The United States and World War II: The Awakening Giant 9781474468237

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T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S A N D W O R L D W A R II

BAAS Paperbacks General Editor: Philip John Davies, Professor of American Studies at De Montfort University Associate Editor. George McKay, Professor of Cultural Studies at the University of Central Lancashire Published in association with the British Association for American Studies, this exciting series is destined to become an indispensable collection in American Studies. Each volume tackles an important area and is written by an accepted academic expert within the discipline. Books selected for the series are clearly written introductions designed to offer students definitive short surveys of key topics in the field. Titles in the series include: Cultures o f the American New West Neil Campbell Gender, Ethnicity and Sexuality in Contemporary American Film Jude Davies and Carol R. Smith The Sixties in America Michael Heale The United States and European Reconstruction John Killick Religion in America to i 865 Bryan F. LeBeau American Exceptionalism Deborah L. Madsen The American Landscape Stephen F. Mills Slavery and Servitude in North America, i6oy—i8oo Kenneth Morgan Ja n in American Culture Peter Townsend The New D eal Fiona Venn Animation and America Paul Wells Political Scandals in the USA Robert Williams

The United States and World War II The Awakening Giant

M A R T IN F O L L Y

E D IN B U R G H U N IV E R S IT Y P R E S S

© Martin Folly, 2002

Transferred to Digital Print 2011 Edinburgh University Press Ltd 22 George Square, Edinburgh Typeset in Fournier by Koinonia, Manchester, and

Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne

A CIP Record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN o 7486 1526 1 (paperback) The right of Martin Folly to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Contents

Preface

vii

List of Abbreviations and Codenames used

ix

Select Chronology o f World War II

xi

Maps

xxiv

A Nation Unprepared

1

Setbacks and Struggles

31

Awakening the Sleeping Giant

50

A Nation Triumphant

79

The Problems of Victory

108

The United States and World War II Select Bibliography

U9

Index

171

For Katherine, Jo, Laurence, Alex, Adam, Emma and Keith

Preface

World War II was a conflict of global proportions. More than fifty-five million people died in it, over half o f them civilians. In Asia it began with the Japanese attack on China in 1937, and in Europe with the German invasion o f Poland in 1939. With the involvement o f the European colonial empires and dominions and, in 1941, the United States and the Soviet Union, the war became a global one. The 405,000 fatalities the United States suffered (291,557 in combat) look small in comparison to those o f Germany, Japan, China and the Soviet Union, numbering in the millions, and indeed Poland and Yugoslavia, which lost approaching ten per cent o f their populations. But World War II was an extremely important event in American history. It saw a significant change in the American role in the world, and major domestic social and economic developments. Histories o f the American experience of World War II have tended to approach it principally from either the domestic or the diplomatic and strategic angle. In the wave of renewed interest in the war at the end of the twentieth century, new attention was focused on the ordinary Ameri­ can in combat. It is appropriate therefore to undertake a broad study of the war that integrates, as the experiences of these people did, the social meaning of the war for Americans and the strategic and political elements o f the war that set the context in which men and women served. This book takes a look at the war in all its aspects and brings them together, so that the reader can readily see the complex interactions between all these aspects of the war experience. Although this is essentially an introductory narrative of these different facets of the war, it is recognized that there has been much debate and controversy around the major issues, which shows no sign of being resolved. These controversies will be given due acknowledgement, and readers are provided with reading suggestions in the bibliographical section, where they can acquaint themselves in greater detail with theV l Vll

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different schools o f thought on these issues. Inevitably, for a study of this size, there will be parts o f the war that are beyond its scope, though vitally important to its outcome; among them are the colossal struggle between Germany and the Soviet Union on the Eastern Front, Japanese campaigns against the Chinese and in Burma, the secret war of subversion by resistance forces in Europe and Asia, and the spectacular successes of the British (helped by the Poles and French) in breaking the supposedly unbreakable German Enigma ciphering machine and thereby producing the signals intelligence designated Ultra. Some good general histories of the war are listed in the bibliography for those wishing to fill out their knowledge of these and other aspects not covered here.

Abbreviations and Codenames used

ABDA A FL AK AM G O T Anvil/Dragoon Arcadia BMP Bolero CO RE CBO CCC CCS CIO CMP ETO FEPC FE R A FFF GI Husky JC S JN-25 Luftwaffe Magic Manhattan Project Market-Garden

American-British-Dutch-Australian Command American Federation of Labor Polish Home Army Allied Military Government Landings on French Riviera, 1944 Churchill visit to Washington, December 1941— January 1942 Bureau of Motion Pictures, O WI Build-up of US forces in Britain Congress for Racial Equality Combined Bomber Offensive Civilian Conservation Corps Combined Chiefs of Staff Congress o f Industrial Organizations Controlled Materials Plan European Theatre of Operations Fair Employment Practices Commission Federal Emergency Relief Administration Fight for Freedom US Army soldier (from GI, ‘Government Issue’, stamped on their equipment) Invasion of Sicily, 1943 Joint Chiefs of Staff Japanese Naval fleet code German Air Force Signals intelligence operation deciphering Purpl< code Atomic Bomb project British plan to take bridges at Arnhem, Nijmegen. Eindhoven

IX

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T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D WA R II

N A A CP NDAC NEI OES OPA O PACS OPM OSS Overlord OWI OWM Pointblank POWs Purple RAF Round-up Sledgehammer SPAB T olstoy Torch T rident Trinity Ultra U SAAF Wehrmacht W LB W PA W PB W RB W RB

National Association for the Advancement o f Colored People National Defense Advisory Commission Netherlands East Indies Office o f Economic Stabilization Office o f Price Administration Office o f Price Administration and Civilian Supply Office o f Production Management Office of Strategic Services Invasion o f France, 1944 Office of War Management Office o f War Mobilization Directive on strategic bombing, June 1943 Prisoners-of-W ar Japanese diplomatic code British Royal Air Force Invasion o f France (planned), 1943 Invasion of France (planned), 1942 Supplies, Priorities and Allocations Board Churchill visit to Moscow, October 1944 Invasion of French North Africa, 1942 Anglo-American-Canadian Washington Conference, May 1943 Test o f plutonium bomb, Alamogordo, July 1945 Material derived from signals intelligence, mainly from deciphering German Enigma machine United States Army Air Force German Army War Labor Board Works Progress Administration War Production Board War Resources Board (1939) War Refugee Board (1944)

Select Chronology of World War II

*937 i May 7 July 28 July 5 October 9 November 12 December 13 December 1938 13 March 29 September 8 November *939 4 January 15 March 31 March 1 April 7 April August 23 August 1 September 3 September 5 September 8 September

Roosevelt signs Neutrality Act (‘ Cash-Carry’) Start o f ‘China Incident’ Japanese take Beijing Roosevelt ‘Quarantine’ speech Japanese take Shanghai Japanese sink USS Panay in Yangtse River Japanese take Nanking: ‘Rape o f Nanking’ follows

Germany invades Austria and incorporates it into the Reich Munich Agreement gives Czech Sudetenland to Germany US Congressional elections

Roosevelt asks Congress for $552 million for defence Germany occupies remainder of Czechoslovakia Britain and France guarantee Poland US recognizes Franco government in Spain after capture o f Madrid Italy invades Albania W RB set up (abolished November) Nazi-Soviet non-aggression pact Germany invades Poland Britain, France, Australia and New Zealand declare war on Germany Neutrality proclamations by Roosevelt Roosevelt proclaims state of limited national emergency

xi

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io September 17 September 29 September 2 October 4 November 30 November 1940 26 January 12 March 9 April 7 May 10 May

15 May 16 May 25 May 28 May 4 June 10 June 14 June 22 June 24 June 27 June 5 July i ° July 11 July 19 July 23 July

Canada declares war on Germany Poland invaded by USSR USSR and Germany partition Poland US Navy starts patrolling 300-mile (500km) neutrality zone Neutrality Act passed allowing Cash-Carry of munitions USSR attacks Finland

1911 US-Japanese Trade Treaty expires Soviet-Finnish peace signed Germany invades Denmark and Norway Pacific Fleet deployed to Hawaii Germany invades France, Belgium and Holland. Churchill becomes Prime Minister o f Britain. Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies formed Holland surrenders Roosevelt asks for $1,182,000,000 for national defence OEM established Belgium surrenders. N D A C established Dunkirk evacuation completed. Germans bomb Paris Roosevelt Charlottesville address Paris falls. Roosevelt signs ‘eleven per cent’ Naval Expansion Act France surrenders Japanese demand closure o f Burma Road Romania cedes Bessarabia and northern Bukovina to USSR Roosevelt invokes Export Control Act against Japan Battle of Britain starts Knox and Stimson join Cabinet Roosevelt signs ‘Two-Ocean N avy’ Naval Expansion Act Soviets complete annexation of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia

SELECT CHRONOLOGY

1 5 August 23 August 27 August 30 August 31 August 2 September 4 September 16 September 26 September 27 September 5 November 20 November December 17 December 29 December 1941 6 January 7 January 16 January 24 January27 March 30 January 11 March April 10 April 11 April 20 April 24 April 12 May 21 May

X lll

Informal Anglo-American staff talks, London German ‘Blitz’ against British cities begins Roosevelt authorized to call up Army Reserve and National Guard Japanese military occupation of Northern Indo-China begins Sixty thousand National Guardsmen called up Destroyers-Bases deal finalized America First Committee formed Selective Service and Training Act passed Roosevelt embargoes sale of scrap iron and steel to Japan Tripartite Pact (Axis) signed by Germany, Italy and Japan Roosevelt re-elected for third term British and Americans agree standardization of equipment British advance against Italians in Libya Roosevelt announces idea of Lend-Lease to press Roosevelt ‘arsenal of democracy’ fireside chat

Roosevelt ‘Four Freedoms’ address to Congress OPM set up Roosevelt asks Congress for 200 new merchant ships American-British-Canadian staff talks in Washington (ABC plan) Germany announces that any ship bringing aid to Britain will be sunk Lend-Lease Act passed Germany invades and occupies Yugoslavia and Greece USS Niblack depth-charges U-boat off Iceland (first act of war between Germany and US) OPA set up German advance in Libya reaches Tobruk Neutrality patrol is extended to 26 degrees west Hull presented with Japanese peace proposal by Nomura U-boat sinks US freighter Robin Moor

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27 May 27 June 14 June 20 June 22 June 25 June 7 July 15 July 26 July 27 July 28 July 31 July i August 9—12 August 25 August 28 August 1 September 4 September 11 September 15 September 19 September 25 September 27 September 28 September— 10 October 2 October 17 October 31 October 10 November 13 November

Roosevelt declares ‘unlimited national emergency’ OSRD established US freezes German and Italian assets Air Corps become U SA A F Germany invades U SSR Roosevelt signs Executive Order 8802 and sets up FE PC US troops occupy Iceland Germans capture Smolensk US freezes Japanese assets and suspends relations with Japan Southern Indo-China occupied by Japan Japan freezes US assets Economic Defense Board created US oil embargo against the Axis states Placentia Bay Conference: Atlantic Charter agreed Britain and USSR invade and partition Iran SPAB set up Navy takes responsibility for trans-Atlantic convoys as far as Iceland USS Greer attacked but not damaged while tracking a U-boat Navy ordered to attack any vessel threatening US ships or ships under their escort German siege of Leningrad begins Germans take Kiev Victory Programme presented to Roosevelt: forecast of what Army would need to defeat Axis (213 Divisions) First Liberty ship launched Moscow Supply Conference German advance on Moscow begins Tojo becomes Japanese Premier. USS Kearny torpedoed USS Reuben Jam es sunk by U-boat First US-escorted British troop convoy sails from Nova Scotia 1939 Neutrality Act revised: US merchant ships can arm and enter war zone

SELECT CHRONOLOGY

20 November 25 November 26 November 27 November 29 November 7 December 8 December

9 December 10 December 11 December 14 December 16 December 18 December 19 December 22 December14 January 24 December 25 December 1942 1 January 2 January 3 January 6 January 13 January 15 January 16 January 23 January 26 January February 6 February 7 February

XV

Japan’s final proposals presented by Nomura Japanese troop transports are sighted off Formosa en route to Malaya American proposals submitted by Hull to Nomura War warnings sent to Pacific commands Soviets begin counter-attack in Moscow area Japanese attack Pearl Harbor. Japan invades Malaya US and Britain declare war on Japan. Guam, Wake, Hong Kong, Singapore and the Philippines bombed by Japanese. Japanese land on Bataan Bangkok occupied by Japanese. Japanese land on Tarawa and Makin in the Gilbert Islands Japanese land on Luzon. Guam surrenders Germany and Italy declare war on US. Japanese attack on Wake repulsed by Marines Japanese invade Burma Japanese land on Sarawak, Borneo First War Powers Act passed Office of Censorship established Arcadia conference in Washington. US troops arrive in Australia Wake captured by Japanese. British regain control of Cyrenaica Hong Kong falls to Japanese

United Nations Declaration signed Japanese take Manila Roosevelt sets production goals o f tanks and aircraft Japanese forces occupy Brunei Bay in Borneo U-boat offensive along US east coast begins A B D A command established W PB replaces OPM Japanese occupy Bougainville and New Britain US troops arrive in Northern Ireland Joint Chiefs of Staff Committee replaces Army-Navy Board CCS begins to function War Shipping Administration established

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14 February 15 February 19 February 20 February 27 February I March 8 March 10 March II March 18 March 23 March 27 March 30 March

8—15 April 9 April 18 April 4—8 May 6 May 15 May 29 May—1 June June 3—6 June 6 June 7 June 13 June 18—25 June 21 June 1—22 July 3 July 4 July

Japanese land on Sumatra Singapore falls to Japanese Roosevelt signs Executive Order 9066 on relocation. Japanese land on Bali Japanese land on Timor Battle of the Java Sea Battle of Sunda Strait. A B D A dissolved Japanese complete conquest o f Netherlands East Indies Stilwell appointed Chief o f Staff to Jiang Jieshi MacArthur leaves Luzon War Relocation Authority established Japanese occupy Andaman Islands in Bay o f Bengal Second War Powers Act passed Pacific Ocean divided into two commands under Nimitz and MacArthur. Pacific War Council established in Washington Anglo-American discussions in London on second front US forces on Bataan surrender Doolittle raid on Tokyo, Yokosuka, Yokohama, Kobe and Nagoya. WMC set up Battle o f the Coral Sea Corregidor falls to Japanese W AAC formed Molotov conversations with Roosevelt in Washington Germans begin mass gassing o f Jews at Auschwitz Battle of Midway Germans destroy Lidice, Czechoslovakia Kiska and Attu in the Aleutians are occupied by the Japanese OWI and OSS established Anglo-American Conference in Washington Fort Stevens, Oregon shelled by a Japanese submarine. Tobruk, Libya, falls to Germans First Battle of El Alamein Germans capture Sevastopol First U SA A F bomber raid over Europe (Rouen)

SELECT CHRONOLOGY

XVII

German aircraft and U-boats devastate convoy PQ 17 en route to Arkhangel Bracero programme agreed by US and Mexico 4 August US troops land on Guadalcanal 7 August Marines capture Tulagi, Gavutu and Tanambogo in 8 August the Solomons Battle of Savo Island, Solomons 9 August Churchill in Moscow 12—15 August Dieppe raid 19 August Battle of Eastern Solomons 23—5 August 12—14 September Marines repulse heavy attacks on Henderson Field, Guadalcanal Battle of Stalingrad begins 13 September Battle of Cape Esperance, Solomons 11— 12 October Stabilization Act passed 2 October Revenue Act passed 21 October British counter-attack at El Alamein begins 23 October Marines repulse further heavy attacks on Henderson 23—6 October Field Battle o f Santa Cruz, Solomons 25—6 October Republican gains in Congressional elections 3 November 4 November Germans retreat from Egypt Torch landings at Casablanca, Oran and Algiers 8 November Oran surrenders to Allies 10 November 11 November Casablanca surrenders 12— 15 November Naval Battle o f Guadalcanal 16 November US forces land on New Guinea 19 November Soviets begin counter-offensive at Stalingrad 30 November Battle of Tassafaronga Fermi achieves first atomic chain reaction, in Chicago 2 December 24 December Darlan assassinated in Algiers

4-8 July

J943 14—24 January 21 January 27 January 2 February 9 February 14 February

Casablanca Conference Combined Bomber Offensive Directive Eighth Air Force mounts first raid on Germany Germans at Stalingrad surrender Japanese withdraw from Guadalcanal Rostov re-taken by the Soviets

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T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D WA R II

14—25 February 2—3 March 16 March 26 March 18 April 19 April May—June 11—25 May 13 May 24 May 27 May 30 May 3 -7 June 10 June 21 June 21—3 June 25 June 9 J uly

19 July 22 July 24-5 July 27 July 28 July 1—2 August 10—24 August 17 August 3 September 8 September 9 September 10 September 25 September 13 October 18—30 October

Battle o f Kasserine Battle o f the Bismarck Sea Climax o f Battle of the Atlantic: U-boats sink twenty-seven merchant ships in five days Battle o f the Komandorski Islands US aircraft ambush and kill Admiral Yamamoto Bermuda Conference on plight of European Jewry Mineworkers strikes Washington Conference Axis forces in Tunisia surrender U-boats withdrawn from North Atlantic Establishment o f O WM Japanese resistance on Attu ceases Zoot suit riots in Los Angeles Pointblank directive to improve Allied bombing strategy is issued US forces land on New Georgia in the Solomons. Hirabayashi v United States ruling by Supreme Court Race riots in Detroit Smith-Connally Act passed over Roosevelt’s veto Invasion of Sicily commences (Husky) Rome bombed by the Allies American forces capture Palermo, Sicily Mussolini overthrown Allied bombing raid on Hamburg causes firestorm Japanese evacuate Kiska Race riots in Harlem First Quebec Conference U SA A F raids on Schweinfurt and Regensburg. US troops enter Messina, ending the campaign in Sicily British land in Italy in Calabria Italy surrenders Americans and British land at Salermo Germans occupy Rome Sumner Welles forced to resign. Soviets re-capture Smolensk Italy declares war on Germany. Second raid on Schweinfurt Moscow Foreign Ministers Conference

SELECT CHRONOLOGY

1 November 2 November 5 November 6 November i i November 20 November 23 November 23—6 November 28 November— 1 December 3—7 December 5 December 15 December 26 December 1944 22 January 27 January 31 January 2 February 4 February18 May 7 February 17—18 February

XIX

Marines land on Bougainville Battle of Empress Augusta Bay Air raids on Rabaul, New Britain Soviets re-capture Kiev Air raids on Rabaul Marines land on Tarawa and Makin Betio, Tarawa and Makin taken Cairo Conference Teheran Conference Second part of Cairo Conference Eisenhower selected to command Overlord US troops land on New Britain Marines land at Cape Gloucester, New Britain

Anzio landings Siege o f Leningrad ends after 900 days US forces land on Marshall Islands Roi and Namur in the Marshalls taken Battles for Monte Cassino

Kwajalein Atoll taken Air raids on major Japanese base at Truk in the Carolines US troops land on Eniwetok. Japanese abandon 19 February defence o f Rabaul ‘Big Week’ bombing operations over Germany 20—5 February 22—3 February Roosevelt vetoes Revenue Bill: Barkley resigns as Senate Majority leader and is then re-elected April—December Japanese Ichi-Go offensive in South China over-runs airfields 3 April Smith v Allwright judgement by Supreme Court 10 April Soviets re-capture Odessa 22 April US forces land in Hollandia, New Guinea 25 May Germans retreat from Anzio 27 May US forces land on Biak off New Guinea US troops enter Rome 4 June 6 June D-D ay landings in Normandy

XX

13 June 15 June 19—20 June 22 June 27 June 1—22 July 3 July 7-15 July

9 July 18 July 19 -21 July 20 July 21 July 24 July 25 July 27-8 July 28 July i August

4 August 6 August 7 August 10 August 13 August 15 August 19 August 20 August 21 August— 7 October 25 August 28 August

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D WA R II

First V -i rocket attacks on Britain US forces land on Saipan Battle o f the Philippine Sea: the ‘Marianas Turkey Shoot’ Soviet summer offensive begins. GI Bill passed Cherbourg captured by US forces Bretton Woods Conference Soviets re-capture Minsk Battles in the bocage around St Lo Organized Japanese resistance ceases on Saipan. British and Canadian forces capture Caen Tojo and the Japanese cabinet resign. US forces reach St Lo Truman selected as vice-presidential candidate at Democratic convention German assassination attempt on Hitler fails US forces land on Guam Marines land on Tinian in the Marianas. Soviets liberate the death-camp at Majdanek US forces break out west of St Lo Honolulu Conference on Pacific strategy US troops capture Coutances Organized Japanese resistance ends on Tinian. Polish Home Army uprising in Warsaw begins. US forces reach Avranches Allied forces liberate Florence Patton’s Third Army reaches Le Mans German counter-attack toward Avranches (fails 12 August) Guam re-captured US forces stopped at Argentan, leaving Falaise Gap open Dragoon landings on French Riviera Third Army reaches the Seine Allied forces close Falaise Gap Dumbarton Oaks Conference Paris liberated. Red Ball Express begins operations Allies liberate Marseilles and Toulon

SELECT CHRONOLOGY

xxi

Soviet troops capture Bucharest Allies liberate Verdun, Dieppe, Rouen, Antwerp and Brussels 2 September Pisa liberated 8 September First German V-2 rocket lands in England 10—17 September Second Quebec Conference US troops cross German frontier at Trier 11 September 12 September Romania surrenders. Le Havre liberated 13 September US troops reach the Siegfried Line 15 September US troops land on Peleliu in the Palaus Operation Market-Garden 17 September 22 September Boulogne liberated 23 September US troops land on Ulithi in the Carolines 28 September Calais liberated October Stilwell recalled from China 1 October Soviets enter Yugoslavia 2 October Germans complete defeat of Warsaw rising 4 October British forces land in Greece 9—18 October Churchill in Moscow 13 October Peleliu captured 14 October Allied forces liberate Athens 20 October US forces land on Leyte 20 October Belgrade liberated 21 October Aachen falls to Americans 23 October Allies recognise de Gaulle as head of French provisional government 23—5 October Battle of Leyte Gulf 30 October Germans make last use o f gas chambers at Auschwitz 6 November Roosevelt wins fourth term 24 November U SA A F aircraft from the Marianas make their first raid on Tokyo. French forces capture Strasbourg 30 November Cordell Hull resigns as Secretary o f State: succeeded by Edward Stettinius 4 December Civil war begins in Greece. Athens placed under martial law by British 16 December Start o f Battle o f the Bulge 18 December Korematsu v United States ruling by Supreme Court 20 December Organized Japanese resistance ends on Leyte 31 August 1—4 September

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26 December 27 December

Besieged US forces in Bastogne relieved by Patton German Ardennes offensive brought to a halt

1945

3 January 5 January 9 January 17 January 20 January 26 January 30 January— 3 February 4—11 February 13—14 February 19 February 25 February 4 March 7 March 9—10 March 16 March 30 March 1 April 6 April 7 April 12 April 13 April 16 April 23 April 25 April 25 April 28 April 29 April 29 April 30 April

Firebomb raid on Nagoya Soviets recognize Communist Lublin Committee as Polish provisional government US forces land on Luzon Soviets capture Warsaw Hungary surrenders to the Allies Soviet troops liberate Auschwitz Conference at Malta Yalta Conference Dresden raids US forces land on Iwo Jima Firebomb raid on Tokyo Americans capture Manila after month-long battle Cologne falls. Third Army crosses Rhine at Remagen Firebomb raids on Tokyo Iwo Jima captured Soviets capture Danzig US forces land on Okinawa. Allied troops encircle German forces in Ruhr Heavy kamikaze attacks begin off Okinawa Japanese super-battleship Yamato sunk on suicide mission Roosevelt dies: Truman becomes President Vienna captured by the Soviets Soviet forces begin assault on Berlin. US forces enter Nuremberg Soviet troops enter Berlin Start of San Francisco Conference US and Soviet forces meet at Torgau Mussolini executed by partisans. Allies capture Venice US forces liberate Dachau concentration camp Germans in Italy surrender Hitler commits suicide. Soviet troops reach the Reichstag

SELECT CHRONOLOGY

XXU1

Soviets take Berlin German surrender signed V E day Soviet troops occupy Prague Fighting on Okinawa ends United Nations Charter signed in San Francisco US, British and French troops move into Berlin Stettinius replaced as Secretary of State by James Byrnes US and Britain recognize Polish Provisional 5 July Government 16 July Trinity test of atomic bomb 17 July—2 August Potsdam Conference 25 July Truman authorizes use o f atomic bomb Potsdam Declaration. Churchill replaced by Attlee 26 July as British Premier Atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima 6 August USSR declares war on Japan 8 August Atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki 9 August Bombing raids on Japan continue 9—14 August Soviet forces enter Korea 10 August Japanese surrender 14 August 15 August V -J Day 28 August First US troops land in Japan 2 September Japanese surrender signed on board USS Missouri 9 September Japanese forces in China surrender Japanese troops in Burma surrender 13 September 24 October United Nations begins operating 20 November Nuremburg War Crimes Trials begin

2 May 7 May 8 May 9 May 21 June 26 June 1 July 2 July

CHAPTER I

A Nation Unprepared

The United States at the end of the 1930s was unready materially, economically and psychologically for war on a global scale. The US had emerged from World War I as the world’s strongest economic power, but this power had not been converted into political dominance, nor did American policy-makers feel the need to supplement that power with military might. Indeed, the principal foreign policy initiatives during the 1920s were attempts at disarmament. The onset o f the Great Depression at the end of 1929 focused American attention on its own internal problems. The domestic economy collapsed and America’s foreign trade was drastically curtailed as Europe and most of the rest of the world followed suit. Recovery was long and slow, and despite the energies shown by the administration o f Franklin Delano Roosevelt, elected in November 1932, the economy was still operating well below capacity at the end of the 1930s. The Depression spread around the world and brought in its wake the collapse o f democracy and the rise of extremist movements o f left and right. Such movements promoted expansion and aggression as a solution for their nation’s ills, and the world was plunged into a series o f crises during the 1930s. These events reinforced the American inclination towards isolationism —effectively a unilateralist nationalism. This mood intensified as Europe and Asia moved towards war. T h e N ew D eal Roosevelt had implemented activist domestic policies on a multiplicity of fronts in an effort to solve the Depression and ameliorate its effects by ‘constant, bold experimentation’. Known as the New Deal, this was not a coherent programme, but essentially a guiding philosophy that the Government should take action to bring about relief, recovery and reform. Roosevelt had a common touch —through his ‘fireside chats’ he appealed directly to what he called ‘the forgotten man’ . Through public

1

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works programmes and innovative schemes to regulate prices, the financial system and industrial and business practices, Roosevelt sought to make the American capitalist system sound and to a certain degree responsive to the needs of the mass o f Americans.1 The success or failure of the New Deal policies continues to be debated. What is clear is that indicators such as output and employment show the economy to be recovering only slowly by the end of the 1930s. The New Deal had provided relief for those who suffered the worst effects o f the Depression, through its works programmes, welfare schemes and for business through its reform of the banking and investment systems. Many businessmen were hostile to Roosevelt, however, for the New Deal had initiated reforms that recognised a role for labour unions, abolished child labour and set maximum working hours. But while it could be said that the New Deal had made significant achievements in relief and reform, recovery proved to be a tougher challenge. Roosevelt was re­ elected by a landslide in 1936, but it became evident during his second term that Congress had lost some of its reforming zeal. Roosevelt him­ self had begun to try to balance the budget, which was in considerable deficit as a result of the early New Deal policies. Trade levels picked up slowly. Businessmen were very cautious in their investment and expan­ sion activities. It was not until munitions production began to increase in 1939 that this situation changed. The New Deal agencies had initiated a certain degree o f social as well as economic reform —much to the anger of conservatives —but in fact their impact in this area was limited. The introduction of Social Security in 1935 and the recognition o f labour unions were major steps, but in other ways the New Deal programmes sustained the status quo. The farming policy in the Agricultural Adjustment Act (AAA) paid farmers to take land out of production, in order to raise prices and ease rural poverty, but the gains made were offset by the fact that landowners often kept the money instead of passing it on to their tenant farmers, who were no longer needed. Particularly badly hit by this were blacks in the American South. The impact of the New Deal was indeed mixed for black Americans. Blacks benefited from New Deal programmes, such as the Federal Emer­ gency Relief Administration dole and Works Progress Administration (W PA) and Civilian Conservation Corps (C C C ) works programmes. Blacks responded, for in those places where they were able to vote with­ out intimidation, they switched their allegiance from the Republicans,

A NATI ON U N P R E P A R E D

3

the party Lincoln had belonged to, to the Democrats, the party of Roosevelt. However, the New Deal did little to address segregation or ghettoization; indeed many programmes were implemented at a local level in a segregated manner. Perhaps the most significant development was the growth of labour union organisation among blacks; principally, because o f attitudes on the part of existing unions, on a separate basis. This was to give experience in mass organisation and the methods of direct action. N eutrality and Isolation Americans in the 1920s liked to describe themselves as ‘isolationist’. While this term became synonymous after World War II with a failure to take up responsibilities, in the inter-war period it was regarded by many as actually the most responsible policy. It was a return to what was regarded as the traditional approach of the United States to world affairs. It was also a response to World War I. Americans were told during that war by President Woodrow Wilson that it was a ‘crusade for democracy’, but a reaction had set in afterwards, as a consequence o f the vindictive actions of America’s associates towards the defeated enemy and the failure to adhere to Wilson’s idealistic statement of war aims, the Fourteen Points. The US itself had contributed to that failure when by a series o f narrow votes in the Senate, the Treaty of Versailles and membership of the League of Nations had been rejected. Americans quickly came to the conclusion that isolation meant freedom of action, and the ability to follow a moral line in foreign policy, independent of the corrupt motives of others. The fact was, however, that the US was far from genuinely isola­ tionist in the 1920s. As Joan Hoff Wilson has argued, ‘independent nationalism’ is a better term to describe the American approach to world affairs at this time. In political matters, the Republican administrations of the decade pointedly distanced themselves from the League. However, they were not disengaged, but acted unilaterally, generally either to further the interests of American business or to advance moral causes. The US was a prime mover in disarmament initiatives, notably the Washington Naval Conferences o f 1921 and 1930, and the 1928 Kellogg-Briand Pact. However, it is worth noting that calculations of national interest along very similar lines to those that were condemned in America’s recent war partners were also present, most particularly in the 1921 Washington Conference. While ostensibly about reducing the naval arms race, it was also an attempt to curb Japanese power in the Far East. This was not lost

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on the Japanese, who interpreted the 5:5:3 (US: Britain: Japan) ratio for capital ships and the forced abrogation o f the Anglo-Japanese alliance as an attempt to achieve American hegemony in that region. The main form of US interest in the world beyond its borders during the 1 920s was economic. The amount o f American business penetration of the rest of the world was sufficient to give the lie to the idea o f true isolationism. Americans believed this economic activity did not necessitate political commitments. While the US was the creditor o f most o f Europe, it preferred not to act as the arbiter of the world economy, and took no responsibility for the disequilibrium left in the world economic system after World War I. As regards the huge war debts owed by Britain, France and others, President Calvin Coolidge summed up the American attitude when he said ‘they hired the money, didn’t they?’ The United States did step in twice to rescue the ailing economy of the fledgling German Republic, crippled by its reparation debts to the Allies, but the money flowed straight back to the US in debt repayments from those countries. American tariff policy aggravated the problem: tariffs remained very high to protect American industry from foreign competition, probably needlessly, and this actually harmed sectors of the US economy, such as agriculture, which needed export markets to offload its surpluses. Overall, the confidence generated by prosperity through the decade caused few Americans — even those with international interests and experience —to doubt that the US could manage its engagement with the outside world on its own terms, and could always disengage when it appeared necessary to do so. The strength o f the American economy, which appeared not to depend on other nations, and the protection of two oceans made the US appear safe and secure, with the luxury of being independently nationalist without cost. These attitudes were changed by the onset o f the Depression —but not in favour of international co-operation. Instead, American desires for isolation became intensified. To many, foreigners were seen to be in some way to blame for the Depression, especially when they began to renege on their war debts (only Finland ever fully repaid them). Foreigners were also blamed for the collapse of international trade, and for the nationalistic and discriminatory policies that they evolved in their panic, such as the Ottawa system o f preferential trade in the British Empire, conveniently ignoring the U S’s own Smoot-Hawley tariff, the highest ever, approved by Congress in 1930. Most accounts of isolationism in the 1920s and 1930s have sought to

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identify the main segments o f the American population that harboured such feelings. The mid-West has traditionally been seen as the heartland o f isolationism. It was a long way from either ocean, and had been populated by immigrants, many o f whom (or whose parents) had come to the US to make a new life safe from European conflicts. While isolationist sentiment certainly was strong in this region, it was spread much wider through the US at this time. If there was a pattern, it was that rural areas were more likely to be strongly isolationist than the large metropolises, though even then there were exceptions, such as Chicago.2 Those o f recent immigrant background tended to incline to this atti­ tude strongly. This was especially true for those of German or Irish descent, aware that the US had fought alongside the enemies o f their old homeland, pulling their sympathies in two directions. Isolationism had been recommended by the early Presidents, Washington and Jefferson, because they anticipated such divided loyalties. It was also based on a certainty that American vital interests were not engaged in any European (or Asian) dispute, so that the result did not matter — since American security was not at stake, it was more important to avoid internal division over such issues by remaining aloof. To many Americans, the hallowed tradition established by Washington and Jefferson was good enough, and obviated any need to try to understand the complexities o f inter­ national affairs. As with many aspects of the isolationist impulse, this feeling had been aggravated and confirmed by the experience o f World War I. By 1930, it had become orthodoxy that American entry into that war had been a mistake, and that the attempt to reform the world by a crusade for democracy had been futile. Better by far for the US simply to set an example of the virtuous republic and let others heed it or not as they preferred. The carnage of World War I, though experienced less strongly in the US than in the other major participants, had also had a lasting effect and one which strengthened as the years passed and as the world situation became unsettled. Pacifism and neutralism became strong components of isolationism in its Depression-era manifestation. Isolationist attitudes in the 1930s were imbued with a strong sense that the alternative to isolation was involvement, which meant war. War no longer seemed a sane option. The destruction and horror witnessed in Europe in 1914—18 was an abiding memory. It had been taken into the public consciousness in the form of popular culture: not just in the writings o f such as Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and John Dos Passos, but perhaps with

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greater popular impact in the 1930 film o f Erich-Maria Remarque’s anti­ war novel, A ll Quiet on the Western Front. A generation grew up implanted with the images o f a futile, inhuman, unheroic war purveyed in that film. Developments in technology, especially bomber aircraft, produced a certainty that the next war would be one of immense destruction. War would indiscriminately sweep all away, the virtuous as well as the evil. There was only one possible moral choice: to keep out of it. War could not solve the problems o f the world, only make them worse, for it brought disorder and anarchy in its wake. Consequently, at its height, between 1933 and 1938, people from across the political spectrum favoured isolationism as a moral imperative. Both liberals and conservatives looked back at the World War I experience in the US, and it strengthened their determination to remain isolated. To conservatives, already deeply concerned with the expansion of government under the New Deal, war brought the danger of increased centralization. The Wilson administration had taken control o f the railroads and managed manpower and production. They feared that under Roosevelt these kinds of actions would be taken much further. Conversely, liberals and progressives remembered the war as having brought an end to reform in the US, suppression o f civil liberties and an ugly, narrow patriotism. This ‘one hundred per cent Americanism’ had been actively encouraged by government propaganda, and had culmin­ ated in the Red Scare of 1919. Isolation was therefore the only safeguard for American liberties. To these groups must be added those who have been described as ‘belligerent’ isolationists, who believed that the world was indeed becom­ ing a dangerous place, and that the US should be prepared to fight. However, they believed such a fight only necessary to protect the US itself, and that it was best done alone, without the encumbrance of allies. They advocated a ‘Fortress America’, in which American resources would be focused on national defence, not wasted on overseas partners whose fate was irrelevant to American survival. The Depression produced nationalistically-oriented solutions around the world, as the international financial system, such as it was, collapsed. In many countries economic nationalism was associated with the rise of dictatorship or at least militarism. The Nazi regime in Germany was the most extreme example o f this tendency to autarchy (self-sufficiency), but it was reproduced elsewhere in varying forms. In the United States, responses to the Depression took place within a democratic context, but

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the US was not immune to economic nationalism. Roosevelt took such an approach from the start, being prepared for the US to withdraw from the gold standard, and effectively sabotaging the 1933 London Economic Conference with his indifference. Roosevelt did open relations with the Soviet Union, which was relatively unaffected by the Depression, in the hopes o f improving trade, and in 1934 the Reciprocal Trade Agreements Act allowed Secretary o f State Cordell Hull to make bilateral agreements that would give ‘most-favoured nation’ status: the two countries would each enjoy the lowest available tariff from the other. Beyond this, and the announcement that it would follow a less interventionist, ‘Good Neighbor, policy in the western hemisphere, the Roosevelt administration made no creative initiatives in foreign policy during the first term. Tariffs remained high. With regard to Japanese expansionism in China, it effectively carried on the policy laid down by previous President Herbert Hoover and his Secretary of State, Henry Stimson. They had condemned the Japanese occupation o f Chinese Manchuria in 1931, but had taken no action and had been at pains to distance themselves from any actions by the League o f Nations. When a similar crisis erupted in 1935 with the Italian invasion of Ethiopia, it found the US engaged in a debate about its role in world affairs. The anti-foreign sentiment had meshed with the pacifist inclina­ tion and the distrust of big business engendered by the Depression to produce a surge o f books and articles in 1934 blaming America’s entry into World War I on special interests. Books such as The Merchants o f Death by Helmuth Engelbrecht and Frank Hanighen pointed the finger at munitions-makers and bankers. In collusion with the devious British, they had manoeuvred the US into the war to protect their markets and their investments, chiefly war loans to Britain and France. With Roose­ velt’s encouragement, Congress set up a committee under Senator Gerald P. Nye to investigate. The Nye Committee’s findings were inconclusive, but led Congress to enact measures to ensure that the US was not drawn into war in such a way again. The Neutrality Acts o f 1935,1936 and 1937 amounted therefore to an attempt, as the New York Herald Tribune declared, ‘to preserve the United States from intervention in the War of 1914—18’. They also represented an attempt by Congress to assert greater control over foreign policy by reducing the President’s ability to use his own discretion. Roosevelt, unsurprisingly, was less than happy with this aspect, and there are signs that he would have preferred to have the ability specifically to embargo aggressors. But Congress wanted to avoid

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the US being tricked into a war against its interest by foreign powers, domestic interest groups, or by the US getting involved with belli­ gerents. The Acts essentially meant that when a state o f war somewhere in the world was identified (by the President), then Americans were to be prohibited from trading in war materials with any o f the belligerents. If they ventured into the war zone it was at their own risk. The Ethiopian crisis revealed that this policy gave an inbuilt advantage to the aggressor, who had stockpiled materials from the US in advance. To redress the balance, Roosevelt asked for a ‘moral embargo’ on exports to Italy o f strategic materials like oil, which were not included in the prohibition, but with little impact. In the context of the Depression, it was difficult to ask American companies to forgo trading opportunities. The 1937 Act dealt with this aspect in the Cash-Carry provision that allowed sales of non-munitions to belligerents, so long as they were paid for immediately and collected from American ports, thus protecting American profits, while not endangering American ships or tying Americans financially to the victory of any of the participants. The Neutrality Acts meant that the ability of Roosevelt to influence world events was very limited. Even without them, however, it is not clear that he would have acted very differently. In 1936, he joined with the European Powers in declaring a policy o f non-intervention in the Spanish Civil War, though the US did not participate in the naval patrols to enforce this policy. Later that year he made what appeared to be his first major initiative on foreign affairs. In Chicago, in one of the more isolationist parts o f the country, he put forward the idea that nations should ‘quarantine’ war as if it were a disease. It is not clear what precisely he had in mind, beyond what was already being done with regards to Spain. It was generally taken as meaning a greater engage­ ment in international collective efforts to preserve peace. Reactions were reasonably positive, with many important newspapers giving cautious approval, while wishing for more concrete details, but Roosevelt concluded that he had got ahead of public opinion, and did not follow up the speech with any proposals. The United States in fact became more distanced from the developing world crisis. In 1937, Japan renewed its aggressive expansionism in China. In order to allow continued supply of munitions to the Chinese Government o f Jiang Jieshi (then known to Americans as Chiang KaiShek), Roosevelt refrained from calling the Neutrality Acts into opera­ tion on the grounds that there had been no declaration o f war. The

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consequence o f this was that American firms continued their trade with the belligerents and it was Japan, not China, which was the major recipient. Japan was America’s major trading partner in Asia, and was close to dependence on the US for certain key strategic materials, including aircraft engines, scrap metals and oil. The official United States reaction to the bombing of Shanghai in August 1937 and the Rape of Nanking in December was muted. In December this passive attitude was underlined when an American gunboat, the USS Panay, was sunk on the Yangtse River by Japanese bombers. Despite the fact that three American sailors were killed, the US Government accepted the Japanese claim that it was a mistake. The Panay was displaying a large American flag on its deck, and visibility was good, so it was more likely that the Japanese were testing American intentions —and they drew the (correct) conclusion that the US would not intervene in the Chinese situation. The position was similar in Europe, where Hitler had begun in 1936 to break the Versailles Treaty. Roosevelt made repeated suggestions of an international conference to settle Europe’s problems, but earlier American unreadiness to participate in collective security meant that these proposals were ignored. The British Government sought to appease Hitler by granting him most o f his demands. Americans had long felt that Versailles was a punitive settlement, and Roosevelt offered encourage­ ment to Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s attempts to keep the peace. Roosevelt’s own attitude towards Nazi Germany and Hitler’s expan­ sionism has been a matter of some debate. While tacitly supporting appeasement, it is fairly clear that by as early as 1938 he and some o f his close advisors, such as Harry Hopkins, had come to see Nazi Germany as a menace to American interests. They saw that Nazi policies of economic autarchy would have a serious impact on American trade if the Nazis came to dominate large parts o f Europe. Roosevelt himself, after spend­ ing time as a youth in Germany prior to World War I, saw the Germans to be a dangerously militaristic people. There were some suspicions that the Nazis were dabbling in the politics of South America. However, Roosevelt shared the revulsion against war and the feeling o f the majority of Americans that Europe’s problems were Europe’s to solve. So while he was limited in the action he could take by the strength of isolationism, pacifism and by the Neutrality legislation, there is little evidence to suggest that his actions in 1938—9 would have been markedly different had he had fewer constraints, or had he been by nature less inclined to keep in step with what he perceived to be public opinion.

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A further factor in Roosevelt’s calculations was America’s own military unpreparedness. In spite o f talk by certain isolationists o f ‘Fortress America’, this was an expression of geography rather than military realities. In the late 1930s, the US Army was small, and lacking in modern weapons. It was only the eighteenth largest in the world, and had an air force of just 1,700 aircraft, many of them obsolescent. This military weakness was for a mixture o f reasons: historical, political and cultural. The US had no tradition o f military industry. Americans felt secure through geographical isolation from the conflict spots o f the world. Neutralism gained strength from an American distrust of militarism and the tradition that in time o f war, ordinary citizens would defend the nation. It was this cultural trait that misled America’s enemies in World War II to believe the US had no martial tradition. In fact, the US had a strong military tradition — and it was the potent one of the whole nation in arms, fired by the sense of defending their own freedoms. The US Navy was better equipped than the Army, but with the notable exception o f the aircraft carriers USS Yorktown and Enterprise, which were just coming into service, its ships were old and needed modernization. The naval disarmament treaties had meant few new warships had been built since 1920. The Navy was stretched thinly between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. This position was beginning to change by 1939. The Navy could be represented as a first line o f defence, so that popular opinion was more willing to invest in it than the Army. Congress had approved the replacement o f the oldest battleships in 1934, as permitted by the treaties. The money was not voted until 1936, however, and the first o f the new fast modern battleships was not launched until 1940. More importantly for the future, the Naval Expansion Act o f 1938 provided funding which built the USS Hornet, a sister to the Yorktown, and began the work on the larger Essex class aircraft carriers and the Gato class submarines that were to be a major element in the victory in the Pacific. These were developments for the future; in 1938—9, US military strength was mainly in its potential. Perhaps their main significance in 1939 was in providing increasing employment opportunities to offset the slimming down of New Deal public works programmes. As the European situation worsened in 1939, the US stepped up its ‘Good Neighbor’ initiatives in Latin America to forestall possible German penetration, but did little else. Exhortations to Europe to find a ‘just and liberal peace’ carried no weight when it was clear the US did not

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wish to play an active part in any arrangements. In Asia, the US refused to concede Japanese dominance of China, but no pressure was applied, and trade in war materials with Japan continued. James MacGregor Burns has described Roosevelt’s policy as ‘no risks, no commitments’ . Roosevelt’s sympathies may well have been with those opposing the Nazis, but he did not take the issue out to the American public, and feeling in the US was such that he was not even able to get a liberalization of the immigration laws to allow more Jewish refugees to enter the country. Public opinion was concerned not to raise the numbers of the unemployed, and the anti-Semitic propaganda of the isolationist ‘radio­ priest’, Father Coughlin, and o f the pro-German Bund organization struck a chord with some Americans. Roosevelt’s reaction to the outbreak of war in Europe when Germany invaded Poland on i September 1939 was to take these factors into account, but also to position the country quite distinctly, by characterizing the war as one involving moral issues on which Americans would have a view, while at the same time recognising it was a ‘foreign’ war that did not involve them. In deliberate contrast to Wilson’s declaration in 1914 that the nation would be neutral in thought and deed, Roosevelt said that the US would remain neutral in action, but that Americans could not be blind to facts: ‘even a neutral cannot be asked to close his mind or his conscience’. Some have seen this as representing a clear first step on a straight and deliberate path towards full entry into war two years later. However, while Roosevelt’s sympathies undoubtedly lay with the Allies, as Britain, France and Poland quickly became called, to distinguish them from the Axis of Germany and Italy (and from 1940, Japan), it would be wrong to suggest that he had a clear plan to get the US into the war in September 1939 or the months that followed. Until fairly late in the process, it is likely that he hoped that the US could secure an Allied victory, while still itself remaining neutral. This could not be achieved, however, with the Neutrality legislation as it stood. Arguing that the arms embargo was unneutral because it benefited the Germans, who had prepared for war in advance, Roosevelt felt sure enough of his ground in November 1939 to get his supporters in Congress to attempt —and achieve - a new Neutrality Act. The most important provision of this was to extend Cash-Carry to munitions and war materials. This was easily justified as economically beneficial. Peace­ time levels o f trade could be expected to fall as a result of the war, and the American economy was still in the doldrums. The belligerents would

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want war materials, and the supply o f them would be a great boost to the economy. Exponents of Fortress America could accept that a growth in America’s munitions industry would be o f benefit to America’s military too. Roosevelt encouraged this attitude by claiming that ending the arms embargo would help to keep the US from war. He also said that the US at peace would be the preserver o f the values and civilization o f Western Europe. Since the Allies had by far the larger merchant fleets and had the benefit o f geography when it came to access to the US, the Act satisfied those who wished to aid them, while not alienating those determined to stay out, either from isolationism or from pro-Axis sentiments. The general mood within the public, as expressed in polls, was strongly to avoid entanglement in the war. In October 1939 sixty-two per cent favoured aid to the Allies short of war —but less than thirty per cent said the US should fight even if Britain and France were on the verge of losing. Spokespeople for isolationist groups were on the lookout for evidence of unneutrality on the part of the Roosevelt administration. During the period isolationist Senator William Borah dubbed the ‘phoney war’, they had little cause for complaint. Things were to change, however, when disaster struck the Allies in the spring o f 1940. T h e G reat D ebate on Intervention The war in Europe burst into life in April 1940, with the German occupation of Denmark and invasion of Norway. The latter was contested by Britain and France, but they were unable to hold up the German forces for long. Then Germany launched its offensive in the west. Using the techniques o f blitikrieg — penetration by tanks {panders), closely supported by aircraft, especially the fear-inspiring Stuka dive-bomber, and motorized infantry, the Germans cut a swathe through the French Army. Within a few days the Allied armies had been cut in two. The British Army was evacuated from Dunkirk, leaving behind its equipment. Paris fell and on 22 June France surrendered. France was then divided, with the northern and western parts occupied by Germany, and the rest governed from Vichy by Marshal Petain. These events were deeply shocking in America. The speed of German victories and their use of new methods —parachute troops, bombing of cities (especially Rotterdam) as well as blitikrieg made them seem unstoppable. France was a country that many Americans felt an affinity to —as a sister republic and early friend o f the United States. America had

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saved France in 1918, but now it was defeated and humiliated. However, while sympathies were with France, isolationists emphasized that there was nothing the US could do; at least France was at peace again. Further­ more, they asserted that the evident strength o f Germany meant that Britain too could be expected to give in soon. Such views were supported by reports from London. Ambassador Joseph Kennedy reported that Britain would certainly be defeated. There was no point, therefore, even discussing an American response. American liberals and progressives had moved away from isolationism as the nature o f the Nazi regime became clearer. They had come to oppose Hitler even if he offered no threat to American material interests. For them the war was a moral issue. German advances in the west added to this a more material threat. In order to counter the lobbying of the isolationist press, Kansas newspaper editor William Allen White founded the Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies in May 1940. The White Committee sponsored public meetings, with speakers such as film star Douglas Fairbanks, Jr, to put the case that the Allied cause was an American cause and a matter o f self-interest, and that the US had to give all aid, short of war itself. Most Americans in June 1940 expected the war in Europe to be over soon. For those who were concerned with American national defence, or who were generally strategically minded, the prospect o f the British Royal Navy falling into German hands and the Atlantic becoming domin­ ated by German seapower was not an attractive one. They anxiously watched as the Battle o f Britain unfolded over the skies of southern England in July and August. As it did, Americans began to warm to the bullish refusal o f the British to accept that their defeat was the inevit­ ability that isolationists claimed. The personification of this was Winston Churchill, the new Prime Minister. Churchill’s pugnacious attitude struck a chord in the USA, aided no doubt by the fact that he was half-American. More important to Churchill than the admiration o f the American public was the sympathy of Roosevelt. Since the start of the war, Churchill had begun a correspon­ dence with the President - seeking, as he later said, ‘to woo him like a maid’ . Churchill had always perceived that if Britain was to win, then it would need massive American assistance, including combat forces. He set himself to convince Roosevelt that Britain was worth saving, in America’s interest and for the moral well-being of the world. He found Roosevelt cagey and cautious. Roosevelt had misgivings about Churchill;

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there were rumours that he was drunk half the time. Roosevelt did begin to talk o f aid to Britain short of war, and ordered the Army to make surplus equipment available for sale to Britain. He took two internationalist Republicans into his cabinet, Henry Stimson as Secretary o f War and Frank Knox as Secretary o f the Navy. On io June, he said in a major speech at Charlottesville that isolationism would lead the US to be a ‘lone island in a world dominated by the philosophy o f force’. This would be a nightmare prison, with America ‘handcuffed, hungry, and fed through the bars from day to day by the contemptuous, unpitying masters o f other continents’ . He pressed Congress for a $10.5 billion appropriation for American defence. He continued, however, to ignore Churchill’s pleas for direct assistance. The term ‘interventionist’ is customarily used to describe all those wishing to aid the Allies. This can be a little confusing, for included under that heading were those like William Allen White and Roosevelt himself, who believed that American material aid would be sufficient, and who were at least partly motivated by the conviction that this was the best way to avoid actual intervention in the war. There were other interventionists, however, including members of Roosevelt’s cabinet, such as Stimson, Knox, Harold Ickes and Henry Morgenthau, who came to believe during 1940 that the US would have to go to war to secure a German defeat. Roosevelt was under pressure from them as well as isolationists, as fierce public debate unfolded over the next fifteen months.3 The US was producing an increasing amount of war materials for Britain. The flood of contracts and orders had brought an expansion of American industrial production and the unemployment figures tumbled. Cash-Carry still applied, leading to the bizarre situation where aircraft for the Royal Air Force (RAF) were flown up to the Canadian border, landed in deserted fields, and then in the night would be hauled by horse over the border by Canadians and delivered onwards. By the summer of 1940 two major problems had arisen. Britain was rapidly running out of the cash to pay —though Americans, including Roosevelt, were uncon­ vinced by British pleas to this effect and insisted upon the sale of British assets in the US. The second problem was that a good proportion of the materials being delivered was being sunk en route by German U-boats. Churchill begged for help on this latter issue, asking for escort vessels. 1940 was a presidential election year, and in view o f the world crisis, Roosevelt had decided to run for an unprecedented third term, though

