Study The historian Warren Kimball once asked ‘so what the hell were we fighting for, such a long, long time ago?’18 Post-war order is generally regarded as a poor relation of Versailles, one who died giving birth to the Cold War. Studies of the UN often start from the assumption that it was child of the League; since the standard work on UN origins remains Ruth Russell’s excellent study of American diplomacy, scholars may be forgiven for assuming the US created the UN simply because Americans wanted it. The task before us is to reconstruct the overlapping strategic and economic imperatives of post-war diplomacy, one which treats that diplomacy as unique, and which restores the normative and economic context to planning and policy-making. A closer examination of post-war order will demonstrate that it reflected the triumph of liberalism, whether in the success of the Anglo-American relationship, the adaptation of the international system to the pressures of nationalism and decolonisation, or the regulation of an expanding international society by post-imperial international institutions. Chapter one will examine the breakdown of the world financial system during the decade of the 1930’s, and in particular the emergence of the dollar bloc and the sterling area. The political connection between currency blocs and monopoly capitalism, particularly in the realm of aviation, will also be examined. This is in no way a comprehensive history; rather, it is meant to set out some of the key elements in the organisation of two competing strategic and economic systems, each with global aspirations. This will help us to place wartime diplomacy in its proper context. Chapter two will begin with the politics of American participation in the war in 1942 – for it was only in the context of American

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participation that the question of ‘post-war’ order arose in any serious way. American participation was welcome; nevertheless, the unprecedented expansion of American power across the globe, and particularly across the British Empire, posed serious problems for the British Dominions.19 American intentions were fundamentally unknown, but the American culture of anti–(British) imperialism, combined with American unilateralism in otherwise delicate policy decisions, made Dominion statesmen fearful that the United States was intent on replacing the British Empire with its own empire. As we will see, this question can be illustrated graphically, as the United States expanded into important frontier regions, such as Canada’s Arctic territories, which had hitherto been relatively undisturbed. Chapter three takes a detailed look at the evolution of foreign policy bureaucracies, an unglamorous thing which nevertheless explains how small states like the Dominions could develop a diplomacy capable of competing with the United States or Great Britain in the successful elucidation of policy initiatives. This evolution was driven by three imperatives: the need to comprehend and possibly to defend potentially vital frontier regions which the United States appeared intent on swallowing; the development of a technocratic and divided peacemaking process, in which states had to field expert teams in numerous conferences; and the development of successful models in Great Britain itself, which Commonwealth countries were happy to turn to their own purposes. Chapter four will examine the different models of post-war order which emerged in Great Britain and the Dominions, and which combined a measured response to dramatic developments taking place on the ground during the war, and a particular set of ideals which grew up in the context of increasingly professional foreign policy bureaucracies. The point here is not to write a comprehensive history of any given department; rather, it is to sketch the emergence in different states of a consensus view about their commercial and security needs, and the extent to which those might be collaborative or mutually exclusive. What is fascinating is that most states, confronted with the profoundly unsettling realities of technology and the uncertain future of the balance of power, designed their

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strategies around the assumption that their independence, to say nothing of their survival, hinged on a successful model of global collaboration. Chapter five assesses the evolution of the British Commonwealth over this period, and particularly the difficult choices facing Dominion statesmen on the one hand desperate to assert their sovereign independence, on the other hand uncomfortably aware of the limits of their own power and the need to pool resources in order to make themselves heard, especially in Washington. This contradiction was felt acutely during the Dumbarton Oaks Conference (the first round of negotiations on the UN Charter), from which the Dominions were excluded, and in which Britain unceremoniously dumped its own ‘Commonwealth’ draft in favour of free negotiation on the basis of the American draft. Dumbarton Oaks was an important turning point for the Dominions, who became more explicitly committed to direct negotiation with the great powers, and who also had to consider the possibility that post-war order would fail to meet basic standards in the preservation of their own sovereignty. Chapters six and seven cover some of the wartime conferences: Chicago and London, which dealt with aviation and colonies, and Yalta and San Francisco, which dealt with the relationship between great and small powers, and the institutions (the balance of power and collective security) which might preserve post-war stability. The Dominions made important contributions to many of these conferences, most particularly to Chicago, London and San Francisco. Two contributions of particular import were the elucidation of sovereignty over airspace, which cut the great transnational aviation monopolies down to size, and the development of the idea of regional collective security, which provided the legal foundation for organisations such as the Atlantic Alliance. Another important development during these conferences was a transformation in attitudes towards the great powers: heretofore, the Dominions had regarded the United States as the principal threat to their sovereignty; as Americans proved their credibility by accepting safeguards protecting the sovereignty and independence of small states, the Dominions came to regard Russia as the greatest threat to

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their freedom. Interestingly, this shift in attitude had very little to do either with a sentimental attachment to the English language or a positive identification of the United States as a fellow democracy. If anything, America’s democratic institutions were a hindrance: regular world tours by grasping, bombastic US Senators were responsible for a constant stream of fearful analyses of American intentions and American politics, undermining the credibility of American diplomacy. ‘They builded better than they knew,’ the Canadian Minister Leighton McCarthy complained, ‘who enshrined a system of ‘checks and balances’ in the American Constitution.’20 What mattered most were particular interests, particular concessions and particular agreements – and it was in this realm that America gained credibility even as Russia lost it. Chapters eight and nine will analyse the failure of post-war order, or at any rate its separation, particularly in the realm of security. Nevertheless, the post-war global political landscape was essentially different from the interwar landscape: mutually exclusive imperial systems had given way to overlapping regional systems. Even as the institutional solutions to the problems of post-war order, such as the United Nations, failed to perform their functions adequately, the normative framework of post-war order remained intact: the new world would be based round states, not empires. In this sense, the process of negotiating post-war order was at least as important as any definitive agreement which emerged, because it was through the process of negotiation that acceptable goals and compromises were established within the framework of internationalism – when institutions failed to work as intended, states like the British Dominions and the United States maintained that framework. This became especially clear during the 1946 Dominion Premiers’ Meeting, when Britain effectively agreed to separate defence arrangements with the various Dominions, depending upon local and regional circumstances. The principle of primacy of local or regional interests in the organisation of trade or defence reflected the disintegration of the grand global frameworks once directed by London or Paris; what is fascinating is that whereas American statesmen appreciated this shift in global politics, Soviet statesmen did not.

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America did not found an empire, the Soviet Union did. That was the origin of the Cold War. It was also the end of the Cold War: the west evolved, however imperfectly, to meet the demands of a developing international society; the Soviet Union did not. Indeed, the Soviets, supposed harbingers of the future, struggled desperately to save empire as a mode of organising and governing the world at the very moment the west cast it aside in favour of more sophisticated tools. Our goal, in understanding the origin of post-war order, will be to recover the creativity that went into the task, and the distinct historical novelty of the order that emerged.

CHAPTER 1 THE IMPER IAL WOR LD

I have never suggested ... that Britain has failed to do her best to secure the position of the Dominions in international affairs, and I fully agree with you that the attitudes of the United Kingdom and New Zealand towards each other are fundamentally healthy and are very precious possessions to both. But that does not alter the fact as I see it, that Britain, along with the United States and Russia, is determined to create a ‘great power’ world in which the small powers will be allotted the same shadowy role as has been granted to them in the operation of the war. I think this is all wrong, though I do not for a moment suggest that this policy – which I think is implicit – is based on or even intended to achieve the elimination of the Dominions ... What does worry me is the effect on the Americans ... I am convinced that unless we make it plain at some time that we are an entity with our own views and policies, quite apart from the United Kingdom and quite apart from the British Commonwealth, then we will fall back into the position we occupied half a century ago. The latest instance occurred when I was called down to the State Department ... The discussion was on how the Small Powers could express their views, and I was met, not to my surprise but to my indignation, with the casual remark that ‘of course, New Zealand could express its views through London.’1 – C.A. Berendsen, 1945

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David Reynolds aptly described Anglo-American relations from 1937 as ‘competitive cooperation.’ By 1941, this competitive cooperation had become the overwhelming force in the external (and internal) relations of the small states we are studying here, and it was hard to say whether competition or cooperation worried them more. The new framework of Anglo-American relations altered the strategic and economic context within which small states operated: the real and immediate importance of this development may be apprehended by consideration of aviation politics. This chapter will sketch the American and British ‘imperial systems’ before the war and some of the ways these began to come together during the war; in the next chapter, we shall see how the developing framework of Anglo-American cooperation, even integration, created new threats and opportunities for small states. Two things may not be entirely obvious at this point. The first is why Anglo-American cooperation – one of the most celebrated developments in twentieth century diplomatic history – might have posed a threat. The reason is that in 1940 both Britain and the US were powerful states with their own imperial systems; their partnership changed the configuration of world politics, but left open important questions about the kind of order they might create together. This chapter will sketch some of the aspects of their respective imperial systems and highlight some of the ways these systems made cooperation difficult. The second is why the politics of aviation should receive special treatment. In Anglo-American relations, aviation was just one of many areas in which commercial and strategic competition overlapped, and many good studies exist which look at other such areas, for instance shipping, finance or oil extraction. What we are going to see in the next several chapters is that aviation came to hold a special position in the strategic and commercial calculations of the Dominions, indeed that consideration of the realities of aviation altered their identities and forced them to look anew at their own geography and what they considered to be their self-interest. From the standpoint of Anglo-American relations, aviation is a good but arbitrary example of competitive cooperation in action; on the world frontiers, aviation possessed a special significance. This chapter will also investigate why that was so.

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More broadly, what this chapter highlights is that ideals of cooperation or a post-imperial world order were well-developed prior to 1939. The First World War had already put an end to the idea that ‘empire’ was the natural, best way of doing business, and British and American statesmen employed real political creativity trying to balance principles of nationalism and self-determination against prerogatives of power. In America there were many, such as Franklin Roosevelt, genuinely committed to Wilsonian principles, while in Britain many were committed to a self-governing Empire-Commonwealth.2 Yet political adaptation also served strategic and economic purposes, though experiments in the interwar years in how these different purposes might be reconciled to one another were not entirely happy. While Britain and America developed progressive political platforms that took national claims seriously, their response to the crisis of the 1930’s was economically and strategically inward-looking. This raises the interesting question as to how economic and strategic conservatism was ultimately overcome: what we shall see is that small states played an important role in this process.

Imperial Systems What is an imperial system? Asymmetrical relationships are liable to be complicated; terms like ‘imperial’ or ‘empire’ rarely simplify them. ‘Imperial system’ is only meant to highlight some interesting parallels in world politics prior to 1939. That said, there are characteristics common to all forms of imperialism. First, empires – formal or informal – are based on the use of force (dispatching gunboats to collect debts or seize territory in lieu of debts, for instance).3 Second, empires are based on a formalised hierarchy (through ‘unequal treaties,’ for instance) by which one people enjoys rights superior to those of another – ‘inordinate influence or control,’ as Ronald Robinson put it.4 Both these definitions cover a wide ground, but fundamentally describe ways in which inequality or hierarchy is enforced and entrenched, to the detriment of a weaker party. While British and American power were different in their expression, they both institutionalised inequality within their respective spheres, whether using force to bring Indian

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nationalists to heel or to preserve a particular kind of order within the Caribbean littoral. One of the fears that the Dominions had with respect to Anglo-American cooperation was that these two powerful states would combine to extend their imperial prerogatives.

Commonwealth The broad ideals of Commonwealth, Empire trade and imperial defence evolved out of the British response to the multifaceted crisis of the Boer War. The war raised serious questions about the nature of the British Empire and how it related to increasingly self-governing peoples such as the Canadians or Australians. The Commonwealth ideal which dominated British policy for fifty years or more was a remarkably bold answer to these questions. A new generation of British thinkers such as Lionel Curtis argued it would be possible to foster a genuine sense of political community and ‘we feeling’ under the Crown across a multiracial empire, balancing self-government against regular consultation and a special relationship built round a common history and destiny. The idea gained legal status at the 1907 Colonial Conference; at the same time, the Committee of Imperial Defence, an informal advisory body set up in 1902, became an official organ of imperial consultation. All this appeared more than vindicated by the successful experience of the Imperial War Cabinet in the First World War: the term ‘Commonwealth of Nations’ gained legal recognition in 1917, a Dominions Office was formed in 1925, the first Dominions Secretary appointed in 1930, and the Dominions themselves gained complete legal autonomy by the Statute of Westminster in 1931. Empire trade, advocated by politicians like Joseph Chamberlain or Leo Amery, reflected both a particular kind of Commonwealth unionism and the realities of Britain’s decline relative to the United States and Germany. The British electorate decisively rejected the idea in the twenties, fearing it would make corn dear; Empire trade thus progressed by small steps, such as the creation of an ‘Empire Marketing Board’ in 1925, until the 1929 crash and the run on the pound in 1931. The negotiation of the sterling area was an emergency response to a financial rather than a trade crisis.5 This was reflected in the Ottawa

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agreements of 1932. As Ian Drummond caustically noted, ‘the history of interwar imperial economic policy is the history of negotiation with respect to objectively insignificant goods,’ estimating that the Ottawa system of imperial preference increased British exports by a paltry 3–5% to 1938, while imperial imports in Britain rose by 7–10%.6 In trade, Ottawa reversed conventional wisdom about empires and markets: it was the British market that was increasingly penetrated by the Empire. However, a more recent study has noted this trade imbalance was immaterial so long as trade was conducted in sterling, since the overall balance would still contribute to preserve sterling’s external exchange position.7 While the sterling area cushioned Britain against some of the volatility of the Depression, as an experiment it was disappointing: the British Dominions regarded it as a way of leveraging their negotiating position with the United States through British imperial policy, expecting Britain to yield on commodity imports while utilising tariffs to protect nascent domestic industries.8 Churchill referred to the imperial trade arrangements as ‘Rottowa;’9 in more measured terms: ‘as Mackenzie King had foreseen in the twenties, bilateral tariff bargaining meant imperial fragmentation.’10 Imperial defence was the strategic counterpart to the Commonwealth idea, though it was often distorted by the centrifugal tendencies of its self-governing members. The idea had emerged out of the many embarrassments and dangers of the Boer War, and was embodied in the Committee of Imperial Defence, whose purpose was to unify various aspects of imperial defence strategy, along with contingency planning and what we would call ‘joined up’ military, naval and political thinking.11 The Committee was a good example of the British genius for cheap, flexible organisational solutions: committee membership was fluid, enabling the Dominions to participate. However, the hope that this might lead to integrated Commonwealth defence planning after the war was frustrated by Dominion governments jealous of their political autonomy and in no hurry to shoulder the burden of peacetime imperial defence. They emphasised their autonomy at every opportunity, such as the 1923 Imperial Conference. In 1919, meanwhile, Lloyd George established that defence planning should proceed on the basis

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that Britain would not fight another major war for ten years; in 1928, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Winston Churchill, established this was a ‘rolling’ ten years. ‘When I woke up in the morning,’ the Cabinet Secretary Maurice Hankey recalled, ‘I’d say, ‘Good God, the Ten Year Rule starts again this morning!’12 Recent scholarship has drawn a more complicated picture of British defence policy in the thirties than the old one of irresolute drift.13 Nevertheless, Britain’s international obligations were complicated, while serious questions pertaining to the organisation and role of new technologies like aeroplanes and armour remained open. Neither the Commonwealth nor ‘imperial defence’ contributed to the development of a working strategy for containing the growing threat of German and Japanese aggression. This became brutally clear at the 1937 Imperial Conference, called for the purpose of coordinating imperial strategy: every Dominion leader cited some reason to avoid making a commitment, whether fear of secessionism in the Canadian plains or Quebec or the New Zealand demand that the League be given some real ‘teeth.’14 Publicly, the Conference concluded with nothing more than a statement of faith in the capacity of nations to cooperate;15 privately, the Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden confessed ‘there would be no sense in fighting a war which would break the British Empire.’16 In this sense, ‘appeasement’ was defined by the search for armed peace despite numerous policy restraints, rather than by a realistic or ‘joined up’ appraisal of the threats confronting the British Empire. The Commonwealth, Empire trade and imperial defence were bold in conception but ambiguous in practice.

Good Neighbours Like the Commonwealth idea, pan-Americanism traced its roots to before the Great War. While the Commonwealth sought to overcome geographical distance through shared history, pan-Americanism sought to overcome historical distance through shared geography. Latin Americans (i.e. Americans south of the Rio Grande) were linguistically and culturally closer to Europe, enjoying longstanding diplomatic ties and hosting substantial ex-patriot communities. They had

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Map 1 Pan-American’s Air Empire: Pan-American Airlines was a textbook example of informal empire in the Western Hemisphere: it was explicitly promoted as a monopoly enterprise by the US, it enjoyed and exploited close links to American political leaders, and it served to exclude both political and economic competition from European or Latin American states.

also suffered from ‘Big Stick’ diplomacy and territorial acquisitions, such as the coup that conveniently split Panama from Columbia. The First World War reduced European competition, providing an impetus for fuller integration, which became part of Woodrow Wilson’s diplomacy.17

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Yet American policy lacked coherence – ‘Pan-American Day’ aside – until the 1930’s.18 Growing Latin American discontent reflected the lack of coherent American economic leadership, especially the unwillingness to deregulate home markets or provide discount facilities to countries in difficulties. So long as Congress controlled tariff policy (until 1934), American trade policy reflected the mistaken belief that American exports could increase indefinitely without opening American markets.19 This triggered the crisis of the 1930 Smoot-Hawley tariff, which raised duties to an average of 50% ad valorem; the depreciation of the dollar in 1933 under Roosevelt was equivalent to a further 50% hike in duties. The collapse of Latin American trade was staggering: between 1929 and 1932, trade with Latin America contracted (imports by 68%, exports by 78%), while economic distress led to bond defaults and political pressure to expropriate foreign assets, of which Americans owned roughly $3.5 billion in 1933.20 Social crisis and nationalist backlash formed the immediate backdrop to the ‘Good Neighbor’ policy. While the US State Department under Cordell Hull increasingly espoused the view that free trade was the key component to a stable domestic and global order, this view had opponents across the US Government.21 Hull could not prevent New Deal import quotas or Franklin Roosevelt’s precipitous dismissal of the London Economic Conference; he did manage to secure the Reciprocal Trade Agreements Act of 1934, which passed tariff policy almost wholly from the legislative to the executive branch of the US Government. While Hull dreamt of liberalising world trade, American trade policy prior to the war aimed at carefully bounded trade agreements, usually with less-developed states, and at preventing the expropriation of American assets in the western hemisphere. This policy began at the Montevideo Conference on 12 December 1933, when Hull renounced the ‘Roosevelt Corollary’ to the Monroe Doctrine (on the American right of intervention in Latin American affairs) in order to generate goodwill for reciprocal trade talks.22 The wheels of commerce were further lubricated by the New Deal Export-Import Bank, which provided something like ‘counter-cyclical’ lending (i.e. lending designed to buoy a contracting economy). While American economic policy was less formal than British, it justified the appellation ‘dollar bloc,’ and

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accommodated itself to a policy of denying trade to foreign competitors, especially Germany and Japan. However, the return on reciprocal trade was negligible. While reciprocal trade agreements reduced the nominal un-weighted average of American ad valorem duties to 35%, bilateral tariff reduction was by itself insufficient to restore world trade: commodity prices remained low, while the Export-Import bank was constrained by narrow political purposes.23 In this poisonous environment, Latin American states seized on opportunities for trade or loans without regard to American political purposes. The State Department suspected states such as Argentina helped themselves to Export-Import funds without acting in good faith, while reciprocal trade did not prevent expropriation of American investments in Mexico or Bolivia.24 Hemisphere defence became the strategic counterpart to the Good Neighbor policy: the idea was that political and economic integration might save the western hemisphere from any European cataclysm. Hemisphere defence was a mixture of traditional policy, Depression reality and disillusion with Europe – the same mixture that contributed to 1935–7 neutrality legislation. Political decisions and economic constraints meant that American military strategy was essentially defensive; once Germany, Italy and Japan had been identified as America’s most likely enemies, in late 1938, contingency planning focused on recapturing the Philippines from Japan and defeating German or Italian efforts to subvert Latin American governments or gain western hemisphere bases. As Steven Ross has demonstrated, hemisphere defence was a strategy without any political objectives: it lacked victory conditions, hence was neither a war-fighting nor winning strategy.25 While Franklin Roosevelt began to mobilise American power to contain the Nazis after Munich, hemisphere defence remained America’s military strategy until the fall of France in 1940.26 The ideal of hemisphere defence, like imperial defence, concealed ambiguities. ‘The Rotarians, Kiwanis, and Lions are eating their luncheons to the accompaniment of speeches on Brazilian economics,’ Nicholas Spykman noted sardonically: ‘if the co-operation of our Latin neighbors is dependent on the popular appreciation of rhumba in the United States, the future is indeed bright.’27 While advocates

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of ‘hemisphere defence’ protested, like General Hugh Johnson, that ‘it isn’t isolation to prepare to defend ... half a world,’28 the trouble was that Latin Americans did not share the vision. The Buenos Aires Conference for the Maintenance of Peace in November 1936, where Roosevelt proposed turning the western hemisphere into a neutral bloc, was overshadowed by the bloody Chaco War between Bolivia and Paraguay. Argentina would go no further than ‘noble consultation’ on continental defence.29 The Lima Conference of 1938, like the imperial conference the previous year, concluded with a vague statement of solidarity. The Panama Declaration of September 1939 established a ‘neutrality zone,’ but America’s Atlantic squadron lacked the capacity to patrol the zone, while Congress blocked loans that were supposed to underpin an Inter-American Financial and Advisory Committee.30 ‘The Pan-American security zone,’ David Haglund concluded, ‘was left standing as an eloquent but empty tribute to the hemisphere republics’ desire for isolation from war – and to the futility of lofty aspirations unsupported by power.’31 While the Good Neighbor policy was hardly empire building, it was an effort to organise haphazard imperial ventures and commercial developments resting on foundations of institutional inequality into a coherent, progressive policy organised round American power and decision-making. It was perhaps the first and last time that Americans gave serious thought to how to organise and lead the western hemisphere: Roosevelt described the system as a ‘continuing peace conference,’ and clearly regarded it as a model of regional organisation and as a template for global cooperation.32 Interestingly, despite the hierarchical and somewhat imperial nature of hemispheric integration, it coincided with a generally positive view of American leadership by the Latin American left.33

Anglo-American Cooperation Britain and the United States responded to the world crisis of the 1930’s by pursuing closed imperial systems. The experience was mixed: progressive politics and the search for multilateral solidarity emanating from London or Washington often ran aground on political realities in

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Ottawa or Buenos Aires; limited trade liberalisation within economic blocs made more political than economic sense; strategies like hemisphere or imperial defence papered over serious problems and did not offer war-winning solutions. As the dictator powers of Germany, Japan and Italy grew more aggressive in 1937, Britain and America began to coordinate their efforts. There was nothing natural about this process: in 1937 or 1940, the United States and Great Britain remained two countries divided by a common language.34 Americans caricatured British politics as feudal, run by arrogant aristocrats; Britons caricatured American politics as immature, dominated by demagogues.35 British and American statesmen did not much visit one another; when they did, offence was easily given, for instance when Lord Halifax didn’t finish his hotdog at a baseball game. The 1939 visit of the King and Queen to Canada and the United States was a rare public relations coup in which the royal couple mingled freely in large crowds of fascinated well-wishers. Nevertheless, by 1937 it was clear to British policy-makers that cooperation with the US offered the only prospect of defending the Atlantic, Mediterranean and Far East; cooperation meant accepting Cordell Hull’s belief that trade liberalisation was integral to lasting peace. However, as Carl Kreider astutely noted in a contemporary study, there were serious inconsistencies in American commercial policy: discrimination took place under the name ‘multilateral trade,’ exports were pursued alongside domestic production cuts, and tariff reductions were sought alongside domestic subsidies.36 Even so, as rearmament placed increasing pressure on sterling, there was a clear imperative to improve relations with the US, and the two countries concluded a trade agreement in 1938. The negotiating process demonstrated how profoundly unsympathetic Americans were towards Britain: Americans assumed – incorrectly – that the Empire was bursting with wealth,37 and as the pressure on the pound increased through 1938, they assumed – incorrectly – that Britain was devaluing to secure underhanded advantage.38 Military cooperation between the two states was similarly halting. When Britain suggested an overwhelming show of naval strength to

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deter Japan in 1937, the American response was lukewarm, and both treated simple requests for information with suspicion.39 Roosevelt’s suggestion for a series of conferences to consider how world peace might be obtained, in January 1938, similarly received a lukewarm response from Chamberlain; while Roosevelt had little clear idea what the conferences might achieve, the lost opportunity for AngloAmerican reconciliation prompted Anthony Eden’s resignation from the Cabinet.40 While both Britain and America appeared to be politically progressive in their efforts to balance transnational order against nationalism, their respective imperial systems were economically and militarily conservative and inward-looking. Despite the manifest imperfection of these systems, which made British and American policies hostage to the opportunism of smaller states, did little to expand trade or investment, and failed to deter the dictator powers, both states were reluctant to take risks in search of an alternative arrangement. When they did begin to cooperate – formalised through Lend-Lease and the Combined Boards – it opened questions about the nature of the order that was to follow: a temporary truce, a carve-up, a genuinely new arrangement? We shall investigate this more thoroughly in the next chapter. As for smaller states, we can make two points. First, the self-interest of smaller states may have frustrated the great powers, but that did not mean small states were insensible to efforts to institutionalise a more stable arrangement. Second, while British or American imperial policies were self-interested, there were statesmen, such as Cordell Hull in the US or Malcolm MacDonald in Britain, who believed passionately in the new and progressive ideology they promoted. While interwar experiments in coalition building were unsuccessful, they left open the possibility of a global order that might be sustained without recourse to empire.

Aviation and the Evolving Idea of World Order Even as ideas evolved so too did technology, which also opened new economic and political opportunities. Aeroplanes were important in this respect, especially to frontier states. The role of aeroplanes in

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history is curiously under-studied, possibly because the air empires that began to coalesce between the wars disintegrated, their potential scattered by post-war order. Possibly it reflects the sensitivities of aviation enthusiasts, keen to downplay the aeroplanes’ embarrassing dependence upon floating or ground establishments. As the first edition of Makers of Modern Strategy complained, air theorists proposed ‘to win wars with imaginary instruments, reaching their conclusions by assuming aircraft of potentialities far exceeding those actually available.’41 Aeroplanes redrew the map, which meant they forced people to reconsider the relationship between the physical and social worlds. ‘No part of the environment,’ Lewis Mumford observed, ‘could be taken for granted, once the machine had shown how far order and system and intelligence might prevail over the raw nature of things.’ 42 While nothing could be taken for granted, neither could there be any single or accepted map of the world, whether in the form of natural barriers or the speed that distances were traversed. ‘The mental maps of nations,’ Alan Henrikson warns, ‘are not equivalent or interchangeable.’43 We do not have the time to consider all the ways ‘mental maps’ changed as a result of aeroplanes – how far, for instance, the fear of bombers influenced British politics or German propaganda. In order to understand the significance of aviation to smaller states, we must consider how Britain and America ordered air communications, and the messy process of integration which took place during the war. British civil aviation started in 1919, and there were soon three companies offering cross-channel flights, carrying mail and investigating new air routes; however, Britain was the only European country whose air services were not heavily subsidised (by 1922, the French paid in excess of £1 million in aviation subsidies). This put British companies at a serious disadvantage, and all three folded in 1920. In Europe, aviation was an extension of politics: France quickly extended routes to Morocco and Algeria, thence to Dakar; Germany and Bolshevik Russia opened a Königsberg-Moscow line, extended thence to Teheran and Beijing. British efforts to open a line to Prague were blocked by Germany while efforts to connect the Channel Islands to France foundered on

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French indifference. Once Britain began to subsidise its airlines, which had previously operated on high-volume routes, it appeared better to split lines on grounds of efficiency, giving companies state-sponsored monopolies; then the Hambling Committee proposed the merger of all private airlines into a single subsidised monopoly, so that Imperial Airways was registered in 1924 (inevitably, the creation of a monopoly enterprise prompted the organisation of unions); this created a dual commercial-strategic imperative to focus on development in protected imperial fields, and in 1928 the Air Minister (Samuel Hoare) proposed precisely that.44 Centralisation strengthened with the imperial air mail scheme from 1934, and was especially evident in the related decision to favour seaplanes, to the detriment of established hubs in many parts of the empire and to the annoyance of colonial administrations that had to provide infrastructure in inconvenient locations chosen to serve London’s abstract view of imperial interests.45 In terms of planning and organisation, the nationalisation of Imperial Airways (announced November 1938) and its re-branding as the British Overseas Airways Corporation was really a formality. One of the advantages of treating aviation as an extension of politics is that it created a political imperative, which had not existed in the context of European commercial aviation, to develop the modest infrastructure – wireless networks, a meteorological service and intermediate and emergency airstrips – that were necessary to safe and efficient flying. The creation of Imperial Airways (Africa) Ltd. in 1929 had the enthusiastic support of British colonial governments. It came as a surprise to the board of Imperial Airways when they found this goodwill gave way to local competition: Wilson Airways, operating out of Nairobi, became an efficient feeder service, particularly after seaplanes moved the trunk line west of Nairobi, while Rhodesia and Nyasaland Airways (RANA) linked British Southern Africa to Portuguese East Africa. The strongest competition came from South Africa, which took over Union Airways in order to muscle Imperial Airways out of mail contracts south of Salisbury in 1934.46 Competition in the periphery was unsurprising. European infrastructure was already well-developed: the first transport services operating out of Croydon were barely faster than the omnibuses below

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them, while a domestic survey to Scotland was ignominiously beaten by The Flying Scotsman, which did not fly. Peoples and governments alike regarded aeroplanes as a nuisance: the residents of Croydon complained ceaselessly about their international airport, and European states moved faster to appropriate airlines than they did to construct the limited infrastructure that might have made them safe and profitable. On frontiers, uptake was more enthusiastic, both because there was less by way of competing infrastructure and because new technology offered a means of overcoming natural barriers like deserts or glaciers; there, aeroplanes were not simply links between developed hubs. It was in Canada or Africa that airfreight developed into a serious business. Much of this development was down to local initiative and the growth of local companies: most of Canada’s early aerodromes were laid by air clubs, for instance, and by 1936 Canada carried more airfreight (more than 25 million pounds) than anywhere else in the world, much of it to frontier towns like Yellowknife.47 Local governments defended this sort of initiative and investment aggressively, or else moved to encourage it along. In India, for instance, there was constant conflict between imperial communications (in the form of trunk lines) and the desire for regional development.48 It is an argument of revisionist historians, following Frederick Jackson Turner, that the closing of the American frontier at the end of the nineteenth century created a social and economic crisis in the United States, finding expression in imperial ventures and the pursuit of the open door abroad. Yet we may note, apropos Turner (quoted in the introduction), that ‘frontiers’ denote a particular kind of relationship between people and the landscape, marked in Turner’s view by new economic combinations, new social configurations and ultimately new political ideas. It may have been true that in a vaguely political sense the world map had been ‘filled in’ by the end of the nineteenth century, and this exercised minds in offices in Washington, London or Berlin. Yet it was hardly the case that the relationship of people to the landscape remained fixed: technological developments intervened. Aviation opened a new and fluid kind of frontier, opening and connecting new territories, facilitating new movements of peoples and resulting in new social, cultural and political configurations. No sooner had

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the traditional frontier closed than technology opened a new one – as indeed that ‘traditional’ frontier had been opened by railroads, steamships and repeating rifles. The aeroplane was embraced most wholeheartedly by peoples who identified themselves with the frontier, nowhere more so than in the United States. As documented in a marvellous study by Joseph Corn, the ‘winged gospel’ electrified American society, from the millions who watched the first aeroplane in New York harbour (where Orville Wright circled the Statue of Liberty in 1908), to the thousands who turned out to see barnstormers (including a young Charles Lindbergh) as they toured middle America, to Hollywood where Cecil B. deMille became a pilot, to politics, where Franklin Roosevelt demonstrated his ‘air mindedness’ by flying to Chicago to receive his party’s nomination. Charles Lindbergh therefore became a part of America’s mythology of the frontier, alongside pioneers such as Davy Crockett, and Americans widely believed that the aeroplane conformed to their political and social expectations: one day everyone would fly (possibly in personal aeroplanes), flight would bring people together to conduct business in peace, and the aeroplane would become a means of liberation and equality.49 By contrast, when Leo Amery and Samuel Hoare took flights in 1927, one to the Alps on vacation, the other to India to demonstrate flying was normal, Stanley Baldwin complained he felt ‘like a circus manager whose performing fleas have escaped,’ while Neville Chamberlain’s first flight was the one he took to Munich.50 The fact that Americans were commercially and socially inclined towards air travel did not prevent the United States government from adopting precisely the same attitude as prevailed in Europe towards air communications. The enormous size of America’s internal market simply meant that the two developments took place in parallel: on the one hand a free market approach sustained by widespread enthusiasm and optimism (even philanthropy), on the other hand an external policy in which a government-sponsored monopoly – Pan-American Airlines – aimed to dominate air communications in the western hemisphere, turning explicitly towards sweeping European influence away at the end of the 1930’s. Interestingly, this monopoly was not enshrined in law: the Kelly Foreign Air Mail Act of 1928, designed explicitly to

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ensure the pioneering French firm Aéropostale (immortalised in the works of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry) did not steal a march on American firms in Southern America, authorised the Postmaster General to issue liberal ten-year contracts to the lowest responsible bidder with a view to developing American aviation in Latin America. Pan-American – prior to the act, a small Miami-Havana outfit – was simply the only recipient of such contracts, despite regularly lower bids by other companies. Pan-American’s status as the only ‘responsible’ bidder owed much to its founder: Juan Trippe was not just another intense, charismatic adventurer in a pioneering industry, he was a Yalie with a Wall Street background who married into the powerful Stettinius family. His agents often opened negotiations for exclusive landing rights weeks or months before the US Government posted contracts for the routes where they lay.51 Backed by American diplomacy, fortified by massive subsidies, PanAmerican opened and developed the aviation infrastructure of Latin America, working alongside shipping concerns such as Grace & Co. (which had an effective monopoly on international shipping along the west coast) and (when they could not be acquired outright) with domestic Latin American carriers. The level of European involvement in these arrangements sparked a panic in 1938, when the Columbian citizen Dr. Peter Paul von Bauer returned from a trip to Berlin with an offer to purchase Pan-American’s Columbian subsidiary. In 1939, Washington ordered Pan-American to ‘delouse’ its Columbian outfit, which was thought to be infected with Luftwaffe pilots preparing to strike the United States: after an intense round of secret American-Columbian negotiations, Columbian soldiers invaded Pan-American airfields to secure them for American pilots. German pilots were marched off the fields and then dismissed, albeit with generous compensation packages paid by the US Government. Similar operations followed across Latin America, so that by 1941 German aviation firms across the continent had been blacklisted, denied fuel and other supplies, and absorbed into Pan-American’s developing air empire.52 While the war justified such actions, the high pressure methods adopted by American firms and the close links they enjoyed with Washington were a constant source of friction between the US and the rest of the world.

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Map 2 The Polite Scramble for Africa: The British Empire was increasingly opened to new competitors: from the East, PAA took control of BOAC lines in West Africa; the USAAF made requests for aerodromes cutting across Africa and Arabia, from Takoradi to Riyan, in a bid for control of trans-global aviation; at the same time, Smuts claimed trunk lines from Cape Town to Nairobi for SAA.

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The Messy Business of Integration It was hardly surprising that political and strategic considerations complicated the process of economic integration. The American position in aviation was stronger than the British. A large domestic market supported competitive manufacturing; while American aeroplanes were eagerly sought after, not a single stressed-metal aircraft designed for Imperial Airways was sold to another company.53 Moreover, American commercial aviation developed despite the war, and prototypes of the next-generation Douglas DC-4 were ready by 1944. The best Britain could do was hope to convert bombers to civilian use after the war, a most unhappy compromise.54 As the Dominions gave thought to how they were going to develop their own air communications and frontiers after the war, they increasingly favoured American designs,55 despite political pressure from London and personal appeals by Churchill.56 Accepting the American policy of the ‘open door’ thereby involved wrenching industrial and commercial losses; even more stinging, the choice did not wholly reside in London. In the negotiation of routes and lines of communication, similarly, the United States had enjoyed more success than Britain (though Americans fretted they depended on diplomatic agreements with mercurial governments): while imperial aviation had developed impressive links, the fact remained that the United States carried more than 80% of the external aerial commerce in the world.57 Frontier markets such as Canada, meanwhile, accounted for the largest volume of airfreight, much of it carried by small or even owner-operator outfits.58 While American advantage could readily be explained by the greater ‘air mindedness’ of the American consumer and the overlap between strategic aviation in the Caribbean and commerce or tourism, the fact remained that Pan-American searched aggressively for new routes while BOAC was conservatively looking to scale back costs. Since both companies were essentially extensions of government policy, there was additionally a fine line between military and commercial user in basing agreements: the war provided US companies with an opportunity to penetrate imperial markets, and they exploited the opportunity as far as possible.

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The British Government first became aware that this posed a threat during consideration of the destroyers-for-bases deal. The Director General of Civil Aviation, F.C. Shelmardine, warned the Foreign Office, Colonial Office and Dominions Office that Pan-American had considerable leverage, and any bases granted to the United States on any grounds must exclude (a) commercial user, or (b) third-party user.59 The Foreign Office subsequently made these provisions when negotiating with the US Government, but belatedly realised Pan-American already possessed extensive rights in the British Empire. Rather than arouse American ire by retroactively closing markets, our best prospect of ensuring the future ... for eventual British air transport undertakings lies not in seeking to impose limitations on Pan-American’s activities, but in pursuing a policy which will ensure that our air lines, as and when they are in a position to develop services, can enjoy facilities on the basis of reciprocity.60 The institutionalisation of reciprocity, rather than outright competition, became a key feature of relations with the US, mainly because the US enjoyed an unassailable lead: Pan-American had expanded while granting minimal reciprocity (see map 1). British plans to develop aviation in the region were prospective, while Pan-American continued to make inroads between 1940 and 1941, securing landing rights in Canada for a SeattleJuneau link, and assuming control of BOAC lines in West Africa. Special pressure was applied to open Oceania, Africa and the Middle East to American aviation. The changing political balance provided an opportunity to settle longstanding commercial rivalries. In Oceania, this pressure came from Pan-American which demanded either an AucklandSydney or New Zealand-Caledonia line.61 Pan-American threatened to ‘dump’ passengers on the runway in Auckland so as to swamp the capacity of Tasman Empire Airways, New Zealand’s own feeder service, and create an outcry against the government there.62 While New Zealand called the Pan-American bluff, it proved impossible to link transit rights to Sydney to a ‘red’ link to Vancouver.63 The Congressional response was fierce when it was felt American business interests had been stymied: after the Pan-American spat in 1941–2, Clare Booth Luce’s maiden

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speech to the House of Representatives at the beginning of 1943 called for American sovereignty over all the skies. The Economist replied that American and British imperialism were equally ugly.64 In Africa, the challenge came from the US Army Air Force, which had generally appended its own developments to older British aerodromes. As the Air Ministry noted acerbically of the Northern Trans-Africa route, American upgrades to accommodation were so extensive, ‘the USAAF have now almost convinced themselves that the development of this route has been solely due to their efforts.’ This led to American proposals for the complete transfer of some routes to US Air Force control, including enough bases to form an American trans-African route, as well as the entire Southern Arabian route; these proposals were not made through Washington and London, but were the subject of ‘local’ negotiations with the British Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief of the Middle East.65 At the same time, Pan-American extended its lines to West Africa, thence to Egypt (this was meant to be strictly military, though the British fretted Pan-American secretly ran commercial passengers). American pressure was also placed upon the Qantas line between Ceylon and Australia, with two efforts between 1942 and 1943 to secure it for Pan-American.66 Together, these three lines were important: Pan-American already ran services to West Africa; combined with trans-African and southern Arabian routes, only one further link via Ceylon or Assam (the latter already an American staging post to China), was necessary to meet American services in Oceania (see map 2). American political and commercial pressure on the British Empire was widespread: American Airlines, for instance, advertised ‘attain the most powerful position in the air and automatically we become the greatest power for peace.’67 Pressure crystallised with the Five Senators’ Mission, headed by Senator Russell and intended as a report on the use of American lives and resources, in the latter half of 1943. This was a worldwide tour framed for domestic consumption and an investigation with a fixed conclusion, namely that Roosevelt had sold out America to save European empires. Unsurprisingly, the eventual report (cynically and selectively leaked) held both that Americans should not enter wars for crass gain and that America was not gaining enough. Part of the mission ambit was to investigate ‘landing facilities in foreign areas

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developed by the US and the rights of this country (US) in those facilities now and in the post-war period.’68 Observers could not help but note that whereas Qantas ran the Ceylon line to Australia on old flying boats just able to carry two passengers over a 28-hour flight, the five Senators departed Sigiriya in a converted Liberator able to carry 4,000 lbs on a 23-hour flight, and with comfy chairs.69 As the five Senators made their way around the world, a memorandum was circulated to all Air Officers Commanding, Commanders-in-Chief, the Foreign and Colonial Offices and the Dominions, sounding the alarm: the expenditure of American dollars on the provision of facilities for war purposes on airfields in British or British-controlled territory is regarded in certain circles in the USA as conferring on the United States Government a prescriptive right to post-war user of these airfields. Indeed, it has been urged in Congress that the American claim should be established now.70 The memorandum stipulated that no new construction should be undertaken in British-controlled territory without explicit consent from the Air Ministry, that no exclusive rights should ever be granted the Americans, that no agreement should be made beyond the strict duration of the war and that, wherever possible, facilities of the standard required by Britain ought to be paid for by Britain, though America would be allowed to pay for upgrades beyond that standard. While the eventual Canadian solution to the problem of American installations was simply to exercise eminent domain and purchase them outright, Britain, as a lend-lease beneficiary, was in a much harder position, and the thought of underwriting American base expenditure horrified the Treasury.71 Limited Anglo-American integration under the pressure of war by no means guaranteed that integration would continue after the war. The cooperative context of Anglo-American relations created numerous opportunities for commercial ventures to exploit new political or military relationships, either in the search for new advantage or the search for protection. Planning on either side remained essentially conservative: it was hard to tell what the British might do if their commercial or technological position continued to deteriorate, or what the

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Americans might do if, for instance, Roosevelt suffered defeat at the polls. If no institutional solution could be found to resolve the various sorts of friction between the two states, then as the Parliamentary undersecretary for air, H.H. Balfour, announced to the Commons in respect of aviation, at war’s end ‘all bets are off.’72 For small states like the Dominions, that was a terrifying prospect.

CHAPTER 2 THE TROUBLE WITH A MER ICAN POWER

They pay no particular heed to this or that Canadian national or local interest ... Responsible American officers will tell you frankly in confidence that in addition to building works to be of value in this war, they are designing those works also to be of particular value for (a) commercial aviation and transport after the war and (b) waging war against the Russians in the next world crisis ... Wherever you travel north of Edmonton there are large numbers of American military officers, troops and airmen and civilian workmen and representatives of American business and finance ... The American Army calls itself the ‘Army of Occupation.’ Much of this annoys the Canadian citizens of the territory, yet they cannot help realizing that it is largely the Americans who are now opening up their country.1 – Malcolm MacDonald, 1943 While in retrospect we may appreciate the novelty of Anglo-American integration, for peaceful integration which preserved the effective sovereignty of all parties was novel, contemporary perceptions were clouded by fear and uncertainty, by the complexity of events and by the reality that ‘integration’ encompassed all manner of activity and friction. Extraordinarily, the process of integration was unplanned, save in general terms. The Atlantic Charter was economically explicit but politically

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vague. Its only controversial point was the ‘endeavour, with due respect for their existing obligations to further the enjoyment by all States, great or small, victor or vanquished, of access, on equal terms, to the trade and to the raw materials of the world which are needed for their economic prosperity.’2 One of the few clear aims of American diplomacy was to open the British Empire by the elimination of imperial preference and the reduction of trade barriers.3 As Gabriel Kolko argued: as the agencies in Washington poured out vast quantities of speeches and studies on post-war economic policy, all precise and unequivocal, the identification of the interests of the world and the future peace with Hull’s doctrines and American prosperity looked more and more like the classic pursuit of national self-interest in an ill-fitting wrapper of internationalist rhetoric. Would the allies of the United States see the posture as something other than a new imperialism?4 It is a strong case; three points may be made. First, we must be wary of regarding self-interest as inconsistent with internationalism: the history of imperialism is strewn with cases of altruism gone badly wrong, while economists from Adam Smith to Mancur Olson recognised that general goods are often derived from the pursuit of selfish ends. The question of how self-interest was to be satisfied remained open, and the US was not the only actor on the stage. Second, allies of the United States clearly did regard American policy, long on economic ends but short on political means, as imperialist. Third, as Wm. Roger Louis asked, ‘can a distinction be drawn between strategic and economic imperialism?’5 To wartime policy-makers, peace and prosperity were two sides of the same coin. Yet this belief could also distort policy: policy-makers often endowed marginal resources with disproportionate significance, or parsed strategic decisions for hidden economic motives. The anxieties of America’s allies became particularly acute when they considered the profile of America’s presence on or near their territory. Britons, used to dusty colonial way-stations provisioned with tinned beef, gin, mosquito nets and aging newspapers were awe-struck by the American habit of erecting ‘temporary’ baseball diamonds, burger

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bars and soda fountains, by their willingness to fly in recent papers and cinema reels, and by their penchant for deluxe accommodation complete with covered walkways bathed prodigiously in DDT. While American participation in the war was welcome, the scale of American power emphasised uncertainties about American intentions, including the Exchequer’s fear that the US would demand compensation for all the baseball diamonds it had thoughtfully erected. The American Senate was an aggressive advocate of American commercial interests; Roosevelt was predisposed to world government through tripartite discussions; and the innumerable tentacles of American interests advanced without heed to the ancient boundaries of old empires. Heretofore, the Dominions had occupied the frontiers of imperial power; with American entry into the war, those frontiers were occupied and extended as surveys were conducted, roads constructed, aerodromes laid down, soldiers billeted, commercial and diplomatic agreements closed. The vast frontiers of Africa, North America and the Pacific, dominated and defended by networks of islands and bases through the comfortable years of the pax Britannica, were now subject to new speculators and new technologies. The aeroplane diminished Britannia’s limitless inheritance even as the American Senate threatened to swallow what remained. This chapter will establish the relationship between three key dynamics: the aeroplane revolution, the changing balance of power and the rise of regionalism. In each of the Dominions, we will see how American power and the promise (and fear) of aviation spurred them to develop new means of asserting their sovereignty, and of extending their power over newly-defined regional zones. This was to have important consequences for emerging visions of post-war order.

Aviation and Regionalism The aeroplane was not a linear means of communication: it could proceed in any direction, no two aeroplanes had to chart the same course to or from the same point, and difficult terrain or obstructive peoples could be bypassed. This enhanced the importance of ‘regions’ as a way of thinking about global politics and the foundations of world order as the classic system of ‘lines’ of communication gave way to ‘zones’

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of control. Previously, communications had been a matter of ‘lines:’ the shipping routes from Liverpool to Toronto, for instance, or the railway lines binding together the disparate provinces of South Africa. ‘Imperial communications’ meant joining these lines together: whether the railway terminated in the Cape or in Cairo, a P&O steamer would be waiting for it. Flat world maps centred on the Atlantic (in which Hawaii, say, was conveniently but inaccurately located midway between America and China) leant themselves to precisely this sort of thinking: ‘Mercator’s world,’ two American political scientists argued in 1943, ‘is the world of sea power.’6 Maps of this sort, with their reassuringly fixed lines, were entirely unsuited to explaining air power. Aerodromes and aeroplanes were comparatively inexpensive: aerial networks developed without ‘pacification’ campaigns, without massive capital bonds raised in backrooms, and without public displays of political clout. Exclusive ‘lines’ of communication gave way to overlapping ‘zones.’ This was to demand a different way of thinking about the world and about the projection of political power and security within it. These zones were complex and fluid, favouring a decentralised, regional perspective, rather than a global superstructure of ‘imperial defence.’ Policy-makers were increasingly willing to reorient their mental maps towards these zones, and they increasingly placed their own states at the centre of them.7 The result was a different set of strategic priorities – different neighbours, different economic interests, different security requirements – than had prevailed when policies were oriented towards a distant imperial metropolis like London. This was a tremendous problem for global empires: the costs of exclusivity were rising even as the barriers to integration fell. This sheds more light on that persistent question, why should small states have merited any regard? When we consider the Atlantic Charter or Lend-Lease from the standpoint of the frontier, these were far from unproblematic assertions. Rather, Roosevelt and Churchill were struggling against tremendous pressure to avert an imperial scramble that was well advanced by 1942. Positional advantage mattered: small states can make big trouble over resources directly underneath them. The provision of resources, markets, liquidity and security at a reasonably low cost required consent and legitimacy. Indeed, small states possessed a

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casting vote, for they chose whether to subscribe to the old imperial order, or to an emerging liberal one. Attending the vicissitudes of Anglo-American relations thus became the first concern of the Dominions. The problem of the Soviet Union was to arise later, in the context of solutions devised to make Dominion autonomy possible. If the logic of power and the progress of technology made regionalism a smart option, the Dominions found that sovereignty under international law was the only stable means of dealing with both Britain and the US. The question naturally follows, what is sovereignty? At a pinch, we may divide sovereignty into two aspects: internal and external.8 Internal sovereignty refers to the supremacy of the state over its own territory, as a matter of defence and the law. External sovereignty refers to the recognition of a state as a state by other states, as a matter of power and legitimacy. By either measure, the Dominions were deficient. Their ‘sovereignty’ existed in virtue of the Statute of Westminster. It was unclear what Commonwealth membership meant; as J.W. Dafoe realised, ‘an Empire without a dominant government is to the rest of the world a self-evident absurdity.’9 Long reliance upon London to provide administrative muscle meant the Dominions rarely had well-defined policy goals. ‘Internal’ sovereignty was ill-defined. Canada might claim ‘sovereignty’ over all her lands, but Ottawa knew next to nothing about what those contained; Australia might argue her ‘near North’ was a vital interest, but Canberra hadn’t the slightest idea what it would take to defend it. There was a clear need for the Dominions to develop their own administrations, come to their own conclusions, spearhead their own initiatives. As for ‘external’ sovereignty, Commonwealth membership generated confusion: most observers assumed London directed policy. The danger was Americans would regard countries like Canada or Australia as provinces of a greater Britain, readily swapped into a greater America. As Britain and America entered into a closer relationship with one another, it became a vital interest of the Dominions to identify themselves to America as sovereign national states in their own right. What we must understand in all this is the changes as they were rung, not on the decks of destroyers, but on the vast frontier rim whose infinite resources held the key both to the war and the peace that followed.

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The Canadian Analysis of American Power Canadian fears about American power were nothing new: the Canadian High Commissioner to Britain, Vincent Massey, described Canada as the thin end of an isosceles triangle between Washington and London. Theoretically, the Canadian-American Permanent Joint Board of Defence, established in 1940, managed one side of that

Map 3 The Quartersphere: Technology made the Arctic an important new frontier between the US, Canada and the USSR. At the same time, wartime demands and a changing balance of power led to deep American penetration into the Canadian North, including the Alaska-Canada Highway (ALCAN), the Northwest Staging Area, the Crimson Route (from The Pas to Churchill, Coral Harbour and Sondre Stromfjord), the CANOL project to move oil across the Mackenzie Mountains to Scagway, the establishment of Arctic weather stations (ARCTOPS), navigations systems (LORAN) and the Northern Quebec Radar System.

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triangle; Americans often ignored it. Lester Pearson, Canada’s MinisterCounsellor in the US, fretted Americans regarded Canada as a British colony.10 Pearson’s concerns were shared by Hugh Keenleyside and Hume Wrong, the Assistant Undersecretaries of State for External Affairs in Ottawa. These began to crystallise in a memorandum on American imperialism in April 1942, in which Keenleyside listed peremptory American demands relating to the removal of the Free French from St. Pierre and Miquelon (to which Canada refused to accede) and the establishment of American defensive installations without Canadian permission (including engineers who turned up in Edmonton to begin railway construction to Alaska) as particular objects of concern. He concluded this attitude represented a threat to Canadian independence.11 The Anglo-American Combined Boards, the first of which (covering munitions, shipping adjustment and raw materials) were established in January 1942, aggravated Canadian fears. Two more boards (combined production and resources, and combined food) were established in June. As a net producer and fighter, Canada had good claim to sit on many boards, but British opposition thwarted her early efforts.12 Canada gained a seat on the Combined Shipping Adjustment Board, and the ‘minister of everything,’ C.D. Howe (Minister of Munitions and Supply), became influential on combined supply problems, leading to seats on the combined production and resources board, and then on the food board in late 1943. Military command posed a greater challenge: a Joint Staff Mission operated in London, the Permanent Joint Defence Board in Washington, but in reality Britain and America directed the war through closed councils, informing Canada of what was required. While Canadians never solved this problem, they were increasingly determined it should not become a precedent.13 The greatest threat to Canadian autonomy lay on a frontier dominated by Americans. The British High Commissioner, Malcolm MacDonald, was an admirer of American projects in the Canadian North, describing them as things of ‘magnificent impertinence, imaginativeness, energy, mechanical skill and extravagance.’14 MacDonald made two tours through the Canadian northwest, one in August 1942, and another in March 1943. He observed three major

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projects. ALCAN, the Alaska-Canada highway, ran 1,600 miles from Dawson Creek to Fairbanks, Alaska, cutting across the Rocky Mountains and the Yukon, over nearly two hundred bridges ascending as high as 4,275 feet above sea level. The Northwest Staging Area ran parallel to this, aerodromes (some with runways 7,000 feet long) set at 200-mile (eventually 100-mile) intervals along the highway. This massive logistical undertaking laid the superstructure for future development. The CANOL project supplied oil to the American port at Skagway by means of a pipeline and adjoining road laid across the Mackenzie Mountains. Norman Wells, where the oil was pumped by the Imperial Oil Company, was connected, via a growing network of aerodromes, to Port Radium, on Lake Mackenzie, and Yellowknife on the Great Slave Lake. Another set of aerodromes (the ‘Crimson Route’) were laid down to connect the US to Greenland. These supplemented and surpassed the traditional riparian communications of the region, particularly since permafrost made railways prohibitively expensive to lay. American money and muscle promised a new kind of revolution, penetrating the remote stretches of the Canadian northwest with two great lines of development, and reinforced by numerous lateral links.15 In MacDonald’s words, ‘eager, restless, ambitious, visionary men were hurrying the Northwest forward to its new destiny.’16 These men were not Canadian. The memorandum quoted at the beginning of this chapter was written for Mackenzie King, and placed before the Canadian War Committee on 8 April. It sparked panic, particularly its suggestion that the Northwest Staging Area might one day involve Canada in a Russo-American war. More than 30,000 Americans had entered the northwest, which was now criss-crossed with American roads and aerodromes. The lone Canadian counterpart to all this enterprise was one Leonard E. Drummond, mining engineer and part-time secretary of the Alberta Chamber of Mines. The War Committee accepted MacDonald’s recommendation (which exceeded his brief as a British representative) that Canada protect her regional interests.17 Brigadier W.W. Foster was made a Special Commissioner in May, based in Edmonton and reporting direct to the War Committee.18 Plans were also made to purchase American installations on Canadian soil, by first right of purchase, to protect Canadian

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sovereignty at the end of the war.19 This eventually came to some $110 million, including monies for the Northwest staging area, flight routes along the Mackenzie River, the telephone line from Edmonton to Alaska and airports at Goose Bay and Mingan.20 To Vincent Massey, in London, it had seemed in April that ‘Canada has been too preoccupied with her own war effort to cope with the Americans.’21 By May, after a long dinner with Escott Reid, political secretary in the Washington legation, he remarked on ‘how alive he had become to the danger of American high pressure methods in Canada ... and the implications of this as regards our postwar relations.’22 In December, King took exception to an American proposal for joint surveys of the territory opened by the Alaska-Canada highway: ‘efforts,’ he mused, ‘would be made by the Americans to control developments in our country after the war.’23 Provoked by American penetration, Canadians acted to assert sovereignty over their territory. As for external sovereignty, Escott Reid set the problem down in a memorandum which generated discussions between Hugh Keenleyside and Hume Wrong, in the DEA, Lester Pearson, in Washington, A.D.P. Heeney, who was Clerk of the Privy Council, and J.W. Pickersgill, who was Assistant Private Secretary to Mackenzie King. Reid wrote that the challenge of American-Canadian relations was maintaining parity in decision-making on important issues, despite massive differences in wealth and population. The danger was that America might use her size to impose a nationalist peace. In Reid’s view, small states had more stake in the general principles involved in a peace deal than did the great. In this formulation, nominal parity had to be obtained at any price: it would be easier ... for Canada to give up to an international body on which it was represented the decision on when it should go to war than to transfer the right to make that decision from the government in Ottawa to the government in Washington. We have not won from London complete freedom ... in order to become a colony of Washington ... effective military cooperation between Canada and the United States is possible only within the framework of an effective world order of which both Canada and the United States are loyal members.24

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This conclusion was shared by the undersecretary, Norman Robertson.25 Robertson and Wrong also decided that Canada had a better chance of influencing America through Britain.26 However, ‘the United Kingdom may not be able to hold her rank as a great power,’ Wrong worried, and so might seek ‘a more closely integrated [i.e. imperial] foreign and defence policy.’ Anglo-Canadian relations became the means of managing American-Canadian relations.27 Britain would help Canada educate Americans in Canadian autonomy.28 At the same time, the principle of decision-making parity in cases where Canadian interests were vital became the basis of a new Canadian theory of ‘functionalism,’ in which the means of taking decisions would be defined by the object of decision (wheat decided by wheat producers, say) rather than broad constitutional principles favourable to big powers. Canada would seek a post-war order framed by multilateral organisations, in which Canada would make decisions proportional to her interests, rather than her power. ‘The trouble,’ J.W. Dafoe wrote in March, 1943, ‘is that the government at Ottawa takes no firm and consistent line.’29 In April, the outlines of Canadian policy became clearer, both as regards her territory and her external relations. However, test cases for the new Canadian assertiveness were hard to find. The Prime Minister, Mackenzie King, needed clear and public successes if Canadian sovereignty were to be established and defended.30 The search for that success was elusive.

The Canadian Conundrum The ‘Canadian conundrum’ derived from its unique position in an era of global aviation (see map 3). The aeroplane meant Canada straddled the air routes between America and Russia, Britain and America. In contrast to the other Dominions, there was never the slightest chance the great powers would not be interested in Canada. Escott Reid rightly predicted that aerodromes would be to the twentieth century what naval bases and coaling stations had been to the nineteenth: the sinews of power. Reid emphasised that Canada is also likely to have greater freedom of action within a collective security system than within the alternative system

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of bilateral and multilateral defensive alliances under which the United States would think of us in terms of the contribution which we could make to the defence of North America. Certainly we would be better off with United Nations air bases in Northern Canada than with United States bases there.31 Internationalism was thereby a means of making good deficiencies in Canadian power. This has generally been underappreciated: the transition from a world of trans-national empires to one of international institutions was only possible in the context of parochial, self-interested regionalism. ‘Globalisation’ could just as easily be labelled ‘localisation.’ Put another way, Canadians wanted a broadly internationalist settlement for the (selfish) purpose of preserving and extending Canadian autonomy.32 There was an interesting practical dimension to the transformation in Canadian strategy. By mid-war, the ‘polar’ projection had replaced ‘Mercator’s projection’ as the map used by Canadian civil servants and policy-makers.33 This may have put the Canadians somewhat ahead of some American planners: there is some evidence that the US Army Air Force, for instance, remained fixed on America’s east/west frontiers and continued using Mercator’s projection right through the war, to the extent of failing to factor latitude into calculations of aeroplane range.34 That said, many Americans (Roosevelt undoubtedly included) were clearly aware that aviation had opened the Arctic frontiers. In any case, the important point is that the Canadian alignment towards the Arctic did not reflect a shift in Canadian orientation away from Britain and towards America. Rather, it reflected the alignment that Ottawa was making away from every foreign metropolis towards her own frontiers. Nothing better captured the waning of the imperial age than the realisation which dawned in Ottawa that Canada’s destiny lay in the Arctic rather than foreign chanceries. The real origin of Canadian post-war policy was Canada’s transformation into a great power of the Arctic littoral.

Towards a Canadian Policy Canada wanted equal representation with the great powers. Battle began for a seat on the Policy Committee of the Relief and Rehabilitation

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Administration. The original plan called for a Policy Committee of the Big Three, plus France; Canadian lobbying led Britain to advocate a seven-member committee with Canada, a Latin American and European state. The Americans agreed early in the year.35 When the Soviets opposed the plan, King intensified pressure on the US, sending his Minister there, Leighton McCarthy, a short memorandum on 8 February to form the basis of argument with the American Secretary of State, Cordell Hull. King railed against the concentration of authority in a few big states, warning Canadian contributions to UNRRA might be prejudiced.36 The British, alarmed, offered Canada their own seat on the Policy Committee.37 This was turned down because it suggested imperial federation.38 Eden negotiated an exchange of letters clarifying that UNRRA proceedings were not precedent-making. Massey wanted to continue the fight, but the War Committee accepted this compromise.39 The promised letter offered consideration of Canada for chairmanship of the Committee of Supplies, but failed to acknowledge Canadian principles.40 Massey wrote that Canada must fight the ‘big power’ complex, ‘until we have scored a victory in some such issue as the recent one.’41 King echoed this sentiment, noting that ‘authority in international affairs must not be concentrated exclusively in the largest powers.’42 Anglo-Canadian relations were unsatisfactory, particularly as Churchill took every opportunity to speak for the Commonwealth. When German forces shackled prisoners, many Canadian, captured at Dieppe in late 1942, Churchill announced he would not tolerate ‘methods of barbarism,’ and ordered German prisoners shackled. Since these prisoners were mainly held in Canada, King was placed in the unhappy position of Churchill’s lackey. It was also troubling that Canada was excluded from some Anglo-American discussions at, or prior to, the Quebec Conference; Churchill blamed the Americans.43 For King, the final straw was a speech Lord Halifax, Britain’s Ambassador to America, made without Cabinet approval in Toronto in January 1944, declaring that the Statute of Westminster was a declaration of interdependence; if the Commonwealth were to play an equal part with Russia or America in world affairs, she would have to do so with greater unity.44 The notion, smacking of imperial federation, was

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not what King wanted to hear while he struggled to unite Ontarian unionists and Quebecer isolationists, certainly not while he struggled for access to Anglo-American councils. Halifax had thought his speech in line with the King Government; the furore he created made him miserable.45 Yet Lord Cranborne, the Dominions Secretary, made a revealing comment by way of placating his colleague: ‘Mackenzie King must know perfectly well that in the modern world small nations cannot stand on their own feet.’46 Perhaps the British tragedy was the failure to apply such wisdom to Britain. By 1943, a consensus had formed in Canada as to the main problems of post-war order. Three concerns stood out: that relative British decline would push Britain to treat the Commonwealth as a unitary organisation; that America might treat Canada as a natural dependency; and that a conflict between any of the Big Three would take place in Canadian airspace. A ‘functional’ post-war order, in addition to including Canada as a fully paid-up member, would have to address these problems.

Australia, New Zealand and the Big Two In Australia and New Zealand, American entry into the war generated a familiar combination of relief and fear. Writing in 1941, New Zealand’s premier, Peter Fraser, argued that it is obviously essential that we should make every effort to go the American way and to be careful at all time especially in conference not to give them the impression that they are being ‘overwhelmed’. We are of the opinion ... that we must go to the limit in accepting the American viewpoint in defence matters even if it means the sacrifice of some of our own cherished plans and concepts.47 Once the juggernaught had arrived, however, the next trick was controlling it. At no point did Antipodeans awaken to tens of thousands of Americans digging up their territory; rather, they had to assess intentions and decisions in respect of their ‘near North,’ the valuable islands of the South Pacific. As in Canada, fear and frustration fed on one

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another, but also served a useful and productive purpose. Internally, Australia and New Zealand were forced to reflect on the nature and extent of their vital interests, which came to focus on the ‘near North,’ and what they required to exercise effective sovereignty, which meant convincing the US they were sovereign states and not British satrapies. This was immediately complicated by the division of the Pacific into different zones: the Pacific (including New Zealand) under Admiral Nimitz, and the Southwest Pacific (including Australia) under General MacArthur. The rivalry between MacArthur and Nimitz became a major issue for Australia and New Zealand.48 The effort to gain access to Anglo-American councils proved just as elusive for Australia as Canada. A Pacific Council was created in London,49 and Australia participated in the British War Cabinet, but both excluded America.50 Dissatisfied, Australia’s attorney general, H.V. Evatt, visited Washington in March, 1942, seeking a Pacific War Council. Roosevelt had already suggested the creation of the Council to Churchill, on 9 March, and received an affirmative reply on 17 March – the day Evatt arrived in America.51 However, the Pacific War Council became another discussion group.52 The instinct of the Australians was to blame the British for maintaining an exclusive Anglo-American setup. It didn’t help that the Australian premier, R.G. Menzies, was a British race patriot who even contemplated retiring from Australian politics to stand for the British Parliament, as a means of gaining War Cabinet membership.53 This reflected confusion between ‘Australia’ and the ‘Empire.’ Despite dissatisfaction over the division of the Pacific between Britain and America, many Australian policy-makers thought MacArthur’s appointment would make it easier for Australia to define her own policy.54 The loss of Singapore ended British power in the Pacific; this helped bring about the collapse of Menzies’ government, and led the new premier, John Curtin, to declare in the Melbourne Herald on 28 December: ‘Australia looks to America, free of any pangs as to our traditional links with the United Kingdom.’55 For all that has been made of Curtin’s remark, the spirit in which Australia and New Zealand welcomed American intervention soon turned to worry. The arrival of ‘an invading army’ of Americans, as the British High Commissioner to New

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Zealand put it, though it was the low-ebb of British prestige, made the British connection all the more important.56 The first object of concern pertained to the implications of AngloAmerican agreements, particularly the Atlantic Charter and LendLease.57 In Australia, new committees were formed to investigate the implications of America’s entry into the war. The Interdepartmental Committee on External Affairs (ICER) examined the terms of lend-lease, particularly Article VII.58 Paul Hasluck, who was to be architect of much of Australia’s post-war policy, was executive secretary to the committee, where he worked with W.D. Forsyth and A.H. Tange. The committee also introduced Hasluck to the well-known Commonwealth legal scholar K.H. Bailey, who worked in the Attorney General’s Office under H.V. Evatt. This partnership was to prove fruitful, so much so that Hasluck, with the blessing of the Secretary of the Department of External Affairs, W.R. Hodgson, routinely forwarded documents to Bailey for comment.59 As for the committee, its conclusions were guardedly optimistic: peace required trade, Article VII was about trade; as long as it was implemented fairly and gradually, Australia stood to gain.60 Is that what America intended? This was the question, as disillusionment with Britain gave way to concern over America. Fears crystallised at the Institute of Pacific Relations conference, at Mont Tremblant, in late 1942. This brought Hasluck, the only government official in the Australian delegation, into contact with Hugh Keenleyside. As we have seen, by this time Keenleyside had formed a pessimistic approximation of American post-war intentions, MacDonald had just finished his first survey of the Canadian northwest, and Reid and Pearson were increasingly worried by American power. To observers who regarded America hopefully and Britain sceptically, the conference was deeply troubling: Britain’s delegation, led by Lord Hailey, developed clear, sophisticated ideas for regional cooperation in Pacific defence, transparency in colonial administration and progress towards self-government; these were met by a crude, blustering American anti-colonialism.61 Canadian and Australian delegates were horrified. The limits of Anglo-American cooperation were cast into sharp relief. ‘Australian and Canadian thought concerning the post-war world seems to be moving along several common lines,’ Hasluck reported, pointing to

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Canadian criticism of the US and the need for an united nations, not Anglo-American, peace. Australian assumptions relating to American post-war collaboration, Hasluck wrote, would have to be re-examined; it was unlikely that the US would produce any post-war commitment more forthcoming than Lend-Lease. This jeopardised Australia’s survival as an independent state.62 This uncertain prognosis was reinforced by pronouncements of Americans abroad. While on his ‘one world’ tour, during the summer of 1942, Wendell Willkie, a potential challenger to Roosevelt for the presidency, declared only two great powers, Russia and America, remained.63 This was news to the British Empire. In New Zealand, it merely underscored confusion as to the ‘real’ state of Anglo-American relations. Though Willkie, as Harry Batterbee (Britain’s High Commissioner) remarked, ‘seems a curious fish,’64 for states like New Zealand Britain guaranteed recognition in a Pacific dominated by big players. Willkie’s tour and the accession of a new Colonial Secretary (Colonel Stanley) led Stanley Bruce, Australia’s High Commissioner in London, to wonder whether Britain wasn’t in danger of giving too much away.65 He wasn’t the only one: there was considerable disagreement as to the future of Anglo-American policy on colonies and trusteeship. Bruce urged that agreements on colonies emphasise native welfare and free trade while avoiding defence and overt paternalism.66 Yet, Bruce had little support from Canberra. The British Cabinet did indeed take his concerns into account,67 but it was other Dominion leaders (notably Smuts) who made the point.68 Australia struggled to define a colonial policy and H.V. Evatt wanted a trusteeship system; this dispute will be discussed in later chapters.69 As for Smuts, his article in defence of the British colonial empire in Life, in late 1942, was based upon War Cabinet papers and conversations with Bruce and Attlee.70 The lack of a clear Australian policy was further underlined by the Washington legation, which added to the clamour for a policy on Anglo-American relations, noting that the International Pacific Relations Conference had raised awkward details, such as international use of strategic bases, the control of Pacific island bases vital to civil aviation, and the form of post-war involvement in colonial areas; it would require hard work to ensure American economic and strategic

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collaboration in the Pacific.71 Altogether, by the end of 1942, the British High Commissioner, Ronald Cross, was justified in concluding that, ‘the Australian-American honeymoon has come to an end and the ups and downs of a normal relationship have taken its place.’72

Redefining Imperial Frontiers Or not so normal: Australians had difficulty formulating a coherent foreign policy. Curtin’s poor health made it difficult to exercise a strong hand over his ministers.73 The most powerful, Evatt and Chifley (the Treasurer), jockeyed for position and prevented consensus-formation on the Canadian model. The result, as Cross observed, was that Australian post-war policy was ‘too vague to constitute a theme.’ Evatt’s DEA was under-developed, and Evatt was ‘casting Australia’s bread upon very wide waters with a view to seeing what he can fish out ... at a later date.’74 Evatt was virtually alone in thinking Australia’s strategic and economic mission in the South Pacific self-evident.75 In March, 1943, for instance, Owen Dixon (Australian Minister to America) meekly confirmed to Cordell Hull that Australia agreed with Hull’s outline on colonial policy.76 This hardly squared with Australian views, but Dixon had no alternative policy to offer. Hasluck made the first systematic effort to address Australian problems. He had W.D. Forsyth quietly prepare memoranda on colonies. It is worth quoting one at length: a danger we have to avoid in regard to a Pacific security system is that we might exchange isolation for domination; our chief difficulty may well be to keep a balance between external security and internal autonomy. This difficulty would be increased if the colonial settlement were such that Britain and the Netherlands lost interest or influence in the Western Pacific. We may in future have use for a European counterweight to American or Chinese influence in this region. For this reason alone it is not to our interest to advocate international administration (as distinct from supervision) of colonies or to press for a colonial settlement unduly onerous for colonial powers.77

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While this appreciation became the foundation of Australian security and colonial policy, it is indicative of the confusion in Australian politics that it was withheld from Evatt in 1943.78 Hasluck and Forsyth began to reach their conclusions at the same moment as MacDonald or Reid, in Canada. Australian policy matured slowly, not because she was ‘younger,’ but because Australian foreign policy was fractured by deep divisions. Whereas King gave MacDonald or Reid a ready audience, Hasluck and Forsyth were to spend months forcing a profoundly self-obsessed Government to formulate a coherent foreign policy. This process will be covered later in greater detail. Forsyth’s updates to his memorandum made further points. First, the maintenance of colonies would require concessions to third-party interests; it was better to do so at the (general) supervisory level, rather than in administration. If do-gooders wanted to put a hand in, better at the level of ‘governance’ than at the level concerned with serious business like landing or mineral rights. Second, regional commissions in Indonesia and the South Pacific would help convert a weak and backward region into a strong and prosperous one. There was clearly a post-imperial, or post-European, blueprint for the South Pacific. Third, colonial security would best be handled by a general security organisation.79 Like the Canadians, Australians saw the advantage of pooling security in order to pool costs while obtaining decision-making parity. As in Canada, however, policy-formulation only took place under the pressure of American decisions. One alarm was raised in an otherwise innocuous conversation between Dixon and Roosevelt, during which Roosevelt said that the whole French situation was a source of trouble and it was a question how some of their possessions were to be dealt with after the war.80 Roosevelt had been ill-disposed to French colonialism for years, but the effect on Australian policy was electric. Evatt was later to cite Roosevelt’s suggestion of ways to settle the French ‘trouble’ as evidence of American intentions to impose a post-war settlement upon the whole Pacific.81

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While Hasluck and Forsyth formulated a coherent response to the prospect of an American peace in the Pacific, they appreciated the need for cooperation with the Departments of External Territories and Defence. Hasluck wrote Watt, asking for information on US preparations for civil administration of Pacific islands, the relationship between US aircraft operators and projects for post-war civil aviation, and the most recent developments on regional security. ‘The fate of these islands has obvious importance in any security system,’ Hasluck wrote, ‘or in Australian defence in lack of an international assurance of peace.’82 Here is another interesting parallel with Canada: a general security organisation might ensure Australian access to economic and strategic resources to which her particular power, vis-à-vis America, would not otherwise entitle her. Even as Australia attempted to formulate a comprehensive Pacific policy, there were clear signs that New Zealand was unwilling to play junior partner. When Australia decided to recall her troops from the Middle East, New Zealand kept her own troops stationed alongside British forces in the Middle East. As Carl Berendsen, New Zealand’s High Commissioner to Australia, wrote: I am not going to enlarge on my interview with the Prime Minister, except to say that it was most difficult ... it is going to be hard ... to make the progress I hoped to make especially in establishing the closest possible liaison in our respective war efforts now that we are definitely ... taking divergent paths.83 In the event, this divergence was to pay an unexpected dividend to Britain. In the Middle East, New Zealand troops fought. MacArthur treated Antipodean soldiers as garrison material. This smacked of an American attempt to claim credit for the war, and a hidden agenda (which became Evatt’s obsession) to justify a unilateral peace in the Pacific. Might Australia simply line up with the US and take whatever came? The idea was only raised once, in connection with the idea of backing American annexation of the French colony of New Caledonia.84 It was simply too dangerous. Only a general settlement would preserve Australian autonomy. The essential problem was gauging American

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intentions. As Watt wrote to Hasluck, in September, ‘the United States is not very interested in what Australia wants or thinks, and is disinclined to give us vital information.’ All the same, American administration programs were well-advanced, and there were signs America wanted the Solomon Islands.85 Australians alternated between worrying about the great powers individually and collectively. The Cairo Conference, at the end of November 1943, was primarily a Sino-Anglo-American affair on the future of the Pacific; it was galling to Evatt,86 since he wasn’t so much as informed vital discussions were in progress.87 This was hard to bear, given the 10,000 Australians in RAF aircrews and the point, constantly re-emphasised, that a purely ‘American’ victory in the Pacific would be a regional disaster.88 While Churchill avoided any statement prejudicial to British territory, the Pacific was on its way to becoming an American lake. What is interesting is that New Zealand and Australia reflexively sought a balance of power to prevent America from imposing whatever order she wanted. This was hardly contradictory: the balance of power and internationalism each start from precisely the same impulse, namely to promote cooperation while preserving freedom. Berendsen wrote that Evatt considers Australia and New Zealand in cooperation should be the foundation of the British sphere of influence in the SouthWest and South Pacific and that the future safety and prosperity of these two Dominions depend on their having a decisive voice in these areas. He would favour preliminary discussion between Australia and New Zealand only ... He is inclined to suggest that it would be wise for Great Britain to transfer all British colonies in these areas to Australia and New Zealand.89 New Zealand was not to share Evatt’s entire vision of South Pacific order; however, Australia was to provide the initial diplomatic push for a regional settlement in the South Pacific, in which New Zealand consented to participate. The critical element of it was that the South Pacific and Indian Ocean remain British regions of power. This became the foundation of the Australia-New Zealand Agreement.

