The World is Our Parish: John King Gordon, 1900-1989: An Intellectual Biography 9781442669031

Table of contents :
Contents
Illustrations
Introduction: “Universe of the spirit”
1. “Breaking out of a comfortable cocoon” (1900–1924)
2. “I play spectator in an Aristotelian sense” (1924–1931)
3. “A fiery apostle of social justice” (1931–1934)
4. “Politics is the only road to heaven now” (1935–1938)
5. “A bifocal view towards American affairs” (1938–1949)
6. “A ringside view of contemporary history in the making” (1950−1961)
7. “To get on in the world you accept the beliefs and values of the establishment” (1962–1989)
Conclusion: “An observer, not an actor”
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

“THE WORLD IS OUR PARISH” John King Gordon, 1900–1989 An Intellectual Biography

One of Canada’s most outspoken and respected advocates of internationalism during the early Cold War, John King Gordon had a remarkably eclectic professional life. Keith R. Fleming’s biography of Gordon explores the man’s many careers, from his start as a Manitoba clergyman in the 1920s to his work as a United Nations field officer in Korea, the Middle East, and the Congo. In “The World Is Our Parish,” Fleming traces how Gordon’s passion for social reform and humanitarianism led him to become a clergyman, a political activist, a journalist, a professor, and one of Canada’s leading advocates of liberal internationalism in the years after the Second World War. This exceptional biography of an extraordinary but littleknown Canadian uses Gordon’s professional and intellectual journey to reveal the confluence of liberal Christianity, social democracy, and internationalism in Canadian politics and thought. keith r. fleming is an associate professor and chair of the Department of History at the University of Western Ontario.

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“The world is our parish” John King Gordon, 1900–1989 An Intellectual Biography

KEITH R. FLEMING

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press 2015 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in the U.S.A. ISBN 978-1-4426-4773-2 (cloth) ISBN 978-1-4426-1580-9 (paper)

Printed on acid-free, 100% post-consumer recycled paper with vegetablebased inks

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Fleming, Keith Robson, 1956–, author “The world is our parish”: John King Gordon, 1900–1989: an intellectual biography / Keith R. Fleming. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4426-4773-2 (bound) – ISBN 978-1-4426-1580-9 (pbk.) 1. Gordon, J. King – Political and social views.  2. Gordon, J. King.  3. Internationalists – Canada – Biography.  4. Human rights workers – Canada – Biography.  5. Political activists – Canada – Biography.  6. Theologians – Canada – Biography.  I. Title. JC599.C3F54 2015   323.092   C2014-905012-7 University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council, an agency of the Government of Ontario.

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for its publishing activities. This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

Contents

List of Illustrations  vii Introduction: “Universe of the spirit”  3 1 “Breaking out of a comfortable cocoon” (1900–1924)  13 2 “I play spectator in an Aristotelian sense” (1924–1931)  49 3 “A fiery apostle of social justice” (1931–1934)  80 4 “Politics is the only road to heaven now” (1935–1938)  128 5 “A bifocal view towards American affairs” (1938–1949)  175 6 “A ringside view of contemporary history in the making” (1950–1961) 222 7 “To get on in the world you accept the beliefs and values of the establishment” (1962–1989)  268 Conclusion: “An observer, not an actor”  310 Notes  319 Bibliography  357 Index  367

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Illustrations

1.1  54 West Gate  22 1.2  The Gordon children  24 1.3  Charles Gordon on Duty, ca 1915  26 1.4 Tawney’s Acquisitive Society 36 2.1  King Gordon and his mother, Helen Gordon, 1924  53 2.2  King Gordon, 1920s  59 2.3  Reinhold Niebuhr, 1930s  66 3.1  Frank Scottv  83 3.2  Eugene Forsey  91 3.3  King Gordon letter to the United Theological College, 1933  99 3.4  King Gordon, 1930s  113 4.2 and 4.3  Gordon’s 1937 campaign brochures  164−5 4.4  Charles Gordon et al. at Birkencraig  169 5.1  King Gordon, ca 1940  177 5.2  Freda Kirchwey  197 5.3  Hutchinson, Gordon, et al. office of the Nation, ca 1946  206 5.4  King, Ruth, Alison, and Charley, ca 1947  213 6.1  John Humphrey  225 6.2  Gordon in South Korea, ca 1955  235 6.3  King Gordon, ca 1956  242 6.4  Gordon in Congo, ca 1961  261 7.1  Gordon receiving the Order of Canada, 1977  270

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“THE WORLD IS OUR PARISH” John King Gordon, 1900–1989 An Intellectual Biography

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Introduction: “Universe of the spirit”

John King Gordon was an unlikely radical. Yet on a balmy Saskatchewan evening in July 1933, that bleakest of Great Depression years, the thirty-­ two-year-old United Church minister and mild-mannered professor of Christian ethics from Montreal delivered to an overflow crowd in Regina’s city hall auditorium an unequivocal attack on the “fallacious philosophy” of capitalism, and demanded root-and-branch reform of Canada’s economic and political status quo.1 The occasion of the speech was the inaugural national convention of the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation (CCF), the country’s newest and, to many observers, its most disquieting political movement. Gordon attended the convention as a representative of the League for Social Reconstruction, a small coterie of eastern intellectuals based in Montreal and Toronto that had been dubbed by the media as the “brains trust” of the farmerand labourer-dominated CCF. Most in the Regina audience that night welcomed Gordon’s socialist nostrums as hopeful, progressive, and long overdue. But to many others all across the country, for he was fast acquiring a national reputation for activism, Gordon was misguided, irresponsible, and possibly even dangerous. If the CCF’s Regina convention represented a watershed in Canada’s political history, it was also a defining moment in Gordon’s exceptionally diverse and peripatetic career. As will be seen, Gordon’s life was a vocational and ideological odyssey matched by few Canadians of his day. In addition to his roles in Canada as clergyman, professor, and ethicist, he would become a political party organizer and candidate, book and magazine editor, author, journalist and broadcaster, royal commissioner, United Nations field officer, and human rights advocate in locations as far afield as the United States, Korea, the Middle East,

4  “The world is our parish”

and the Congo. All of these experiences culminated in his becoming one of Canada’s most outspoken and respected advocates of internationalism during the Cold War. A novel blending of privilege, necessity, curiosity, happenstance, and wanderlust repeatedly drew Gordon into one vocational endeavour after another. It was an “astonishing fact,” one of his acquaintances recalled, that Gordon “had at least six careers long before there were any theories about people ‘recycling’ themselves.” Moreover, “currents of social commitment, intellectual curiosity and energetic activism ran through them all.”2 Upon Gordon’s sudden death in 1989, his close friend Ivan Head commented that “if Canada was a country of heroes, which we are not, the name of King Gordon would be known in every household in the country. He’s on my very short list of great Canadians.”3 Head was Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau’s chief foreign affairs adviser before becoming president of the International Development Research Centre in Ottawa, where he worked closely with Gordon in the late 1970s. Head had witnessed first-hand Gordon’s intense commitment to benevolent and humane internationalism, and his determination that Canada become a model of moral and pragmatic leadership in Third World development and human rights causes. Yet if Gordon was well known to Head and others in Canada’s foreign policy milieu during the middle decades of the twentieth century, his name is largely unfamiliar to students of Canadian history today. In telling Gordon’s story I am reminded of the raison d’être that another historian, Marlene Shore, offered for writing about intellectual debates involving the social sciences at McGill University in the interwar years, events coincidentally in which Gordon played a peripheral role. Her book, Shore wrote, “rescues from oblivion many individuals and traditions that have shaped Canadian intellectual life but have been forgotten or overlooked.”4 This biography is intended to accomplish a similar purpose for King Gordon. After repeatedly encountering Gordon’s name, but little else about him, in monographs dealing principally with Canadian social and political movements of the 1920s and 1930s, my research revealed an individual remarkable for his intellectual breadth and vocational diversity. A prolific writer, Gordon co-authored in the 1930s two of the most pivotal and controversial Canadian books of the time, Social Planning for Canada (1935) and Towards the Christian Revolution (1936). In addition, his other books and journalism document a deep personal involvement in an impressive range of political and social reform movements both in Canada and internationally between the 1920s and the 1980s. Although

Introduction 5

by his own account Gordon was more often an observer than an actor in these events, the significance of his ideas and the intensity of his activism should not be understated, for as this book demonstrates, Gordon occupied a unique vantage point at the confluence of three sweeping intellectual currents central to Canadian political and social thought in the twentieth century: the secularization of liberal Christianity, the intersection of social democracy with the new liberalism, and the rise of a distinctly humane form of internationalism.5 With a career spanning multiple decades, locales, and themes, Gordon provides a rare panoramic record of reformist sentiment and humanitarian activism by one of Canada’s cultural elite. Gordon never denied the unconventionality of his multiple vocations. In a reflection on his seventieth birthday he described himself as “a man without a career … whose life has been synchronized with the century.” Each passing decade had resulted in “a shift of gears – in fact, even a change of vehicles.” But with each transformation – and here Gordon was being unduly modest – he rated himself a “rank amateur … professing to wisdom which I do not possess.”6 Given the wide scale and scope of his professional life and intellectual interests, and the fact that he never personally wielded the power required to influence directly the matters of social, economic, and political consequence about which he campaigned so passionately, Gordon’s accomplishments are not measured as easily as those of more prosaic public figures. Never­ theless, the details of Gordon’s public life and his thoughts about many of the events he witnessed, both historically significant and mundane, are inordinately well documented. Because of Gordon’s decision to preserve a voluminous personal archive containing much of what he wrote over the course of a long lifetime – professional and personal correspondence, lectures, speeches, sermons, radio scripts, consultancy reports, newspaper and journal articles, and books – it has been possible to base this biography largely on his own words. Given my focus on Gordon’s ideas, I have intentionally limited discussion of his private life to details necessary for contextualizing and advancing the narrative. Considerable emphasis has been placed, for example, on how Gordon’s early family life and parental influences shaped his views on religion, education, public service, and politics. Otherwise I concentrate mainly on public activities and organizations that shaped and defined Gordon’s intellectual development. A useful starting point is to recognize that Gordon by the 1930s ­already belonged to a unique intellectual network that his friend

6  “The world is our parish”

Graham Spry described as a “‘quite extraordinary pattern or web of personal relationships and friendships extending from coast to coast.” Spry, a journalist, public broadcasting activist, and CCF organizer, pegged the size of this informal group of “intimate, trusting, [and] confident” politically engaged Canadians at between forty and one hundred.7 Doug Owram, in his seminal history The Government Generation: Canadian Intellectuals and the State, 1900–1945, fleshed out the identities, shared interests, and attributes of those whom Spry had in mind. Many were notable for their successful careers as public servants, diplomats, or academics, and for making significant contributions to shaping Canadian public policy during an era of rapid societal change. Others in the group have since fallen into obscurity. Spry, of course, earned his place in Canadians’ collective memory for his ground-breaking advocacy of public broadcasting as a tool for advancing national unity. Also remembered are the academics Frank Underhill, Harold Innis, Arthur Lower, Irene Biss, Percy Corbett, Carl Dawson, B.S. Kierstead, Vincent Bladen, and W.L. Grant. Others included the influential civil servants Hugh Keenleyside, Arnold Heeney, Jack Pickersgill, and W. Clifford Clark, while O.D. Skelton, John J. Deutsch, and Harry Cassidy crafted successful careers combining academe and public service. Norman Robertson and Hume Wrong were prominent diplomats, as were Lester B. Pearson and Vincent Massey, who went on to become Canada’s prime minister and governor general respectively. Brooke Claxton served as a high-profile Cabinet minister in the government of William Lyon Mackenzie King, as did the former academic Norman Rogers. Bernard Keble Sandwell was the long-time editor of Saturday Night, and Charlotte Whitton a pioneering social worker and mayor of Ottawa. The broadcaster Alan Plaunt was Spry’s partner in successfully promoting state-owned radio and eventually the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Finally, two of Gordon’s closest colleagues were among the most vocal and vigorous of Spry’s “web”: the academic, poet, and CCF stalwart Frank Scott, and Eugene Forsey, who was director of research for the Canadian Congress of Labour before his elevation to the Canadian Senate.8 Gordon fit many of the experiences, traits, and outlooks that defined Owram’s “government generation.” Its members typically hailed from middle- or upper-class families in which the father was an academic or clergyman. University-educated, many acquired multiple degrees and spent at least part of their careers as professors. They belonged to the first generation of Canadians to reach adulthood as a host of poorly

Introduction 7

understood social problems originating in the widespread urbanization and industrialization occurring around them became manifest. Likewise, their first-hand memories of either the front lines or the home front during the Great War had instilled in many of them a deep disillusionment towards industrial capitalist society that profoundly affected their responses to the economic crises of the early 1920s and the Great Depression of the 1930s. Also fundamental was Gordon’s belief, which Owram also identified as a key concern of Spry’s group, that a well-informed public was critical to a legitimately functioning democracy in a complex modern age. Indeed, Gordon’s efforts at educating the general public about pressing domestic and international issues were a thread connecting all of his careers, beginning in the 1920s. It was the consensus of the intellectual elite, in Owram’s words, that “intelligent leadership” must be manifested by “disinterestedly bringing issues before the public in an understandable manner.” Some might conclude from Gordon’s polemical speech to the Regina convention in 1933 that he sometimes failed to satisfy this standard of disinterestedness by resorting to “emotions and demagoguery to appeal to the public.” Regardless, Gordon plainly shared the government generation’s trust in a much-enhanced “governmental process” for converting “their views on the social crisis of the age into concrete policies for … the ­improvement of Canada.”9 The informal intellectual network was more dissimilar when it came to religious beliefs, which were wide-ranging. Some members were staunch advocates of an evangelical social gospel, while others professed “non-religious and on occasion anti-religious” sentiments. Even those with a formal religious affiliation, including Gordon, who was ordained, eventually adopted “self-consciously secular” views about remedying social ills. Owram attributes this shift to the fact they were among the first to be educated in “the social scientific approach to problem-­solving.” Unlike their immediate forebears, they had been taught to emphasize “material and environmental factors” instead of “moral or metaphysical ones” when evaluating and prescribing solutions to society’s tribulations. Considerations of political economy usually occupied pride of place over theology and philosophy in the world view of the “government generation.”10 In this singular regard, Gordon was most at odds with the group norm. Despite his enthusiastic application of “material and environmental” perspectives to analyses of social and political conditions in Canada and abroad, Gordon remained tied, albeit in an understated fashion, to his ideological roots in the

8  “The world is our parish”

“moral or metaphysical.” A central observation of this biography is that Gordon, unlike many social science practitioners of his day, and contrary to some historical interpretations of Canada’s secularization since, did not view the material and the moral as two irrevocably separate and mutually exclusive intellectual universes. The dramatic secularization that Canadian society underwent during Gordon’s lifetime was especially significant in shaping him ideologically and thereby influencing the directions his political activism ultimately took. As David B. Marshall demonstrated in his history of the response by Canada’s Protestant clergy to the challenges they faced ministering to an increasingly sophisticated society between 1840 and 1940, secularization seemed at times to move at an imperceptibly slow pace.11 Yet the overall trend was undeniable, and its effects irreversible. Scientific advances, new methods of biblical criticism, and the societal dislocation caused by rapid urbanization, industrialism, and rising consumerism combined to shunt religious beliefs, practices, and institutions from their established position astride the moral and social centre of Canadian life. As a son of the manse and an ordained clergyman, Gordon was deeply affected by these changes but determined not to be overtaken by them. During the 1930s, when he joined the fray as one of Canada’s most controversial professors and preachers, the toxic combination of economic depression and social upset domestically, along with ominous international portents, caused the country’s theologians to reconsider conventional views of Christianity’s place in society. Religious institutions, Marshall suggested, were presented with two contradictory choices: either “modify Christianity in accordance with social, intellectual, and cultural demands,” or “entrench” the church by  denying contemporary trends and continuing “to preach historic Christianity.” Gordon believed the appropriate response to be obvious. The upswing in secular forces could still be co-opted by a reinvigorated church prepared to practise a forceful and politically engaged religiosity in the form of Christian socialism. For the first two decades of Gordon’s professional life, therefore, his foremost intellectual preoccupation was the search for an ethical and by extension political accommodation between religious beliefs and secular society. Integral to my account of Gordon’s life is how quickly his religious persona appeared to give way to secular pursuits once he moved from Canada to New York in 1938. He seems on the surface to have, in the words of Michael Gauvreau, “simply shed his Christian faith,” thereby providing “an apt example of what some historians have termed the

Introduction 9

‘modernist pilgrimage’ from theology, through Christian social service, to the ‘secular city’ of the social sciences.” Gauvreau was in fact referring to a contemporary of Gordon’s and another of Spry’s elite, the historian Harold Innis. Gauvreau mined Innis’s writings to demonstrate that the absence of “overtly religious concerns” in his scholarship did not necessarily mean an abandonment of all “implicit ethical and reformist assumptions.” To the contrary, Gauvreau uncovered ample evidence of Innis’s continued “faithful adherence to the conjunction of evangelical Christianity and social-reform commitment he imbibed at McMaster University between 1912 and 1916.” Gordon’s intellectual contributions, although not in the same eminent league as Innis’s, similarly represent an exception to the commonly held view that religious faith in Canada by the 1920s had been supplanted by “the new culture of social science … as an explanation of human nature and social organization,” thus indicating secularism’s hold on the “wider culture.”12 Despite having discarded most outward displays of his evangelical upbringing and religious orders, Gordon acknowledged much later in life that he continued to find inspiration in “the universe of the spirit.” This spirit, he explained, transcended politics and ideology, states and legalism, and countered the contemporary world view that “humanity’s great advances” were the consequence of “brilliant new technological discoveries and inventions.” Emanating from the Christian ethic that continued to inform Gordon’s intellect and ideals decades after he ceased to be an active adherent of any denomination, this mystic “­universe of the spirit” represented to Gordon the source of all that can “­assert the unity of the world’s people on a higher plane.”13 In addition to secularization, another central influence on Gordon’s life and work, particularly following his relocation to the United States in 1938, was internationalism. Indeed, what distinguishes Gordon from most others in Spry’s “intellectual network” was the extended period during which he lived and worked abroad after the 1930s. More than any other single factor, these expatriate experiences convinced him that an ambitious internationalism needed to become the lodestone of a progressive and socially conscious Canadian nationalism in the latter half of the twentieth century. In his history of Canadian foreign policy between 1945 and 1968, Robert Bothwell described internationalists in Canada as “a point of contact, and a point of reference, for Canadian politicians and ­diplomats as they tried to secure a place for Canada in the postwar world.” Dis­ persed among “their various societies and leagues and associations,”

10  “The world is our parish”

their influence although “seldom concentrated … could be very great.” If governments sometimes thought internationalists a “nuisance,” they nonetheless “ignored them at their peril.”14 After retiring from the United Nations and returning to Canada in 1961, Gordon promptly became one of the country’s best-known and unrelenting i­ nternationalists. Almost until his death twenty-eight years later, he campaigned vigorously in a variety of forums to educate Canadians – average citizens and their leaders alike – of their moral duty to model a benevolent internationalism to a rapidly globalizing world. The internationalism Gordon promoted emerged from the widely heralded “Golden Age” of Canadian foreign policy most often associated with Lester Pearson’s tenure as minister of external affairs from 1948 to 1957 in the Liberal government of Louis St Laurent. It eschewed isolationism and encouraged Canada’s active engagement in world affairs as a middle power. The list of appurtenant commitments was sweeping: develop multilateral forums to improve ties with other nation states; cooperate in mediating interstate conflicts; provide troops and materiel for ongoing peacekeeping missions; champion arms control and disarmament agreements; contribute generously to bilateral and multilateral agreements that combat Third World poverty with economic, technical, and educational assistance; speak out on fundamental justice issues such as human rights and anti-racism; promote sustainable economic development; and endorse comprehensive and enforceable frameworks for international law. The cumulative intent of these policies, according to the political scientist Costas Melakopides, was to produce a “synthesis of pragmatism and idealism” that served “the interests of Canada itself and of the world at large.”15 This resonated well with an idealist like Gordon who was also sufficiently worldly wise to recognize what was practicable. His principal contributions as an internationalist were as a populist advocate for the aggressive expansion of a specific approach to Canadian foreign policy of which he was not the original architect. That task had already been fulfilled by St Laurent, Pearson, and numerous other pioneers in the history of Canadian external relations, including Hume Wrong, Norman Robertson, Escott Reid, Paul Martin, Sr, John Holmes, Arnold Heeney, Chester Ronning, Walter Riddell, and Hugh Keenleyside. Several of these individuals, it will be recalled, also appear on Spry’s and Owram’s lists and were Gordon’s confreres. Another notable connection many of  them shared with each other and with Gordon was

Introduction 11

their Oxford e­ ducation in traditional liberal arts, as well as an observant religious upbringing. As the political scientist Denis Stairs has pointed out, “The manse was a formative force in External Affairs as powerful as academia.”16 Without doubt, traces of Gordon’s pious background continued to surface in an attenuated fashion decades later in the ethical justifications he offered for making benevolent internationalism a Canadian public policy priority. When Gordon was awarded an honorary doctorate from Carleton University in 1977, his presenter at the convocation aptly summarized a lifetime of achievement: “The unifying element in this remarkably diverse career has been King Gordon’s commitment to serve mankind as a fighter for social justice; as a promoter of peace; and as a champion of a more equitable distribution of the material elements of civilised existence. Trained as a theologian, he has manifested his religion largely through humanitarian action.” Gordon had demonstrated “that there is no inconsistency between being a good Canadian and a dedicated internationalist.”17 It could also be said that he had merged, if not seamlessly then certainly adroitly, the dominant secular and sacred influences in his life. This verity is captured in the expression “the world is our parish” that appears in this book’s title. Those words are taken from a letter Gordon wrote to his mother in 1956 when he was stationed in Seoul, South Korea, as the public information director for the United Nations Korean Reconstruction Agency. In the correspondence he was explaining his decision to accept a transfer to Egypt as director of the UN Information Centre for the Middle East. Gordon’s wording was a minor variation on the well-known avowal by John Wesley, the eighteenth-century itinerant evangelical and founder of Methodism: “I look upon all the world as my parish … in whatever part of it I am, I judge it meet, right, and my bounden duty to declare unto all that are willing to hear, the glad tidings of salvation. This is the work which I know God has called me to.”18 Gordon ceased emphasizing the “glad tidings of salvation” relatively early in his professional life. He moved on to secular pursuits that bore little outward resemblance to his evangelical beginnings, even while retaining his trademark idealism. But the constant across each of his subsequent careers was the sense of a “bounden duty” to awaken the public to the pressing need for social justice, whether in their own neighbourhoods or on another continent. In Gordon’s estimation, the chosen instrument for activism, if not the institutional church, could

12  “The world is our parish”

equally be a political party like the CCF, a left-leaning periodical such as the Nation, an international organization like the United Nations, a lobby group in the guise of the Group of 78, or any of numerous other organizations and reform causes with which he associated, because ultimately the impetus behind this largely unknown Canadian’s exceptional life was the recognition that “‘the world is our parish’, and we are learning that the world is not a very big place.”19

1 “Breaking out of a comfortable cocoon” (1900–1924)

King Gordon was a vigorous septuagenarian, at an appropriate juncture in life for self-reflection, when he began organizing the reams of personal correspondence and print memorabilia that he had amassed over the preceding half-century. Although he intended to use the documents as the basis of his autobiography, the book was never written. There simply was not enough time to complete it, but that is not unusual, even given that he lived into his eighty-ninth year. Long past the age when most people aspire to a relaxed superannuation, Gordon ­persisted in championing political and social reforms, both domestic and international, much as he had done without interruption since the 1920s. Indeed, it was this expansively defined commitment to activism more than any other single trait that lent coherence to Gordon’s impressively varied professional life. It was entirely characteristic of Gordon, even as an elderly man, always to regard other duties – writing a censorious letter to a woefully misguided politician, devising strategy for one political action group or another, or drafting the latest in an endless stream of policy papers and op-ed pieces expounding upon current issues – as more pressing than the business of recounting his own life’s story. Consequently, when he died in 1989, the autobiography had not progressed beyond a promising if rudimentary set of chapter outlines highlighting the key events and personalities around which he hoped to shape the narrative. Yet even these rough sketches suffice to reveal that Gordon’s relatively privileged upbringing in a Presbyterian manse in Winnipeg between 1900 and shortly after the Great War, and that his experiences as a student at the University of Oxford from 1921 to 1924 were pivotal in shaping the social conscience that served as his lifelong vocational and moral guidepost.

14  “The world is our parish”

Student life in England, Gordon recalled, exposed him to a world “whose existence I had hardly suspected.” He likened the intellectual and social impact of living and studying abroad to “breaking out of a comfortable cocoon.”1 In that respect, Gordon’s impressions aligned with how others within the small group of advantaged and talented “Oxonian Canadians” of his generation often described the experience. As one historian of the university’s impact on Canadian students in the 1920s has noted, “Oxford appears in memoirs and biographies as an epiphany, a rite of passage from which the Canadian returned proud and confident of their equality and distinctiveness, determined to be colonial no longer.”2 Another obvious benefit of attending Oxford was the stepping stone to a distinguished career – most notably in the public service or academe – it offered many graduates. Certainly lessons learned and acquaintances made at Oxford shaped the political and ethical beliefs that drew Gordon into an unusually wide array of vocations over the ensuing six decades. When he first entered Oxford, he had been prepared to dedicate his life to the cause of Christian evangelicalism and to become, like his father and grandfathers before him, a Presbyterian clergyman. Yet by the time he graduated from university three years later, he was less certain that it was his divine calling to don holy orders as the means of waging spiritual warfare against human inequality and injustice. Gordon had been exposed to elements of a new and intriguing world view that later metamorphosed into an overtly secular internationalism. The more immediate consequence of Gordon’s Oxford introduction to socialism, a doctrine he found exhilarating and perplexing and that he believed complemented rather than countered a Christian’s duty to supply spiritual and material solace to society’s disadvantaged, was to call into question many of his hitherto most cherished and uncontested beliefs. Several more years passed before the religious enthusiasms Gordon acquired in his childhood “cocoon” under the tutelage of his father, one of Canada’s most influential churchmen, finally loosed their grip on him. In the meantime, Oxford planted the seeds of doubt. The religious doctrines and values Gordon carried to Oxford were perhaps an unavoidable inheritance from several generations of staunch Scottish Presbyterian forebears. King’s paternal grandfather, Donald Daniel Gordon, had immigrated to Quebec in 1851 from Blair Atholl, Perthshire, in the Scottish Highlands. When Donald arrived in British North America, the twenty-nine-year-old clergyman’s early ministry in his adopted country was sponsored by the Colonial Committee of the

1900–1924 15

Free Church of Scotland. In Canada he met and married a fellow Scot, Mary Robertson. Born in Aberdeenshire in 1827, Mary was the daughter of a Congregationalist minister who had settled his family in Sherbrooke, Quebec, after emigrating from Scotland and first residing in New England. A graduate of Mount Holyoke Ladies’ Seminary in Massachusetts, Mary was by family background, temperament, and education an ideal mate for the energetic Donald. His career took him to a succession of mission parishes, first in Quebec’s Eastern Townships, followed by pastorates in Glengarry and Oxford counties in what was then Canada West. Along the way he and Mary reared seven children.  Their fourth son and King’s father, Charles William, was born 13 September 1860 at Indian Lands (now St Elmo), in Glengarry County.3 King’s maternal lineage likewise abounded with Scottish clerics. His grandfather, John Mark King, was born in Roxburghshire in 1829. Educated at the University of Edinburgh and the University of Halle in Germany, Reverend King was sent as a missionary to Canada West in 1856 by the Presbyterian Colonial Committee. Called to pastoral charges of increasing responsibility and prestige in Galt, Ingersoll, and Toronto, he rapidly ascended the ranks of the Presbyterian Church, eventually being named national moderator of its General Assembly. In 1884 he moved to Winnipeg, then the bustling if rough-edged gateway to Canada’s western frontier, to take up an appointment as the first principal and professor of systematic theology and church history at Manitoba College, which later merged into the University of Manitoba. Reverend King also brought his influence to bear as a key organizer of the West End Mission, located on what was then the city outskirts. In short order, as a neighbourhood of permanent homes grew up around it, the mission was transformed into St Stephen’s Presbyterian Church. Serendipitously, this congregation would become the life-long church home of his only daughter and her famous clergyman husband.4 Reverend King married Janet Macpherson Skinner in 1873. Janet was by then an accomplished woman, having joined her sister in founding Morvyn House, a Toronto private school for young ladies, which eventually became the Anglican Church’s Havergal College. As required by social convention of the day, Janet promptly terminated her involvement at the school after she married, in order to devote her time exclusively to the role of minister’s spouse. The couple’s two children, Helen Skinner (b. 1876) and John Ralph (b. 1878), were born prior to the ­family’s move to Winnipeg, where tragedy soon struck. Within the shockingly short span of just three years, both Janet and young John

16  “The world is our parish”

died, leaving ten-year-old Helen to be raised by her overburdened father, albeit assisted by his widowed sister. Reverend King was determined that his daughter, although deprived of a mother, would enjoy at least one advantage not commonly available to young women in those years – a university education. To that end he orchestrated the introduction of an arts program at Manitoba College, from which Helen graduated with a bachelor of arts in 1896.5 Much as her mother had done, Helen followed up academic success with domestic duty, assuming responsibility for managing her busy father’s home. She also became active in the work of the West End Mission, recently renamed St Stephen’s Presbyterian Church. Despite her reserved demeanour, she quickly attracted the affections of the church’s tall if somewhat gangly up-and-coming minister, the Reverend Charles William Gordon. It might be expected that Helen’s father, himself a prominent Presbyterian clergyman, would be delighted at the prospect of such a match. But in fact he opposed the budding relationship, thinking the thirty-nine-year-old Charles, who was sixteen years Helen’s senior, too old a catch when other promising suitors were also vying for his daughter’s attention. In a bid to cool the couple’s ardour, Reverend King dispatched Helen to the University of Edinburgh during the winter of 1898, a forced separation Charles dubbed an “intolerable situation.”6 But as well-intentioned fathers before him and since have learned, the breadth of mere oceans cannot true love dispel, and Reverend King eventually acquiesced to his daughter’s importunities. Sadly, he died in March 1899, several months before the nuptials took place on 28 September. The triptych of family, home, and church remained the steadfast ­focus of Helen’s life until her death in 1961. Her seven children, to whom she was utterly devoted, were born in rapid succession: King (b. 1900), Mary (b. 1902), Gretta (b. 1903), Lois (b. 1906), Ruth (b. 1908), Marjorie (b. 1910), and Alison (b. 1915). A consummate organizer with a compassionate spirit, Helen was the archetypical minister’s wife. Given her husband’s frequent and protracted absences from the city, she bore the brunt of the burdens in managing the bustling home front, including overseeing the family’s finances, about which Charles was notably indifferent. It was upon Helen also that the unceasing duties of welcoming newcomers to the church and visiting the sick often fell, leading King to conclude that his mother was “closer to the congre­ gation than my father.” She had official duties to perform as well, serving as president of the St Stephen’s Ladies Association for twenty-five

1900–1924 17

years, and as a member of the Presbyterian Church’s Dominion Board of the Women’s Missionary Society. Both at home and at St Stephen’s, Helen was the resolute and much-admired Gordon matriarch.7 It was Charles, however, who attained national and international renown as a religious leader, social reformer, and one of the most commercially successful authors in the history of Canadian letters. Without question it was Charles’s words and example that made the deepest and most enduring impression on King. Even as a young adult attending Oxford, and later still while making his first forays into professional life, King regularly sought out his father’s advice and tried to base decisions on how he imagined Charles would tackle a particular problem. Growing up in the shadow of an illustrious father can pose a serious hindrance to sons who aspire to make their unique mark on the world. In King’s case, despite being in his late thirties and having carved out his own reputation within Canadian political, church, and academic circles, he invariably was identified in the press and introduced on public platforms as “the son of Ralph Connor,” his father’s nom de plume. It is revealing of the character of both Gordon men that until Charles’s death in 1937 their relationship was consistently marked by mutual ­esteem and approbation, despite the fact they had diverged in their ­respective religious and political views over the years. Following his father’s lead, Charles purposefully answered a call to the ministry. After graduating in arts from the University of Toronto in  1883, he studied theology at Knox College and the University of Edinburgh in preparation for his ordination as a Presbyterian minister in 1890. After four years tilling the intractable mission field of the North-West Territories between Calgary and Banff, Charles moved to Winnipeg in 1894 as rector of St Stephen’s, the congregational base for his impressive rise within Canada’s Protestant establishment. Beyond the parish, Charles’s ministry included convening the Social Service Committee of the Presbyterian Church’s General Assembly, and presiding over Manitoba’s Social Service Council and its provincial temperance campaign. Still sprightly in his fifties, Charles saw action on the front lines of France and Belgium during the First World War as padre of the 43rd Cameron Highlanders, and served as senior chaplain to the Canadian Expeditionary Force in England. At the behest of Prime Minister Robert Borden, Charles was recalled to Canada in 1916 to conduct a speaking tour of the nation’s major cities in an attempt to rejuvenate domestic support for a war effort that showed worrisome signs of flagging. During a comparable mission to

18  “The world is our parish”

the still neutral United States, Charles capitalized on his celebrity to acquire an audience with President Woodrow Wilson, whom he lobbied to increase American backing of the Allied campaign. Safely home again in Winnipeg at war’s end, Charles was appointed chair of the Manitoba Council of Industry, a public oversight body created in the aftermath of the bitter general strike that crippled the city for six weeks in the late spring of 1919. Under the terms of the council’s expansive mandate, Charles was ideally placed to put his administrative talents and social gospel beliefs to work by conciliating industrial disputes and promoting moral reform, temperance observance, and women’s suffrage throughout the province. As the Presbyterian Church’s national moderator after 1921, Charles was at the forefront of his denomination’s often acrimonious and ultimately divisive debate over whether to merge with the Methodist and Congregationalist churches and create the United Church of Canada in 1925, an initiative Charles strongly supported.8 A fervent Canadian nationalist who was immensely proud of his Scots heritage, Charles joined King in becoming a serious student of international affairs. Having witnessed first-hand the human carnage at the Battle of the Somme and other Great War killing fields, he was convinced temporarily during the interwar years that the best hope for achieving world peace rested in creating international institutions, the fledgling League of Nations in particular, provided they were guided by Christian values. Unlike King, whose faith in the ameliorative potential of cooperative internationalism seldom faltered following his introduction to the concept as an Oxford undergraduate, Charles grew increasingly disenchanted with the chronically ineffective League throughout the course of the tumultuous 1930s.9 For all his noteworthy accomplishments in the pulpit and on the public stage, it was Charles’s avocation as a writer of popular fiction that earned him widespread acclaim along with a tidy fortune. A masterful storyteller, he published more than two dozen novels along with several smaller booklets of romantic fiction. His inspirational tales of iron-willed settlers, heroic missionaries, and imperial adventurers popularized the western Canadian frontier in his readers’ imagination as a place and symbol of individual and social regeneration. What began in 1897 as a short story serialized in a church journal to raise funds for the Presbyterian Home Mission Committee – it was an adventurous tale loosely based on Charles’s own mission experiences in the NorthWest Territories – quickly transformed into an unparalleled publishing juggernaut. His first three novels alone, Black Rock (1898), The Sky

1900–1924 19

Pilot (1899), and The Man from Glengarry (1901) generated sales of over 700,000  copies by 1914. Combined sales of all his fiction eventually reached five million copies, establishing Gordon as the most successful Canadian author of his day. Publishing under the pseudonym “Ralph Connor” – King recalled his father’s initial apprehension that writing fiction might be judged an inappropriate pastime for a clergyman – Charles repeatedly plugged the theme of the centrality of Protestant religious and social values in shaping and sustaining the hardy individuals and communities who were taming the Canadian West. Charles’s biographer, David Marshall, has aptly described Connor novels as “essentially sermons dressed up in fictional garb … a modern and entertaining way to reach people with the modern Christian message, shorn of doctrine and emphasizing God’s love and forgiveness as opposed to punishment.” As a literary genre, Ralph Connor’s brand of muscular Christianity enjoyed a relatively short lifespan – by the late 1920s the release of the latest Connor novel was no longer a guaranteed publishing sensation – but the books nevertheless endowed Charles with sufficient celebrity to gain him access to many of the most prominent Canadian, British, and American political and social personages of the time.10 Although astoundingly successful as a novelist, Charles never regarded himself intrinsically as a writer. Rather, he deemed himself first and foremost a servant of God. As for his fiction, this was merely a means for reaching a national and international audience infinitely larger than the congregation who heard him proclaim each week from the pulpit at St Stephen’s an optimistic theology of attaining moral transformation through a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Of the millions of readers touched by the gospel according to Ralph Connor, or the thousands of worshippers who heard the Reverend Charles Gordon evangelize inside the hundreds of churches he visited over his protracted career, perhaps no one took his message to heart more fully than King. In print and sermon, Charles’s overarching theme was a simple reminder of every Christian’s obligation to lead a disciplined life of self-sacrifice and unrelenting servitude to humankind. The father thereby implanted within the son a weighty, but not oppressive, awareness of his responsibility to demonstrate genuine concern for others who were less advantaged. This sense of duty remained with King for life, and long after Oxford prompted his initial drift away from Charles’s fervid evangelicalism. Whereas King largely dissociated himself from institutional religion by his forties, the church remained his father’s passion for life. King

20  “The world is our parish”

described Charles as deeply religious, although not in a “pietistic or formal sense.” A man of “restless energy and … Highland fire,” Charles evoked a faith that was “living and growing,” and in no way “shackled to the stern fundamentalism of his forebears.”11 From his early days in Winnipeg when he encountered through the local Ministerial Asso­ ciation another pioneering reformer, the Methodist clergyman James Shaver Woodsworth, Charles professed the social gospel as an efficacious response to the acute physical and moral problems that rapid and  largely unregulated urbanization was imposing on individuals and their communities. After much soul-searching Woodsworth eventually abandoned the institutional church in 1918 and opted instead for the secular rough-and-tumble of electoral politics as a more promising means of effecting necessary social reforms. Charles, by contrast, never seriously wavered in his faith in the Christian church as an agent for change. He was not, however, confined by a narrow denominationalism per se. According to King, although his father shared deep Presbyterian roots with previous generations of the Gordon clan, Charles considered the church universal to be the clearest earthly expression of an immanent and transcendent Christ.12 Widely admired as a man of compassion and fairness, Charles did not shirk controversy. He believed that the Christian church must present a forceful voice in order to fulfil its sacred mission of reconciliation in a society increasingly wracked by myriad conflicting interests. Consequently, he took particular umbrage with the liquor trade’s deleterious impact on standards of morality and welfare in Winnipeg. Other favourite targets were the abominable living conditions many immigrant families endured in the city’s centre and north end, and the repeated failure by local industrialists to improve workplace health and safety standards. Neither was Charles reticent about chastising members of Winnipeg’s religious establishment for their complacency over the city’s decaying social environment, even when doing so resulted in his being snubbed by local elites. But Charles reserved some of his strongest criticisms for the misguided minority who prescribed socialist cure-alls for society’s ills. Although King’s eventual emergence as a leading Canadian proponent of Christian socialism would contribute to a softening of his father’s views on the subject, Charles long considered socialism an unsound political dogma and dangerous secular creed that vied with Christianity for the hearts and souls of Winnipeg’s working- and middle-class reformers. Adherents of the socialist panacea, Charles warned, were blinded to “the moral and spiritual power of the Christian gospel to transform personal character,” even when

1900–1924 21

presented in “a frank and manly way.” King characterized Charles as “too strongly individualistic” ever to become a socialist. Despite his high public profile as an authoritative voice of the Christian church, not just in Winnipeg but across the country, Charles viewed religious belief as intensely personal – a perspective King shared with his father for many years. But at the same time, genuine religiosity for Charles included “an inescapable imperative” to join with kindred spirits in battling the forces of exploitation and injustice in whatever forms they were manifested. Thus, the experience of being Christian was simultaneously communal and solitary, for it was in striving to build God’s kingdom on earth that “the citizen” was fully enabled “to express himself as a whole man.”13 These were the deeply held values that permeated family life in the square white-brick home at the corner of Balmoral and Broadway that Charles and Helen occupied for the first fourteen years of their marriage. Their first child and only son, John King, was born at home on 6 December 1900. It was a complicated delivery. At one point during the seemingly interminable night the attending physician alerted Charles that although Helen was likely to survive the ordeal, he feared the baby would not.14 Fortunately the doctor’s prediction proved unduly dire, and King suffered no lasting ill effects from his arduous entry into the world. He developed into an athletic, intelligent, and cheerful youth who thoroughly enjoyed growing up in the Presbyterian manse. King and his six sisters undeniably benefited from creature comforts well beyond those normally available to families subsisting on a clergyman’s salary, thanks to the lucrative royalties their father earned from his novels. By 1914, his family having increased dramatically in size and affluence, Charles spent $50,000 building an 11,000-square-foot, twenty-three-room Jacobethan Revival-style mansion in the heart of Winnipeg’s toniest neighbourhood, at Armstrong Point on the north bank of the Assiniboine River. Neatly ensconced among the dignified homes of the city’s commercial, political, and professional elites, 54 West Gate handily accommodated the nine Gordons in addition to several live-in staff, with room to spare for the frequent overnight guests from among Charles’s expanding circle of social and professional acquaintances. As the eldest and only male child, King claimed the third-floor private suite with its bedroom, study, and bathroom, while his sisters and parents occupied rooms on the home’s sweeping second floor. In a style befitting their environs, the Gordons employed coachmen and gardeners to tend the horses and grounds, and private tutors to foster the children’s early education.15

22  “The world is our parish”

1.1  54 West Gate, ca 1914. (Ralph Connor House)

The privileges of wealth, which for the Gordons would prove unpredictably fleeting, did not loom large in King’s recollections of the close family bonds formed at 54 West Gate. Instead, he recalled family mealtimes being transformed into light-hearted seminars by Charles, who regaled all ages with stories about the current day’s activities, or suitably simplified expositions of his latest theological or political insights. The household revolved around a genial regimen of daily observances that neatly intertwined secular and sacred activities. In addition to participating in St Stephens’s extensive liturgical and social rounds, the entire family customarily gathered at home to read the Bible together and dutifully line up on their knees for morning and evening prayers. Charles treated these occasions as golden opportunities for dispensing to his attentive brood, but to King in particular, pithy admonitions for right behaviour. Typical was his instruction to the twelve-year-old to

1900–1924 23

avoid, “as if he had smallpox,” any boy who was “unclean” in thought, word, or deed. Overall the household atmosphere, if pious, was joyful, far more jocular than solemn. Music and singing infused family life, and while Charles’s beloved Scottish songs took precedence six days of the week, only hymns were permitted on Sundays. Likewise, King and his sisters were encouraged to read widely, even if the only fiction deemed appropriate for Sabbath consumption was contained in books authored by Ralph Connor.16 The annual highlight for the Gordon family was its extended summer pilgrimage to Birkencraig, their twenty-eight-acre island retreat on Lake of the Woods approximately six miles from Kenora, Ontario. After Charles purchased it in 1907 as a secluded refuge from the demands of his otherwise incessantly public life, the wooded island soon became his favourite locale for writing novels. Each summer, usually in July, a railway boxcar loaded with household effects, everything from the family piano to the milk cow, was sent ahead as the Gordons moved lock, stock, and barrel to the island for their three-month vacation. For an adolescent King, the sojourns at Birkencraig were unadulterated bliss. Beyond affording him countless carefree hours of swimming, tennis, boating, and fishing, this was the single time of year when he enjoyed largely uninterrupted access to his father. During those precious weeks of sequestration with his family on the island, Charles was easily and frequently diverted from the business of writing by the children’s entreaties to join them in play.17 Birkencraig remained King’s favourite sanctuary into adulthood. No matter where in the world his work led him, he returned for at least a week or two most summers to the island in the Canadian Shield, which remained his principal tie to kith and kin and country. When chilly September nights prompted the Gordons to shutter Birkencraig’s cabins for the winter and return to Winnipeg – Charles normally having preceded the rest of the family by several weeks – the children resumed their formal schooling. Between the ages of eight, when he ceased being taught by private tutor, and twelve, King joined other offspring of the city’s elite at the Winnipeg Model School. From there he attended Kelvin Technical High School, a new facility that boasted an experimental curriculum incorporating conventional arts courses with technical trades training. King’s program of study included lessons in French, Latin, and most importantly in Charles’s estimation, Greek, knowledge of which was essential for reading the New Testament in its original text, for naturally it was assumed by father

24  “The world is our parish”

1.2  The Gordon children at 54 West Gate. (Ralph Connor House)

and son alike that King would follow family tradition and be ordained. Certainly he demonstrated the necessary academic potential. After just three years at Kelvin, and still only fifteen years of age, King was admitted to the University of Manitoba.18 In the meantime, King’s greater concern was Canada’s sudden entry into the Great War in August 1914, and the disquieting decision by his fifty-four-year-old father to volunteer for overseas service as chaplain

1900–1924 25

of the Winnipeg-based 43rd Cameron Highlanders. Commissioned as a major, Charles was determined to serve. Not only did he feel obligated to provide spiritual comfort to the more than 350 men of the 43rd with connections to St Stephen’s, he was convinced that participation in the war was morally justified. Charles believed it was every Christian’s duty, regardless of personal cost, to oppose the threat German militarism posed to Canadian social and religious values. Even after he had endured the horrific and heart-rending experience of trench warfare, Charles remained convinced that the sacrifice in blood and treasure was fully warranted by the rightness of the cause. He had no qualms about expressing disdain for pacifists and every “long-haired crank” who was “weak on the war.”19 Until his father’s disembarkation for Britain in May 1915, the European war had seemed too distant from daily life in Winnipeg to be of more than passing interest to King. However, as Charles starkly reminded the fourteen-year-old in his first letter home later that month, the demands of wartime affected everyone, King included, whose job it now was to assist his mother in overseeing the young family. “I trust dear mother to you,” Charles wrote, and he expected King to “give up your own will and your pleasure” in fulfilling familial obligations.20 It was therefore of no small consequence to King that the other adult male at 54 West Gate, Edward Ledger, the family’s resident gardener and handyman, enlisted along with Charles. Ledger loyally served as Charles’s batman until tragically he was killed during an artillery barrage in 1916.21 Whatever male guidance King received during his ­critical adolescent years was going to be sporadic at best. During the three years he was far from home on military service, Charles compensated for his prolonged absence as best he could by corresponding with King frequently. In letters to the teen, Charles repeatedly adjured him to be diligent in manning his post on the home front and fervid in cultivating the vital “habits of fidelity, patience, self control and endurance.”22 Charles professed it was God’s will that King, in whom both parents had “a big lot of our life invested,” should now be “master of the ship.”23 He instructed King to be particularly vigilant in matters involving his six younger sisters. “The girls will need you,” Charles counselled. “Guard them against any foolish or unworthy boy friends. Of course don’t let them see this. You will need the wisdom of 10,000 serpents here. Don’t bully – no frontal attacks – flank movements.” Charles also urged King not to retreat into silence and aloofness as teenagers often do when at home, but instead keep the family

26  “The world is our parish”

1.3  Charles Gordon on duty with the 43rd Cameron Highlanders, ca  1915. (University of Manitoba Archives and Special Collections, 76-5-5)

1900–1924 27

fully informed of his “doings.”24 Yet for all Charles’s hearty encouragement and talk of assuming patriarchal duties, King never doubted that the family’s well-being ultimately rested in his mother’s exceptionally competent hands as long as his father remained overseas.25 None of the Gordons foresaw how inordinately complicated managing the expansive household was about to become. At the root of the problem was the startling revelation that the family’s pre-war fortune of nearly one million dollars had been dissipated by a series of failed real estate investments. Financial irregularities first came to light following the death in 1916 at the Battle of the Somme of R.M. Thompson, a colonel in the 43rd Cameron Highlanders and one of Charles’s most trusted friends and parishioners. Thompson had also been the Gordon family lawyer and investment adviser before the war. When Thompson’s executors back in Winnipeg delved into the estate, they discovered he had been diverting Charles’s money to cover his own substantial losses in the declining real estate market, eventually squandering the entire Gordon fortune and leaving the family $100,000 in debt. Whereas most hapless victims of so blatant a deceit would have sought legal redress, Charles’s incomparably dignified response was to release most of the household staff and instruct the family never again to speak of the matter. For the remaining twenty-one years of his life Charles quietly allotted whatever income he derived from writing and public speaking to paying down the debt that Thompson had wrought. Charles and Helen thereby retained their cherished 54 West Gate and spared the children the ignominy of being uprooted from their home. Not long after Charles died in 1937, Helen was forced to forfeit the house to the city for nonpayment of municipal taxes. After standing vacant for two years and in woeful need of structural repair, 54 West Gate was acquired by the University Women’s Club of Winnipeg, which restored the mansion and has continued to occupy it to the present day.26 Despite the precipitous downturn in his family’s financial circumstances, King, who by this point was an undergraduate at Winnipeg’s University of Manitoba, had become increasingly preoccupied with donning a military uniform and joining older classmates already stationed at the Western Front. Disgruntlement set in as King lamented that his youthfulness unfairly denied him the chance to answer the call to arms. This feeling of having been left behind is understandable when one considers, as J.M. Bumsted has described in his history of the University of Manitoba, that in some programs and colleges on campus every able-bodied male student over the age of eighteen had enlisted

28  “The world is our parish”

by 1917. When later that same year the Canadian government introduced conscription and mandated military training for all male university students, King was eager to oblige. He shared not only his father’s Manichaean view of the war as a struggle between good and evil, but also Charles’s belief that he was duty-bound by faith and patriotism to serve God and country by joining in the fight. King enthusiastically completed officer training at the university and promptly enlisted with the Royal Flying Corps in anticipation of being called up for active duty on his eighteenth birthday. He thought he cut a dashing figure strolling Winnipeg’s thoroughfares in his uniform and continued to express openly his frustration at being held back by age from seeing military action. Yet in more contemplative moments King confessed doubts over whether he was ready “to lead men bravely under fire.” He need not have worried. King was bed-bound with a cold contracted while duck hunting earlier in the fall when he heard the news that the Armistice had been signed on 11 November 1918, less than a month before his eighteenth birthday. His gratitude that the ghastly war had finally ended was tempered slightly by youthful regret that he had not been able to prove his mettle in battle.27 Not many years would pass, however, before King, slightly older and considerably wiser, acknowledged unreservedly his good fortune at having been spared the slaughter of the War to End All Wars.28 With his obligations to the Canadian Officer Training Corps behind him, King was again free to focus on undergraduate life. His degree program in arts included studies in languages, history, and mathematics, as well as an introduction to economics, an academic discipline that would challenge fundamentally his call to a religious vocation when he revisited the subject a few years later at the University of Oxford. But until then his exposure to the dismal science at the University of Manitoba consisted largely of learning by rote tedious lists of economic principles, with little consideration being given to how the theories applied to current social and political realities. Although a serious student, King did not confine himself to the study hall. He actively pursued an eclectic range of extracurricular diversions, most notably varsity athletics – track-and-field was his specialty – and editing the student newspaper, the Manitoban. The sudden influx of recently demobilized Great War veterans into the university’s classrooms also made a forceful impression on him. These slightly older but much more worldly students quickly displayed impatience and boredom with university restrictions and amusements “designed for boys and girls.” The

1900–1924 29

striking presence of “battle-seasoned” veterans on campus was a sobering reminder to King of the serious world waiting just beyond the ­cloistered halls of academe.29 As befitted an aspiring clergyman, King volunteered off-campus by leading a study group for Winnipeg high school students sponsored by  the Young Men’s Christian Association. His choice of text for the discussions, The Social Principles of Jesus by Walter Rauschenbusch, a leading American proponent of the social gospel, revealed that King’s theological leanings were at this point still closely aligned to his father’s. King’s plan for the sessions was to expose the adolescents to a “practical Christianity,” one that extended beyond a strictly personal relationship with God and induced the faithful to create “social relations” reflecting “the ethic of Jesus.”30 While sympathetic to the theological assertiveness of the social gospel, King considered himself socially conservative. For instance, when Winnipeggers chose sides during their city’s acrimonious general strike of May and June 1919, King promptly allied with local community and governmental interests in opposing the 30,000 striking workers. He pitched in to help restore paralyzed public services by sorting mail at the post office and volunteering for shifts at an abandoned fire station. In King’s mind there was no doubt over where to lay blame for the mayhem that had beset the city. He thought the strikers imprudent dupes of foreignbacked communist agitators and their misguided One Big Union. Both he and his father, by comparison, were surely above reproach for having publicly positioned themselves on the side of order and respectability. Charles in particular vociferously rejected the violent activism of the most radical strikers. Having witnessed so much conflict and destruction during the war, he insisted that the only practical means of resolving disputes, both international and domestic, was through peaceful negotiation and demonstrations of good faith by all parties involved. King was understandably taken aback, therefore, when one evening during the strike while out for a stroll he was upbraided by a couple of “establishment types” who denigrated Charles as “one of these Bolsheviks.” Presumably their complaint was that Charles had failed to express sufficient indignation over striking workers who deigned to challenge the municipality’s economic and political status quo. King countered with a spirited defence of his father’s motives and good name. Many years later, after becoming a socialist and staunch advocate of worker rights, King conceded that as a teenager his understanding of the causes underlying the strike had been incomplete.