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rather than put himself forward, he allowed the Democratic convention to ‘draft’ him. He was anxious not to expose his flank to isolationists. In September, he came up with the ‘Destroyers-for-Bases’ deal. In return for fifty World War I-vintage destroyers of dubious fighting value (the famous ‘four-stackers’), the US gained advantageous leases on bases in British possessions in the western hemisphere, especially in the Caribbean. Roosevelt could present the deal to Fortress America enthusiasts as one that advanced America’s security, and to anti-British isolationists as a step towards the reduction o f British possessions in the New World. However, despite claims by recent historians that Churchill, who viewed Roosevelt through romantic lenses, was duped into a disadvantageous deal, he was right to regard the US as having moved a step towards being a ‘non-belligerent ally’ by supplying Britain with warships and manning bases on British possessions. Roosevelt had done so by bypassing Congress using his commander-in-chief powers, arousing complaints about ‘executive dictatorship’ . Roosevelt’s success in exercizing these powers gave him an effective means to further increase the degree of American commitment to Britain should he decide to do so. The question of intervention or isolation remained one of rancorous debate for the next year. With the issues so grave, organizations like the American Legion, the League o f Women Voters and labour unions all spoke out on foreign affairs. Two days after the bases deal was announced, the Committee to Defend America First was formed. It included major public figures such as Senator Robert Taft, progressive politician Robert LaFollette and Robert E. Wood, chairman of Sears, Roebuck, and was largely funded by Henry Ford. Its region o f greatest strength was Chicago and the mid-West, where there was a large German-American population, but its support was more widespread and encompassed not just anti-British groups like the Boston Irish, but also pacifists, pro-Nazis and American Communists. The latter opposed the war so long as the USSR was allied to Germany. By December, America First had 850,000 members. Its most popular speaker was the ‘Lone Eagle’, aviator Charles Lindbergh. Lindbergh argued that Germany was too strong for Britain, which was bound to be defeated. The threat to American values was war, not a Nazi victory. Isolationists were prepared to support build-up of America’s defences, but not aid to Britain that might draw the US into war as in 1917. Each further move to help Britain was contested on the grounds that it was pulling the US closer to war. Roosevelt had to move cautiously and carefully if he was not to

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overstep the mark and provoke a reaction that reduced American aid. His critics alleged that he was trying to move the US into war by surreptitious methods. It is not clear when he came to the conclusion that if Hitler was to be defeated then the US would have to go to war, although it was probably not until well into 1941. He certainly continued to defend measures to aid Britain on the grounds that they would keep the US out of war. What appear in hindsight to be planned steps to war, slow enough to carry along reluctant public opinion, are better seen as steps each o f which Roosevelt, ever an optimist, hoped would be suffi­ cient to secure an Allied victory, without entry into a war that he wished to avoid. Certainly, when put on the spot by isolationists during the 1940 election campaign, Roosevelt stated publicly that he would not send Americans to fight in a foreign war. In private, Churchill was making increasingly desperate pleas that a new way be found to fund aid to Britain, as British capital and assets were fast disappearing. The election was fought against the backdrop of the war, and particularly o f the German bombing of London —the ‘Blitz’, as Londoners called it. The defeatist reports that had come from Kennedy had been replaced by reporting by journalists such as Ed Murrow and Quentin Reynolds that ‘London can take it’ and dramatic newsreel footage of London burning. While Americans remained desirous o f avoiding such a war themselves, the opinion polls showed a reduction in the strength o f that resolve, increasing sympathies for Britain, and support for American aid. The trend o f Roosevelt’s policy, therefore —avoid war but aid Britain —was perceived by most to be correct, so that isolationist attacks that he was leading the country to war were ineffective. The election, in fact, was fought less about the war crisis and more as a referendum on the New Deal, for Wendell Willkie, his Republican opponent, had internationalist inclinations himself, while also being a fervent anti-New Dealer. Roosevelt’s new vice-presidential running-mate was Henry Wallace, representing the radical reforming aspect o f the New Deal. With the economy at last booming, Roosevelt attained a convincing victory, holding 38 states; the margin o f the popular vote was five million, the closest since 1916, making this a less sweeping victory than the landslide o f 1936, but solid enough. Roosevelt now turned to the issue o f helping Britain and the problem o f its diminishing financial assets. After a short cruise in the Caribbean, during which Churchill sent him a further plea for help, he announced to

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the press on 17 December that he had a new idea that would ‘get rid of the silly, foolish old dollar sign’ —Lend-Lease. He used the analogy o f a man lending his firehose to his neighbour to help him put out his burning house. I f the hose was returned damaged, then adequate recompense could be arranged, but one did not argue about that while the fire was still burning. This would get around difficulties with loans (Britain was in default o f its World War I loans, and the Debt-Default Act forbade further loans) or subsidies. On 29 December, Roosevelt said in a fireside chat that the US should become ‘the great arsenal of democracy’. It would provide the means for others to fight, in a cause that Roosevelt identified as that of freedom —and therefore America’s own. He declared that the aim should be that all citizens in the world should enjoy Four Freedoms; freedom of speech and expression, freedom o f religion, freedom from want and freedom from fear. Isolationists retorted that it was unlikely even with US material aid that Britain could defeat Germany. Michigan Senator Arthur Vandenberg complained ‘I do not believe that we can become an arsenal for one belligerent without becoming a target for another’ . Others found the American approach ignoble: if the cause was America’s, it was hardly courageous to stand back while others fought, handing them weapons and making money while doing so. In April 1941, they organised themselves as Fight For Freedom (FFF), a breakaway group from the White Committee. However, once again, Roosevelt seems to have caught the general American public mood right. Sympathies for Britain were satisfied by the promise of limitless aid, fears about American security were assuaged, while involvement in war was avoided. Roosevelt insisted the issues all be aired and full Congressional debate took place on the deliberately named House Resolution 1776. Senator Burton K. Wheeler said that Lend-Lease would be like the A A A ; it would ‘plow under every fourth American boy’, a statement Roosevelt described as the ‘rottenest public statement’ o f his time. Congressman Hamilton Fish argued that the measure would give the President too much power, and that it would draw the US into the war. Against them, supporters like Senator Claude Pepper, whose effigy was hanged outside Congress by women peace activists, argued Lend-Lease was essential for American defence and would therefore keep the US out o f war. If Germany conquered Europe then America would eventually have to fight them. After voting along party lines, Congress passed the LendLease Act on 11 March 1941; under what Churchill was to call ‘this most

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unsordid act’, Congress immediately appropriated seven billion dollars. The President was given great discretion to decide who were to be the recipients of aid, and while Congress oversaw appropriations, effectively the President could decide on how much was sent. The result was a subsidy o f the war effort of Britain, China and later other belligerents, with no payment (though there was some ‘reverse lend-lease’ o f raw materials and technology), simply the return o f materials after use, or if used or damaged, some recompense to be made as decided when the time came. This gave the Allies access to the full productivity o f the American economy, and at the same time served to increase still further the growth o f that economy. T h e U n certain C ou rse o f A m erican M obilization Roosevelt’s declaration that the US would be the arsenal of democracy was a statement o f intent, not a description o f the current situation. Even with regard to America’s own defence, up to that point he had managed the issue of preparedness with reference to domestic political needs, not the international situation. He was sensitive that isolationists would depict any measures o f mobilization —or even preparation for mobilization —as evidence he was manoeuvring the US into war. He was also greatly con­ cerned to keep control o f the process in his own hands; in practice, this left Roosevelt the arbiter and controller of a chaotic bureaucratic process. In August 1939, Roosevelt had set up the War Resources Board (W RB) to look at ideas for war mobilization, including a suggestion that there should be a war resources administrator with centralized control of the economy. This latter idea had come from Bernard Baruch, who played such a role in World War I and had encountered many problems. Roosevelt appointed Edward R. Stettinius o f US Steel to chair the W RB, which was entirely composed of businessmen. However, when it con­ cluded that Baruch was correct, and that a single agency, with a single head, was needed, Roosevelt disbanded it. The fall of France brought a consensus in Washington that the US must re-arm. Congress approved seventy-eight billion dollars for spending on the military, and the National Guard (state militias totalling 300,000 men) was called up. Roosevelt declared that 50,000 aircraft should be built and asked Congress for one billion dollars to pay for them. However, he also said that he did not think there was much more that the government could do at this time. With so much spare productive capacity, careful management of resources did not seem an urgent

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priority, certainly not sufficiently to override a deep-rooted American suspicion o f central planning, which Roosevelt shared. His political concerns therefore made him wish to appear to be taking action that acknowledged the existence o f the world crisis and the role American production would play, without attracting criticism that he was preparing for American involvement in the war. Roosevelt thus re-established the National Defense Advisory Commission (N D AC), which had operated during World War I. It had members from each segment of the economy: labour, farming, industry and consumers, and sections that were supposed to deal with different aspects of mobilization. It had no head, and was merely advisory. Uncertainty about what the ultimate aim of mobilization was, and Roosevelt’s unwillingness to delegate compre­ hensive powers to any one agency or individual, seriously limited its effectiveness. While public opinion polls suggested that there was a general consensus favouring preparedness, Roosevelt was afraid that there would be opposition to a draft. His political caution in an election year meant that the impetus for the introduction of conscription had to come from other quarters. Lobbying by an organization called the Military Training Camps Association was taken up by the New York Times. Growing bipartisan support for the proposal brought Roosevelt to come out and endorse it on 2 August. Wendell Willkie did so too, despite pressure on him from isolationist Republicans to oppose it. America’s first peacetime draft, the Selective Service Act, passed Congress and was signed into law on 16 September, authorizing the call-up of nearly a million men to join National Guardsmen and reservists activated in August. All men aged between twenty-one and thirty-six had to register, and a ballot selected those who were to serve (for a year, later extended). The Army was 270,000 strong in 1940 and was not ready for such expansion. New training camps were needed —these were mainly built in the South and West in rural areas and at first lacked even basic amenities. The new ‘selectees’ mostly underwent their basic training in World War I-era uniforms and, because Roosevelt had ordered the arsenals stripped to equip the British, largely without weapons. Instead, broom handles, cardboard tanks and imagination had to provide what the Army called ‘simulations’ . In January 1941, following his election victory, Roosevelt set up the Office o f Production Management (OPM), headed jointly by William S. Knudsen of General Motors and Sidney Hillman, of the Amalgamated

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Clothing Workers Union. It was supposed to have broader scope than the N D A C , but its authority was limited and it was still essentially advisory. After the passage o f Lend-Lease it became clear that growing demand from Britain might lead to price inflation. Rather than give control of prices to OPM, Roosevelt created another agency, the Office o f Price Administration and Civilian Supply (O PACS), headed by his budget director, Leon Henderson. To deal with a potential fuel shortage, Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes was appointed Petroleum Co­ ordinator o f National Defense in May 1941, but rubber, aluminium and steel, not having been stockpiled, also threatened to become scarce. OPM was unable to provide leadership on these issues, either by setting clear enforceable priorities or by increasing production. By the summer of 1941, American rearmament was not far advanced. Although American policies in the Atlantic and towards Japan were edging the country towards war, there was little concerted effort to build up armed forces that could either deter an attack or repel one should it happen. Part o f the problem was that increased industrial production to supply the Allies had led to an economic upturn. With more workers in employment, demand for civilian goods increased. The automobile industry, rather than re-tooling for production o f tanks or aircraft, was turning out more and more cars to satisfy this demand. In 1941, nearly a million more automobiles were produced than in 1939. Roosevelt was unwilling to anger isolationists by trying to force conversion, nor did he himself want to create too powerful an agency to do the job, or a ‘czar’ for war mobilization. Incentives were set up for businesses to engage in war production, under the two Revenue Acts o f 1940, but their impact was limited. Manufacturers remained cautious about expensive conversion to produce items for which the demand might easily cease (if Britain made peace, for instance), and when there was a much more certain market for civilian products. Roosevelt set up yet another new agency at the end of August 1941, ostensibly to end the muddle and confusion, the Supplies, Priorities and Allocations Board (SPAB). SPAB was supposed to lay down general policies for OPM. Donald Nelson o f Sears, Roebuck was appointed executive director, but lines o f authority remained confused. This ineffec­ tive structure would remain in place until after Pearl Harbor. A contra­ dictory position therefore existed that the United States was increasingly operating as the arsenal o f democracy through Lend-Lease to Britain and its allies, while its productive capacity was not being organized upon

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rational lines as a war production economy. It was being driven along by the operation of the free market, with the not uncommon mixed results o f great productive achievements together with waste and short-sighted policies. One consequence was that the armed forces were not made ready. In the summer o f 1941, by a narrow vote, Selective Service was extended for a year; otherwise those called up in 1940 would have gone home in October. The Army now had 1.5 million men in uniform, of whom half a million were regulars. War game exercises had begun developing the mobile units that would ultimately be the US Arm y’s greatest strength. General George S. Patton was demonstrating his remarkable aptitude for mobile armoured warfare and strategic manoeuvre. But few units were armed or trained sufficiently to be regarded as combat-ready. The 1 st Infantry Division —called ‘the Big Red One’ from the red number one on their sleeves —was, and the 1st Marines was nearly so. The Air Corps, now called the Army Air Force (U SAAF), had fifty-three heavy bombers, ninety-one medium bombers, ninety-two light bombers and 327 fighters. The Navy looked strongest, but it was stretched thinly. Its major strength was the Pacific Fleet —in summer 1941, twelve battleships and three aircraft carriers —but Roosevelt was given conflicting advice as to whether the weak Atlantic Fleet, which was coming into increasingly confrontational contact with German submarines, should be reinforced at the Pacific’s expense. Henry Stimson and Army Chief of Staff George C. Marshall argued for redeployment, Cordell Hull felt this would undermine the fleet’s deterrent role regarding the Japanese. In the end Roosevelt compromised by moving a small number o f ships —a measure that did little to alter the position in the Atlantic, for what was needed was convoy escorts, of which the Navy was very short. Although Roosevelt had spoken of total defence, it is hard to argue that all American resources were directed to this aim as the US drifted closer to war. While progress had been made since the 1940 election, it was slow and hesitant, and gave no indication that there was any sense of desperation or even urgency at the centre o f the Government. America’s role as the arsenal o f democracy had created an expansion of industrial activity and rapidly reduced the under-performance o f the American economy. The unemployment levels showed a dramatic fall. However, the pattern of racial discrimination remained. Black Americans found that they gained little from the production boom. They were only hired into clearly defined ‘black jobs’, low-skilled and low-paid. For

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example, one aircraft manufacturing corporation had a policy o f employ­ ing blacks in no roles higher than that o f janitor, regardless o f qualifica­ tion. In 1940, out of 100,000 workers in the aircraft industry, fewer than 250 were black. A. Philip Randolph, the leader o f the largest black union, the Brotherhood o f Sleeping Car Porters, took the lead in orchestrating a response. Randolph proposed a ‘thundering march’ on Washington; he hoped that over 100,000 black workers would converge on the capital in July 1941 to protest against this discrimination in employment. ‘We loyal Americans demand’, Randolph said, ‘the right to work and fight for our country’. Roosevelt, sensitive to the international impact this would have, met with the leaders o f the March on Washington Movement and a settlement was reached. Some blacks regarded it as a sell-out, but Randolph had achieved, without actually marching, the first federal action on civil rights since reconstruction. The President issued Federal Order 8802, which prohibited discriminatory hiring practices in businesses receiving federal contracts. It was a limited measure, doing nothing about segregation in the armed forces, for instance, but was of some significance, given the expansion o f federal orders in connection with rearmament and Lend-Lease. It was followed by the establishment o f the Fair Employment Practices Commission (FEPC) —effectively the last New Deal agency —to oversee the new regulations. The FE PC was to be under-staffed and under-funded, and the labour needs of wartime were to have a greater effect in widening black employment opportunities, but the March on Washington deal was a significant event in that it showed black Americans that when they organized in numbers and threatened action, they could achieve change. T h e R o ad to W a r Lend-Lease gave the President discretion to give aid to whom he liked, ‘in the interest o f national defense’. The administration was increasingly asserting that the war in Europe raised issues o f national defence. With the intensification o f what Churchill called the ‘Battle o f the Atlantic’, it was possible to depict the war as creeping closer to American shores. At the start of the war in Europe, Roosevelt had declared a 300-mile neutral zone in the Atlantic; having established this concept, which could be presented as a measure to isolate the US from war, the Navy could then patrol this area and if required use a degree of force to enforce the zone. As a result o f this, the US moved slowly during the second half o f 1940 to

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a status that was halfway between straightforward neutrality and belli­ gerency. As conflict intensified on the ocean, Roosevelt discreetly increased such activities. Isolationists still complained, but the national defence argument was an effective one. Along with many liberal Demo­ crats, Roosevelt believed that Wilson’s problems during and after World War I had been aggravated by depicting the war as a crusade. Expectations had been raised and the failure to meet them had undermined America’s ability to participate in world affairs. National defence seemed a much sounder basis on which to proceed. It also undercut some o f the argu­ ments o f the isolationists: they found it hard to argue against taking measures to defend the country and found themselves falling back on anti-British arguments that were carrying less weight. They remained, however, a significant political force in 1941, and Roosevelt continued to shape his policy with them in mind. Roosevelt’s desire to secure British victory but not to go to war meant the United States’ status became increasingly ambiguous. In some ways, it began acting as an active ally. In the spring o f 1941, British and American planners engaged in secret staff talks. It was agreed that if Japan attacked in the Far East, a defensive war should be fought against them, with the priority given to defeating Germany first. Intelligence co­ operation began, though with hesitancy on both sides. Nonetheless, it was a major step for a nation still at peace. More was to follow. In April, in agreement with the Free Danish authorities there, the US set up air bases in Greenland. The naval patrol zone was extended to halfway across the Atlantic, and information on U-boat sightings was passed to British convoys. Roosevelt was under pressure from Harold Ickes and Henry Stimson to give greater assistance, for the British were losing 500,000 tons of shipping a month to U-boats. When he declared that protection o f supplies to Britain ‘can be done, ... must be done, ... will be done’, public response was positive —but Roosevelt’s own caution about taking a step that would actually bring war meant that he did not order the Navy to escort convoys. In May, Roosevelt declared an unlimited national emergency, which implied that the US should strengthen its defences. In July, using execu­ tive orders (which bypassed Congressional debate), he ordered the occupation o f Iceland and the escort o f convoys to the edge o f the US defensive perimeter, but then he backed down and restricted the action to the escort of American and Icelandic ships. It was not clear exactly what the Navy should do when encountering German submarines. The suspi­

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cion of isolationists was that Roosevelt was hoping to provoke an incident. It seems likely that Roosevelt still hoped to avoid war, but was being carried forward by the logic of trying to help Britain as effectively as possible. American mobilization was still in its early stages, so that a provocation of war at this stage would have been premature as well as foolhardy. On 9 July 1941, Roosevelt invited Army and Navy chiefs to give him a breakdown o f all the resources they would need to defeat Germany and Japan. The first draft o f what became known as the Victory Programme was presented to him in September, though it was not really complete until December, as the needs of Britain and China had to be factored in — as did those o f the USSR after it was decided to grant it Lend-Lease aid in November.4 This meant that the US entered the war without a plan ready for the implementation of the mobilization of resources, production and manpower, prioritized according to strategic needs. American war production had increased, but in a haphazard way as a result of contracts from the Allies and unco-ordinated orders from different sectors o f the US military. Only four per cent of US military expenditure during the war was spent in 1941. The US moved even closer to alliance with Britain in August. Roosevelt agreed to meet Churchill in a highly secret meeting on war­ ships in Placentia Bay off the coast o f Newfoundland. At the meeting they agreed the Atlantic Charter. This was essentially a statement of war aims, a remarkable document for a nation still at peace to enter into with a belligerent nation. It stated that the two powers had no desire for territorial aggrandizement. They supported the right of all peoples to choose their form of government (though Churchill made it clear that this did not mean the liquidation of the British Empire). They reiterated the need for freedom from want and fear. They supported equal access to trade and raw materials, saving, as Churchill insisted, present arrange­ ments (meaning the Ottawa system). The defeated aggressors would be disarmed until a permanent peace-keeping organization was established. The Charter represented the re-entry o f the US into a central role in world affairs. The British could be well pleased at this further commitment to their cause, though the Americans had made clear the importance to them of the opening of the colonial empires to American trade. After Harry Hopkins reported on conditions in Moscow, it was also agreed to co-ordinate aid to the Soviet Union, which had been attacked by Germany on 22 June.

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In September 1941, the expected event happened. The USS Greer, engaged on convoy escort duty, was fired on by a U-boat. Despite the probability that the Greer had provoked the attack, Roosevelt used the incident to justify full participation in the convoy system, and declared that American warships had a right to engage in ‘active defence’ against Axis ships within the US defence perimeter. This meant that they would aggressively chase down sonar contacts, and implied that they should shoot on sight. Roosevelt’s misrepresentation o f the Greer incident showed his continuing uncertainty about public opinion. This had been reinforced by the narrow passage (by one vote in the House) o f the renewal o f Selective Service, but he probably misread the situation. Americans were hesitant about preparing for war, but agreed that their warships should defend themselves by whatever means necessary. They were, however, largely unaware that the US Navy was effectively already at war. In October 1941, after the USS Kearny was torpedoed, with loss of life, Roosevelt described U-boats as ‘the rattlesnakes of the Atlantic’ and asked for the end of the ‘carry’ provision in the Neutrality Act and for US merchant vessels to be permitted to arm. On 31 October, the destroyer USS Reuben Jam es was torpedoed and sunk, and 100 sailors killed. In mid-November, Congress approved the end of Cash-Carry, though only with slim majorities. This meant that American ships could now carry supplies all the way to Britain, and unless the Germans gave up the Uboat blockade, American ships would be sunk and lives lost. Still the American mood supported defence measures but not war, and Hitler kept his U-boats under some restraint. It is possible that he hoped the growing crisis with Japan would divert American attention. United States policy towards Japan had changed in 1940. Prior to this, American disapproval of Japanese aggression in China had not been reflected in policy beyond a moral embargo on arms shipments. The Japanese war effort was in fact dependent on the US: in 1938 ninety per cent o f their scrap metal, ninety-one per cent o f their copper and sixty-six per cent of their oil came from this source. China received little in the way o f aid. American policy was guided by concern to preserve a lucrative trade while the economy was still in recession, and this led them to fuel a war machine of which they thoroughly disapproved. JapaneseAmerican relations had long been less than cordial. They were effec­ tively rivals in the West Pacific, and for influence in China. The 1921 Washington Treaty was seen by the Japanese as an attempt to restrain

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them. American exclusion of Japanese immigrants, already in place through the ‘Gentlemen’s Agreement’ of 1908 was formalized in immi­ gration quotas set in 1924. This intensified Japanese resentment. The Panay incident and America’s unwillingness to become involved in Asia convinced many Japanese, especially the Army, that the United States was a weakly led power with no military tradition. They therefore felt no imperative to avoid a fight if the US stood in the way o f what they identified as Japanese vital interests. A shift in American policy in 1940 meant that this possibility might soon be realized. Reports from Ambassador Joseph C. Grew in Tokyo encouraged a reappraisal o f American policy; it was decided that the Japanese would respond to firm handling. For their part, Americans underrated Japanese military and naval capabilities and thought they would not risk taking on the might o f the United States. These fatal misperceptions of each other, fuelled by racial and cultural assumptions, led both nations down the road to collision. In May 1940, the Pacific Fleet was moved from California to a forward base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii to act as a deterrent. The 1911 Trade and Navigation Treaty with Japan was abrogated. When the Japanese put pressure on the British —who were naturally preoccupied with the Battle o f Britain —to close the Burma Road supply route to Jiang Jieshi, followed by pressure on Vichy French officials in French Indo­ china, Roosevelt restricted supply to Japan of strategic materials: aviation fuel, scrap iron and rubber. This was believed to be a painless way of helping the British. It would attract little notice from isolationists and could in any case be justified by the American military’s need for these strategic materials. The embargo, however, placed the US in the position o f being the main obstacle to Japanese expansionism. Undeterred, the Japanese began the occupation o f Indo-China in September, with Vichy permission, and joined the Axis Pact with Italy and Germany. This provided for mutual aid in the event of attack. Roosevelt’s response was to embargo all metals, machine tools and some chemicals. As with the steps to war in Europe, it is possible to see the path to war in the Pacific as a predetermined one o f incremental steps from the point the embargo was put on. Again this ignores the hope, and indeed expec­ tation in the case of the Pacific, that strong measures would send the right signals to Japan, which would be successfully deterred. Once a hard-line had been decided upon following Grew’s ‘green light’ messages, assumptions about the Japanese character meant little attention was paid

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to the possibility that the Japanese would actually be provoked into attacking. The danger of Japanese advances southwards was that vital materials for the British war effort were located in their path, most importantly rubber in Malaya and oil in the Netherlands East Indies (NEI). British forces there were weak, having been denuded for campaigns elsewhere, and the Dutch territories looked very vulnerable. For most Americans who were aware o f the Pacific crisis, however, it was the plight of China that affected them most. Roosevelt in fact gave little material aid to the Chinese at this point, but the exploits of the ‘Flying Tigers’ — the American Volunteer Group of airmen led by Major-General Claire Chennault —received disproportionate publicity in the US. This meant in practice that there was widespread support for a hard-line against Japan, even if Roosevelt’s concerns about the British Empire were not shared by the public. The fact was that no groups campaigned against the drift to war with Japan, as they did in the case o f Germany. There was little fear of such a war: it was expected to be primarily a naval affair against an inferior foe. This resulted in an incautious policy that risked war. In July 1941, there was the added possibility that Japan would strike against Britain’s new ally, the USSR. The government froze Japanese assets in the United States, and demanded withdrawal from China as well as Indo-China as a condition for the lifting o f the embargoes. While it was not at first intended, the implementation o f this meant the end o f oil exports to Japan. This effectively gave the Japanese an ultimatum, for Japan’s stockpile of war materials would be exhausted by the end of December. No incentive was offered for withdrawal —except peace —for if done, the Japanese would no longer need the strategic materials that they would then be allowed to receive. In any case, the undefeated Japanese Army would never have tolerated voluntarily relinquishing the territory they had won. Instead, the Japanese began to develop their idea o f the Greater South-East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere; a New Order for Asia, that, as one US official put it, ‘banged, barred and bolted’ the ‘Open Door’ (free access for American trade). At the same time, the Americans began developing contingency plans for war in the Pacific. Forces would be up to strength in the Philippines by March 1942, with a bomber force to act as a deterrent. It is often asserted that Roosevelt wanted to avoid war with Japan until Germany was defeated, and indeed he told his diplomats to string the Japanese along until the Philippines

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were fortified and the European war won. However, he quickly lost sight o f this, for his and Cordell Hull’s policy was not well designed to achieve this end. The termination o f oil exports meant that the issue would have to come to a head by December. Neither side realised how serious the other was. The Americans did not see how their threat to the Japanese war machine would drive them to further expansion, while the Japanese did not see how vital was the American interest they were threatening: essential resources for Britain and the survival o f China. In August, the Japanese Prime Minister, Prince Konoye, offered a withdrawal from Indo-China, once the ‘ China Question’ was resolved, together with a promise not to attack the USSR, nor to attack the US if it went to war with Germany in its own defence. Hull, sensing Japanese weakening, refused to budge and insisted on Chinese territorial integrity. Konoye’s failure to break the deadlock led to the fall o f his administra­ tion and his replacement by General Hideki Tojo in October. Tojo’s government embarked upon a twin-track policy. They sent Saburo Kurusu to Washington as a special ambassador to endeavour to get a free hand in China and an end to the embargoes. Simultaneously, in view of the December deadline, they prepared to go to war. The main Japanese targets were Malaya and the NEI. However, they calculated that their drive south could be interdicted by American forces in the Philippines, at that time an American colony. In a fateful decision, it was planned to take the US Navy out o f the equation by a surprise attack on it at its moorings in Hawaii. This would gain time for Japanese advances to be completed. It was expected that the Americans would then accept the fa it accompli. The mastermind behind the Pearl Harbor attack, Admiral Isoruku Yamamoto, was less optimistic, but his first­ hand knowledge of the Americans was discounted amid Japanese assumptions about America’s lack o f martial character. On 26 November the Japanese Third Fleet left home waters undetected, and headed across the North Pacific. Negotiations con­ tinued in Washington, but Hull would not modify his demands. In Operation Magic, the US Signal Intelligence Service had broken Purple, the Japanese diplomatic code, and indeed were reading messages from Tokyo before the ambassadors were. This material gave plenty o f warning that an attack southward was imminent, but was less clear that the US would be attacked, and where. The British in Singapore, the Dutch in Bandung and the Office of Naval Intelligence in Washington had been able to monitor Japanese main fleet movements by penetrating

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the naval JN-25 code, but this was revised at the start o f December and became unreadable. It did not therefore provide the crucial evidence of where the Japanese were going to strike. George C. Marshall sent a warning on 27 November to all US forces in the Pacific: ‘hostile action possible at any moment’, followed up on 30 November with a clarification that this was a war warning. Although they were supposed to be keeping the Japanese in play, the Americans made no attempt to avert the war that they saw was coming. Instead, Roosevelt made a pledge to the British through Ambassador Halifax that the US would step in if British territory was attacked by Japan, though it is very doubtful whether he would have found public support as strong as he wanted it to be for a war to protect British colonies. At dawn on Sunday 7 December the Japanese resolved this issue for him, at least an hour before Ambassadors Nomura and Kurusu delivered the latest Japanese message to Hull.5 Aircraft from the six carriers o f the Third Fleet attacked American battleships at anchor. Such an attack had been believed impossible because of the shallowness of the harbour, but the skill o f the combat-hardened Japanese pilots, combined with their superb 24-inch Long Lance torpedo, made a mockery of such compla­ cency. The USS Arizona blew up, the USS Oklahoma capsized. Battle­ ships West Virginia, California and Tennessee sank to the bottom at their moorings. The other battleships were all heavily damaged. One hundred and eighty-eight aircraft, gathered in the centre of their airfields because o f fear of sabotage, were destroyed, and 159 damaged. A total o f 2,403 Americans were killed: the Navy lost more men that day than it had in the Spanish-American War and World War I combined. It was a devas­ tating blow, and certainly did render the US Navy unable to intervene as Japanese forces swept south into Malaya and beyond. However, it was a limited success. The vital US aircraft carriers were missing from Pearl Harbor that day. The Japanese commander, Nagumo, cancelled the third strike and headed home, believing they would soon be detected. This strike would have attacked Pearl Harbor’s oil storage and fleet repair facilities, and the failure to do so was to have serious ramifications. Furthermore, the slow battleships that had been sunk were diminishing assets for modem warfare, and are unlikely to have been effective either in interrupting Japanese advances, or in the battles that followed. American opinion was shocked. Roosevelt asked Congress on 8 December for a declaration that war existed with Japan, calling the previous day one that ‘will live in infamy’. American uncertainties and

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reservations were swept away. Congress voted overwhelmingly for war.6 But it was war with Japan they were voting for. When the Cabinet met on 8 December, only Henry Stimson believed a declaration o f war on Germany ^as possible; the American public saw their war to be against the nation that had attacked them. For three days, it was less likely than it had been for a year that the United States would go to war with Germany. Then, for reasons that can only be speculated upon, on n December Hitler declared war on the United States. In doing so, he sealed his fate.

Notes 1. For a good introduction to the New Deal, see Fiona Venn, The New D eal (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998). 2. Explanation for the isolationist impulse has often been sought in a single reason; for an example of the multiplicity of motivations operating for one individual, see Peter G. Boyle, ‘The Roots of Isolationism: A Case Study’, Journal o f American Studies, vol. 6, no. 1 (1972), pp. 41—50. 3. Isolationists and advocates of all aid short o f war have attracted more attention than those who were pressing that the US should enter the war, though they included some major figures. See Mark L. Chadwin, The War Hawks o f World War II (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1968). 4. Roosevelt encountered much opposition to aid for the USSR in Congress and the military, either because the material was wanted elsewhere or through political prejudice. For the debate on Lend-Lease, see George C. Herring, A id to Russia 1941—1946: Strategy, Diplomacy, the Origins o f the Cold War (New York: Columbia University Press, 1973), pp. 12—21. 5. Contrary to many accounts, this message was in any case not a declaration o f war. 6. The one vote against was by Representative Jeannette Rankin of Montana, a pacifist who had also voted against a declaration of war in 1917.

CHAPTER 2

Setbacks and Struggles

On its entry into the war, the US faced an overlapping series o f struggles: to mould the American democracy and economic structure into an instrument o f total war, to mobilize the people and prepare them for sacrifices, to overcome initial defeats and military setbacks, and to create a war-winning partnership with its new allies. On 9 December 1941, Roosevelt declared in ringing tones, ‘We are going to win the war, and we are going to win the peace that follows’. The country was, however, unprepared for either of those tasks. While strategic planning and intelligence co-operation with the British had begun, much less had been done to plan the institutional structures, mobilize public opinion or organize production. US rearmament was proceeding slowly and was encountering many obstacles — not least the competing demands of Lend-Lease and of America’s own forces. These problems were to continue. Isoruku Yamamoto famously warned that Pearl Harbor had awakened a sleeping giant; it would have filled Americans with a ‘steely resolve’ . Indeed it did, but it took time for that to be translated into effective war effort. R o u t and R e co v e ry in the Pacific Twelve hours after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the Japanese managed to catch another US base by surprise: aircraft in the Philippines under the command of General Douglas MacArthur were attacked as they leisurely took lunch before sortieing out to attack Japanese ships. Even though rearmament had been underway since 1940, US forces were both materially and mentally unready for war —especially war with the battlehardened, highly trained and motivated Japanese Army and Navy. It came as a surprise that the Japanese had some technological advantages. The Mitsubishi Zero fighter was superior to anything the Americans could put in the air. The Japanese torpedo was excellent compared to the American model, which in the early months suffered repeated failures.

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American forces stationed in the West Pacific could delay but not halt the Japanese advance. Marines put up stiff resistance on Wake Island that held up the Japanese for two weeks and inflicted heavy losses on the attackers, but it, and Guam, fell before Christmas. MacArthur’s command in the Philippines fared little better. The bombers that were supposed to be a deterrent were mostly destroyed on the ground. MacArthur’s defensive strategy was fatally flawed. He intended to defeat the Japanese on the beaches, and his over-confidence led him to neglect making any preparations for retreat, in addition to failing to defend his airfields. Consequently, when American and Filipino troops were forced back onto the Bataan peninsula and Corregidor island, what should have been strong defensive positions had not been fully prepared, nor had supplies been stockpiled while there was time. MacArthur’s forces put up a stiff resistance, but were undermined by shortages of food and medical supplies. MacArthur was withdrawn from the Philippines by Roosevelt on 11 March to take command o f forces to be built up in Australia. The troops on Bataan knew him as ‘Dugout Doug’, but the US needed a war hero badly and MacArthur was more than willing to put himself forward for the role. His impressive publicity machine, abetted by Republicans who saw him as a potential candidate for the 1944 presidential election, drew a veil over his blunders on the Philippines, and made much of his stirring promise to the islanders, ‘I shall return’. They fought on without him on Bataan, eating monkeys, horses, snakes and grass, until forced to surrender on 9 April. Corregidor followed on 6 May. Making MacArthur a hero helped obscure the fact that the US was incapable at this time o f reinforcing them or rescuing them. Treated with contempt by the Japanese, to whom a soldier who had surrendered had lost his honour, the ‘battling bastards of Bataan’, as they called themselves, had to undergo the horrors of the sixty-five mile ‘Bataan Death March’ on their way to prison camps; hundreds died on the way and thousands in captivity. The initial Japanese offensive carried all before it in South-East Asia. The Japanese Army advanced rapidly through Malaya and into Burma. Hong Kong fell on Christmas Day, followed by the surrender of the supposedly impregnable British base at Singapore on 15 February. In a vain attempt to stem the tide, the British, Australians, Dutch and Americans pooled their forces into a joint command, A B D A (AmericanBritish-Dutch-Australian Command), but they were swept aside at the Battle of the Java Seas. By March, the Japanese Army had pushed into

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Java and Sumatra, and up to the borders of India, while the Navy bombed Ceylon (Sri Lanka) and Darwin and extended their defensive perimeter as far south as the Solomon Islands. Japanese forces landed on New Guinea and prepared to threaten Australia. Alerted by the cryptanalysts, who were again making inroads into JN-25, the US Navy rushed its major surviving battle group to the South Pacific. At the Battle of the Coral Sea on 7 May 1942, the Japanese advance was halted. In the first naval battle where the two opposing fleets never came in sight o f each other, the results were about even. The Japanese lost a small carrier, the Americans lost the larger Lexington. However, the balance was evened by the damage to Japan’s two most modern carriers, which were forced to miss the showdown at Midway. The invasion fleet heading for Port Moresby turned back. The Japanese Navy still dreamed of a face-to-face confrontation with the American fleet - the aim of Japanese naval planning since the triumph over the Russian fleet at Tsu-Shima in 1905 had been to draw an enemy out into a pitched battle and destroy him. In April, in an audacious move, US Army B-25 bombers, launched from Hornet and led by Colonel James Doolittle, had bombed Tokyo. It was done to raise American public morale after the series of defeats: when asked where the bombers had come from, Roosevelt replied enigmatically, ‘Shangri-La’ . The damage caused was slight, but Japanese confidence in their security zone had been dented and the Emperor’s safety directly threatened. Reluctance regarding the N avy’s plan for a decisive showdown melted away. A massive task-force was therefore sent to attack the American island of Midway in the Central Pacific, with a diversionary expedition to the Aleutian Islands in the north. The Japanese, however, were afflicted with what they called ‘victory disease’ —over-confidence. Their plan was far too complex and was based on an underestimation of their opponents and a misconception o f what their main target should be. Yorktown had been damaged at Coral Sea, but because the repair facilities at Pearl Harbor were still intact, it was able to be made battleready without the long trip back to California. By a prodigious effort, repairs that should have taken ninety days took seventy-two hours. Along with Enterprise and Hornet, she sailed to meet the Japanese. Admiral ‘Bull’ Halsey, the leading carrier admiral, was ill, so Admiral Chester Nimitz, Commander-in-Chief o f the Pacific Fleet, appointed Admiral Jack Fletcher to command, with Rear-Admiral Raymond ‘Electric Brain’ Spruance commanding Enterprises group. They had a crucial advantage.

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The Japanese had sent the whole plan by radio (Japanese use o f radio was habitually insecure). It had been deciphered and the crack codebreaking team at Pearl Harbor had obtained confirmation that the objec­ tive was Midway by a simple ruse of sending an uncoded message concerning the island, and then seeing it referred to in a Japanese message using the codeword for the target. Whereas at Pearl Harbor, surprise rested with Nagumo, at Midway, it was with Fletcher, who was able to plan his moves with good knowledge o f enemy intentions. The result was that at Midway the Japanese suffered a catastrophic defeat that marked the limit of their Pacific expansion. Nagumo launched his attack on Midway on 3 June, with his carriers too far advanced ahead of the main fleet. Fierce American aerial attacks from the island on 4 June surprised him and obscured from him the danger from Fletcher and Spruance’s carriers. Launched at extreme range, the first waves of American torpedo-bombers, obsolete Devastators, were torn apart by the Zeros. By a combination o f skill and good fortune, dive-bombers from Yorktown and Enterprise arrived at the same time, with the Zeros drawn down to sea-level by the Devastators. The four Japanese carriers were caught at their most vulnerable - while refuelling and re-arming their bombers on deck. Three were immediately sunk. A fourth was finished off before evening by a second strike. In return Yorktown was hit and sank despite valiant efforts to get her underway again. It was a loss the Americans would find much easier to replace than the Japanese, who had lost not just four vital vessels, but expert aircrews who would never really be replaced. Future engagements would show how heavy this loss, and the American advantage in both technology —especially radar —and intelligence, were to be. Furthermore, the determination and courage with which the Americans pressed their attacks, despite their inferior equipment, demonstrated that Japanese assumptions about the American lack of fighting spirit were probably their most damaging miscalculation of all. O rganizing the E co n o m y for W a r The New Deal had created an expanded governmental structure, and at first sight it would appear that the instrument forged to defeat depression could relatively easily be turned to defeating the Axis. It was not as simple as that, however. For one thing, the New Deal was not a coherent structure, but a collection of agencies and organizations set up in response to different problems, often overlapping in their jurisdiction and some­

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times following contradictory policies. At the centre of it sat Roosevelt, a bureaucratic improvizer whose philosophy was to experiment, and when one experiment failed, to try another. This gave his approach flexibility but not coherence. The question was whether such a system could be adapted to war. The answer was that it could, very successfully, but at the start there was much confusion, uncertainty and lack o f direction, and it never did run on a fully rational basis. As we have seen, the administration had taken slow and very tentative steps towards organizing agencies for mobilization in the eighteen months prior to Pearl Harbor. It was to take another eighteen months before the organizational chaos that became popularly known as the ‘mess in Washington’ was sorted out, and even then problems remained. Initial actions were promising. Congress gave the President the freedom to reorganize Government agencies in the First War Powers Act on 18 December, ioo billion dollars worth o f orders was placed in the first months of 1942 and the Second War Powers Act in March gave the President power to allot resources for defence and apply penalties to those who would not comply with direction from the centre. However, policies and procedures had to be worked out with regard to prices, wages, management o f resources, planning of production, and the organization of manpower. Standing in the way of easy resolution of these matters were Roosevelt’s style o f government, competing interests and cultural and political attitudes. The New Deal approach was close to Roosevelt’s heart and he maintained it. He liked a multi-stranded approach to a problem. This allowed flexibility and a pragmatic response to developing issues, but it also set up enervating rivalries that could distract attention from the issues at hand. Roosevelt continued unwilling to delegate much power unambiguously to one figure. Conflicting lines o f authority may well have allowed him to feel he was keeping ultimate power in his own hands, but also meant that the Government often appeared not to have clear answers to key questions. Roosevelt’s highly developed political senses made him perhaps over-sensitive to the political consequences of the kind o f policies that were now required. In following this overall approach, Roosevelt was in tune with American culture and tradition. The country would be mobilized for total war in all its aspects on a voluntary basis, and existing organizations, or at least their personnel, would be co-opted to co-ordinate this process. With a weak tradition o f permanent public service, it was natural that it

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was to the corporate world that he turned. The enormous production targets Roosevelt laid down during 1942 were to be met by private enterprise. The tone was set right at the start when William S. Knudsen called together a group o f business leaders, listed the military items now needed, and asked for volunteers to produce them. This reflected the imperatives o f the moment, but also a deeply held cultural assumption, which still existed in spite of the Depression and New Deal, that American business and industrial expertise — especially the abilities to develop innovative technology, to apply science and produce the outcome on a mass scale, and the ethos of competition —could produce whatever was needed in abundant quantities. T o the planning uncertainties this created at the centre o f government must be added local considerations, for war agencies operated on the same basis as New Deal ones in that they depended on local committees and officials for their implementation, which created much variation as a result of local attitudes. Moreover, the political process in the US continued as normal. This meant that local and national politics had an impact on policy formulation and implementation, where in other belligerents they were suppressed in the interest of the war effort. In Congress, the popular readiness for sacrifice reflected in numerous opinion polls was outweighed by politicians’ more traditional attitude with regard to what people could be compelled to do without creating a backlash o f voter hostility. Thus, while there was much public discourse about the extraordinary circumstances o f the war, America’s domestic mobilization was conditioned by traditional American values and practices to a quite remarkable degree. A major example of this was the unwillingness to depart from a market-oriented approach to prices, labour and resources. This was in evidence most strongly on the issue of food prices. There was great fear that wartime shortages, together with the increased circulation of currency, with federal contracts and increased employment, would lead to damag­ ing inflation. However, there was reluctance in Congress to institute tight controls on either prices or wages. In particular, farmers had no desire to limit the money they were making as a result of the demand for their products in the USA and from America’s allies. They had numerous supporters in Congress, and throughout 1942 fierce competition raged between the powerful farm lobby and administration supporters. Eventually, the Stabilization Act of 1942 granted the Office o f Price Administration (OPA) the authority to regulate farm prices.

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There was a serious political price to pay. Farm-belt voters elected Republicans in the Congressional elections of November 1942, since Republicans pledged to support higher farm prices and incomes. Further confrontation on this issue was therefore inevitable. Farm-belt Congress­ men got approval in early 1943 for a rise in price ceilings for agricultural products. On 2 April, Roosevelt vetoed it, warning Congress against starting a firestorm o f ‘wartime inflation and post-war chaos’. One of the farm bloc’s grievances was that the administration favoured urban workers, and it was true that they and ethnic groups formed the core of Roosevelt’s support. Organized labour, especially the mass production unions of the Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO), was a key element of this. As with prices, the impact o f the war was to push up wages. To many workers, having suffered depressed wages in the 1930s, they were only receiving a fair deal that they had long been due. It was, however, common orthodoxy that if inflation was to be curbed, wages had to be held down. Leon Henderson identified the infla­ tion problem as a matter of wages. Bernard Baruch recommended wage stabilization. In July 1942, the War Labor Board (W LB) established the Little Steel formula, by which workers could get wage rises o f fifteen per cent but no more, taking the level o f January 1941 as the base. This meant that those who had not benefited from the boom could do so, but that since most workers had already got the fifteen per cent, wage rises were slowed. However, the formula could not stop increases entirely, as it only applied to hourly rates, and workers were working more hours and could also gain considerable fringe benefits. Firms getting contracts from the government would sometimes just ignore the formula in order to attract workers. Then, in October 1942, Roosevelt ordered that they should not be allowed to do this; effectively there should be no more wage increases. He strengthened this in April 1943 with his ‘hold the line’ order, which meant the W LB could not alter the Little Steel formula, even to correct inequities. The CIO unions were persuaded to agree to a wages freeze and to enter into an agreement not to strike for wage increases during the war. Furthermore, in many industries, premium payments for overtime — usually payment for ‘time-and-a-half —were dropped. One immediate consequence o f this was a decline in union membership, since people generally joined unions to improve their material circumstances. Union concerns about this were met by a system whereby employees were given fifteen days on taking up employment to opt out o f union membership.

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In some industries, unions were given what amounted to a ‘closed shop’ —all employees having to belong to a particular union; this would be a CIO or an A F L union rather than a company one. Union membership then steadily rose, reaching 14.75 million in 1945 (compared to 8.5 million in 1940). Workers could also gain de facto wage rises by negotiating changes in job designation. But as a general trend, the rise in workers’ take-home pay was the result o f the increased hours they could now work, as factories worked around the clock, and also the fact that there was more work in better-paid industrial occupations. In January 1942, the War Production Board (W PB) was established, in an attempt to rectify the deficiency that existed in 1940—1 with regard to rationalization of productive effort. Donald Nelson was made head, with the ostensible responsibility o f managing production, encouraging industrial expansion in the right areas and dividing scarce resources in accordance with stated priorities. The Second War Powers Act gave the W PB the power to stop or limit civilian production. Already, on 31 January, Nelson had moved to address one of the major problems of 1941, and prohibited the production o f civilian cars and trucks. However, in practice, Nelson’s abilities to control business and industry were severely constrained. Even on the issue of civilian car manufacture, many companies obtained exemptions and suspensions of the order that allowed them to continue civilian production well into 1942. A more enduring problem was the fact that the Army and Navy retained the power to make their own procurement contracts. They were supposed to act in conjunction with the W PB, but jealously maintained their independence on this matter. This was a major loophole in any plan to truly co­ ordinate production or resources. In an attempt to manage resources, WPB laid out a Controlled Materials Plan (CMP) in the fall o f 1942. Materials such as copper, aluminium and steel were heavily in demand. The CMP was designed to manage the distribution of them to prioritized users. The most serious shortage was in rubber. Japanese conquests gained them control of ninety per cent of the world’s rubber supply. It was indicative of the lack o f advanced planning for war that there was no contingency plan in place to deal with this problem, nor had steps been taken to produce synthetic rubber. There was disagreement about which method to use: to base production on grain alcohol or on petroleum. Each had a powerful lobby group in Congress. It was also important to reduce usage, which mean limiting

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people’s use of automobiles. The easiest way was gasoline rationing. There was opposition to this from the oil industry and from some states that depended on gasoline revenues, and it was anticipated that limiting the freedom to drive would be unpopular. To avoid siding with one interest or another, and to avoid rationing, Roosevelt started a scrap rubber drive, in which Americans were encouraged to turn in all their rubber goods for recycling. The response was good, and from the standpoint of encouraging civilians to become involved in the war effort by making sacrifices, it was well worthwhile. However, in terms of easing the rubber shortage, it could only be a stop-gap. Within Congress, the farmers’ lobby was strong enough to gain approval of the use of alcohol for synthetic rubber production. Roosevelt, however, set up a non-partisan investigation of the rubber issue, which reported in September 1942 in favour o f using petrol, the appointment o f a Rubber Director, and gasoline rationing. Rationing began in December, with a ban from January 1943 on all pleasure driving. William Jeffers, president of the Union Pacific Railroad, was made Rubber Director, and though he employed mainly people from the rubber industry, in time he showed good results. W PB was unable to bring military, or indeed business, leaders, under its control. Nelson’s authority was undermined by the continuation of the tendency seen during the New Deal o f responding to a new problem by establishing a new agency rather than extending the powers o f an existing one. The appointment o f ‘czars’ by Roosevelt to deal with specific issues, such as petroleum, rubber and manpower, was a clear example of this. They reported to the President and bypassed, in usual Roosevelt fashion, a linear chain o f authority. Nelson was not strong enough personally, nor did he have a sufficient political base, to fully overcome these difficulties and stamp W PB authority on war production planning. As he rightly said, the switch to war production was not so much industrial conversion as industrial revolution, as the US became truly geared up at last to be the arsenal o f democracy, but it was not really a centrally managed process, depending instead on the activities and energies of American businessmen. There was never any question of the government taking direct control o f production by nationalizing factories. This would have been seen as far too socialistic —and the limited World War I experiment of nation­ alizing the railroads was not believed to have been a success. It followed, therefore, as Henry Stimson said, ‘if you are going to try to go to war, or

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prepare for war, in a capitalist country, you have got to let business make money out of the process, or business won’t work5. Working through private enterprise meant in practice providing incentives beyond the appeal to patriotism that sufficed for workers. An administration that had once been reviled by businessmen, and which in turn had viewed them with contempt, now called large numbers of them into its service, and unsurprisingly then shaped wartime measures that favoured business, especially big business. They came as ‘dollar-a-year men’, paid just that by the government so that they could retain their corporate salaries and positions. Corporate lawyers took up important roles, particularly in the departments run by the two Republicans, Frank Knox and Henry Stimson. They too brought their pro-business sympathies into the heart o f government. Companies converting for war work —which in 1940—i many had been reluctant to do —were given tax incentives to do so that underwrote the cost o f conversion. Furthermore, excess profits made in the war could be offset for tax purposes against post-war losses. Immunity was granted from anti-trust suits if the co-operative arrangements between businesses could be shown to benefit war production. Business was shielded from any risk in undertaking war work —such as the design of new weapons systems that might or might not be adopted by the military —by the costplus-a-fixed-fee system in which the government paid development costs and a percentage profit on what was produced. Competitive bidding was ended, so firms found themselves unrestrained by budgeting. The reluctance to compromise the operation of the free market beyond a certain point was seen also in policies on manpower. In other belli­ gerent countries, manpower was treated as a scarce resource that had to be closely controlled and directed into work of the greatest importance for victory. In Britain and the USSR, this encompassed not only the direction o f labour into designated war work, but also the conscription of women. In the US, there was great reluctance to do either of these things, and Congress in particular was unwilling to progress very far in these directions, believing such measures would prove vote-losers. The evidence of public opinion polls, interestingly, suggests they may have been wrong, for the public usually voiced enthusiasm to be called upon to ‘do their bit’, so long as sacrifices were distributed fairly. The government, however, proceeded cautiously. The War Manpower Commission under Paul V. McNutt, established in April 1942, exper­ ienced problems in directing manpower, in the absence of co-ordinated

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plans for production. It did manage to gain control over Selective Service, over the objections of the War Department, which throughout the war sought to keep control of anything connected with the Army. In January 1943, McNutt issued a ‘work or fight5 order —in effect a call to national service. It attracted great political opposition, especially when it was proposed to draft fathers. Congress prohibited them being taken before men without children, regardless of their occupation. Furthermore, Congress accepted a proposal to defer essential farm workers from the draft, and defined widely what this meant; tobacco, for instance, was listed as an essential crop. Consequently, the burden on industry to provide soldiers was increased, and inefficient use of farm labour encouraged. If the central direction of manpower was resisted, so was rationing, which was also felt to be a vote-loser. It was seen to be deeply against the values o f the free market that Americans were fighting for. The OP A did manage to ration vital items: apart from the most controversial, gasoline, they included shoes, sugar, canned food and coffee. Tyres, butter and alcohol were all scarce, and the OPA encouraged conservation. To save materials, skirts got shorter, cuffs disappeared from trousers, and the two-piece swimsuit, with bare midriff, appeared on America’s beaches. Rationing was, however, administered by local committees, which produced many variations. Clearly there needed to be co-ordination between all these different efforts to manage production, prioritize resources, direct labour, and keep prices and wages under control. Roosevelt’s first attempt at doing this was to set up yet another co-equal agency, the Office of Economic Stabilization, headed by James F. Byrnes, who relinquished a place on the Supreme Court. Byrnes’ office was in the White House itself. Byrnes was a strong, forceful character, and Roosevelt increasingly came to rely on him for domestic matters. In May 1943, he recognized this position formally by establishing the Office of War Mobilization (OWM) under Byrnes. In the OWM, Roosevelt at last set up an agency to oversee and co-ordinate the diverse elements of the wartime productive effort. Although he disliked the press’s designation of Byrnes as his assistant president, he had in effect recognized that his efforts to maintain personal control by diffusion o f authority were not producing the best results. The establishment of the OWM was a key point in the war on the American home-front, and the enormous achievements of production produced in 1943-5 must at least in part be ascribed to this clearing of the bottlenecks and confusion that the earlier ad hoc methods had produced.