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At the end of 1943, Hasluck concluded the Cabinet was passing through a stage of puzzlement as it faced the problems of peace. ‘I have been surprised,’ he wrote, to find how many people are thinking in terms of acute British rivalry against the Americans, and urging a British Empire line-up. In fact, pro-British (‘all for the Empire’) feeling is very mixed up with anti-American feeling in many quarters nowadays.90 This was a vague reaction, Hasluck wrote, to the problem of formulating a distinctly Australian policy, as well as to fears of American domination or British decline after the war. Less charitably, Norman Robertson observed that Australia’s ‘Empire mindedness’ represented ‘disillusionment over their hopes of aid and comfort from the United States in the post-war period.’91 Antipodean relations with America could not be divorced from Anglo-American relations, meaning Pacific order might be a residuum of European order. A general settlement, with suitable institutional guarantees of sovereignty and limits on the prerogatives of power, was to offer the best way out of this bind.

Regional Solutions The connection between aviation, regionalism and globalism was as strong in Australia and New Zealand as in Canada. Forsyth and Hasluck connected aviation with post-war security, commerce and colonialism, the assumption being that Pacific security required the supervision of colonial territories and the promotion of economic prosperity. Bases that provided security, they assumed, would also provide the regional infrastructure for civil aviation.92 This assumption, that commerce and security were really one, was shared by A.D. McIntosh (secretary to the DEA and War Cabinet) and Foss Shanahan (secretary to the Prime Minister’s Department and assistant secretary to the War Cabinet) in New Zealand.93 Given that Pacific islands fell under the suzerainty of an array of European colonial powers, coordination required cooperation or control: in 1943, Bruce argued for international control over important trunk routes, or even an international air force.94

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Australian worries about American objectives became especially acute in 1944, as Frederic Eggleston, who became Minister to the United States in that year, worried that the American people would jettison Roosevelt’s internationalism in favour of a more imperial line.95 Even after the Chicago Conference on civil aviation, which we shall cover in chapter 6, there were figures in America, such as Attorney-

Map 4 Aviation and the Education of Desire: This map illustrates Australian and New Zealand interests as stated in the Canberra and Wellington Conferences. Both states had developed a much more detailed understanding of their vital security interests as they confronted the realities both of American power and aviation. The ‘inner circle’ of Australian interests ran in a screen roughly 1,000 miles from the Australian mainland. The ‘outer circle’ ran in an arc from Kilindini (Kenya) to Ceylon, Singapore, the Philippines and Hawaii. New Zealand interests were somewhat more diffuse, and strong interest in the Ellice Group and in Cook Island represented New Zealand concerns with trans-Pacific aviation. Among other things, this map shows why New Caledonia was such a hot topic. It also demonstrates that in practice New Zealand agreed with Evatt’s desire to keep American power at arm’s length. Finally, the ambitious scope of Australian and New Zealand thinking demanded a high degree of cooperation with other powers (Holland, France, Portugal, Britain, America) to secure joint agreements to build and use bases. This puts Antipodean concerns with international aviation and trusteeship into perspective.

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General Biddle, who demanded sovereignty over bases built or augmented with American funds. Americans were the most ‘air minded’ people in the world, as we saw in the last chapter; it was a given that commerce and security were linked to aviation, and Antipodean policy-makers took it as given that America possessed such tremendous advantages in that field that she might easily destroy the commerce and security of smaller states.96 Australian fears were compounded by Britain’s apparent inclination towards economic efficiency in areas where its own vital interests were not at stake. ‘Admirable as these objectives are,’ Bruce wrote, ‘post-war security is more vital.’97 The Australian goal was internationalisation, to minimise strategic and economic friction. Underlying this goal was the realisation that Australia was unable to control or run her major lines, across the Tasman Sea to New Zealand, the South Pacific to America, or Southeast Asia and the Indian Ocean to London.98 Australia had not the transports to fly her pre-war routes,99 let alone contemplate opening new ones; when Owen Dixon had tried to tell Roosevelt of Australia’s need of DC-3s, Roosevelt curtly told him Australian aviation meant American aviation in Australia.100 The question, as Hasluck wrote, was, will the Americans try, by pressure exerted on public opinion and on governments, to fly Australian routes as well as transOceanic routes; in other words treat us as a lesser Brazil?101 As we have seen, this was no joke. Nothing symbolised American power over her southern neighbours quite like the ubiquity of PanAmerican Airlines. Australia sought internationalisation because she was unable to secure her own aviation interests.102 In the Canberra Agreement of January, 1944, Australia and New Zealand affirmed their desire for a strong international air transport authority; failing that, they affirmed their rights over domestic airspace, to run lines to neighbouring territories, and to maintain their own aviation industries.103 The Canberra Agreement will be covered in depth in chapter 4; for now we are concerned with establishing the development of a regional/zonal perspective in Australia and

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New Zealand. The question of how to operationalise Australian-New Zealand control over the South Pacific was persistent: the suggestion that a British Commonwealth Corporation might run post-war imperial aviation was raised in Australia, and received tentative support from Lord Beaverbrook, but was dismissed by the Canadian Minister of Supply, C.D. Howe, in June 1944.104 The suggestion was also marred by failure to consult New Zealand, drawing a mild rebuke from Fraser.105 However, Fraser shared Australian anxieties about American domination of aviation. As Foss Shanahan wrote, either they wish to use their large reserve of trained personnel and aircraft to exploit their advantage and consolidate themselves on the most profitable routes, or ... they wish to avoid a rigid control since this might prejudice their right to operate air services ... in the interests of their own security. Like Australia, New Zealand could not envision a strictly national solution. A joint company, or an imperial service agreement, was a necessary part of New Zealand security. A trans-Pacific route, either to Canada or Bermuda, was particularly important to avoid dependence upon the US.106 The Antipodean solution was to combine resources to press a credible claim to regional predominance. In October, 1944, the two countries agreed on a joint strategy for the future of civil aviation. In a conference including A.S. Drakeford, the Australian Minister of Civil Aviation, W.R. Hodgson, Peter Fraser, Walter Nash (New Zealand’s deputy premier), A.D. McIntosh and Foss Shanahan, the two states agreed that their primary objective at the forthcoming Chicago Conference on civil aviation was an international operating authority; failing this, they would push for an international regulatory authority. If all else failed, they would press for a Commonwealth Air Transport Council and a Commonwealth operating company to run imperial air routes.107 Neither country published the air routes they regarded as vital, lest they prejudice internationalisation, but they secretly agreed routes which needed to be secured.

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A few weeks later, this agreement was augmented by the Wellington Conference. There, the New Zealand DEA submitted a paper arguing that, the growth of air power has introduced a factor which is of vital importance in the defence of the Pacific Islands ... in the case of Australia and New Zealand, it is now accepted that an effective defence of these two Dominions must be based on the Islands screen to the North.108 The two states agreed to police a zone of regional security comprising the South and Southwest Pacific, extending as far afield as the Cook Islands (see map 4). This was accompanied by a desire to negotiate with America on the whole regional network, rather than negotiating individual cases. Australia and New Zealand were increasingly confident of the utility of bargaining collectively with America, and that the US would not seize territory by force, important principles to which we will return. As Fraser said at the opening of the Wellington Conference, there is no problem in the South Pacific that there would be any definite occasion for quarrelling ... we could get round the table with the United States, and with regard to airfields and defence bases ... come to an agreement.109 This helps to explain the peculiar concentric circles of Australian and New Zealand policy, with local, bilateral, Commonwealth and general/American policy all built inside one another. As in Canada, weakness and vulnerability, exacerbated by changing technology and shifts in the global balance of power, had to be made good through success in the formation of international organisations and the establishment of enduring principles of post-war order.

Smuts and Britain South Africa was unique: Jan Smuts, South Africa’s imposing Prime Minister, kept his own council; he read technical reports, but already

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grasped his regional interests. South Africa was far from America and safely ensconced in what would remain a bastion of British power for another decade. That did not stop Smuts from feeling the effects of American power in Anglo-American projects, particularly the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration. But Smuts thought he could limit the access of America or Russia to Africa through his personal leverage with British leaders. Like the other Dominions, South Africa sought to dominate her own military-commercial periphery, and recognised the opportunities and dangers of global aviation. Whereas the other Dominions necessarily pursued these ends and the management of the great powers through bureaucratisation and institutionalisation, Smuts relied upon his own, tremendously able, leadership and his special relationship with the British elite. The irony was that South Africa, despite its historically troubled relationship with Britain, became the most proBritish, pro-Empire member of the Commonwealth. Smuts’ influence may be illustrated by a single episode. On 19 January 1941 Lord Cranborne cabled to inform Smuts that General Wavell wanted guidance on possible terms to offer Italy in East Africa. Cranborne thought this should include a restored and independent Abyssinia, with Italy retaining Eritrea and some part of Italian Somaliland (minus Jubaland and other key points).110 Smuts questioned the wisdom of reinstating the Emperor. Churchill himself cabled to assure Smuts that the question of the Emperor’s independence would be left open.111 Smuts replied that the ‘international’ status of a restored Abyssinia worried him.112 Churchill firmed up his draft, emphasising the idea of ‘guidance’ in the external relations of Abyssinia.113 Smuts cabled his approval, despite disliking the term ‘independence,’ a day later.114 An announcement, delayed so as to secure his approval, was made in Parliament on 4 February.115 Three features stand out in this exchange. First, Smuts expected close and easy consultation with the British Government, especially Churchill.116 Indeed, the Smuts-Churchill correspondence is as fascinating as the famous Churchill-Roosevelt correspondence, and much larger. Second, Smuts expected a general conference, another Versailles,

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and wanted a free hand for that conference. Third, Smuts considered Africa his sphere of influence, and Churchill agreed. In return, Smuts supported Britain. In late 1942, the South African High Commissioner cabled Smuts that there was general consensus between Lord Halifax, Malcolm MacDonald, Vincent Massey and Richard Law (Minister of State for Foreign Affairs), that American ‘ignorance’ of colonial affairs was dangerous to Britain.117 Smuts responded forcefully. He composed a memorandum which he sent to Attlee. Identifying the problem as prejudice towards colonies and towards future colonial policy, Smuts suggested that small colonies ought to be grouped into larger units with extended authority, and that a development policy council be constituted in which the larger colonial ‘units,’ the Colonial Office, the closest Dominion, and major nearby states would be represented. In certain respects, this was to become the basis of British colonial policy. Turning to the integration of economic and strategic concerns, Smuts noted that, everywhere questions of strategic routes and bases arise as well as of control of raw materials for warlike or purely civilian use. For these and cognate purposes it will be necessary to give direct representation to great powers more intimately responsible for general security. In particular British Commonwealth would most cordially welcome membership of USA in all the Councils over regions including British Colonies, such as West Indies, Africa and Far East.118 Leo Amery (Secretary of State for India), reviewing Smuts’ suggestions, underscored the importance of integrating the Empire into a more strategically and administratively viable unit, with particular reference to naval and air bases on the Mediterranean and the Malay peninsula.119 At the same time, Smuts composed an unprecedented essay for Life, to counter-balance the prevalent views of Wendell Willkie and Henry Luce (editor of Life), among others, that the empire was essentially a selfishly dictatorial form of international control. In this essay, Smuts put across the ‘Commonwealth ideal’ of the interwar years, arguing

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that colonies and Dominions were working along a path towards selfgovernment and a federation, which would be subject to international observation.120 Smuts’ relationship with Britain was different: he was content to leave Britain to her own affairs, so long as Britain sought his leave in Africa.121 If the world had remained a world of empires, this would have been a successful policy.

Smuts and Africa Smuts played a careful hand and, aided by his many friends (including Leo Amery) kept track of Anglo-American dissent; Smuts was untroubled by lend-lease, but then, South Africa produced gold.122 The South Africa Reserve Bank concluded that the Union would be in a strong monetary position after the war, so long as competitive devaluation was avoided. This would allow South Africa to finance her own industrial expansion, making her the ‘workshop of Africa.’ This confident outlook was supported by rapidly increasing consumption of Union mineral goods, an increase in finished-product exports (including minted coins for Rhodesia), and new inflows of raw materials from Africa. Economic expansion could be further fuelled by immigration into South Africa,123 coupled with domestic action aimed at poor whites and non-Europeans, complementing the unskilled labour pool with skilled labour.124 John Martin, a financier, sometime-Governor of the Bank of England and unofficial adviser, supported the contention that Southern Africa would become increasingly integrated economically; he recommended creating a consultative council, representing the Union and neighbouring territories.125 Greater Southern Africa, wherein the Union would direct regional economic and political development, lay at the heart of Smuts’ thinking. For Smuts, this was a long-term goal, based upon a firm understanding of regional geopolitics. Unlike the other Dominions, South African post-war planning was more concerned with pushing a development agenda than with defining one. This began in January 1940 with the constitution of the Industrial and Agricultural Requirements Commission, which recommended the creation of the Social and

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Economic Planning Council in March 1942, to ensure the long-term success of the Union strategy. The development of planning apparatus will be covered in chapters 3 and 4, but the Union stepped up work on post-war problems rapidly when America entered the war. Here, Smuts was at an advantage, in virtue of his relationship with Churchill. Canadian and Australian diplomats had to build momentum, slowly organising their services, spurring their ministers to action; Smuts could act decisively, in Abyssinia, on American opinion, or on lend-lease. Smuts was increasingly concerned by America. In late 1942, the High Commission in London reported that deficiencies in AngloAmerican cooperation were often America’s fault.126 Ralph Close, Minister to America, confirmed that America was behind most difficulties, but wrote that these were generally smoothed out quickly and amicably.127 However, Close also wrote that there were signs of a ‘new imperialism’ in American thinking. Colonel Knox, Secretary of the Navy, announced that the US Navy must have bases all over the Pacific; Senator Tydings demanded that American bases leased from Britain in the Caribbean become US property.128 Such outbursts became increasingly frequent, reaching a pitch of high jingoism in the Five Senators’ Report. Lord Harlech, Britain’s High Commissioner in South Africa, wondered what this meant for Africa and the Mediterranean. Would Roosevelt peremptorily impose settlements there, or come to separate agreements with rival naval powers like Russia?129 Smuts responded to these worries in a major speech on the shape of the post-war world, known as the ‘explosive’ speech, to the Empire Parliamentary Association on 25 November. This was intended to spark debate, though a great deal of that debate was confined to French dissatisfaction with Smuts’ overt realism.130 First, Smuts meant to do what Britain had not, namely to defend the British colonial empire before world opinion, particularly from ‘over-simplification’ of the problems of race and development facing the Empire. Second, considering the balance of power, Smuts frankly admitted that Britain was going to be poor in the post-war world, and that the ‘trinity’ of Britain, America and Russia was crucial to maintaining order. Closer union with European democracies offered one means of balancing this

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trinity. The model, Smuts explained, already existed in the principles of Commonwealth cooperation, and could be used to preserve the sovereignty of the small states of Western Europe. As to the Empire, Smuts argued that the colonial empire, like the Dominions, should go the way of decentralised decision-making under the guidance of nearby Dominions. It would be possible thereby to avoid the charge that the Empire was run by and for London. Towards that end, Smuts concluded with the suggestion that the Dominions convene regional conferences of local colonies, a suggestion he himself followed in Southern Africa.131 Smuts’ fault was that he was too honest: true, he was a ‘sub-imperialist,’ but even as he spoke, Australia and New Zealand were quietly deliberating on how to ‘take over’ Britain’s role in the South Pacific, while Canada was splitting hairs to distinguish her own designs over the territory right up to the North Pole from the bad old imperialism of the past; and every small power was puzzling over how to yoke the great powers to their own particular wagon. At the same time, Britons like Leo Amery or Richard Law welcomed realistic discussion of France or Russia.132 Moreover, Smuts publicly highlighted, as British policymakers felt they could not, the serious difference between British and American attitudes towards colonialism.133 Smuts’ strength was also his weakness: he overshadowed his Department of External Affairs, which did not develop and organise. He was also suspicious of new organisations. The Food and Agriculture Organisation, or UNRRA, eventually the UN itself, were rivals and interlopers in the Britannic and the African spheres which Smuts controlled and often dominated. Smuts called the FAO ‘post-war propaganda’ that deflected attention from the war effort; he refrained from speaking publicly against the proposed Hot Springs conference, but only because he thought it would not go ahead.134 This exacerbated problems within his own foreign-affairs bureaucracy. It was in these conferences and organisations that other Dominions cut their teeth, gaining experience and making contacts. This, in turn, played a role in isolating South Africa in 1946. The power of the last General was double-edged, contributing to South Africa’s isolation after 1945.

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Greater South Africa and Aviation The connection between aviation and regional/zonal influence was the same in South Africa as every Dominion. Regional influence, in turn, required cooperation and integration. In December 1943, the Union Minister of Transport, F.C. Sturrock, met with the Southern Rhodesia Minister for Internal Affairs and Air, Col. Sir Ernest LucasGuest. They appointed a committee to explore regional cooperation between the Union and Southern Rhodesia. The membership of the committee was an interesting combination of railway men and military aviators. It was headed by C.M. Hoffe (General Manager of South African Railways and Harbours), Air Vice-Marshal C.W. Meredith (South Rhodesia Secretary for Air), and predominantly supported by men from South African Railways and Harbours (G.S. Leverton, D.A. Shaw, W.E. Purvis) and the Rhodesian Air Services (C.A. Bernard and D.D. Longmore). The committee concluded that regional competition was going to be fierce, with BOAC, Pan-American, Air France, Sabena and Royal Dutch Airways all operating over the same terrain. In order to face this competition, the Hoffe-Meredith Committee recommended the creation of a joint Union-South Rhodesia air transport monopoly, merging existing services, with a major airport at Johannesburg and ‘inter-territorial’ airports at Cape Town, Durban and Salisbury.135 Joint control was aimed at providing the Union and Southern Rhodesia with a preponderant position in Southern Africa. The ‘Hoffe-Meredith’ report cast a bright light upon the difficulties faced by joint government enterprises.136 John Martin looked over the report and wrote his own memorandum, suggesting a regional alignment like the Australia-New Zealand agreement, rather than a monopoly which was likely to provoke British opposition.137 As Anglo-American negotiations on civil aviation developed through 1944, Smuts came to favour a British imperial approach to aviation, within which separate operating authorities and organisations might command particular routes and protect common interests.138 Union officials wanted to hold a full dress conference on the subject, but they had to wait until the conclusion of Anglo-American negotiations in the Chicago Conference; ideally, they wanted to hold a conference in

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South Africa, as holding it in London would place colonial delegates ‘under the influence of the colonial office mentality which might not be conducive to frank exchange of views.’139 The Southern Africa Air Transport Conference was convened in March 1945; while hardly indicative of Union regional hegemony, it did promote regional unity. The conference agenda suggested high hopes, including the establishment of a Southern Africa Air Transport Council, the promotion of regional security, economic efficiency and joint technical services (radio, meteorology, etc.).140 The conference produced an array of agreed decisions. The Empire Air Mail Scheme was to continue, on a probationary basis.141 Telecommunications and meteorology were to be coordinated by expert sub-committees, reporting to a Southern Africa Air Transport Council. The Union agreed, with Britain, to survey the strategic and economic needs of the line Cape Town-Cairo, with the Union assuming responsibility south, and the British north, of Nairobi (a significant improvement for the Union, which heretofore controlled the air mail contracts south of Salisbury).142 An airline operators’ association was formed to integrate regional aviation, while BOAC and South African Airways agreed to share control (including revenue) over the London-Cape Town line, with South African Airways taking responsibility for all BOAC interests (economic and technical) south of Nairobi.143 This zoning arrangement had a precedent in pre-war cooperation between Qantas and BOAC.144 In general, South Africa was moving towards political (if not commercial) predominance in regional aviation. While South Africa, like Australia and New Zealand, pursued a regional strategy in the realm of aviation, their respective approaches were not alike. Australia and New Zealand sought international agreement first and regional agreement as insurance; Smuts awaited the failure of international agreement in order to secure a regional agreement within an existing imperial framework. This provided the Union with the greatest possibility of exercising regional predominance. If the British Empire was often a tiresome obstacle to Union objectives, it also formed a critical link in Smuts’ planning. This explains the curious fact of South African docility in so many international negotiations.

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Ottawa, Canberra, Wellington and Pretoria were all pushing to develop and to dominate their own peripheral zones, quite irrespective of the desires of Britain or America. This was not chance: a changing balance of power and the dangers and opportunities inherent in new technologies led them to adopt far-reaching, aggressive strategies. The challenge of post-war order was to ensure that the collapse of the old imperial order gave rise to a new era of integration, not disintegration. This was no small challenge: as we have seen, there was ample room for competition or contradiction in the contested frontier zones to which powers both great and small now laid claim. Nor was there anything ‘natural’ about American leadership; clearly, it was the alarming expansion of American power which threatened to set the scramble in motion in the first place. Yet under the pressure of war, and the still greater pressure of peace, new and sometimes striking visions of post-war order began to emerge.

CHAPTER 3 PL ANNING FOR POST-WAR OR DER

Today we are faced by the partially accomplished threat of world domination by a power far more ruthless and evil than the Imperial Germany of 1914/18 ... In face of these dangers we can no longer afford a compromise between the necessities of the present and the customs of the past. We must fearlessly decide upon profound adjustments in the political, economic and the social spheres. We can do this with a certain knowledge that our own people will welcome boldness of thought as heartily as boldness in action ... Boldness of thought, however, involves a resolute facing of facts, a preparedness ruthlessly to cast aside such previously accepted views, dogmas, customs and conceptions as may hinder our determination to take whatever action is necessary, however far reaching, and even revolutionary it may be.1 – Stanley Bruce, 1940 In 1943, David Mitrany observed the ‘trend is to organize government along the lines of specific ends and needs, and according to the conditions of their time and place, in lieu of the traditional organization on the basis of a set constitutional division of jurisdiction of rights and powers.’2 Constructing a vision of post-war order demanded the development and integration of organisations capable of addressing themselves

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to the key social needs of the post-war world, rather than the general acceptance of broadly virtuous constitutional principles. While principles like self-determination remained tremendously important, it was not enough merely to invoke them: rather, they had to be refined and adapted in light of specific technical questions touching on almost every area of policy. Khartoum, for instance, was no longer just a vital link in the Cape-Cairo railway line; now it was a node in multiple overlapping aerial networks, hedged round by American demands and coveted by Egyptian nationalists. Making sense of this business was tremendously complicated, since it was necessary for states to possess or develop a thorough understanding of their interests – which meant statisticians, economists, scientists, geographers – in a fluid environment. Every war-fighting government experienced a tremendous growth in government as informal or ad hoc organisations ramified. Making this business effective meant good organisation so as to align principles with interests, interests with policies, policies with negotiations and negotiations, ideally, with outcomes. In the era of statesmanship, the principles of international coordination had often rested upon prestige; in the new technocratic era, international cooperation depended upon information as procured and ordered by successful organisations. This levelled the playing field between states considerably (Mitrany labelled this ‘technical self-determination’), since the capacity of large states to fund bigger organisations did not necessarily translate into more efficient or coherent organisations. The Dominions in particular had an advantage, for they were free to observe and replicate successful British organisational models. The ‘managerial revolution’ in statecraft meant there were two parallel streams of development in post-war order, the high political relationships presided over by the warlords, and the vast bureaucracies and ‘staff level’ contacts developing beneath them. While there are many questions that remain open about the organisation of Soviet policy-making, it is possible that the organisation of Anglo-American diplomacy placed the Soviets at a significant disadvantage in processing and understanding the emerging structure of post-war order. This is not a question of whether the Soviets possessed a foreign policy bureaucracy – clearly, they did – but whether that bureaucracy was

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developing new links and organisations, or whether Soviet diplomacy remained essentially traditional, i.e. based upon the personal relationships and understandings of a small elite. The evidence on the western side suggests the latter: the absence of staff-level contact with Soviet diplomats was to play a significant role in determining the alignment of small states. To return to the Dominions, the organisational device which captured their imagination was the Post-Hostilities Planning (PHP) subcommittee, pioneered by Gladwyn Jebb of the Foreign Office, with a broad ambit for research and discussion within a combined civil/military staff. Many of its papers found their way to Joint Planning, the Chiefs of Staff, the War Cabinet – and the Dominions. While Jebb’s committee was regarded suspiciously in many quarters, and while its legacy is disputed, when the Dominions copied British post-war planning, they took the PHP sub-committee as their model. The agile, cooperative structure of PHP allowed the Dominions to identify their key interests and interact more effectively with other states. This process of interaction increasingly convinced them that the Americans were willing to accommodate their claims to sovereignty and negotiate the terms of post-war order; the Soviets were not. This was to be a crucial difference.

Organising the Peace: the New Global Technocracy Harold Wilson (in 1942–3 a statistician attached to the Department of Mines) recalled his first official visit to Washington, where he was called by a ‘Mr. X’ of the Department of Labour, who introduced himself as Wilson’s counterpart; a few moments later, a ‘Dr. Y’ of the US Bureau of Mines, also Wilson’s counterpart, phoned; Dr. Y had never heard of Mr. X, and was followed moments later by Mr. Z of the new Solid Fuels Administration for War, also Wilson’s counterpart, also ignorant of his presumptive colleagues. By the fifth call, Wilson decided he had better introduce his American colleagues to one another.3 Meanwhile, in March 1942 Roosevelt bluntly told Churchill he could ‘personally handle Stalin better than either your Foreign Office or my State Department.’4 What both Wilson and Roosevelt acknowledged was

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the existence of two different layers of policy-making that developed in parallel during the war, one on the bureaucratic or ‘staff’ level, the other on the personal or ‘high political’ level. Roosevelt was by turns wary or contemptuous of the bureaucratic aspects of policy-making. Many of his appointments – such as Hull – reflected connections and friendships rather than suitability; and Roosevelt hadn’t the faintest compunction about appointing rivals (Hull was floored when the economic nationalist George Peek was made trade adviser in 1934).5 It is generally accepted that Roosevelt maximised executive power by keeping everyone else off balance, for better or worse.6 This may have also informed his policy pronouncements: on trusteeship, as we have seen, Roosevelt said many different things which concealed what was, by the Cairo Conference, a very precise understanding of American interests.7 The conference diplomacy of the warlords only strengthened Roosevelt’s hand, allowing him to utilise amateur intermediaries like Harry Hopkins in preference to the State Department professionals, and not a single senior US diplomat attended the Teheran Conference at the end of 1943 (where important decisions were made on Germany). Even so, the scope and power of bureaucracy was growing, and while sheer talent enabled Roosevelt to keep power in the Oval Office, in practice much power was dispersed through an increasingly complicated bureaucracy. Churchill was just as hostile to his bureaucrats. On becoming Premier, he toyed with the idea of destroying the centralising and coordinating Cabinet Office entirely, and his behaviour drove many talented civil servants to consider resigning.8 However, Churchill possessed even less power than Roosevelt: while he happily availed himself of Big Three diplomacy either to line up his fractious Dominions or else to ignore their claims altogether, he was never able to divest himself of the Foreign Office (conversely, this meant he always benefitted from a fast, efficient administration), while lieutenants like Eden or Attlee possessed an unshakeable power base in the Tory and Labour parties, respectively.9 As Churchill sardonically remarked to Eden and Bevin – who grew close during the war – he was prepared to step down in favour of either of them anytime.10 Moreover, Churchill did try to establish an unofficial ‘garden suburb’ of advisers, but Gen.

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Ismay managed (by sheer stamina) to prevent this taking shape, and so kept Churchill mostly within the bounds of the official civil service. There was something in Churchill’s jibe that he was the only truly democratic leader of the three warlords. For all Churchill and Roosevelt struggled against bureaucratic constraints, there were serious limits to what they could agree at any one time; while agreements, when reached (such as on the Security Council veto) proved impossible for smaller states to break, there were big questions within those agreements that had to be answered (or not) at the staff level. This also reflected the (laudable) orientation of Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin towards the immediate object of winning the war; when they considered post-war order, their views were often vague, and sometimes (the notorious ‘percentages’ agreement between Stalin and Churchill in October 1944) downright absurd. All this meant the greater part of post-war order was outlined at a staff level. This is not to downplay the significance of personal relationships between the leaders of the Grand Alliance: the warlords could resolve disputes rapidly, and the system of ‘regionalised, cooperative internationalism’ (Kimball’s phrase) that characterised post-war order was, in broad strokes, the one favoured by Churchill and Roosevelt. Nevertheless, there was no simple or direct line from the ‘four policemen,’ for example, to the Security Council of the United Nations. Roosevelt ‘frequently took three steps back, two to one side, and then stood still before considering one giant step. The problem was that long-term visions take time to develop, and the immediate details always seem to matter.’11 It was the bureaucracies that did much of the heavy lifting, developing a long-term vision, negotiating and implementing policy, and then maintaining the continuity of policy after Roosevelt was dead and Churchill out of office, and on a more formal footing than during the war.12 The immediate result, however, was a chaotic morass of experts, sub-committees and studies. Much of the output was speculative – extensive studies were optimistically made of Hungary and Romania for the purpose of occupation, for instance – but that does not mean it was unproductive. Rather, it put a premium on interdepartmental

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cooperation and integration. In Washington, the Joint Chiefs of Staff were founded in 1942 (in order to work in parallel with the British Chiefs of Staff for the purposes of forming the Combined Chiefs of Staff). The Joint Chiefs had staff members on the State Department’s important Advisory Committee on Postwar Foreign Policy, and the State Department had people working with theatre commanders. The Secretaries of State, War and Navy even began to function as a special Coordinating Committee towards the end of 1944, though by then the most important post-war planning had already been done. However, the American experience of civil-military cooperation was decidedly mixed. Military planning was competitive, prompting fragmentation and only piecemeal cooperation; perhaps as a result, when more permanent liaison was established, for instance in early 1944 when War’s Special Planning Division formed a link with Leo Pasvolsky (special assistant on post-war planning in State), the result was disappointing, lacking scope or a mandate to address broad questions.13 The American proclivity for establishing new organisations rather than simplifying them was a constant source of exasperation to the British. The Civil Affairs Division of the War Department, for instance, was responsible for civil administration in theatre, and was often at loggerheads with the State Department Office of Foreign Economic Coordination, while both ignored the UN Relief and Rehabilitation Administration.14 This rivalry stymied British efforts to have their own planning mechanism – the Administration of Territories (Europe) Committee – granted ‘combined’ status, and the British were chagrined to discover the Americans had not initiated planning for the administration of North Africa when that became an American command.15 Chagrin became annoyance when the Combined Civil Affairs Committee (the American response to policy failure in North Africa) continued to ignore Administration of Territories.16 Yet the size and complexity of American organisation, maddening as it could be, did offer some novel advantages: in a fragmented and competitive system, foreign mediation was sometimes welcomed by American planners, because it could yield valuable information and analysis, and because it could generate external pressures which might resolve internal disputes. In an interesting way, the larger and more powerful the

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American Government became, the more accommodating it was to delicate staff-level diplomacy.

The Peculiar Challenge of the Soviet Union Our lack of information about Soviet post-war planning is particularly acute at precisely the staff level that we are studying here. This may reflect the lack of such apparatus, possibly because post-war order was a subject limited to a narrow elite, or else diffused through a different worldview, say the search for ideological harmony on objective questions, rather than consensus on functional ones. Perhaps the Soviets did possess such an apparatus – but in that case what is extraordinary is the absence of evidence of interaction with this staff-level stratum in western diplomatic correspondence. Such circumspection would not have been surprising: the Great Purge of 1935–8 had gutted the Soviet diplomatic corps, and even assuming good people survived and rebuilt, diplomats must have been shy of organisational innovation or even the simplest unauthorised interaction. Imagine what American post-war diplomacy would have been, had Sumner Welles, Leo Pasvolsky, Adolf Berle been liquidated or silenced. This raises an intriguing possibility: what if the Russians were unable to comprehend Anglo-American policy-making because they lacked the capacity to interact with it? This is hardly the moment to embark on a book about Soviet perceptions, but this point is quite important for our understanding of why small states like the Dominions came to prefer the British or Americans to the Soviets. We have already noted that policy as mooted by Churchill or Roosevelt was often very different to the policies expressed by Britain or the United States, as expert staffers confronted the vast array of technical details involved. Since the primary currency at the staff level was information rather than prestige, small states with particular interests (and the requisite framework to understand and defend them) had an opportunity to level the playing field somewhat. We shall investigate this process thoroughly in a moment. By contrast, what was striking about Soviet diplomacy was its traditionalism, both in its conduct (i.e. as a personal relationship between Stalin and the other warlords) and its concern with spheres of influence

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and geostrategic dominance which might have been Tsarist as easily as Soviet. The role of small states was most unhappy in such a configuration, as Vladimir Pechatnov has suggested: Another striking feature of the Maisky-Litvinov preoccupation with sphere-of-influence arrangements is their almost total disregard of the indigenous conditions and interests of those European countries which were to become subjects of those divisions. The underlying presumption of a docile and welcoming Europe can only be explained as a combination of great power chauvinism and ‘ideological romanticism’ on the part of the Soviet statesmen, who anticipated liberated Europe to be much more hospitable to Soviet power and ideas than it really was.17 To be sure, Roosevelt and Churchill also regarded themselves as realists striving to maximise their influence in a competitive, anarchic world. Roosevelt, in Robert Divine’s memorable description, ‘was still putting all his faith in the Four Policemen, in a new Holy Alliance of the victors to preserve the status quo... Roosevelt was planning for a great-power peace that bore as much resemblance to the isolationist concept of Fortress America as it did to genuine collective security.’18 As for small states, Roosevelt was often contemptuous – in August 1941 he remarked they might be allowed rifles after the war, but nothing more dangerous19 – and such contempt made the Dominions, as we have seen, inclined to repair the ramparts of the British Empire rather than find themselves swallowed by some new American empire. All this – particularly Roosevelt’s vision of ‘four policemen,’ which Stalin accepted on 1 June 1942 – was entirely comprehensible to the Soviets. What may have been incomprehensible to the Soviets – and what redeemed Anglo-American policies in the eyes of the Dominions – was that something quite drastic kept happening to the ideas proposed by Roosevelt and Churchill. In 1943, the Soviets began to implement the vague policy of spheres of influence which had been devised between the warlords, concluding an unequal treaty with the Czech government which generally restricted Czech autonomy and became a model

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for dealings with Poland.20 This militated against the principles of post-war order emerging in British and American bureaucracies, but as Molotov curtly told the journalist Edward Snow after Yalta in 1945, ‘it’s too late, and your complaints only arouse suspicion here.’21 By then, British and American diplomats had been advocating for small states (including the Baltic states) for years; but the Soviets may not have heard them.22 British proposals for the control of occupied Europe in 1943 were notable precisely because they included smaller states in the decision-making process, as the British were sensible to the demands of their own war-fighting Dominions; however, the proposals were dropped at Soviet insistence.23 Similarly, for all that Roosevelt had spoken of simply taking or redistributing colonies – to the great consternation of Dominion observers – his own staff were developing a very different and more systematic approach to the problem of colonies. ‘It is ironic,’ Roger Louis concluded of Roosevelt, that while he talked to Churchill, Stalin, and Chiang Kai-shek about his élitist ideas of the ‘Four Policemen’ holding colonial territories in trust, his experts were methodically refining the mandates system and preparing draft charters which led to the establishment of the trusteeship system under the democratic auspices of the United Nations.24 The Dominions came to revel in this irony. Perhaps it was lost on Stalin.

Post-Hostilities Planning in Britain British post-war planning was driven by a small group operating at the staff level, aided by important ministers like Clement Attlee and Anthony Eden. The bureaucratic support for post-war planning developed organically out of organisations constituted to investigate control of liberated territory and relations with defeated powers: the War Aims Committee in late 1940 became the Ministerial Committee for Reconstruction Problems (CRP), an important arena for Labour from whence the Beveridge Report, for instance, emanated. It was supported

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by a range of academic institutions, such as the Foreign Research and Press Service (FRPS), at Balliol (headed by Arnold Toynbee, including Alfred Zimmern and Lionel Curtis), and the Social Reconstruction Survey at Nuffield. In 1942, CRP was reorganised, partly because Churchill was under pressure to streamline his government, but despite the new leadership of Sir William Jowitt, by late-1942 little consideration had been given to the general principles of post-war order.25 Interestingly, Labour took the lead in post-war planning: Ernie Bevin and Clem Attlee were especially prominent in the relevant committees, giving Labour an effective veto on all plans.26 Attlee believed strongly that the electoral pendulum would swing his way after the war,27 and for all he was taciturn, he had constituted the foreignpolicy-oriented Armistice and Civil Administration Committee (later the Armistice and Post-War Committee), with himself as chair, even before it received Cabinet approval.28 He also believed Churchill to be fundamentally erratic, and so kept his own watchful eye over foreign policy.29 The impact of this on British foreign policy is harder to ascertain, not least because Churchill and Attlee were such different statesmen, the one a public figure who consciously left a record, the other a born organiser who thought homes and hospitals the only worthwhile record.30 The initial Foreign Office response to the question of post-war planning was to order the FRPS to produce ‘peace handbooks,’ extensive historical and economic studies of the various problems of post-war order.31 The Chiefs of Staff agreed to a liaison with the Joint Planning Staff (JPS), but became unhappy with the piecemeal approach of the FRPS, and suggested a separate military committee be created to advise the FO.32 The creation of such an advisory committee was approved by the War Cabinet on 1 June 1942.33 The creation of a military sub-committee, responsible to the Chiefs of Staff, on permanent loan to Jowitt, ranked roughly equal to the JPS, was approved a week later.34 Its terms of reference were to study the military aspects of any armistice with Germany, and military aspects of the post-war period; the committee was not to consider questions of a political nature.35 The members of the committee, including Rear-Admiral Bellairs (Admiralty), Brigadier van Cutsem (War Office) and Air Commodore

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Longmore (Air Ministry), were entitled to speak on behalf of their respective ministries.36 Each ministry appointed an official more senior than was strictly called for by the Chiefs of Staff, suggesting that the War Office and Admiralty each hoped to obtain direction over the committee, while the appointment of a retired admiral (Bellairs) and a civilian (Mr. Spaight, for the Air Ministry) suggested they regarded the committee as suspicious. As foreign post-war problems, including occupation, piled up in 1943, a new ministerial committee, the Armistice and Civil Administration Committee (ACA; later Armistice and Post-War Committee, or APW), was formed under Attlee, Eden and Sir James Grigg (Secretary of State for War). This committee, which advised the War Cabinet and took decisions on minor questions, necessitated the alteration of the committee advising it.37 V.F.W. Cavendish-Bentinck wrote that what the military sub-committee needed was a first-rate ‘führer.’38 Jebb leapt on this opportunity: he suggested the committee move out of Jowitt’s jurisdiction and into the Chiefs of Staff, where it would benefit from direct access to military planning, as well as liaison with the FO. The Chiefs of Staff approved this, and also the expansion of the committee, so that it would keep track of the services, rather than vice versa. The committee was placed under a Foreign Office chair, thus mitigating the problem posed by allocating leadership to any one service. This was approved by the Chiefs of Staff and submitted to the War Cabinet.39 The new committee, the Post-Hostilities Planning Sub-Committee, could consider anything at all the ACA wanted considered in militarydiplomatic terms. As Jebb, who headed the committee, recalled, the idea astonished the Americans who were accustomed to their Military’s insistence on running every aspect of the war, and who had the greatest difficulty in achieving any unity of view between their COS machine and the State Department. Besides there was much greater inter-Service rivalry in Washington than there was in London ... the idea that a civilian should actually preside over a number of distinguished men in uniform never failed to give rise to incredulous American comment, as being almost contrary to nature.40

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Jebb’s committee was well-placed to influence policy both directly, through its recommendations, and indirectly, for instance by obscuring research in other quarters. The committee produced the majority of its papers in 1943 and 1944, until the Chiefs of Staff decided that it was considering questions of increasing delicacy and had to be brought to heel (shrunk),41 then placed under military control.42 There were numerous reasons for this change. First, Jebb’s paper on the military aspects of post-war international organisations (covered in the next chapter) forced the Chiefs of Staff to accept, theoretically, that Russia would remain friendly; the Chiefs of Staff regarded this as a mistake. Second, the Chiefs of Staff wanted to consider the problems of Russian hostility without the information coming before naïve (or socialist) diplomats or ministers. Rules of circulation made this clear: papers for the COS could be frank about Russia, those for APW or other committees must treat Russia in polite terms; confidential annexes to the latter might deal with Russia in brief, anodyne terms, but these annexes were to be secret (i.e. for the benefit of select ministers).43 While this experiment in integration was short-lived and sharpened some of the differences between the Chiefs of Staff and the Foreign Office, it was also very productive. The prevailing wisdom, ever since the creation of the Committee of Imperial Defence, was that the more information the Dominions had, the more sympathetic they would be to Britain and the greater the unity of Commonwealth outlook. The British War Cabinet was regularly attended by Dominion statesmen, who reminded the War Cabinet to keep the Dominions abreast of post-war planning.44 A flood of Dominions Office telegrams regularly went out. The Dominions Office, through Boyd Shannon, was closely associated with the work of ACA, while the PHP Sub-Committee was associated with preparing papers for the 1944 Dominion Premiers’ Conference.45 PHP papers were circulated to Dominion representatives in London as a matter of course; the DO thought, and the COS and FO agreed, that the circulation of these papers would provoke Dominion interest and bring their views closer to those in Britain. A scattered selection of the papers survive in Dominion records, some in final (approved) format, others in draft; some passed on by

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military colleagues, others acquired from British or Dominion counterparts, sometimes in London and sometimes elsewhere. The papers were only rarely discussed with the Americans, and then only with explicit Chiefs of Staff approval. The nature of circulation became more oriented round the military in 1944–5, as fears of Russian penetration and Chiefs of Staff protocols restricted distribution.46 Even so, the papers circulated between 1943 and 1945 had a large impact, as British planners intended; that they prompted the Dominions to develop their own civil-military planning outfits to consider peculiar geopolitical and geo-economic interests was perhaps less intentional.

Canada Canadian post-hostilities planning began as an informal response to the questions opened by British PHP papers, particularly a doomed British proposal to create a United Nations Commission for Europe, which might have had military-diplomatic implications for Canada. British post-hostilities planning was a ready model for the necessary consultation. While the Canadians had turned down Jebb’s idea of participating in British PHP,47 Hume Wrong thought it worth copying the innovation, and called an informal meeting in his office on 22 July 1943 to consider the structure of British PHP and the nature of the Canadian response to British ideas on the policing of Europe and the occupation of Germany.48 Wrong’s meeting included: the Chiefs of the Naval and Air Staffs, Admiral P.W. Nelles and Air Marshal L.S. Breadner, the Deputy-Chief of the General Staff, Brigadier P. Earnshaw, the Clerk of the Privy Council, A.D.P. Heeney, and, from the DEA, Norman Robertson, George Glazebrook and John Holmes (who was secretary). Wrong outlined the PHP system in London, including the production of papers, the need for Canadian responses to them, and the need for closer liaison in London. Finally, Canada needed a policy on policing Germany, as this touched on whether Canada would become isolationist, or would support her pretensions to a greater say in the post-war world. The meeting resolved to establish an unofficial Working Committee on Post-Hostilities Problems, under the DEA, including military

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representatives.49 The task of the Working Committee was clarified two weeks later, as the Advisory Committee on Post-Hostilities Problems got under way to steer the Working Committee, and report to the War Committee. The Advisory Committee would set the problems for study, while the Working Committee produced research papers.50 The War Committee confirmed this arrangement when the Working Committee had laid out its recommendations concerning Canadian participation in the policing of Europe.51 As Don Munton and Don Page have pointed out, post-hostilities planning in Canada was a straightforward example of an ‘elite consensus’ at work.52

Australia Post-hostilities planning in Australia was anything but straightforward. The Australian experience illustrated, obliquely, the collegiality of the East Block in Ottawa, where dispatch-writing occasionally degenerated into inter-consular poetry competitions. In part, this was a matter of leadership. Mackenzie King inspired fear and respect; antipathies were suppressed as a matter of course. By contrast, John Curtin was a sick man; Ben Chifley and H.V. Evatt battled constantly for position.53 Ministerial conflict made departmental relations a hotbed of staff conflicts. W.R. Hodgson was backed by Hasluck; the head of the Political Section, John Hood, was backed by the economist Dr. Burton.54 Petty strife had political consequences. L.G. Melville, an economic adviser, recalled that post-war policy analysis was conducted in the Defence Department, industry and among various advisers, but never coordinated.55 Hasluck was the only person in the DEA to consistently work on an interdepartmental level, in the Committee on External Relations; it was he who had the most experience of Canadian diplomacy, having attended the Institute of Pacific Relations Conference, and he who received the Post-Hostilities Planning papers from Britain. He was impressed with the idea of formal interdepartmental cooperation bridging external affairs and defence. Yet, Hasluck fought a losing battle throughout 1943 to have his ideas recognised by Evatt or the DEA.56 Unofficially, Hasluck organised his subordinates, Burton, Forsyth and Tange, into a research section. Being charged with responsibility

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for the departmental library, he was well-placed to conduct semi-official studies and these were often seized upon by Evatt when particular topics became pertinent. Evatt’s plan for the Australia-New Zealand Conference finally gave Hasluck his opportunity. Evatt worried about positioning Australia advantageously vis-à-vis Britain and America, and discussions were underway by October, 1943, for a meeting with New Zealand.57 While the Australia-New Zealand Conference will be considered in detail in chapter 4, the point for post-hostilities planning is that Hasluck was conference secretary, and so placed his own proposal on the agenda to which the two states committed for consultation.58 Under Clause 11 of the Australia-New Zealand Agreement, each country agreed to develop a PHP apparatus, which would furthermore consult with one another (an important point for New Zealand, which rarely possessed enough staff). This became a useful cudgel for beating Evatt and the DEA. This part of the agreement also prompted British interest, a pile of information on British post-hostilities planning, and a request for an exchange of views.59 Immediately after the conference, Hasluck submitted a memorandum to his department, noting the new Australian commitment, and suggesting the creation of a political liaison with Allied Headquarters in the South Pacific.60 Hasluck also demanded a permanent liaison with the New Zealand DEA,61 and a liaison with the Canadian Working Committee on Post-Hostilities Problems,62 with limited success (though unofficial relations with the Canadians were good). Hasluck’s demands raised the threat of a turf war, forcing Hodgson and then Evatt to act on his ideas. Hood prepared his own proposal (with sound innovations), which was to incorporate it into his own Political Section.63 This prompted Hodgson to simply create a ‘PostWar Section,’ headed by Hasluck. Forsyth, Hasluck’s assistant, was given to Hood as a palliative, and Hasluck was given resources for a new research position.64 Hodgson’s action prompted Frederick Shedden, Secretary of the Department of Defence, to propose a Defence PHP Committee. This was taken up by Curtin and seems to have been accepted almost immediately.65 Hasluck sought to defend his own corner, but his letter arrived after Curtin had left for the Dominion

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Premiers’ Conference. Departmental rivalry brought out Evatt’s inner pit bull, and he proposed the creation of a Ministerial Committee, with interdepartmental sub-committees guided by a DEA secretariat.66 This would have given Evatt carte blanche approval to take credit for the best ideas from every department; Chifley led the charge to destroy it. The moment Hasluck’s idea made it to ministerial level, it stalled in the midst of an entirely new battle.67 The defence PHP organisation produced little.68 There was no driving force behind it, and while the idea was adopted early, the committee does not seem to have come into being under the Defence Committee until February 1945, by which time the post-hostilities period had just about commenced. No liaison with the DEA was possible, because the relevant DEA men were in San Francisco negotiating the peace by the time the Defence PHP Committee began functioning. More time was frittered on stationary and seals, though a few studies came out in late 1945.69 Hasluck’s dream of a permanent Defence-External Affairs liaison, bridging Melbourne (where Defence resided) and Canberra, never came into being. Hasluck did emerge from the scrap with his own section, which produced a series of important papers through 1944 and early 1945. In September, the Post-Hostilities Division was recognised by the Public Services Board, which gave Hasluck enough recognition to trouble other departments for information.70 This made interdepartmental meetings possible; Hodgson arranged for Hasluck to travel to Melbourne to meet with Defence representatives.71 The meeting took place on 20 September, with Lt. Col. A.A. Conlon and Cmdr. G.C.O. Gatacre attending.72 The meeting established working priorities for the provision of plans and advice to civilian planners by military experts. It also established a new precedent of consultation.73 This was sufficient for Evatt to assure Curtin that the apparatus existed to take an integrated approach to planning the peace.74

New Zealand New Zealand’s post-hostilities planning was an offshoot of Australian organisation. Of course, New Zealand developed her own views; but

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she had a small foreign policy establishment, which limited her ability to create new bureaucracies. Australian actions, particularly through the Canberra Conference at the beginning of 1944, prompted New Zealand to account for new information. Post-hostilities planning in New Zealand was thus informal, a discussion group rather than a machine, but it did give rise to new thinking on regional affairs. Hasluck’s agendum at the Canberra Conference seems to have been the first that New Zealand officials became aware of the usefulness of post-hostilities planning. Shanahan began to seek British papers, and Hasluck probably gave him copies of British papers in his possession. By mid-February, McIntosh was collecting information on the Canadian PHP apparatus,75 while Shanahan had acquired, and read, most available UK papers.76 By mid-March, McIntosh had received a memorandum laying out the organisation of Canadian post-hostilities planning,77 and, by April, Shanahan had arranged an exchange of papers through the High Commissioners in Wellington and Ottawa.78 By May, Shanahan had proposed the creation of the New Zealand Armistice and Post-Hostilities Planning Committee, to consist of himself as the DEA representative and the Chiefs of Staff as the various military representatives. This proposal was placed before the Chiefs of Staff Committee, on which Shanahan sat wearing his hat as representative of the Prime Minister’s Department.79 At the same time, Shanahan asked McIntosh (who was attending the Premier’s Meeting in London) to make contact with the UK PHP Sub-committee, and obtain as many papers as possible.80 Even before the Chiefs of Staff had given their final approval, the New Zealand Armistice and Post-hostilities Planning (APHP) Committee had its first meeting on 22 May, to discuss general post-war security.81 The Chiefs of Staff approved in August.82 In practice, this meant Shanahan swapped hats while the Chiefs of Staff Committee changed name and terms of reference to something a bit more speculative when considering British PHP papers raising issues pertinent to New Zealand. This followed a pragmatic tradition by which individuals occupied multiple government roles. ‘Our Committee,’ Shanahan noted ruefully, ‘is a bit like the fable which tells that, after much hatching, some gargantuan monster... produced a mouse. Our mouse

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is very tiny at present.’83 Sadly, the mouse did not take notes; however, the existence of the committee demonstrated a willingness to adapt to Australian policy proposals. The creation of APHP demonstrated concern for regional affairs, as New Zealand mapped out her strategic situation and sought to avoid the problem of overt domination inherent in the emerging ‘Canberra system.’ Generally speaking, post-hostilities planning exemplified the spread of a particular idea across the Commonwealth. Britain was not merely a pool of information; she was also an example of well-developed methodology in the internal organisation and conduct of diplomacy. There were other examples of this, besides the PHP sub-committee. Maurice Hankey was a towering example of a great civil servant, whose methods and philosophy were copied across the Commonwealth. A.D.P. Heeney clearly set out to be the Canadian Hankey,84 while Frederick Shedden was known, in Australia, as the ‘Pocket Hankey.’85 During the war, the role of senior staff changed radically. From 1944, the most effective Dominions, diplomatically, were those with the best-developed staff organisations. In this respect, South Africa lagged far behind.

South Africa During the Great War, Smuts had played a key role in British postwar planning.86 Other men had need of bureaucracy to tell them what to think; not Smuts, who directed civil and military policy himself. However, there were peripheral issues. While gold or civil aviation were dealt with by experts (de Kock, Martin) whom Smuts trusted personally, this left mundane but necessary work, particularly the formulation of a detailed appreciation of the South African economy, and the economic and political status (and future) of the rest of Southern Africa. For this reason, the Social and Economic Planning Council (SEC) was formed in May, 1942, under the economist Dr. van Eck. SEC terms of reference included investigating Union resources, external and internal trade, resource development and allocation, and future socio-economic policies. This was a broad ambit, but Smuts refused, in 1943, when D.D. Forsyth (secretary to the DEA) sought to narrow its role.87 By

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then, the SEC had finished a massive report on post-war reemployment and reconstruction,88 with special reference to future ‘native’ policy,89 and was gathering material on Smuts’ ideas for Congolese development,90 as well as assisting an informal study of social welfare policy.91 Moreover, the elastic boundaries of the SEC allowed it to cover developments in UN organisations, such as UNRRA. The calculations involved in providing monetary versus goods contributions to UNRRA were extremely complex;92 similarly, in formulating a progressive trade policy in light of Mutual Aid.93 The SEC grew in importance as a broad-based research group, confidently requesting enlargement in late 1944.94 Yet, this was not at all the same as the PHP machinery developing elsewhere to integrate civilmilitary planning. This cerebral task was undertaken by Smuts alone. The SEC expanded, in order to concentrate on areas deemed by Smuts to be less important. This led to an enduring problem of perception: the Canadians treated every conference, from Hot Springs to San Francisco, as a crucial component of the peace, but Smuts treated these contemptuously. He thought the Chicago Conference and Dumbarton Oaks premature;95 UNRRA, he felt, was wasteful and grandiose, squandering fabulous sums of money on high overhead expenses and ‘jobs for pals.’ He would be ‘damned’ before he let South Africa be ‘soaked for millions.’ Smuts ensured that most Union contributions to UNRRA were in goods and services.96 For Australia or Canada, these conferences and organisations were the means to claim a position in the first rank of nations. For Smuts, they were a distraction. Smuts expected the war to conclude with a Versailles Conference, a great meeting of the great men of affairs – and Smuts was a great man of affairs. Who else would have instructed the Foreign Office in its preparations for the Dominion Premiers’ Conference, in 1944?97 Who else (Roosevelt, perhaps) would have left his undersecretary at home? A direct request from Lord Harlech was necessary to persuade Smuts to take D.D. Forsyth to London, in 1944.98 Smuts felt that conferences, such as took place at Chicago and Hot Springs, with their numerous committee rooms and crowds of staff, were a sideshow.99 As he wrote of the San Francisco Conference, some months prior to attending, ‘it

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would in any case be most awkward for me to be away from South Africa at such a time ... the more grave and difficult questions to come are those concerning the peace at the end of the war.’100 Smuts could not believe that the peace was being forged by small men in tasteless hotels, in Chicago or San Francisco; that the peace was being directed by faceless staff and service committees; that it was to be a peace of administrators and bureaucrats, not of diplomats and gentlemen. Smuts held himself ready for the great moment, but it never came. He realised too late. By 1946, his staff were swamped, and in all the myriad committees of San Francisco, London and Paris there would be little or no direction, little choice but to follow the British lead, until Smuts, for all his poise and brilliance, ran aground upon a little-known Indian woman in New York. Post-hostilities planning was important: it was to highlight all the divergences of opinion between military and civilian staff, and it was certainly not foolproof; yet by promoting honest policy analysis and casting differences into relief, it also promoted the task of integration and consensus formation. Most importantly, it provided a forum for shredding vague concepts: the Dominions went into post-war negotiations with few advantages, but clarity of vision was to be the key to the successes they did enjoy.

CHAPTER 4 VISIONS OF POST-WAR OR DER

Australia and New Zealand, like others of the smaller nations, are apprehensive lest they should be excluded from any direct and immediate share in the planning and establishment of the general international organization contemplated in the Moscow Declaration ... Australia and New Zealand ... were of the opinion that the time had come when they at least should state the principles which they regard as essential for the protection of their own vital interests. They are naturally anxious that those vital interests should not be overlooked by the major powers in the establishment of any new world order.1 – Peter Fraser, 1944 The expansion of American power and the development of new geopolitical realities defined the post-war challenge facing the Dominions. For each of these states, the emerging United Nations became the means of answering difficult post-war questions. The method of arriving at these answers – or not – was itself important: British planning mechanisms and the material produced by them generated interest among a key group of officials in all of the Dominions, save South Africa, and each of the Dominions, including South Africa, developed a staff-level system for comprehending

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and addressing post-hostilities problems. Between 1943 and 1945, Dominion foreign policy became more sophisticated; the Dominions ceased to see themselves as the far-flung outposts of a Britannic world, whose independence depended upon artful appeals to London. They came to regard themselves as occupying the centre of a region, in which security and prosperity demanded comprehensive, technocratic policy-making. Ironically, the better the Dominions understood their own condition the more important their connections to Britain became. The rapidly changing balance of power between Britain, the US and the Soviet Union focused minds considerably towards the end of 1943. In conferences at Moscow (foreign ministers, 18 October to 1 November), Cairo (Churchill, Roosevelt and Chiang, 22 to 26 November) and Teheran (Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin, 28 November to 1 December), the US moved away from Britain.2 There was both a personal and a bureaucratic element to this: at Cairo Roosevelt refused to meet with Churchill privately, and at Teheran he went out of his way to offend Churchill in Stalin’s presence; at Moscow the Foreign Office were most unhappy about the idea of German ‘unconditional surrender,’ and at Teheran the Chiefs of Staff had their plans for the ‘second front’ in Europe brushed aside in favour of an amphibious assault on France. More generally, Americans showed a remarkable willingness to avoid detailed discussions in order to secure very general Soviet agreement or some small sign of Stalin’s favour. It was true that at times the British were just as eager to trade specific interests for general goods, for instance when Eden acceded to Molotov’s request at Moscow to abrogate a ‘gentleman’s agreement’ not to conclude peace treaties with small states, a small gesture which enabled the Soviets to structure their relationship with the Czechs however they pleased. Nevertheless, at Moscow British ideas for a broadly inclusive control arrangement for post-war Germany were shelved in favour of an exclusive Big Three affair; at Cairo, it was decided that the Japanese Empire should be dismantled, while the idea of universal trusteeship was mooted; and at Teheran, individual colonies like Dakar and New Caledonia were slated to become international trusteeships. For the US, trusteeship was in part a means to controlling

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Pacific islands without violating the Atlantic Charter, and in part a means of corralling expansionism, particularly the Joint Chiefs’ desire for outright sovereignty over Pacific islands.3 Even so, Roosevelt’s idea of how it should work, which veered towards something tantamount to taking colonies off weaker states like France, alarmed the British.4 It is unsurprising that British planners had difficulty understanding American intentions: American anti-colonialism was a complicated phenomenon, and while planners like Sumner Welles were genuine in their revulsion at colonialism, that sentiment was tempered (like everything) by war and post-war planning, Navy demands for outright expansionism, fears of Chinese or Soviet expansionism and the desire to ‘clean up’ important areas.5 American policy thus appeared to veer between internationalism and nationalism, though Congressional opinion became less grasping, and after Teheran Senators roundly criticised Roosevelt for basing policy on Stalin’s ‘angelic’ disposition while tossing the Atlantic Charter ‘out the window.’6 At Cairo, Roosevelt impressed Chiang Kai-shek with his desire to return Hong Kong to China, and proposed Chinese participation in a Pacific trusteeship system (which would guarantee American base-rights in former Japanese colonies without actually ruling them).7 While the Americans were unimpressed by British bigotry towards the Chinese – Churchill often said outrageous things – the British were genuinely appalled to find their vital interests bargained away in discussions with an ineffective junior partner like Chiang. These conferences suggested Anglo-American partnership was limited to Europe, meaning global questions remained wide open.8 Churchill himself tried to close some of these on the evening of 28 November, when he declared bluntly to his fair-weather friends that taking anything from Britain meant war.9 The deterioration of Britain’s position by the end of 1943 – the ‘little English donkey’ between the Russian bear and the American buffalo – meant the Dominion position also deteriorated. What is noticeable is that as Americans like Roosevelt and Hull became more optimistic, believing they had reached broad agreement or consensus with the Soviets, small states with an eye to the little details became more pessimistic.

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Britain and the ‘Four Power’ Plan The demands on British foreign policy were tremendous: to pursue a realistic post-war policy without offending Dominion sovereignty, American internationalism or Soviet aspirations. This was a tall order, but not impossible. As Jean Monnet pointed out in 1942: the US Government were in a mood combining extreme uncertainty with extreme receptivity ... advice should appear as far as possible to be dictated by consideration for the interests not of the British Empire but of the United Nations ... it should not lend the least colour to any suspicion that it proceeded from a covert design to lay the whole burden of the future maintenance of peace upon the United States.10 The ‘Four Power Plan’ satisfied these requirements by assuming the great powers would cooperate in keeping Germany and Japan down. Nigel Ronald (assistant undersecretary at the FO) wrote it ‘is just near enough to ‘make believe’ to avoid the fatal flaw of rigidity,’ while it had just ‘sufficient reality to act as a solid façade behind which what is practical in any regionalist ideas can be expected to work flexibly and effectively.’11 This flexibility was important: the Four Power Plan has been criticised as unrealistic, but what we shall see is that the process of policy-making in good faith was just as important as the structure of policy, and those states (like the Soviet Union) which proceeded directly to the most apparently ‘realistic’ solution to post-war order were incapable of offering a vision to which anyone else would voluntarily subscribe. The Four Power Plan, presented by Eden to the War Cabinet on 27 November 1942, invited discussion by everyone from Stafford Cripps and Orme Sargent to Richard Law and Leo Amery (who disagreed with it). It began with the paradox of British power: ‘we have to maintain our position as an Empire and a Commonwealth,’ Eden wrote; ‘if we fail to do so we cannot exist as a world Power.’ Yet, Britain needed allies: ‘we can only hope to play our part either as a European Power or as a world Power if we ourselves form part of a wider organisation.’

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British power required powerful allies, but powerful allies would only respect British power. The United Nations provided a means of securing these objectives: ‘if there is not this co-operation,’ Eden warned, then I can see a prospect of a world in precarious balance, with the Great Powers, each with its circle of client States, facing each other in a rivalry which will merge imperceptibly into hostility ... the most desirable answer might be for the British Commonwealth and the United States to arrogate to themselves the leadership of the United Nations. For a variety of reasons, however, this would, I believe, be impracticable ... the Russians ... would not tolerate an undiluted Anglo-Saxon hegemony ... Nor, I think, would the Americans welcome co-operation if it were expressed in terms of a joint Anglo-American leadership.12 A longer, ‘departmental,’ draft, not meant for the Cabinet, emphasised several further features. First, the great powers must remain engaged in world security; they must not lapse into ‘limited liability,’ or competing regional blocs. Second, the colonial empire would probably have to be treated ‘in trust,’ i.e., the ideal of self-government would be the price of American commitment to world order. The essential logic of the plan was an inclusive concert of power, recognising that Britain depended on consultation and persuasion.13 It thus balanced internationalism and realism: as conversations between Lord Halifax and the FRPS in Oxford had emphasised in mid-1942, America would want international cooperation to be realist in practice but internationalist in form.14 At the same time, Eden emphasised the necessity of securing Dominion support for the plan.15 Churchill had different ideas. He penned his own pensées matinales at two in the morning on Sunday 31 January 1943, during the Adena Conference. The ‘morning thoughts’ touched upon the foundations of post-war order: disarmament of the enemy powers, the aerial predominance of the Allies, a new ‘League,’ and a regional system of security, centred upon Europe and East Asia, supported by other regional security blocs.16 Jebb threw a fit when he learned of the competing document, though Cadogan saved him from saying anything foolish

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to Churchill: ‘it always happens when one goes abroad,’ Cadogan wrote irritably, the little quill-drivers in their cells pass a fine tooth comb through everything and wail that we have ‘sold the pass.’ Do them a lot of good to go abroad –and stay there.17 As it happened, Jebb did go abroad with Eden to Washington. He was also justified in his annoyance: British officials and ministers now had one idea about post-war order, Churchill had another. As Churchill personally directed the war with Roosevelt and Stalin, it was the pensées which were dispatched to the great men. Churchill further developed his ideas in conversation with American statesmen during the Trident Conference on 22 May, where he outlined a proposal for a world council consisting of the Big Four, sustained by and sustaining three regional councils in Asia, the Western hemisphere and Europe, as well as by a ‘fraternal’ Anglo-American association.18 Nothing too radical, but Churchill’s ideas cast the problems of regionalism versus universalism, Anglo-American power versus global consensus, into sharp relief. These questions were not decisively answered until the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting of 1944, when Churchill was forced to accept the Foreign Office view.19 Jebb redrafted the ‘United Nations Plan,’ alongside Eden and Charles Webster (an academic), and submitted it to the War Cabinet in mid-1943. A central line of Jebb’s policy continued to be a great power ‘concert,’ no doubt encouraged by Webster (a prominent student of the Congress of Vienna). Cooperation would be enshrined in a World Council representing the great powers, and possibly smaller powers on a regional basis (to a maximum of 11 or 12 members), though smaller powers would not be allowed to prevent the great powers from preserving the peace. The Council would: (a) smooth out difficulties between the great powers; and (b) restrain aggressors and promote peaceful settlement in disputes. Below the world council, regional bodies would provide economic and strategic integration; specialised bodies dealing with colonies (organised on regional lines) and the world economy (an universal organisation)

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would further promote integration; a secretariat would assist the Council.20 Jebb provided a means to succeed by failing. If his plan worked, so much the better; if it failed, it would leave Britain, the Commonwealth and the Americans more committed to one another under the banner of world unity than would have been possible either under the banner of ‘American Century’ or of ‘Greater England.’