30  “The world is our parish”

Without regretting his plucky decision to face off against those who had impugned his father, he nevertheless belatedly acknowledged his error in attributing to the workers sole responsibility for Winnipeg’s descent into civil disorder during the springtime of 1919.31 The social upset surrounding the general strike could only have increased whatever uncertainty King was already feeling over his future. As early as the spring of 1918, still a year removed from graduation and anxiously awaiting his opportunity to join the battle against the Kaiser, King sought his father’s advice on how best to tailor his studies to “fit  me for some public part in the life of Canada.” The request was unexpected, given what had been the unquestioned assumption in the Gordon family that King would follow his father and grandfathers into the Presbyterian ministry. He floated a trial balloon past Charles, suggesting that in his final year at the University of Manitoba he might switch his academic focus to political economy. His hesitation in making the change, he claimed, stemmed from a concern that the study of political economy might focus too narrowly on only “one phase of national life – the commercial and the relation between labor and capital.” Alternatively, with so many of his classmates already in the military, and he “the only one left of the old bunch that went around together this year,” King wondered if returning for a final year of university was even a tolerable option.32 Sensing his son’s confusion might be better allayed by gentle counsel than sermonizing, Charles offered a conspicuously open-minded answer. In a letter written in January 1919 – he almost certainly responded sooner, but no written account remains – Charles referred King to the post-war political situation in Great Britain and “the big job of Anglo-Saxon Entente building, in which lies the hope of civilization.” He encouraged King to delve more deeply into the study of history and political science, as both subjects were excellent preparation for a career in the increasingly complex arena of international affairs.33 This advice was to prove far more prescient than either Charles or King might have imagined. Another year passed before King arrived at what he felt was a satisfactory resolution to his vocational quandary. In January 1920 he had attended the Student Volunteer Convention in Des Moines, Iowa, a week-long event exploring the theme of “Christianizing the World in Our Generation.” After hearing impassioned lectures by the prominent evangelicals John R. Mott, Sherwood Eddy, and Samuel Marinus Zwemer, King concluded that his calling was to serve in the foreign mis­ sion field, assisting in the creation of a worldwide and interdependent

1900–1924 31

Christian community linking developed and developing nations. He was impressed most of all by Zwemer, an American missionary and future professor at Princeton Theological Seminary, who as a member of the Church Missionary Society in Arabia had dedicated his career to spreading Christianity throughout the Muslim world. The appalling images Zwemer painted in his Des Moines lectures of malnourished Muslims suffering from wretched living conditions in exotic lands induced in Gordon “the greatest religious experience” of his college life. Shamed by Zwemer’s revelations of the stark discrepancy in living standards that separated privileged North American Christians like himself from Asia’s unconverted masses, Gordon promptly volunteered at the end of the conference for a two-year stint in Arabia as a medical missionary.34 The fact that he possessed no medical training and was uncertain as to Arabia’s exact location on a map did not concern him overly. What mattered more was that life once again possessed a clear purpose and direction. Just as his father had been a model of exemplary Christian service in Canada, King resolved to make his mark in the foreign mission field. Youthful enthusiasms involving career choices are often fleeting, and Gordon’s Des Moines inspiration was no exception. Although he never became a medical missionary, he did eventually spend a significant portion of his professional life serving with United Nations humanitarian relief missions to some of the world’s most troubled locales between 1954 and 1962. By that point Gordon was no longer motivated by the unsophisticated calculation of Christian duty that Samuel Zwemer’s evangelical zeal had invoked in him as an impressionable nineteenyear-old. Instead, his guiding purpose had become the creation of a global society comprising autonomous yet interdependent and mutually supportive nation states sharing common views of justice. This too was idealism writ large, yet Gordon’s confidence in the capacity of ­humankind to find common solutions to its shared problems was a constant across his multiple careers. The speakers at the Des Moines conference in 1920 afforded Gordon his first alluring if transitory glimpse at how an interconnected global community might look, albeit one propped atop a vigorously expansionist Christianity. It was the partial foundation on which Gordon began constructing the humanitarian and internationalist world view that shaped so much of his life’s work and hope. After completing his baccalaureate in 1920, Gordon returned to the  University of Manitoba the following year to study science in

32  “The world is our parish”

preparation for medical school, the logical next step in realizing his dream of becoming a missionary. The plan proved short-lived. As it happened, earlier that year he had applied for a Rhodes scholarship to study in England, but had been passed over for another candidate. Or so he thought. Assuming he was no longer in the running, Gordon redirected his attention to coaching a close friend at the University of Manitoba, Arnold Heeney, in preparing his own Rhodes application. When the university’s registrar subsequently pulled Gordon aside to inform him that he was in fact still under consideration for the scholarship, Gordon admitted to Heeney that as they were once again competitors for the coveted prize he must cease offering advice. Heeney, who eventually became one of Canada’s most accomplished public servants, graciously accepted Gordon’s sheepish renunciation. Gordon in turn won the 1921 Rhodes scholarship for Manitoba. Suddenly with a valuable spot at the University of Oxford securely in hand, Gordon could defer making any firm career decisions for at least a few years longer. Along the way, whatever aspirations he once entertained of becoming a medical missionary dissipated, an upshot of the intellectual awakening he underwent in England.35 En route to Oxford in September 1921, King was accompanied by Charles as far as New York. His first impressions of the city – to which he would return to live many years later in his subsequent roles as a graduate student, editor, journalist, and United Nations official – left him cold. To the callow Manitoban, “speed laws” on New York’s streets seemed non-existent, and the multitude of soaring buildings conveyed a disquieting impression of “business, business, business – an eternal pursuit after the God money.” He thought the architecture of the city’s core to be “harsh, unlovely – no thought for the artistic – everything sacrificed that the wheels of the great machine of commerce may revolve smoothly.” After taking in an evening show at the Hippodrome on Sixth Avenue – King recorded in his diary that the vaudeville was “very mediocre” but “the theatre and people made it worth seeing” – father and son retired to their room at the Waldorf-Astoria. The rush the following morning to get King aboard the Cunard Line’s RMS Aquitania mercifully allowed little opportunity for a prolonged farewell. As the ship floated free of its moorings, King recalled how “Daddy just stood with pain written all over his face. It was a terrible moment for us both but worse I think for him.”36 At the other end of the voyage, King found the sights of London comfortingly familiar. Charles had often amused his children with vivid

1900–1924 33

accounts of the imperial capital’s many historical attractions, and now those very landmarks were directly in front of King. In his eyes, New York’s commercial edifices paled in comparison to the “stately towers” of Westminster, “the symbol of world empire, world statesmanship, world justice.” In “great old London,” King commented enthusiastically, “thrills follow upon one another in such rapid succession that you feel bewildered and almost ecstatic and your emotions cannot possibly be analyzed.”37 Gordon settled easily into the social and academic rhythms and traditions of Queen’s College, Oxford. His transition undoubtedly was aided by what the university’s official history described as Oxford’s “overwhelmingly middle-class” composition between the two world wars. As a relatively tightly knit academic community – the median enrolment of Oxford’s colleges when Gordon arrived was just 178 – the university also helped to foster familiarity among the uninitiated “freshers.” It was generally understood that a complete Oxford education should not be confined to “narrowly academic” pursuits, but necessarily included an active extramural life that was “educational in itself – cultivating tolerance, articulateness, sociability and qualities of leadership and organization.”38 All the same, as one of the 6 per cent of Oxford undergraduates who hailed from Commonwealth countries during the interwar period, Gordon bore his share of snubs from elitist British students who revelled in treating their visitors “as colonials on the margins of social acceptability.” In response, Gordon and his Canadian confreres took “mutual support and comfort” from weekly meetings of the “O Canada Club.” These were informal and entirely jovial gatherings when political and social developments back home were discussed, and where the Canadians felt at liberty to ridicule the snobbish demeanour of their British colleagues. Several of the club members, including George Ferguson, who became a leading Canadian journalist and editor, and Graham Spry, soon to embark on a distinguished career that included stints as a diplomat and champion of public broadcasting in Canada, remained among Gordon’s closest friends for life.39 C.P. Champion, a historian of the university experiences of “Oxonian Canadians” in the 1920s, observed that many underwent “an epiphany, a rite of passage from which the Canadian returned proud and confident of their equality and distinctiveness, determined to be colonial no longer.” He characterized Oxford’s impact as twofold: it strengthened  the Canadians’ collective bond of “colonial nationalism,” while

34  “The world is our parish”

reinforcing their individual self-image of adopted “Britishness.” Champion contends this explains in part why so many Oxford graduates of ­Gordon’s era were drawn to distinguished careers in public service characterized by a “classless, neo-paternalist meliorism and internationalism,” tangibly expressed in an active commitment to “welfare legislation, peacekeeping, the Bilingualism & Biculturalism Commission, multiculturalism, and an ostensibly post-British flag.”40 Certainly in Gordon’s case, “meliorism and internationalism” remained at the heart of most of his vocational choices long after graduation. Indeed, he readily credited Oxford with prompting his personal awakening, albeit one that “probably disturbed me more than it fed me.” Not only did the university’s cosmopolitanism open Gordon’s eyes to broader career vistas than he had previously imagined. It also reinforced just how much his Winnipeg upbringing, while undeniably “beloved and adoring,” had been “heavy on moral discipline, chastity, temperance ad nauseam, [and] intellectual appraisal.” The consequence, he realized in  retrospect, was that he had carried to Oxford personal feelings of repression, distrust of emotion, and only “the woolliest concepts of ­intellectual training and integrity.”41 Gordon enrolled in Oxford’s “Modern Greats” school of Politics, Philosophy, and Economics (PPE). This option had been added to the curriculum only the year before and was, in the harsh estimation of some of the university’s more traditionalist faculty members, the very model of intellectual wooliness. Yet PPE, which the Oxford Handbook promoted as combining core academic disciplines to prepare students “‘for business, the Civil Service, or public life,’”42 rapidly became one of the most popular offerings in the arts and social studies. Whereas PPE’s forward-looking interdisciplinary and generalist approach to undergraduate education was tailor-made for Gordon, he was much less enthralled initially with the pedagogical style of Oxford’s dons. He was decidedly critical of their “very uncertain interest” in teaching, and their proclivity to “pass the buck” among themselves.43 What Gordon mistook for professorial indifference was merely Oxford’s time-­honoured practice of requiring undergraduates to work more or less independently of faculty supervision. In time, once he became accustomed to the university’s academic expectations, Gordon realized his good fortune at the high quality of tutors assigned him. These included the logician Herbert Paton for philosophy, and Godfrey Elton, the Labour partisan and future British lord, for modern political history. However it was

1900–1924 35

F.L. Ogilvie of Trinity College, Gordon’s tutor in ­economics, who left the most lasting impression. The day Gordon strode confidently into Ogilvie’s chambers for their first meeting, he fully expected the seminar to be a simple and deferential rehash of Adam Smith’s free enterprise tenets that he had absorbed by rote while a student at the University of Manitoba. His brashness was entirely misplaced. Ogilvie immediately identified yawning gaps in the self-assured Canadian’s knowledge of contemporary economic literature and asked Gordon if he had read R.H. Tawney’s recently published The Acquisitive Society. Gordon awkwardly confessed that he had never heard of Tawney. On his way back to Queen’s immediately following the tutorial, he obediently complied with Ogilivie’s instruction to acquire a copy of The Acquisitive Society at Blackwell’s bookshop. It became, Gordon always maintained, “the most important book purchase I ever made.” Tawney, a Christian Socialist, countered conventional wisdom by arguing that the material acquisitiveness on which modern society rested was immoral and corruptive. King, as the son of the erstwhile millionaire Ralph Connor, seems never to have questioned in any sustained fashion the values underpinning capitalism that Tawney targeted so deftly. Now he wondered if Tawney’s critique was only the tip of the iceberg. Reading The Acquisitive Society, Gordon recalled, got me listening to other people, reading other books – J.A. Hobson, G.D.H. Cole, Sidney and Beatrice Webb, George Bernard Shaw. And what they were saying was that an economic system to be consistent with the goals of democracy, let alone the ethics of the religion we professed, had to be man-centred, not theory-centred or machine-centred, least of all powercentred … I think at that time I learned that the university can no more hold itself aloof from the problems of contemporary society than can the church hold itself aloof from the injustice practiced in society which defies the ethics of Christianity or one of the great religions.44

At Ogilvie’s urging, Gordon soon availed himself of every opportunity to attend public lectures in Barnett Hall, where many of Britain’s leading Fabian and Labour Party activists debated all comers. These were impassioned events, even if Oxford was not yet the fruitful recruiting ground for British socialists it later became. The historian Brian Harrison has appositely described the shift in political sentiment that

36  “The world is our parish”

1.4  Gordon considered Tawney’s Acquisitive Society “the most important book purchase I ever made.” (https://openlibrary.org/books/OL6629874M/The_ acquisitive_society)

1900–1924 37

occurred within the university between the 1920s, when “ambitious undergraduates tended to identify with those who were socially above them,” and the 1930s, when “their successors” identified every bit as earnestly “with those lower down.”45 For Gordon, whose views soon were more closely linked to the latter cohort than the former, witnessing the fervid proceedings at Barnett Hall was like tasting a surprisingly potent intellectual brew that left him, if not sated, definitely thirsting for more. He acknowledged that his former unquestioning allegiance to free enterprise had “crashed to the ground,” even if he was “not yet a socialist.” That leap of faith was yet to come.46 Oxford not only introduced Gordon to fresh intellectual prospects – in addition to his newfound infatuation with political economy, he participated enthusiastically in Oxford’s Bach Society and the Debating Union – the university afforded him ample outlets for recreation as well. As a Rhodes scholar in the interwar period, it was more or less assumed he would combine sporting prowess with academic heft. It has been estimated that as many as 85 per cent of Rhodes recipients attending Oxford in those years represented their colleges on one or more sporting teams, and Gordon was no exception.47 His preferred events were in track – he ran the mile, half-mile, and four-mile relay for Queen’s in inter-college athletics – and rowing eights, which he practised most afternoons. Gordon’s passion for rowing, widely regarded as the primus inter pares of Oxford athletics in the 1920s, led him to expound suggestively on its virtues as “a noble sport, strenuous and calling for the utmost in effort, sometimes almost beyond the limits of human endurance, but climaxing in the blissful experience of a smoothly running boat in clear, strong rhythm.” The university overall was “fanatically athletic,” a consequence Gordon suggested only partly in jest, of students’ unrelenting quest to counteract Oxford’s “abominable climate.” It was a prevailing belief that “health, warmth and sanity depended on the strenuous life.”48 Gordon was far from unique among Canadian expatriates by complaining at length in his letters home about the impossibility of escaping the damp cold of an English winter, even when blanket-wrapped and nestled close to the sputtering fireplace in his student lodgings.49 Topping off his exhilaration over new scholarly and sporting pursuits was Gordon’s delight in adopting the persona of what he and his mates playfully dubbed the “Oxford man.” In an atypically smug reflection entitled “Oxford Goes Up,” which he probably composed in 1922 following his return to the university – referred to in the piece as

38  “The world is our parish”

“the Mecca of our dreams” – from a European vacation, Gordon described the “attitude of the Oxford man at home.” It was characterized by “perfect self-assurance and self-satisfaction … One can usually tell the extent to which Oxford has influenced a man by the way he speaks about his work. As a rule, be he scholar or up simply for a good time, an Oxford man will deny that he ever does any work. It is a pleasing characteristic of an Oxonian that doing on the average three to four times as much reading as an American or Canadian student he will seldom confess to any hours spent in study.”50 Gordon also admitted to shedding, albeit moderately, certain of the deeply ingrained moralistic strictures that had permeated his upbringing in the Winnipeg parsonage. He had, for instance, been abstemious prior to arriving at Oxford, and “only gradually” came to accept that not only “was nothing inherently evil” in drinking alcohol, “it might indeed be a pleasant social addendum.” Essentially, however, Gordon took his newfound freedom in stride. “My morality,” he admitted, “­remained pretty conventional.”51 Gordon’s vacations to the Continent once or twice annually during his Oxford years involved more than leisurely sightseeing. They were also a window onto the dire economic shortages and social turmoil that plagued post-war Europe. Experiencing these unsettling conditions first-hand was undoubtedly as instrumental as any of the scholarly texts on the PPE curriculum in shaping Gordon’s evolving vocational awareness. What started out as light-hearted excursions to Germany, France, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Italy, or Switzerland to ski or marvel at treasures housed in Europe’s premier museums and art galleries invariably produced “unexpected results, going beyond the praiseworthy search for culture.”52 For example, during summer vacation in 1923, Gordon lodged with a German family in Hanover while he brushed up his language skills prior to final examinations. The real lesson learned, however, was how materially well off he was relative to most Europeans of the day. “On a few British pounds,” Gordon reported, “we paid for our lodgings and lessons and shared the potatoes and cabbage soup.” His German hosts showed signs of physical emaciation as a result of their unvaried “diet of cabbage soup,” and were slowly drowning “in the dreadful inflation which wiped out the entire savings of the older generation and left a new generation without hope.”53 Other ominous signs of Europe’s looming political crisis borne of widespread economic despair were also plainly evident. During a five-week vacation spent with Graham Spry and Gilbert Ryle in Florence earlier in 1923,

1900–1924 39

Gordon wrote a letter to his mother juxtaposing the medieval city’s beauty – which “today has made [Robert] Browning live for me” – with the ugliness of “Mussolini’s ugly physiog[nomy],” which “appears everywhere.” Especially disturbing to King were the omnipresent blackshirted Fascists who seemed “to have a hand in everything.”54 Gordon’s earliest awakening to the “consequences of war and of a peace of vengeance” inflicted on Central Europe occurred during the Christmas break in 1921 when rainy weather cut short his Austrian skiing vacation, prompting an unscheduled side-trip to Vienna. The city’s magnificent palaces, museums, and opera houses did not disappoint. But Gordon was shocked to discover that the same historic streets that housed such splendour were also home to hordes of suffering and starving people. For four days in Vienna he looked on admiringly as foreign aid volunteers worked to provide life’s barest essentials to thousands of destitute residents. What impressed Gordon most about the relief effort was its distinctively multinational organization and scope. Assistance was allocated on the basis of need and without concern for recipients’ ethnicity. British Quakers quartered in the Hofburg Palace distributed cocoa and powdered milk to hungry children, while Scottish members of the Student Christian Movement offered daily material and spiritual sustenance to at least 5,000 of Vienna’s 23,000 hungry and dispossessed university students struggling to survive on subsidized meals.55 Witnessing these unheralded efforts by aid w ­ orkers, whose primary motivation was religious conviction and ethical principle, offering solace to complete strangers, had an enduring impact on Gordon. “One has to thank God,” he concluded, for even the least semblance of good things and comfort in his own life after he sees the conditions in Central Europe [which are] the greatest international economic problem in the world today … unless we refuse to consider it a problem that a few dozen million people are on the verge of starvation and several nations on the verge of downfall – whose downfall would seriously affect nations all over the world. And it is our problem because one of the factors in its growth has been the Peace Terms imposed by the Allies … whose aim was entirely destructive with apparently little thought as to the future economic welfare of our enemies who … must live on the same earth as us as neighbors.56

Gordon returned to Oxford from Vienna committed to making the study of Central Europe’s economic and social tribulations his highest

40  “The world is our parish”

academic priority. While not yet fully converted to socialism, he was convinced that key resources must be shared more equitably and without regard for national boundaries or ethnic identities if human wellbeing, which was essential for the preservation of peace, was to be advanced on a global scale. Gordon’s 1921 encounter with mass suffering was thus the genesis of a “one world” internationalism that became the moral and intellectual hallmark of much of his life’s focus. Decades before globalization theorists popularized “the local is global” creed, warning that actions taken locally can affect conditions for good or ill half a world away, Gordon was beginning to arrive at a similar understanding on the desperate streets of post-war Vienna. The lesson was driven home the following month when Gordon ­attended a lecture at Oxford by Frederick Nansen, the Norwegian explorer and statesman enlisted by the League of Nations to direct its famine-relief operations in Eastern Europe. Nansen’s “gruesome tale of famine-stricken Russia,” Gordon recorded, was “the most terrible thing I have ever listened to and the most ghastly pictures – indescribable.” Yet Nansen’s recent appeal to the League for five million pounds in aid to avert the Russian calamity had fallen on deaf ears. Nansen’s story appalled Gordon, who questioned how “statesmen” entrusted with preserving international peace and security could be so heartlessly indifferent to the atrocity of women and children suffering “at their very doors and scarcely look up at the mention of it from the mass of petty little business that they waste their time over.” It was, he concluded, enough to make one lose all faith in “human progress and the inherent humanitarian principles that are supposed to exist in civilized social man.”57 Impelled by such alarming revelations of widespread starvation in Vienna and Russia, Gordon joined the Oxford branch of the European Student Relief (ESR) organization as his personal contribution to foreign aid. The ESR was only the first in a long line of internationalist bodies with which Gordon affiliated during his lifetime. Founded in 1920 and headquartered in Geneva, the ESR collected funds through the World Student Christian Federation to purchase and distribute food and clothing to indigent students in seventeen countries. Its guiding principle was that relief must be “constructive, rather than pauperizing charity,” and administered impartially “without regard to race, nationality, creed, or political affiliation.” Direct relief was minimal. Rather than giving students money to purchase provisions, the ESR custom­ arily served them meals prepared in its own kitchens. The ESR also

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funded the construction of barbershops, public baths, and shoe-repair shops, with the intention of maintaining these and other basic services as ­permanent “memorials” to the campaign for student relief.58 Gordon’s enthusiasm for multinational relief work was enhanced by his selection as Oxford’s Canadian delegate to the ESR conference held at Turnov in the Czechoslovakian Alps during the spring of 1922. Comprising representatives from across Europe, the conference highlighted its success in bringing together students from many nations that only four years earlier had been at war with each other. The event’s organizers were steeped in youthful idealism. They hoped the example of students setting aside national identities and ethnic prejudices to organize a relief program, irrespective of borders, might inspire Europe’s political leaders to do likewise and work towards the achievement of international peace and harmony. While Gordon sensibly doubted whether a single conference of concerned students could accomplish such lofty ambitions, he nevertheless trusted the gathering to “kindle a small flame that will some day burn more brightly.” One tangible outcome of the Turnov gathering was the creation of the International Student Service, an organization dedicated to promoting world peace. For Gordon personally, the main lesson learned was that “isolation and ignorance of one another is the great cause of all strife whether industrial or political.”59 He thereafter viewed every group or organization for social and political reform in which he participated to be first and foremost an opportunity for countering “isolation and ignorance” through public education. Travelling from Turnov to Prague, where he spent the Easter weekend, Gordon encountered yet another disquieting reminder of the severely distressed circumstances of many European students. At a Good Friday service in the Russian Orthodox cathedral where hundreds of homeless students had gathered, many of them Russian refugees, the sense of desperation was palpable. Later that evening, three students who had been in the cathedral congregation committed suicide.60 The incident disturbed Gordon profoundly. In a letter he dashed off to his father, King wrestled to discern what the related experiences of Turnov and Prague meant for his own life’s course. He confided to Charles, who needed no convincing, that the ESR’s idealism, while conceivably a model for Christian service, was unlikely to be emulated in inter­ national political forums presided over by jaded professional diplomats.  King’s recent work on the ESR’s Committee for Russian Relief had ­produced an offer of summer employment organizing similar ESR

42  “The world is our parish”

projects. Although he had already turned down the position, citing familial duties at home in Canada, King now second-guessed his decision. “I can’t agree with myself,” he admitted to his father. “The work is so big … and I can’t get out of my head the words of Christ to the rich young ruler … this is meant for me, and in a concrete way is something that I can do. But I’m an awfully poor Christian.”61 As King mulled over the many conflicting emotions that his ESR ­experiences were engendering, he wrote an essay entitled “A New Internationalism in Action,” one of his earliest recorded reflections on the potential benefits of a new global order. In the essay he lauds the ESR as an object lesson in multinational cooperation that nation states and international aid organizations should emulate in order to mend gaping tears in the social fabric of post-war Europe. Gordon conceded that the campaign to alleviate student suffering was minuscule in scale and scope, compared to the plethora of intractable challenges confronting European policymakers. But even youth, mobilized as a centrally coordinated “international brotherhood,” and intent upon countering the “stormy tempests of newly aroused, selfish national aspiration,” could provide their elders with useful perspective: The material devastation of war, the destruction of young manhood, the overthrow of stable currencies, the interruption of international relations, these are factors which have threatened to annihilate the class with whom most of all lies the hope of the recovery of Europe … For the loss of this generation of educated youth might facilitate the advance of a wave of barbarism which would shake to its very foundations the form and structure of western civilization … not with generals, and financiers, and strongly nationalistic statesmen rests the fate of Europe but with those cool minds, withdrawn from the bitter passions and heat of the conflict, that consider in the temperate atmosphere of pure reason the problem of their nation’s salvation.62

Central to Gordon’s faith in the potential for cultivating this “temperate atmosphere of pure reason” was the recently created League of Nations. As imperfect an experiment in international harmonization as the league undoubtedly was, Gordon nevertheless believed it represented humankind’s best hope for achieving an elusive and lasting worldwide peace. Following this initial foray into the convoluted arena of international affairs, Gordon’s passion for the subject never diminished. One Oxford

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faculty member in particular was to affect him acutely. Gilbert Murray, the renowned Hellenist and the Liberal Party’s perennially unsuccessful candidate in the riding of Oxford during the 1920s, was a forceful proponent of relying on the League of Nations rather than the battlefield to resolve disputes between countries. But Murray also impressed upon Gordon the scholar’s duty of leaving the cloistered realm of the academy to engage in public affairs. Gordon would do exactly that – and suffer as a consequence – when as professor of Christian ethics in Montreal during the early 1930s he strode onto the public square. In the meantime, as was his way, Gordon attempted to acquire as much firsthand knowledge about the league as possible. To that end he received memorable assistance from Walter Riddell, who in addition to being married to Gordon’s cousin was Canada’s delegate to the International Labour Organization in Geneva from 1920 to 1925, and advisory officer to the League of Nations from 1925 to 1937. Gordon spent Christmas of 1922 with the Riddells at their home in Geneva. Accompanying the family on a skiing vacation, Gordon recalled receiving a primer “in the organization of world peace … somewhere above the tree line near Gstadt, Switzerland … in the awesome presence of Mont Blanc.”63 Riddell also arranged for him to attend meetings of the league’s Disarmament Committee. But Gordon was enthralled most of all by the stream of league delegates and officials who stopped by the Riddell home over the holidays, temporarily replacing Oxford dons as his personal tutors of international relations. Collectively they cemented their keen pupil’s confidence in the superiority of neutral, broad-minded, and cooperative internationalist organizations over the traditionally myopic and petulant stratagems of competing nation states, particularly when global economic and political stability was at stake.64 Once back in England, Gordon became immersed in the activities of the Oxford International Assembly. Modelled after the League of Nations, the assembly was a forum for students, many of them nationals of the forty-two countries represented, to study and debate the same issues that were before the league. As the assembly’s secretary, Gordon scheduled lectures by league representatives and other prominent politicians with expertise in international affairs. Meeting in the debating hall of the Oxford Union Society, the assembly subscribed to the grandiose view that students “with their freshness and honesty of outlook” were well suited for submitting “national disputes to the hazards and buffeting of public debate.” The upshot of their deliberations, ideally, would be the creation of inspired solutions for diplomats and

44  “The world is our parish”

statesmen to emulate.65 Gordon’s reputation as a budding authority on ­international questions received a boost from his involvement with the assembly. By September 1923 he was travelling to several cities across England on the assembly’s behalf, lecturing about the league’s recent discussions and commenting publicly on such contentious issues as the impact of the Treaty of Versailles and Germany’s proposed admission to the league.66 Gordon’s wide-ranging experiences at Oxford and abroad had revealed to him a world far more complex, distressed, and interconnected than any he had contemplated when leaving Manitoba three years before. With graduation fast approaching, he again faced the dilemma of choosing a career, a decision that winning the Rhodes had previously permitted him to defer for at least a few years longer. The fact that Charles continued to wield tremendous influence over his son, repeatedly pressing upon him the virtues of a life dedicated to “service,” only added to his anxieties. Ever since King’s first term at Oxford, his father had cautioned him against confusing an intellectual quest for economic justice with the worthier search for spiritual answers to the human malaise. Even an economically just world, Charles advised, could be a disheartening place where “selfishness and hate and greed and the love of the poorest things in life” prevailed. The sufferings of humanity, not economics, were the “supreme problem,” and Charles avowed it would cause him “great grief” were King to devote his future to the pursuit of trifling enthusiasms instead of spiritual truths.67 Settling on an appropriate vocational path was not nearly as straightforward to King as his father’s well-intentioned encouragement implied. King’s confusion was enhanced in part by recent feelings of spiritual inadequacy. He reported that regular patterns of church attendance and Bible study were yielding ample “theological technicalities” but “no real soul life,”68 a worrisome condition that caused him to question his suitability for the ordained ministry. Charles simply counselled patience. If King’s commitment to missionary service made at Des Moines in 1920 had waned, then he should stand fast with a “quiet and trustful heart” while awaiting the divine “‘Orders of the Day.’” The way forward, Charles assured King, would in due course be revealed to him in a “definite and clear” fashion.69 In the midst of his vocational quandary, Gordon wondered if the solution might rest in continuing with academic studies at the graduate level. But three years immersed in the degree requirements of Politics, Philosophy, and Economics convinced him that philosophy produced

1900–1924 45

“a stone wall … beyond which you cannot go,” and economic theory lacked a “moral justification” for explaining society. Even political science, the subject Gordon enjoyed most, was diminished by its inability to project moral clarity. As evidence he pointed to the League of Nations’ uphill battle to attain credibility as an international alternative to militarism and narrow nationalistic ambitions. The lesson of the league thus far was unambiguous: “Unless international relations come to be regulated by something approaching a moral law, there is no escape from the vicious cycle of wars, and hate must triumph over love and evil over the good.” Having thus reasoned his way back to a philosophical position akin to his father’s, King concluded that intellectual pursuits that scrutinized the human condition while neglecting moral and ethical considerations were of limited utility. He should therefore, he told an undoubtedly approving Charles, forgo further academic work for the time being and return to Canada, where the church and “public life” presented a “great field for service.”70 For all his apparent resolve, King spent several more months “battling with myself, with my conscience and with a great darkness as to where lies my course in life,” before deciding definitively to join his father in the Presbyterian ministry. The extent to which his decision was either voluntary or swayed by parental pressure is impossible to determine. Shortly before departing Oxford he had been tempted to accept a junior position with the International Labour Organization in Geneva. The ­offer was attractive, not least because Gordon believed any professional connections made at Geneva might eventually boost his prospects for more senior academic or political appointments back in Canada. But present “claims of duty,” Gordon concluded, ultimately trumped whatever future considerations might arise from the ILO job. As he packed up his belongings for the long voyage home to Manitoba to begin divinity studies, Gordon was confident future opportunities with the League of Nations would arise, should he wish to pursue them, as “the time of international statesmanship is not past but is just beginning.”71 A quarter of a century later he did in fact join the league’s successor organization, the United Nations, for twelve eventful years. His immediate mission, however, as a new graduate with a crisp secondclass Oxford baccalaureate in hand, was to join his parents and sister Mary during the summer of 1924 on a celebratory tour of Scotland and the Gordon tribal lands near Blair Atholl. Back in Canada by mid-­ August, King began preparing for a vocation and lifestyle far removed from Oxford intellectualism and League of Nations internationalism.72

46  “The world is our parish”

Among the notes Gordon assembled more than half a century later, in preparation for writing the autobiography he never completed, was a brief self-reflection composed on his seventieth birthday. In it he recalled that although his youthful decision in 1924 to become a clergyman had been influenced in “large measure” by the fact of his father and grandfathers also being ministers, he too “had an inclination that way.” His privileged upbringing under conditions markedly more affluent than what many Winnipeggers and certainly most clergy families enjoyed had nevertheless “strongly conditioned” him “against the triviality or even frivolity of a business- or money-making career.” Moreover, King’s admiration for his highly accomplished father was deep-seated. Even years later, after King’s conversion to socialism raised a philosophical partition between them, Charles’s respect and approval remained important to him. Consequently, he shook off whatever spiritual and intellectual uncertainties Oxford had induced, and accepted the ordained ministry as the “worthy cause” he was destined to serve. Only in retrospect did he realize “I was not a minister and was not even sure that I wanted to be one.”73 It is unfortunate that more is not known about the position with the International Labour Organization that Gordon had been offered and his reasons for turning it down. One can only speculate how differently his life might have turned out had he opted to begin his career in Geneva, a cosmopolitan hub of post-war internationalist activity, rather than by serving a mission pastorate in the isolated interior of British Columbia, a focus of the next chapter. Gordon’s interest in carving out an international career initially was piqued by Samuel Zwemer’s alarmingly graphic presentations at the 1920 Des Moines conference, causing him to entertain, albeit briefly, romantic notions about serving as a medical missionary. A short time later, enrolled at Oxford and far removed from the protective and “comfortable cocoon” of his childhood home, he grappled with the question of what personal contribution he might make to Europe’s material and emotional restoration in the aftermath of the First World War. Gordon’s uncertainty stemmed from the realization that after three years in England his vocational options were no longer so clear cut, principally because his outlook was not as constrained by a parochial devotion to the social gospel as it had been while growing up under his parent’s watchful gaze. Instead, an array of new and occasionally competing intellectual and spiritual ­influences now vied for his attention: Tawney’s audacious critique of contemporary society; the Fabians’ passionately expressed plans for

1900–1924 47

political and economic renewal; the heroic response by Scottish members of the Student Christian Movement to social despair in Vienna; Frederick Nansen’s accounts of incomprehensible suffering in Russia; exposure during the Turnov conference to the depredations of a capitalist system run amok among the blameless poor and middle classes; the humanitarianism of the European Student Relief organization; and the personalized introduction to the work of the International Labour Organization and by extension the League of Nations he had received at the hands of Walter Riddell. Each of these experiences contributed in part to the internationalist world view that Gordon was formulating and that he in turn confidently expounded to the Oxford International Assembly and during speaking tours on its behalf. By the time he ­departed Oxford he was intrigued by the unprecedented challenge of preserving peace in an increasingly interconnected global community. Gordon predicted that soon every nation would be affected, for good or ill, by its neighbours’ fortunes, even those situated half a world away. The plight of every individual country, he believed, would become the plight of all, and self-imposed national isolationism would become a memory. Many more years and vocational perambulations would pass before King fully developed these and related ideas, but a firm foundation for his internationalism had been laid by 1924. As the son of an eminent clergyman of international renown, albeit one whose financial circumstances were much diminished, King had reaped the benefits of his family’s membership in Canada’s small but intimately connected social elite, for as the social scientist Leonard Marsh demonstrated in his ground-breaking study of economic class in the Canada of Gordon’s youth, “those of the highest rank” in the church and other professions were “at the top for the whole of society.” Within business, politics, and society at large familial connections mattered, as “personal influence and the ‘pull’ of the privileged” typically opened doors “for getting employment and other favours.”74 The pioneering sociologist John Porter likewise observed that during the first half of the twentieth century “the co-ordination of elites of the various institutional orders” had produced in Canada “a social homogeneity of men in positions of power.”75 Admittedly, as Rick Helmes-Hayes explained in his splendid biography of Porter, the intellectual and religious elites from which Gordon father and son hailed were “less influential and came from further down the class structure,” but as part of the wider “confraternity of power” they nevertheless “shared important social characteristics with one another” drawn from “common socialization

48  “The world is our parish”

experiences.”76 These beneficial ties were clearly manifested in the expanded educational and career opportunities available to King until almost mid-life. But as will be seen, after he left Canada in 1938 to work and live in New York, many of the advantages that initially accrued to King as a result of his family’s position among Canada’s social elite would not carry over into the second half of life. Despite his birth into circumstances of relative privilege, King’s early years had not been free of upset. Most significantly, he witnessed the sudden and dramatic disappearance of his family’s substantial fortune. Although Helen and Charles made every effort to shield their children from the impact of the financial decline, the hard truth remained that the family’s station in life was irrevocably diminished. Yet whatever worries or embarrassment King may have felt as a result – and he left no evidence that he bemoaned the loss – surely paled by comparison once he observed first-hand during his vacation breaks from Oxford the widespread distress that had befallen post-war Europe. King once noted that his father became “a great internationalist because having seen war at close range he hated it.”77 Having been too young before the Armistice to advance beyond officer training at university to active duty overseas, King’s closest encounter with the war was to see its dreadful economic and social after-effects on Europe’s civilian population. These experiences instilled in King a disgust of war no less sincere than his father’s, and the conviction that the best hope for a lasting peace rested in erecting a phalanx of internationalist organizations – initially under the guise of the League of Nations and eventually the United Nations – dedicated to justice, mutual aid, and cooperation. These were the political ideals that would gestate over the ensuing seven years while King ministered to remote mission parishes in western Canada, and commenced doctoral studies at Union Theological Seminary in New York. Fatefully, King’s arrival in New York late in 1929 coincided with the onset of the Great Depression. Convinced that he was witnessing capitalism’s imminent collapse, King would respond by adopting political remedies far more secular and radical than any he had entertained at Oxford, or that his closest mentor, C.W. Gordon, could ever sanction.

2 “I play spectator in an Aristotelian sense” (1924–1931)

It was not until the summer of 1924 and his final weeks as an Oxford undergraduate that King resolved his long-standing vocational quandary and elected to become, like his father and grandfathers before him, a Presbyterian minister. In the normal course of events, several more years at university would have followed, to study theology and develop the pastoral skills necessary for parish ministry. No longer able to rely upon the Rhodes scholarship to finance his education, King also hoped to derive a modest income from teaching economics courses at whichever university he attended as a divinity student. But even before he received formal training for the role, King was recruited by the Presbyterian Church as student minister to a mission parish in British Columbia’s rugged interior. He seems not to have hesitated long in ­accepting the offer, demonstrating a winsome adventurousness that would resurface repeatedly over the years each time he took up a new vocation for which he appeared decidedly ill-prepared. The Giscome posting in British Columbia, and a second mission pastorate in Manitoba that followed, were the beginning and end of King’s parish ministry in Canada, an occupation he found pastorally rewarding, spiritually unsettling, and intellectually stifling. He would escape it in 1929 by returning to university and graduate studies at Union Theological ­ Seminary in New York. The two years he spent there at the outset of the Great Depression specializing in Christian ethics not only expanded his intellectual interests beyond the grounding in politics, philosophy, and economics he had received at Oxford. They were also the most ideologically formative period of his life. The disturbing images of destitution amidst capitalist excess that King witnessed daily on the city streets outside Union added urgency to the heated academic debates inside

50  “The world is our parish”

the seminary over the ethical imperative to implement wide-reaching social and political reforms. Similarly, the pilot projects that King and his fellow students developed to provide practical relief to a handful of the local unemployed were valuable lessons in putting philosophy into action. It was during this relatively brief juncture in New York that Gordon completed much of the intellectual groundwork for his future commitment to political radicalism and cooperative internationalism. Gordon travelled by train in November 1924 to his mission headquarters in Giscome, a mill town thirty kilometres northeast of Prince George. Although no stranger to rugged terrain, having spent many summers at his family’s island retreat in the Canadian Shield, even Gordon must have been struck by the starkness of his new surroundings. Compared to the tranquil landscapes and genteel social mores that until recently had defined his world as an Oxford undergraduate, the transition to life on the Canadian frontier was harsh. His parish and home for the next nine months would consist of Giscome and a dozen backwoods lumber mills and logging camps interspersed along almost one hundred kilometres of Canadian National Railway track. During that first winter living among lumberjacks, mill-workers, and struggling homesteaders, Gordon quickly discarded whatever elitist affectations he had absorbed at Oxford.1 After unpacking his few personal belongings in the two-room shack he rented in the bush a kilometre outside Giscome, Gordon promptly set out to meet his widely scattered flock. It was a strenuous life, often requiring him to walk or ski between fifteen and twenty-five kilometres daily to conduct his pastoral rounds. The Giscome townsite, which was owned by the Eahle Lake Lumber Company, contained relatively modern facilities, but living conditions in the remote settlements and camps that comprised the bulk of Gordon’s charge were austere. A neophyte to their gritty way of life, he was consistently awed by his neighbours’ resiliency and refusal to allow extreme physical privation to dampen dreams of carving futures and fortunes out of the pitiless frontier. Gordon admired the homesteaders most of all. Their lives literally were mired in a battle to clear enough forest from isolated farmsteads to eke out an existence raising hay and vegetables for sale to the adjacent camps. The women in particular, as he reported to his undoubtedly sympathetic mother, suffered from an “intolerable loneliness.” Many were forced to spend extended periods alone with their young children tending the family’s farm – usually little more than a gloomy clearing hacked out of the dense bush – while their husbands lived and worked

1924–1931 51

far away in the logging camps.2 On his frequent nights away from Giscome, Gordon either prepared a makeshift bed in the local general store or bunked with workers at the nearest camp.3 Worship services were mostly spontaneous events, organized where and whenever he could muster a small congregation, usually in the camp cookhouse or an unoccupied school or store during the early evening hours. Gordon rapidly discovered that he was well-suited temperamentally to leading this impromptu style of worship, which more closely resembled an informal discussion group than a traditional and formally scripted liturgy. Hundreds of solitary hours spent traversing British Columbia’s frozen forest trails afforded King ample opportunity to contemplate his suitability for parish ministry. “My new vocation,” he wrote his sister Ruth within a month of arriving at Giscome, “demands tremendous effort to overcome natural reticence and inertia.”4 He much preferred to visit the mills and bush camps where he sensed “a straight freedom among the men,” to spending time in the towns where “Mrs Gossip Mongar [sic] is very active.”5 He also learned early on to employ his talents with a banjo mandolin to lure entertainment-starved bushworkers to worship services. When he exhausted his repertoire, he wrote to his father asking for suggestions of other “funny songs” he might employ to help maintain church attendance. “You have to play the role of wandering minstrel as well as preacher,” King clarified, “and it’s a question whether the preacher or the minstrel leaves the impression. However it’s better to have the chance of preaching and jazzing to 20 than to leave out the jazz and preach to five.”6 He was humbled to  discover that congregants clearly preferred their novice minister’s strumming to his sermonizing. King was gregarious, but also cerebral, which did not play to his advantage when trying to integrate into so rustic a setting. Not surprisingly, he soon disclosed to his father feelings of “futility and defeat” over parishioners’ generally unenthusiastic responses to his preaching. Charles, who was a consummate story-teller, replied with an honest if disconcerting secret of the ministerial trade: clergy, he instructed King, deal “mostly with untrained though often acute minds … Our best and most logical line of reasoning … passes quite over the heads of our people, and some little aside, some fool illus­ tration as we imagine, sticks, holds and does good. We should ­prepare as for children.”7 King’s frustration over failing to connect with the locals at a deeper  spiritual level was assuaged partially by the “fine spirit of frater­ nity”  that prevailed among clergy representing the various Christian

52  “The world is our parish”

denominations in the district, all of whom were struggling to sink roots among an often indifferent population. He was pleased to discover that denominational distinctions, which were zealously promoted in settled areas of Canada, barely caused a ripple in British Columbia’s secluded interior. In particular, the often bitter debate over a proposed union of the Presbyterian, Methodist, and Congregationalist churches that was being waged across Canada at the time received scant mention throughout Gordon’s expansive parish. More illuminating still was the openly amicable relationship between Roman Catholics and Protestants, hardly the norm in more developed and tradition-bound parts of the country. Members of each group freely attended the others’ worship services, regardless of which denomination’s clergy happened to be officiating that day. Here was indisputable evidence, Gordon concluded, that clergy working in the mission field must “be broadminded” to be effective, yet could do so “without sacrificing principles.”8 Even so, the physical isolation of his ministerial charge, and the dearth of intellectual stimulation it offered, quickly took a toll. By the end of his first winter at Giscome, King was lamenting to his father of having grown “frightfully stale on sermonizing.” To his mother he confessed a deep aversion to the “beastly nuisance” of visiting parishioners out of duty rather than in response to real pastoral need. As a result, he seriously doubted whether he could ever “fill the conventional role of preacher” that ­appeared to be second nature for his father.9 King’s occupational self-doubts were magnified by periodic reminders he received from well-meaning acquaintances about infinitely more exciting prospects elsewhere in the world. One such prompt was a letter he received in January 1925 from Malcolm MacDonald, an Oxford classmate and the son of Ramsay MacDonald, Britain’s Labour prime minister in 1924 and from 1929 to 1935. “I do not know … how your work is influencing your ideas of what you will do with your life,” Malcolm queried, but “if you ever think of going to Geneva … I will always give you the very highest recommendation … possibly also my father’s recommendation might work usefully if you were after some particular League of Nations job.”10 Huddled inside his snow-bound cabin on a frigid mid-winter night, such a suggestion must have been a depressing reminder that much more than geography separated Giscome from Geneva. Another twenty-five years was to pass before Gordon launched an international career, but it would be with the United Nations, which replaced the League of Nations in 1946.