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F o rg in g a G rand A lliance The administration found itself immediately dealing with the funda­ mental issue of the war aims o f the coalition against the Axis. In October, during a conference in Moscow arranging protocols for the supply of materials to the USSR, Stalin had proposed a formal alliance with the British. British Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden arranged a trip to Moscow. Three days before Pearl Harbor, he discussed it with John Winant, now Ambassador in London. The USSR had annexed a large amount of neighbouring territory during the period of its non-aggression pact with Hitler, notably the independent Baltic states of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia, and the eastern half of Poland. Eden said he had no inten­ tion of recognizing these conquests, but it is clear that Cordell Hull and the State Department did not believe he would hold this position. For them, granting recognition would severely compromise the moral stance of the Allies. It would be unjust, and would also gain nothing, for, as Hull wrote, the Soviets were primarily interested in the supply o f war materials at a time when the Germans were at the gates of Moscow, not in political issues. The anti-Axis partnership was formalized in the United Nations Declaration signed on i January 1942 by the US, Britain, the USSR and China, and subsequently twenty-two other nations. The Atlantic Charter served as a statement of war aims, although vague in many of its terms and omitting issues that were to become of importance. In the months that followed, the whole nature of the alliance was in the melting pot. Eden wanted the Soviet conquests recognized, in the interests of forging allied unity. Roosevelt and Hull, and Hull’s two immediate subordinates at the State Department, Sumner Welles and Adolf Berle, took a high moral stance, insisting that the Atlantic Charter should not be breached. Roosevelt then angered the British by suggesting that Stalin hated and distrusted both the Foreign Office and British political leaders, but liked Roosevelt better. Perhaps they should settle matters personally between them. This was a tactic to which Roosevelt was to become very attached. At this point it went no further than a discussion with Maxim Litvinov, the Soviet Ambassador in Washington. It still managed to upset the British, who had no desire to allow Roosevelt to take control of Allied relations with the USSR. As a result, Churchill, formerly opposed, came round to the idea o f a frontier concession in order to cement an AngloSoviet alliance. What the Soviets really wanted —an offensive in the west

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to take the pressure off Moscow and Leningrad (the so-called ‘second front’) —was out of the question for the over-stretched British, who were suffering further catastrophes in the Far East, and for the unprepared Americans. Since it seemed sensible to the British to forge a lasting alliance to fight the war and co-operate in restraining Germany afterwards, the only basis appeared to be Stalin’s political demands. The Americans saw things differently, believing the Soviets to be mainly interested in immediate problems, and were less concerned at this point about the post-war period —except in so far as they wanted to keep a free hand. Soviet Foreign Commissar Vyacheslav Molotov went to London in May 1942 to negotiate an Anglo-Soviet treaty. Ambassador Winant made it clear to him that the US would not approve any frontier changes in advance o f the peace conference. Molotov’s main concern was getting a second front and Stalin judged it sensible not to antagonize the Americans —perceiving also that the frontiers would be decided on the battlefield. Molotov travelled on to Washington, and asked Roosevelt bluntly if there would be a second front that year. Roosevelt then showed he was as unwilling as the British to disappoint the Soviets, by saying that ‘we expect the formation of a second front this year’. This took no account o f the fact that neither the Americans nor the British were in any position to undertake such an operation. The official communique o f the meeting was more ambiguous: ‘full understanding was reached with regard to the urgent tasks o f creating a second front in Europe in 1942’ . When Molotov returned through London, Churchill pointed out that this depended on certain developments and was not a promise, but the Soviets then proceeded to act as if it was a firm commitment. Also in Washington, Roosevelt, again casually and without developing the idea with his advisors, had suggested to Molotov that the post-war settlement should be administered by ‘four policemen’ and that other nations should be disarmed. Roosevelt was to make a habit of thinking out loud in such meetings, with unfortunate results. In this case, while close to his personal thinking —and particularly his desire to get on close personal terms with Stalin, who would be the other big policeman —the idea was somewhat at odds with the moral tone of the Atlantic Charter, and in particular with growing enthusiasm among the American public and in Congress for international democracy in a new world organization. This ambiguity in American aims was to become more marked as the war progressed.

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D evising a S trategy for V icto ry The US tradition in military strategy advocated that battle should be joined as soon as possible at the point where the war would be decided, even though this might mean attacking where enemy forces were strongest. This derived from a confidence in the quality and strength o f American forces, abundant resources, technological superiority and a preference for the direct approach. British military tradition, especially for a war on the continent o f Europe, was quite different. Britain had always favoured indirect methods, stretching the enemy’s resources by naval blockade and by involving the enemy in conflicts around its peripheries. Prime examples were the Peninsular campaign against Napoleon and the failed Gallipoli campaign in 1915. The wisdom o f this approach had been confirmed for the British by the experience o f the ghastly stalemate on the Western Front in 1914—18. American strategists had already considered the issues of a two-ocean war. In November 1940, the Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Harold R. Stark presented Plan Dog to the Joint Planning Board of the two services, and then to Roosevelt. The plan then formed the basis of one of the series o f war plans codenamed Rainbow: Rainbow-5 advocated that in the event of a war with Germany, Italy and Japan, a holding operation should be conducted in the Pacific while attention was devoted to defeating Germany, with close co-ordination with the British. It was reasoned that Germany could stand without Japan and was more likely to develop dangerous new weapons, but that Italy and Japan would find it difficult to fight on after a German defeat. Such plans did not take into account the actual circumstances in which war might arise, nor the impact o f politics on strategic planning. When British and Canadian military planners conducted secret talks in Washington between January and March 1941, the approach they agreed, A B C -i, was essentially that of Rainbow-5. Roosevelt and Churchill agreed at the Placentia Bay conference in August that Germany was the main enemy, which should have meant that they sought to avoid conflict in the Pacific, though their decision to put pressure on the Japanese ultimately led to that conflict erupting. When it did, Churchill travelled to Washington and from 22 December 1941 to 14 January 1942 conferred with Roosevelt (the meetings were codenamed Arcadia). They confirmed that they would follow a ‘Germany first’ strategy: blockade and bombing would ‘close the ring’ around Germany in 1942, to be followed by an invasion in 1943. In the Pacific

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they would merely seek to hold any further Japanese advances away from important resources. A B D A was set up for this purpose, though it proved inadequate for the task. The most important decision made at Arcadia was to establish the Combined Chiefs of Staff (CCS). American and British military chiefs would meet regularly in Washington to agree strategy. The British would be represented by a staff mission, the Amer­ icans by their Chiefs of Staff. There would be a combined secretariat and committees to deal with supplies, resources, shipping and, perhaps most importantly, intelligence, a matter of traditionally great sensitivity in any co-operation between allies. A single supreme commander would be appointed for each theatre to command all the forces of the Allies, answerable to the CCS. The US and British military efforts were as a consequence of this decision ‘mixed up together’, as Churchill put it, to an extent unheard-of in previous conflicts, with ultimately a significant effect on the outcome o f the war. This did not mean that all was running smoothly in the alliance. Apart from the fact that it took time for Americans and British to become accustomed to such intimate co-operation, the establishment of these bodies did not eradicate their profound strategic disagreements, based as they were on cultural and even ideological differences. They did, though, provide a regular forum for frank discussion, and eventually agreement — though neither Roosevelt nor Churchill was prepared to waive his right to make the final decision. The Americans entered these arrangements at a disadvantage. The British had honed their own administrative structures in two years of war, and spoke at Allied meetings with a common voice, backed by exhaustive briefing. The Americans did not form their Joint Chiefs of Staff Committee (JCS) until March 1942, and even then sometimes brought their inter-service rivalries to the conference table, openly argu­ ing in front o f their allies. The JC S consisted of George C. Marshall, Army Chief of Staff, Admiral Ernest J. King, who had succeeded Admiral Stark, with the revived title of Commander-in-Chief, US Fleet, and Lieutenant-General ‘Hap’ A. Arnold for the U SAAF (though it was technically part o f the Army), with Roosevelt’s Chief o f Staff Admiral William Leahy in the chair. The major problem was that the Navy and the Army viewed the war quite differently. While Marshall wanted all resources to be devoted to a direct attack on Germany through France, King saw little scope for the Navy in the European Theatre (ETO ) and wanted to concentrate on the Pacific, where he saw the N avy’s role as

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paramount. The difficulty was that the Navy had a crucial role in the ETO . The first condition for an invasion of France was a build-up of American forces in Britain (codenamed Bolero). This required victory in the Battle of the Atlantic against the U-boats. While King had commanded the Atlantic Fleet with great skill during the quasi-belligerency of 1941, the Navy, however, was not by tradition or equipment inclined towards convoying and anti-submarine warfare; the potential enemy that had been its major strategic focus since the end of World War I was Japan. Moreover, offensive operations in both the ETO and the Pacific hinged on amphibious assaults, which required landing craft. Deficiencies in numbers o f these, because of a priority given to warships in 1942, bedevilled planning throughout the war and meant that it was impossible to mount all offensives simultaneously. This intensified conflict between King and Marshall. Furthermore, in the first twelve months after Pearl Harbor, the British had the greater number of forces in combat in the ETO (which included North Africa). This gave them a weight of influence in strategic planning that they did not hesitate to use. After Arcadia, Marshall quickly became dissatisfied with the lack of action that had been planned for 1942. Under his urging, his principal planners, Major-General Dwight D. Eisenhower and Colonel Albert Wedemeyer devised a plan for Bolero and for Operation Round-up —a cross-Channel invasion —in summer 1943. Moreover, there would be large-scale raids during 1942, with the seizure of a beach-head, and forces would need to be ready to move in if either Germany or the USSR seemed on the verge of collapse (Operation Sledgehammer). When Marshall put this plan to the British in London in April, they agreed to Bolero, but were sceptical about any operations in 1942; indeed they showed little enthusiasm for Round-up. Although Marshall argued that ‘through France lies our shortest route to the heart of Germany’, British preference was to avoid a potential repeat of either Dunkirk or the stalemate of 1914—18. The British view carried the day: as one American official ruefully noted, ‘we came, we listened, and we were conquered’ . Churchill travelled to Washington after the Molotov visit to clarify that no promise of a second front had been made, and to argue that Sledgehammer was out of the question. He pressed for a Mediterranean strategy; in particular an invasion o f French North Africa, to end the German threat to Egypt and Middle Eastern oil, and to pave the way for a campaign against Italy, perceived by the British as the weakest link in

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the Axis. This would clear the Mediterranean sea-lanes and greatly ease communications with the eastern part of the British Empire. The American planners had deep misgivings at what appeared to be a diversion o f effort. Wedemeyer complained that the British plans were ‘designed to maintain the integrity o f the British Empire’. However, they could not avoid conceding that forces would not be ready for an invasion of Western Europe in strength that year. Heavy losses in an exploratory raid on Dieppe on 19 August 1942 confirmed the difficulties o f such an operation, especially without air superiority. Roosevelt was under pressure from King to put the greatest American effort into the Pacific, and there was public support for all-out action against the Japanese, about whom American emotions were much stronger than they were for the Germans. During 1942, more Americans were deployed to the Pacific than to the ETO . Roosevelt himself still believed Germany to be the main enemy, and he felt committed to the Soviets. He was anxious that American forces be engaged as soon as possible in Europe to show the importance of that theatre. In a Congressional election year, with criticism of the conduct o f the war mounting, he wanted to satisfy public opinion that decisive action was being taken. He therefore overruled the JC S . The result was Operation Torch, launched on 8 November 1942 (as it turned out, too late to influence the elections). Under the command of Eisenhower, a largely American force of 65,000 landed at Casablanca, Algiers and Oran. Torch revealed the difficulties and complexities of inter-allied opera­ tional planning and of seaborne assaults, and was a valuable exercise. Whether it was strategically sound is debatable. To have a significant impact, Anglo-American forces needed to move speedily through French North Africa and secure Tunisia, in order to cut off the possibility of German reinforcements. However, the landings were made too far west, and too much time was spent negotiating with the French authorities. By the time that Allied forces approached Tunisia, Hitler had reinforced it strongly. The Afrika Korps, retreating from Montgomery’s British Eighth Army arrived there as well and prepared their defences. The inexperienced American Army received a sharp baptism o f fire at Kasserine, suffering heavy casualties. Instead o f the quick victory that had been intended, it took the Allies until May 1943 to finally defeat the Germans in Tunisia, seriously delaying their next advance. Torch also threw into relief the political issues that were irrevocably attached to strategic decisions. To secure a peaceful entry into French

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North Africa, an arrangement was made with Admiral Jean-Frangois Darlan, a major figure in the Vichy French regime. He was an object of hate to the Free French led by Charles de Gaulle. De Gaulle was kept out of the North African operation, and the management o f relations between him and the French authorities there was to prove timeconsuming and difficult.1 As far as the Allies were concerned, anything that eased their passage and reduced their casualties was worth doing, but for some critics the moral purity o f the cause was sullied by associa­ tion with collaborators. The situation was only slightly eased - though Allied embarrassment was lessened —when Darlan was assassinated by a French royalist on 24 December 1942. The matter did indicate that military expediency would over-ride most other considerations. The political controversies aroused by Torch induced Roosevelt to take the initiative. After a conference with Churchill at Casablanca in January 1943, he announced to the press that the Allies would require their enemies to surrender unconditionally. He was worried about the disillusionment that followed World War I; the Germans had surrendered on the basis o f Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points, but they were subsequently treated much more harshly, with the result being the revanchism that led to World War II. This time no such promises would be made. Moreover, Roosevelt was concerned to avoid potentially damaging disagreements between the partners o f the Grand Alliance. Unconditional surrender appeared to be a straightforward policy on which they could all agree. It would serve a useful purpose too in convincing the suspicious Soviets that the Allies would fight to the finish. Roosevelt, as ever, had his eye on American public opinion, which had not reacted well to the Darlan affair, and wished to assure the public that there would be no sordid deals. It fitted in with his already defined aim of ‘complete victory’, though in point o f fact documents like the Atlantic Charter and the United Nations Declaration had established that there were some rights that the vanquished would be accorded. By the beginning of 1943, therefore, two major principles had been established for the Grand Alliance concerning the nexus of strategy and politics. The Soviets had not been involved in the political decisions in North Africa, and the deal with Darlan set a precedent that the nations principally involved in liberating territory would shape the political arrangements there to suit their needs and inclinations. Second, the war aim of the Grand Alliance was simply to be victory, and any political issue that threatened to split the alliance and compromise its chances of victory

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would be left to be discussed at the peace conference at war’s end. In particular, no promises would be made to the enemy nations, even those elements in them that might be pro-Allied. However, the main issue of inter-Allied contention in the eighteen months to follow was strategic: where and when would the promised second front appear?

Notes i. The US had maintained relations with the Vichy regime in France from June 1940, hoping to influence them not to align too closely with the Germans (especially in turning over their fleet), and also as a channel of contact into occupied Europe. De Gaulle, the self-styled leader of the Free French, criticized this decision, saying it impeded his ability to get Frenchmen to oppose the Germans. Roosevelt saw de Gaulle as an undemocratic figure, and perceived that he aimed to restore French power in its Empire. Roosevelt, unlike Churchill, did not conceive of a major role for France in the post-war world and wished its empire to be put into trusteeship. He met de Gaulle at Casablanca, but the two never got on, and the Americans consistently favoured other Frenchmen as leaders o f the Fighting French, only grudgingly acknowledging de Gaulle’s standing, under pressure from Churchill. See Simon Berthon, Allies at War: the Bitter Rivalry Among Churchill, Roosevelt and De Gaulle (New York: Carroll and Graf, 2001).

CHAPTER 3

Awakening the Sleeping Giant

The winter o f 1942-3 saw the Axis held at their point of furthest conquest. 1943 was to be a crucial year, when the Allies began to advance. In the United States, the sense in 1942 o f fighting with whatever there was in a desperate defensive scramble was superseded by a focus on the broader issues raised by war, and mobilization for the kind of war that had to be fought: total war. Issues were raised about which American cultural sensitivities were high: in particular, propaganda and race. In 1942, the war was easily seen as a matter of national survival. In 1943, broader questions about the nature of the war and its relation to American values at home, in the military conduct o f the war and in interactions with allies became live and had to be faced. The challenge was how to simultan­ eously preserve and advance what was most cherished in American values, while also confronting the radical new challenges brought by such a war. cW h y we fight5: Mobilizing the H earts and Minds o f the People As with other areas o f mobilization, a number of overlapping agencies for propaganda were established in 1939—41: by the start of 1942 there were five o f them, each responsible for an aspect of public information, but with lines of demarcation vaguely drawn. Propaganda during World War I had been crude and unsubtle. It had whipped up hatred against the Germans and had encouraged a narrow-minded patriotism. This had resulted in vigilantism against German-Americans, conscientious objectors and other critics of the war. Awareness of these excesses, and of the sub­ sequent backlash against them, made Roosevelt sensitive to charges of propagandizing, and he insisted his government’s aim was merely to provide information. However, increasingly in 1940 and 1941, the thrust o f that information had been supportive of intervention. Appointees to the propaganda agencies tended to be journalists o f liberal New Dealer persuasion, who had come to be committed interventionists. In 1917, the principal aim of propaganda had been to unify the nation

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behind the war. The reasons why the US was in the war were com­ plicated and needed to be explained to a population that included many recent immigrants from countries the US was fighting. The issue was different in World War II. Pearl Harbor united the American people in what they saw as a defensive war. However, government information strategies were never going to be simply ‘reporting the truth’ . Quite aside from the need to keep information from the enemy, public morale had to be maintained. In past wars this was required principally as a support to the fighting personnel. Now, the American role as arsenal of democracy meant that American workers were regarded as ‘production soldiers’ . The principal thrust of wartime propaganda was therefore to drive home to them that their behaviour had a direct impact on the course of the war. An atmosphere of total war had to be developed, so that Americans would work harder and willingly make the personal and material sacrifices needed for victory. While the Office of War Information (OWI) that was set up in June 1942 appeared to provide a central direction for this effort, in fact it was carried out by a number of government agencies with different needs and also by private bodies. Thus the W PB, the Treasury and the armed services were heavily involved in propaganda activities. Industrial corpora­ tions bombarded their workforces with images and slogans, principally in the form of posters at the workplace. Thus some o f the most famous and enduring propaganda images of the war were produced outside the auspices o f the OWI. The Why We Fight documentary film series was made by the Army. The famous poster of a woman worker, rolling up her sleeve, over the slogan ‘We Can Do It’, often (and erroneously) called ‘Rosie the Riveter’ was drawn up by John Howard Miller for, and exhibited by, the Westinghouse Corporation.1 New media had developed in the years preceding World War II that gave the propagandist greater scope for influencing public attitudes. Radio, film, magazines (especially the new photo-journals such as L ife), billboards, recorded popular music and small posters were all now put to use not only to supply information, but also to inspire. The thrust of American propagandists’ work was consistently one of inducing voluntary co-operation rather than threatening coercion. The main themes were the need to work harder, avoid ‘careless talk’, avoid waste, and buy Victory Bonds. Propaganda sought to do this by developing emotional responses: either positive and uplifting, by using symbols of the American heritage of freedom and emphasizing the justice o f the American cause

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encapsulated in the Four Freedoms and the Atlantic Charter, or by appealing to more negative emotions such as guilt (at not being at the fighting front) or fear (of the consequences o f enemy victory). Posters in the latter vein could be quite graphic, showing corpses on the battlefield or stark images o f enemy brutality. In this there was a clear difference between the European and Pacific theatres: while Germans were some­ times depicted with degrading animal imagery, the tendency was to distinguish between Germans and Nazis, and to focus on the evil leaders and their symbols. Sensitivity to the overdone atrocity propaganda of World War I meant that World War II propaganda never really embraced the full horror o f Nazi crimes. The depiction o f the Japanese, however, reflected and perpetuated the racial and cultural elements o f the Pacific war. The Japanese were depicted as a race possessing brutal, savage natures, characterized by gruesome caricatures or animals such as rats. The OWI was generally hostile to such depictions. Many o f its officials, especially before mid-1943, were eager to present the war to the people as an ideological, not a racial, conflict, though they had limited success in restricting ‘hate the enemy’ propaganda. The OWI issued many sets o f guidelines on propaganda, the most famous of which is the manual for the film industry, which asked the question, ‘Will this picture help to win the war?’ They pressed for positive images showing the US to be a united society with all groups pulling together and as a progres­ sive society which was addressing and solving its problems, such as racism. A major new element in the field o f public information was the Hollywood film industry, one of America’s most lucrative industries. Some eighty million Americans went to the cinema once a week, even at the height o f the Depression — during the war the figure rose to one hundred million. Hollywood was sensitive about government interfer­ ence, and had established the Production Code Administration, or Hays Office, to carry out its own censorship of its product. The Production Code was based upon the principle that Hollywood’s output was entertainment. It had clear strictures against movies engaging in political controversy, administered forcefully by the Catholic conservative Joseph Breen. Before American entry into the war, the film studios had moved cautiously towards anti-isolationism. The Jewish origin o f some studio bosses may have been influential in this; more broadly, the severe restric­ tions the Nazis put upon imports of American films into the Reich (they were banned outright in August 1940) seriously cut into the industry’s profit margins, and meant that the British Empire and Commonwealth

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became an increasingly important market. The studios made some critiques of Nazism, such as Confessions o f a N af, Spy (1939), though the main example, The Great Dictator (1940), was made by Charlie Chaplin against the objections o f many industry leaders. They were happy, however, to make information films showing the military in a good light. Furthermore, during 1941, the studios became bolder in making films that supported the Allied cause. Features such as A Yank in the R A F and the highly acclaimed Sergeant York encouraged Americans to identify with Britain’s fight and, in Sergeant York’s conversion from pacifism, to see that the US had a responsibility to fight evil. This reinforced the tone o f newsreels that stressed British civilization and courage and America’s role as arsenal of democracy. In September 1941, isolationist senators, led by Burton K. Wheeler and Gerald P. Nye, launched an attack on Hollywood for alleged bias in favour of intervention. The industry was ably defended at the hearings by Willkie, who revealed Nye to be ignorant of most o f Hollywood’s output. In fact, there was some truth in the charges, for the industry did not give equal attention to both sides of the argument. Isolationists had become stock Hollywood villains some time before Pearl Harbor fully discredited their cause in the public mind. The effect that the Japanese attack had in unifying public sentiment behind the war meant that the government was not faced with a difficult propaganda task. With the American cause apparently so clear — selfdefence against a deceitful and brutal enemy —the administration could set itself at the start to maintain its preference for informational over inspirational propaganda. The name of the agency responsible, the Office of Facts and Figures, under the Librarian of Congress and poet Archibald MacLeish, encapsulated that aspiration. However, the mobilization of the whole nation for total war necessitated more than that. In June 1942 responsibility for all ‘public information’ was put into one organization, the OW I, though the armed forces jealously maintained control o f their own public relations. Head of the OWI was Elmer Davis, a popular radio commentator. The OWI was not responsible for censorship, and Davis said his role was simply to tell the truth. This did not prevent Republican critics from asserting that the OWI promoted Democratic Party values. Examination o f the O W I’s relationship with Hollywood certainly reveals a desire to project a particular image o f the US and the war, beyond the simple provision of information. Hollywood was predisposed to support the war effort when war came. However studio bosses contested the right of government, through the

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OWI, to interfere with their product, and therefore their profits. They continued to see their principal purpose to be entertainment. They resisted the sometimes heavy-handed attempts of the OWI to insert or accentuate a particular message. Some studio bosses were not well-disposed to Roosevelt (a major exception to this being Warner Brothers), and suspected the OWI of being left-wing. On the other hand, they were aware that Roosevelt had suspended anti-trust proceedings against the film industry, but could easily re-commence them if they appeared too obstructive. The actual influence o f the O W I’s Bureau of Motion Pictures (BMP) was inconsistent and it is difficult to draw a general pattern. The film industry had a number of reasons to make movies about the war. Govern­ ment encouragement was one. But with the war preoccupying the minds of its audiences, they would have done so anyway. The war offered a fresh backdrop for all existing genres: dramas, comedies, romances and musicals. Hollywood was patriotic and wanted to help the war effort, gladly donating resources to make informational shorts or morale­ boosting cartoons like Disney’s popular Der Fuehrer's Face, starring Donald Duck, or their paean to strategic bombing, Victory Through Airpower. Disney animationists also designed badges for units and nose-art for aircraft, and Disney’s studio was the only one designated essential to the war effort and accorded a military guard. However, the studios continued to regard feature-length movies as entertainment, and therefore made for profit — a business they considered they knew far better than the OWI. Unlike other industries, such as steel, the film industry was never converted to war production. Not only did the studio bosses resist this, they also differed from the New Dealers in the BMP as to how the war should be shown when they did address war issues. Some Hollywood writers and directors shared the O W I’s New Deal vision, but most studio heads did not, and they resented the insertion of such themes as the sharing of responsibility between unions and employers for the management o f industry. Nonetheless, Hollywood’s output did tend to support and propagate the war aims of the administration as a whole, if not those o f the left-liberals in the BMP. Propaganda in World War I had raised idealistic expectations about the aims of the war. Americans had not been prepared for the fact that their partners had aims o f their own. The US entered World War II with a clearer sense of what the war was about. While the war was charac­ terized as one fought for democracy and freedom, there was no need in propaganda terms to overplay this, as few Americans were in any doubt.

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Work did have to be done to bring the image o f America’s allies into line. Hollywood contributed Mrs Miniver (1942), a multiple Oscar winner, Mission to Moscow (1943), an overdone rewriting o f history in favour of Stalin, The North Star (1943), written by Lillian Helman, and Dragon Seed (1944), based on a book by Pearl Buck, all of which helped to persuade Americans that their allies were worthy partners who shared American democratic values and aspirations for the post-war world.2 The U SSR offered the greatest challenge. This was solved by following a line encouraged by the Soviet Embassy: Communism was passed over, and instead the Soviets were depicted as ordinary people —simple peasants or factory workers — defending their homes and homeland against a fearsome aggressor. Culture from before the Revolution was stressed; Tchaikovsky and Tolstoy rather than products of the Soviet era. The Soviets were almost always described as ‘the Russians’ and characterized as a romantic and cultured people. The tyranny of their regime was usually ignored. In Mission to Moscow it was depicted as justified by the danger of German fifth columnists. Generally this proposition was too much for most people and the purges, labour camps and forcible collectivization were just ignored. Instead it was implied that the noble Russian peasants were fighting for their own farms —not collective ones. Stalin became the benevolent ‘Uncle Joe’ . Soviet aims, it was implied, were the same as those o f the United States - and Stalin’s acceptance of the Atlantic Charter taken as proof of this. Before the war, Soviet persecution of religion had been a major problem for many Americans. The revival of the Russian Orthodox Church by Stalin made the selling o f this new image o f his regime that much easier. While all of this may have been necessary to maintain wartime unity, it was to cause subsequent problems when the Soviet aims and methods that had been obscured from the public became clear. Moreover, those who had been responsible for producing these images were to be given cause to regret it, finding themselves objects of suspicion in the anti-Communist mood o f the late 1940s. Hollywood was happy to dramatize the OWI themes o f sacrifice, courageously facing personal losses, and national unity, in movies like David O. Selznick’s Since You Went Away (1944). Favourite storylines included the transformation o f a man from a coward to a willing soldier under the influence o f patriotism, frequently with a noble, strong woman to point to him the way that duty lay, or the need for unity and effort at the workplace, and willing sacrifice at home. Women were shown taking on work while retaining their femininity —or rather, what Hollywood

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had traditionally regarded as feminine qualities. On the thorny issue of race, with a few exceptions, such as Alfred Hitchcock’s Lifeboat (1944), Hollywood met the O W I’s concerns about demeaning stereotypes by writing out black characters altogether, which also meant they avoided offending white Southern patrons. The OWI achieved effective influence over movies only when the tide o f war had turned. No-one disputed the government’s right to censor material that was exported to foreign countries. As American troops advanced, so movies followed quickly behind, and the studios, ever mindful of profits, happily concurred now in OWl-inspired changes to present a positive image o f the US in order to gain the licences from the Office of Censorship to exhibit their product in the liberated territories. The best-known film propaganda, however, was not produced by the studios, nor under OWI guidance. This was the seven-film series Why We Fight, directed by Frank Capra and made by the Army. Marshall was an enthusiast for film, and was dissatisfied at the low quality o f the traditional lectures the Army used to educate its men about the war. He believed that a citizen army needed to know what it was fighting for. Capra was famous for his celebration of the common man and his sturdy populist Americanism in movies like M r Deeds Goes to Town (1936) and M r Smith Goes to Washington (1939). A major in the Signal Corps since before Pearl Harbor, and impressed by the power o f documentary films made by Leni Riefenstahl for the Nazis, Capra produced innovative and highly effective films, showing the causes o f the war. The perspective was solidly anti-isolationist, critical of appeasement and supportive of Wilsonian internationalism. America’s allies were each depicted in their own film, and shown in a good light, particularly the Soviets and Chinese; the deficiencies o f both regimes were glossed over in a populist focus on the courage of the ordinary Chinese or Soviet peasant, with a nod to the enlightenment of the present leadership. Running at nearly an hour, the films did not fit conventional pro­ gramming, and when released commercially for public showing, the first, Prelude to War, was not a box-office success. However, Roosevelt thoroughly approved o f the series, and they were widely shown, both to the American public and overseas in addition to their original target audience in the Arm y.3 As with other aspects of the domestic war effort, the conduct of pro­ paganda was not free from conflict. Congress was deeply suspicious that the OWI was a propaganda agency for the New Deal and for Roosevelt.

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The liberal, internationalist agenda of many o f its leading officials tended to confirm this. Given that much of the propaganda directly related to the war effort was being carried out by other bodies, Congress found the OWI a soft target, and was able to play on popular American sensiti­ vities about propaganda, which could easily be depicted as out of place in a democratic society, especially if it departed from the provision of neutral information. In 1943 the OW I’s budget was severely cut and its domestic activities drastically reduced. Concurrently, a long-running conflict within the agency between artists and dollar-a-year advertising professionals was resolved in favour of the latter. From then on, the O W I’s input into government propaganda eschewed abstract symbols in favour o f the slick, literal images of advertising designed to appeal to what was regarded as the poorly educated ‘lower-third’ of the American population. American propaganda was thus subject to the vagaries o f the politics of the war. A variety o f messages was put across; the common theme for all o f them was the need for all citizens to exert themselves. The cause was liberty —and even those who agreed with Vice-President Wallace that social reform was still necessary could not argue against the proposition that the US enjoyed that liberty above all other nations, and was fighting to defend it. Propaganda thus raised expectations about America’s allies, many of them flawed, but raised far fewer about what Americans were to expect at home from peace apart from the ‘normalcy’ o f the life they experienced before. R ace and the W a r If the US was engaged in a fight for democracy as Americans believed, and as they were informed by their government, then the issue of the place o f ethnic minorities in the US was a test of the validity o f these ideals. During World War II there was not the widespread indiscrimi­ nate hostility towards Germans in America that there had been in World War I. Propaganda tended to be more subtle, and in particular it reflected the government’s concern not to alienate the significant German-American population, by distinguishing between the Nazis and the German people as a whole. Prominent German-Americans were able to speak up for recent arrivals, most of them known to be refugees from Nazism. The FBI treated cases on an individual basis, and while carefully investigat­ ing enemy aliens, did not treat them indiscriminately. The situation was even more relaxed for Italian-Americans.

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This was in stark contrast to the experience o f Japanese-Americans. This group was principally located in Hawaii and California. In the latter, there had long been tensions between them and Californians of Euro­ pean origin. Japanese immigrants were restricted in their land ownership and occupation, but had made the best of the situation and had become successful market gardeners and small businessmen. The attack on Pearl Harbor brought an exaggerated reaction in California, with fears of imminent Japanese attack. Given the significant naval bases there, the presence o f so many Japanese appeared a serious security risk. The military authorities were not prepared to take any chances, and prevalent anti-Japanese feeling in California meant that they found few defenders there. Many indeed saw an opportunity to obtain land and property from them and remove the economic competition they represented. To their discredit, federal authorities in Washington shared these alarmist reac­ tions. Roosevelt signed Federal Order 9066 on 19 February 1942, which required all persons o f enemy alien descent to report to the authorities for evacuation from areas vital to security. The order was only imple­ mented against those o f Japanese descent. The justification given was a military one: the whole of the west coast was defined as a military area. The FBI was confident that it had identified and arrested all potential saboteurs (several thousand enemy aliens were arrested), but the Military Commander of the West, Lieutenant-General John DeWitt, believed all people of Japanese origin to be loyal to the Emperor, and wanted them evacuated. ‘A Jap’s a Jap’, he said, ‘whether he is an American citizen or not. I don’t want any of them’ . Curfews and restrictions of movement were imposed. Sharing the prejudices of Californians, the authorities in states in the interior, such as Idaho, refused to allow Japanese to resettle there. To deal with the problem, the Army set up clearing centres for relocation. The War Relocation Authority was created in March 1942 under Federal Order 9102, and directed by Milton Eisenhower, brother of the general. Over 112,000 were relocated, with only the possessions they could carry. 71,000 o f these were American citizens, thirty per cent were under nineteen years old. They were interned in camps without any form of trial and without being accused of any offence. Their ethnicity was taken as o f itself rendering them a threat to national security. Unlike Germans and Italians, treated individually, the Japanese were treated as a group, reflecting deep-seated prejudices in California, but also the racial ingredient of the Pacific war that was lacking for the war in Europe. Ten camps were eventually established, in California, Idaho, Utah,

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Arizona, Wyoming, Arkansas and Colorado. They were equipped with basic facilities, and were very cramped, bitterly cold in winter and sweltering hot in summer. Authority positions were only given to Nisei (American-born Japanese-Americans), undermining traditional patterns o f generational authority, for they were mostly the younger generation. To add insult to injury, attempts were made to recruit internees into the armed services: only 1,200 joined up. Two cases were taken to the Supreme Court contesting the internments and the imposition of restrictions on the freedom of American citizens on the basis of their ethnicity. The war atmosphere was such that the security argument was allowed to over­ ride all other factors, and in both cases, Hirabayashi v United States and Korematsu v United States, the government’s position was upheld. In Endo v United States, the Supreme Court ruled that some effort should be made to separate loyal from disloyal citizens, but little attempt was made before the evacuation order was ended in the last months of the war. No Japanese-American was indicted or tried for espionage or treason. It was only in the 1980s that Congress and the government officially recognized that the internments were a result of prejudice and made a financial recompense ($20,000) to the survivors. That the assumptions behind the internments were unjustified was shown in the war experience of the other sizeable population of JapaneseAmericans; those in Hawaii. There, the 150,000 people of Japanese descent were more integrated into the economy, and were an important element o f war production. Anti-Asian sentiment had never been so prevalent there as on the west coast. Hawaiian leaders resisted the military’s demand to evacuate them from Oahu and there was only smallscale internment. Large numbers joined the Army and served in Europe, notably in the 100th Battalion, 442nd Regimental Combat Team, known as the ‘Purple Heart Battalion’, whose combat record demonstrated the loyalty of Americans of Japanese origin. A similar picture of voluntary service can be recounted for Native Americans. Almost a third of eligible men (over 25,000) from the tribal peoples served in the military: thousands of women too. They also responded to the need for wartime labour, though in some cases this was out of necessity as New Deal programmes that kept them from starva­ tion on the reservations were being run down. Motivated by patriotism, perhaps rather surprisingly given their history, they served with distinction in the military. Probably the most famous was Ira Hayes, a Pima, who was one of the Marines to raise the flag over Mount Suribachi

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on Iwo Jima. They were not segregated as blacks were. Their most notable contribution to the war effort was as ‘code-talkers’. Navajos, Chippewas, Comanches and others were employed on island assaults to transmit messages in their own languages, rendering them indecipher­ able by the enemy, but quickly translated by a colleague back on ship. While the FE PC established after the March on Washington deal had no coercive powers to ensure non-discriminatory hiring practices, blacks greatly benefited from wartime employment opportunities. Some 900,000 blacks entered the industrial workforce; this included many who showed up in employment statistics for the first time, as they had moved from share-cropping or domestic service. Progress was initially slow, for employers preferred to fill vacancies with whatever white labour was available. As productivity expanded, so employers abandoned these reservations. Some unions were more resistant. Despite this, black men and women were able to move out o f low-grade employment into jobs with better pay and status. While black men still found it difficult to get the best, skilled, jobs, semi-skilled jobs on assembly lines now opened up for them. Four hundred thousand black women left domestic service for war work. The average black wage rose from $457 a year to $1,976 (white wages rose from $1,064 to $2,600). They were also prepared to move to where this employment was located; more so than whites. Over a million blacks migrated north and west during the war. Blacks flocked to the aeroplane and tank plants in Michigan, especially Detroit, to Charleston, Mobile and Norfolk, to Chicago, and for the first time a major black migration westwards took place, to Los Angeles, San Francisco and San Diego. Most o f those who left the South hoped to remain in their new locations. All the major war­ time production centres saw the percentage of blacks in their population grow. Along with the other workers who swelled the size of the towns and cities where this new expanded productivity was taking place, blacks experienced over-crowding o f housing, transportation and schools, and pressure on health care facilities that in some places brought them close to collapse. The problems were caused by the failure o f the authorities to make proper provision because o f a narrow focus on purely war-oriented production, but the blame was often put at a local level on those new­ comers who were ethnically or culturally different. Ghettos became full to overflowing and overcrowding of buses, for instance, made segregation rules hard to enforce. Tensions with whites grew as a consequence, and

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were evident across the US —for the first time in the West —and produced violence, sometimes amounting to riots. The worst occasion was in Detroit, on 20—21 June 1943. Detroit’s workforce had swollen to 900,000 from 400,000 in three years. At the same time, state spending on education and health had fallen. Infant mortality rose and there was a tuberculosis epidemic caused by poor housing. New arrivals competed for work and space with the established population. A series of incidents culminated in clashes at a park between whites and blacks that lasted for two days before federal troops arrived. Twenty-five blacks and nine whites were killed. Altogether in 1943 there were 250 racial conflicts in 47 cities. The government formulated no action to deal with this problem. Black pressure to be allowed to fully participate in the war effort, in both wartime employment and military service, was part o f a broader drive for social and political change. Black mobility, which took blacks out of the stifling Jim Crow system, together with the prominence in public discourse of issues o f liberty and justice, undoubtedly galvanized many more blacks to become active in the struggle for equal rights. Membership in the major civil rights organisation, the National Asso­ ciation for the Advancement o f Colored People (N A ACP), rose during the war from 50,000 to 450,000. To the N A A C P, the war was a chance ‘to persuade, embarrass, compel and shame our government and our nation’ into more enlightened attitudes. The N A A C P ’s approach of making legal challenges to segregation made significant progress in 1944 when the Supreme Court ruled in Smith v Allwright that the whites-only primary election in Texas was unconstitutional, on the grounds that primaries are part of the public electoral process. The decision offered the possibility o f greater black participation in the political process. The W LB outlawed wage differentials based on race; in the past this would have meant employers would not employ blacks at all rather than court trouble with their white workers. The wartime need for labour together with government pressure over-rode this —though it was not unknown for differentials to be maintained by creative reclassification of jobs. Government pressure on unions forced them to accept black members; after 1943 they would not be certified as bargaining agents if they refused to accept minorities. By the end of the war over half a million blacks had joined unions. However, perhaps the most important movement forward was in the development o f direct-action techniques, which confronted discrimination head-on in a way that the N A A CP methods did not. The March on

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Washington deal had shown the power o f mass action. The popular Double Victory slogan, coined in 1942 by the Pittsburgh Courier, demonstrated, in contrast to World War I, that black activists were not going to defer their demands for justice until after the war in the hopes of reward for services rendered. The ideological nature o f the war made ‘Double-V’ —not only must Hitler be defeated abroad, but Hitler-style racism at home must also be destroyed —an effective slogan to potentially sympathetic whites. Evidence o f this growing mood was shown in the establishment in 1942 of the Congress for Racial Equality (CO RE). Founded out o f a pacifist Quaker organisation, it was a multi-racial group dedicated to the Quaker tradition o f direct but peaceful noncompliance with unjust laws, with the slogan ‘we die together, let’s eat together’. Beginning in Chicago, but spreading to Washington, Baltimore and other cities, CO RE members challenged segregation in public facilities like lunch-counters by seating themselves in areas designated for other races. In doing this, CO RE members were challenging one of the deepest-held elements o f the American racial stereotype: that blacks willingly submitted to their inferior status. Black militancy was undoubt­ edly on the increase, though after Detroit leaders tried to keep it carefully controlled, fearing white backlash. By the end o f the war over a million black men and women had served in the armed forces. At the start of the war, both the Army and Navy were firmly segregated, and determined not to be ‘a social experiment’ . In previous wars, blacks had served in black units, officered by whites — usually southerners —and were used for secondary and menial functions wherever possible. Their record in combat in the Civil War, the Indian Wars and World War I was a good one, but the military remained convinced that blacks were poor soldiers, lacking discipline under fire and unable to gain proficiency in modern warfare. Blacks were therefore unable to join elite units such as the Army Air Corps or the Marine Corps. In the Navy they served as mess attendants or dockside labourers. Changes came slowly, and not without conflict. Army training camps were usually segregated, with the exception o f officer candidate schools, which were desegregated in 1940. They were often placed in the South, where land was cheap and the climate good. Post exchanges and chapels were segregated. Even the blood supply was categorized by race. For blacks from the North (a disproportionate number of the blacks in uniform for reason of their better health) this was their first experience of the all-pervasive Jim Crow system of the South. Either unfamiliar with

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its customs or unwilling to accept them, black GIs were involved in plentiful incidents. Many white southerners disliked the idea of blacks in uniform, for this called into question their second-class status. Over fifty black soldiers were killed in racial encounters. Almost invariably black soldiers were blamed for incidents that took place and were punished accordingly. Black airmen were trained in a separate camp to whites. The Army resolutely refused to accept that blacks could be combat pilots, or indeed aircrew o f any description. It was pressure from the government —and especially from Eleanor Roosevelt —that brought them grudgingly to establish the training centre at Tuskegee, Alabama. There, under the command o f the charismatic Colonel Benjamin Davis, Jr, 600 black airmen were trained to a high level. The Army had no desire to send them overseas, so they trained for much longer than other units, which were often sent into combat under-prepared. Eventually, again under civilian pressure, the Tuskegee airmen were sent to the Mediterranean, where they served with distinction as the 99th Pursuit Squadron, a fighter escort squadron that ended the war with a ‘perfect score’, having lost not a single bomber from under its protection. As the Arm y’s needs for manpower became more urgent, so its reservations were set aside. Training camps, military recreation and transport were desegregated in 1944, to sometimes violent protests by local whites. Black units were deployed overseas, to New Guinea, to the Mediterranean and to Britain. Black officers were trained to take command positions, though the principle was maintained wherever possible that no black officer in a unit would outrank a white one. One black division was deployed in combat, the 92nd in Italy. By the end of the war, there were black tank units, such as the 761st Tank Battalion that fought in the Ardennes. Black women had joined the Army and Navy and black men had been admitted into the Marines. Again, this had not been achieved easily. Blacks had protested vigorously that their support roles, loading ammunition on assault beaches, for instance, were placing them in dangerous roles, which meant they were getting killed without being allowed to fight. Blacks made up the bulk o f the personnel running the ‘Red Ball Express’ supply system for the Allied advance across France in 1944, and when the Army had to sweep non-combatant units for replace­ ment infantrymen, blacks were taken from this role and fed into units at the front. The successful limited integration o f black and white platoons in the same companies was an important step towards the ultimate

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desegregation of the armed forces in 1948. The Army continued to be reluctant to publicize the quality of the performance of black units in combat, but in fact their record was good. During the 1930s, immigrants from south of the border had been unwelcome, and authorities actively sought to deport Mexican labourers. While farm labourers could be exempted from the draft, they were not immune from the appeal o f better-paid work in the new defence plants and in the cities. This left a shortage o f labour in the rural counties, and to bring in the harvests, local and federal authorities now actively recruited from Mexico. Sensitive about previous treatment o f Mexicans and the possibility of exploitation, the Mexican Government demanded minimum working and living conditions. The result was the 1942 bracero (‘open arms’) programme: Mexico provided farm labourers on annual contracts with wages at equal rates to American workers, with trans­ portation provided from the borders. The US Government promised not to induct them into military service. About 200,000 Mexicans came under the bracero programme; about the same number came illegally. In many cases they replaced Hispanic Americans who migrated into cities to do war work. This influx of people created tension. This was most evident in South­ ern California. Growing numbers of Mexicans and Mexican-Americans in Los Angeles and San Diego provoked anti-Hispanic outbursts in the press and violent incidents. Hispanics and blacks flooded into Los Angeles at a rate of 10,000 per month. They were blamed for crime, especially drugs trafficking. Mexican-Americans were accused of draft-dodging, though actually a disproportionately high number served in uniform. Servicemen were plentiful in these port cities and there was constant conflict between them and young Mexican-Americans, especially pachuco gang members identifiable by their haircuts and ‘zoot-suits’. The ‘zootsuit’ comprised broad felt hat, long jacket, key chain with pocket knife, and trousers flared at the knee and tight at the calf. In June 1943 thousands of sailors and other whites went on the rampage through downtown Los Angeles for over a week. They attacked zoot-suit wearers, stripping them o f their clothes and shearing their long ‘ducktail’ haircuts. The response o f the authorities was to put the city off-limits to sailors and to ban the wearing of the zoot-suit, which frightened the middle classes as a symbol of disorder and assertive ethnicity: that is, they blamed the Mexicans.

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H ard Battles The President and his military planners were faced with two alternative strategies for taking the offensive in the Pacific. The choice between them was complicated by inter-service rivalry and by the personalities involved. The Army preferred a southern strategy, with the starting point the growing American strength in Australia, under the command of General Douglas MacArthur. The idea was to drive north-westwards up through New Guinea, with the objective the liberation o f the Philippines. American forces would then sit astride the vital line of supply from the NEI to Japan. They would be in a good position to aid China and to drive northwards at Japan itself. The major role would be played by the Army, the N avy’s job being essentially limited to getting them ashore safely, and supportive bombardment. The Navy preferred an advance across the Central Pacific, driving straight towards Japan, utilizing sea power in a much fuller way. Typically, Roosevelt avoided making a choice. He was confident American produc­ tive capacity and manpower were sufficient to do both. However, the N avy’s resources were very stretched: the results o f the new building programme initiated in 1938—40 would only appear during 1943, and until then it did not have the strength to pursue its favoured strategy. Instead, the South Pacific theatre was divided, so that the eastern part was made the responsibility of the Navy, commanded by Halsey, and the rest came under MacArthur. The first advance was in August 1942 in the Solomon Islands, and was aimed at Guadalcanal. The Japanese put up strong resistance on Guadalcanal, where the Marines had gained early control of the vital air­ strip. Japanese forces were landed and supplied by night-time naval missions known by the Americans as the ‘Tokyo Express’. American attempts to interrupt these missions led to hard and costly naval battles. During the day American air superiority gave them the edge, but at night, matters were more balanced, with the Japanese having the advantage of their torpedo and good training in night-fighting, while the Americans were able increasingly to bring radar into play. The Americans suffered heavy losses at the Battle of Savo Island, and lost Hornet in the Battle of Santa Cruz, but gained the balance o f advantage. In one fierce night action between battleships, the Japanese Kirishima fought the USS South Dakota to a standstill, but the American vessel was brand new and survived; Kirishima was old and was battered to destruction by the USS

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Washington. A second Japanese battleship was sunk soon afterwards.