The Military Implications of a General Settlement Diplomatically, Jebb’s planning offered a means of pursuing a realistic and flexible policy. Militarily, however, the Four Power Plan reminded the Chiefs of Staff of the bad old days when Britain, complete with rolling ten-year rule, pretended all was well in a deeply troubled Europe. Julian Lewis has shown that neither the Strategic Planners nor the Directors of Plans were consulted by Jebb. The ambiguous status of his committee allowed him to formulate plans with military implications for a civilian audience, but without reference to military planners.21 Jebb might accuse Amery of being an ‘English Luce,’ but Amery’s protest, that keeping Germany or Japan down would not preserve ‘unity of outlook’ between east and west, was well-founded.22 While Jebb’s policy was a flexible tool in the hands of a seasoned diplomat, the military was right to be concerned at what it might become in the fumbling grasp of an amateur minister. The first paper for Jebb’s committee on the military implications of a general international organisation (or GIO, for ease of reference) was drafted by Air Vice Marshal Sir Arthur Longmore, arguing for regional forces consisting of national contingents under an appointed commander for the purposes of preserving peace.23 The PHP sub-committee concluded this would require a worldwide network of bases, and that only a general (world) system would make states contribute to such a framework. Moreover, Russian cooperation would only be forthcoming if the basic object were suppressing Germany.24 On these assumptions, Jebb wrote ‘The Military Aspect of any Post-War Security Organisation,’ which he presented to the PHP sub-committee on 20 December.25 The ensuing discussions involved Charles Webster,

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Arnold Toynbee, Lord Hood (FO) and Godfrey Boyd-Shannon (DO). This paper sparked the argument between the FO and COS, which concluded with the integration of Jebb’s ideas into the British GIO draft, and the reorganisation of the PHP Sub-Committee to rid it of what the Chiefs of Staff perceived as an unhealthy and irresponsible FO element.26 Jebb’s paper called for a ‘military staff committee’ (MSC), to be attached to the world council of the GIO. This committee would be a global Combined Chiefs of Staff, coordinating forces allocated by various states, enforcing the decisions of the world council, formulating joint exercises and developing joint plans. To this, Jebb added a covering note, stating that the MSC was meant, to be an acceptable middle way between impracticable proposals for a completely internationalised police force ... and proposals which would, in fact, amount to doing nothing at all beyond organising ... what Mr. Lippmann calls ‘nuclear alliances.’ It remains true in our view that in the absence of something like nuclear alliances, world peace cannot be preserved for very long; but it is also true that in the absence of some scheme which can at least be represented as a step towards the creation of an international society, we are not in practice likely to get our nuclear alliances.27 The diplomatic process this embodied was sound; the structure was bound to make the Chiefs of Staff gag. At a stormy meeting between Jebb and the Chiefs of Staff on 17 February 1944, they emphasised their post-war assumptions rested on the Combined Chiefs of Staff, whose success would not be imperilled. Arguing ‘the Russians would have a very large sphere of their own ... and that China was anyhow rather a joke,’ the Chiefs of Staff would go no further than the AngloAmerican system.28 It is too easy to conclude this was a debate between the hard realists of the military and the airy intellectuals of the Foreign Office.29 Consider that the Chiefs of Staff apparently cherished the belief that Canada, India, Eire, etc., would, after the war, happily place their

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military manpower at the disposal of an exclusive Anglo-American concern. This was not a sustainable policy assumption – whereas what did happen was that India and Pakistan became prominent peacekeepers under UN auspices. The real debate was about which ideals were most realistic. The business of the COS was to win the war with what material they had. It was the business of the FO to point out more than half that material originated in the Empire-Commonwealth, and to consider how to ensure it would be forthcoming at some later date. Even so, the Chiefs of Staff would not imperil hard-won AngloAmerican cooperation by handing the Russians a veto over it. The demands of Commonwealth diplomacy broke the deadlock between Jebb and the Chiefs of Staff, as ministers demanded the COS produce material pertaining to the military aspects of any post-war settlement and post-war Commonwealth cooperation. ‘These two items,’ Lord Cranborne wrote, must necessarily be considered in relation to each other. The first includes international security in its military sense, international police forces, the common use of bases, and the establishment of security regions or zones. The second includes not only the machinery for associating the Dominions in the formulation of an Imperial defence policy, but also methods for co-ordinating the action, training, equipment and organisation of the forces of the Commonwealth and developing industrial potential.30 Britain’s aim, Cranborne continued, must be to secure Commonwealth agreement to continuing defence liaison. Further missives from Bevin and Amery demonstrated that the COS were surrounded. They approved Jebb’s paper at the end of the month,31 and consoled themselves by reorganising him out of PHP.32 Jebb’s paper thereby became the basis of the British draft on post-war world organisation.

British Policy: Core Questions British policy between 1942 and 1944 resolved into three key questions. First, regional versus world security. This divided Churchill,

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with his ‘morning thoughts,’ from Eden/Jebb, with the ‘Four Power Plan.’ Second, post-war cooperation, which pitted the accurate military calculations of the Chiefs of Staff, seeking to defend Britain and the Britannic World, against the no less accurate diplomatic calculations of the Foreign Office, which knew that neither America nor the Dominions would defend ‘Britain,’ or the ‘Britannic World,’ save as part of a general post-war order. Third, Commonwealth representation in post-war order divided the Dominions Office and perceptive High Commissioners from the Foreign Office and the Chiefs of Staff. Were the Dominions to band themselves together under British leadership, in order to wield a collective voice as a ‘superpower,’ or were they to cast themselves to their separate winds? These questions were asked and asked again: Jebb was a pain, but friction is a necessary component of traction. Good planning is founded on hard questions, not easy answers. One answer was hammered out in the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting of 1944, another came of San Francisco, yet another at the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting of 1946. These events will be dealt with over the second half of this book. In the meantime, we must consider the different visions of post-war order emerging across the Commonwealth.

South Africa: Hinge of the Commonwealth? Smuts’ long-term goal was the expansion of South Africa (beginning with Southwest Africa), which he hoped to promote through British gratitude.33 Most South African planning revolved round this goal. The biggest problem facing South Africa – the reason Smuts sought expansion – was the problem of employing European labour and ‘developing’ the native population.34 Social stability required social security, but this, and the employment problem, required the expansion of South African industry and trade.35 It was clear that wasteful secondary industries had flourished behind high tariff barriers during the war years,36 while negotiations in London indicated that America wanted to destroy imperial preference.37 Economic growth required a regional strategy to develop South African resources and accommodate the ‘native’ population. Ideally, colonial units would expand, with a

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greater South Africa matched by a greater East Africa.38 This would preclude the need for a regional customs union and would moreover provide an outlet for the metallurgical expertise of the Union.39 The essential belief was that there were big opportunities in Africa, and South Africa could capitalise on them.40 To Smuts, Africa was the hinge of the Commonwealth, and the Commonwealth needed a free hand in Africa.41 This meant preventing the intrusion of the GIO, which would herald the intrusion of greatpower rivalries and politics, making African colonies into bargaining counters. The only vital objective was the incorporation of Southwest Africa.42 To this end, Smuts had very definite views on Germany and Russia: Germany should be partitioned and an Anglo-German alliance might guarantee European security;43 Russian influence in India, South-Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean should be avoided.44 Direct Russian influence in Africa, or worse, a Russian Mandate, would disrupt Commonwealth communications and exacerbate the problems of post-war settlement, reconstruction and development.45 America posed similar problems, and Smuts noted American idealism did not apparently include US Navy objectives.46 Smuts wanted to balance American power.47 If Britain would not fight for the independence of the Empire, Smuts would: he was opposed to invasive international trusteeship, or to colonial supervision.48 The purpose of the GIO was to smooth out great-power friction on the Asia-Pacific Rim and in Europe, i.e. to keep the great powers out of Africa.49 As to African colonies, Smuts reserved South Africa’s independence of action. There was some similarity in British and South African plans for Africa: both regarded it as an important field of post-war development precisely because it could be made exclusive.50 Yet, relative British decline was felt more keenly on the edges of imperial power than at the centre. Smuts ‘regarded South Africa’s function as bolstering imperial power in Africa, against a background of declining British strength,’ that is, Smuts wanted to negotiate the development of Africa with Britain alone.51 Britain, by contrast, was able to negotiate her terms with the great powers, the international community, emerging international organisations, and emerging nationalists. This capacity for negotiation made all the difference.

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Canada: Squaring the Quartersphere Canadian policy was characterised by fear: ‘paper guarantees given by the State Department’ of Canadian independence were worthless to the US Army.52 General Maurice Pope put it another way: what ‘we have to fear is more a lack of confidence in [the] United States as to our security, rather than enemy action.’53 Meanwhile, the peace slipped further away. Disillusionment with the post-war era helped defeat government candidates at three by-elections.54 In November, the Moscow Declaration signalled that Ottawa was not influencing the peace. The declaration dashed the optimistic belief that Canadian contributions to policing Germany or Italy would earn membership on inter-Allied control machinery.55 What the declaration did promise was a world organisation, which became the focus of Canadian planning.56 Dana Wilgress, Canada’s man in Moscow, observed the widespread belief the Moscow Declaration amounted to a ‘Holy Alliance.’57 Lester Pearson noted resentfully that ‘the government and people of any nation, however small, must desire to participate in the great task of ensuring its own security.’ As a ‘big little power,’ or ‘little big power,’ Canada with her Commonwealth experience was in a position to lead secondary nations, like Holland or Belgium, who were excluded from Big-Four decision-making yet vitally interested in their decisions. He concluded that Canada might make a declaration supporting the Moscow Conference.58 The Moscow Declaration altered Canadian planning, from whether Canada ought to participate militarily in the peace, to how best to influence the outcome of the peace, whether by balancing, bandwagoning or binding the great powers. The Working Committee on Post-Hostilities Problems became the centre of Canadian peace planning.59 Most studies were finished by late-1944; thereafter, too many Canadian diplomats were committed to the conferences which comprised the peace. Areas of study included: the organisation of security on a regional versus universal basis, post-war defence arrangements with the US, Canadian policy towards the defence of Newfoundland, Canadian military interests in Greenland and Iceland, the Canadian position in the event of strained Russo-American relations, the Canadian role in North Pacific defence,

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and the relative merits of the British Commonwealth Air Training Scheme.60 Many remain classified: these were the first technical studies of Canada’s ‘permanent’ geo-strategic interests. Canadian studies commenced with comment on Jebb’s paper on the military aspects of the GIO. Whereas the British Chiefs of Staff denigrated ideas like an international air force or a rapid-reaction force, the Working Committee referred to the Commonwealth experience in developing an ‘international’ air force (e.g. the Empire Air Training Scheme), relying on common equipment and training; the war itself demonstrated that an inter-allied command could be successful. These experiences might, the Canadians suggested, be reason enough to provide the GIO with an experimental reaction force.61 The Canadians, in contrast to the British, took an essentially positive approach to the GIO.62 There was a similar contrast in approaches to post-war civil aviation. The British wanted to reserve routes for the Empire and treat the Commonwealth as a single defensive unit, without considering that this might encourage the US and Russia to similarly reserve routes, and so develop rival blocs.63 Canadian planning aimed to avoid blocs; British planning suggested their inevitability. Further papers emphasised these differences. In Canada’s view, secondary powers were important to the success of a GIO.64 Churchill’s idea for regional councils would be insufficient: (a) the sea had ceased to act as a barrier; (b) regional boundaries were arbitrary (was Canada an Atlantic or Arctic power?); (c) regions would become spheres of influence; and (d) regional councils would endanger Commonwealth cooperation.65 The great advantage of the GIO was flexibility, so that multiple tiers of security (such as the Permanent Joint Board of Defence) and Commonwealth security might exist happily within it. The GIO might also allow Canada the happy freedom of providing ‘international’ bases in enforcement actions, while retaining her own neutrality; but a study of this peculiar question was inconclusive.66

America and the Post-War Settlement In 1943, Hume Wrong wanted to understand American policy-making as thoroughly as he did British.67 Escott Reid undertook an exhaustive

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study, from the Advisory Council on Foreign Policy to the sub-divisions of the Office of Transportation and Commodities. He identified the Executive Director of the State Department Committee on Postwar Programs, Leo Pasvolsky, and the chief of the Division of International Security and Organization, Harley Notter, as confidants of Cordell Hull.68 This circle was the closest equivalent to the Canadian Working Committee, though Reid warned of ‘the confusion which constantly exists in Washington due to conflicts between independent agencies of the government.’69 Discussions with Notter and Pasvolsky produced no formal liaison, but they became useful contacts.70 Reid’s investigations also helped him establish ‘serious’ diplomatic credentials in Washington, which, in turn, clarified Canada’s sovereign status. Reid’s investigations made him even more suspicious of American high politics: Roosevelt, in his view, was a crass opportunist and nationalist lacking serious commitment to internationalism. The Americans assumed war was likely within thirty years, opposed an international police force or internationalised airspace, opposed commitments to the GIO, and sought US commercial air supremacy. In Washington in mid-1944 (significantly, the height of the election season), Reid concluded that the prospects for world peace were slim.71 While Pearson left a number of cutting annotations on Reid’s memorandum, he also regarded Reid’s conclusions as significant. In his own memorandum to King a month later, Pearson made many of the same points, concluding, a consciousness of growing national strength and pride in the prowess of the armed forces have strengthened a tendency to disregard intermediate and small powers and, indeed, treat them with an impatience which will cause even more resentment after than during the war. This resentment merges into fear and suspicion when the United States, in the natural desire to defend itself against attack, seems to covet other nations’ territory ... Forgetfulness of the state of impotence and frustration of the United States in 1940 has made many Americans scornful of those nations which, not protected by vast oceans, fell quickly before the first fury of the German and Japanese attacks.72

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After the election, Pearson warned, Roosevelt might find US opinion hardened into a nationalist mould, and wished he had stood his ground as an internationalist.

The General Settlement and Canadian Security The Post-Hostilities Problems working committee became progressively more realistic, framing Canadian security within three spheres, North America, the Commonwealth, and the GIO,73 and recognising that any action undertaken by Canada in defence of international order would invite reprisal or war.74 By September, the working committee had three essential assumptions: (1) US-Canadian relations would cause no irreconcilable conflict of interest; (2) there would be no direct threat to North America for several years, possibly a decade; and (3) the victor nations, including America, would maintain larger armed forces after the war. North American defence was a question of aviation, especially Arctic aviation. American defence demanded the defence of Canada, Newfoundland, Alaska, Greenland and Iceland. It was vital to co-ordinate the defence of Canada and the United States, in part by retaining the Permanent Joint Board of Defence, while Canada had to accept full responsibility, including financial responsibility, for defence measures within her own territory and, if possible, also Newfoundland and Labrador. America was expected to take special interest in Canadian preparedness; she would not express her wishes with British tact; a friendly America meant a secure America. ‘This coordination,’ the committee concluded, ‘which would in fact constitute a regional defence system, would not conflict with the purposes of the world security organization, but would take its place as part of a plan of universal security.’75 Further studies highlighted the importance of contributions to post-hostilities machinery in Italy and Germany,76 and Britain’s import as the frontline of Atlantic defence.77 Commonwealth coordination, though diluted by American participation, continued to be the essential reality in the armed services, air training, supply and research. Britain remained Canada’s closest defence partner. A more detailed report concluded neither Canada nor Britain would be able to

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avoid involvement in a major war involving the other. It was necessary to ensure the continuation of Commonwealth defence while, within the GIO, Commonwealth defence would promote peace. Ideally, the US would be brought into alignment with Britain and Canada. In any event, Canada remained a strategic reserve for Britain.78 Canadian assumptions concerning the post-war period now rested less upon a ‘positive’ interpretation of the GIO, and more upon the continuation of Canada’s two major security relationships, irrespective of AngloAmerican relations.79 The GIO had become, to Canadian planners, a means of squaring the uneasy circle formed around Canada by Russia, Britain, and the United States. Little wonder the big power complex was itself regarded as a threat: ‘they complain,’ MacDonald wrote, ‘that if these powers cannot agree between themselves, or cannot be persuaded to agree by the efforts of the smaller powers, the outlook for the post-war world in general is deplorable.’80 The basic assumption of Canadian policy was that a GIO offered the best means of restraining the great powers.

Defending Australia The Cairo Conference dismayed Australians just as the Moscow Conference dismayed Canadians, prompting the sort of urgency on post-war planning that Bruce81 and Hasluck82 had been urging from early 1943. As in Canada, fear of American intentions was a key factor: in the South Pacific, Hasluck wrote, ‘there seems to be lack of United Kingdom interest on the one hand and rather too lively an American interest on the other hand.’83 Unlike the Canadians, Australian planners had to push their proposals despite substantial bureaucratic and ministerial opposition. While generally uncommunicative, the Australian Department of Defence did submit a candid review for the Canberra Conference in January 1944. Australia must be capable of defending herself from a first-class Asiatic power in the post-war period. Even if a friendly power such as the US controlled the Japanese mandates after the war, imperial defence offered the only serious guarantee of security to Australia and New Zealand. The nature of long-range air power, and the belief

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that offensive operations were the soundest basis for defending the Pacific, led the Defence Committee to conclude that the outer ring of Australian security lay across Kilindini (in Kenya), Ceylon, New Hebrides, Pearl Harbour, New Caledonia and the Solomon Islands. Timor was recommended as a forward bulwark of Darwin, while Rabaul (in the Admiralty Islands) was a potential hinge of Australian operations to the far north. The Netherlands East Indies had to remain friendly to Australia. Base-construction was recommended in the Solomon-New Hebrides area (potentially in connection with New Zealand and Britain) and strongly recommended in Sourabaya; it was suggested that New Zealand maintain a base on Fiji (see map 4). As for the GIO, it might undertake international controls and joint defence in the arc from Singapore to Fiji.84 Privately, the Commander in Chief, General Blamey, submitted a ‘more mature’ appreciation. Blamey noted that while Australia might benefit from American bases, it was important that Australia be capable of defending itself in case of ‘realignments.’ New Zealand derived security from Australia; since it was disinclined to follow Australia’s lead, no serious commitment should be made to New Zealand. Timor might be a useful base, but Portugal would probably ask too much for it. Finally, he argued an obsession with offence obscured the point that Australia’s key interest was in denying bases to enemies, rather than holding them.85 Hasluck had anticipated the connection between colonies and regional defence in the production of a massive handbook on the southwest Pacific.86 Throughout 1943, it had become clear (a) that American attitudes to Pacific colonies were uncertain, sometimes veering towards the belief that everyone was happier as a US naval base;87 (b) that a system of international supervision of colonies would promote great power cooperation in the Pacific, thereby protecting Australia from being dominated by China or America.88 The main point was that Australians were settling on clear, specific interests. As Curtin summarised the Australian position during the Canberra Conference, it must be seen as three concentric circles: Australia, the Empire, and the GIO.89 This became the basis of Hasluck’s post-hostilities planning.

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Defining Australian Aspirations Hasluck developed a detailed brief on Pacific security. Australian security after the war would be about position and populations. Geostrategically, Australia could balance American power by helping the western colonial powers to maintain themselves in the Pacific. British naval power was not sufficient to protect Australia; a permanent alliance of great powers in the region, or an effective system of international security, was critical. Yet, the possible collapse of such a system demanded that Australia be able to defend herself. This meant taking responsibility for regional policing, including base rights, while Australia should also participate in the security arrangements of Malaya, the Netherlands East Indies, the Japanese Mandated Islands, and British Pacific possessions. Such broad participation would only be sustainable via general supervision, through a GIO. As to populations, it was infinitely preferable that Asiatic countries export products, not people. Colonial development was a long-term security concern, and this too required general supervision, to gain support and financial backing for sound development. Hasluck’s report concluded, our long-term interest lies in the emergence of a group of selfreliant and co-operative Western Pacific States. Guidance by advanced nations, however, will obviously be indispensable for a considerable time. This fits in with our vital interest in having Western Powers present in the Pacific region, for security reasons, but it will also be necessary in our interests that this guidance be subject to external supervision in which we could participate.90 This provided the basis of Australian trusteeship policy. As in Canada, Australian planners decided that it was better to cede some sovereignty to a GIO for security, rather than risk losing both. Evatt and Hasluck increasingly linked security to the future of European colonies. Evatt distrusted the British, who gave too much to the Americans, and he distrusted the Americans, who were creating their own Pacific system.91 Nor did he trust Curtin, who went to London without a single DEA man.92 Curtin thought the Dominion

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Premiers’ Conference would mainly concern itself with wartime problems.93 Nonetheless, Evatt worriedly peppered the Premiers’ Conference with telegrams. He warned Curtin not to take a position on the post-war disposition of Italian colonies, save universal trusteeship;94 he emphasised the importance of Commonwealth communications through the Mediterranean.95 He recommended that Australia take over the British role in the New Hebrides; he wanted to preserve French influence in Indo-China, and wanted Thailand under international trusteeship.96 He thought Australia’s interests were best served by keeping US power North of the Equator.97 In a longer telegram, Evatt wrote that the Dominions must be associated, from the beginning, with arrangements affecting the post-war order. He also wanted assurances of wholehearted British support for Dominion regional aspirations, in return for Dominion support in the Middle and Near East. Evatt was particularly concerned that Britain support Australian ideas for a Pacific Council; he appreciated that many Australian schemes simply would not fly without the backing of a great power.98 Curtin, in an asinine cable, assured Evatt he had not sacrificed Australian interests.99 This was not entirely true: many of Evatt’s points touched on trusteeship as addressed through the Australia-New Zealand agreement (see below); Curtin’s failure to raise or pursue many of them was quietly noted by Fraser, and did amount to a tacit reversal on Australian colonial policy.100 Throughout the second half of 1944, Hasluck’s section, then division, worked on the above problems, devising more detailed studies,101 while W.R. Hodgson sent a list of topics needing study from a military perspective to the Department of Defence.102 An effort to establish something akin to the Australia-New Zealand Agreement with India came to nothing,103 but Hasluck was spurred by the example of Canada which, as Alan Watt wrote, was steadily building up her prestige and influence in world affairs, pushing for international recognition of ‘middle’ powers. This was a rank to which Australia could aspire.104

Australia and Collective Security The DEA-Defence liaison bore fruit in October, 1944.105 The Defence Committee reaffirmed its commitment to future base locations, as

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per the Canberra Conference, and continued to stress that security was only attainable through a synthesis of collective security, Empire defence and Australian reliance upon a defensive island screen.106 The DEA, meanwhile, noted ‘collective security’ as framed in the Dumbarton Oaks draft charter (see chapter 5) admitted of regional security organisations. As such, Australia ought to promote the development of a regional security system to coincide with the various tiers of UN authority.107 This theme developed in 1945. Hasluck’s first argument was that Dumbarton Oaks excluded a statement on colonies, which ought to be rectified in light of the connection between colonies and security.108 Having examined the security structure proposed by Dumbarton Oaks in greater detail, and in light of the Australia-New Zealand Agreement, Hasluck wrote another paper, suggesting that any regional security structure ought to be kept separate from the UN, whose Military Staff Committee would be at liberty to develop its own regional sub-committees if it so chose.109 In January 1945, Hasluck met again with Defence, presumably with the above papers in hand. This meeting noted that, as yet, nothing had been done to further the goal of regional defence with New Zealand, partly because New Zealand had yet to establish a staff planning structure which could interact with Australian (or British) structures.110 On the armistice question, it was agreed that Australia ought to participate in the control agreements in the Far East. However, in light of the limited contribution which Australia could make to policing the armistice, re-establishing civil affairs in the South Pacific was higher priority. On Dumbarton Oaks, the meeting decided that the most pressing issue was a commitment from Britain to keep Australia informed, should Australia fail to gain membership on the Military Staff Committee.111 Hasluck’s division became increasingly pessimistic about the nascent UN: the council was vulnerable to excessive legal wrangling, the military staff agreements might lead to security breaches, and an ‘international air force’ was absurd in the Pacific, where security really meant carrier groups.112 The assembly came to be regarded as a backstop, which should have the right to assume control if the council

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abrogated its responsibilities.113 Most pressing was the colonial issue, which was left out of Dumbarton Oaks. Hasluck argued, for us in Australia, at any rate, the future stability, prosperity and strong defence of French, Dutch and Portuguese colonies in Asia and the South Seas are of vital importance. In being willing to continue to present our own colonial administration to a reasonable degree of scrutiny we would gain by bringing other colonial territories under an equal degree of scrutiny. International trusteeship, including oversight powers, was critical (a) to confirm the 1920 mandates held by the united nations; (b) to ensure that the Japanese and Italian overseas empires were not annexed; (c) to develop regional security by declaring certain areas ‘in trust;’ (d) to oversee the political progress of colonies; (e) to coordinate the activities of all the functional bodies in respect of colonies; and (f) to create a clearing house on compliance with international obligations. It should apply to all colonies universally.114 Australia and New Zealand views on trusteeship were thus more in line with American than British thinking, but it is important to recognise that Antipodean ideas developed independently. The nascent UN became the means by which the unacceptable, supervision of the colonies of other nations, occupation by America of important Pacific bases, the loss of Asiatic empires, became acceptable. It was accompanied by a desire to found an independent regional security organisation, partly because Australia could not get satisfaction from Canada on Empire Defence.115 As Bruce wrote, bitingly, the Commonwealth did not function: South Africa could not be relied upon to provide opinions or commitments; Canada avoided any responsibility at all.116 Australians ceased to think about British imperial defence, and to focus on locally-defined imperial defence, that is, the defence activities of the various imperial outlets of the Indian and South Pacific Oceans. The Australian objective was an adequate island screen, the emergence of friendly and well-developed Asiatic powers, and the propping up of local British power, to balance America in the Pacific rim. This would require particular settlements on an international, regional and local level.

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New Zealand Post-War Concerns New Zealand did not begin serious post-war planning until 1944.117 However, that did not make New Zealand policy a derivative of Australian policy. New Zealand was particularly opposed to the Australian desire for a regional South Pacific security complex. Instead, New Zealand was to press for the strongest GIO possible, and the British Commonwealth within it. Like other Dominions, she was concerned by the growth of American power, and the relative decline of British power. As Harry Batterbee gleefully observed, the Americans have tried to bully New Zealand in some things, and the independent New Zealander does not like it. Indeed his experience of Uncle Sam is making him turn back to father! If we play our cards well we shall be able to turn this to our advantage: but we must show our interest in the Pacific and our determination to maintain our position there.118 The Americans possessed none of Britain’s collegial charm, and their total inability to create a sane bureaucracy was an endless headache. A lend-lease requisition, for instance, required the Ministry of Supply to make a formal request to the US Lend-Lease Mission, which passed to the US Commander for the South Pacific Area, then to the New Zealand Supply Mission in Washington, from thence to the British Supply Mission in Washington, then to the American Lend-Lease authorities in the Foreign Economic Administration, before it went to the War Production Board for final allocation. Canada, with her special relationship to the US and her vast raw materials, may have had a privileged place near the peak of this Byzantine structure, but New Zealand did not. MacArthur was the local proconsul, Nash the distant Minister who made this arrangement work, but the framework in Washington changed often and New Zealand (rightly) suspected America of fixing things with an eye to post-war commercial domination.119 New Zealanders already had misgivings about American power in the Pacific: the Moscow and Cairo Conferences dashed hopes for a broad-based armistice in Europe or Japan, but also proposed the UN.

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These considerations marked the broad parameters of New Zealand thinking about security; the fact remains that detailed policy analysis began with the Canberra Conference.

The Canberra Conference and After The Canberra Conference in January 1944 between Australia and New Zealand demonstrated wide-ranging agreement and key areas of disagreement. Evatt had a fanatical desire to keep American power north of the Equator, but McIntosh wrote this was unacceptable, and anyway Americans were already established in Tutuila, though Fraser did put his name to a letter, with Curtin, mentioning that Australia, New Zealand and Britain ought to have ‘primary responsibility’ for policing south of the Equator.120 On other issues of security, Fraser rejected the Australian desire to take over the Solomon Islands, and suggested that any project in the New Hebrides be postponed to the post-war period. Aside from these reservations, McIntosh and the New Zealand delegation were surprised when Evatt suggested signing a definite written agreement – a treaty, in fact.121 This had not been mentioned in initial discussions leading to the conference.122 The idea appears to have occurred suddenly to Evatt, there was some discussion as to whether Australia and New Zealand actually had the power to make treaties, and the Parliamentary Draughtsman had to be called up at a late hour. Spontaneous or not, Fraser carefully reserved his position in his closing speech;123 wariness prevailed among New Zealand staff as to the precise nature of Australian intentions.124 New Zealanders wondered whether Evatt wanted to displace Britain as the main influence on New Zealand.125 The ‘War Cabinet Secretariat,’ i.e. McIntosh and Shanahan, followed the Canberra Conference with an appreciation of New Zealand strategic interests. The appreciation addressed the future of Pacific bases and other wartime facilities, and argued against British withdrawal from (or leasing of) any of her islands or facilities.126 The basic assumption of New Zealand policy was that America would remain friendly, while any threat would come from a first-class Asiatic power; areas vital to New Zealand included Norfolk Island, New Caledonia, Fiji, Samoa and Tonga; areas in which New Zealand had a strong interest

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were the New Hebrides, the Ellice Group, and the Cook Islands (see map 4). The report was sceptical of regional defence, which would further isolate New Zealand; it was crucial New Zealand base her security round a GIO and imperial defence. American interests in the Mariannas, Marshall and Caroline Islands were welcome and would promote consultation and cooperation with the Americans. America was, nonetheless, to be balanced by carefully maintaining strong British interests in the region, notably Fiji.127 This paper, which became New Zealand’s post-war defence policy, was effectively a New Zealand equivalent to post-hostilities planning. It was submitted to the Chiefs of Staff in March, and thence to a joint planning committee, consisting of Air Commodore Nevill and Brigadier Gentry, which considered it in light of Australian papers presented during the Canberra Conference.128 It is hard to say what became of this committee; it certainly continued to function.129 Its recommendations, and the original memorandum, were adopted in August by the Chiefs of Staff, who noted (a) that the Japanese mandates ought to go to a friendly power (not necessarily America); (b) that Norfolk Island was important, but not vital, to New Zealand security; and (c) that New Zealand should contribute appreciably to the defence of Fiji for Britain.130 This paper became ANZ (2) 14 during the Wellington Conference, at the end of 1944. Meanwhile, two private appreciations were prepared and submitted on the future of New Zealand defence. Sir Atwell Lake, Chief of the Naval Staff, submitted a paper directly to Peter Fraser. He identified imperial defence as the primary guarantee of New Zealand security, though admitted, grudgingly, that American forces in New Caledonia and Samoa had prevented Japanese advances. Lake argued that New Zealand should not allow her defence forces to return to pre-war levels, emphasising the importance of a well-balanced navy comprised of carriers, cruisers and battleships (he was convinced battleships would make a comeback).131 Walter Nash devised his own idea for a Pacific Federation, to integrate the colonial administrations of France, Holland, Britain, Australia, New Zealand and the US for defence and native welfare. However, ‘welfare’ was a gloss over detailed suggestions for allocating and maintaining bases collectively, with particular reference to open

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civil aviation. Nash did suggest that Polynesians, Micronesians and Melanesians ought to be represented on any federated body.132 While both papers were private appreciations, they demonstrated that postwar thinking among New Zealanders was centred upon the Pacific balance between Britain and America, either through an imperial or a federated approach; an ‘Anzaxis’ between Wellington and Canberra was but one component of such a solution.133

New Zealand and Collective Security New Zealand deliberately kept relations with Australia in low gear: the Wellington Conference, in late 1944, settled on a confidential series of agreed points, rather than a published agreement.134 Fraser spent the latter half of 1944 arguing for New Zealand participation in the Pacific war-effort;135 the view in Washington was that Antipodean soldiers ought to be used for garrison duties, and this was interpreted in Canberra and Wellington as glory-hounding and an ill-concealed effort to dominate the post-war settlement.136 As in the other Dominions, the United Nations became, for New Zealand, one of the few viable avenues for influencing the peace. Its importance is reflected in the conclusions of the Wellington Conference. These devoted considerable space to a joint Australia-New Zealand approach on the UN. The two states agreed that trusteeship and security were linked. They therefore agreed to push for an international colonial commission which ought to include non-colonial states, and exercise supervisory functions in respect of administration and welfare. All colonial and mandatory powers should report annually to the commission, which should be able to inspect dependent territories and issue public reports. The security of dependent territories was to be provided for within the world security system.137 Australia and New Zealand agreed to cooperate in the establishment of the world organisation, to work to increase the powers of the assembly, to work to ensure adequate Antipodean representation in all areas of the body, particularly the council, to promote an international air force, and automatic sanctions against aggressor states. They reserved the question of how much weight should be ascribed to regional organisations,

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and they also agreed that states should be able to decide whether to participate in military enforcements under the UN.138 Imperial defence remained a cornerstone of New Zealand thinking, but New Zealand diplomats, foremost J.V. Wilson139 and Carl Berendsen,140 quickly realised that the State Department starting point on the UN was actually closer to New Zealand than the Foreign Office. At the same time, New Zealand was adopting a view, less critical of America or Britain as such, but critical of the very idea of a ‘Big Three.’ As Carl Berendsen wrote of Dumbarton Oaks, it does not seem to me to be a tenable proposition that the very Powers who are ex hypothesi not to be bound by anything except their own free will are to be given by the same instrument a full and complete power in directing all the others what they are to do. Moving the great powers off their position, once established, would be difficult.141 Indeed, the ‘great power world’ which Berendsen felt Britain, the US and Russia were designing, had to be avoided in the UN and the international relations of New Zealand. As elsewhere in the Commonwealth, British paternalism now became a particular problem, less in itself, as Britain was sensitive and responsive to New Zealand, but because of its effect on the Americans, who had the wrong idea. New Zealand may have been relaxed about imperial relations, but she had no intention of ceding her independence.142 For all the Dominions, the GIO, which by the end of 1944 had taken shape as the nascent United Nations, came to represent the promise that their independence might be preserved in a world of competing great powers. Opinion diverged as to what, precisely, independence meant. For Canada, a balance between the US, Britain and USSR. For Australia, the assumption, with British backing, of responsibility for a broad security sphere in the South Pacific. For South Africa, an Africa free of superpower rivalry and interference. For New Zealand, a balance between Britain, the US and Australia. Some of these objectives were tenable. The pursuit of these objectives shaped the United Nations to a surprising degree. It is to this that we now turn.

CHAPTER 5 THE BRITISH COMMONWEALTH IN WORLD AFFAIRS

There are two courses: (1) to create a world community or society out of the United Nations, but open to all comers who will abide by the rules, and proceed with this as the basis of all future developments and (2) to create the postwar world with the Big Three in the role of creators and, after some years, to set up the society of nations to take over and maintain what would then be a going concern ... the British Government and Roosevelt ... (including Welles) ... give first priority to the Three Powers doing the job and then creating the world society later on ... Hull and a few of his lieutenants give first priority to the creation of the society with all the rest of reconstruction to be done by it or in its name ... We, of course, ardently support Hull but I doubt if our influence would count for very much. The British-Roosevelt formula has been followed and very successfully up to Moscow. UNRRA, the food conference, monetary policy, tariffs, etc., are all being taken on in advance of the world society.1 – Grant Dexter, 1944 At the beginning of 1944, two very different versions of world order were developing on parallel tracks: one was a vague sort of Holy

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Alliance framed round general principles and the personal relations of the warlords of the Grand Alliance; the other was a detailed, bureaucratic ideal of functional integration and problem-solving founded upon institutions that did not yet exist. The preference of small states for the latter version did not just reflect a realistic calculation that they would never possess sufficient raw power to be welcomed into a Holy Alliance (though Moscow and Cairo made that perfectly clear); it also reflected a growing understanding of the limits of all great power, and the inadequacy of guarantees provided by any one state. Prior to the war, each Dominion had written large cheques against the same bank, hoping they would not be cashed all at once: in 1937, General Hertzog equated Versailles to Vereeniging;2 in 1938, Mackenzie King rejected the Empire Air Training Scheme as too ‘imperial;’3 in 1939, Australia flirted with the idea of acquiring a capital ship, though her harbours could not accommodate the wider oil-burning variety.4 By 1944, they all knew different. Thanks to a quiet managerial revolution in political intelligence they all possessed a clinical understanding of their inadequacies. Knowledge was insecurity: no state possessed the necessary resources, infrastructure or expertise to meet its economic and strategic requirements. Planning and analysis ran far beyond practical politics, whether in Canadian ambitions for the Arctic, Australian ideas about the South Pacific, or British or American pretensions to world leadership. Those as-yet non-existent institutions were what bridged the void between what was needed and what could be provided. The ubiquity of these paper institutions was a tacit admission that post-war order could not be maintained by any one state. This fundamental admission lay at the heart of all British theorising about the post-war world, whether in the Chiefs of Staff, Churchill’s morning thoughts or Eden’s four power plan. When the British thought about cooperative solutions, moreover, the Commonwealth was their model. Halifax drew fire for applying Commonwealth terminology to his ‘declaration of interdependence,’ in Toronto, but his sentiment was not unique.5 Leo Amery similarly wrote to Smuts, noting that based on their shared principles of ‘Holism’ (Smuts was also the author of his own philosophy), the next step in world organisation should

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be the creation of new, cooperative commonwealths.6 Cadogan wondered whether the small nations of Europe must not become British Dominions,7 while the FRPS played with the idea of creating permanent bases in Holland or Belgium after the war.8 While the British persisted in seeing themselves as ‘leaders’ of the Commonwealth, the Commonwealth forced Britain to adopt a single consensual strategy for post-war order. This rankled considerably; as Lord Cranborne observed of the Canadians, they want to preserve complete liberty of action ... But they cannot explain this publicly. And so ... they build up a facade based on the rights of small countries and the fundamental wickedness of such countries attaching themselves to sectional blocs.9 This missed the point: Britain herself was not the problem, but the very idea of blocs built round the power and guarantees of a single great state. Aviation and the rise of new great powers meant no state could pretend to dwell comfortably at the far end of lines of imperial communication; they all resided at the centre of hotly contested zones with very particular interests to satisfy. This was why Brooke Claxton (Mackenzie King’s parliamentary assistant), for instance, dismissed imperial federation as a ‘hoary old discard,’ arguing sovereignty could only be pooled in genuine international organisations on which each state had adequate representation.10 The Dominions were not pushing Britain away in favour of America; their interest was in a different kind of global politics.

Britain and the Dominions A common, ‘Britannic’ strategy on the emerging United Nations developed out of a coincidence of two quite separate impulses: the Dominions needed Britain to share secret details and promote their lobbying efforts with the other great powers, while Britain needed the Dominions to sustain the notion of Britain as a power equal to Russia or the US. This was a marriage of convenience: every Commonwealth state had a different idea as to what the Commonwealth should mean.

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At the beginning of the war, King had steadfastly opposed institutional arrangements like an Imperial War Cabinet, while Robert Menzies was prepared to stand for the Westminster Parliament.11 Fraser put the problem of close Commonwealth consultation succinctly in 1943: I am apprehensive lest a British Commonwealth Conference ... should engender the suspicion on the part of the United Nations, particularly the United States and the USSR, that such a meeting represented an attempt to form a British Commonwealth understanding and bloc to the possible detriment of completely free discussion upon all the problems concerned when the United Nations of the world meet at a Peace Conference.12 There were other reasons for avoiding Commonwealth rhetoric. Smuts13 and King14 had to stay atop competing nationalist currents, while Curtin had to control a fractious Cabinet.15 All told, getting Dominion premiers to meet was quite hard enough; and since staffs had been meeting for years, this meant that by May 1944, when the premiers did meet, they were far behind their own bureaucracies. The meeting forced them to come to grips with the substantial planning documents that had been prepared, and to resolve many of the outstanding disagreements on them, including Churchill’s morning thoughts.

Diplomatic Drift As the Dominions developed their planning bureaucracies and clarified their positions during 1943, they became less sure of the precise British position on post-war order, because the British did not have a precise position. The Dominion Premiers’ Meeting cleared the air, and established a common Britannic framework for post-war order. Prior to that, the two poles of Commonwealth relations were Canada and Australia. While Canadian planners were willing to deal separately with Britain and America, it was preferable to deal with them together; therefore, Canadians inveighed against the balance of power, and argued only collective security would satisfy the demands of Imperial

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Defence.16 King thought the Canadian position, athwart AmericanSoviet air routes and awash with new oil, had become more dangerous during the war.17 What if a post-war catastrophe forced Canadians to choose between Britain and America? Any accoutrement of dependency became a grave threat: it was recommended Canada drop ‘dominion’ in favour of ‘federation,’18 develop her own flag, issue passports, develop her own honours and abandon the Great Seal.19 This altered the form but not the substance of Anglo-Canadian relations: Canadian survival depended upon making the correct decision in a catastrophe. The British would understand that more easily, Pearson groused, if only they regarded themselves as a Dominion once in a while.20 Whereas Canadian geopolitics enabled Canadian planners to fret endlessly about fine shades of engagement or disengagement, Australia and New Zealand were vitally interested, always, in diplomatic engagement, even when the great powers to be engaged were less than enthusiastic. Their geography meant they were vitally interested in a collaborative order in the Pacific, and fearful of American unilateralism.21 The Canberra Conference of January 1944 sent a message that Australia and New Zealand ought to be associated with post-war order in the South Pacific. The joint communiqué following the conference listed vital issues: concurrence in alterations to sovereignty in Pacific territories, extensive responsibility for post-war policing, clear delineation of interest in the Pacific north (US) and south (UK) of the equator, prohibition on the annexation of wartime facilities, and American-Commonwealth transparency in post-war territorial administration.22 Australia and New Zealand feared that Britain would forsake the Pacific settlement for Europe,23 thereby leaving the Americans to impose whatever peace they liked,24 or else that the Big Three would settle Pacific matters on a weekend conference somewhere sunny. Evatt had wanted to publicly censure the conduct of the Cairo Conference, but Fraser refused to do so.25 To Curtin and Fraser, Commonwealth ‘unity’ meant pushing Britain into underwriting their claims in the Pacific. The Curtin Government wanted it known that what was good for Australia – a voice in the peace process – was good for the Empire.26 This meant shoving Britain into balance-of-power politics in the Pacific. Americans were unhappy about Canberra. The House of

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Representatives began assembling a committee on post-war military and commercial policy to deal with the disposal of Pacific island bases, while the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee hauled Frank Knox in to testify on Canberra (where he bluntly asserted the Japanese mandated territories were Japanese and became American by right of conquest). The Congressional climate blew cold again.27 The Canadian High Commissioner in Canberra summarised: Curtin realizes that for good or bad the destiny of this country is definitely tied to Britain and that ... the best thing they can do is to have as much knowledge beforehand of trends in British foreign policy and as much opportunity as possible of influencing those trends by the presentation of an Australian point of view ... while this may look as though it were a policy of subservience to Britain yet in actuality it will be a deliberate policy aimed at protecting Australian interests to the greatest possible degree.28 Between Canada and the Antipodean Dominions, the Commonwealth was pulled in different directions. Towards the end of 1943 J.D. Campbell, a secretary in the Foreign Office, in a memorandum circulated to the Dominions, wrote that Britain must be prepared to do two things. First, ‘if we are not to endanger our relations with English-speaking peoples,’ Britain must take a ‘clear-eyed’ approach to Commonwealth relations, without resenting Dominions that were determined to have the best of Britain and/or America. ‘Second,’ he concluded, we must accept with good grace, though with no apologies for the past and indeed some insistence on our rights, the fact that the United States is now in an undefined way associated with the Commonwealth. It is asking a lot of human nature to expect manifold rivalries and jealousies to merge eventually into a workable collaboration of English-speaking peoples, but any reasonable plan for the future demands as much, and this first step forward may initiate some wider scheme about which, as

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Mr. Curtin has said, ‘men have dreamed.’ Under the pressure of war a beginning has been made.29 The question was whether Britain and the Commonwealth would be able to build upon that beginning. Any answer was bound to be complex: a viable solution had to address changing technology and the changing role of America in world politics, while a straightforward Anglo-American line-up would be unacceptable to many, not least in the Dominions. The real problem was how to frame a global settlement which, somehow, accounted for the specific objectives of Britain, the Dominions, and the United States.

British Preparations British preparations for the Dominions Premiers’ Meeting began in January, when it became apparent that the Dominions were willing to attend.30 The post-war settlement and GIO were left to Anthony Eden. Other issues were referred to a small committee, headed by Lord Cranborne, which was instructed to prepare the agenda and papers for the meeting.31 The committee included Leo Amery, Ernest Bevin and Colonel Stanley. There was substantial disagreement on issues like the implications of the international monetary fund for the sterling area (agreement was postponed) and the continuation of imperial preference (it was decided to reduce tariffs only if the US did so, too).32 Most difficult was the post-war coordination of defence policy. Australia seemed to want ‘some form of central co-ordinating machinery for the Empire,’ while, in Canada, ‘the tendency is perhaps rather in the opposite direction.’ No formal organisation could be suggested, because if it proved unacceptable to Canada, ‘her abstention could not be concealed and might have unfortunate repercussions in pushing her away from the Empire.’33 The trick therefore was to take advantage of the apparently cooperative spirit of Australia and New Zealand, without frightening Canada into a more independent stance.34 Commonwealth defence would, as Amery pointed out, be affected by what Britain took out of post-war order, such as air bases or strategic locations. ‘Our American friends,’ he observed, ‘have made it more

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than plain that they mean to do so.’35 Amery argued this sort of question could draw the Commonwealth together or drive it apart: Canada would be interested in air bases in Newfoundland, Greenland and Iceland (he suggested Canada would probably like Iceland to join the Commonwealth); India, Burma, Australia and New Zealand would be vitally concerned with Singapore, the Middle East and Malaya; South Africa would be interested in East Africa, the Middle East and the Indian Ocean. These tangled interests were likely to give rise to important questions, for instance, whether the Andaman Islands should belong to India or be made into a major base. Bevin’s solution to this difficulty was crucial in the years following the war. He argued for dividing the Commonwealth into a series of overlapping ‘defence areas.’ Thus, Holland could be associated with Australia, New Zealand and Britain for the purpose of defending the Indian Ocean, while the problems of Boer versus Britain would become more obscure, were South Africa to be given greater responsibility in Southern and East Africa. Common training on agreed training grounds (Canada for aviation, Africa for mechanised warfare) would facilitate imperial coordination, while common equipment would help ameliorate the British exchange position, particularly in light of the defence establishment she would have to maintain after the war.36 This was an inspired, pragmatic solution to the problem of the global Commonwealth: if the Dominions lacked a sense of shared political interest through the Empire, they possessed a broad range of regional interests. Bevin recognised how far the Dominions had gone towards becoming regional powers, and he recognised that Britain could gain more by encouraging and facilitating Dominion aspirations, than by pushing the Dominions to underwrite the entire British Empire. This was to become the essence of British policy towards the Dominions. As we have already seen, the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting also forced the Chiefs of Staff to agree Jebb’s draft on the military aspects of world organisation.37 The Chiefs of Staff were unhappy about British contributions to an organisation like the Military Staff Committee, but they found a silver lining. British sea or air power was not bound to any single region, while the extent of British power meant that Britain would have to be brought into consultation in every region. This would be the

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key to Commonwealth defence coordination. Rather than reorganise the Empire, which would generate conflict, existing liaison and consultation could be strengthened quietly. Meanwhile, geopolitics and the emerging UN would push Canada and South Africa to accept obligations whose fulfilment would entail coordination with Britain. The UN could thus become a pivot in the evolution of British Commonwealth defence,38 which would obscure any formal and, to Canada, objectionable, unified imperial defence machinery.39 There were numerous ways, between regional or global defence, imperial or collective security, that Britain could bend the emerging UN to her advantage.

The Dominion Premiers’ Meeting The Dominion Premiers’ Meeting ran from 1 to 16 May. It was an important moment in Commonwealth and Anglo-American relations. As Halifax observed, Americans were waiting to see whether the Commonwealth was an imperial power, or an institution with ‘an hereditary and concerted willingness to co-operate in world organisation.’40 The principal topics covered in the meeting were the war, shipping, civil aviation, colonial questions, foreign affairs in general, the post-war settlement, and the future of Commonwealth cooperation. The discussion of colonial affairs, where the Colonial Office, South Africa and the Australia-New Zealand group each had different interests and views, did not receive much consideration, apart from Fraser’s argument that an international trusteeship system was necessary, not least because it was Curtin rather than Evatt who put (or not) the Australian case, while Smuts preferred to wield influence quietly.41 We will focus upon the post-war settlement and Commonwealth cooperation. Reviewing foreign affairs, Eden identified Russia as the greatest post-war problem: Russia regarded herself as the only real victor in war, and enjoyed widespread support from Communist parties worldwide. American relations were infinitely happier, because consultation and collaboration existed at every level of government, in every arena of activity.42 Mackenzie King responded to this with his belief that everything possible must be done to bring Russia into general agreement on the

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post-war settlement, noting air power now placed Canada on an uncomfortable cross-roads between America, Russia, Europe and the Orient. Smuts expressed some relief that Anglo-American relations were moving forward smoothly, and expressed his own fear about the growth of Russian power, particularly in the Middle East and the Mediterranean, where she might lie across imperial communications.43 The importance of this meeting cannot be understated: both Canadian44 and Australian45 delegations had arrived in London fearing American postwar intentions. British confidence in Anglo-American relations was precisely what they had hoped to hear. Discussion of the post-war settlement provided Eden and Attlee with an opportunity to promote the Four Power Plan.46 This was a pleasant surprise to the Dominion premiers: Fraser felt British plans for collective security were ‘a sincere and comprehensive effort to meet the situation,’ while Mackenzie King called them ‘excellent’ and satisfactory to the Canadian electorate.47 Curtin expressed his appreciation of the general organisation, but also noted that his interest was in security proper, i.e. the sort provided by close Commonwealth cooperation, and not the mere label of security. Yet, the Dominions seemed agreed that security must be treated as a set of concentric circles: national, Commonwealth and general. Churchill circulated his own paper, based upon his pensées matinales, arguing for a system of regional councils, functioning under the world council.48 This generated quite an argument. King pointed out that the Commonwealth was closely associated with the US in a number of regions, through Canada and the Permanent Joint Board of Defence in the North Atlantic, but also in the Pacific and the Mediterranean; it would be foolish to damage this cooperation by artificially dividing regions. Without dismissing the ideas of his old friend, Smuts pointed out that the very word ‘region’ was loaded, as the Asian region was, in fact, closely concerned with the whole of the Pacific rim, and the European region concerned with the Mediterranean, North Africa and the Arab Peninsula. Eden and Attlee seized the opportunity to attack Churchill’s idea, Eden wondering which council would become ‘top dog,’ Attlee noting that any European region would exclude the Americans, priming Europe for Anglo-Soviet conflict.49

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At a another meeting two days later, Mackenzie King opened with a round attack on two of Churchill’s central principles: division of the world into regions, and the representation of the British Commonwealth and Empire on the world council. Fraser followed with his belief that it was important for New Zealand to be heard by the world, and not be subsumed in a regional body. This opened an almighty battle between Churchill, on one side, and Eden, Attlee and all the Dominion premiers on the other. It is good reading; at the end of it, Churchill withdrew his own plan for the world organisation.50 Churchill’s feelings were hurt. He demanded that FO memoranda be rewritten to take his own views on regionalism into account, but when the revisions were shown to Fraser, on 17 May, he reacted strongly. He had assumed the matter settled, and was unhappy about dividing the world into continental blocs. Eden wrote to Churchill that Fraser’s views were representative of the Commonwealth. ‘This is all to the good,’ Cadogan observed, ‘we may frighten the PM off his stupid line.’51 A new revision merely held the door open for regional organisation where Churchill wanted it keenly, in Europe. This proved acceptable, forming part of Britain’s proposals at Dumbarton Oaks.52 It became in turn the peculiar and significant niche reserved, under the UN Charter, for regional collective security. The Military Staff Committee and defence cooperation within the British Commonwealth were saved for the penultimate meeting of the conference. Lord Cranborne moved gently, connecting defence liaison to giving the world organisation ‘teeth,’ and raising hypothetical suggestions for military cooperation, whether through continuous contact, high-level or staff-level meetings, exchange of staff, expansion of the Imperial Defence College, standardised organisation/training and the scientific study and improvement of Commonwealth military industries. Characteristically, King deferred any judgement,53 while Curtin proposed an ‘empire secretariat,’ which was academic in light of Canadian objections, though King welcomed the idea that the Dominion High Commissioners might meet with the British Premier once a month. That last was the only idea to receive unreserved agreement; Cranborne’s suggestions were put off for further consultation. Despite the rebuff, British policy in this area eventually bore fruit.

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The Dominion Premiers’ Meeting was a turning point in Commonwealth relations. Progress was substantial: ‘all this is in marked contrast to 1937,’ Eden wrote, ‘and I admit that I find it very gratifying.’54 Heretofore the question was, what ought to be done? Major lines of policy were proposed in different quarters, whether a regional or global settlement, a centralised or informal Commonwealth, an united nations or Big Three peace. Now the question was, what could be done? The Commonwealth was to seek a global settlement sustained, in the first instance, by the UN and, in the second, by the common consent of the British Commonwealth, if not all the Englishspeaking peoples. A ‘Britannic’ vision of world order was beginning to emerge, capable of balancing global, imperial and local interests. The United Nations thereby came to represent the real centre of post-war order, as the means to resolve regional, imperial and global political problems. Yet, as Nicholas Mansergh observed, behind the problem of organisation, and giving to it its renewed importance, lay the problem of power. Dominion statesmen in their search for a pattern of post-war Commonwealth relations consistent with their varied needs and aspirations were moved above all by their awareness of the great changes in world power taking place before their eyes – changes which were ... the principal factor determining their attitudes towards the United Nations and problems of international security.55 The apparent success of the British Commonwealth in peace or war would not efface the problems of power, whether the rise of new states or the development of new technology; though the UN was to take the right shape, the Commonwealth was still to be thrown back upon its own resources as a guarantor of world order.

Smuts and Atomic Diplomacy Smuts played a quiet role, working closely with Churchill and Eden, supporting Britain publicly, pressing his own aims privately. During the Premiers’ Conference, Smuts had to confront a new imperative,

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clear and overriding in its implications: Churchill let him into the secret of Anglo-American research on atomic energy.56 Churchill’s principal motivation seems to have been to seek Smuts’ advice on whether to share the information with Stalin. Smuts advised caution: as the means of producing atomic energy lay within the US, disclosure must be a joint decision. ‘Of course,’ Smuts wrote, the discovery is both for war and peace, for destruction and beneficial use, the most amazing and important ever made by science. I have discussed its possibilities with the scientific experts who saw you also and it is clear that it opens a new chapter in human history. Something will have to be done about its control, but exactly what is at present far from clear. While it may be wise to keep the secret to ourselves for the moment, it will not long remain a secret and its disclosure after the war may start the most destructive competition in the world. It would therefore be advisable for you and the President once more to consider this matter, and especially the question whereby Stalin should be taken into the secret ... the matter cannot be allowed to drift indefinitely.57 If Smuts was unable to cope with every technical detail of the peace, he had an impressive grasp of the big picture. This gave Smuts another reason to ignore the details and focus on long-term Anglo-AmericanSoviet cooperation. There is no doubt that atomic power troubled Smuts deeply, as he was time and again to emphasise that another major war meant the end of humanity.58 For a time, South Africa became Britain’s most dutiful Dominion.

Dumbarton Oaks The Dumbarton Oaks Conference was a triumph of civilian post-war planning and diplomacy, directed by the State Department and the Foreign Office from August to October 1944. What was especially interesting – and what helped ensure the general success of the conference – was that the broad outline of State Department conclusions were not at all unlike the conclusions reached more or less independently in

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Britain and many of the Dominions, to wit that a normative commitment to internationalism was the only realistic means of establishing a lasting political framework for peace. As the US Sub-Committee on Security Problems had concluded in 1943, relying upon AngloAmerican alliance to preserve peace would be contrary to American traditions, and would encourage other states to balance against the US: ‘the historical experience of other states with a policy of security through alliances does not provide any basis for optimism that permanent peace could be secured to the United States by such a policy.’59 This basic sense of realism was fundamental to discussions at Dumbarton Oaks, informing American ambivalence towards enthusiastic Soviet proposals for an international air force (integrated into the Charter in a vague and ultimately meaningless fashion), or the decision to avoid discussion of trusteeship. It also reflected the growing importance of a diplomatic process quite distinct from the statesmanship of Churchill or Roosevelt. Despite the Four Power Plan, Churchill continued to swing between regionalism and spheres of influence; despite being handed the draft UN plan in 1943 by Welles, Roosevelt continued to refer to the ‘four policemen’ at Teheran and after.60 That is not to say statesmanship was dead, far from it: key issues at Dumbarton Oaks, such as the Security Council veto and the representation of Soviet ‘republics’ (giving the USSR more votes in the Assembly), had to be held over for decision at Yalta. As for the Dominions, Britain freely, if secretly,61 shared the American62 and Soviet63 draft papers, so that they observed the Conference through Britain at one remove. Despite information sharing, the Dominions all chose to wait and see what the Big Three agreed at Dumbarton Oaks. A number of questions – such as regional versus world organisation – had already been settled. While some officials, particularly Escott Reid, now began to analyse American policy,64 and to formulate possible responses to American proposals,65 for the most part the Dominions awaited developments. Tom D’Alton, in Wellington, cabled Evatt in August to remind him that he had not sent instructions,66 and Evatt’s address to the House of Representatives, on 8 September, failed to mention Dumbarton Oaks at all.67 Evatt did cable instructions in early September, but Sir Owen Dixon contributed little to discussions. The South African legation

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in Washington was preoccupied with the UNRRA Conference and the Presidential elections.68 Small foreign policy establishments were clearly a major pressure on the Dominions: Smuts had no staff dedicated to the question of post-war security; Hasluck’s troubles came to a head in July and were not resolved until mid-August;69 Fraser’s visit to London, and his subsequent journey across the United States, scattered the small core of New Zealand planning staff.70 The big surprise was that New Zealand repudiated the British draft paper.71 The British delegation had thought they held a Commonwealth brief.72 Berendsen said that New Zealand wanted the League Covenant retained, a means of securing global economic justice, a guarantee of national frontiers, and did not approve of the four-power method of discussion.73 These demands were not entirely idealistic: New Zealand recognised that her safety as a small wealthy state depended on satisfying the big poor states of Asia.74 Berendsen confessed that, for all he shared Fraser’s principles, he was embarrassed by the misapprehension New Zealand had caused.75 Embarrassed and exasperated, the British dumped their draft in favour of the American one, integrating important points like the Military Staff Committee (though important issues like command were not addressed) and regional collective security (not Churchill’s council of Europe, but a general allowance for regional organisations) into it.76 Smuts thought the British move politic, but it did demonstrate the Dominions were not the only states who could choose between America and the Empire. British action belatedly satisfied Canadian demands for a stronger assembly and an economic/social organisation,77 though Canadians wanted the latter associated with the assembly, while the Americans proposed association with the council.78 Nevertheless, disappointments were mounting through 1944: the draft instrument of surrender for Germany, quietly passed to the Dominions by Britain, allowed the Big Three to accept a surrender on ‘behalf’ of the united nations. Canada was first to protest,79 followed by Australia80 and New Zealand.81 Smuts alone felt that the draft instrument was practical.82 The Chicago Conference (see Chapter 6) was similarly disappointing. Combined with Bretton Woods and the British decision to drop their own draft at Dumbarton Oaks, the

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Dominions, despite their best efforts, were becoming more dependent on Britain for information and analysis. Even Smuts, who cabled his own statement in August (which his ambassador, Dr. Gie, pathetically read aloud to Commonwealth delegates), was a little dissatisfied, agreeing with Canada and New Zealand on the need for a stronger general assembly and opposing the great power veto.83

Canadian Lobbying The only country to attempt any serious lobbying during Dumbarton Oaks was, unsurprisingly, Canada. Mackenzie King prepared the ground with an early note to Cranborne, defending the position of ‘middle’ powers, and he had his best diplomat, Pearson, handling affairs.84 Pearson feared that Dumbarton Oaks would become a Big Three fait accompli. He pushed Cadogan to secure Big Three agreement to distribute the draft to allied powers, for comment, before agreeing to it publicly; he warned Ottawa that it needed to suggest amendments as quickly as possible.85 Robertson responded rapidly, assembling the External Affairs side of the PHP apparatus. Most of the points raised at the meeting became the basis of Canadian lobbying: an economic and social organisation should consist of a separate council, membership decided on the basis of economic importance, that would be associated with the assembly; the principle of functionalism should be urged, in practice, in the election of non-permanent members to the council; Canada should make an early statement of her position, and the position of ‘lesser’ powers, at an early date; the draft agreed at Dumbarton Oaks should be submitted to allied governments prior to being signed and released to the press.86 With a well-developed foreign policy machine, Canada developed an instant brief. Pearson now pushed the Americans and British at Dumbarton Oaks, speaking with Jack Hickerson (State Department) on 31 August and Gladwyn Jebb on 1 September. Hickerson assured him Americans were more alive to the problems of secondary states than the British,87 while Jebb assured him that the British proposal for the MSC included representation by all contributing states.88 Britain and

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America warmed to the idea of releasing the Dumbarton Oaks draft to the allied governments early. Privately, Cadogan grumped ‘the Dominions mustn’t be allowed to bully us too much,’89 but he pushed the Soviets for inclusion of social and economic questions in the draft, and pushed the Americans to remove wording by which the council ‘would represent and act on behalf of all members of the Organization,’ which Pearson felt over-committed secondary powers.90 Pearson also pushed for states to be consulted prior to the use of their armed forces in any enforcement action.91 The notion that great powers, possessing a veto, could direct smaller powers to go to war, also bothered Berendsen.92 ‘Bless my soul,’ Cadogan exclaimed, if we put in such provisions, the world will say ‘Where are the ‘teeth’ you promised to put into the Covenant?’ We are back where we were before.93 Still, Cadogan gained general agreement on a provision allowing any state, not a member of the council, to participate in council meetings dealing with a dispute to which it was a party or an issue in which it had a special interest. Pearson interpreted this to mean that no state would be asked to contribute forces, or impose economic sanctions, without some form of prior consultation.94 The British and American delegations also succeeded in convincing the Soviets to include social and economic matters in the draft.95 These were pretty solid concessions for someone who wasn’t invited to a ‘secret’ meeting. The Dumbarton Oaks draft still left much to be desired. As Berendsen wrote some weeks after the conference began, Dominion representatives were increasingly convinced that, ‘there is little to be gained by pressing their views any further here in the circumstances.’96 The draft would have to be accepted, in all its imperfection, but it was only a draft.

The Canadian Response Following Dumbarton Oaks, those Dominions with a post-hostilities planning apparatus formulated rapid responses. Heretofore, Canada

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led the Commonwealth in planning and organisation. Now Canadian policy stalled, while Australia and New Zealand caught up. Hasluck’s PHP committee began turning out a range of papers, New Zealand composed a cogent statement of its policies and, at Wellington at the end of the year, the two states agreed to pursue common goals at the forthcoming San Francisco conference. By 1945, each of these three Dominions had sophisticated and detailed policies in hand. Following the principle of ‘functionalism,’ the main Canadian objective was a special place for secondary powers, especially Canada. Britain was sympathetic, the US less so, the Soviets not at all. Functionalism also meant the veto (which China, in Canada’s view, did not deserve) was too broadly defined – available to the parties in a dispute for instance – and that the assembly lacked the power to make recommendations on peace and security, while the budget vote ought to be weighted according to contributions. Finally, the draft went too far on regional organisations, granting them the power to settle disputes. In other respects, the draft was quite satisfactory: the right to be admitted to council discussions in certain instances had been approved, Dumbarton Oaks was not a fait accompli, the economic and social organisation was to be under the assembly and to recognise functional contributions, and the Dominions were officially separate states, in distinct contrast to the Soviet ‘republics.’97 These points were placed in a draft statement well before most states even received a copy of Dumbarton Oaks,98 thanks to Britain.99 However, Wrong decided that a public statement of Canadian views would over-commit Canada to a specific platform, and might harm Roosevelt’s chance of re-election.100 Privately, Wrong was unhappy with Dumbarton Oaks; in conversation with Grant Dexter, he called it a ‘big-power set-up, with scant consideration for the little powers;’ he did not think Parliament would ratify it without revision.101 Pearson recommended that Canada begin lobbying Washington at once; if the work were done early, Canada might influence America as well as Britain. Pearson also recommended early contact with the French, who would no doubt be pleased with their council seat, but probably disappointed in other respects.102 Canada acted promptly to secure the support of other European nations; the Dutch, Czech and

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Polish Governments in Exile (in London) were given papers setting out the Canadian position. The response was generally good: Dr. van Kleffens (the Dutch Foreign Minister) commented that the Canadian position showed customary wisdom, while Mr. Nosek (the Czech Foreign Minister in Jan Masaryk’s absence) said ‘this might well have been a statement given by Mr. Masaryk.’103 Meanwhile, Canadian statesmen pushed their case in Washington and London. The State Department suggested that the Russians were the real source of intransigence in negotiations, particularly the Russian desire to make the new organisation the centrepiece of a three-power alliance. The reality was more complicated: it was true the Russians insisted on an absolute veto, but that insistence grew as states – China, France and Brazil were mooted – were added to the Council, while some kind of limited veto (on the use of force) was the absolute minimum demanded by Senator Vandenberg.104 While the State Department was disappointed that the veto agreed could be used by parties to a dispute, this was considered broadly realistic. As Chip Bohlen explained to Reid, it was probably unrealistic to ... provide for the application of sanctions against a great power such as the Soviet Union ... we would be faced with a first class war and not with police action.105 The Dominions Office similarly pointed out that the main point of the UN was to get the US and Russia to cooperate with Britain.106 What the Canadians really wanted was their own permanent council seat. Concerns about the status of ‘secondary powers,’ like Canada, and their association with the council, were placed into a memorandum by Wrong, approved by King and the War Committee and sent to the governments of the Big Four and France.107 The heart of the Canadian position was sound, to wit, there can be no full dinner-pail of nutritionally correct foods, financed by an international bank and carried safely to consumers over reduced tariff barriers by internationally-supervised airlines, so long as there are wars.108

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Yet no formula was suggested for how secondary states might be allocated a special position in all of this and, indeed, J.E. Read doubted whether any practical formula was possible.109 Most proposals were impossibly complex.110 As a result, the communiqué to the Big Five was a flop. By late January, it was quite clear to Canadians in Washington,111 and in London,112 that their lobbying efforts had failed. Canadians might protest that they were greater than Honduras, but Canada and Honduras were alike in their condition: they wanted their dinner pail, they wanted peace, and they lacked the power to take the one or impose the other. While Canada made progress with some states, particularly Holland, Canadian officials resigned themselves to waiting for the next conference.113

The Australian Response Dumbarton Oaks gave Hasluck the impetus he needed to push his post-hostilities planning section. Alan Watt was reporting helpfully that Canadian diplomacy was ingenious and energetic, and that Australia ought to copy Canadian methods.114 At the same time, the Australian military had to shape its own response to Dumbarton Oaks. Australian concerns focused upon logistics: the controversies which would arise over the command, location, composition and maintenance of any ‘international’ contingent, the question of whether any crazy-quilt organisation would hold together at a moment of crisis, the pertinent issue of whether states could overcome their disinclination to toss the latest gizmos into the common pot, and, for Australia, the critical problem of how a land-based ‘police force,’ or ‘international air force,’ would be any use at all in the South Pacific.115 Finally, there was the colonial question, on which the Dumbarton Oaks draft was frightfully silent. The State Department had originally wanted to address it, but was unable to agree a position with the US Chiefs of Staff, let alone consider how to agree that position with the British.116 Indeed, the Joint Chiefs argued an early controversy on trusteeship would prolong the war – an unanswerable objection.117 The Joint Chiefs continued to have Pacific islands in view,118 while Roosevelt continued to express interest in creating a new (yet

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ill-defined) order along the Pacific rim.119 Thus, there was considerable fear in Australia that the colonial question would be answered by the great powers each on their own, with no reference to common principles. It was a vital interest of Australia that she have some say in the distribution of power in the South Pacific. Unsurprisingly, Evatt wanted a trusteeship body or regional bodies associated with the assembly of the UN.120 This was broadly identical to the desires of the State Department, but it placed Australia in an uncomfortable position between Britain, which wanted to maintain full control over her colonies, Roosevelt, who wanted independence in some cases and international control of territories in others, and the US Joint Chiefs, who still wanted outright annexation. In any case, Australia had to be represented in any settlement.121 Initially, Hasluck worked from Canadian positions. His first paper dismissed the idea, briefly propounded by the Canadians, that the creation of the UN ought to wait until peace had been secured.122 Another paper rejected the notion, again briefly held by Canadians, that votes in the assembly be weighted according to relative interest in a question.123 Hasluck thought (in contrast to the Canadians) that regionalism was well-suited to the South Pacific, because regional governance involved complex administrative questions with European powers, while regional security demanded a sophisticated, combinedarms approach.124 On the question of security decision-making, Hasluck’s PHP machine decided that rapid action was better than the multiple tiers of council/assembly consultation and ratification desired by Canadian planners. Australian planners also, perhaps in deference to Fraser’s wishes, decided to support a firm UN guarantee of territory and sovereignty.125 Further papers provided more distinctly ‘Australian’ thinking. One major deficiency in the draft charter was the lack of core principles. The Atlantic Charter was suggested as a candidate for a preamble.126 The colonial question, which was of particular concern in the Antipodes, was addressed in two separate papers. The first recommended that the economic/social organisation oversee the budget and operations of major specialised organisations (e.g. the Food and Agriculture Organisation).127 The second recommended the creation

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of a new trusteeship commission, to be brought into relation with the assembly. This would allow the League mandates to be phased out, would help provide the oversight necessary to meet the colonial welfare provisions raised in the Australia-New Zealand Agreement and, conveniently, would allow Australia to scrap demilitarisation clauses in the old mandate agreements.128 Hasluck laid the foundations for detailed Australian thinking about the UN. Alongside Evatt’s sporadic contributions, this became the heart of Australian policy. A Canadian dispatch to Mackenzie King, in January, 1945, noted that Evatt had expressed his belief that both Canada and Australia ought to have permanent seats in the council. However, Evatt said it was unlikely that more than one Dominion would be able to secure it. ‘He requested,’ the dispatch concluded, ‘that this view be conveyed to you.’129 Whatever else has been said of Evatt, it was decent of him to let the Canadians know he was coming.