1924–1931 53

2.1  King Gordon and his mother, Helen Gordon, ca 1924. (Charles William Gordon)

54  “The world is our parish”

For the immediate future, Gordon prepared to leave Giscome and return to university. Despite misgivings of having accomplished little of value during his brief stint as a clergyman, and concerns about his suitability generally for the ministry, he intended to study theology in preparation for ordination in the United Church of Canada.11 In truth, Gordon’s self-assessment was unduly harsh. The Giscome pastoral charge had flourished under his leadership, with regular attendance and financial contributions at worship services growing so significantly that a new church building could be constructed. Gordon also enriched the nascent community’s constricted social life by organizing an athletic club as well as the surprisingly popular Giscome Debating Society. The latter, by providing a forum for the older boys and men who worked in the mills to discuss topical issues, introduced an intellectual diversion to the segment of the community that typically celebrated masculinity and physical prowess above all else.12 Yet despite the success of these and other meaningful initiatives, Gordon was keen to move on. He boarded the train out of Giscome in August 1925, accompanied by Charles, who the day before had been the guest preacher at the worship service marking the official opening of the new church. But King’s plan to trade the unadorned life of the itinerant backwoods preacher for the relative gentility of the university common room was to prove unexpectedly transitory. Gordon entered the theology program at Winnipeg’s Manitoba College in the fall of 1925. In retrospect he did not consider the training he received there “a distinguished addition to my academic career.” However, returning to a university campus at least provided welcome opportunities to resume competitive rowing and distance running, which had been his favourite athletic pursuits at Oxford. Since Manitoba College granted him a full year’s credit for philosophy courses completed at Oxford, Gordon was just one year short of completing a threeyear baccalaureate in theology when he was offered and accepted a second mission parish during the summer of 1926. This posting, at Pine Falls on the Winnipeg River approximately 120 kilometres north of Winnipeg, had the attraction of being situated much closer to home than Giscome. Gordon completed his final year of theological studies extramurally while serving at Pine Falls and in 1927 was ordained a minister in the United Church of Canada. He wondered later in life if finishing his divinity degree independently and without benefit of professorial oversight had left him theologically weaker than he might otherwise have been. Even if that were the case, Gordon was convinced

1924–1931 55

that the overall benefits of relocating to Pine Falls outweighed any potential academic shortcomings. Specifically, while at Pine Falls he felt that he acquired an enhanced “knowledge of life” by witnessing up close the often disturbing dynamic of industrial relations conducted within single-company communities. Many of the lessons learned at Pine Falls were applicable, or so Gordon believed, to anywhere in contemporary Canadian society that the forces of industrial capitalism prevailed.13 When Gordon arrived at Pine Falls in November 1926, it was a nascent single-enterprise town comprising mostly 1,200 mill and construction workers employed by the Manitoba Pulp and Paper Company. During his three-year residency, Pine Falls was transformed from a muddy construction site into a comparatively modern and prosperous industrial community. This was also a time of personal transformation for Gordon, as he grew increasingly critical of the mounting social, economic, and political disparities separating Canada’s labouring and industrial-­ capitalist classes. He viewed Pine Falls as a fascinating if somewhat disturbing microcosm of industrial society within Canada’s natural resource extraction sector. Comparatively isolated from external influences, the town provided Gordon with a case study for applying social scientific critiques of capitalism that he first encountered at Oxford.14 Pine Falls was similar to dozens of other bustling mill and mining towns that speckled Canada’s frontier regions in the 1920s, many of them company owned and controlled, and all founded on the dream of converting timber or minerals into hard cash. Gordon could easily survey the entire community in the few seconds it took him to disembark from the train. Arising out of the thick muck on one side of the Canadian Pacific Railway line was a partially completed paper mill and the construction crews’ spartan bunkhouses, dining halls, and poolrooms. On the opposite side of the tracks, literally and metaphorically, a new townsite was taking shape, complete with company store, a functional if unadorned hospital, and the staff house where Gordon was assigned a room. Since church congregations had not yet been formed, much less buildings raised to accommodate them, Gordon arranged with the Anglican missionary from the Fort Alexander Indian reserve nearby to hold worship services in the poolroom and school house on alternate Sunday evenings. These makeshift facilities sufficed until 1928 when Gordon’s hundred-member United Church congregation, emulating his previous success in Giscome, had accumulated the financial means to erect a modest house of worship.15

56  “The world is our parish”

As had been his practice at Giscome, Gordon refused to place much stock in denominational distinctions at Pine Falls, a decidedly atypical stance for Canadian clergy of the day. Instead he poured his considerable energies into organizing and coaching rowing, rugby, and curling teams, conducting the local choral society, and directing a drama club, all activities to which the entire community and not just United Church adherents were invited. When the town’s Roman Catholic priest presented him with a jar of pipe tobacco at Christmas, and Gordon fearlessly cast two Roman Catholic girls in leading roles in the drama society’s production, there were no complaints from either side of the sectarian divide. The only hint of factionalism occurred during construction of the new United Church building. Its original design included an exterior cross, which mysteriously was sawn from the roof late one night as the structure neared completion. Fearing the worst from the community’s “anti-ritual section,” Gordon instructed that the contentious symbol not be reinstalled.16 Whereas Gordon was intent on fostering tranquillity among Pine Falls’s embryonic religious groups, he expressed disquiet that the relationship between the Manitoba Pulp and Paper Company and its employees was too placid. This calm state of affairs, he claimed with barely disguised derision, was a consequence of most townsfolk naively crediting the company with being a benevolent employer and landlord. In a 1929 report on industrial and social relations at Pine Falls that Gordon wrote while a graduate student at Union Theological Seminary, he accused the company of wilfully misleading and demeaning employees and their families with its superficial displays of corporate beneficence. The report, in addition to providing a valuable account of living and working conditions in a company town in early twentieth-century Canada, represents one of Gordon’s earliest attempts at exposing and critiquing industrial capitalism’s inherently unethical underside. He blamed the prevailing capitalist mindset for creating artificial and ultimately harmful social distinctions based exclusively on individuals’ prescribed roles within the industrial process. Worse still, in Gordon’s estimation, Manitoba Pulp and Paper’s excessive attempts to organize most facets of community life at Pine Falls was a ploy to dupe workers into believing that their own interests were indistinguishable from those of the company’s owners. Gordon was particularly critical of the harsh living conditions that construction crews building the Pine Falls mill and townsite were required to endure. Not only were their accommodations squalid, strict

1924–1931 57

standards of social segregation were imposed. Skilled workers who were chiefly Anglo-Saxon rarely mixed with unskilled workers, who were predominantly foreign-born and of various ethnic backgrounds. The young clergyman was also critical of the immorality the construction camps propagated. With few recreational activities available to distract them, the workers resorted to gambling, visiting local brothels, and drinking the bootleg liquor that was produced in prodigious quantities in stills erected just off company property. “Drinking and even drunkenness,” Gordon recorded disapprovingly, was regarded a “respectable pastime.” Employees fortunate enough to secure rooms in company housing across the tracks from the construction camps enjoyed a notably higher standard of living, complete with centralized electrical, water, and sewage systems. One noteworthy exception to these blatant discrepancies in conditions occurred when the company opened a twenty-bed hospital complete with resident physician in Pine Falls. In a nod to workplace efficiency, if not necessarily recognition of social equality, all employees, including labourers, were provided with a comparatively advanced level of health care.17 It is unlikely that during his residency in Pine Falls Gordon was quite as indignant over Manitoba Pulp and Paper’s attempts to shape the community’s social culture as his report, written in the comparatively radicalized environment of the seminary, later inferred. For example, in the report he takes umbrage with the “paternalistic gesture” of awarding prizes to tenants of company housing with the best manicured gardens. What might reasonably be interpreted as a benign initiative by the company to instil a measure of neighbourhood pride among its employees, Gordon construed as “supervised social pressure” designed to elevate the “general ‘tone’” of the town beyond the level to which families would normally aspire “if left to their own resources in an unrestricted community.” In addition it galled him that workers, despite stridently professing pride in being unionists, readily succumbed to m ­ anagement’s transparent ruse of rewarding them with several cases of Scotch whiskey whenever the mill set new production records. “The good doggies,” Gordon sniffed, “enjoyed their bone.” He also attested from personal experience that it was the community’s two churches, and not the company, that deserved credit for organizing most of the musical, theatrical, and leisure activities in Pine Falls. He doubted if in the churches’ absence any meaningful recreational opportunities would have been provided residents, since “company ownership and control tends to sap the initiative of the individual members of a community.” The unavoidable

58  “The world is our parish”

symbol of the company’s ubiquitous monitoring and management of town life, Gordon concluded, was the “great mill-whistle”: [It] penetrates into every home. It is the clock by which they regulate their lives[;] it is the reminder that apart from their connection with the mill they have no claim to any share in the life of the community. It is the voice of the beneficent god by whose mercy they live, and move and have their being. The greatest condemnation of an industrial town is that instead of a free expression of a corporate community life, one finds an artificial society formed by taking the iron grill of the mill organization and superimposing it upon, and pressing it down into the life of the community. The greatest tragedy is that it is accepted as inevitable, as right and even as good.18

Regardless of whether Manitoba Pulp and Paper was genuinely benevolent in attempting to control community life, workers in Pine Falls, as in most company towns, faced a blunt reality: they must either comply with the wishes of their employer, who doubled as their landlord, or pack up and move out. Consequently, being unionized in so closed and lopsided an environment afforded workers few real privileges and little bargaining strength in the 1920s. Gordon thought such constraints wholly unreasonable. His experience of living among mill-workers, as well as chairing the Child Welfare Committee for Pine Falls,19 convinced him that the crucial first step towards increasing workers’ autonomy in remote single-industry communities was educating them about industrial relations and their collective political rights. To that end, and at considerable risk of raising the ire of Manitoba Pulp and Paper’s management, in January 1928 he organized a visit to Pine Falls by James Shaver Woodsworth, then the Independent Labour Party of Manitoba member of Parliament for Winnipeg Centre. Woodsworth’s specific comments to the paper workers union in the afternoon, and to Gordon’s United Church congregation later that evening, are not recorded. King simply reported to his mother that Woodsworth, who would later be memorialized as Canada’s “prophet in politics,” left “an excellent impression here” and carried away with him “I think … a good one of the town.”20 The event, however fleeting, was significant for Gordon. It marked his first involvement in labourite and social democratic political activism, the cause in which he immersed himself during the grim Depression decade of the 1930s. In January 1929, a year after Woodsworth’s visit and midway through a third consecutive winter coping with the socially satisfying but

1924–1931 59

2.2  King Gordon, 1920s. (Charles William Gordon)

60  “The world is our parish”

otherwise unfulfilling environment of a mill town, King admitted to being “fed up” with his work at Pine Falls and once again considering other career options. Charles Gordon, as was his custom whenever King felt stymied by life’s dilemmas, weighed in with some solicited fatherly advice. On this occasion he encouraged King to accept that his efforts at Pine Falls had been “conspicuously successful,” even if his “preaching gift has not yet developed.” Charles cautioned King against hastily deciding to abandon parish ministry and counselled him to maintain “the status quo until a clearer call comes which makes the status quo impossible.”21 But to a bright and energetic twenty-eightyear-old fearful of arriving at a vocational dead end in the backwoods of Manitoba, further delay seemed untenable. His extensive involvement in the community’s social and religious life notwithstanding, King considered his labours at Pine Falls “an amateur performance” and unlikely “to lead to advancement in the profession of the clergy.”22 Of far greater appeal was a return to full-time academic life. King had continued to read widely throughout his time at Giscome and Pine Falls – or at least to the extent his remote circumstances permitted – in  order to stay abreast of intellectual developments in theology and political economy. Therefore despite Charles’s recommendation, King ­announced plans to resign his position at Pine Falls and commence graduate studies in theology. Specifically, he planned to explore a theme inspired by numerous encounters with the careworn working class of his mission parishes, the religious imperative to effect social change in industrial society. Several of the academic papers King wrote at Pine Falls while completing his Manitoba College divinity degree reveal a disciplined if at times mystical thinker well suited to advanced theological study. In one such essay, “The Idea of Immortality in the Light of Evolution,” he ­argued that since science had thus far failed to refute the Christian doctrine of the soul’s immortality, it was logical to conclude that human beings, created and cherished by God, “should have eternal value and should not be doomed to utter extinction.” Immortality was not to be understood only as a numinous form individuals entered at death, but as “the highest spiritual achievement of the human soul in this life.” To illustrate the point, Gordon referred to his ministry among struggling working-class families. Their manifestation of an irrepressible spirit in the face of shameless exploitation by employers persuaded Gordon that “the soul of man is ever rising above the struggle for survival” in the natural world, ultimately achieving “complete self expression in

1924–1931 61

sacrifice.”23 Other essays underscored Gordon’s conviction that “social implications” necessarily followed authentic belief in Christ. For instance, while posted to Giscome and Pine Falls he made every effort to  avoid perpetuating the sharp denominational distinctions that he thought unnecessarily divided the Christian church in Canada. Gordon believed it should be every Christian’s highest priority to adopt “the life principle of harmony” embedded in the theological concept of the Kingdom of Heaven, which he defined as a “radical form of human society” attainable in the present life as well as in the next. By stubbornly erecting artificial denominational barriers among themselves, myopic Christians prevented the church universal from becoming the homogeneous “social unit” that Gordon was certain Jesus intended it to be. The resulting failure to realize God’s kingdom on earth thrust humanity into a destructive downward spiral of “discord” and “dissolution.” Lastly, Gordon’s theological musings revealed that several years spent in the remoteness of Giscome and Pine Falls had not stymied the budding internationalism he first articulated while at Oxford. In an essay entitled “What Does Jesus Mean to Me,” he advocated a practical and worldly-wise response to the Christian gospel that linked individual actions with international consequences, although without ­attaching as much confidence to the ameliorative power of state interventionism as he later would: “The striking inequalities of income and the contrasted juxtaposition of luxury and misery, the class intolerance, the racial hatreds, the international distrust and jealousy which characterizes the western nations can find their eradication in no amount of legislation, but only in the inner growth of that will which is the expression of love, the radical principle of life. For faith must ever transcend logic … And it’s this fellowship or communion which puts Christianity beyond the realm of philosophy, and which gives dynamic to the life of a Christian.”24 This was the brand of theological liberalism Gordon espoused in August 1929 as he wrote Henry Sloane Coffin, the president of Union Theological Seminary in New York, to inquire about admission to the doctoral program in the philosophy and history of religion.25 In short order he received the response he had been hoping for. Within the month Gordon was awarded an admission scholarship to Union, had bid adieu to Pine Falls, and relocated to New York, the metropolis he had found so unappealing during his overnight stop en route to Oxford in 1921. When Gordon looked back on the move from rural Manitoba to the Big Apple, he associated it with three notable passages in his life.

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First, he made a physical journey from “a small company town on the edge of the wilderness to a great modern city.” Second, entering Union sparked his intellectual conversion from a “somewhat traditional … humanistic religion” to a “radical interpretation of a Christian social ethic.” And third, because his relocation coincided with the impending crash of the New York Stock Exchange, he thereafter related it to North America’s descent from “an apparently secure free enterprise economic system” into “a deep socio-economic depression.”26 Settling in New York had also entailed a fourth transition that perhaps Gordon thought was too obvious to mention, but in retrospect was highly significant – he had changed countries. King had barely unpacked before he wrote to his parents with unbridled enthusiasm about “my New York future.” He wanted to dispel any fears they might have that “the United States is getting a strong hold on me at the start” and to offer reassurances that “I will never forget that I am a Canadian and have but one country to stand for and serve.”27 These were heartfelt sentiments from a devoted son to doting parents. Close-knit as they all were, it was just as well that none of them could foresee that King’s stint at Union would be only the second of his many prolonged absences from Canada over the ensuing three decades. When Gordon arrived at Union in 1929, Henry Coffin had been at its helm for three years, and the seminary was enjoying a record enrolment of over six hundred students. Under Coffin’s ambitious leadership, Union not only buttressed its scholarly reputation as a centre of theological liberalism, it also placed renewed emphasis on providing practical vocational training for parish clergy and Christian educators. To that end Coffin insisted that rooms in Union’s dormitory could be  reserved only for students like Gordon who intended to practise ministry following graduation. Coffin’s vision of the seminary as a laboratory for fostering ideals of an inclusive Christianity committed to inter­denominational cooperation appealed to Gordon, whose own stand against rigid denominationalism in his former pastorates has been noted.28 Gordon initially planned to take courses in theology at Union while writing a doctoral dissertation at neighbouring Columbia University on the role that ethics and religion played among English property-holders during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. But exposure to the “radical Christian socialist movement” then emerging from behind Union’s Gothic facade prompted him to shift his academic focus to the field of Christian ethics. This propitious move resulted in Gordon being placed under the tutelage of two of Union’s

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most brilliant and internationally renowned scholars, Harry F. Ward and Reinhold Niebuhr. Both professors would contribute immensely to the reshaping of Gordon’s ideological outlook.29 Granted the coveted position of student assistant to Ward and Niebuhr, Gordon developed a close personal and professional relationship with both men, but Niebuhr especially.30 During several evenings most weeks, he joined Niebuhr in organizing research projects, grading student papers, and responding to the popular professor’s vast correspondence. The highlight for Gordon was when they took a mid-­ evening break from their labours and Niebuhr launched into an exposition on whatever political issue, philosophical question, or sermon theme currently preoccupied him. These interludes were private tutorials for Gordon, providing privileged and fascinating insights into the mind of one of the twentieth century’s leading liberal thinkers. “I never come away” from these sessions, King told his father, “without feeling that I have gained something from the genuineness and keenness of [Niebuhr’s] spirit.”31 Given their shared reputation as the most radical faculty members at Union – nicknamed “The Red Seminary” by its conservative critics – it is perhaps not surprising that Ward and Niebuhr were frequently at philosophical loggerheads with one another. Ward was a Harvardeducated Methodist clergyman who had served a parish in the rough stockyard district of Chicago prior to joining Union in 1918 as a professor of ethics. An indefatigable advocate of the social gospel, Ward championed prohibition, pacifism, free trade, urban reform, and improved workplace conditions for the labouring classes. Despite his generally uncompromising nature, Ward could be a quietly coaxing teacher. Gordon derived from him not only strong opinions about the necessary preconditions for establishing a just social order, but equally importantly the confidence to express them. As editor of the nonconformist Social Service Bulletin published by the Methodist Episcopal Church, Ward shifted ever leftward during the 1930s as the Great Depression stubbornly defied conventional economic and political solutions. He eventually dismissed capitalism altogether as a pseudo-religion. It was with ill-concealed contempt that Ward reproached Americans for failing to acknowledge the obvious and irredeemable flaws of the capitalist system, and accept that their future well-being rested with Marxism as the relevant social arm of Christianity. After visiting Russia in 1932 and publishing In Place of Profit, a bold accolade to Soviet society and government, Ward was tagged a Communist sympathizer by the American

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government and placed under surveillance by the Federal Bureau of Investigation until his death in 1969. In his defence, Ward steadfastly denied holding membership in the Communist or any other political party. An obdurate defender of free speech, he insisted that his public pronouncements on any and all subjects were nothing more than personal commentaries on Christian teachings.32 A long-serving chair of the American Civil Liberties Union, Ward promoted a wide array of pacifist and social causes for over sixty years. His outspoken activism and unyielding critiques of religious and political convention produced frequent outraged demands that Union’s administration rein in the controversial and presumably subversive faculty member, but to no avail. Without subscribing to all of Ward’s views, Gordon nevertheless supported unequivocally his presence at Union. Gordon’s ­summary of the professor was apposite: Ward was a “Christian Communist” who possessed a “strong social ethic” and was “never bothered by a theology.”33 Gordon’s intellectual development during the 1930s was influenced most of all by Niebuhr’s companionship, scholarship, and political activism. Despite disagreeing with much of Niebuhr’s sin-obsessed neoorthodox theology and fundamentally pessimistic Weltanschauung, Gordon established a long-term friendship with the dynamic academic. Many years after Gordon left Union, he was still turning to Niebuhr for personal advice on career decisions and regularly measured his own theological and political insights against those of his former teacher. Given Niebuhr’s enduring significance in shaping Gordon’s staunch commitment to left-wing politics and internationalism, an extended summary of his career and scholarly foci is in order. The early ministry of Niebuhr, an ordained Lutheran in the Reformed tradition who had been educated at Yale, was among the bleak workingclass industrial neighbourhoods of Detroit where the domination of the automotive titan Henry Ford overshadowed much of domestic life. Although an able and successful pastor to capitalism’s underclass, Niebuhr’s greatest talents came to light after he was hired by Union in 1928 to teach Christian ethics and applied Christianity. This was the launch of one of the most distinguished careers of any public academic in American history. Central to Niebuhr’s personal philosophy was the concept of human fallibility, a manifestation of the curse of original sin he identified as pride. Niebuhr fervidly rejected as utopian idealism the faith that his colleague Ward placed in the social gospel’s “comforting assumption” that “Christianity could be fully expressed in social action.” Following the lead of the Swiss-born theologian Karl Barth,

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Niebuhr taught that God must be understood as transcendent, above and separate from humanity, as well as omnipresent in expressions of love and compassion. The inescapable consequence for humanity of this divine dichotomy was to live “within a tragic framework” of complex social, political, and economic conflict. Niebuhr offered a forthright answer to the question of how to minimize the human suffering that inevitably resulted: replace society’s prevailing reliance upon moral platitudes and an intellectually dubious theological liberalism, with sweeping ­institutional reforms inspired by a pragmatic Christian realism.34 A favourite target of Niebuhr’s during the years Gordon studied at Union was John Dewey, whom the historian David Kennedy has dubbed “the dean of American philosophers.”35 Dewey was a faculty member at Columbia University, across the street from Union. Like Niebuhr, he expounded a theory of pragmatism, but Dewey posited that advances in reason, education, and technology could raise overall standards of public morality as well as solve social problems. Niebuhr dismissed Dewey’s idealism as hopelessly utopian. In a ground-­ breaking book Moral Man and Immoral Society published in 1932, Niebuhr attacked Dewey, Ward, and like-minded radical liberal Christians for harbouring illusions that “an organic community would one day displace the impersonal mechanisms of modern capitalism through the spread of scientific expertise, aesthetic sensibility, and Christian love.”36 He maintained that it was illogical to expect a moral consensus in so culturally pluralistic a society as the United States, because humans were influenced more by power relations than by ethical or rational considerations. As such they were incapable of attaining the same higher morality within their communities that they achieved as individuals. Since Christians were fated to live within surroundings marred by unethical behaviour and inevitable social conflict, they must cooperate in persuading the powerful in society to resist their baser instincts and practise instead an ethically informed self-control. Both in the pulpit and in print, Niebuhr preached a hardnosed message: during desperate times such as the Depression, the Christian’s principal calling was not to achieve a closer relationship with the Holy Spirit, but to champion the comparatively pedestrian task of reforming society’s political structures. In Niebuhr’s strict schema, social change followed the responsible exercise of power, and acts of social justice preceded even love as Christians’ primary goal.37 Central to Niebuhr’s critique was the imperative of marshalling a broad base of politically active citizens to support social reform.38 He

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2.3  Reinhold Niebuhr, 1930s. (HarperCollins ISBN0060662344)

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led tirelessly by example. Never an insular academic content with issuing ivory tower precepts for others to follow, Niebuhr waded repeatedly into the rough-and-tumble of real-life politics. His many roles – teacher, preacher, author, public sage, Socialist Party member, and spokesman for Americans for Democratic Action, a leading voice of liberal activism in the United States after 1947 – all focused on awakening America’s expanding middle class to the multifaceted and often troubling realities of modern industrial society. Niebuhr asserted that since widespread religious conversion had failed to prevent racial prejudice, economic injustice, or political chicanery from scarring the American dream, an ethically driven political and social activism was necessary for constructing a framework for reform.39 This was a lesson Gordon took to heart. Throughout much of the 1930s and 1940s – decades of intense activity as well as times of profound personal disappointment for Gordon – he found inspiration in Niebuhr’s belief in “the radical nature of evil within the human heart and in human society, and the need for political action on the part of individuals to bring about a more tolerable state of social life.”40 American Vice-President Hubert Humphrey said of Niebuhr in 1966 that he “contributed to American life and thought because he has been a realist without despair, an idealist without illusion.”41 Niebuhr defined himself as a conservative in theology and a radical in politics. While a student at Union, Gordon observed his complicated mentor’s many sides – the realist, idealist, conservative, and radical. Yet as in his encounters with Ward, Gordon discovered he could admire Niebuhr without always agreeing with him. Gordon attributed their occasional philosophical differences to dissimilar “religious and perhaps cultural heritages – Niebuhr with his Lutheran transcendental and somewhat authoritarian background, I with my Scottish Presbyterian, more democratic background.”42 Moreover, King had been too deeply influenced by Charles Gordon’s preaching and pastoral example to accept un­ reservedly Niebuhr’s rigid emphasis on religious transcendentalism and his vociferous disregard for the efficacy of the social gospel. As a result, Gordon often felt a closer intellectual affinity to Ward than he did to Niebuhr, even if he was unprepared to follow Ward so far to the left politically.43 Niebuhr’s “apocalyptic lectures” on Christian ethics held Gordon in thrall during his first year at Union. Meanwhile, the myriad human tragedies that he witnessed daily on New York’s streets just outside the seminary appeared to substantiate the media’s ominous portrayals of a

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society in free fall. Looking back on the Depression’s early days from a distance of forty years, Gordon evoked a collage of images he associated with those perplexing times: “the Wall Street crash in October, the reassuring words of Mr Hoover from the White House, the confident announcement of John D. Rockefeller, Sr and his son buying up sound stocks at bargain prices, the lengthening bread lines, the apple sellers on the street corners, the protest meetings of the unemployed in Union Square broken up by Grover Whalen’s club-swinging police.” Yet it was Niebuhr’s voice especially that Gordon recalled rising above the din, his trenchant social commentaries and urgent summons to a renewed and politically charged Christian ethic never failing to inspire. Thus the theology Gordon absorbed within Union’s lecture halls was imbued with a relevance and immediacy far surpassing anything he had contemplated during former comparatively halcyon times at Giscome and Pine Falls.44 Although Gordon granted that he and most of his fellow students were not “particularly adept in theologizing,” they seized every opportunity to attend Niebuhr’s courses, hear his sermons preached in the seminary chapel, and join in the freewheeling discussions Niebuhr hosted at his Claremont Avenue apartment one evening a week.45 When Gordon and several other student activists formed the Agenda Club as an exercise in applying textbook theories to real socio-economic problems, they recruited Niebuhr as its honorary president. Club members participated in demonstrations in Union Square to support the unemployed and travelled to East Marion, North Carolina, in the spring of 1930 to interview strikers at a textile mill where company police had recently shot and killed several protesting workers. The club also organized the Waterfront Project in New York’s South Ferry neighbourhood. This was an innovative program to provide relief to unemployed and homeless sailors and dockworkers, most of them still in their teens and early twenties.46 The students converted Union’s gymnasium into a dormitory accommodating up to twenty men at a time who were given meals, clothing, recreational opportunities, vocational training, and assistance in finding employment.47 As the project’s chief organizer, Gordon readily acknowledged that it represented only a “small drop in a very large bucket.” But its value extended beyond the physical and emotional solace provided the handful of unemployed who were its direct beneficiaries. As Gordon pointed out, the theological students benefitted as well. After studying “sociological and economic  ‘problems’ and cases ad nauseam” in the classroom, this type of

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mission work brought them directly “into contact with a distressing human situation.”48 The Agenda Club funded the Waterfront Project with $4,800 in donations received from Union faculty and students. Gordon was concerned the initiative might be misperceived as an attempt by relatively affluent middle-class academics to salve their consciences by tossing a few dollars towards the downtrodden. As he explained in a letter to his father, many of the students who contributed funds “were running on very short rations themselves” and making a “considerable sacrifice to help out lads who were right up against it.”49 All the same, South Ferry and Union Theological Seminary were separated by more than a long ­subway ride, a fact Gordon conceded in an article about the project he published in the Christian Advocate. The students who travelled to the waterfront each night to staff the coffee stall or chat with those shivering in the breadline were appreciably better off financially than the homeless. It was precisely this difference in social status, Gordon insisted, that highlighted the seminarians’ obligation as Christians “to give a few boys the shelter, economic security, advice, and fellowship which would enable them to regain their feet.” He regarded the Waterfront Project as a model, a very small scale, for the type of emergency responses that needed to be implemented nationally in order to soften the worst effects of the unemployment crisis. Moreover, the project’s ends were not intended to be strictly charitable. The goal was to restore “the principle of ‘mutual help’” in a capitalist environment where “the principle of ‘self-help,’ based upon the fallacy of equal opportunity,” had recently collapsed with devastating effect. For instance, any aid recipient who secured a job was encouraged to remain with the project. Having achieved “some assurance of permanent economic security,” it seemed only fitting that he in turn should contribute to the support of another unemployed man.50 The life of a Union seminarian, Gordon fondly recalled, was not all  “ideological and socio-religious conditioning and indoctrination.” When not “meditating on the sins of our social order or preparing for the fray,” he and his colleagues attended parties in Harlem, indulged their budding taste in opera, and relaxed in New York’s German pubs where “we sang our lieder.”51 To subsidize his studies Gordon served as part-time associate minister at First Presbyterian Church in Bloomfield, New Jersey. The senior minister of the congregation, the Reverend Archibald Sinclair, had once lived in Winnipeg and was a close friend of Charles Gordon. The two were instantly compatible, as Sinclair had

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academic interests of his own – he had completed a doctorate on Herbert Spencer, the British philosopher and social theorist – and was sympathetic to the “radical religion” King increasingly espoused. First Presbyterian was thus an ideal complement to his academic work at Union. “Sinclair,” King reported enthusiastically to his father, “gives good stuff from the pulpit, and Bloomfield is one place at least where the church is not dodging the big ethical and social issues of the day.”52 High praise, indeed, from an assiduous seminarian. In addition to assisting with the Sunday liturgy, Gordon’s principal responsibilities at First Presbyterian were overseeing the youth groups, acting as “dean” of the annual summer school for Christian education workers, and administering the parish when Sinclair left on vacation.53 He initially wondered if he would fit in socially with the well-heeled Bloomfield congregants, but in short order concluded they were not particularly “‘high-hat’ even if there are some fifteen millionaires” among them.54 It is not known what those in the pews thought of Gordon. Certainly they provided a captive audience for his sermons, which typically drew upon an impressively eclectic selection of literary, philosophical, theological, and historical sources, as well as references to international affairs. However, even for parishioners accustomed to Sinclair’s challenging preaching, Gordon’s performance in the pulpit must have struck some as unduly provocative, given his subordinate status as the part-time help. A case in point was this jab about the “nice people,” a veiled reference to First Presbyterian he inserted into one sermon. On that occasion Gordon spoke condescendingly of how “the academically trained individual” frequently identified with the nice people, whose language, ideals, moral standards are carefully guarded against any encroachment from the vulgar. These nice people view with alarm any course of action which would represent a serious departure from the status quo … There is a point when the intellectual, the student, the philosopher, the preacher must give up his careful weighing of values … He must become a dogmatist. There is a time when for the very sake of his soul he must choose to offend nice people and their sheltered creeds. There is a time when he must recognize that the convention which shelters the respectable from the vulgar, shelters also the oppressor and the exploiter … The dynamic foolishness of the preacher has to be proved as able to triumph over the studied wisdom of this world.55

Gordon’s confidence in the “dynamic foolishness of the preacher” embroiled him in a contentious public debate over how North American

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Christians should regard Soviet Russia, a country he referred to as “my present hobby.” When he visited Russia in 1932 and 1934 he would be branded a Communist sympathizer, a label his critics did not soon forget.56 At issue in 1930, however, was a proposal by the Anglican and Roman Catholic communions to hold an international Day of Prayer, ostensibly to focus world attention on Soviet persecution of Russian Christians. Gordon believed the churches’ real motive was not to uphold religious freedom as they claimed, but to publicize their fundamental objections to the Soviet political and economic system. When the moderator of the United Church of Canada lent his denomination’s support to the Day of Prayer, Gordon weighed in with a letter of protest to the church’s official journal, the New Outlook. While allowing that Soviet mistreatment of religious communities was deplorable, he argued that the Christian church in Russia also was to blame for its former failure “to realize the social implications of its gospel.” Even more audacious was Gordon’s claim that the Russian Communist Party, for all its faults, demonstrated more social idealism than the Orthodox Church had done when it “was aligned with Czarist oppression.”57 Yet King confined his most controversial thoughts on the subject to a letter he wrote his mother, in which he proposed that Russian Christians were better off “as good hearty atheists than in the throes of that magic and superstition that paraded under the name of Christianity before.” He felt that newspapers throughout North America were only adding to the public’s general misunderstanding by propagating “this anti-Russia stuff.” Their offence, King averred, was in leading an ill-­informed public to conclude “that our erstwhile beloved allies were baby-killing devils, as we once thought of our once-enemy-but-now-friendly Germans.”58 Gordon rallied the Agenda Club to oppose the Day of Prayer – calling it “the most hysterical bit of politico-religious humbug that we have seen since the war” – by circulating a petition throughout Union calling upon “representatives of the Christian church” to sympathize with “the social experiment of the Soviet Government.” The petition criticized the Day of Prayer for jeopardizing an already fragile world peace and threatening to further isolate Russian people from the West when international harmony could be better served by nations granting formal recognition to the Soviet government. Gordon tried to ease the fears of potential signatories by explaining it was possible to support “the values” inherent in the Soviet Union’s “amazing experiment in the remaking of a society,” without professing allegiance to communism’s political creed.59 He was gratified when the petition attracted “a good many” backers, including Niebuhr and Ward, even if Union’s President

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Coffin declined to sign and a number of “reactionaries and conservatives” found it “too outspoken.” When the Day of Prayer went ahead as scheduled, Gordon was naturally disappointed but not surprised. He took satisfaction in knowing that his supporters’ efforts reflected favourably on Union, which now could boast of being “in the van of … giving Russia a fair show.”60 Even though Gordon’s attentiveness to conditions in Russia stemmed initially from his empathy for the people and not enthusiasm over the Soviet system of government, his political allegiances continued to shift steadily leftward. He followed Niebuhr’s lead, for example, by joining the League for Industrial Democracy. Founded in 1905 by a small group of socialists that included Norman Thomas, a perennial candidate in American presidential elections between 1928 and 1948, the league’s primary interest by the early 1930s was promoting socialism among America’s labourers, students, and intellectuals. Gordon also joined Niebuhr as a member of the Foreign Policy Association, which scrutinized and avidly debated America’s record on international relations. He was of the opinion, as he told his father, that ever since the end of the First World War the United States had pursued a callous “philosophy of engineers.” The “single-minded absolutism” of America’s “business-­isbusiness” approach to economic imperialism had generated, at home and abroad, a near total disregard for “human values.”61 In a 1931 article he published in Union’s student journal the Intercollegian, Gordon revealed how far he had drifted from the prevailing “economic dogmatism” of liberal capitalism and its glorification of unbridled individualism and private property. Blaming the nation’s present economic woes on this “old dogmatism,” Gordon advocated a “more ethical social dogmatism,” which included “a belief in the sanctity of personality, developing freely in a society where social justice prevails.” He thought liberal capitalism’s inherently flawed nature had become irrefutable: by substituting “individualistic exploitation” for “social co-operation” it heartlessly exposed society’s weakest members to the inescapable threats of “modernity” and was “forever in danger of falling victim to the opportunism of the hour.”62 The stimulating political and theological debates that broadened Gordon’s social connections in New York provided only a temporary distraction from worries over how the deepening economic crisis might affect his employment prospects after he left Union. At one point he even asked his father to keep him apprised of suitable job openings that appeared with the United Church of Canada, but it was becoming

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increasingly apparent that King regarded a return to parish ministry as a provisional arrangement at best.63 He also fretted over whether he should be giving his parents more money to assist in their recovery from lingering financial misfortune. Their estate, which had been worth close to one million dollars before the war, by 1930 was decimated by poor investment decisions and plummeting real estate values. Charles and Helen still owned 54 West Gate in Winnipeg, as well as their cherished Birkencraig on Lake of the Woods. But as King discovered through frequent correspondence with his parents’ solicitor, unpaid property taxes threatened to bankrupt the aging couple, and their remaining assets were vulnerable to seizure by creditors. King’s income, which consisted of his Union scholarship as well as the small stipends he earned from First Presbyterian and for assisting Niebuhr and Ward, sufficed for his own modest needs. With the wolf pacing menacingly at his parents’ door, however, he wondered whether the responsible course might be to abandon his studies and take on a full-time job in order to contribute more substantially to their upkeep.64 Whether or not he remained at the seminary, King was reasonably certain he would not be content returning to parish ministry. Instead he sought the intellectual stimulation that an academic career offered. Unfortunately, that option looked increasingly unattainable as long as the economic depression continued to shrink university budgets and enrolments. As he had done at previous moments of indecision, King turned to Charles, not seeking a definitive answer so much as a sympathetic sounding board for airing his dilemma. In this instance he confessed to making life “much too complicated,” and feared he was “too rational” and lacked the “drive that a man of God should have.” King wondered whether life might be easier if he “could ‘get religion’ in a rather simple and primitive way.” He just as quickly dismissed that idea as wistful, given his inclination to “shrink from fanaticism, from emotionalism, from pietism.” Being “philosophically inclined” and possessing an “intellectual grasp of the meaning of life,” while at the same time believing himself “governed by the will of God,” King realized solace was not to be found simply by deciding to believe simply. Perhaps it was his fate, he concluded with an uncharacteristically melodramatic flourish, to “play spectator in an Aristotelian sense, and hop off the fence for an occasional foray into the conflict.”65 The “conflict,” as King envisioned it, was the pressing imperative to expose and correct capitalism’s nasty underside. The omnipresent homeless and impoverished he encountered each day on New

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York’s teeming streets were only the most visible evidence of a failed economic system that touched every community and class of people. Therefore meaningful social change, King explained to his father, required more than trading one “–ism” for another; nothing less than a wholesale “change of heart” would have the desired ameliorative effect. Capitalism, communism, and even socialism could all be tainted by “some precincts of hell” as long as greed existed “at the founts of human action.” Currently it was capitalism that was culpable, having spawned an economic crisis that enabled “a comparatively few g ­ rasping individuals” to exploit the majority of innocent and well-­intentioned citizens. So pervasive was “the rotten poison of the system” that King feared the United States risked becoming “a nation of vultures and vermin.” Only the day before, he reported to Charles, “I heard of Jews in the Bowery buying the overcoats of unemployed men for 50 cents or the price of a meal – selling them in the stores for $2 – and the thermometer twenty degrees below freezing. That sort of thing makes you demand some more social control than we have got. In Russia, with all its suppression, at least they pick out the exploiters and the grafters for the firing squad.”66 Shortly after scribbling his atypical rant, King received an unexpected invitation from the Montreal YMCA to give a public lecture on unemployment at its regular Sunday forum in early March 1931. He accepted, although he admitted to his mother he was “dead scared” at the prospect, not knowing the audience or how it was likely to view so controversial a subject.67 His unease was heightened by news that a scheduled lecture by his always controversial teacher, Harry Ward, had recently been cancelled in Montreal. King concluded that “those Tory die-hards up there” were not about to grant “a dangerous red” a public platform from which to spew heresy. Thinking the Quebeckers’ heavyhanded behaviour shameful – “I thought the British tradition of free speech was fairly deeply entrenched there” – Gordon quipped that perhaps “I’ll find myself banned in Montreal!” It would prove to be an ­especially prescient if foreboding prediction.68 Unknown to Gordon, the purpose of the invitation was to size him up as a candidate for the newly established chair in Christian ethics at Montreal’s United Theological College (UTC), a United Church of Canada affiliate of McGill University.69 It is not known how the selection committee heard of his qualifications or availability for the faculty position. Gordon appears not to have had an inkling that a coveted ­academic appointment was at stake when he boarded the train for

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Montreal. Instead, his focus was on a letter he had received recently from J.S. Woodsworth, whom Gordon had hosted at Pine Falls three years earlier, asking if “we shall soon have you back in Canada to give a lead in our social work.” The inquiry sounded vaguely promising. Gordon wondered if perhaps a role awaited him in Canada’s nascent social democratic movement, a prospect he found more appealing than a return to the pastorate, and more probable than landing a teaching job.70 Thus he treated the overnight excursion to Montreal and the YMCA public forum as little more than a brief diversion from his regular student routines. By Gordon’s own assessment, the lecture he gave, “Unemployment Relief and Social Insurance,” was weak analytically and suffered from being “too long and not particularly well organized.” His hosts at the event, who included James Smyth, the principal of UTC, obviously thought otherwise. Later that evening, over dinner at Smyth’s home, he offered Gordon a full-time faculty appointment in Christian ethics and religious education.71 Gordon’s only hesitancy in accepting the offer was Smyth’s refusal to guarantee that after a year or two he would be freed from teaching religious education and allowed to concentrate solely on Christian ethics.72 Gordon solicited Harry Ward’s help in arguing his point. Ward wrote to Smyth that not only was a chair in Christian ethics “more exacting” than any other “in the amount of reading matter that has to be covered.” Its occupant also “must keep constantly in the laboratory of life” beyond the college and become “the center of focus for the social forces of religion in Canada.”73 Smyth countered that a dedicated chair in Christian ethics “was new to Canada.” Since UTC’s curriculum was prescribed largely by the United Church of Canada, and the college budget could support only six professors, fiscal necessity dictated that Gordon assume responsibility for both subjects. The principal attempted to ease Gordon’s concerns by assuring him that a skilful “pioneer in the field of Christian Ethics can do a real work of social construction.” This was an optimistic sentiment Smyth might later regret making, given the widespread and deeply divisive public scrutiny that Gordon’s controversial actions in the chair were to bring upon himself and UTC. In the meantime, swayed by prodding from both Niebuhr and Coffin who pointed out his good fortune at being recruited for a rare academic appointment in the midst of so miserable an economic climate, Gordon ceased prevaricating and gladly accepted Smyth’s offer.74 The ensuing three years during which Gordon occupied the UTC chair were among the most tumultuous of his life. One unintended

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consequence of using his position at the seminary to expound an increasingly radical theology and politics was that King finally stepped out from under his father’s long shadow. As he acquired a national reputation of his own, King was introduced less often at public speaking venues across Canada as “the son of Ralph Connor.” An early hint of the upset that lay ahead, however, was expressed by another Union student, a wag from Quebec, who greeted King’s celebratory announcement with a warning that teaching Christian ethics in Montreal was “‘like going among the cannibals to teach them Christian charity.’”75 King likewise intimated to his mother, who did not conceal her disappointment over his decision not to return to parish ministry, that the UTC appointment might be thorny. “I won’t be out of the church,” he reassured her, “unless they find that the gospel I believe in is too strong wine for a respectable ecclesiastical body.” In that event, he warned, “your child may yet be begging bread!”76 Charles Gordon was typically  emphatic in offering his own impressions of King’s prospects in Montreal. “No class of workers,” he warned, gets so much criticism and won so little thanks and sympathy as the average Professor in Theology … The Professor’s besetting defeat is his chair … The chair is his curse. It lures him to a sitting position. This is no day for sitters, and at length even when he moves the chair sticks to his buttocks … For God’s sake and your work’s sake avoid the chair. The academic mind is the disease which has paralyzed our college men. They so soon get out of touch with life, with men and things. The man who gets out of touch with men gets out of touch with God … Nothing is quite so despicable as a Professor who only professes … Remember Canada is not the U.S.A. in things Industrial and Economic. I know you will not begin with frontal attacks … You conquer your enemy by winning him to your way of thinking. The big Industrialists need you badly.77

It was advice sincerely given, if not categorically received. As it happened, Charles’s admonition to employ tact when dealing with powerful adversaries was one word of counsel King would assiduously ignore. Considering the battle over academic freedom King soon would be waging with UTC’s administration, it was fitting that one of the warmest and most cogent of the congratulatory notes he received over his faculty appointment was from Salem Bland, a Methodist leader in Canada’s social gospel movement. Bland taught at Winnipeg’s Wesley

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College for fourteen years until he was dismissed in 1917 for refusing to recant, or at least tone down, his increasingly radical prescriptions for social and political reform. Bland responded by publishing in 1920 The New Christianity, a book that became a clarion call for many socially activist clergy in Canada at the time. In it Bland advocated replacing not just capitalism, but the existing Protestant establishment as well, with a new internationalist and ecumenical Christian social order. These were revolutionary ideas that Gordon too would endorse with rising fervour as the 1930s advanced. But early in 1931, with exciting prospects of a new beginning in Montreal looming, Gordon’s immediate focus was to prepare for the tests that Bland indicated lay ahead. “Providence is opening to you a position of great influence at a critical time,” Bland wrote, when “a host of Canadians” eagerly await a “great sweeping spiritual movement” that “must be outward and social as well as inward and personal.” He challenged Gordon to demonstrate the same “boldness and wisdom” pursuing this opportunity in Canada, as Harry Ward had long exhibited in the United States.78 Towering ­expectations to be sure, but Gordon was game. To be considered a political or theological “radical” is a relative concept and subject to reinterpretation as societal norms change. Certainly Gordon described himself as such in 1931, as he prepared to assume the chair in Christian ethics at UTC. Indeed he did have radical tendencies relative to the conservative religiosity and staunch commitment to liberal democratic capitalism then normative among Canada’s ecclesiastical and political elites. Ironically, Gordon was a scion of the same elites whose sacred sensibilities he soon would be tweaking so publicly and unapologetically. Granted, he was not yet as radical as he would become during the course of the Great Depression. But momentum was gathering in his ideological drift away from conventional political and religious tenets instilled in him by the words and example of his prom­inent father. The process had commenced several years before, a con­sequence of King’s encounters with leftist academics and activists at Oxford, and witnessing first-hand the ravages of poverty on postwar Europe. His subsequent exposure as a pastor to the gaping social and economic inequities that the hard-hearted worship of profit created in the mill towns and environs of Giscome and Pine Falls, further reduced his confidence in capitalism’s willingness to allocate to the working class a fair share of the fruits of its labours. However, when the Great Depression took root shortly after his arrival at Union Theological Seminary in New York – a city that he thought epitomized

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capricious and unregulated excess – Gordon became convinced that capitalism was irredeemably flawed. A variety of influences thereupon prompted and reflected his increasingly leftward tilt: exposure to the materially privileged and theologically superficial patrons of First Presbyterian Church in Bloomfield; taking the lead in the Union Agenda Club’s ambitious relief project; his growing sympathy for Soviet Russia; and active involvement in the socialist League for Industrial Democracy and several other organizations outside the political mainstream. Gordon’s ideological transformation while in New York was shaped most of all by Harry Ward’s and Reinhold Niebuhr’s competing visions of secular and sacred reform. He arrived in Montreal having integrated into his personal political and religious philosophy essential elements from Ward’s optimistic social gospel, as well as Niebuhr’s pessimistic rejection of a utopian Christian social ethic. Despite harbouring uncertainties over his suitability for the ordained ministry, Gordon continued to regard himself a clergyman first and foremost for several years to come. He maintained trust in the efficacy of the Christian church to provide moral and strategic leadership in re­ shaping the economic and political structures of a Depression-ravaged society. In that respect he was ideally suited for a teaching role in a United Church seminary, where young men were trained for the ordained ministry and positions of leadership in the communities to which they were called. Gordon would go on to demonstrate throughout his multifaceted professional life the firmly held conviction that an essential precursor to meaningful social reform was educating the public about often complex issues of public policy too important to be ­entrusted entirely to bureaucrats and politicians. His position at UTC opened up myriad opportunities for doing just that, educating clergy and laity both within and beyond the United Church, while simultaneously influencing the shape of public debate over a range of religious and political issues in Canada during the 1930s. Whereas the pull of family tradition and the resulting expectations, either real or imagined, that he must emulate Charles’s passionate idealism may have initially led King into the ordained ministry, his enthusiasms soon reached well beyond the church’s narrow doctrinal and denominational confines. He showed little interest, for example, in propagating traditional penitential doctrines that were more concerned with saving the souls of the faithful in some formless hereafter than with providing physical and spiritual solace to the disadvantaged in the here-and-now. Gordon felt that the more tangible and pressing need

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was for the Christian church to proclaim anew its original but nonetheless radical gospel of realigning the economic and political status quo to include even the poorest and least socially acceptable in any fair allocation of the earth’s bounty. The urgency of providing for individuals’ physical well-being before they achieved spiritual salvation was a concept that King’s father, his well-wisher Salem Bland, and other proponents of the social gospel would undoubtedly have supported. But shortly after settling in Montreal, Gordon came to regard socialism as the most promising path to political and economic nirvana. Instead of adopting the persona of a philosophically detached Aristotelian “spectator” as he had once imagined, Gordon eagerly jumped into the volatile political fray of Depression-era Canada. As Aristotle had done two millennia before him, Gordon grappled with two fundamental and interrelated questions: who in the state wields power, and in whose interests? Not satisfied with the answers he arrived at, Gordon became a passionate, somewhat rash, and decidedly radical participant in the historic battle for social, economic, and political reform in Canada ­during much of the 1930s.