The US Navy was gaining in experience, and its rate of replacement of material was much higher than the Japanese. Destroyer actions like the Battle o f Cape Esperance showed the tide o f the naval battle to be turning. After six months of hard fighting in the swamps and jungles of the island, the Japanese withdrew from Guadalcanal, and American ground forces had achieved a significant first victory over them. Allied forces (American and Australian) advanced too in New Guinea, driving the Japanese back to their beach-heads and finally captur­ ing their positions in January 1943. The Allies had still not established exactly how the strategy they had agreed at Arcadia o f ‘Germany first’ was to work, and what it meant for the war in Asia and the Pacific. At the Casablanca Conference in January, an American request that the CCS devote thirty per cent of Allied resources to the Pacific was rejected by the British, but it was agreed to make further offensives against the Japanese. A Pacific Military Council was held in Washington to develop plans. The centre of Japanese defensive strength in the South Pacific was the naval base at Rabaul in New Britain. It was agreed that Allied forces were not strong enough to attack it, so it was decided at Washington that MacArthur would drive up from New Guinea and the Solomons towards the Philippines. The Navy was determined not to play a secondary role, so there would also be an advance across the Central Pacific through the Gilbert, Marshall and Marianas Islands. This had the attraction of being the shortest, most direct route, but the duplication of effort must be regarded in retrospect as wasteful. The dual strategy was, however, confirmed at the Quebec Conference in August 1943. MacArthur’s campaign got underway first, in June 1943. It took a month’s hard fighting to take New Georgia, however. It was therefore decided to bypass the next Japanese strongpoint. This new strategy became known as ‘leap-frogging’ . Japanese strongholds would be left to ‘wither on the vine’. This strategy looked increasingly sensible when it became evident that Japanese forces were determined to hold their ground regardless o f cost, causing heavy American losses in capturing fairly insignificant islands, Thus, in December 1943, after the capture of Cape Gloucester and Bougainville, Rabaul was subjected to intense air bombardment, which rendered it useless as a base, and the Japanese withdrew without the Americans having to take it through direct assault. The cost of direct attacks had been underlined in November, 1943, when the Central Pacific advance began with the attack on Tarawa in the

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Gilberts. The Japanese forces fought hard for these insignificant islands: the largest, Betio, was only the size of New York’s Central Park but was defended by 4,500 high-quality Japanese troops, and the Marines suffered heavy losses. It took five days to capture, and the Americans suffered 1,000 killed and over 2,000 wounded. Techniques still had to be mastered for amphibious landings against well-defended shorelines: many o f the landing craft failed to make it to the beach. Softening-up bombardment from battleships and aircraft, and accurate intelligence of the battle area and enemy order o f battle were shown to be important, but it was also clear that only hard fighting against the skilfully prepared defensive positions and determination o f the Japanese would prevail. There was a long fight ahead, unless other means could be found of bringing Japan to surrender. T h e Battle o f the A tlantic A precondition of an invasion of Western Europe was victory in the Battle o f the Atlantic. It took 144,000 tons of shipping to transport an American infantry division, and 250,000 for an armoured division. While the fast passenger liners Queen M ary and Queen Eliiabeth, carry­ ing 15,000 troops each, could outrun any U-boat, transporting the amount of soldiers and equipment needed to invade France required a considerable reduction in the U-boat menace. This hung in the balance until May 1943. During 1942, the statistics o f sinkings by Admiral Donitz’s wolfpacks indicated that they were close to victory. Britain depended on the sea-lanes for its food and resources for its industries as well as for reinforcements from the US. Shipping was being sunk faster than it could be replaced. At the start of 1942, the U-boats prowled off the American coast, sinking 1.25 million tons in three months. Bathers on New Jersey and Virginian beaches watched horrified as ships were sunk before their eyes. Finally, in March, the objections that a blackout would ruin the tourist trade were over-ruled (ships were silhouetted against well-lit towns), convoying was imposed and constant air patrols were inaugurated. The U-boats moved back into the central Atlantic, into the ‘air gap’ or ‘Black Pit’ that could not be covered by air patrols from Iceland, the US or Britain. Their intelligence service, B-Dienst, was reading the British Admiralty convoy code, and the wolfpacks were skilfully directed into mass attacks on the convoys. At the same time, the British lost the ability to read the German Naval Enigma material.4 Escorts were still in short supply. By the end of 1942, the Germans had

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sunk over 1,000 Allied ships, offsetting the growth in American produc­ tion. The situation was desperate. Victory for the Allies in the Atlantic came from a combination of a number o f factors: bridging the air gap, breaking the Enigma once more, better escort tactics, with more ships and improved weapons, and drama­ tic increases in the production o f merchant shipping — these came together in May 1943 to inflict intolerable losses on the U-boats, and Donitz withdrew them from the Atlantic. Aircraft were by far the most effective weapon against the U-boat, for they forced them below the surface. Apart from V LRs (Very Long Range Aircraft), air cover could be provided by escort carriers. The United States perfected a cheap and fast conversion of merchant hulls into the so-called ‘jeep carriers’. They were unsophisticated and not very fast, but they provided convoys with continual air cover, keeping submarines at bay, and also dealing with attacking German long-range aircraft. While the US Navy’s Tenth Fleet, established by Admiral King for that purpose, was very active in the escort business and in intelligence gathering and exploitation, and US V L R aircraft, especially Liberators, were a major element in the aerial assault on the submarines, the most significant American contribution to the turnaround in the situation was production. The main problem for Britain in 1940—1 had been that the submarines were sinking merchant shipping faster than it could be replaced. In September 1940, the British submitted a basic design to the Americans. The result was a rather slow, unprepossessing ship o f 7,000 tons — immediately christened ‘the ugly duckling’, but the first was launched in September 1941, known as the Liberty Ship. This standardized design, together with a tanker, the T io o f 14,000 tons, and later the improved Victory Ship, was to be a crucial element in winning the merchant ship­ ping war. The turning point was when Henry Kaiser, an innovative industrialist in the construction business on the west coast (his company built the Hoover Dam), but not previously a ship-builder, introduced mass-production techniques into the manufacture o f Liberty Ships in 1942, earning the nickname ‘Sir Launchalot’. Involving innovation, tech­ nical expertise, organization of manpower and resources, and an adaptable workforce, Kaiser’s achievement was a symbolic representation o f the triumph o f the American economy. The mobilization of American shipyards was indeed an incredible feat. Ship-building had not previously been amenable to mass-production techniques, each ship being built individually from the keel up on the

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slipway. Kaiser changed all that. In workshops stretching back inland from the slipway, the superstructure, machinery and other components were built in parts, gathered together and moved down by conveyor belts through the stages of assembly, until ready for lowering into the hull. Standardization meant that some parts could be made by sub­ contractors away from the shipyards and moved in. Welding was used rather than riveting. Jobs were broken down into simple processes capable of being handled by workers with little training. At the start, it took 355 days to build one of the ships; by 1943 that was down to fortyone days. In November, by which time three were being launched a day, one ship was produced in a Kaiser yard as a public-relations demon­ stration in less than five days. Other shipyards adopted the same methods and the productivity of American ship-building increased by twenty-five per cent a year during the war. Liberty Ships were modified for various purposes, such as hospital ships or tank transports. Overall 2,700 were constructed in shipyards across the USA. Two hundred were given to the British under Lend-Lease, and fifty to the Soviet Union. While speed and inexperience of the work force meant that reduced quality, the drawback of mass production, was evident in the fact that one in thirty suffered major defects, they were resilient ships and served their purpose. D isputes o v er S trategy in E urope The delay in the successful resolution of the Tunisian campaign severely constrained strategic choices in Europe in 1943. The British had been arguing for extending the campaign in the Mediterranean by advancing into Italy and thereby striking at what Churchill called the ‘soft under­ belly5 of Europe. The JC S were (rightly) dubious about the ‘softness5 of the Italian or Balkans routes. They argued that effort should be concen­ trated against the main enemy, and the blow directed at the heart of the enemy’s war machine —Germany itself, through an invasion o f France from England. This was endorsed by Stalin, who believed he had received a promise from his allies to open this second front in 1943. However, at the Casablanca meeting in January 1943 (at which no Soviet representative was present), Churchill and the British Chiefs of Staff had managed to persuade the Americans to agree to utilize the forces in North Africa for Operation Husky — an invasion o f Sicily. They believed that Mussolini was the weak link of the Axis and that a hard push would bring him down and allow Allied forces to advance deep into Axis territory with little cost. They argued that at the least,

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Husky would open up the Mediterranean and greatly ease the problem of communications with the Middle East and India. Such imperial consid­ erations did not impress the Americans, and their suspicions were growing that British reluctance to open a western front derived as much from imperial concerns as from memories o f World War I. On the basis that landing craft would then be transferred to Britain for a summer landing in France, the Americans agreed, but General Marshall had serious misgivings that Round-up had been fatally compromised. The failure to defeat the Germans in Tunisia until May, meant that Husky itself did not take place until July. At the Anglo-American Trident conference in Washington in May the British successfully argued that it was impossible now to open a front in Western Europe in 1943, so forces were best used where they were. On 9 July, the invasion of Sicily was launched. Initially, successful deception measures meant the Germans and Italians were caught by surprise. The Allied force o f eight seaborne and two airborne divisions outnumbered the enemy. The military operations did not go as smoothly as they might have, however. For that reason, it was perhaps as well that the British had their way, and that the first attempts at combined AngloAmerican attacks on hostile territory were not carried out against the main western strength of the German Army, in Northern France. Amphibious landings were unopposed and successful, but airborne landings fared less well, a number o f soldiers being dropped in the sea, or killed by friendly fire. American forces commanded by General Patton rapidly took the western part of the island. British forces met stiffer resistance from German reinforcements, and it was not until 17 August that Allied forces completed their occupation of the island at Messina. They had failed to prevent the German and Italian defenders retiring in good order to mainland Italy. The British hoped that Husky would prompt Italy to change sides, and Mussolini was indeed overthrown by his colleagues on the Fascist General Council on 25 July. The new government, headed by King Victor Emanuel III and Marshal Badoglio, entered secret negotiations with the Allies. Marshall was sceptical of the possibility o f obtaining a reversal o f Italian allegiance. He was concerned that the prospect of doing so would divert Allied strategy into further involvement in what he regarded as a side-show, and thought progress would be much more difficult than the British expected. However, in mid-1943, the British contribution o f fighting forces was still greater than the American one,

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and their views held sway. For Roosevelt, in agreeing to this strategy, the important matter was to get American troops involved. Still sensitive about domestic opinion after the 1942 Congressional elections, he felt that there would be criticism if American forces were not quickly involved in further action and the delay in Tunisia meant that this had to be in the Mediterranean. Marshall’s suspicions that the British hoped that opening an Italian campaign would keep resources in the Mediterranean beyond the point that a cross-channel invasion could be readied for 1944 were balanced for Roosevelt by the pressure put on him by the Pacific lobby, to concentrate resources against the Japanese, especially the vital landing craft. Consequently, the Americans approved of the attempts to woo the Italians from their German alliance. The new Italian leaders were willing, but greatly concerned that they should be protected against a violent German response. Negotiations proceeded with Badoglio, but with much confusion over terms. The stated Allied policy of unconditional surrender was the sticking point, and in its first application was revealed to be an impediment to Allied progress. The Soviets were effectively excluded from the process. Eventually terms were reached that could satisfy the Allied requirement but also preserve the Italian sense o f honour. The matter was then clumsily executed. The Italians hoped to keep the arrange­ ment secret until after the Allies had landed in force, and preferably after they had entered Rome. However, within days of the landings at Salerno in southern Italy, Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander, announced the armistice. Instead of achieving what the British had hoped, that the bulk of Italy, plus the Balkan areas under their military control, would fall into Allied hands without any fighting, this clumsy diplomacy meant that the Allies found themselves committed to an expensive and increas­ ingly irrelevant conflict in Italy. It lasted until the end of the war in Europe, and confirmed Marshall’s pessimistic expectations. Not for the first time, Hitler’s response was speedier and more effective than Allied actions. Fresh German forces were committed to Italy. Mussolini was freed in a daring rescue and set up in power in the North. Commanded by Field Marshal Albert Kesselring, one o f Hitler’s best strategic commanders, German forces were rapidly deployed south of Rome. The Allies found themselves fighting a campaign from their landing beaches northwards in mountainous terrain ideally suited to the defence.

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T h e P olitics o f C oalition W a rfare While domestic propaganda was identifying the American cause as a moral one, Roosevelt’s attitudes on the major international political issues were developing along lines in which moral absolutes were secondary. In this he may have been affected by contact with Stalin and Churchill. It may also have been a result of his own pragmatism, and the way that he chose to conduct his foreign policy. In the discussions over the Soviet frontiers in early 1942, the lead had been taken along moral lines by Cordell Hull and Sumner Welles. Welles disappeared from office after accusations about his private life.5 Hull remained Secretary of State, but Roosevelt did not take him to any o f his summit conferences and with the exception o f the Moscow Foreign Ministers Conference in 1943, Hull was sidelined. Instead, the President preferred to rely on his own instincts, and the advice of chosen envoys and advisors such as Harry Hopkins and Averell Harriman. Roosevelt did have some basic objectives, though typically they were never stated unambiguously to the American public. He wished to secure victory while incurring as few American casualties as possible. This was an important factor in relations with the Soviets, who were going to have to bear the brunt o f the ground fighting against the Germans. He was committed in a general way to the liberal world order laid down in the Atlantic Charter. He did not wish to see the extension of Communist influence beyond the Soviet Union. These were not, however, strong guiding influences for his wartime strategy, for he was confident that American power at the end o f the war would be sufficient, if the US remained engaged in world affairs, to influence the post-war settlement in favour o f American interests. This latter requirement meant that he did nothing to discourage American public opinion from expecting a moral settlement to the war, based around internationalist arrangements along the lines laid down by Woodrow Wilson. He feared a return to isolationism should Americans become disillusioned with their allies. Roosevelt himself did not believe that an international organization based on equality of all nations could keep the peace, though he was careful not to say so in public. Roosevelt’s approach was implicit in the Four Policemen concept that he had unveiled to Molotov, and which was to become the core of the final design of the United Nations Organization, in the form of the Security Council and the permanent membership and veto of the Grand

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Alliance partners. Many members o f the administration were deeply uncomfortable with the idea o f power politics or political realism (realpolitik), and Roosevelt himself was not above giving lectures to his allies in a moral tone, but he then tended to compromise that line and showed himself capable of cold-blooded realism when he felt American interests required it. The arrangement with Admiral Darlan had revealed the element of realpolitik behind America’s moralistic stance. This was shown again in the readiness to deal with Badoglio and other former members o f Mussolini’s Fascist regime in Italy. On the other hand, the Americans pressed subsequently for a democratization o f the new Italian Government, and were suspicious of Churchill’s reluctance to do so, believing that it was consistent with his desire wherever possible to restore monarchs to their thrones and establish traditionalist regimes. The politics of war began to enter a new phase during 1943. The Grand Alliance in its first year was barely a reality as a functioning alliance. The British and Americans were busy building the structure of their co­ operation and at every step finding strategic differences. Their relations with the Soviets centred around military issues; supply to the USSR of war materials and the extent to which their military action could take pressure off the Soviet armies. There were certainly live political issues, such as the Soviet frontiers, but essentially the American line was to stand on the statements in the Atlantic Charter and leave detailed discussions until later. Roosevelt, however, had already made clear that he wished to develop a bilateral relationship with Stalin, and this became more important as an aim during 1943. The implications o f this became evident as the political issues o f the post-war settlement became more pertinent with Allied advances during 1943. The Americans began to demonstrate a preference for operating separately from the British in relations with the USSR. The aim was to make sure the suspicious Soviets did not think they were being ‘ganged up upon’, but this was not based merely on the perception of Soviet suspicion. It also reflected an American sense that in strategic and political issues they and the British were following different lines, and that Soviet and American views on such matters might be much closer. That this should be so despite the cultural affinities between the Americans and British and the ideological gulf between even liberal members o f the Roosevelt administration and Soviet Communism, has been explained with reference to the developing view of the USSR within Roosevelt’s inner circle. Roosevelt’s statements regarding relations with

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the USSR in 1942 and 1943 indicate that he concluded that Stalin was primarily motivated by national interest, not ideology. That meant that he could be dealt with in the same way as any other leader. His actions appeared to be driven by an over-riding concern for Soviet security. In this interpretation, the internal tyranny o f the Stalinist system was irrele­ vant. Roosevelt stated his view in August 1943 to William Bullitt, who had suggested that Stalin had ambitions to communize Eastern Europe, I just have a hunch that Stalin is not that kind of man. Harry [Hopkins] says he’s not and that he doesn’t want anything but security for his country and I think that if I give him everything I possibly can and ask nothing from him in return, ‘noblesse oblige’, he won’t try to annex anything and he will work with me for a world o f democracy and peace. According to this view of Soviet policy, most problems were caused by misunderstandings or by Soviet inexperience. Careful handling would solve this problem and make the Grand Alliance a basis for victory and lasting peace. American policy should therefore be to honour its agree­ ments and maintain high-level personal contacts. As Roosevelt wrote to Churchill in September 1944, compromise and delicate handling ‘ought to tide things over for a few years until the child learns how to toddle’ . In order to co-ordinate strategy now that their respective efforts had gone beyond the defensive fight for survival, the three major Allies began to meet together. The Teheran conference took place from 28 November to 1 December. It was the first time Roosevelt met Stalin, and the first time the three leaders conferred in person. Much o f the business o f the conference concerned the military conduct o f the war. The political issues that were growing in importance were given an airing, but there was a general preference, particularly on the American side, to defer discussion on anything that looked like it might provoke contention or disunity. The result was a conference that was generally upbeat, and left a glow of Allied cooperation —except possibly for Churchill, who became very conscious o f the diminishing power of Britain against that of the Soviets and Americans. This was a feeling reinforced by conscious policy on Roosevelt’s part. The Americans had kept the British at arm’s length at the Cairo conference that immediately preceded Teheran. It took place because Stalin did not wish the Chinese to be at the main conference, so as not to antagonize the Japanese. Roosevelt wished to advance the cause of the

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Chinese to be the ‘fourth policeman’ as much as possible, as well as to co­ ordinate Allied help for them, so Jiang Jieshi was invited to Cairo. The British had hoped that Cairo would be a prime opportunity to co-ordinate an Anglo-American line before the meeting with the Soviets, but Roosevelt refused to co-operate. Then, the position was aggravated in Teheran. The Soviets, who shared a wartime occupation of Iran with the British, claimed to have information that there were Nazi agents on the loose in Teheran, and invited Roosevelt to stay at the Soviet Embassy, to save him a long and unsafe journey across town from the American legation. Dismissing the misgivings of his security people and the (probably true) suggestion that his rooms would be bugged, Roosevelt agreed. Churchill stayed at the British Embassy next door. The arrangement suited Roosevelt’s tactics very well, and he was able to meet Stalin without Churchill present. Unimpressed by Churchill’s arguments for operations in Greece or the Balkans, Roosevelt and the JC S continued to regard the invasion of Western Europe as the priority, and the only strategy that would bring about German defeat. This offered the chance for Roosevelt to build a relationship with Stalin, at Churchill’s expense; as Hopkins explained to the British before Teheran, ‘you’ll find us lining up with the Russians’. One of the chief political issues discussed at Teheran, and one that tested Roosevelt’s approach to relations with the USSR, was Poland. While the Americans did not have such formal ties with the Polish Government-in-exile as the British, the Poles had powerful friends in Washington, and effectively mobilized Polish-Americans and Catholics on their behalf. Throughout the war they cherished the belief that Roosevelt was a firmer friend than Churchill; a trust that was to prove somewhat misplaced. For Roosevelt, the Polish-Soviet frontier was just such a thorny and divisive issue that he feared could only distract from the task of securing victory —and he was also torn in different directions by his desire to develop good relations with the Soviets, his sense that on ethnic grounds the Soviet claim was justifiable, his sympathy with the Poles and his awareness of the significance of Polish-American voters, if not to him, then to some of his key supporters, such as Arthur Vandenberg, recently converted from isolationism. While never attempting to bully the Poles into a settlement as Churchill did at times, Roosevelt also clearly wished that the Polish and Soviet leaders would come to a settlement in the common interest. By the end o f 1943, the Polish problem was a canker that was eating

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away at Allied unity, and brought into stark relief the principles and purpose o f the alliance. The Soviets now insisted not only on their 1941 frontier, but also that any future Polish Government be ‘friendly’ to the USSR, and therefore rid of most of the Polish Government in London, whom they regarded as anti-Soviet. He was not wrong about that: most o f them, and the large and effective Polish resistance movement, the Armiya Kraiowa (AK) were as anti-Soviet, and indeed anti-Russian, as they were anti-Nazi. There was little chance o f moving Stalin from this stance — though Cordell Hull hopefully believed that an international organization that guaranteed all states security would render such considerations obsolete. The solution seemed to rest on persuading the London Poles to agree to the 1941 frontier, in the hope that the Soviets would then allow them to take power in Poland when the Red Army marched in. This was the position at Teheran. The Poles would not shift their position, counting on the support of Roosevelt whom they thought carried more weight than Churchill, and also on the strength o f the AK . But at Teheran, Roosevelt agreed that the Polish frontiers should be adjusted so that in effect Poland would be moved westwards. In return for lands east of the 1941 line being incorporated into the Soviet Union, Poland would receive some eastern German territory, though the precise frontiers were not agreed. East Prussia definitely would go to Poland, except Konigsberg, which the Soviets would take. In the process, the Baltic states were also tacitly recognised as Soviet territory — though Roosevelt said he could not say this in public and hoped that all those who wanted to leave would be allowed to do so. He had earlier suggested that if a referendum were staged, it would ease things with his public opinion; neither o f these ideas was taken up by Stalin. Roosevelt was in his element at Teheran, and clearly enjoyed the chance to get down to business with Stalin and employ his skills of frankness, charm and persuasion. The Polish settlement would, of course, leave Poland needing Soviet friendship to protect itself against German revanchism: no doubt this was one of its major attractions to Stalin. There was no chance, however, o f the Poles accepting the eastern frontier, happy though they were to accept any extra territory they might be given in the west. The consequence was that when the Red Army entered pre-war Poland in January 1944, the committee the Soviets set up in Lublin to administer civilian affairs in the liberated areas consisted of Polish Communists from Moscow.

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This was all in the future at Teheran, and the Polish arrangements were part of what appeared from the American perspective to be a success­ ful conference. Roosevelt could be satisfied that a personal relationship with Stalin had been established, and his view was reinforced that Stalin was a man with whom he could do business. Stalin had pressed firmly for a promise that Operation Overlord, as the invasion o f western France was now called, would take place in 1944, and demanded a date be set and a supreme commander appointed. He supported the American proposal for an attack on the French Riviera to coincide with it, and promised a major Soviet offensive to be timed to prevent the Germans moving reinforcements against the French landings. The Big Three discussed the future of Germany, but did not come to a firm conclusion on the dismemberment of the country after the war. They did agree that there should be three occupation zones, to be administered by each o f the great Allies (France was added later at Churchill’s insistence). Most pleasingly for the Americans, Stalin said he could not enter the war with Japan at present, but would do so once Germany had been defeated. He agreed to the idea that American bombers use Soviet bases to bomb parts of Germany (and Romanian oilfields) they could not reach from Britain, and appeared amenable to similar facilities being made available in Siberia to bomb Japan. All in all, it appeared that Roosevelt’s method of handling Stalin had been entirely vindicated, and, putting Poland aside, long-term allied unity seemed a fair basis on which to build future planning. After Teheran, he said, ‘we came here, friends in fact, in spirit and in purpose. We are going to get along fine with Stalin and the Russian people —very well indeed’ .

Notes 1. For illustrations of these and other wartime posters, see William L. Bird and Harry Rubinstein, Designs For Victory: World War I I Posters on the American Home Front (Princeton: Princeton Archaeological, 1998). 2. Mrs M iniver tackled the problem of the British class system by dramatizing its decline in the face of the war, while at the same time retaining elements of English ‘quaintness’ that would appeal to an American audience. Dragon Seed, after OWI revisions, depicted a unified, democratic China committed to fighting for freedom. See Clayton R. Koppes and Gregory D. Black, Hollywood Goes to War. How Politics, Profit and Propaganda Shaped World War IIM ovies (New York: Free Press, 1987), pp. 225-30, 240-2. 3. The series comprised Prelude to War (1942), The Nap. Strike (1943), Divide and Conquer (1943), Battle o f Britain (1943), Battle o f China (1944), Battle o f Russia

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(1944), War Comes to America (1945). Prelude to War and Battle o f Russia won the Academy Award in 1944 for Best Documentary. The Axis powers are shown as uniformly evil, but their leaders laughable, so that they do not seem invincible. 4. For an overview of the breaking of Enigma and the use of Ultra intelligence, see Ronald Lewin, Ultra Goes to War (London: Hutchinson, 1978) and F. H. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War vol. 1 (London: HMSO, 1979). 5. The Welles affair is recounted, albeit in rather sensationalized form, in Irwin F. Gellman, Secret Affair: Franklin Roosevelt, Cordell H ull and Sumner Welles (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995).

CHAPTER 4

A Nation Triumphant

The year 1944 saw the nation finally bring to fruition all the efforts of the previous two years. American production reached new heights that would overwhelm the Axis. American forces came of age, achieving some spectacular victories, and demonstrating that the US had not just become an arsenal of victory, but had also created out of modest beginnings a military machine o f awesome power and fighting spirit. There were, however, aspects where problems were evident. Mobilization was not as rational as it might have been, and resilient traditional political and cultural attitudes influenced it in a number o f crucial areas, especially in the deployment o f manpower. In addition, the wish to keep US casualties to a minimum, driven by domestic political concerns, led to a particular strategy that focused on firepower, strategic bombing and the Red Army. T h e T riu m p h o f the A m erican E co n o m y In contrast to the devastation experienced in most other belligerents, the US enjoyed unprecedented economic growth and prosperity during the war. The gross national product increased from $99.7 billion in 1940 to $211.9 billion in 1945. The huge industrial mobilization was paid for prin­ cipally by the kind o f lavish spending in which Roosevelt had been reluctant to engage fully during the 1930s. The government spent $320 billion during this period: more than the total federal expenditure in the history o f the American republic up to that point. While the production achievements could be seen as the triumph o f American free enterprise, the Government’s readiness to underwrite industrial expansion and the free availability of federal funding was a crucial element. Roosevelt would have preferred to pay for it all through taxation, so that future generations would not have to pay the cost of the war. The 1942 Revenue Act added millions to tax-rolls and raised rates for the wealthy. Taxes did pay half the cost, but the tax structure was not developed enough to do the job, even without a Congressional resistance to tax

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rises. The balance was raised by borrowing from banks, investors and ordinary Americans who were exhorted to buy Victory Bonds. Holly­ wood stars undertook Victory tours to sell war bonds, while children sold ten-cent war stamps. Only a third of the amount raised by bond sales came from the small investors the marketing efforts were aimed at, but for Henry Morgenthau, the Treasury Secretary, they were significant not just financially, but also in their ability to ‘give people an opportunity to do something’ . In total, the Treasury’s Bond Drives raised $135 billion. Banks loaned the rest; the national debt by 1945 had increased sixfold over the pre-war figure to $260 billion. What had been lacking throughout the 1930s was investment. Expan­ sion o f defence production brought such investment, and the American economy responded. The Government could increase its production demands year on year and the economy was able to meet them. Thus while in 1942 the target was 45,000 tanks, 60,000 aircraft, and eight million tons of merchant shipping, in 1943 it was increased to 75,000 tanks, 125,000 aircraft, and ten million tons o f merchant shipping. At last, American industry was working at full capacity. Not only was there full employment, but the productivity of those in work rose dramatically: in manufacturing it increased by twenty-five per cent between 1939 and 1944. Output per worker was thirty-three per cent greater in 1945 than in 1939. Improved and innovatory techniques, co-operation between labour and management and round-the-clock working produced this. For many Americans, it seemed like the rich promise o f American abundance was finally being realized —and was the source o f victory. It happened with the economy at best only partially controlled and planned. From mid-1943, there was some direction o f resources and labour, by James F. Byrnes’ OWM, which resolved some o f the earlier confusion. However, the essential principle remained voluntary. There was an underlying confidence that American business was capable of doing the job it had been set, particularly with the incentives it was being given. While workers were exhorted to work harder by appeals to patriotism, or by being made to feel guilty about not being at the front, corporations were given the incentive o f the profits they were allowed to make. This did not go unnoticed by labour activists. Furthermore, wage restraints and resentment at rising prices and difficult working conditions caused unrest within the workforce.1 The W LB tried to limit wage rises to the cost o f living, and the number o f working hours lost to strikes in 1943 tripled over the previous year as a consequence. They were usually

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‘wildcat’ strikes, local and of short duration. CIO leaders in particular, because of their close links to the administration, punished the organizers of such stoppages. Although the strikes were often driven by the aware­ ness that corporate profits were soaring and that prices, especially of food, seemed to be rising faster than wages, and were aggravated by the poor living conditions that wartime labour often experienced, there was little public sympathy for such actions. They were depicted in the press as selfish and motivated by material greed when all should have been supporting the ‘boys at the front’. Such feelings were particularly evident in May and June 1943 when the leader o f the Union of Mineworkers, John L. Lewis, led shutdowns in the bituminous coal industry. America ran on coal, so this seemed especially unpatriotic. Mining, however, was a dangerous occupation at the best of times, and wartime demand had led to corners being cut on safety. The mortality rate in the coal mines in 1943 was actually equal to that at the front at that time. Roosevelt eventually ordered Harold Ickes, who headed the W LB, to make a deal with Lewis that broke the Little Steel formula. By that time, Congress had responded with the passage in June 1943 of the War Labor Disputes Act (Smith-Connally Act), which curbed the activities o f unions. Roosevelt vetoed it both because he thought it would lead to more wildcat strikes, and also because by prohibiting union political contributions it was clearly aimed at a key source o f Democratic Party support. It was indicative of the mood of Congress that both houses quickly passed the Act over the presidential veto. The Act gave the President power to seize any strike-bound plant, and the W LB power to settle labour disputes for the duration o f the war. Notwithstanding this unrest, for those who were in war work labour was hard, but the rewards were good. With full employment —and wellpaid employment, at that —most people’s standard of living rose. There was plentiful overtime, and the wages meant that many American workers could now afford a middle-class lifestyle, once consumer items were available. The labour unions, with an eye to the future, jealously guarded their workers’ rights and were resistant to the according of equal pay or opportunities to women or to blacks or people from Latin America. Taxation and the purchase o f Victory Bonds by the wealthy meant that there was a redistribution of wealth. The income of the wealthiest fifth rose by twenty per cent, while that of the poorest fifth increased by sixty-eight per cent. The lower and middle classes experienced

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improvement in their circumstances, often accompanied by relocation to the suburbs or to a new region. While the war brought general prosperity, in dramatic contrast to the years of depression, it was not spread evenly across the US. The heart of the wartime boom was, of course, munitions production —aircraft, tanks, trucks and other vehicles, warships, merchant vessels, shells, explosives and the massive Manhattan Project to build the atomic bomb. These activities only partly took place in the older established industrial areas of the country that had been most severely hit by the Depression. Naturally, there was abundant work in the automobile plants turned over to war work in Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, in ship-building towns like Norfolk, Virginia or Newport News, Rhode Island. The American automobile industry, the largest in the world, was one of the great war-winning assets for the Allies, with its massive factories, trained workforce and modern techniques, and, crucially, a history of rapid adaptation of its production lines for new models and types in a rapidly changing market. General Motors, for instance, supplied a tenth of all US war production, while Ford produced more army equipment than Italy. Three and a half million cars were produced in 1941; from March 1942 to 1945, only 139 were produced as the industry devoted its capacity to tanks, aircraft, trucks and guns. The biggest expansion took place on the west coast, in southern California and Washington State. The latter was the home to the Boeing works, producers o f the B-17 and the B-29 Superfortress, the atomic bomber. Ten per cent of all defence contracts went to California. Los Angeles was the seventh largest manufacturing centre in 1939; by 1945, it was second only to Detroit. The Lanham Act provided for tem­ porary housing, but such was the pressure of numbers that some Boeing employees lived in tents. The results of this effort speak for themselves. True to Roosevelt’s promise, the US was the arsenal of the Allied cause. The quantities were staggering: by 1945 the US had produced 80,000 landing craft, 100,000 armoured vehicles, 300,000 aircraft, fifteen million guns, forty-one billion rounds o f ammunition and two atomic bombs. The bomb symbolized not only the industrial productivity of the US, but also the quality of what it produced. In every class of weapon except tanks, the US produced at least one type that was equal to the best in the war on any side. US inventiveness and technical skills also produced advances in medicine, such as the manufacture of penicillin or the use of D D T (to kill malaria­ carrying mosquitoes) that dramatically reduced casualties.2 The farming

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sector saw rises in productivity per farm labourer o f up to thirty-six per cent as the long depression in farming areas came to an end with an inexhaustible demand for their produce. Stalin hit the nail on the head at Teheran when he proposed a toast with the words, ‘To American produc­ tion, without which this war would have been lost’. If the war was good for American workers, it also represented a recovery for American business, especially the larger corporations. Despite Donald Nelson’s preference for small companies, big business was the necessary tool to complete the production task that the war set. A hundred major companies accounted for thirty per cent o f production in 1940; by 1943 these companies accounted for seventy per cent. The Small War Plants Corporation was set up in June 1942 to address this and give smaller businesses a share of the war boom, but it never found an effective way o f doing this. The armed forces in particular stuck with their established suppliers. Furthermore, the bigger corporations now had influential contacts in the Government. Seventy-five per cent of W PB staff were dollar-a-day men. So contracts went to the largest firms, and such centralization o f production as there was took this form. There was logic to this: these corporations had the management structures in place that the Government did not, they had the assembly lines and work forces ready to go and they had the research and development facilities. The fact was that they were able to make the eye-catching projects and produce on the scale needed. Ford’s enormous plant at Willow Run, Michigan, which built B-24 Liberator bombers is often cited as a case in point.3 An even better one was the efforts of Henry Kaiser in ship­ building. The appointment of James F. Byrnes to head the OWM had not completely settled the endemic disputes that plagued American mobiliza­ tion. Byrnes was a cooler, more diplomatic figure than Nelson, but his role fell short of complete centralized control. He could adjudicate in disputes, but not drive through policies without constructing a consensus, and in the byzantine administrative world Roosevelt liked to live in, and the continuing political process, this was often not possible. Disputes developed in particular over the issues of procurement for the military, reconversion to civilian production, and a plan for national service. From the beginning o f war production, there was a conflict o f interest between the W PB and those in the forces responsible for supply, notably Lieutenant-General Brehon Somervell, the caustic head o f Army Service Forces. The forces wished to control the procurement process, and to

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place whatever orders they felt necessary, and with whatever manu­ facturers they wished. The planners, particularly those of a New Dealer persuasion, thought this short-sighted. They wished to set achievable targets, to match orders with resources, so that they were prioritized in terms of what was feasible, not desirable. They were concerned to manage manpower and spread contracts, and some wanted to make sure small businesses got their fair share. The military justified their demands with reference to strategic needs, which obviously were more important than anything else, including the civilian needs W PB planners wished to factor in. The issue was the relationship between strategy and production and who was to have control o f them. In the British and Soviet systems, ministries of supply were established with extensive powers, and both strategy and production decisions were made by the small group of advisors on Churchiirs War Cabinet and Stalin’s GKO , who effectively ran the war. No such bodies existed in the US. The War Powers Acts had given the President emergency powers to control and manage resources, but these were powers he remained cautious in using, and he never developed an administrative framework where such authoritative planning could be done. While the OWM exercised a kind of supervision, it was not complete. Force of personality and personal relations with the Presi­ dent determined who carried influence. In this world, Nelson did not have the strength to carry his views. This was in evidence most clearly in the debate on reconversion, which started in 1943. Nelson wished to grant permission to companies who had no war work on hand to begin preparing for post-war civilian production. This would prevent unemployment and cater for the expected explosion o f pent-up consumer demand after the war. It might also enable small businesses to get a foothold before the large corporations converted to peace-time production. The W PB’s plans were contested by the military and big business. The latter argued that it gave unfair advantage to those given authorization. The military wanted all production to be at their disposal should they want it, and argued plausibly that it was premature to think of cutting military production until the outcome of Overlord was clear. The military argued that worker morale might be compromised, as the theme o f urgency and united national sacrifice would be undermined if it was known that some companies were working on civilian goods like automobiles. The issue was not resolved, but the opposition that mounted against Nelson eventually brought his replacement in September 1944 by Julius Krug. Krug had no more success

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in getting progress on reconversion. Byrnes, who had more sympathy with the military than Nelson, called a halt to any attempts at it in November 1944. Military production increased up to March 1945, and was then suddenly cut as orders ceased. From then until July 1945, war controls on prices, wages, resources and production were dismantled. The speed with which this was done reflected confidence that civilian demand would be great and that American business knew what it was doing. The advocates o f measures to protect small businesses went unheeded. These issues overlapped with another long-running debate, that over national service, which epitomized the strengths and limitations of the American domestic war effort. The idea of national service was that all citizens could be assigned to whatever job was necessary. It was raised soon after Pearl Harbor, and appeared intermittently in public discourse whenever a crisis appeared in production or on the battlefield, or when there was a strike in an important industry. Public opinion polls suggested that the idea was popular, as part o f a general enthusiasm for shared sacrifices. Politicians, however, were sceptical about the depth o f real public interest in such a scheme. Recognizing Congressional misgivings, Roosevelt did not publicly endorse the idea until his State of the Union address in January 1944. It was not properly debated by Congress until 1945, when it was no longer needed. The problems encountered with national service demonstrate the difficulties o f organizing the American war effort centrally, and why the pragmatic Roosevelt preferred the chaotic inconsistencies of the voluntarist approach. Proponents of national service argued that some form o f conscription would ensure the most efficient use o f manpower and that it should not be taken for granted that American abundance would automatically produce the desired results when and where needed. It would also show friends and enemies that the US meant business, and would aid the work of propagandists in drawing the country together in common efforts, when Americans, unlike their British and Soviet allies, were not experi­ encing the unifying effects of direct enemy attack. During 1943, manpower shortages began to appear in the west coast aircraft plants, as the military draft was intensified. With the miners and other strikes as well that year, national service gained in popularity. Frank Knox and Henry Stimson in particular saw it as a way o f disciplining the unions. They were also becoming conscious o f the need for manpower at the enlarging battlefronts and worried that people might ease off their efforts at home in the belief that victory was at hand.

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The opposition, however, was strong from many quarters. Organized labour was opposed to workers being told where they could work. They feared it would be used to break unions. Their opposition was shared by big business. Management had no desire to be told whom to hire, and feared national service would mean the government taking responsi­ bility for workers’ housing, transportation and even wages. It might also carry with it limitations on profits, to match the sacrifice o f workers working where they were told. Politicians from both right and left also raised the usual bogey o f ‘executive dictatorship’ . The coalition supporting national service was a strange one, too, bringing together the War and Navy Departments, the American Legion and the Communist Party. It was the shock of a military reverse that brought Congress to seriously consider it, however. After the start o f the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, the House approved a plan requir­ ing every male between the ages o f eighteen and forty-five to work at an essential job if required to do so. By the time it got to the Senate the crisis was over and the plan was rejected. The government had sought other means in the interim to control manpower: Byrnes’ December 1944 ‘work or fight’ order looked to draft men under the age of thirty-eight and put them into essential jobs. Byrnes then attempted to remove the exemption o f farmers that meant three farmers were exempt for every industrial worker. Congress, however, refused to agree to this. By this point, the proximity of victory rendered the issue less important than it had been. In assessing the wartime performance of the American economy, there has been some disagreement. On the one hand, the production statistics are taken to speak for themselves. It is said that the voluntary method suited both American cultural assumptions and the structure of American enterprise. The energies and skills latent in the American economy were best realized in the context of the free market to which they were accus­ tomed and for which they had been designed. Utilizing these strengths rather than going against them, reflected Roosevelt’s wisdom, and those like Nelson who sought greater control would, it is claimed, have done serious damage. Against this, it is argued that American productivity did not actually rise above normal peacetime (pre-Depression) levels. American manpower was not utilized scientifically. In particular, the failure to inaugurate national service was coupled with the decision to limit the army to ninety divisions, and the failure to draft women, which meant that the forces in Europe were desperately stretched by 1945, and units had to spend much too long at the front because of the lack of reserves.4

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The US military machine at the end of the war looked impressively large, but, it could be argued, it was only just large enough. These arguments perhaps miss the point. The political and cultural context shaped the way that the war was fought both inside the US and at the front, and even so skilful and resourceful a politician as Roosevelt had to shape his policies according to the constraints that they imposed. This was, indeed, the way America fought its wars —and the victory of 1945 was to enshrine that method in most people’s minds as the correct one. G ender, Sex and the W a r The experience of women in the war showed the extents and limits o f this mobilization. With young men called up into military service, there was soon a shortage o f labour. During the Depression, women had been discouraged from working in order to leave work for men, traditionally seen as the ‘breadwinners’. A poll in 1936 showed that women as well as men thought that married women should not work if their husbands were in employment. In fact, the proportion o f women in the workforce increased, as family economic circumstances made it necessary. In addition, women’s wages were lower, so cautious employers saw it as financially sound to employ women, at the very same time that Hollywood movies were characterizing independent, career-minded women as personally unfulfilled and dangerous to society. This theme became muted during the war, but it had not been rejected. Women were now actively encour­ aged — indeed cajoled - to take up war work, but it was invariably presented as an extraordinary action to be taken for patriotic reasons, to ‘release able-bodied men for the fighting’, as they were told. 4.2 million women entered the workforce, and by the end of the war women constituted 35.9 per cent of those in employment. The majority of those who joined the workforce anew were aged over thirty-five, were or had been married, and had children who were some way towards being grown up. The publicity image o f ‘Rosie the Riveter’ was always o f a younger woman, but there was a reason for this: such women, who were more likely to have younger children, were harder to persuade to take up work. Company and state child care facilities were never adequate, and that may have been an important factor. Women with children mostly had to find relatives or friends to care for them, or else they stayed out of the workforce. Absenteeism and turnover of staff was highest among young women with children.

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The image o f the female worker, familiar in Rockwell’s ‘Rosie the Riveter’, sitting with rivet gun across her lap and a copy o f Hitler’s Mein K am pf under her feet, Miller’s ‘We Can Do It’ for Westinghouse or songs like ‘We Are The Janes That Make The Planes’, emphasized that women could take up traditionally male jobs and not lose their femininity. They were aimed specifically at a segment of the population resistant to the call. It is often overlooked that they also (especially in the Westinghouse example) were aimed to increase productivity from women who were already in work before the war and were familiar with working clothes o f overalls and bandanna. The majority o f women who took up war work in fact moved over from some other employment — and in doing so experienced considerable change and improvement in their situation. Women had tended to work in certain sectors of the economy: textiles, cigar-making, domestic service, retail, clerical work, nursing and teaching. Most o f these occupations were poorly paid, ununionized and defined as ‘women’s work’. Job security was uncertain and occupations like domestic service, waiting on tables or agricultural labour did not fall under the provisions of the New Deal’s Social Security Act. This situation was sustained by a dominant ideology o f women’s place in society, which encompassed a limited view of women’s abilities in employment and an assumption that women’s work was secondary to family economics and that the normal pattern would be for it to end with marriage and children. Even though this never reflected the actual situation for working-class women, it helped keep women’s wages low and limited prospects of promotion at the workplace. In 1942, Roosevelt declared that ‘in some communities employers dislike to hire women. In others they are reluctant to hire Negroes. We can no longer afford to indulge such prejudice’. Women began to be recruited in large numbers into the aircraft and shipbuilding industries, and were assigned jobs that previously had been seen as beyond their capabilities, such as welding, operating blast furnaces, operating lathes, riveting and driving industrial vehicles. Indeed, in some plants, women were especially sought after as their smaller size enabled them to work in the confined spaces of aircraft fuselages. Women were attracted to this work by a patriotic desire to contribute to the war effort, but also by the higher pay, which was often double their previous wages. Women who were already in employment greatly welcomed the opportunity to learn new skills, and they in particular cherished hopes that they would be able

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to use them after the war. Hiring practices, however, indicated that employers and the government saw things differently. Women were paid lower wages for performing the same work. In 1945 the average female factory worker’s weekly wage was thirty-two dollars; for a male it was fifty-five dollars. Employers and unions said men were more skilled or experienced and could do more overtime. Women were rarely promoted to managerial roles, though some did become forewomen. In the government, which greatly expanded its employment of women, women were predominantly given clerical roles. Indeed, while jobs like welding reverted to being ‘male’ jobs after the war, office jobs like book-keeping remained open to women after the war; clerical work became something of a women’s preserve. However, in general, the attitude was, as the War Department put it, ‘a woman is a substitute, like plastic instead of metal’ . Women encountered sexism at work from their male colleagues, and from unions that were concerned wage rates should not be threatened by a redefinition o f tasks as women’s work. While women worked long shifts, sometimes through the night, they were also expected to continue to function as homemakers. Indeed, the image of the woman in the home was a common propaganda symbol of the values and culture that Americans were striving to defend. While some change had taken place in beliefs about roles women could perform, it was very much in the context o f the emergency —except in the minds of some o f the women themselves —and traditional views o f women and their primary role had changed little. Women were also expected to continue to raise children. When the figures for juvenile delinquency rose, it was ‘irresponsible mothers’ who were blamed, and lectured, even by the Labor Department, on their duty as mothers. Black women in particular benefited from war employment. Fifty per cent o f them were in employment before the war, mostly in domestic service or as farm labourers. At least half switched to the better pay and conditions of war factories. They were the last to be hired, but the insati­ able expansion o f the war economy gave them plenty of opportunities. Like their white counterparts, they were also recruited in large numbers to do office work by the government. Another break with traditional gender roles was the recruitment of women into the forces. In World War I, women had served as army and navy officer nurses, but World War II saw the establishment of service branches in addition to nursing bodies. Marshall had to overcome initial army and political resistance to this — despite the support of Eleanor

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Roosevelt, the so-called ‘W A A C Bill* only passed the Senate by eleven votes in 1941. Women served in a number of ways. Two hundred thousand served in the Army, including several thousand blacks in separate units; 60,000 were army nurses, 140,000 served in the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps (W AAC —in 1943 it was changed to regular army to better control desertion, and was then known as the Women’s Army Corps (W AC)). After initial reluctance, pressure from renowned flyer Jacqueline Cochran, who had been a ferry pilot with the R A F, brought the formation of the Women Air Service Pilots (W ASPs). About 1,000 W ASPs served as ferry pilots, a few going overseas. In the Navy, apart from 14,000 nurses, there were 100,000 Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service (W AVES). By the end of the war there were also 23,000 in the Women’s Reserve of the Marine Corps. Women in uniform tended to be middle-class, and on balance better educated than the men in uniform, even when nurses, all of whom were graduates from nursing school, are excluded. Only six per cent had not finished high school, while twenty per cent o f servicemen were found to be functionally illiterate. The class difference is principally because working-class women were already in the workforce and could readily feel involved in the war effort. W ACS and the W AVES were supposed to serve in ancillary roles to free up men for combat. No women fought in combat units, though many served in combat zones, as nurses, drivers (the most famous being Kay Summersby, Eisenhower’s driver) and clerks. The Army dropped an idea to put women in anti-aircraft units, which was done in Britain, Germany, Japan and the USSR, for fear o f public outcry. Actually firing weapons was generally regarded as a step too far in redefining gender roles, even in wartime. Women were still supposed to be nurturers, not destroyers. In fact, women were not deployed as effectively as they might have been. The Army had an enormous number o f men doing non-combatant jobs; the War Department calculated that half o f these jobs could easily be done by women. But too many women were put into clerical jobs that civilians could have done. The U SAAF used them better: Arnold allowed women to do every assignment except combat. Gender prejudice was thus a contributory factor to the shortage o f men in combat units. Prejudice operated in another way to aggravate military manpower problems. Marshall and Stimson wanted 500,000 women for the Army, but never got near that figure. A reputation for promiscuity, perpetuated in the press and in stories by servicemen, discouraged many women from

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volunteering. The answer was conscription, as in Britain, which would have removed the strange double-standard that saw male volunteers in uniform as heroes and their female counterparts as sluts. But opposition to conscription was strong inside and outside Congress, and like other aspects of national service, there was no chance of it being approved. A similar point can be made regarding prejudice against homosexuals. The war has been seen by historian John D ’Emilio as an important turning point for them; indeed, he writes, Tor many gay Americans, World War II created something o f a nationwide coming out experience’ . This was not because of any improvement in attitudes towards gays from those in power. Before the war, the military forbade homosexual acts, but did not attempt to weed out gays, but in 1941 homosexuality itself was listed as a disqualification for service. Men were asked crude questions about their sexuality on entering the forces. Those believed to be gay were rejected, on the bizarre grounds that sexual orientation affected one’s capacity to fight, or indeed serve in uniform in any capacity. Out of eighteen million men examined for service, fewer than 5,000 were prevented from joining up for this reason. However, the military also discharged those found to be gay (not necessarily for actually engaging in homosexual acts). The figures are still secret, but it has been claimed that tens o f thousands were given an ‘undesirable’ discharge on these grounds, which disqualified them from the benefits of the GI Bill. Others experienced persecution, including imprisonment in ‘queer stockades’ by their erstwhile comrades. These and other wartime developments had a number of important effects. Outside of the cities that had an active gay scene, such as New York and San Francisco, gay men were most likely in the pre-war period to experience their sexuality in lonely isolation, and to believe them­ selves to be abnormal —or indeed not to recognize the truth about their sexuality. Although many preferred to hide their homosexuality when asked, either to avoid stigma, or out o f a patriotic desire to fight, when the military posed the question so directly, it forced such men to actively confront it. Living in the same-sex communities o f the services could also cause deeper consideration of this issue for men and women. Military service engendered close emotional bonds between men, whatever their sexuality. This made meeting other gay men easier and less likely to attract attention. Those who were discharged were unlikely to return home to the small town carrying that stigma —and many instead settled in San Francisco and other cities, contributing to the growth of gay communities there after the war.

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The effect of lurid stories in the press about promiscuity and lesbian­ ism among W ACS may have been to deter some heterosexual women from joining. Certainly, since recruitment efforts for the women’s military forces tended to exclude married women (over seventy-five per cent were single, eighty-three per cent childless), it made it likely that the propor­ tion of gay women in such units would be significantly higher than their proportion in the general population, again making it more possible for the exploration and development o f a gay identity. The high command’s attempts to fight rumours o f promiscuity and pregnancies by keeping female personnel socially apart from men as much as possible may well have contributed to a furtherance of the other situation they strenuously denied, the prevalence of lesbianism. Indeed, these conditions may have made enlistment an attractive option for lesbians, many of whom now found themselves with access to sub-communities o f gay women. The experience o f women in the workforce could be similar. A higher proportion of women than men migrated to take up war work, becoming separated from family and community, wherein female roles were often closely proscribed. They moved to larger cities or factory settlements, and lived in dormitories or boarding houses away from male supervision. While some moved into war production alongside men, those parts of the workforce where women previously were numerically significant became, in the shortage of male labour, almost entirely female in composi­ tion — textile manufacture and clerical or retail work, for example. So women found themselves socializing and working largely with other women. This too tended to bring lesbians together as well as making their friendships less likely to attract public attention. O f course this widespread movement o f the population, mostly the young, also had an impact on heterosexual activities, giving an unprece­ dented freedom from supervision by elders. For the heterosexual the war was a time of changing sexual mores. While some postponed marriage until after hostilities, others married before the male was called away to the fighting front. The marriage rate rose steeply —but so too did divorce rates as separation put a strain on marriages. For those who remained single —and, of course, some who did not —the ‘live for today’ atmosphere of the war, with its impact greatest on the young, and the movements of population to work in the new war enterprises, meant greater scope for sexual promiscuity and less stigma attached to such activity.