New Zealand The New Zealand response to Dumbarton Oaks was largely based upon the example of the League. This was not dewy-eyed idealism. The League had provided more concrete guarantees to small states like New Zealand.130 Even in 1944, the myth of Kiwi Internationalism was gaining credence. A perplexed J.V. Wilson wrote, I see some signs of it becoming dogma that NZ was a wholehearted supporter of League principles ... this light, if it shone, was very much under a bushel.131 If New Zealand supported the principle of territorial integrity, this was because New Zealand could still be ‘politically independent’ having lost the North or South Island. ‘I have often thought,’ Wilson wrote, ‘how this could be represented as a statesmanlike compromise.’ For a state with little power, it made sense to nail territorial integrity to the mast. Britain obviously helped guarantee New Zealand’s integrity, but New Zealand officials could not help but prefer self help.132

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With characteristic informality, New Zealand thoughts on Dumbarton Oaks were jotted down, possibly in a brain-storming session, and placed alongside other Commonwealth suggestions in an undated memorandum. Fundamental amendments to Dumbarton Oaks should include: the responsibility of states to promote human rights and freedoms, including freedom from want; an automatic response to any act of aggression; the right of the assembly to freely discuss any matter it chose in international affairs; the ratification of council votes by a (collectively binding) vote of the assembly; the capacity to amend the charter based upon two votes of the assembly, in separate sessions, and a concurring vote of the council, including not less than three permanent members.133 To make these views known, Berendsen mainly sought to lobby the State Department, deciding it was inappropriate to use the press as an instrument of pressure. Bizarrely, given how chagrined he had been at the surprise he caused in Britain over Dumbarton Oaks, he assumed the British already knew and understood the New Zealand position.134 Militarily, the New Zealand Chiefs of Staff decided, in conference with J.V. Wilson, that contributions to the UN must be determined on an Anglo-New Zealand basis. In contrast to Australia, the international air force was endorsed outright. As for regional security, the Chiefs of Staff preferred to place their faith in an Anglo-AustralianNew Zealand joint fleet in the South Pacific, cooperating with whatever fleet America decided to position in the North Pacific.135 Rather like the other Dominions, New Zealand (a) hoped to maintain local British commitments as a way of balancing American commitments; and (b) sought three concentric rings of security at the local, Commonwealth and global levels.

The Wellington Conference Australian and New Zealand planning, particularly on trusteeship and regional security, took definite shape during the low-key Wellington Conference at the beginning of November. On colonial policy, Australia proposed a four-part scheme: (1) a general colonial commission responsible to the world organisation, with supervisory

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functions over colonial administration and native welfare; (2) a system of regional advisory commissions; (3) the development of a separate organ(s) to ensure security in colonial areas; and (4) bringing the mandate system into line with the new organisations.136 Australian desire to establish a multilateral body to deal with colonial issues was no doubt motivated by frustration with allied policy towards the armistice and post-armistice arrangements, especially on the part of the US. Evatt claimed, rather too quickly as it happened, that the Canberra Conference had forced Americans to reassess their attitudes towards Pacific sovereignty: America, he said, ‘is not prepared to seek for new sovereignty or share of sovereignty south of the equator.’ At any rate, nothing more had been heard of the Five Senators.137 Yet, the Canberra Conference had also delivered less than promised: no ‘Pacific Conference’ was convened, nor had a Pacific Advisory Commission been established to shape (with Antipodean participation) the post-war settlement.138 The French provisional government, sensing perhaps Roosevelt’s antipathy to French holdings in the South Pacific, was willing to participate in any regional organisation which Australia and New Zealand might found; neither Britain nor America were willing to engage in ‘premature negotiations.’139 Nor was New Zealand to be bundled into an overblown Australian scheme for regional predominance in the South Pacific, particularly before Britain had agreed to it. Thus, New Zealand would only agree the establishment of a South Seas Regional Commission (SSRC), modelled upon the Caribbean Commission and principally concerned with native welfare and economic cooperation.140 This was hardly the burly sort of agreement Evatt wanted. In a letter discussing British views on the SSRC, some months after the Wellington Conference, Evatt wrote, the future stability, prosperity and strong defence of French, Dutch and Portuguese colonies in Asia and the South Seas are of vital importance. In being willing to continue to present our own colonial administration to a reasonable degree of scrutiny we would gain by bringing other colonial territories under an equal degree of scrutiny.141

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Fraser pointedly replied ‘the New Zealand view is that security is the concern of the General International Organisation;’ the SSRC, he reminded Evatt, was purely a welfare institution.142 If New Zealand would not agree outright a major security complex with Australia, she would not be backed into one. To be sure, New Zealand officials accepted that the post-war strategic environment, particularly in light of air power, meant that Australia and New Zealand depended for their security upon the extended security of island screens to the north;143 it was simply that New Zealand planners saw security as deriving from imperial cooperation and the UN.144 The difference between Evatt and Fraser stemmed from the difference in power and location between their two nations (recall General Blamey’s assertion that New Zealand security was derivative of Australian security), and also from Evatt’s natural suspicion of everyone, Britain included. Australia and New Zealand agreed that their joint colonial policy ought to include the creation of an international colonial commission, with responsibility for all colonies and mandates. The mandate system would thereby be subsumed in the new arrangement. They also agreed that regional commissions could associate themselves with the colonial commission. Security would be the province of the UN.145 As to the UN, Evatt told the conference that there was a definite danger the Dominions would have less real say in the forthcoming peace settlements in Europe and the Pacific than they had done under Lloyd George in 1919.146 At Canberra, at the beginning of the year, the chief reason for this had been identified as overweening American ambition. What is interesting about the Wellington Conference, at the end of the year, was that the USSR was now seen as the real problem. As Fraser said in response to Evatt, British and American difficulties stemmed from their efforts to preserve great power unity. They had to keep Russia in, ‘even when she insists upon the most undemocratic principles.’ Russian pretences (i.e. extra votes) with respect to her ‘autonomous’ republics were particularly disturbing; Fraser suggested (not very seriously) some form of test which states ought to pass before admission to international organisations. Difficulties with America were receding in importance. Fraser expressed the belief that no Pacific

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problem was so great it could not be surmounted by ‘getting round the table’ with the Americans.147 Cooperation with the US would be particularly important on the colonial question, where Americans were much more sympathetic to Antipodean proposals than the British.148 What the colonial issue and the Russian problem both illustrated was the need for principles, both in international affairs and in the charter of the UN. Rather more concretely, the two states also agreed that they must not become a backwater and, therefore, agreed to work to secure representation of one or the other on the UN council.149 The United Nations had become the centrepiece of Commonwealth diplomacy which would allow the Dominions to promote a post-war world free of power politics, and which would allow Britain to encourage greater Commonwealth participation in the provision of post-war security. Behind this there lay the universal anxiety caused by the rise of American power and the evolution of air power as it was filtered through new bureaucracies. All this promoted a convergence of Commonwealth policy in certain areas. To be sure, there were many other issues on which substantial disagreement remained, while the international organisation was fraught with competing policies. In the case of the latter, however, competition was over matters of detail rather than over the substantive idea behind the organisation. The Dominions remained concerned about American unilateralism or British imperialism, but many of their fears had been assuaged. Yet, there were two emerging problems. First, the new organisation was becoming all things to all statesmen, a vague never-never in which all the diplomatic contradictions of the war years would be resolved to the satisfaction of everyone. Second, if Britain and America were now less frightening, the Soviet Union was becoming the greatest potential threat to the new organisation; by extension, the Soviets were casting themselves as the greatest potential threat to post-war order.

CHAPTER 6 FUNCTIONAL NEGOTIATIONS

Thus, we could make sure that Great Britain and the Dominions and many other countries as well are not in fact run out of the air altogether as a result of your flying start with no regard to the fact that we are willing to throw all our bases all over the world into the common pool. I am sure I could not obtain the agreement of the Cabinet or of either House of Parliament to anything which wore that aspect. Nor would I try ... Let me say also, that I have never advocated competitive ‘bigness’ in any sphere between our two countries in their present state of development. You will have the greatest navy in the world. You will have, I hope, the greatest air force. You will have the greatest trade. You have all the gold. But these things do not oppress my mind with fear because I am sure the American people under your re-acclaimed leadership will not give themselves over to vainglorious ambitions, and that justice and fair-play will be the lights that guide them.1 – Winston Churchill, 1944 Post-war order was devised and revised in a myriad of functional conferences on issues like agriculture or refugees. Two in particular concern us here: the Chicago Conference on Civil Aviation and the London technical talks on world organisation. These pertained directly to the

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emerging strategic and economic concerns of the Dominions and the very physical question – in bases, colonies, aeroplanes – of the relationship between small and big states in the context of rapid technological change and relative British decline. While Bretton Woods was arguably the most important wartime conference, it has already been the subject of many excellent studies.2 It was also a conference uniquely dominated by a single epistemic community (Anglo-American economists) weighing the ideas and theories of a single man (J.M. Keynes). By contrast, what conferences like Chicago show us is how smaller states could push, cajole and threaten the great, and the degree to which the emergence of multilateral solutions to post-war order depended upon this sort of external pressure. A.J.P. Taylor called the Chicago Conference dead stuff.3 In one sense, he was correct: Chicago produced a lot of paper detailing esoteric debates on obscure technical issues. In a broader sense, whether Chicago is worthy of the historians’ attention, he was incorrect: all these boring details pertained to the vital question of how people were to get round. This went to the heart of post-war order: who would be getting round and where would they be going? Had the answer been party bosses flying to whatever imperial provinces their intrepid leaders had roped together, it would have made a poor start to the Century of the Common Man. Chicago was about the balance between sovereignty and commerce, security and property rights. It was incomplete and superseded by the 1946 Bermuda Conference. Yet it marked the beginning of a process, one that has continued to this day and which gave this post-war order an unique character: peace was to be founded upon the constant consideration of hard, important, boring details, and not upon a handful of vaguely electrifying points or commandments which might be pronounced dead at the first sign of technical disagreement or blown away by the next demagogue of Paris or Berlin. This casts light upon one final point, increasingly plain to Dominion policymakers about the time of Chicago. Whatever Soviet policies amounted to – and the uncommunicative nature of the Soviets began to generate serious consternation in 1944 – they bore no relation whatsoever either to what idealists like Escott Reid might regard as internationalism or to what pragmatists like Jan Smuts might regard as realism. The

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Soviets stated their position on aviation on 1 August 1944: flights into or out of the Soviet Union would be carried by Aeroflot. They refused to participate in the Chicago Conference. If post-war order was a process, the Soviets absented themselves from important parts of it (including innocuous issues like safety standards) right from the beginning. Moreover, their chosen civil aviation solution – a heavily-subsidised state monopoly with no reciprocity whatsoever – was practically a caricature of the very imperial enterprises (BOAC, Pan-American) the Dominions were trying to avoid. If small states had their fears assuaged through a communicative process with Britain and America, the imperious silence of Russia worried them more and more.

Functional Convergence in Planning for Post-War Aviation John Ruggie suggested that a key component of the political and economic order to emerge after the war was social and ideological congruence of purpose.4 How congruent is an interesting question: a large measure of wartime liberalism was dearly bought in the stultifying decade of incoherence, intolerance and exclusion before the war, starkly illustrated by heavily-subsidised efforts to use aeroplanes to boost traffic within imperial zones rather than allowing commerce and communication to develop between the great hubs of the West. If liberalism became the language of international cooperation, this reflected the growing awareness of the high cost of the alternatives, including the capacity of smaller states to raise costs or obstruct progress in closed negotiations. Americans were least wedded to the idea of ‘imperial communications’ – their experiment in hemispheric integration had been both recent and unsuccessful – but they were keenly aware and jealous of their vast ‘internal empire.’ The British continued to repose high hopes in the capacity of the Commonwealth to band together, and only negotiated seriously with the Americans when it became apparent the ungrateful peoples of the Empire, led by Ireland and Canada, were looking for the best deal they could get. Liberalism appears to have become the logical choice, even for liberal statesmen, when other possibilities were exhausted.

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That said, the emerging American position on civil aviation, like that on international security, was more liberal than many had feared. It put to rest many of the pronouncements – from Clare Booth Luce’s maiden speech to the report of the Five Senators – which had indicated a grim struggle for global aviation. Some, like Trippe, still advised as much: We should keep ourselves free of any general commitments in favour of reciprocity ... seek landing rights without offering them ... handle requests for landing rights from countries that have granted them to us, on their merits, and that ... we should successfully, and without jeopardising our own position abroad, find plausible reasons to deny most requests and keep our concessions to a minimum.5 This was a blueprint for an American Aeroflot, dismissed by Assistant Secretary of State Adolf Berle as ‘a policy of hermetically closed air.’6 Trippe was isolated by his ruthless search for the best deals: the State Department took an especially dim view of his interactions with German businesses. ‘Pan-Am,’ Berle noted grimly in his diary, ‘had been helping to run a German line in Columbia and had been using it to train German pilots – presumably to bomb the Panama Canal when the time comes.’7 Trippe continued to make a nuisance, looking for some fait accompli that would undercut Berle’s negotiations and cement his own position.8 Hull established an interdepartmental group – the Advisory Committee on Civil Aviation – under Berle at the beginning of 1943. By the middle of the year, the group had reached two key decisions. First, it was inefficient to rely on one company for external aviation. The suggested alternative, a cartel, was hardly more efficient but would increase Washington’s leverage over aviation policy. Second, global agreement would follow any agreement with the British Commonwealth.9 It is unlikely the British recognised how seriously the Americans took them until the Chicago Conference. British planners focused on their weaknesses, the lack of money and civil transports, and how their markets might be forced open. What frightened Americans was the prospect of these markets being forcibly closed, constraining American aviation to the western hemisphere and a

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few commercially insignificant Pacific islands.10 ‘The British,’ Berle warned in 1943, ‘can exclude just as well as we can.’11 More generally, Americans had been just as quick as their colleagues in the Dominions to grasp the connection between air power, commerce and the prospect of war. As Vice President Henry Wallace proclaimed balefully at a dinner with Herbert Feis soon after Claire Booth Luce demanded American sovereignty over the skies: The one thing which Pan American is interested in is a continuation of its monopolistic position over large areas of the earth. It seems that there are certain Americans who would welcome a fight for supremacy of the air... I said flatly it seemed to me that such a fight had in it the germs of the next World War and I was absolutely against anyone who had such ideas.12 While Wallace was a progressive who advocated international bases and an international operating company both privately13 and publicly,14 it was apparent that Roosevelt understood the basis of his concerns, pointing in mid-1943 to the map in the Oval Office where he contemplated the airlines of the future.15 At the end of 1943, Roosevelt made it plain (despite the appointment of Trippe’s brother-in-law, Stettinius, to succeed Welles) that American overseas aviation should not be controlled by one company.16 The State Department thereafter moved to isolate Britain through bilateral talks with Commonwealth countries.

The Commonwealth between Britain and America On aviation, British policymakers agreed on little: industries were good and so were bases. This reflected the British preoccupation with winning the war, since civil aviation was the responsibility of the Air Ministry, with other interests such as Lord Beaverbrook and the Ministry of War Transport involved. Backbench discontent at this confused arrangement led to the appointment of a Minister of Civil Aviation, Lord Swinton, late in 1944, though BOAC was reserved to the Air Ministry.17 It should also be recalled that the division of wartime responsibilities left Britain with fighters and night bombers;

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war transports were built in the US. There was some optimism as to the role aviation might play in post-war industry and the rectification of Britain’s balance of payments within an expanding global market. There was also a more strategic view which did not separate the political end of imperial unity from the idea of a single (closed) imperial market. This latter view rested on the somewhat unrealistic notion that Britain’s aviation needs would be very modest and on the very unrealistic notion that Commonwealth and European states might wait several years for Britain to develop her own civil air transports. In a biting memorandum, Churchill officiously argued that based on prewar figures, no more than 250 civil air transports would be required after the war, before turning his attention to air enthusiasts: Our two earliest studies of post-war civil aviation have recommended complete internationalisation. If by this is meant a kind of Volapuk Esperanto cosmopolitan organisation manned and staffed by committees of all peoples great and small, with pilots of every country from Peru to China (especially China), flying every kind of machine in every direction, many people will feel that this is at present an unattainable ideal. It is unnecessary, however, now to consider the argument for and against this and kindred proposals, since they are clearly unacceptable to the United States, the Dominions and probably Russia. We must agree upon some less high-spirited line of approach to guide us in the forth-coming international discussions.18 Churchill was undoubtedly responding to pressure in the Commons: Attlee had been jeered there for suggesting internationalisation might solve civil aviation.19 Since British planning emphasised an unhappy choice between Americanisation and internationalisation, Churchill had to invent a policy that would hold Britain’s position until the postwar economy caught up.20 This was not wholly realistic, but it did help force the US to concede the principle of imperial cabotage (i.e. treating the Empire as a single internal market) before the end of 1943. As to how Churchill proposed to prevent people from flying their machines in every direction, he did not say, and it was precisely this

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problem – that people could fly round rather than to Britain – that led to Anglo-American agreement in 1946. In the meantime, Churchill continued to regard imperial communications as a question of lines rather than zones. To this end, Britain would try and preserve the imperial market as a single ‘internal’ (British) market, dominated by a single (British) transnational enterprise; for any flight coming into British territory, there must be a British flight out, on a basis of strict reciprocity not merely of landing rights but frequency of service. Further study of the question from a military perspective suggested the Commonwealth might unilaterally secure her air communications.21 This imperial line was emphasised by Beaverbrook early in 1944: Where aviation is concerned, the Third British Empire gives high hope and great promise ... Now a new age opens, an age of raw materials, an age when the riches of the Empire require development for the benefit of the whole world, an age when the Empire has a new instrument in the shape of the airplane which can help us to link up, to gather, and above all develop to the fullest extent the essential resources in raw materials for the populations here and abroad.22 Trouble was, while the Third British Empire was based upon an ideal of voluntarism within a context of shared interests, it was still an empire – and the Dominions doubted their ability to explain important bits like voluntarism, common interests and shared history to other big states (like America) that might cast aside a post-war settlement in favour of building their own empire. Behind the apparently boring details of aviation politics there lay a critical divergence of interest within the Commonwealth: British policy-makers were invested in the preservation of empire, while the Dominions were increasingly invested in a normative order based round independent states.23 Churchill wanted an united Commonwealth front, whatever anyone else thought. As he told Lester Pearson in 1943: there was going to be an early Commonwealth discussion of civil aviation questions before we talked with other countries, whether the Canadians wished to attend or not... in working

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out their policies for an air transport fleet adequate to their needs and consistent with their resources, he felt sure that the Commonwealth could present a united front. Anyways, he said, with a final admonitory wagging of his cigar in my direction, they were going to try, with or without Canada. He sincerely hoped the former. I could have told him, from what I knew of Mr. King’s attitude on the subject that, so far as Canada was concerned, his plans were going to fail.24 Churchill underestimated Dominion unity on the subject of internationalisation and their determination, failing that, to pursue the freedom demanded by Canada. This became clear during the aforementioned Commonwealth talks in London in October 1943, called by H.H. Balfour. There, the only serious Commonwealth agreement was on the need for an international air transport authority – a compromise between the Dominions, which (apart from South Africa) wanted international ownership of international routes, and Britain, which wanted to maintain pre-eminence in an imperial realm. This international organisation was to be technical, ensuring standards, rates and frequency of services. The Commonwealth also agreed that the authority should be able to recommend joint or international operation of specific routes, when security concerns made them the subject of interstate friction. The most interesting spat at these talks was actually between Australia and New Zealand, over the Auckland-Sydney line. Australians showed too much willingness to regard that line (which in the absence of serious Pacific aviation was a vital link for New Zealand) as a ‘feeder,’ even while insisting that due piety be observed in relation to ‘trunk’ lines. New Zealand was no more willing to become an addendum to Australian air transport, than she had been willing to so concede to Pan-American.25 Indeed, New Zealand was impressively realistic about the limits of friendship and the importance of commercial development, as Berendsen observed: We ought, as a matter of propriety in view of the efforts of the United States and the expenses they have incurred, and indeed from a most selfish point of view in our own interests, to allow

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them bases – and landing grounds for commercial purposes as well as for defence purposes – wherever they may desire them on our territory, but always on the strictest terms of reciprocity from the point of view of the British Commonwealth. Indeed in respect of commercial aviation I am strongly in favour of international control of international aviation with full and free rights for landing and innocent passage everywhere.26 No Dominion regarded aviation as a particular reason to get behind Britain, though the Commonwealth was a convenient means of organising collective negotiations with the wealthiest, most advanced and powerful player. Aside from Dominion unhappiness that Britain was not willing to try complete internationalisation – Australia reserved her right to pursue this line independently – the Commonwealth consensus was to negotiate collectively with the US.27 While the Government of India accepted an American invitation to ‘exploratory’ bilateral conversations on post-war civil aviation in mid-year,28 a similar invitation to Australia29 was regarded by the DEA there as extended on an unacceptable basis, and brushed aside.30 Indeed, Australian officials believed the American approach of ‘isolating’ countries in bilateral talks was invidious.31 The New Zealand Government regarded preliminary talks with the US as potentially very useful,32 but decided not to pursue them after the Premiers’ meeting in mid1944, when it emerged that neither Australia nor Canada were prepared to back a trans-Pacific service.33 The Canadian Government did in fact enter informal talks with America, when Berle stopped by Montreal with some advisers, but these produced little more than an agreement to pursue international standards for things like meteorology and safety.34 The Commonwealth became a means of imposing a multilateral approach on American negotiators.

The Chicago Conference While the Chicago Conference at the end of 1944 was attended by numerous states (it was the first conference open to neutral states), the essence of the conference was whether Britain and the US could (in the

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absence of the Soviets) agree a post-war framework for civil aviation. Convinced internationalists like Escott Reid approached the conference with a sense of ‘restrained pessimism.’35 Yet we must not confuse the primacy of Anglo-American negotiations with Anglo-American domination: the context of the conference was one in which Britain and the US had been stymied in efforts to impose their own solutions on post-war aviation. Each state harboured significant fears as to the future of aviation: that America might not sell her newest transports after the war, that Britain might deny American companies access to her bases, that Pan-American might erect a framework with BOAC that left America at the mercy of a monopoly.36 More generally, Britain and the US had already spent more than a decade exhausting the possibilities of closed, exclusive systems of aviation. American negotiators were convinced that the US possessed the drive and technology to dominate global air travel if markets were relatively open, but opening markets meant convincing states the US did not mean to abuse its flying lead in men and material. ‘In a sense it tends to delimit what might be called the ‘American Empire,’’ Berle confessed, ‘except that we do not propose to make it an empire.’37 To this end, American negotiators proposed a policy based round ‘five freedoms:’ innocent over-flight, technical stops for repair/refuel, carriage of passengers to a destination, carriage of passengers back from a destination, and the carriage of passengers onwards from one international stop to a third-party destination. Lord Swinton, the Minister for Civil Aviation, led the British delegation to Chicago. Swinton was in a tough spot: he had become Minister with eight days to prepare, and his portfolio was badly disorganised.38 He desperately tried to cram the material, but could not avoid coming off as an amateur aristocrat dropped into a meeting of technocrats – Berle, for one, had been a founding member of Roosevelt’s brains trust. Frustrated and misunderstood, Swinton compounded his difficulties by offending everyone, starting with his hosts, whom he greeted by rudely stating his negotiating position, then the various Commonwealth delegations. The Canadian delegation was particularly offended by what they regarded as Swinton’s efforts to exclude them from Commonwealth consultations, and C.D. Howe, another tremendously able technocrat, grew

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to loathe him. The deterioration in Commonwealth relations prompted MacDonald to advise Lord Cranborne that any fault for Commonwealth disagreements probably rested with Britain.39 Meanwhile, the antipathy between Swinton and Berle grew so intense that Reid was reduced to hustling messages between the two angry, isolated men.40 It was not all Swinton’s fault: Berle was a liberal far too ready to stereotype a British aristocrat, and his technocratic instinct was to fasten down on details when he should have been plying difficult delegates with food and drink, or a weekend trip somewhere nice. Like Swinton, Berle was under immense personal strain: there was a changing of the guard underway at the State Department (Hull resigned on 30 November), and Berle himself was absurdly sidelined (with an offer of the Brazil Embassy) while the conference was still underway. As for Swinton, his views became a good deal more liberal as he gained experience, and he did adapt rapidly; while he appears to have resented the Canadians mightily, it must be said the Canadians did play honest broker while undermining Britain’s negotiating position.41 What the British wanted at Chicago was a strong international authority to allocate and authorise flights centrally and reciprocally, with a ‘fixed frequency’ of British and American flights. American policymakers were alarmed at the prospect of setting their own commercial competitiveness at the level of British interest. What the Americans wanted was an international organisation to oversee safety and technical questions, operating within a liberal commercial regime governed by multilateral agreements under the five freedoms. In conversations with Beaverbrook in 1943, Berle had already conceded the British right to treat the Empire as a bloc – a right the Canadians were keen to undermine – but at Chicago Britain leveraged its vital location between the US and European markets, hedging against American carriers proceeding from Britain to ‘third party’ locations in Europe. Swinton moved substantially towards the US position: while demanding some kind of international civil aviation authority capable of regulating fares and frequency, he did accept the Canadian suggestion of an escalator clause (i.e. an option to run additional services if existing ones filled up, without ceding institutional equality) so as not to restrict the frequency of trans-Atlantic flights too much, and he

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conceded the fifth freedom, albeit with strict regulation (without an escalator clause) and with a fare structure designed to protect parallel traffic. At this point Berle overreached, demanding an unrestricted fifth freedom. Talks stalled as Swinton rejected the principle of ‘wasteful cut-throat competition.’42 At the end of November, Roosevelt clumsily intervened to tie lendlease to Chicago.43 This was precisely the blackmail on civil aviation the British had anticipated for years, and the response could well be guessed: Churchill refused to be moved, though he did ask a ‘shamefaced’ John Winant (America’s ambassador, who delivered the message) to stay for lunch, and he did couch his refusal in a kind of supplication (quoted extensively at the beginning of this chapter).44 He also showed Roosevelt’s telegram to Dominion High Commissioners in London, all of whom (quite irrespective of Commonwealth bickering at Chicago itself) swung behind a British hard line.45 Privately, while disturbed at having to oppose the Americans on a number of issues, Churchill was confident about his handling of Chicago: I do not think the Air issue will cause any serious trouble between me and the President, with whom I am in very friendly correspondence on so many other matters ... I have done my very best to prevent vain attempts to settle the future of the world before we have even won the War. However it was felt in the ruling circles at Washington that the spectacle of the United States assembling great conferences attended by all nations was one which would be helpful in the recent Election. What is really needed is a three-Power meeting, but I see no possible hope of that for several months.46 It is unlikely that Churchill would have ever discussed something so mundane as cabotage with Stalin, particularly when a more exciting dish like Greece or Bulgaria was on the table waiting to be carved. What the sentiment did illustrate was how wide the gulf was – in perspective, precision, information – between functional conferences like Chicago and the charismatic politics of the warlords. The functional process did win, just very slowly.

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The Chicago Conference produced mixed results. Anglo-American aviation remained firmly rooted in the interwar years, with civil flights limited to two round trips per week. A Civil Aviation Organization was formed, based in Montreal, to regulate technical details such as radio frequencies, safety standards and meteorology. The five freedoms were laid down as protocols which states could follow if they wished (21 did so). Quite apart from the question of Anglo-American agreement, the Conference established a normative framework for civil aviation that was relatively open and reciprocal: this provided small states with an acceptable basis on which to make their own arrangements. In particular, the Irish and the Canadians began to renegotiate their relationship with the US, signalling the end of the Anglo-Irish-Canadian Agreement of 1936 and ending any dream of an ‘all red’ route across the Atlantic and Canada. C.D. Howe moved to ensure that Trans-Canada Air (which he himself had helped found) became an international airline in its own right, to prevent BOAC from muscling into Canada and to protect Canada’s aeroplane manufacturing industry (Victory Aircraft carried on under British ownership, Canadair Ltd. under American). He appears to have left Chicago well satisfied.47 Internationalists like Reid were less convinced. Grant Dexter wrote that he wants an international operating company and failing it is sure that World War III is unavoidable and that our position as the wee buffer between the giants – the US and Russia – will be intolerable.48 Reid had less reason for complaint than the Australians or the South Africans. Between 12 and 20 November, the conference became a closed Anglo-Canadian-American affair as a draft agreement was hammered together, so that Canada made a real mark on the final agreement.49

Towards Multilateralism Chicago was an alarming demonstration of the limits of Commonwealth power and the possibilities of Anglo-American discord. Each Dominion

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drew lessons. All were appalled by the power wielded by clusters of small states: the returns for the interim Air Transport Board, for instance, were two Arab, four Asian, five European and seven Latin American states.50 New Zealand drew the correct conclusion from the example of Southern American Republics ‘ganging up’ against the Great Powers in air transport: ‘this is the first public manifestation of a feeling which ... will become increasingly plain in connection with the Dumbarton proposals.’51 Australians were frustrated by Canada, which seemed determined to scuttle any Commonwealth policy.52 After Chicago, Australian officials were to rely on self-help, through regionalism.53 New Zealand was disappointed that the Canadians were more interested in routes to China than in a Pacific route to other Dominions.54 Canadians drew the lesson that effective diplomacy demanded direct lobbying of the great powers and early amendments to draft instruments.55 For South Africa, the lesson was quite different. As Smuts wrote to Churchill, ‘I am frankly frightened of these big public conferences on far-reaching issues before we are out of the wood,’ continuing, we almost had a break at Dumbarton Oaks, and now comes this washing of linen at Chicago ... A big difference with the United States of America at this stage is doubly deplorable. Our future lies with ... ever closer co-operation in that direction. Russia’s policy remains deeply shrouded in darkness ... Both for war and peace no cleavage in the West should even appear possible ... Big business in the United States of America may be tiresome but ... the American people are closer to us now than ever before, and this ... is essential for our own future as well as that of the world.56 Union policy was increasingly devoted to avoiding a great power break. This neither ensured Allied unity, nor purchased Allied gratitude. At the same time, Smuts’ conclusion that big conferences risked a great-power bust up, and the Antipodean complaint that Canada was risking a Commonwealth bust up, led to the same conclusion: aviation was better addressed through regionalism than globalism. While

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trans-Atlantic competition was becoming more fierce and there were worrying signs of American technological prowess (it was particularly distressing for the British to see Berle mobbed by statesmen desperate for the DC-3), regionalism did allow Britain to move closer to Australia and New Zealand and to South Africa through collaborative aviation accords (see chapter 2), moderated through a new Commonwealth Air Transport Council. However, the British position deteriorated after Chicago, as PanAmerican and the American Government played hardball. Between 1945 and 1946, Pan-American placed substantial pressure upon British Caribbean interests, dropping the number of weakly (seaplane) seats to British Guiana from 46 to 7 while demanding access to military (ground) bases.57 Those seven seats were on a seaplane that sank off Martinique, leaving the British colonial administration stranded.58 This was clearly part of Pan-American’s general strategy to entrench itself as a monopoly interest in lieu of Anglo-American agreement. A much more alarming incident was the Royal Air Force survey of Clipperton Island, an uninhabited French possession off the Pacific coast of Mexico, and a potential trans-Pacific link between New Zealand and Jamaica. That area was under US Navy control, and Admiral King refused to permit a British survey in 1943, for a simple reason: King was in charge of Navy post-war planning, and Clipperton was one especially important island in a more general US Navy survey of the South Pacific under Rear Admiral Richard Byrd (the survey team consisted of four Army officers, four Navy officers, and six airline representatives).59 Permission for a British survey was granted late in 1944. The survey was made with American assistance, but a more extensive survey, preliminary to establishing an aerodrome, was refused by the State Department. This was followed by a tart note from Roosevelt, invoking the Monroe Doctrine,60 the armed occupation of the island by the US Navy (to the great displeasure of the French consul in Mexico), and a warning to Britain to avoid unscheduled flights, lest an unfortunate accident occur.61 ‘We cannot but feel,’ the Chiefs of Staff complained, ‘that they have been unreasonable in preventing our completing a survey ... designed to join two parts of the British Empire.’62 Even with the best diplomacy, Anglo-American

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competition remained a fact of life, though technological advances meant that many remote locations, briefly cast as lynch-pins of global significance, faded into obscurity almost as quickly as they had emerged. The civil aviation position between Britain and the US was finally resolved with the 1946 Bermuda Conference. By then, it was apparent the British strategy of converting bombers to civilian use was a flop, while the US was increasingly willing to deny modern transports to Britain. Meanwhile, Canada, Ireland and the Netherlands all concluded agreements with the US, thereby threatening to bypass Britain in Continental aviation. Much as they feared American blackmail or American domination – and Britain actually refused to utilise American aeroplanes even after they became available – the British were more interested in participating in global commerce than they were in standing aside. By agreeing the fifth freedom, they ensured British airports became regional hubs. The Americans, meanwhile, had problems of their own – Pan-American attempted to slash transAtlantic fares unilaterally, and tried to enlist Congress to back its foreign air monopoly – which pushed the US towards agreement on fare controls and international arbitration. What emerged at Bermuda was close to Swinton’s position at Chicago, with less regulatory oversight. Bermuda, the historian Alan Dobson concluded, established the basic pattern for civil aviation agreements for the next three decades.63

The London Technical Talks One of the effects of conferences like Dumbarton Oaks or Chicago was to focus minds on particular rather than general interests; ironically, even as the Dominions became more inclined to identify themselves as states and even as these conferences sometimes sharpened differences or competition within the Commonwealth, they also sharpened the interest in developing agreements on particular points in order to minimise the chance that issues would be isolated in bilateral discussions, while maximising the chance of securing favourable outcomes vis-à-vis the US, the Soviet Union and the international community. In certain ways, the Commonwealth appeared to draw closer together during the war;

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Commonwealth consultation preceded the San Francisco Conference. Throughout the war, this practice had been confined to the staff-level, to avoid the impression of a Commonwealth bloc. Now, Canada was the only delegation to arrive without its head, since King was occupied with the conclusion of Parliament; the Canadian delegation was therefore headed by Hume Wrong.64 Australia was nominally led by F.M. Forde, the Deputy Prime Minister, but the real delegation leader was Evatt; New Zealand was led by Peter Fraser; South Africa was led by General Smuts.65 Dominion delegations included important post-war planners: John Holmes for Canada, Paul Hasluck for Australia, C.A. Berendsen for New Zealand and D.B. Sole for South Africa. These were figures who had been absent from the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting; their participation in the conference, and with British officials like Alexander Cadogan, Eric Machtig, Charles Webster and Gladwyn Jebb, was useful. While a Commonwealth bloc was abjured in the strongest language, Commonwealth differences were whittled into a few categories.66 The future of colonies was the most prominent of these, and it demonstrated how difficult it was to move the great powers once they had agreed among themselves. Colonel Stanley (the Colonial Secretary) informed the Dominions that Britain would press for significant changes to the mandates system: the removal of defence restrictions, trade protection for native populations, and the encouragement of capital investment. Existing colonies would not become subject to international control. Thus, there was no need to replace the permanent mandates commission, while existing regional commissions, like the South Seas Regional Commission and the Caribbean Commission, would continue to develop organically. In this connection, Stanley also mentioned the South African Air Transportation Conference as laying the foundations for an African equivalent to the SSRC. Stanley’s abnegation of a general colonial settlement stemmed, in part, from his disappointment with the Americans, who ‘were principally concerned to seek ways and means of acquiring Japanese islands in a manner which would not adversely affect their own public opinion,’ and his belief that it would be impossible to secure a general agreement.67

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This shocked the Antipodean delegations who, as we have seen, reposed considerable hope in colonial cooperation in the Pacific.68 Evatt, smelling another Cairo Declaration, suggested that Britain, without Commonwealth consultation, had agreed a Big Three trusteeship arrangement at Yalta (see chapter 7). This was true: the Big Three had agreed that enemy territories should be placed under trusteeship, and that the system should extend to other territories on a voluntary basis. They also agreed – somewhat accidentally, as Wm. Roger Louis has described – that the League mandates should become trusteeships, thereby opening the British Empire to precisely the sort of meddling that Churchill had sought to avoid.69 The Dominions as well as Britain only realised too late what had been done, and were most surprised to discover that they were all imperialists. Evatt, for his part, emphasised the welfare benefits of making all colonies into trusteeships, though he also mentioned that it was important to be able to influence non-British colonial administrations in the Pacific.70 What he wanted was a system obliging states to convert colonies to trusteeships as a means of recognising that colonies were important to regional security, as well as to global wealth and welfare.71 Evatt disabused Stanley of the notion that open discussion on trusteeship might be averted at San Francisco.72 Fraser echoed Evatt’s shock that Britain had failed to adequately consult the Commonwealth on this issue; while Lord Cranborne noted that the British position was open to reconsideration in light of Dominion arguments, there was a depressing ring of finality about the Yalta Conference.73 Other statements, by Hume Wrong, Carl Berendsen and Stanley Bruce, all emphasised the importance of not alienating liberal American opinion. The British suggested they might continue mandates where they already existed, albeit with changes to the mandates system; at San Francisco, they would indeed work hard to keep American opinion on side. What no party to the London talks seems to have grasped was that the vision of economic development and regional integration which had developed most conspicuously in Britain, South Africa and Australia was in its own way more liberal and imaginative than the trusteeship system; it certainly never occurred to the Australians that they might be inviting invidious

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or malevolent interference in colonial development. In their haste to assuage American opinion on the trusteeship question, the Foreign Office and the Dominions alike, for different reasons, helped set British colonies (especially in Africa) on a course towards fragmentation.74

The Council On the council, Canadian diplomacy scored a success: French proposals for the Dumbarton Oaks draft accounted for middle powers, reserving three non-permanent council seats to those powers, qui auront pris l’engagement et auront les moyens de participer dans une mesure appréciable ... à la défense active de l’ordre international.75 This was the Canadian proposal, almost word-for-word.76 Australia broadly agreed that ‘security powers’ deserved recognition, but wanted this defined by a loose system of regional representation, rather than by material criteria. Attlee’s solution to this impasse was to propose allocating non-permanent seats on the council on the basis of continents, in which North America and Australasia would each get an elected member. Unsurprisingly, this was an attractive compromise. Smuts reiterated his belief that the key point was to secure great power agreement. Fraser noted, a bit suddenly, that his Government intended to vote against the great power veto, causing Lord Cranborne some discomfort.77 Canada also raised the question of contributions by non-members of the council to sanction enforcement. Canadian suggestions emphasised that council decisions might be ratified by the assembly, or that contributing powers should gain temporary council membership. This incensed Evatt, who felt that collective security had, eventually, to be collective. Since the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting, Australian statesmen had grown impatient with the Canadian inability to commit.78 Cadogan also found the Canadians frustrating on this point, since he had secured, at great pain, numerous measures (temporary participation on the Military Staff Committee, special consultation with states

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affected by sanctions) to meet their demands.79 Berendsen added his belief that either the council must be made more representative, or else reference must be made to the assembly; otherwise, he noted, the purpose of the organisation would simply be to prevent aggression by small powers, rather than generally.80 Fraser continued to state his position – ‘quietly but firmly’ – in a way the British found by turns too quiet and too firm.81

Broad Commonwealth Agreement Trusteeship and the precise nature of UN decision-making aside, there was general Commonwealth agreement. There was consensus that the assembly ought to be the sovereign body of the organisation, with the council a particularly powerful specialised organ; it followed that all powers not reserved to the council were the natural province of the assembly. There was some difference between Evatt, who thought this ought to be spelled out in law, and Smuts and Cranborne, who argued that this assembly power followed from other provisions. That the Charter ought to be easily amended was a matter of general agreement. The Commonwealth agreed, with Smuts, that the Charter provide for a special conference to consider amendments after five years. Ideally, these would not be subject to a veto, though it was acknowledged that the Russians were unlikely to yield on this point.82 Potential disagreement on the issue of preserving territorial integrity and political independence was smoothed out by a clever suggestion by Evatt, that members of the UN should, refrain from ... the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of another state, in addition to refraining from the use of force in manner inconsistent with the purpose of the organisation (adopted as article 2.4 of the UN Charter). This avoided the suggestion that the council might preserve peace by handing aggressors whatever territory they might desire, while also admitting of peaceful, consensual readjustment.83

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On the question of security, while there might have been some exasperation over the veto, or over the commitment phobia of Canada, there was nonetheless broad agreement, particularly revolving around the MSC. The idea of ‘security agreements,’ negotiated between the council and member states, and of an international air force, or police force, received hearty approval.84 The Commonwealth also agreed that, while regional arrangements should be subject to approval by the UN (i.e. it should be able to declare whether or not they accorded with its spirit), their precise relationship to the organisation should not be overly elucidated. In effect, this was an opt-out clause: if the UN failed, regional organisations might be able to provide order and security on a more limited basis.85 The London talks did not create a Commonwealth ‘bloc,’ by any means, but they did ensure that Britain and the Dominions would support one another in many of their objectives. The talks also allowed the Dominions to test their ideas in a multilateral framework, and to approach San Francisco with precise, detailed briefs. These two factors were critical, as the Dominions set out to secure their vision of the emerging United Nations in the small print.

CHAPTER 7 THE GR EAT POWER S AND COLLECTIVE SECUR IT Y

Here progress is slow and the going is hard all the way ... Russia’s attitude is difficult to understand, so different from Yalta and the other Conference exchanges. As things stand at the moment the Conference itself is in danger, and I am doing my level best to prevent a crisis. I mean well by Russia although I am much afraid of her. But really she does make things very difficult ... The old story of Poland, Roumania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Austria – is repeated here, and one is in doubt whether she is really intending to walk with us in the future. The world is so dangerous, people are so war weary, and we have so much to do in preventing utter wreck and ruin from overtaking poor Europe that one simply has not the heart to quarrel. And yet a policy of giving in and giving away and appeasement can have such disastrous results as recent history has shown, that one is bound to be careful to be on one’s guard.1 – Jan Smuts, 1945 The United Nations was born into a sombre world. In the final wartime conferences at Yalta, San Francisco, Potsdam powers both great and small had to give careful consideration to the price they were willing to pay for peace, and the conditions under which they might again contemplate war. Even as the San Francisco Conference convened, the delegates of the Polish Government-in-exile were being arrested; the

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French backed their claim to Italian soil by threatening force against their American liberators; Yugoslavia occupied Trieste; there were conflagrations in Syria, Palestine and Persia. The end of the Second World War was as jagged and violent as the end of the First, scarred by guerrilla wars, ethnic cleansing, terrorism, authoritarianism and nihilism. San Francisco was the great opportunity for the Dominions to shape the peace. The work of their planning bureaucracies, the work done at numerous conferences, the Canberra and Wellington Conferences, the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting and Dumbarton Oaks, represented a tremendous foreign policy investment. Post-war arrangements pertaining to the armistice, occupation and civil control were jealously guarded by the great powers and a disappointment to the Dominions. The UN offered them the chance to frame the world they wanted, a world free of rival patrons and their satellite networks, in which security and prosperity would not cost them their independence. What this meant was that the theoretical purpose of a non-existent institution was different for different states. For great powers, the UN was to institutionalise the concert that had developed during the war, and to coordinate it with the various functional aspects of post-war order. For small states, the UN was to bind the great within a framework of rules and procedures, and to equalise the status and rights of great and small states. There was significant difference of opinion on questions like trusteeship or military cooperation, while the Soviet view was characterised crudely as ‘you let me do what I like with my Poles.’2 A range of vague ideas had also been laid at the feet of the new organisation: international bases, an international air force and the long-term policing of the peace. In a sense, the UN for some years had been a convenient means of handling disagreements rather than a well-defined end in itself. In these circumstances, the Dominions did not bank everything on the new organisation, turning their thoughts to the next war. The Canadian PHP apparatus concluded that Britain and Canada must always stand together; if America turned away from Europe, then Canada would probably remain aloof from European alliances, without shunning Britain; if Britain and America stood together, so much the better.3 The Australian Defence Committee began work towards closer

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military integration with New Zealand, and by extension Britain.4 The key ingredients of San Francisco were hope and fear: hope that the problems of the post-war world would admit solution, fear that the price of solution would be too high. The precise language of that solution was tremendously important, giving rise to an incremental diplomacy at San Francisco, in committees and sub-committees, where only a diplomatic machine could secure and defend the right solutions and the right interpretations over time. Precision was vital. In these committee chambers, different Dominion approaches to the peace began to tell. For Canada, Australia and New Zealand, which had hammered out their post-war stance through their PHP machinery, and through the Canberra and Wellington Conferences, it was possible to attain a wide range of success. No Dominion achieved everything it wanted, but these three effectively advanced their positions. The draft charter to emerge from Dumbarton Oaks had been a charter for cooperation among the great powers, centred upon the Security Council. These Dominions altered this draft in so many ways that the UN was not the same organisation as the one the great powers had agreed upon. Canada, Australia, and New Zealand made a Council-driven alliance of policemen, centred upon the Council, into a global forum, centred upon the Assembly. They hedged the privileges of the Assembly with defensive bulwarks, to prevent the council from bullying it. They created opportunities for the Assembly to receive reports, to approve budgets, to discuss issues which, taken together, made it something of a legislative body. They ensured the secretariat would remain free and independent, in line with a British (rather than an American or Soviet) model of civil service. They imbued the organisation with important principles, in the organs of trusteeship, in the protection of sovereignty, and, Smuts’ contribution, in the preamble, which placed legal constraints upon the great powers. The clear separation of powers between Council and Assembly, as envisaged at Dumbarton Oaks and Yalta, blurred considerably as a result. It is possible this made it harder for the UN to manage relations between the great powers; it certainly made it easier for small states to use the UN to manage their relations with the great.

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South Africa, alone among the Dominions, found success elusive. To be sure, Smuts was instrumental, as he always would be, but instrumental in the high political sense. It is appropriate that his material contribution to the organisation was in the preamble, the unifying statement of principle. He lacked a staff apparatus capable of defining, preserving or advancing South African interests. The role of great states was changing as they began to compete to attract adherents, and this in turn limited the kind of patronage they could confer. As Smuts exerted himself to promote great power unity, the South African position crumbled away beneath him, as South Africa was isolated for expansionism and poor treatment of ‘natives’ and ‘Asiatics.’ By late 1946, when Smuts attempted to make Southwest Africa the fifth province of the Union, it was too late. The erosion of the South African position, culminating in Smuts’ defeat before the UN General Assembly, obliquely highlighted the important developments taking place in state capacity, in norms of sovereignty and self-determination, in the conduct of great powers and the utility of empire. It marked a new phase in the expansion of international society, characterised both by the evolution of security communities within the West and a more general revolt against the West.

Yalta ‘With Germany and Japan struck from the list of powers of the first rank,’ William T.R. Fox observed in 1944, ‘some community of values among the surviving great powers is possible. Ideological differences, on the other hand, preclude the possibility of a complete identity of values as between the United States, the Soviet Union, and Great Britain.’5 The Yalta Conference of February 1945 implicitly vindicated Fox’s observation: while ‘spheres of influence’ between the great powers were strictly abjured, the nature of the compromises agreed there tended towards spheres of influence nevertheless. The British bridled at suggestions of international trusteeship and began building up the French in Europe, securing them an occupation zone in Germany and a seat on the Control Commission; the Soviets preserved a free hand in Poland. More broadly, the ‘Declaration on Liberated Europe’ could

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hardly be squared with the Churchill-Stalin ‘percentages agreement’ of the previous year.6 Roosevelt was hardly blind to these imperfections: when Admiral Leahy complained the guarantees on Poland were worthless, Roosevelt replied ‘I know, Bill;’7 when it was pointed out Britain’s position on Empire was inconsistent with the Atlantic Charter, he merely noted, ‘yes, that is true.’8 Much has been made of the decisions taken at Yalta, which became bound up in the debate on the origins of the Cold War.9 The frank partisanship of the debate on Yalta also delayed the publication of documents relating to other wartime conferences, resulting in a tendency to treat Yalta as the wartime conference.10 What we might observe is that the method of Yalta mattered in some ways more for the wartime allies than the actual substance: Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin agreed to pursue certain kinds of policies in concert, but this meant their conversations were part of a much bigger process in which institutional opposition, for instance, or expert advice might have a significant impact on the eventual outcomes. At any given time, there were actually two kinds of conversations taking place, between the warlords themselves on the one hand and between the warlords and their own domestic institutions on the other. ‘The Great Men don’t know what they’re talking about,’ was Cadogan’s tart comment at Yalta, ‘and have to be educated, and made a bit more tidy in their methods.’11 The untidiness of Great Men did not make them any less powerful, but as with the rest of post-war order, there were actually two processes moving on parallel tracks: an individual, charismatic track that turned personal meetings and joint communiqués into general policies, and a bureaucratic, institutional track based upon interdisciplinary planning mechanisms and staff-level integration that turned these into precise, functional policies. In 1945, the first part of this process began to break down as the warlords passed from the scene: Roosevelt died of a cerebral haemorrhage on 12 April; Churchill lost office on 26 July. This led to a change in style rather than policy.12 However, when it came to the personal relationship between the warlords, style was important. The function of meeting and acting in concert was nevertheless to be institutionalised in the new United Nations, which indeed had been the original purpose of the League of Nations.13 In

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this way, the two parallel tracks on which post-war order had been developing would be united finally under a single roof. The purpose of the Security Council was to situate power and the balance of power within a regular procedural framework. As with so many elements of post-war order, this was more liberal than many feared, but less liberal than some wanted: it embraced the logic of power by institutionalising a different function for great states. This meant the Council represented a kind of order which small states, increasingly convinced their freedom and independence could only be guaranteed within a post-imperial world, were bound to resent. At the same time, the British and the Americans wanted and needed the Soviets in the new organisation more than the Soviets did, which gave the Soviets greater leverage to determine the terms on which they would participate.14 This fact and its consequences did not escape the attention of the Dominions. Two key issues pertaining to the UN were resolved at Yalta: the nature and extent of the great power veto and the initial membership of the Assembly. The question of trusteeship was broached but by no means resolved. When it was raised by Stettinius at Yalta, Churchill reacted theatrically, declaring he would not see the British Empire put into the dock or forced to justify itself before a world it had tried to save.15 Once Churchill quieted down, Stettinius explained the idea was not to apply to the British Empire at all, but only to League mandates, enemy territories and any territory voluntarily placed under a trusteeship commission. Thus placated, the British raised no further objection – though of course, they had now admitted the principle of trusteeship as it applied to British mandates. This was to cause no end of trouble for everyone concerned: the British, the Commonwealth, and the United States. The debate over the veto was whether it should extend to disputes to which a Security Council member was a party both for the purposes of discussion and for action. The State Department drafted a compromise under which Security Council action could be vetoed in any case, but not discussion.16 The debate over Assembly membership pertained to whether each of the 16 Soviet Republics should have their own seat. This was not as straightforward as may appear: both the US

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and the Soviet Union, quite apart from the efforts of the Dominions to signal their independence and the British to explain the peculiarities of the Third British Empire, regarded the British as holding six Commonwealth votes (including India). In the midst of discussions about Poland on 7 February, Stalin accepted both the American voting formula and a reduction in the number of General Assembly votes from 16 to two (for White Russia and the Ukraine). Since it now appeared the US was the only one of the Big Three not to enjoy special voting rights in both the Council and the Assembly, Roosevelt asked for two extra votes as well. It did not take Roosevelt long to realise that was a mistake: ‘this will raise hell,’ Senator Vandenberg wrote when he learned of the deal on 23 March.17 It was not just the lack of fairness that disappointed Vandenberg, but a bevy of questions which followed the deal: the ‘baffling’ secrecy which left open the question of what other deals had been struck at Yalta, the wholly ridiculous question of why the US should have three when Britain apparently had six votes, and the related question of whether China and France should gain special voting rights in the Assembly. Roosevelt resolved the media storm which followed by dropping America’s demand for three Assembly votes, but his treatment of the issue in what was to be his last press conference was revealing: It is not really of any great importance. It [the Assembly] is an investigatory body only. I told Stettinius to forget it. I am not awfully keen for three votes in the Assembly. It is the little fellow who needs the vote in the Assembly. This business about the number of votes in the Assembly does not make a great deal of difference.18 Asked whether the Assembly had the power to make any decisions, Roosevelt replied simply ‘no.’ It was precisely this logic of power which the Dominions wanted to undermine at San Francisco.

The San Francisco Conference The grassy hills of California, dull and gold most of the year, flower green in April. It was here, in 1945, that international society was

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STEERING COMMITTEE PRESIDENT: BIG FOUR, IN ROTATION

EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE CHAIR: US

Commission I: General Provisions President: Belgium

Commission II: General Assembly President: South Africa

Commission III: Security Council President: Norway

Commission IV: Judicial Organisation President: Venezuela

Committee 1: Purposes/Principles Chair: Ukraine

Committee 1: Structure/Procedures Chair: Turkey

Committee 1: Structure/Procedures Chair: Greece

Committee 1: ICJ Chair: Peru

Committee 2: Membership, Amendment, Secretariat Chair: Costa Rica

Committee 2: Political & Security Functions Chair: Bolivia

Committee 2: Peaceful Settlement Chair: New Zealand

Committee 2: Legal Problems Chair: Egypt

Committee 3: Economic & Social Cooperation Chair: India

Committee 3: Enforcement Arrangements Chair: Ecuador

Committee 4: Trusteeship System Chair: New Zealand

Committee 4: Regional Arrangements Chair: Columbia

COORDINATION COMMITTEE CHAIR: US

Advisory Committee Chair: US

UN CHARTER

Executive & Coordination Committee: Australia Iran Brazil Mexico China Netherlands Chile USSR Czechoslovakia UK France Yugoslavia

Diagram 1 The San Francisco Conference.

resurrected. San Francisco was the meeting place of liberated states, states grabbing hold of the victory wagon, and states soon to lose their precarious independence. Delegates with sense found an evening to dine at Fior d’Italia, in North Beach, and a day to spend among Sequoia

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semper virens, in Muir Woods. Both are still around, which is a kind of tribute to the conference. If there were stars of the conference, there was no firmament. Statesmen who would have been brilliant at Versailles, who often had been, were either, like Smuts and Cadogan, the last of their generation, or else, like the younger Masaryk, doomed. San Francisco was not Versailles. The warlords were absent: Roosevelt had died, Churchill was losing the election, Stalin had no reason to attend. Roosevelt had intended to open the conference personally, but any lingering doubts that San Francisco played second fiddle were blasted away by the sound of Truman’s opening address, by wireless broadcast. Edward Stettinius, who led the American delegation, had little command over his subject, and was totally reliant upon his staff.19 Yet, for many states, this was the best they could do to influence post-war order. The foreign ministers of the great powers (in the Soviet case, the ambassador) addressed the prime ministers of lesser powers, the Dominions included. The conference was a miracle of organisation. 282 delegates were served by 1,726 staff members and an international secretariat of 1,058; they were observed by 2,636 media representatives, while a further 4,500 people saw to the mundane work of traffic, security and the like.20 Apropos our earlier discussion of aeroplanes and the conduct of diplomacy, it is worth noting many delegates crossed the US by train (an experience that displayed the astonishing size and wealth of the country); aeroplanes did allow high-level figures such as Molotov or Truman to come and go at will. The conference was nominally headed by a Steering Committee, consisting of the heads of each delegation, but day-to-day direction of the conference and recommendations to the Steering Committee took place in the smaller Executive Committee. Four commissions, each served by a series of committees (see diagram 1), secured agreement on various elements of the Charter, which were referred to a Coordination Committee (consisting of technical advisers to the members of the Executive Committee) which, alongside a small Advisory Committee of six jurists, prepared the draft Charter. Unofficially, of course, the Big Five continued to meet, as well as their deputies, constituting an unofficial ‘committee of deputies.’

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The Preamble The preamble was Smuts’ contribution to the UN Charter. He seems to have started work on it during the London technical talks.21 The preamble served two purposes. First, it was Smuts’ contribution to a document whose details he had no wish to challenge, lest he undermine great power agreement.22 Second, the preamble was a humane contribution to a technical document, an attempt to animate it with the spirit of decency. Smuts’ original draft, presented on 6 April, included a preamble and first chapter, setting out a ‘common faith’ in human rights, tolerance, equality, freedom, social progress and peace.23 In conference with C.K. Webster, this statement was revised into an extended preamble,24 which was accepted by the Commonwealth delegates on 12 April, with the understanding that they would all promote it at San Francisco.25 San Francisco was awash with charities and religious organisations looking to vindicate their donors and justify their tax-free status.26 Most of these had little grasp of what was actually in the draft Charter, but were quite sure they could explain what it all meant, if only they could employ enough abstract nouns.27 Senator Vandenberg, meanwhile, was only half joking when he said he would lose office if he did not somehow get God into the Charter.28 All this made the preamble hot property. Smuts’ position as an elder statesman was the deciding factor. His preamble was put forward on 7 May and accepted almost at once. His language took a severe beating, and was modified by the American desire to found the Charter upon ‘we, the people,’ but in substance it is as Smuts wrote it.29 Smuts was unhappy with the poor wording of the redrafted version, and refused to give it his blessing.30 It was strangely fitting, that Smuts’ work was subverted by a lot of anonymous bureaucrats, scribbling away without art or inspiration. Those bureaucrats, not he, were making the new world, one bland, prudent word at a time. The only other South African amendment, that aggressors be forced to reimburse the expenses of military enforcement, was short-lived. The preamble is still an interesting statement, inspired by faith, shaped by

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realism. Smuts spent the rest of the conference fighting against ‘vague humanitarianism.’31 This was not contradictory: for Smuts, statecraft was the art of the possible, inspired by faith and hope; he was impatient with blind demands for the impossible, or the sort of childish fanaticism he found in liberals or nationalists.

Smuts’ Shrinking Circle That realm of political possibility was, for Smuts, increasingly circumscribed by the loss of his personal network of friends and allies. Reitz’ death in London at the end of 1944 could be made good by Smuts’ own close connection to Churchill. The death of Dr. Gie in Washington at the beginning of April was harder to make good. ‘This is a most unkind blow to us,’ his son, J.C. Smuts, wrote, as Gie was the man who has handled all the work in this connection for us, who has attended all the preliminary conferences, and was presumably the only man who could tell us the American side of the whole story.32 Both Reitz and Gie died at their desks, of strain and overwork. Their replacements suggested that Smuts was thinly stretched. The man who had been High Commissioner in London before Reitz, H.T. Andrews, was needed to handle the supply mission to the US (and so filled Gie’s shoes); Reitz himself had been capable and, as an Afrikaner who had fought to the bitter end of the Anglo-Boer War, a relatively clear-sighted observer. This post was now filled by G.H. Nicholls, a bombastic Anglophile from Durban. Smuts’ best available diplomat with knowledge of international organisations was Leif Egeland, the South African representative in Stockholm. With time, Nicholls and Egeland might have matured into the sort of diplomats that Smuts needed, but he did not have time. This is not to say that any other Dominion was over-provisioned with good diplomats: the untimely loss of Berendsen, Pearson or Evatt would have catastrophic. Yet, the policies in those Dominions would have carried on, because responsibility and initiative was shared

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through a bureaucratic system. The essentially charismatic set-up of South African diplomacy meant Smuts alone held initiative and responsibility, but now he was deprived of accurate information from the two places it mattered most. Churchill’s loss, coming on top of this, was a shattering blow. ‘There has been,’ Smuts wrote, a political debacle in Britain, greater if possible than that of 1906 ... the wise and experienced and moderating influence of the UK on world policies may become not only relatively but really less significant.33 At the same time, in London, Nicholls wrote that ‘British tradition has at last been broken by the long, continued preaching of the class war,’ concluding that, with Labour attitudes well-known, there was an increased ‘need for further education and enlightenment of British M.P.’s ... as to the real nature of our native policy.’34 Smuts did not expect major policy changes from Attlee and Bevin, who had been associated with the foreign policy of the National Government; what he did expect, but did not welcome, was that the road for South Africa promised to become more difficult.

The Veto The permanent member veto, the most contentious issue at San Francisco, may be subdivided into three issues: (1) efforts to whittle the veto down; (2) efforts to circumvent the veto by providing for Charter amendment; and (3) the symbolic ‘small power’ protest against the veto, led by Dr. Evatt. For all that, the entire veto saga was curiously insignificant. The veto to emerge from San Francisco was essentially the Yalta veto, which was kin to the Dumbarton Oaks veto: it applied to action, not discussion. Radical veto revision occurred later, in 1946, when a practical decision was made that members of the Security Council must have the opportunity to vote, but must not halt proceedings by their unwillingness to seize that opportunity. This interpretation was successfully put forward by Hasluck, with support from

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Cadogan, in March 1946; by contrast, at Yalta abstention had been defined as a veto. The veto, according to Jebb, recognised an essential reality: the UN could not coerce a great power, i.e. the coercion of a great power would mean major war, therefore the UN would break.35 If Jebb was correct, what was the purpose of the UN? This question formed the basis of a variety of Dominion critiques. Canadians fretted the UN would direct Canada in war and peace, without calling Canada to its councils. New Zealanders felt the UN lacked the capacity to act against great states, because the great powers lacked the will to make it so, meaning the UN only provided security against small states, thereby crystallising an unjust order. Australians thought the veto gave the great powers a free hand to carve out spheres of influence. Even Smuts said privately that the veto made the security provisions of the Charter ‘a complete washout’ which would paralyse the Council. Britain only agreed the veto because she preferred ‘half an egg to an empty shell.’36 On 17 May, Fraser requested in Committee III:1 that the great powers clarify what they understood the veto to mean. Cadogan was the only diplomat capable of rising to the occasion: he believed that the veto did not apply to paragraphs one, two or three of Chapter VIII, Section A of the Dumbarton Oaks draft. Under this interpretation, investigation or inquiry into a dispute, or classification as a threat to the peace, or bringing a dispute to the attention of the Security Council, or settling a dispute outside the Security Council, were not covered by the veto, while Security Council recommendations and action were. It emerged that the great powers disagreed on this. Evatt noted that, on a strictly legal interpretation, the veto seemed to apply to the entirety of Section A; while he was willing to support a veto on enforcement action, he was unhappy that the veto applied to the resolution of disputes by peaceful means.37 The Canadians began to press the question firmly, led by Pearson (who had unofficial information that the US would agree to remove the veto on peaceful settlements) and Wilgress (who calculated the Soviets would not withdraw from the conference on this point).38 On 18 May, a sub-committee of the Big Five, Australia, Cuba, Holland, Egypt and Greece was constituted; on 19 May it decided (on the suggestion of the Soviets) to submit a list of questions to the Big Four, which it did on 22 May.

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The Soviet response, on 1 June, triggered the major crisis of the conference. The Soviets argued a strict interpretation, that discussion could be vetoed by the Council. Stettinius, backed by Senators Connally and Vandenberg, flatly rejected this idea, as did Halifax; Wellington Koo (China) and Joseph Paul-Boncour (France) came down on the AngloAmerican side of the debate.39 This left the conference at an impasse. Heretofore, Wrong had complained that there was little in the way of Commonwealth consultation; now the Commonwealth was called to make a joint decision on the Conference.40 After consultation with Smuts, Halifax called the Commonwealth delegates together and presented three alternatives: to cease all conference activity unless the impasse were resolved, to carry an amendment preserving the right of discussion within the Council and await the Russian response, or to inform the conference of the impasse and suggest concluding other business in the hope of resolving it.41 The Commonwealth chose the final alternative.42 Robertson hoped the conflict would be solved by a personal appeal from Truman and Churchill.43 The right of discussion lay at the heart of the UN, which it now appeared the Soviets were trying to eviscerate. Speculation on Soviet intentions ran beyond San Francisco. There was already talk within the Commonwealth of a ‘show down’ with the Soviets on Yugoslavia, Austria, Poland and Czechoslovakia. Churchill was impressed with Truman’s ‘moral clarity,’44 and felt he had sufficient strength in Europe to confront Stalin, if necessary.45 Privately, Wrong thought that it would be necessary to form a countervailing alliance against the Soviets, while Ritchie irresponsibly wondered if the German Army should not be kept intact to fight Russians.46 After a meeting with the Soviet Ambassador, Andrei Gromyko, on 5 June, Stettinius called a meeting of Commonwealth delegations. Stettinius hoped to reach a compromise, whereby any country could state its case to the Security Council, at which point the veto might be applied to further discussion. The Commonwealth agreed the conference should not break: Evatt offered to reverse his stance, even to accept a strict construction of the veto, if the great powers publicly promised to use it sparingly, while Smuts suggested agreeing to the Charter with this point reserved.47

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The meeting was an interesting example of US-Commonwealth consultation, illustrating the degree to which fear about Soviet intentions pushed America together with the British Empire. Fraser, who thought American and Soviet intransigence responsible for the disastrous Yalta compromise, was impressed by American resolve to save the conference.48 The essential point to emerge was that America signalled her willingness to negotiate the terms of her power. This was a model of international politics, framed by the evolution of the British Empire into the Commonwealth, to which the Dominions subscribed. By contrast, it became clear that the Soviet view of the world was radically different from that of Britain, the Dominions, or America. On 7 June, a compromise was announced by which unanimity was to hold among the great powers, except in Section A disputes, pertaining to the peaceful resolution of disputes, and the question of whether or not a dispute ought to be considered. Which is to say, a somewhat liberal interpretation of the Yalta formula. As Robertson concluded, ‘the Soviet Government have outmaneuvered opponents of the veto. They have succeeded in maintaining the veto on the right of “free investigation” and the veto on the entire procedure for peaceful settlement.’49 Pope was more philosophical: ‘an International Conference cannot be concluded without a crisis or two.’50 The second crisis was prompted by Evatt, who brewed a storm in a teacup. Recall that, on 5 June, Evatt offered to reverse his stance on the veto if it meant saving the conference. He intended to make an impact, rather than risk the conference. Evatt’s singular diplomacy made him unpopular, and the record is full of slighting references to him: ‘obviously most anxious to make a personal impression,’ Pearson dryly observed;51 ‘the bad boy seems to have been Evatt,’ was Massey’s more direct comment;52 he possessed ‘a jealous irritation at the role which Field Marshal Smuts has assumed as intimate adviser to the British Prime Minister,’ according to C.S.A. Ritchie;53 J.C. Smuts recorded that ‘he is unpopular everywhere;’54 Eden wrote that ‘Evatt is the most tiresome;’55 Cadogan that he was ‘the most frightful man in the world.’56 Even Berendsen felt Evatt wanted a monopoly on public gestures.57 Gladwyn Jebb provided the best sketch:

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Dr. Evatt represents himself as the most hard-working man of the conference, since he finds it necessary to attend all 12 technical committees in person. In practice this means that he charges from one committee to another making speeches which have nothing whatever to do with those which have preceded or those which will follow. He alleges that this titanic activity is almost more than he can bear.58 Had Evatt been ineffectual, he would have been comic rather than irritating. Instead, Evatt pioneered a diplomacy which was to find a special place within the United Nations, and he brought Australia noticeable success while doing so. He championed small powers, who were so little irritated by him that Australia secured a seat on the Security Council over Canada. It is more the pity that Evatt could not build on this success, and that internal dissension crippled Australian diplomacy for years after the war. The diplomacy of Evatt was a peculiar form of protest, the sort of hopeless, heroic battle waged by the subaltern for nominal if not real equality. On 10 June, in Committee III:1, Evatt, supported by Fraser, forcefully raised the question of why the veto should apply to peaceful settlement; C.K. Webster got into a running debate with the two, Fraser terming the actions of the British delegation ‘contemptible’ and ‘most dishonest,’ prompting Senator Connally to demand Fraser withdraw his un-parliamentary language. Evatt moved an amendment to the effect that the veto not apply to peaceful settlement. ‘In this year of grace,’ Robertson concluded wearily, there cannot be a World Organization established, with Russia a member ... unless it provided for voting rights ... as set forth in the Great Power memorandum.59 Robertson secured King’s approval to do whatever was necessary to save the conference, again. At the same time, Chifley, who became premier a month later, sent a worried telegram to Evatt, noting that his actions were likely to exacerbate the tensions between America, Britain and the Soviets, and underscoring the importance of the overall success of

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the conference.60 Evatt replied that he was simply taking his protest against the veto to the last logical point, and was not going to endanger the Charter.61 On the evening of 10 June (Sunday), Robertson and Pearson met quietly with Evatt, who said that his amendment was motivated by three considerations: (a) that the great powers might compromise; (b) that his amendment would probably not break the great power position in a vote; and (c) it was desirable to have as clear an understanding of the veto as possible. Robertson said (b) was irresponsible, but Evatt responded that he did not expect Canada to vote for his amendment.62 Evatt placed Canada in an uncomfortable position. Smuts was in no doubt as to what principles he supported; his son’s comment, that Evatt was ‘wasting time and raising a dust,’ was probably his own.63 The Canadian delegation, however, badly wanted to believe that Canada stood against a ‘big power’ world. Now, it had to support the great powers, lest the entire UN be scuttled. Many delegations had the same choice, whether or not to wreck the Charter on principle, and the final vote reflected this, being ten for Evatt, fifteen against and twenty abstentions (including, significantly, New Zealand). Evatt wrote this was what he had anticipated;64 Wrong said that it provided abstaining delegations with the opportunity to signal that approval of the UN did not include the veto.65 Many delegations publicly expressed their desire that the great powers compromise by agreeing a relatively easy amendment process for the Charter. Evatt hoped small power acquiescence on the veto might become a negotiating point for Charter amendment. This was impossible. The process began early in the conference, with acceptance of a Canadian proposal for reconsideration of the Charter after 10 years; at about the same time, Evatt put forward an amendment to the effect that a two-thirds majority, in two successive assemblies, ought to ratify amendments, which precluded a similar Canadian submission.66 The question of Charter amendment was submitted to a fifteen-member sub-committee. The resolution of this question was hardly a compromise, since the Soviets opposed all amendments. Amendment of the Charter was to be on ratification by two thirds of members, including the permanent members (article 108), while a review conference was (by an American compromise) proposed for the tenth Assembly,

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though in theory a conference could be called at any time by two thirds of members (article 109).67 In the veto debate, the Dominions led smaller powers, in a variety of ways, in damning the exercise of raw power, even when that power secured cooperation among great states. The debate did not alter the Charter, but did make a point about global politics. No British or American argument about power in the post-war world could have been so persuasive to the Dominions as attempting any rational argument at all with the Russians. America had identified herself, with Britain, as being willing to accommodate the demands made by the Dominions; Russia did no such thing. Russian actions cast a shadow over the very idea of a ‘general,’ ‘universal’ or ‘global’ post-war settlement. When Peter Fraser wrote that ‘the policy of the United Kingdom has been the same as that of the United States and Russia,’ complaining that together they stood ‘four square and immovably on the details of the agreement made at Dumbarton Oaks and Yalta,’ he was protesting that the United States and especially the United Kingdom must not secure a common line with Russia, at the expense of all their own political principles.68 What sort of world would it be for small states if the great powers marched to a Russian anthem? Dominion planners and statesmen had heretofore assumed that a general settlement with Russia must be secured at all costs; at San Francisco, they began to think otherwise.