3 “A fiery apostle of social justice” (1931–1934)

Shortly before leaving New York and Union Theological Seminary for Montreal to take up his academic post at United Theological College, Gordon vacationed with friends on an island off the Maine coast in June 1931. The ten days of relaxing on the beach were a much needed respite between winding down his academic studies and commencing a demanding new career. It was also a time to bid farewell to close acquaintances made during two intellectually fulfilling and socially satisfying years in New York. “There were about a dozen of us,” King wrote his mother, “practically all my best friends, most all good sound radicals and most all with a good sense of humor.”1 This self-portrayal as someone who could be serious about the necessity of social change without necessarily taking himself too seriously remained an apt description of Gordon as he became immersed in Canada’s embryonic socialist movement during the desolate Depression decade of the 1930s. He was to play a central role in shaping the ambitious reform agendas of such seminal bodies as the League for Social Reconstruction, the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation, and the Fellowship for a ­ Christian Social Order, efforts that frequently drew howls of derision from Canada’s business, political, and religious elites. Committed to the view that nothing short of comprehensive structural change could redress the prevailing social inequities caused by capitalism, Gordon and his close comrades on the emerging left flank of Canada’s political  culture nevertheless remained mostly “good-humored radicals.” Unfortunately for Gordon, his employers at UTC detected little levity in many of the controversial public actions and pronouncements of their unorthodox professor of Christian ethics and religious education. As a consequence, Gordon ended up at the centre of one of Canada’s

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earliest and most public disputes over the professoriate’s right to ­academic freedom. Gordon was formally “installed” as a faculty member at a ceremony in UTC’s chapel on 6 October 1931, when he vowed to be “in heart and conscience in essential agreement with the faith and order of The United Church of Canada.” He thought the vow innocuous enough, although others in the denomination soon complained that Gordon’s political views were inconsistent with the church’s conventional interpretations of “faith and order.” But these disputes lay in the future. Gordon’s immediate task was to begin preparing sets of lectures for each of the several courses in Christian ethics and religious education that Principal Smyth had assigned him to teach for the first time. He also made a point of becoming better acquainted with his new colleagues, of whom he offered decidedly mixed reviews: “Some of the brethren here are a lot of old women when it comes to executive work,” he wrote his father, “but we new men are wise enough to keep silently learned.”2 Of greater eventual consequence to his career prospects, Gordon contemplated how best to emulate his own learned mentors, Reinhold Niebuhr and Harry Ward, in conducting field work outside the classroom as UTC’s resident ethicist. He understood that an effective chair of Christian ethics needed to exit the cloister of the college as frequently as possible in order to engage with the clergy and leading laity of Montreal’s United Church community and beyond. Initial ­encounters with several members of the local presbytery left Gordon cautiously optimistic about the potential for spearheading meaningful social reform. Many of the clergy appeared attuned to the “general conditions of the world,” he recorded, and were “prepared to go a long way in the formulation of a radical Christian social creed.”3 The radicalism Gordon sought was largely but not entirely at odds with United Church of Canada norms in the 1930s. As David Marshall demonstrated in his history of Canadian Protestant clergy between 1850 and 1940, the United Church’s response to the Depression was “theologically timid and unsure.” Stymied by its inability to find an unambiguous scriptural directive for stepping outside its ecclesial boundaries and into the political and economic realms, and only marginally more certain about its proper place within the social sphere, the United Church hesitated to champion specific policies intended to move Canadian society “closer to the Kingdom of God on earth.” As Marshall explained, the councils of the church feared that without the  legitimacy that scriptural clarity afforded, they risked adopting

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platforms for political and economic reform that “were not essentially Christian in their inspiration, frame of reference, or objectives.” Thus at the same time as the economic crisis forced the church to retrench materially – a consequence of declining financial contributions, the closing of pastoral charges, and falling clergy salaries – deep divisions appeared over the fundamental question of how to define the church’s social responsibility within so politically charged an environment. Neither camp in the debate – traditional evangelicals and supporters of the social gospel – was inclined to break the impasse through compromise. In the minds of the traditionalists, with whom Gordon would soon tangle, the Depression exposed the errors of liberal Christianity’s strategy of attempting to accommodate a plethora of contemporary political, social, and intellectual fashions. Instead of Christianizing society, this misbegotten tactic threatened to secularize religion and the church. In the interests of self-preservation, traditional evangelicals claimed, the church must not waver against the assaults of secular society. To Gordon and those of similar ilk pacing impatiently on the opposite side of this theological and tactical divide, society’s rapid and calamitous decline demanded that the church revitalize itself and proclaim a new theology of crisis. But this was a minority viewpoint.4 It readily became apparent to Gordon that the United Church in the 1930s was more committed to living a cautious subsistence protected by self-imposed bureaucratic constraints, than with inspiring its members to counter the ever-worsening economic and social decline with bold theological and  political remedies. For someone of Gordon’s activist proclivities, increasingly it was socialism and not the institutional church that ­offered the intellectual home and political network he sought. It took little time for word to spread that one of Montreal’s recently arrived professionals was also a budding socialist. During his first week in the city, Gordon received an invitation from Frank Scott, a professor in the Faculty of Law at McGill University, to join a small group he was in the initial stages of forming modelled after the British Fabian Society. His curiosity piqued, Gordon promptly accepted. He had maintained an interest in the Fabian ideal of achieving socialism through gradualist and democratic means ever since his introduction to the concept at Oxford ten years earlier and wondered what shape its Canadian variant might take. When he arrived for the meeting a few days later at Scott’s modest Oxenden Avenue home, Gordon entered a small fraternity of political activists who instantly meshed with his own reformist

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3.1  Frank Scott. (LAC, National Film Board of Canada, PA-116285)

inclinations. Also present at the meeting were two faculty members in McGill’s Department of Economics, Eugene Forsey and Leonard Marsh, the Montreal labour lawyer Joseph Mergler, and David Lewis, a firstyear law student and president of the McGill Labour Club. Several whom Gordon encountered that day remained his closest acquaintances and most trusted ideological soulmates for life. Frank Scott in particular, then embarking upon an inordinately distinguished career as a constitutional lawyer, poet, and civil libertarian, along with his artist wife Marian, were to become Gordon’s most cherished friends.5

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Foremost on the group’s agenda was the drafting of a manifesto articulating specific proposals for bringing about urgently needed political and social reforms. The intent was to produce a document that espoused uncompromisingly radical remedies in the least threatening language possible. Hopefully doing so would prevent potential supporters and critics alike from dismissing the manifesto outright as the delusional ravings of political fanatics. This delicate task was undertaken in concert with a companion group from Toronto led by Frank Underhill, a historian at the University of Toronto. In late January 1932, Gordon, Forsey, Lewis, Scott, and Mergler travelled to Toronto to finalize the manifesto’s wording with Underhill’s group, and to choose a name for their joint organization.6 Since the two sections consulted periodically with the socialist and New York–based League for Industrial Democracy, which Gordon had joined while a student at Union, the Montreal branch suggested naming themselves the League for Economic Democracy. Underhill preferred instead the name League for Social Reconstruction (LSR), which Scott insisted the Montreal group “violently” opposed, as it “might suggest that we were also going to reconstruct odd things like the Roman Catholic Church.” Moreover, Scott continued, the word reconstruction lost its moral currency with socialists when the American president Herbert Hoover recently created the Reconstruction Finance Corporation. This independent government agency provided billions of dollars in aid to struggling banks and other businesses but was widely perceived to be wallowing in bureaucracy and political favouritism. A moniker like the League for Economic Democracy would keep attention focused on “the economic sphere” where it belonged. Of equal importance, highlighting the centrality of “democratic action” would discourage Communist sympathizers from seeking membership and possibly taking control of the group from the outset. “Couldn’t some of you devote an evening to heavy drinking,” Scott implored Underhill, “in the hope of achieving an inspiration?”7 Evidently the spirits remained capped, for in due course the Montreal and Toronto branches each adopted the title League for Social Reconstruction. Next up was the inaugural meeting on 11 March 1932 of the LSR’s Montreal chapter. Approximately seventy-five attended – some confirmed believers in the socialist utopia, others merely curious onlookers. Forty-eight opted for full membership, meaning they subscribed to the LSR’s declared policy and program. Associate members, by comparison, drew the line at expressing general sympathy with the group’s

1931–1934 85

aims. Along with Scott, Lewis, Mergler, and a few of the newer members, Gordon was elected to a temporary executive board. When the Montreal branch’s permanent executive structure was finalized later in the year, Gordon was elected treasurer. In 1933 he became the branch president.8 He also served with Scott on the LSR’s national executive committee when it was established in 1932 with Underhill as president. The other members were J.F. Parkinson, a political economist at the University of Toronto, and E.A. Havelock, a classicist from Victoria College. J.S. Woodsworth, by now the most prominent figure within Canada’s burgeoning social democratic movement, was the obvious choice as the national executive’s honorary president.9 The distinctly secular tone of the LSR’s critique of capitalism appears not to have disconcerted Gordon, a Christian clergyman with roots in the social gospel. By 1931 and 1932, he clearly was more confident prescribing socialist therapies than theological palliatives as cures for a modern society ill on bourgeois values. Gordon ardently embraced the LSR’s ten-point manifesto, which attacked the capitalist status quo as “unjust and inhuman, economically wasteful, and a standing threat to peace and democratic government.” By sacrificing “the common good” on the altar of “unregulated competitive production,” wealth had become concentrated “in the hands of a small irresponsible minority of bankers and industrialists,” and average Canadian farmers and workers were condemned to alternating bouts of “feverish prosperity” and “catastrophic depression.” Such “evils” of capitalism as “chaotic individualism” and “the domination of one class by another,” the manifesto declared, could be eliminated by a “new social order” defined by centralized planning and economic equality for all. In order to accomplish this, the British North America Act must be amended to empower the dominion government to wrest control over Canada’s economic development from self-serving private interests. In addition, a National Planning Commission should be created, banks and other financial institutions nationalized, a comprehensive system of agricultural cooperatives, social insurance, and graduated income and inheritance taxes introduced, and a foreign policy implemented that promoted international disarmament and peace.10 At the centre of LSR strategy for widening its support base, and of singular interest to Gordon, given UTC’s expectation that he become the United Church’s voice on Christian ethics in the broader community, was a concerted campaign of public education. As a member of the LSR’s national and Montreal executive committees, Gordon energetically

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promoted local study groups, pamphleteering blitzes, and public lectures. As president of the Montreal chapter, he organized open meetings to discuss such weighty topics as the intellectual and philosophical impediments to socialism in Canada, and why social c­ onflict was a recurring feature of national economic development. In December 1933 he recruited Reinhold Niebuhr to lead a conference on the challenges of social reconstruction, and arranged for the doctrinaire British Labour Party MP Sir Stafford Cripps to lecture on the topic “Can Democracy Be Saved?” A devoted fan of the arts, Gordon ­recommended tapping into theatre as “a tremendous field of propaganda.” However his suggestion that the LSR add a drama section to its growing list of ancillary activities apparently came to naught.11 In 1981 Gordon wrote an assessment of the LSR’s impact on the Canadian political landscape of the 1930s. Having recently retired from his faculty position in international relations at the University of Ottawa, and largely unimpressed with what passed for political activism among the Canadian professoriate of the 1970s, Gordon was struck all the more by the outrageousness of academics leaving “the sanctuary of lecture room and library” during the 1930s to castigate “the established order in the open air.” He refuted what had become the stereotype of the LSR as an “aloof or elitist … group of Fabian intellectuals on the sidelines,” and credited its members with lending an articulate voice to average Canadians’ resentments over the “tragic social consequences” produced by an unjust economic system. So severe were the circumstances of the Great Depression, Gordon doubted whether any “objective intellectual” who attempted to comprehend the events half a century later could fully comprehend the LSR’s “gut involvement in the moral necessity of social change.” Determined to rise above partisanship, and despite its later semi-official association with the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation “wary of the doctrinaire – on the left as well as on the right,” the LSR demonstrated a level of originality and activism no other political group in Canada emulated over the decades to follow. Yet for all its philosophical earnestness, Gordon fondly recalled the LSR’s lighter side as well.12 Any gathering of the fifty-plus members of the Montreal branch, which “included painters, poets, professors, lawyers, students, business people and, occasionally a politician,” was likely to abound with convivial chatter and laughter. Gordon remembered the atmosphere at their meetings as charmingly eclectic: “James Joyce might have to share a bench with John Strachey,”

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he wrote, “and Lady Chatterley sit down with Moral Man and Immoral Society.” The local capitalist luminaries who were the preferred targets of the upstart LSR’s barbs were certainly ill-inclined to dismiss the gatherings as chummy collectives of harmless savants. As Gordon recalled with faintly disguised pride, “It was not long before we received flattering recognition from the St James Street business establishment and unanimous attack by their spokesmen in the press.”13 Gordon considered involvement with the LSR an obvious complement to his UTC duties, and entirely consistent with Harry Ward’s recent admonition that the holder of a chair in Christian ethics “must keep constantly in the laboratory of life” and a “focus for the social forces of religion in Canada.” He felt no qualms, therefore, about brandishing his political colours before Montreal’s business and religious elites. When J.A. Ewing, a corporate lawyer for Sun Life Assurance Company and a prominent spokesperson for the city’s business interests, intimated during a meeting of the United Church’s Montreal Presbytery in November 1931 that organized religion was wrong to interfere in social and economic affairs, Gordon fired a vigorous rebuttal. He took umbrage with “toadies” who cynically thought that persuading workers to chat amiably with their employers about creating a “­better order” was a means of delaying indefinitely tangible social ­improvements. Gordon insisted it was the church’s duty to combat such injurious sentiments by impressing upon business and government leaders the necessity of reform. After attending only a few presbytery meetings, Gordon readily identified the local clergy who were his ideological kindred spirits, and those who had “sold out pretty well to the big finance boys” by exhibiting altogether “too much of the Rotarian and too much golf!”14 Later that same month in a speech to the YMCA National Council, he contended that if Western civilization was to survive the “present emergency,” it was essential that employer and employee groups subscribe to a “more ethical social creed.” Governments as well must replace their “anti-social and anti-Christian” philosophy of individualism with comprehensive social welfare initiatives. Gordon included in this list occupational health and safety measures, reduced hours of work, mechanisms for resolving industrial disputes impartially, a much expanded program of social insurance, and the legal requirement that wages be geared to family need. Only then would the “progressive development and application of Christian principles to the acquisition and the use of property” be accomplished.15

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It was just a matter of time before Gordon’s censorious commentaries began irritating any members of the “St James Street” establishment whose Sunday offerings to the United Church of Canada indirectly subsidized his UTC salary. His critics were unlikely to be assuaged by the knowledge that when Gordon was not shilling his purportedly erroneous nostrums from public platforms, his activities were quite laudable. He was an enthusiastic participant, for example, on the McGill Com­ mittee for Unemployed Young Men – its relief effort was similar to the Water­front Project he had spearheaded at Union – along with the ­Montreal branch of the Canadian Institute of International Affairs.16 Regardless of these good works, Gordon’s reputation for holding opinions offensive to the business community was only enhanced in 1932 when he was appointed along with McGill professors Eugene Forsey and J.A. Coote to the Montreal Presbytery’s Committee on Social and Economic Research. The three-man team was mandated to assemble and publish data on “the economic and social life of Canada which seem to call for careful consideration from the church.” They tackled the challenge with verve. Between May 1932 and January 1934 the committee published several issues of the Information Bulletin, each one a disquieting exposition on an array of social ills. Investigations into manifestations of despair among Canada’s growing ranks of unemployed, the distressed domestic and economic conditions of the working poor, and abuses of citizens’ civil liberties by every level of government were all grist for the three crusaders’ publishing mill.17 Originally conceived by the United Church as an educational tool for integrating Christian ethics with the latest social scientific research, the Information Bulletin was viewed by many conservative churchmen, both lay and ordained, as a nefarious propaganda vehicle that Gordon and his two henchmen had commandeered to advance their own radical agendas. The December 1932 edition of the Information Bulletin offered a typically harsh indictment of the religious establishment for continuing “to rationalize and sanctify the social situation in which it finds itself,” despite overwhelming evidence that the present economic disaster was of a scale unprecedented in the nation’s history. The Committee on Social and Economic Research denounced the United Church’s listless tactic of applying antiquated nineteenth-century ideals about achieving peaceful industrial relations to complex twentieth-century circumstances. For example, it was not enough simply to encourage a renewal of Christian virtues such as self-discipline, thrift, and honesty as prerequisites to resolving the chaos overtaking modern society. The church

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must also, in the committee’s estimation, “abandon its attenuated individualistic form and recapture its original social and individual emphasis.” Lobbing one of the boldest reproofs in its arsenal, the Information Bulletin even accused the Christian church of doing less to achieve the “higher ideal of human society [and] self-realization” in Canada than atheistic communism was currently offering to the masses in Russia. Gordon concluded that the deepening economic malaise rendered social revolution in North America inevitable. All that remained to be seen was whether the “conscience and vision of the Church” awakened soon enough to exert “a socializing and Christianizing influence” over the outcome.18 The Committee on Social and Economic Research did not confine its rebukes to the church. It also accused various levels of government in Canada of shamelessly exploiting the Depression by suppressing the civil liberties of selected groups and individuals who dared speak out against perceived injustices. The federal government’s invocation of section 98 of the Criminal Code of Canada was decried in the Information Bulletin as an egregious misuse of the powers of arrest and deportation,  and “contrary to the tradition of all British commonwealths.” Unwarranted intrusions by the state into the lives and consciences of citizens were deemed an “ominous portent of a move towards fascist control,” and certain to spark “violence and disorder” all across the country.19 Its blatantly abusive labour practices also placed big business squarely in the committee’s sights. By 1935 the nation’s press would be awash with shocking stories of corporate malfeasance uncovered by the Royal Commission on Price Spreads and Mass Buying chaired by H.H. Stevens, the Conservative government’s minister of trade and commerce. Yet Gordon’s committee was publicizing comparable revelations as early as 1932. The United Church’s Montreal Presbytery, which included many representatives of the city’s business elite, eventually reproved the committee in March 1933 for focusing too much on politics where it did not belong, and not enough on evangelism. It was presbytery’s majority opinion that the committee’s “sarcastic” and suspiciously socialistic-sounding criticisms, if permitted to persist, posed a threat to church unity. One of Montreal’s most prominent clergymen, Leslie Pidgeon, whom Gordon had already tagged a quisling of corporate interests, inveighed against the committee for sullying the church’s dignity through its yellow journalism. But Gordon, Forsey, and Coote resolutely refused either to retract the charges or discontinue their investigative work. Instead it was Montreal Presbytery that eventually

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backed down. It issued a feckless dictum that the Information Bulletin could continue publication provided future editions carried a disclaimer disassociating the presbytery from the Committee on Social and Economic Research.20 Gordon’s growing reputation as a “fiery apostle of social justice”21 not only resulted in initially apprehensive treatment from Montreal society’s politer elements; it also garnered a flood of speaking invitations from an eclectic array of religious, political, and student groups across Quebec and Ontario. Against that mixed backdrop Gordon’s decision to visit Russia in the summer of 1932, and the resulting widely publicized and generally flattering accounts of communism’s novel experiment in social restructuring that he described in a series of open lectures after returning to Canada, further raised his public profile. Much of what is known about this first excursion to Russia – Gordon returned a second time in 1934 – is contained in letters home and a journal of the trip written by his travelling companion, Eugene Forsey. The two boarded a Russian steamer in London, arriving at Leningrad on 24 June. Over the next month they toured Moscow, Stalingrad, Warsaw, and Berlin, along with numerous smaller towns and rural communities, ­returning to London in late July. Given what is known now about the terrifying abuses Russia’s dictatorial leader Joseph Stalin was inflicting upon his country in the 1930s, it is difficult to explain how Gordon and Forsey, two otherwise critical and discerning observers, could have arrived at so overwhelmingly positive an impression of communism in action. Both men were adamant they had not been “led around by the nose” by their guides, most of whom were young adults and university students, or shown a Potemkin-village version of Russia. Gordon and Forsey were not, of course, the only idealistic Westerners making pilgrimages to Russia. Scores of other professionals from an array of backgrounds also travelled there during the 1930s to witness the widely lauded achievements of Soviet centralized planning. Many of these observers also effusively praised what they encountered. Because Gordon and Forsey had embarked on their journey already convinced of the inevitability of North America’s accelerating economic, political, and moral decline, it is perhaps understandable if they were overly eager to detect glimpses of the Promised Land in other places and peoples. Besides, as Forsey pointed out, if the Soviet government was “as malign and as diabolically c­ lever” as sometimes portrayed, it would never arrange for tourists to enter the country at so “ramshackle” a place as Leningrad. Moscow, by contrast,

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3.2  Eugene Forsey, 1942, photograph by Yousuf Karsh. (LAC, Forsey family album, PA-200769)

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was “a magnificent place” where “one feels for the first time the pulsing life of the New Russia.” It was inconceivable to Forsey how any government could “fake a happy population of four millions or so for the unwary foreigner.”22 At every stop on the itinerary, beaming guides proudly showed Forsey and Gordon evidence of Soviet drive and collectivist progress; the exhibits included engineering schools, workers’ health clinics and rest homes, factory kitchens and dining rooms, a tractor factor in Stalingrad, and a 130,000-hectare state farm near Rostov. Not only were the two men intrigued by these glimpses into what they perceived was Russia’s future, they seized every opportunity to experience the country’s epic history. They marvelled, for example, at the cultural treasures housed at the inimitable Winter Palace and Hermitage gallery. Despite knowing only a few words of Russian between them, they noted while attending a live performance of Hamlet in a Moscow theatre that even Shakespeare was used as a propaganda vehicle. The play’s director had changed the venerated tragedy into a satire on royalty. In fact, cultural events in general were enlisted by the state to promote the glories of socialism. Gordon predicted that if such intensive government involvement in the arts persisted, Russia could conceivably lead the world in many areas of cultural and artistic expression within a few decades. More ominously, he and Forsey heard Russians speak frequently about the urgent need to build up their country’s military defences against the “ring of enemies” who harboured “interventionist designs” against it.23 The two academics thought it particularly noteworthy that so many of the professors, students, and workers with whom they discussed economic theory and political philosophy during the tour expressed an earnest willingness to forgo creature comforts in the present in order to build for the nation’s future prosperity and security. Gordon and Forsey were not always persuaded. Over time it became clear that much of this self-sacrificial oratory had been scripted by Soviet apparatchiks for their hosts to repeat. Nevertheless, the two concluded that Russia’s young communists could teach North American socialists some meaningful lessons about dedication and selflessness. The upshot of the trip was that Gordon and Forsey saw much that they found commendable about Russia’s social and economic revolution. Yet neither of them was prepared to go so far as to suggest that communism was any more ­desirable than fascism as an alternative political system for Canada.24 Relatively few North Americans had seen Stalin’s Russia close up by 1932, and those who had were often looked upon at home as an exotic

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curiosity. Back in Canada, Gordon was promptly inundated with requests from church and business groups across the country to speak about his impressions of life, politics, and religion in the mysterious northern giant. He accepted as many invitations as his teaching schedule permitted and quickly attracted a large following. Attendance at the public lectures often numbered a thousand, with hundreds more disappointed latecomers turned away at the doors. Gordon’s recurring theme in these presentations was the irony of an officially atheistic country “burning with religious zeal,” even if of a wholly secular variety. He claimed to have observed in Russia “a new wine in new bottles … a ferment rather than an opiate.” With its focus on the present material world rather than a future heaven, the new creed’s “symbolic expression” was not Christ’s empty tomb but Lenin’s mausoleum in Red Square. That was the spot, Gordon claimed, where “the very heart and shrine of the new system” was ensconced; the patch of holy ground “where the people stood in reverent silence day after day to look upon the face of their god.” Communism’s appeal was its unique “dogmatism,” which like “all true religions” offered adherents the “apocalyptic hope of a true faith.” Gordon completed the analogy by suggesting this faith was most discernible in its followers’ selfless disregard of personal hardship, as they joined in a collective struggle to create a centrally planned society whose purpose was the equal distribution of wealth and opportunity.25 During his public lectures Gordon also waxed eloquent about the Soviet system’s “high regard for human life,” obviously a colossal misreading of what actually was occurring in the country. Even as Gordon visited Russia, Stalin’s draconian imposition of collectivized agriculture to replace individual peasant farms was well underway. This wholesale reorganization of traditional agricultural practices initially won the plaudits of many international observers, Gordon included. It seemed at first glance a model of economic efficiency and social egalitarianism. In fact, collectivization caused drastic drops in production, resulting in food shortages that are believed ultimately to have condemned an estimated six million Russians to death from starvation. Gordon had seen no evidence in 1932 of the holocaust then underway. Consequently he praised the Soviet political and economic system for giving beggars hope rather than alms, and opportunities for rehabilitation rather than creating a perpetual dependence on the goodwill of  others. The widespread availability in Russia of public housing, workers’ clubs, and social service centres also revealed an inherently

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humane state committed to elevating “a backward people to new standards of health and welfare.” Gordon likewise applauded the high priority the Soviets placed on education. Having a standard of living below that of Canada had not prevented Russia from aspiring to the highest goal – ensuring equality of circumstance for its entire people – reasoning that none should be rich as long as some remained poor. This ambition, in Gordon’s view, was vastly superior to the North American worship of a god who “deemed dividends greater than man,” permitted “great marble cities” to rise up where children “live and die like flies in their slums,” and even in prosperous times rewarded only a privileged few with material abundance while half the population ­subsisted “below the standard of decency.”26 In fairness, Gordon was not entirely enamoured of the Soviets’ accomplishments. He acknowledged, for example, that much of the population of larger cities like Leningrad and Moscow were housed in overcrowded ramshackle apartments. But even Russians’ tolerance of substandard living conditions was interpreted by Gordon as further proof of their virtuous and indomitable spirit. Having “caught the vision of building a new society,” average citizens freely abandoned the pursuit of personal fame and fortune. In marked contrast to the typical North American criticism that the Soviet system “suppresses individualism,” Gordon contended it encouraged an “expression of individuality” previously unimaginable under the czars. Stalin’s first Five-Year Plan, a callous scheme introduced in 1928 to centralize the Soviet economy, was inaccurately defended by Gordon as a cooperative and “spontaneous planning of ideas from below,” and not the “top-down initiative … ruthlessly forced on people” that its detractors claimed. Several more years would pass before the world beyond the Soviet Union’s tightly controlled borders knew the full extent of the dislocation and misery that the collectivization of agriculture and industry under Stalin’s three Five-Year Plans between 1928 and 1942 inflicted upon the Russian people. Blissfully unaware of the dismal realities lurking behind the regime’s quixotic propaganda, Gordon presented the Soviet system as the “greatest experiment ever carried on in the history of the world,” which should inspire and challenge Christians to “find again the dynamic drive of our religion.” His curt recommendation to Western nations struggling to survive the “chaotic world of capitalism”: take a few lessons in humility “from the workers of Soviet Russia.”27 By the fall of 1932, Gordon’s growing notoriety as a Soviet sympathizer was beginning to alarm certain UTC officials. At its October

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meeting the college Senate instructed Principal Smyth to convey to Gordon that a continuation of his “communist utterances” would not only be “injudicious,” but construed as inciting “revolution.” Smyth dutifully delivered a private reprimand, but Gordon was not easily cowed. In describing the meeting to his mother, King predicted that “some of the governors were after my scalp” and would be searching for “some open back door through which to lead the attack” against him. But he remained confident his accusers would be reluctant to force a showdown just yet, as there were “too many other ‘reds’ in the church” prepared to speak out against the hierarchy, should it attempt to suppress “free criticism of the existing order.” Gordon’s original reaction to this opening volley in what became a two-year clash with his UTC employer over the principle of academic freedom can be characterized as insouciance tempered by a hint of reality. As he quipped to his mother, it was “a poor experience to be treated as a curio … that which has been to Russia and has come back half cracked.” All the same, he warned her that she might soon “be feeding an unemployed son.”28 Smyth’s scolding did not deter Gordon from continuing to criticize Canada’s political and economic order. Within weeks of receiving the warning to amend his ways, he defiantly proclaimed in a speech to Montreal’s West End Protective Association that an end to social control “by the barons of industry and finance” was imminent. The Depression’s deepening severity was irrefutable proof, he argued, that capitalism as an economic system, and the self-serving business elites who exploited it, lacked credibility. Gordon slammed the prevailing ideal of the “acquisitive society” that granted private property “a degree of protection almost sacred,” regardless of the resulting costs to the general public. To illustrate his point he reported that people in Canada were freezing because they could not afford fuel for their homes, yet governments looked on passively while privately controlled coal reserves remained untapped. Similarly, he thought it shameful how corporations casually turned a blind eye to the fact that by adopting job-destroying technologies they had driven millions of displaced workers into the streets and created a “permanent society” of the unemployed. But the titans would receive their comeuppance. Gordon envisioned a new day dawning when common folk cooperated to wrest control away from the “great combines and monopolies,” and “a generation of people trained to think socially rather than individually” rejected capitalism’s damaging “individual psychology.” The political

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landscape would require alteration as well. Since both the Liberal and Conservative parties were firmly committed to the status quo, Gordon advocated the creation of a “new party” to initiate the structural and ideological reforms necessary for rescuing Canada from the mire of economic depression and despair.29 Gordon’s call for a dramatic revamping of Canada’s traditional twoparty political system predictably drew the ire of R.S. White, the Conservative member of Parliament for the local riding of Mount Royal. White, who undoubtedly was familiar with Gordon’s socialist predilections, accused him of promoting a revolutionary overthrow of the Canadian government. Gordon defended himself by claiming that some of his remarks, which were widely reported in the Montreal press, had been misrepresented. For example, rather than preaching subversion as White accused, Gordon believed that structural reform of “the constituted channels of political action” should occur gradually, and only after extensive public education produced a stronger “social intelligence” and openness to innovation among the general population.30 Attempts at self-justification did little to slow the spread of Gordon’s reputation as a nonconformist. At the same time as he was rebuffing White’s allegations, Gordon, along with Frank Scott and Eugene Forsey, became the subject of an RCMP investigation into suspected seditious activities by McGill University faculty members. Wilfrid Bovey, an advisor to McGill’s principal Arthur Currie, explained to RCMP commissioner J.H. MacBrien that UTC was an affiliate of McGill, and therefore Gordon was technically not “a professor of this University and has nothing whatever to do with us.” Bovey went on to describe Gordon as a “‘Ramsay Macdonald [sic] socialist’” who plainly favoured parliamentary reform, but did not present a security threat. He dismissed all three errant professors as “‘parlour socialists’” and quite harmless, except for their susceptibility to blandishments from communists who were always attempting to lure respectable if unsuspecting establishment types into their cause.31 Bovey accurately portrayed Gordon as committed to the legal pursuit of political change, and not at all subversive in word or deed. But he could not have anticipated that UTC’s zealous professor of Christian ethics was about to take centre stage in one of the most contentious and public debates over academic freedom in Canadian history. According to Michiel Horn, the author of a comprehensive history on academic freedom in Canada, it was University of Toronto President Robert Falconer who in 1922 defined what became the accepted standard for

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appropriate public activities by the professoriate. Falconer lumped professors with judges and civil servants as citizens who legitimately could be denied the right to participate openly in party politics. Since moderation was the rule, universities’ governing boards were encouraged, in the interest of protecting the “‘sacred privileges’” of academic freedom, to “‘tolerate an erratic or even provocative teacher’” who openly expressed unconventional views. But as a quid pro quo, professors should be sufficiently circumspect in their public utterances to ensure that rash discussions of “‘burning political questions’” not incite a government to “‘show its displeasure in such a way as to affect adversely the fortunes of the institution and the financial position of many guiltless and wiser colleagues.’”32 By the 1930s a handful of professors were speaking candidly about academic freedom as a “professorial right,” but the country’s universities were hardly a hotbed of dissent. Horn estimates that only thirty or so of Canada’s approximately three thousand professors were socialists during the Depression decade, and, like  Gordon, most of them were members of the League for Social Reconstruction or the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation. “Like middle-class Canadians generally,” Horn observed, “most professors worshipped in the church of things-as-they-are.”33 If Gordon’s leftist political and religious views positioned him among a small but increasingly vocal minority within the academic community, he appeared less iconoclastic when placed in the company of his fellow churchmen. By 1933 the General Council of the United Church of Canada, along with its presbyteries and conferences across the country, regularly adopted resolutions prescribing root-and-branch reform of the existing social order. One such motion passed by the Toronto Conference decried capitalism as “un-Christian,” incompatible with “the social realization of the Kingdom of God,” and urged the church to “declare unremittant [sic] war upon it.”34 Gordon went a step further by including even the church on a lengthy list of prominent institutions sympathetic to capitalism and hence in urgent need of reform. In a pair of sermons preached in Halifax and Toronto early in 1933, he excoriated the Christian church for flirting with “moral bankruptcy” by aligning itself with “the established social order” ever since the fall of the Holy Roman Empire. Christ’s original apostles had demonstrated a “plan of life” that “bore a very close resemblance to the Communist Manifesto,” that unfortunately few who followed after had been able to emulate. Instead, the church had become financially beholden to capitalist institutions, whose speculations and merciless fixation on the bottom line

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produced not heaven on earth but widespread “wastage of human life.” Gordon thought the fate of Christianity in czarist Russia was surprisingly relevant to the Canadian scene. The church under the czars had amassed tremendous wealth and tightly aligned itself with the political elites in a vain attempt to ensure its survival. The consequence, as Gordon had witnessed during his visit to Russia the previous summer, was that countless church buildings were converted from houses of worship to other uses, often as museums valued primarily for their ­architectural novelty. A similar “deserved annihilation” awaited the Canadian church unless it was emancipated from the established economic and social order. The way forward, Gordon charged, was clear: “‘If Christian we must be radical.’”35 The first indication that Gordon’s job at UTC was in jeopardy occurred in February 1933 when the Board of Governors responded to the school’s worsening financial plight by cutting all faculty salaries by 10 per cent. Gordon did not object in principle to the cost-saving measure. He even offered, in the spirit of “Christian mutuality and common fairness,” to swallow a slightly larger salary reduction, if by so doing his colleagues with families to support could receive a smaller cut in their pay.36 Instead of accepting Gordon’s magnanimity, the board’s chair A.O. Dawson informed him that recent reductions in the United Church of Canada’s education grants to its colleges, along with General Council’s insistence that UTC eliminate one faculty position, required that the chair in Christian ethics be abolished effective the beginning of September. According to Dawson, the UTC board targeted Gordon’s chair because it was the most recently established, and his teaching duties could be covered through a collaborative arrangement the college had previously negotiated with the local Anglican seminary.37 Just days before receiving notice of his pending termination, Gordon had confided to his sister Mary that although he enjoyed teaching and had been largely unfettered when conducting his duties as chair of Christian ethics, he wondered “how long one can stick with an institution under an administration one thoroughly despises.”38 UTC’s well-heeled board was, after all, a microcosm of the Montreal business establishment that Gordon had openly vilified in his many public addresses. In addition to Dawson, who headed Canada Cottons, the board boasted such local capitalist notables as the jeweller William Birks, J.W. McConnell, the president of St Lawrence Sugar Refineries and a director of Montreal Light, Heat and Power Company, and Alexander Murphy, president of the soft drink manufacturer Charles

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3.3  King Gordon to Board of Governors, United Theological College, 22 February 1933, proposing “fundamental principles of Christian mutuality and cooperative sharing.” (LAC, J. King Gordon fonds, 11-17)

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Gurd and Company.39 But discomfort at being beholden to such a group for his daily bread did not blind Gordon to an even starker reality: the nadir of the Great Depression was an unpropitious time to be without a job. Thus when Dawson delivered news of the dismissal, Gordon resolved that whatever his aversion towards the college’s administration, he would not be pushed out of UTC without first putting up a vigorous fight. A cluster of welcome allies promptly lined up behind Gordon. The first to express displeasure over the college’s peremptory action was a delegation of Gordon’s students who hand-delivered a resolution to Dawson’s home asking that the board revoke its decision to abolish the chair. Dawson answered the students with the identical justification he had given to Gordon and insisted the matter was out of his hands. The weekly magazine Saturday Night weighed in next by suggesting that a professor of Christian ethics would be “about the last kind of a Professor that a Canadian theological college could afford to dispense with in these interesting times.” It commented on the “strange coincidence” that UTC “authorities” should suddenly regard Gordon, who was a well-known and “ardent defender of people who question the perfection of the existing social order,” to be more of a “luxury” than faculty members responsible for teaching Hebrew, pastoral homiletics, or the history of early Christian dogma. The Toronto-based Weekly Sun likewise considered “specious and unfounded” the college’s purported rationale for dropping Gordon. The real reason for giving him the sack, the paper contended, was Gordon’s repeated attempts to relate Christianity to social conditions riled Dawson, that “arch-apostle of protection,” and other UTC board members who were “beneficiaries of the present economic system.” Surely a professor of Christian ethics “above all others” should be free to express his views, however radical, on economic issues. The Weekly Sun editorial went directly to the heart of the matter: “Professor Gordon’s case raises the whole question of academic freedom and suggests the unhappy fear that it is dangerous to make the Church too Christian.”40 Charles Gordon also had his say. Being well versed in the machinations of ecclesiastical politics, he attributed King’s dismissal solely to “reactionary influences in our Church,” not financial constraints. If “Big Business” was overstepping its boundaries by interfering with church educational policies, Charles was confident it would be thwarted. “Right is Right,” he assured King, “and will always come out Right.”41

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What happened next appeared to vindicate the elder Gordon’s optimism. Following their initial rebuff by Dawson, the students who had petitioned for King’s reinstatement pledged to assume personal responsibility for raising the $1,500 needed to pay his annual salary. The extraordinary gesture attracted the attention of Frank Pedley, a faculty member at McGill University and the executive director of Montreal’s Protestant Social Welfare Agency. Pedley assembled an ad hoc committee comprising Frank Scott and several of Gordon’s closest supporters to solicit donations from United Church ministers and others opposed to the abolition of the chair in Christian ethics. Their effort succeeded. UTC’s board was presented with funds sufficient to retain Gordon for another year, effectively nullifying the argument that financial expediency dictated his dismissal.42 Thus the bullet was dodged, if only temporarily. The close call seemed only to strengthen Gordon’s resolve to broaden his involvement in organizations advocating social and political reform, all the while facing opposition from “big St James Street boys” who, he said, “fought us on every point.”43 In June 1933 he travelled to New York for discussions with his former Union professor Harry Ward and other leftists. The reunion reconfirmed Gordon’s belief that current economic conditions required the type of “revolutionary leadership” only a “radical Christian socialism” offered.44 More controversial and consequential was his decision to attend the first national convention of the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation held in Regina that summer. The purpose of the meeting was to adopt a program of philosophical and political goals to coalesce the dozens of CCF clubs that immediately began springing up across the country following the movement’s creation the year before. At J.S. Woodsworth’s urging, Frank Underhill composed the draft document, which closely resembled the manifesto the LSR had approved the year before. Underhill sent this updated version to the LSR’s research committee to review, which in turn forwarded the draft to Gordon, Forsey, and Parkinson, who were attending a YMCA-sponsored politics and economics summer school at Lake of the Woods near the Gordon family cottage. While they relaxed at Birkencraig, the three LSR members made minor editorial revisions to what became a landmark document in Canadian political history. A few days later they drove west to Regina, where they joined Frank Scott and presented the manifesto to the CCF’s ­provisional national council meeting on 17 and 18 July.45

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King’s decision to align with the CCF resulted in a rare negative appraisal from Charles Gordon, typically his son’s most ardent supporter. Admonishing the new movement’s “fool leaders” for failing to articulate a viable political strategy, Charles doubted the CCF would ever become “a very effective moral agency.” He thought the LSR entirely deserving of King’s time and talents, as the group was committed to remaining above grubby partisan politics. But Charles detected in the CCF a different kettle of fish. Like in all political parties, the quest for power would inevitably cause the CCF to compromise on principles, no matter how laudatory its original intentions. He urged King not to forget that the “primary job” of moulding “public life and morals” belonged to the church. Since the only choice to be made was between partisan political action, which “is often fatal to the greatest of causes,” and pursuing “effective and noble service” through the church, Charles was puzzled that King would “waste time with a second best.”46 Undeterred by his father’s disparaging assessment, King basked in the generally positive reception he and the other LSR members received at the meeting of the CCF’s national council and during the national convention that immediately followed. The small band of eastern intellectuals was, in Michiel Horn’s words, “a great hit.” The result could easily have been otherwise, had this self-described “brain trust” of the new political party been less sensitive to the primarily western agrarian and urban labour origins of its hosts. By most reports Gordon and his colleagues were “eloquent and enthusiastic” when discussing the draft manifesto, conveying “a pronounced streak of moral earnestness” that minimized any hint of eastern elitism.47 Gordon promptly attracted the national spotlight with his speech at a large public meeting in Regina’s city hall auditorium on 17 July. Along with J.S. Woodsworth and Elmore Philpott, he explained to the crowd of a thousand convention delegates and curious onlookers the CCF’s plans for leading the nation out of its economic morass. With the national unemployment rate approaching 30 per cent, the gross national product falling by 40 per cent since 1929, the western provinces hovering on the brink of bankruptcy, and two-thirds of the rural population in drought-stricken Saskatchewan dependent on relief payments, many in the audience were desperate for remedies to the financial maelstrom devastating their families, farms, and businesses. Gordon and his two fellow CCFers on stage were confident they knew the answers.48 Philpott spoke first. A veteran of the First World War, he had recently resigned as editorial writer with the Toronto Globe to lead the CCF’s

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organizing efforts in Ontario. His speech was exactly the barnstorming indictment of capitalism the crowd was in the mood to hear. Capitalism, Philpott declared, was “an insane system, which let little children starve in a land groaning with plenty.” Heartless and thoroughly discredited as a means of creating and distributing wealth, it deserved to be “swept away” by Canada’s enraged electorate at the earliest opportunity. Woodsworth was up next, using his time at the podium to refute a charge that opponents of the CCF would repeat ad nauseam in the years ahead: that the fledgling party was a scurrilous “anti-religious” front for communist sympathizers controlled by ­godless apparatchiks in Moscow.49 When it was Gordon’s turn to speak, he delivered what was be­coming his trademark form of address, comprising equal parts church s­ ermon and university lecture. Gordon’s preference for basting his arguments with soft ethical prescriptions and hard statistical data might not be a recipe for rousing a crowd to its feet à la Philpott, but his predilection was to appeal to intellect over emotion. The beginning of the Depression in 1929, he proclaimed, marked “the end of an epoch.” The old system based on the “fallacious philosophy” of capitalism was finished. No longer should Canadians be forced to tolerate capitalism’s shameful privileging of a few at the expense of many, or its failure to develop a “social intelligence” that placed the common good ahead of private advantage. The time had arrived for the country to select from among three distinct choices: a continuation of the existing “chaos”; the false hopes and security of “Fascist stabilization”; or the CCF offer of a New Jerusalem, “a reconstructed society planned in the interests of all.” In Gordon’s assessment, the status quo was visibly unsustainable. From both a moral and practical standpoint, a return to the social and economic injustices of the pre-Depression era was equally untenable. Capitalist greed, he explained, had created a system so inequitable that 601 Canadians in 1929 reported annual incomes averaging $80,000, while 2,500,000 of their fellow citizens earned just $1,000 to $1,200 per year. There was only one viable option remaining – social democracy. Gordon urged not only the Regina crowd, but the rest of Saskatchewan and all Canadians, to fall in behind the “great national movement” of the CCF. It alone among extant political choices was capable of diverting the nation from otherwise certain collapse, by dramatically recasting the role that government at all levels would perform in the economy and society.50 Two days of intensive debate by the CCF’s provisional national council produced only minor revisions to the manifesto, which was then