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Strategic Bom bing and the M orality o f W a r During the inter-war years, some military planners had become attracted to the possibilities o f aerial bombardment as a war-winning weapon. In America’s geographical position, bombers first appeared useful for attack­ ing enemy fleets. Their first great advocate was Brigadier-General Billy Mitchell, who in 1921 demonstrated the vulnerability of ships by destroy­ ing captured German battleships from the air. His pleas to create an independent air force for bombing were unsuccessful, but his ideas made sufficient impact for the Army to commission the Flying Fortress, the world’s first all-metal monoplane bomber, in 1934, for use in a coastal defence role. Enthusiasts for airpower had found a theorist in the Italian Giulio Douhet, and public interest was stirred by the writings o f science fiction authors like H. G. Wells. Douhet’s book Command o f the Air (1921) argued that a future war could be won by bombing centres o f enemy war production: the factories and their workers. Douhet argued that the high-flying, well-armed bomber would always get through to its target and would cause such destruction, and so quickly, that wars would be over before armies could be mobilized. In the 1930s this was reinforced in the popular imagination by novels and films that depicted destruction and a total collapse of morale as the results of aerial bombing. The only defence was a bomber force capable of retaliating. The belief‘the bomber would always get through’ was a strong impetus behind 1930s appease­ ment and pacifism. In fact, only Britain and the United States had air forces that were interested in developing strategic bombing and politicians prepared to consider it. In the US, the Navy and Army had retained control of airpower, but had supported the development of the large aircraft that would be later used for the strategic bomber offensive, the B-17 and the B-24. George C. Marshall and Harry Hopkins were enthusiasts for the develop­ ment of a bomber force and had been responsible for ensuring these aircraft were built. Consequently, when the US entered the war, and was looking for a way to get into direct combat with Germany, it had the means, if at first only in small numbers, to join the British in the bombing of Germany. The Eighth Air Force of the U SAAF, commanded initially by General Carl ‘Tooey’ Spaatz, later by Generals Ira C. Eaker and James Doolittle, was sent to England during 1942. The Americans arrived full of optimism regarding the potential of

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strategic bombing. R A F Bomber Command had had some o f its similar opinions shattered by their experiences so far. Daylight bombing of the German Reich in 1940 had resulted in high losses of aircraft, and evidence suggested .hat few bombs got anywhere near their targets, even in conditions of excellent visibility. Precision bombing o f targets such as oil plants, factories and railway yards had proved quite beyond the R A F ’s capabilities, and unescorted bombers were falling easy victim to German fighters and anti-aircraft fire. The R A F had switched to night attacks, and to a strategy of area bombing, which meant attacks on large cities. This was principally a decision based on practicalities —though some did hope that the morale o f German workers could be seriously damaged by such attacks, with consequences both for their productivity and for their allegiance to the Nazi regime. By the time Eighth Air Force arrived, the British were slowly developing technology that enabled them to get closer to their targets at night. They had some way to go yet, and the Americans were fired with enthusiasm to show them how it should be done. They appeared to have some reason for their optimism. The B-17 flew at high altitudes and was heavily armed and it was believed forma­ tions of them could hold their own unescorted against the German Air Force (Luftwaffe). This was just as well, for no fighter aircraft had the range to escort them to targets in Germany. Having been designed initially for attacking ships, they were built to deliver a relatively small bomb load accurately onto a small target. They were equipped with the top secret Norden bomb sight —so secret it was not even shared with the British. Its advocates said the Norden could ‘land a bomb in a pickle barrel’ . The U SA A F embarked upon a daytime campaign of high-level precision bombing, intended to bring Germany’s war production to its knees by destroying a carefully selected succession o f key installations. First raids from August 1942 onwards, over Rouen and other French targets, suggested success was possible. There was a rude awakening, however, when Germany itself was attacked. At the Casablanca conference in January 1943 a plan by Eaker for a co-ordinated strategic bombing campaign was accepted. Called the Combined Bomber Offensive (CBO), it involved the R A F at night and U SA A F in the day. On 21 January, the CCS issued the Casablanca Directive which gave as the aim of the CBO the destruction of the German industrial, military and economic system and the undermining on the morale o f the German people to such a point that their capacity for

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resistance was fatally weakened. The advocates o f strategic bombing — ‘Hap’ A. Arnold, Spaatz and, on the British side, Air Marshal Harris, were not, however, given the 6,000 bombers they thought could win the war on their own. The CB O ’s purpose was to weaken German ability to resist a ground invasion. Even Churchill, who had supported bombing attacks, did not believe the war could be won without such an invasion. The campaign did not really get started until after a second directive in June, codenamed Pointblank. This gave priority to the destruction of German fighters and their production, in order to obtain air supremacy for the invasion o f France. The aim of destroying German morale was officially dropped at the Quebec conference in August 1943. Initial results were not encouraging — and indeed emphasized the need to destroy the Luftwaffe s fighter strength. On its first raids into Germany, Eighth Air Force sustained heavy losses. The B-17 was shown to be much more vulnerable to fighter attack than anticipated. Moreover, doubts were raised about the accuracy of the so-called precision bomb­ ing after the early daylight raids on the German industrial heartland in the Ruhr and on the ball-bearing plants at Schweinfurt. The losses over Schweinfurt were prohibitive: in the attack on 17 August, 147 out of 376 aircraft were lost, and in a second on 14 October, sixty out of 291 failed to return, with 100 others damaged. Manufacture o f ball-bearings (a key component in fighter manufacture) quickly returned to normal, and the factories were dispersed. Missions deep into Germany were stopped until February 1944. Up until then, fighter escorts had to turn back at the German frontier for lack of fuel. On the initiative o f Robert Lovett, Under-Secretary for War, and Spaatz, they were fitted with extra fuel tanks. Now, P-47 Thunder­ bolts, P-38 Lightnings and especially P-51 Mustangs could accompany the bombers all the way. The P-51 was the result of the marriage o f an American airframe with a British engine —the Rolls-Royce Merlin that powered the Spitfire. The resulting aircraft was one of the finest on any side during the war. Renewed attacks in ‘Big Week’ , 20—25 February 1944, began the progressive destruction of the Luftwaffe s fighter strength: not by destroying production, but by killing pilots in combat. US Fifteenth Air Force had been activated in South Italy in October 1943. It attacked targets in North Italy and the important Romanian oil wells at Ploesti. 13,469 tons o f bombs were dropped on Ploesti, for the loss o f 350 bombers. Bomber crews paid a heavy price for their ultimate success. Casualty rates were high and a much higher proportion of bomber

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crews were killed rather than wounded than was the case for infantry­ men. By the last quarter of 1944, their efforts were beginning to show results: German industrial production peaked in September 1944, and by early 1945, the German economy was in ruins. Oil shortages and the disruption o f the transportation network as well as the destruction of industrial plant meant that Germany had lost the production war. This happened too late to win the war on its own, but it did crucially aid the advance o f Allied armies from east and west into the Reich. More contro­ versial at the time, and since, was the bombing o f population centres. This came into sharp relief in February and March 1945. Relations with the Soviets were becoming very sensitive, and Soviet requests to bomb areas behind the German forces on their front were welcome, as an opportunity to develop Allied solidarity. The aim o f such attacks was to disrupt the flow o f supplies to the German armies, to clog up transporta­ tion and hinder retreats. Cities like Dresden were crowded with refugees, and panic and chaos seemed easy to create. The R A F and Eighth Air Force therefore concentrated their forces on this historic eastern German city, and on 13—14 February 1945 reduced it to rubble, killing 50,000. Dresden has become synonymous since with ‘terror bombing’. Coming so late into the war there appeared no possible justification for it. The strategic bombing campaign has indeed attracted more debate than any other aspect of the military conduct of the war. After the war, surveys revealed the level o f damage caused to the German economy to have been far less than its advocates claimed would be the case. At the same time, the morality of area bombing was called into question —it was said that it had no strategic justification, but was prompted by a desire for revenge. Actually, its motivations were mostly pragmatic —though revenge does seem to have hardened a number of its practitioners, notably Harris, and some Americans in the Pacific. However, bombing was one of the few ways to hit Germany in 1940—2, and for the Americans in particular, Eighth Air Force was able to strike blows well ahead o f the build-up of US ground forces. The CBO was presented to the Soviets as a kind of second front. The difficulties o f hitting precision targets made area bombing a practical alternative. The U SA A F never officially favoured it in the European campaign, and adhered to their philosophy of precision bombing whenever they could, though when there was cloud cover over the target, the bombs were dropped through it, so that area bombing was effectively the result. German bombing of undefended cities at the start of the war, and the nature of total war that blurred the distinction between

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those in uniform and civilians, meant that the morality of the campaign was never seriously questioned until the war’s end, though even Churchill did express doubts about Dresden. For those participating, bombing missions were no easy ride, and until the last nine months of the war, the life-and-death struggle with the defending forces was what preoccupied all those involved operationally. About 50,000 US aircrew died in the bombing campaign in Europe. As for the achievements of the campaign, it did not defeat Germany, but as described above, it inflicted significant damage. German morale remained strong, but eventually the economic infrastructure of the country was destroyed. In strategic terms, by opening a new front over Germany that effectively destroyed German air strength, the campaign made an important, and possibly decisive, contribution to the victories in the field o f not only the Allied armies in the west, but also the Soviet armies in the east. The CBO was never intended to do the job on its own —it was to be a different story in the Pacific, as will be seen. Second F ro n ts: P ro g ress in F ra n ce , Stalem ate in Italy American military planners from the start had believed the key to victory against Germany to be the invasion o f Western Europe. There had been disputes between the American and British Chiefs of Staff for two years on this, with the outcome usually determined by resources and political imperatives. Until 1944, there were not sufficient landing craft to service the needs of the Pacific, the Mediterranean and Western Europe. Even without the Mediterranean strategy, there would not have been sufficient craft in 1943, for production o f these crucial vessels was not given its proper priority until that year. Although the Casablanca Conference had approved the exploration of an invasion of France, the views o f the British had prevailed in May when it became clear that forces could not be assembled in Britain in time for a cross-Channel attack that summer. In June, Stalin was told —to his disgust —that there would be no second front that year. The British continued to drag their feet over committing themselves to Overlord, as the operation was now code-named. However, as the size of American forces increased, so their influence in strategic decision-making grew. At Teheran, they had Stalin as an ally. He put the question baldly and directly. The British were outnumbered and had to agree. Stalin forced his point home, demanding a date be fixed and a commander appointed, suspicious to the last that the Allies would once again slide out of the commitment. It was agreed that an American should

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command: at first Marshall was considered, but Roosevelt decided he could not do without him in Washington. Instead Eisenhower was appointed. This was an inspired choice. While not the greatest strategist, Eisenhower had proved himself in the Mediterranean to be a skilled diplomat between soldiers of different nations and a competent organizer. The date was set for May 1944. The invasion of France was a colossal undertaking. It is difficult to see, in fact, how it could have been successfully achieved before 1944, though debate continues to rage as to whether it should have been tried in 1943 instead o f the invasion o f Italy. Given that victory in the Battle of the Atlantic was not secured until May o f that year, it is doubtful that the level of resources would have been available not only to land but also sustain in battle the large armies required for the undertaking. Planning began in earnest after Teheran. The date of invasion was determined by tides and moonlight, and by the weather. This left few possible options. At Teheran, a supporting invasion was approved, known as Operation Anvil, in which forces from Italy would land on the French Riviera and advance up the Rhone valley. Churchill and the British generals saw this as unnecessary: their preference was to press forward in Italy, or if landings were to be made, to make them in Greece or Yugoslavia. The Americans had had enough of British diversions, and again with Stalin’s support, insisted upon Anvil. It became clear early in 1944 that there would not be sufficient landing craft to do both operations simultaneously, given Admiral King’s refusal to divert them from the Pacific. The operation, renamed Dragoon, was postponed to mid-August, robbing it o f its main justification, the diversion o f German forces from counter-attacks on the beach-heads. The success o f Overlord depended upon a number of factors. One was naval strength. It was a massive operation to ship so many troops across the English Channel; furthermore, as Pacific experience had demonstrated, naval bombardment could play a crucial part in paving the way for amphibious landings. Another key factor was air superiority. The strategic bomber offensive had so drained the strength of the Luftwaffe that Allied air forces were able to roam the skies above Normandy at will. Third, it was vital that the Germans were not able to mass their forces against the landings before they had gained a proper hold. Hitler was indeed counting upon throwing the Allies back into the sea, after which he expected them to seek some kind of peace settlement. The Germans had been working for two years on the Atlantic Wall sea

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defences. Hitler and his generals agreed that the likely point of invasion was where the English Channel was narrowest, the Pas de Calais. An elaborate deception plan was developed to maintain this belief. Using double agents and radio broadcasts, the idea was planted that one attack would be launched through Norway. More significant, a whole dummy army, First US Army Group (FUSAG) was created in south-east England. Patton was appointed to its command to lend it credibility. While forces in the south-west of England were kept in conditions of blackout and isolation, appearances were created of camps, airfields and all the appara­ tus of a major build-up of forces opposite Calais. So successful was this deception that Hitler kept one of his two armies there until 15 August, believing that Normandy was just a diversion. This may have been crucial in the outcome.5 With great reluctance, General Spaatz and Air Marshall Harris were persuaded to allow their heavy bombers to be diverted from German targets to attack transportation in northern France. Churchill had mis­ givings about French casualties, but the campaign, and that o f the tactical fighter-bombers such as the P-47, was important in preventing the Germans from concentrating their forces. The date for Overlord was set for 5 June —then the worst gales ever recorded struck the Channel and the operation was postponed. With many soldiers and crews now effectively sealed in their ships, they had to wait. A predicted break in the weather allowed Eisenhower to give the order to launch on 6 June what he called the ‘Great Crusade’. He thought privately that the operation’s chances of success were no better than fifty-fifty. Before dawn, airborne troops from the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions, together with British units, dropped at either end o f the planned beach-heads to secure their flanks. The bad weather and the deception plans worked to give them complete surprise. Rommel, the German commander, had returned to Germany for his wife’s birthday. Air attacks and naval bombardment of shore defences came at dawn, followed by the troops in their landing craft, with amphibious tanks and other special weapons. In the largest seaborne invasion in history, 150,000 troops (57,000 Americans) were landed, from an invasion force of 4,000 ships. Over a thousand drowned before reach­ ing dry land. Under the command of Montgomery, forces landed on five beaches: the British and Canadians on Sword, Juno and Gold, the Americans on Omaha and Utah. The Americans on Omaha had the worst o f it. Whereas on Utah, partly as a result of landing in slightly the wrong place, they encountered light resistance, on Omaha they encountered

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seasoned German troops, situated on cliff-top positions that had not been seriously damaged by the bombardment. The Americans struggled to get clear o f the beach, but eventually took the heights by a bloody frontal assault. All over America, the nation paused to listen to their radio sets as the news unfolded. Using two specially designed artificial harbours, codenamed ‘Mulberries’, with sunken merchant ships as breakwaters, the Allies succeeded in landing their armies and supplies on the beaches. Even when gales interrupted the flow of ships from England and destroyed one o f the Mulberries, sufficient had been landed to allow the advance to progress. In two weeks, one million troops were landed together with 556,000 tons of supplies and 170,000 vehicles. While the British and Canadians encount­ ered fierce resistance around Caen that halted their progress, the Ameri­ cans pushed out of their beach-head up into the Cotentin peninsula towards Cherbourg. They captured the port on 27 June, but it took six weeks to clear the harbour. They pressed towards Avranches, the gateway to Brittany and the west of France. As with their allies, progress was at first painfully slow. The Normandy terrain —known as bocage — was unsuited to tank warfare, as the hedges and high banks restricted movement to the narrow lanes which could be easily defended. A brilliant improvization by American Sergeant Curtis Cullen created the ‘Rhinoceros’ —a Sherman tank with special serrated jaws —that proved the answer to the bocage by simply stripping it away. Avranches was finally taken on 30 July. Patton was then called from his mock command at FU SA G to command the newly activated US Third Army, whose mission was to break out and drive eastwards to the Seine. The forces fighting at Caen operated as the ‘hinge’ for this sweeping right hook. Aided by their Rhinoceroses and air superiority, the Americans struck rapidly eastwards. Hitler played into their hands by ordering his forces to attempt to drive a wedge through the American forces towards Avranches. The thrust was held, and Patton’s drive and the advance of the British and Canadians from Caen closed on the German flanks. Despite Hitler’s order to stand fast, some escaped, but most did not. This left the Germans with effectively no forces to hold France. The Allies swept on: Patton crossed the Seine on 19 August. Free French forces detached from the Third Army liberated Paris on 25 August. Eisenhower took direct command of the Allied ground forces, in addition to operating as Supreme Commander, on 1 September. On 15 August, Dragoon had finally taken place. Progress was rapid,

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until German resistance was encountered around Strasbourg. By September, most o f France was liberated, and the Allies had to pause to allow their supply lines to catch up. They needed a sizeable North Sea port to supply their advanced units. Antwerp fell to the British on 4 September. How­ ever, Montgomery neglected to secure the Scheldt estuary, which the Germans correctly saw was the key to Antwerp, and from there they prevented the Allies from sending ships into the port. It was not properly usable until the end o f November. Eisenhower allowed Montgomery to attempt the disastrous Operation Market-Garden, using parachute troops to capture key bridges to allow a speedy advance into northern Germany. After its failure, the Allies halted to gather their strength. The Allies had achieved great victories. The US was now supplying the majority of the forces. American soldiers had acquitted themselves superbly in the campaign, and had demonstrated that they were the match for much-vaunted Wehrmacht. One-on-one, the American Sherman tank was not a match for the best German tanks, being under-gunned and presenting a high silhouette to enemy gunners, as well as earning the nickname ‘Ronson’ for its propensity to catch fire. However, operating in numbers, commanded by vigorous, imaginative commanders, and backed by excellent co-ordination of support from artillery and aircraft, they proved repeatedly to have the measure of the German pan^rs. Moreover, the Americans were able to make good battlefield losses of equipment, where the Germans were not, as a result o f the demands of other fronts, the destruction of factories and disruption o f transport. The Allies also had the advantage o f Ultra intelligence, which had proved vital in the Normandy battle, indicating that the FU SA G deception was effective for over two weeks after D -D ay and also giving warning o f the German counter-offensive towards Avranches. But all was not rosy. A certain over-confidence had appeared by September. It was assumed that the Germans were beaten. Ultra informa­ tion about German strength on the Scheldt, and the presence of a Panzer Division in the path o f Market-Garden at Arnhem, was ignored. By early September, Patton’s tanks had come to a halt due to lack of fuel. A major supply effort, called the ‘Red Ball Express’, a continuous chain of trucks manned largely by African Americans, began on 25 August, ferrying supplies from the landing points in Normandy. But by September, the supply position had become critical. Nowhere near enough was getting through, and inadequate attention had been paid to the consequences of ordering the armies over the Seine well in advance o f schedule. The

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trucks were simply wearing out. Furthermore, the Americans were begin­ ning to run short of manpower. The British and Canadians were already beyond their limits. The consequences, as the American armies pressed forward, taking casualties in fighting that continued hard, meant that units had to stay at the front when their state of exhaustion demanded they be withdrawn for recuperation. The negative impact this had on their fighting ability was aggravated by the American practice o f feeding in replacements piecemeal to units at the front.6 The combat zone was no place to integrate new soldiers into their platoons and it seriously compromised group cohesion. By contrast, the Germans allowed units to fight until severely mauled, then withdrew them and re-formed them with new men, and returning wounded, training them up before sending them forward. By the end o f 1944, manpower shortages in France meant that non-combatant units were scoured for able-bodied men, and the Army was even prepared to integrate black platoons from the supply units into combat companies. Then, in December, under cover of bad weather, Hitler launched his last counter-attack. The aim was to drive through the Ardennes region — an area of heavily forested valleys that had been the German route into France in 1940 —to reach Antwerp and make the Allied supply situation impossible. Ultra had given plenty o f hints that the operation was in preparation, but over-confidence and preconceptions (that the Germans were beaten) renders the best of intelligence useless. With Allied air forces grounded due to the weather, the Germans made quick progress in their drive to the sea. They cut forward through battle-weary American units, at one point sending in commando units in US uniforms, creating a bulge in the Allied line, and engaging the US Army in its biggest battle of the war. As the Battle o f the Bulge unfolded, however, they were held up at Bastogne, the junction of seven strategic roads. There, the commander of the beleaguered American forces, Brigadier-General Anthony McAuliffe of 101 st Airborne, famously answered the German demand for surrender with one word, ‘nuts!’. Once they realised what was happening, Patton’s forces were able to squeeze the German salient, and as the weather lifted and they failed to capture supplies o f petrol, the German advance came to a halt. The Ardennes offensive shook the Allies out of their complacency, and had an impact at the Yalta Conference, for it showed there was fight still in the Germans on the western front, and that Soviet advances were needed as much as ever before. It is often overlooked that American forces — air and ground —

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continued to fight a hard struggle up the spine of Italy up to the end of the war. Italy was a truly inter-Allied front: among the nationalities fighting alongside the Americans and British were Free French, Poles, Brazilians, New Zealanders and Indians. Co-operation between these allies was not always easy, and the Italian campaign had more than its fair share o f muddle and miscalculation. To the Americans it was always tangential to the main struggles o f the war. British hopes of diverting significant German forces from other fronts, and of finding an easy way into the heart o f Hitler’s Reich were never fulfilled. The Germans were able to fight a highly successful defensive campaign. They were aided by the mountainous conditions, o f which few of the Allied soldiers had experience, and by the climate. Italy proved poor terrain for mobile war­ fare. By autumn the rains turned roads to deep mud, and made progress even slower. When one German defensive line was breached, they proved themselves able, Allied airpower notwithstanding, to withdraw success­ fully to the next. The Italian campaign therefore became a dispiriting slog up the spine of Italy, which never did realize any of its larger strategic objectives. This was aggravated by a lack of clear direction on what the aims of each part of the campaign were. In an attempt to break the stalemate, a bold amphibious landing was made at Anzio, in January 1944. Ultra intelligence revealed that complete surprise had been achieved. The way to Rome was open. Failure to clearly define the objectives of the landing, together with the smallness of the Anglo-American force, however, meant that the commander of the forces concentrated on consolidating his beach-head. By the time they were ready to advance they found themselves encircled and in danger of being thrown back into the sea. Churchill was to recall his disappointment that they had hoped to fling a wildcat ashore, and instead they had ‘landed a stranded whale’. On the main front, the Allies came up against the key defensive point at Cassino. Four bloody attempts were made to clear the Germans from the town and the monastery on Monte Cassino above it. Americans, New Zealanders, British and finally Poles and French expended great effort and casualties in doing so. Air and artillery bombardment destroyed the sixth-century Benedictine monastery. It was not until May that the German line was breached. US Fifth Army liberated Rome on 4 June, having linked up with the Anzio forces, but the Germans made good their retreat. By the end of 1944, barred now by the rivers of the North Italian plain rather than by the mountains of the Apennines, progress was still grind­

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ingly slow. Six Allied divisions, including the French, had been diverted to Dragoon, and, thus weakened, the Allied forces were incapable o f a quick breakthrough. T h e Pacific: A d van ce A cro ss the C entral Blue As they showed in the campaigns in Europe, American forces were capable o f learning well from early setbacks. In terms of tactics and development and adaptation o f technology, US commanders and troops in the field showed themselves the superiors o f their enemies in improv­ ing performance in combat, and in doing so impressively quickly. Thus it was in the Pacific. The lessons of Tarawa were absorbed in time for the next phase of the advance across the Central Pacific, the attack on the Marshall Islands. Using airfields on Tarawa, US aircraft denuded Japanese airpower in the islands. While the Japanese were still largely reliant on improved versions of the Zero fighter, American technology had leapt forward. Carrier forces were equipped now with better aircraft. With its growing fleet o f fast carriers, grouped in task forces with fast battleships and mobile repair and fuelling units, the Navy was now capable of taking on Japanese forces directly, with every hope o f victory. Once airfields were established on the islands captured, land-based bombers could join the carrier-borne Helldiver bombers to strike the Japanese bases and render them useless. The remaining strength of the Imperial Japanese N avy’s Air Force was drawn into the battle to defend these bases and was destroyed. Admiral Spruance’s forces drove into the Marshalls, taking Kwajalein, Majuro and Eniwetok easily. Simultaneously, his air groups rendered the main Japanese naval base, at Truk in the Carolines, as useless as Admiral ‘Bull’ Halsey’s airpower had done to Rabaul six months before, thereby avoiding a costly direct assault. Success in the Marshalls brought the timetable forward, and the attack on Saipan in the Marianas was launched in June, rather than September as planned. This brought the Americans up against the inner ring of Japanese defences. Success would put Japan itself in range o f the new long-range bomber, the B-29, which was being developed specifically for this purpose. The Japanese Fleet attempted to stop them. The result was the Battle o f the Philippine Sea. Japanese carrier aircraft found Spruance’s fleet covering landings on Saipan, but made little impact, so heavy were the defensive capabilities of the task force. The battle turned into a disaster for the Japanese Navy from which it never recovered. The Americans sank one Japanese carrier and damaged

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three others. Two had already been sunk by American submarines. Most significantly, with the loss of over 300 aircraft, Japanese aviation was devastated in what became known to the US Navy as the ‘Marianas Turkey-Shoot’. Following the defeat, Japanese Premier General Tojo resigned. Tinian and Guam were secured in July, followed, after some of the fiercest island fighting of the war, by Pellelieu in September. These American successes opened up a number of strategic choices. There had never been consensus on Pacific strategy — and argument continued along the familiar lines. Admiral King preferred to use the opening up of the Central Pacific to drive towards Formosa (Taiwan), bypassing most o f the Philippines. Formosa would be the forward base to launch mass air and eventually land assaults on the Japanese home islands. General MacArthur was determined to make good his promise to Filipinos and return as a liberator, and pressed for permission to take both Leyte and Luzon. Admiral Nimitz argued for the central forces to be directed against Iwo Jima and Okinawa rather than Formosa, which would provide equally good air bases for bombing Japan. In conference on Honolulu on 27—28 July, Roosevelt, MacArthur and Nimitz agreed on the Philippines route. It was there that the Japanese Navy made a last determined effort, and one which came close to success. MacArthur had already been pressing on with speed, anxious that his South Pacific theatre not be relegated to a secondary front because of King’s preferences. He took the Admiralty Islands well ahead of schedule, further isolating Rabaul, then his forces brilliantly leap-frogged 580 miles ahead, bypassing 40,000 Japanese troops and taking New Hollandia on the north coast o f Dutch New Guinea. His forces then completed the conquest of New Guinea by landing on the Volgekop peninsula and Biak island. On 20 October, MacArthur and Halsey’s forces descended on Leyte. On 21 October, MacArthur and the President o f the Philippines waded ashore —MacArthur then repeated his action for the benefit of the cameras. In characteristically dramatic fashion, he declared, ‘People of the Philippines, I have returned’ . As the fighting raged on the beach-head, the Japanese Navy made its throw. The carriers, now devoid of aircraft, acted as bait. Two forces of battleships would then penetrate to the inshore fleet supporting the landings, destroy them and therefore the landing itself. That was the plan. It almost worked. Halsey sent his forces speeding towards the carriers, leaving the beaches defended by lightly protected escort carriers. These vessels suddenly found themselves under attack from the eighteen-inch

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guns o f the world’s most powerful battleship. However, despite the odds, they and their destroyers put up such a strong fight of it that the Japanese forces, on the verge of a major victory, withdrew. A second force of battleships was met in the Surigao Strait by a squadron o f the older American battleships, some o f them refloated veterans of Pearl Harbor and too slow to sail with the fast carrier task forces. In what was to be the last battleship-battleship confrontation, the two Japanese battleships were sunk. Although the Japanese came close to success, aided by Halsey’s misjudgement, the Leyte G ulf battles — the largest naval engagement in history - represented another crippling defeat for the Japanese Navy. It would pose no further serious threat to American advances. On land it took over two months to secure Leyte. The Japanese poured in reinforcements, and the Japanese Army was far from defeated. Their air forces had come up with a new weapon, or at least tactic. Japanese pilots, under-trained and in outdated and outclassed aircraft, began deliberately crashing their planes into American ships. Soon special units were set up, calling themselves kamikaze (divine wind) after a legendary wind that had saved Japan from invasion in the thirteenth century. A month behind schedule, in January 1945, MacArthur’s forces landed on Lingayen G ulf on Luzon, experiencing serious losses of naval forces from the suicide attacks. The Luzon campaign was to prove the largest land campaign of the Pacific war. Manila was taken at the end of February after fighting that left it in ruins. While Bataan, Corregidor and Mindanao were quickly cleared o f Japanese defenders, the fighting on Luzon itself was still continuing when the war ended. Despite the decimation o f its naval forces and a series of heavy defeats on land, the Japanese clearly had much fight left in them, and apparently undiminished morale together with a determination that increased as the Americans neared Japan itself. It was a war that still had to be won.

Notes 1. Prices rose by thirty-two per cent during the war: an improvement over the sixtytwo per cent rise in World War I. 2. American scientists contributed significantly to probably the most important scientific development of the war, that of radar and microwave technology. American universities received massive funding from the government for such work: for them too, this was a ‘good war’. See Robert Buderi, The Invention that Changed the World; How a Small Group o f Radar Pioneers Won the Second World War and Launched a Technical Revolution (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996).

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3. Celebrated by Ford’s publicity machine, Willow Run actually had many problems; it was built on an unsuitable site, to avoid falling in a Democrat-controlled ward, its housing and educational facilities for workers were totally inadequate, and its quality-control methods were poor enough to earn it the nickname ‘Willit run?’ . 4. Wedemeyer’s Victory Programme of 1941 had called for 215 Divisions, but after the Red Army turned the tide of war on the Eastern Front in 1943, Marshall approved the idea of limiting the divisions to ninety. 5. This was so even after the disaster o f Slapton Sands, Dorset, when American troops practising beach landings were attacked by German E-boats with great loss of life; an event kept secret for many years after the war. 6. Marshall’s preference for doing this had some logic; new divisions had to have their own logistical support —American forces had a long administrative ‘tail’ in that only 3,240 men out of the 15,514 in a division were combat riflemen —while only feeding in new riflemen meant that there was less duplication of non-combatant units. See William O’Neill’s excellent A Democracy at War (New York: Free Press, 1993), pp. 367—70 for a critique of this policy.

CHAPTER 5

The Problems o f Victory

Victory in World War II required a titanic effort from the United States and its allies. Within the US, even though the nation was so focused on that task, the normal political process continued. Politics, and American political culture, were major influences on the course of American mobilization efforts, as we have seen, and continued to be the context in which American policy-makers and strategists operated as they planned the last great final push for victory. The President had to deal simultan­ eously with the political landscape at home and with the political problems in international affairs that victory brought with it. Bringing the war to a close, maintaining the Grand Alliance to the end, and shaping the post­ war international political settlement and the domestic transition to peace were major challenges at the very time that the US experienced an unwanted change in leadership. P olitics as usual In contrast to its major allies, in the US the political process continued, with the timetable of elections unaffected by the war. The basic trend revealed in these elections was a resurgence of conservatism, though the coalition o f support for Roosevelt, forged at the height of the New Deal, endured. At the time the war broke out, conservatives formed a strong bloc in Congress, consisting o f Republicans and southern Democrats. They were united in believing New Deal reforms to have gone much too far. Republicans claimed that business initiative had been stifled by regulation and government control, that the New Deal had not solved the Depression and that in any event the war had rendered it obsolete. Southern Democrats objected in particular to the gains made by blacks; all conservatives were united in seeing the increased power and status of labour unions to be a dangerous development. During 1942, conservatives sharply attacked the administration for the lack of direction and dupli­ cation of effort in the organization of the domestic war effort, though

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they themselves were suspicious of over-powerful government agencies. The Congressional elections in November 1942, when all the seats in the House o f Representatives and a third of those in the Senate were contested, saw public dissatisfaction with the progress of the war reflected in large Republican gains. Prosperity led many to forget the gains they had made from the New Deal earlier. The Democrats retained control of Congress, but the Republicans gained forty-four seats in the House, reducing the Democrat majority to thirteen, and gained nine in the Senate. Turnout was low, which favoured the Republicans, for the Democrats had far more voters o f draft-age or who were war workers who had migrated and were not yet qualified to vote in their new place of residence. Demo­ crat losses in the North and the mid-West increased the influence of southerners in the party: they held 120 of the 222 Democrat seats in the House and twenty-nine of the fifty-seven in the Senate, and dominated the major committees. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that the Congress of 1943—5 (the Seventy-Eighth) demonstrated a hostility to reform. The focus on the war gave a pretext to trim existing reform programmes, on the grounds that there was another national emergency now, and that the circum­ stances that had made the New Deal necessary had passed. Principal targets were the agencies that provided employment or government aid, both of which conservatives claimed needlessly restrained individual initiative. They had already begun to dismande the New Deal in the Seventy-Seventh Congress. In 1942 the CCC , one of Roosevelt’s favourite agencies, was wound down. Public opinion supported this move: there no longer seemed a need for work programmes in the context of the war. Thus emboldened, Congress moved to terminate the W PA, and, in Roose­ velt’s words, it was given its ‘honourable discharge’ at the end of 1942. The Seventy-Eighth Congress continued in the same vein. The National Youth Administration and the National Resources Planning Board (which was planning the expansion of social security) were abol­ ished and the Farm Security Administration and the Rural Electrification Administration were cut back. Wartime agencies that smacked of New Deal attitudes were also attacked. The OWI particularly alarmed Congres­ sional conservatives; Representative Joe Starnes of Alabama declared that home-front propaganda was ‘a stench to the nostrils of a democratic people’ . Republicans saw the OWI as an election agency for Roosevelt. Its domestic budget was severely cut and the House wanted to abolish it entirely. Attempts at introducing further reform measures met a similar

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fate: for instance the Wagner-Murray-Dingell bill to extend social security was defeated. The ever-pragmatic Roosevelt admitted the position —one might even say encouraged it —at a press conference at the end o f 1943 when he said that before the war America was like a patient suffering an internal disorder, but with Pearl Harbor it had become external: Old Dr New Deal didn’t know ‘nothing’ about legs and arms. He knew a great deal about internal medicine, but nothing about surgery. So he got his partner, who was an orthopaedic surgeon, Dr Win-theWar, to take care o f this fellow who had been in this bad accident. When Roosevelt did attempt to introduce reform legislation, such as an Economic Bill of Rights, he failed. Roosevelt proposed in his State o f the Union address in January 1944, ‘a second Bill of Rights under which a new basis o f security and prosperity can be established for all’ . These rights would include decent housing, adequate wages, jobs, education, and help when old, unemployed or ill. Congress would only agree to help returning veterans; indeed in this area their measures were far­ sighted and effective. The Servicemen’s Readjustment Act —the GI Bill —provided educational assistance, unemployment benefits, preferential treatment in getting jobs and loans to veterans to set up farms or businesses. Apart from this special case, the powerful coalition of conser­ vatives proceeded to attack what they saw as grossly enlarged government, to end planning schemes and curtail the power of organized labour. The Smith-Connally Act o f 1943 set the pattern, and Roosevelt’s veto could not prevent it from becoming law. Roosevelt’s veto also proved to no avail in a dispute with Congress over taxation in 1944. Congress did not want to increase taxes in an election year, and granted only a portion o f the revenue bill he had requested (two billion dollars against a request o f twelve billion), and inserted a number of measures favourable to business. Roosevelt vetoed the bill, saying it gave ‘relief not for the needy but for the greedy’, but after the resignation of Senate Majority Leader Alben W. Barkley, Congress proceeded to pass it over the veto, the first time this had happened for a revenue bill. Thus, paradoxically, while the activities and powers o f the executive increased during the war, Roosevelt suffered many domestic defeats. With victory now in sight in Europe and the Pacific, but with hard fighting still to do and crucial diplomatic issues to resolve, there was no question of Roosevelt not running for election again in 1944. Although

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his doctors had diagnosed serious health problems (heart disease) in January 1944, his determination to run again was increased by the domestic setbacks. In the context o f the war, there was less dispute about his running for a fourth term than there had been about his third in 1940. Who would run with him was an issue. Democratic party managers, believing that Roosevelt’s health problems made the Vice-President a president-in-waiting, were anxious to replace the radical Henry Wallace with a politically more moderate, and personally more malleable, figure. Unlike in 1940, Roosevelt allowed the party convention to make the choice. To many, including himself, James F. Byrnes was the obvious candidate, but he was somewhat too forceful a character, and too conservative for labour leaders, and party bosses chose an unexceptional senator from Missouri, Harry S. Truman, to be Roosevelt’s running-mate. Truman had come to Washington in 1935 as the tool o f the powerful Pendergast machine that ran politics in Kansas City, Missouri, but he had made a reputation as a diligent and honest senator. He had gained attention as a critic o f waste and inefficiency, chairing the Senate Special Committee to Investigate the National Defense Program in 1942. The Committee saved the government millions o f dollars and protected it from criticism over war production, and put Truman in favour with Roosevelt. On the other hand, his origins reassured southerners and party bosses. Principal themes for the 1944 campaign were post-war peace and a strong desire to ensure there was no return to economic depression. In contrast to 1940, the Republicans picked the orthodox Governor Thomas Dewey o f New York. The election was essentially about Roosevelt’s leadership, and his victory was never in doubt. After the disappointing turnout o f 1942, the Democrats made a concerted effort to get their working-class voters to the polls. The A F L and CIO worked closely with the party: the CIO formed a Political Action Committee to campaign for Democratic candidates. In response, the Republicans launched an assault which raised the spectre of Communism, as well as attacking Roosevelt for being old and tired. Roosevelt became energized by the return to campaigning and gave as good as he got. He emerged with a solid victory: his popular vote was down on 1940, but he still won in the electoral college by 432 to 99. Democratic dominance in the large cities was the key, reflecting how Roosevelt’s coalition of urban ethnic voters, including blacks, and organized labour, had once again held strong, bolstered by migrants from the South. In Congress, the Democrats

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recovered twenty-two House seats and one in the Senate, but this was not enough to dent the prevailing conservative domination, and the Seventy-Ninth Congress was to prove as resistant to reform as the Seventy-Eighth. C reatin g a N ew W o rld O rd er A recurring theme for American policy-makers during the war —and for the general public —was fear o f a return to economic depression after the war. Taken with a determination to re-shape the international order in such a way that a third world war was prevented, this produced consid­ erable activity by Americans to put in place post-war institutions before the war was over. Roosevelt’s government was greatly concerned to ensure that the post-war economic settlement was carefully designed to avoid the mistakes made after World War I. In particular, the same pattern of reparations and war debts, which had so warped international economics in the 1920s, had to be avoided. To these concerns was added American determination, if the US now had to be involved in world affairs, that nowhere was to be closed to American economic enterprise. This, it was hoped, would not only ensure against depression by giving markets for American manufacturing once it was switched from war production, but would also bring the spread o f democracy and therefore peace. Publisher Henry Luce took this idea further, and argued that the world was entering the American Century, in which the US ‘must exert upon the world the full impact of its influence, for such purposes as we see fit, and by such means as we see fit’. The attack on Pearl Harbor, Roosevelt had been quick to point out, discredited the idea that the US could isolate itself from world affairs. American public opinion readily accepted this viewpoint. It was reinforced by government propaganda. By 1943, Congress had been moved to resolve that the US would support a new international organization. It seemed to many that Woodrow Wilson had been vindicated —a view enshrined in Selznick’s epic film biography Wilson released in 1944. American failure to participate in the League of Nations was now seen to have been a major cause o f the war in which the US eventually could not avoid being engaged; American participation in a new organization would realize Wilson’s dream of a world order governed on democratic principles. Disputes would be settled peacefully in the forum of the organization, which would be able to curb aggression by the weight of world opinion and the resources it could command. There was some distance between

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this ideal and Roosevelt’s idea of the Four Policemen, though this was not made explicit to the American public, who came to believe that American engagement in world affairs after the war would be through the medium of the UN. The two concepts were to be uncomfortably grafted onto each other in the final structure of the UN, with the granting of permanent places on the Security Council and a veto power to the major allies. There were two main economic objectives: securing the end o f closed trading systems and putting in place international institutions to help ailing national economies before they fell prey to depression and to the collapse o f democracy. The USSR represented a major closed trading bloc, but the Roosevelt administration was more concerned to break up the imperial preference systems of the European colonial empires, making permanent the wartime situation created by the destruction of European merchant fleets and the growth of American dominance o f the major markets. In relations with his allies, Roosevelt preferred to delay discussion of post-war political issues until victory was secure. He had a number of reasons for this. He himself was mainly focused on victory, and evidence suggests that his ideas for the post-war world, beyond broad principles, were as yet unformed. All of the Big Three were aware that Hitler’s main hope o f escaping defeat was the break-up o f the Grand Alliance, and all were concerned in their different ways to avoid contention, particularly over issues that could wait. At the end o f the war, American economic power would remain an important element, while the military attributes of Roosevelt’s allies would be diminishing assets, with the enemy defeated and demobilization and reconstruction on the agenda. The atomic bomb would be an element —though not the only element —in this equation. Roosevelt also preferred to avoid public discussion o f the detail of international political issues at home. Such discussion could only reveal that the Allies were not of one mind, with negative effects on the newly established American enthusiasm for international co-operation. However, it was impossible to avoid these issues entirely, as Churchill and Stalin understood. Roosevelt was not at all prepared to be left out, while at the same time maintaining the impression at home that he and his allies were agreed that the international settlement would be decided at a post-war peace conference using the Atlantic Charter as its template. Both he and Churchill had declared in September 1940 that any frontier changes made since 1938 would not be recognized during the war and

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that all such issues should be left until the peace conference. This proved to be an impossible line to maintain. Many of the lesser Allies had parti­ cular grievances regarding the pre-war order, which were part o f their motivation for fighting. Pretending not to have a view on such issues implied acceptance of the situation in 1938. The linked issues of the Soviet frontiers and the status of the countries neighbouring the expanded Soviet Union were impossible to ignore. The liberation of German-occupied territories required decisions on new governmental structures and made postponement o f discussion o f frontiers difficult. Roosevelt was faced with the choice o f engaging in potentially divisive discussions on these issues, risking compromise of publicly stated American ideals in order to maintain Allied unity, or abstaining from involvement in them, which meant watching passively while the process of occupation settled these issues in practice. Characteristically, his policy involved a mixture o f all these approaches, held together by his confidence in his own diplomatic and political skill and personal charm. American plans for the post-war world order were formalized in a succession o f international conferences. At Bretton Woods, New Hamp­ shire, in July 1944, a new international financial system was established that would essentially revolve around the US dollar. The World Bank and the International Monetary Fund were established to provide that economic safety-net against depression, but were also to offer a major instrument for American management o f the world financial system, superseding the role previously performed by the financial institutions of the City o f London. At Dumbarton Oaks in Washington D C , between August and October 1944, the structure of a new international organiza­ tion was discussed. A preliminary Charter was drawn up, which reflected more the Great Power attitudes o f the Big Three and the realities of their strength, than a commitment to Wilsonian notions of international democracy. Power would rest with the Security Council, not the General Assembly, and on the Council, Roosevelt’s Four Policemen would be permanent members. Argument raged over the extent o f their veto powers, as it did over a Soviet demand for General Assembly places for each o f the sixteen constituent republics of the USSR. These issues were deferred: they were to be settled at Yalta and at the San Francisco Confer­ ence in April 1945, when the United Nations Organization was formally established.

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T h e Fo u rth Policem an: the U nited States and China Many Americans had a strong and long-standing emotional attachment to China. China had been the object o f much missionary work since the nineteenth century, and at the turn o f the century, the United States had stated the principle of the ‘Open Door’ with relation to foreign inter­ ference with Chinese sovereignty. Americans had an idealistic view of China as a potential USA in Asia; a large, progressive democratic republic which would be a stable force for peace and an influence on decolonization in the rest of the continent. As a developing modern nation it would also be a vast market for American manufactures. General­ issimo Jiang Jieshi was regarded as a modernizing figure, struggling to defeat local warlords and communist revolutionaries, and to establish the new democratic China. An idealistic vision of China had been popular­ ized widely in the US by the books o f Pearl Buck, especially The Good Earth. The truth was, however, that Jiang’s rule was at times authoritarian, always chaotic, and held together by corruption. In his fight against the Japanese, Jiang’s forces by 1941 were beleaguered in the interior, connected to the outside world only by the hazardous air route over the Himalayas from India (known as ‘the Hump’). Jiang had high hopes when the US entered the war. Roosevelt regarded Jiang as America’s greatest ally in the war against Japan, but resisted pressure from the Far Eastern desk of the State Department to build his strategy around extensive aid to Jiang and military operations in China. Congress did vote a $500,000 loan in February 1942, but China had a low priority as far as supplies were concerned, shaped by the difficulty o f getting them there, by British reservations about Jiang and by the urgency of needs on other fronts. Roosevelt shared the emotional attachment to China, and saw that it was good politics to play up American aid to China in domestic propaganda. He wanted China to be one o f the Four Policemen, and the one to oversee the transition from empire in South-East Asia. Jiang was appointed Commander of Allied Forces, China, a typical Roosevelt gesture that meant little, for few American forces were sent to China, apart from Major-General Claire Chennault’s airmen, who were already there, and General Joseph ‘Vinegar Joe’ Stilwell, who became Jiang’s Chief of Staff. American public opinion continued to be very enthusiastic about China, and Jiang’s wife became a national celebrity in the US, even addressing Congress: between them, the couple appeared five times

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on the cover of Time and L ife , which under the direction of Luce, their owner, followed a strongly pro-China line. Roosevelt met Jiang at Cairo in November 1943, and painted to him a rosy picture o f China’s future role. The Cairo Declaration stated that China would receive back all its lost territory, and Japan would lose all of its acquisitions since 1894. While this was popular in both the US and China, by this point opinions were changing within the government. Representatives in Chung­ king were becoming increasingly frustrated at the venality of Jiang’s regime, and his unwillingness to take the offensive against the Japanese. A well-founded suspicion emerged that Jiang counted on the Americans defeating Japan and was conserving his forces for a post-war showdown with Mao Zedong’s Communists. Stilwell urged reform of the army and offensive operations and his criticisms o f Jiang rendered relations between them extremely bad. During 1944, China’s strategic significance declined. Initially, the Americans had expected to use China as a base from which to attack Japan, in the air and then by invasion. Progress across the Pacific super­ seded this plan, giving a more direct route to Japan and also circum­ venting the need to co-operate with a potentially awkward ally. In China, Stilwell did command Chinese and American forces in action on the Burma front. He and Chennault could not agree on the best use of Chinese resources, however. The airman favoured concentrating American resources on air attacks on Japan from Chinese bases. Stilwell argued that the army had to be improved, to give better discipline and training and weed out corruption. Without ground forces capable of taking the fight to Japan, he argued, the Japanese would simply strike against the air bases. This proved to be correct, for in their Ichi-Go operation in 1944, their last successful offensive in China, the Japanese overran most o f the bases. The American interest in forging a united post-war China remained. Roosevelt sent Henry Wallace in June 1944 to try and mediate between Jiang and the Communists. Wallace, along with State Department China experts John Paton Davies and John Service, recommended working with Mao, who seemed to be running a more effective military operation, with the objective o f ensuring the Communists were kept out o f the arms o f the Soviets. Wallace was followed, however, by Roosevelt’s friend, Patrick Hurley, who was appointed Ambassador. Hurley was strongly pro-Jiang, and he dismissed Davies and Service’s opinions and in Octo­ ber 1944 secured the replacement o f Stilwell with General Wedemeyer, another staunch anti-Communist.