The Security Council If the veto could not be altered, the nature of the Security Council was open to some modification. Yet there was less Commonwealth agreement on the Council. If the Dominions wanted the UN to limit and control the great powers, each Dominion also wanted to frame principles that would maximise their own control over the UN. On 5 May, the Big Four submitted a package of amendments, including provision that Security Council elections pay due regard to state capabilities and to an equitable geographic distribution. As Evatt wrote triumphantly, this satisfied two of the points the Australian delegation had pushed in London,69 not to mention his secret desire to share a Security Council seat with New Zealand in rotation,70 while Pearson

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noted that the Latin American delegations were opposed to election on the basis of capability, but supported geographic distribution.71 Australia and Canada withdrew their amendments, and the Big Four amendment was voted in (article 23.1). This was a popular compromise, inspired by Canada, which had lobbied Britain and France, and by Australia, whose position was supported by the Latin Americans.72 A popular compromise, but not a happy one. Canadians had worked long and hard for recognition of relative state capabilities. Pearson reported in mid-May that this appeared to be the definition supported by the Big Four,73 but a Canadian proposal to define the precise criteria of power and geography was defeated (despite support from the Latin American delegations),74 while Committee III:1 ruled that equal weight should be given to power and geography.75 Geographic distribution therefore won the debate by default, because geographic distribution was self-explanatory while power was not. The peculiar Canadian argument, that might did not make right, but that Canada should have more right than Honduras because she had more might, was hard to explain credibly in five words or less. Canadians, trapped between so many great powers, may be forgiven if they occasionally convince themselves they truly are the wretched of the earth. The association of the Assembly to the Security Council was raised by the New Zealand delegation, on 10 May, when Fraser moved, in Committee III:3, that as no committee of eleven could speak for the world, the Assembly ought to be associated in the decisions of the Security Council. This brought proceedings ‘down to earth with a bang,’ and gave King an opportunity to move an amendment to the New Zealand amendment, namely that countries specially involved in a decision of the Security Council should be associated with the Security Council.76 India, Egypt and Peru supported Canada the following day. Sir Ramaswami Mudaliar took the lead, protesting that the UN, as it stood, was only useful in the suppression of small states. After protracted debate, on 16 May, Canada and New Zealand withdrew their amendments; no effort to associate the General Assembly with the Security Council met with success.77 There was some consolation, however. According to Wrong and King, consultation had three components: consultation in view of

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special interests, in view of a particular dispute, and in view of the use of particular forces. The first or second would be ideal, but the third was truly critical, as it addressed whether the UN could ‘conscript Canadian forces.’78 Association with the Security Council, through the security agreements that states were to negotiate with the UN, was a long-standing principle (recall, it had been considered extensively in the Four Power Plan). Canada thus introduced an amendment to make participation in Council deliberations statutory, in the case of any power called upon to contribute forces to an enforcement action. Only Russia opposed this idea.79 In private conversation with Robertson, N.V Novikov said that he approved of the principle as it applied to Canada, but to no other state.80 Towards the end of the month, it was intimated privately to Wrong, through the British and American delegations, that the Soviets would support the Canadian amendment, if she agreed to drop her proposals for association on the Security Council of states ‘particularly concerned’ in a given decision.81 This was a solid victory; however association with the Security Council in such cases was to be through the Military Staff Committee (article 47.2). On 3 June, the Canadian amendment was adopted, including full voting rights for those states so associated in Security Council decisions, and Canada duly dropped her other amendment on special association with the Council, reserving, at the same time, the right to support the Dutch, who had put forward a similar amendment.82 This Dutch proposal resulted in non-voting participation in the Security Council by members with special interests, at the invitation of the Security Council (article 31). Further amendments successfully hedged the Security Council round with reservations and requirements, promoting the General Assembly as the central body of the United Nations. These included the reservation to the state of control over domestic jurisdiction (article 2.7). Smuts was particularly keen to keep the prying hands of international bodies away from the many racial issues, between ‘Europeans,’ ‘Asiatics’ and ‘natives’ in South Africa; Evatt and Fraser fretted lest an Asian power make Antipodean immigration law a matter of international concern. The Canadian delegation had no particular objections. Wrong felt the point academic,83 and Ritchie felt it nullified the commitment of the Charter to human rights, which was frankly the point.84

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Another potential problem was the right of the Security Council to make recommendations on peace and security: what if the Security Council decided that some issue of domestic jurisdiction (a ‘native’ problem), or a forcible territorial adjustment (say, the Sudetenland in Czechoslovakia), would promote peace? Evatt made this point to the Commonwealth on 11 May. Sir William Malkin supported Evatt; so too did Smuts and Fraser. Halifax and Eden tried following Evatt’s suggestions, but met American and Soviet resistance. On 1 June, Halifax and Evatt spoke to Stettinius, who agreed to reconsider the matter;85 Robertson secured King’s approval to support any Anglo-American compromise.86 This was hammered out in Article 2 (Principles); the Big Four had called for a principle protecting state sovereignty without prejudice to the entirety of Chapter VIII B (‘Determination of Threats to the Peace’). The British suggested removing the last clause, which was modified to prevent the Security Council from requiring any member to submit domestic matters to settlement under the Charter, without prejudice to measures taken to enforce the Charter (article 2.7). A further Canadian amendment made regular reports by the Security Council to the Assembly statutory,87 thereby undoing some of the damage caused by a successful Russian amendment, which allowed the Security Council to consider matters without informing the Assembly that it was doing so, i.e. in camera.88 This success was nearly undermined during the veto crisis, as part of a package of concessions to the Soviets,89 but was secured in the Charter through the associated power of the General Assembly to openly discuss reports (articles 15.1 and 24.3). There were also amendments designed to work should the Security Council become deadlocked and the UN incapable of taking enforcement action. A New Zealand amendment to make collective action against aggressors automatic secured a majority, but not the two thirds necessary to alter the great power draft. Committee III:4 (regional arrangements) accepted a tripartite proposal by its sub-committee (headed by Senator Vandenberg), amalgamating a series of amendments from the US, France and other countries, providing (a) that regional agencies or arrangements were a legitimate recourse in settling disputes; (b) that nothing in the Charter impaired the right to individual or collective self-defence; and (c) that members comprising regional

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arrangements should make every effort locally to achieve peaceful settlements before referring a matter to the Security Council (Chapter VIII). ‘All in all,’ Pope wrote, ‘all hands appear to be content.’90 This final compromise was pleasing to the Australian delegation which, in line with the conclusions of the Defence PHP apparatus, had sought to preserve the position of local defence organisations, like that envisioned under the Canberra Agreement.91 Senator Vandenberg described an Australian amendment to this effect as ‘right on the beam,’ and the final compromise was based upon an Australian draft.92 The use of regional arrangements was also extended to the Military Staff Committee by Committee III:3, allowing for the creation of regional sub-committees (article 47.4). Peru, in compromise with the USSR, successfully proposed that military intervention by the Security Council ought to be made in consultation with relevant regional organisations (article 53.1). While the Commonwealth as a whole pushed for universal security, each Dominion also wanted regional and imperial reinsurance. This desire was informed by immediate disappointment in the reservations on the Council and especially the veto, and more generally by changing technologies such as aviation which made technical cooperation within regions a precondition of state security. In Smuts’ view, regionalism was a way round the veto, which made possible genuine collective security under, if not through, the Charter. This constituted the ‘chief virtue’ of the Charter: ‘an entirely new conception in this type of treaty and one which will probably have a big future in the world to come.’93 Ideally, the Dominions sought universal security, and discarded Churchill’s ideas on the subject in the first instance; pragmatically, they had to preserve their right to pursue regional security. In practice, Churchill’s proposals more nearly resembled the post-war world, but perhaps it was for the best that the Charter legitimated rather than legislated this path of development, allowing thereby for the organic creation, on the basis of self-interest, necessity and will, of collective security in those regions where it was thought necessary. What was vital, for the Dominions, was that through numerous amendments they helped ensure the Security Council did not become a new Holy Alliance allowing the Big Three to oppress the rest of the world.

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The General Assembly The Dumbarton Oaks draft was a great-power document. As such, the Security Council was the best-defined organ of the United Nations. Few of the battles waged over it had much chance of success. The General Assembly was more open to change and alteration. Australia,94 Canada95 and New Zealand96 all arrived at San Francisco intending to focus on strengthening the Assembly, and ensuring that all powers not specifically granted the Security Council be reserved to the Assembly. Lord Cranborne ensured that Smuts was placed in charge of the Commission for the Assembly, so that he could exercise a firm and guiding hand over it.97 The Dominions did much to frame the General Assembly and the secretariat with it. Defining the precise nature of the secretariat gave rise to a major battle. While the secretariat (and Secretary General) was not strictly bound to the Assembly, the question was whether they ought to be the voice of the Assembly or the creature of the Security Council. The Soviet position was that the Secretary General ought, alongside four deputies, to be elected by the General Assembly, on the nomination of the Security Council. The Soviets supported a veto on the nomination, but Reid successfully snared this veto in a heated debate, and it was defeated in committee in mid-May, over Soviet protests.98 The idea of four deputies, which would have given the great powers the ability to saddle the Secretary General with minders, was strongly opposed by Escott Reid and the Canadian delegation,99 but it was important to move carefully.100 On 25 May, it appeared that the secretariat was secure, with a three-year term for the Secretary General, and no deputy secretaries. However, Pearson warned that the status of the secretariat was ambiguous, and he was right.101 At the height of the veto crisis, issues were put back on the table to appease the Soviets. This included the vote on the Secretary General (to include the veto) and the question of the four deputies.102 The great power veto over the Secretary General was now impossible to alter, but the idea of deputies was defeated during the Preparatory Commission, at the end of the year (instead, ‘assistants’ were created). This success would owe much to Escott Reid’s good working relationship with Paul

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Hasluck and Philip Noel-Baker, the latter heading the British delegation to the Preparatory Commission.103 Another set of amendments, brought by Canada and New Zealand, supported by Australia, successfully promoted the idea of a truly international civil service, i.e., free of any obligation to or instruction from any outside body; international in character, selected with an eye to high quality, but also to achieving a wide geographic distribution of staff.104 These ideas were hotly contested by the Soviets on 4 June, on the grounds that they were too technical, but Reid, citing Bretton Woods and the Hot Springs Conference, successfully defended the amendments and carried them (articles 100.1, 100.2, 101.3).105 The Secretary General thus emerged as an independent and unifying figure, representing the entire United Nations. Another part of the drive to empower the Assembly was the reservation to it of any powers not specifically granted other organs. In the Canadian view, Council paralysis could become the Assembly’s opportunity.106 Ted Achilles, of the State Department, quietly informed Wrong that America was willing to support an amendment reserving non-elucidated powers to the Assembly, but did not want to propose it.107 This did not make progress, though Wrong did successfully push an amendment to give the Assembly general powers to make recommendations, and pass them along to member states for ratification, which was a quasi-legislative function (article 10).108 A final effort by the Soviets, on 18 June, to limit the rights of the Assembly to discussion or debate (on the basis that it might violate domestic sovereignty), also had to be beaten back. Wrong was not much impressed with the import of the Soviet move, but he felt the way in which it was raised, at a late hour, to be unpleasant and irritating; fortunately, Evatt still had the energy to attack the Soviet proposal.109 Lengthy discussions between the US, USSR and Australia preserved the right of open discussion, which was, effectively, the principal power of the General Assembly (articles 10, 11.1, 11.2, 14, 15.1, 15.2).110 Where the Dominions sought, generally without success, to hedge the Security Council round with reservations, they successfully provisioned the General Assembly with guarantees and opportunities: to bring matters to the attention of the Council; to elect non-permanent

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members of the Security Council, members of the Economic and Social Council, the Trusteeship Council and the Secretary General; to discuss and debate on its own merits; to receive and consider reports from all branches of the UN (the Security Council being another branch, for this purpose); to set, in short, the terms of its engagement with international society. The secretariat had every opportunity to become a free, independent and well-respected voice in international affairs. A lack of executive power and the inability to consider issues while under consideration by the Security Council did not obstruct the capacity of the Assembly to lead world opinion. Evatt concluded that, the Assembly, though not possessed of direct executive authority, should, I submit, be able to discuss, criticize and resolve, and so help to balance and compensate the great power vested in the permanent members of the Security Council.111 Despite the essential problems of the UN, the role of the Assembly, which they developed and protected at San Francisco, gave Dominion statesmen hope for the future of the organisation. In the debate on the Assembly and the secretariat the Dominions worked closely together, deploying their most sophisticated arguments, exploiting every available angle, to make it the heart of the new organisation. Only make the United Nations a true parliament of man supported by a truly international civil service, Dominion thinking ran, and it would create a global community of interest that would balance the great powers, even the Russians. The Dominions did everything in their power to make the Assembly into such a parliament. In form, they largely succeeded.

Trusteeship While the conferees debated at San Francisco, the French were bombarding Damascus. Trusteeship was one of the more acrimonious issues at stake between Commonwealth members. The British decision, presented to the Commonwealth during the London talks, supported by South Africa, ran contrary to the demands of Australian security.112

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Australia needed some power over the island screen to her north, and wanted (a) all colonies to become mandates or trusteeship territories; and (b) trusteeship to include a degree of international supervision. While Col. Stanley was willing to contemplate voluntary trusteeship, Lord Cranborne was clear that Britain would opt out of such a scheme, and was completely opposed to ‘international’ trusteeship. Australia, New Zealand and India all promised to make trusteeship an issue at San Francisco. This had the makings of a first-class scrap within the Commonwealth. It was Smuts, more than Cranborne, who fought the ‘British’ corner on trusteeship at San Francisco. Smuts’ initial efforts revolved around keeping trusteeship off the agenda; indeed, the South African position was to maintain the mandate system and press for the incorporation of Southwest Africa into the Union.113 During the London technical talks, Smuts had not elucidated this point, hoping perhaps to avoid making it a matter of debate. At San Francisco he quietly announced that this was his intention. Aside from that little announcement, concerning a territory the size of France, there was a lack of further South African manoeuvring on Southwest Africa, suggesting either that Smuts had not anticipated trusteeship becoming a major issue, or that he assumed Southwest Africa would remain a special, protected case. Legally, his position was probably sound: British legal advice suggested annexation was an option, but British legal advisers also noted annexation ran against norms of statehood and self-determination that were becoming more important.114 It was apparent from the opening of San Francisco that trusteeship was a big issue. On 11 May, Smuts explained to Commonwealth delegations just what an Australian victory would mean: the Soviet Union and China would seek their own foothold in colonial territories, with a view to prising them from colonial powers. This was an accurate prediction: on 15 May, the Soviet Union demanded that she, like the United States, ought to be entitled to run ‘strategic bases’ around the world, in the ‘interests of international security.’ ‘America and the other pro-Trusteeship Powers,’ wrote J.C. Smuts, ‘reckoned on Russia being disinterested in these problems, and they have now had a rude shock.’115

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There is nothing in the record to suggest that Australia had given full thought to the possibility that their presence as ‘international’ observers in the island screen to their near North might mean a Soviet presence in, say, New Guinea. Nor had the Americans apparently considered that the Soviets might end up in the Japanese mandates. The Australians, like the Canadians or the Americans, had spent so long prating about justice, rights and principles, they forgot that they themselves played and benefited tremendously from power politics and imperial politics. Now they publicly slunk back to their own side: the one with the money and the power.116 From mid-May onwards, the formerly pro-trusteeship powers sought to extricate themselves. The British and American delegations agreed on a paper by an American, Commander Stassen, as the working draft for trusteeship at the conference. It was Stassen who had shifted the American delegation away from any commitment to ‘independence’ and towards the more pro-British formula of ‘self-government.’ The Canadian position was to support the British, mainly to avoid undermining British prestige.117 Evatt also worked within this draft, avoiding one of his all-or-nothing confrontations. Evatt’s reasoning is not entirely clear, but a wrecking approach would have given the Soviets a victory at Australian expense. He was supported by New Zealand. By the end of May, there had been favourable progress: there was to be a declaration of the general principles of trusteeship (article 73), which was an Australian idea; no trusteeship agreement was to be made without the full consent of the former mandatory power, which would protect Australia in New Guinea (article 79); the anti-militarization provisions of League Mandates were to go, thereby allowing trusteeship powers to fortify and consolidate their holdings; and a committee of experts was to have some oversight of trusteeship territories, this being another Australian idea (article 87).118 One of the chief sticking points in the ‘Stassen proposals’ was the use of the word ‘self-government,’ which was to be one of the principal objectives of trusteeship. The Chinese delegation suggested substituting the word ‘independence;’ this was strongly supported by the Soviets, who now posed as champions of dependent peoples.119 Later, the Soviets altered this to ‘self-determination.’ Smuts, who cherished

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no illusions about where his bread was buttered, was incandescent over the proposal: Britain should say to blazes with Russia. You are interfering in our domestic affairs and we won’t have it. We don’t attempt to tell you what you should do in Siberia.120 He said as much to the Commonwealth delegates on 1 June. Once the issue was on the agenda, however, it proved impossible to move off; the eventual compromise between the Anglo-American and Sino-Soviet position occurred on 9 June, the precise wording being ‘independence or self-government,’ in the light of the expressed wishes of the people (article 76(b)). Another compromise concerned the Trusteeship Council, which was to be one-half trusteeship powers, the other half all others. Evatt argued hard against this idea, which was bound to give random states a hand in the Australian near north, but abstained from voting. The motion carried (article 86.1). The most important provisions, from the Antipodean point of view, carried. There was to be a Trusteeship Council, there was to be a burden on trusteeship powers to provide reports to that Council (not ‘annual reports,’ as Evatt wanted, but ‘technical data’), and a (voluntary) procedure was established for creating new trusteeships.121 This was a terrifically bruising debate for the Commonwealth delegates. In a global forum, the Dominions discovered how truly powerful they were, and how closely aligned with power. Dominion rhetoric had not matched the reality, but this only became apparent when that rhetoric was put to the test. The Americans were no less discomfited: ‘when it came to the test,’ Roger Louis concluded, ‘the United States sided with the colonial powers.’122 The Soviets, their own image blackened by Poland and Romania, took advantage of this discomfiture to score points off of Britain, the Commonwealth and America. They would continue to do so. ‘Trusteeship’ represented a variety of Dominion demands. Canadians, Australians, and New Zealanders, confronted by American penetration and the problems attendant upon global aviation, had all

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decided between 1943 and 1944 that ‘international’ bases and ‘international’ colonies would better guarantee their own security, prosperity and autonomy than power political negotiation between America and the British Empire. Though the Dominions did much to influence the development of the trusteeship through the Charter, it was all the Dominions could do, at San Francisco, to prevent trusteeship from becoming a complete disaster. The Dominions mistakenly assumed that a debate on international trusteeship would promote genuine communities of interest; instead, it had prompted a feeding frenzy. Indeed, all the darkest prognostications of Churchill or Smuts came to pass: the British Empire was dragged into the dock, very often by states whose chief interest was grabbing territory, Argentina over the Falklands, Guatemala over British Honduras, and so on. As in the debate over the veto, the Dominions discovered that their political interests and practices were not universal and that, relatively speaking, they were closer to Britain and America than they had assumed. The trusteeship debate, like the veto debate, cast a shadow over internationalism, forcing the Dominions to consider that direct negotiation with Britain and America might be the easiest means of obtaining their long-term post-war objectives.

Power and the New International Society The Dominions played an important role at San Francisco, contributing substantially to the new Charter, working closely with the British and American delegations. Detailed staff appreciations, which collated expert advice to anticipate rather than follow questions, made it possible for Dominion staff to push for advantage in the commissions, committees and sub-committees. This was to become marked in the months following the San Francisco Conference, when the evolution of the Charter into a working organisation threw up numerous opportunities for tinkering and sub-officio revision. To be sure, Evatt, Fraser, Berendsen, Smuts all made distinct contributions to the proceedings. There is hardly ground for Hancock’s claim that Smuts was dignified rather than useful.123 After all, it was Smuts whom Eden took into his confidence, and Smuts whom Halifax

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consulted when the conference nearly broke down. The charge is more readily laid at the feet of the South African delegation: Smuts put forth his preamble, but his delegation put forth nothing at all, rising only to support Britain and to promote every Big Five compromise. Regular success–and Canada was the exemplar of quiet, effective consistency–demanded regular staff support and regular pressure over time. Canadian successes in respect of the Security Council, or Australian successes in respect of the Trusteeship Council, were the product of bureaucratic efficiency rather than the brilliance of lone statesmen. The Dumbarton Oaks draft and the Yalta agreements had framed the UN as an organisation which would be essentially concerned with relations between the great powers. At San Francisco, small states like the Dominions sought to make the UN an organisation responsive to small powers and capable of regulating the relations between great and small. In doing so, they provided small states with an arena within which they could out-manoeuvre or out-vote the great. While Dominion policies were predicated upon extensive post-war planning and a clear sense of self-interest, they had not considered seriously how the powers they wanted for themselves might be used by other states within the Assembly or the Trusteeship Commission. Paul Hasluck, for instance, reflected sombrely in later years upon his work at San Francisco: If in your enthusiasm for some reform you forget that international interests may intrude too far into your own national concerns, then you have to make a frantic and scrambling fight to re-erect a doctrine of domestic jurisdiction that you have helped to undermine. If you forget about the fact of power in your assertion of principle, then you will leave to others the task of having to combat the use of power by those who have not accepted your principles ... The Dumbarton Oaks draft recognized the existence of power ... What the San Francisco Conference did was to dig away at this foundation, and one of the most ardent, even if not fully conscious diggers, was Australia.124 ‘We may have helped to make a slightly better document,’ Hasluck concluded, ‘but I don’t think we helped to make a better world

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situation.’ Perhaps Hasluck was correct, though he did not say whether he preferred the much more straightforward arrangement of power without principle, which is what Evatt and many others feared, not without reason, would emerge if Australia and other small states stood silent while the fate of the world was decided in cosy Big Three conferences. In either case, it was precisely this battle – to strike a balance between power and principle – which gave different groups of states a stronger sense of their shared identity in the emerging post-war world. This was also the battle which defined post-war order as the post-war institutional settlement failed to live up to its promise. One of the surprises for states like Canada or Australia, which fancied themselves providing leadership to the small, was that not all small states thought alike, indeed often had preoccupations which struck the Dominions as absurd. Another surprise was that the Soviet Union was inaccessible, illiberal and intolerant of any kind of dissent. Long experience inclined the Dominions to blame Britain when things went wrong, and recent experience inclined them to blame the Americans, but negotiating with the Soviets was a jarring experience and one which forced them to contrast their own capacity to speak and vote freely with the menacing uniformity growing upon the small nations of Eastern Europe.125 What this meant was that as the Dominions looked for states that shared their principles, as they laid the foundations for their own participation in post-war security communities, they drew closer to Britain and to the United States. At San Francisco, the relationship between Britain, America and the Dominions was clarified, particularly when Stettinius began attending Commonwealth meetings, as all of these powers found themselves working together, and against Russia, in the development of the UN Charter. At San Francisco, the Dominions cooperated with Connally, Vandenberg, Stettinius and other American ‘internationalists,’ without the interference of nationalist elements in American politics. Dominion fears about America were mitigated; in their place, the Dominions began to have grave doubts about Russia and the future of world order.

CHAPTER 8 FAILUR E

I must confess that Mrs. Pandit’s performance seemed to me, and to many others, to be a disgraceful exhibition of ‘ham acting,’ and the result has confirmed my opinion that there are substantial objections to the ‘one nation one vote’ theory, just as valid as the much greater objections to the principle of the veto. It was, if I may say so, quite absurd to see the easy-gotten sympathy and wild emotion of a number of delegations on an appeal for fair treatment for its nationals by a nation which is itself a byword throughout the world in calmer moments for racial and religious discrimination, in which, indeed, people are being killed daily in a racial and religious quarrel, supported by the Soviet and its satellites – to say the least not distinguished for their kindly treatment of minorities – and by many other delegations, e.g. Ethiopia, whose approach to the race problem is probably a great deal worse than that of South Africa, whatever may be said against that country. To see this almost hysterical emotion easily outweighing the logical and responsible and clearly correct exposition of the legal points at issue by the United States, the United Kingdom and many others, was to me, in a sense, a frightening spectacle, and of course, it is now a precedent – not necessarily bad, but not justified by the Charter – for the interference of the United Nations in the domestic affairs of any member at the instigation of any other member and for whatever reasons can be made to appeal to a superficial and emotional body.1 – Carl Berendsen, 1946

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Striking reservations, coming from a man described as a ‘first-rate demagogue’ at San Francisco.2 Despite wide-ranging Dominion successes in 1945–6, the United Nations disappointed expectations, failing to becoming the centrepiece of post-war world order. This was not just down to dissension between the Soviets and the west; the growing ranks of developing states also had their own grievances and priorities. As it became clear the UN would not satisfy the security requirements of post-war order, the Dominions were forced to seek alternative solutions. This presents a contradiction. The Dominions, their diplomatic mettle tested by the UN, came out well. After San Francisco, many ‘settled’ issues were raised, unpacked and repacked, defined, clarified and re-clarified. The Dominions mastered this grinding process, supported by Britain and their well-developed bureaucracies. Only South Africa fared poorly, as Southwest Africa, allowed to rest until San Francisco, thereafter held back or reserved, now stained Smuts and the Union. The other Dominions built upon their success at San Francisco. Their most impressive accomplishment was the creation of an unofficial ‘Commonwealth’ seat in the Security Council, which would endure for some decades. Nevertheless, the UN was disappointing. Perhaps this was inevitable. Canadians only learned unofficially, in February 1945, that the Americans did not really envisage the UN enforcing the peace.3 Smuts was waiting for a great conference that never took place. Evatt knew there were to be separate conferences, but held fast to the hope that the UN would police the peace.4 New Zealand had fought hardest for ‘genuine’ collective security in the UN only, as Berendsen’s lament indicated, to watch the General Assembly become a kangaroo court where blocs of states scored points off each other in competitive recriminations. Could any UN have met Dominion expectations? The organisation that they wanted was not the organisation that everyone wanted: the great powers, the Latin American powers, the Communist powers, the steadily-increasing ranks of new powers all had different ideas. Would the Dominions ever enjoy the kind of protection they wanted? The answer is yes, eventually, by composing and joining bodies of likeminded powers with similar regional interests. As for the UN, it was to do many things well. Security was not one of them.

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It remains to understand why. No analysis of the UN would be complete without considering the process by which the Charter became an organisation, and by which the organisation failed to live up to the promise of the Charter. This is not a moral judgment, nor is it ‘shaming.’ From its very conception, a growing pile of vague notions had been laid at its feat. Once formed, the young organisation faced tremendous challenges: order global politics, constrain the great powers, pacify the war zones, halt the storms raging through the shattered peripheries of dying empires, all according to the peculiar ideologies of dozens of nations. Unrealistic, yes, but these demands spoke to a range of expectations which had to be met, if not by universal collective security, then by other means. There were three stages in the early evolution of the UN: the Executive Committee of the Preparatory Commission, the Preparatory Commission itself, and then the first General Assembly, which met in two parts. In addition to Security Council membership and the trusteeship agreements, we must pay special attention to the growing cleavage between the west and the developing world.

The London Preparatory Commission The Preparatory Commission, convened in London at the end of 1945, was to prepare the agenda for the 1946 General Assembly. This was a compromise between the British and the Americans, who favoured appointing an interim Secretary General, and the Soviets, who refused to surrender any power over the UN. Preparing to treat technical details (e.g. the diplomatic status of UN officials) or post-war problems (e.g. refugees) meant making lasting decisions about what constituted a problem, and what constituted a solution. The work of the Preparatory Commission was itself divided into two parts, the first being the work of the Executive Committee of the Preparatory Commission, which prepared the questions to be answered and issues to be addressed, the second being the whole Commission (including the Executive Committee), which sought to conduct business. This was a compromise between the Americans, who wanted to minimise the workload, and the British, who wanted to ensure the

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General Assembly made competent decisions.5 Commonwealth delegations thought the Americans wanted to set the UN up quickly to avoid any swing towards isolation.6

The Executive Committee Australia and Canada, represented by Evatt (or Hasluck) and Pearson (or Reid) secured representation on the Executive Committee, but progress was slow. In contrast to San Francisco, no great power conclave ran the meeting. There were two reasons for this: Noel-Baker was determined to make collective security succeed and so did not tolerate back-room dealing, while the American and Soviet representatives were bound by voluminous briefs. The Soviets were reticent about making proceedings public. Andrei Gromyko (who became the Soviet Union’s UN representative in April 1946) refused to countenance open reporting on the Executive Committee. This allowed Hasluck to live up to the spirit of the Australia-New Zealand Agreement, by secretly passing committee papers to New Zealand.7 Cecil Day praised Hasluck, writing he has seemed to sense just what would be useful to you out there and has always been ready to adopt any suggestion which I have made on your behalf.8 Reid also thought Hasluck one of the best men on the committee. ‘Perhaps,’ Reid speculated, ‘his contribution to an international discussion increases as the square of his distance from Dr. Evatt.’9 As for Evatt, his political instincts told him he could cut more hay in Australia than in London,10 while the Australian DEA was undergoing the first of many staff reshuffles.11 While Hasluck was to get the team he wanted for the Preparatory Commission, he and many of the best Australian diplomats were about to lose a game of musical chairs playing out in Canberra.12 Gromyko was anything but accommodating. Denied backroom meetings, he fought every point. Gromyko’s most dangerous suggestions concerned the temporary secretariat to the Preparatory Commission.

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Since this was to form the core of the international civil service, the precedents set in London were of lasting moment. Gromyko wanted: (a) senior staff to retain membership of their national diplomatic services; (b) staff restricted from touching matters of policy; and (c) a point system to maintain strict national equality in the secretariat. These suggestions were beaten back, but Reid became increasingly pessimistic about cooperation with the USSR, and was unsure whether the Committee would issue a single report.13 Reid learned hard lessons from the Soviets, informing a more professional negotiating strategy: questions of procedure and controversial points must be dealt with early, so that the Soviets might request instructions from Moscow; when the Soviets adopted extreme attitudes and refused to budge, the answer was to make a compromise, but threaten to withdraw it completely if the Soviets did not budge; when the Soviets found they had been beaten on a point, it was best to grant them time when they asked for it, but to make it a precedent which prevented the Soviets from calling snap votes when they had the advantage.14 Eventually, the Executive Committee brought forth a report. There were still disagreements: (a) multiple organic secretariats (i.e. one connected to each UN organ) versus a single functional one; (b) the relative importance of geography versus competence in selecting members of the working committees; (c) the amount of preparatory work the Preparatory Commission ought to do for the first Security Council – as opposed to Assembly – meeting; (d) the relationship of the International Labor Organization to the UN; (e) the relationship of the UN to the League of Nations; (f) the choice of site for the UN; and (g) whether to establish a temporary trusteeship committee. The situation was manageable. Soviet proposals for deputy secretaries were again beaten back, and the international secretariat was maintained as an independent body. A system of assistant secretaries was eventually adopted, but these lacked the stringent controls the Soviets had wanted for the Secretary General’s ‘deputies.’ The Canadians were particularly keen that the independence of the secretariat be preserved. The Soviets and Americans generally came round to the view that there ought to be some preparatory work for the Security Council,

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thanks to a last-minute American decision. Problems over bringing the ILO into relationship with the UN, over the liquidation of the League and over the establishment of an interim trusteeship committee were of a technical rather than substantive nature. The question of where to situate the UN generated heat, but was solved by a timely grant of land by Nelson Rockefeller. In most cases, the Canadian and Australian delegations worked together.15 At the same time, Reid and Hasluck worked closely with Noel-Baker, who was particularly adept at using the two men to sabotage American or Soviet efforts to push Britain against a wall through private meetings, so that Canada and Australia developed the uncanny ability to raise sensitive issues at terribly inconvenient moments.16 The Commonwealth worked best when it worked spontaneously. Britain, Canada, Australia and New Zealand were not told to work together; they found themselves on the same side and therefore did work together. They worked effectively, too, to cast off the curtain drawn round the work of the Executive Committee, to undermine backroom diplomacy, and to maintain the advances they had made at San Francisco. Generally, they found themselves united in their opposition to the Soviets. The Dominions prized open, accommodating, consultative diplomacy; the Soviets did not. More to the point, and this was the real problem, whatever the diplomacy of the United Nations, the real world was elsewhere. Atomic bombs had been dropped on Japan; a single, large aeroplane could now fly nearly halfway round the world; in Germany and Japan, the armistice was being made; across the frontiers, resources were being allocated or seized. Meanwhile, the Executive Committee fretted about where to locate its buildings. The Dominions did well, but what were they really accomplishing?

The Preparatory Commission Two major details to occupy the Preparatory Commission were the liquidation of the League of Nations and the location of the UN. Mercifully, we need merely say of the League that it was indeed liquidated. As to location, little needs to be written. Smuts favoured

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Geneva particularly and Europe generally.17 The American delegation was ‘graceless,’ according to Reid, in pushing for America, but at least that would reflect American ‘contracting in.’18 The Australians wanted a Pacific location, San Francisco being perfect, Europe being disastrous,19 and was therefore disappointed when Brazil called a snap vote favouring the east coast of the US.20 This began a race among American cities for the honour of hosting the UN. If nothing else, Rockefeller’s timely donation of land in Manhattan averted a crisis in American regional politics. Differences over the secretariat persisted, reflecting differing views as to the nature of civil service. The British ideal, which prevailed, was an independent and competent body to interpret, frame and execute public policy. This was in contrast to the American ideal, in which the civil service was a projection of the executive, or the Soviet view, in which civil service was technical and essentially subservient. One compromise in favour of the Soviet view was to allot a special department of the secretariat to the Security Council. The ‘Security Council Department’ of the secretariat appeased the Soviets, without burdening the UN with a warren of organic secretariats; moreover, it continued to serve the Assembly on questions of peace and security, following a ‘functional’ rather than ‘organic’ principle.21 At the same time, the continued wrangling over the secretariat meant that the report of the Preparatory Commission, destined to go before the first General Assembly for approval, established a precedent greatly strengthening the power of the Assembly. The Assembly was asked to approve the structure, functions, work, budget and staff arrangements of the secretariat, a sort of ‘line item’ budgetary power (a very broad interpretation of article 17.1), which provided the Assembly another quasi-legislative role.22 Effort was also devoted to preserving the open character of the Assembly. Australia, with enthusiastic South American support, was vocal in this respect. A ‘nominations committee’ to supervise committee appointments was voted down, while a ‘general committee,’ equivalent to a steering committee, was diluted.23 As for placing issues before the Assembly, Russia and her satellites opposed the General Assembly handling any substantive issue, particularly the question of refugees.24

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Trusteeship was a major problem for the Preparatory Commission. There were two complicating factors. First, Soviet insistence that the Preparatory Commission could not call an interim trusteeship council into being, lest this set a precedent for freely appointing ad hoc UN ‘organs.’ Second, Soviet demands that the Big Five be considered ‘states directly concerned’ in all trusteeship agreements. This was what Smuts had predicted, and was embarrassing to all states, including Britain, America and the Dominions, which did not want the Soviets meddling in their trusteeship territories.25 Australia, New Zealand and South Africa, the Canadian delegation noted with disapproval, ‘played a very poor role indeed ... and appeared as the defenders of reactionary colonial officials.’26 Where Australian and New Zealand officials had once pushed for an international approach to trusteeship, on grounds of ‘colonial welfare,’ they now sought, alongside South Africa, to bolster the British position against the Soviets: they rejected the Soviet proposal for ‘states directly concerned’ in trusteeship territories, lest powers seek to gate crash, and they rejected the Yugoslav demand that a strict timetable be established for bringing trusteeship agreements under the UN, lest the trustee powers be placed in a false position.27 While the trusteeship powers defended themselves from such provisions, they looked bad. The Preparatory Commission report was almost a blanket condemnation of trusteeship, forcing trustee powers to accept it with strong reservations. South Africa continued to allow Southwest Africa to drift, creating another reservation applying only to that mandate. ‘We simply cannot afford to let our cause go by default,’ D.B. Sole, political secretary in the London High Commission, warned Pretoria.28 American interest in ‘strategically vital’ territories helped the Commonwealth position. Anglo-American-Soviet compromise called for mandatory powers to prepare to take steps, alongside states directly concerned (this definition being left to the initiative of the mandatory state), to develop trusteeship agreements covering their mandates, and to bring these before the General Assembly (for non-security territories) or Security Council, for security territories, if possible by the second sitting of the First Assembly.29 A Yugoslav proposal condemning any delay in framing the agreements was beaten back; so too the

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Ukrainian suggestion that the agreements take political aspirations of subject populations into account.30 Even so, the Australian delegation, unhappy with some of the wording, reserved its position.31 Australia and New Zealand were surprised to find that their claims to custodianship were not taken seriously. By the end of the Preparatory Conference, only New Zealand still contemplated placing security matters (an American request for base rights in Western Samoa) before the Trusteeship Council, but was ready to reconsider in the face of stiff Commonwealth and US opposition to that idea.32 There were already too many dangerous currents in the UN to float important agreements upon them. There was jostling for position on the Security Council and other important councils. It was here that Evatt’s absence was felt by Australian delegates, as they thought his prestige among small powers would help secure a Security Council seat. Evatt himself regarded an Australian seat on the Security Council as a vital interest, but domestic politics kept him tied up in Australia.33 Hasluck begged for a stronger delegation at the first Assembly, noting that Australia ought to have a minister present,34 while Hodgson appealed to the Prime Minister to send Evatt to London.35 It was no use. Had Evatt remained, it is almost certain he would have been made President of the Assembly, while his chairmanship of the Security Council would have saved Australia the charges of incompetence it endured under N.J.O. Makin.36 Hasluck did well nevertheless, canvassing support from the Soviets, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia and the US. The first Commonwealth discussion of the subject took place on 21 December. Noel-Baker revealed that Britain favoured Canada, Brazil, the Netherlands (for two year posts), and Poland, Egypt and Columbia (for one year posts); his justifications were (a) that Canada was the senior dominion, (b) that election of two Dominions would make it difficult to establish a precedent of rotating Commonwealth membership in the Security Council, and (c) that the Netherlands would provide adequate geographic representation for Southeast Asia and the South Pacific.37 In short, the only major opposition which Australia had to expect on the Security Council came from Britain. Canada, which had an argument for participating

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in the Security Council on functional grounds, was guaranteed a place in the Atomic Energy Commission, and expected a seat either on the Economic and Social Council, or the Security Council. There is nothing to suggest that King or anyone else canvassed support for seats for Canada before-hand, reflecting a quiet confidence. To Canadians, who had fought hard for recognition as a leader of middle powers, the Australian desire for a Security Council seat at Canadian expense was unreasonable, even unthinkable.38 There was surprise at Evatt’s response to the British decision. He prepared a telegram for delivery to all the united nations, excluding Britain and the Dominions,39 which was to be delivered a week before the Assembly convened, pointing out that Australia, as a ‘security power’ and a Pacific power, was willing to contemplate membership on the Security Council.40 This was an abuse of British confidence; it was also effective. The South African position deteriorated during the Preparatory Commission. The High Commissioner’s Office handled it in addition to regular work. Union representation was therefore D.B. Sole, B.G. Fourie and R. Jones, with occasional support from G.H. Nicholls. While Canada and Australia made positive contributions, South Africa could only acquiesce or reserve her position. The delegation was instructed to support British policy, making South Africa the most docile Dominion.41 There were no crises, but Nicholls warned Smuts that the Union needed to make an active contribution to the British Commonwealth, while the extension of various forms of international control or supervision over an increasingly wide area of economic, social and political policy make it necessary for us to take an effective part in the forthcoming conferences.42 Yet, South African resources were needed at home. It is well known that the European winter that year was especially cold, less so that the South African summer was especially dry and hot, so that the maize was not ploughed in properly and much of the wheat crop failed. In a year of chaos in Europe and Asia, there was little hope of making good the loss.43 UNRRA was responsive to the demands of Europe;

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it was not well-apprised of the African situation. South Africa was pressed to make commitments it could ill-afford; while new procedures for procurement and transportation were agreed with UNRRA towards the end of the year, UNRRA was more interested in the balance of £3 million which the Union had pledged to pay.44 Smuts was increasingly pressed between Empire and Afrikaner, internationalism and nationalism. The Preparatory Commission was further illustration, if any were needed, of the grave differences between the Commonwealth and the Soviets. It had been clear since San Francisco that trusteeship was not going to work as envisaged; at London, it became clear it would not work at all. The original inspiration for trusteeship had been the desire to remove certain bones of contention, major aerodromes in northern Canada, say, or Pacific islands, from contention, so as to ameliorate disagreement between states great and small. So far from ameliorating disagreement, trusteeship created disagreements where they had not existed before, particularly as the Communist states sought every means to gate crash or else to embarrass Britain, America and the Commonwealth. The United Nations ideal was that it would be free of power politics; instead, it seemed to exacerbate the problems of power politics. So far from choosing to lay issues and disputes before the United Nations, the Dominions increasingly strove to prevent issues from coming before the organisation at all. The Charter provisions for ‘strategic areas’ (article 83) quickly fell dead.

The General Assembly: 10 January to 15 February, 1946 The London Preparatory Commission nearly merged into the first General Assembly. With the Council of Foreign Ministers meeting intermittently and the Paris peace talks forthcoming in July, many states maintained substantial diplomatic establishments in London, allowing politicians to move freely between conferences while staff kept negotiations ticking over. If the glorious California spring marked the rebirth of international society, the long night of the London winter marked the coming slog through the Cold War.

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Publicly, the Commonwealth commanded respect at the Assembly. New Zealand was elected chair of the Social, Humanitarian and Cultural Committee, while South Africa was elected one of the seven Vice-Presidents of the Assembly.45 Yet, these circumstances were not ideal: Fraser had actually wanted to chair the Trusteeship Committee, but it was felt that seat ought to go to a non-colonial power; South Africa was offered the vice-presidency only when Sir Ramaswami Mudaliar, who wanted to chair the Economic and Social Council, declined it.46 A good sign for Britain was the election of the Belgian, Paul-Henri Spaak, as President of the General Assembly. Spaak had originally been the agreed candidate between Britain and America, so NoelBaker was instructed to campaign for Spaak. At the last moment, Ernest Bevin (who succeeded Eden as Foreign Secretary) was informed that Adlai Stevenson had agreed with Russia, ‘two months ago,’ to support Trygve Lie. Bevin objected strongly, not least because such treatment was offensive. It was encouraging that Spaak, supported by Britain alone among the great powers, secured his appointment.47 The two issues confronting the Commonwealth at the General Assembly were unchanged from the Preparatory Commission: election to the Security Council and trusteeship.48 Agreements on elections were made and unmade rapidly over a month. Voting blocs tended to be geopolitical: Australia and New Zealand had an agreement, so too did Belgium and the Netherlands; Soviet states, Arab states, and Latin American states had similar agreements.49 Britain was unique in giving serious consideration to imperial over regional factors: the Netherlands represented Southeast Asia, and Canada represented the Dominions. Even so, four British choices for the Security Council reflected the need for support from regional blocs: America and Latin America (Brazil, Columbia), the Soviets (Poland) and the Arabs (Egypt). Canada supported these choices, unsurprisingly, but on functional grounds. Smuts sought a power political division, between Britain (Canada, Australia), America (Brazil, Mexico) and the Soviets (Czechoslovakia), the Czechs because they were westward looking; a last seat was reserved for Belgium, because small European democracies were pro-British.50

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Commonwealth agreement was elusive. Many Dominion statesmen had spent 1945 abroad. C.D. Howe might spend most of his time abroad, but it was another matter when the entire political establishment of each Dominion was out. In 1946, they had to return to their own capitals: London High Commissions now assumed the burden of conference diplomacy, meaning Dominion staffers were rushing about London doing the work of three men apiece.51 Locating one, let alone conversing, was difficult. So the Dominions clashed publicly rather than privately, and blamed one another for failures in Commonwealth consultation.52 There were sharp clashes between Canada and Australia (over the Security Council), between South Africa and Australia (over the international court), and between South Africa and New Zealand (over trusteeship). As Godfrey Boyd Shannon complained, except for South Africa, and to some degree Canada, the Dominions have shown an unwillingness to recognise that collaboration involves give-and-take by all concerned. They feel entitled to persist in their own line when they think fit, but are aggrieved when the UK takes a line which they do not approve ... the reactions of the UK Delegation are, firstly, why make concessions to a Dominion standpoint, if the Dominions make none to ours? Secondly, why trouble with inter-Imperial consultation, when the most that it achieves may be agreement to disagreement?53 It did not help that the British delegation, which was well-staffed, was moonlighting in Parliament. The cold consolation was the Assembly was not faced with any first-rank issue in foreign affairs, so that Commonwealth disagreement did not mean much. On the issues that mattered, the Communist insurgency in Greece for instance, Commonwealth unity was easier to sustain.

Council Membership and Elections The Commonwealth position was complicated by the Canadian desire for election to the Security Council and the Economic and Social Council.

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The principle of Commonwealth representation meant that Canadian election to the one would have made Australia or South Africa the natural choice for the other, but neither Canada nor Australia employed that principle (save as it benefitted them). Canada followed functionalism, a principle undermined somewhat by her impending withdrawal from Germany; Australia, supported by New Zealand, followed geographic representation.54 ‘Commonwealth’ debate was therefore academic. Lord Addison, the Dominions Secretary, strove in vain for compromise. Hodgson, in a rare show of resolve, closed discussion on 9 January, fired Evatt’s circular to the united nations next day and took the matter, as it were, to the country.55 The vote took place on 12 January. The great powers had not reached unanimity on their selections for the Security Council, so Gromyko moved to adjourn the debate before it came to a vote. Rising to speak in favour of adjournment, Fraser made a long statement on the importance of fair geographic representation. The motion to adjourn was defeated. In the first division, Brazil, Egypt, Mexico, Poland and Holland all secured the necessary two-thirds majority (34 votes) for election. Canada and Australia split the vote, 33 and 28 respectively. Canada lost the crucial vote because the Nicaraguan delegate signed his secret ballot card, which had to be discarded. Nicaragua became the toast of the Australians.56 In a second ballot, Canada polled 27 and Australia 23. At this point, Canada withdrew in order to allow Australia to secure the necessary majority, granting Australia the distinction of being the only state elected without the support of any of the great powers.57 A subsequent ballot secured a ‘two-year’ seat for Australia. G.H. Nicholls gave two reasons why Australia did so well: (a) small states recalled Evatt’s fight against the veto, and felt Australia would be more favourable to them than Canada; (b) Canada already had a seat on the Atomic Energy Commission, was almost guaranteed election to the Economic and Social Council, and Pearson was favoured as the first Secretary-General, i.e. many thought Canada over-represented.58 Canadian withdrawal also added to a reputation for statesmanship. The Assembly then moved to the Economic and Social Council, to which Canada was elected by a clear margin. Australia withdrew from that election in support of New Zealand, but still garnered seven votes.

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New Zealand split two votes with Yugoslavia for the eighteenth seat on the Council, and when debate adjourned had not secured the necessary majority. The Australian delegation began working to support New Zealand.59 However, as no clear-cut division seemed obtainable, Fraser agreed to withdraw in favour of Yugoslavia, winning thereby an Anglo-American promise of full support in the next election, in September.60 Privately, the Soviets assured Fraser they would back that position.61 India gained a seat on the Economic and Social Council, but had no need of British support given the wide prestige enjoyed by Sir Ramaswami.62 South Africa did not stand for any seat. The principles, if any, upheld by the vote were: (a) that no country save great powers ought to enjoy multiple council seats, and (b) that geographic blocs of states tended to support one another, though the British fretted the Commonwealth might have secured three ECOSOC seats. The same feeling attended elections to the International Court of Justice. J.E. Read, of Canada, was strongly supported by America and had a good chance; there seemed a sporting chance of securing the fifteenth (last) slot on the court for another Commonwealth candidate. Sir Mahomed Zafrullah Khan (India) was left to take his chance, which was considered good, with other Near and Middle Eastern countries, leaving a choice between South Africa (Mr. Justice Davis, strongly supported by the nationalists there) and Australia (K.H. Bailey). Evatt’s instructions were rigid: support Bailey. The Commonwealth faced another split vote. On balance, South Africa had accumulated little good will, while Bailey was well-known. South Africa’s instructions were to support Britain, which meant that Nicholls, under protest, did nothing for his candidate. In any case, Zafrullah Khan and Bailey were defeated by Norway and Poland respectively.63 As to Canadian ‘over-representation,’ this was over-stated. Canada was too close to Britain to have the Secretary General. Lie’s failure to become Assembly President made the Soviets hesitant to put him forward again, but Makin assured Gromyko that Lie was acceptable to the other powers; Gromyko seems to have taken the Australian suggestion to heart.64 Perhaps Lie would have been put forward in any case, but his rejection by the Assembly would have been embarrassing, so Makin’s suggestion was probably useful. Pope sent Pearson his

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congratulations, concluding ‘the United Nations is a doubtful starter’ whereas Canada always needed its American ambassador.65

Trusteeship Trusteeship was complicated by the lack of trusteeship agreements, making it impossible to elect a Council with equal numbers of trusteeship and non-trusteeship states. There was also persistent disagreement over what ‘states directly concerned’ meant. This definition had been held over for the first half of the Assembly; now it was held over for the second. The Soviets held out for agreement with Britain and America on Italian colonies.66 Smuts’ policy on Southwest Africa was to avoid acknowledging UN authority. Under the League Mandate, Southwest Africa was almost a part of the Union, and Smuts wanted to incorporate that territory.67 While this had, in effect, been announced at San Francisco, Smuts did not want to play his hand until the right moment ‘psychologically.’ Thus, the South African delegation in London maintained that Southwest Africa was a special case, i.e. they delayed.68 They also announced their intention to consult the inhabitants of Southwest Africa. Pressure began to mount on South Africa to accept a trusteeship arrangement, beginning with Fraser’s January announcement that he was willing to place New Zealand’s mandates under trusteeship immediately,69 alongside New Zealand’s efforts to promote greater autonomy within her territories, particularly Samoa.70 On 21 January, while France considered her options with respect to French Togoland and the Cameroons, Fraser attacked any efforts to delay bringing trusteeship into effect. Nicholls believed Fraser had questioned the good faith of South Africa and France. More alarming, Fraser’s move had the ready support of anti-colonial powers. Nicholls wrote he would happily explain the Union position, if Fraser wanted to take a break from rabble rousing to avail himself of Commonwealth consultation.71 Fraser was more conciliatory on 22 January, but South African officials saw the episode as a reason for even greater caution.72 D.B. Sole was given charge of the trusteeship issue, though staff shortages meant he was also working on the Security Council,

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General Assembly, and League of Nations. Sole warned persistently that the South African position was crumbling detail by detail, in the Preparatory Commission, in the anti-mandatory sub-committee which drafted rules of procedure for the Trusteeship Council, in the left-wing views of British ministers. The thrust of his warning was that ‘delay in taking action to consolidate our position in South West Africa may be fraught with serious consequences,’ and most of his suggestions, to wit, that South Africa procure full statements from the assembly and native populations of Southwest Africa, were acted upon in one form or another.73 What Sole really needed was a capable support staff, and the authority to exert consistent pressure upon the UN and Britain. Without Smuts present, this did not take place. Instead, South Africa slowly lost ground without making its views known. As the case for trusteeship was strengthened in various ways, by Fraser’s willingness to place his mandates under trusteeship immediately, or by an American proposal, which effectively made trusteeship an agreement in right of the United Nations, rather than in right of the trusteeship power, Sole simply observed.74 South Africans never had a handle on what trusteeship meant; UN hostility simply confirmed that annexation was an alternative to trusteeship. Somehow, the UN was supposed to approve of this, though there is no evidence anyone canvassed opinion to determine whether that was a viable proposition. By mid-year, when Sole and Nicholls had a sit-down with Forsyth, trusteeship was not an option. Instead, without the slightest notion of what the General Assembly might want, South Africans devoted themselves to putting a case that incorporation was for the best.75 South Africans, worrying that trusteeship was too great a risk, wagered their entire position in an anticolonial General Assembly on an unknown, untried procedure. Part of the problem, particularly for South Africa (which had grown dependent upon Britain), was that the Attlee Government experienced bumps in maintaining Commonwealth consultation. During the Preparatory Commission, Noel-Baker had maintained informal contact with everyone, Dominion delegates included. Arthur CreechJones, standing in for the Colonial Secretary (George Hall), was less experienced, and did not head off the public divergence between the

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Dominions. He publicly criticised the Union Government, which brought the wrath of Lord Addison crashing down upon him. In a heated meeting, Addison told the wayward junior minister his behaviour was unpardonable, and that his duty was to consult Dominion delegates. When Creech-Jones complained he was being forced to pocket his ideals, Addison replied Commonwealth unity was the only ideal he should entertain; Creech-Jones was forbidden to do or say anything more without permission.76 The upshot was that Addison pulled the Commonwealth back together. In two meetings, on 29 and 30 January, Dominion delegates aired their differences, which were not so great after all. Nicholls complained that Commonwealth disunity would only leave Bevin in a ‘cleft stick’ vis-à-vis Russia and America; Fraser and Hodgson complained that Britain had not strictly adhered to Commonwealth consultation, citing the Cairo Conference (certainly not a dead horse in 1946, as Antipodean fears about Pacific order were realised). Various delegates defended Creech-Jones against the charge of ‘pillorying’ the Union; Fraser noted, quite correctly, that South Africa had not openly discussed her intentions towards Southwest Africa with the Commonwealth. Fraser did not oppose incorporating Southwest Africa, but he argued it ought to become a trusteeship territory first.77 A second meeting was given over to legal questions affecting the League, the transfer of mandates and so forth.78 Some kind of Commonwealth harmony was restored before the first part of the General Assembly came to an end. South Africans found Fraser’s liberalism annoying, but they might have reflected that he led a colonial state which retained popularity among anti-colonial states. His advice on regularising Southwest Africa’s position was sound, but ignored. So too did Smuts ignore the advice, given him by Evatt, Nash, Attlee and Hall in mid-1946, during the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting, as to various legal means, through trusteeship, towards incorporation.79 Instead, South Africans picked out a legal anomaly in trusteeship. The UN Charter imposed no obligation upon mandatory powers to conclude trusteeship agreements, while the League could not bind the UN to accept an automatic transfer of mandates. The system worked on a balance of hostility: anti-colonial powers accepted trusteeship lest the Trusteeship Council fail, while colonial

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powers accepted trusteeship to preserve a semblance of international good will. Legally, there was a loophole, which was to become South Africa’s contingency plan.80 Normatively, this loophole cut against the spirit of trusteeship even as interpreted by other colonial states, and was to set South Africa profoundly at odds with the new organisation.

Trends in the General Assembly There was an increasing propensity, during the first General Assembly, towards bloc politics. To the customary Latin American bloc was added a Soviet bloc (the two Soviet republics, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Yugoslavia) and an Arab bloc. The Latin American and Arab blocs showed some signs of negotiation; the Soviet bloc had rigid discipline. This hindered the Soviets in one of their apparent objectives, that is, securing greater support among small states, but in the days when France cherished hopes of alliance with Russia, Joseph Paul-Boncour took every chance to vote with the Russians. The European nations were, comparatively, the least unified, while within the Commonwealth apparent disagreement on a few issues obscured real agreement on most issues.81 More to the point, as global politics moved rapidly the United Nations faced the same issues it had at the end of 1945, or indeed, the middle of 1945: council membership, which was finally resolved, and trusteeship, which was held over. There was some solid progress: the secretariat formed, other organisations came into relationship with the UN, councils were elected. This was not bad, but relative to the speed with which the great powers were establishing (or losing) control over the world, it was slow. The vital questions pertained to bases, the armistice, to peace, to trade, to democracy, and not one of them was put before the UN.

The General Assembly: 23 October to 17 December, 1946 Conditions became increasingly polarised. The Council of Foreign Ministers shuddered forward, achieving notable compromises (e.g.

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Trieste), while postponing other issues (e.g. the Italian colonies); the Paris negotiations dragged into 1947, while the lack of peace treaties with Italy, Austria and other states meant that British troops remained over-committed abroad. The Security Council appeared to be failing: it hosted disputes over Persia, Syria, Franco’s regime, Anglo-Dutch (and Japanese) forces in Indonesia, and the Communist insurgency in Greece.82 ‘The Council,’ Cadogan wrote, is being used solely as a sounding board for mischievous propaganda. It is not used for reaching useful agreement on policy: it has not yet ... been able to prove its value in remedying unsatisfactory situations or averting the danger of threats to the peace.83 Cases were not being sponsored from any genuine desire to put wrongs to right. Moreover, the Military Staff Committee, which began meeting on 1 February, became site of a protracted battle over Soviet demands to know the whereabouts, strength and mission of soldiers outside their own territories and within non-enemy (i.e. non-Axis) territories. This was designed to embarrass Britain over Greece and Indonesia, without revealing the forces ravishing Eastern Europe.84 Bevin, echoing Churchill at Yalta the previous year, told the Commonwealth ‘he was not prepared to be put into the dock’ over British troop commitments.85 The second half of the first General Assembly convened in media res. Or just outside them, since the UN was unable to meet in Manhattan proper. When traffic was good between Manhattan and Long Island, the average UN diplomat only spent four hours travelling on Assembly business.86 While the specialised organs of the United Nations enjoyed measurable success, the Security Council stagnated, and the effectiveness of the General Assembly was eroded by debates and resolutions with little bearing on the Charter. As Bevin recognised with customary acuity, not one but two great debates were playing out, between the Soviets and the West, and between ‘new’ states and colonial powers.87 For the Dominions, the UN was less and less capable of meeting their political objectives. Evatt, alarmed by the use of the Security

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Council veto, moved a resolution on 8 November imploring the Council to limit the veto to Chapter VII actions.88 While the Cuban Government proposed a committee to investigate limiting the veto with enthusiastic Antipodean support, Fraser doubted whether the Assembly could do anything constructive about it.89 Expectations for the Security Council had been dashed; expectations for the Assembly were shrinking. What did this General Assembly accomplish? Eleanor Roosevelt promoted UNRRA before the Social Committee; Bevin succeeded in creating an Economic Commission for Europe; a range of commissions, including the Human Rights Commission, were brought into being. An Assembly motion condemned veto abuse, but without practical import. The question of disarmament was raised by Molotov, and Bevin turned this into an Assembly motion calling for general disarmament. This was somewhat embarrassing to the Soviets, and a signal that Britain was not going to repeat the interwar experiment in unilateral disarmament, but of little import. The submission of trusteeship agreements by New Zealand, Australia, Britain, France and Belgium, and the meetings of the trusteeship committee, which began on 1 November, provoked an outpouring of hostility, particularly from the Soviet, Indian, Philippine and Panamanian delegations.90 The Soviets complained that they should have been treated as states directly concerned in all cases, whereas no colonial power had consulted them; the Indian and Philippine delegates made an attack on all colonial powers; Panama protested vigorously because the US had submitted information on the Panama Canal to the UN. Carl Berendsen, representing New Zealand, was forthright enough to submit himself, and the New Zealand agreement on Western Samoa, to the scrutiny of the committee, a process which lasted some weeks. Western Samoa became a test case: so much time was taken that the other trusteeship agreements passed as a block. Western Samoa passed for two reasons. First, New Zealand had done thorough ground work, including bringing a Samoan deputation to New York. Second, to reject the agreements would have prevented the formation of the Trusteeship Council, scuttling that entire part of the Charter. The anti-colonial delegations did not want that.91

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The General Assembly began the year optimistically and concluded wearily.92 Neither Britain nor the Dominions had a ‘good’ Assembly: there was little they could do to turn the UN to their own ends. The constant bickering along bloc lines was a particularly unedifying and disappointing spectacle. For Australia and for South Africa, the UN was to prove particularly disappointing, though for different reasons.

The Decline of Australian Foreign Policy Evatt’s abrupt return to Australia in 1946 was indicative of a growing problem in Australian diplomacy. Evatt was unique among Dominion statesmen in that he owed his prominence to sheer brilliance: he was an astute, quarrelsome, filibustering rabble-rouser. Many statesmen gravitated towards him. Whereas Smuts or Pearson carefully hoarded their political capital, Evatt freely gambled with his, buying on margin and selling at a loss, but always, somehow, pulling himself back on top. In 1946, his Department of External Affairs went at a loss. Flamboyant, careless brilliance is no way to run an organisation and, as Hasluck said of Evatt in 1954, ‘his ambition was clearer than his policy.’93 Evatt’s ambition was to become Prime Minister. When Curtin died in mid-1945, Evatt was his most likely successor, but he was also at San Francisco.94 He hurried back to Australia, but to no avail. Chifley succeeded Curtin.95 With the election in 1946, Evatt was determined not to be left behind. Sacrificing the Presidency of the General Assembly, Evatt remained at home to further his ambitions. So far from centralising international diplomacy, the UN became just another outlet, and states found it difficult to keep first-rate people there as well as everywhere else. According to Evatt’s biographer, his foreign policy was an ‘intermingling’ of several streams: illogicalities and swift changes of policy were often attributable to a personal, party and national self-interest that was centred on status, reputation, and the wish to remain in power ... Evatt’s

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conception of self-interest often failed to meet the approval or comprehension of local and international officials.96 In 1946, Evatt had little time for the DEA which, faced with rapidly expanding overseas commitments, limping under the pressure of personal rivalries, now began to come apart. The dispatch of N.J.O. Makin to head Australia’s UN delegation was the first consequence; Hodgson, who as we have seen kept an uneasy peace in the DEA, was also sent to New York. Berendsen complained vociferously about the arrangement: here we go to all sorts of lengths to get Australia put on the Security Council, and they are represented at the first meeting, when they held the Chair, by Makin, and at the second meeting in New York ... they were represented by Hodgson [who] ... at the first test of strength ... voted against the immediate hearing of the Iranian representative. God knows why he did it, but there can be no possible excuse, and I think it is absolutely shocking.97 Between 1944 and 1945, Australian UN policy placed her at the forefront of nations; after 1945, her performance deteriorated. This lacklustre performance abroad was matched, in Canberra, by the breakdown of the DEA. William Dunk became Secretary of the Department. Dunk was a ‘diamond in the rough,’ according to Watt. Unlike Hodgson, Dunk did not run in fear of Evatt, who characteristically got rid of Dunk by dispatching him to America (on a ‘cost-cutting mission’) and then driving him out of office.98 Dr. Burton wielded power while Dunk was in exile, and then succeeded him when he was driven out. Burton had never been posted abroad (and disgraced himself when he was posted abroad, to Ceylon, later in his career); he was young, and junior to many of the officials (like Watt) whom he now supervised. He was an old ally of Hood and, by extension, an enemy of Hasluck; moreover, he was inclined to spend more time tending to his new farm than to the DEA. ‘The whole business stinks,’ Alan Renouf wrote to Hasluck, concluding ‘Evatt is just not interested in United Nations matters at the moment.’99

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Throughout 1946, Canberra found it difficult to adopt a consistent line in foreign policy, while the niggardly Public Services Board created further problems. Just before he resigned, Hasluck wrote Canberra that his shoes were in holes. This was not just bad policy, it was absence of policy. A good Minister would have suppressed personal rivalries, enforced departmental discipline, respected his subordinates and pressured the Public Services Board to support his people. Instead, departmental politics descended into a war of all against all. By the time Hasluck left, in early 1947, the Australian delegation to the UN had slid into insignificance.100 Australian troubles were not entirely Evatt’s fault, but they did demonstrate that a good statesman, ipso facto, possesses a good staff. At San Francisco, Evatt led the small powers, but he was backed by fantastic staff work: civil-military liaison, the PHP papers, the Australia-New Zealand agreements. When he returned to the General Assembly in 1948, Australian policy was in pieces and the UN was feeling the first rise of the post-colonial surge, racked by successive waves of Communism, anti-colonialism, post-colonialism. Even as President of the Assembly, Evatt was unable to pick up the pieces: he alienated Britain on Palestine; he alienated America on the Berlin blockade. Without realizing it, Evatt’s efforts to ‘see both sides’ in Berlin made a mockery of Australian participation in the Berlin airlift.101 This was a terrible disappointment: Evatt was just as impressive, in his own way, as Smuts or Pearson; Australia had a core of DEA staff just as astute as Wrong or Jebb. These advantages were squandered. Not only in the UN, but in other fields of diplomacy, the promises of 1944–45 fell dead: a ‘Pacific Conference’ never materialised; the Australia-New Zealand agreement foundered as Australians failed their duty of consultation and New Zealanders, like Berendsen, became exasperated; ambitious Australian plans for ‘policing’ the South Pacific came to nothing; and Australian diplomacy on American bases was, as we shall see, ham-fisted.102 An important contrast can be made with Canada, which continued to move to the vanguard of international affairs. Was this because Australia was too ‘imperially minded,’ or because Canada was the

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‘oldest’ Dominion? Not in the slightest. No grand, impersonal factor ordained that Australia should tumble, or destined Canada to keep her balance upon the tightrope between Britain and America. Rather, the dedicated core of policy-making staff in the Canadian foreign policy establishment continued to work harmoniously with Canadian statesmen, and this was because, and for some reason this is awfully controversial in Canadian historiography, Canada was exceptionally well led. While Curtin was plagued by ill health, and Chifley unable to unite Australia behind his socialist platform, King endured, anointing his successor, Louis St. Laurent, and, a truly great feat, Laurent’s successor, Lester Pearson. King never towered over affairs of state in the manner of Churchill, Roosevelt or Smuts, but he managed them effectively, and sometimes with much greater skill. What King provided to Canada, what Australia so desperately lacked, was stability. With it, Australian diplomacy might have borne prodigious fruit; without it, Canada might have sunk in the mid-century storms. Stability, statesmanship and staff acuity were important components of successful diplomacy. Each of the Dominions graphically illustrated this point, from different perspectives.

The Defeat of Smuts: Southwest Africa If the Australian case illustrated how difficult it was to keep a consistent line in the ever-changing currents of the UN, South Africa demonstrated how far world politics had moved since the beginning of the war. Smuts’ policy was to prevent the intrusion of new great powers into African affairs. He had not welcomed the FAO or UNRRA; he did not welcome the Trusteeship Council. If Southwest Africa were placed before the Council, it would forever be a pawn in great power politics. Even before the advent of the atomic bomb, Smuts had predicted that major war risked the end of civilisation,103 and, when he cast his thoughts to the eastern half of Europe, he had the cold comfort of having been half right.104 In 1946, the dangers of great power competition were more acute; Smuts wanted the UN to ameliorate that competition, but he regarded UN penetration of Africa as nothing more than a new phase of power politics in Africa.