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handed over to the convention at large for clause-by-clause scrutiny on 19 July. Over the next several days, whenever delegates proposed amendments to the document, Gordon, Scott, and Forsey would withdraw to their booth at a nearby restaurant to draft fresh wording. Overall the changes made were negligible, although hard negotiating was required to reach a compromise on the contentious issue of paying compensation to owners of industries targeted for nationalization by a future CCF government. The indubitably anti-capitalist fourteen-point Regina Manifesto that the convention adopted was intended as a blueprint for a new social order marked by comprehensive government regulation across most sectors of production, distribution, and exchange. It remained the heart of CCF electoral platforms until 1956, when it was replaced by the less blatantly socialist and more liberal ­reformist Winnipeg Declaration.51 Of all the changes the national convention made to Underhill’s original draft, one proved particularly injurious to the CCF’s quest for electoral legitimacy in the years ahead. It was the tersely worded last-minute addendum that became the Regina Manifesto’s rousing finale: the declaration that “no CCF Government will rest content until it has eradicated capitalism and put into operation the full programme of socialized planning which will lead to the establishment in Canada of the Cooperative Commonwealth.” M.J. Coldwell, the CCF’s national leader from 1942 to 1960, expressed the frustration felt by many of his colleagues when he referred to the statement as “a millstone around the party’s neck.” The pledge to pursue the elimination of capitalism made the manifesto, and by extension the CCF, appear to be more radical than they were. Nevertheless, the statement became manna for the new party’s political opponents, who never failed to recite it during election campaigns as proof that CCF candidates were wild-eyed revolutionaries bent on knocking over every vestige of the established economic system.52 Many years later, Gordon suggested the provenance of this “famous peroration to the Regina Manifesto which Underhill disowned and nobody seems to claim.” He recalled in a letter to Frank Scott how the two of them “probably” crafted the provocative line during one of several informal luncheon meetings they held to speedily scribble amendments to the manifesto during the convention. “We ate lunch at a cheap little restaurant near the City Hall,” Gordon recalled, and on this occasion, “determined to protect not only the form and substance but the essential spirit of the manifesto… we probably decided that it

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should have a ringing challenge at the end in the defiantly poetic spirit of [William] Blake’s ‘Jerusalem’: ‘I shall not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand ’Til we have built Jerusalem In England’s green and pleasant land.’”53

Whatever the genesis of the Regina Manifesto’s distracting conclusion – and Gordon’s recollection warrants as much credence as any – the ostensibly politically unaligned LSR now had a surrogate in the form of the CCF to press its reform agenda in the national political arena. During the course of the national convention it was clear that not all observers were enamoured by Gordon and his eastern comrades’ influence over the proceedings. The Regina Daily Star, which dismissed the CCF’s newly anointed leader J.S. Woodsworth as “an accident waiting to happen,” similarly ridiculed Gordon’s widely publicized assertion that the party’s proposed “recasting of the social and economic system” was a harbinger of capitalism’s demise. Why was the new political party even necessary, the Daily Star queried, when impressive headway along the road to socialist heaven had already been made “without the slightest assistance from the Cocofeds?”54 The Financial Post was ­equally scathing in its criticisms of the CCF “Brain Trust” of Gordon, Underhill, Parkinson, Forsey, H.M. Cassidy, and Graham Spry. The newspaper was willing to grant that despite their relative youthfulness – the average age of the LSR contingent was less than thirty-two – they collectively possessed theoretical knowledge “adequate to the task.” Yet “not one of them,” the Financial Post pointed out to its market-oriented readers, had any experience translating academic theory into practical business, such as “making a success of a corner grocery store, running a factory to provide employment, or managing a farm without getting into trouble with the sheriff.” The Montreal Herald added to the disparagement with references to another Montreal academic, the internationally renowned political economist and humourist Stephen Leacock, who recently made headlines carping that much of the professoriate in Canada earned less money annually than streetcar conductors. If their economic status was truly as plebeian as Leacock claimed, the paper wondered how the professors assembled at Regina could aspire “to the privilege of dictating the disposal of every dollar and every ounce of

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effort that shall be disposed of in the whole of the Dominion.” Harry Mullins, a Conservative member of Parliament from Manitoba and by no means objective commentator on the Regina proceedings, summed up the feelings of many critics when he peremptorily dismissed the cabal of eastern professors as “‘two dollar heads in ten dollar hats’” who “don’t know what work is.”55 Gordon’s part in the CCF national convention was not the only reason he was reproached in the press during the eventful summer of 1933. Along with Reinhold Niebuhr and John Line, the latter a professor of history and religion at Victoria College, he had participated briefly in a fund-raising campaign to establish a “workers’ school” on Cape Breton Island. The plan was for unemployed students to receive relief in the form of food and lodging while attending the school, in return for working on its farms. Classroom instruction would “train workers for more effective leadership in the working-class movement,” including lessons on organizing labour demonstrations and strikes. The controversial project ultimately failed to materialize, but not before the Toronto Globe picked up the story. The paper’s editors were indignant that a scheme designed to end the “comparative quiet which has settled over the Cape Breton mining area of Nova Scotia” was being promoted under “a New York letterhead” in contempt of “Canadian authority.”56 No attempt was made to explain exactly how the initiative was contemptuous. It was sufficient merely to point out that Gordon was involved in it and that he was persisting in his rabble-rousing ways. Gordon otherwise largely avoided controversy during the academic year of 1933–4. At one point he was summoned before Principal Smyth to answer a student’s complaint that he had used his classroom as a forum for advocating violent social change, a charge Gordon vehemently denied. Speaking in his defence, Gordon disavowed resorting to violence of any kind. He did clarify, however, that since “covert” aggression was pervasive wherever capitalism was in decline – a consequence of “the present holders of power” feeling threatened by the promise of a new social order – it was to be expected that the motives of reformers promoting such change might occasionally be misconstrued by those on the losing side of the ideological divide.57 It was also during this period that Gordon was first approached about trading academia for the decidedly more ruthless forum of electoral politics. Harry Cassidy, a professor of economics at the University of Toronto and LSR co-founder, urged him to accept the national CCF nomination for the Toronto-area riding of Dovercourt, arguing that “if the party has any

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chance at all you would make the grade.” Gordon graciously declined. Given the drubbing the CCF subsequently received in Ontario during the 1935 dominion election, it was a sagacious decision. Besides, Gordon remained committed to continuing his teaching career on behalf of the United Church, believing he could make a greater contribution to “­political education” from his chair at UTC.58 Gordon might have deliberated longer over Cassidy’s Dovercourt invitation had he foreseen that within two months UTC’s Board of Governors would again elect to eliminate his chair in Christian ethics, effective the end of June 1934. The same two reasons as before were cited – insufficient finances, and orders from the United Church’s General Council to reduce to four the number of professors whose salaries it funded at UTC. But this time around, the board’s rationale rang especially hollow, given the success of Frank Pedley’s ad hoc committee in subsidizing Gordon’s salary over the previous year, and the likelihood it could continue doing so for at least a while longer.59 Although the Depression’s detrimental impact on college finances cannot be discounted entirely, it is also highly plausible that the board’s predominantly upper-crust membership finally lost patience with Gordon’s impudence. Here was the silver lining in the cloud of economic misfortune. Declining revenues handed UTC a readymade excuse for extricating itself from an employee whose vocal attacks against capitalism were an embarrassing personal affront to many of its affluent board members. One of the most prominent among them, J. Armitage Ewing of the Sun Life Assurance Company of Canada, had recently published an article in the Montreal Clubman, in which he vilified theological colleges as “favored breeding grounds of Communism.” Since communists notoriously exploited “the inexperienced, impractical, idealistic minds of college professors and clergymen,” Ewing urged all conscientious citizens to “unite to stamp out this Communist menace which is in our midst.”60 Presumably a convenient place to begin the purge was with UTC’s own Soviet-sympathizing professor of Christian ethics. Pedley was understandably incensed. His committee’s original agreement with UTC extended Gordon’s contract until at least September 1934, yet the board had suddenly and without consultation unilaterally dictated a premature termination. Gordon’s devoted students once again made no attempt to disguise their opposition to the decision, angrily denouncing it as certain to “have an adverse effect upon the college and upon their training for the ministerial profession.” Convinced that Gordon “was being sacrificed on account of his criticisms of the

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existing economic system,” his students threatened to boycott their upcoming examinations. More positively, they repeated a previous promise to contribute financially towards Pedley’s ongoing fundraising to pay their embattled professor’s salary. A.O. Dawson, responding on behalf of the board, readily acknowledged Gordon’s popularity among the student body. “‘He is a fine chap and I think he will go far,’” Dawson told the Montreal Star, before repeating his assurance that “‘while the governors do not agree with the views he expresses, they ignored them entirely in considering this matter.’” J.A. Ewing likewise defended the termination decision, claiming, “‘Criticism in recent church conferences against passing resolutions attacking the capitalist system were not directed personally against Prof. Gordon but against a large group of which he was only one.’”61 Such professions of goodwill did not stanch the stream of petitions demanding retention of the chair in Christian ethics that soon began arriving at the offices of UTC’s Board of Governors and Senate, as well as the United Church of Canada’s General Council, Montreal and Ottawa Conferences, and Montreal Presbytery. The Toronto Star meanwhile reported growing dissension among Montreal clergy aghast over the ill-concealed campaign by certain “conservatively minded” United Church businessmen to deliver Gordon a come-uppance for daring to express “views of tolerance and goodwill” towards Russia, and exposing the local nabobs’ own exploitive labour practices. The Star likened Gordon’s predicament to that of Salem Bland, who in 1917 had been “quietly let out” of his teaching appointment at Manitoba’s Wesley College. Although financial expediency had been presented as the rationale for dismissing Bland as well, the Star thought more devious influences were afoot in both cases. Specifically, Bland and Gordon were punished for the sin of disseminating “advanced views” that were “too much for the clerical mandarins and the big business men who controlled the church.”62 As senior United Church officials squirmed beneath the intensifying glare of unfavourable publicity that the decision to abolish Gordon’s chair was generating, they attempted to deflect the full burden of responsibility onto UTC and McGill University. The church’s moderator, T. Albert Moore, and secretary, J.W. Graham, maintained that General Council had only recommended and not insisted that UTC eliminate one faculty position for reasons of economy. The United Church, they maintained, was powerless to dictate faculty complements to a federally chartered educational institution. In truth, this was disingenuous

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buck passing. Either General Council or its Executive Committee routinely reviewed and confirmed the theological colleges’ staffing decisions; this approval typically was deemed essential and not merely pro forma. While the church focused on damage control, the campaign of claims and counterclaims explaining the reasons for Gordon’s dismissal continued to gather steam. For their part, Principal Smyth and the four remaining professors at UTC offered to absorb pay cuts sufficient to cover Gordon’s annual salary. But this time the board had no intention of being swayed by third-party magnanimity.63 The queue of Gordon’s supporters lengthened daily. “The fat is in the fire,” the Christian Century declared. “Comment is plentiful and criticism is caustic.” While the paper thought it reasonable that Gordon as the most junior and only unmarried faculty member at UTC should be the one designated for dismissal, it also acknowledged that he had not helped himself by being “courageous and emphatic” in his “Christian challenges of powerful persons.”64 The United Church’s official mouthpiece, the New Outlook, similarly recognized that despite his being “preeminently qualified for the task” of scholar and student mentor, Gordon’s “decidedly pronounced convictions … as to the sins and shortcoming of our present economic order” had provoked “rather strenuous opposition and resentment in some quarters.”65 The United Church clergy and laity of Toronto West Presbytery construed Gordon’s firing as shameful proof that their denomination’s bold claim to endorse “‘liberty of prophesying’” was so much empty rhetoric. From New York, Reinhold Niebuhr also rose to his former student’s defence. The real reason for Gordon’s removal, Niebuhr contended, was not pecuniary, but due to his ties to the CCF, “an organization gaining constantly in political power and threatening the status quo in Canada.”66 While his followers rallied, Gordon heard one insider’s privileged account of how his dismissal had transpired. W.D. Lighthall, a UTC board member and long-time acquaintance of the Gordon family, wrote to King that personal hostility towards him “was a very minority attitude” and had not influenced unduly the board’s final decision. Echoing the public explanation already given, Lighthall insisted that the college’s desperate financial straits were solely to blame for Gordon’s misfortune.67 King was not persuaded. In a letter to his mother he referred caustically to “the crowd of scoundrels” on the Board of Governors orchestrating “the whole maneuver.” Especially loathsome was the turncoat Leslie Pidgeon, the inspiration for Gordon’s earlier dig about clergy who compromised their integrity by cosying up to the business

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class with “too much of the Rotarian and too much golf.” Pidgeon had previously promised Gordon his full support and then a short time later took a lead part in encouraging the board to abolish the chair in Christian ethics. Thus betrayed, Gordon swore to “fight them to the last ditch,” confident that “we have much more than a fighting chance of winning.”68 So confident was he, in fact, that despite a looming threat of un­ employment Gordon turned down an unanticipated offer from the Christian Century, based in Chicago, to join its editorial staff. Although he lacked professional editorial experience, the managers of the nondenominational magazine thought his published articles and book reviews demonstrated an aptitude for the craft. These impressions would be borne out a few years later when Gordon moved to New York and became an editor at two of America’s leading publishers, Farrar & Reinhart and the Nation. In 1934, however, Gordon cited more than his “very limited” journalistic qualifications as the reason for turning down the Christian Century. He had recently learned that General Council was reviewing UTC’s cancellation of his chair, thereby giving the lie to previous claims by Moore and Graham that the United Church was powerless to intervene in the dispute. Pending the outcome of the council’s deliberations, Gordon considered himself “on suspended sentence” and unable to consider other job offers. More to the point, he believed fundamental principles of sweeping importance were at stake, namely “the question of academic freedom and the social stand of the United Church,” both matters of higher consequence than the fate of a single chair in Christian ethics. Since Gordon was so closely identified with “progressive and radical groups inside and outside of the Church in Canada,” he felt compelled to remain in Montreal until the matter was settled one way or another.69 Similar reasons informed his decision to decline invitations to apply for a faculty position in economics at Elmhurst College in Illinois, and to stand as the CCF candidate in the Ontario riding of Peel in the provincial election expected later in 1934.70 J.S. Woodsworth, who was no stranger to career uncertainties, added to Gordon’s list of fresh prospects to consider. While wishing him well in his campaign “to establish the principle of academic freedom,” Woodsworth confessed “a sneaking hope” that Gordon would be forced out of UTC “so that you can come to our help in the more active and perhaps somewhat hurly-burly life of practical politics and socialist propaganda work.”71 It was to prove a prescient prophecy by the CCF leader of what lay ahead for Gordon.

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Woodsworth also recognized that Gordon’s commitment to Christian socialism had been deepening ever since his arrival in Montreal three years earlier. One indication was Gordon’s defiant decision against maintaining a low profile and avoiding further public controversy while awaiting UTC’s verdict on his future. Instead, in April 1934 he joined two dozen other left-leaning United Church clergymen and laity at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario, in forming the Fellowship for a Christian Social Order (FCSO). Along with Gordon, who was elected the FCSO’s first chair, the principal organizers were John Line of Victoria College in Toronto, R.B.Y. Scott of United Theological College, Gregory Vlastos of Queen’s University, and Eugene Forsey. Gordon described the group to Niebuhr as “prepared to go pretty far.” The first step in organizing the FCSO, as Gordon had done recently with both the LSR and the CCF, was to create a manifesto outlining its principles and goals. The document that emerged from the Kingston meeting was unambiguous and entirely consistent with Gordon’s political and economic philosophy and progressive theology: it declared “the Capitalist economic system … fundamentally at variance with Christian principles” and prescribed a new social order as “essential to the realization of the Kingdom of God.”72 With intellectual roots in both the social gospel and the LSR, the FCSO attributed society’s woes to a ruinous mix of moral turpitude and misplaced faith in capitalist institutions and values. At the core of the decay, according to the manifesto, was capitalism’s relentless promotion of a materialistic mindset “fundamentally antagonistic to the needs of the soul.” The resulting class struggle to control the allocation of inevitably scarce public resources pitted a small minority of autocratic and self-interested capitalists against a democratically organized society that ironically was proving the weaker of the adversaries. The FCSO’s seven-point declaration portrayed capitalism as “an affront to the Christian ethic” and a perversion of “ordinary human morality.” Capitalism’s sin was to incite a desire for money and power “out of all proportion to the place they occupy in normal human nature, as well as in direct contradiction to the Gospel ethic.” Having failed utterly to guarantee minimum levels of economic security for every individual, capitalism’s current artifice was to consolidate its misbegotten gains by combining business enterprises into “self-governing syndicates or corporations under government regulation,” flouting civil liberties and parliamentary institutions in the process. The FCSO’s avowedly socialist goal was to end “all exploitation of man by man” by transferring

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ownership of wealth-generating institutions to the wider community, and empowering the state to plan for every citizen’s economic security. Since capitalism’s “acquisitive spirit” was to blame for the proliferation of increasingly destructive wars of nationalism and imperialism, the FCSO declared itself uncompromisingly pacifist.73 The FCSO rapidly sprouted branches in all nine provinces, organized study groups, and urged member involvement in sundry educational, human rights, and political causes. It was also “catalytic,” Gordon recalled, in motivating the United Church to join the swelling chorus of Canadians who were demanding that government legislate social security and health care benefits, insurance for the unemployed, and guaranteed collective bargaining rights. Several more decades passed before a national and relatively comprehensive social safety net was in place across Canada. But in the interim Gordon could proudly point to the FCSO’s early contributions in public education and propaganda promoting a collective cause that ultimately transformed and redefined Canada as a nation characterized by benevolent social welfare policies. In addition, as he explained to Niebuhr, the “fellowship” rapidly became a “source of strength and encouragement to some of our more isolated comrades” who hailed “from smaller towns where the name ‘Socialism’ still throws a scare into the populace.”74 Gordon’s customary outspokenness instantly made him the FCSO’s most conspicuous public figure, even after his tumultuous stint at UTC had ended. The announcement of his termination settlement was still several months away, although it may have been hastened by a controversial sermon preached in April 1934 by the popular Hamilton cleric and future moderator of the Presbyterian Church, Hugh Beverley Ketchen. Shortly after the FCSO wrapped up its inaugural meeting, excerpts from Ketchen’s sermon accusing “those rich men down in Montreal” of failing to put “the highest things first” by threatening to oust “Ralph Connor’s son” from his UTC chair, were blazoned across the front page of the Toronto Daily Star. Here was “as scandalously craven a crusade as any in the annals of church history,” Ketchen thundered, and certain to cause “the man on the street” to conclude that even in the church “gold counts for more than God.” A few days later the Daily Star reported that Gordon also had accused “certain financiers” on the UTC executive of pressuring for his removal because they disapproved of his social and political views, a charge he promptly and fervently denied.75 Gordon assured the paper’s editor that although he was certain such a campaign was being waged against him, he had

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3.4  King Gordon, 1930s. (Charles William Gordon)

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never publicly said as much, least of all to the “over-zealous correspondent” who had written the story. Yet Gordon saw no point in asking the Daily Star to print a retraction. His relations with “certain important financial people on our Board” were now so strained that he doubted any further attempts at clarifying his opinions would be accepted at face value. Too much “embarrassing” damage had already been done.76 This latest round of uncomfortable publicity might also have prompted the refusal by the United Church’s Executive Committee to endorse UTC’s proposed discontinuance of Gordon’s chair. The committee opted instead to refer the question to its full General Council. An indignant A.O. Dawson protested the church’s intervention. He argued that the final word on personnel matters rested with UTC’s board, which had diligently carried out General Council’s original instruction to implement the faculty cutbacks. Several United Church clergymen and ­officials expressed precisely the opposite view, insisting that General Council wielded ultimate authority over faculty appointments, and it must not yield to UTC’s dreadful treatment of Gordon.77 The deepening dispute prompted the widely read Saturday Night to suggest in midMay that perhaps a closer look at all of the evidence was in order. Saturday Night claimed that UTC’s animosity towards Gordon had been intensifying ever since the previous summer, when he was identified supporting the proposed “workers’ school” on Cape Breton Island. Even if the stillborn project had come to fruition, the magazine argued in Gordon’s defence, its aim was unobjectionable: to teach coal miners and steel workers “their constitutional rights as political citizens and as members of an organized labor body.” Given that employers were permitted to protect their interests by retaining the country’s “most expensive legal talent,” Saturday Night contended it was reasonable to allow their employees to receive assistance “from an occasional Professor of Christian Ethics.” The magazine plainly disagreed with Gordon’s political and economic philosophy, but condemned nonetheless the ongoing campaign by college and church officials to muzzle an “otherwise satisfactory professor” who had simply dared to “propose modifications to the existing profit system.”78 To the best of Gordon’s knowledge, the preponderance of public support sided with him in the battle to retain his teaching position. Yet privately, as he confided to his mother in late May, he was beginning to falter under the unrelenting pressure and uncertainty. Fearful that UTC might yet “starve me into looking for or accepting another job,” King confessed to not being “a good enough Christian to play this waiting

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game.” Since the CCF had continued to offer him a choice of constituencies in which to run for elected office, he was beginning to contemplate seriously whether it might be worth trying to “practice [religion] in politics” in the event an unsupportive General Council denied him the opportunity to “practice religion in the Church.” While awaiting the final ruling, Gordon bided his time writing a series of public lectures on the relationship between Christianity and socialism. It was a cathartic exercise, he explained to his mother, much like “writing out a confession of faith.”79 The starting point of the lectures, which Gordon subsequently published, was the familiar premise that the Christian church in the modern era had erred by becoming “the defender of the status quo and an ally of the natural enemies of the people.” Gordon worried that the church, by being so closely identified with the beneficiaries of industrialization, risked alienating those most in need of its ministrations, namely the mass of workers exploited by industrial society. Secular interests, including many socialists, were poised to supplant the church as purveyors of the “most radical social theory.” This reversal in fortune struck Gordon as ironic. After all, Christian tenets justified dismantling an “unjust and outworn system” guilty of oppressing its own people and were more vehement than socialist dogma in censuring the “damning creed” of unbridled materialism. Since the socialist ideal was to create an equalitarian and classless society, while Christianity’s end goal was the realization of the Kingdom of God, Gordon identified an affinity between democratic socialist politics and Christian religiosity. But even a socialist government was likely to fall short of the “Christian objective.” Christians and socialists subscribed to markedly different interpretations of history, and socialism disavowed any “revelation of a spiritual purpose in the world.” In addition, Christianity aspired to a higher standard of individual responsibility and social justice than either communism or socialism, and therefore both its means and ends were likely to be “more revolutionary and more catastrophic.” Lastly, the pervasive cupidity largely to blame for society’s economic woes was attributable to the convergence of two mutually reinforcing realities – “man’s stupidity” and “man’s evil.” It was a harsh appraisal overall, and indicative of how exposure to the human carnage of the Depression had hardened Gordon’s previously optimistic outlook.80 As he hovered in vocational limbo, Gordon audaciously decided to make a return visit to Russia during the summer of 1934. He seems not to have been concerned that taking the trip, mere weeks before General

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Council was scheduled to decide upon his future at its September meeting, might further antagonize powerful opponents who already suspected him of being soft on communism. After all, much of the confusion surrounding Gordon’s employment status at the college had stemmed from the extensive publicity his generally favourable characterizations of the Soviet system had garnered following his 1932 trip to Russia with Eugene Forsey. Apparently adhering to the adage “In for a penny, in for a pound,” Gordon had no intention of restricting his investigative activities in order to curry favour with critics in the United Church and at UTC. Not surprisingly, after returning from the second Russian tour as well he spoke openly and often about aspects of Soviet collectivism he thought worthy of emulation in Canada. In a letter he wrote to Frank Scott from Yalta, Gordon commented that “the rate of social reconstruction here makes me despair of the timid and feeble efforts at home.” More so than during his previous visit, Gordon could see the Soviet people had “paid a terrific price” for their state-provided benefits. But he was certain the advantages the proletariat received arising from ­employment security and more equitable access to the perquisites of ­national economic development far outweighed the costs. Canadians, Gordon reminded Scott, had yet to begin thinking “in those terms,” but it was high time they started.81 In a conversation with the historian Norman Hillmer fifty-four years later, Gordon defended his decision to return to Russia in 1934 as totally innocuous and lacking ulterior motive. He described himself as just one among a growing number of Canadian churchmen making “exploratory journeys” to the Soviet Union at the time, in an attempt to understand “the regime’s influences and attitudes towards the international system and its members.” The spike in visitors from the West seeking first-hand knowledge about the soviet social revolution was a fact, but Gordon’s explanation comes across as disingenuous by half. Because of his strained relations with UTC’s senior administration as well as many influential United Churchmen, Gordon was not just another curious clergyman trying to broaden his awareness of foreign cultures by traipsing across Eurasia on vacation. Be that as it may, he delighted in the incongruity of the “capitalist transportation system,” the Canadian Pacific Railway, absorbing his steamship fare to Russia in 1934 in exchange for his acting as tour guide to eight other clergy on the trip. This arrangement was “the only way,” Gordon pointed out to Harry Ward, that he could afford the excursion “in my present penurious state.” Gordon’s apparatchik hosts may have inadvertently done him a favour

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by approving an itinerary that steered the travellers well clear of controversy. Confined largely to sightseeing in Moscow, they were exposed to “all sides of the new cultural life of the Soviet Union – theatre, art, education,” but saw little of the massive industrial and agricultural projects that enamoured Gordon and Forsey two years before. Never­ theless, Gordon was confident the small band of clergymen had absorbed enough of Russia’s complex aura to preach to their congregations back home a message of “genuine international understanding,” and to refute the erroneous “right-wing anti-soviet feelings” that abounded in Canadian churches.82 Gordon’s case was atop General Council’s agenda shortly after his return from Russia. At its meeting on 19 September, the council began by defending UTC’s decision to eliminate Gordon’s chair on the grounds the college had duly complied with explicit instructions to reduce its teaching staff from five professors to four. Of equal importance, n ­ othing in UTC’s actions suggested an attempt was made “to suppress freedom of thought or speech.” Having thus cleared the college of wrongdoing, General Council next defended its own record. It claimed it did not pressure UTC to retain Gordon, nor did it ever “pass a judgment or register an opinion” about the content of his teaching. But perception can obscure reality, and the council feared that the combination of accusatory newspaper headlines and Gordon’s personal remarks had created the public’s “false impression” that the United Church failed to champion his “rights of freedom of thought and speech.” Therefore in order to demonstrate beyond any doubt that the church endorsed “liberty in all matters of thought and conscience,” General Council agreed unanimously to urge UTC to grant Gordon a two-year lectureship in Christian ethics. When asked to comment on the request, board chair Dawson conceded that a lectureship would cost approximately half of a professor’s normal salary, making it “much easier to solve” the problem of raising the necessary funds. Dawson’s confidence was shortlived. UTC’s Board of Governors promptly rejected the lectureship proposal, insisting the financial constraints behind the original decision to cancel Gordon’s chair were unchanged. The board also reiterated its original argument that fairness dictated that Gordon, as the most recently hired and only unmarried faculty member, should be the first to go.83 The message was unequivocal: Gordon would not be returning to his chair at UTC. Harry Ward was among the first to commiserate with Gordon over the disappointing news. He called King another innocent victim of “the

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ancient ecclesiastical game of compromise,” and living proof that the church’s “pious attempt to cover up the issue of academic freedom” was a thinly veiled subterfuge. Ward, who bore scars of his own incurred in battles with unyielding religious authorities, advised Gordon to bid adieu to UTC and promptly immerse himself in some other worthy project of social reform. He recommended Gordon join the Canadian wing of the League against War and Fascism, a pacifist organization Ward chaired that the Communist Party of the United States of America had recently established. Alternatively, Gordon might consider setting up a worker school and social research centre in Montreal, a venture the two academics had contemplated on an earlier occasion.84 Ward’s advice was rendered with the best of intentions. Unfortunately, nothing he suggested was likely to permit Gordon to pay his bills, much less contribute financially to his parents’ support, any time soon. Its proposal for the two-year lectureship firmly rebuffed by UTC, General Council deemed it expedient to clarify for the church’s membership the “relative authority” of the two bodies. While it was true that UTC along with the other colleges affiliated with the United Church possessed “full administrative responsibility,” General Council insisted it alone retained the “right to confirm or to veto appointments or dismissals of professors,” a power the church’s moderator T.A. Moore had appeared eager to renounce in some of his recent statements. The SubExecutive of General Council, meeting in December 1934, went on record that the Gordon affair highlighted not only issues of ecclesiastical authority, but the church’s views on “liberty of speech and academic freedom.” This woolly statement was the United Church’s clearest refutation yet of UTC’s public stance that financial considerations alone were to blame for Gordon’s dismissal. The sub-executive expressed satisfaction that “a wide variety of views on the social implications of the Gospel” had been exchanged during the controversy surrounding the chair in Christian ethics. It trusted that such “perfect liberty” would continue to shape ongoing discussions. To ensure that naysayers “within and without” could see the United Church was determined to reach a principled settlement with both UTC and Gordon, the Board of Evangelism and Social Service recommended increasing the college’s annual operating grants by at least $1,800 during 1935 and 1936 to pay for Gordon’s appointment as a “special worker.” The sub-executive, ever cautious, referred this latest plan to a special committee headed by Dr Moore for review. There the matter rested until the following spring.85

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While the United Church bureaucrats dithered over his fate, Gordon did his best to remain, in Ward’s earlier words, a Christian ethicist “constantly in the laboratory of life.” One welcome upshot of the farreaching and mostly favourable press coverage he had attracted over the preceding year was a steady stream of requests from across the country to appear as a public lecturer and preacher. Thousands across Canada flocked to churches and community halls to hear his eclectic expositions that were a collage of international affairs, domestic political economy, and theology. If the learned references to socialist and ­sacred literature infusing Gordon’s talks were unfamiliar to many audience members, his underlying pastoral message of hopeful reassurance held a much broader appeal. Gordon encouraged all who were languishing through what seemed an unending night of economic depression to reject pitiless conventional wisdom that blamed individual misfortune on personal moral deficiency. He wanted his listeners to believe instead that they were victims not culprits, and that their woes were traceable to the unscrupulous machinations of an impersonal ­capitalist system. Although his message was often unconventional, Gordon presented himself as a disarmingly ordinary messenger. One reporter covering a typical lecture at Manitoba’s Wesley College commented that anyone hoping to see “a real revolutionary” would have been surprised by Gordon. He arrived onstage conservatively attired in a grey suit, shirt, and tie. Standing erect with hands in his pockets, he spoke in a calm and measured cadence. The reporter noted none of the “wild gesticulations” commonly associated with an agitated religious radical intent upon firing up a crowd. Gordon even appeared mildly nervous at the outset of the talk, perhaps unsure how the crowd would react to a clergyman who accused the church, an institution widely held in high esteem, of torpidity for failing to counter capitalism’s assault on civil society. On that particular night none rose from the audience to challenge Gordon’s point of view. But at Wesley College and in dozens of similar venues across Canada during the three years he held the chair in Christian ethics, Gordon resolutely attacked the religious and political status quo, worrying little whether or not his comments caused offence. He continued to believe in God’s immanent presence in the modern world, but questioned the efficacy and relevance of what he concluded was an increasingly faithless and complacent Christian church. This was an argument certain to upset many listeners who,

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along with the majority of Canadian society during the 1930s, professed close affiliation to a Christian denomination. To be told that the main catalyst for badly needed social reform was no longer the institutional church but a new generation of secular organizations and activist individuals would have been deeply disturbing to many.86 But that was Gordon’s intent. Whether speaking from a pulpit or a public stage, on subjects of religion or politics or a combination of both, Gordon remained true to his evangelical roots and sought to afflict the comfortable while comforting the afflicted. Representative of Gordon’s speaking invitations was one he received in the fall of 1934 from Stanley Knowles, the incumbent at Central United Church in Winnipeg. Like two other formidable Western Canadian clergymen of the day, the Methodist J.S. Woodsworth and the Baptist Tommy Douglas, Knowles eventually abandoned parish ministry for electoral politics out of frustration over the sluggish pace at which social reform was occurring in Canada. First elected to the House of Commons in 1942, Knowles was the CCF and later New Democratic Party member of Parliament for Winnipeg North for almost forty years, and one of Canada’s most respected and knowledgeable parliamentarians. But in 1934 his immediate objective was to purge Central United’s congregation of its social conservatism. He asked Gordon to return home to Winnipeg for a week in early November to deliver a series of five sermons and public addresses on topics “as startling or as radical as you can make them.”87 The talks Gordon gave at Central United reflected how his growing interest in the religious dimension of international relations coincided with a deepening disenchantment with the institutional church. Early in the series he described meeting Christians from across Canada who shared the “vague feeling” that a plethora of social wrongs both at home and abroad “should be righted.” Paradoxically he also discovered that most of these same people were reticent to loudly support necessary political and economic reforms out of loyalty to churches that were “so much a part of the social system on which the onslaught should be made.”88 On a subsequent evening Gordon advanced his customary controversial assertion that the Soviet Union’s approach to social engineering represented a valuable model for capitalist society, as well as the Canadian church, on how to care responsibly for one’s neighbours.89 His characterization of Russian communism as innately benevolent would be exposed as a gruesome fallacy in due course. But in 1934 it is unlikely any who attended Gordon’s Winnipeg presentations had

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ever visited Russia and possessed first-hand experience with which to refute his portrayal of life there. In the final lecture of the multifaceted series he tapped into the growing uneasiness many North Americans felt towards rising militarism in Europe and Asia. Gordon censured the Canadian church for failing at home and abroad to create a “will for peace” by pressuring world statesmen to “abandon war as a means of settling international disputes.” His message to the congregants of Winnipeg’s Central United, whose somnolence on these and related themes had exasperated the progressive Knowles, was that every Christian was “morally obligated” to speak out confidently against any individual, group, institution, or ideology that threatened the peace. The dangers to societal well-being were many and varied, including profit-mad armaments manufacturers who “knew no international boundaries and stood to gain no matter what nations were at war,” and excessive tariff barriers that drove nations into “economic nationalism” of which fascism was the most “hysterical” manifestation. This was the moment, Gordon insisted, for the Christian church to rouse itself anew by becoming the leading alternative to the political and corporate “state of mind that makes war almost inevitable.”90 Gordon’s immediate employment prospects at the end of 1934 remained uncertain. Rumours about his future continued to circulate in the Montreal press, with one story suggesting that the United Church planned to retain him until at least the following spring as a public lecturer in Christian social ethics and other “pertinent issues.” According to the Montreal Gazette, he would be contracted to offer short courses to “students, ministers, and other interested persons” because the church “felt that Mr Gordon’s experience as a Christian minister on the frontiers of Canada, a student of history and sociology at Oxford and in New York, and an observer of the European situation, ought not to be lost to Montreal.”91 In fact, Gordon had yet to receive any sign of commitment from the United Church. So while the press speculated, Gordon knew that his UTC chair in Christian ethics was gone. As a result, the second half of the economically ravaged 1930s was looming and he had no job in sight. Losing the position at UTC undoubtedly represented a significant personal and professional setback to Gordon, despite his previous grumbling about being beholden to a board of governors whose predominantly corporate values were diametrically opposite his own. That single complaint aside, the chair had provided a satisfying mix of academic stimulation and practical pastoral activity. It permitted Gordon

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to participate in shaping student clergy – on whose shoulders he believed rested the future relevance of the institutional church – while they developed prophetic voices of their own. In addition, the chair lent credibility to Gordon’s message of spiritual, political, and economic reform that he carried into communities all across Canada. Even if many who attended his presentations or read accounts of them in the press disagreed with his prescriptions for ending the suffering the Depression had wrought, Gordon as holder of the UTC chair enjoyed a degree of access and influence he would otherwise have found difficult to emulate. Beyond his role at UTC, Gordon established invigorating relationships with like-minded and determined activists in the League for Social Reconstruction, the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation, Montreal Presbytery’s Committee on Social and Economic Research, and the Fellowship for a Christian Social Order. His two controversial trips to Russia during the years he resided in Montreal were also significant. Gordon’s observations of the soviet polity in action, despite the sanitized view of the regime his hosts had arranged, fed the growing fascination with international relations that became his major preoccupation by the end of the decade. In the meantime, his widely publicized and surprisingly sympathetic accounts of Stalin’s revolutionary experiments in social engineering set Gordon apart as an unconventional public intellectual committed to provoking sometimes discordant debate. For example, his scrutiny of Christianity’s precipitous descent in Russia from its formerly exalted status prompted Gordon’s warnings that the church in Canada would suffer an equally ominous fate if it remained silently complicit in capitalism’s disregard of fundamental human rights. That was the sort of bold and divisive pronouncement that earned Gordon a national reputation for incisive if unconventional commentary among large numbers of admirers and critics alike. Significantly, the exposure he received from UTC’s abrupt discontinuance of the chair in Christian ethics effectively completed King’s development of a public persona distinct from his father’s. By  now a well-regarded professional in his early thirties, he finally ­acquired an identity uniquely his own. Gordon’s ongoing ideological clash with UTC’s board of governors was both cause and effect of this newfound recognition. He was convinced, not only at the time but long afterwards, that the decision to discontinue his chair in Christian ethics had been driven primarily by the fundamental philosophical differences separating him from the board of governors, and not the reduction in revenues as college

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officials claimed. If Gordon was correct, then his avid supporters were justified in labelling UTC’s actions a blatant assault on academic freedom, a principle that in the 1930s had yet to take firm root in Canadian universities. When he was interviewed in the 1980s by Michiel Horn, who was researching a history of academic freedom in Canada, Gordon acknowledged the impossibility of proving definitively that he had been sacrificed by UTC’s board for espousing unpopular political views.92 Few individuals or institutions had escaped the Great Depression unscathed by 1933, and UTC as well was obviously experiencing serious budgetary strains. Consequently, it is impossible to know if ­Gordon’s controversial opinions would eventually have resulted in his termination from UTC in the absence of those fiscal difficulties. What is certain, however, is Gordon’s brash criticisms of Canada’s corporate and religious elites set him apart from the large majority of the nation’s professoriate who, to repeat Horn’s characterization, “worshipped in the church of things-as-they-are.” The recently repatriated son of Ralph Connor, himself a highly respected fixture within Canada’s social and political establishment, had barely been installed as a UTC faculty member before becoming an irritant to many on the college’s board, a microcosm of the country’s business and religious elites more accustomed to receiving deference than suffering defiance from their subordinates. It is not difficult to imagine, therefore, an influential core of board members seizing upon the decline in UTC’s financial fortunes as a convenient pretence for orchestrating Gordon’s comeuppance. Certainly this was the view held by a wide swathe of public opinion at the time. Gordon’s open avowal of socialism was the catalyst that caused many capitalists and religious conservatives –often one and the same – to look askance at the popular professor of Christian ethics. Because of his previous exposure to socialist theory at Oxford University and Union Theological Seminary, and his experiences ministering to the scantily rewarded proletariats of Giscome and Pine Falls, Gordon was already demonstrating a strong affinity for socialism by the time he arrived in Montreal. The deepening of the Depression that coincided with his stint at UTC completed the conversion. Later on he would list as the “first reason” for becoming a socialist his secure upbringing in a “cultured middle class” Christian home. Early exposure to “principles of love and justice in everyday relations” and faith in the eventual creation of a “just society” were the spiritual precursors to Gordon’s growing intellectual discontent with a social and political order that allowed the strong to subjugate the weak in a ruthless quest for material advantage.

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He was convinced the reason that otherwise moral individuals exploited their employees and neighbours in capitalism’s winner-take-all race to achieve a commanding competitive edge was as much an outgrowth of the way society was organized as it was a manifes­tation of basic human selfishness. Accentuating the resulting social ­imbalance, he argued, was the corporate sector’s determination to monopolize the greatest technological advances for its own well-being and profit-taking, instead of sharing innovation’s bounty to enable the material needs of all humans to be met. The legacy of these selfish practices, Gordon claimed, was the perpetuation of an inherently unstable economic system prone to depressions of ever-increasing intensity. Even the Christian church, the institution he had vowed to serve at his ordination, and that he had associated most closely with individual and corporate social responsibility, he now criticized severely for its lack of vision and drive. Gordon considered it the traditional and divinely ordained duty of the church to provide moral and practical leadership at times of dramatic social upheaval. But the church was quickly being superseded by secular activists who championed vastly enhanced central planning and control by the state as the surest means of correcting and preventing a recurrence of the current economic disaster. For his part, Gordon felt there was no contradiction between professing Christian beliefs and expressing an ideological affinity for leftist politics. “Christianity did not make me at first a socialist,” Gordon recalled, “but it made me opposed to a system of society that enshrined a false standard of values, placed a premium on shrewdness and ability to make money, was inevitably associated with human exploitation, [and] showed no signs of bringing about greater economic equality.”93 As a Christian socialist in the 1930s, Gordon exemplified the “conventional framework” that Ian McKay claims characterized adherents of the ideology during the two preceding decades of the twentieth century. According to McKay, an authority on the history of Canada’s Left, Christian socialism was a clergy-dominated movement marked by “a  gentle strategy for moral and social reform,” a special interest in “temperance and respectability,” the eradication of poverty, and the selective integration of “some of the findings of the new sociology into a middle of the road Christian theology.”94 Such a “framework” by definition renders Christian socialism largely bereft of radicalism. This would change during the 1930s, as Gordon’s career demonstrates. The longer the Depression lingered, the less “conventional” and more radical his response to it became. Admittedly, Gordon was no firebrand,

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and his tactics were invariably nonviolent. He undoubtedly would have concurred with the ideal of a “gentle strategy” for reforming society’s institutions and attitudes. But radicalism, it bears repeating, is a relative concept, and to be a clergyman as well as a Christian socialist in 1930s Canada meant consigning oneself to the fringes of what was commonly deemed socially and politically respectable. By embracing socialism Gordon differentiated himself ideologically, however slightly, from the reformist New Liberalism that was well rooted in Canada by the 1930s. With origins in late nineteenth and early twentieth-century England, New Liberalism’s repudiation of laissezfaire liberalism and promotion of the interventionist welfare state as “a mark of man’s self-determination, his capacity to regulate his environment and place economic laws under ethics” had been articulated most notably in Canada by several political economists at Queen’s University in Kingston. As the group’s historian Barry Ferguson has ably recalled, they demonstrated with social scientific rigour the state’s potential for “redistributing political and economic rights to maximize the equality of condition and opportunity for all citizens.”95 John Allett, the biographer of one of New Liberalism’s English founders, John Hobson, succinctly defined the theory as prescribing “a good dose of socialism … to make liberalism consistent.”96 Another Canadian expression of New Liberalism, according to the sociologist Rick Helmes-Hayes, was the League for Social Reconstruction with which Gordon was intimately connected. Certainly Gordon agreed with New Liberalism’s characterization of laissez-faire capitalism as a failure and accepted its “philosophical underpinnings,” which held that “basic principles such as equality, freedom, rights, and universality” must be re-conceptualized if society was to become “more inclusive, rational, and egalitarian.” But whereas New Liberalism, as Helmes-Hayes explains, used the collectivist “language of socialism” without advocating the dismantling of the marketplace and private property rights or a “complete leveling of rewards,” Gordon by the middle of the Great Depression believed more sweeping reform measures were in order. Neither was he prepared, despite his own social scientific proclivities, to accept, as a New Liberal might, that all societal problems called for exclusively “secular rather than religious solutions.”97 Gordon remained an active clergyman on the rolls of the United Church of Canada for several more years. During that time he waited, albeit with fading hope, for the church to find its prophetic voice and  speak out against a political and economic system he considered

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malicious and dysfunctional. He thought it imperative that the church not become closely identified with any particular political party or movement lest its autonomy and integrity be compromised, yet his ­personal partisanship on behalf of the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation was soon to intensify considerably. The CCF could accomplish, Gordon believed, what the church in Canada would not: the introduction of a socialist state as the preliminary step towards achieving the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. All the same, Gordon’s feet remained firmly planted in reality. He readily recognized the limitations of the CCF and its brand of democratic socialism, realizing they provided incomplete answers to the intricate problems of social reconstruction. Even in its purest form, socialism represented an insufficient ordering of political and economic relations and lacked the essential spiritual dimension humanity needed and only Christian teachings provided. While he advocated a conspicuously gradualist, democratic, and peaceful route to revolutionary social change, Gordon’s aim was to bring about a fundamental transformation in civil society by first reshaping the human values on which its shared institutions rested. Although the desired end was a universally benevolent socialism, Gordon insisted that individual freedoms must never be sacrificed to communal interests. All told, by 1934 King had not strayed an unrecognizable distance from the social gospel tenets he had absorbed as a youth under his father’s direction. Yet unlike Charles, King grew increasingly doubtful that the social gospel, for all its innate optimism, was capable of rooting out the evil entrenched deep within the organizations of modern civilization.98 As Brian Fraser has observed, the brand of Christianity King pursued was “more radical … more realistic.” Whereas Charles’s “social analysis” remained fixed on “the religious life of the individual,” King’s was increasingly directed at “the economic structures of society.”99 Unlike his former mentor Reinhold Niebuhr, who guardedly believed that every human enterprise no matter how well-intentioned inevitably contained measures of evil and unreason, Gordon was an optimist at heart. If people were susceptible to evil impulses, they were also capable, when freed from morally regenerate institutions, of performing acts of great goodness. Human frailty, Gordon maintained, could always be overcome by an immanent God impelling the faithful to political action. Niebuhr, by contrast, doubted social redemption was quite so straightforward. At one point in the early 1930s he conveyed to Gordon his exasperation over the inability of the “average churchman” to grasp the possibility of society’s “imminent catastrophe” as political

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fanaticism grew in response to the deepening Depression. With characteristic brusqueness Niebuhr prescribed “a type of shock therapy” to rouse Christians from their “optimistic complacency” and fill them with “some holy fear.” He thought the best antidote to extremism was a forceful and unembellished political realism that took its inspiration from the Christian canon and traditions but was not distracted by too sentimental an attachment to them.100 Gordon, as will be seen, spent much of the second half of the long Depression decade of the 1930s striving after the sort of political realism Niebuhr described. But Gordon’s foremost concern was to attain a workable balance between socialist doctrine and Christian teachings, all the while remaining a “good-humoured radical.”

4 “Politics is the only road to heaven now” (1935–1938)

At the beginning of 1935, Gordon was marginally better off than the 20 per cent of Canadians still unemployed as the Great Depression entered its sixth wearisome year. No longer in the employ of United Theological College, its Board of Governors having ignored a public outcry to reinstate his chair in Christian ethics, he cobbled together a pre­ carious livelihood from public speaking.1 Accepting invitations mainly from church congregations, Gordon engaged the curious and the converted alike with his ideas for effecting economic and spiritual renewal in Canada via sweeping political and ethical reforms. Unfortunately, opportunities for this type of peripatetic proselytizing appeared too irregularly to nourish Gordon’s crusading spirit, much less fatten his emaciated pocketbook. Nevertheless, while the economy remained essentially stalled between 1935 and 1938, Gordon managed by a combination of circumstance and design to keep body and spirit intact, even without the assurance of regular and reliable employment. Overall this was an especially eventful time as he became more ideologically radical and politically active. Gordon started out as the United Church of ­Canada’s travelling lecturer in Christian ethics, a temporary position created for him in lieu of the chair at UTC. He also made the leap to electoral politics, seeking a seat in the House of Commons on three ­occasions by running for the nascent Co-operative Commonwealth Federation in British Columbia. Finally, as the co-author of several ambitious academic studies published by the League for Social Reconstruction’s Research Committee and the Fellowship for a Christian Social Order – he was also a dynamic travelling secretary to the latter organization – ­Gordon maintained his place at the centre of Canada’s small but vigorous cohort of leftist intellectuals.