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By this point, Roosevelt was temporizing on his anti-imperialism. There were a number of reasons for this. The US Army and Navy were voicing their desire to hold some o f the Pacific islands they were capturing as bases in the post-war period, with no limits on their activities on them. As the fighting front moved away from India, there seemed less urgency to promote reform there, and in any case there was no sign o f Churchill budging. Rebuilding French strength as a European power began to appear an important task, and the French wished to return to their colonial empire. Roosevelt did not announce any change to official policy on decolonization (with the result that the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) continued to encourage an independence move­ ment in Vietnam, for example), but he began to say much less about a Chinese role as a trustee o f former colonies. At Yalta, for all his earlier advocacy of China’s status as one of a ‘Big Four’, he was quite prepared to offer the Soviets concessions in Chinese territory, in return for involvement in the war against Japan. By the end o f the war, America’s China policy was a mess. Still publicly committed to Jiang, but with many private reservations, their aid to the Chinese Nationalists continued to be insufficient to secure them victory, and, conversely, no mechanism was found for ensuring that what was sent was used properly. Spheres o f Conflict The successful advances o f Allied armies in Europe in 1943 created new diplomatic problems. Defeated enemy nations and liberated allies needed stable political systems established quickly. Since these countries were usually liberated piecemeal, these matters had to be tackled while military operations were still being conducted in them, so that for the Allies, military considerations took priority. An administration was required that would keep order, and ensure the availability of resources. The first civilian administrations were therefore set up as an offshoot of military operations, often superintended by military officers. The first enemy country where these matters had to be confronted was Italy. Here the matter was complicated by the fact that the Italian Fascist government surrendered and the new government declared war on the Germans. Badoglio was set up in southern Italy as head of a provisional government, and immediately some important principles were established. Badoglio’s powers were severely limited and implemented at the discretion of the military powers. An Allied Military Government (AM GO T) was estab­ lished to run domestic affairs in areas immediately behind the fighting

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front, until the front had moved on when the area would be turned over to the provisional government. The British and Americans retained close control, and effectively decided who was in the Italian Government — though because they could not always agree, neither o f them was fully satisfied with the personnel. Churchill was concerned to ensure the continuance o f the Italian monarchy while the Americans preferred liberal republicans. Neither was sure about the role to be given Palmiro Togliatti, the Italian Communist leader, who had returned to Italy from Moscow. The most important fact about the handling o f Italian politics was that the Soviets were given little say in these matters. At times, they attempted to increase their influence: for instance, in March 1944 by recognizing the Badoglio government without consulting their allies, but by and large their representative on the Allied Control Commission was kept away from the important decisions. The Soviets resented this, since Italy had sent troops to the Eastern Front, but they appeared also to appreciate the argument that the needs of the continuing military campaign had to be given priority. The precedent cannot have been lost on them, however, when the Red Army began operations outside pre­ war Soviet frontiers during 1944. Soviet advances were remarkably swift after the summer campaign of 1944 opened. This caused concern for Churchill, with the Polish problem still unsettled. He was, however, most concerned about Greece, a country o f major strategic significance for the British Empire. In May 1944 the British approached the Soviets with a suggestion for a practical division of spheres of operation, which would assign Romania to the USSR and Greece to the Anglo-Americans. Stalin asked what the American view was on this. Churchill put it to Roosevelt as a Soviet suggestion; American suspicions about the arrangement were increased when it became evident that the idea had originated in Britain. Roosevelt refused to agree. For him, this was a matter of a fundamental principle. He, and most American policy-makers, were opposed to any suggestion o f what they regarded as old-fashioned European balance o f power politics of the kind that Wilson had argued against, and which most Americans thought were responsible for war. The new international organization was supposed to render them unnecessary —and indeed the principle seemed incompatible with the idea of the United Nations. Moreover —and some revisionist historians have argued that this was the crucial point — such spheres went against the American demand for freedom o f trade, as laid down in the Atlantic Charter and enshrined in

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the arrangements the Americans put forward at Bretton Woods. So Roosevelt’s hostility to this idea should be seen in 1944 as resulting as much from his suspicions about British policy as about that of the Soviets. Roosevelt also instinctively disliked the idea of placing any unforced limitations on American influence or involvement. By October, Churchill was anxious that the Soviets should acknow­ ledge that there were British interests in the countries that they were liberating. He flew to Moscow for a conference with Stalin codenamed Tolstoy. With the election just weeks away and his health poor, Roosevelt did not go. He instructed Ambassador Averell Harriman to act as observer, making clear that the US would not be bound by anything Stalin and Churchill might agree, though Stalin may well have assumed that Churchill was representing both of them. Harriman was in fact absent from the crucial meeting. Churchill suggested to Stalin that they agree percentages of influence in a range o f countries. The percentages were: Romania ninety per cent Soviet, ten per cent ‘the others’; Bulgaria seventy-five to twenty-five; Greece ten to ninety; Hungary and Yugoslavia fifty-fifty. There has been much discussion as to what Churchill meant by the percentages, and what, if anything, Stalin agreed to. Poland was not part of the arrangement (neither were Italy or other west European countries), though Poland was discussed and Churchill had Premier Mikolajczyk flown to Moscow and attempted to bully him into agreeing the Soviet frontier demand. Whatever the situation regarding the other countries, both Churchill and Stalin acted subsequently as if they did have a deal over Greece and Romania. Roosevelt did not disown the arrangement, nor argue with Churchill about it later. He did, however, sharply criticize the British for sending troops into Greece to pre-empt a Communist takeover, an action he saw to be motivated by imperialism. There are thus some conflicting indications in American policy. On the one hand, Americans where they had influence favoured liberal democratic or conservative (though not monarchist) elements. On the other, they had no sympathy at this time for Churchill’s worries about Communist takeovers in Greece or the Balkan countries, and they supported Tito in Yugoslavia for military reasons. It has been speculated that Roosevelt, while sharing the American revulsion against spheres of influence, was aware that the US itself had one in Latin America under the Monroe Doctrine, and was indeed prepared to tolerate similar arrangements elsewhere. The Four Policemen idea he unveiled to Molotov in June 1942 suggested the policemen disarm (and therefore have some

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influence over) their neighbours. If such spheres were ‘open’, that is they followed democratic forms, and in particular were open to commerce and free passage of goods and resources, it appears that he was prepared to accept arrangements for security purposes. Roosevelt had, after all, assured Stalin that he agreed that the USSR had the right to ‘friendly’ governments on its borders, and he was not so naive as to not know what that implied.1 These complications in Roosevelt’s policy appeared to have been resolved by the agreements made at Yalta. The Big Three met for the second and last time in this Crimean resort on 4—n February 1945. This represented the high point o f the Grand Alliance. The atmosphere was excellent, and it seemed to those who participated that a real spirit of compromise and common purpose motivated the participants. It is possible, in fact, that they were carried away by this atmosphere —even Stalin. Add to this the fact that observers noted that all three looked worn after the long war years in which they had carried so much personal responsibility. Roosevelt in particular was reported to look ‘faded’ . With the final battle still to be fought in Germany (the Battle of the Bulge suggested there was still hard fighting ahead) the vital cement of common need was still operating in the alliance. The three leaders therefore discussed their final strategy, and the initial dispositions for the post-war settlement. Co-ordination was arranged for when the Soviet and AngloAmerican forces got close to each other. Political issues now predominated. The occupation zones for Germany and Austria were agreed, and the division o f Berlin into zones too. There was further discussion of the post-war treatment of Germany, but apart from agreement that war criminals would be punished, little of substance was agreed. Roosevelt had been flirting with an idea, mooted by Henry Morgenthau, that Germany should be ‘pastoralized’ —have its industry, and therefore its war-making capability, removed. All the Allies agreed that Germany needed to be prevented from starting another war, but dismemberment was not agreed upon and they backed away from an initial emotional attraction to the Morgenthau plan. Reparation payments were another matter. The experience of the post-World War I settlement had convinced Churchill and Roosevelt that reparations were a mistake, but Stalin saw the problem differently. Claiming to speak for all those countries devastated by Nazi occupation, he demanded that the Allies fix a sum of twenty billion dollars, half to go to the USSR. All he got was a vague commitment to consider this in a Reparations Commission, though he may have believed he had

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got Allied acceptance of the basic principle. Agreements were reached on treatment of liberated prisoners-of-war (POWs) and their mutual return —the implementation o f which was to provoke a storm o f controversy when details were revealed in the 1980s of how the British in particular had returned Soviet citizens to the USSR who did not wish to go, having worn German uniforms. Since most Anglo-American POW s were being liberated by the Red Army, this agreement caused considerable satis­ faction in the West at the time. The most difficult decisions were on the composition o f the Polish Government: the Soviets had recognized the Lublin Committee as the government and had installed it in Warsaw. An agreement was made to have discussions in Moscow with a view to incorporating some Poles from elsewhere. With the Red Army in control, and with the A K having been decimated in the Warsaw Rising in August, which Stalin had refused to help, this seemed the best that could be done. With regard to the rest o f Eastern Europe, the Americans proposed a Declaration on Liberated Europe. This was not of Roosevelt’s own design, but he was most gratified that Churchill and Stalin accepted it. It may well have been that the State Department drafters had British actions in Greece as much in mind as Soviet ones in Eastern Europe, but the upshot of the agreement was that Stalin committed himself on paper to holding free elections in the countries he liberated, open to all democratic elements. Nothing was said o f the percentages agreement, which the Declaration appeared to supersede, though whether Stalin (or indeed Churchill) saw it this way is a moot point. Other agreements reached were regarded as equally important by Roosevelt. The JC S had advised Roosevelt that Soviet participation in the war against Japan, which it was believed could last another eighteen months, was worth any price. Stalin confirmed that the USSR would enter the war against Japan three months after victory in Europe; in a secret agreement, he was promised restitution of territories the Japanese gained after the Russo-Japanese War of 1905, the Kurile Islands, and certain facilities in Northern China. The Chinese were not involved in these arrangements. The Dumbarton Oaks conference had failed to agree on voting rights in the UN Security Council: it was now agreed that the permanent members could veto decisions, but not discussion. The Soviets agreed to reduce their demand for sixteen additional places in the General Assembly to two. Taken all in all, Roosevelt had reason to be well-pleased with Yalta. Issues that could not be agreed upon had

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been deferred, with no damage to Allied unity, and co-operation appeared to have moved a stage further —an apparent vindication o f his methods of handling Stalin. He had secured Stalin’s agreement on many issues that mattered to him. In subsequent years great controversy has emerged about Yalta. Many historians have dated the start of the Cold War from this point. During the early Cold War, Roosevelt was criticized for giving too much away to Stalin, indeed for believing that Stalin could be negotiated with at all. This is hardly fair. Stalin made a number of concessions, and the general air of the conference was one o f give-and-take. No partici­ pant could expect ioo per cent of his requirements: a fact that was sometimes forgotten later on in the context of abundant American power. At this point, the Americans needed a number of things from the Soviets: to help finish the war in Europe and Asia, to collaborate in policing the peace and to put their weight behind the UN. The accusation that Roosevelt let the Soviets into Eastern Europe or in other ways betrayed the West is ridiculous. It was not in America’s power to prevent Stalin doing what he wanted in the territories he occupied. The agreement on Poland was the best that could be arrived at at this point, and it was not inevitable that it would be unfulfilled. However, the Yalta euphoria did not last for long. Within days of the conference, the Soviet representative in Romania, Andrei Vyshinsky, bullied King Michael into re-shaping his government in favour of proSoviet elements. It seems clear that Stalin believed that the Declaration was largely cosmetic, and that it did not over-ride the arrangements previously made with Churchill. The problem was that Stalin had publicly committed himself to at least follow certain procedures, and he was clearly not prepared to do even that. British and American representa­ tives in Bucharest, Sofia and other East European cities began reporting that they were being treated with scant respect, and described how the Soviets were rounding up anti-Soviet people and forcing their will on these occupied countries. With regard to Poland, the Soviets were most blatant in their disregard for the sensitivities of their allies. When sixteen non-Communist Poles arrived in Moscow, representatives o f the resistance, they were arrested. It proved impossible to reach agreement on which Poles to include in a reconstituted government: the Soviets represented virtually all the Poles the Anglo-Americans favoured as anti-Soviet. The Yalta agreements, and indeed the whole structure of Allied co-operation, on which Roosevelt

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had based so much, appeared to be in tatters. Churchill began pressing that the only way to treat the Soviets was in the way one would treat a bully: with strength and firmness. He recommended that the AngloAmerican armies should drive as far east as possible in Europe, capturing significant cities such as Berlin, Prague and Vienna. They should refuse to withdraw their forces to the occupation zones agreed at Yalta, until the Soviets began keeping their side of the agreements. The American response was mixed and inconsistent. The fact was that most of the telegrams sent over Roosevelt’s name were now originating in the State Department, which inclined towards the views of Churchill and their own people in the field. Roosevelt’s final message to Churchill, on n April, however, indicated his own feelings. While he accepted that the USSR was in many ways a bully, he was still hopeful of overall co-operation: I would minimize the general Soviet problem as much as possible because these problems, in one form or another, seem to arise every day and most of them straighten out ... We must be firm, however, and our course thus far is correct. The message was sent from Warm Springs, Georgia, where Roosevelt had gone for health reasons. The following day he had a massive cerebral haemorrhage and died. V icto ry in E u rop e On 28 January, Eisenhower’s forces reoccupied the position they had been in before the Battle of the Bulge. When the offensive recommenced in February, the northern forces were held up in the Reichswald, but further south, American armies commanded by General Omar Bradley captured intact the bridge over the Rhine at Remagen. The Ruhr was surrounded by American armies on 1 April, and 317,000 German soldiers were taken prisoner in the following three weeks. As they advanced into the heart of Germany, Bradley and Eisenhower became concerned that German forces would gather for one last desperate defence in the south. While there were actually no grounds for such fears, there was some talk that fanatical Nazis would gather round Hitler in a ‘National Redoubt’ in the Bavarian Alps. Eisenhower decided it was more important to stop the Germans from moving their government south than to head directly for Berlin. Bradley had predicted to him that Berlin would cost 100,000 Allied casualties. On 28 March, therefore, Eisenhower contacted Stalin, as one

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Supreme Commander to another. He announced his advance along the Leipzig-Dresden line, where he hoped to make a junction with the Soviet forces. This left Berlin to the Soviets. Stalin replied, agreeing that Berlin was now of secondary importance, though he then gathered his commanders and ordered a major assault on the German capital. Churchill was furious, complaining that not only had Berlin not lost its importance, but that Eisenhower was exceeding his authority by making his own arrangements on matters that were fundamentally poli­ tical. But the British role in the alliance was diminishing all the time, and the JC S experienced some pleasure in supporting Eisenhower and thereby asserting their long-standing view that defeating the enemy was essen­ tially a military matter, and that saving American casualties was the prime concern. As it was, the Soviets lost 125,000 soldiers in taking Berlin, and the Americans were subsequently able to enter the city without losing one. Churchill argued that the Soviets would claim that they were the ones who had defeated Germany if allowed to take Berlin, and he was concerned to get Allied armies as far into the assigned Soviet zone as possible, to give a bargaining counter for Soviet good behaviour. To Roosevelt, as to Marshall and Eisenhower, the priority was to defeat the Germans, not secure bargaining points, and both he and, later, Truman refused to agree to such tactics, which they saw would immediately put them in the wrong. After Stalin had agreed with Eisenhower, he then launched a stinging attack on the Allies, claiming that they had made separate arrangements with the Germans that had meant they maintained stiff resistance to the Soviets while opening up their front to the Allies. Undoubtedly the pace o f Allied advances once the Rhine had been crossed caused Stalin great surprise and discomfort, for he would not have trusted them to withdraw to their zones. Certainly the Germans resisted harder against the Soviets, fearing with some justification the treatment they would receive at the hands o f the Red Army, but the fighting was never easy on the Western Front either. However, by 10 April, Patton’s Third Army was at Erfurt and by 12 April, the Ninth and First Armies were on the Elbe as well. Leipzig fell on 19 April. Bradley then held his forces on the Elbe to meet the Soviets. Thus the war in Europe ended with the German Reich crushed between two giant pincers, but with the victorious Allies’ sense of triumph tempered by mutual suspicions. This was not evident when, with plentiful news cameras present, Soviet and American forces met at Torgau on the Elbe on 24 April. They

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embraced and toasted victory and the Grand Alliance. For the soldiers on the ground, this undoubtedly was a genuine celebration of relief and pleasure, even if the smiles on the faces of their commanders were only skin-deep. German resistance to the Soviet armies continued to the end, allowing the British to get to the Germany—Denmark border first. On 2 May they took Liibeck, and a day later US forces made contact with the Soviets nearby at Wismar. On 30 April, in Berlin, Hitler, refusing to leave, handed power to Grand Admiral Donitz and killed himself. Donitz’s envoys approached Eisenhower at Rheims on 5 May to arrange partial surrender to the Americans, to allow as many Germans as possible to escape the Soviets, but Eisenhower insisted on complete surrender with no conditions. He told them on 6 May that if the Germans did not surrender simultaneously on all fronts, he would close the Western Front to German refugees. The surrender was agreed at 2.41 a.m. on 7 May. By 6 May, the fighting had effectively ended for the American armies. In the south, there having been no National Redoubt, the Third Army met the Soviet Army in Linz, and the Seventh Army met the Fifth Army from Italy at the Brenner. The Third Army also entered Czechoslovakia, but much to Patton’s disgust (and that of later commentators), Eisenhower halted his advance short of Prague in response to a request from the Soviets. The fighting officially ended on 8 May, which Truman and Churchill declared VE Day, though Stalin, his suspicions unabated, demanded a second surrender in Berlin. This took place just before midnight on 8 May, so that VE Day for the Soviets was 9 May. In fact, the Soviets kept fighting until 11 May in order to secure Prague. Thus, in a slightly messy fashion, the war in Europe was over, with Germany completely occupied and most of its cities in ruins. In Italy a few days earlier, Mussolini had been killed by partisans and hung upside-down in a square in Milan alongside his mistress. The final wartime meeting o f the Big Three took place in defeated Germany, in Potsdam, a suburb o f occupied Berlin, between 17 July and 2 August 1945. Truman and Byrnes (now Secretary o f State) were now in charge ,of American diplomacy, and halfway through the Conference, Churchill was replaced as British leader by Clement Attlee. The Soviets reiterated their intention to join the war against Japan, but the atmos­ phere between the Allies had grown much tenser. Truman had not been part o f Roosevelt’s inner circle. After becoming

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Vice-President, he met Roosevelt on only three occasions, and was not involved in any of the major discussions on strategy or foreign policy. He was not made aware o f secrets like Ultra or the Manhattan Project, of Roosevelt’c personal plans for the post-war settlement nor of arrange­ ments made with the Allies, beyond the public statements. He took over the Presidency on 12 April in a state o f shock, inviting the press reporters to pray for him: ‘I don’t know whether you fellows ever had a load of hay or a bull fall on you, but last night, the moon, the stars and all the planets fell on me’ . Feeling very inexperienced, he called on the experts for advice; some of them Roosevelt’s trusted advisors, like Admiral Leahy and Averell Harriman, some from the State Department and other bureau­ cratic departments that Roosevelt had held at arm’s length. Unaware of Roosevelt’s devious approach, he took the arrangements with the Soviets at face value, and soon took Molotov to task. When Molotov complained, Truman retorted ‘keep your agreements and you won’t get talked to like that’ . Truman was faced with the issues of peace and reconstruction that Roosevelt had preferred to pass over in the interests of wartime unity, and had no clear blueprint for how to act. With Byrnes, Harriman and Leahy, backed by the British, pressing him to be ‘tough’ on the Soviets, he was quite bullish at Potsdam, though, on the other hand, he had supported a compromise on the Polish issue that Hopkins brokered in June, which gave the Soviets most of what they wanted. The conference confirmed that Germany was not to be broken up, apart from the territory in the east given to Poland and the Soviet Union. It would be administered in four zones by Britain, France, the US and the USSR, with Berlin also divided, but Germany would be regarded as one unit economically. Disagreements over this issue and the connected one of reparations were to be a major factor in the breakdown of US-Soviet relations in the years to come. For the present, they agreed to share resources while they occupied Germany; further arrangements concerning reparations were left to be decided by a Council of Foreign Ministers that would meet regularly and draw up peace terms for the defeated nations. There was considerable discussion of the Polish western frontiers. The British and Americans objected to the Poles being given territory as far as the Western Neisse river, but since this area was under the control of the Soviet Army, that is what happened. The leaders at Potsdam agreed to the removal of the German population from east o f the Oder and Neisse rivers, effectively guaranteeing that this would be the permanent frontier. After agreement with the Chinese, the Potsdam Declaration

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was issued to the Japanese. Stalin told Truman that the Japanese had requested his mediation, but still refused to surrender unconditionally. The Americans already knew o f this through Magic. The Declaration called on J apanese forces to surrender unconditionally, or face ‘prompt and utter destruction’ . Their leaders would be punished and Japanese territory reduced to the four main islands. The Japanese leaders were also called upon to lift all obstacles to democracy in Japan. V icto ry in the Pacific War was still waging fiercely in the Pacific. Like the Germans, the Japanese had apparently no intention of surrendering until overrun. There has been much debate among historians as to the effects o f Roosevelt’s unconditional surrender policy. While it avoided potentially damaging splits in the Allied coalition (the possibilities of which were demonstrated in the last month o f the war in Europe), if anything it prompted the Axis to fight harder. It gave an opportunity for the propaganda machines in Germany and Japan to develop a determination in their people to fight to the bitter end by giving the impression that they could expect no mercy from the Allies, and that their whole culture would be stripped from them by Allied victory. The devastation caused by strategic bombing undoubtedly helped to make such claims convincing. O f course, the propaganda machines would have done the same thing without the unconditional surrender pledge, and the Americans did try to emphasize that it was the criminal leaders that could expect punishment, and that ‘unconditional’ did not mean unrestrained when it came to the treatment of the defeated peoples. With bases now available, strategic bombing had been launched in earnest against the Japanese at the end of 1944. The first raids had actually begun on 15 June 1944. They were flown by a section o f Twentieth Air Force, commanded by Major-General Curtis B. LeMay and based in India, flying ‘over the Hump’ into China. From there they could hit some targets in Japan, together with Japanese facilities in Manchuria and Korea. They were the first operational test for the new B-29. The largest Allied bomber of the war, it had a range of 1,600 miles and was heavily armed with automatic turrets and carried a large bomb-load. These early raids achieved little, though they did give the crews experience. The campaign was able to start properly with the capture of the Marianas, which put most of Japan, including Tokyo, within range (though not of fighter escorts). From there, bombers commanded by Brigadier-General

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Haywood S. Hansell began a series of precision attacks on the Japanese aircraft industry on 24 November. These high-level attacks lasted for the next two months, but the results were uncertain. Accuracy was hampered by clouds and high winds at altitude, as well as by Japanese fighters and some problems with the B-29. Arnold favoured incendiary attacks instead, whose efficacy he felt could be more assured. Hansell carried out such a raid on Nagoya on 3 January, the planes attacking at night with fire­ bombs, flying at low-level and therefore avoiding fighters and carrying a heavier load. The results were inconclusive, but Arnold was convinced that this was the best method, knowing that Japanese cities were highly inflammable. Much of Tokyo was built of light materials, such as wood, and even paper, because of the danger of earthquakes. Arnold replaced Hansell with LeMay later in January. LeMay continued precision raids, but was keener on incendiary raids than Hansell. On 25 February, 150 B29s carried out such an attack in the daytime on Tokyo, burning out nearly a square mile of the city. LeMay then decided to switch tactics to low-level night attacks, leaving behind many of the gunners to enable a heavier load o f bombs to be carried. The results were devastating. On the night of 9—10 March, 300 bombers dropped 2,000 tons o f incendiaries on heavily residential areas of Tokyo. An enormous firestorm started, destroying nearly a quarter of the city, including twenty military targets, and killing 85,000 Japanese. Over the following weeks the B-29S did the same to Osaka, Kobe and Nagoya, as well as returning to Tokyo. After a pause to assist the attack on Okinawa, they returned in May. This time they were escorted by P-5 is from I wo Jima, which swept the Japanese fighters from the sky; the few that remained were kept on the ground ready to fight the invasion. The bombers now ranged freely across the length o f Japan, assisted by bombers from the aircraft carriers. In 500-bomber raids, most of Japan’s sixty-six industrial cities were obliterated. An exception was Hiroshima - which came to be regarded by the Japanese as a ‘lucky city’; the reason for it and a handful o f other cities being spared would become evident only in August. LeMay’s combination of precision raids and incendiary attacks, spreading to minor towns and installations in June and July, had by the end o f that month virtually brought Japan to a standstill. Most industry, especially oil refineries, was in ruins, and the transportation system had collapsed. Production had been halved. 300,000 had been killed, with over 500,000 wounded. Over eight million more were made homeless. While it has attracted far less attention than the bombing, probably an

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equally important factor in bringing J apan to its knees was the American submarine campaign. There are reasons for official coyness about this campaign (there is no official memorial to US submariners in World War II). The US had since World War I condemned unrestricted sub­ marine warfare as against the laws of civilized warfare. Yet, paradoxically, the only successful submarine campaign ever conducted was by the US Navy. The expanded Japanese empire was designed to supply the Japanese with all the raw materials in which Japan itself was so deficient. It was by sea that these resources would be brought to Japan, and by sea that the captured territories were reinforced and supplied with aircraft, arms and provisions. But the Japanese had neglected to take into consid­ eration the need to protect this traffic. They never organized convoying properly and developed no systems of anti-submarine warfare. They needed to, for against them the US put up an increasingly large, skilled and daring force, equipped with superb ocean-going boats. The one problem the Americans had at the start o f the war, the quality of their torpedo, was ironed out by 1943. From then onwards, their submarines took an increasingly heavy toll o f both Japanese warships and merchant vessels. Supply first to outlying island bases, and then to the Japanese home islands was increasingly dislocated, with a major impact on Japan’s domestic economy and ability to continue the war — especially in the strategically vital materials of oil and rubber. Aided by developments in radar and by signals intelligence, American submarines were able to locate and intercept Japanese shipping and maintain an effective blockade from mid-1944 onwards. Over 1,200 Japanese merchant ships were sunk, together with twenty major warships. Fifty-two submarines were lost out of 288. However, as in Europe, it appeared that victory could only be secured by land operations. Whatever Japan’s deteriorating position in terms of materiel, the tenacity of its military forces continued. Iwo Jima was taken by Admiral Nimitz’s forces in March 1945 at great cost —the raising of the flag over Mount Suribachi by Marines giving one of the great photo­ graphs of the war, and one of the great iconic images.2 60,000 marines and 800 warships were deployed to take this small island. Over a third of the Marine force were killed or wounded. As had become their habit, the Japanese retired to defensive strongpoints and fought effectively to the last man: on Hill 382, ‘the Meat Grinder’, and in ‘Bloody Gorge’, which took ten days to clear. Iwo Jima took thirty-six days to capture, not the expected fourteen.

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The Americans then moved on to Okinawa, which was also defended with determination and great skill. Okinawa contained vital airbases and was only 340 miles (550km) from the Japanese mainland. The Americans fought there the most costly and complex operation of the Pacific war. Over half a million troops and 1,200 warships were involved. Kamikazes inflicted heavy damage on the American warships supporting the landings. Japanese tactics were now becoming clear; to inflict as many casualties as possible for as long as possible. From 1 April to 22 June 1,900 kamikaze sorties were flown. The world’s largest battleship, the Yamato, sortied on a suicide mission and was sunk by naval aircraft. The island was not fully in American hands until 22 June: in taking it, 4,900 seamen and 7,613 troops had been killed, 31,000 wounded and thirty-six warships sunk. The Japanese lost 140,000, including 42,000 Okinawans. The Okinawa experience aggravated fears among planners in Wash­ ington and in the Pacific that invasion of Japan itself, planned to begin in November, would be difficult and costly. To the lasting relief o f those GIs poised to make the landing, the war was brought to an end in August by the Soviet adherence to their promise to enter the war and by the dropping o f two atomic bombs. T h e M anhattan P ro ject During the 1920s, nuclear physicists had theorized that splitting an atom (‘nuclear fission’) would release an enormous amount of energy. Experi­ ments with uranium showed by 1940 that if U235, a variant, or isotope, of uranium, was isolated in pure form, only a few kilograms would be enough to produce a chain reaction o f nuclear fission (this amount was known as the critical mass) and a bomb more powerful than several thousand tons of dynamite. In the US, atomic scientists Leo Szilard, Edward Teller and Eugene Wigner, who were emigres from Europe, were concerned that German nuclear science was more advanced than in any other country, and in 1939 had persuaded Albert Einstein to draw Roosevelt’s attention to the issue. Einstein’s letter pointed out the potential applications of nuclear physics to weapons, and drew attention to the fact that the Germans had stopped the sale of uranium from Czechoslovakia. Roosevelt’s response was limited: he set up a committee to see if such a weapon was possible. During 1941, American scientists on this committee visited Britain and learned of progress being made there, having previously believed that nuclear fission had no relevance for the present war. In December 1941,

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they recommended a full-scale American effort, fired by the fear that the Germans might be well-advanced on their project. The result was the huge operation codenamed ‘Manhattan Engineering District’, commonly known as the Manhattan Project. The British project was moved to the US and merged into it — given the range of nationalities involved, so many of the participants being refugees from Nazi Europe, this was in a real sense an international project. One nationality not involved was the Soviets: the project was kept a close secret from friends as well as enemies. Soviet nuclear research was good, but had been stopped when the Germans invaded, for the sake of more immediate needs. However, Soviet espionage penetrated the Manhattan Project, providing much useful data for when the Soviet project was revived in 1945, as well as alerting Stalin to what his allies were up to without telling him. The Manhattan Project was set up in 1942 under the Office of Scien­ tific Research and Development directed by Vannevar Bush (known as ‘scientists against time5), but was then transferred to the War Depart­ ment, with Colonel (later Lieutenant-General) Leslie Groves in overall charge. Groves was a military engineer who had been responsible for the construction o f the Pentagon. The Manhattan Project had three main establishments: one developing the bomb itself at Los Alamos, New Mexico, one at Oak Ridge, Tennessee working on the difficult process of separating out a sufficient quantity of U235 from the more common form of uranium, U238, and another at Hanford, Washington. This third plant explored the theory that a simpler chemical process could be used to transform U238 into a new element, plutonium, which had the same properties as U235. One major issue in this process was the use of a ‘moderator5 (a substance to slow down the speed of neutrons): two of these were believed efficacious —heavy water and graphite. At the end of 1942, working in a squash court in Chicago, Enrico Fermi perfected a structure o f graphite known as a pile, which he showed was capable of ‘going critical5 and producing plutonium. Since the world’s supply of heavy water was in German-occupied Norway, graphite was used at Hanford. The Germans were known to be experimenting with heavy water, and this gave an edge to the sense of a race against time. In fact, German efforts were heading nowhere, for a variety of reasons, includ­ ing sabotage o f the heavy water plant by the Norwegian resistance, and overestimation o f the amount of separated uranium needed for a service­ able bomb. Above all else, the Manhattan Project was a matter of applied science,

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engineering and advanced industrial production. In total, the making of the bomb cost two billion dollars and involved over 600,000 people. While the science was the result of multinational effort, the engineering and technology was primarily an American achievement and more than anything else symbolized the advanced power of the US at the end of World War II. By 1945, the Project was producing both U235 and plutonium. The problem was designing a bomb. The need was to keep the uranium from critical mass until the bomb was to detonate, and one answer was to put half into a gun that would fire it at the other half, bringing critical mass and the explosion. This was put together into the bomb known as ‘Little Boy’, used on Hiroshima. Plutonium needed a faster impact. For that a bomb was designed that would create an explosion around the plutonium. This would compress the plutonium which would then fissure, causing the explosion. This was tested in the Trinity test at Alamogordo, New Mexico, on 16 July 1945, the world’s first nuclear explosion. On witnessing its awesome power, Julius Robert Oppenheimer, the scientist who headed the operation at Los Alamos, soberly quoted from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita, ‘I am become death, the shatterer of worlds’. Truman was informed o f the success of the Trinity test while he was at Potsdam. On 25 July, he gave the orders to use the bomb if Japan had not surrendered by 3 August. With an assumed casual air, he informed Stalin in general terms that a new and very destructive explosive had been developed. Stalin simply said he hoped it would be used, somewhat to Churchill and Truman’s disappointment. They were hoping for a more dramatic reaction to what they thought would be a real shock to Stalin. But the Soviet dictator was far too good a diplomat to allow his feelings to show. It is not clear how much he personally already knew about the bomb —but it is known that on his return to Moscow, he ordered Igor Kurchatov, the leading Soviet atomic physicist, to build him a bomb. The final act of World War II began on 6 August 1945. A lone B-29, named Enola Gay after pilot Colonel Paul Tibbett’s mother, left Tinian and at 8.15 a.m., as the city was moving to work, dropped the five-ton uranium bomb, Little Boy, over the centre of Hiroshima. The city had been identified as a potential target principally because of its geography. There were naval and military installations in the locality, but although Truman, on announcing the dropping o f the bomb, described it as a military target, it was no more so than any of the other cities subjected to area bombing. The bomb was detonated about 500 metres in the air over

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a bridge —‘ground zero’ —in the centre of the city. The flat terrain aided the destructive force. On explosion a massive fireball was created, with shockwaves, heat rays and radiation. An area of five square miles (thirteen square kilometres) was devastated. Sixty-two per cent of the buildings in the city were destroyed. Out of a population of 320,000, it has been esti­ mated that 118,000 had died as a result of the bomb by August 1946. Radiation sickness and other consequences had pushed this figure up over 140,000 in the years following, and people are still dying from the effects of the explosion. With as yet no Japanese response, the Soviet Army attacked across the border into Manchuria on 8 August, and swept through the Japanese Army of Manchukuo. The following day, a B-29, named Bockscar, flew from Tinian. It carried the first plutonium bomb, nicknamed ‘Fat Man’ (after Churchill). Its prime target was Kokura, but the city was obscured by clouds, and the bomb was detonated instead at 11.02 a.m. 500 metres above Nagasaki.3 The hypocentre of the explosion was suburbs (indeed, directly below was the largest Christian community in Japan), rather than the centre o f the city. Nagasaki was bordered by mountains, and this meant that although Fat Man was more powerful than Little Boy and the radius of destruction of buildings was greater, a lesser amount — about 2.6 square miles (6.7 square kilometres) —was totally devastated. Approximately 73,900 people were killed out of a population of 270,000. In a postscript to the atomic attacks, the cruiser that carried Little Boy to Tinian, the USS Indianapolis, was torpedoed by a submarine shortly after completing its mission. Because conditions of secrecy still surrounded it, it was four days before it was missed. Only 316 out if its crew o f 1,199 were rescued alive. It was the US Navy’s heaviest loss of life in such an incident. The impact o f the two atomic bombs on the course of the war was not immediately apparent. The Japanese announced on 10 August that they would surrender on the basis of the Potsdam Declaration, provided the prerogatives of the Emperor were not involved. The Americans were now prepared to clarify that the Emperor could remain on his throne. They had not said this before. It has been speculated, by Martin Sherwin among others, that the Americans hoped by dropping the bombs to get the Japanese to surrender without any terms, leaving them complete future freedom of action in Japan and also usefully giving the Soviets an indication o f American power. When the Japanese continued to ask for the condition, there were no more atomic bombs to drop, so the Americans

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now agreed, keen to end the war soon now that the Red Army was advancing speedily in Manchuria. In spite of Soviet advances, it took some days for this to be taken up in Japan, where there were still elements in the Army that wished to fight on, taking American willingness to grant the condition as a sign of weakness. However, after Tokyo was again ravaged by firebombing on the night o f 13—14 August, Emperor Hirohito took an unprecedented initiative and told his government to surrender, announcing on radio that the war was ‘no longer proceeding to Japan’s advantage’. Although this took place on 14 August, the actual surrender was signed on 2 September, on board the USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay. At the end o f the ceremony, MacArthur stepped to the microphone and declared, ‘these proceedings are now closed’. So ended World War II.

Notes 1. See Warren F. Kimball, ‘Naked Reverse Right: Roosevelt, Churchill and Eastern Europe from Tolstoy to Yalta — and a Little Beyond’, Diplomatic History, vol. 9 (Winter, 1985), pp. 1-24. 2. Suggestions that photographer Joe Rosenthal posed the shot later are unfounded, though the picture is of the second flag raised, the first being too small to be seen around the island. 3. The Target Committee had shortlisted four cities as atomic targets: Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Kokura and Niigata. Kyoto had been rejected as a target by Henry Stimson because of its cultural significance.

CHAPTER 6

The United States and World War II

The United States was a reluctant belligerent in World War II. In 1940, with war raging in Western Europe and in China, the US was in a state of profound unreadiness for total war, in military terms, in material terms and in terms of the attitudes o f its people. During 1940 and 1941, the country was divided on what direction it was heading in and on how best to respond to war. One of the President’s most popular statements during the 1940 election was his promise not to send American boys into foreign wars. But many Americans were becoming emotionally engaged in the conflicts in Europe and Asia. When war came in December 1941, the American people were shocked, and American armed forces, what­ ever warnings they had had of what was to come, were unprepared. While the US suffered catastrophic early defeats in the Pacific, however, a pent-up energy had been released. Fired with a sense o f righteous outrage by the nature of the attack on Pearl Harbor, and sure of their moral purpose, Americans then threw themselves wholeheartedly into the pursuit o f victory. Within two years, they had built a magnificent military machine capable of gaining victory on both fronts and wreaking terrible destruction on their enemies. President Roosevelt became, along with Josef Stalin, the architect of the post-war world. These achieve­ ments were accomplished in a peculiarly American style. Domestic politics continued. Americans saw their purpose as the maintenance of American values. The mobilization of the economy and people was therefore defined by the commitment to free market capitalism, to voluntary action based on patriotism and loyalty to community rather than coercion and control. Complete victory in 1945, accompanied as it was by productivity and prosperity, appeared a vindication o f these values and virtues, and to herald indeed the dawn o f ‘the American Century’, as Luce declared. But what was the American contribution to victory, and what was the legacy o f the war experience for Americans?

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T h e A m erican C ontribution to V icto ry At the end o f the war, Americans celebrated what they believed to be their victory, and a victory for their ideals and for their political and economic system. The American contribution to victory over the Axis was indeed crucial in a number o f ways. When deliberately taking on the US as an opponent, Hitler and the Japanese gambled on certain assump­ tions. The Japanese calculated that the Americans were not a warrior race and had no stomach for a fight. They would therefore accept the established fact o f the new Japanese Empire, once some demoralizing defeats had been inflicted on them. Hitler also made assumptions about American martial qualities: ‘what is America’, he famously asked, ‘but millionaires, beauty queens, stupid records and Hollywood?5 He gambled on securing victory against the USSR before American industrial power could become an element in the war. Contrary to some interpretations, Hitler did appreciate industrial power and resources, but he placed greater weight on the fighting prowess of the German people and calculated that liberating the U-boats to sink American ships would win the Battle of Atlantic and bring British resistance to an end, while at the same time the Wehrmacht was finishing off the Red Army. The Americans were to prove all these assumptions to be disastrously mistaken. The American contribution to victory is often seen primarily in terms of production. In the final analysis, it is said, the Americans outproduced the Axis to secure victory. Certainly there is much to be said for this viewpoint. Item for item, American hardware was not always the match for German hardware, but the abundance of it (especially the rich provision o f spares) more than made up for this. Thus the Sherman tank was by no means the match of the German Panther or Tiger, but it was available in overwhelming numbers. American mass production produced the war-winning weapons in prodigious qualities. Aside from the Shermans that equipped all the Allied armies except the Soviet one, the US manufactured large quantities of key weapons that proved durable, adaptable and effective: the Liberty ships, the Fletcher class destroyers, the Essex fleet carriers, the Gato class submarines, the B-17 and B-29 bombers, the P-51 fighter, the varieties o f landing craft, the trucks and jeeps. The figures of productivity show the story clearly. The US produced 86,000 tanks, over 300,000 aircraft and 6,755 naval vessels: comparative figures for all the Axis combined were 55,500,157,000 and 1,400. Ameri­ can industry got into its stride much sooner than Hitler bargained for,

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and much sooner than could have been expected given the unprepared­ ness in 1941 and the lack o f a plan for mobilization. Furthermore, the US controlled important strategic materials, the most significant o f which was oil. But it was not just a matter of being well-endowed with natural resources. It was American ingenuity and creative energies that put them to effective use, that built the pipeline known as the Big Inch to take oil from Texas to Pennsylvania, and American applied science that produced the high-grade ioo-octane gasoline that gave the Spitfire and the Mustang the edge over their opponents. In addition to equipping their own forces, the Americans indeed were the arsenal of the Grand Alliance. Over fifty billion dollars worth o f materials was supplied to the Allies under LendLease, thirty-one billion dollars of which went to Britain. There is a strong case to be made that the war against Nazism was won on the Eastern Front. Under Lend-Lease, the US provided the USSR with 2,000 loco­ motives, 11,000 rail wagons, 3 million tons of gasoline with the chemicals to make ioo-octane aviation fuel, 51,000 jeeps, 375,000 trucks, 15 million pairs o f boots, 15,000 aircraft and 7,000 tanks. While the tanks made little difference to the balance of forces in the east, other American supplies did. Sufficient food —particularly Spam —was provided to feed the whole of the Red Army. High-grade aviation fuel boosted the performance of Soviet aircraft and counter-balanced their technical inferiority to German models. Most significant of all was the mass provision of light and heavy trucks, half-tracks and jeeps. It has been said that the Red Army chased the Germans from the Caucasus to Berlin in American trucks. The word ‘Studebaker’ (the name of one o f the American manufac­ turers) became incorporated into the Russian language to denote a military truck. Supply o f trucks, especially the versatile Dodge 4x4, meant the Soviets could concentrate production on tanks. Moreover, the Wehrmacht continued to the end to rely heavily on horse-drawn transport. These vital vehicles were supplied by the hazardous convoy route to Murmansk and Arkhangel, and from 1943 in increasing numbers via a railway route constructed by American engineers through Iran from the Persian Gulf. Wars are not won, however, on a simple equation of resources, as a number o f post-World War II wars have shown, including America’s own defeat in Vietnam. American entry in the war, whatever Churchill’s exultant reaction, did not by itself guarantee Allied victory. American economic potential had to be harnessed effectively, and the organization o f it to convert it from an under-productive economy to an everexpanding one was one of the most important factors in bringing victory

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to the Grand Alliance. But acting as the arsenal o f democracy, no matter how productive, was never going to be sufficient. American human and material resources had to be converted themselves into an effective military machine. The tide o f Axis success was turned before American productivity became a major factor —at Midway in June 1942, at Stalingrad in January 1943, at Alamein in November 1942, in the Atlantic in May 1943. The United States had little to do directly with Stalingrad or Alamein, but it is worth pointing out that the Allies began to turn the tide not through abundance of resources but through superior military skill, the bravery of their fighting men and the quality of their leadership. In the Allied victories from 1942 to 1945, the United States contributed significantly in these aspects. The US had sixteen million men and women in uniform by the end of the war, second only to the Soviets among the victors —though the British mobilized a higher proportion o f their population. It came to supply the largest part of the armies on the Western Front, with a significant portion of the air forces. It was not just a matter of quantity, however. From a modest starting point, American armed forces learned their business quickly, and by 1944 were capable of taking on the power and skill of the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe and the fighting prowess of the Japanese on equal terms. In France in 1944, they demonstrated that they had grasped the essentials of modern warfare: mobility, co-operation between infantry, artillery, tanks and ground support aircraft. For this, much credit must go to George C. Marshall, in many ways the architect of victory. The Battle of the Bulge and countless island battles in the Pacific showed the fighting spirit o f ordinary Americans; the element that Hitler and the Japanese discounted was in a real sense what defeated them. Some American commanders o f very high quality emerged. In George S. Patton, they had a master o f mobile armoured warfare, and in Douglas MacArthur and ‘Ike’ Eisenhower, in their different ways, strategic commanders o f quality. In the Pacific the US efforts dwarfed those of its allies: the Chinese, British, Australians and others made significant contributions, but the Japanese empire was brought crashing down by American air and sea power and the efforts of American troops, especially the Marines. By the end o f the war the US possessed the largest navy, the largest strategic air force, and the greatest amphibious military capability. They had mastered the new warfare of strategic bombing and submarine warfare.

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American influence on the grand strategy of the war grew greater as it progressed and as their share of involvement in combat grew. The JC S could not prevent what they regarded as a waste o f effort being perpe­ trated in the Mediterranean. American strategic thought was simple: to engage the main enemy as quickly as possible, and at a point where the battle would be decisive for the outcome of the war. However, in practice it came to be modified. Certainly, the JC S saw no substitute in the west for an invasion of France and a frontal attack on Germany itself. They did, however, have high hopes for the weakening to be inflicted by strategic bombing, and certainly desired that the Soviet armies in the east engage the bulk of German land forces. They were also keen that those armies be engaged against Japan. A preference for expending material over lives, and for avoiding American casualties by use o f firepower was evident, as it was to be in subsequent American wars. In the Pacific, the doctrine of striking the enemy’s forces where strongest, to inflict a war-winning blow, became modified very quickly when faced with Japanese tenacity in defence. Instead the mobility offered by naval superiority and the ability to use bombing and bombardment to neutralize enemy strongholds replaced the desire to take them by frontal attack with island-hopping and leap-frogging. The nature of modern warfare meant that key battles were fought away from the fighting front. American contributions were highly signi­ ficant in the scientific war. The major example was the Manhattan Project, but American scientists and engineers improved radar, especially in its shipborne forms, pioneered breakthroughs in battlefield medicine and the use o f pesticides and developed weaponry that was a match for the enemy’s. In the secret war, the success in the pre-war years o f breaking the Japanese diplomatic and naval codes gave American forces crucial advantages in the Pacific battles. It was o f vital importance that they had commanders, especially Admiral Nimitz, who recognised the value and reliability of signals intelligence. Americans were brought into the British code-breaking operation at Bletchley Park, and worked on the continu­ ous task o f deciphering and interpreting German Enigma traffic. In the war o f subversion, American arms were supplied to resistance fighters in France, Yugoslavia, Greece and other countries in Europe, through the OSS. In Asia, OSS agents encouraged and equipped anti-Japanese forces in the Philippines and Vietnam in particular. Politically, the US set the moral tone for the Alliance. It is clear that American policy-makers regarded the Atlantic Charter more seriously

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as a commitment to a set o f international principles than did the other great Allies. O f course this was partly because it squared so closely with their material interests (in its commitment to dismantling o f empires and free trade, for example). The Charter provided a simple statement o f the moral stance o f the alliance and helped attract other nations to what became a great coalition o f the ‘United Nations’, which in turn made the creation o f the United Nations Organization that much easier. They also took the lead in establishing the principle o f trials for war crimes. Although the trials of Nazis and Japanese leaders smacked not a little of victor’s justice, the so-called Nuremberg principles set a standard for such proceedings in the future, and established a potent weapon in future international co-operation against aggressors and acts of barbarism. As the OWI tried to emphasise, the US did not secure victory alone, but to many Americans the lesson of the war was the superiority of the American system, and the prosperity at home as well as the total defeat of what seemed such evil enemies confirmed the virtue of American values and the American people themselves. L e g a cy Wars are often transforming events. They can speed up the process of change, or move developments into new directions. World War II had both effects on the United States. To some it has indeed been seen as a great watershed in American history. Certainly, if the position at the end o f the 1930s is compared to that in the second half of the 1940s, the contrast is dramatic. In place of economic depression, there was unprece­ dented prosperity. The under-performance of the American economy had disappeared. Vast numbers o f Americans took advantage o f the wartime boom in well-paid employment to move to the suburbs and adopt a middle-class lifestyle. Americans who had been overseas or had moved within the country had broadened their horizons. American trade and business now dominated the world economy, outside o f the bloc being established by the USSR. In world affairs, isolationism was replaced by involvement. The US was now taking an active role in shaping and maintaining the international order, and had positioned itself as the prime defender o f freedom and democracy against totalitarianism. In terms of economic and military power, the USA was the most powerful nation on earth. This power was evident in its possession of the atomic bomb and the fact that it had actually used the bomb in anger. The presidency had become firmly established as the central fulcrum of the US federal system.

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The White House was the centre of a large governmental operation, direct employer o f far more people than ever before. Close links had been forged between this federal bureaucracy, the military and the large corporations that had built the weapons that had won the war. Later to be described by Eisenhower (when President) as the ‘military-industrial complex’, it also included the universities, who undertook the research. While big businessmen and the military had disagreed over national service, their co-operation in procurement and opposition to reconversion had forged a sense of common interest. Many admirals and generals joined the boards of corporations after the war. Significantly, many businessmen and military figures had come to the opinion by the end of the war that the American tradition of relying on the mobilization o f a citizen army on the outbreak o f war had been rendered out-dated by the new technology of war. The nation, they believed, had to be permanently prepared and government, military, science and industry had to be co-ordinated in peacetime to be able to respond to a crisis or deter another Pearl Harbor-style sneak attack. The need to generate a sense o f crisis to get the American public to accept such a departure from past traditions has been seen by some historians to be an important element in the development of Cold War attitudes in the US: it certainly sparked a long-running debate in Congress and govern­ ment about the ‘garrison state’, which ultimately was resolved in 1950 in favour of the proponents o f preparedness.1 The legacy of the war for America’s relationship with the outside world was ambiguous. On the one hand, while popular opinion believed isolationism to have been mistaken, hopes for future peace were placed in the new world organization. This meant that while they now regarded issues in the rest of the world as of significance to national security, Americans did not expect the US to have to intervene with large-scale military power —that job was to be done by the United Nations. Very rapid demobilization followed the end of the war: by 1947, America’s armed forces numbered fewer than a million men. Isolationism still had its advocates in Congress, led by Senator Robert Taft. The ‘Asia Lobby’, which wanted US attention focused on China, carried an element of isolationism with regard to Europe. On the other hand, a bureaucracy had developed in Washington, both military and civil, that had as its prime reason for existence maintaining an extended and active role in foreign affairs. Many liberals believed the US had a duty as well as an opportunity to take the lead in international politics. They were becoming

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apprehensive of the power and intentions of the Soviet Union and the threat that it posed to areas of great American economic interest, particularly Western Europe and the new American protectorate in Japan. They shared with many Americans a sense o f power as a result of the great victory, reinforced by a moral sense o f rectitude. They also shared a sense that this was a much less secure world for the US than that o f the years of isolationism. Pearl Harbor had shown them that the US had to be involved in world events, as it could not avoid their impact, and furthermore, the failure o f appeasement suggested the US had to take a lead in opposing dictators and aggressors. By the end of the 1940s these men were laying great stress on the need for the country to be articulated around ‘national security’ and were talking of a permanent crisis as serious as war itself, and the need for peacetime mobilization because modern weaponry did not allow time for mobilization after war had started. The legacy of the war was a volatile mix of a sense o f power and a sense of insecurity. Many of these feelings were mirrored in the Soviet leadership, allied to Stalin’s paranoia, and the result was growing tension and eventually the Cold War. Another legacy o f the war was a resurgent conservatism in Congress, determined to cut back executive power, to claw back rights granted to labour unions and to prevent any return to the days of New Deal reform. It was already gearing up for the anti-Communist crusade o f the late 1940s. Unlike in other countries, such as Britain, where war brought popular demands for reform, Americans had prospered in the war, and until galvanized by Cold War rhetoric from Truman and others, had little desire for crusades abroad or reform measures at home, with the notable exceptions o f disadvantaged groups who had had a taste of better things during the war, and had no desire to lose them. The propaganda used on the American home-front had made little attempt to raise expectations that Americans were fighting for a better future. While some in the OWI had attempted to invest propaganda with a social reform agenda, and to identify America’s traditions with progress in the field of social justice, the main thrust of the propaganda produced in the war was rather more self-satisfied: America should be defended because it was the best place on earth to live, because its system gave freedom, prosperity and justice. This reflected the triumph o f conser­ vatism politically in the war, the attitudes of the business executives who had moved into many o f the positions o f influence, and gave Americans the impression they were fighting to defend what they had, not to achieve

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something better. Emphasis, as we have seen, was on the task in hand, victory. The fact of the enemy attack, and the evil qualities they possessed, was enough, it was felt, to stir up Americans to strive for victory. It is a little paradoxical, therefore, that o f all America’s wars, World War II gave rise to the best treatment of its veterans. This was partly reflective o f the unanimous consensus on the rectitude o f the American cause and of the virtuous way that it was felt Americans had fought. It was also true that the plans benefited from the continued affluence of the post-war years. This in itself was a contrast to the post-World War I period, when a sharp recession followed. There had been divisive disputes over veterans’ benefits following both that war and the American Civil War. The impact o f the GI Bill was to accentuate the social changes that had taken place during the war, significantly raising the standard o f living and the life prospects of lower-class Americans and contributing to an enormous expansion o f the middle class in the post-war era. This was clearly seen in the expansion of college-level education, but also in the building of new suburbs —from 1947 the mass-produced Levitt-towns, in particular. The war’s impact on African Americans was also to raise their expectations. The GI measures applied to black servicemen too. However, they found that college places were limited in large part to black uni­ versities, and, furthermore, the increased number of black graduates that resulted found access to middle-class degree-level employment severely restricted by continuing patterns of racial discrimination and segregation. A galvanized and militant middle class was to be an important element of the civil rights protests that took place with increasing force during the 1950s. Over a million blacks had served in uniform during the war. Officers had been trained and had operated in positions of authority. They had witnessed conditions in many countries that had no segregation system. With a developed sense o f self and their own power, blacks returning from the war were determined that they would no longer accept the position they had left. These aspirations could not be held back, and indeed, although the government during the war had avoided wherever it could making any commitments to the future regarding race issues, blacks found an unexpected ally in Truman, who in 1948 ordered the desegregation o f the armed forces. This move cost him a split in the Democratic party, but he was repaid with black votes in northern and western cities that were crucial to his re-election. The fact was that black Americans were no longer a group that could be entirely ignored by

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politicians in any of the major cities to where they had moved in large numbers. The wartime changes for women led less obviously to post-war gains. There has been considerable discussion among historians as to women’s expectations after the war, and the long-term impact of the war on the position o f women in American society.2 In the short-term, the picture is clear. Since the vast majority of women in war-related work were already in the work-force, it was to be expected that they would wish to remain so after the war, though naturally some would want to begin the process of raising a family that had been deferred during the war. However, experience of doing new kinds of work, involving skills and better pay, led to higher expectations. Women who became welders, machine opera­ tors, crane drivers and many other formerly ‘male occupations’ did not want to give those jobs up now that they had acquired the skills and had shown that there was nothing inherently male about those jobs. However, with almost precipitate haste, they lost them. Reconversion to peace­ time production was very fast, and women were laid off from war production the speediest of all. Employers showed great resistance to hiring them into the same jobs in peacetime production. Women were told that these were indeed men’s jobs —and just as their patriotism had been called upon to draw them into these jobs, so it was now brought up to cause them to step aside, to allow returning GIs to take them instead. Fears o f depression levels of unemployment were played upon to encourage women to feel it was their duty to do this. Women were bombarded with images of domesticity, and if that was not sufficient, burdened with the responsibility as home-makers and nurturers of correcting the problems o f juvenile delinquency and social disorder that the war had brought. Whatever the methods used, and whatever the feelings of the women involved, the statistics show the picture: having been over thirty-five per cent of the workforce in 1944, by 1947 women represented below thirty per cent. The number o f women in paid employment was 15.8 million, as compared to 18.2 million in 1944. However, the figures did not return to their pre-war level, and the steady rise in female employment that had been evident before the war continued after it. This figure has led some to see World War II as an aberration in the story of women’s employment and status in American society; an unusual period with no long-term effects. Against that a number of points have been made. On the one hand the revival o f a domesticity ideal regarding women’s roles in the late 1940s and 1950s can be ascribed

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to a reaction against the breaking down o f gender roles in the war. Conversely, women did make gains, particularly in moving into the clerical field. It has been suggested that the return of the domesticity cult provoked a response from those women who had seen a different world in the war, which was in particular passed on to their daughters and became evident in the re-birth of militant feminism in the 1960s. While the specific meaning of the war for women was ambiguous, for Americans as a people, World War II assumed a place at the centre of culture and myth. This can be traced to a number of reasons: it seemed a triumphant victory, a time of unity of purpose and shared sacrifice. In the tensions and problems of Cold War America, wartime by comparison seemed a time of certainties, of prosperity and hope. Hollywood explored World War II and harvested from it images of heroism, national unity and civilization. But while Hollywood’s World War II is often stereo­ typed as the jingoistic version put forth in the John Wayne movies, even in the late 1940s and 1950s, themes of tension, conflict and loss were explored in movies like The Best Years o f Our Lives (1946), Twelve O’clock High (1949) and Attack! (1956). However, in the popular imagination, the war remained ‘the Good War’, as Studs Terkel entitled his collection o f oral testimonies and memories. The theme o f the ‘Good W ar’ has tended to be reaffirmed in textbook coverage of the US in World War II. America, it is said, became again a land of hope and opportunity to its citizens, not only in aspiration, but in fact. In this picture, the war gave opportunities to millions who lost them in the Depression, or had never had them. This positive take on the war discounts the elements of upheaval and conflict that accompanied wartime change. The ‘mixing up5 of the population meant the war at home was characterized by disruption and conflict. Racial tensions were exacerbated. Family structures came under pressure. Juvenile crime rose. The school system was in crisis: 350,000 teachers left the profession for the military or war work. The emphasis on production brought environmental problems: pollution by chemicals and waste, and the first appearance of smog in Los Angeles. While disadvantaged groups made gains, it is mistaken to see an unbroken progress between the war years and civil rights gains in the 1960s. There was a response to these changes in a concerted attempt to reassert traditional values, both during the war and after, and in response to the New Deal as well as to wartime changes. Racism, anti-unionism, restrictive attitudes towards women, hostility to the left were all resurgent immediately after the war. The permanence of