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Was Smuts correct? In certain respects, yes. At the beginning of October, the US State Department handed H.T. Andrews an aide-memoire proposing the creation of a UN commission of enquiry (including the US, UK, France and four other powers chosen by the Assembly), to investigate the position of Southwest Africa and make recommendations on the future of the territory to the 1947 General Assembly.105 The State Department approach was sound, but reflected an on-going battle between the State Department and the Service Departments over whether to annex strategic islands seized from Japan.106 At the same time, Nicholls predicted that Russia and one of her satellites, as well as China, would almost certainly demand representation: the outcome would clearly be a Commission which was but a reflection of the present ideological differences amongst the Great Powers in which there would be ample opportunity for political mischief making.107 The UN did reflect global fault-lines of power and ideology. Yet, the South African approach was more prone to mischief, demonstrating little serious grasp of UN politics. Sole might have warned that the Union was in danger of losing her case by default, but neither he nor anyone else proposed building a broad coalition to support Union policy. Smuts had played a very close hand on Southwest Africa, but his intentions had to become clear at some point. Smuts’ motion for incorporation within the Union had to go on the agenda. He was opposed at the outset by India, represented by V.J. Pandit, on 28 October.108 Smuts made a direct appeal to the Trusteeship Committee on its opening on 1 November, addressing the technical and legal issues involved in his decision to pursue direct annexation, rather than trusteeship. This gave the Indian delegation every opportunity to link the question of Southwest Africa to the question of Union policy towards ‘Asiatics’ in South Africa. As in the past, the key to Smuts’ strategy was to exert leverage on international affairs through Britain. Ronald Hyam and Peter Henshaw have concluded that the effect of Smuts’ intervention in London was immediate: on both the incorporation of Southwest Africa and the

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Government of India’s complaint against South Africa for the treatment of ‘Asiatics,’ Britain gave her support to the Union. In the former case, she declared herself ‘satisfied’ by the steps taken to ascertain the wishes of the inhabitants of Southwest Africa; in the latter, she insisted it was a domestic issue for South Africa.109 The British delegation (aided by Carl Berendsen) did all that it could to head off the impending disaster. The question of Indians in South Africa was referred, at British insistence, to both Committee 1 (Political) and Committee 6 (Legal). Yet, India continued drubbing South Africa over its race laws, America seized a relatively cheap opportunity to demonstrate her antiimperial credentials, and Russia wanted to embarrass Britain. Little could be done to save South Africa from the humiliation of an open vote on the question.110 The Indian delegation refused to accept that Union treatment of ‘Asiatics’ fell under the domestic reservation of the Charter (article 2.7). Sir Hartley Shawcross sought to refer the issue to the International Court of Justice, but the Indian delegation, with Soviet support, refused lest the ICJ return an unfavourable verdict. Gladwyn Jebb sought to postpone consideration of the issue until the Human Rights Commission was brought into being, but this too failed to satisfy the Assembly. The inescapable conclusion was that India was looking for a full political debate and possibly a prestige victory over South Africa.111 In fairness, the treatment of Indians (among others) in South Africa was an obvious grievance, one which had led to clashes between the Raj and the Union, and the very issue that brought a young attorney named Mohandas Gandhi to prominence. In a sense, Smuts had been right about UN politics, since there was no chance the Assembly would treat Southwest Africa on its merits. Yet, he chose the ground and the debate. The inevitable conclusion was that the Union request for annexation was denied. Anticipating this, Smuts wrote it ‘would be sad but in my view not fatal ... there will therefore not be an agreement and we proceed to administer the territory as an integral part of the Union.’112 The American delegation proved somewhat more sympathetic than the Union might have expected, and the Assembly passed a joint US-Danish-Indian resolution. This noted, with satisfaction, that South

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Africa recognised the interest of the UN in the politics of all the mandates, denied the Union request for annexation, and called upon the Union to submit a trusteeship agreement as soon as possible. By that time, Smuts had already left New York; it was Forsyth who rose to tell the Assembly that South Africa reserved her position, and would continue to administer Southwest Africa as a mandate. Surprisingly, his announcement was applauded. This was probably because the delegates did not realise that the Union intended to administer Southwest Africa indefinitely in that fashion.113 The South African approach was profoundly backwards-looking. The United Nations was subject to politics, true, but it was a political arena with regular channels like trusteeship defined by the Charter. Nothing prevented such an agreement from consulting the native inhabitants about their political future, a clause which would have satisfied the UN while permitting eventual annexation. Selfdetermination was defensible, and the Trusteeship Committee wasted most of its ammunition on New Zealand, passing other trusteeship agreements without comment. The Commission of Enquiry proposed by the US was partially motivated by American politics, true, and may have opened the Union to mischief-making on the part of an ideologically polarised commission, true. Then again, Smuts’ approach to the General Assembly opened the Union to attack from every direction, did immense damage to Union prestige, and ensured that Union stewardship of Southwest Africa would never be recognised as legitimate. No commission could have made so much mischief over Southwest Africa as Smuts did himself. In other words, South Africa did not lack solutions through the UN. What Smuts lacked was the willingness to pursue any solution through the UN, save that the General Assembly ratify his decision. To accept a commission would have recognised the Trusteeship Council, jeopardising the contention that Southwest Africa could continue as a mandate.114 Smuts’ political sensibilities failed him and, as P.R. Warhurst concluded, ‘formal empire had proved elusive.’115 What he needed was a small core of dedicated staff, capable of closely analysing the question, then hustling an agreement through the boiler rooms of UN diplomacy. Or Smuts might have recognised the advice

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of Fraser and other Commonwealth statesmen as friendly and well-intentioned, rather than impertinent. In any case, Smuts needed people with experience of policy and negotiation, domains he monopolised. How could his staff correctly analyse, let alone negotiate, the precise character of a non-existent trusteeship agreement? Smuts’ over-worked political secretaries in London were not equal to the task; for once, neither was he.

The Commonwealth and the Revolt against the West ‘As a result of the challenge delivered by the Third World to the old legal order,’ Hedley Bull argued, ‘there is today deep division between the Western powers and Third World states about a wide range of normative issues.’ He continued: ‘as the political organs of the UN were made to subserve the political purposes of the Third World coalition, the Western powers... became disillusioned about it.’116 Already in 1946, the UN had become an arena which the emerging post-colonial world (India, for instance, spoke as a post-colonial state even before its decolonisation) used in order to rally support against the west. This challenge was unforeseen: at Yalta, San Francisco and London, the Dominions had come to regard the Soviet Union as their chief antagonist. They continued to do so, partly because the Soviets aligned themselves with the growing current of discontent flowing from the developing world. It is nevertheless important to recognise that there were two great divisions that rent the UN from the start, between the Soviets and the west, and between the developing world and the west. ‘When the western states spoke of a ‘sacred trust of civilization,’’ Roger Louis asked, ‘whose civilization did they have in mind?’117 This created a profound and multifaceted ambiguity about the nature and purpose of the United Nations. The irony of Dominion involvement in the UN is that they themselves bore a large share of the responsibility – for good or ill – for this state of affairs. In one important respect, their objectives overlapped with the emerging revolt against the west: from the beginning, they campaigned for legal equality with the great powers. Unlike the developing world, however, they enjoyed a privileged position in the western

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state system, perched at the top of old racial hierarchies, with special access to British officials and information, well-developed domestic institutions and a prominent role as war-fighting states, so that their lobbying was often successful, particularly in granting the Assembly a variety of quasi-legislative functions. This was a good example of what Barry Buzan calls ‘vanguard theory:’ a small and privileged group of actors opened the way for new interactions involving a widening set of actors.118 What they could not do, once they had opened the door a crack for themselves, was determine the purposes that would be held by the states that pushed it wider and followed them through it. Dominion ideals for the UN were untroubled by racial humiliation or cultural subjugation, and were based upon the Commonwealth and the English Constitution more generally: they were willing to recognise and cut deals with power even as they trussed it with rules, procedures and obligations.119 The developing world (and the Russians) had a more complicated relationship with western power, on the one hand seeking racial equality and equal sovereignty with it, on the other demanding a radically different world conducive to alternative ideals of economic justice and cultural liberation. The failure of the UN to become the centrepiece of post-war order is difficult to explain by the malfeasance of this or that state; different states could be obstructionist and the Soviets particularly so, but the UN was already becoming something very different to what its founders intended and being turned to purposes they had not considered. That is the prerogative of freedom. That still left open the problem of power in world politics: by the end of 1946, the Security Council was deadlocked, the General Assembly was becoming a little-regarded debating chamber, the Trusteeship Council was regarded as hostile by colonial powers, and South Africa flouted the legitimacy of the entire organisation. This did not bode well for the post-war world – though, ironically, one thing the UN did encourage was the recognition of common interests, the development of coalitions and the formation of blocs. ‘The more I listen to and observe what is going on here,’ Senator Tom Connally (chair of the Foreign Relations Committee) said to H.T. Andrews after one Security Council meeting, ‘the more is it clear the world’s peace will depend on

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the closest cooperation of the British Commonwealth and the United States.’120 Connally had already worked extensively with Cadogan, but this was a very far cry from the Five Senators. The trouble with the UN was not the work it did, which was generally good. It was the work it did not or could not do. The peace was being made without reference to the Security Council; bases were being acquired without troubling the Trusteeship Council; reconstruction was proceeding without the Economic and Social Council. By December of 1946, Commonwealth delegates in New York were more concerned with the fusion of Anglo-American zones in Germany than they were with the agenda of the UN.121 Neither the great powers nor the small had got what they bargained for: the great powers did not wholly abide by the constraints imposed by the organisation (though they did abide by some of them, which was progress), and small powers found the organisation did not give them putative equality with the great (though it gave them a forum, also progress). What this meant for the Dominions which had entrusted so many of their post-war hopes to the general international organisation was that they had to turn elsewhere to satisfy their desire for security and independence. In this connection, we must observe that while the first half of this book dealt in broad strokes – American post-war demands, the shape of civil aviation, the position of Britain, the threat of Soviet domination – we have not, in the second half, addressed them. In 1944, planners and statesmen thought these problems would be addressed by the UN. We have dutifully followed them down that path: in consequence, our scope has narrowed, from the broad discussions of the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting, to the mountain of technical detail mastered at San Francisco, to the disagreements sustained from the Executive Committee to the Preparatory Commission to the first and then the second sittings of the General Assembly. One after the other, important components, executive components, of the UN Charter were dying: strategic areas never came into being, the Military Staff Committee fell to pieces, security agreements were never negotiated, international air forces were never designated. These were the provisions intended to give the UN its ‘teeth,’ and by mid1946 they were falling out. Through these provisions, most of which

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had their origin in the Commonwealth, the Dominions had made a serious, material commitment to international order. They now found that the UN was incapable of utilising that commitment. The UN had a lot of potential, more indeed than has ever been utilised, and Dominion statesmen remained generally optimistic about the new organisation. Dominion statesmen also knew, after six catastrophic years, that optimism would not save them. They had their needs set down in black and white. How would they meet them? The answer lay, as the British Chiefs of Staff had predicted it would do, in the development of communities defined by shared interests and social agreement. Britain, the United States and the Commonwealth were all to play a pivotal role in the formation of a new kind of security community – communities anticipated and accommodated through the UN Charter.

CHAPTER 9 REGIONAL INTEGR ATION, IMPERIAL DISINTEGR ATION

Now in 1946 we have less confidence that the Charter will succeed than we had in 1919 that the Covenant would succeed. Those who have lived through the terrors and glories of two great wars are bound to be disillusioned. Disillusionment, in its literal sense the absence of illusions, is a good thing. It should mean that we see more clearly, not that we have lost hope ... We must, nevertheless, keep the hope and faith of the founders of the League of Nations that we can, by concerted effort, banish from the earth the most irrational of human pursuits, the waging of war.1 – Hume Wrong, 1946 For each Dominion, the UN was an elaborate form of self-help meant to ameliorate the balance of power between great states. What we have seen is that in certain respects this view prevailed over the ideal of Churchill or Roosevelt that the UN ought to institutionalise a balance of power; only the Soviet Union clung to that idea. As Frank Roberts wrote from Moscow, Stalin was inclined to treat the UN as effective only insofar as the Big Three maintained ‘equality,’ that is, a balance between the Big Three.2 This normative conflict had been built into the UN Charter at San Francisco as small states attempted to protect themselves from the veto; now it paralysed the UN. Cadogan complained the economic wing of the UN was building socio-economic

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consensus to the betterment of mankind, while the political wing fought a bitter, zero-sum game whose object was prestige through empty posturing.3 This normative conflict between the great powers was complicated by the growing rebellion of weak states; while the Dominions had helped prepare the way for that rebellion, it caught them off guard. Canada fought the ‘big power’ complex of Britain and America, only to be regarded as a big power; Australia and New Zealand railed against the ‘colonial’ mentality of Britain and America, only to be regarded as colonial powers. South Africa, most cynical about the UN, fared worst of all. Having supported the UN to limit great power conflict, South Africans now found their domestic policies made into another bone of contention to be chewed by the great powers. We have seen that from 1942 different models of post-war order coexisted. A global, universal model succeeded at Dumbarton Oaks and San Francisco; now, in London and New York, it was failing. In this model, great power collaboration or competition was supposed to be regulated by the UN, the idea being this would free the world of bloc politics and great power domination. One alternative to this was a simple return to great power patrons and their respective imperial spheres of influence, the sort of world we investigated in chapter one. The Dominions opposed this model for practical reasons: it would fail to meet their newly-discovered regional objectives, and as British power waned it would provide no guarantee that some other patron – meaning the US – would respect Dominion sovereignty or property rights. There was another option. The UN Charter was not just a blueprint to an institution that was failing to perform the functions for which it was intended. It was also a normative document, laying out a vision for how international society ought to behave and providing an arena where states could signal their beliefs about that vision in order to form coalitions with like-minded states. This vision – in which local, imperial or regional security would form overlapping layers under the UN umbrella – was implicit in almost all Dominion and British planning for the UN, even if many were surprised to find Latin Americans or Arabs, for instance, signalling their own beliefs and forming their own coalitions.

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With the Security Council deadlocked, the Military Staff Committee in abeyance and the international air force off the table, the Dominions shifted their planning towards the regional and imperial level of security. This was in no way a return to imperial defence: when the Dominions looked to intensify cooperation with Britain, it was as regional security providers looking to cooperate within a particular zone (and pursuing integration with other states, including America, to that end), rather than as imperial states looking to protect exclusive lines of imperial communication. The result was what Ernest Bevin had called ‘defence areas,’ upheld by new agreements about security and how security could be provided. Bevin’s defence areas addressed the geopolitical problems inherent in any grand system of imperial security, while Britain maintained a position at the centre of a more flexible and, because of Dominion contributions, more robust system of defence relationships. In the short term, the system of defence areas meant the Commonwealth did more than ever before to underwrite Britain’s global role; but this did not reflect a new stage in British imperialism. There was no guarantee (far from it, as the UN Assembly suggested) as the Empire shrank and the Commonwealth grew, that new states would pursue the same relationship with Britain. Moreover, it did not exclude other states, and as the Dominions sought accommodations with their neighbours, Britain’s relative position within these arrangements was liable to change. These two weaknesses meant that the whole structure was prone to erode, until the mighty fabric of imperial armour became a rotting, moth-eaten burden. The consolation, as empire disintegrated, was that regionalised defence areas – nascent security communities – were more stable, efficient and robust than empires had been, though this only became clear with hindsight.

The Intractable Problems of Post-War Security While the UN was at the heart of Dominion post-war planning – no regional planning could succeed in the face of a global catastrophe – the technical nature of their planning meant they understood the UN both as a political ideal and a bureaucratic undertaking. In early 1945, for

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instance, Australian planners were trying to discern how international task forces would be composed, and how international bases would be allocated or shared. Australians actually worried that their commitments abroad would impede the functioning of their regional zone of defence.4 As 1945 progressed, Australians noted with satisfaction the ‘no intervention without representation’ doctrine of the UN (article 44), the primacy of geographic representation (article 23), and the decision to emphasise more pragmatic (i.e. mixed) forces over the international air force (article 43). Yet questions remained: whose responsibility was it to initiate negotiations between the Military Staff Committee and individual states? Did the existence of the MSC preclude the conclusion of security agreements between states?5 It was precisely these questions which going unanswered in the UN left the Dominions with an alarming sense of their exposure and insecurity in world affairs. Technical planning in the context of the UN meant the Dominions realistically assessed – really for the first time in their short histories – what they were willing to pay for security. Dominion planning for the Security Council had in mind a transparent pool, managed by the MSC, made up of the forces, resources and facilities pledged the Security Council by various states. This would give the Council ready knowledge of its own power and, when forces were called upon, military staff from the relevant states would have access to the decisions of the MSC.6 What Lord Cranborne noted privately was that international cooperation would mean more imperial cooperation. This was certainly borne out by Dominion planning, which was far more generous towards Britain in the context of general security than ever before in the context of the Empire. As Maurice Pope argued, our cautious stand over the years of refraining from seeking to play a part in the formulation of Commonwealth, or rather United Kingdom policy, places us in the unenviable position of being drawn into Great Wars without our being able to do much, if anything, about it.7 Not even the great powers, Pope pointed out, had been able to avoid participation in the great wars. It was foolish to think one avoided

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conflict by avoiding military commitment. This sentiment was echoed throughout the Commonwealth, in Australian appreciations of what could be contributed to the UN,8 in New Zealand’s desire to promote and sustain a global, regional and imperial settlement in the Pacific,9 and in Smuts’ desire to preserve the political and strategic viability of the Commonwealth as a mediating power between Russia and America.10 As 1945 drew to a close, the Dominions had to face the possibility that there would be no global settlement at all, despite British efforts.11 As R.M. Campbell summarised the reasons for the breakdown of one of the Conferences of Foreign Ministers, the Russians were consolidating their position by ensuring friendly governments in Eastern Europe, while the Americans were consolidating their position by unilateral action in the Pacific.12 Britain was struggling to preserve her post-war position. The Dominions were also fighting a rearguard action. The world was breaking into competing blocs. How would the Commonwealth respond to a new breakdown in global order?13 Dominion willingness to enforce a global settlement through the UN was transferred to supporting British efforts to obtain the best settlement possible.

The Post-War Disposition of Territory: the South Pacific Anglo-American relations were still characterised by competitive cooperation. The cooperative work of building the UN meant that the Dominions were used to working with the executive branch of the US, as well as with important senators like Connally and Vandenberg. Familiarity with American politics curbed some fears of American power and intentions, particularly as the UN negotiations demonstrated the Soviets were less cooperative, predictable or friendly than the Americans. The Dominions were now capable of distinguishing friendly, internationalist or sympathetic elements in American politics, but they remained acutely aware of hostile or nationalist elements. There were three sources of trouble for the Dominions: isolationist sentiment, championed by the Chicago Sun Tribune, which gave ready

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Map 5 American Requests in the Pacific: Contrary to expectations in 1943 or 1944, America did not demand New Caledonia. However, as this map demonstrates, she had, by late-1945, requested base rights, or sovereignty, over nearly two dozen strategic locations. The scale of these requests cannot be overestimated: they represented a bid for complete control over most of the island groups of the South Pacific. They were also a bid to control Pacific aviation. If we compare this map to the one illustrating Australian and New Zealand strategic aims, it is immediately apparent that there was a huge arc of competing strategic and economic interest in the Pacific Ocean. However, this competing interest also had the potential to become a community of interest.

support to narrow involvement abroad for purely nationalist reasons (imperialism, in truth); members of Congress who felt the American war effort warranted acquisitions abroad (the House of Representatives was especially good at issuing proclamations); and the US Navy (particularly Admiral King) which argued that many bases, especially in the Pacific, had been won at substantial cost of American blood and treasure.14 While external observers tended to lump these together, they did reflect complicated impulses in American political life – so much blood had been spilt at Guadalcanal, for instance, that its strategic importance was axiomatic even as it faded.

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Agitation for American acquisitions began as the war ended. On 18 August, a sub-committee of the House Naval Affairs Committee, chaired by Rep. Izac (D, CA), recommended that America lay claim to a range of islands, some of which belonged to Britain, Chile, Holland, France or Portugal. Manus, in the Admiralty Islands (Australia), Noumea, in New Caledonia (France), and Espiritu Santo, in the New Hebrides (Britain/France), were singled out for main bases or fleet anchorages. Tontouta (France), Magenta (France) and Guadalcanal (Britain) were suggested for air bases.15 Truman’s speech of 9 August, after the Potsdam Conference, proclaimed that though the United States wants no territory or profit or selfish advantage out of this war, we are going to maintain the military bases necessary for the complete protection of our interests and of world peace. Bases which our military experts deem to be essential for our protection, and which are not now in our possession, we will acquire. We will acquire them by arrangements consistent with the United Nations Charter.16 When the Southwest Pacific Area under General MacArthur reverted to pre-war jurisdictions at the end of August, the Admiralty Islands (including Manus) remained under American jurisdiction. Guadalcanal, in the British Solomon Islands, was also retained. Australians were alarmed at the retention of the Admiralty Islands. Eggleston was instructed to reserve the Australian position and to express the hope that American retention was limited.17 Manus plagued Anglo-Australian-American relations for some years. The US, confronted by Australian demands that American use of Manus be linked to Australian use of some American base, simply shifted the southern hub of its defences to the Philippines. Evatt was blamed for overplaying Australia’s hand.18 As Coral Bell has written, the time when the Australian Minister ... tried to parlay a base that the Americans themselves had built, on an island that did not belong to Australia anyway, into a binding security treaty and access to other US bases, lives only in the memories of those who cherish instances of diplomatic chutzpah.19

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It is a strong case, though Evatt’s move was less ridiculous in light of America’s sweeping regional demands and the search in Britain foremost for precisely that kind of bargain. The Canadians had probably overplayed their own hand by purchasing American installations outright (there is nothing to suggest the Americans fretted about the expense of the Edmonton-Fairbanks phone line), but Canadians were untroubled by the thought of Americans simply leaving.20 ‘It is to the advantage of Australia to have USA deeply committed in the central and south Pacific,’ wrote Eggleston, but if bases were regarded as the exclusive property of one of the Big Five ... it would probably lead to suspicion and the commencement of an armament race which could have only one conclusion–a third world war ... The claim for exclusive possession over these bases seems to suggest a complete lack of confidence in the United Nations’ scheme of security and of the measures taken to disarm Japan.21 Eggleston’s fears were well-founded. By the end of 1945, America had requested sovereignty and/or long-term base rights on more than twenty islands in the South Pacific, in an arc from the Admiralty Islands to the Cook Islands, and from the Solomon Islands to Tonga. New Caledonia, for all the worry it caused between 1943 and 1945, was not on the list (see map 5).22 This represented a comprehensive bid for American control over the entire Pacific Ocean, though it was small fry compared to Japan. As Bevin groused, US dominion over Japan was hard to square with US disapproval at Russian governance in Eastern Europe.23 Of course, America and Russia behaved very differently when they held similar kinds of predominance; this made all the difference in the determination of Cold War alliances. In December, George Byrnes further outlined the American position: (a) America saw no contradiction in making territorial arrangements in advance of the Security Council; (b) Britain was welcome as a ‘state directly concerned’ in American trusteeship territories, but not in the western hemisphere; (c) Britain was welcome to negotiate with the

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Filipinos for joint user of the American base at Manila, but America would not grant joint user of her other facilities; (d) the question of ‘disputed’ Pacific islands was an opportunity for Britain to demonstrate reasonableness; (e) America did not envision the evacuation of her bases in the Azores (Portugal) in the Atlantic, was considering the development of civil aviation facilities in Santa Maria and suggested that Britain also keep her bases in those islands.24 The development of an extensive American security network was in full swing by the end of 1945. While the British preferred to use the Security Council to develop international security, they also wanted to involve America to the greatest degree in Commonwealth defence, and sought to exchange their support in Iceland, the Azores and the Pacific for American support in Egypt, and also for joint user of certain Pacific bases, either for military or civil aviation purposes.25 The British did have some negotiating power: their cooperation was important (but not vital) to the success of American designs in the Pacific, and Britain could help or hinder American efforts in the UN over trusteeship. As Smuts put it, ‘in all this our long range interest is to keep in with the Americans,’ because ‘there are other more disquieting forces on the move.’26 Smuts was prophetic as ever: trusteeship proposals for Korea foundered, while they never materialised for Indo-China; China, meanwhile, failed to become the kind of ally Roosevelt had hoped it would – all of which pushed America towards cooperation with the Commonwealth. The only Dominion able in 1945–46 to address concerns about the US single-handedly was Canada, which had: (a) a well-established military liaison with the US through the Joint Staff Mission in Washington and the Permanent Joint Board of Defence; and (b) had agreed to purchase and run many installations considered important by the Americans.27 This included the Alaska Highway, the ‘Northwest Staging Area’ (the string of airbases linking North America to Siberia), the Mackenzie River and Crimson air routes, the radar defences, coastal defences and base defences of the Canadian Arctic approaches, and also of Newfoundland, including Labrador, and technical cooperation in the use of new apparatus (e.g. the Loran and Ionosphere Stations).28 For all that, Canada did not pursue an exclusive

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relationship with American power. Britain was vital to balance and to compliment American power. Canadian interests in the North Atlantic and Europe were to be satisfied through a Commonwealth strategy. Similarly, Australia and New Zealand were to press the issue of Pacific bases and Pacific security arrangements as Commonwealth rather than lone powers. As independent powers, it was all they could do to avoid signing ‘outrageous’ service agreements governing bases on what they regarded as their own territory.29 The Dominions wanted the best and most universal system of security to prevail; they also had to be covered by whatever system prevailed in fact. The Commonwealth provided the best means of negotiating this kind of coverage with the US and under the UN Charter in 1945– 6.30 What this promised was regional security integration within the Commonwealth.

The Post-War Disposition of Territory: the Italian Colonies The disposition of Italy’s African possessions came before the Council of Foreign Ministers in London late in 1945; the Council foundered on the issue. The arbitrary power of the Council alarmed the Dominions, especially South Africa, and they demanded the right to membership.31 Britain sought Dominion seats, but after the busy diplomatic round earlier in the year they didn’t have the people in any case.32 They dispatched responsible officials when they were in London (Evatt, for instance, or Hofmeyr), otherwise relying on direct consultation through Britain. Smuts even suggested leaving the Italian colonies over until he could attend to them personally.33 Post-war order was taking too much time in too many places: this necessarily made Britain speaker for the Commonwealth. Smuts’ private suggestion for the Italian colonies was that Tripolitania be returned to Italy as a trusteeship territory; that Cyrenaica be administered by Britain as a trusteeship, with the proviso that it be opened to additional Jewish immigration; that Eritrea be administered by Ethiopia as a trusteeship, with the port of Massawa reserved to American ‘strategic’ trusteeship; that Italian Somaliland be joined

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to British Somaliland and Ogaden to make a Greater Somaliland.34 While Bevin was receptive to Smuts’ ideas – and entirely unwilling to allow Russia a place athwart imperial communications – Attlee was agnostic, preferring to limit rather than expand British commitments.35 Smuts wanted ‘single trusteeship’ arrangements in Africa, to exclude Russia; Byrnes and the Americans who, no less than Bevin and the British, wanted to keep Russia out, sought international trusteeship arrangements, lest Russia secure a single trusteeship of her own.36 A battle of wit and manoeuvre ensued through September, between the British, Americans and Russians. The Council of Foreign Ministers broke on this question; Russia wanted Tripolitania and neither Bevin nor Byrnes was willing to let her have it, particularly as fears grew in Greece, Turkey and Iran.37 Smuts congratulated Bevin on standing firm: Russia has her reward for her enormous efforts in Europe. Why should the British Commonwealth not have theirs for their immense efforts in Africa and the Mediterranean Basin and elsewhere? We are prepared also to concede to the United States America much of a free hand by way of strategic bases in Pacific ... it should be appreciated by America that ours is not a mere selfish interest but a vital necessity of future World balance and World peace.38 Echoing Escott Reid’s estimation of Russian tactics earlier that year, Smuts added that concessions to Russia must always be linked to the whole table of negotiations. Bevin replied, ‘I am afraid that the good will we have shown’ to Russia ‘has only ended by whetting her appetite;’ he also showed Smuts’ letter, with his permission, to Byrnes (minus the bits about America).39 Smuts continued to keep a worried eye upon the settlement with Italy. When the American financial expert W.E. Dunn suggested to the Council of Deputy Foreign Ministers a scheme for international trusteeship of Italian colonies,40 Smuts wrote that ‘Russia in a UN trusteeship will be a Trojan horse in our defensive system,’ emphasising that the matter should be left for consideration by the forthcoming

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Dominion Premiers’ Meeting.41 In this view, Smuts was supported by the entire Commonwealth, including Fraser.42 The effect of Commonwealth representations was to reinforce the British position, preventing the settlement of the Italian question by the Big Three. The Italian question, like the Pacific question or the atomic question, was subject to two distinct processes. On the one hand, institutional frameworks were developed, but ground forward slowly. The vital questions were held over, postponed or reserved until the next meeting or crisis. On the other hand, sheer military or economic leverage were determining the real answers to important post-war questions. This forced the Dominions to adopt a dual strategy: they participated in and promoted global institutional solutions while relying more heavily upon the British Commonwealth to negotiate their position. The Dominions concluded a successful war against aggressive, expansionist powers; they discovered a post-war world dominated by aggressive, expansionist powers. Through a dynamic process – the elimination of alternative solutions, the continuation of functional integration, the appreciation of shared normative commitments to sovereignty, property rights and the UN Charter – the Dominions (minus South Africa in some respects) were forming security communities with Britain and the United States. However, full alignment with the US was some years off and not at all obvious in 1945–6, when the US pursued the most competitive position for herself. Therefore, in 1946 the Commonwealth organised itself to survive.

The 1946 Dominion Premiers’ Meeting Or, more accurately, Britain organised the Commonwealth to survive. If the 1944 meeting avoided the impression that Britain was organising an ‘imperial bloc,’ the meeting of 1946 was not a meeting at all. It ran from 23 April to 23 May. Chifley and Fraser were present from the opening of the meeting. Smuts arrived on 28 April. Chifley and Smuts both left on 6 May. King arrived on 20 May.43 What this reflected was a new attitude towards imperial cooperation: Britain needed to agree with her Dominions, but in an unsentimental age there was no reason why the Dominions needed to agree with one another. This

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made for a stilted series of meetings as the same staff appreciations were repeated and different phraseology adopted to please one and then another sensitive premier, but it also made the process of negotiating Commonwealth strategies easier, as Britain was able to discuss a different table of interests and develop a different relationship with each Dominion. British statesmen, like their Dominion counterparts, had become more instrumental in their diplomacy; the shift to a bilateral model of Commonwealth consultation reflected a new balance of interests within the Commonwealth. The British would no longer allow themselves to be held over the table by the spectre of imperial unity, as they had been at the 1937 Imperial Conference or at Ottawa. ‘Attlee’s ministry,’ as John Darwin argued, ‘took up the challenge of imperial renovation in a remarkable display of pragmatic imperialism.’44 Rather than argue fruitlessly about why the Dominions ought to contribute to a global imperial system, the British let the Dominions explain what they needed to uphold their own regional systems and how and why Britain should help them achieve it. While these regions were still to be bound together by a system of imperial communications, even this idea became the subject of a new British scepticism. As Attlee wrote at the beginning of September 1945: Quite apart from the advent of the atomic bomb which should affect all considerations of strategic area, the British Commonwealth and Empire is not a unit that can be defended by itself ... With the advent of air warfare the conditions which made it possible to defend a string of possessions scattered over five continents by means of a fleet based on island fortresses have gone ... In the air age the neutrality, if not the support, of all countries contiguous to the route are needed.45 What is especially fascinating is how aviation can be read both as a discrete issue area in wartime and post-war politics, and as a theme that ran straight through every consideration at the time. Air power forced the British to ask precisely what their Empire was ‘for,’ just as nationalism or the Boer War had done previously. Now, as then, the

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British demonstrated their peculiar genius for adapting old institutions to new ends. As the Empire evolved, Britain’s sense of imperial mission was rejuvenated.46 This changing outlook was not entirely apparent when Bevin opened the conference with a terse review of foreign policy that might as easily have been delivered by Eden or Churchill: the Soviets threatened imperial communications in the Mediterranean, instability in Egypt and Palestine threatened British power in the Middle East, while Britain sought trade agreements with Poland and Yugoslavia the Soviets were intent on erecting an autarkic zone, and the future of France was uncertain.47 Chifley, Evatt and Nash all emphasised the vital importance of creating a working defence arrangement for the Pacific and the strategic advantage of bringing the US into any such arrangement. Nash observed that Britain now faced a more difficult and dangerous situation than ever before.48 A confidential meeting followed, so confidential that Dominion efforts to obtain the record were rebuffed on the grounds that none existed, while the record itself was not officially filed.49 Surveying the strategic position of the British Commonwealth, Lord Alanbrooke observed that it was accepted before the last war that war against the USA was almost inconceivable. Now it might be said that war without the USA as an ally would be impossible. This was a little flippant: even if America backed Britain, many believed such support would be as belated as always. Whom would they fight? Russia was the only conceivable great power enemy. Not that war with Russia was inevitable, but every precaution must be taken either to avert it or to win it. In service of this principle, the Chiefs of Staff had identified four ‘main support areas,’ constituting the foundations of British power: the United Kingdom, North and South America, sub-Saharan Africa, and Australia and New Zealand. India was not regarded as a main support area, owing to her uncertain political future, the fact that partition was bound to make India more vulnerable to attack, and the fact that British withdrawal would

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probably damage Indian military efficiency. Areas contributing to the defence of the main support areas were Western Europe, the Middle East and Southeast Asia. The global balance of oil contributed to this analysis: the Middle East contained the largest oil reserves in the world, while attacks upon Russian oil production (and industry) could only take place from bases in Britain, the Middle East or India. If neither the Middle East nor India proved useful to Commonwealth defence, the Chiefs of Staff were prepared to concentrate their military power in Kenya, which would offer strategic depth, a staging ground for Middle Eastern operations, and an admirable training ground. In any event, the Commonwealth must defend Western Europe, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia if it were to contemplate victory in any future war. To this analysis, Lord Tedder added the observation that only air power was capable of attacking or delaying a Russian war effort.50 This reflected the revolution then taking place in British strategic thought: the Royal Navy had credibly balanced states seeking continental predominance, but for a variety of reasons – Russia’s size, atomic weapons, air power – this was no longer possible.

The Commonwealth and Military Liaison Commonwealth delegates underlined the importance of the UN, but agreed the veto impeded the Security Council. The problem with American power was that the US gave no guarantees and so, for planning purposes, was unreliable. Furthermore, as Attlee said, we had demonstrated our goodwill towards Russia by great concessions but Russia had made no single concession or conciliatory gesture to us. In her international relations she regarded a communist regime as the necessary condition for friendship. The point, made again and again, was that the British Commonwealth could not weaken.51 America was considered non-aligned and Russia hostile. Once Smuts arrived, there were further meetings on the subject. In order to interlink the main support areas, the Chiefs of Staff hoped to

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institute exchanges of military staff missions among the members of the Commonwealth. This was amenable to each of the Commonwealth delegations, with one or two reservations. Neither Chifley nor Evatt liked the term, ‘main support area,’ preferring instead ‘region of strategic responsibility.’52 This was a gratifying idea for the British, who wanted badly to reduce their military workload to one million men or less, though even that was an enormous commitment (before the war, 450,000 men were under arms). Here, there was agreement across the Commonwealth on increased defence preparedness. This included ongoing commitments, such as the fact that Australians comprised the largest element of the Commonwealth Occupation Force in Japan,53 as well as a desire for future commitments, such as the New Zealand desire for closer military liaison and a regional defence organisation with Britain.54 The centrepiece of the British design was a more robust system of Commonwealth consultation. This was based upon the experience of Anglo-American defence cooperation during the war and, it was hoped, might include joint staff missions (the next step up from mission exchanges) to promote bilateral and multilateral defence integration within the Commonwealth.55 Britain utilised precisely the sort of cooperative framework as might be devised for independent, sovereign states; the Anglo-American joint chiefs had replaced the Imperial War Cabinet as the best model to follow. Even so, reactions to Commonwealth consultation were bound to be mixed. Smuts argued that Britain and the Dominions must go slowly: a full dress exchange of military missions would send too clear a signal to the Russians. A softly-softly approach, attaching more military and scientific advisers to High Commissions, would obtain the same objective.56 Australia and New Zealand were enthusiastic about closer defence cooperation; Britain expressed the strongest support for the establishment of the South Seas Regional Commission, while Australia and New Zealand acted upon a British suggestion they attach liaison officers to the staff of Lord Killearn, who had been made Special Commissioner of Southeast Asia.57 The Chiefs of Staff were not entirely impressed with the outcome of the meetings – they were intent on clear and precise undertakings (though British defence

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estimates were also in a state of flux) – but they did establish important new principles in Commonwealth consultation, and brought other consolations in foreign and scientific policy.58

The Commonwealth and Scientific Liaison The future of Anglo-American atomic cooperation was as uncertain as the more general future of Anglo-American defence cooperation. During the war, British atomic research had been a cooperative venture with Canada and America, but the entire Commonwealth provided an useful and very enthusiastic redoubt. Chifley confirmed there were uranium and thorium deposits in Southern Australia. Smuts added that South Africa also had uranium deposits, expressing his belief that, regardless of any international controls on atomic energy, the Commonwealth must develop its own atomic resources. Attlee was clearly surprised to find a natural Commonwealth consensus on the question.59 The Dominions were no less keen than Britain or the Soviet Union to have the bomb in their corner, and were incensed at the way in which the US had appropriated British efforts. A later meeting reinforced this consensus. King noted that Canadian uranium supplies were limited, while American needs were predominantly met by the Congo. Both he and Evatt (who took over for Chifley) placed their supplies and scientists at the disposal of the Commonwealth. Evatt argued that if America did not share resources with the Commonwealth, the Commonwealth must nevertheless develop its atomic research and production capability.60 British atomic research was henceforth a Commonwealth affair.

Pacific Bases The base question, Pacific or otherwise, had become an unhappy theme in Anglo-American relations. Byrnes raised the question, under several headings – the Pacific, Iceland, the Azores – with Bevin at the Council of Foreign Ministers in September 1945. Byrnes said that America wanted a permanent base in Iceland. Bevin worried lest this encourage the Soviets to press for a base on Spitzbergen; moreover, if

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Britain were engaged in a war in which America remained neutral, Iceland was a critical part of Commonwealth communications. Bevin suggested renewing the present lease instead, but Byrnes rejected that suggestion. In mid-1946, Byrnes was still pushing for permanent agreement with Iceland. Byrnes had also, in September, invited British assistance in securing permanent military bases in the Azores. Bevin had persuaded him that his purposes would be best served by a free base for civil aviation in the Azores. Britain hoped to use her good offices with Portugal to secure such a facility. Negotiations were about to commence in mid-1946. As to the Pacific question, Byrnes had informed Bevin that Britain could expedite the progress of her loan through Congress by granting America base rights on Ascension Island. Bevin had deferred, and a Commonwealth meeting had taken place in January, 1946. Fraser tripped Byrnes off his clumsy demand for sovereignty by a few deft questions as to the grounds, under international law (discovery or occupation), on which America made its claim. This was an especially relevant question since some of the islands in which the US expressed interest were considered New Zealand metropolitan territory (e.g. the Northern Cook Group). Yet, the January meeting bore little fruit; the Ascension Island controversy was submitted to expert advice.61 Obviously, Pacific bases were a regional defence question. If bases were to be conceded, Australia needed a regional system of collective security that included New Zealand, Britain and America. Bases or base rights were parts of a whole that could not be treated independently. Evatt added that he had suspected Britain of trading concessions to America in the Pacific for American concessions in other areas; he was relieved to learn Britain saw the issue in regional as well as global terms.62 This nicely demonstrates how developing states helped push a regional rather than a global perspective: to trade Guadalcanal, say, for a base in Iceland might make sense on a large board of interests as seen from a great imperial city like London, while disproportionately harming or destroying interests on a regional level as perceived by Canberra. As small states grew in stature, global cooperation became dependent upon regional integration rather than the regional concessions that had defined the

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imperial age. Australia’s ultimate goal was reciprocal access to American bases as part of a regional settlement. Nash followed this up with a discussion of some of the bases which America had requested. At Canton Island, a fifty-year Anglo-American condominium had been reached, which was satisfactory; at Viti Levu, it was critical that the Nandi airfield continue to be available to the Commonwealth, particularly as New Zealand had borne fifty percent of the cost of construction; at Christmas Island, New Zealand had made plans for civil aviation installations as far back as 1937, while rights granted to US authorities were strictly military; at Funafuti, it was critical to gain joint rights; at Johnston Island, while this was not mentioned by the Chiefs of Staff, the US had in fact built installations.63 Accommodation with the Americans would be possible, but with such a wide range of claims it would not be easy. The British Chiefs of Staff considered the matter from three angles. From the standpoint of general security, cooperation with America was important. However, the Chiefs of Staff did not believe that American possession of South Pacific bases denoted American security commitments. From the standpoint of the Commonwealth, none of the islands demanded by America, except Manus, were militarily necessary (Australia had more expansive security demands there than Britain, of course), or financially worthwhile. Yet, American proposals for ‘joint bases’ envisioned Britain bearing cost of maintenance, unless and until America chose to exercise full control over them. This was a poor deal. Finally, both civil and military aviation were at stake: it was important to avoid one-sided relationships of the kind favoured by Pan-American.64 Bevin told the Dominion Premiers that he had been unsuccessful in trying to ascertain the scope of American requirements. Suggestions for reciprocity (e.g. in Manila) had been evaded, while the Americans would not reveal which islands they wanted for military and which for civil aviation purposes.65 On 23 April, Bevin had received a message from the US Government, pressing for an announcement on the question. The Commonwealth meeting of 24 April was agreed: bases must be treated as regional rather than global issues; the question must be settled between America and the Commonwealth in some

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form wherein it was possible to keep the geopolitical, military and economic interrelationships between the bases and various national interests in view. This became the basis of British responses to American demands.66 Further discussions revised this view somewhat. Total demands for regional defence arrangements might scare the Americans off; it was thought best to push for general agreements, taking the position of each base in view, under which reciprocal rights and precisely-defined agreements of user (i.e. military or civil aviation) would be set down. America was to be invited to negotiate on relatively open terms, neither made to negotiate a pact nor allowed to negotiate each base in isolation.67 Unsurprisingly, this bore a close resemblance to the negotiating strategy adopted prior to Chicago, when it was felt America was negotiating from a position of unassailable strength. In Paris at the beginning of May, Byrnes raised with Bevin the suggestion that Britain cede the island of Tarawa, which had seen some of the fiercest fighting involving American troops in the war, as a gift to the American people. Byrnes argued this would make a deep impression upon the American public, and yea, even to assist the British loan through Congress. The Attlee Government rejected this proposal, with full support from Chifley and Nash. The inhabitants of the island had to be consulted, and it was doubtful whether Congress would be all that moved by such a gesture. Byrnes was informed that Britain would consider the issue sympathetically.68 The British Commonwealth line in the Pacific was going to be collective. Americans initially refused to enter into discussions. Byrnes was unhappy when Bevin told him that the Commonwealth wanted a regional security arrangement in the South and Southwest Pacific. According to Byrnes, American interests lay further north. In which case, why did America want all those islands? As Nash noted, Funafuti and Canton Islands were stepping-stones between America and New Zealand, while Christmas Island was a foothold in the Indian Ocean. Lord Tedder speculated that America was more interested in civil than military aviation. Yet, it was important to keep America in the region. As Evatt pointed out, Canada had a perfectly good set of formal and informal arrangements for coordinating her defence policy

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with America. Something on those lines would be an acceptable substitute for a formal pact. The Commonwealth sent Byrnes a friendly reply, but the collective principle, recognising mutual interests in the Pacific, remained firm. At the same time, it was decided to make special provision for a memorial to the US Marines who had recaptured Tarawa in 1943.69 Privately, Evatt worried Attlee was too willing to bow before American pressure, possibly to the detriment of Australian interests.70 Australian security was tied to the disposition of colonial territories which were too far from Europe to be vital to any European. There is nothing to suggest that Attlee wanted to ‘sell out’ Australian regional interests to secure a favourable settlement with America, but the expansion of American power had made this sort of betrayal possible. For Australia, it was more important than ever to ensure that Pacific affairs remained Commonwealth affairs. By June, there had been little change in American policy. Americans had ceased springing demands, service agreements and veiled threats upon Dominion statesmen, but it was still a tense issue. Berendsen reported a conversation with a ‘senior Army Officer,’ who asked, why did we not abandon our ‘indefensible’ claim to sovereignty over Pacific Islands ... [developing] at considerable length his thesis as to our powerlessness to utilise them, the American need for them, and the advantage it would be to us to give them to the Americans.71 Cocktails were involved, but Berendsen took this as a good indication of American attitudes. Commonwealth statesmen saw little advantage in cringing before petty bullying, and this prompted a rethink in Washington. By July, discussions with America proved more successful than Evatt could have hoped. Byrnes agreed that the use of Pacific bases ought to be the subject of general reciprocity: in return for the use of Manus, Byrnes contemplated offering Australia some facility in American-controlled territory. Evatt suggested Guam as a likely place; he also indicated that Australia was committed to cooperation with

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Britain and New Zealand in the South Pacific, and that these states would have joint user of any Australian facilities. Byrnes said he understood. Evatt concluded that, so long as Australia stood up for herself, America would treat her with respect. ‘The truth is,’ he wrote, we are one of the leading nations outside of the major powers themselves. The United States is treating us in that way and Australia’s self-respect as well as her vital defence interests in the British Commonwealth will be assisted by the new proposal.72 Clearly, the Manus proposals eventually become too complicated, but a new pattern was emerging in Dominion arrangements with America, with the Commonwealth firmly behind them. American power had to be dealt with carefully. America was much too important to be driven into isolation, but much too powerful to accommodate without guarantees. The success of American power, in the Commonwealth at any rate, depended upon the American capacity for negotiation and compromise. This capacity rarely manifested itself at the outset: whether on proposals for the United Nations or on the disposition of bases and territories, American positions were essentially self-interested (as we would expect), and changed only when challenged on grounds of principle or reciprocity.

The Italian Colonies The British position on Italian colonies was to place Tripolitania under Italian trusteeship, Cyrenaica under British trusteeship, to merge Italian Somaliland, British Somaliland and the Ogaden and Reserved Areas into a single British trusteeship, to promote Libyan self-government, and to give Eritrea to Ethiopia, save the North-Western Lowlands, which would be joined to the Sudan.73 These proposals were not submitted to the Council of Foreign Ministers because America proposed collective trusteeship while Russia demanded Tripolitania. Bevin gave conditional support to the American proposal, to avoid embarrassment over Russian demands, but in the Council of Deputies Britain had suggested merely requiring that Italy renounce her rights

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to her colonies and hold their disposal over for the UN. Britain needed the question resolved, to free up British soldiers and to rehabilitate Italy.74 Smuts spoke forcefully on this subject. ‘Russia,’ he said, was advancing with gigantic strides. She had great power and exercised it ruthlessly. Unless determined efforts were made to protect the Western countries, they would all fall under Russian influence. Smuts was inclined to agree with French proposals to return all the colonies to Italy, or possibly to grant independence to some of them, notably Libya. As to American proposals, Smuts pointed to the general failure of the Big Four to achieve agreement at any major conference over the last year. Collective trusteeship would be another recipe for deadlock.75 Chifley and Evatt agreed that Russian influence had to be kept from the Mediterranean, though Chifley did observe that joint trusteeship would ensure an American presence in the Mediterranean. Nash agreed America might have a share of the Italian colonies, or even be given trusteeship over them, but was in favour of British claims and entirely against Russian encroachment. Interestingly, Nash took a power political line more clearly akin to that of Smuts than that of Evatt or Chifley. In the end, the Commonwealth agreed that individual trusteeship agreements ought to be secured for the Italian colonies, and that none of these agreements ought to go to Russia. This was to be the basis of future British negotiations on the subject.76 In any event, the Council of Foreign Ministers was unable to agree on the Italian treaty. Russia demanded a share of Italian colonial territory and pressed the claim of Yugoslavia to Trieste. Byrnes and Bevin were not impressed, and the Council passed to the Balkans, leaving Italy for the Paris Peace Conference. The Commonwealth view of this was to press for a general conference as early as possible.77 When Mackenzie King finally arrived in London on 20 May, the issue was reconsidered, but added little to what had already been decided.78

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The Peace Treaties Its shaky progress notwithstanding, there was guarded Commonwealth optimism about the Council of Foreign Ministers. Bevin emphasised it was making progress: the Soviets agreed the Dodecanese ought to go to Greece, without demanding territory for themselves; the AustroItalian and the Franco-Italian frontier questions were being resolved; it looked as if Trieste would go to Italy, or remain an international city; the Dalmation Islands and Pelagosa were to go to Yugoslavia, on condition that Pelagosa remain demilitarised; and there was agreement on the size of the Italian fleet. Evatt made two points worth mentioning. First, it was well that the UN had not been tied to the peace treaties, but the existence of the UN raised the problem that issues left unresolved by the Council of Foreign Ministers might wind up before the Security Council. This, Evatt argued, would be a disaster. Second, the peace was being made by the four powers alone. Evatt did not criticise Britain, but he hoped to secure general representation on the question of the peace treaties. The Japanese settlement was particularly important to Australia.79 The features which stand out in Evatt’s thinking were aversion to the utilisation of the UN (despite Australia’s Security Council seat) and the realisation that Britain was barely able to fight her own corner against the Americans or Soviets. Germany was discussed at three meetings. There was agreement that Germany ought to be endowed with democratic self-government and her economy rebuilt. Dominion Premiers, Smuts particularly, were worried by French demands for the partition of Germany and by what they regarded as the Sovietisation of Eastern Germany.80 The Dominion Premiers further believed that Germany ought to be united in a federal system.81 The Dominions supported British policy in Germany. When Mackenzie King arrived, he added his own voice to this agreement. Bevin was unsure whether it would be possible to obtain a prosperous, united Germany. When Byrnes tabled a proposal to unify the four German zones, Molotov was against it. There was clearly little hope of agreeing on Germany: Britain and America wanted an economically

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integrated, democratic and self-governing entity, and were generally happy with German socialisation, but Stalin wanted a vassal. King warned, and the other Dominion Premiers agreed, that Russia must not out-manoeuvre Britain or America. Any break-down must be cast as Russian intransigence. Smuts, who had spent four days in Germany, emphasised that the British zone must not become derelict. Since Britain was sustaining an industrial zone without its agricultural hinterland (which lay in the Russian zone), Smuts suggested an emergency programme to deal with the short-term sustainability of Western Germany. Addison added that this approach might help to integrate the Anglo-American zones.82 If anything, the real situation in West Germany was more bleak than Britain let on at the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting. The Americans were about to ask Britain to help plan an emergency evacuation from Germany, modelled on Dunkirk, if the Soviets launched a major attack.83

Colonial Retreat The Dominions had to confront the sombre realisation that the Empire was contracting at the moment when they most needed Britain to balance Russia or America. One of Attlee’s first announcements was that the British were to withdraw from Egypt.84 This prompted an outpouring of dismay. Evatt was surprised, and Smuts descried the loss of a vital link in Commonwealth communications.85 The situation in Palestine meanwhile was shocking. The AngloAmerican commission there had reported that power ought to be shared equally between Arabs and Jews, allowing for substantial increases in Jewish immigration, and the equalisation of living standards and services between Arabs and Jews; when added to the cost of suppressing the Hagana (considered a Jewish terrorist organisation), this was an enormous commitment (running to £100 million initially and £10 million annually thereafter). Since Truman had taken it upon himself to announce that 100,000 more Jews ought to be admitted to Palestine, Attlee hoped the Americans might accept joint responsibility for implementing the committee’s recommendations. Chifley

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agreed that Attlee must either secure American support or else UN assistance for said implementation. Nash thought an Anglo-American condominium, so close to the Suez Canal, would be advantageous. Smuts and Evatt were also in favour of a cooperative approach, particularly given the devastation of the Jewish population in Europe.86 India was the ghost at the Dominion Premiers’ feast. She received a mention, at least insofar as Attlee informed the conference of the Cabinet Mission to India. Smuts, Evatt and Nash all expressed their hope that she would choose to remain within the Commonwealth.87 The situation in the Indian Ocean, long a British lake, now looked almost as tenuous as it did in the Mediterranean or Western Europe. The interesting thing about these discussions is that, as Britain became weaker, it became more important to seek an accommodation with America, but British weakness made such an accommodation harder to procure, demanding that the Dominions unite more closely in order to secure the appropriate negotiating leverage. It should be remembered that Russian hostility did not magically turn Americans into altruists: American power had to be treated with respect, and negotiating a favourable settlement with that power required the strongest possible position. For Britain and the Dominions, this meant relying upon one another.

Canada and Commonwealth Defence The ambiguous Canadian position in the Commonwealth did not appear to have been clarified: King appeared late, contributed little, then departed. Expectations for his visit were limited.88 Given that the Permanent Joint Board of Defence continued, this might indicate that Canada had aligned herself with the US instead of Britain. However, we must be wary of leaping to conclusions. The Dominion Premiers’ Meeting was notable for its informal or secret proceedings. Two are important. The first took place between Attlee and King, at 10 Downing Street, on 7 June. The British wanted Canadian agreement to make their wartime military cooperation a permanent part of Anglo-Canadian relations. Attlee’s preparations were terrifically detailed, suggesting that he considered and practiced every

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word he used with King. It is possible that he was nervous, but then, King was a prickly pear. Lord Addison and General Ismay were also present. Attlee asked King whether the Canadian Joint Staff Mission in London, and the appointment of military advisers to the British High Commission in Ottawa, ought not to continue. King assented, though he said that there was no question of any formal agreement. Pointing to the PJBD, King noted that it was merely advisory, not executive, and its formality kept the Americans happy. At the same time – Addison himself edited the minutes to ensure this fact stood out clearly – King placed no reservations on the continuation of established practice.89 The outcome of this meeting might seem innocuous, but had enormous implications for the future of Anglo-Canadian-American relations. The second meeting took place between Francis Cumming-Bruce and John Holmes at the Travellers (a well-known London club). Holmes said Robertson approved of the substance of British views on the Commonwealth and defence areas. Form was another matter. Canada preferred informal to formal arrangements for Commonwealth defence. However, Holmes did suggest Canadians would be amenable to a bilateral defence pact. Many, Holmes continued, were opposed to a bilateral tie-up with America, but it might be possible to balance this with AngloCanadian agreement. Holmes did not accept responsibility for any of these sentiments, agreeing rather with Cumming-Bruce that Alexander Clutterbuck (who had succeeded MacDonald as High Commissioner) might raise the idea informally with Robertson in Ottawa.90 This second meeting generated excited comment in the Dominions Office; Machtig approved an approach to Robertson on the lines suggested by Holmes, but General Ismay vetoed it (no doubt with a view to ensuring the success of Field Marshal Montgomery’s mission, as we shall see). Instead, Clutterbuck was instructed to confirm that King wanted to ensure the continuation of joint defence machinery, and to give Robertson the opportunity to open discussion on a bilateral arrangement of some sort.91 Clutterbuck did as he was instructed. On the question of defence liaison, the response was encouraging. Robertson indicated that his staff had given the matter a great deal of thought, and that Canadian policy was guided by two considerations: (a) that military liaison should

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be closer than before the war; (b) that a stronger relationship should be accompanied by minimum publicity. Robertson was not impressed with formal missions: the Joint Staff Mission in Washington simply played to American sensibilities. Strengthening the advisory staff to High Commissioners (he was thinking of adding a defence scientific adviser, for instance) provided a quiet alternative. Robertson did not raise the idea of a bilateral defence arrangement, but Holmes had clearly given the British food for thought.92 As for joint service liaison staff, these were appointed at the very end of 1946.93 As the international climate worsened through 1946, at the Peace Conference in Paris and at the General Assembly in New York, King moved closer to Britain. In a meeting with Clutterbuck on 14 November King said ‘it seemed to him that all the signs and portents indicated that another great world war would be upon us.’ The spread of Communism, King continued, was truly alarming; Russia was in process of eating up Europe; and it was pretty clear that the ruling clique in Russia, brought up on the Marxist doctrine and backed by hordes of serfs with no knowledge of the world outside, had no intention of changing their spots even if they were capable of doing so. All this suggested that we were heading for a showdown, a showdown which was inevitable sooner or later between the forces of materialism and those of us who still stood for moral and religious principles in the world. Given these circumstances, the people of the Commonwealth must work closely together, but they must be allowed to do so in their own way, without coercion or threat, and ideally their cooperation ought to be unobtrusive. King sympathised with Byrnes, who had recently asked Truman to tell his generals and admirals to shut up; King wondered if Lord Hankey might not be told the same thing.94 At this point, King speculated, should we not have done better without UNO? As matters stood, the Russians gave nothing and received everything; they

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had a magnificent platform in UNO from which to launch their insidious doctrines and to sow discord not merely among nations but within nations; at the same time they were able to learn all about other countries, their strong points and their weak points and their general outlook and characteristics, while others were not allowed to learn anything about Russia or to make any contact with the Russian people. This gave them the advantage of all of us.95 Given King’s usual inscrutability, it is worth quoting the above at some length, lest there be any doubt about the direction of his thinking. At the beginning of 1946, the UN was the crown jewel of Canadian diplomacy. By the end of the year it was another liability. In early September, Field Marshal Montgomery made secret trips to Ottawa and Washington. In Ottawa, he secured agreement from King to the standardisation of equipment between British and Canadian forces, which effectively meant the standardisation of British and American equipment. Truman assented to this proposal.96 In a further meeting with Eisenhower and the American Joint Chiefs, Montgomery secured agreement to commence discussions on the conduct of possible wars in future, and to recommend detailed action on standardisation and common action. Canadian planners were to be present, but the PJBD would not be involved.97 In the Atlantic triangle, Canada and Britain used one another as sounding boards for dealing with the Americans. Just as Montgomery had begun his negotiations with Eisenhower by sounding King, so Louis St. Laurent, Minister of External Affairs, sounded Bevin on Canadian base negotiations with America. St. Laurent asked Bevin what he thought of an American request for air bases in Northern Canada, to be placed under full American control.98 Attlee sent a note to Bevin which suggested that America would be the sole beneficiary of any such arrangement, since she would thereby strengthen an important sector of the defensive glacis with which she is at present clearly bent on surrounding herself. If she is thus firmly entrenched, the effect

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might well be to make her, in the event of a war of aggression against us, even slower (and she is normally a slow starter) to move out of her defensive system to come to our own aid. In return for this, as far as can be estimated, little real protection would have been afforded to Canada. Attlee wondered whether America had approached Greenland; certainly there was already trouble over bases in the Azores and Iceland. He also wrote that the Antipodean Dominions, fighting as they were for a cooperative defensive arrangement in the Pacific, would be compromised by the sort of arrangement envisaged for Northern Canada.99 Attlee need not have worried himself unduly, as it appeared that St. Laurent, and through him King, shared his concerns. St. Laurent suggested approaching the issue in a tripartite manner.100 Canadians thereby agreed in substance everything they refused in form. Closer cooperation with Britain, standardisation of military material, a ‘collective bargaining’ approach towards the US were all similar to what was agreed by the other Dominions, just more informal. What the Canadians were most keen to avoid was overt imperial rhetoric. They need not have worried quite so much: the division of the British world into separate defence areas, the conduct of the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting as a running series of bilateral talks, the winding down of the Committee of Imperial Defence, all spoke to the emerging primacy of technical integration within regional zones over grand schemes of global or imperial security.

Towards the Brussels Pact The great sociologist Karl Deutsch defined a ‘security community’ as an integrated group of people in which institutions and the sense of community were strong enough to create a dependable expectation of peaceful change, upheld by the belief of individuals within the community that common social problems were amenable to peaceful resolution through institutional procedures, without resort to violence. With respect to what he called ‘pluralistic’ security communities (in which members retained their independence), Deutsch noted that

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‘capabilities for political responsiveness required in each state a great many established political habits, and of functioning political institutions, favouring mutual communication and consultation.’101 This was an astute observation: successful cooperation preserving the independence of all parties between great and small powers is not impossible, but inequalities of power must be compensated by relative equality in the managerial sophistication of the states involved. Herein lay the irony for the operation of collective security in the twentieth century: it was achievable, but the sophisticated apparatus necessary to promote the requisite cooperation between states great and small also demanded cooperation on very precise grounds in the pursuit of well-defined interests. As we have seen, the more sophisticated the Dominions became and the more able to penetrate British or American politics, the more they turned their thoughts to local questions. Collective security also demanded that great states end their old habit of seeking global consensus with one another by trading regional stakes. The UN had originally been intended to preserve a global consensus between great powers. As Peter Fraser and others pointed out, this was contradictory: if the UN was a collective security organisation, and collective security meant wielding force on behalf of the community, then the ‘community’ only really meant great powers and force would only be directed against the weak. This was inconsistent with the vision of sovereign, self-determining states enshrined elsewhere in the Charter. The alternative – the recognition of the legitimacy of small states, their right to their property, their right to sovereignty – meant placing local and regional interests ahead of any putative global consensus. It was this latter vision that the Dominions promoted. As the institutions that were meant to lay the foundation for post-war order failed, the UN chief among them, it was this normative framework which carried on. This was the real significance of the Dominion Premiers’ Meeting and the way in which the British Commonwealth continued to negotiate with American power. The pace of integration was now being set not at the heart of power in London or Washington; it was being set on the frontiers. Escott Reid’s point in 1943 – that great

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states have particular interests and small states have general interests – was borne out as the Dominions demanded Americans accept certain general principles in return for particular leases or bases. This did not mean Britain or the US forsook a global mission in world affairs; but it was a very different kind of mission to the one that Britons or Americans might have envisioned (and did envision) in 1932 or 1933. Within a few years, new organisations – foremost among them the Brussels Pact, which became the heart of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization – institutionalised the system of regional collective security as they resolved problems relating to Arctic aviation or Atlantic or Pacific bases.102 What we have seen is that the normative framework for such organisations had been laid during the war itself, and reflected conscious decisions taken by small states to protect themselves both from a world of great power patrons and a general world security organisation which would reflect great power interests rather than their own. In this sense, the normative framework of post-war order was consciously developed on the frontiers of world power, where the impact of new technologies and a changing balance of power were most apparent to small states that, by historical accident, were able to secure their preferred outcomes in the conferences that together made up the peace. Regional integration became thereby a substitute for global subjugation, allowing the small to preserve their independence while accommodating the great. The organisation of security was increasingly about communities – founded upon the Commonwealth ideal of free political association of sovereign states – rather than empires; this meant that as American power expanded after the war, it was as a state integrating into communities founded on shared regional interests and aspirations rather than as an imperial overlord. To be sure, these new relationships hardly solved the problems of power in world order: among other things power retained its right, which no Dominion statesman was so foolish as to challenge, to flatter itself by thinking that whatever did happen happened because the great had always wanted it to happen and willed it so.

CONCLUSION

There had been a transformation in intra-Commonwealth political relations, but also, and this was more fundamental, there had been a change in the balance of world power. The concept of imperial defence in any absolute form was outdated. In its place there was the concept of regional defence agreements under the Charter of the United Nations. That was why, when the United Nations grievously disappointed the hopes of its sponsors and failed to achieve its primary purpose of maintaining international peace and security, it was not in imperial defence but in regional associations that the members of the Commonwealth, and not least the United Kingdom, sought refuge.1 – Nicholas Mansergh, 1958 We leave Sisyphus at the bottom of the mountain! One of the primary features of post-war order was that it did not possess any definite shape. There was no Vienna or Versailles: every defining meeting and agreement was followed within a year or two by another defining meeting and agreement, Chicago by Bermuda, San Francisco by London, and so on. This reflected a changing balance of world power, but in more ways than Mansergh may have appreciated: aviation was changing the balance of power between statesmen and their bureaucracies, making conference diplomacy in particular much more technocratic; a managerial revolution in policy analysis allowed small states seeking technical self-determination to alter the balance between their newfound regional interests and the global interests of the great.

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What this meant was that empire was becoming a very expensive business, for the asymmetries which had made empires a going proposition in the first place – in information and communication above all – were disappearing. Great states that used to cement their agreements with one another by trading third party interests, say the Egyptian revenue for Morocco, increasingly found those third parties demanding or simply exercising a casting vote, sometimes gaining so much in return for their cooperation that great powers began to feel distinctly victimised, as the British did after Ottawa. In this new environment, regionalism made sense: small states demanded a high price for their participation in vague global schemes, but they were amenable to negotiation and compromise when it came to precise interests closer to home. There were sound reasons for this development: air power meant security in regional zones was measured by staging areas, radar stations and weather stations rather than the old lines of sea power; the necessity of dealing with other great powers meant post-imperial states were eager to be recognised as states in their own right. For an imperial state like Britain the shift towards regionalism allowed for the rationalisation of imperial commitments in line with other foreign and domestic interests. It was this changing balance of power between centre and periphery which, more than the Anglo-American balance, informed the development of regional integration and regional collective security. The importance of American power lay rather in the challenges and opportunities it presented in the different regions of the evolving British Commonwealth, not least to Britain itself. It was old news, made plain at the Chanak Crisis and the 1937 Imperial Conference, that the Dominions would not fight for the British Empire. What was new and alarming was the prospect that Britain might not fight for the Empire, either. Anglo-American cooperation through institutions like the Combined Chiefs offered British policy-makers an alternative model of external relations that could be weighed coolly against imperial defence. Like a modern young heiress to a feudal duchy, Britannia could choose whether to keep the creaky houses, ancient formulae, complicated administration, eccentric staff and horrendous overheads, or sell the lot for a happy settlement in the North Atlantic and the

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luxury of wistfully recalling the old family pile. Even as the Dominions grew more independent, the circumstance of American power – both in the possibilities of Anglo-American cooperation and the dangers of local American domination – compelled them to develop closer relations with Britain. This process was easily overlooked: Mansergh, for instance, had no access to the 1946 Dominion Premiers’ Meeting, though it is a quiet testimony to his skill that the limited sources he did locate generated consternation in Whitehall.2 What this tells us is that the emerging framework of post-war order – regional collective security, regional integration, a normative commitment to the ideals of the UN Charter if not the UN itself – all predated the institutionalisation of American global power through NATO or ANZUS. Necessity, not plenty, was the source of political creativity. In Alan Bullock’s memorable description: Bevin found himself the representative of a union with reduced assets and a falling membership, whose ability to resist amalgamation and retain its independence would largely depend on its secretary’s ability to put on a bold front at the negotiating table.3 Exactly so. The reorganisation of the Commonwealth in 1946 reflected both the failure of the institutional structure of post-war order and the refusal to sacrifice the core commitments of that order to either the United States or the Soviet Union.

Notes on the Political Economy of Post-War Order If the United Nations failed to provide post-war security as it was supposed to do and the Dominions were thrown back upon Commonwealth consultation, surely this was a lesson in political realism? When we consider the case of Smuts and South Africa, we see this was not entirely the case. Smuts was one of the most intellectually gifted statesmen of the twentieth century; his political insights were lucid and his predictions about atomic rivalry, for instance, were

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entirely accurate. Yet for all the many things that Smuts knew, he failed to grasp something very big about post-war order, and this failure left South Africa increasingly isolated. The reason for this is that Smuts – perhaps a parallel may be drawn with Stalin in this respect – relied upon personal relationships and his own intellect in the conduct of diplomacy. As we have seen, much of the serious work of constructing post-war order took place at a staff level and consisted of functional development and functional integration. Roosevelt might make flippant remarks about the disposition of French colonies and Churchill about regional councils, but it was the bureaucracy which crafted these various ideas into coherent policy in order to negotiate it with other bureaucracies. Reid, Hasluck or Berendsen not only cut their diplomatic teeth negotiating the functional aspects of post-war order; they also developed multidisciplinary institutional frameworks capable of integrating a range of specialist talent into a comprehensive diplomatic programme, and as they developed contacts with Britain or the United States they built credibility in their claim to represent sovereign states. South Africa failed to develop a foreign policy bureaucracy with the sophistication necessary to participate in this process. It was no mistake that Smuts’ colleagues, Reitz or Gie, died of overwork – the scale of the information to be processed, analysed and configured into policy was simply too great for a single individual to bear. Smuts thought he could make good defects in South African capabilities by his personal relationship with the warlords, but as they passed from the scene it was the bureaucracies that ensured continuity of policy. Smuts thereby failed to apprehend that the diplomatic process was changing in fundamental ways, indeed that post-war order was defined by this new process rather than any particular structure of affairs. It was this which made the negotiation of the United Nations so important, and which ensured the UN remained far more important as a forum than as a security organisation in its own right – what states signalled through the UN was their commitment to a normative order that would protect the sovereignty and property rights of national states. By doing so, states like the United States or Britain signalled that they were willing to negotiate the terms under which

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their tremendous power would be exercised, and this commitment mattered much more than their failure to arrive at a general post-war settlement. Smuts’ treatment of Southwest Africa was entirely blind to any commitment of this kind, either to the ideal of sovereignty as it was understood by an increasingly post-colonial world, or to the notion that unbounded power was by the mere fact of existing a danger to a developing international society. To treat Southwest Africa as a prize rather than as a trusteeship territory was to outrage the most basic principle of post-war legitimacy. To be sure, South Africa was not the only state to subscribe to the prize mentality. It was similarly apparent that the Russians were incapable of accepting normative limitations on the exercise of their power: for the Dominions, the prehistory of the Cold War was the chilling experience of attempting to negotiate anything at all with Russia. Was this the secret of post-war order? Behind all the details and the technicalities, despite all the conferences and the institutions, it was true that power often told more than principle. Whatever was said in the plenary sessions and the ad hoc committees at Yalta or San Francisco, where the great states could project their power, there they built the kind of order that they wanted. The Russians did so in Eastern Europe, the British in Africa, the Americans in the Pacific. As British power waned, did this simply give rise to a new American order, one based round American idealism and ‘anti-imperialism,’ or else an ‘empire by invitation?’ We have given ample consideration to Britain and the Dominions; let us now consider what happened between America, Russia and the Dominions between 1942 and 1946. America and the Dominions had overlapping interests in the old imperial periphery. These were a source of persistent friction and concern, but they were also issues that could be addressed and resolved in negotiation. There was a substantial difference between this friction, and the lack of overlapping interests with Russia. One of the more interesting things about post-war negotiations was that many of them, for instance at Bretton Woods or Chicago, excluded the Soviet world; prominent efforts to include the Soviets in post-war negotiations, including the UN, tended to break down. American penetration of new arenas was aggressive and potentially

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problematic, but it was open penetration, and therefore responsive to open settlement. Thus, Britain and the Dominions could formulate collective bargaining solutions with which to address America on questions like atomic technology or base rights. Russian penetration, by contrast, whose character was military domination or covert subversion, was immune to negotiation or compromise.4 It was not American power as such which made America a credible partner to the British Commonwealth; it was American willingness to negotiate the terms under which her power was exercised. Like Britain, America was willing to exercise power within prescribed limits. It was this common willingness which, faced with Russian insistence upon her right to exercise power without limit, pushed America and the Commonwealth closer together, until Stettinius was participating in Commonwealth meetings at San Francisco as though he himself was a member. This did not, to be sure, make AmericanCommonwealth relations smooth sailing. The United States pursued her own defensive ‘glacis’ after the war, with an extraordinary singlemindedness, and there were to be numerous instances of American informal imperialism (though these never amounted to anything comprehensive or coherent). There is much in the observation that ‘Americans in general may have held anti-colonial sentiments, but they did not believe in precipitous decolonization:’5 Lord, make me chaste – but not yet. While the Dominions enjoyed relative success in their negotiations with the US, we must remember they possessed advantages as English-speaking democracies that enjoyed unique access to Britain and the opportunity to bargain collectively with the Americans. Less fortunate states had to take what they could get – though as the Commonwealth did negotiate institutional solutions with the US, these sometimes provided other states with new means of participating in world politics (e.g. the General Assembly) or else of addressing American power (e.g. after Chicago/Bermuda). The essential point is that when the Commonwealth demanded that America treat security as a regional good, Americans were willing to listen, negotiate and, eventually, to accommodate themselves to the demands made of them. The Russians proved they were unwilling to do so.