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As he bounced from pillar to post during these austere years, Gordon’s staunch commitment to Christian socialism was the ideological linchpin connecting his sundry activities. Although he contended that the Christian gospel and socialist ideology were not to be conflated – he described them as two discrete but mutually reinforcing ideals – Gordon rarely maintained the distinction in practice. Whenever he spoke to audiences large or small in communities across Canada, either one or the other of his public personae was likely to be manifested – the politicized preacher or the preaching politician. It was also during this period that Gordon made his sudden and largely unanticipated departure from the ordained ministry. Convinced that the Great Depression was the harbinger of capitalism’s inevitable collapse, he increasingly looked outside the institutional church and beyond the social gospel for means of  parrying the approaching imbroglio. In 1938 he made the crucial ­decision that set him apart from most other members in the Canadian “intellectual network” of the 1930s that Graham Spry identified and the historian Doug Owram chronicled. After seven highly purposeful years fanning the spark of Christian socialism in Canada, Gordon quietly stepped out of his clerical garb and pursued distinctively secular interests while living abroad over the ensuing twenty-three years. Early in January 1935, King was busy presenting a new lecture series at the Verdun YMCA on the island of Montreal. It was “the closest thing to workers’ education I have attempted,” he told his father, and far more satisfying “than casual popular speaking.” But the event that most captivated his interest that month was the sequence of New Deal radio broadcasts that Canada’s embattled Conservative prime minister, Richard Bedford Bennett, sprang on an unsuspecting nation commencing 2 January.2 In a transparently desperate and ultimately unsuccessful gambit to spare his government defeat in the pending federal election,  Bennett discarded his staunchly laissez-faire preferences and ­announced a comprehensive suite of interventionist measures of unprecedented scope as the Conservative plan for rousing the economy from its torpor: a national minimum wage, a more progressive tax system, the creation of an economic council, consumer protection against monopolies, a reorganized civil service, contributory old-age pensions, and health and unemployment insurance. The cumulative effect of these and other New Deal initiatives, Bennett assured his Depressionweary listeners who were huddled around their radio receivers anxiously awaiting word of relief, would be a more equitable allocation of the fruits of capitalism across every region and class in Canada.3

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Gordon’s enthusiasm for the New Deal did not include believing the plutocratic Bennett would ever implement most of what was promised, even if the prime minister had the legal power to do so, which he did not. It was obvious to anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of the nation’s constitution, the British North America Act, 1867, that much of the proposed New Deal legislation intruded upon provincial jurisdictions and was beyond the purview of the federal government to enact. Gordon accurately portrayed the New Deal broadcasts as “astute political scheming” by a leader who not only was hustling for votes but was determined to divert the electorate’s attention away from H.H.  Stevens, the erstwhile minister of trade and commerce. Stevens had been leading a wildly popular campaign of late, exposing exploitative labour practices and price gouging among some of the nation’s largest retailers. Any political capital Stevens accrued by giving voice to legions of Canadians appalled over the callous and self-aggrandizing manipulations of big business was certain to be earned at Bennett’s expense. Notwithstanding the prime minister’s cynical political agenda, and the constitutional impediments that threatened to render the New Deal stillborn, Gordon hoped the broadcasts might introduce “a touch of realism” to national political discourse generally. It would be a welcome irony indeed, he suggested to his father, if Bennett unwittingly provided the catalyst for moving “a section of Canadian opinion along to the point where they accept the principle of planning that we have been hammering at so long.” Either way, King appreciated the temporary distraction that Bennett’s radio talks provided. As he told his father, contemplating the vast sweep of the proposed New Deal measures helped to lessen his anxiety over not knowing what the United Church had in store for him next.4 The final word on that matter, so far as UTC was concerned, was spoken in April 1935 when its Board of Governors again refused a ­request from the United Church’s General Council that the college reappoint Gordon to a two-year term. The Montreal Star quoted one unnamed board member who commented it was UTC’s unofficial ­ “‘presumption … that the General Council, who are finding the money for engaging Professor Gordon, will not impose him on any college that has not asked for him, and that he will give his lectures as he did in Montreal recently in some hall.’” Detecting no flexibility by the seminary, and still inundated with resolutions and letters from presbyteries, clergy, and laity from across the country expressing support for Gordon, the United Church attempted to save face by throwing him a sop of its

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own. Under fierce pressure to demonstrate “that liberty of speech has not been and is not now imperiled” by the United Church, the General Council offered Gordon a one-year appointment as its travelling lecturer in Christian ethics commencing 1 July 1935. Even this grudging commitment was conditional. General Council was prepared to pay just half of Gordon’s $2,000 annual salary and travel allowance; the ­remaining $1,000 would have to be raised by “friends in the Church particularly interested in the matter.”5 While Gordon reviewed his options, the New Outlook applauded the church’s overture. Although not an ideal solution, the paper thought the United Church’s creation of the special lectureship allayed much of “the unrest and suspicion that have been very wide-spread for many months.” Evidently there was to be no formal resolution to the awkward question of whether UTC had infringed upon Gordon’s academic freedoms by abolishing the chair in Christian ethics.6 The best the church could do under such strained circumstances was pray Gordon curtailed his controversial activism and not provoke further dissent and embarrassment among the church’s hierarchy during the relatively short tenure of the special lectureship. Roland Fairbairn McWilliams, the Gordon family’s lawyer and a future lieutenant-governor of Manitoba, urged King to focus on what lay ahead rather than behind and to interpret the church’s offer as “a remarkable victory for you.” McWilliams predicted that as the United Church’s “Professor at large,” King would exercise an even broader mandate than previously to influence public opinion and thereby become “the most widely known Professor in our Church.” With the economic depression showing few signs of abating and Canadians’ enthusiasm for “more radical leaders” certain to increase, McWilliams believed that in four or five years the timing would be propitious for Gordon “getting into politics.” In the meantime, he “could do much more by intelligent propaganda than by political activity as a member of a minority group.”7 In other words, King’s focus in the near term should be on carving out a reformist niche within the political mainstream and avoid being marginalized by associating too closely with upstarts like the CCF. McWilliams’s advice was well intentioned, but Gordon was already entertaining invitations from CCF riding associations in Parkdale (Ontario), Regina, and Victoria to run as their candidate in the upcoming dominion election.8 On this question, too, Gordon was not wanting for advice. J.S. Woodsworth urged him to decline the one-year United Church lectureship and seek a seat in the House of Commons. Graham

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4.1  Frank Scott to King Gordon, telegram May 1935, advocating “­politics only road to heaven now.” (LAC, J. King Gordon fonds, 7-4a)

Spry thought similarly, telling Gordon that having won “your battle [with UTC] in principle” it was time to “graciously retire to high spheres of usefulness.” Spry recommended that Gordon either stand for election in Parkdale, and thereby lend his reputation to the CCF’s organizational efforts in Ontario, or become editor of the Canadian Forum, a journal of progressive political opinion that Spry was about to purchase. Spry was confident that he and Gordon working together could “make a real paper of it.” Frank Scott also dismissed the proffered oneyear “wandering lectureship” as “rather pointless.” Since Gordon had already won the “moral victory,” Scott cautioned him that taking the United Church job would only “leave you stranded after spoiling your political chances.” “Leadership in radical politics,” Scott insisted, was Gordon’s “for the taking.” Now was the moment to “try bigger work,”

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and the place was in Victoria as the CCF candidate. “Politics,” Scott adjured his friend, was the “only road to heaven now.”9 Gordon was intrigued with the prospect of plunging into electoral politics, largely because he believed religion and politics were integrally related. In that respect he echoed his father’s deep conviction that Christianity must find expression through enlightened social action in order to be of practical benefit to the world. Reinhold Niebuhr, another paramount intellectual influence in King’s life, similarly taught that Christianity’s practical ends were best achieved by political means. Most recently, Gordon’s involvement with the assertive Fellowship for a Christian Social Order heightened his commitment to achieving a divinely ordered society where “the human and spiritual fulfillment of all men and women, which is the role of politics,” was the foremost objective.10 Yet if the idealist in Gordon sensed an ideological and theological allure in politics, his realist side recognized that seeking election to Parliament under the CCF banner was a risky endeavour. Viewed from the pragmatic perspective of securing employment in the midst of a severe economic depression when possessing a job of any type might be thought a privilege, the United Church lectureship represented a much safer bet, even if only for one year. Gordon’s decision was not made any easier by the news that his selection in absentia as the CCF candidate for Victoria at a nominating convention on 10 May had caused a minor rift among the riding membership. Without his knowing, the names of several Victoria residents interested in contesting the nomination had been left off the ballot. Unfairly cast by some British Columbian commentators as “the outsider from the east” who “railroaded” the candidate selection process, Gordon could anticipate an inauspicious start to his political career, should he choose to pursue one.11 Woodsworth strongly encouraged Gordon to run in Victoria, despite the momentary tempest surrounding the nomination, and repeated his depiction of the lectureship as “a compassionate allowance” the United Church was offering as “a way of evading a decision on the real issue.” Gordon already was “quite a figure in the public life of this Dominion,” and Woodsworth felt he could put this largely favourable reputation to  good use by entering Parliament on behalf of the “socialist programme.”12 Spry, by contrast, now thought Gordon’s talents would be better used as the CCF’s Ontario organizer rather than by “making speeches in Parliament.” Ontario, which would be “the key” if the p ­ arty was eventually to achieve national success, desperately needed workers of Gordon’s calibre and name recognition to take the lead in building

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the CCF from the ground up. Victoria, in Spry’s estimation, was just “another side show” that could easily recruit a different candidate.13 Perhaps the frankest assessment of Gordon’s options was presented by a fellow clergyman, William A. Gifford, president of the United Church’s Montreal and Ottawa Conference. Gifford began by suggesting that Gordon discard whatever lingering hopes he entertained of landing ­another teaching job any time soon. College administrators were “not keen for dramatic gestures” during these fiscally calamitous times and were certain to shy away from someone of Gordon’s discordant standing. Gifford thought there was a slim chance of UTC relenting and reinstating Gordon if Frank Pedley could rally his group one more time to finance the chair in Christian ethics, but this was grasping at straws. Otherwise a return to parish ministry was worth contemplating, provided Gordon was prepared to accept “a few years of obscurity.” Even in that reduced role Gordon might turn out to be “‘the concealed Imam’ with ultimate profit to everyone.” After considering the alternatives and finding them wanting, Gifford joined Woodsworth and Spry in concluding that Gordon should enter political life, since “neither major party will do very much if free from gadflies.”14 Wanting to avoid closing any career doors unnecessarily, Gordon ­accepted the United Church lectureship and promptly requested a three-month leave of absence until October 1935 in order to run in the dominion election due to be called at any moment. However the SubExecutive of General Council was in no mood for compromise, preferring instead to settle once and for all its embarrassingly messy relations with Gordon. In issuing its brusque refusal, the sub-executive advised Gordon that he could reapply for the post following the election but warned acceptance was not automatic, as the church would “make its decision in light of the whole situation as it then exists.” Only when the church’s moderator T.A. Moore intervened did the sub-executive reverse itself and grant Gordon permission to delay commencing the lectureship until after the election. Moore was adamant, however, that Gordon not construe the concession as the church endorsing his electoral ambitions. Finally on the verge of extricating itself from one public relations fiasco involving Gordon, the United Church was determined not to ignite another. Moore therefore conveyed to Gordon the sub-­ executive’s “strongly expressed” opinion that the church go on record as denying all responsibility for any “statements made by you during the present political campaign.”15

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It was a mercifully short wait before Prime Minister Bennett called the general election for 14 October. Even with the initial awkwardness surrounding his nomination in Victoria, Gordon could be excused for thinking the times bode well for a socialist making an electoral debut. The Conservative government, in office since 1930 and its lacklustre efforts at providing Canadians with a respite from the Depression largely discredited, had delayed meeting the electorate until its five-year mandate was almost expired. Its leader an aloof millionaire commonly caricatured as the personification of corporate privilege, and its platform a mix of warmed-over high tariffs and controversial New Deal proposals, the government’s cause was lost from the campaign’s outset. The other old-line party, the Liberals under the deceptively bland leadership of William Lyon Mackenzie King, hoped to inspire voters with the vapid campaign slogan “It’s King or Chaos.” The Liberal solution for restoring economic health consisted largely of giving Bennett the sack. Thus the 1935 election presented an ideological and inspirational vacuum into which three new “protest” parties were drawn. In addition to the CCF, beneath whose standard Gordon was hastily preparing to enter the melee, the Reconstruction Party appeared under the leadership of the perennially aggrieved H.H. Stevens. Reconstruction’s fifteen-point program promised to reign in profiteering and unfair competition by big business, and to provide additional support for farmers, small merchants, and manufacturers. Otherwise it advocated leaving the capitalist system essentially intact. The other new entrant, the Social Credit Party, was also ardently pro-capitalist. Under the authoritarian leadership of the fundamentalist preacher William Aberhart, it offered voters a quirky and generally incomprehensible blend of social credit orthodoxy and religious revivalism.16 J.S. Woodsworth unveiled the CCF’s election manifesto at Ottawa on 15 July. The party’s fundamental priority, in alignment with the course plotted by the Regina Manifesto two years earlier, was in Woodsworth’s words to campaign against “the monopolistic concentration of economic power in the hands of a small group of big financiers and industrialists who exploit the masses of the people for their own private profit and who refuse to allow the machinery of production to work at full capacity unless they can levy toll from it.” The CCF promised an ambitious assortment of reforms to restore the nation’s health, including com­ prehensive social insurance coverage, a guaranteed minimum i­ncome for farmers, the nationalization of the banking and financial sectors, an

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extensive program of public works to boost employment, constitutional amendments to strengthen the federal government’s hand in managing the country’s economic recovery, and a halt to the growth of Canada’s armed forces. It was a blueprint for radical restructuring on which Gordon and 117 other CCF candidates, many of them novices at electioneering federally, prepared to stake their political fortunes.17 The train trip from Quebec to British Columbia afforded Gordon ­ample opportunity to mull over his electoral prospects. He knew full well that the riding of Victoria was potentially the most solid Tory bastion imaginable, having sent Conservatives to the House of Commons ever since 1907 and for fifty-nine of the sixty-four years since its creation in 1871. On the other side of the ledger, the CCF had posted encouraging results from its inaugural provincial election campaign in 1933. That year it garnered 31 per cent of the popular vote and seven seats in the British Columbia Legislative Assembly, sufficient to form the official opposition to T. Dufferin Pattullo’s Liberal government. While such returns were grounds for cautious optimism among the sixteen candidates the national CCF was running in British Columbia, Gordon harboured no illusions about the steep challenge he faced selling the socialist dream in Victoria. Only 24 per cent of the city’s voters had cast ballots for the CCF during the previous provincial election. Moreover, the competition he faced for the federal seat promised to be formidable. D’Arcy Britton Plunkett had been Victoria’s Conservative incumbent since winning a by-election in 1928 and was returned in the 1930 general election with 57 per cent of the popular vote. Although not a candidate, also looming large over the riding was Simon Fraser ­Tolmie, Victoria’s Conservative MP from 1917 to 1928 and the minister of agriculture in Robert Borden’s wartime Union government. Tolmie switched to provincial politics and served as British Columbia’s Conservative premier for five years until his government’s humiliating defeat in 1933. All in all, Gordon anticipated rigid resistance from a solidly ensconced Conservative electoral machine with an impressive record of provincial and federal successes in Victoria. By the final month of the campaign he would be complaining to Frank Scott that “I am in the curious position of being practically the only C.C.F. candidate in the province with any Conservative opposition.” While Gordon continued to “hammer away at the mighty bully Bennett,” his CCF colleagues on  the mainland focused on upsetting such leading Liberals as the ­Vancouver MP and future minister of national defence Ian Mackenzie, “and other snakes of that ilk.”18

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Victoria’s changing demographics further complicated Gordon’s campaign. Renowned for nurturing and flaunting its British heritage, the city conveyed a self-confident air of refinement and repose. This image was enhanced by the steady decline in Victoria’s working-class population underway since the early 1920s, as a stream of local manufacturers relocated to Vancouver and other centres better suited for trade. As a result, the bulk of British Columbia’s unionists, whose support was essential to the CCF, were situated either in the Greater Vancouver area or in isolated pockets throughout the province employed in natural resource extraction. Victoria, by contrast, was increasingly a hub for white-collar workers and retirees, two segments of the population unlikely to be receptive to the braying of a transplanted eastern socialist. By the mid-1930s, Victoria was home to the highest proportion of residents aged sixty-five or older of any Canadian city. Its high average age also translated into relative affluence. As Gordon learned from a briefing note on overall economic conditions in the riding, Victoria was weathering the Depression better than most ­ Canadian cities. There as elsewhere relief rolls had expanded markedly, but in Victoria the important difference was that “normal channels of private welfare institutions” largely sufficed to provide for the city’s unemployed and indigent, so less taxpayer-funded aid was required.19 Gordon did not automatically conclude that Victoria’s relatively good economic news translated into a bad omen for his electoral bid. Certainly the enthusiastic supporters he met immediately upon arriving in Victoria the first week of July were a welcome morale booster. King wrote his mother that they were “a good crowd, simple hard working English people” for whom the CCF was “a religion.” He was hopeful their dedication to the socialist cause would compensate for at  least some of the disadvantages confronting the party. Noticeably ­absent from the welcoming committee, however, were “the retired ­colonels and their wives and daughters.”20 Gordon officially launched his campaign on 22 July before a capacity crowd in the auditorium of the Victoria Chamber of Commerce. He promptly went on the offensive, targeting the Conservative government’s recent ruthless suppression of western relief-camp workers who had organized the “On-to-Ottawa Trek” to protest their desolate living conditions in facilities operated by the Department of National Defence. Riding eastward atop railway freight cars, the trekkers were violently dispersed in Regina by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police acting on  direct orders from the prime minister. Gordon used his inaugural

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campaign speech to accuse the Bennett government of excessive zeal in silencing a legal protest by a ragtag band of justifiably desperate citizens. Here was irrefutable evidence, Gordon maintained, that fundamental freedoms in Canada were in peril so long as authoritarian and pro-business political parties like the Conservatives remained in office. What was more, Gordon detected a grave international dimension in this rising threat to life and liberty. Pronouncing “the end of the capitalistic economic order was at hand,” he predicted the world would soon be “living in a state of armed preparedness” as more nations continued spending vast sums on armaments. More ominous still was the heightened militarism of Italy and Germany, two potentially bellicose nations that intentionally propagated nationalistic fervour as a means of diverting their citizens’ attention outwards and away from domestic social problems. Only by abandoning the old order “in its death throes,” Gordon insisted, could the voters of Victoria and free peoples everywhere halt the dark slide towards violence and civil disorder.21 Gordon trotted out as much of the CCF platform as time and his scaremongering opponents permitted during the twelve-week campaign. Before a throng of 1,200 at the annual CCF picnic at Willows Beach, he outlined the “new social system” a CCF government would introduce. Following the requisite tug-of-war match, foot races, best baby contest, and amateur vaudeville show, Gordon contrasted the blithesome atmosphere of the picnic to the “system of society that makes us live like beasts in the jungle.”22 At other events along the campaign trail he elaborated upon the expansive measures the CCF had in store to civilize that “jungle”: a housing and electrical lighting infrastructure job creation program, legislation mandating maximum hours of work, a non-contributory unemployment insurance scheme, ample old age pensions, abolition of the Department of National Defence relief camps, and the launch of a national technical education training program for youths. The CCF also pledged to nationalize the banking sector, along with any industries that exploited workers, thereby preventing financial and industrial monopolies from “dictating to the Government of Canada.”23 In addition to communicating the CCF’s core policies, Gordon seized every opportunity during the campaign to expound upon his pet interest, international relations. Specifically, he advanced the contentious argument that Canada must adopt a wholly autonomous foreign policy during times of growing international disquiet. A steadfast supporter of the League of Nations’ “basic principle

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of collective responsibility,” Gordon resolutely opposed Canada entering any defensive or offensive military alliance with another country, including its traditional partners within the British Empire. Since all war was “barbaric” and ultimately futile, Canada must refuse unequivocally to participate in armed conflicts, save those essential “for the maintenance of the collective system against an aggressor state.”24 In a letter to his mother written mid-campaign, King admitted it “all seems rather ridiculous to think in terms of a CCF victory in Victoria, and I shall laugh and be surprised if it happens.” Although pleased that all candidates for the riding had conducted themselves in “quite decorous” fashion thus far, he expected the “fire works” to begin soon. The local press in particular would be “out to kill.” Thinking it unlikely the newspapers would accuse a clergyman of “anti-religion,” King suspected they would resort to the usual ploy of labelling him a com­munist while belabouring the fact he was a non-resident of British Columbia. Overall he felt Victoria’s “capitalist press” had been quite accommodating, effectively distributing his “socialist pamphlets” for free by reporting extensively on his campaign events and speeches.25 Such assistance, even when given unintentionally, was welcomed, for as Gordon commented to Frank Scott, “It takes an election campaign to show what it means to fight without funds.” When Mitchell Hepburn, the premier of Ontario, arrived in Victoria to speak on behalf of the Liberal candidate Christopher John McDowell, it was a humiliating reminder that the CCF had to “scramble along from hand to mouth, and take up our collection at every turn.” The Conservatives and Liberals, by comparison, enjoyed the financial wherewithal to “hire their largest theatres, and book up the radio by the hour.” Gordon dared to hope that the CCF’s shortage of money might be offset in part by the strength of “its workingclass socialist base and the propagandist power” of recruitment ini­ tiatives that had been underway in the riding since well before the election call, for cash alone could not ensure victory. In the eyes of a neophyte campaigner like Gordon, the party’s message was also critical; it needed to be intellectually rigorous and communicated consistently. Gordon mentioned to Scott in private that the CCF in British Columbia needed a group like the League for Social Reconstruction to assist in expressing “a leftist position with Canadian as opposed to continental Marxist clarity.” Why he assumed the LSR, with its well-known ideological ties to the CCF, would be any more acceptable to Victoria’s voters as an objective voice for democratic socialism than the party

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itself is not clear. What is certain is Gordon was anxious to refute political opponents who revelled in casting him and the rest of his party as communists by another name.26 As predicted, the second half of the campaign was dominated by inflammatory characterizations of Gordon as a nefarious Red. The Conservative Plunkett’s unabashed champion, the Daily Colonist, warned its readers against collectivists like Gordon who sought power only for “the privilege of giving orders instead of obeying them.” A socialist government, the paper said, would wreak havoc on the nation by replacing “neighborly good-will and industrial peace” with “hatreds and brooding discontents,” and substitute “progressive individualism” with “regimentation” and “dictatorship.”27 Plunkett called the CCF a communist front and urged Canadians to be vigilant lest it “sneak upon us like a thief in the night” and impose a “revolution” that reduced business owners to charity cases by confiscating their property in the name of the state. McDowell pointed to the local Communist Party’s decision against running a candidate in the election as proof Gordon was its first choice. Furthermore, the arbitrary anointing of an outsider as Victoria’s candidate in an uncontested nomination by the CCF’s “National Council of Twelve” was presented as irrefutable evidence that a CCF government “would be dictated to by a secret council, much in the same manner as in Russia.” Gordon’s critics had ignored, not surprisingly, his public statement early in the campaign when he expressly rejected a “united front” with the Communists as certain to cost him at the ballot box.28 Yet almost from the moment he arrived in Victoria, Gordon recognized the detrimental impact a balkanized Left was likely to have on his candidacy. In a letter to his sister Mary he observed that “probably the greatest penalty” one had to pay for “breaking into” the socialist movement in Victoria was dealing with the profusion of “little cliques, fundamentalist Marxist sects, petty jealousies and bickerings.” On the bright side, King could report that, whereas communists were “quite active” on the mainland, “thank God we haven’t many in Victoria.”29 With the temperature of the campaign rising, Gordon’s adversaries  further accused him of favouring the enfranchisement of British Columbia’s Oriental minority, an issue fraught with emotional and ­bigoted excess that had been dogging the province for decades. All Orientals, regardless of citizenship or country of birth, had been denied the right to vote in British Columbia’s provincial elections since 1895. Because voters’ lists for federal elections were based on provincial lists – a practice endorsed by the 1920 re-enactment of the Dominion

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Elections Act – Orientals in British Columbia were effectively disenfranchised at the federal level as well.30 W.A. McKenzie, a former minister of mines in the province, raised the prickly topic at a rally of Plunkett supporters when he accused the CCF of endorsing an extension of the franchise to Orientals. He cautioned his fellow Conservatives that such a change posed “a real menace” in British Columbia. Referring to what he believed was the unacceptably high birth rate among the province’s 50,000 Oriental residents, McKenzie predicted their eventual domination of the Legislative Assembly. Equally foreboding, should the CCF succeed in allowing Orientals to “sit in your Legislature” and “govern the people,” the next generation of white British Columbians would be reduced to “working on farms with Oriental bosses.” Having placed his own apocalyptic divinations on public record, McKenzie ­demanded to know where Gordon stood on the subject.31 Gordon’s initial inclination was not to dignify McKenzie’s hate-­ mongering with a response. He grumbled to his father instead about political opponents stooping to new lows by “dragging herrings red and yellow, ie. communism and oriental franchise, across the path.” Aware that he was likely to lose “some stupid votes” over the issue, King doubted “the majority will be stampeded” by the Conservatives’ “beastly” portrayal of a “completely oriental B.C. with a few white serfs.” Unfortunately for Gordon, maintaining circumspect silence on thorny issues is a luxury not normally afforded electoral candidates in mid-campaign, no matter how virtuous their designs. He therefore lobbed a stinging rebuttal at the Conservatives, chastising them for inflaming racial hatreds in the pursuit of narrowly partisan ends. By claiming the CCF election platform did not include a plank dealing specifically with Oriental enfranchisement, Gordon failed to point out, inadvertently or otherwise, that the Regina Manifesto committed the party to seeking “equal treatment before the law of all residents of Canada irrespective of race, nationality, or religious or political beliefs.” Also, shortly before the election was called, J.S. Woodsworth had ­announced in the House of Commons his party’s commitment to the principle that all Canadians, including those of Oriental descent, be permitted to vote. At any rate, Gordon said little more on the inflammatory subject for the balance of the campaign, beyond criticizing the province’s big businesses for perpetuating the false notion that British Columbia struggled under an ill-defined Oriental problem.32 In the waning days of the campaign Gordon dared to imagine that a narrow CCF victory within the Tory enclave of Victoria might not be as

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far-fetched as he had first assumed when the election writ was issued.33 But it was not to be. After Victorians finished trekking through the rain to the polls on 14 October, Gordon was awarded a second-place finish with a respectable 30 per cent of the popular vote. This result put him just 35 votes ahead of McDowell, but 990 short of Plunkett’s tally.  Across British Columbia the CCF polled the largest popular vote (33.6 per cent) of any party, yet only three of its sixteen candidates won their ridings. Whereas several CCF candidates attributed their individual loss to the discordant cause of Oriental enfranchisement, Gordon declined to dwell in public on the details of the defeat. Ending his campaign in the same venue where it began, speaking to a crowd of 800 supporters in the Chamber of Commerce auditorium, he expressed confidence that the CCF result nationwide – it received 387,000 votes or almost 9 per cent of the popular vote with seven members elected – ­indicated Canadians had awakened to the “‘desperate nature of our social and economic situation.’” Mackenzie King’s Liberals may have regained power after a five-year hiatus with a commanding 173 of the Commons’ 245 seats, but support for “‘intelligent change in the basis of  our economic structure’” was on the rise. “‘Nothing under God’s ­heaven,’” Gordon prophesied, could hold back the movement now.34 He was much less gracious when discussing his personal defeat in private. Confiding with Frank Scott as he customarily did when in need of a sympathetic ear, Gordon offered a succinct assessment of the ­campaign’s shortcomings and successes: If our people had the same “class consciousness” as the upper bourgeoisie – who plied telephone and limousine to get the last dowager and retired colonel to the polls – we would have made it … Apart from the salient fact that tradition – money and the machine beat us – the important factors were misrepresentation and the oriental and anti-communist, anti-­ religious bogies raised unscrupulously by the opposition. We countered as successfully as reason can counter prejudice and primitive passion but undoubtedly we were hurt by it. The significant thing in the whole B.C. campaign is that there was no serious challenge raised to the socialist position.35

Gordon was no naïf. He had long been a student of politics and human nature. But, like many first-time campaigners, he was taken aback by how quickly ideals and intellectual debate were superseded by character assassination and tripe in the winner-take-all milieu of an election. Although Gordon came up short in votes, he had by all accounts stuck

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to his original strategy of running a principled campaign that did not cater to the Victoria electorate’s baser instincts. To the extent that socialism in British Columbia was associated with Gordon personally, as of the 1935 election, objective observers may well have concluded it was not as menacing a theory as critics claimed. Whether or not he would have a second chance to further win their confidence remained to be seen. Without a seat in the House of Commons, Gordon immediately turned to his duties as the United Church’s travelling Christian ethicist. His annoyance at not having time to recuperate from the strains of the campaign before embarking on an extensive lecture tour of western Canada was captured in a gripe to Scott about how “tragic” it was “that in a fight for life for society we almost forget how to live.” For all the inconveniences the lectureship imposed, and despite it not being his top occupational choice, much about the job’s itinerant lifestyle and pedagogical focus was tailor-made for Gordon. Between November 1935 and May 1936 he was based in Montreal but travelled almost continuously, lecturing in churches, seminaries, and community halls across Canada. An engaging if not overly expressive speaker, Gordon preferred to teach social reform rather than preach personal redemption. Convinced the capitalist order was crumbling, his first priority was educating citizens about the causes of the present economic crisis in a bid to spare society from “aimless drift or unscrupulous demagogy.” Typical of Gordon’s thinking during this period was his nine-part lecture series entitled “Some Problems in Social Reconstruction.” Each talk analysed a range of political and economic themes that he argued must, in conjunction with Christian values, guide governments as well as organizations and individuals responsible for reshaping a dysfunctional society. The series’ three introductory lectures – “Fascism,” “Communism,” and “Socialism” – discussed the origins, appeal, and weaknesses of contemporary alternatives to capitalism. A fourth lecture, “The National Recovery Administration,” examined the New Deal introduced by American president Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1933, which Gordon cited as evidence of government’s limited ability to regulate capitalist enterprises. The five concluding lectures – “Scientific Social Analysis,” “The Nature of Our Industrial Society,” “Economic Imperialism,” “Religion and Capitalism,” and “The Ethic of the Good Society” – each combined historical context with Gordon’s sweeping prescriptions for achieving a spiritually and culturally reconstructed social order.36

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One essential measure of Gordon’s success as the travelling ethicist was his ability to attract crowds to the lectures, although he refused to resort to sycophancy as a drawing card. To the contrary, he was not shy about criticizing Christians for their lack of “practical knowledge,” or dismissing many of the church’s social reform initiatives, both local and national, as a “sentimental waste of effort.” Describing “the well-­ meaning liberal of high ideals and tremendous faith in human nature” as the “most dangerous man in the community today,” Gordon said the “tragedy of society” was not the “number of evil individuals but … the impotence of the good.” He undoubtedly raised some parental eyebrows with his observation that the increase in “so-called atheism” among Canada’s youth was not necessarily “an unhealthy sign” but a revelation that the religion “passed on from parent to child is not adequate to meet the need of today.” Unless youth were taught an ethical “social intelligence to serve the new social order which is coming into the world,” they would be vulnerable to the same type of impassioned patriotic appeals that Hitler’s National Socialists were using to lure impressionable young Germans into their ignoble cause. Gordon warned against underestimating fascism’s potential appeal in Canada. The first line of defence must be the middle and working classes resolving their differences and coming together to stanch the class warfare on which fascism fed. Another of his recurring themes was Christianity’s countercultural refutation of materialism and technological advancement, and its insistence on measuring human greatness in terms of “spiritual powers and creative abilities,” which he extolled as the only guarantors of happiness, an individual’s economic attainments notwithstanding. An unabashed modernist, Gordon lauded the scientific discoveries of Albert Einstein in physics and Sigmund Freud in psychology for restoring to the world “much of its mystery and incalculability,” and to “man his right to a spiritual life.” On at least one occasion, however, Gordon attributed the economic “crisis” of the 1930s to the “judgment of God” descending upon a “debased” people who had lost their moral and ­religious bearings. This was the sort of conservative pronouncement expected from conventional Protestant clergymen of the day but was atypical of Gordon, whose theology was informed more by projections of hope than visions of hellfire.37 Gordon derived both personal solace and political guidance from Christian socialism. But periodically he was spiritually and ­emotionally overwhelmed by repeated exposure to the travails of thousands of hapless innocents he encountered in Depression-devastated communities

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across the country. At most stops on his speaking tours he heard heartrending stories from individuals whose drought-ravaged farms had been repossessed, their family businesses bankrupted, their labour of no interest to employers at any price, and their emaciated children only a handout or two removed from starvation. In the face of so much indiscriminate privation and suffering, Gordon’s meagre offering of erudite speeches and well-intentioned prayers felt woefully inadequate. In mid-January 1936, after just three months on the job, he wrote to Frank Scott’s artist wife Marian of his conflicted feelings at the beginning of “my last bleak week of lecturing in the rural towns of Manitoba.” It had been altogether a chastening kind of experience. In the east we have little idea of the grimness of life on the prairies in the winter time. The isolation, the deadly impoverishment of life along with the bitter economic oppression … My last few months experience have convinced me that the church is still one of the most hopeful avenues of social education with the additional advantage that it has the possibility of providing an ethical drive which can call for a certain amount of sacrifice in a cause. But God what inertia and obscurantism there is to overcome. It is not until you get out among the people away from the “cultural” centres that you can begin to realize the problem of maintaining democracy in this country. Occasionally I find myself, out of sheer weariness falling back upon the hope that the great majority may be right and that we may be wrong.38

Private moments of frustration and self-doubt over the immense obstacles blocking the progress of reform did not detract from Gordon’s growing reputation as one of Canada’s leading left-wing ideologues, a status enhanced by the publication in the autumn of 1935 of Social Planning for Canada. Written over a two-year period, the book was a collaborative effort by Gordon and six other members of the LSR Research Committee – Frank Scott, Leonard Marsh, Graham Spry, Eugene F ­ orsey, Frank Underhill, and J.S. Parkinson. It was intended, as J.S. Woodsworth wrote in the book’s foreword, to deliver “a rude jolt to the easy optimism which hitherto has characterized our youthful nation” and present “a telling indictment of the failures and contradictions of Capitalism.” Social Planning for Canada was a comprehensive social, economic, and political analysis that blamed the values and practices of the capitalist class for much of what currently was ailing the country. The cure it recommended, predictably enough, was the implementation of

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a fully planned economy carried out by small groups of experts. Whereas the original intent had been to produce a “frankly socialist” account, the book that eventually resulted represented a more complex intellectual and philosophical mix. When it was reissued forty years later, the surviving authors defined it as a “democratic form of socialism of the British and Scandinavian type,” combining elements of Fabian socialism, Keynesianism, and the welfare state. Although it is no longer ­possible to determine precisely which sections of the book Gordon ­contributed – he later described the project as a product of “group discussion and co-operative writing” – he considered Social Planning for Canada the LSR’s “most important contribution – a great, big solid tract for the times.” With sales of over two thousand copies, it was a rare publishing success for an academic tome during a cash-strapped period. Not only was the book widely cited in the press, it immediately provoked stiff criticism from the business community on the right and communists on the left, a bifurcated response that by turns delighted and infuriated its authors.39 Gordon and his LSR co-authors had written Social Planning for Canada to add intellectual heft to a socialist venture that was essentially populist. Their goal, as they explained in the book’s preface, was to differentiate socialism from “‘radical agitation’” or “‘Utopian idealism’” on the one hand and “communism on the other.” There was a clear recognition among self-described “radicals” like Gordon that to achieve broader political legitimacy in tradition-bound Canada they must stake out a less threatening position on the Left. Gordon thoroughly enjoyed reconnecting with his LSR colleagues to theorize and debate but also felt driven to experience and document first-hand the daily struggles of common labouring folk and their families to survive capitalism’s myriad mistreatments. The research perspective he sought to help the LSR advance the socialist agenda could not be attained by remaining affixed to public lecterns or church pulpits. Rather, he needed to work “in the field” – the descriptor he favoured in the 1950s and 1960s when explaining the focus of his foreign assignments with the United Nations – which meant interacting with people in their workplaces, kitchens, and union halls. These were the best places to acquire the raw data and personal insights Gordon needed as a social scientist and Christian ­ethicist to step beyond esoteric theorizing and devise practical solutions to real world problems. Hence his attraction to Nova Scotia and the Antigonish Movement, a novel experiment in adult education and small business cooperation based in the Extension Department of

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St Francis Xavier University under the direction of a Roman Catholic priest, Moses M. Coady. Coady’s dream was of a balanced economy in which private, state, and cooperative interests shared society’s productive resources fairly. For this to happen, capitalism’s most conspicuous beneficiaries – the monopolies and cartels that dominated private property – needed to face real competition in the form of consumer and producer cooperatives established and operated by the working classes. Coady had faith that a vibrant cooperative moment would not only diminish the appeal of “Godless” communism. It would also restore to Nova Scotia the ­social stability lost to lingering high unemployment, the rapid out-­ migration of its most talented youths, and the precipitous economic decline of the family-owned fishing and farming sectors. Promising early indicators appeared to validate Coady’s optimism. By 1938, after ten years of activity, the Antigonish Movement had expanded to 100,000 dues-paying members who together organized, managed, and shared in the proceeds of 142 credit unions and several dozen cooperative retail stores, fish plants, and lobster canneries throughout the province.40 Gordon visited Nova Scotia in March 1936 to see Coady’s undertaking for himself. Cramming his lanky frame into the rickety jalopies of cooperative members keen to showcase their latest projects, Gordon was transported by his hosts along snow-packed roads and across stubble fields and frozen swamps from one remote community to the next. In the church hall at Heatherton on St George’s Bay he witnessed the inaugural meeting of the newest credit union to join the movement. Forty charter members, all of whom had been studying the rudiments of credit union theory during recent weeks, gathered to pay their dues of twenty-five cents apiece, which served as the branch’s initial capital reserve. In the isolated village of Reserve Mines on Cape Breton Island, Gordon visited Jimmie Tompkins, Coady’s co-founder of the Antigonish Movement. Tompkins, who had converted his small personal book collection into a public library, described to Gordon how hard-shell miners walked for miles to the parish rectory to borrow the only reading materials freely available to them in the entire district. In Reserve Mines the manager of the credit union provided a compelling illustration of the hitherto untapped economic potential of cooperatives in small communities. He reported to Gordon that in the past year alone his tiny branch had issued over one thousand loans totalling almost $25,000, which for many mining families represented their first taste of financial independence, however slight. While applauding much of what the Antigonish

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Movement was accomplishing along the back roads of Nova Scotia, Gordon also raised some criticisms. First, he disagreed with its antiunion bias and felt the leadership was naive to believe that cooperative efforts alone could correct social injustices without also mobilizing the working class politically. Second, he thought the movement’s organizers were myopic for trusting profit-hungry capitalists to behave as responsible partners in a redesigned provincial economy that also ­ ­included cooperative and state-owned enterprises. Gordon believed capitalism and capitalists needed to be reformed, not accommodated. Those limitations aside, he commended Coady’s crusade for injecting a  spirit of reassurance into some of Canada’s most economically distressed communities during the darkest days of the 1930s.41 A staunch proponent of the principle that an educated public was the cornerstone of social reform, Gordon was justifiably impressed by the proliferation of study groups – 1,100 in total by 1938 – that the Anti­ gonish Movement organized in farming districts, fishing villages, and industrial towns in Nova Scotia and throughout the Maritimes. In an article he published in Canadian Forum, Gordon credited the groups’ emphasis on theoretical foundations and practical applications of community cooperation with dispelling the “mental inertia that for years has kept the people in economic and spiritual bondage.” Moreover, they were preventing a “deepening fatalism” from engulfing one of the nation’s most economically disadvantaged regions. Examples abounded of study groups raising the “social intelligence” and “cultural standard” of the “average common man,” while simultaneously weakening “the hold of the private capitalist system over the people’s everyday life.” Gordon frequently recounted one illustration in particular as symbolic of the tangible educational benefits arising out of the Antigonish groups: formerly ill-educated miners, whose workday began “driving ponies a thousand feet below the surface or holding a drill to the coal-face,” had recently acquired the skills necessary to finish the day “taking their turn as volunteers staffing the local credit union.”42 The message was irrefutable: cooperation liberated the people that c­ apitalist competition shackled. When Gordon commenced the United Church travelling lectureship following his defeat in the 1935 general election, he never imagined returning to Victoria just seven months later, and again in 1937, to contest two by-elections for the CCF. The circumstances leading to these repeat performances were abnormal: his political opponents, Gordon recalled drolly, “developed the habit of dying after they had defeated

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me.”43 Not that he minded revisiting the campaign trail. Despite the personal buffetings a socialist candidate in 1930s Canada inevitably endured, especially in a traditionalist riding such as Victoria, electoral politics held a certain allure for Gordon. He revelled in the opportunities politicking provided to voice his opinions more or less openly, a liberty he could not take for granted while in the employ of the United Church of Canada. During his recent tour of the Maritimes, for instance, Gordon’s superiors hinted their disapproval over his practice of combining CCF speaking engagements with church business. Subtlety not being his strong suit, Gordon ignored their thinly veiled signals. Instead, as he told Frank Scott, “I asserted my right to speak anywhere I want to.” All the same, he was sufficiently circumspect thereafter to ensure that his public appearances on behalf of the CCF did not coincide with meetings at which the United Church had scheduled him to speak.44 The 1936 Victoria by-election was overshadowed from its outset by the same racist pall concerning Oriental enfranchisement that had darkened the previous year’s general election in the riding. This time around the catalyst was a recent petition by the Japanese Canadian Citizens’ League (JCCL) to the House of Commons Special Committee on Elections and Franchise Acts. The petition challenged British Columbia’s practice of disqualifying Canadians of Japanese origin from voting in dominion elections because they were also excluded from provincial voter rolls. It cited the precedent set in Quebec, where women were barred from voting in provincial elections but permitted the dominion franchise, as grounds for extending the same privilege to Japanese ­Canadians living in British Columbia. Failure to reverse this injustice, the JCCL warned, would hinder Japanese Canadians’ assimilation into “the life of Canada” and further their oppression as an economic minority, ultimately rendering them “a source of difficulty” for the rest of the country.45 The Native Sons of British Columbia, an organization committed to fostering a Canadian national spirit but whose nativist views opposed Oriental immigration, reacted to the JCCL petition by cautioning federal parliamentarians that even “Asiatics born in this country were still too close to the ideals of the Orient.” Governments that conceded Oriental enfranchisement risked creating “a solid bloc which would threaten public administration” in British Columbia. The Native Sons feared a peculiarly West Coast version of “la revanche du ­berceau,” predicting the Oriental community would use its high birth rate to manipulate the franchise and “control the conduct of public affairs” in the

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province, just as Japanese migrants purportedly were ­doing in Hawaii where they had grown to over 40 per cent of the population.46 This was the rancorous backdrop to Gordon’s return to Victoria in late May 1936, circumstances certain to complicate his resolve to avoid the racist innuendos that hampered his previous campaign. He intended to occupy the moral high ground by focusing on CCF solutions to the lingering social and economic malaise he had observed first-hand over the preceding seven months while traversing the country on behalf of the United Church. Indeed, few Canadians in 1936 would have been better informed than Gordon about the terrible hardships the Depression was inflicting upon people in every province and region. In his inaugural speech of the campaign he castigated Mackenzie King’s Liberal government for feigning action on the economy by appointing “expensive commissions” to study the problem, when the required remedies were readily apparent and awaited only a conscientious leader to champion them. At one campaign rally after another Gordon described the “growing hysteria and disillusionment” felt by thousands of urban Canadians “forced to live in hovels,” and the futility of “factory girls” attempting to lead “decent lives” on salaries of just six dollars per week. While the “cold hand of the profit system” tightened mercilessly “about the throats of the struggling younger generation,” fully 70 per cent of the nation’s elderly were entitled to old age pensions, a disgraceful testament to the fact they had not been “adequately remunerated for their services during their working years.” Gordon demanded the Liberal government lower the minimum age of pension eligibility immediately from seventy years to sixty. In addition, it must tell Canadians how it intended to handle thousands of unemployed men scheduled for release from Department of National Defence “internment camps” when their seasonal jobs ended in just a few months. He accused Canadian governments past and present of “criminal negligence” for sacrificing untold millions of innocent victims to a heartless capitalist system, and failing to provide them with meaningful levels of aid and comfort. Gordon concentrated on the international front as well, where the “growing menace of Fascism” abroad accentuated the King government’s culpability at home for not guaranteeing Canadians a “just and stable economic order” on which democracy depended and liberty rested.47 C.J. McDowell, whose assiduous attempts during the previous general election to tar Gordon as a communist still rankled, once again represented Victoria’s Liberals in the by-election. With a majority Liberal

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government firmly ensconced in Ottawa, McDowell contended that the sole question facing Victoria’s voters was which party’s candidate was best positioned to deliver patronage to the riding. Only a Liberal member of Parliament, he boasted, could guarantee plums like “a Marine building, completion of the West Coast Road, and establishment of a national park on the West Coast.” McDowell derided Gordon as a “stranger to this city,” an interloper who made his living from “speaking or writing” and was the very antithesis of himself, a no-nonsense businessman with intimate knowledge of local constituency needs.48 But it was the Conservative nominee, British Columbia’s former premier Simon Fraser Tolmie, who concerned Gordon most. Tolmie’s own administration had proven dolefully ineffective in combating the Depression, but now he pitched an “aggressive” development strategy centred on expanding the mining and steel industries, conserving the Fraser River’s threatened salmon stocks, and constructing highways to encourage American trade and tourism. Bold initiatives like these, he  promised, would enrich the province “for centuries to come.” Upgrading coastal defences at nearby Esquimalt were another priority. Never again, Tolmie pledged, must “hostile cruisers” be allowed to sail within striking distance of Victoria, as had occurred during the Great War when the Conservative-dominated Union government was in charge at Ottawa. Taking direct aim at Gordon, Tolmie advised voters that in a “world where fear of war was still uppermost in the minds of men,” the CCF’s opposition to cadet training and support for cuts to military spending were aspects of its “misguided pacifism” certain to prove “fatal to Canada.” With crises abounding at home and abroad, this was no time for Canadians to entertain socialism’s radical and unsound “will-o’-the-wisps.”49 Tolmie declared himself “unalterably opposed” to the idea of Oriental enfranchisement. He labelled the CCF “peculiarly un-British” – surely the harshest of epithets in Victoria – for proposing to reverse thirty years of legislated discrimination. The widespread encroachment by the “Oriental races” on British Columbia’s vital fruit, vegetable, and fisheries industries already was worrisome enough. But the rapidly deteriorating political and military situation in the Far East meant any relaxation of the restraints on Oriental enfranchisement now posed a direct threat to Canada’s security. If the JCCL and the CCF succeeded in opening the door to public office for Orientals, Tolmie cautioned, “Canada’s future and British Columbia’s safety” would be imperilled.50 The for­ mer ­premier’s fallacious logic struck an approving chord with Victoria’s

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nativists, one of whom expounded in the Daily Colonist about the “fecundity of the Japanese race.” If men like Gordon have their way, the writer forecast, the day was not far off when Orientals will outnumber the province’s whites and “we will have the yellow men occupying governmental positions.” The only recourse for Victoria’s electors was to “scotch this snake before he strikes his venemous [sic] fangs into our life blood, this Communism, sent out amongst us under the smirking disguise of C.C.F.” Thinking his opponents’ racial intolerance contemptible, Gordon resolutely withheld comment. It fell to the indefatigable Grace MacInnis, J.S. Woodworth’s daughter and the wife of Angus MacInnis, the CCF MP for Vancouver East, to respond on the party’s behalf. During a rally late in the campaign she predicted that if either Tolmie or McDowell was elected, neither would dare follow through on their loathsome promise to introduce in the House of Commons a motion calling for the exclusion of all Orientals from British Columbia. Both men, MacInnis insisted, talked a hard line in public. But privately they were beholden to the same business interests who actively recruited Oriental labourers as an inexpensive alternative to white workers, and therefore had no desire to see the status quo altered.51 As the campaign entered the home stretch and a close three-way finish seemed increasingly likely, all sides stepped up the rhetoric. Gordon, predictably, was smeared yet again as a communist sympathizer. His critics cited as proof the decision by the British Columbia Communist Party not to run a candidate of its own in Victoria during the previous year’s general election, opting instead to throw its support behind Gordon and the CCF. One Liberal campaigner, a Victoria lawyer, depicted the CCF as just another of the “freak parties” the Depression had spawned. Whereas it masqueraded as a “political interpretation of Christianity,” the party in fact avowed principles “founded on Karl Marx.” Victoria’s voters should therefore be on alert: a CCF government would not hesitate to confiscate citizens’ private property and compensate them in turn with “worthless bonds, redeemable in worthless currency.” Refusing to be drawn into an escalating cycle of spurious charges and counter-charges, Gordon stayed on script. He spoke of the imminent death of political freedoms in Canada unless big business was prevented from exerting undue influence over governments, and society was reorganized along CCF principles “to give Canadians back their rights.” In a campaign marked by his opponents’ frenetic ­scramble to outbid one another’s promised expenditures on public works and