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the liberalization of the war years can be easily exaggerated; it could be argued that reform movements of the 1950s and 1960s were responses to these attempts to reassert traditional values as much as a simple continu­ ation o f wartime developments. However, the wartime generation undoubtedly did remember the war in positive terms. It was the succeeding generation that began to question some o f these assumptions —especially at the height o f the Vietnam war, when the certainties about America’s world role that had been formed in World War II came into question. The war was no longer looked to for inspiration, and it slipped from popularity as a subject of popular culture. In the late 1990s, after a period of relative neglect of the war as a subject, it burst into life once more. The series o f fiftieth anniversaries prompted retrospectives and, linked with a new scholarly focus on culture and memory, gave rise to a revival of interest that produced a new spate o f World War II epics, such as Saving Private Ryan (1998), The Thin Red Line (1998) and Pearl Harbor (2001). These films honoured the sacrifices o f the war generation, in line with the popularity of books that focused on what Tom Brokaw called ‘the greatest generation’, as Americans found a way of passing over the traumas and setbacks of the recent past to go back to a time when the issues seemed clearer and America emerged unequivocally triumphant, though it is notable that they say little about the strategic or political context. Such a motive for returning to the war to find cultural icons and reassurance was at odds with the directions that professional study o f the war had followed, and the clash between histor­ ians’ critiques, the purpose the war served for the popular imagination, and the desire of veterans to assert (or reassert) their ownership of these events was thrown into relief on a number o f occasions during the 1990s: most notably concerning the plans to put on an exhibit in the Smithsonian Museum for the fiftieth anniversary o f the dropping o f the atomic bomb, built around the Enola Gay. The depth of feeling raised on both sides indicated the continuing resonance of World War II in American culture, if also revealing a lack of consensus as to what the war meant.3 W o rld W a r II as H istory Some aspects o f World War II have been fiercely contested historical topics. The earlier debates derived directly from the political disputes of the time. Thus, isolationist critiques of Roosevelt’s policy during 1940—1 were reflected later in assertions that he deliberately steered the US into the war. Echoes o f the pre-war debate on entry into World War I were

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seen in claims that he was drawn into this by the wiles of Churchill. This gained some potency from continuing debates on executive power. The bitterest and most enduring debate, however, has focused on events in the Pacific. Historians who had been critics o f the New Deal, and who in the immediate post-war world believed the movement away from isola­ tionism had been a mistake, leading among other things to the conversion o f the US into a garrison state, blamed Roosevelt. While Congressional hearings made scapegoats of Admiral Kimmel and General Short, the commanders in Hawaii, some writers accused Roosevelt of deliberately provoking war in the Pacific, even going so far as to sacrifice the Pacific fleet’s battleships in order to embroil the US in Britain’s war.4 Such a view was generally discredited in the 1950s, when the orthodoxy was that the US had acted realistically —indeed, a little tardily —in taking up its responsibilities as a Great Power. The evident evil o f Hitler’s Germany revealed in the grim testimony of the Holocaust, and the consensus on the war as a ‘Good War’, meant that few felt a need to apportion blame for American entry in the war; rather, the criticism was that Roosevelt should have stated American interests more boldly and clearly to the American public during 1941, and not been so cautious in deferring to isolationists. However, Roosevelt still had his occasional critics. The ‘backdoor to war’ idea was revived in 1972 by Bruce Russett. The claim remained short of evidence, and the notion that the Japanese attack was provoked in order to get into war with Germany, when there was no certainty of a German declaration of war, remained implausible. One of the great growth areas in historiography since the early 1980s has been in intelligence history. Newly released materials on the secret war fuelled great public interest, and its very secrecy (and the incom­ pleteness of the record) encouraged the construction of elaborate conspiracy theories. Historians’ views of the conduct of World War II had to be substantially altered in the wake o f the revelations of the extent o f the code-breaking operations of the Americans and their British allies. While greatest attention was on the Ultra material produced by the deciphering of the messages transmitted on the German Enigma machine, much information also became available on the extent o f American pene­ tration of Japanese ciphers. Based on this material, new accusations were made by writers such as John Costello, Eric Nave and James Rusbridger about Roosevelt’s foreknowledge of the Pearl Harbor attack and deliberate failure to alert the fleet in order to get a clear casus belli. A variant o f this drew upon another old idea: that it was Churchill who knew through

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British signals intelligence activities in the Far East, and who engineered the American belligerency that he so strongly desired. The defect of these theories is the drawback of much of the ‘secret history’; it tends to ascribe too much knowledge and certainty, and to assume that the picture from signals intelligence was unequivocally clear. Good intelligence is only so good as its verifiability and the mechanism created to utilise it. In this case, the intentions of the Japanese look clear from hindsight, but knowledge of what actually happened strips away the impact of the considerable amount of ‘noise’ in the intelligence being received, which indicated Japanese attacks in places as divergent as Hong Kong, San Francisco and the Panama Canal. It is advisable not to discount the effect o f prejudices and assumptions in shaping the reception of intelligence — this was seen on countless occasions in World War II. In this instance, it was assumed that the Japanese would not dare attack the US in its home ports, and that they were in any case incapable of launching such an attack successfully. There is plentiful evidence that these ideas permeated every level o f the chain of command. There have been many debates on aspects o f Roosevelt’s wartime leadership. Probably the one on which the President has been most criticized is his conduct o f policy towards the Soviet Union. Dominating discourse on Soviet-American wartime relations has been the concern to trace the origins of the Cold War; often this has been synonymous with an attempt to apportion blame. To realists such as Walter Lippmann, writing immediately after the war, Roosevelt seemed to have been overly idealistic, pursuing a Wilsonian internationalist solution. His failure to set out to the American people the realities of power and the need for power-politics produced overly high expectations, and the subsequent disillusionment helped cement American Cold War attitudes. A more common interpretation, however, had Roosevelt as more culpable —deluded by Stalin and responsible for the Cold War and Soviet domination of Eastern Europe by his concessions at Yalta. More recent historiography has pointed out that both sides made concessions at Yalta, that Roosevelt never thought he had got everything he wanted, but felt it was the best he could do, and, most importantly, that Stalin was able to do what he wanted in Eastern Europe once it was the Red Army that did the liberating. Revisionist historians in the 1960s, some writing from a New Left perspective, turned such interpretations on their heads. They claimed that the United States had followed a much more purposeful policy during the war. Greatly concerned to capture markets to prevent a post­

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war depression, American policy-makers were determined to implement the Open Door — world-wide free trade, giving access to American capital and enterprise. The most extreme version of this argument was by Gabriel Kolko, who claimed that these policy-makers and their British allies acted to limit left-wing gains in the European and Asian countries under their control and attempted to keep the countries liberated by the USSR open to capitalist penetration. According to the revisionists, it was their unwillingness to concede Soviet security needs in Eastern Europe, because of their concern over the Open Door, that produced the break­ down of the Grand Alliance, aggravated by refusal to grant the Soviets acceptable terms for a post-war reconstruction loan. Some revisionists exonerated Roosevelt, seeing the important moment to be when Truman succeeded him. Whereas Roosevelt was prepared tacitly to accept Soviet security requirements, and acquiesced in open spheres o f influence in Eastern Europe, Truman, taking his advice from the anti-Soviet State Department, took the Yalta agreements literally, threatening Soviet vital interests. He terminated Lend-Lease abruptly at the end o f the war, and thereby forced the Soviets to meet their reconstruction needs from German resources, which became the major source of early Cold War tensions. While the Americans did devote much effort towards constructing a new economic order that operated to the benefit o f the United States, revisionists always had difficulty finding documentary proof for the predominance o f economic motivations in wartime policies towards the USSR. Some post-revisionists, notably John Lewis Gaddis, have reverted to emphasizing Stalin’s ambitions; others have focused on the com­ plexities of Roosevelt’s policies. His over-riding concern to keep the Grand Alliance together is seen as a very necessary one, for Allied unity could not be taken for granted. His best recent biographer, Warren Kimball, has taken Roosevelt’s own self-description, ‘the juggler’, to show how Roosevelt worked to balance competing domestic and inter­ national political pressures. The problem was that he failed to brief Truman fully on this; his great skill as a political manipulator and operator is acknowledged, with recognition that his preference for being his own Secretary of State, and o f using envoys and advisors from outside the bureaucracy gave him flexibility, but at the same time was a weakness in that it was impossible for Truman to take up the reins and operate the policy in the same way. An aspect of foreign policy that has attracted more attention as time has gone on has been the American response to the Nazi attempt to

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exterminate the Jews (the ‘Final Solution’). For some time after the war, it was taken for granted that little was known in the US of the deathcamps. Nazi atrocities in general were, o f course, known and formed a strong element in government propaganda, especially the brutal acts of reprisal on communities such as Lidice, and the suppression o f dissenters by the Gestapo and the concentration camp system. The full extent o f the horror o f what was being done at Auschwitz, Treblinka and the other death-camps was not known, it was assumed. However, historians such as Henry Feingold and David Wyman have shown that information about the Final Solution did leak out to the western Allies. It was greeted with disbelief —and suspicion that the stories were being concocted by Jews to force the US into greater action. American responses to the Nazi persecutions before the war had been muted: neither Roosevelt nor Congress was willing to change the immigration quotas to allow more Jewish refugees into the country (though Roosevelt did turn a blind eye to some who were in the US but who had outstayed their permission to remain). Henry Morgenthau and Harold Ickes pressed Roosevelt to take action after an Anglo-American meeting in Bermuda in 1943 failed to recommend any. The War Refugee Board was set up, and the Allies agreed at Yalta to punish war criminals and perpetrators of ‘crimes against humanity’. Direct interference with the Final Solution was never seriously considered. It has been argued that the Allies could have bombed Auschwitz —though that would have killed the inmates —or the railways leading up to the complex. However, even Jewish organisations in the US did not press strongly for such actions, and it has been pointed out that the damage would have been speedily repaired. Nevertheless, debate about how much the US Government knew and what it could have done continues to rage passionately. The strategic issues that are the subject of most discussion are the Mediterranean strategy, the two-front approach in the Pacific and the effectiveness (and morality) o f strategic bombing. It is the latter that still attracts most attention, though the contention began immediately after the war. The US Strategic Bombing Survey conducted investigations in Germany immediately after the surrender, to assess the extent of the damage. The conclusion, supported by testimony from the German Armaments Minister, Albert Speer, was that the damage was much less than expected. Figures showed that German war production actually increased up until September 1944. The morality o f area bombing of cities like Dresden, Hamburg (by the British) and Tokyo was called into

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question; away from the passions aroused by the war, these seemed like acts o f vengeance or terror unworthy of the noble cause of the Allies. In a way, this was a reaction to the wartime representation of the strategy as a war-winner by its advocates. It has been questioned whether the resources could not have been better utilized. It is pointed out that a crucial element in the victory of the Battle of the Atlantic was V L R aircraft. Those in charge o f the bombing campaign were very reluctant to release them, backed up by both Churchill and Roosevelt who supported the campaign for political reasons. Relatively few extra V LRs tipped the balance in the Atlantic, and it is argued that if they had been made available sooner, then that battle, on which the invasion o f France depended, would have been won earlier. The debate has been caught up in the continuing debate in the post-war period about American defence strategy, and the role of the strategic bomber in subsequent American wars. Against these arguments, it is pointed out that notwithstanding the claims of Spaatz and Harris that they could win the war, the CCS never intended the campaign to win the war on its own. While the theory that German or Japanese morale could be destroyed by bombing was dis­ credited, and it was clear that factories could be repaired much more quickly than expected, the contribution of the bombing campaign to Allied victory should not be under-estimated. It diverted resources to home defence, and in particular secured the defeat o f the Luftwaffe. Whether these outcomes were worth the losses of crew and the diversion of production from landing craft or other weapons is a point that con­ tinues to provoke disagreement. Although it has died down somewhat, for many years there was heated discussion about the decision not to attempt an invasion o f France in 1943 and go with the British Mediterranean strategy. The Italian campaign is generally regarded as strategically worthless (though the area of toughest fighting for the western Allies in Europe). It is recog­ nised that clearing the Axis out of North Africa and Sicily had strategic and political merits. The debate centres around whether Round-up would have been possible in 1943, and whether it would have succeeded. The issue was a live one in the Cold War, as the dispositions at the end of the war set the pattern for the post-war division of Europe, and the failure to get American troops further east in Europe seemed a grievous mistake. The dimensions of the debate have been complex. Some have argued that the British preference for the Mediterranean, if followed through with full resources, would have pre-empted Soviet occupation

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of south-east and central Europe. Churchill himself implied as much in his post-war account. At the time, the British did not employ such argu­ ments, at least not until well into 1944. The Americans were in any case focused on victory against Germany and rejected such geopolitical calculations as irrelevant. So it is ironic that later some of them joined with commentators to argue that their preference for a 1943 assault would have kept the Soviets out o f Europe, when at the time they opposed British plans because they saw them motivated by such political concerns. The discussion tends to become hypothetical, which makes it impos­ sible to resolve. German defences in the west were much less welldeveloped in 1943 than they were in 1944. Relations with the USSR would have been much easier if their demands for a second front had been met earlier. On the other hand, some of the crucial battles that were preconditions for the success of Overlord had not been fought: the battle o f the Atlantic needed to be won before an American army of a million and a half men could be safely shipped to and supplied in Britain, and the Luftwaffe needed to be defeated in the battle over Germany to gain air superiority. Experience in complex combined amphibious operations gathered in the Mediterranean was priceless when Overlord was imple­ mented. If the mistakes made in Husky had been made instead in an assault on France that summer, the disaster may well have set back the Allied cause for years, giving the Germans the chance to perfect new weaponry. Ultimately, however, the decisions were made for political reasons, connected with the need to get American troops into action, and to convince the public that Europe was the important theatre. A similar discussion has taken place regarding the Pacific strategy. The decision to attack both through the South Pacific and the Central Pacific seems wasteful and unnecessary. The debate on this subject merges into the broader discussion o f Roosevelt as a war leader. Roosevelt kept no diary, and it is notoriously difficult to pin down categorically what his thoughts and intentions were on important issues. Contemporaries had the same problem: most studies of Roosevelt’s leadership focus on trying to detect his motivations and aims, and on his style of government. There is difference of opinion as to whether his preference for avoiding direct conflict and confrontation and his pragmatic assessment of relative political forces led to indecisive leadership, with wasteful decisions as a consequence o f not being prepared to take the political fall-out from taking one side over another, or whether in the complex plurality of American democratic politics and in a system with many centres of

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power, this was actually a significant contribution to getting the best out of the United States in the war. The absence of a national service plan, the military manpower shortages towards the end o f the war and the divided strategy in the Pacific are all taken as examples of the drawbacks of Roosevelt’s style of leadership; the impressive production achieve­ ments, the united public support for the war effort and for continued American involvement in world affairs are taken as confirmation that his method was the only possible one in the American context. With regard to the home front, there has been study and discussion of the nature of the ‘Good W ar5: for whom was it good, and how. After early accounts that were generally triumphalist and echoed wartime propaganda images of communities united by a strong sense of purpose, making sacrifices for the common good, historians have drawn attention to the defects and unevenness of mobilization and the elements of conflict that were generated by wartime changes. For example, the story of women in the war has developed from the traditional account that women accepted temporary work, while making do at home, as part of their war effort. Instead, works like Connie Field’s film, The Life and Times o f Rosie the Riveter (1980) have drawn attention to the struggles women workers had to gain equal pay and status at the workplace during the war, and the way that working-class women had aspirations to continue in their new jobs after the war.5 American propaganda to its own people has attracted much interest; in particular the nature of that aimed at women, and the extent to which it sought to perpetuate traditional images of femininity in conditions that threatened to undermine them. Discussion has also focused on the relative gains made by American workers and big business. The picture for workers appears mixed; on the one hand legis­ lation like the Smith-Connally Act was aimed at limiting union power, on the other hand, workers’ standard of living undoubtedly improved, bringing most of Studs Terkel’s working-class respondents to see the conflict very much in terms of a ‘Good W ar’ for themselves materially as well as in the more abstract sense. There is little argument, however, about the gains made by the larger corporations, though there has been discussion around the extent to which the military and business became closely tied, and what the implications of that were. The most criticized aspect of the American home-front was the internment of the Japanese-Americans. Few now dispute that this was a bad moment in the history of American civil rights. Where there is disagreement, it is focused on the degree of responsibility for the policy,

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between the Californians, the military and Roosevelt himself. It is most satisfactorily explained in the broader context of the culture o f the war. The racial and cultural component o f America’s confrontation with Japan is now seen as a crucial element in understanding not only the treatment o f Japanese-Americans, but also the strategic decisions made in the Pacific campaign, the conduct of the fighting in the island battles, and the decisions to inflict on Japan the kind o f area-bombing and fire­ bombing towards which the U SAAF had shown a strong antipathy in the ET O , followed o f course by the use o f the atomic bomb. Debate hinges around the degree to which these prejudices and assumptions were fullyformed and in place before Pearl Harbor, or whether they were essen­ tially a consequence o f Japanese actions (Pearl Harbor, the Bataan Death March) and the Japanese way of war. Perhaps the area of most heated controversy is the decision to drop the atomic bomb, and it has often been placed in the context of the changeover from Roosevelt to Truman. Historians and others have debated the decision to use the bomb against a Japanese city ever since. They ask whether it was necessary to end the war, and whether it saved a vast amount o f casualties. Was it, they asked, dropped as a warning to the Soviets, in the hopes o f causing them to moderate their behaviour in international affairs? The official account, as given by Truman and Henry Stimson after the war, was that Japan refused unconditional surrender, and that the expectation was that an invasion of Japan would be immensely costly in lives on both sides, on the basis o f recent experiences on Iwo Jima and Okinawa. The bomb was therefore the more humanitarian option, as it swiftly brought the war to a conclusion. For writers during the early Cold War, it had an added bonus in halting Soviet advances. It was in the 1960s, when many accepted aspects o f American Cold War policy were under scrutiny as a result of the Vietnam war and social and cultural movements in the US, that this viewpoint was subjected to revi­ sion. Gar Alperowitz claimed that the Japanese were ready to surrender, and that the Americans knew this, but dropped the bomb as an attempt to intimidate the Soviets. It was, therefore, an opening salvo in the Cold War, rather than the last shot in World War II. Since then debate has raged off and on. It was opened up by the availability of new documents in the late 1980s, and by the plans for the Enola Gay exhibition. While few historians had accepted Alperowitz’s interpretation without reserva­ tion, the story of the dropping of the bomb did not appear to most of them to be as straightforward as the official story. For veterans o f the

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Pacific war, on the other hand, the dropping of the bomb was not some­ thing shameful, nor something for which hidden explanations needed to be sought, for it saved them from the invasion of Japan, and most believed it therefore saved their lives.6 There remains, therefore, no consensus on this contentious and emotive issue. Some points are fairly clear, however. There is little doubt that Roosevelt, Stimson and others who were in the small circle of officials aware of the Manhattan Project were sensitive to the unique significance o f the atomic bomb. Such an immensely destructive weapon clearly would be an element in the post-war international order and balance of power — it would be, Stimson said, ‘a badly needed equalizer’ . They believed it fortunate that a moral and, they thought, virtuous nation, the USA, should be the one to gain control o f this power. They were not disposed to share the secret. The British and Canadians were already involved, and Churchill and Roosevelt made a secret agreement in September 1944 to closely collaborate in developing atomic research for military and commercial purposes after the war, and at the same time to prevent leak­ age o f information on the project, especially to the Soviets. Roosevelt and Stimson knew that the bomb would have an influence on AmericanSoviet relations. Exactly what they planned that influence to be is unclear. In a vague way, they thought it would be a useful counterweight to the vast size o f the Soviet Army, but there is no evidence of discussion of how to use the bomb for diplomatic gain, or how to utilize its potential in practice to guarantee Soviet good behaviour. Roosevelt tended not to use overtly bullying tactics, preferring charm and manipulation of mutual interests, and he was still reasonably confident at the time o f his death that his methods would work. In fact, if there was a ‘carrot-andstick’ approach used, it centred on economic aid and negotiations on a reconstruction loan for the Soviet Union, which eventually stalled. On the other hand, scientists and administrators in the Manhattan Project were aware that their creation would alter the diplomatic and military landscape. Some scientists felt strongly that no nation should have a monopoly on atomic power, and this led some to pass secrets to the Soviets after the war. Groves, on the other hand, was in no doubt that the USSR was a future enemy, and he considered the Manhattan Project to be shaped by that fact. The probability is, however, that while these aspects were in people’s minds, and they may have rendered them more amenable to dropping the bomb, they were not the prime considerations in the decision to do so.

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Other issues have been raised concerning the decision to drop the bomb. The justification given by Truman that it saved half a million lives is put against evidence that estimates o f potential casualties for the invasion of Japan made by planners in the Pacific and in Washington were significantly less. However, focus on this issue rather misses the point. It implies that the momentous decision was taken in a carefully considered way. In fact, it seems to have been taken almost casually. Truman knew little of the project. Having been notified of it, there was little reason in his mind not to proceed. This is best seen in the context o f a savage war in the Pacific, and of an ongoing strategic bombing campaign, which had already killed 500,000 and about which no policy-maker was questioning the morality. Certainly there was a mood in Washington and the Pacific high command that the Japanese had it coming to them. The nature o f World War II had desensitized people to the wholesale destruction of civilians and their environment. Furthermore, to Groves, there was never any question of not using the bomb, if it was ready in time. There is a possibility that it was in some officials’ minds that if the bomb was not used, and the invasion proved costly, then Congress would want to know why the two billion dollars spent on the Manhattan Project had been wasted. Within the bureaucratic context, therefore, the use of the bomb begins to look inevitable, unless someone took the decision not to go ahead. The only reason why that was going to happen was if it became clear that the Japanese would surrender. Another revisionist argument is that the Japanese were giving clear signs of being ready to do so. The bombing and submarine campaigns had reduced Japan to such a state by July 1945 that it was obvious to some in the Japanese Government that the war must cease. Hints were passed via Moscow that this was so, and these were read by the Americans in Magic decrypts. However, such was the image o f the Japanese that it was feared that they would deviously draw out negotiations, seek last-minute conditions and do other things to prolong the issue. The Japanese had no reason to interpret the Potsdam Declaration as a warning that a worse weapon faced them than they were already experiencing. The refusal of the Allies to give any guarantees on the position of the Emperor implied that the imperial throne would be abolished. Criticism of the unconditional surrender policy as a whole often focuses on this. The Japanese Army did not consider itself defeated; significant units were still intact in China and Manchuria, and some Army chiefs believed that if the people could simply endure the B-29

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devastation, the Americans would have to come to terms regarding the Emperor rather than face the losses an invasion would incur. If the bomb was necessary to bring the Army to surrender, it is asked whether it could not have been detonated over an uninhabited island, as a demonstration, or alternatively over a city after a warning had allowed people time to escape. Neither of these options was seriously considered. Again, precon­ ceptions o f the Japanese shaped the belief that such demonstrations would not convince them that the bomb was really destructive, or that the Americans would have the will to use it on inhabited areas. It had, in fact, always been intended that the bomb would be used on a Japanese city, and no-one considered it necessary to reopen the matter. After much discussion internally and with historians, the Smithsonian decided to acknowledge this debate in its Enola Gay exhibition, in addition to the inclusion o f artefacts and photographs from Hiroshima. This then generated a furious outcry from veterans’ organisations and right-wing Republicans in Congress. They claimed that the bombing was being equated with Pearl Harbor. They endorsed the original official explanation for the bomb as the weapon that ended the war, solely dropped for that purpose: veterans doing so with the moral authority of those whose lives might otherwise have been lost in the invasion. In the end, after resignations at the Smithsonian,* the exhibition was made an anodyne one that focused on the bomber and its crew, not the issues raised by the bomb or strategic bombing in general.7 The affair showed starkly how politically and culturally charged an issue World War II still was, fifty years after its close, and how interpretations of it were still fought over with bitter emotions.

Notes 1. See Michael Hogan, Cross o f Iron. Harry S Truman and the Origins o f the National Security State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 2. A good introduction to the debate is Judith N. McArthur, ‘From Rosie the Riveter to the Feminine Mystique: An Historiographical Survey of American Women and World War IF, Bulletin o f Bibliography vol. 44, no. 1 (1987), pp. 10—15. 3. Mark A. Stoler, ‘The Second World War in US History and Memory’ , Diplomatic History vol. 25 no. 3 (2001), pp. 390—2. This edition of Diplomatic History contains a series of stimulating essays on the contemporary status of historical writing on World War II. 4. The Senate exonerated Kimmel and Short in 1999. Republicans, who held the majority, were still gunning for Roosevelt and found the conspiracy theories persuasive.

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5. See Alice Kessler-H arris, ‘ The L ife and Times o f Rosie the Riveter (US, 1980). The Experience and Legacy of Wartime Women Wage-Earners’, in John W. Chambers and David Culbert, eds, World War II, Film and History (Oxford: Oxford Univer­ sity Press, 1996), pp. 107—22. 6. See Paul Fussell, Thank God for the Atom Bomb and Other Essays (New York: Summit, 1988). 7. For the Enola Gay controversy, see Edward T. Linenthal and Tom Englehardt, eds, History Wars. The Enola Gay and Other Battles fo r the American Past (New York: Holt, 1996), and for a collection o f most o f the major interpretations o f the dropping of the bomb, Kai Bird and Lawrence Lifschultz, eds, Hiroshima s Shadow: Writings on the D enial o f History and the Smithsonian Controversy (New York: Pamphleteer’s Press, 1997).

Select Bibliography

W o rld W a r II in G eneral Cowley, Robert (ed.), No End Save Victory: Perspectives on World War I I (New York: Putnam, 2001). Keegan, John, The Battle fo r History. Re-Fighting World War I I (New York: Random House, 1995). Keegan, John, The Second World War (London: Hutchinson, 1989). Murray, Williamson and Allan R. Millett, A War to be Won. Fighting the Second World War (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000). Overy, Richard, Why the A llies Won (New York: Norton, 1995). Weinberg, Gerhard L., A World At Arms: A Global History o f World War I I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). Wint, Guy, Peter Calvocoressi and John Pritchard, Total War: the Causes and Courses o f the Second World War (London: Viking, rev. edn, 1989). T h e U nited States and W o rld W a r II Cashman, Sean D., America, Roosevelt and World War I I (New York: New York University Press, 1989). Hess, Gary R., The United States at War, 19 41—1945 (Wheeling, IL: Harlan Davidson, 2nd edn, 2000). Maddox, Robert J., The United States and World War I I (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1992). Nash, Gerald D., The Crucial E ra: the Great Depression and World War 77, 1929— 1945 (New York: St Martins, 1992). O’Neill, William L., A Democracy at War: Am erica’s Fight at Home and Abroad in World War //(New York: Free Press, 1993). Isolationism and the R oad to W a r Adler, Selig, The Uncertain Giant: American Foreign Policy Between the Wars (New York: Macmillan, 1965). Chadwin, Mark L., The War Hawks o f World War I I ( Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1968).

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Cole, Wayne S., Am erica F irst: The Battle A gainst Intervention 1940—19 4 1 (Madison, WI: Wisconsin University Press, 1953). Cole, Wayne S., Roosevelt and the Isolationists, 1932—1946 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1983). Compton, James V., The Swastika and the E agle: H itler, The United States and the Origins o f World War //(Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1967). Divine, Robert A., The Reluctant Belligerent: American Entry into World War I I (New York: Kieger, 1976). Doenecke, Justus and John E. Wiltz, From Isolation to War, 1931—1941 (Wheeling, IL: Harlan Davidson, 2nd edn, 1991). Feis, Herbert, The Road to Pearl Harbor: The Coming o f War Between the United States andJapan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1950). Hearden, Patrick, Roosevelt Confronts H itler: America s Entry Into World War I I (DeKalb, IL: North Illinois University Press, 1986). Heinrichs, Waldo, Threshold o f War: Franklin D . Roosevelt and American entry into World War I I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). Jonas, Manfred, Isolationism In America, 1936—4 1 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univer­ sity Press, 1966). Kimball, Warren F., The Most Unsordid Act: Lend-Lease, 1939—1941 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1969). Langer, William L. and S. Everett Gleason, The Challenge to Isolation, 19 3J—40 (New York: Harper, 1952). Langer, William L. and S. Everett Gleason, The Undeclared War, 1940-41 (New York: Harper, 1953). Offner, Arnold A. (ed.), America and the Origins o f World War I I (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1971). Reynolds, David, The Creation o f the Anglo-American Alliance, 1937—4 1 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1981). Reynolds, David, From Munich to Pearl Harbor: Roosevelt s America and the Origins o f the Second World War (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2001). Utley, Jonathan G., Going to War with Japan, 19 37 -19 4 1 (Knoxville, TN: Tennessee University Press, 1985). G eneral T e x ts on the H om e F ro n t Adams, Michael C., The Best War Ever: America and World War I I (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994). Brinkley, Alan, The End o f Reform : New D eal Liberalism in Recession and War (New York: Knopf, 1995). Dickinson, Matthew J., Bitter Harvest: F D R , Presidential Power and the Growth o f the Presidential Branch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). Heide, Robert and John Gilman, Home Front America. Popular Culture o f the

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World War IIE ra (San Francisco: Chronicle, 1995). Jeffries, John W., Wartime America: the World War IIH om e Front (Chicago: I. R. Dee, 1996). Lingeman, Richard R., D on't You Know There's a War On? The American Home Front, 1941—1945 (New York: Putnam, 1970). O’Brien, Kenneth P. and Lynn H. Parsons (eds), The Home-Front War: World War I I and American Society (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1995). Polenberg, Richard, War and Society. The United States 1941—1945 (New York: Lippincott, 1972). Smith, Bradley F., The War's Long Shadow. The Second World War and Its Aftermath (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1986). Sparrow, Bartholomew H., From The Outside In: World War IIa n d the American State (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). Terkel, Studs, ‘The Good W ar': An Oral History o f World War Two (New York: Pantheon, 1984). Tuttle, William M., ‘D addy's Gone to W ar': The Second World War in the Lives o f America's Children (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993). Winkler, Allan M., Home Front U SA. America During World War I I (Illinois: Harlan Davidson, 1986). Young, Roland A., Congressional Politics in the Second World War (New York: Columbia University Press, 1956).

W o m e n and Sexuality in the W a r Anderson, Karen T., Wartime Women: Sex Roles, Fam ily Relations, and the Status o f Women During World War I I (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1981). Berube, Alan, Coming Out Under F ire: The History o f Gay Men and Women in World War I I (New York: Plume, 1990). Campbell, D’Ann, Women At War With America. Private Lives in a Patriotic Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984). Colman, Penny, Rosie the Riveter. Women Working on the Home Front in World War I I (New York: Crown, 1995). Costello, John, Virtue Under Fire: How World War I I Changed Our Social and Sexual Attitudes (Boston: Little, Brown, 1985). D’Emilio, John, Sexual Politics, Sexual Communities. The M aking o f a Homosexual Minority in the United States, 1940—1990 (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1983). Gluck, Sherna B., Rosie the Riveter Revisited (Boston: Twayne, 1987). Goossen, Rachel W., Women Against the Good War: Conscientious Objection and Gender on the American Home Front, 1941—1949 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina, 1997). Hartmann, Susan M., The Home Front and Beyond. American Women in the 1940s (Boston: Twayne, 1982).

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Honey, Maureen, Creating Rosie the Riveter: Class, Gender, and Propaganda During World War I I (Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts, 1984). Milkman, Ruth, Gender at Work: The Dynamics o f Job Discrimination by Sex During World War I I (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois, 1987). M obilization, L ab o u r and P rod u ction Brinkley, David, Washington Goes to War (New York: Knopf, 1987). Chambers, John, To Raise an Army: The D raft Comes to Modem America (New York: Free Press, 1980). Clive, Alan, State o f War: M ichigan in World War I I (Ann Arbor, MI: Univer­ sity of Michigan, 1979). Flynn, George Q., The Mess in Washington: Manpower Mobilisation in World War I I (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1979). Hooks, George, Forging the M ilitary-Industrial Complex: World War iT s Battle o f the Potomac (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois, 1991). Lichtenstein, Nelson, Labor's War at Home: The CIO in World War I I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). Nash, Gerald D., The American West Transformed (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1985). Vatter, Harold G., The U S Economy in World War //(New York: Columbia University Press, 1985). R ace and the W a r Buchanan, A. Russell, Black Americans in World War I I (Santa Barbara, CA: Clio, 1977). Capeci, Dominic J., Race Relations in Wartime Detroit: the Sojourner Truth Housing Controversy o f 1942 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1984). Capeci, Dominic J., The Harlem Riot o f 1943 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1977). Daniels, Roger, Concentration Camps, U SA : Japanese Americans and World War //(New York: Holt, 1971). Homan, Lynn M. and Thomas Reilly, Black Knights: the Story o f the Tuskegee Airmen (Gretna, LA: Pelican, 2001). Honey, Maureen (ed.), Bitter Fruit: African American Women in World War I I (Columbia, MO: University of Missouri, 1999). Lanning, Michael, The African American Soldier from Crispus Attucks to Colin Pow ell (New Jersey: Carol, 1997). Levine, Ellen, A Fence Away From Freedom: Japanese Americans and World War //(New York: Putnam, 1995). Mazon, Mauricio, The Zoot-Suit Riots: the Psychology o f Social Annihilation (Austin, TX: University of Texas, 1984).

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Meier, August and Eliot Rudwick, CO RE. A Study in the C ivil Rights Movement, 1942—1968 (Urbana, IL: Unversity of Illinois, 1975). Irons, Peter, Justice at War: The Inside Story o f the Japanese American Internment (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983). Kryder, Daniel, D ivided Arsenal: Race and the American State During World War //(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). Morehouse, Maggi, Fighting in the Jim Crow Arm y: Black Men and Women Remember World War I I (Lanham, NY: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000). Polenberg, Richard, One Nation D ivisible: Class, Race and Ethnicity in the United States since 1938 (New York: Viking, 1980). Smith, Page, Democracy on Trial: The Japanese-American Evacuation and Reloca­ tion in World War //(New York: Simon and Schuster, 1995). Takaki, Ronald , Democracy and Race: Asian Americans and World War //(New York: Chelsea House, 1995). Takaki, Ronald, Double Victory: a M ulticultural History o f America in World War //(Boston: Little, Brown, 2000). Wynn, Neil, The Afro-American and the Second World War (New York: Holmes and Meier, rev. edn, 1993). H ollyw ood and the P rop agan d a W a r Basinger, Jeanine, The World War I I Combat Film . Anatomy o f a Genre (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986). Bird, William L. and Harry Rubinstein, Designs For Victory: World War I I Posters on the American Home Front (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Archaeo­ logical, 1998). Blum, John M., V Was For Victory: Politics and American Culture During World War I I ( New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1976). Doherty, Thomas, Projections o f War: Hollywood, American Culture and World War I I (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993). Erenberg, Lewis and Susan Hirsch (eds), The War In American Culture: Society and Consciousness During World War I I (Chicago: University of Chicago, r996). Koppes, Clayton R. and Gregory D. Black, Hollywood Goes to War. How Politics, Profit and Propaganda Shaped World War I I M ovies (New York: Free Press, 1987). Short, K. R. M. (ed.), Film and Radio Propaganda in World War I I (Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee, 1983). Winkler, Allan M., The Politics o f Propaganda: The Office o f War Information, 19 4 2-19 4 5 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1978). Zeman, Zbynek, Selling the War: Art and Propaganda in World War I I (London: Orbis, 1978).

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G eneral T e x ts on W artim e U S F o reig n P o licy Dallek, Robert A., Franklin D . Roosevelt and American Foreign Policy, 1932— 1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, rev. edn, 1995). Kolko, Gabriel, The Politics o f War. The World and United States Foreign Policy, 19 4 3-19 4 $ (New York: Random House, rev. edn, 1990). Smith, Gaddis, American Diplomacy During the Second World War 19 41—1945 (New York: Knopf, 2nd edn, 1985). Snell, John L., Illusion and Necessity: the Diplomacy o f Global War, 1939—1945 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1963). Strategy and the M ilitary Buchanan, A. Russell, The United States and World War I I ( New York: Harper, i9 64 )Greenfield, Kent R., American Strategy in World War II; A Reconsideration (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1963). Higgins, Trumbull, Soft Underbelly: The Anglo-American Controversy Over the Italian Campaign, 1939—1945 (New York: Macmillan, 1968). James, D. Clayton and Anne S. Wells, From Pearl Harbor to V -J D ay: The American Armed Forces in World War I I (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 1995). Morison, Samuel E., The Two-Ocean War (Boston: Little, Brown, 1963). Perrett, Geoffrey, There’s A War To Be Won: The United States Army in World War //(New York: Random House, 1991). Perrett, Geoffrey, W inged Victory: The Army A ir Force in World War I I (New York: Random House, 1993). Stoler, Mark, A llies and Adversaries; the Jo in t Chiefs o f Staff, the Grand Alliance and U S Strategy in World War //(Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina, 2000). Stoler, Mark Stoler, The Politics o f the Second Front: American M ilitary Planning and Diplomacy in Coalition Warfare, 19 41—43 (Westport, CT: Greenwood,

1977)Weiss, Steve, A llies in Conflict: Anglo-American Strategic Negotiations, 1938—1944 (New York, 1996). T h e G rand A lliance Beitzell, Robert, The Uneasy Alliance: America, Britain and Russia, 19 41—1943 (New York: Knopf, 1972). Bennett, Edward M., Franklin D . Roosevelt and the Search fo r Victory: AmericanSoviet Relations, 19 39 -19 4 5 (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1990). Berthon, Simon, A llies at War: the Bitter R ivalry Among Churchill, Roosevelt and De Gaulle (New York: Carroll and Graf, 2001).

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Buhite, Russell D., Decision at Yalta: an Appraisal o f Summit Diplomacy (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1986). Clemens, Diane S., Yalta (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970). Edmonds, Robin, The B ig Three. Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin in Peace and War (New York: Norton, 1991). Gaddis, John L., The United States and the Origins o f the Cold War, 19 41—4 J (New York: Columbia University Press, 1972). Hildebrand, Robert C., Dumbarton Oaks: the Origins o f the United Nations and the Searchfo r Postwar Security (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina, 1990). Kimball, Warren F., Forged In War: Roosevelt, Churchill and the Second World War (New York: Morrow, 1997). Levering, Ralph B., American Opinion and the Russian Alliance, 1939—1945 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina, 1976). Louis, William R., Imperialism at B ay: The United States and the Decolonisation o f the British Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977). McNeill, William H., America, Britain and Russia: Their Cooperation and Conflict, 19 41—19 4 6 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1953). Mee, Charles L., M eeting at Potsdam (London: Deutsch, 1975). Perlmutter, Amos, FD R and Stalin. A Not So Grand Alliance 1943—1945 (Columbia, MO: Missouri University Press, 1993). Sainsbury, Keith, Churchill and Roosevelt at War. The War They Fought and the Peace They Hoped to Make (New York: New York University Press, 1994). Sainsbury, Keith, The Turning Point: Roosevelt, Stalin , Churchill and Chiang K ai-Shek , 1943 —the Moscow, Cairo and Tehran Conferences (Oxford: Oxford University Press: Oxford, 1985). Thorne, Christopher, A llies o f a K ind: The United States, Britain and the War Against Japan , 19 41—1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978). van Tuyll, Hubert P., Feeding the Bear: American A id to the Soviet Union, 19 41— 1945 (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1989). Wilson, Theodore A., The First Summit: Roosevelt and Churchill at Placentia B ay 1941 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1969). R elations w ith China Cohen, Warren I., America's Response to China: An Interpetive History o f SinoAmerican Relations (New York: Columbia University Press, 3rd edn, 1981). Schaller, Michael, The U S Crusade in China, 1938—1945 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1979). Tuchman, Barbara, Stilw ell and the American Experience in China, 19 11—1945 (New York: Macmillan, 1971).

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C o v e rt A ctivities Drea, Edward J., MacArthur's Ultra: Codebreaking and the War Against Japan, 1942—1945 (Lawrence, KS: Kansas University Press, 1992). Lewin, Ronald, The American M agic: Codes, Ciphers and the Defeat o f Japan (New York: Farrar, Strauss, Giroux, 1982). Parrish, Thomas, The Ultra Americans: the U .S. Role in Breaking the Nap, Codes (New York: Stein and Day, 1986). Smith, Bradley F., The Shadow Warriors: O SS and the Origins o f the CIA (New York: Basic, 1983). Smith, Bradley F., The Ultra-M agic D eals and the Most Special Relationship, 1940—19 4 6 { Novato, CA: Presidio, 1993). P earl H arb o r and the W a r in the Pacific Borg, Dorothy and Shumpei Okamoto (eds), Pearl Harbor as History: JapaneseAmerican Relations, 1931—1941 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1973). Costello, John, Days o f Infam y: MacArthur, Roosevelt, Churchill, the Shocking Truth Revealed (New York: Pocket Books, 1994). Costello, John, The Pacific War (New York: Rawston, Wade, 1983). Dower, John W., War Without M ercy; Race and Power in the Pacific War (New York: Pantheon, 1986). Feifer, George, Tennopm: The Battle o f Okinawa and the Atomic Bomb (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1992). Hoyt, Edwin V., Ja p a n s War: The Great Pacific Conflict (New York: Da Capo, 1986). Iriye, Akira, Power and Culture: theJapanese-American War, 1941—1945 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981). Love, Robert W. (ed.), P earl Harbor Revisited (New York: St Martins, 1994). Prange, Gordon W., At Dawn We Slept: the Untold Story o f Pearl Harbor (New York: McGraw Hill, 1981). Prange, Gordon W., M iracle at M idway (New York: McGraw Hill, 1982). Rusbridger, James and Eric Nave, Betrayal at Pearl Harbor: How Churchill Lured Roosevelt into World War //(New York: Summit, 1991). Russett, Bruce M., No Clear and Present Danger. A Skeptical View o f the U S Entry into World War I I ( New York: Harper, 1972). Spector, Ronald H., Eagle Against The Sun: the American War With Japan (New York: Free Press, 1985). van der Vat, Dan, The Pacific Campaign in World War II, the US-Japanese N aval War, 19 41—1945 (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1992). Wolhstetter, Roberta, Pearl Harbor: Warning and Decision (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1962.

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T h e G I at W a r Ambrose, Stephen E., Band o f Brothers: E Company, 5o6th Regiment, 101st Airborne; from Normandy to Hitler's Eagle s Nest (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1992). Ambrose, Stephen E., Citizen Soldiers: the U S Army from the Normandy Beaches to the Bulge to the Surrender o f Germany, June 7, 1944—M ay 7, 194S (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1998). Brokaw, Tom, The Greatest Generation (New York: Random House, 1998). Doubler, Michael D., Closing With The Enem y: How GIs Fought The War In Europe, 1944—1945 (Lawrence, KS: Kansas University Press, 1994). Fussell, Paul, Wartime. Understanding and Behaviour in the Second World War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989). Kennett, Lee B., G I: the American Soldier in World War I I (New York: Scribner, i9 87 )Pyle, Ernie, Here is Your War (New York: Holt, 1943). T h e E u rop ean T h eatre Ambrose, Stephen E., D -D ay , June 1944: The Climactic Battle o f World War //(New York: Simon and Schuster, 1994). Graham, Dominick and Shelford Bidwell, Tug o f War: The Battle fo r Italy , 1943—4 5 (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1986). Colley, David, Road to Victory. The Untold Story o f World War II's R ed B a ll Express (Washington DC: Brassey, 2000). d’Este, Carlo, Decision in Normandy (New York: Dutton, 1984). Keegan, John, S ix Armies in Normandy (London: Cape, 1982). MacDonald, Charles B., A Time fo r Trumpets: The Untold Story o f the Battle o f the Bulge (New York: Morrow, rev. edn, 1997). MacDonald, Charles B., The M ighty Endeavor: The American War in Europe (New York: da Capo, rev. edn, 1992). Ryan, Cornelius, The Last Battle (London: Collins, 1966). Weigley, Russell P., Eisenhower's Lieutenants: The Campaigns o f France and Germany, 1944—1945 (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1981). Weingarten, Stephen (ed.), The Greatest Thing We Have Ever Attempted: Historical Perspectives on the Normandy Campaign (Wheaton, IL: Cantigny, 1998). Wilmot, Chester, The Struggle fo r Europe (London: Collins, 1952). Strategic B om bing Bendiner, Elmer, F a ll o f Fortresses: A Personal Account o f the Most Daring , and D eadly , American A ir Battles o f World War I I (New York: Putnam, 1980). Crane, Conrad C., Bombs, Cities, and Civilians: American Airpower Strategy in World War I I (Lawrence, KS: Kansas University Press, 1993).

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Hansell, Haywood S., The Strategic A ir War Against Germany and Japan (Washington, DC: Office of the Air Force, 1986). Kennett, Lee B, A History o f Strategic Bombing (New York: Scribner, 1982). Scaffer, Ronald, Wings o f Judgm ent: American Bombing in World War //(New York: Oxford University Press, 1985). Sherry, Michael, The Rise o f American A ir Power: the Creation o f Armageddon (New Haven CT: Yale University Press, 1987). Werrell, Kenneth P., Blankets o f Fire: U S Bombers overJapan During World War //(Washington, DC: Smithsonian, 1996). T h e A to m Bom b and the

Enola Gay C o n troversy

Alperovitz, Gar, Atomic Diplomacy: Hiroshima and Potsdam; the Use o f the Atomic Bomb and the American Confrontation with Soviet Power (London: Pluto, rev. edn, 1994). Alperovitz, Gar, The Decision to Use the Atomic Bomb and the Architecture o f an American Myth (New York: Knopf, 1995). Bird, Kai and Lawrence Lifschultz (eds), Hiroshim a’s Shadow: Writings on the D enial o f History and the Smithsonian Controversy (New York: Pamphleteer’s Press, 1997). Hersey, John, Hiroshima (New York: Knopf, 1946). Hogan, Michael, ed., Hiroshima in History and Memory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Lifton, Robert J. and Greg Mitchell, Hiroshima in America: F ifty Years o f D enial (New York: Putnam, 1995). Rhodes, Richard, The M aking o f the Atomic Bomb (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1986). Sherwin, Martin J., A World Destroyed. Hiroshima and the Origins o f the Arms Race (New York: Random House, rev. edn, 1987). Takaki, Ronald, Hiroshima: Why America Dropped the Bomb (Boston: Little, Brown, 1995). Walker, John S., Prompt and Utter Destruction: Truman and the Use o f Atomic Bombs AgainstJapan (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina, 1997). T h e US and the H olocaust Feingold, Henry, Bearing Witness: How America and Its Jew s Responded to the Holocaust (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1995). Gilbert, Martin, Auschwit%and the A llies (New York: Holt, Rhinehart, 1981). Newton, Verne (ed.), F D R and the Holocaust (New York: St Martins, 1995). Wyman, David S., The Abandonment o f the Jew s (New York: Pantheon, 1984).

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R o osevelt as W a r-L e a d e r Burns, James McGregor, Roosevelt: The Soldier o f Freedom (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1970). Divine, Robert A., Roosevelt and World War I I (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1969). Kimball, Warren F., The Ju ggler (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991). Larrabee, Eric, Commander-in-Chief: Franklin Delano Roosevelt, H is Lieutenants and Their War (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987). Marks, Frederick, Wind over Sand: the Diplomacy o f Franklin D Roosevelt (Athens, GA: University of Georgia, 1988). T h e En d o f the W a r and P o st-w a r Problem s Harbutt, Fraser, Iron Curtain: Churchill, America and the Origins o f the Cold War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986). Lacey, M. J. (ed.), The Truman Presidency (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). LaFeber, Walter, America Russia and the Cold War, 1945—1996 (New York: McGraw Hill, 8th edn, 1997). Leffler, Melvyn P., The Specter o f Communism: The United States and the Origins o f the Cold War, 2927—5j (New York: Hill and Wang, 1994). Rose, Lisle A., Dubious Victory: the United States and the E nd o f World War I I (Ohio: Kent State University Press, 1973). Sherry, Michael, Preparing fo r the Next War: American Plans fo r Postwar Defense, 2942—4 5 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1977). Yergin, Daniel, Shattered Peace: the Origins o f the Cold War and the National Security State (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977). M em oirs and Biographies Ambrose, Stephen, Eisenhower, vol. 1 (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983). Blum, John M. (ed.), From the Morgenthau D iaries: Years o f War, 2941—2945 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1967). Blum, John M. (ed.), The Price o f Vision: The D iary o f Henry A . Wallace, 1942— 19 4 6 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1973). Byrnes, James F., Speaking Frankly (New York: Harper, 1947). Deane, John, The Strange A lliance . The Story o f Our Wartime Efforts at Colla­ boration with Russia (New York: Viking, 1947). Harriman, W. Averell and Elie Abel, Special Envoy to Churchill and Stalin , 2942—2946 (New York: Random House, 1975). Hull, Cordell, The Memoirs o f Cordell H ull (2 vols) (New York: Macmillan, 1948).