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Negotiation, compromise and settlement were precisely the path followed by three of the four Dominions vis-à-vis America. AngloCanadian-American relations resolved themselves into the Brussels Pact and then NATO. Anglo-Australian-New Zealand-American relations resolved themselves into ANZUS. As the latter treaty suggested, the more American-Dominion relations stabilised, the less necessary it was to think in terms of balancing American power. Respect for sovereignty, a community of interest in regional security, prosperity and a common desire for global peace were solid foundations on which to establish a permanent relationship and, once mutually-acceptable terms had been agreed, that foundation was readily built upon. There was no empire by invitation: there was no invitation, and America did not found an empire. For their own reasons, a variety of states around the world invited the United States to participate in communities of interest and Americans chose to accept.

NOTES

Introduction 1. W.K. Hancock, Survey of British Commonwealth affairs, vol. 1 (Oxford, 1964), 27. 2. An unscientific sample of good introductory essays includes: Friedrich Kratochwil, ‘How do norms matter?’ in Michael Byers, ed., The role of law in international politics: essays in international relations and international law (Oxford, 2000), 35–68; Amitav Acharya, ‘How ideas spread: whose norms matter?’ International Organization 58/2 (April 2004), 239–75; Kai Alderson, ‘Making sense of state socialization,’ Review of International Studies 27/3 (July 2001), 415–33. 3. Geir Lundestad, ‘Empire by invitation? The United States and Western Europe, 1945–1952,’ Journal of Peace Research, 23/3 (Sept. 1986), 263–77. 4. See: Mancur Olson, The logic of collective action: public goods and the theory of groups (London, 1971). 5. See: Robert Keohane, After hegemony: cooperation and discord in world politics (Princeton, 1984). 6. See: Hedley Bull, The anarchical society: a study of order in world politics, 2nd ed. (London, 1995). 7. Hans Morgenthau, American foreign policy: a critical examination (London, 1952). 8. Ronald Steel, Walter Lippmann and the American Century (London, 1980), 557–72. 9. Warren Kimball, ‘The Cold War warmed over,’ American Historical Review, 79/4 (October 1974), 1,123. 10. J.L. Gaddis, We now know: rethinking Cold War history (Oxford, 1997), 14–15. 11. Gaddis, We now know, 36. 12. Gaddis, We now know, 39. 13. Gaddis, We now know, 43–4. 14. Frederick Jackson Turner, ‘The Significance of the Frontier in American History,’ in The frontier in American history (New York, 1965), 38. 15. Barry Buzan and Richard Little, International systems in world history: remaking the study of international relations (Oxford, 2000), 80–81. 16. See Buzan’s discussion of ‘vanguard theory’ in: Barry Buzan, From international to world society? English School theory and the social structure of globalisation (Cambridge, 2004), 222–7. 17. Nicholas Mansergh, Survey of British Commonwealth affairs, vol. 2 (London, 1968), 189; Ian Drummond, British economic policy and the Empire, 1919–1939 (London, 1972), ch.6.

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18. Warren Kimball, ‘The incredible shrinking war: the Second World War, not (just) the origins of the Cold War,’ Diplomatic History, 25/3 (Summer 2001), 358. 19. Lester Pearson, Memoirs, vol. 1 (London, 1973), 212; Paul Hasluck, ‘Report on the eighth conference of the Institute of Pacific Relations,’ 4–14.12.42. Hasluck/ M1942/5; P.L., Wellington, to F. Jones, 9.10.41; General Puttick, Wellington, to Peter Fraser, 15.6.42. Fraser/3/1. 20. Leighton McCarthy, memorandum, 5.1.43. King/J1/C7039/343, f. 295,406.

Chapter 1 The Imperial World 1. C.A. Berendsen, Washington, to J.V. Wilson, 9.1.45. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.2. 2. Wm. Roger Louis, Imperialism at bay, 1941–1945: The United States and the decolonization of the British Empire (Oxford, 1977), 4–7. 3. D.A. Low, ‘The contraction of England; an inaugural lecture,’ in D.A. Low, Eclipse of empire (Cambridge, 1993), 3. 4. Ronald Robinson, ‘Non-European foundations of European imperialism: Sketch for a theory of collaboration,’ in Roger Owen and Bob Sutcliffe, eds., Studies in the theory of imperialism (London, 1972), 118–9. 5. Charles Kindleberger, The world in depression, 1929–1939 (Berkeley, 1986),127; Harold James, ‘Financial flows across frontiers during the interwar depression,’ Economic History Review, 45/3 (1992), 603–4. 6. Ian Drummond, British economic policy and the empire, 1919–1933 (London, 1972), 25; 102–3. 7. P.J. Cain & A.G. Hopkins, British imperialism: crisis and deconstruction (London, 1993), 77–86. 8. Drummond, 114. 9. Leo Amery, diary, 19.7.34. Leo Amery, The empire at bay: The Leo Amery diaries, 1929– 1945, (London, 1988), 384. 10. Drummond, 113. 11. Franklyn Johnson, Defence by committee: The British Committee of Imperial Defence, 1885–1959 (London, 1960), 50–53. 12. Johnson, 199n. 13. David Dutton, Neville Chamberlain (London, 2001), 157. 14. Ritchie Ovendale, ‘Appeasement’ and the English speaking world (Cardiff, 1975), 40–45. 15. Imperial Conference of 1937: Conclusions. Cmd. 5482. 16. D.C. Watt, Personalities and policies: studies in the formulation of British foreign policy in the twentieth century (London, 1965), 169. 17. Mark Gilderhus, Pan-American visions: Woodrow Wilson in the Western Hemisphere, 1913–1921 (Tucson, 1986), 37–80. 18. Irwin Gellman, Good neighbor diplomacy: United States policies in Latin America, 1933– 1945 (Baltimore, 1979), 8. 19. Judith Goldstein, Ideas, interests and American trade policy (Ithaca, 1993), 126. 20. Dick Steward, Trade and hemisphere: the good neighbor policy and reciprocal trade (Columbia, 1975), 2, 21–2. 21. Cordell Hull, The memoirs of Cordell Hull, vol. 2 (London, 1948), 363. 22. Lloyd Gardner, Economic aspects of New Deal diplomacy (Madison, 1964), 42, 57–8.

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23. Kindleberger, World in depression, 235. 24. Steward, Trade and hemisphere, 254–63. Stanley Hilton, Brazil and the great powers, 1930–39 (Austin, 1975), 39–109. 25. Steven Ross, American war plans, 1890–1939 (London, 2002), 173–5. 26. John Thompson, ‘Conceptions of national security and American entry into World War II,’ Diplomacy and Statecraft, 16 (2005), 677–9, 687–9. 27. Nicholas Spykman, America’s strategy in world politics: the United States and the balance of power (New York, 1942), 247–8. 28. David Haglund, Latin America and the transformation of US strategic thought, 1936– 1940 (Albuquerque, 1984), 6. 29. Haglund, 40. 30. Robert Dallek, Franklin D. Roosevelt & American foreign policy, 1932–1945 (New York, 1979), 205–6. 31. Haglund, 151. 32. Warren Kimball, ‘The Sheriffs: FDR’s postwar world,’ in Warren Kimball et al., eds., FDR’s world: War, peace and legacies (London: Palgrave, 2008), 96; Warren Kimball, The juggler: Franklin Roosevelt as wartime statesman (Princeton, 1991), 96, 110. 33. Haglund, 51. 34. David Reynolds, Rich relations: the American occupation of Britain, 1942–1945(London, 1995). 35. William Rock, Chamberlain and Roosevelt: British foreign policy and the United States, 1937–1940 (Columbus, 1988), 294. 36. Carl Kreider, The Anglo-American trade agreement: a study of British and American commercial policies, 1934–9 (Princeton, 1943), 243. 37. Warren Kimball, ‘Lend-lease and the open door: the temptation of British opulence, 1937–42,’ Political Science Quarterly, 86/2 (Jun. 1971), 238. 38. Cain & Hopkins, 102. 39. James Leutze, Bargaining for supremacy: Anglo-American naval collaboration, 1937–1941 (Chapel Hill, 1977), 33. 40. Rock, 66–7; David Reynolds, Britannia overruled: British policy and world power in the twentieth century (Harlow, 2000), 32. 41. Edward Warner, ‘Douhet, Mitchell, Seversky: theories of air warfare,’ in Edward Mead Earle, ed., Makers of modern strategy: military thought from Machiavelli to Hitler (Princeton, 1943), 502. 42. Lewis Mumford, Technics and civilization (New York, 1934), 323–4. 43. Alan Henrikson, ‘Mental maps,’ in Michael Hogan, ed., Explaining the history of American foreign relations (Cambridge, 1991), 191. 44. A.S. Jackson, Imperial airways and the first British airlines (Lavenham, 1995), 11–24; 36–8. Gordon Pirie, Air empire: British imperial civil aviation, 1919–39 (Manchester, 2009), 115–6. 45. Pirie, 195–200. 46. See: Robert McCormack, ‘Imperialism, air transport and colonial development: Kenya, 1920–46,’ Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 17/3 (1989), 374–95. 47. John Swettenham, McNaughton (Toronto, 1968), vol.1, 288; Robert Bothwell & William Kilbourn, C.D. Howe: a biography (Toronto, 1979), 105. 48. Pirie, 118–21. 49. Joseph Corn, The winged gospel: America’s romance with aviation, 1900–1950 (New York, 1983).

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50. Jackson, 44. 51. Matthew Josephson, Empire of the air: Juan Trippe and the struggle for world airways (New York, 1943), 42–6. 52. Josephson, 149–70. 53. The Economist, vol. 144, ‘British Aircraft,’ 26.6.43 (no. 5,209), 818. 54. W.P.(43)83 in BNA: CAB 66/34; confirmed by Cabinet in: W.M.35(43)3 in BNA: CAB 65/33. 55. Frederick Jones, New Zealand House of Representatives: Debates, 3.10.46, vol. 275, p. 396–7. 56. For instance, Churchill intervened (London, to Mackenzie King, 23.3.44) to obtain Canadian commitment to the ‘Tudor,’ based on Lancaster bombers. Mackenzie King (Ottawa, to Winston Churchill, 28.3.44) wanted the DC-4 to ensure competitive Canadian aviation. Churchill/20/162, i.57 & 63. 57. D. McVey, ‘Report on civil aviation,’ 24.7.44, p.12. Curtin/M2319/8. 58. Malcolm MacDonald, Canadian North (Oxford, 1945), 53–6. 59. F.C. Shelmardine, ‘Note by Civil Aviation Department of the Air Ministry,’ submitted to Cabinet Committee on US Bases as USB (40) 10, 4.10.40. BNA: CO 323/1808/22. 60. J. Balfour, London, to Maurice Banks, 11.11.40. BNA: CO 323/1808/22. Balfour was Parliamentary Under-Secretary of the FO. 61. Noumea was a French base in New Caledonia. That Pan-American was running commercial flights at all out of French possessions was, in itself, alarming. 62. Foss Shanahan, Wellington, to Frederick Jones, 9.10.41. Fraser/3/1. 63. Carl Berendsen, Canberra, to Peter Fraser, 21.10.43. ANZ: EA1, 153/19/1. 64. The Economist, vol. 144, ‘War in the Air?’ 13.2.43 (no. 5190), 204. 65. L.J. Dunnett, aide-memoire, 27.7.43. BNA: DO 35/1698, W.G. 712/1. 66. H.H. Balfour, minute, 27.9.43. BNA: AIR, 19/392. 67. The Economist, vol. 144, ‘Civil Aviation,’ 13.2.43 (no. 5190), 208. 68. Minute, 9.8.43. BNA: DO 35/1698, W.G. 712/1. 69. Air Marshal Sir Guy A.R. Garrod, New Delhi, to Sir Charles Portal, 15.9.43. BNA: AIR 19/392. 70. Air Ministry, ‘US requests for airfield facilities in British or British-controlled territory,’ 2.9.43. BNA: DO 35/1698, W.G. 712/1. 71. Burke St. John Trend, London, to Clement Guy Caines, 23.8.43. BNA: DO 35/1698, W.G.712/1. 72. H.H. Balfour, Hansard: Commons, 17.12.42, vol. 385, col. 2,153. Balfour was Parliamentary Under-secretary of State for Air, 1938–1944.

Chapter 2

The Trouble with American Power

1. Malcolm MacDonald, ‘Developments in North-Western Canada,’ 6.4.43. MacDonald/12/5, ff.51–61. 2. ‘Joint statement by President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill,’ 4.8.41. FRUS, 1941, vol. 1, 368. 3. ‘Principles applying to mutual aid in the prosecution of the war against aggression,’ 23.2.42. US Department of State, Executive Agreement Series (Washington: US GPO, 1942), no. 241.

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4. Gabriel Kolko, The politics of war: The world and United States foreign policy, 1943–1945 (New York, 1968), 254. 5. Louis, 23. 6. Quoted by: Alan Henrikson, ‘The map as an ‘idea:’ the role of cartographic imagery during the Second World War,’ American Cartographer, 2/1 (1975), 24. 7. See Henrikson, ‘The map as an ‘idea,’’ for a penetrating discussion of this process in the US. 8. F.H. Hinsley, Sovereignty (Cambridge, 1986). 9. J.W. Dafoe, Winnipeg, to Chester Bloom, 22.3.43. Dexter/2142/1/6. Dafoe edited the Winnipeg Free Press from 1901 until his death in 1944. 10. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Vincent Massey, 9.1.42. Vincent Massey, What’s Past is Prologue: The Memoirs of the Rt. Hon. Vincent Massey (London, 1963), 350–1. 11. Hugh Keenleyside, ‘American Imperialism and Canada,’ 14.4.42. Documents on Canadian External Relations (Ottawa: the Queen’s Printer), vol. 9, 1,136–8. Hereafter ‘DCER.’ 12. Malcolm MacDonald, Ottawa, to Clement Attlee, 23.2.43. BNA: DO 121/68. Attlee served briefly as Dominions Secretary, from 19.2.42 to 24.9.43. 13. Pearson, vol. 1, 213–215. 14. Malcolm MacDonald, Ottawa, to Lord Cranborne, 29.8.42. MacDonald/12/4, ff.107–8. MacDonald’s first report was submitted to the Cabinet as WP (43) 465. 15. MacDonald, Canadian North, 172–3 & 230–233. 16. MacDonald, Canadian North, 257. 17. J.E. Stephenson, Minute, 26.4.43. BNA: DO 35/1645, W.G. 533/7. 18. A copy of the appointment (P.C. 2758 of 6.5.43) may be found in DO 35/1208, W.G. 533/10. Also: Mackenzie King, Canada: Commons Debates, 10.5.43, p.2,504. 19. Clyde Sanger, Malcolm MacDonald: Bringing an end to empire (Liverpool, 1995), 236–41. Also: Mackenzie King, Canada: Commons Debates, 9.7.43, pp.4,604–5. 20. J.R.K. Main, Voyageurs of the air: a history of civil aviation in Canada, 1858–1967 (Ottawa, 1967), 179–80. The remains of some of these installations are still visible in the Canadian north. 21. Vincent Massey, diary, 29.4.43. Massey/311/50. 22. Vincent Massey, diary, 17.5.43. Massey/311/50. 23. J.W. Pickersgill, The Mackenzie King Record, vol. 1, (Toronto, 1960), 436. 24. Escott Reid, memorandum, 16.4.43. Reid/30, folder: ‘US and Canada.’ Annotated draft dated 21.4.43 from Reid/6/10. 25. Hume Wrong, Ottawa, to Lester Pearson, 20.3.43. NAC: RG 25, 5739/22-D(s). 26. Hume Wrong, memorandum, 8.8.42. Wrong/4/20. 27. Hume Wrong, memorandum, 7.8.43. NAC: RG25 D1, T-1807/802/555, f. 61–2; Vincent Massey, London, to Norman Robertson, 10.4.43. King/J1/C7041/346, f. 298,350–351. 28. Hume Wrong, memorandum, 17.8.43. Wrong/4/24. 29. J.W. Dafoe, Winnipeg, to Chester Bloom, 22.3.43. Dexter/1/6. 30. Leighton McCarthy, Washington, to J.W. Dafoe, 29.3.43. Dexter/1/6. 31. Escott Reid, ‘Canada’s position on the main air routes,’ 2.8.43. Reid/6/10. 32. Norman Robertson, Ottawa, to Lester Pearson, 16.3.43. NAA: RG25, 5739/22-D(s). 33. Holmes, vol. 1, 25. 34. Perry Smith, The Air Force prepares for peace, 1943–1945 (Baltimore, 1970), 76–7.

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275

35. Hume Wrong, Washington, to Mackenzie King, 14.1.43. King/J1/C7047/353, ff.307,372–3. 36. Mackenzie King, memorandum, 5.2.43. King/J1/C7039/343, ff.295,421–2. Canadian contributions eventually totalled $154 million, making her the third largest contributor behind America and Britain, though UNRRA did spend $254 million in Canada. Holmes, vol. 1, 43. 37. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 17.3.43. NAC: RG25, 5739/22-D(s). 38. Norman Robertson, memorandum (for Mackenzie King), 17.3.43. NAC: RG25, 5739/22-D(s). 39. Vincent Massey, diary, 30.3.43. Massey/311/50. 40. Dean Acheson, Washington, to Lester Pearson, 12.6.43. Holmes, vol. 1, 41. 41. Vincent Massey, London, to Mackenzie King, 20.4.43. King/J1/C7041/346, ff.298,378–40. 42. Mackenzie King, Canada: Commons Debates, 9.7.43, p.4,558. 43. Winston Churchill, London, to Mackenzie King, 25.7.43. King/J1/C7035/338, f.290,703. 44. Mansergh, vol. 2, 176–180. 45. Lord Halifax, Washington, to Lord Cranborne, 30.1.44. Halifax/4/19. 46. Lord Cranborne, London, to Lord Halifax, 9.2.44. Halifax/4/19. 47. Peter Fraser, Wellington, to J.G. Coates and Frank Langstone, 19.7.41. ANZ: EA 1, 86/1/9. 48. Peter Fraser, Wellington, to Winston Churchill and John Curtin, 22.9.42. ANZ: EA 1, 81/1/28. Also see: D. Clayton James, The Years of MacArthur, vol. 2 (Boston, 1975), 117–25. 49. WM 11 (42) 4, 26.1.42. BNA: CAB 65/25. 50. J.J.S. Garner, précis, 13.2.43. BNA: DO 35/1465, W.C. 59/2. 51. WM 14 (42) 2, 2.2.42. BNA: CAB 65/25. 52. Alan Watt, Australian Diplomat: The Memoirs of Sir Alan Watt (Sydney, 1972), 50–1. 53. Lord Cranborne, London, to Malcolm MacDonald, 11.8.41. BNA: DO 121/68. 54. R.G. Casey, Washington, to John Curtin, 19.3.42. W.J. Hudson and H.J.W. Stokes, eds., Documents on Australian Foreign Policy, 1937–1949, vol. 5 (Canberra, 1982), 652–3. Hereafter DAFP. 55. Mansergh, vol. 2, 133. 56. Harry Batterbee, Wellington, to Malcolm MacDonald, 28.7.42. Batterbee/7/1. 57. W.J. Jordan, ‘Post-War commercial policy,’ 10.8.43. ANZ: PM, 23/1/3. 58. ICER, 2.6.42. Hasluck/M1942/31. 59. Paul Hasluck, Diplomatic witness: Australian foreign affairs, 1941–1947 (Melbourne, 1980), 65. 60. ICER, Canberra, to Stanley Bruce, 7.8.42. Hasluck/M1942/31. 61. Louis, 205–10. 62. Paul Hasluck, ‘Report on the Eighth Conference of the Institute of Pacific Relations,’ 14.12.42. Hasluck/M1942/5. 63. Mary Earhart Dillon, Wendell Willkie, 1982–1944 (Philadelphia, 1952), 271–2. 64. Harry Batterbee, Wellington, to Eric Machtig, 7.10.42. Batterbee/7/2. Machtig was permanent undersecretary of the DO. 65. A.J. Toynbee, ‘Visit to the US,’ 10.42. BNA: FO 371/31500. 66. Stanley Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 12.12.42. NAA: A5954, 606/4. 67. WM 4 (43) 1, 7.1.43. BNA: CAB 65/33.

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68. WP (43) 6, 4.1.43. BNA: CAB 66/33. 69. Oliver Stanley, London, to Clement Attlee, 31.12.42. The Australian Government did reply to the Dominions Office circular of 11.12.42, but that reply, dated 2.1.43, was a rambling summary of Evatt’s speeches. BNA: DO 35/1014/2, W.R. 8/12. 70. Stanley Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 24.12.42. NAA: A5954, 606/4. 71. Australian legation, Washington, to Australian DEA, 22.12.42. NAA: A5954, 606/4. This report almost certainly passed through Alan Watt’s hands in Washington and W.R. Hodgson’s in Canberra. 72. Ronald Cross, Canberra, to Harry Batterbee, 11.9.42. Batterbee/6/3. 73. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to Stanley Bruce, 20.11.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. 74. Ronald Cross, Canberra, to DO, 23.12.42. BNA: DO 35/1014/2, W.R. 8/12. 75. Grant Dexter, memorandum, 12.2.44. Dexter/3/26. 76. Owen Dixon, Washington, to H.V. Evatt, 27.3.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1021. 77. W.D. Forsyth, memorandum, 7.4.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1021. 78. DEA, Canberra, to H.V. Evatt, 8.4.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1021. 79. W.D. Forsyth, memorandum, 3.5.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1021. 80. Owen Dixon, Washington, to John Curtin, 24.6.43. NAA: A3300, 247. 81. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to Nelson Trusler Johnson, 24.2.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. Johnson was American Minister to Australia. 82. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to Alan Watt, 30.7.43. Hasluck/M1942/36. 83. Carl Berendsen, Canberra, to A.D. McIntosh, 5.6.43. Ian McGibbon, ed., Undiplomatic Dialogue: Letters between Carl Berendsen and Alister McIntosh, 1943–1952 (Auckland, 1993), 25. 84. Stanley Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 20.8.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/3; DEA, memorandum, 27.3.44. NAA: A5954, 647/6. 85. Alan Watt, Washington, to Paul Hasluck, 6.9.43. Hasluck/M1942/36. 86. Evatt learned about the Cairo Conference in January, 1944; it is hard to say whether this was because Curtin did not pass the relevant telegrams to him, or because he did not bother to read them. W.J. Hudson, Australia and the new world order: Evatt at San Francisco, 1945 (Canberra, 1993), 19. 87. DO, circular, to Commonwealth Premiers, 15.12.43. BNA: DO 35/1666, W.G. 573/17. Also see: H.V. Evatt, Australia in World Affairs (Sydney, 1946), 99. 88. Minute, 20.5.43. BNA: DO 35/1638, W.G. 511/25. 89. Carl Berendsen, Canberra, to Peter Fraser, 21.10.43. ANZ: EA 2, 1493/1B, 10/1/1, part I. 90. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to J.B. Brigden, 26.11.43. Hasluck/M1942/36. Brigden was attached to the American Mission. 91. Norman Robertson, Ottawa, to Mackenzie King, 22.9.43. King/J1/C7036/339, f. 291,449. 92. W.D. Forsyth, memorandum, 14.4.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1021. 93. DEA memorandum, ‘Disposal of wartime installations,’ 1.44. ANZ: EA2, 1945/6A, 111/5/1. 94. S.M. Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 16.2.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/148. 95. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to H.V. Evatt, 11.12.44. NAA: A989, (19)44/630/5/1/11/22. 96. L.R. McIntyre, memorandum, 4.45. NAA: A3300, 342F. 97. S.M. Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 27.10.43. NAA: A5954, 345/1.

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98. H.L. Port, ‘Notes on War Cabinet Agendum 535/1943,’ 21.12.43. NAA: A5954, 345/1. Port was private secretary to A.S. Corbett, who was Director General of Civil Aviation. 99. The interdepartmental committee on civil aviation, of which Hasluck was a member, concluded in early 1944 that roughly 18 transports (American DC-3’s or C-47’s) were required; MacArthur was willing to support an Australian application for six transports. War Cabinet Minute 3284, agendum 381/1943, supplement 1, 21.1.44. NAA: A5954, 345/2. The New Zealand Cabinet had similarly concluded that it was simply a case of the US having the aircraft and not New Zealand. War Cabinet Secretariat, ‘Post-war Security,’ 1.44. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. 100. Owen Dixon, Washington, to John Curtin, 24.6.43. NAA: A3300, 257. 101. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to J.B. Brigden, 26.11.43. Hasluck/M1942/36. 102. A.S. Corbett, Melbourne, to W.R. Hodgson, 16.5.44. NAA: A5954, 345/1. 103. Australia-New Zealand Conference, proceedings, 17–21 January 1944, p. 16–17. Hasluck/M1942/8. 104. D. McVey, ‘Report on Civil Aviation,’ 24.7.44. Curtin/M2319/8. 105. Tom D’Alton, Wellington, to H.V. Evatt, 30.9.44. NAA: A989, (19)44/630/5/1/11/9. 106. Foss Shanahan, Wellington, to Peter Fraser, 20.5.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/20/4, part 2. 107. International Air Transport: Australia-New Zealand Discussions, 12.10.44. This agreement was signed by Drakeford and Fraser. Hasluck/M1942/9. 108. ANZ (2) 14, 28.10.44. NAA: A989, (19)44/630/5/1/11/15. 109. Peter Fraser, 1.11.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/1. 110. Lord Cranborne, London, to Jan Smuts, 19.1.41. Smuts/140, i.21. 111. Winston Churchill, London, to Jan Smuts, 26.1.41. Smuts/95/1, i.25. 112. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Winston Churchill, 28.1.41. Smuts/95/1, i.26. 113. Winston Churchill, London, to Jan Smuts, 30.1.41. Smuts/95/1, i.27. 114. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Winston Churchill, 31.1.41. Smuts/95/1, i.28. 115. Anthony Eden, Hansard, 4.2.41, vol. 368, col.804. 116. ‘The war cabinet is almost a formality,’ reported the High Commissioner. S.F. Waterson, London, to Jan Smuts, 11.11.41. Smuts/141, i.38. 117. Deneys Reitz, London, to Jan Smuts, 2.10.42. Smuts/152, i.3. Reitz replaced Waterson in London in 1942. 118. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Clement Attlee, 15.12.42. Smuts/141, i.130. 119. Leo Amery, London, to Jan Smuts, 7.1.43. Smuts/258, i.6. 120. Jan Smuts, ‘The British Colonial Empire,’ Life, vol. 13, 28.12.42 (no. 26), 11–15. 121. Clement Attlee, London, to Jan Smuts, 1.10.42. Smuts/141, i.126. 122. Jan Smuts, Doornkloof, to Margaret Gillet, 27.8.45. Smuts/270, i.259. 123. Lord Harlech, Cape Town, to Jan Smuts, 27.1.43. Smuts/153, i.19A. 124. Dr. Hans de Kock, ‘The Future Financial and Economic Policy of the Union,’ 4.12.42. Smuts/152, i.40. 125. John Martin, Cape Town, to Jan Smuts, 30.1.43. Smuts/153, i.22. 126. D.B. Sole and J. Jooste, London, to Douglas Forsyth, 9.12.42. NASA: BTS 1/20/14/1. 127. Ralph Close, Washington, to Jan Smuts, 9.2.43. NASA: BTS 4/2/16, file 11. 128. Ralph Close, Washington, to Jan Smuts, 19.2.43. NASA: BTS 4/2/16, file 10. 129. Lord Harlech, Cape Town, to Jan Smuts, 8.4.43. Smuts/259, i.21. 130. Deneys Reitz, London, to Jan Smuts, 13.12.43. Smuts/155, i.15.

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131. Jan Smuts, ‘Thoughts on the New World: An Address’ (Empire Parliamentary Association, 1943). 132. Leo Amery, London, to Jan Smuts, 15.12.43. Smuts/258, i.19. 133. Louis, 175–86. 134. Jan Smuts, Cape Town, to Lord Harlech, 25.2.43. Smuts/260, i.72. 135. Report of the ‘Hoffe-Meredith’ Committee, 11.2.44. Smuts/156, i.29. 136. F.C. Sturrock, Cape Town, to Jan Smuts, 29.2.44. Smuts/154, i.41. 137. John Martin, memorandum, 23.2.44. Smuts/156, i.41. 138. F.C. Sturrock, memorandum, undated (probably 8 or 9.44). Smuts/158, i.24. 139. Deneys Reitz, London, to Jan Smuts, 15.9.44. Smuts/158, i.11. 140. Southern Africa Air Transport Conference, agenda, 20.3.45. Smuts/163/2, i.70. 141. Southern Africa Air Transport Conference, ‘Policy in Regard to Postal Traffic by Air,’ 23.3.45. Smuts/161, i.15. 142. Southern Africa Air Transport Conference, ‘Report of Committee no. 3,’ 23.3.45. Smuts/161, i.16. 143. Southern Africa Air Transport Conference, ‘Report of Committee no. 4,’ 23.3.45. Smuts/161, i.17. 144. Leo Amery, London, to Jan Smuts, 15.4.43. Smuts/158, i.10.

Chapter 3

Planning for Post-War Order

1. Stanley Bruce, memorandum (to War Cabinet, Committee on War Aims), 1.11.40. BNA: CAB 87/90. 2. David Mitrany, A working peace system (London, 1943), 20. 3. Harold Wilson, Memoirs: the making of a Prime Minister, 1916–64 (London, 1986), 72–3. 4. Mark Stoler, ‘The Roosevelt foreign policy: flawed, but superior to the competition,’ in Mark Stoler & Justus Doenecke, Debating Franklin Roosevelt’s foreign policies, 1933–45 (Lanham, 2005), 161. 5. Dallek, 84; 421. 6. Mark Stoler, ‘FDR and the origins of the national security establishment,’ in Kimball et al., FDR’s world, 72. 7. Louis, 273. 8. Stephen Roskill, Hankey: Man of secrets, vol. 3 (London: Collins, 1974), 467. 9. Ian Jacob in John Wheeler-Bennett, ed., Action this day: working with Churchill (London, 1968), 162. 10. Victor Rothwell, Britain and the Cold War, 1941–47 (London, 1982), 230. 11. Kimball, The juggler, 105. 12. See the excellent: Mark Stoler, Allies and adversaries: the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the grand alliance, and US strategy in World War II (Chapel Hill, 2000). 13. Michael Sherry, Preparing for the next war: American plans for postwar defence, 1941–45 (New Haven, 1977), 24–6, 91. 14. James Grigg, memorandum, 11.43. BNA: CAB 123/235. 15. Lord Gladwyn, The Memoirs of Lord Gladwyn (London, 1972), 111. 16. WP (43)514, 11.11.43. BNA: CAB 66/43. ACA 11(43)5, 21.12.43. BNA: CAB 87/83. 17. Vladimir Pechatnov, ‘The Big Three after World War II: new documents on Soviet thinking about post war relations with the United States and Great Britain,’ Cold War International History Project (Washington, D.C., 1995), 19.

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18. Robert Divine, Roosevelt and World War II (Baltimore, 1969), 65. 19. Justus Doenecke, ‘The Roosevelt foreign policy: an ambiguous legacy,’ in Stoler & Doenecke, 62. 20. Vojtech Mastny, Russia’s road to the Cold War: diplomacy, warfare, and the politics of Communism, 1941–1945 (New York, 1979), 116–7. 21. Edgar Snow, Journey to the Beginning (London, 1959), 357. 22. See the memorable exchange in: Ivan Maisky, Memoirs of a Soviet ambassador: the war, 1939–1945 (London, 1967), 139–41. Also see the excellent overview in: J.L. Gaddis, The United States and the origins of the Cold War, 1941–47 (New York, 1972), 133–73. 23. Holmes, vol. 1, 118–124; Mastny, 106–7. 24. Louis, 160. 25. WP (42)133, 24.3.42. BNA: CAB 66/23. Winston Churchill, Hansard: Commons, 24.2.42, vol.378, cols.36–48. 26. That was Cadogan’s assessment. Alexander Cadogan, diary, 6.12.44. In: David Dilks, ed., The diaries of Sir Alexander Cadogan, 1938–1945 (London, 1971), 685. 27. Clement Attlee, London, to Ernest Bevin, 1.3.44. Attlee/12, f.196. Also: Clement Attlee, ‘The Electoral Truce,’ 1.3.44. Attlee/12, ff.197–99. 28. Ad Hoc Committee on Armistice Terms, Gen. (43)(15), 1st meeting, 21.7.43. BNA: CAB 78/11, file 15. 29. Rothwell, 228. 30. Attlee only made one personal reference to Churchill in his memoir; Churchill, similarly, referred to ‘Narvik’ more often than he did Attlee in his vast war history. Winston Churchill, The Second World War, 6 vols. (London, 1948–53); Clement Attlee, As It Happened (London, 1954), 115–132. 31. FRPS, memorandum, 23.12.41. BNA: CAB 119/64. 32. COS (42)65, 26.2.42. BNA: CAB 79/18/32. L.J. Carver, London, to N.B. Ronald, 21.4.42. BNA: CAB 119/64. 33. WM 70(42)5 , 1.6.42. BNA: CAB 65/26. 34. COS (42)297, 8.6.42. BNA: CAB 80/36/96. 35. C.G. Jarrett, London, to L.C. Hollis, 6.8.42. Jarrett was in the Admiralty; Hollis in the War Office. BNA: ADM 1/12072. 36. COS (42)380, 21.8.42. BNA: CAB 80/37/80. 37. WM 86(43)1, 16.6.43. BNA: CAB 65/34. 38. V.F.W. Cavendish-Bentinck, minute, 9.4.43. BNA: FO 371/35449, U2232/2231/70. Cavendish-Bentinck was FO adviser to the director of plans, and chaired the Joint Intelligence Committee of the Chiefs of Staff. 39. WP (43) 351, 31.7.43. CAB 66/40. This was a submission of COS (43) 199 (Final), which was approved by the Chiefs of Staff in COS 1 (43) 117, 22.7.43. BNA: CAB 79/27. 40. Lord Gladwyn, 132. 41. COS 2(44)130, 20.4.44. BNA: CAB 79/73. 42. The COS approved paper COS (44) 143, 8.8.44, which reduced the FO contribution to an associate member with responsibility for papers limited to those with a political ambit, in Chiefs of Staff Minutes COS 7 (44) 306, 13.9.44. BNA: CAB 83/80 & 79/80, respectively. 43. COS 13(44)346, 24.10.44. BNA: CAB 79/82. 44. WM 155(42)2, 19.11.42. BNA: CAB 65/28. 45. COS 7(44)76, 6.3.44. BNA: CAB 79/72.

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46. P. Davison, London, to Brig. R.S. Park (New Zealand), Col. Kreft (South Africa), Lt. Com. G.F. Todd (Canada) and Col. Rourke (Australia), 23.1.45 (except the Canadian copy, which went on 29.1.45). These letters described a meeting held on 22 January in which the COS explained its reasoning. Davison was secretary to the PHP Committee. BNA: FO 371/50823, U816/G. 47. Charlie Ritchie, London, to George de T. Glazebrook, 15.10.43. NAC: RG25, 5711/7AH(s). 48. John Hilliker, Canada’s Department of External Affairs, vol. 1 (Montreal, 1990), 300–301. 49. John Holmes et al., memorandum, 22.7.43. NAC: RG25, 5711/7-AD(s). 50. John Holmes et al., memorandum, 3.8.43. NAC: RG25, 5711/7-AD(s). 51. War Committee, minutes, 24.11.43. DCER, vol. 9, 577–78. 52. Don Munton & Don Page, ‘Planning in the East Block: the post-hostilities problems committee in Canada, 1943–5,’ International Journal, 32 (1976–7), 687–726. 53. Ronald Cross noted early in Curtin’s premiership that the man suffered from heart trouble and a lack of stamina; in further correspondence, he deplored the discord which characterised Australian politics. Ronald Cross, Canberra, to Clement Attlee, 6.7.43. Attlee acknowledged the problem and noted further rows in Clement Attlee, London, to Ronald Cross, 31.7.43. BNA: DO 121/51. 54. Hood twice drove Hasluck to the brink of retirement. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to W.R. Hodgson, 15.8.44. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1010/3/1. Further information on the constant clash of personalities is derived from Alan Renouf, Paris, to Paul Hasluck, 8.46. Hasluck/M1943/12. 55. L.G. Melville, Sydney, to Paul Hasluck, 31.10.47. Hasluck/M1944/3. 56. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to W.R. Hodgson, 24.8.43. Hasluck/M1942/40. 57. Dr. Burton, Canberra, to W.R. Hodgson, 13.10.43. DAFP, vol. 6, 545–6. H.V. Evatt, Australian House of Representatives: Debates, 14.10.43, vol.176, p.572–5. 58. A.D. McIntosh, Wellington, to Paul Hasluck, 28.1.44. Hasluck/M1942/8. 59. Stanley Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 4.2.44. ANZ: AAEG 950/W4627, 1962/102/5/1. 60. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to W.R. Hodgson, 25.1.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. 61. W.D. Forsyth, memorandum, 14.2.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. This memorandum discussed the Canberra Conference; it was sent to A.D. McIntosh. 62. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to Anstey Wynes, 18.4.44. Wynes was Australian High Commissioner in Ottawa; this letter asked Wynes to set up a liaison, citing the AustraliaNew Zealand Agreement. In a reply, Anstey Wynes, Ottawa, to Paul Hasluck, 23.6.44, Wynes said this would require a formal request to the Canadian Government. This request does not appear to have been made. Hasluck/M1942/36. As New Zealand experienced no trouble gaining access to papers, Wynes was simply inefficient. 63. John Hood, draft cabinet submission, undated. Probably late February, 1944. Hood’s proposal suggested a joint Defence-DEA secretariat which had a high chance of approval. Either Hasluck or Evatt sought a DEA-only secretariat, which became a sticking point. Hasluck/M1942/40. 64. W.R. Hodgeson, directive, 12.3.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. 65. Alternatively, Curtin may have been prompted by Bruce to suggest this to Shedden. 66. DEA War Cabinet Agendum: Post-Hostilities Planning Committees, 12.4.44. Hasluck/M1942/40.

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67. Another Cabinet submission was prepared by 29 May and sent to the Treasury for comment. In early July, Hasluck noted that no comment had been received and no action taken. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to W.R. Hodgson, 4.7.44. This was passed onto Evatt on 8.7.44 by Hodgson, who noted that the need to plan the peace was becoming more urgent. Hasluck/M1942/40. 68. It is possible that it was not intended to produce anything. The Commander in Chief, General Blamey, felt Commonwealth defence cooperation would be impossible with Canada (Stanley Bruce, London, to John Curtin and H.V. Evatt, 29.3.44); Defence suggested overcoming this difficulty on a staff level (Stanley Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 28.8.44). Defence PHP may have been a staff liaison. NAA: A5954, 6/2. 69. DPHP (45)4 (Final), ‘Defence Post-Hostilities Planning: Post-Hostilities Planning Organisation,’ 24.4.45. This contains a useful overview of splendid non-activity. NAA: A816, 100/301/10A. 70. J.T. Pinner, Minute, 28.8.44. This was based on a meeting on 18 August and was confirmed by the Public Services Board of Commissioners on 1.9.44. NAA: A425, (19)44/2767. 71. W.R. Hodgson, Canberra, to Frederick Shedden, 8.9.44. NAA: A5954, 1821/2. 72. A great many legends grew up around Conlon, which Hasluck comprehensively thrashed in his memoir. See: Hasluck, 132. 73. P.E. Coleman, Minute of Defence Committee Meeting, 27.9.44. This meeting was attended by the Chiefs of the Air and Naval Staff (Air Vice-Marshal G. Jones and Admiral Sir Guy C.C. Royle), the Deputy Chief of the General Staff (Brigadier R.M. Thompson) and a secretary of the Department of Defence (Coleman). They noted the minutes of the meeting with Hasluck and recommended that contact with him be maintained. NAA: A5954, 1821/2. 74. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to John Curtin, 28.9.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. 75. A.D. McIntosh, Wellington, to R.M. Firth, 17.2.44. ANZ: AAEG 950/W4627, 1962/102/5/1. 76. George Laking, Wellington, to Foss Shanahan, 18.2.44. ANZ: AAEG 950/W4627, 1962/102/5/1. 77. Hume Wrong, ‘Machinery in Canada for Study of Post-Hostilities Problems,’ 14.3.44. This was enclosed in R.M. Firth, Ottawa, to A.D. McIntosh, 17.3.44. ANZ: AAEG 950/W4627, 1962/102/5/1. 78. Foss Shanahan, Wellington, to R.M. Firth, 14.4.44. Shanahan noted that he had spoken to the Canadian High Commissioner, Dr. Riddell, who had promised to return with any completed papers that were available. ANZ: AAEG 950/W4627, file 1962/102/5/1. The two papers sent to New Zealand were ‘Note on PHP (43) 24a (United Kingdom) of 3 February 1944,’ 6.3.44 and ‘Views of the Canadian Working Committee on Civil Air Transport and Security Problems,’ 18.3.44. NAC: RG25, 5712/7-AN(s). 79. Foss Shanahan, Memorandum, 12.5.44. ANZ: AAEG 950/W4627, 1962/102/5/1. 80. Foss Shanahan, Wellington, to A.D. McIntosh, 12.5.44. ANZ: AAEG 950/W4627, 1962/102/5/1. 81. Foss Shanahan, Wellington, to R.M. Firth, 14.4.44. NAC: RG25, 5712/7-AN(s). 82. Chiefs of Staff Committee, minutes, 9.8.44. ANZ: EA1, file 81/4/2a, pt.4. 83. Foss Shanahan, Wellington, to AD McIntosh, 12.5.44. ANZ: AAEG 950/W4627, 1962/102/5/1. 84. J.L. Granatstein, The Ottawa Men: The Civil Service Mandarins, 1935–1957 (Toronto, 1982), 188–9, 195–6.

282 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90.

91. 92.

93. 94.

95. 96. 97. 98.

99.

100.

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PAGES 92–7

‘Shedden also has come on wonderfully ... he says he models himself entirely on my methods!’ Maurice Hankey, diary, 7.5.44. Roskill, vol. 3, 591. Erik Goldstein, Winning the peace: British diplomatic strategy, peace planning and the Paris Peace Conference, 1916–1920 (Oxford, 1991), 89, 94–8, 156–8 & 216–9. D.D. Forsyth, memorandum, 10.12.43. Smuts/155, i.11. SEC, ‘Re-Employment, Reconstruction and the Council’s Status,’ 22.10.42. Smuts/152, i.14. Lord Harlech, Cape Town, to Jan Smuts, 27.1.43. Smuts/153, i.19a. W.G. Parminter, Leopoldville, to D.D. Forsyth, 18.10.43. NASA: SEC 87, SEC 51/8. ‘SEC’ is used both to delineate the archive and as a file prefix. Also: D.D. Forsyth, Pretoria, to Jan Smuts, 11.10.43. Smuts/154, i.42. Jan Hofmeyr, Pretoria, to Dr. van Eck, 25.9.43. Smuts/154, i.35. This was dealt with in a series of letters and a short memorandum; see particularly F. van Biljon, Johannesburg, to D.D. Forsyth, 9.12.43, recommending that the Union could not avoid joining UNRRA, and G.P. Joost, Pretoria, to F. van Biljon, 1.3.44, dealing with the Union contribution to the UNRRA budget. NASA: SEC 68, SEC 51/6/3. SEC, ‘Memorandum on Article VII Discussions,’ 12.12.44. NASA: SEC 79, SEC 51/6/5. Dr. van Eck, Pretoria, to Hofmeyr, 13.11.44. According to this letter, Smuts approved the appointment of two more full-time council members in a meeting on 19 October. Smuts/159, i.21. Winston Churchill, London, to Jan Smuts, 3.12.44. Smuts/95/1, i.239. Note that Churchill was writing to say that he was in agreement with the abovementioned view. J.C. Smuts, diary, 1.5.44. Smuts/316/1, part 2, i.18. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Winston Churchill & Anthony Eden, 20.3.44. Smuts/95/1, i.209. Harlech represented the professional view of the Dominions Office, which wanted to encourage Commonwealth connections on a staff as well as a political level. Lord Harlech, Cape Town, to Jan Smuts, 20.3.44. Smuts/262, i.187. Smuts expressed his belief in giving personal attention to most matters (partly as a matter of necessity, lacking an ‘expert’ government apparatus) in Jan Smuts, Groote Schuur, to Margaret Gillet, 28.1.45. Smuts/267, i.243. Smuts referred to the Hot Springs Conference as ‘postwar propaganda’ which deflected public attention away from the war. Jan Smuts, Cape Town, to Lord Harlech, 25.2.43. Smuts/260. Jan Smuts, Groote Schuur, to Margaret Gillet, 18.2.45. Smuts/267, i.246.

Chapter 4

Visions of Post-War Order

1. Peter Fraser, Wellington, to Prescott Childs, 25.2.44. Childs was chargé d’affaires of the US legation in Wellington. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/3/4. 2. Stoler, Allies, 168. 3. Stoler, Allies, 177. 4. Kimball, The Juggler, 142–6. 5. Benjamin Welles, Sumner Welles: FDR’s global strategist (London, 1997), 334–5. 6. Gaddis, Origins of the Cold War, 153. 7. Dallek, 428–30.

NOTES 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

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Kolko, 200. Louis, 285. N.B. Ronald, minute, 13.9.42. FO 371/31525, U742/742/70. N.B. Ronald, minute, 13.9.42. FO 371/31525, U742/742/70. WP (42) 516, 8.11.42. BNA: CAB 66/30. Gladwyn Jebb, ‘Four Power Plan: Final Version,’ 20.10.42. BNA: FO 371/31525, file U783/742/70. ‘Report of a Meeting held at Balliol College, Oxford,’ 13.7.42. BNA: FO 371/31500. WM 161 (42) 2, 27.11.42. BNA: CAB 65/28. Winston Churchill, ‘Morning Thoughts,’ 2.2.43. Warren Kimball, ed., Churchill & Roosevelt: the complete correspondence, vol. 2 (London, 1984), 129–132. Alexander Cadogan, diary, 7.2.43. Dilks, 513. Winston Churchill, Washington, to Franklin Roosevelt, 28.5.43. Kimball, vol. 2, 221–7. Llewellyn Woodward, British Foreign Policy in the Second World War, vol. 5 (London, 1976), 117–127. Woodward was unsure whether Churchill’s minutes referred to FO memoranda or just their covers. WP (43) 300, 7.7.43. BNA: CAB 66/38. Julian Lewis, Changing directions: British military planning for post-war strategic defence, 1942–1947, 2nd ed. (London, 2003), 39–40. WP (42) 524, 12.11.42. BNA: CAB 66/31. PHP (43) 24 (final), 16.11.43. BNA: CAB 81/41, ff.235–7. PHP 19 (43) 1, 18.10.43. BNA: CAB 81/40. PHP 33 (43) 1, 20/12/43. BNA: CAB 81/40. Lewis, 72–3, 127–8. PHP (43) 24a (final), 3.2.44. BNA: CAB 81/41, ff.238–40. Gladwyn Jebb, minute (to Richard Law & Alexander Cadogan), 19.2.44. BNA: FO 371/40740, U1751/748/70. Lewis, 335–7. Though Lewis rightly concludes that FO antipathy to any contingency planning was absurd. Lord Cranborne, London, to Chiefs of Staff, 3.3.44. BNA: CAB 123/235. COS (44) 282 (O), 29.3.44. BNA: CAB 80/81/92. COS 130 (44) 2, 20.4.44. BNA: CAB 79/73. See: Ronald Hyam, The failure of South African expansion, 1908–1948 (London, 1972). Lord Harlech, Cape Town, to Jan Smuts, 27.1.43. Smuts/153, i.19a. SEC, ‘Re-Employment, Reconstruction and the Council’s Status,’ 22.10.42. Smuts/152, i.14. John Martin, ‘Post-War Commercial Policy,’ 14.5.43. Smuts/153, i.70. P.R. Viljohn, ‘Memorandum on Post-War Commercial Policy,’ 18.5.43. Smuts/153, i.70. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Clement Attlee, 12.42. Smuts/141, i.130. SEC, memorandum, 1.11.43. NASA: LDB 3487, 4347. P. Beukes, Pretoria, to Dr. F.J. van Biljon, 25.11.43. NASA: SEC 87, SEC 51/8. Jan Smuts, Cape Town, to Clement Attlee, 24.1.46. Smuts/141, i.346. D.D. Forsyth, Pretoria, to G.H. Nicholls, 10.12.45. Smuts/163/2, i.58. These views, which were quite pointedly anti-Russian, were expressed in Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Anthony Eden, 14.7.44. Smuts/141, i.229. Also in Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Winston Churchill (via Evelyn Baring), 28.10.44. Smuts/95/1, i.237.

284

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PAGES 105–9

44. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Anthony Eden and Winston Churchill, 20.3.44. Smuts/95/1, i.209. 45. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Ernest Bevin, 5.10.45. NASA: BLO 467, file 26/44/7, pt.1. Also see Smuts/140, i.641. 46. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 22.3.45. Smuts/161, i.10. 47. Jan Smuts, Cape Town, to G.H. Nicholls, 29.8.45. Smuts/162, i.66. 48. Smuts termed concerns about the nature of trusteeship ‘vague humanitarianism.’ Jan Smuts, San Francisco, to Jan Hofmeyr, 2.6.45. Smuts/162, i.31. 49. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to S.F.N. Gie, 9.44. Smuts/158, i.26. 50. John Darwin, Britain and decolonisation: The retreat from empire in the post-war world (London, 1988), 137–40. 51. P.R. Warhurst, ‘Smuts and Africa: A Study in Sub-Imperialism,’ South African Historical Journal, 16 (Nov. 1984), 100. 52. Vincent Massey, diary, 12.1.43. Massey/311/49. 53. Norman Robertson, memorandum, 10.4.44. King/J4/H1516/318, ff.219,937–38. 54. Grant Dexter, memorandum, 1.9.43. Dexter/3/25. 55. DEA Memorandum, ‘Post-Hostilities Problems,’ 23.11.43. DCER, vol.9, 574–6. John Holmes, minute, 9.11.43. NAC: RG25, 5711/7-AD(s). 56. John Holmes, memorandum, 20.4.44. NAC: RG25, 5711/7-AD(s). 57. Dana Wilgress, Moscow, to Mackenzie King, 10.11.43. NAC: RG25, 5707/7-V(s). Wilgress became Ambassador to the Soviet Union in 1944. 58. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 1.2.44. NAC: RG25, 5707/7V(s). 59. Norman Robertson, Ottawa, to T.C. Davis, 25.2.44. NAC: RG25, 5712/7-AN(s). 60. Working Committee on Post-Hostilities Problems, memorandum, 2.3.44. NAC: RG25, 5711/7-AC(s). 61. John Holmes, memorandum, 6.3.44. NAC: RG25, 5712/7-AN(s). 62. Charlie Ritche, London, to Hume Wrong, 11.3.44. NAC: RG25, 5722/7-CB(s), pt.1.2. 63. John Holmes et al., memorandum, 18.3.44. NAC: RG25, 5712/7-AN(s). 64. George Ignatieff, memorandum (for the Working Committee), 4.5.44. NAC: RG25, 5716/7-BY(s), pt.2. 65. John Holmes et al., memorandum, 21.4.44. Robertson noted that this was ‘a very good clear statement of the problem.’ King/J4/H1478/249, ff.166,902–166,937. 66. John Holmes et al., memorandum, 3.5.44. NAC: RG25, 5722/7-CB(s), pt.1.1. 67. Hume Wrong, Ottawa, to Lester Pearson, 13.12.43. NAC: RG25, 5723/7-CH(s), pt.1.1. 68. Pearson suggested a slightly different list: Bowman, Pasvolsky, Dunn and Hackworth. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Hume Wrong, 20.6.44. NAC: RG25, 5723/7-CH(s), pt.1.1. 69. Escott Reid, ‘Planning in the United States State Department,’ 21.4.44. NAC: RG25, 5723/7-CH(s), pt.1.1. 70. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Hume Wrong, 19.5.44. NAC: RG25, 5723/7-CH(s), pt.1.1. 71. Escott Reid, ‘The United States and the Peace-Making,’ 16.6.44. Reid/5/4. 72. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Mackenzie King, 11.7.44. This note was also seen by Wrong, Robertson, MacKay and Hugh Keenleyside, among others. NAC: RG25, 5723/7-CH(s), pt.1.1. 73. CPHP (44) Report 4 (Final), 16.6.44. NAC: RG25, 5722/7-CB(s), pt.1.1.

NOTES

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PAGES 109–13

285

74. W.F. Hanna, ‘The Concept of United Nations Bases in relation to Canadian Interests,’ 7.7.44. This paper was sent to George Ignatieff and the Working PHP Committee. NAC: RG25, 5723/7-CD(s). 75. CPHP (44) Report 5 (Final), 21.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5722/7-CB(s), pt.1.1. 76. CPHP (44) Report 6 (Final), 19.10.44. NAC: RG25, 5722/7-CB(s), pt.1.1. 77. CPHP (44) Inf. 5 (Draft 2), 24.11.44. NAC: RG25, 5724/7-CM(s). 78. CPHP (44) Report 8 (Final), 14.12.44. NAC: RG25, 5724/7-CM(s). 79. CPHP (44) Report 8 (draft 1), 29.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5724/7-CM(s). The use of ‘(draft)’ after a final version had appeared suggests discussions were on-going. 80. Malcolm MacDonald, Ottawa, to Lord Cranborne, 25.1.45. MacDonald/14/6, f.13. 81. S.M. Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 16.2.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/148. 82. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to Alan Watt, 5.4.43. Hasluck/M1942/36. 83. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to Alan Watt, 30.7.43. Hasluck/M1942/36. 84. ‘Annex A: Report by the Australian Defence Committee, January 1944,’ in ‘Proceedings of the Conference of Australian/New Zealand Ministers, Canberra.’ Hasluck/M1942/8, ff.20–22. 85. General T.A. Blamey, SW Pacific Area, to Frederick Shedden, 15.1.44. NAA: A5954, 652/1. Evatt, who became fixed on keeping the US North of the Equator, may have seen this; Curtin certainly did. 86. ‘Handbook for the use of the delegates at the ANZAC Conference,’ 1.44. Hasluck/ M1942/7. This piece was based on research conducted by W.D. Forsyth at the direction of Hasluck. 87. Sir Owen Dixon, Washington, to John Curtin, 24.6.43. NAA: A3300, 257. This letter referred to a conversation between Dixon and FDR in which the President suggested he was not keen to return colonies to France. More specific worries were directed towards the New Hebrides, which existed under an uneasy joint Anglo-French condominium but seemed to be coveted by the US, and New Caledonia, which was occupied by American forces in 1942 and the site of extensive American military works. ‘Handbook for the use of the delegates at the ANZAC Conference,’ 1.44. Hasluck/M1942/7. 88. W.D. Forsyth, memorandum, 3.5.43 (not sent). NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1021. This memorandum represented the private conclusions of Hasluck, Forsyth and the members of the future post-hostilities division. However, similar points were communicated to Evatt. W.D. Forsyth, Canberra, to H.V. Evatt, 8.4.43. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1021. 89. John Curtin, statement to the Canberra Conference, 18.1.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. 90. Department of External Affairs, ‘Regional Arrangements with Special Reference to Pacific Policy,’ 27.3.44. NAA: A5954, 647/8. 91. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to Nelson Trusler Johnson, 24.2.44. Johnson was American Minister in Canberra and had expressed the disapproval of the President at the conclusion of the Australia-New Zealand Agreement. Evatt replied that America was wrapping up the peace without Australia, and Australia was entitled to defend her own interests. He cited Roosevelt’s discussions, in the Pacific Council, with Eden on 31.3.43, touching upon Timor and the Japanese Mandated Islands, on 29.9.43, dealing with the Marshall and Caroline Islands, and on 12.1.44, regarding the future of all Pacific Islands and means for excluding France from New Caledonia. NAA: A5954, 294/1. 92. Not without protest. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to John Curtin, 30.3.44. NAA: A5954, 655/4. 93. Carl Berendsen, Canberra, to Peter Fraser, 29.3.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/20/1.

286 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102.

103.

104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110.

111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117.

118. 119. 120. 121. 122.

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H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to John Curtin, 3.5.44. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/1021. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to John Curtin, 5.5.44. NAA: A5954, 655/4. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to John Curtin, 6.5.44 (part II). NAA: A5954, 655/4. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to John Curtin, 6.5.44 (part I). NAA: A5954, 655/4. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to John Curtin, 13.5.44. NAA: A5954, 655/4. John Curtin, London, to H.V. Evatt, 14.5.44. NAA: A5954, 655/4. Louis, 344–6. Paul Hasluck, Canberra, to H.V. Evatt, 20.7.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. This included the draft instrument of surrender for Germany, the regulation of armaments (citing UK PHP (44) 48), the future world organisation (citing PMM (44) 4), the ANZAC conference; subjects for future study included armistice terms with Japan and Thailand. W.R. Hodgson, Canberra, to Frederick Shedden, 7.8.44. N.B. Khare, Delhi, to Sir Ivan Mackay, 28.10.44. Khare was Minister of Commonwealth Relations in India; Mackay was Australian High Commissioner to India. Khare thought that technical exchanges could take place between Australian and India, but noted that a general conference or talks on security would have to go through Britain. This did not occur. NAA: A989, (19)43/735/762/2. Alan Watt, Washington, to W.R. Hodgson, 22.10.44. Hasluck/M1942/36. Paul Hasluck, ‘report on meeting,’ 20.9.44. NAA: A5954, 1821/2. PHD, memorandum (D. 3), 24.10.44. NAA: A10601, 6. PHD, memorandum (D. 2), 23.10.44. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHD, memorandum (D.5), 11.1.45. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHD, memorandum (D.6), 15.1.45. Hasluck/M1942/43. By early 1945, this still was the case. John Curtin, ‘Australia-New Zealand Defence Co-operation,’ 12.3.45, made the case very forcefully that a conference must be held soon and it must be held at more than a staff level in order to lay the groundwork of Australian regional defence. NAA: A5954, 294/1. Paul Hasluck, memorandum, 18–19.1.45. A816, 100/301/10A. PHD, ‘The Security System,’ 24.1.45. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHD, ‘Membership and Organisation,’ 14.2.45. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHD, ‘Colonial Questions,’ 27.2.45. NAA: A10601, 6. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to Stanley Bruce, 20.11.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to H.V. Evatt, 3.2.45. NAA: A3300, 266C. Stanley Bruce, London, to H.V. Evatt, 27.11.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. This statement is based on analysis of Chiefs of Staff minutes and the Fraser and Nash papers. These are by no means complete: a Cabinet Office only took shape after the war, and the practice before then was for outgoing parties to burn their papers. Hankey’s influence was not universal. Harry Batterbee, Wellington, to Sir Gerald Campbell, 18.1.44. Batterbee/6/2. D.G. Sullivan, House Secret Session, 24.2.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/20/1. Also: Peter Fraser, New Zealand Debates, 24.2.44, vol.264, p.22; Kolko, 285–6. Peter Fraser and John Curtin, Canberra, to UK Government, 26.1.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/10/4. A.D. McIntosh, memorandum, undated (1.44). ANZ: EA1, 153/19/1. Carl Berendsen, Canberra, to Peter Fraser, 21.10.43. Evatt described his idea for an Australia-New Zealand conference as a discussion preliminary to a more formal conference including the UK; Evatt’s idea was that a joint Australia-New Zealand position was likely to prevail first with the UK and then with the US. The formal

NOTES

123. 124.

125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133.

134.

135.

136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142.

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Australian invitation to New Zealand also termed these discussions ‘informal and exploratory.’ ANZ: EA1, 153/20/1. Peter Fraser, statement, 21.1.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/10/4. Tom D’Alton, Wellington, to H.V. Evatt, 22.7.44. This was exacerbated when Curtin’s position at the Dominion Premiers’ Conference deviated somewhat from the Canberra Agreement. Fraser’s did not. NAA: A5954, 294/1. Another fear in Wellington was that Canberra would swamp Wellington with officials and papers. J.V. Wilson, Wellington, to C.A. Berendsen, 21.11.44. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/1/1, part 2. Ronald Cross, Canberra, to Lord Cranborne, 27.1.44. BNA: DO 121/51. Department of External Affairs, ‘Disposal of War-Time Installations and Development of Bases in the Pacific,’ 1.44. ANZ: EA 2, file 1945/6A, 111/5/1, pt.1. War Cabinet Secretariat, ‘Post-War Security,’ 1.44. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. Chiefs of Staff Committee, minutes of 135th meeting, 10.3.44. ANZ: EA 1, 81/4/2a, pt.4. Tom D’Alton, Wellington, to H.V. Evatt, 18.5.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. Chiefs of Staff Committee, minutes of 140th meeting, 9.8.44. ANZ: EA 1, 81/4/2a, pt.4. Sir Atwell Lake, ‘Imperial Defence,’ 3.4.44. ANZ: EA1, 156/4/1, pt.1a. Walter Nash, notes, 4.44. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/3/2. Fraser, for instance, often had to remind his Australian counterparts that the proposed South Seas Regional Commission was envisaged purely as a colonial welfare body, not a security organisation. Peter Fraser, Wellington, to H.V. Evatt, 2.2.45. ANZ: EA1, 151/2/1. J.V. Wilson, Wellington, to Sir Cecil Day, 6.12.44. Wilson was assistant secretary in the DEA. Day was New Zealand liaison officer in London for foreign affairs, from 1936–1952. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/1. Part of the problem was that the Americans did in fact seem to have more soldiers than transports. Major General H.E. Barrowclough, Wellington (Army HQ), to E. Puttick, 30.10.44. Forwarded to Peter Fraser 5.12.44. ANZ: EA1, 86/1/13. Tom D’Alton, Wellington, to H.V. Evatt, 12.8.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. ANZ (2) 44, 2.11.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/5, pt.1. ANZ (2) 46, 2.11.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/5, pt.1. J.V. Wilson, Liverpool, to C.A. Berendsen, 17.8.44. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. C.A. Berendsen, Washington, to Peter Fraser, 8.9.44. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. C.A. Berendsen, Washington, to J.V. Wilson, 31.8.44. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. C.A. Berendsen, Washington, to J.V. Wilson, 9.1.45. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/1/1, pt.2.

Chapter 5

The British Commonwealth in World Affairs

1. Grant Dexter, Sunday Morning Thoughts, 12.2.44. Dexter/2142/3/26. 2. E(PD)(37), third meeting, 21.5.37. BNA: CAB 32/128. 3. Mackenzie King, Ottawa, to Neville Chamberlain, 28.6.38. BNA: PREM 1/239.

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4. Chiefs of Staff, ‘Australian Co-operation in Imperial Defence,’ 27.4.39. BNA: DO 126/3. Also: Wm. Roger Louis, British Strategy in the Far East, 1919–1939 (Oxford, 1971), 209. 5. Lord Cranborne, Hansard: Lords, 2.11.43, vol. 129, cols. 512–518. 6. Leo Amery, London, to Jan Smuts, 13.11.42. Smuts/254, i.17. 7. Alexander Cadogan, diary, 16.12.40. Dilks, 341. 8. Col. Stanley, London, to Directors of Plans, 5.5.42. BNA: CAB 119/64. 9. Lord Cranborne, London, to Edward Halifax, 9.2.44. Halifax/2/4/19. 10. Brooke Claxton, Ottawa, to Lionel Curtis, 31.12.43. Claxton/22, folder: ‘Commonwealth Relations.’ 11. On King, see: Mansergh, vol. 2, 90–3. On Menzies: Lord Cranborne, London, to Malcolm MacDonald, 11.8.41. BNA: DO 121/68. 12. Peter Fraser, Wellington, to Mackenzie King, 22.4.43. King/J1/C7037/340, ff.292,762–3. 13. Jan Smuts, Doornkloof, to Margaret Gillet, 1.9.43. Smuts/261, i.230. Also see: Michael Roberts & A.E.G. Trollip, The South African Opposition, 1939–1944 (London, 1947). 14. Mackenzie King, Ottawa, to Commonwealth Premiers, 15.9.43. King/J1/C7036/229, f.291,448. 15. Hudson, 21–2. 16. Dana Wilgress, Moscow, to Mackenzie King, 16.2.44. NAC: RG25, 5707/7-V(s) pt.1. 17. J.A. Gibson, Ottawa, to Norman Robertson, 4.4.44. DCER, vol. 11, 1,535–6. 18. Escott Reid, Washington, to Hume Wrong, 24.9.43. Reid/6/10. 19. J.E. Read, memorandum, 21.8.43. Wrong/4/24. Read was legal adviser to the DEA. 20. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Hume Wrong, 21.3.44. Pearson/MG26N1/23/4. 21. Louis, 298–300. 22. Peter Fraser and John Curtin, Canberra, to British Government, 26.1.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/10/4. 23. John Curtin, Canberra, to Commonwealth Premiers, 10.7.43. King/J1/C7036/339, ff.291,440–41. 24. Anxiety in this connection became more acute through 1944, particularly when Admiral King decided to use New Zealand soldiers for garrison duty. Tom D’Alton, Wellington, to H.V. Evatt, 12.8.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. 25. A.D. McIntosh, Canberra, to W.R. Hodgson, 25.1.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/10/4. 26. John Curtin, Canberra, to Peter Fraser, 19.1.44. NAA: A5954, 652/1. 27. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to John Curtin, 10.3.44. NAA: A5954, 652/1. 28. T.C. Davis, Canberra, to Norman Robertson, 17.3.44. King/J4/H1478/248, ff.166,585–86. 29. J.D. Campbell, ‘The British Commonwealth,’ 30.11.43. BNA: FO 371/36607, W12262/5467/68. Campbell’s memorandum had the enthusiastic backing of Nigel Ronald. 30. WP (44) 12, 7.1.44. BNA: CAB 66/45. 31. WM 9 (44) 4, 20.1.44. BNA: CAB 65/41. 32. WM 24 (44) 3; also see WP (44) 121. BNA: CAB 65/41 and 66/47, respectively. 33. Lord Cranborne, London, to the Chiefs of Staff, 3.3.44. COS (44) 218 (O), 4.3.44. BNA: CAB 80/81/28, annex I. 34. COS (44) 236(O), 8.3.44. BNA: CAB 80/81/46. 35. Leo Amery, London, to Lord Cranborne, 25.1.44. COS (44) 218(O), 4.3.44. BNA: CAB 80/81/28, annex VI.