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“unnecessary Federal buildings,” a practice Gordon dismissed as “little short of bribery,” he advocated instead government investments in “parks for children and houses for those forced to exist in squalid or overcrowded surroundings.”52 Predictions of a photo finish proved accurate. It was, the Daily Colonist reported, “a ding-dong battle,” as all three candidates shared the lead at various points during the vote-counting on the evening of 8 June. At the final tally Gordon again placed second, this time just 90 votes short of the winner Tolmie. McDowell followed Gordon by only 162 votes. In a first-past-the-post electoral system, razor-thin defeats are as conclusive as a thorough drubbing, but Gordon took his loss in stride and shrugged off the mudslinging he had endured during the campaign. It was gratification enough, he assured his supporters on election eve after hearing the final results, to have substantially reduced the winner’s margin of victory on just their second attempt. Such a feat, Gordon concluded, surely bode well for the CCF’s future prospects in Victoria. In the telegram he sent to Frank Scott, who was awaiting the news back in Montreal, Gordon cast the outcome in a positive light: “Tolmie wins by ninety-four. We don’t lose.”53 After enduring two electoral defeats in as many years, Gordon resumed his role as the United Church of Canada’s roving Christian ethicist. He remained deeply committed to the work and was rewarded with “fairly good reports” from his overseers on the church’s General Council. To their delight and no doubt relief, he avoided reopening old scandals and had not, as he joked to his mother, “rocked the church to its foundations.” But with the lectureship’s one-year term due to expire, Gordon again faced uncertain employment prospects. For a time during the fall of 1936, a return to academe appeared possible when he was considered for a faculty appointment at Yale Divinity School, but ultimately the position remained unfilled. A letter of reference written on Gordon’s behalf on that occasion offers some insight into his personality and reputation by the mid-1930s: His greatest asset is his personality. He is tall, fine-looking and gives everyone the impression of being a strong, wholesome young man … I imagine that in Canada to-day he is one of the most influential men so far as student life is concerned … [He] is a national figure in Canada as representing a stand for advanced social views … when everybody was hating Russia he adopted a more judicial attitude advocating that we withhold

154  “The world is our parish” judgment and see the outcome of this great social experiment. Strangely enough his views would now be quite acceptable to most of his critics … He has a veritable genius for friendship.54

For people who are flexible, vigorous, and not risk averse – and Gordon was all of these things – one door rarely closes before another opens. In December 1936, there being little likelihood his contract with the United Church would be renewed, Gordon was appointed travelling secretary of the Fellowship for a Christian Social Order. His gregariousness, well-honed organizational and public speaking skills, and passion for Christian socialism made him an ideal match for the job. Gordon had remained closely involved with the FCSO after its founding in 1934, and many friends and colleagues who had contributed to his United Church salary now assumed responsibility for his FCSO stipend.55 The avowedly socialist FCSO did not consider itself “a sect or a party within the Church,” but a group whose mandate was ensuring “the Church shall not pass by on the other side like the priest and the Levite leaving to non-churchmen the healing of humanity’s hurt and  the responsibilities of neighbourhood.”56 As the historian Sylvie Lacombe has shown, the FCSO shared many ideological roots with the LSR. But Gordon described the FCSO as “more interested in awakening the church to its social responsibilities than in influencing the political movement.” He considered it incidental that most FCSO members also supported the CCF. Reinhold Niebuhr, whose opinions Gordon often sought, bluntly criticized the FCSO’s professions of non-partisanship and accused it of incorrectly conflating the “socialist commonwealth … with the kingdom of God of Christian hopes.” Gordon thought it was Niebuhr who was mistaken. Despite his oft-repeated refrain “I am a Socialist because I’m a Christian,” Gordon insisted that Christianity, “even in its social expression,” must never be equated with socialism. In other words, form must not be confused with substance, even when the two belief structures shared many compatible elements. Gordon was confident that FCSO members in general were cognizant of and comfortable with this dichotomy.57 The same year he became the FCSO’s travelling secretary, Gordon and eight other United Churchmen published Towards the Christian Revolution, a book of essays on philosophy, theology, ethics, economics, politics, preaching, and worship that served as the fellowship’s “­ statement of faith.”58 Gordon’s contribution, “The Political Task,”

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emphasized Christianity’s role in preventing the spread of totalitarianism and ushering in a socialized state with its attendant “economic security” and “individual liberty.” He portrayed democracy as currently undergoing its “supreme test,” as average Canadians’ demands for greater social security clashed with private industry’s insistence upon “its right to a margin of profits.” Modern democracies were free to choose their fate: either commit “suicide by the establishment of a fascist politico-economic dictatorship,” or introduce a “socialized and cooperative economy” capable of providing economic security for all.59 The activist role Gordon envisioned for the church in averting fascism and preventing war went well beyond merely expressing “good will towards the people of other nations” and promoting a system of collective security. As he wrote in the Canadian Forum at the time Towards the Christian Revolution appeared, Christian principles must translate into concrete actions in order to have a meaningful impact on an imperialistic world. Most importantly, the church needed to work within the existing political system, not stand aloof from it, in a campaign to eliminate capitalism, which was the root cause of war. For this to happen, groups like the FCSO must first educate the church about the “responsibilities of Christian citizenship” and the “steps to be taken if our civilization is to be saved.”60 Accomplishing this educational imperative became Gordon’s p ­ rimary focus over the ensuing two years while he continued his peregrinations across Canada’s broad expanses on behalf of the FCSO. He later reflected that representing the fellowship gave me the opportunity of getting to know Canada as I had never known it before. It took me into the mines and fishing villages of Cape Breton and the drab mill towns of northern New Brunswick. It took me to prairie towns where the drifting topsoil was blacking out the sun. In city after city I saw the sullen lines of the unemployed. I had carte blanche as to the groups I met and talked with – labour unions, churches, CCF clubs, theological colleges, student conferences in universities … S[tudent] C[hristian] M[ovement] camps, and Fellowship groups in city after city. I preached in big city churches, in churches in the slums, in country churches … The experience was exhilarating: you felt you were part of a movement transforming Canadian society. The experience was also humbling because you were so much better off than so many who were fighting a much tougher battle than you were.61

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Gordon flung all of his estimable energy and enthusiasm into promoting the FCSO. During one fourteen-week tour of the western provinces he spoke at over 160 meetings in thirty-two communities. On any given occasion he might teach, preach, organize, cajole, or commiserate, depending upon the specific circumstances of his audience.62 The range of topics on which Gordon expounded was impressively eclectic, including Canadian foreign policy, Christian philosophy, domestic social policy, and the church’s role in industrial democracy. In Edmonton, for instance, he described how public housing programs were correctives for “spiritual impoverishment.” In Nanton, Alberta, youthful listeners were implored to shun contemporary society’s preoccupation with individualism and to think instead “in terms of communities, provinces and nations” to help prevent recurring economic depressions from threatening Canada with “absolute ruin.” The crowd in Lethbridge heard that the recent welcome upswing in North American business activity was a consequence of fear-mongers in the natural resource industries creating demand for their products by raising the bogey of imminent war in Europe. Gordon cautioned that whenever political stability or economic prosperity depended upon militarism, the benefits were ephemeral. Over the long term, only a “new social order” anchored on a judicious mix of Christian philosophy and “scientific planning” could be trusted. In Saskatoon the topic was “‘negative rearmament policy,’” which Gordon advocated as “‘a glorious sacrifice for peace by placing a boycott on the export of Canadian arms and metals.’”63 In the event war was unavoidable, he envisioned Canada participating as an “auxiliary nation” at Britain’s side, although Gordon believed North America could perform a greater service to humanity by isolating itself entirely from European conflicts. In summary, as the FCSO’s public voice, Gordon consistently stressed it was imperative the church substitute shrewd realism for its traditional sentimentality as the means of confronting the problems of a “complicated world.”64 Gordon occasionally found the continuous travelling on FCSO business to be a physical and emotional grind. While taking a brief sojourn in one of the numerous small communities he visited in western Canada in early 1937, Gordon wrote to Scott complaining that he lacked the “zeal of the completely abandoned socialist which despises the amenities of a settled life.” He confessed to longing for the creature comforts of Montreal and home once again. The hostile audiences he sometimes encountered only added to the sense of disquietude. “By the time this tour is over,” Gordon predicted, “every imperialist,

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anti-fascist, pro-Russian, anti-Japanese, or just plain 100% Canadian patriot will have landed one on the point of my chin.” Most wearying of all, however, was the emotional toll of spending “most of my time living in the gloom of the world.” In answer to his own question “What is there actually to bring one cheer in these days?” he acknowledged that for many Canadians “three meals a day and a place to sleep” was “a tremendous lot.”65 Many years later, between 1954 and 1961, when postings with the United Nations took him to some of the most distressed and destitute regions on earth, Gordon rarely wavered in his belief that the solution to most social problems rested in the willingness of the human community to work collectively and selflessly for a greater common good. By contrast, travelling through eastern Canada in the summer of 1937 tested even Gordon’s sanguine nature. “The Maritimes always make me look twice at the date line,” he commented shortly after arriving, “to see if the century is right.” Unlike his previous visit to the region when he had been acutely impressed by the Antigonish Movement’s cooperative strategies for countering deeply entrenched socio-­economic imbalances, this time Gordon was aghast at the “pet prejudices,” “religious bigotry,” and “dislike of radicalism” many Maritimers exhibited.66 New Brunswick in particular he dismissed as “a pretty hopelessly conservative place.” The province’s comparatively prosperous mixedfarming community, having largely escaped the Depression’s severest depredations, appeared coldly indifferent to the plight of less fortunate neighbours who were finding it impossible to grow enough food of their own. Gordon discovered that three weeks in such an insensitive and unresponsive environment “advocating social thinking and social action is about all you can stand.”67 His impressions of Newcastle, “one of those dead and alive little New Brunswick towns where you don’t expect any interest in public affairs and don’t find it,” were typical. A visit to some local “Red Cross charity cases” turned into “one of the most sickening trips” imaginable, for “in the shadow of a prosperous saw mill” he entered “hovels inhabited by those who will never be anything more than the wrecks of humans.” Children aged sixteen looked “like feeble 10-year olds through lack of sufficient nourishment.” Many youths did not attend school for lack of adequate clothing, thus condemning “children of native-born Canadians” to a life of illiteracy.68 Gordon ascertained the best opportunities for initiating social reform in the Maritimes existed either in industrial areas, where the population was compressed and opportunities

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for self-help largely non-existent, or in remote districts where the distress was severest but largely hidden from outsiders. Perched in between were the majority of medium-size communities whose small manufacturers dominated economic and social life. These an atypically cynical Gordon dismissed as “backwaters of this modern world” and unlikely to heed populist calls for change of any kind.69 King’s myriad encounters with Canada’s impoverished citizens, the majority of whom were hapless victims of circumstances thoroughly beyond their control, shaped his ongoing political and theological evolution. As the historian Brian Fraser has noted, these changes were manifested in a further widening of the intellectual divide separating King from his father. When Charles Gordon contemplated means for alleviating human suffering during the Depression, his unbounded faith in the inevitability of moral and religious reformism resulted in his appealing “to the consciences of both employer and employee to cooperate in the service of social progress.” King increasingly regarded his father’s optimism on that score to be unfounded, for failing to take into account the plague of rampant individualism and entrenched selfinterest behind a “class-divided” society. Whereas Charles was unwavering in his devotion to the Christian church as a fount for social uplift, King grew disenchanted with the failure of its liberal wing particularly to proclaim a sufficiently humane gospel of justice and radical social reconstruction. As King wrote critically of the church in 1937, “Its slow awakening to the brutalities of a society founded upon concentrated power and exploitation, its refusal to acknowledge the reality of classconflict, its romantic faith in the efficacy of individual good will to effect social transformation, its tragic concern with the decline of an institutional life bound up so closely with our economic regime – all of these are symptoms of a complete bewilderment as to its role in a ­rapidly changing world.”70 King’s tenure with the FCSO was therefore marked by a growing philosophical and emotional disengagement from the institutional church, and increased involvement with the CCF. Elected the party’s national vice-chair at its fifth annual convention in Winnipeg, he devoted much of 1937 to politics. He had not sought the job of vice-chair – “It forces the pace a bit too much for my liking,” he told Scott – but neither did Gordon feel he could “honestly refuse more responsibility after I had been in the movement this length of time.” He was also appointed chair of the CCF’s drought aid committee. M.J. Coldwell, the CCF MP for the Saskatchewan riding of Rosetown-Biggar, knew only

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too well the ruinous impact ten consecutive years of significantly lower rainfall was having on prairie wheat farms. He reported to Gordon that over nine million acres of farmland were devastated, forcing some 600,000 residents of the drought-stricken areas to depend upon the dominion government’s utterly inadequate relief rolls. The purpose of the party’s drought aid committee was to cooperate with churches, service clubs, and any other organizations willing to raise monies for relief payments the CCF believed should have been provided by Mackenzie King’s negligent Liberal administration. Another of Gordon’s initiatives was pushing the CCF national council to affiliate formally with trade unions and forge closer ties with local labour parties. Doing so, he maintained, would enhance the CCF’s electability by making the Left appear less fragmented to voters. For a similar reason he also recommended extending “greater toleration” to the Communists by “easing down on the anti-communist skirmishing,” an unexpected proposition, given Gordon’s recent determination to distance himself from the “Reds” while seeking election in Victoria. When the national council stoutly resisted his proposals, Gordon felt “pretty disheartened” that the young party’s leadership already appeared reticent to confront head-on the more “obvious symptoms of decline.”71 Scott attempted mollification by suggesting it had become Gordon’s job to push a more radical agenda in order “that the people do not perish for lack of vision.” He encouraged King to emulate J.S. Woodsworth by demonstrating that power derives from “vision,” and proving that “political cunning or tactic” was no substitute for statesmanlike foresight.72 Contemplating the next steps in the CCF’s evolution had already become a preoccupation of Gordon’s. In an account of the party’s 1937 convention that he published in the Canadian Forum, his prognostication of the CCF’s future was decidedly more upbeat than his personal lamentations to Scott suggested. Gordon depicted the CCF as having recently moved beyond its “educational and propagandist” first stage – marked by unrealistic “millennial hopes” and the “rapid crossing of a bone-dry Jordan into the promised land” – and into a second phase distinguished by “political realism, organizational efficiency and national consciousness.” This transition now required the party to replace the “vague and ill-defined idealism” and “narrow political and economic dogmatism” of its foundational period, with a pragmatic electoral strategy more attuned to “political realities.” Having successfully avoided devolution into “a comparatively small sect of left-wing political purists” or a “loosely connected chain of opportunistic [provincial]

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party machines,” the CCF was poised, Gordon declared triumphantly, to enter its third stage – “planning for power.”73 Gordon’s threefold schema for CCF electoral success was promptly dealt an unwelcome reality check when Ontario’s flamboyant Liberal premier, Mitchell Hepburn, called a provincial election for 6 October 1937. In addition to campaigning on his government’s record of financial prudence and enhanced social assistance to the province’s disadvantaged, Hepburn hoped to exploit public discontent over the rash of almost one hundred strikes, many of them violent and linked to the U.S.-based Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO), which had besieged the province over the previous six months. After stumping for CCF candidates in several ridings, Gordon arrived at the glum conclusion that Hepburn “handed us a great issue in the C.I.O.,” but the CCF was “not bright enough to make full use of it.” Poor organization and a “lack of political imagination” were partly to blame. Symptomatic of the CCF’s broader deficiencies in the Ontario campaign, Gordon believed, was its failure to marginalize Communist organizers who were making inroads with the province’s “newly awakened labour movement.” Adding to the frustration – which was understandable, given Gordon’s aversion to self-censorship – was his decision not to criticize openly the Ontario CCF’s dismal campaign performance lest he be deemed a disloyal outsider. When Hepburn’s Liberals were returned to office with seventy of the Legislative Assembly’s ninety seats and a commanding 52 per cent of the popular vote, while the CCF attracted just 5.6 per cent of the total votes cast and was shut out in the seat count, it was humiliatingly clear that Gordon’s party would not be “planning for power,” in Ontario at least, any time soon.74 Gordon and the CCF’s national executive had barely completed their depressing post-mortem of the Ontario rout before he was once again en route to Victoria. Simon Fraser Tolmie had died in office that October, sparking the riding’s second by-election in just seventeen months. Gordon briefly considered taking a pass on running for a third time. He admitted to his mother that he was “getting fed up with defeat while in the radical movement,” but ultimately relented on the grounds it would “look very bad if I let them down.” This time, with the recent Ontario debacle fresh in his mind, Gordon resolved not to “tolerate any of the defeatism” that some of his campaign workers conveyed during the previous by-election.75 Arriving in Victoria on 11 November, he realized this election bid would be a unique experience on a deeply personal level as well. For the first time in his life King was embarking on a

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major enterprise without benefit of his father’s sage counsel. Charles Gordon had died just days before on 31 October at the age of seventyseven, following intestinal surgery in a Winnipeg hospital. Although King and Charles had been gradually drifting apart ideologically and theologically for several years, their feelings of mutual respect and admiration only increased over time. On the day Charles died, King wrote that a “simply terrific love of, and faith in humanity” had made his ­father not only an “idealist” but keen to “attempt the darndest fool things.”76 The apple, as the saying goes, does not fall far from the tree. As King disembarked from the Vancouver Island ferry, an unrepentant socialist bracing for yet another bruising encounter in a socially conservative city where his opponents undoubtedly would brand him a diabolic Red, an Oriental sympathizer, and delusional social critic, he could be excused for thinking that perhaps he had inherited a heaping measure of his father’s foolhardy idealism. Gordon highlighted three sweeping themes during the 1937 by-­ election campaign – social security, the future of Canada’s youth, and foreign policy. Featured in the social security section of his platform were such CCF staples as unemployment and health insurance, reducing from seventy to sixty-five the age at which senior citizens were eligible to receive government old-age pensions, an improved housing and slum-clearance program, and a nationally owned central Bank of Canada.77 Convinced the nation was “on the eve of a new depression” – a recent decline in the unemployment rate notwithstanding, average annual incomes in Canada remained at least 50 per cent below the $1,500 that economists estimated was required to support a family of five – Gordon called for a constitutional amendment guaranteeing all workers a “secure income.” He dismissed the King government’s creation of the National Employment Commission (NEC) the previous year as an unconscionable subterfuge to avoid taking decisive remedial action in the face of a national calamity. As proof he pointed to the government’s failure to implement immediately such core NEC recommendations as the establishment of a national employment service, and a housing policy designed not only to ease the desperate shortage in residential accommodations but create much-needed construction jobs as well. Gordon likewise interpreted recent overtures by the prime minister to the provinces asking for unanimous approval of a constitutional amendment transferring responsibility for the nation’s unemployed to the federal government as a disingenuous bid to solicit votes for the Liberal candidate in the Victoria by-election.78

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A “greater tragedy,” Gordon claimed, was the Liberal government’s negligence in not implementing the NEC recommendation to develop programs for alleviating the mounting plight of Canada’s youth. He estimated that over the previous seven years, some 1.5 million young people had “been educated and equipped in our schools for a society that does not want them.” Offering a peculiarly modern-sounding lament, Gordon observed that young adults had largely given up on “counting-house politics” and were gravitating instead to what they believed were nobler causes like “rebuilding the will to peace in this country” and urging Canada to take “a greater part in world affairs.”79 His attention to foreign policy during the 1937 contest was largely in response to the ominous rise of militarism in Japan and Germany. Gordon was especially critical of the King government’s refusal to halt Canadian raw material exports to an imperialist aggressor like Japan, which had recently followed up its 1931 occupation of Manchuria by invading China in July 1937. He argued it was unethical, and possibly even criminal, for Canadian businesses to profit from selling Japan the copper and aluminium that it converted into armaments for use against “defenceless women and children huddled together in the congested slums of Chinese cities.” Imposing an export embargo on Japan would reap “an enormous moral advantage” for Canada by demonstrating leadership “in the mightiest of all international tasks – the rebuilding of the collective system of world peace.” Gordon encouraged Victoria’s voters to join him in transforming the by-election into an event with a symbolic significance extending far beyond parochial constituency considerations. As his campaign literature pledged, “A vote for King Gordon” was “a vote for Canadian self-respect in international affairs.”80 The Liberal candidate in the race, Robert W. Mayhew, a Victoria manufacturer and former municipal politician, challenged Gordon’s advocacy of punitive trade sanctions against Japan. A much better way to prevent the fragile global peace of the 1930s from unravelling further, Mayhew insisted, was to counter economic nationalism with increased international trade. He trumpeted the King government’s proposed Anglo-American trade agreement and endorsed his party’s commitment to increase defence spending to compensate for the previous Conservative government’s neglect of Canada’s military preparedness. When Ian Mackenzie, the minister of national defence, campaigned in  Victoria in support of Mayhew, he depicted increased military expenditures as the only prudent course during “this time of unrest throughout the world.” He went on to ridicule Gordon’s “‘foolish and

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idle statement’” linking Canadian foreign policy with exports to Japan by legitimate private corporations. The minister’s brand of liberalism ­explicitly consigned business and politics to separate and largely autonomous spheres. One unidentified speaker at the Liberal rally seconded Mackenzie’s position, barking out the familiar characterization of Gordon as the sort of “‘impractical and visionary’” man the CCF typically called upon to promote its “‘untried schemes.’”81 Determined to retain one of the handful of Commons seats it still controlled west of Ontario, the Conservative Party dispatched R.B. Bennett to Victoria to campaign alongside Bruce Alistair McKelvie, its choice as Tolmie’s successor. Manager of the manufacturers’ branch of the Vancouver Board of Trade and a former editor of the Daily Colonist, McKelvie had deep roots in the riding. From Bennett’s transparently self-serving perspective, the only issue worth discussing in the by-­ ­ election was the Liberal government’s Anglo-American trade ­agreement. This objectionable policy, he predicted, would cause “‘unemployment on a scale never before realized in the history of Canada’” once jobs in the export sector were sacrificed to “our greatest competitor,” the United States. Canadian interests would be far better served, the former prime minister claimed, by implementing the “Ottawa Agreements” his government had negotiated at the Imperial Economic Conference in 1932. As the latest manifestation of imperial preference, the Ottawa Agreements were intended to foster intra-empire trade by allowing goods from the overseas dominions to supplant American products in the United Kingdom market. Not only would the “peoples of the Empire” become economically self-sufficient, they would be emboldened to cooperate for their mutual defence. It was inconceivable to Bennett how the Liberal government could be so naive as to pursue under its proposed Anglo-American trade agreement “a mythical union of England and the United States for world peace.” The Americans simply could not be trusted to grant Canadian products access to their markets on the same terms that King proposed allowing American goods into Britain. So momentous were the economic and political implications of the trade question, Bennett anticipated all of Canada and every other British dominion would be watching closely to see how Victoria voted on this “great national issue.” This was classic Bennett bombast. Nevertheless, his pitch that casting a ballot for McKelvie was akin to “strengthening the bonds of Empire” was certain to resonate positively among the dedicated core of Victoria electors sympathetic to all matters British.82

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Given Gordon’s reluctance to address the discordant theme of Oriental enfranchisement during his two previous election campaigns, he surprisingly was the only candidate to discuss it in 1937. Without being prompted, he expressed support for the CCF’s recommended moratorium on further Oriental immigration to Canada until as a group they could be guaranteed the full “privileges and responsibilities of citizenship.” An incongruous twist of logic, the policy held that Orientals already resident in Canada must first be permitted to participate equally in the democratic process, and thereby enabled to protect themselves from ruthlessly exploitative employment practices, before their friends and relatives could be permitted entry. Otherwise the Oriental community would remain “a constant drag upon the standard of living of the white labourer or farmer” and a catalyst for continuing

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4.2 & 4.3  (facing page and above) King Gordon’s 1935 Victoria by-election campaign brochures. (LAC, J. King Gordon fonds, 9-36)

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racism.83 Neither of Gordon’s opponents took the bait. In lieu of debating his policy proposals they recycled vitriol from the 1935 and 1936 campaigns, focusing on Gordon’s personality traits and his purportedly perfidious motives for seeking office. Once again they labelled him “unbalanced,” “doctrinaire,” and a totalitarian “collectivist” who ruthlessly lusted after power as Communists and Fascists were wont to do. According to the Daily Colonist, should Gordon and the CCF ever seize the reigns of government, all free discussion in Canada would be forbidden, individual initiative discouraged, and the discovery of a single unauthorized rose, cornstalk, or pumpkin “in any man’s backyard” would invoke the formidable wrath of the “all-seeing” socialist state. Arguably the lowest jab directed at Gordon was the suggestion that his roving lifestyle disqualified him from giving instruction on the “­abstract reasoning of social economy,” since obviously he had failed “to cope successfully with the competitive requirements of actual vocational life.”84 Victoria elected the Liberal Mayhew on 29 November and handed Gordon the worst loss in his short political career; he finished third with just 28 per cent of the popular vote.85 This time he was not so quiescent in defeat. In his account of the campaign published in the Canadian Forum, Gordon rationalized that organizations rather than issues usually determine election outcomes, and in Victoria the Liberal “machines” certainly carried the day. The steady procession of Liberal as well as Conservative Cabinet ministers through the riding signalled early on that this was to be “no ordinary by-election.” Ultimately it was the Liberals’ deep pockets – Gordon estimated between $30,000 and $50,000 had been spent conducting Mayhew’s campaign – that enabled them to “steam-roller” the competition. Gordon’s own experience promoting the CCF and his policies had been ignominious in comparison. With much less money at his disposal, he had purchased one week’s worth of advertising on the sides of Victoria’s streetcars. After just one day of publicity the owner of the local transit system, British Columbia Electric, an affiliate of Herbert Holt’s Montreal-based business empire, ordered the CCF posters removed from the streetcars. The action prompted a bitter sense of déjà vu for Gordon, whose previous clashes with Montreal establishment figures had also proven detrimental to his interests. The moral of the story, he concluded, was that the “arm of St James Street is long,” and “idealistic believers in democracy” must brace themselves against inevitable brickbats and bullying “when they enter into a fight on the side of a left-wing party.”86

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The unvarnished description of events Gordon gave to Frank Scott credited his supporters for making a “super-human effort” during the final few weeks of the campaign to prevent chronic party infighting from producing an even worse outcome. “As is so often the case with our movement,” Gordon complained, “the very guts had been torn out of the organization by petty strife during the year prior to the election.” He also told his FCSO colleague Bob Scott about numerous irregularities with voters’ lists and curiously inflated ballot totals that pointed irrefutably to “quite a bit of skullduggery in the campaign.” But Gordon saved the most vituperative account for his sister Mary. “Liberal cabinet ministers,” King fumed, “freely flung about promises of patronage, illusions of prosperity – the bandwagons for all the morons to jump on. And how they jumped. It is a solemn thought that in modern elections in many cases it is the morons who determine the issues. Niebuhr once wrote disillusioned about the ‘wise men and the mighty’ but he might have written about the wise men and the morons. It’s their weight that counts.”87 The 1937 Victoria by-election marked Gordon’s final bid for elected office, despite frequent entreaties from his CCF colleagues to run again, particularly when the party’s popularity rose during the 1940s. Had he remained in Canada, there is a good chance Gordon would have thrown his hat into the electoral ring at least one more time and at the very least continued to support the CCF at the executive level. However, a string of subsequent career changes that took him first to the United States and then to Asia, the Middle East, and Africa made a return to electoral politics in Canada increasingly impractical. But this was all in the future. In the immediate post-campaign period, King’s first priority was to assist his mother and sisters back in Winnipeg to complete the sorrowful task of settling his father’s estate. Since Charles and Helen had never escaped entirely the unexpected financial difficulties that beset them during the First World War, King recognized the urgency in finding additional sources of income to support his widowed mother. So straitened were Helen’s circumstances that within a year of Charles’s death she would be forced to forfeit her cherished home at 54 West Gate to the city of Winnipeg over unpaid realty taxes. Literally banking on the prospect that the release of a new book by Ralph Connor could still generate an enthusiastic readership and healthy royalties, King pushed for the immediate publication of the autobiography Charles had barely completed before his death. Consequently, when asked by John Farrar of the New York publishing house Farrar & Rinehart to edit

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the manuscript, King gamely accepted the challenge, despite harbouring misgivings over his lack of formal editorial experience. He reasoned that in addition to eventually providing much-needed financial relief for his mother, the intensely personal task of readying his father’s memoir for printing could prove immediately cathartic for himself. The recent by-election had distracted King from mourning Charles’s death properly and bringing closure to his cherished relationship with a devoted father who was first and foremost a trusted friend and confidante. Time spent quietly poring over Charles’s final handwritten words and recollections was certain to assist King in crafting his personal farewell. Besides, Ralph Connor was a Canadian literary giant whose stories had captivated national and international audiences for decades; it “would be a great blow to my father,” King concluded, were his own story not told.88 King closed out 1937 in Winnipeg editing and writing the introduction to Postscript to Adventure: The Autobiography of Ralph Connor. He insisted on this title for the book, explaining to John Farrar that “adventure” had been the “key word” in his father’s “approach to life in its deepest as well as its lightest aspects.”89 King was also busy fending off claims by his mother’s creditors to Postscript’s anticipated royalties, a protracted dispute that included questions concerning the legality of his acting concurrently as memoir editor and estate executor. Clearly the Gordon family had sentimental as well as pecuniary incentives for settling the disagreement as speedily as possible. “One thing I just can’t bear to think of,” Helen confided to King, “is that the money from the autobiography should go to the creditors.” Whereas she was prepared to lose the financial rights to her husband’s other books, Postscript seemed “so much a part of Daddy” that abrogating control over it “seems almost sacreligious [sic].” Besides, only recently had a tiny ray of light begun to pierce the darkness of her deep financial tunnel: “No one is bothering us,” she reported, “and I am gradually getting the old bills paid off and will soon have a clear sheet, which has not happened for many a year.”90 The final version of Postscript that Gordon submitted in February 1938 so impressed John Farrar and Stanley Rinehart they promptly offered him a full-time job in New York as their firm’s non-fiction editor. The offer not only was unexpected, it also entailed a dramatic lifestyle change for Gordon both vocationally and socially. At thirty-seven years of age he could claim to be a figure of some renown in Canada, even if  his forcefully articulated views on Christian socialism and social

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4.4  Charles Gordon, unidentified man, and King Gordon at Birkencraig (n.d.).(University of Manitoba Archives and Special Collections, 76-5-5)

reform were often polarizing and created a wide chasm between his supporters and critics. But without a secure job and little prospect of acquiring one as long as the Depression persisted, pragmatism momentarily trumped idealism and Gordon accepted the editor’s position. Years later when recalling the events leading up to the decision, he explained that the “suitcase life of a social agitator,” topped off by three successive electoral defeats, had made him “think that perhaps a change was called for.” What is more, with Charles’s death, King suddenly bore a greater financial responsibility for his mother’s care. This was an obligation he could not expect to fulfil without first securing employment more stable than what he had been surviving on since his dismissal from United Theological College. Besides, the position at Farrar & Rinehart promised a relatively sedentary lifestyle, as well as a welcome opportunity to do more writing himself.91 While mulling over his rationale for making so portentous a move, King conferred with Frank Scott: “There is no point in moralizing about it. I realize it is a pretty

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important break with the past and with everything that seemed to be indicative of my work … there seemed to be no alternatives and many positive considerations in taking the step … It is idle to speculate far into the future. Our lives seem to have a habit of taking care of themselves and determining their own destinations. I don’t think I am through with Canada and Canadian public life.”92 Gordon never intended his expatriation to be long-term; certainly not for the twenty-three years it lasted. In preparing to relocate to the United States, he resigned his executive positions with both the CCF and the FCSO. He was at pains, however, to assure his associates on the Left that his commitment to the political and religious philosophies of the CCF and the FCSO remained undiminished.93 Although he was trading his Bible and dog-eared copy of the Regina Manifesto for an editor’s blue pencil, he insisted his core values and political predilections were unchanged. Most friends and colleagues who proffered advice on the subject agreed that the timing was propitious for a career switch, and Gordon’s absence from Canada was likely to be temporary. R.F. McWilliams, for example, acknowledged that as much as he regretted Gordon leaving Canada, there was “very little satisfactory prospect for you in the immediate future in view of all the complications which surround you.” A few years away and Gordon would surely return home having acquired “wider experience and enhanced prestige.” Another confidante commended Gordon’s exceptional efforts promoting the nascent socialist movement in Canada, but concurred with his decision to pursue new challenges. “Every decade needs radicals,” was the assessment offered, but “second rate brains make just as good radicals as first grade ones.” There was little point to Gordon wasting time “crying in the wilderness when men like [Communist Party of Canada leader] Tim Buck will do it for you.”94 As usual, Frank Scott’s approbation carried the most weight with Gordon. Scott, who several years earlier had urged his friend to see “politics as the only road to heaven now,” did not disappoint: “So you have taken the plunge. I feel that a certain chapter in Canadian history has ended. Wherever one turns, the A.O. Dawsons and the J.A. Ewings seem to be on top, more secure than ever and twice as righteous … However, I am sure you have done the best thing. Even if you had not the new personal responsibilities to assume, I feel that perhaps it was time for you to make a break with a certain type of life.”95 Between the 1920s and the 1970s Gordon repeatedly reinvented himself vocationally, beginning with his decision in 1929 to trade parish

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ministry for doctoral studies at Union Theological Seminary and a professorship in Christian ethics. Losing his faculty position at United Theological College in 1934 was an important benchmark in Gordon’s political and philosophical development, although even he admitted several decades later that he could not say for certain what impact the dismissal had on his subsequent course through life. “Over the long stretch of the years,” he once wrote in reference to the event, “one learns with Kipling to treat both triumph and disaster as imposters, and, looking back, it is hard to tell which is which.”96 What is indisputable is that Gordon successfully turned his resulting brush with unemployment during the worst economic depression in modern times, and the stigma of being deemed persona non grata by many of the nation’s religious and business elite, into a triumph of personal intellectual independence. As a travelling evangelist for Christian socialism during that most unforgiving of decades, he enjoyed the freedom of a public intellectual who educated, enlightened, and encouraged his audiences largely as he saw fit. Although he was on the payroll of the United Church of Canada and later the Fellowship for a Christian Social Order, and therefore might be considered beholden to them, in truth Gordon marched to his own beat. The subjects on which he spoke, and the political, economic, and theological interpretations he offered, were of his own design and choosing, depending upon the circumstances of the crowd he happened to be addressing at the time. When he ran as a candidate of the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation during three unsuccessful election bids, Gordon was required to adhere to the party line. But even in that role he frequently sounded more professorial than political. Gordon’s inclination was to treat election campaigns as more an opportunity for educating the public about the intricacies of the ­socialist vision than a blatant quest for electoral glory. Gordon’s commitment to far-reaching socio-economic reform during the latter half of the 1930s – particularly after the political emphases of his Christian socialism supplanted the theological – represents the ­apogee of his radicalism. The urgency with which he approached the twin tasks of educating and converting diverse audiences to socialism stemmed from innumerable personal encounters with destitute workingclass families nationwide who were struggling to survive within a capitalist system that Gordon characterized as ruthless and irredeemable. Despite his personal standing as a member of Canada’s intellectual elite, Gordon was at ease communicating and empathizing with the broad base of society whose desperation seemed only to deepen as the

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Depression persisted. Perhaps it was his own fleeting exposure to financial privilege prior to the decimation of his family’s fortune at the time of the First World War that heightened Gordon’s sensitivity to others whose aspirations were dashed by a capricious capitalism. Whatever the source, his outlook and motives were genuinely populist. Gordon’s enthusiasm for the Antigonish Movement’s cooperative schemes of self-help and material uplift was particularly instructive. Rooted in credit union theory, the Maritime-centred experiment impressed Gordon for acknowledging that participants’ intellects needed to be fed before their bodies could be fortified. Variations on this theme of educating and equipping the masses to devise for themselves the specific social reforms necessary for neutralizing an inherently individualistic and inhumane capitalist system remained the hallmark of Gordon’s political philosophy for life. Granted, few among the general public would have encountered his published musings on these themes during the 1930s. His contributions to books such as the LSR’s Social Planning for Canada and the FCSO’s Towards the Christian Revolution, as well as articles he published in the monthly Canadian Forum, targeted an elite readership of intellectual opinion-shapers and political policymakers. Instead, Gordon’s popular if often controversial public lectures held in church and community venues across the country, and the detailed press reports that usually followed each event, remained his principal point of contact with audiences from across many walks of Canadian life. A salient aspect of Gordon’s departure from Canada in 1938 to enter the book publishing business in the United States was how rapidly he discarded his public identity as a clergyman. This change should be considered within the context of the increasingly “politicized atmosphere” of the 1930s that, according to Michael Gauvreau and Nancy Christie, shaped United Church ministers like Gordon who supported social Christianity’s “progressive new liberalism and a critique of ­laissez-faire political economy, the competitiveness of the marketplace, and the inequities of modern industrialization.” Gauvreau and Christie noted how some clergy who were uneasy about supporting social Christianity if it involved making “a distinct political choice between left-wing socialist or right-wing conservative alternatives,” responded by turning to “individual piety as the non-political haven and emotional salve of traditional evangelicalism.” Gordon, by contrast, sided with those in his denomination who believed social Christianity must not be confined to the institutional church, but experienced within

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“broader culture and social relationships” such as the “industrial hall, in the factory, in reform associations, and in government.” The economic crisis only reinforced his conviction that the church’s traditional mission of personal evangelization and conversion must be expanded to include “redeeming the wider civic order … through transforming institutions, social relationships, and government, which needed to be reformed in terms of Christian teachings.” Gordon’s “institutional withdrawal” from the United Church, therefore, was a personal expression of what Gauvreau and Christie dubbed the “individualization of the project of Christianizing the social,” and not an absolute endorsement of secularization.97 Indeed, as will be seen, many of the reform causes Gordon championed while in New York reflected the continuing influence of his Christian traditions and values; he merely articulated them in the language of a secular liberal. Throughout the 1930s, even as his involvement with the CCF and commitment to socialism intensified, Gordon was by identity and disposition primarily an ordained minister. If at points the political ends he sought were radical, his desired means were much less so. Gordon consistently maintained that legitimate political change must rest on a democratically constructed popular consensus. Not surprisingly the FCSO became his preferred intellectual home, a sanctuary for developing and propagating his commixture of religious and secular ideals. Participating in the FCSO allowed him to remain connected to his institutional home in the United Church, while simultaneously aligning himself with a dedicated fringe of radical churchmen who shared his dissatisfaction over the church’s failure to act decisively against capitalism’s deleterious hold on Canadian society. When at last he accepted that his reformist proclivities would be better satisfied via secular avenues, Gordon took his leave of the institutional church without fanfare. Neither did he appear to dwell on the fact that, as David Marshall observed, he “was breaking away from family tradition by insisting that he could serve the Christian gospel outside the ministry and the church.”98 Gordon simply packed his few personal effects and departed for New York, where he purposefully reinvented himself to grasp this latest vocational opportunity. It would be inaccurate to label Gordon an ideological chameleon for so speedily exchanging religious vestments for a business suit. His core philosophical values that instilled in him a profound sense of duty, service, and concern for the disadvantaged were no less pressing on his conscience in 1938 than they had been years before when as a recent

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graduate of Oxford he wrestled with the decision to enter the ordained ministry. Yet for all his idealism, Gordon was sufficiently pragmatic to discern when the timing was opportune for experimenting with new modes of reform. He saw little point in remaining tied to the ordained ministry when the Christian church was ill-prepared to initiate the sorts of sweeping changes he believed society desperately needed. Similarly, after several years of service to the CCF national executive, Gordon could detect few reliable employment opportunities in Canada pursuing the dream of socialism. Moreover, the CCF’s lengthening record of electoral setbacks federally and provincially were a stark reminder the Regina Manifesto’s idyllic goals were unlikely to be realized any time soon. Lastly, and no less importantly, Gordon’s growing financial obligations to his mother dictated that he secure more dependable work. Under this combination of circumstances, the serendipitous offer to join Farrar & Rinehart in New York as an editor could hardly be declined. Once back in the United States, it was only a short time before Gordon began to enjoy the ancillary intellectual benefits of the relocation, for when socialism eventually began losing its lustre, Gordon compensated by gaining access to a much broader network of liberal thinkers and progressive activists than Canada could offer. In addition, New York in the 1940s proved an ideal locale for pursuing his growing interest in internationalism, which was to become the focal point for the r­ emainder of Gordon’s professional life.

5 “A bifocal view towards American affairs” (1938–1949)

Looking back on the Great Depression from the vantage point of the 1970s, Gordon could not imagine a “less likely sequel to my six or seven years as a Christian-Socialist activist” than occupying the non-fiction editor’s chair at the New York publishing house Farrar & Rinehart beginning in 1938. Although he had been an ardent writer during his previous incarnations as preacher, professor, travelling proselytizer, and political candidate, Gordon’s only formal editorial experience prior to joining the firm was what he acquired while preparing his father’s autobiography for publication. Yet John Farrar, who regarded books as “the voices and images of the emerging realities in our world,” detected an innate editorial talent in Gordon. Whereas it was important to demonstrate a “technical aptitude and eye for the marketability of words on paper,” Farrar believed the editor’s craft also depended upon possessing “the ears to hear and the eyes to see” those “emerging realities.” Gordon clearly exhibited that ability. Moreover, while working with King on Postscript to Adventure, Farrar discovered a kindred spirit who shared his “scheme of values.” Specifically, both men were deeply concerned by the late 1930s that governments across North America were not nearly aggressive enough in reversing the rampant spread of social injustices at home, or averting the imminent outbreak of war abroad.1 Over the course of the 1940s, Gordon’s pursuit of this “scheme of values” led him into an eclectic array of professional and public endeavours. It was never in his nature to view wage employment simply as a job, or his extensive involvement in political organizations and causes beyond the workplace solely as social outlets. Between 1938 and 1949 he was at various times an editor at Farrar & Rinehart and the newsmagazine the Nation, a journalist with the Canadian Broadcasting

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Corporation, an organizer for the Union for Democratic Action, a member of the Canadian government’s Royal Commission on Steel, and a public pundit keen to explain Canada to Americans and America to Canadians. The theme common to all of these assorted activities was Gordon’s resolve to honour what he sensed was a deeply ingrained moral imperative to speak out against the architects of social injustice, however manifested. The most conspicuous aspect of his ideological evolution during these years was a shift away from Christian socialism, which had guided Gordon’s activism since the early 1930s, towards a recognizably mainstream liberalism. His formal association with the institutional church also promptly ended. Henceforth, and particularly after the United Nations was established in 1945, he turned to secular rather than ecclesiastical bodies as his preferred vehicles for advocacy, and focused increasingly on promoting human rights causes within a framework of benevolent internationalism. Yet as will be seen, Gordon’s adoption of a secular image and modus operandi externally over this twelve-year period of transition did not necessarily mean the ethical values motivating him internally were substantially different from those that had influenced him as an evangelical Christian. When war broke out in Europe in September 1939, Farrar rapidly redirected his company’s financial and human resources into pressuring the American government to join the Allied cause as a declared combatant. For Gordon this meant that in addition to his regular duties overseeing the development of manuscripts related to politics, labour issues, social problems, and foreign policy, he shouldered r­ esponsibility for a series of publications designed to explain to a woefully ill-­informed American public about the principal issues underlying the war. For much of his six-year tenure at Farrar & Rinehart he shepherded into print an impressive list of non-fiction books that either endorsed the war effort or proposed how best to shape the post-war peace.2 Gordon’s promotion of pro-war tomes on behalf of a leading American publisher might suggest he had undergone a drastic philosophical change since the day in 1935 when, as a CCF candidate in British Columbia during the general election, he dismissed all war as “barbaric” and futile. Once sweeping tracts of Western Europe began toppling helter-skelter under the deadly efficiency of the German blitzkrieg, however, Gordon qualified his earlier statement by allowing that wars fought “for the maintenance of the collective system against an aggressor state” were legitimate. He continued to believe that warfare was rooted in class distinctions, and the labouring classes inevitably bore the brunt of martial

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5.1  King Gordon, ca 1940. (LAC, MIKAN no. 3604387)

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adventures instigated by their social superiors. Yet he also recognized in Nazism so heinous a threat to civil society that nothing short of a total military response by the world’s liberal democracies would suffice to suppress it.3 Gordon’s fresh beginning in New York soon encompassed interests beyond publishing and politics. To this point in his life romance had not occupied a particularly prominent place. Indeed, as he confessed to his mother, “If certain of my attempts to be happy in love had reached fruition, the result would have been quite tragic; in certain cases as it was I skated near the edge of tragedy.” This rather doleful state of affairs took a pleasant turn shortly after Gordon arrived in New York to work on Postscript to Adventure, when he met Ruth Anderson, an editor in Farrar & Rinehart’s design and artwork department. Born in Brooklyn in 1910, Ruth was the daughter of Elsa Larsen and Isaac Anderson, he a literary critic for the New York Times. Ruth had been raised in Mountain Lakes, New Jersey, and attended finishing school before joining Farrar & Rinehart. She was genial, athletic, a lover of the written word, and interested in politics, although not so intensely as King about the last. The attraction to each other was mutual almost instantaneously, and they made plans to marry in the fall of 1939. Matrimonial bliss invariably involves some element of complication, and this match was no exception. The fact Ruth was a divorcée decades before marital breakups ceased to be stigmatized within polite North American society threatened to be reason enough for a traditionalist like Helen Gordon to deny the couple her blessing. As feared, she received news of the engagement as “a shattering blow.” King begged his mother to relent and admitted that he too felt “pretty lost,” for he well knew how one “who takes a course that is against that approved by society finds life lonely.” Nevertheless, for the first time in his life he was “really, completely sure” in a matter of the heart and determined to proceed with the wedding.4 King and Ruth were married on 6 November 1939 in New York’s St Nicholas Dutch Reformed Church on Fifth Avenue. The officiant was Archibald Sinclair, whom Gordon had assisted at First Presbyterian Church in Bloomfield while a graduate student at Union Theological Seminary. Much to King’s relief, his mother was among the small congregation in attendance to witness the vows. Helen had softened her initial opposition to the union after meeting Ruth and realizing she was an ideal mate for her cherished only son. Following the nuptials, the newlyweds boarded the train to Montreal, where Frank and Marian Scott hosted a party in their honour, and Ruth was introduced to many

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of King’s Canadian friends. After a week’s honeymoon in Quebec’s Laurentian Mountains, the couple returned to New York and their rented upper flat at 74 MacDougall. Their first child, Charles William, was born on 13 November 1940. By the time their daughter, Alison Ruth, arrived on 21 January 1943, the family had moved into the lower duplex at 84 MacDougall, which included a small garden in a neighbourhood more conducive to raising young children. In the earliest days of the marriage King thought it important to reassure his mother that after so many years of living out of a suitcase he had at last “settled down into a good quite sensible life.” He reported being home for dinner with Ruth most evenings, after which they spent quiet time t­ ogether “­reading manuscripts or listening to good radio programs.”5 With their shared penchant for New York’s vibrant arts community, and King’s involvement in a growing number of socialist, labour, and political action groups, it is unlikely that he and Ruth lived quite so sedate an existence as he led Helen to believe. Either way, the tranquillity of their first months together as a couple was dampened by King’s quandary over how, as a Canadian residing in the still neutral United States, he should respond to his homeland’s declaration of war against Germany on 10 September 1939. Only days before this fateful event he had written his mother that war was “incompatible” with Christianity. Yet if war was unavoidable, it must be “waged with a combination of  force and morality.”6 King was certain most Americans shared his disdain for Hitler’s regime. The fact that public opinion in New York ­appeared to be “99% pro-Ally,” he told Helen, helped to alleviate his “slightly funny feeling being a Canadian in a neutral land.”7 In typically caustic fashion, Frank Scott provided Gordon with a glimpse of Canada’s preliminary move onto a wartime footing. Scott’s account was inspired by the mobilization activities he witnessed from the window of his McGill University office two days after Parliament committed the nation to war: “I hear the sounds of squad drill on the campus, and groups of pretty boys are being bossed about by toughs in uniform. The game is on, and the plays are being called by people over whom our civil governors have precious little control. There’s only one way to keep sane if this goes on a long time – either fight in it or against it. We shall all have to fight … We have got to prepare our forces for our own peace treaty – right here in Canada. If we can pull a new nation out of the melting pot we shall not have done too badly. If we can’t we shall probably be run by the war generals on their return.”8 Having already determined that the correct course was to “fight in it,” Gordon

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was unsure whether he could contribute best to the fight by returning to Canada or remaining in the United States. As he told Escott Reid, a  former LSR comrade now attached to the Canadian legation in Washington, he was open to “offering his services at any time, either down here or elsewhere.”9 As it turned out, Gordon spent the war years in New York. In his professional capacity at Farrar & Rinehart he was essentially a propagandist for the war, working with authors whose books promoted the Allied cause and endorsed a total commitment by the United States to the hostilities. Away from the office as well, Gordon affiliated with a range of leftist and liberal organizations committed to rousing Americans from the isolationist lethargy that had beset their nation during the Great Depression. The overarching aim of the groups was to encourage the United States to demonstrate international leadership, not just during the war, but following its successful conclusion. One such body was the Union for Democratic Action (UDA) whose organizing committee Gordon joined at the invitation of Reinhold Niebuhr, one of its founders. Niebuhr’s biographer, Richard Fox, vividly described the UDA as “a haven for former radicals in transit toward the liberalism of the Democratic Party … a halfway house for anti-Fascists eager to defend Britain and groping for a non-Socialist yet still progressive vantage point on domestic issues.”10 Gordon likened the UDA to the League for Social Reconstruction. The UDA, he told Scott – and here his description is somewhat at variance with Fox’s – was “largely socialistic” but with an emphasis “away from Marx and definitely on d ­ emocracy.” Communists, for example, were explicitly forbidden membership. Aspiring to be the voice of America’s under-represented working class, the UDA refuted the communist line that “labor has no stake in this war.” According to Niebuhr, the UDA’s ambitious research and public education agenda was threefold: promoting social democracy at home in preparation for America’s national defence; advancing democracy abroad to build the economic, political, and moral foundations of a free world; and encouraging the collective will among nations to defend any country threatened by fascist militarism.11 Participating in the UDA was an easy transition for Gordon to make. Many of its progressive and educational goals were natural ideological extensions of his former political activism within the LSR, the CCF, and the FCSO. The main dissimilarity was the absence in the UDA of an overtly Christian evangelical agenda comparable to the one that had informed Gordon’s outlook back in Canada.