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Leahy, William, I Was There (New York: Whittlesey House, 1950). Manchester, William, American Caesar: Douglas MacArthur, 1880—1964 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1978). Pogue, Forrest C., George C. M arshall: Order and Hope, 1939—42 (New York: Viking, 1965), and O rganfer o f Victory, 1943—45 (New York: Viking, 1973). Schaller, Michael, Douglas MacArthur; The Far Eastern General (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). Sherwood, Robert E., Roosevelt and Hopkins (New York: Harper, 1948). Stimson, Henry L. and McGeorge Bundy, On Active Service in Peace and War (New York: Harper, 1948). Truman, Harry S., Memoirs (2 vols) (New York: Doubleday, 1955). W ebsites This a sample of the many informative sites on the World Wide Web - though it should be borne in mind that websites tend to be subject to rapid change. National Archives, A People At War site, http://w w w .nara.gov/exhall/people/ people.htm l

National Archives, Powers o f Persuasion'. World War II posters, http://w w w . nara.gov/exhall/powers/powers.htm l

Rutgers Oral History Archive of World War II, http://fas-history.rutgers.edu/ oralhistory/orlhom .htm

World War II Homefront, http://lihrary.thinkquest.org/i55n / World War II Links, http://w w w .fsu.edu/~w w 2/links.htm World War II Primary Resources, http://w w w .ihihlio.org/pha/ World War II Website Association, http://www.w w2w a.com / Yale Avalon Project: World War II documents, http://w w w .yale.edu/law w eh/ avalon/vw ii/w w ii.htm

Index

A BC-1 plan, 44 Admiralty Islands, 105 African Americans see black Americans Afrika Korps, 47 Agricultural Adjustment Act (AAA) 2 ,17 Aircraft, 18, 20, 68, 80, 82, 136 carriers, 29, 33, 104, 128 industry, 22, 85, 88 see also bombing Airpower, 65, 67, 103, 138 Air Corps see USAAF Air Force, Japanese Naval, 34,104 Air Force, US Army see USAAF Airborne forces, 70, 99 see also parachute troops A K (Armiya Kraiowd), 76, 121 Alamein, 138 Alamogordo, 132 Alcohol, 38—9 Aleutian Islands, 33 Algiers, 47 A ll Quiet on the Western Front, 6 Allied Control Commission, Italy, 118 Allied Military Government (AMGOT), 117 Allies, the, 11—12, 42, 47—8, 97—8, 100, 103—4, 113—14, 12 2,124 ,12 5—6, 127, 138, 150, 151 Alperowitz, Gar, 154 Aluminium, 20, 38 Amalgamated Clothing Workers Union, 20 America First, 15 American-British-Dutch-Australian Command (ABDA), 32, 45 ‘American Century’, 112, 135 American Civil War, 62,142 American Federation of Labor (AFL), 38,

American Legion, 15, 86 American Volunteer Group, 27 Amphibious warfare, 67, 70, 98, 103, 152 Anglo-Soviet Treaty, 43 Anti-Communism, 55, h i , 116 ,14 2 Anti-aircraft units, 90 Anti-semitism in US, 11 Anti-submarine warfare, 46, 129 Anti-trust suits, 40,54 Antwerp, 101, 102 Anvil, Operation, 98 Anzio landings, 103 Apennines, 103 Arcadia meetings, 44—5, 66 Ardennes, 63, 102 Area bombing, 94, 96, 150—1, 154 Arizona, 59 Arizona, USS, 29 Arkansas, 59 Arkhangel, 137 Armed forces, US blacks in, 62, 143 contribution to victory, 137—8 fighting spirit, 34, 101, 138 improvements in, 104, 135, 138 inter-service rivalries, 45, 65 Japanese-Americans in, 59 Native Americans in, 59—60 Pre-war weakness, 10 and propaganda, 51, 53 rearmament of (1940—1), 18, 19—21,

3i segregation in, 22, 62—3, 143 size at end of war of, 87,138 strategic approach of, 44, 69, 97,139, 151-2 women in, 63, 89—91

hi

171

172

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D W A R II

see also military, US and individual services Army, British, 12, 99—100 Army, Chinese, 116 Army, French, 12 Army, German, see Wehrmacht Army, Japanese, 26, 27, 31, 106, 129, 133,

134, U6-7 Army, Polish, 103 Army Service Forces, 83 Army, Soviet, 76, 118, 121, 124, 125, 126, !33- 4, 136, i37, 148,155 Army, US, 14, 45, 47,51, 62-4, 65-7, 93, 117 in 1930s, 10 in 1940, 19 in 1941, 21 manpower shortage in, 102 ninety divisions in, 86,101 training camps, 62—3 women in, 90—1 Arnhem, 101 Arnold, General ‘Hap’ A., 45, 90, 95,128 ‘Arsenal of democracy’, 17, 2 1,3 9 ,5 1,5 3 , 82, 137-8 Asia Lobby, 141 Atlantic, Battle of, 22—5, 46, 67—9, 98, 136,138, 151, 152 Atlantic Charter, 24, 42, 43, 48, 52,55, 72, 73, 113, 118, 139-40 Atlantic Fleet, 21, 46 Atlantic Ocean, 13, 20 Atlantic Wall, 98—9 Atomic bomb, 8 2 ,113 ,13 0 —4 ,14 0,146,

154055 decision to drop, 132, 154—7 development, 130-2 see also Manhattan Project Attack/, 145 Attlee, Clement, 125 Auschwitz, 150 Australia, 32, 65, 66, 138 Austria, 120 Autarchy, 6, 9 Automobile industry, 20, 38, 82 Aviation fuel, 26,137 Avranches, 100, 101 Axis 11, 34, 47, 69, 127, 136, 138, 151

B-17 Flying Fortress, Boeing, 82, 93, 94— 5, 136 B-24 Liberator, Consolidated, 68, 83, 93 B-25 Mitchell, North American, 33 B-29 Superfortress, Boeing, 82, 104,127, I3 2~ 3 , !3 6, 156-7 B-Dienst, 67 ‘Backdoor to war’ theory, 147 Badoglio, Marshal Pietro, 70-1, 7 3 ,117 —18 Balkans, 69, 71, 7 5,119 Ball-bearings, 95 Baltic states, 76 see also Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia Baltimore, 62 Bandung, 28 Banking industry, 7, 80 Barkley, Senator Alben W., n o Baruch, Bernard, 18, 37 Bastogne, 102 Bataan, 32,106 ‘Death March’, 32, 154 Battle for Russia, 78 Battleships, 10, 29, 93,104,106 Bavarian Alps, 123 Berle, Adolf A., 42 Berlin, 120, 123—4, 125, 126,137 Bermuda, 150 Best Years o f our Lives, The, 145 Betio, 67 Biak, 105 ‘Big Inch’ pipeline, 137 ‘Big Three’, 77, 114 ,12 0 ,12 5 ‘Big Week’, 95 Bhagavad Gita, 132 Black Americans, 108, in activism, 61—2 in armed forces, 62-4, 101—2, 143 employment, 2 1-2 , 60-1 migration, 60—4 in movies, 56 in post-war period, 143—4 and unions, 3, 60, 61, 81 women, 89—90, 60, 63 Bletchley Park, 139 ‘Blitz’, 16 Blitzkrieg, 12 Blood supply, 62 ‘Bloody Gorge’, 129

INDEX

Bocage, 100 Bockscar, 133 Boeing, 82 Bolero, Operation, 46 Bombing advocates of, 93, 151 assessment of impact of, 94, 96—7, 150—1 atomic, 132—3,154—7 by Americans, of Germany, 94, 95—7 by Americans, of Japan, 33,105, 116, 127-8, 132-3, 156 by British, 93—4 by fighter bombers, 99 by Germans, 12, 16, 96 morality of, 96—7, 150, 156 pre-war fear of, 6, 93 strategic, 44, 9 3 -7 ,12 7 ,13 8 ,13 9 ,15 0 -

1, i57 see also Combined Bomber Offensive Borah, Senator William, 12 Bougainville, 66 Bracero programme, 64 Bradley, General Omar S., 123, 124 Brazilian forces, 103 Breen, Joseph, 52 Brenner Pass, 125 Bretton Woods Conference, 114, 118 Britain, 4 ,11,12 ,15 ,17 , 26,63,67, 85, 90-1, 102, 103, 124, 142 American aid to, 13—18, 25 appeasement of Germany, 9, 93 and atomic research, 130—1, 155 Battle of, 13, 26 Chiefs of Staff, 69, 97 Hollywood image of, 53 imperialism, 70, 119 intelligence co-operation with, 23, 45 mobilization of, 40 relations with Soviet Union, 42—3, 73, 121, 123, 124, 126 shipping losses, 23 staff talks with, 23, 44 strategic bombing by, 93—4 strategic differences with Americans, 44-5, 46, 66, 69-71, 73, 97-8,124, 15 12 Brittany, 100

173

Brokaw, Tom, 146 Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, 22 Bucharest, 122 Buck, Pearl S., 55,115 Bulgaria, 119 Bulge, Battle of the, 86, 102, 120, 123 Bullitt, William C., 74 Bund, 11 Bureau of Motion Pictures (BMP), 54 Bureaucracy, federal, 141 Burma, 32 ,116 Burma Road, 26 Burns, James MacGregor, 11 Bush, Vannevar, 131 Businessmen, 2, 40, 80, 85, no, 142 big business, 7, 83—4, 86, 153 relations with military, 84, 141, 153 and Roosevelt, 2, 36 small business, 83—4 in war work, 36, 39, 40 see also corporations, dollar-a-year men Byrnes, James F., 41, 80, 83, 85, 86, in ,

125—6 Caen, 100 Cairo Conference, 74—5 Declaration, 116 Calais, 99 California, 64, 82 anti-Japanese feeling in, 58, 154 California, USS, 29 Canada, 14 ,155 forces of, 44, 99—100, 102 Cape Esperance, Battle of, 66 Cape Gloucester, 66 Capra, Frank, 56 Caribbean Sea, 15, 16 Caroline Islands, 104 Carriers, aircraft, 29, 33, 104,128 Casablanca, 47, 48, 49 Conference, 48, 66, 69, 94, 97 directive, 94—5 Cash-Carry, 8, n , 14, 25 Cassino, 103 Catholics, 75 Censorship, 52,53,56 Ceylon, 33 Chamberlain, Neville, 9

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D WA R II

174

Chaplin, Charlie, 53 Charleston, 60 Charlottesville, 14 Chennault, Major-General Claire, 27, 115, 116 Cherbourg, 100 Chiang Kai-Shek see Jiang Jieshi Chicago, 5, 8, 15, 60, 62, 131 Children, 87, 89 China, 7, 8-9, 11, 25, 27-8,56, 75, 77, 1 1 5—r7 , 12 1,12 6 ,12 7 ,13 8 ,14 1,15 6 Chippewas, 60 Chungking, 116 Churchill, Winston S., 13—14, 15—17, 22, 24, 42, 4 4 - 5 , 48, 72, 7 4 , 7 5 , 103, 113, 117, 123-5, 132, 147-8, 152,

155 and bombing, 95, 9 7,151 and France, 49 and Mediterranean strategy, 46—7, 69, 75, 9 8 and monarchs, 73, 118 and Roosevelt, 13—14 ,15, 24,119 and spheres of influence, 118—19, 121 Citizen army, US tradition of, 10, 141 Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), 2, 109 Civilian goods, 20, 38, 82, 84 Coal-mining, 81 Cochran, Jacqueline, 90 Code-breaking, 28, 33, 34, 67, 139, 147 ‘ Code-talkers’, 60 Cold War, 122, 141, 142, 145, 148, 151, 154 Colorado, 59 Comanches, 60 Combined Chiefs of Staff (CCS), 45, 106,

151 Combined Bomber Offensive (CBO), 9 4 - 5, 9 6 Command o f the Air, 93 Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies see White Committee Committee to Defend America First see America First Communism, 72, 119 in China, 116 in Soviet Union, 55, 73 in US, 15, 86

Conferences Bretton Woods, 114, 118 Cairo, 74—5, 116 Casablanca, 48, 66, 69, 94, 97 Dumbarton Oaks, 114 ,12 1 London Economic, 7 Moscow supply, 42 Moscow foreign ministers, 72 Moscow (Churchill—Stalin, 1944), 119 Placentia Bay, 24, 44 Potsdam, 125—7 Quebec (1943), 66, 95 San Francisco, 114 Teheran, 74—7, 97—8 Washington (Arcadia), 44—5, 66 Washington Naval, 3—4 Washington (Trident), 70 Yalta, 102, 114, 117, 120—3, r48, 149? 150 Confessions o f a N a f Spy, 53 Congress, 4, 29-30, 38,59, 108, no, 142, 150,156,157 77th, 109 78th, 109 79 th, 112 debate on Lend-Lease, 17—18 loan to China, 115 and manpower, 40—1, 85, 86, 91 and mobilization, 36, 40, 141 and neutrality, 7—8, 25 and propaganda, 56—7 and rearmament, 10, 18 support for international organization, 43

and taxation, 79, no Congress for Racial Equality (CO RE), 62 Congress o f Industrial Organizations (CIO), 3 7 - 8 ,8 1,111 Conscientious objectors, 50 Conscription, 19, 40, 85—6, 91 Conservation, 41 Conservatives, 6, 108—9, II0>1 4 2 Conversion to war production, 20, 40 Controlled Materials Plan (CMP), 38 Convoys, 23, 67—8 Coolidge, President Calvin, 4 Copper, 38 Coral Sea, Battle of the, 33

INDEX

175

Corporations, 40,51, 80, 83, 153 see also businessmen Corregidor, 32,106 Cost-plus-a-fixed-fee system, 40 Costello, John, 147 Cotentin peninsula, 100 Coughlin, Father Charles, n Council of Foreign Ministers, 126 Crime, 145 see also juvenile delinquency Cullen, Sergeant Curtis, 100 Czechoslovakia, 125, 130

Donitz, Admiral Karl, 67-8, 125 Doolittle, Colonel (later General) James,

D-Day (Normandy landings), 99-100 Darlan, Admiral Jean-Frangois, 48, 73 Davies, John Paton, 116 Davis, Colonel Benjamin, Jr., 63 Davis, Elmer, 53 D D T, 82 de Gaulle, General Charles, 48, 49 Debt-Default Act, 17 Deception, strategic, 70, 100 Declaration on Liberated Europe, 121, 122 Decolonization, 1 1 3 ,1 1 5 ,1 1 7 D ’Emilio, John, 91 Demobilization 113, 141 Democratic Party, 3, 15, 109-12, 143 Democrats liberal, 23 Southern, 108, 109, in Denmark, 12, 125 Der Fuehrer's Face, 54 Desegregation of armed forces, 64, 143 Destroyers-for-Bases deal, 15 Detroit, 60, 82 race riot in, 61—2 Devastator, Douglas, 34 Dewey, Thomas E., in DeWitt, Lieutenant-General John, 58 Dieppe, 47 Disarmament, 3—4 ,10 , 2 4 ,4 3,119 —20 Disney, Walt (studios), 54 Distribution of wealth, 81—2 Divorce, 92 Dodge 4x4 truck, 137 Dollar-a-year men, 40,57, 83 Domestic service, 60

82nd Airborne Division, 99 Eaker, General Ira C., 93 E-boats, 107 East Prussia, 76 Eastern Europe, 7 4 ,12 1,12 2 ,14 8 —9 Eastern Front (German—Soviet), 97, 107, 118, 137, 139 Economic Bill of Rights, no Economic nationalism, 3, 4, 6—7 Economy, US, 1—2, 4, n —12, 16, 21, 25, 68, 79-80, 82-3, 86, 137—8, 140 Eden, Anthony, 42 Education, 60—1, 145 Egypt, 46 Eighth Air Force, 93—7 Eighth Army (British), 47 Einstein, Albert, 130 Eisenhower, General Dwight D., 46, 47, 71, 98—10 2,123—5, *38, I4° Eisenhower, Milton, 58 Elbe River, 124 Elections, 108 1940 general, 14-15, 16, 21, 135 1942 congressional, 37, 71, 109 1944 general, no—12 Embargoes, 8, 12, 25, 26 Empire, British, 4, 24, 29, 47,52, 70, 118 Empire, French, 49, 117 Empire, Japanese, 116, 129, 136, 138 Employment, 10, 80—1, 87—9, 92,140 African American, 60—1, 89, 143 agricultural, 60, 64, 88, 89 clerical, 89, 90, 92, 145 domestic, 60, 88 Hispanic American, 64

3 3 ,9 3

Dos Passos, John, 5 ‘Double-V’, 62 Douhet, Giulio, 93 Dragon Seed, 55, 77 Dragoon, Operation, 98, 100—1, 104 Dresden, 96, 97,124,150 Duck, Donald, 54 Dumbarton Oaks Conference, 114 ,12 1 Dunkirk, 12, 46

176

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D WA R II

increase in wartime, 20 industrial, 88, 89 post-war, 140, 143—4 retail, 88, 92 textile manufacturing, 92 women in, 87—9, 92, 144 Endo v United States, 62 Engelbrecht, Helmuth, 7 Engineering, 132 Enigma (coding machine), 67—8, 78, 139,

147 Eniwetok, 104 Enola Gay, 132, 146, 154, 157 Enterprise, USS, 10, 33—4 Environment, 145 Erfurt, 124 Escort carriers, 68, 105 Escort vessels, 14, 67 Espionage, Soviet, 131 Essex class carriers, 10, 136 Estonia, 42 Ethiopia, 7—8 Europe, post-war division of, 151 European Theatre of Operations (ETO ), 45“

6, 4 7 , i 5 2, U 4 1

1 st Infantry Division, 21 1 st Marine Division, 21 Fair Employment Practices Commission (FEPC), 22, 60 Fairbanks, Douglas, Jr, 13 Family, 145 Far East, 3—4, 23, 148 Farm-belt, 37, 82-3 Farm lobby, 36—7 Farm policy, 2 Farm Security Administration, 109 Farmers, 36, 41, 86 Fascist General Council, 70 ‘Fat Man’, 133 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 57-8

Federal Emergency Relief Administration (FERA), 2 Federal Order 8802, 22 Federal Order 9066,58 Federal Order 9102, 58 Feingold, Henry, 150

Femininity, images of, 55—6, 87, 144—5, J 53 Feminism, 145 Fermi, Enrico, 131 Field, Connie, 153 Fifteenth Air Force, 95 Fifth Army, 103, 125 Fight for Freedom Committee (FFF), 17 Fighter aircraft, 94, 95 Final Solution, American knowledge of the, 149—50 Finland, 4 Fire-bombing, 128, 134, 154 First Army, 124 ‘First US Army Group’ (FU SAG), 99,

100,101 Fish, Hamilton, 17 Fitzgerald, F. Scott, 5 Fletcher, Admiral Jack, 33—4 Fletcher class destroyers, 136 Flying Fortress see B—17 ‘Flying Tigers’, 27 Food, 36 Ford, Henry, 15 Ford Motor Corporation, 82, 83,107 Foreign Office (British), 42 Formosa, 105 ‘Fortress America’, 6, 10 ,12 , 15 ‘Four Freedoms’, 17,52 ‘Four policemen’ , 43, 72, 75, 113, 114, 115, 119 Fourteen Points, 3, 48 France, 4, 11, 12—13, 18, 46, 77, 126, 139 Allied invasion of, 67, 69—70, 77, 97— 102, 139, 151-2 battle of, (1944), 100—2 Free Danish, 23 Free French, 48, 100, 103 French Indo-China, 26—8 French North Africa, 46, 47—8 French Riviera, 77, 98 Gaddis, John Lewis. 149 Gallipoli, 44 Gasoline, 39, 137 Gato class submarines, 10, 136 General Assembly, UN, 114, 121 General Motors, 19, 82 ‘ Gentlemen’s Agreement’ (1908), 26

177

INDEX

German-Americans, 5, 11, 15,50,57 Germany, 6, 9, 17, 27, 28, 30, 70, 77, 127, 152 Air Force see Luftwaffe Army.f££ Wehrmacht atomic research in, 130 -1 atrocities by, 52, 150

Battle of (1945), 123-5 in Battle of the Atlantic, 67-8

bombing of, 93—7 declaration o f war on US, 30, 147 defeat o f France, 12—13 destruction of economy of, 96—7,150 dismemberment of, 77, 120,126 invasion of Denmark and Norway, 12 invasion of Poland, 11 invasion of USSR, 24 in Italian campaign, 103 occupation zones in, 77, 120 post-war treatment of, 77, 120 submarines see U-boats surrender, 125 US propaganda image of, 52 ‘ Germany first’ strategy, 23, 44, 66 Gestapo, 150 Ghettos, 3, 60 GIs, 10 1,130 ,14 4 GI Bill, 91, no, 143 Gilbert Islands, 66—7 Gold beach, 99 Good Earth, The, 115 Good Neighbor policy, 7, 10 ‘ Good War’, concept of the, 106,145, 147, U3 Grand Alliance, 48—9, 72—7, 113,12 0 , 125, 137-8 see also ‘Big Three’ Graphite moderator. 131 Great Britain, see Britain Great Depression. 1, 4, 6—7,52, 82, 87, 108,145 Great Dictator, The, 53 Greater South-East Asia Co-prosperity Sphere, 27 Greece, 75, 9 8 ,118 ,119 ,12 1,13 9 Greenland, 23 Greer, USS, 25 Grew, Joseph C., 26

Gross National Product, 79 Groves, Lieutenant-General General Leslie, 131, 155—6 Guadalcanal, Battle of, 65—6 Guam, 32, 105 Halifax, Lord, 29 Halsey, Admiral William ‘Bull’, 33, 65, 104,105—6 Hamburg, 150 Hanford, 131 Hanighen, Frank, 7 Hansell, Brigadier-General Haywood S., 128 Harriman, W. Averell, 72, 119, 126 Harris, Air Marshal Sir Arthur, 95, 96, 99,

U1 Hawaii, 26, 28—9,59 Hayes, Ira, 59 Hays Office, 52 Health care, 60—1 Heavy water, 131 Helldiver, Curtiss, 104 Helman, Lillian, 55 Hemingway, Ernest, 5 Henderson, Leon, 20, 37 Hill 382, 129 Hillman, Sidney, 19 Himalayas mountains, 115 Hirabayashi v United States, 59 Hirohito, Emperor, 134 Hiroshima, 128,132—3, 134, 157 Hispanic Americans, 64, 81 Historiography of World War II, 146—57 Hitchcock, Alfred, 56 Hitler, Adolf, 9 ,13 , 16, 25, 30, 71, 98—9, 100, 102, 113, 123, 125, 147 view o f US, 136,138 Hollywood, 52,53—6, 80 Allies in movies, 53,55 blacks in movies, 56 and isolationism, 53 and the military, 53 post-war World War II movies, 145 women in movies, 55—6, 87 Holocaust, 147, 149—50 Homosexuality, 91—2 Hong Kong, 32, 148

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D WA R II

i7«

Honolulu, 105 Hoover Dam, 68 Hoover, President Herbert, 7 Hopkins, Harry, 9, 24, 72, 74, 75, 93, 126 Hornet, USS, 10, 33, 65 House of Representatives, 25, 86 ,10 9 ,112 House Resolution 1776, 17 Housing, 60—1 Hull, Cordell, 7, 21, 28, 29, 42, 72, 76 ‘Hump’, the, 115, 127 Hungary, 119 Hurley, Patrick, 116 Husky, Operation, 69—70, 152 Iceland, 23, 67 Ichi-Go offensive, 116 Ickes, Harold, 14, 20, 23, 81, 150 Idaho,58 Immigration to US Japanese, 26 Jewish, 11, 150 Mexican, 64 Incentives for business, 20, 40, 80 India, 70, 117, 127 forces of, in Italian campaign, 103 Indianapolis, USS, 133 Indo-China, 26—8 Inflation, 20, 36—7 Intelligence, 23, 34, 4 5,10 1, 102, 129, 139,

147 Interventionism, 14—18, 30,50 Iindustry, 36, 80, 136—7, 141 International Monetary Fund, 114 Internationalism, 56,57, 72—3 ,112 —13,140 Iran, 75, 137 Irish-Americans, 5, 15 ‘Island-hopping’ , 139 Isolationism, 1, 3—6 ,12 , 14, 30, 72, 140, 141, 142, 146-7 Isolationists, 12, 13—15, 16—18, 19, 20, 23— 4, 26,53 Italian-Americans, 57 Italy, 11, 46, 73, 82, 9 5,117, 119, 125 Allied campaign in, 63, 69—71, 98, 103-4, 151 Government of, 71, 73, 117—18 invasion of Ethiopia, 7—8 surrender of, 70—1

Iwo Jima, 60, 105, 128, 129, 154 Japan, 23, 25-9, 46, 65-7, 77, 116, 121, I2 5 , !42, 156 advances, 32—3, 44—5 Army, 26, 27, 3 1,10 6 ,12 9 ,13 3 ,15 6 —7 attack on Pearl Harbor, 28—9 bombing of, 127—8, 132-3, 154-7 economy, 128,129 Emperor of, 33, 133, 156—7 Empire, 116 ,129 expansionism, 7, 26 image of the US, 26, 28,136 industry, 128 invasion of China, 8—9, 11, 25 invasion of Manchuria, 7 joins Axis, 11, 26 Navy, 31, 33-4, 104-6 occupation of Indo-China, 26—7 plans for US invasion of, 130,154—7 relations with US, 9, 11, 20, 25—9, 44 resistance of, 66—7, 106,127, 129—30, *39

Soviet attack on, 133—4 submarine campaign against, 129 surrender of US declaration of war, 29—30 US trade with, 9 ,11, 25, 26 way of war, 32,154 Japanese, American images of, 26—7,52, 148, 156—7 J apanese-Americans in armed forces, 59 internment of, 58-9,153-4 J ava, 33 Java Seas, Battle of the, 32 Jeeps, 136—7 Jeffers, William, 39 Jews Holocaust, 147, 149—50 immigration to US, n , 150 Jieshi, Jiang, 8, 26, 115 -17 Jieshi, Madame Jiang, 115—16 ‘Jim Crow’ system, 61—2

jN-25,29,33 Joint Chiefs o f Staff Committee (JCS), 4 5 , 4 7 , 69, 9 7 , 12 1,12 4 , 1 3 9 Joint Planning Board, 44

179

INDEX

Juno beach, 99 Juvenile delinquency, 89, 144, 145 Kaiser, Henry, 68—9, 83 Kamikazes, 106,130 Kansas City, 111 Kasserine, 47 Kearny, USS, 25 Kellogg-Briand Pact, 3 Kennedy, Joseph, 13, 16 Kesselring, Field Marshal Albert, 71 Kimball, Warren, 149 Kimmel, Admiral Husband E., 147,157 King, Admiral Ernest J., 45—6, 47, 68, 98, io 5

Kirishima, 65 Knox, Frank, 14, 40, 85 Knudsen, William S., 19, 36 Kobe, 128 Kokura, 133, 134 Kolko, Gabriel, 149 Konoye, Prince, 28 Korea, 127 Korematsu v United States, 59 Krug, Julius, 84 Kurchatov, Igor, 132 Kurile Islands, 121 Kurusu, Saburo, 28, 29 Kwajalein, 104 Kyoto, 134 Labor Department, 89 Labour, 37, 61, 80, 87 see also employment Labour unions, 2, 3, 15, 37—8,54, 61, 81, 85-6, 108, no, h i , 142, 145,153 membership rise, 37—8 ‘no strikes’ agreement, 37 and women, 81, 88—9 Labour unrest, 80—1, 85 LaFollette, Robert, 15 Landing craft, 46, 70, 71, 82, 97, 98, 99, 136 ,151 Lanham Act, 82 Latin America, 10 ,119 Latvia, 42 League of Nations, 3, 7 ,112 League o f Women Voters, 15

Leahy, Admiral William D., 45, 126 ‘Leap-frogging’, 66, 105, 139 Leipzig, 124 LeMay, Major-General Curtis B., 127—8 Lend-Lease, 17—18, 20, 22 to Britain, 18, 69, 137 to China, 18, 115 figures, 18, 137 to Soviet Union, 24, 30, 69, 137, 149 Leningrad, 43 Lesbianism, 92 Levitt-towns, 143 Lewis, John L., 81 Lexington, USS, 33 Leyte, 105, 106 Leyte Gulf, Battle of, 105-6 Liberator see B-24 Liberals, 6, 13,50 ,14 1 Liberty ships, 68—9,136 Lidice, 150 Life and Times o f Rosie the Riveter, The, 153 Life magazine, 51, 116 Lifeboat, 56 Lindbergh, Colonel Charles, 15 Lingayen Gulf, 106 Linz, 125 Lippmann, Walter, 148 Lithuania, 42 ‘Little Boy’, 132, 133 Little Steel Formula, 37, 81 Litvinov, Maxim, 42 London, 16, 46, 114 Los Alamos, 13 1,13 2 Los Angeles, 60, 64, 82, 145 Lovett, Robert A., 95 Liibeck, 125 Lublin Committee, 76, 121 Luce, Henry, 112, 116, 135 Luftwaffe, 94-6, 9 8 ,13 8 ,15 1,15 2 Luzon, 105,106 MacArthur, General Douglas, 31—2, 65—6,

105-6,134,138 MacAuliffe, Brigadier-General Anthony, 102

MacLeish, Archibald, 53 McNutt, Paul V., 40—1 Magic, Operation, 28, 127, 156

i8o

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D W A R II

Majuro, 104 Malaya, 27, 28, 29, 32 Manchuria, 7, 127, 133—4, 156 Manhattan Engineering District, 131 Manhattan Project, 82, 126, 130—3, 139, 155-6 Manila, 106 Manpower, 6, 39, 40—1, 63, 84—6, 102, 107, 153 March on Washington, 2, 60, 61-2 Marianas Islands, 66,104, 127 ‘Marianas Turkey-Shoot’, 105 Marine Corps, US, 32, 65, 67, 129, 138 blacks in, 62, 63 women in, 90 Market-Garden, Operation 101 Marriage, 92 Marshall, General George C., 21, 29, 45— 6, 70, 71, 89, 90, 93, 98, 107, 124, 138 Marshall Islands, 66, 104 ‘Meat Grinder’, the, 129 Medicine, 82, 139 Mediterranean strategy, 46, 69—71, 75, 97, *3 9 , Uo, 151 Mediterranean theatre, 63, 71, 98, 152 Mein Kam pf 88 Merchant vessels, 25, 67—9, 80, 129 Merchants o f Death, The, 7 Merlin, Rolls-Royce, 95 Messina, 70 Mexican-Americans, 64 Mexico, 64 Michael, King of Romania, 122 Michigan, 60, 82 Microwave technology, 106 Mid-West, 5,15,10 9 Midway, Battle of, 33-4, 138 Mikolajczyk, Stanislaw, 119 Milan, 125 Military, US and homosexuality, 91—2 organization of, 21, 45,138 procurement policies of, 38, 83—4 rearmament of, 18, 19—21 and reconversion, 84—5, 141 relations with big business and industry, 83, 141

strategic disputes with British, 44—7, 69 - 7 U 7 3 , 9 7 - 8 , 124, 151-2 tradition o f citizen army, 10, 141 unpreparedness of, 10,18,19 , 21, 31,135 Military-industrial complex, 141 Military Training Camps Association, 19 Miller, John Howard, 51, 88 Mindanao, 106 Mission to Moscow, 55 Mrs Miniver, 55, 77 Missouri, USS, 134 Mr Deeds Goes to Town, 56 M r Smith Goes to Washington, 56 Mitchell, Brigadier-General Billy, 93 Mobile, 60 Mobility, 92 Mobilization, 18—21, 24, 35—6, 50, 68—9, 7 9 , 83, 87,137-8, 142,153 Molotov, Vyacheslav, 43, 72, 119, 126 Montgomery, Field Marshal Bernard, 47, 99,100 Monroe Doctrine, 119 Morgenthau, Henry, 14, 80,120, 150 Moscow, 24,42, 43. 119. 132,156 conferences in, 42, 72, 119 Mulberries, 100 Munitions industry 2, 8, 12, 85 and World War I, 7 Murmansk, 137 Murrow, Ed, 16 Mussolini, Benito, 69, 70, 71, 125 Myth o f World War II, 145—6

92nd Division, 63 99th Pursuit Squadron, 63 Nagasaki, 133, 134 Nagoya, 128 Nagumo, Admiral Chuichi 29, 34 Nanking, Rape of, 9 Napoleon (Bonaparte), 44 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (N AACP), 61 National debt, 80 National Defense Advisory Commission (NDAC), 19, 20 National Guard, 18 ,19 National security, 23, 141, 142

181

INDEX

National service, 41, 85—6, 91, 141, 153 ‘National Redoubt’, 123, 125 National Resources Planning Board, 109 National Youth Administration, 109 Native Americans, 59 Navajos, 60 Naval Conferences, Washington, 3— 4 Naval Treaty, Washington, 25 Nave, Eric, 147 Navy Department, 86 Navy, Japanese, 31, 33-4,104-6 Navy, Royal (British), 13 Navy, US, 10, 21, 22, 23, 25, 28-9, 33, 4 5 ~ 6, 62, 63, 65-7, 90, 93, 104-6, 117,

133 submarine campaign, 129 Nazis, 6, 9, 13,52 -3, 57, 120, 123 atrocities of, 52,150 Neisse river, 126 Nelson, Donald, 20, 38-9, 83, 84-5, 86 Netherlands East Indies (NEI), 27, 28, 65 Netherlands, forces of the, 32 Neutral zone, 22 Neutralism in US, 5, 10 Neutrality Acts 19 3 5 - 3 7 , 7 - 9 r9 3 9 , n - 12 revision of (1941), 25 New Britain, 66 New Deal, 1-3, 6, 16, 34-5, 36, 39, 54,56, 59, 108-10, 145, 147 New Georgia, 66 New Guinea, 63, 65—6, 105 New Hollandia, 105 New Jersey, 67 New Left, 148 New York, 91 New York Herald Tribune, 7 New York Times, 19 New Zealand, forces in Italian campaign, 103 Newfoundland, 24 Newport News, 82 Niigata, 134 Nimitz, Admiral Chester, 33, 105, 129, *39

Ninth Army, 124 Nisei, 59

Nomura, Kichisaburo, 29 Norden bomb sight, 94 Norfolk, VA, 60, 82 Normandy, 98—100, 101 North Africa, 46, 151 North Sea, 101 North Star, The, 101 Norway, 99, 131 Nuclear fission, 130 Nuclear research, German, 130—1 Nuclear research, Soviet, 131 Nuremberg principles, 140 Nursing, 89—90 Nye Committee, 7 Nye, Senator Gerald P., 7, 53 101st Airborne Division, 99, 102 Oahu, 59 Oak Ridge, 131 Oder River, 126 Office of Censorship, 56 Office of Economic Stabilization (OES),

4i Office of Facts and Figures, 53 Office of Naval Intelligence, 28 Office of Price Administration (OPA), 36,41 Office of Price Administration and Civilian Supply (O PACS), 20 Office o f Production Management (OPM), 19—20 Office of Scientific Research and Development, 131 Office of Strategic Services (OSS), 117, *39

Office of War Information (OWI), 51—2, 53- 7 , 77 ,109,

139, r4 2

budget cut, 57, 109 and film industry, 52,53—6 Office of War Mobilization (OWM), 41, 80, 83-4 Ohio, 82 Okinawa, 105, 128, 130, 154 Oklahoma, USS, 29 Omaha beach, 99—100 Oil, 1, 8, 9, 25, 27-8,46, 9 5,129 ,137 ‘Open Door’, the, 27, 115, 149 Oppenheimer, Julius Robert, 132

iSi

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D WA R II

Oran, 47 Osaka, 128 Ottawa system, 4, 24 Overlord, Operation, 77, 97—100, 152 P-38 Lightning, 95 P-47 Thunderbolt, 95, 99 P-51 Mustang, 9 5 ,12 8 ,13 6 ,13 7 Pacific Fleet, 21, 26, 147 Pacific Military Council, 66 Pacific Ocean, 29 Pacific Theatre, 46, 47, 52, 65-7, 96, 127— 30,150,152,15 6 Central, 33, 65, 66—7, 104—5, U 2 race in, 58,154 South, 33, 6 5-6 ,10 5,152 Pacifism, 57, 93 Panama Canal, 148 Panay, USS, 9, 26 Panther tank, 136 Parachute troops, 12, 101 see also airborne forces Paris, 12, 100 Pas de Calais, 99 Patriotism, 6, 40,59, 88, 135, 144 Patton, General George S., 21, 70, 99, 100, 101, 102, 124, 125, 138 Pearl Harbor, 20, 26, 29, 31, 34, 35,51,58, 106, no, 112, 135, 142, 147, 154, *57

Pearl Harbor {film), 146 Pellelieu, 105 Pendergast political machine, 111 Penicillin, 82 Pennsylvania, 137 Pentagon, 131 Pepper, Senator Claude, 17 Percentages agreement, 119, 121 122 Persian Gulf, 137 Petain, Marshal, 12 Petroleum, 38—9 Petroleum Co-ordinator of National Defense, 20 Philippine Islands, 27, 28, 31—2, 65, 105— 6, 139 Philippine Sea, Battle of the, 104-5 Pittsburgh Courier, 62 Placentia Bay, 24, 44

Plan Dog, 44 Planning, 36, 38, 41, 80, no, 137 Ploesti, 95 Plutonium, 131—2 Pointblank directive, 95 Poland, n , 42, 7 5 - 7 ,119 ,12 1,12 2 - 3 , 126 forces in Italian campaign, 103 frontiers, 76, 126 Govemment-in-Exile, 75—6 Home Army-see AK Polish-Americans, 75 Politics, American domestic, 36, 108—12, J 35

Polls, public opinion, 12, 16, 19, 40, 85 Pollution, 145 Port Moresby, 33 Post-war settlement, 112—14, 126, 149, 154 Potsdam Conference, 125—7, 132 Declaration, 126—7, x3 3 > 156 Prague, 123,125 Prelude to War, 56, 78 Presidential powers, 7, 15, 86, no, 140, I4 2> 14 1 Press, 126 Prices, 36-7, 80, 85, 106 Prisoners-of-war (POWs), 121 Procurement, military, 38, 83—4, 141 Production, 6, 14, 24, 38, 41, 79—80, 82—6 Production Code Administration, 52 Productivity, 88, 135, 136 -7,153 Progressives, 13 Promiscuity, 92 Propaganda, 50-2,53-4, 57, 85,142, 153 race in, 52,55,57 regarding Allies, 56,57, 77 voluntary theme in, 51 in World War I, 6, 50-1,54 Prosperity, 135, 140 Public opinion, US, 8, 9, 12 ,16 , 25, 27, 29 >3 6>4 0 , 4 8 , 5 3 >7 U 7 2> i ° 9 >II2> n 5-6 , 153 and internationalism, 112—13 ,14 1 regarding war with Japan, 27, 29-30, 47

‘Purple’, 28 ‘Purple Heart Battalion’, 59 Quakers, 62

I83

INDEX

‘Quarantine’ speech, 8 Quebec Conference, 66, 95 Queen Eliiabeth, 67 Queen Mary, 67 ‘Queer stockades’, 91 Rabaul, 66,104 Race, 57-6 4 , 145, 154 Race riots, 61 Radar, 34, 106, 129, 139 Radiation sickness, 133 Railroads, 6, 139 Rainbow plans, 44 Randolph, A. Philip, 22 Rankin, Representative Jeannette, 30 Rationing, 39, 41 Rearmament, 10 ,18 ,19 - 2 1, 22, 31 Reciprocal Trade Agreements Act, 7 Reconstruction, post-war 113, 126 loan to Soviet Union, 149, 155 Reconversion, 84—5, 141,144 Red Army see Army, Soviet ‘Red Ball Express’, 63, 101 Red Scare (1919), 6 Reich, German, 52, 96,124 Reichswald, 123 Relocation see migration Remagen, 123 Remarque, Erich-Maria, 6 Reparations, 4, 112, 120 Republican Party, 2, 19, 32, 37,53, 108-9, m , 157 Reuben James, USS, 25 Revenue Acts, 20, 79, no Revisionism, 148—9 Reynolds, Quentin, 16 Rheims, 125 Rhine, River, 123, 124 Rhinoceros, 100 Rhone Valley, 98 Riefenstahl, Leni, 56 Rockwell, Norman, 88 Romania, 77, 118, 119 ,12 2 Rome, 71, 103 Rommel, Field Marshal Erwin, 99 Roosevelt coalition, 108, in Roosevelt, Eleanor, 63, 89—90 Roosevelt, President Franklin D., 1, 6,

22, 31, 32>33, 37, 39, 5^, 81, 88, 98, *35

and aid to Britain, 14—18, 23, 29 and appeasement, 9 ‘arsenal of democracy’ statement, 17—18 and atomic bomb, 130,155 attitude to Germany, 9, n , 16, 47 attitude to Soviet Union, 7, 30, 42-3, 47, 48, 122-3, 148-9, 155 and bombing, 151 and China, 27, 7 5,115—7 and Churchill, 13—14, 15, 24, 119 death, 123 and de Gaulle, 49 ‘Dr Win-the-War’ comment, no foreign policy of, n , 48, 72—7, 112—23, 148—9 Four Freedoms, 17 four policemen idea of, 43, 72, 113, 114 ,115 , 119—20 health of, in , 119, 120 historical assessment of, 146—9 ‘hold the line order’, 37 and isolationism, 14-15, 18 ,112 , 147 and Japanese-Americans, 58,154 and mobilization, 19—20, 21, 41 and Neutrality Acts, 7—8 and New Deal, 1—3, 35, 109 in 1932 election, 1 in 1936 election, 2 in 1940 election, 14—15, 16, 135 in 1944 election, n o—n and organization of war effort, 35,41 and outbreak o f war, 11 and Poland, 75—6 and post-war economic settlement, 112—13 pragmatism, 35, 72, 85—7, no, 113, 152 and propaganda, 50,56 and road to war, 11,16, 23—9, 147 and second front, 43 ‘shoot-on-sight order’, 25 and spheres of influence, 118—20, 149 and Stalin, 30, 42, 73—4, 76—7, 120, 122, 148

State of the Union address (1944), 85, no and strategy, 44-5, 65, 7 1,10 5,12 4 ,153

184

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D W A R II

style of government, 18, 35, 83-4, 152 and taxation, 79, no and Truman, 125—6,149, 154 war aims, 72 as war leader, 4 4,47, 72,148—51,152—3 war message to Congress, 29 and Wilsonianism, 72, 113,14 8 unconditional surrender policy, 48,127 at Yalta Conference, 120-3 Rouen, 94 Rosenthal, Joe, 134 ‘Rosie the Riveter’ concept, 51, 87 Rockwell illustration, 88 Rotterdam, 12 Round-up, Operation, 46, 70, 151 Royal Air Force (British), 14, 94, 96 Rubber, 20, 26, 27, 38—9, 129 Rubber Director, 39 synthetic, 38—9 Ruhr Valley, 95 Rural Electrification Administration, 109 Rusbridger, James, 147 Russett, Bruce, 147 Russian Orthodox Church, 55 Russo-Japanese War (1904—5), 121 761st Tank Battalion, 63 Saipan, 104 Salerno, 71 San Diego, 60, 64 San Francisco, 60, 9 1,114 , 148 Conference, 114 Santa Cruz, Battle of, 65 Saving Private Ryan, 46 Savo Island, Battle of, 65 Scheldt estuary, 101 Schools, 60,145 Schweinfurt, 95 Science, 36,141 Scientists, 10 6 ,132,139 ,15 5 Sears, Roebuck, 15, 20 Second front, 43, 46, 48, 69, 97—102, 152 Security Council, UN, 72, 114, 121 vetoes on, 72, 113, 121 Segregation, 3, 22, 60, 62—3, 143 Seine, River, 100, 101 Selective Service, 19, 21, 25, 41

Selznick, David O., 55 Senate, 86, 109, 112 Special Committee to Investigate the National Defense Program, in Sergeant York, 53 Service, John, 116 Servicemen’s Readjustment Act, 100 see also GI Bill Seventh Army, 125 Sexual mores, 92 Shanghai, 9 Sherman tank, 100, 101, 136 Sherwin, Martin, 133 Ship-building, 68—9, 83, 88 Short, Lieutenant-General Walter C.,

147, U7 Siberia, 77 Sicily, 69—70, 151 Signal Intelligence Service, 28 Signals intelligence, 28, 67—8, 129,139, 148 Since You Went Away, 55 Singapore, 28, 32 Slapton Sands, 107 Sledgehammer, Operation, 46 Small War Plants Corporation, 83 Smith v Allwright, 61 Smith-Connally Act, 81, no, 153 Smithsonian Institution, 146, 157 Smoot-Hawley tariff, 4 Social Security, 2, 88, 109, no Sofia, 122 Solomon Islands, 33, 65—6 Somervell, Lieutenant-General Brehon,

83 South, (of US), 2, 19, 60, 62, in South Dakota, USS, 65 South America, 9, 10 South Pacific, 33 Soviet Union, 15, 27, 28, 42, 48, 71, 85, 96, 9 7,114, 118 ,119 -2 3 , 125, 142, 152, 154-5 embassy in Washington, 55 frontiers of, 42—3, 72, 73, 75, 114, 126 German invasion of, 24 image of, in US, 55,56, 73-4 and Italy, 118 mobilization in, 40

INDEX

nuclear research, 131, 132 pact with Germany (1939), 15, 42 relations with US, 7, 42—3, 73—7, 126 and second front, 43 US aid to, 30, 69, 73 war with Japan (1945), 77, 117, 121,

I25, i 33- 4,U 4 Spaatz, General Carl, 93, 95, 99, 151 Spam, 137 Spanish-American War (1898), 29 Spanish Civil War, 8 Speer, Albert, 150 Spheres of influence, 118—20 Spitfire, Supermarine, 95,137 Spruance, Rear-Admiral Raymond, 33—4, 104 Stabilization Act, 36 Stalin, Josef, 42-3,55, 69, 72, 74, 76, 83, 97-8, 113, 118, 119-22, 123-4, 125, I2 7 , 13U D 2, J 3 5 , M2, 148, 149 Stalingrad, 138 Standard of living rises, 81 Stark, Admiral Harold R., 44 Starnes, Representative Joe, 109 State Department, 42,115,12 1,12 3,126 ,14 9 Steel, 20, 38 Stettinius, Edward, 18 Stilwell, General Joseph, 115-16 Stimson, Henry, 7 ,14 , 21, 23, 30, 39,40, 8 5 , 9 °> r3 4 , 1 5 4 - 5 Strasbourg, 101 Strategic Bombing Survey, 150 Strategy, 44, 139, 150-2 in Europe, 45—9, 68—71, 97—8, 124 in Pacific, 45, 65,105 and politics, 47—9 Strikes see labour unrest Studebaker, 137 Stuka, 12 Submarine warfare, 138 German campaign see U—boats US campaign, 129,156 Suburbs, migration to, 140,143 Sumatra, 33 Summersby, Kay, 90 Superfortress see B-29 Supplies, Priorities and Allocations Board (SPAB), 20

185

Supreme Court, 41,59, 61 Suribachi, Mount, 59, 121 Surigao Strait, 106 Sword beach, 99 Szilard, Leo, 130 Taiwan, 105 see also Formosa Tanks, 12, 20, 80, 82, 101, 136—7 Tarawa, 67, 104 Target Committee, 134 Tariffs, 4, 7 Task forces, carrier, 104, 106 Taxation, 40, 79—80, 81, no T chaikovsky, Peter, 5 Teachers, 145 Teheran Conference, 74—7, 83 Teller, Edward, 130 Tennessee, USS, 29 Tenth Fleet, 68 Terkel, Studs, 145, 153 Texas, 6 1,13 7 Thin Red Line, The, 146 Third Army, 100, 124, 125 Third Fleet, Japanese, 28—9 Tibbett, Colonel Paul, 132 Tiger tank, 136 Time magazine, 116 Tinian, 10 5,132 ,133 Tito, Marshal Josip Broz, 119 Tobacco, 41 Togliatti, Palmiro, 118 Tojo, General Hideki, 28, 105 Tokyo, 26,33, I28, r3 4 , U0 Tokyo Bay, 134 ‘Tokyo Express’ , 65 ‘Tolstoy’ Conference, 119 Tolstoy, Leo, 55 Torch, Operation, 47 Torgau, 124 T orpedoes American, 31, 129 Japanese, 29,31,65 Trade, 4, 8, 9, n —12, 24, 25, 112, 113, 118, 140 Traditional values, reassertion of, 145—6 Transportation, 60 Treasury Department, 51, 80

i8 6

T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S AND W O R L D WA R II

Treblinka, 150 ‘Trident’ Conference, 70 Trinity Test, 132 Trucks, 101—2, 136—7 Truk, 104 Truman, President Harry S., h i , 124, 125-7, 142 and atomic bomb, 132,143, 149, 154, 156 Tsu-Shima, Battle of, 33 T 10 tanker, 68 Tuberculosis, 61 Tunisia, 47, 70, 71 campaign in, 47, 69 Tuskegee, 63 Twelve O’clock High, 145 Twentieth Air Force, 127 Tyres, 41 U-boats, 14, 21, 23, 25, 67—8, 136 ‘ Ultra’, 67, 78, 101, 102, 103, 126, 147 Unconditional surrender, 48, 71, 127, 154, 156 Unemployment, 14, 21 Unions see labour unions Union of Mineworkers, 81 Union Pacific Railroad, 39 United Nations Declaration, 42, 48 United Nations Organization, 72, 113—14, 118, 121, 122, 140, 141 Universities and the war effort, 106, 141 Uanium U235 isotope, 130—2 U238, 131 United States Army Air Force (USAAF), 10 ,2 1, 62-3,90, 93-7, 154 US Steel, 18 Utah, 58 Utah beach, 99 Vandenberg, Senator Arthur, 17, 75 VE-Day, 125 Very Long Range Aircraft (VLRs), 68,151 Versailles, Treaty of, 3, 9 Veterans, 146, 154-5, 157 post-war treatment of, no, 143 Vichy, 12 regime, 26, 48, 49

Victor Emanuel III, 70 Victory Bonds, 51, 80, 81 Victory Programme, 24, 107 Victory Ships, 68 Victory Through Airpower, 54 Victory, US contribution to, 136—40 Vienna, 123 Vietnam, 117, 137, 139, 146, 154 see also Indo-China Volgekop peninsula, 105 Vyshinsky, Andrei, 122 Wages, 36-8, 60, 61, 80-1, 85, 88—9 Wagner-Murray-Dingell Bill, no Wake Island, 32 Wallace, Henry, 16,57, in , 116 War crimes, punishment of, 120, 150 trials, 140 War debts, 4 ,112 War Department, 41, 86, 89, 131 War Labor Board (WLB), 37, 61, 80—1 War Labor Disputes Act, 81 War Manpower Commission, 40 War plans, 27, 44 War Powers Acts, 35, 38, 84 War Production Board (WPB), 38-9, 51, 83-4 War Refugee Board, 150 War Relocation Authority, 58 War Resources Board (WRB), 18 Warm Springs, 123 Warner Brothers, 54 Warsaw Rising, 121 Warships, 10 Washington (state), 82 Washington, D C, 28, 45, 46, 62, 141,156 ‘mess in’, 35 wartime conferences in, 44—5, 66, 70 Washington, President George, 5 Washington, USS, 66 Wayne, John, 145 ‘We are the Janes that Make the Planes’, 88

‘We Can Do It’, 51, 88 Wedemeyer, Colonel (later General) Albert C., 46, 47,107, 116 Werhmacht, 101, 136, 137, 138

l8 7

INDEX

Welles, Sumner, 42, 72, 78 Wells, H. G., 93 West (of US), 19, 61 West Virginia, USS, 29 Western Europe, 70, 142 Western Front, 1914—8, 44, 46 Western Front, 1944—5, 124—5, Westinghouse Corporation, 51, 88 Wigner, Eugene, 130 Willkie, Wendell, 16, 19, 53 Willow Run, 83, 107 Wilson, President Woodrow, 3, 6, n , 23, 48, 72, 112, 118 movie Wilson, 112 Wilsonianism, 56, 112—3, 114, 148 Winant, John G., 42-3 Wismar, 125 Wheeler, Senator Burton K., 17,53 White Committee, 13, 17 White House, 4 1,14 1 White, William Allen, 13, 14 Why We Fight, 51, 56 Women, 87—91, 92 in armed forces, 63, 89—91 black, 60, 63, 89—90 conscription of, 40, 86 lesbian, 92 in movies, 55—6, 87 in post-war era, 89, 144—5, U3 representations of, 87—9, 144—5 and unions, 81, 88—9 wartime employment, 87—9, 144, 153 Women Air Service Pilots (WASPS), 90 Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service (W AVES), 90

Women Voters, League of, 15 Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps (W AAC), 90 W AAC Bill, 90 Women’s Army Corps (W AC), 90 W ACS, 90, 92 ‘Work or fight’ orders, 41, 86 Workers, 37,51, 80, 86, 153 Works Progress Administration (WPA), 2, 109 World organization, 24, 43, 76, 112—3, 114 ,118 see also internationalism, Wilsonianism, United Nations Organization World War I, 3, 4 ,5-6, 7, 18, 19, 23, 29, 39,

4^, 48, 5 2, 112, 120, 142 Wyman, David, 150 Wyoming, 59

57,

62, 7 ° , 9 L Io6>

Yamamoto, Admiral Isoruku, 28, 31 Yalta Conference, 102, 114, 117, 120—3, 148, 149,150 Yamato, 130 Yangtse River, 9 Yank in the R A F, A, 53 Yorktown, USS, 10, 33—4 Yugoslavia, 98, 119, 139 Zedong, Mao, 116 Zero, Mitsubishi, 31, 34, 104 Zones of occupation, 77, 120, 123, 124, 126 Zoot-suit riots, 64

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