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PAGES 128–35

289

36. Ernest Bevin, London, to Lord Cranborne, 1.2.44. COS (44) 218(O), 4.3.44. BNA: CAB 80/81/28, annex VI. 37. COS (44) 282 (O), 29.3.44. BNA: CAB 80/81/92. 38. JP (44) 87 (final), 28.3.44. BNA: CAB 84/62/22. 39. Lord Cranborne, ‘Co-operation in the British Commonwealth,’ WP (44) 210, 18.4.44. BNA: CAB 66/49. Cranborne predicted that King would savage Curtin’s idea for a permanent empire secretariat. 40. Lord Halifax, Washington, to Foreign Office, 6.5.44. BNA: CAB 121/156. 41. See: Louis, 337–50. 42. PMM (44) 6th meeting, confidential annex, 4.5.44. BNA: CAB 121/156. 43. PMM (44) 7th meeting, confidential annex, 5.5.44. BNA: CAB 121/156. 44. ‘King said the Canadians were looked upon by Americans as a lot of Eskimos.’ Vincent Massey, diary, 17.2.44. Massey/312/53. 45. Australia DEA, ‘Post-War Settlement: Future of France,’ 27.3.44. NAA: A5954, 647/6. 46. PMM (44) 4, 8.5.44. BNA: DO 35/1854. 47. Canadian preparations for the conference indicate that King did not expect to receive detailed proposals for a post-war organisation. Hume Wrong, memorandum, 4.4.44. King/J4/H1517/322, ff.222,264–8. 48. PMM (44) 5, 8.5.44. BNA: DO 35/1854. 49. PMM (44) 9th meeting, confidential annex, 9.5.44. BNA: CAB 121/156. 50. PMM (44) 12th meeting, confidential annex, 11.5.44. BNA: CAB 121/156. 51. Alexander Cadogan, diary, 19.5.44. Dilks, 630. 52. Woodward, vol. 5, 124–8. 53. The Canadian position was that Commonwealth security was world security and vice versa. Norman Robertson, Ottawa, to Mackenzie King, 15.5.44. King/J4/ H1518/323, f.223,047. 54. Anthony Eden, diary, 4.5.44. Eden/20/1/24. 55. Mansergh, vol. 2, 187. 56. It is possible that Churchill let Smuts into the secret in late 1943, as Smuts wrote cryptically, in late 1945, that he had known ‘for two years.’ Jan Smuts, Doornkloof, to Margaret Gillet, 10.8.45. Smuts/267, i. 257. 57. Jan Smuts, London, to Winston Churchill, 15.6.44. Smuts/95/1, i.214. 58. Jan Smuts, statement, B.C.M.(45) 1st Meeting, 4.4.45. Smuts/91. 59. Georg Schild, Bretton Woods & Dumbarton Oaks: American economic and political postwar planning in the summer of 1944 (London, 1995), 55. 60. Divine, 63. 61. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Mackenzie King, 25.7.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.2. 62. Lord Cranborne, London, to Commonwealth Premiers, 25.7.44. Smuts/141, i.231. 63. Lord Cranborne, London, to Commonwealth Premiers, 18.8.44. Smuts/141, i.243. 64. Escott Reid, Washington, to Lester Pearson, 30.5.44. Reid/5/7. 65. DEA, ‘Proposals of the US Government,’ 10.6.44. Reid/5/7. 66. Tom D’Alton, Wellington, to H.V. Evatt, 29.8.44. NAA: A989, (19)44/735/765/1. 67. H.V. Evatt, Australian House of Representatives: Debates, 8,9.44, vol. 179, pp.601–12. 68. S.F.N. Gie, Washington, to Jan Smuts, 6.10.44. SANA: BTS 4/2/16, pt.2. 69. Paul Hasluck, notes for the minister, 8.7.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. 70. It was common for Antipodean statesmen to lump visits together in this way.

290

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PAGES 135–8

71. Carl Berendsen, Washington, to Peter Fraser, 16.8.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. 72. Carl Berendsen, Washington, to Peter Fraser, 18.8.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. 73. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Mackenzie King, 16.8.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.2. 74. J.V. Wilson, memorandum, 18.10.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. 75. Carl Berendsen, Washington, to Peter Fraser, 9.8.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. Alexander Cadogan, diary, 16.8.44. Dilks, 655. 76. Robert Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks: the origins of the United Nations and the search for postwar security (Chapel Hill, 1990), 156–70. 77. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 27.7.44. NAC: RG25 5708/7V(s), pt.2. The US proposal gave the Assembly budgetary control, with voting weighted on the basis of contributions. 78. Mackenzie King, Ottawa, to Lord Cranborne, 2.8.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.2. Also: Escott Reid, memorandum, 31.7.44. Reid/5/7. 79. Vincent Massey, London, to Mackenzie King, 30.6.44. NAC: RG25, 5704/7-E(s). 80. John Curtin, Canberra, to Mackenzie King, 19.8.44. NAC: RG25, 5704/7-E(s). 81. Lord Cranborne, London, to Dominion Premiers, 1.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5704/7-E(s). 82. Charles Burchell, Pretoria, to Mackenzie King, 10.8.44. NAC: RG25, 5704/7-E(s). Burchell was Canadian High Commissioner to South Africa. 83. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Dr. Gie, undated (probably 23.8.44). Smuts/158, i.26. 84. Mackenzie King, Ottawa, to Lord Cranborne, 2.8.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.2. 85. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 29.8.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7V(s), pt.2. 86. John Holmes et al., memorandum, 29.8.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt. 2. The meeting included Norman Robertson, Hume Wrong, A.D.P. Heeney, J.E. Read, Hugh Keenleyside, George de T. Glazebrook, F.H. Soward and Holmes, who was secretary. 87. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Mackenzie King, 1.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.3. 88. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 2.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7V(s), pt.3. 89. Alexander Cadogan, diary, 4.9.44. Dilks, 660. 90. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Mackenzie King, 5.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.3. 91. Hume Wrong and Norman Robertson, Ottawa, to Lester Pearson, 6.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.3. 92. Carl Berendsen, Washington, to J.V. Wilson, 31.8.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. 93. Alexander Cadogan, diary, 5.9.44. Dilks, 660. 94. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Mackenzie King, 6.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.3. 95. Alexander Cadogan, Washington, to Lester Pearson, 8.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7V(s), pt.3. 96. Carl Berendsen, Washington, to Peter Fraser, 8.9.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. 97. John Holmes, memorandum, 18.9.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.3.

NOTES 98. 99. 100. 101.

102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107.

108.

109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115.

116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129.

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PAGES 138–42

291

Escott Reid, memorandum, 22.9.44. Reid/5/7. Escott Reid, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 23.9.44. Reid/5/7. Hume Wrong, Ottawa, to Escott Reid, 11.10.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.4. B.T. Richardson, Ottawa, to Victor Sifton, 6.10.44. Dexter/3/26. Sifton had become general editor of the Winnipeg Free Press after Dafoe’s untimely death; Richardson was a reporter. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 11.10.44. Reid/5/7. Thomas Stone, London, to Mackenzie King, 12.10.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.4. Stone was Canadian chargé d’affaires to the allied governments in exile. Kolko, 270–4. Escott Reid, memorandum, 20.10.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.4. Bohlen headed the Eastern European division of the State Department. Hume Wrong, memorandum, 30.10.44. NAC: RG25, 5708/7-V(s), pt.4. Mackenzie King, communiqué, 9.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.5.1. This was transmitted to Canadian representatives alongside personal instructions for arguing the Canadian case. Lester Pearson, address to the Canadian Club, Winnipeg, 27.12.44. Louise W. Holborn, ed., War and Peace Aims of the United Nations, from Casablanca to Tokio Bay (Boston, 1948), 624. J.E. Read, Ottawa, to Norman Robertson, 2.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.5.1. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 11.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7V(s), pt.5.1. Lester Pearson, Washington, to Hume Wrong, 17.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.5.1. John Holmes, London, to Vincent Massey, 25.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.5.2. John Holmes, London, to Hume Wrong, 24.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.5.2. Alan Watt, Washington, to W.R. Hodgson, 22.10.44. Hasluck/M1942/36. Paul Hasluck, memorandum, 20.9.44. NAA: A5954, 1821/2. This was a report of a meeting in Melbourne between Hasluck, Commander G.C.O. Gatacre, Lt. Col. A.A. Conlon, Lt. Col. J.R. Kerr and Wing Commander V.S. Vincent. Ruth Russell, A history of the United Nations Charter: the role of the United States, 1940–45 (Washington, 1958), 346–8. Louis, 377. James Forrestal, diary, 30.3.45. Walter Millis, ed., The Forrestal Diaries: The inner history of the Cold War (London, 1952), 54. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to H.V. Evatt, 21.11.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to Stanley Bruce, 20.11.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to H.V. Evatt, 11.12.44. NAA: A989, (19)44/630/5/1/11/22. PHP D.2 (first draft), 23.10.44. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHP D.8 (first draft), 14.2.45. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHP D.6, 15.1.45. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHP D.7 (first draft), 24.1.45. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHP D.5 (first draft), 11.1.45. Hasluck/M1942/43. PHP D9 (first draft), 23.2.45. NAA: A10601, 6. PHP D.10 (first draft), 27.2.45. NAA: A10601, 6. T.C. Davis, Canberra, to Mackenzie King, 17.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.5.2.

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PAGES 142–50

130. Peter Fraser, New Zealand House of Representatives: Debates, 7.8.45, vol. 269, pp.20–31. 131. J.V. Wilson, Liverpool, to C.A. Berendsen, 17.8.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.1. 132. J.V. Wilson, Wellington, to C.A. Berendsen, 21.11.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.2. Of course, it was an open question as to how New Zealand could exercise said self help. 133. External Affairs, undated memorandum. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/12. 134. Carl Berendsen, Washington, to Peter Fraser, 11.10.44. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/12. 135. New Zealand Chiefs of Staff, 142nd meeting, 1.12.44. ANZ: EA1, 81/4/2a, pt.4. 136. ANZ (2) no. 38, 10.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/5, pt.1. 137. H.V. Evatt, statement, 1.11.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/1. 138. ANZ (2) no. 34, 10.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/5, pt.1. 139. ANZ (2) no. 36, 10.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/5, pt.1. The assurances referred to involved a lengthy communiqué from Phillippe Baudet, counsellor to the French delegation in Washington, to the Australian DEA on 8.7.44 and also the agreement of the Governor of New Caledonia. Further assurance of French interest, particularly in the South Seas Regional Commission, was provided by the chargé d’affaires of the French legation in Canberra, M. Monmayou. John Hood, Canberra, to P. Shaw, 13.12.44. ANZ: EA1, 151/2/1. 140. ANZ (2) no. 16, 10.44. ANZ: EA1, 151/2/1. 141. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to Peter Fraser, 1.2.45. ANZ: EA1, 151/2/1. 142. Peter Fraser, Wellington, to H.V. Evatt, 2.2.44. ANZ: EA1, 151/2/1. 143. ANZ (2) no. 14, 10.44. NAA: A989, (19)44/630/5/1/11/15. 144. ANZ (2) no. 9, 10.44. NAA: A989, (19)44/630/5/1/11/15. 145. ANZ (2) no. 44, 2.11.44. ANZ: 153/21/5, pt.1. 146. H.V. Evatt, statement, 1.11.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/1. 147. Peter Fraser, statement, 1.11.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/1. 148. Walter Nash, statement, 1.11.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/1. 149. ANZ (2) no. 50, 6.11.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/21/5, pt.1.

Chapter 6 Functional Negotiations 1. Winston Churchill, London, to Franklin Roosevelt, 28.11.44. Kimball, Churchill & Roosevelt, vol.3, 420–421. 2. An unscientific survey of good introductions to monetary policy includes: Schild, op. cit.; Richard Gardner, Sterling-dollar diplomacy in current perspective: the origins and prospects of our international economic order (New York, 1980); Alan Milward, The reconstruction of western Europe, 1945–51 (London, 1992); Armand van Dormael, Bretton Woods: birth of a monetary system (London, 1978); Robert Gilpin, The political economy of international relations (Princeton, 1987); George Peden, The Treasury and British public policy, 1906–1959 (Oxford, 2000). 3. A.J.P. Taylor, Beaverbrook (London, 1972), 559. 4. John Ruggie, ‘International regimes, transactions and change: embedded liberalism in the postwar economic order,’ in Stephen Krasner, ed., International regimes (Ithaca, 1983), 200. 5. Alan Dobson, ‘FDR and the struggle for a postwar civil aviation regime: legacy or loss?’ in Kimball et al., 199.

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6. Jordan Schwarz, Liberal: Adolf A. Berle & the rise of an American era (New York, 1987), 241. 7. Adolf Berle, diary, 3.4.40. In: B.B. Berle & T.B. Jacobs, eds., Navigating the rapids, 1918–1971: from the papers of Adolf A. Berle (New York, 1973), 301. 8. Schwarz, 224. 9. Patrick Hearden, Architects of globalism: building a new world order during World War II (Fayetteville, 2002), 52. 10. Josephson, 192–3, presented a series of maps (drawn up in 1943) starkly illustrating this threat. 11. Alan Dobson, Peaceful air warfare: the United States, Britain, and the politics of international aviation (Oxford, 1991), 145. 12. Henry Wallace, diary, 26.2.43. John Morton Blum, ed., The price of vision: the diary of Henry A. Wallace, 1942–1946 (Boston, 1973), 198. 13. Henry Wallace, Washington, to Franklin Roosevelt, 5.2.43. Blum, 182. 14. Henry Wallace, ‘Freedom of the air – a momentous issue,’ New York Times Magazine, 27.6.43, SM3. Wallace dismissed ‘our new American imperialists’ in favour of an international aviation authority. 15. Henry Wallace, diary, 28.6.43. Blum, 217. 16. Hearden, 52–4. 17. J.A. Cross, Lord Swinton (Oxford, 1982), 245–6. 18. WP (43)257, 22.6.43. BNA: CAB 66/38. 19. C.R. Attlee, Hansard: Commons, 1.6.44, vol.390, col.90. 20. Dobson, Air Warfare, 135–7. 21. PHP 30 (43) 1, 7.12.43. BNA: CAB 81/40. 22. Lord Beaverbrook, Hansard: Lords, 19.1.44, vol.130, col.467. 23. See: C.D. Howe, Canada: Commons Debates, 17.3.44, pp.1570–80. 24. Pearson, vol.1, 231–2. 25. A.D. McIntosh, memorandum, 1.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/19/1. 26. C.A. Berendsen, Canberra, to A.D. McIntosh, 10.12.43. McGibbon, 48. 27. H.V. Evatt, Canberra, to John Curtin, 13.5.44. NAA: A5954, 655/4. 28. DO circular telegrams D.950 and D.951, 3.7.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. 29. Adolf Berle, Washington, to Owen Dixon, 10.5.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. 30. Paul Hasluck, memorandum, 4.7.44. Hasluck/M1942/40. 31. W.R. Hodgson, Canberra, to A.S. Corbett, 15.5.44. NAA: A5954, 345/1. 32. Foss Shanahan, Wellington, to Peter Fraser, 20.5.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/20/4, pt.2. 33. A.D. McIntosh, London, to Foss Shanahan, 23.5.44. ANZ: EA1, 153/20/4, pt.2. 34. C.J. Burchell, Cape Town, to W.D. Forsyth, 11.4.44. Smuts/157, i.17. Burchell was Canadian High Commissioner in South Africa. 35. Escott Reid, Washington, to Philip Noel Baker, 20.9.44. Reid/34, folder: ‘Noel Baker.’ 36. Hearden, 55. 37. Schwarz, 224. 38. Viscount Swinton, I remember (London, 1949), 249–50. 39. Malcolm MacDonald, Ottawa, to Lord Cranborne, 12.12.44. MacDonald/14/6, f.10. 40. Escott Reid, Radical mandarin: the memoirs of Escott Reid (Toronto, 1989), 178–9. 41. Malcolm MacDonald, Ottawa, to Lord Cranborne, 25.1.45. MacDonald/14/6, f. 13. 42. Cross, 249. 43. Franklin Roosevelt, Hyde Park, to John Winant, 24.11.44. Kimball, Churchill & Roosevelt, vol. 3, 407–8.

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PAGES 158–65

44. John Colville, The fringes of power: Downing Street diaries, 1939–55 (London, 1983), 528. 45. Reid, 185. 46. Winston Churchill, London, to Jan Smuts, 3.12.44. Smuts/95/1, i.239. 47. Bothwell & Kilbourn, 190–1. 48. Grant Dexter, Winnipeg, to George Ferguson, 21.10.43. Dexter/3/25. 49. Holmes, vol. 1, 64–71. 50. Hume Wrong, Ottawa, to Vincent Massey, 12.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.5.1. 51. C.A. Berendsen, Washington, to A.D. McIntosh, 9.11.44. McGibbon, 83. 52. John Curtin, Canberra, to Dominion Premiers, 10.3.44. Curtin was shocked by the preferential treatment given Canada by the US, and suggested a more informal basis for Commonwealth consultation (which would be a means of excluding Canada if need arose). King/J1/C-7049/357, ff.310,064–66. Also see S.M. Bruce, London, to John Curtin, 17.2.44. NAA: A5954, 345/1. 53. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to H.V. Evatt, 3.2.45. NAA: A3300, 266C. 54. Viscount Knollys, interview with Peter Fraser, 9.3.44. BNA: AIR 19/392. 55. Escott Reid, Washington, to Norman Robertson, 24.1.45. Reid/34, folder: ‘Robertson.’ 56. Jan Smuts, Irene, to Winston Churchill, 2.12.44. Churchill/20/176, f.40. 57. Sir G. Lethem, British Guiana, to Oliver Stanley, 18.6.45. BNA: CO 971/25/6. 58. Sir G. Lethem, British Guiana, to George Hall, 4.8.45. BNA: CO 971/25/6. 59. Louis, 269–70. 60. Franklin Roosevelt, Washington, to Winston Churchill, 27.11.44. BNA: CAB 120/549. 61. Lord Cranborne, London, circular to Canada, Australia and New Zealand, 15.2.45. BNA: AIR 20/6332. 62. COS (44) 1003 (O), 1.12.44. BNA: CAB 120/549. 63. Dobson, Air warfare, 198. 64. Given that Robertson, who outranked Wrong, also attended, this is an interesting example of the relative collegiality of the Canadian foreign service. 65. This meeting was also attended by an independent Indian delegation, headed by Sir Ramaswami Mudaliar and Sir Firoz Khan Noon; things seemed to be moving towards India becoming a Dominion. 66. Lord Cranborne, statement, B.C.M.(45) 1st meeting, 4.4.45. Smuts/91. 67. Colonel Stanley, statement, B.C.M.(45) 2nd meeting, 4.4.45. Smuts/91. One week later, two US Congressmen submitted separate resolutions in the House of Representatives calling for American annexation of strategic Japanese islands. J.G. Reid, Washington, to Peter Fraser, 11.4.45. ANZ: EA2, 1945/6A, 111/5/1, pt.1. 68. W.J. Jordan, London, to Walter Nash, 14.4.45. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/8/33, pt.1. 69. Louis, 458–60. 70. Dr. Evatt, statement, B.C.M.(45) 2nd meeting, 4.4.45. Smuts/91. 71. Dr. Evatt, statement, B.C.M.(45) 3rd meeting, 5.4.45. Smuts/91. 72. F.M. Forde & H.V. Evatt, London, to John Curtin, 17.4.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. 73. Peter Fraser, statement, B.C.M.(45) 2nd meeting, 4.4.45. Smuts/91. 74. Louis, 463–74. 75. French Government’s Observations on Proposals for World Organisation, 23.3.45. Smuts/91.

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76. George Vanier, Paris, to Mackenzie King, 9.3.45. NAC: DEA 5709, 7-V(s), pt. 6.2. Vanier was Canadian Ambassador to Paris. 77. B.C.M.(45) 6th Meeting, 9.4.45. Smuts/91. 78. Stanley Bruce, London, to H.V. Evatt, 27.11.44. NAA: A5954, 294/1. 79. Alexander Cadogan, statement, B.C.M.(45) 7th meeting, 10.4.45. Smuts/91. 80. Carl Berendsen, statement, B.C.M.(45) 7th meeting, 10.4.45. Smuts/91. 81. Peter Fraser, London, to Walter Nash, 15.4.45. ANZ: EA1, 151/2/1. 82. B.C.M.(45) 8th meeting, 10.4.45. Smuts/91. 83. The lack of provision for this in the League Covenant was often cited as a major failing. 84. B.C.M.(45) 10th meeting, 11.4.45. Smuts/91. 85. B.C.M.(45) 9th meeting, 11.4.45. Smuts/91.

Chapter 7 The Great Powers and Collective Security 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21.

Jan Smuts, San Francisco, to Margaret Gillet, 5.6.45. Smuts/267, i.253. Escott Reid, memorandum, 20.10.44. NAC: RG25, 5798/7-V(s), pt.4. CPHP (45) 8 (Draft 1), memorandum, 29.1.45. NAC: RG25, 5724/7-CM(s). John Curtin, memorandum, 12.3.45. NAA: A5954, 294/1. William T.R. Fox, The Super-Powers: the United States, Britain, and the Soviet Union – their responsibility for peace (New York, 1944), 111. Kimball, The Juggler, 173. Dallek, 515. Franklin Roosevelt, press conference, 23.2.45. In: Samuel Rosenman, ed., The public papers and addresses of Franklin D. Roosevelt, vol.13 (New York, 1950), 564. See: Athan Theoharis, The Yalta myths: an issue in US politics, 1945–55 (Columbia, 1970). David Reynolds, ‘FDR’s foreign policy and the construction of American history, 1945–55,’ in Kimball et al., 22–3. Alexander Cadogan, Alupka, to Theo Cadogan, 6.2.45. Dilks, 704. D.C. Watt, Succeeding John Bull: America in Britain’s place, 1900–1975 (Cambridge, 1984), 105. See: Edward Grey, London, to Colonel House, 22.9.15. Charles Seymour, ed., The intimate papers of Colonel House, vol.1 (London, 1926), 88–9. Also 283, 370. Russell Buhite, Decisions at Yalta: an appraisal of summit diplomacy (Wilmington, 1986), 71. Anthony Eden, The Reckoning (London, 1965), 595; Louis, 458–60. Edward Stettinius, Washington, to Franklin Roosevelt, 15.11.44. FRUS (Conferences at Malta and Yalta, 1945), 51. Arthur Vandenberg, diary, 23.3.45. Arthur Vandenberg, The private papers of Senator Vandenberg (London, 1953), 159. Franklin Roosevelt, press conference, 5.4.45. Rosenman, vol.13, 611. Escott Reid, On duty: a Canadian at the making of the United Nations, 1945–1946 (Toronto, 1983), 25–6, 31. Stettinius had replaced Cordell Hull as Secretary of State in 1944. Russell, 625. Vincent Massey, London, to Norman Robertson, 23.4.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.7.2. Also: Virginia C. Gildersleave, Many a good crusade (New York, 1954), 345.

296 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60.

NOTES

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PAGES 177–84

G.H. Nicholls, London, to S.F.N. Gie, 9.4.45. NASA: BTS, 132/1/1. Jan Smuts, statement, B.C.M.(45) 5th meeting, 6.4.45. Smuts/91. B.C.M.(45) 16, 12.4.44. Smuts/91. B.C.M.(45) 11th meeting, 12.4.45. Smuts/91. Maurice Pope, diary, 14.5.45. Pope/2. See: Andrew Johnstone, Dilemmas of internationalism: the American Association for the United Nations and US Foreign Policy, 1941–48 (Farnham, 2009). J.C. Smuts, diary, 7.5.45. Smuts/316/1, f.141. Russell, 913–5. Reid, On duty, 63. Reid thought Smuts an ‘old fool’ for so refusing, but then, even a ‘radical’ mandarin was bound to be unsympathetic to such sentiments. Jan Smuts, San Francisco, to Jan Hofmeyr, 2.6.45. Smuts/162, i.31. J.C. Smuts, diary, 10.4.45. Smuts/316/1, f.26. Jan Smuts, Doornkloof, to Margaret Gillet, 29.7.45. Smuts/267, i.256. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 1.8.45. NASA: BTS 1/54/1A. C.S.A. Ritchie, memorandum, 24.3.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.7.1. J.C. Smuts, diary, 28.5.45. Smuts/316/1, ff.207–208. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 3.6.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 18.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 4.6.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. Hume Wrong, San Francisco, to J.E. Read, 13.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.7.2. Jan Smuts, San Francisco, to Jan Hofmeyr, 2.6.45. Smuts/162, i.31. Norman Robertson, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 3.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7V(s), pt.8.1. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 4.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Winston Churchill, London, to Peter Fraser, 13.5.45. ANZ: EA1, 81/1/28. J.C. Smuts, diary, 15.4.45. Smuts/316/1, ff.43–4. Escott Reid, San Francisco, to Rufus Reid, 6.6.45. Reid/20/1945. Norman Robertson, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 5.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7V(s), pt.8.1. Peter Fraser, San Francisco, to Walter Nash, 7.6.45. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/8/1. Norman Robertson, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 9.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7V(s), pt.8.1. Maurice Pope, diary, 12.6.45. Pope/2. Lester Pearson, diary, 24.4.45. Pearson/MG26N8/1. Vincent Massey, London, to C.S.A. Ritchie, 6.7.45. Massey/392/6. Charlie Ritchie, memorandum, 7.2.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.6.1. J.C. Smuts, diary, 17.5.45. Smuts/316/1, f.174. Anthony Eden, San Francisco, to Winston Churchill, 30.4.45. Churchill/20/216, f.130. Alexander Cadogan, diary, 23.5.45. Dilks, 745. Carl Berendsen, memorandum (for Peter Fraser), 24.8.45. ANZ: EA2, 1945/6A, 111/5/1. Gladwyn Jebb, New York, to J.G. Ward, 21.5.45. Jebb/2/1.1. Norman Robertson, San Francisco, to J.E. Read, 10.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Benjamin Chifley, Canberra, to H.V. Evatt, 11.6.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6.

NOTES 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96.

TO

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297

H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 11.6.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 11.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.2. J.C. Smuts, diary, 12.6.45. Smuts/316/1, f.239. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 14.6.45. NAA: A5954, 1821/3. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 13.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.2. Mackenzie King, San Francisco, to Louis St. Laurent, 4.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7V(s), pt.7.2. Russell, 742–9. Peter Fraser, San Francisco, to Walter Nash, 25.6.45. ANZ: EA, W2619, 111/8/33, pt.1. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 17.5.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. A.D. McIntosh, memorandum, 26.3.45. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/1/1, pt.2. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 10.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.7.2. The great power amendment was most effectively championed by Britain. Russell, 648–9. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 15.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 17.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 29.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Maurice Pope, San Francisco, to Chiefs of Staff, 10.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.7.2. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 16.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Hume Wrong, memorandum, 13.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Norman Robertson, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 23.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 19.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt. 8.1. Novikov was to replace Gromyko as head of the US Embassy. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 30.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Norman Robertson, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 3.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Hume Wrong, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 11.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7V(s), pt.7.2. Charlie Ritchie, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 13.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7V(s), pt.8.1. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 6.6.45. NAA: A5954, 1821/3. Norman Robertson, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 27.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 24.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 17.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. The Canadian delegation strove mightily to whittle this amendment down. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 5.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Maurice Pope, San Francisco, to Chiefs of Staff, 24.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. Australian Defence PHP (Final)(45) 1, 7.3.45. NAA: A5954, 1821/2. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 3.6.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. J.C. Smuts, diary, 31.5.45. Smuts/316/1, f.215. H.V. Evatt, London, to Benjamin Chifley, 17.4.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 9.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5709/7-V(s), pt.7.2. Peter Fraser, San Francisco, to Walter Nash, 9.5.45. ANZ: EA W2619, 111/8/33, pt.1.

298

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PAGES 190–200

97. J.C. Smuts, diary, 2.5.45. Smuts/316/1, f.122. 98. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 17.5.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. The motion carried because the US representative voted for a Canadian suggestion to remove the veto from nominations, not realising this was contrary to US policy. Escott Reid, memorandum, 29.6.45. Reid/5/7. 99. Escott Reid, San Francisco, to Lester Pearson, 16.5.45. Reid/5/7. 100. Canadian delegation, meeting, 23.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 101. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 25.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 102. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 5.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 103. Escott Reid, memorandum, 22.11.45. Reid/5/7. 104. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 17.5.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. 105. Escott Reid, memorandum, 29.6.45. Reid/5/7. 106. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 15.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 107. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 18.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 108. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 24.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 109. Canadian Delegation, meeting, 18.6.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 110. Redundancies in Chapter IV were the result of lengthy efforts to circumvent Soviet hostility towards the Assembly. 111. H.V. Evatt, Australia House of Representatives: Debates, 30.8.45, vol. 184, pp.5,026–7. 112. H.V. Evatt, London, to Benjamin Chifley, 17.4.45. NAA: A5954, 720/6. 113. J.C. Smuts, diary, 12.5.45. Smuts/316/1, f.157. 114. Cf. Louis, 452. 115. J.C. Smuts, diary, 15.5.45. Smuts/316/1, f.157. 116. For a thorough discussion of the American debate on this question, see: Louis, 534–41. 117. Norman Robertson, memorandum, 13.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 118. H.V. Evatt, San Francisco, to Benjamin Chifley, 28.5.45. NAA: A5954, 1821/3. 119. Norman Robertson, San Francisco, to Mackenzie King, 18.5.45. NAC: RG25, 5710/7-V(s), pt.8.1. 120. J.C. Smuts, diary, 30.5.45. Smuts/316/1, f.211. 121. H.V. Evatt and F.M. Forde, ‘San Francisco: Report by the Australian Delegates,’ 1945. NAA: A5954, 1821/3, pp.23–4. 122. Louis, 532. 123. Keith Hancock, Smuts, vol. 2 (Cambridge, 1968), 433. 124. Paul Hasluck, ‘Australia and the foundation of the United Nations: some personal reminiscences,’ Royal Australian Historical Society: journal and proceedings, 40/3 (1954), 178. 125. Many, including Alan Watt and Alexander Cadogan, felt especially sorry for the Czech foreign minister Jan Masaryk, who was held in universally high esteem. Masaryk’s murder at the hands of Communist thugs some years later was like a tsunami breaking over what was still a small world diplomatic community.

Chapter 8

Failure

1. Carl Berendsen, Washington, to Peter Fraser, 23.12.46. ANZ: EA W2619, 115/4/14. 2. Gladwyn Jebb, New York, to J.G. Ward, 21.5.45. Jebb/2/1.1. 3. Hume Wrong, Ottawa, to Mackenzie King, 15.3.45. Ritchie/16/8.

NOTES

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PAGES 200–9

299

4. H.V. Evatt, London, to John Curtin, 9.4.45. NAA: A5954, 1821/3. 5. Gerig was associate chief of the division of international organization affairs in the State Department. 6. Escott Reid, London, to Mackenzie King, 24.8.45. Reid/5/7. 7. Paul Hasluck, London, to Cecil Day, 3.9.45. ANZ: EA W2619, 115/9/2. 8. Cecil Day, London, to A.D. McIntosh, 16.10.45. ANZ: EA W2619, 115/9/2. 9. Escott Reid, London, to Mackenzie King, 3.9.45. Reid/5/7. 10. Paul Hasluck, London, to Alan Watt, 14.10.45. Hasluck/M1942/24. 11. Alan Watt, Washington, to Paul Hasluck, 8.9.45. Hasluck/M1942/24. 12. A.H. Tange, who had been part of Hasluck’s PHP machine, plus K.H. Bailey and Alan Watt. Paul Hasluck, London, to H.V. Evatt, 23.10.45. Hasluck/M1942/24. 13. Escott Reid, London, to Mackenzie King, 3.9.45. Reid/5/7. 14. Escott Reid, draft instructions for the Canadian Delegation, 23.11.45. Reid/5/7. 15. Escott Reid, memorandum, 22.11.45. Reid/5/7. 16. Hume Wrong, Ottawa, to Lester Pearson, 12.10.45. Reid/5/7. 17. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Philip Noel-Baker, 24.9.45. NASA: BLO 466, 26/44/6. 18. Escott Reid, memorandum, 4.1.46. Reid/5/7. 19. H.V. Evatt, Ottawa, to Paul Hasluck, 20.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/23. 20. Paul Hasluck, London, to H.V. Evatt, 24.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/22. 21. Australian Delegation, London, to H.V. Evatt, 5.12.45. NAA: A5954, 1838/2. Also: Reid, On duty, 150. 22. Escott Reid, memorandum, 4.1.46. Reid/5/7. 23. D.B. Sole, memorandum, 2.1.46. NASA: BLO 466, 26/44/6. 24. B.G. Fourie, memorandum, 2.1.46. NASA: BLO 466, 26/44/6. 25. K.H. Bailey, London, to H.V. Evatt, 2.12.45. Bailey/45. 26. Canadian Delegation, ‘Report on the Preparatory Commission,’ 4.1.46. NAC: RG25F2, 926. 27. K.H. Bailey, London, to H.V. Evatt, 3.12.45. Bailey/45. 28. D.B. Sole, memorandum, 2.1.46. NASA: BLO 466, 26/44/6. 29. K.H. Bailey, London, to H.V. Evatt, 19.12.45. Bailey/45. 30. K.H. Bailey, London, to H.V. Evatt, 23.12.45. Bailey/45. 31. Paul Hasluck, London, to H.V. Evatt, 24.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/22. 32. A.D. McIntosh, memorandum, 1.2.46. ANZ: EA2, 1946/13A, 113/1/1, pt.2. 33. H.V. Evatt, Ottawa, to Paul Hasluck, 20.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/23. 34. Paul Hasluck, London, to H.V. Evatt, 12.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/22. 35. W.R. Hodgson, London, to Benjamin Chifley, 14.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/23. 36. Many thought Makin (Australian Minister for the Navy) out of his depth. Cadogan felt Evatt had thrown away the Presidency. Foreign Office ‘United Nations Assembly,’ 27.3.46. BNA: FO 475/4, pt.17, f.73. 37. W.R. Hodgson, London, to H.V. Evatt, 24.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/25. 38. Vincent Massey, diary, 9.1.46. Massey/313/58. 39. Alan Watt, London, to H.V. Evatt, 31.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/25. 40. H.V. Evatt, London, to Australian Delegation, 27.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/25. 41. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to G.H. Nicholls, 21.12.45. NASA: BLO 466, 26/44/6. 42. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 2.1.46. NASA: BLO 466, 26/44/6. 43. Jan Smuts, Doornkloof, to Margaret Gillet, 28.12.45. Smuts/267, i.274. 44. Union UNRRA Committee, meeting with UNRRA delegation, 20.9.45. NASA: DGS 217.

300

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PAGES 210–16

45. Peter Fraser, London, to Walter Nash, 2.1.46. Fraser/1/9. 46. Godfrey Boyd Shannon, ‘U.N.O. General Assembly,’ 20.2.46. BNA: DO 35/1213, W.R. 208/501. 47. Ernest Bevin, memorandum, 11.1.46. BNA: FO 800/508. 48. Instructions to the Canadian Delegation, 7.1.46. NAC: RG25-F2, 926. 49. W.R. Hodgson, London, to H.V. Evatt, 24.12.45. Hasluck/M1942/25. 50. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to G.H. Nicholls, 2.1.46. NASA: BLO 472, 26/44/13. 51. Patrick Duff, Wellington, to Eric Machtig, 26.7.46. BNA: DO 35/1213, W.R. 207/7/40; G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 2.1.46. NASA: BLO 466, 26/44/6. 52. John Stephenson, minute, 27.2.46. BNA: DO 35/1213, W.R. 208/501. 53. Godfrey Boyd Shannon, memorandum, 21.2.46. BNA: DO 35/1213, W.R. 208/501. 54. Vincent Massey, diary, 4.1.46. Massey/313/58. 55. J.A. Beasley, London, to H.V. Evatt, 10.1.46. NAA: A5954, 1825/4. Beasley replaced Bruce as High Commissioner in late 1945. 56. Foreign Office ‘United Nations Assembly,’ 27.3.46. BNA: FO 475/4, pt.17, ff.77–78. 57. Col. Hodgson, London, to H.V. Evatt, 12.1.46. NAA: A5954, 1825/4. 58. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 19.1.46. NASA: BLO 486, 26/44/20. Nicholls’ reasoning was shared by the British delegation. 59. Col. Hodgson, London, to H.V. Evatt, 14.1.46. NAA: A5954, 1825/4. 60. As with the Security Council, the first elections to the Economic and Social Council were broken into various terms (one, two and three years) to stagger future elections. The election for 1947 would have to take place in 1946, the term thenceforth to be three years in all cases. In itself, this became the subject of a vigorous debate, with the UK arguing that the first ‘year’ should run from January 1946 to September 1947, to avoid burdening councils with lame ducks. Fraser accused Britain of bad faith, debated his point through two sessions and finally won his point on the aforementioned principle (at 2 a.m.). New Zealand did well in both scraps. 61. Godfrey Boyd Shannon, ‘U.N.O. General Assembly,’ 20.2.46. BNA: DO 35/1213, W.R. 208/501. 62. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 3.1.46. NASA: BLO 472, 26/44/13. 63. Godfrey Boyd Shannon, ‘U.N.O. General Assembly,’ 20.2.46. BNA: DO 35/1213, W.R. 208/501. 64. N.J.O. Makin, London, to H.V. Evatt, 30.1.46. NAA: A5954, 1825/4. 65. Maurice Pope, Berlin, to Lester Pearson, 31.1.46. Pearson/MG26N1/11/11. 66. D.B. Sole, London, to D.D. Forsyth, 2.2.46. NASA: BLO 469, 26/44/8. 67. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to G.H. Nicholls, 10.12.45. Smuts/163/2, i.58. 68. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to G.H. Nicholls, 15.1.46. NASA: BLO 469, 26/44/8. 69. D.B. Sole, London, to Jan Smuts, 3.1.46. NASA: BLO 469, 26/44/8. 70. Foss Shanahan, Wellington, to A.D. McIntosh, 24.1.46. ANZ: EA2, 1946/13A, 113/1/1, pt.2. 71. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Peter Fraser, 22.1.46. ANZ: EA2, 1946/13A, 113/1/1, pt.2. 72. H.T. Andrews, London, to Jan Smuts, 21.3.46. NASA: BLO 486, 26/44/20. 73. D.B. Sole, London, to Jan Smuts, 3.1.46. NASA: BLO 467, 26/44/7. 74. D.B. Sole, memorandum, 5.46. NASA: BLO 470, 26/44/8. 75. G.H. Nicholls, Cape Town, to D.D. Forsyth, 6.46. NASA: BLO 470, 26/44/8. 76. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 26.1.46. NASA: BLO 469, 26/44/8. 77. J.V. Wilson, memorandum, 29.1.46. ANZ: EA2, 1946/13A, 113/1/1, pt.2.

NOTES 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90.

91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108.

109.

TO

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301

J.V. Wilson, memorandum, 30.1.46. ANZ: EA2, 1946/13A, 113/1/1, pt.2. P.M.M.(46) 17th meeting, 22.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 26.2.46. NASA: BLO 469, 26/44/8. Foreign Office ‘United Nations Assembly,’ 27.3.46. BNA: FO 475/4, pt.17, ff.80–82. Foreign Office, memorandum, 17.2.46. BNA: FO 475/4, pt.17, ff.37–9. Alexander Cadogan, New York, to Ernest Bevin, 18.4.46. BNA: FO 800/508. Ernest Bevin, London, to Clement Attlee, 10.46. BNA: FO 800/508. Meeting of the British Commonwealth Delegations, 25.11.46. BNA: DO 35/1892, W.R. 208/5/29. Benjamin Cockram, New York, to J.E. Stephenson, 30.10.46. BNA: DO 35/1893, W.R. 208/5/39. Ernest Bevin, London, to Clement Attlee, 3.1.47. BNA: FO 800/508. Carl Berendsen, London, to Peter Fraser, 18.10.46. ANZ: EA W2619, 115/5/4, pt.1. Peter Fraser, Wellington, to Carl Berendsen, 23.10.46. ANZ: EA W2619, 115/5/4, pt.1. The trusteeship committee was convened to report on trusteeship agreements. As noted earlier, the Trusteeship Council could not be constituted prior to the designation of trusteeship states. G.C.R. McKay, memorandum, 30.12.46. ANZ: EA W2619, 115/4/14. James Bottomley, New York, to Lord Addison, 10.12.46. BNA: DO 35/1892, W.R. 208/5/29. Alan Watt, The Evolution of Australian foreign policy, 1938–1965 (London, 1967), 95. Evatt was favoured by roughly half the public as a successor to Curtin. David Day, Chifley (Sydney, 2001), 411. ‘Who says there is no justice in this world?’ Vincent Massey, London, to Charlie Ritchie, 6.7.45. Massey/392/6. Peter Crockett, Evatt: A Life (Melbourne, 1993), 231. C.A. Berendsen, Washington, to A.D. McIntosh, 2.4.46. McGibbon, 106. Alan Watt, Australian diplomat: memoirs of Sir Alan Watt (Sydney, 1972), 77–90, & 161–163. Alan Renouf, Paris, to Paul Hasluck, 15.12.45. Hasluck/M1943/12. Alan Renouf, Geneva, to Paul Hasluck, 2.5.47. Hasluck/M1943/11. Alan Renouf, Let justice be done: the foreign policy of Dr. H.V. Evatt (St. Lucia, 1983), 240–243. Renouf, 141–147. ‘General Smuts: Appeal to Europe to Avoid War,’ Cape Times, 24.8.39, p.4. Jan Smuts, Doornkloof, to Margaret Gillet, 23.6.46. Smuts/270, i.205. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 2.10.46. Smuts/166, i.5A. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 4.10.46. Smuts/166, i.14A. G.H. Nicholls, memorandum, 4.10.46. Smuts/166, i.15A. Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit was Jawaharlal Nehru’s sister; she was elected to the legislature of the UP in 1937 and held Cabinet posts from 1937–9 and 1946–7. In 1947, she became India’s ambassador to the USSR. Ronald Hyam & Peter Henshaw, The Lion and the Springbok: Britain and South Africa since the Boer War (Cambridge, 2003), 151–3.

302

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110. Benjamin Cockram, New York, to J.E. Stephenson, 30.10.46. BNA: DO 35/1893, W.R. 208/5/39. 111. British Delegation, meeting, 3.11.46. BNA: FO 800/508. 112. Jan Smuts, New York, to Jan Hofmeyr, 12.11.46. Smuts/166, i.73. 113. D.D. Forsyth, New York, to Jan Smuts, 14.12.46. Smuts/166, i.97A. The precise legal formula changed after 1948. 114. Jan Smuts, New York, to Jan Hofmeyr, 12.11.46. Smuts/166, i.73. 115. Warhurst, 100. 116. Hedley Bull, ‘The revolt against the west,’ in Hedley Bull & Adam Watson, The Expansion of international society (Oxford, 1984), 228. 117. Louis, 543. 118. Buzan, International Society, 222–7. 119. To be sure, there was sometimes a sense of cultural inferiority – H.V. Evatt always resented being denied a Rhodes Scholarship, for instance – but that was hardly the same thing as being beaten by police and thrown off a train for the sin of not being white. 120. H.T. Andrews, London, to Jan Smuts, 21.3.46. NASA: BLO 486, 26/44/20. 121. Meeting of the British Commonwealth Delegations, 4.12.46. BNA: DO 35/1892, W.R. 208/5/29.

Chapter 9 Regional Integration, Imperial Disintegration 1. Hume Wrong, ‘The Funeral Oration,’ 10.4.46. Wrong/4/19. This was Wrong’s farewell to the League. 2. Frank Roberts, Moscow, to Ernest Bevin, 23.3.46. BNA: FO 475/4, pt.17, f.80. Roberts was Minister to Moscow, adviser to Churchill during the Yalta Conference and, later, personal private secretary to Bevin. 3. Cadogan had wanted to integrate these two sides of the UN. Alexander Cadogan, New York, to Ernest Bevin, 18.4.46. BNA: FO 800/508. 4. DPHP (1)(Final), 7.3.45. NAA: A5954, 1821/1. 5. P.E. Coleman, Canberra, to Frederick Shedden, 20.7.45. NAA: A5954, 1838/6. 6. Frederick Shedden, Canberra, to Rear Admiral L.S. Bracegirdle, 16.6.45. NAA: A5954, 6/2. 7. Maurice Pope, Ottawa, to Norman Robertson, Hume Wrong & A.D.P. Heeney, 2.8.45. NAC: RG25, 5724/7-CM-1(s). 8. DPHP Conclusions, ‘Strategic Appreciation of Australia’s Post-War Position,’ 17.12.45. NAA: A816, 100/301/10A. 9. Peter Fraser, Wellington, to C.A. Berendsen, 22.10.45. ANZ: EA2 1947/32A, 103/9/1, pt.1a. 10. Jan Smuts, Cape Town, to Lord Addison, 24.1.46. Smuts/141, i.346. 11. ‘Only we make the surrenders.’ Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Leo Amery, 27.9.45. Smuts/266, i.192. 12. R.M. Campbell, London, to A.D. McIntosh, 9.10.45. ANZ: EA2 1945/20B, 101/7/2. 13. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Lord Addison, 9.8.45. Smuts/141, i.327. 14. Frederic Eggleson, Washington, to W.E. Dunk, 20.8.45. NAA: A3300, 348.

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15. H.H. Balfour, Washington, to Ernest Bevin, 19.8.45. NAA: A3300, 348. 16. Harry Truman, radio report to the American people on the Potsdam Conference, 9.8.45. Harry S. Truman, Public Papers: 12 April to 31 December, 1945 (Washington, D.C., 1961), 203. 17. John Hood, Canberra, to Frederic Eggleston, 31.8.45. Eggleston remarked the issue would demand constant attention over time. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to John Hood, 6.9.45. NAA: A3300, 348. 18. Watt, Evolution of Australian Foreign Policy, 101–102. 19. Coral Bell, Dependent ally: A study in Australian foreign policy, 2nd ed. (London, 1988), 33–34. 20. Holmes, vol.1, 172–175. 21. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to John Hood, 21.8.45. NAA: A3300, 348. 22. John Hood, Canberra, to Frederic Eggleston, 19.12.45. NAA: A3300, 348. 23. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 24.10.45. NASA: BTS 1/54/1A, vol.2B. 24. Lord Addison, London, to Dominion Premiers, 14.12.45. Smuts/141, i.342. 25. Lord Addison, London, to Dominion Premiers, 11.12.45. Smuts/141, i.341. 26. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Lord Addison, 19.12.45. NASA: BLO 484, PS 26/44/19. 27. An excellent example of this was the Alaskan Highway, which the Canadian Cabinet agreed to maintain, at Canadian expense, on 17 October 1945. R.M. MacDonnell, Ottawa, to Jack Hickerson, 19.10.45. DCER, vol. 11, 1499–1500. MacDonnell and Hickerson were Canadian and American secretaries, respectively, of the Permanent Joint Board of Defence. 28. LORAN (LOng RAnge Navigation) was a system of long-range radio triangulation used in maritime navigation. During the war, a network of LORAN transmitters was established along the more remote stretches of the Canadian seaboard, particularly on the Pacific. Ionosphere was a system of arctic weather stations whose operation was crucial to studying and predicting the little-understood arctic weather patterns, in order to further develop polar aviation. America was attempting, through Ionosphere, ARCTOPS and bases in Greenland and Alaska, to close the Russian lead in Arctic meteorology. 29. A.D. McIntosh, Wellington, to C.A. Berendsen, 18.4.46. McGibbon, 108. 30. Frederic Eggleston, Washington, to Alan Watt, 29.12.45. NAA: A3300, 348. 31. Mackenzie King, Ottawa, to Clement Attlee, 28.8.45. NASA: BLO 467, PS 26/44/7. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 10.9.45. NASA: BTS 1/54/1A, vol.2B. 32. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 10.9.45. NASA: BLO 467, PS 26/44/7. 33. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Clement Attlee, 29.8.45. NASA: BLO 467, PS 26/44/7. 34. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 14.9.45. NASA: BLO 467, PS 26/44/7. These suggestions were based upon Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to G.H. Nicholls, 29.8.45. Smuts/162, i.66. 35. Alan Bullock, The life and times of Ernest Bevin, vol.3 (London, 1983), 130; Louis, 555. 36. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 15.9.45. NASA: BLO 467, PS 26/44/7. The press at the time tended to emphasise differences between Anglo-America and Russia over Eastern Europe, but, of course, there was no question of preventing Russia from achieving her objectives in Eastern Europe. The belief that the Council broke on the African question was Bevin’s as well as Nicholls’. 37. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 3.10.45. NASA: BLO 467, PS 26/44/7. 38. Jan Smuts, Pretoria, to Ernest Bevin, 5.10.45. NASA: BLO 467, PS 26/44/7.

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39. Ernest Bevin, London, to G.H. Nicholls, 11.10.45. NASA: BLO 467, PS 26/44/7. 40. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 11.2.46. NASA: BLO 484, 26/44/19. 41. Jan Smuts, Cape Town, to G.H. Nicholls, 15.2.46. Smuts/164, i.18. 42. G.H. Nicholls, London, to Jan Smuts, 16.2.46. Smuts/164, i.17. 43. Mackenzie King, Ottawa, to Clement Attlee, 23.4.46. BNA: CAB 119/159. 44. John Darwin, ‘Was there a fourth British Empire?’ in Martin Lynn, ed., The British Empire in the 1950s: retreat or revival? (London, 2006), 23. 45. Quoted by: Louis, 549. 46. Louis, 557. 47. This encompassed several lines of policy. Russia wanted a mandate over Tripolitania, Yugoslavia claimed the Dalmatian Islands, the Soviets held out on the Dodecanese (hoping for Tripolitania), the Soviets were suspected of helping Greek Communists and pressed for special rights in Turkey. 48. PMM (46) 1st meeting, 23.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 49. F.E. Cumming-Bruce, minute, 4.6.46. BNA: DO 35/1497, W.C. 81/19. Obviously, the record was filed. There was a Cabinet copy and a Defence copy; Eric Machtig wound up with the former, which settled in the DO. 50. Confidential Record of Discussions, 23.4.46. BNA: DO 35/1497, W.C. 81/19. This meeting was based, in part, upon PMM (46) 1, ‘Strategic Position of the British Commonwealth,’ 20.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 51. Confidential Record of Discussions, 23.4.46. BNA: DO 35/1497, W.C. 81/19. 52. PMM (46) 4th meeting, 25.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. Chifley also fretted about the propensity of the Australian Chiefs of Staff to take political decisions without reference to Canberra. Lord Alanbrooke (rightly) pointed out that this might change if the Australian Chiefs of Staff were moved to Canberra. 53. Australia was also establishing a Joint Intelligence Bureau and was considering facilities for testing guided projectiles. Benjamin Chifley, Canberra, to Clement Attlee, 21.11.46. BNA: PREM 8/469. 54. PMM (46)16, Walter Nash, ‘Defence Co-operation and Responsibilities within the British Commonwealth,’ 27.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 55. PMM (46)20, Chiefs of Staff, ‘Organisation for Commonwealth Defence,’ 1.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 56. PMM (46) 10th meeting, 2.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 57. PMM (46) 11th meeting, 3.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 58. Lewis, 267–8. 59. PMM (46) 11th meeting, 3.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 60. PMM (46) 18th meeting, 22.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 61. PMM (46) 3, annex 1, ‘US request for Bases,’ 22.1.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 62. Evatt was referring to a Chiefs of Staff paper circulated as PMM (46)3, annex 3, ‘Report by the UK Chiefs of Staff,’ 16.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 63. PMM (46) 3rd meeting, 24.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 64. PMM (46) 3, annex 3, ‘Report by the UK Chiefs of Staff,’ 16.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 65. PMM (46) 3, annex 3, ‘Report by the UK Chiefs of Staff,’ 16.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 66. PMM (46) 3rd meeting, 24.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. 67. PMM (46) 5th meeting, 26.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86.

NOTES 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94.

95. 96.

97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102.

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PMM (46) 11th meeting, 3.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 12th meeting, 6.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. H.V. Evatt, London, to Benjamin Chifley, 7.5.46. NAA: A3300, 390A. C.A. Berendsen, Washington, to A.D. McIntosh, 4.6.46. McGibbon, 109. H.V. Evatt, London, to Benhamin Chifley, 19.7.46. NAA: A3300, 390A. Ethiopia wanted to annex Eritrea and Italian Somaliland, while Egypt, supported by the Arab League, welcomed either a free Libya, incorporation of Libya into Egypt or an Egyptian trusteeship over Libya. PMM (46) 5, Ernest Bevin, ‘Disposal of the Italian Colonies,’ 24.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 6th meeting, 28.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 6th meeting, 28.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 6th meeting, 28.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 14th meeting, 8.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 15th meeting, 20.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 15th meeting, 20.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 9th meeting, 1.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 13th meeting, 7.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 16th meeting, 21.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. General Ismay, London, to Clement Attlee, 5.7.46. BNA: PREM 8/171. PMM (46) 4th meeting, 25.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 6th meeting, 28.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 8th meeting, 30.4.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. PMM (46) 13th meeting, 7.5.46. BNA: CAB 133/86. Lewis, 265–6. Meeting at 10 Downing Street, 7.6.46. BNA: DO 35/1762, W.G. 785/27. F.E. Cumming-Bruce, London, to M.E. Antrobus, 20.6.46. BNA: DO 35/1762, W.G. 785/27. J.E. Stephenson, London, to Alexander Clutterbuck, 2.7.46. BNA: DO 35/1762, W.G. 785/27. Alexander Clutterbuck, Ottawa, to J.E. Stephenson, 20.7.46. BNA: DO 35/1762, W.G. 785/27. Mackenzie King, Ottawa, to Clement Attlee, 23.12.46. BNA: PREM 8/469. Hankey had vociferously criticised replacing the Committee of Imperial Defence with a rather innocuous ‘Defence Committee.’ Lord Hankey, Hansard: Lords, 16.10.46, vol.143, cols.306–12. P.A. Clutterbuck, Ottawa, to Lord Addison, 14.11.46. BNA: PREM 8/469. Sir Arthur Tedder, memorandum, 13.9.46. BNA: PREM 8/171. Tedder was recording a conversation with Attlee, the Vice Chiefs of Staff and Sir John Cunningham. Field Marshal Montgomery, Washington, to Clement Attlee, 17.9.46. BNA: PREM 8/171. Ernest Bevin, New York, to Clement Attlee, 8.11.46. BNA: FO 800/443. Bevin was in New York for the General Assembly. Clement Attlee, London, to Ernest Bevin, 11.11.46. BNA: FO 800/443. Ernest Bevin, New York, to Clement Attlee, 13.11.46. BNA: FO 800/443. Karl Deutsch et al., Political community in the North Atlantic area: international organization in the light of historical experience (New York, 1957), 5; 66–7. See: Bullock, vol.3, 529–30.

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Conclusion 1. Mansergh, vol. 2, 329. 2. Mansergh relied upon: Benjamin Chifley, Australia: House of Representatives Debates, 19.6.46, vol.187, pp.1,558–64; this was based on PMM(46)5, an Australian paper. Chifley’s open talk infuriated the British: F.E. Cumming-Bruce, minute, 21.1.47. BNA: DO 35/1205, W.C. 81/22. 3. Bullock, vol.3, 89. 4. For instance, see the discussion of the Gouzenko affair in: Denis Smith, Diplomacy of Fear: Canada and the Cold War, 1941–1948 (Toronto, 1988), 94–109, 130–136. 5. Louis, 567.

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INDEX

Addison, Christopher 212, 216, 255, 257 Amery, Leo 22, 34, 68, 69, 71, 98, 101, 103, 122, 127–8 Andrew, Harry Thompson 178, 224, 228 Anglo-American competition or cooperation. See United Kingdom Atlantic Charter 56, 97, 141, 172: Metropolis versus frontier in the Atlantic Charter 42–6 Attlee, Clement 57, 68, 78, 83, 85, 130–1, 152, 165, 247, 250–1, 255, 259–60: Policy planning 83–4, 179; Policy in power 241–5, 256–7 Australia, Commonwealth of: Foreign policy 56–8, 60–2, 125–6, 155, 169–70, 183, 190, 207, 220–3, 247, 251–2; ‘Near north’ as a policy interest 46, 55, 62–6, 111–13, 193–6, 206, 234, 237–8, 248–9; Post-Hostilities Planning 58–60, 88–90, 113–15, 140–2. See also: Australia-New Zealand agreement, civil aviation Australia-New Zealand Agreement 61, 72, 89, 113–14, 142, 202, 222: Canberra Conference 91, 110–11, 114, 117–19, 125, 144; Wellington Conference 66, 118, 119, 143–6 Bailey, Kenneth H. 56, 213, 299 (n.12)

Balance of power 13, 15–16, 61, 66, 70, 99, 105, 112, 115, 118, 124–5, 134, 173, 192, 231, 255, 262, 263–4 Balfour, Harold Harington 41, 154, 273 (n.72) Batterbee, Harry 57, 116 Berendsen, Carl 19, 60, 61, 120, 135, 137, 143, 154, 163–4, 166, 178, 182, 199, 200, 219, 221–2, 225, 251 Berle, Adolph 57, 116, 150–1, 155–8, 161 Bevin, Ernest 78, 84, 103, 127, 179, 210, 218, 219, 238, 241, 247–50, 252, 253, 254, 259, 265: Defence areas 128, 233 Bruce, Stanley 57, 62, 64, 75, 115, 164 Cadogan, Alexander 99–100, 123, 131, 136–7, 163, 165, 172, 176, 179–80, 218, 229, 231, 279 (n.26) Cairo Conference (sextant) 61, 78, 96–7, 110, 116, 122, 125, 164, 216, 276 (n.86) Canada: Foreign policy 47–8, 51, 52–4, 115, 120, 124–5, 136–40, 149, 153–4, 159, 162, 167, 180, 184, 190–1, 198, 211, 232, 247, 256–60; Functionalism 51, 136, 138, 212; The Canadian north 46, 49–50, 51, 130, 209, 239–40; Post-hostilities planning 87–8, 106–10, 169–70 Chicago Conference. See: civil aviation

324

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A

Chifley, Benjamin 58, 88, 90, 183, 220, 223, 242, 244, 246, 247, 250, 253, 255–6 Churchill, Winston 24, 45, 61, 84, 147, 152, 176, 196, 218, 231, 244: Commonwealth relations 23, 37, 53, 153–4, 164, 181, 272 (n.56); Franklin Roosevelt 55, 77, 96–7, 158, 172–3: Jan Smuts 67, 68, 70, 132–3, 160, 178–9; Management style 78–9, 82–3, 134; Pensées matinales 99–100, 103–4, 107, 122, 130–1, 189; See also: Roosevelt, Franklin; Smuts, Jan Civil aviation 37–41, 51, 52, 57, 60, 62, 64–5, 72–3, 107, 109, 149, 151–5, 160–2, 189, 195–6, 239, 248–50: British Overseas Airways Corporation 31–3; Chicago Conference 63, 155–9, 93, 135, 148–9; Diplomatic and political ramifications 9–12, 20, 44–6, 123, 149, 243–4, 163; Pan-American Airlines 34–5, 150–1; See also: frontiers Colonial Office. See United Kingdom Combined Boards 12, 30, 48 Committee of Imperial Defence. See: United Kingdom Commonwealth 3, 21–4, 53–4, 65, 68–9, 71, 86, 92, 98–9, 103–4, 105, 107, 109, 115, 122–3, 125–6, 146, 152, 154–5, 158, 160, 162–3, 181–2, 193, 198, 204, 210–11, 227–8, 233–4, 262, 264–5: Dominion evolution 11–13, 46; Dominion Premiers’ Meetings 17, 86, 100, 104, 124, 128, 129–33, 163, 165, 216, 242–60, 265, 287 (n.124) Congress, United States. See: United States of America Connally, Tom 81, 183, 198, 228–9, 235 Cranborne, Robert 54, 67, 103, 123, 127, 131, 136, 157, 164–6, 190, 193, 234

POST-WAR ORDER Creech-Jones, Arthur 215–6 Cross, Ronald 58, 280 (n.53) Curtin, John 55, 88–90, 111–13, 117, 124, 125–6, 129–30, 220, 223 Dafoe, John 46, 51, 274 (n.9) Defence areas. See: Bevin, Ernest Dexter, Grant 121, 138, 159 Dixon, Owen 58–9, 64, 134, 285 (n.87) Dominion Premiers’ Meetings. See: Commonwealth Dominions Office. See: United Kingdom Dumbarton Oaks. See: United Nations Eden, Anthony 24, 53, 78, 83, 85, 96, 100, 127, 129, 132, 188, 196, 210: Four Power Plan 98–9, 103–4, 130–1 Egeland, Leif 178 Eggleston, Frederic 63, 237, 238, 303 (n.17) Evatt, H.V. 55–7, 58, 59, 125, 129, 134, 142, 163–6, 178, 187, 188, 191, 192, 198, 200, 202, 207, 216, 218, 220–3, 247, 250: Regional aspirations 61, 88–90, 112, 113, 117, 141, 144, 145, 194–5, 237, 244, 246, 248, 251–6; Veto debate 179–84; See also: Australia-New Zealand Agreement Forde, Francis 163 Foreign Office. See: United Kingdom Forsyth, Douglas 92, 93, 215, 226 Forsyth, William Douglass 56, 58–60, 62, 88–9 Fraser, Peter 54, 65–6, 95, 124–5, 130, 131, 163–6, 180, 182, 183, 185, 186–8, 196, 212, 213, 219, 227, 242, 261: On trusteeship 113, 117–9, 145, 210, 214, 216, 248 Frontiers 5, 7, 12–13, 20, 45: Changing role of maps 45, 52, 151; Frederick

INDEX Jackson Turner 8, 33; Frontier societies 33, 37, 44; Lines of communication versus zones of control 11, 37, 44–6, 123, 153, 233, 243, 264 Four Power Plan. See: Eden, Anthony Functionalism. See: Canada Gie, S.F.N. 136, 178, 266 Gromyko, Andrei 181, 202, 203, 212, 213, 297 (n.80) Halifax, Edward 29, 53, 54, 68, 99, 122, 129, 181, 188, 196 Hankey, Maurice 24, 92, 258, 282 (n.85), 305 (n.94) Harlech, William 70, 93, 282 (n.98) Hasluck, Paul 62, 64, 91, 140–2, 163, 179, 191, 1197–8, 202, 204, 207, 220–2, 266: Post-hostilities planning 56–7, 58–60, 88–90, 110–15; See also: Australia-New Zealand Agreement Heeney, Arnold 50, 87, 92 Hickerson, Jack 136, 303 (n.27) Hodgson, William 56, 65, 88–90, 113, 207, 212, 216, 221 Holmes, John 87, 163, 257–8 Howe, C.D. 48, 65, 156, 159, 211 Hull, Cordell 26, 30, 53, 58, 78, 97, 108, 121, 150, 157 Imperialism 2, 6–7, 12, 20–22, 28–30, 53–4, 71, 123, 149, 164, 173, 252–3: Fear of American imperialism 3, 15, 35, 38–40, 43–4, 46, 48, 51, 62–3, 70, 146 Jebb, Gladwyn 87, 99–103, 104, 107, 128, 136, 163, 180, 222, 225: Posthostilities planning 77, 85–6 Keenleyside, Hugh 48, 50, 56 King, William Lyon Mackenzie 23,

325 49, 50, 108, 122, 142, 163, 208: Canada as a middle power 136, 139; Management style 59, 88, 223; Policy 51, 53–4, 124–5, 129–31, 186, 247, 256–60

League of Nations 14, 24, 135, 172, 203–4, 231, 295 (n.83): Mandates 142, 164, 173–4, 194, 214–6; See also: United Nations Lend-Lease 30, 40, 45, 56–7, 69, 116, 158: See also: United States of America Life Magazine 57, 68 Luce, Claire Booth 151 McIntosh, Alistair 62, 65, 91, 117 MacDonald, Malcolm 13, 30, 68, 110, 157, 257: Canadian North 42, 48, 56 Machtig, Eric 163, 257 Makin, N.G.O. 207, 213, 221, 299 (n.36) Mandates. See: League of Nations Martin, John 69, 72, 92 Massey, Vincent 47, 50, 53, 68, 289 (n.44) Menzies, Robert 55, 124 Mudaliar, Ramaswami 186, 210, 294 (n.65) Nash, Walter 65, 116, 118–19, 216, 244, 249–50, 253, 256 New Zealand 55, 57, 61, 62, 95, 115, 116–17, 125, 127–8, 155, 160, 163, 170, 184, 185, 188, 191, 193, 206–7, 210, 211, 213–14, 219, 222, 232, 240, 246: Aviation 38, 64–6, 161, 248–50; Collective security 24, 119–20, 130–1, 135–6, 145, 186–7, 200; Fear of Australian domination 60, 113, 117, 144; Post-hostilities planning 90–2, 117–8, 142–3 Nicholls, G.H. 178, 179, 208, 212–16, 224

326

CONSTRUCTING

A

Noel-Baker, Philip 191, 202, 204, 207, 210, 215 Pan-American Airlines. See: civil aviation Pandit, Vijaya 199, 224, 301 (n.108) Pasvolsky, Leo 80, 81, 108 Pearson, Lester 48, 50, 56, 106, 108, 109, 125, 153, 178, 223: UN policy 136–8, 180, 184, 190, 202, 212–13 Post-Hostilities Planning. See under individual states/statesmen Potsdam Conference 168, 237 Read, John 140, 213, 288 (n.19) Reid, Escott 50, 56, 107–8, 134, 139, 148, 190–1, 202–5, 241, 261, 266, 296 (n.30): Aviation policy 51, 156–9; See also: civil aviation; Canada Reitz, Deneys 178, 266 Ritchie, Charles 181, 182, 187 Robertson, Norman 51, 62, 87, 136, 181–4, 187–8, 257–8 Ronald, Nigel 98 Roosevelt, Franklin Delano 21, 26–8, 30, 39, 59, 70, 108–9, 121, 140–1, 144, 172, 174, 176, 231, 239, 266: Aviation politics 34, 40–1, 52, 64, 151, 158, 161; Churchill, Winston 55, 77, 96–7, 158, 172–3; Management style 44–5, 77–81, 134; Stalin, Josef 81–3, 96–7, 100; See also: Churchill, Winston San Francisco Conference. See: United Nations Shanahan, Foss 62, 65, 91, 117 Shannon, Godfrey Boyd 86, 102, 211 Shedden, Frederick 89, 92 Smuts, Jan 8, 57, 66–9, 69–71, 122, 124, 130, 132–3, 135, 148, 165–6, 168, 176, 208–9, 235, 239–42, 245–7, 253, 255–6, 265: Churchill, Winston 67,

POST-WAR ORDER 68, 70, 132–3, 160, 178–9; Greater South Africa 72–3, 104–5, 170, 193, 200, 214–6, 223–7, 267; International organisations 104–5, 170, 177–8, 180–2, 184, 187, 189, 190, 193, 194–6, 204, 206; Management style 92–4, 129, 171, 178–9, 197, 265–6 South Africa 12, 115, 120, 128, 133, 164, 171, 177, 178–9, 192, 197, 206, 208–13, 132, 147: Civil aviation 32, 45, 72–4, 154, 161, 163; Expansionism 69–71, 104–5, 187, 193, 200, 214–17, 223–27, 228; Post-hostilities planning 92–4, 95; See also: Smuts, Jan Sovereignty 1, 2, 11, 13, 16, 44, 50–1, 55, 62, 64, 71, 77, 97, 98, 112, 123, 125, 141, 144, 148, 170–1, 188, 228, 232, 238, 242, 261, 166–7, 269: Defined 46; See also: Commonwealth Stalin, Josef 6, 79, 133, 158, 172, 174, 176, 181, 255: Direction of policy 81–3, 231, 266; Roosevelt, Franklin 81–3, 96–7, 100 Stanley, Oliver 57, 127, 163, 164, 193 Stettinius, Edward 151, 173, 174, 176, 181, 188, 198, 268 Swinton, Philip 151, 156–8, 162 Tange, Arthur 56, 88 Teheran Conference (eureka) 31, 78, 96–7, 134 Toynbee, Arnold 84, 102 Trippe, Juan 35, 150–1. See also: civil aviation Turner, Frederick Jackson. See: frontiers Union of Soviet Socialist Republics 4, 13, 17–18, 46, 53, 96–7, 98, 134, 139, 156, 162, 170, 171–4, 176, 219, 225, 244: Negotiations with other states 138, 146, 148–9, 169, 180, 181–2, 184, 187–8, 190–1,

INDEX 193, 194–5, 198, 201–10, 213, 214, 218, 227–9, 235, 247, 254–5, 267; Organisation of policy-making 76–7, 81–3 United Kingdom 12–13, 20–1, 48, 52–4, 64, 68, 81, 123–4, 131, 152–4, 171–4, 179–80, 193, 195–6, 208–14, 215–16, 218–20, 227–30, 233, 237–40, 240–2, 242–5, 247–52, 252–3, 254–5, 255–6, 260–1: Anglo-American balance 6, 22, 28–30, 37, 40, 46, 51, 56–8, 70, 74, 96–7, 120, 149, 151, 155–6, 161–2, 163–4, 197–8, 204, 206, 232, 235, 264–7; Colonial Office 38, 48, 68, 129; Committee of Imperial Defence 22–3, 86, 260; Foreign Office 38, 77–8, 84–6, 93, 96, 100, 102, 104, 120, 126, 133, 165; Post-hostilities planning 83–7, 98–104, 127–9; Sterling area 22–4, 127; See also: Civil aviation, Commonwealth United Nations 14, 16, 71, 80, 93, 103, 120, 131, 167, 173–4, 174–98, 200–1, 201–20, 265–6: Role of GIO in strategic thought 101–2, 105, 107–8, 109–10, 110–12, 114, 116, 118, 120, 127, 129, 132, 124, 139, 145–6, 166, 231–3; Trusteeship 57, 78, 83, 96–7, 105, 112–13, 115, 119, 129, 134, 140–2, 143, 164–5, 166, 169–71, 173, 192–6, 197, 201, 203–4, 206–7, 209–11, 214–17, 219,

327

223–7, 228–9, 238–9, 240–1, 252–3, 267; See also: vanguard theory United States of America 6, 7, 14, 20, 24–8, 28–30, 37–41, 43, 52, 53, 55, 57, 70, 78, 95–7, 105, 108, 109, 111–13, 116, 120, 132–3, 133–6, 147–51, 151–5, 155–9, 173–6, 207, 219, 224, 226, 232, 235–40, 242, 244, 245, 247–8, 249–51, 256, 260–62, 264, 267–9: Congress 17, 26, 28, 38, 40, 44, 70, 97, 126, 150, 162, 174, 229, 236, 248, 250; Expansion of power 47–51, 58–62; See also: civil aviation, imperialism, lend-lease, United Kingdom Vandenberg, Arthur 139, 174, 177, 181, 188, 189, 198, 235 Vanguard theory 222, 228, 270 (n.16) Watt, Alan 60, 61, 113, 140, 221 Webster, Charles 100, 101, 163, 177, 183 Wilgress, Dana 106, 180 Willkie, Wendell 57, 68 Wilson, Harold 77 Wilson, Joseph V. 120, 142, 143 Winant, John 158 Wrong, Hume 48, 50, 51, 87, 107, 138, 139, 163, 164, 181, 184, 186, 187, 191, 222, 231 Yalta Conference (argonaut) 16, 83, 134, 164, 168, 170, 171–4, 179, 180, 182, 185, 197, 218, 227, 267