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In the spring of 1941 Gordon joined the International Coordination Council (ICC), a private body that assisted refugees to the United States from Nazi-occupied Europe in organizing national resistance movements back in their homelands. ICC membership included representatives of Dutch, Norwegian, French, Polish, Danish, anti-Nazi German, and anti-Fascist Italian resistance groups. The goal of the ICC was to raise morale and keep liberationist dreams alive in occupied nations through such activities as preparing and transmitting covert radio broadcasts in Europe to counter German propaganda.12 The ICC also believed that developing trusting relationships with refugees during wartime could work to American advantage once peace was restored. It was thought, for example, that returned refugees might usefully advocate America’s foreign policy objectives in a unified and democratic post-war Europe. Likewise, refugees choosing to remain in the United States after the war could be of significant benefit domestically. Having found freedom from tyranny in wartime America, they might well provide precisely the sort of “intellectual leadership” the ICC believed would be invaluable for assimilating subsequent waves of immigrants to the United States in peacetime.13 Gordon augmented his involvement in American public affairs by joining the board of directors of the League for Industrial Democracy (LID) in the fall of 1943. Founded in 1905 by several prominent socialists, including the writers Upton Sinclair and Jack London, the LID ­vigorously promoted the extension of democracy into any corner of American society dominated by entrenched oligarchies. The head of the LID when Gordon joined was Norman Thomas, a resolute pacifist and perennial Socialist candidate for the American presidency. Thomas was an unrelenting opponent of social problems like child labour, ­widespread poverty, inadequate housing, unsafe working conditions in  factories, and the unbridled growth of business monopolies, all causes dear to Gordon. The LID recruited Gordon because of his well-­ established reputation as a harsh critic of industrial capitalism, and to tap into his close ties with the Canadian socialist movement. Gordon’s first project for the LID was to compose a pamphlet describing how lessons gleaned from CCF attempts at establishing a socialist beachhead in Canada were applicable to the American setting. Involvement with the LID, as with the UDA, reminded Gordon of his earlier association with the LSR. The most conspicuous difference between the Canadian and American experiences, he explained to his mother, was the LID

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enjoyed comparatively less influence in the United States, given that “real liberals are pretty few and far between here.”14 Until the United States formally joined the war as a combatant in December 1941, a preoccupation of Gordon’s was to raise Americans’  awareness of Britain’s heroic and largely solitary stand against ­Germany’s military might. He worried that in the absence of strongly stated pro-war opinions in the United States, “anti-English and proNazi propaganda of the most subtle and effective kind” could slip into the resulting information vacuum. Worse still, unless America mobilized for war, Britain was unlikely to survive. Gordon wanted Americans to take seriously the scenario that should Britain fall the United States would be in peril next. Warning that the American “tradition … to pick on the English” was an outdated prejudice that only played into the hands of Axis propagandists, Gordon urged as a countermeasure that an intensive campaign of public education be undertaken in the United States.15 As a beginning, the quality of British news services in the United States needed to be improved. Gordon recommended recruiting “informed and trusted Englishmen who know America and American ways and customs” to provide incisive media commentaries in the United States lauding Britain’s war effort. In addition, because of its “dual role” as England’s ally and America’s partner in hemispheric defence, Canada should be better used as a communications linchpin between the two powers. Gordon suggested to Scott in June 1940 that the Canadian press could be much more intentional about providing  “some kind of liaison between Canadian and American public opinion.” From his ringside seat in New York, it was apparent that many Americans remained largely uninformed about the vast scale of ­Canada’s war effort, and not solely out of disinterest. If Canada made a priority of placing “intelligent representatives of the press” in the United States – Gordon clearly envisioned himself in such a role – to work with “sympathetic publicists” in communicating the details of Canada’s wartime sacrifices, American public opinion was certain to remain supportive of their own government’s “policy of war aid.” As a future consideration, closer sharing of wartime information between the two countries was certain to enhance the prospects “for CanadianAmerican post-war solidarity.”16 When yet another year passed with little demonstrable increase in average Americans’ awareness of Canada’s massive human, financial, and material contributions to the war, Gordon cast about for alternative means of communicating the facts to his adopted countrymen. In the

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fall of 1941 he pressed Joseph Thorson, Canada’s minister of war services, to counter American isolationist propaganda by ensuring that the Canadian war record was portrayed accurately south of the border both in the print media and on the hugely popular newsreels shown daily in movie theatres across the United States.17 Gordon also pushed Brook Claxton, a Liberal member of Parliament from Montreal and future minister in Mackenzie King’s Cabinet, to intervene when Canada’s trade commissioner in New York refused to distribute pro-war print materials produced by commercial publishers such as Farrar & Rinehart. The only publications the commissioner was prepared to sanction were produced by the Canadian government. Gordon pushed back emphatically, insisting that Canada Fights, a book that Farrar & Rinehart had recently published by the celebrated Winnipeg newspaperman John W. Dafoe, was “as swell a piece of Canadian propaganda as any that has come off the presses.” Canada Fights was “a ‘cause’ book,” Gordon insisted, and not intended for profit. It was “the one book that tells accurately what Canada is doing and immortalizes the war effort of the government of Mr King.” If Canadian officials “need the imprimatur to get them behind it,” Gordon implored Claxton, “for God’s sake can’t you see that they get it?” Evidently he could. Within days James A. MacKinnon, the minister of trade and commerce, had instructed the trade commissioner to utilize Canada Fights to maximum effect as a public relations tool for building American support for the war.18 Gordon kept his political antennae finely tuned to intercept any news from Canada or Great Britain that American isolationists might manipulate to their advantage. One such incident emerged early in the war involving Frank Underhill, the always provocative University of Toronto historian and Gordon’s former colleague in the LSR. A coterie of Underhill’s opponents, including members of Ontario premier Mitchell Hepburn’s administration, were demanding the university dismiss the unrepentant professor over purportedly disloyal comments he made several years before. Underhill’s offence was to suggest that sixty thousand dead Canadian soldiers in the First World War should dissuade Canada from ever again entangling itself in Britain’s costly European adventures. Recently at the centre of his own very public and ultimately futile battle for academic freedom, Gordon was eager to see if Underhill fared any better. His greater concern was that Underhill, who stood accused in Canada of “the supreme sin of liking Americans,” might be used as fodder for America’s “anti-British press” that currently was “girding their loins to battle the President on his Aid-to-Britain

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program.” Gordon worried that Underhill might be cast in the United States as a high-profile Canadian whose civil liberties were suppressed in retribution for his imprudent comments about Canada’s war dead, and repeatedly sounding more American than British in his attitudes and sympathies. Why sacrifice American lives and wealth to protect British liberties abroad, the isolationists might ask, if one of Britain’s own dominions was unwilling to protect the liberties of innocent citizens at home? The regrettable result, Gordon feared, would be a further hindering of attempts to rally American support behind the besieged and increasingly desperate British. Underhill eventually dodged dismissal, and the affair did not develop into the cause célèbre Gordon dreaded. But as he told the Ottawa journalist Grant Dexter, neither did it advance a “friendly feeling between our two great democracies who stand together in their defence of civil rights.”19 Throughout the protracted twenty-seven months of American neutrality, Gordon occasionally published articles in the Canadian Forum synthesizing the hodgepodge of political debate underway in the United States among progressives and reactionaries, liberals and labourites, communists and New Dealers, isolationists and hawks. Gordon’s own frustration over America’s hesitancy to take up arms was palpable. Writing in the fall of 1941, he criticized the United States for letting V stand for a “vicarious interest in the war,” which had “combined with a hypothetical commitment” to produce “a kind of national paralysis.”20 Earlier that year he had written to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, urging him to ignore American isolationists who contended that Britain’s defeat was inevitable. Roosevelt should follow instead Jesus’s admonition that “‘whosoever will save his life shall lose it but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s the same shall save it.’” Such “good political realism,” Gordon advised the president, would embolden the nation “to use its mighty power to destroy these gangster tyrants and save its free life.” Although by this point resident in the United States for almost three years, Gordon claimed still to possess “a bifocal view towards American affairs.” He assured Roosevelt that Canadians and Americans were united by more than their many shared challenges. There was also an unspoken loyalty that ­transcended national boundaries and pointed to “our common salvation.”21 After he had moved to New York, Gordon’s ties to Canada’s Christian socialist movement quickly diminished. His personal connections with the CCF, by contrast, were assiduously maintained for several more years. In 1941 he relied on these contacts to initiate a series of meetings

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between “progressive” Canadian and American journalists “on both sides of the line.” Gordon recruited the CCF’s national leader, M.J. Coldwell, and national secretary, David Lewis, to demonstrate to visiting American journalists that contrary to claims by the isolationist press, Canadians were four-square in support of the war.22 He also encouraged the creation of public forums in which Canadian and Amer­ ican journalists, academics, and politicians could share ideas about foreign and domestic policies, present and future. As he explained to Reinhold Niebuhr, Roosevelt’s New Deal had established in the United States a “progressive tradition” not yet emulated in Canada. Canada, however, tended to be more “internationally minded” than the United States. Gordon was confident that if liberals from both countries established a collaborative working relationship during the war and became familiar with each other’s political culture, Canada would be less likely to swing “back into a reactionary course” domestically when peace was restored, and America hopefully would resist returning to its pre-war isolationism.23 Even as his job at Farrar & Rinehart increasingly entailed “more war work and propaganda than publishing,” Gordon often wondered whether his personal contribution to winning the war was sufficient. At times he even contemplated trading his typewriter for a toolbox and performing a “simple job in an airplane factory” to make a more tangible difference.24 When the United States finally declared itself a combatant in response to Japan’s attack on its fleet and naval base at Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941, Gordon again questioned whether publishing and promotional work, “however useful, is the best I can do.” He and Ruth made a point of participating in civilian defence measures to the extent their family and professional circumstances permitted: he volunteered as a neighbourhood air raid warden, despite the unlikelihood of an aerial attack on New York; she juggled caring for Charley with working afternoons for the Fight for Freedom Committee and completing the occasional editorial assignment at Farrar & Rinehart. King was enough of a realist to know that at forty-one years of age he was likely to make the greatest impact by staying put in New York and drawing upon his extensive contacts in Canada and the United States in some type of liaison capacity – anything to facilitate much-needed communication and understanding between the two allies. Nonetheless, he  repeated to Norman Robertson, Canada’s under-secretary of state for external affairs, the offer he made earlier to Escott Reid to serve ­wherever and in whatever capacity the Canadian government desired.25

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Within a year of informing Robertson of his availability, Gordon was back in Canada performing a wartime service quite unlike any he had anticipated. On the recommendation of his close friend Eugene Forsey, who had recently been appointed research director of the Canadian Congress of Labour, Gordon was named labour representative to the Royal Commission on Steel established by Mackenzie King’s Liberal government under P.C. 8267 in late summer 1942. An earlier Order in  Council, P.C. 8253, the “Wartime Wages and Cost of Living Bonus Order,” had frozen wages in Canada’s steel industry as part of a nationwide economic initiative to rein in wartime inflation and prevent a further diminution of purchasing power. Workers at the Algoma Steel Corporation in Sault Ste Marie responded to the freeze in March 1942 by petitioning the Regional War Labour Board for Ontario to approve raising the wages of unskilled labourers in their plant by 4.2 cents to 55 cents per hour. Concurrently, employees of Sydney’s Dominion Steel and Coal Corporation (Dosco) applied to the Regional War Labour Board of Nova Scotia to raise their minimum hourly wage to 55 cents as well, an increase of 2.5 cents. Both labour boards denied the requests on the grounds that wages paid in the steel plants did not contravene P.C. 8253 but were in line with salaries received by workers engaged in comparable trades in Sault Ste Marie and Sydney. When steelworkers from the two companies reacted to the adverse rulings by voting overwhelmingly – 6,196 to 60 – in favour of strike action, the federal Cabinet begrudgingly established a royal commission to investigate the dispute. The King government hoped that with the commission in place, work stoppages that threatened to cripple Canada’s wartime steel ­production would be averted.26 Joining Gordon on the commission was its chair, Frederick H. Barlow of the Ontario Supreme Court, and James T. Stewart, a lawyer from St Thomas, Ontario, representing management at Algoma and Dosco. In addition to considering the fifty-five-cent hourly pay rate, the Barlow Commission was instructed to investigate working conditions in the mills, alleged discrepancies in job classifications, the feasibility of a standardized cost-of-living bonus, and strategies for expediting the settlement of shop floor grievances. Also on the agenda was a request from Canadian affiliates of the U.S.-based United Steelworkers union that the King government designate steel as a “national” industry along with transportation, mining, telegraphy, shipbuilding, and other inter-provincial businesses. As A.R Mosher, president of the Canadian Congress of Labour, argued before the National War Labour

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Board overseeing P.C. 8253, Canada’s steel producers were central to the viability of other inter-provincial industries and should therefore be accorded similar status.27 An immediate advantage to the steelworkers in having their industry classified “national” would be the ability to circumvent the regional war labour boards – principally the two in Ontario and Nova Scotia that had ruled against their proposed wage increases – and to lobby for a national salary scale unimpeded by local constraints. The Barlow Commission held hearings and inspected the Algoma and Dosco plants throughout the autumn of 1942. Gordon thought the situation in Sydney particularly disconcerting, and not just because Dosco’s manager and lawyer had been “shifty and truculent” when responding to questioning by the commissioners. Living conditions among steelworkers’ families in Sydney were “simply appalling,” he told his mother, with approximately 60 per cent of them falling below acceptable standards. He detected no improvement in community conditions over the wretched state of affairs he had first observed when visiting the Maritimes during the depths of the Great Depression a decade earlier. King doubted that any place in Canada displayed “so much backwardness, poverty, dirt, ignorance and the inertia of all that combined” as Cape Breton. Yet he bristled that such dire circumstances seemed inconsequential to “this government in wartime.”28 Conditions in the mill at Sault Ste Marie, by comparison, “were almost too pleasant.” Gordon mentioned in a letter to Frank Scott that management– union relations at the Soo “were just about the chummiest you could imagine,” thanks in part to the manager being “a thoroughly good egg” with “as advanced views on unionism as I’ve seen in Canada.” Even so, the greatest obstacle to winning a measure of justice for the ­steelworkers, he complained to Henry David of the British Broadcasting Corporation, was “rigid insistence” by government officials that any breach in the wage ceilings imposed by P.C. 8253 “will spread to other industries and have a disastrous inflationary effect.”29 Also inhibiting the steelworkers’ cause, Gordon recalled in conversation with the historian Laurel Sefton MacDowell forty years later, were public demands for an “uninterrupted prosecution of the war effort” which the steel companies brandished as a “patriotic shield.”30 By mid-December, Gordon was plainly at odds with his fellow commissioners. They differed over interpretations of another Order in Council, P.C. 5963, introduced in July 1942, which broadened the definition of wages and narrowed substantially the range of workplace issues

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that unions and employers were free to negotiate. Gordon maintained that Canada’s productivity would benefit most from a liberal reading of the Order in Council. He reminded Barlow and Stewart that since all three commissioners agreed over the end goal of maximizing steel output, they must prevent too “narrow and inflexible” a reading of P.C. 5963 from increasing the risk of industrial strife, thereby impeding wartime production levels. Besides, few workplaces were as physically arduous as a steel mill. Gordon cautioned his colleagues against making it even more difficult to attract scarce labourers to the industry and otherwise hinder “whole-hearted union-management cooperation” in the steel plants, by arbitrarily imposing unethically low wages.31 Not persuaded by Gordon’s reasoning, Barlow and Stewart submitted their majority report to Humphrey Mitchell, the minister of labour, on 28 December 1942. Unlike Gordon, they concluded that P.C. 5963 was intended to prevent wage increases that were unwarranted by local conditions. Since wages paid to unskilled labourers in the Sydney and Sault Ste Marie steel plants were in the main above average “for that class of labour” in the two communities, the proposed increase to fifty-five cents an hour could not be justified. The steelworkers had been receiving the full cost-of-living bonus due them and should expect no more. Barlow and Stewart did recommend that skilled and semiskilled tradesmen – pipe- and steam-fitters, millwrights, electricians, and carpenters – apply to the Regional War Labour Boards for wage increases, as those workers unquestionably were underpaid relative to local norms. They also advocated in their report that any workers completing six eight-hour days in a row be paid time-and-a-half for the seventh day. Algoma and Dosco were strongly encouraged to introduce “management-union-employee committees” to their plants as vehicles for improving internal communications. Finally, in a majority report containing precious little to placate most steelworkers, Barlow and Stewart dismissed the request that steel be declared a national industry. They insisted the issue was outside their jurisdiction and belonged to the National War Labour Board to adjudicate.32 Before presenting his minority report to Mitchell on 5 January 1943, Gordon asked Frank Scott to review it with an eye to determining whether he might have interpreted P.C. 5963 too liberally. Scott ardently concurred with all that Gordon had written and applauded him for combining “a judicial quality with the right degree of humanity and common sense.” He urged Gordon to stand firmly behind his conclusions and not “let any legal hair-splitting wear you down.” The law,

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Scott moralized, “isn’t worth a damn unless it is informed with a broad mind and a liberal interpretation … This is no time for namby-pamby legalism.” Gordon admitted to being cautiously “optimistic” that his opinions would hold sway, for he doubted “either Mitchell or King want[s] a first class row on their hands and they’ll have it, alas, if the majority report is taken.” He feared that labour’s reaction to a negative decision would be “even stronger than we think,” but if government “want to take it, my report gives them an out.” Conversely, if the King government’s “real policy” was fixed in a narrow interpretation of P.C. 5963, “then they are confirmed in it by Barlow’s legalism.”33 “Steel,” Gordon pronounced in his report, “is Canada’s basic war industry.” Since steel production was controlled by the minister of munitions and supply, its price subject to governmental regulation, and its labour supply given the highest wartime priority rating, it logically should be deemed a national industry. He challenged his fellow commissioners’ “strictly legalistic interpretation” of P.C. 5963, arguing instead that Orders in Council must be applied broadly and in the spirit of advancing the public interest. In the present case, this meant doing everything possible to facilitate the “maximum war effort and all that contributes to it.” Gordon warned that the stakes involved in the dispute were enormous, for should unfair labour practices incite workers to shut down the steel industry, the nation’s entire wartime production would be jeopardized. The original intent of P.C. 5963, he contended, was solely to stabilize wages at 15 November 1942 levels, not forbid all salary adjustments in workplaces where unfair anomalies subsequently appeared. In a tone reminiscent of his former crusades on behalf of the LSR, the CCF, and the FCSO, Gordon wrote, A simple fact, sometimes forgotten by the layman, is that steel is made not only out of ore and coal and limestone, processed by coke ovens, blast furnaces, open hearth furnaces and rolling mills, but steel is made out of the lives of men and women. How the steelworker and his family live, the conditions under which he works, the length of hours he works, his relationship with his employer – all these are vital factors in considering steel and its place in the war effort … Testimony of many witnesses from this low income group told a story of hardship and privation, of over-­ crowding, of financial worry, of acute distress occasioned by illness against which there was no financial protection. A great many families in this group, failed to receive the bare subsistence income set by the Department of Labor.

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Enduring gruelling conditions of extreme “heat and cold… gas, fumes, and dust,” over 60 per cent of steelworkers toiled at least fifty-six hours per week, and sometimes between seventy and one hundred hours, just to achieve “a bare standard of subsistence.” For their part, the companies cited record high demand for steel, and their difficulties hiring sufficient numbers of workers to keep the continuous production plants operational, as sufficient grounds for denying employees a day of rest. Gordon was not convinced. Having cut his teeth as a Christian socialist railing against the exploitative labour practices of Depression-era big businesses, he was no less suspicious of corporate capitalism’s motives in wartime.34 Gordon anticipated the worst, once steelworkers learned the Barlow Commission’s majority report “made a few minor suggestions” but “left the main question untouched.” He predicted to George Ferguson, the editor of the Winnipeg Free Press, “There is going to be hell to pay if things are left pretty much as they were when the commission was set up,” chiefly because there was “so much justice” on the side of the workers.35 He was soon proven right. On 12 and 13 January 1943, over thirteen thousand steelworkers at the Algoma and Dosco plants laid down their tools and went out on strike, halting all major steel production in the country except at the Stelco mill in Hamilton, Ontario. Only after Prime Minister King intervened personally and committed his government to achieving a speedy resolution of the unresolved differences did the workers dismantle their picket lines and return to work on 29 January 1943. The initial signs were encouraging that an agreement satisfactory to the workers would be reached. Under P.C. 689, Cabinet authorized a “memorandum of understanding” promising immediate implementation of the Barlow Commission’s majority report, as well as granting the workers’ original demand for a fifty-five-centper-hour minimum wage. In addition, as Gordon had advocated, the Dominion and Algoma plants were to be designated “national employers.” But the National War Labour Board promptly reversed these concessions when it reinterpreted P.C. 689 and the accompanying ­ memorandum. In addition to revoking steel’s “national industry” status, the board reduced marginally the previously agreed minimum wage of fifty-five cents per hour. Justifiably nonplussed over the ruling, the steelworkers threatened to resume their strike. However, this was an empty gesture, for the union realized what little public support it previously enjoyed had largely dissipated during the January work stoppage. Consequently the mills remained open.36 In the meantime

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Gordon returned to New York, unaware that his minority position had received the plaudits of no less a figure than the Rockefeller Foundation’s erstwhile industrial relations consultant, Mackenzie King, for as the author of Industry and Humanity: A Study in the Principles Underlying Industrial Reconstruction confided to his private diary, had he been a member of the Barlow Commission he would have submitted a report with conclusions very similar to Gordon’s.37 Gordon’s brief sojourn on the Barlow Commission rekindled his interest in the Canadian political scene, and the CCF in particular. Once back in New York he represented the party at a Labor and Post-War Planning symposium held in June 1943. Attended mainly by trade unionists from North America and Europe – the latter he knocked for having “carried over to this country their old sectarian feuds” – Gordon praised the event as atypical of New York conferences insofar as it was “not obviously weighted down with a combination of intellectuals and the filthy – if philanthropic – rich.”38 His nonstop schedule of speaking engagements – “It’s almost too much like old times,” he grumbled to Scott early in 1943 – also included stops in Canada. Typical of the invitations he received was one from Charles Millard, former Canadian director of the United Auto Workers, who as an executive member of the Congress of Industrial Organizations asked Gordon to speak in Toronto on the subject of “A Bill of Rights for Canadian Labour.”39 These crossborder exchanges were precisely the sort of intellectual activity that Gordon encouraged as a means of uniting and raising the profile of progressive forces in both countries. Taking to heart predictions by Canadian political observers that a surge in CCF fortunes was in the offing, Gordon tried through his own writings to add to the air of inevitability. In several articles published in American newspapers and journals, Gordon described a “political renaissance” underway in Canada as the CCF, “the clean, new broom of  an aggressive people’s movement,” effectively swept “reactionary ideas and political deadwood into the discard.” His optimism, if overstated, was not entirely unfounded. Between 1942 and 1944 the CCF would win three federal and three provincial by-elections, form the government in Saskatchewan and the official opposition in Ontario, and significantly increase its share of the popular vote in several other provincial elections. These were indisputable signs, he told his American readers, that the CCF held “the political and social destiny of C ­ anada in its hands,” while the old-line parties alienated voters by refusing to pass progressive social legislation.40 The CCF also distinguished itself,

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Gordon claimed, by consistently pressing the Canadian government to conscript the nation’s financial and material wealth, and not its manpower only, as a strategy for eliminating the “inequalities of war sacrifices.” He cast the CCF as a vigorous defender of the same civil liberties that Mackenzie King’s Liberals, in the name of wartime efficiency, had repeatedly sacrificed under a plethora of executive orders and regulations. The “most efficient prosecution” of the war, Gordon counselled Americans, who by that point were in the midst of mobilizing a military force of unprecedented might, was inseparable from “winning a genuine democracy in the peace.”41 Gordon wrote in the New York Post that Canada’s leftward swing “toward socialist planning” was occurring just as the United States appeared to be renouncing the bold reformist spirit of the New Deal and favouring a return to unchecked free enterprise. In the interest of maintaining close ties between the two countries after the war ended, he hoped this unfortunate drift could be reversed. He predicted the CCF would exercise increasing influence over Canadian–American r­ elations, for as “the most ‘Canadian’ of the three national parties” it already insisted upon a wholly independent foreign policy for the nation. ­ Furthermore, there was no reason to worry that the CCF’s preference for joint economic development initiatives with the United States would result in Canada’s natural resources being appropriated by “private monopolies or international cartels.” To the contrary, Gordon was confident that once the CCF was in a position to direct Canada along a “road of social-economic planning” where corporations were legally prohibited from amassing excessive concentrations of wealth, progressive Americans would be keen to follow its lead and pressure their own governments to introduce similar policies.42 History has shown that Gordon not only was unduly optimistic about the CCF’s prospects for political success in Canada; he also exaggerated its influence over the increasingly moribund American Left. All the same, given the party’s stunning gains in the recent Ontario election, the closing months of 1943 were heady times for a Canadian socialist. Gordon remarked to Scott that “a kind of watershed in Canadian political history” had been reached, and the latest CCF victories were a sign “the streams of progressive and constructive political action are already sizable rivers headed towards the thirsty plains.”43 Scott, who by then was the party’s national chair, acknowledged Gordon’s fervour by extending him an open-ended invitation to rejoin the CCF in any capacity he chose, even “straight political dog fighting.” With the

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party’s recent growth in popular and financial support, Scott thought it might soon establish a formal publications department, or perhaps launch a daily newspaper of its own. Were that to happen, Gordon was Scott’s first choice for running either venture.44 Other opportunities soon followed. Gordon was offered the federal CCF nomination in the ridings of Medicine Hat and Victoria, both of which he graciously declined on the grounds that as a family man resident in New York he was “not quite the carefree and mobile CCFer-at-large that you once knew.” More to the point, he had already endured on three prior occasions the slings and arrows normally targeted at political candidates so brazen as to contest ridings in which they are not residents. Gordon thought it imprudent to stand for election a fourth time without first permanently re-establishing himself in Canada. His recommendation to the Victoria riding association, who knew only too well his electoral track record in their city, was typically self-effacing: they should look “for a horse with more wins to his credit to carry your colors!”45 Gordon’s decision against reuniting with the CCF in Canada was swayed mainly by the fortuitous appearance of another job opportunity in New York entailing fewer personal financial risks than electoral politics. In addition, it promised to open the door to even closer connections with America’s liberal and progressive movements. Although he did not realize it at the time, Gordon was being vetted for the position when Bob Bendiner, managing editor of the Nation, asked him informally in September 1943 for suggestions on improving the weekly magazine. Founded in 1865, the Nation, according to its masthead, was a “Liberal Weekly Devoted to Politics, Economics, Science, Foreign Affairs, Literature, Drama and the Arts.” As such, it was considered essential reading by Gordon and his intellectual kindred on the Left. Bendiner had recently published a book at Farrar & Rinehart under Gordon’s direction and was favourably impressed both by King’s technical aptitude as an editor and his left-leaning political opinions. Gordon answered Bendiner’s query with two incisive observations about the magazine. First, the Nation needed to “transcend the tradition that New York is the center of intellectual radicalism and liberalism” in the United States. This could best be accomplished by recruiting “new and significant writers” who hailed from places other than the eastern seaboard and offered fresh perspectives on “sources of liberal revival.” Second, in a recommendation reflecting Gordon’s mounting interest in international affairs, he said the Nation must bridge more persuasively “the breach between professional internationalists and the domestic

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planners.” Defining foreign policy as the “projection of domestic policy into the world beyond our frontiers,” he grumbled over the ease with which well-organized “domestic reactionaries … sabotage the excellent educational work of the professional internationalists.” The Nation, Gordon contended, could counter these unhelpful trends by bringing together America’s “disunited and latent liberal forces.” The upshot would be a creative cross-fertilization of intellectual enquiry achieved by commissioning “solid, grass-roots domestic economists to write on international subjects, and the professional internationalists to look at domestic issues.”46 As it happened, Bendiner was searching for more than just collegial strategic advice. He had recently been drafted into the American army and was scouting for his own replacement as the Nation’s managing editor. Bendiner promptly settled on offering the job to Gordon, who in turn wasted little time in accepting. Communicating the news to his mother back in Winnipeg, King explained that he considered the Nation to be “much more down my line than general publishing.” He shared wholeheartedly the magazine’s political philosophy, was excited at the prospect of working with the top-flight liberal writers it attracted, and viewed the position as a means of staying “in the front of the political battle line.” Whereas at Farrar & Rinehart his work was confined, as he told Scott, to “doing general editorial work and, from time to time, getting published the books I consider to be really worth something,” at the Nation he “would be working in a field in which I would be entirely sold … and right in the midst of a struggle between liberal and reactionary forces that is going to build up into the most terrific thing this country has ever seen.” He imagined the CCF ultimately benefitting as  well. From the Nation’s superior vantage point at the epicentre of American progressive thought, Gordon hoped to address the existing “lack of understanding between the liberal and labor forces in the US and Canada.” At the very least, the managing editor’s job would give him invaluable “experience and knowledge” that he could contribute to the CCF “when I got back into the movement.” Yet for all the apparent rewards of Bendiner’s offer, Gordon admitted to entertaining “a rather cowardly temptation” to continue in “the safer and less controversial job I’m in.” His reticence was prompted in part by a prescient warning from Reinhold Niebuhr, who sat on the Nation’s board of ­directors, to think twice before resigning his secure post at Farrar & Rinehart and entrusting his family’s well-being to the weekly’s perennially shaky finances.47 But the attraction of associating more closely

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with wartime America’s leading liberal intellectuals ultimately overruled Gordon’s hesitancy, and he joined the Nation in March 1944. As much as Scott wished that Gordon were available to assist with building and administering the burgeoning CCF, he conceded the “cold fact” that the movement needed to expand and consolidate its gains before Gordon could return to Canada and “not feel that you had lost ground by being away so long.” Accepting the Nation’s managing editorship made good sense, therefore, by enabling Gordon to work “for a cause you like in the USA immediately.” Scott intimated that Gordon could use his position at the Nation, much as he had done at Farrar & Rinehart, to forge closer ties between progressive groups in the two countries. He wondered if a formal collaboration between the Canadian Forum and the Nation might also be arranged. Finally, Scott assured Gordon that in the event he was “chased out by reaction there as you were from here,” the CCF would remain “a safe place to escape to.” He commended Gordon for having “risen to the top of the liberal group in New York” and demonstrating that “we can do as well as these Americans, man for man, when it comes down to brass tacks in social thinking.”48 Gordon’s boss at the Nation was Freda Kirchwey, one of America’s pre-eminent socialist and feminist commentators. The magazine’s indefatigable editor and publisher from 1937 to 1955, Kirchwey promoted it as a medium of “political education” committed to harnessing “the ­energies of the progressive forces” and informing Americans of their “responsibilities for building a world society aimed at extending the democratic way of life.” Thurman Arnold, an iconoclast and justice of the United States Court of Appeals, aptly described the Nation at ­approximately the time Gordon joined its staff as the magazine that “influenced the world by influencing people who influenced others – newspaper writers, college professors, and governmental leaders.”49 Naturally it had detractors aplenty, including staid Time magazine, which dismissed the Nation in 1943 as “a pulp-paper pinko weekly.” Frequently controversial, the Nation was banned from New York’s public schools for several years in the late 1940s for publishing articles deemed too critical of Roman Catholicism by state censors.50 A staunch wartime backer of President Roosevelt, it advocated America not return to isolationism after the war but assume a more prominent and collaborative presence in the world. One of Kirchwey’s priorities during Gordon’s tenure at the Nation was providing in-depth coverage of the conferences at Bretton Woods, Dumbarton Oaks, and San Francisco,

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where the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and the United Nations were created. The experience of witnessing up close the birth of these institutions, which together dramatically reshaped global economic and political relationships among nation states in the latter half of the twentieth century, was the greatest influence in Gordon’s personal development as an internationalist up to that point.51 As managing editor, Gordon assisted Kirchwey and the rest of the executive team in defining the Nation’s editorial positions, soliciting and reading manuscripts, and writing editorials. He also acted as “contact man, traffic manager, and liaison between the editorial and business departments.” Beyond his extensive reporting, editing, and administrative duties, Gordon cherished the many opportunities to practise punditry in the public square that his association with the Nation provided. Unfortunately, steadily deepening budget and staff cuts at the magazine meant that Gordon had less and less time for his own writing as he took on added responsibilities for editing copy, drafting covers, laying out pages, devising titles, and inveigling regular contributors to produce their columns on schedule.52 Much of what he did write for the magazine stemmed from his unofficial role as the Nation’s resident expert on Canada. For instance, he published several longer articles on the development and significance of the CCF. But it was Kirchwey’s switching of his primary writing assignment to cover the proceedings of the United Nations following its founding in October 1945 that had major career implications for Gordon in the years ahead. Most summers while he resided in New York, Gordon participated in the annual conference of the Canadian Institute on Public Affairs held in the bucolic setting of Lake Couchiching in south central Ontario. His paper “The United States in the Postwar World” that he presented at the August 1944 meeting is representative of his intellectual interests during these years. It also demonstrates that Gordon’s stated rationale for seeking political and economic reforms, even if no longer explicitly Christian or socialist in design, still conveyed moralistic undertones. He began the lecture with the premise that since the United States’ geographical isolation had largely spared it from the war’s physical destruction at home – the attack on Pearl Harbor being the obvious exception – Americans might not be sufficiently empathetic once peace was restored to provide effective international leadership in the momentous multidimensional task of reconstruction. To illustrate the point he spoke of a stroll he and Reinhold Niebuhr recently took along New York’s affluent Fifth Avenue. The two of them concluded that the

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5.2  Freda Kirchwey. (http://www.calibanbooks.com/shop/caliban/z04279 .html)

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immense wealth on display in a city physically unscathed by the global conflict was a “symbol of [America’s] aloofness from the tragedy of Europe.”53 Gordon criticized Americans for failing to detect the obvious contradiction in their simultaneously reaping the economic benefits of “war prosperity,” while being “irked by war controls” and “hypnotized by the anti-Roosevelt propaganda.” The expenditure of “millions of dollars” on advertising “to paint the picture of the brave new world of  refrigerators, Coca-Cola, plastics, and free enterprise” was lulling Americans into a false sense of economic security, as though the Great Depression had never occurred. A growing number of Americans were complaining about increasing levels of centralized government planning encroaching on their lives and were expressing renewed faith in big business to provide for their social and economic well-being. Gordon saw only folly in this thinking. Corporate America, being inherently self-serving, would inevitably fail to reallocate society’s wealth fairly. Over time the growing imbalance in living standards would incite the public to demand increased government intervention in the economy to ensure some semblance of equity was achieved. In the meantime, Gordon felt optimistic that some Americans were awakening to the realization that their national security ultimately depended on the spread of economic prosperity beyond their borders. Even the well-heeled inhabitants of New York’s Fifth Avenue would discover in the post-war era that their privileged circumstances could no longer be assured as long as large foreign populations remained “economically desolate and … starving for the bare necessities of life.”54 In addition to the annual Couchiching conferences, Gordon appeared in a variety of venues during the war to expound upon themes of progressive social reform, both international and domestic. In a nationwide radio broadcast of The American Forum of the Air in September 1944, he gave a forward-looking explanation of the benefits to be gained from creating centralized bodies of global governance, such as the p ­ roposed United Nations Organization then being discussed at the Dumbarton Oaks Conference near Washington, DC. Gordon believed it was essential that some of the economic and political powers traditionally wielded by autonomous nation states be transferred to international organizations capable of taking a collaborative rather than confrontational approach to settling disputes between nations. Only then could the world save itself from a recurrence of the violent nationalism that fascist states currently were exploiting to such horrific effect.55 Later that same year Gordon and Kirchwey joined an eclectic mix of labour representatives

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from the Congress of International Organizations, liberals from the Union for Democratic Action, and other leftist publishers in a dialogue on maximizing the political influence of America’s disparate progressive movements by aligning them under a single national federation. Gordon thought the event spawned an “interesting discussion … halfway between the CCF and the old League for Social Reconstruction” that accentuated just how far the liberal movement in the United States lagged behind its Canadian counterpart.56 He was also kept busy responding to invitations from a variety of public interest groups eager for his analysis of the latest news emerging from the nascent United Nations. In a May 1945 address to New York’s Queens College Forum “Winning the Peace,” Gordon reported that the San Francisco deliberations revealed a severely fragmented world dominated by a few “great states” more concerned with advancing their selfish national interests than in agreeing to the compromises on which the creation of a viable and mutually beneficial global order depended. As evidence he zeroed in on the decision to grant UN membership to fascist Argentina, which he interpreted as a transparent bid by the United States to create an American hemispheric power block. Gordon foretold, with considerable prescience, as it turned out, that similar scheming eventually would push other states into defensive coalitions of their own, thereby creating an uneasy new world order marked by the continual threat of confrontation between regionally based power alliances.57 As long as he remained in New York, the CCF continued to be Gordon’s principal point of professional contact with Canada. He periodically received requests from its members to take on formal leadership in the party, such as the invitation in 1948 to head the Manitoba CCF. Each time, he declined, usually on the grounds that since “indigenous leadership” was vital to the success of any political movement, his increasingly “distant” personal connection to Canada might prove detrimental to party fortunes.58 Gordon preferred instead to continue developing ties to the progressive movement in the United States, while keeping his American readers abreast of social democratic developments north of the border. In June 1945, for example, he published in the Nation an overly optimistic prediction of the CCF’s fortunes in the upcoming federal election. When in fact the party failed to make its muchanticipated breakthrough among the war-weary electorate, posting a disappointing third-place finish rather than ascending to official Oppo­ sition status as Gordon had forecast, his disenchantment was palpable.59 The following year, his confidence buoyed once again after attending

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the CCF’s 1946 national convention, he contributed a two-part series, “Prairie Socialism,” to the Nation, lauding the ambitious legislative initiatives of the CCF government Tommy Douglas led to victory in the province of Saskatchewan in 1944. Far from its being the “catch-all for starry-eyed theorists or dangerous radicals” that its dissenters claimed, Gordon credited the first social democratic government to be elected in North America for taking tangible steps towards building a new society in Saskatchewan. In addition, it promised to do so “in accordance with certain basic social principles applied to the communal problems of daily living,” not by following a “doctrinaire socialist blueprint.” America’s liberals and progressives, in striking contrast to the scene in Canada, were “hopelessly split into competing factions.” Yet Gordon urged them to take inspiration from the Saskatchewan CCF’s unprecedented accomplishments. He recommended in particular that American liberals familiarize themselves with the philosophy and details of the Regina Manifesto, which represented an ideological beacon for steering clear of “unwise” political compromises and coalitions. All in all, Gordon’s advice was unequivocal: “Abandon the course of expediency that seems to be dictated by political ‘realism,’ and hammer out a similar national program.”60 It was also during 1946 that Gordon unexpectedly became the target of unwelcome publicity back in Canada. In March of that year, JeanFrancois Pouliot, the bombastic Independent Liberal member of Parliament for Témiscouata, Quebec, implicated Gordon during a rambling diatribe in the House of Commons about “seditious professors” in ­Canadian universities. Pouliot singled out Gordon as a radical Russian sympathizer whose notoriety had placed him “on the F.B.I. list of J. ­Edgar Hoover” in the mid-1930s. The allegation was fallacious, but the hype it generated in an environment of swelling Cold War tensions could damage Gordon’s credibility as an objective voice for left-­of-­ centre political opinion in the United States. The Toronto-based magazine Saturday Night, which had spoken out on Gordon’s behalf in 1933 when he ran afoul of his employers at United Theological College, once again sprang to his defence. It was “nothing short of outrageous,” its editors contended, to accuse someone of sedition simply for being a member of the CCF and believing in “a substantial measure of Socialism.” Gordon had never been accused, much less convicted, “of any action detrimental to the interests of Canada.” His offence was simply to have taught “ideas which Mr Pouliot does not like.” Pouliot p ­ eevishly dismissed Saturday Night as belonging to “the petrified brain-trust of

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desiccated bachelors and spinsters that form the Civil Liberties League of Toronto.” It was Gordon’s most trusted confidante Frank Scott who first alerted him to the brouhaha his inclusion in P ­ ouliot’s “spy ring” was creating in Canada. Scott linked the ruckus to recent attempts by Quebec’s socially conservative Union Nationale government of Premier Maurice Duplessis to revive communist witch hunts in the province under the auspices of its nefarious Padlock Law, all “a dreadful throwback” to the 1930s. Gordon waved off “this damn spy business” raised by “that jackanapes” Pouliot as a minor irritant that demonstrated the lengths to which reactionaries would go to “set back genuine liberalism in Canada.” After all the effort the CCF had poured into distancing itself from leftist extremists over the years, G ­ ordon imagined “the Commies must be chuckling over this embarrassment to us.”61 Pouliot’s charges receded from public view as quickly as they had appeared and without lasting consequence. Gordon continued as before with his punditry, publishing updates in the Nation explaining Canadian social democracy to America’s liberal elite, and essays in the Canadian Forum assessing liberalism’s prospects in the United States. He was especially critical of the philosophical softening that he perceived overtaking the Democratic Party following Franklin Roosevelt’s death in April 1945. The Democratic Party, he complained, had become virtually indistinguishable from the Republican Party in several key policy areas. As a result, neither party inspired much hope among “leftof-centre” liberals in the United States. With the New Deal era at an end and the Cold War dawning, the “inconceivable” was happening. In an ideologically bifurcated world of sharply drawn “lines of political and economic thought,” the United States had become the only leading democracy in which the principal contenders for power were “pledged to almost identical political objectives.” This insipid state of affairs was a disservice to Americans who demanded and deserved a real political choice between “untrammeled free enterprise” and a planned national economy committed to providing the greatest good to the greatest number. Recalling in the Canadian Forum the CCF’s birth in the 1930s, Gordon prophesied the emergence in the United States of a similar third party – “designed to become a second party” – crafted from an alliance of regional and sectional protest groups, the “more enlightened” sections of the labour movement, and “American counterparts of the early Fabians.” Each of the constituent parts would be linked by shared commitments to “political education” and an “integrated system of social-economic planning.” While granting that such a merger

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was still several years removed, Gordon predicted that, when it did come to pass, the driving force would be a sound political philosophy amenable to the masses and not “the miraculous appearance of a new Roosevelt.”62 The dropping of atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki by the United States in August 1945 brought the global war to a rapid and terrifying close, momentarily halting the partisan fretting that was Gordon’s normal pursuit. In a letter he wrote to his mother two days after the Japanese surrender on 14 August, King professed to being “so stunned by the implication of the atomic bomb that peace doesn’t seem real.” Suddenly all the “elaborate plans” for the post-war world previously negotiated by the Allied powers at Tehran, Yalta, and San Francisco appeared superfluous. “We have to grow up awfully fast,” he concluded, “if we are to save ourselves.”63 Soon afterwards he published “The Bomb Is a World Affair” as part of a series the Nation ran to consider the impact the presence of nuclear weapons were likely to have on the conduct of international relations in the years ahead. Gordon urged the United Nations to immediately create an atomic control commission as “a practical alternative to the suicidal program of competitive armament on which the United States and their chief allies” had recently embarked. He pointed to numerous locales around the world, including Germany, the Balkans, the Middle East, Indonesia, and China, where the “conflicts of rival power systems and the exigencies of imperialist consolidation” threatened to aggravate “local infections.” The danger was further complicated by the vastly superior destructive capacity of atomic over conventional weaponry, a fearsome reality that radically altered the traditional calculus of interstate relations. Suddenly the “inveterate folkways” of national sovereignty and defence were turned upside down, as non-nuclear states became de facto hostages of any nation in possession of atomic arms. In a bid to defuse potentially catastrophic confrontations before they could arise, Gordon advocated all countries sacrifice a measure of their sovereignty to the United Nations, empowering it to devise and administer the neutral and nonaligned institutions and practices necessary for achieving a lasting and just global peace. A first step in preventing the habitual mistrust that marred interstate relations among states from turning lethal was to require every country, including the five powers permanently seated on the United Nations Security Council, to open up their nuclear manufacturing and storage facilities to UN inspectors. Gordon predicted that “the first important fight for recognition of a

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genuine international authority” would occur over this issue of transparency in weapons inspections.64 Indeed, it remains the case almost seventy years later that a key test of the United Nations’ legitimacy is the willingness of nation states to grant its weapons i­nspectors unimpeded access to their arsenals. Gordon’s avid support for the concept of internationally sanctioned organizations refereeing disputes between nations and acting essentially as moral guideposts to the world community can be traced back to his student days at Oxford in the aftermath of the Great War. He had been an early convert to the dream of the League of Nations as an indispensable and civilized alternative to the battlefield as a forum for settling international differences. Moreover, his first-hand observations of the extreme physical deprivation that vast swathes of Europe’s civilian population continued to endure several years after the war’s end convinced him that the international community must become better mobilized to administer social and economic aid to those in need. The European Student Relief Organization, which Gordon joined at Turnov in 1922, remained an important symbol to him of the benefits to be realized by unleashing the collaborative might of the international community on economic and social problems beyond the proficiency of governments accustomed to operating on a strictly local, regional, or national scale. An internationally recognized and respected body was needed, on behalf of individual nation states, to oversee effective responses to complex transnational challenges such as arms control and humanitarian relief distribution. The league’s glaring failure during the interwar years to meet its founders’ towering expectations had the ­unfortunate effect of discrediting this type of ambitious internationalism in many observers’ eyes. But Gordon remained undeterred. Disappointment over the league’s ineffectiveness seems only to have enhanced his determination that the United Nations, especially after he joined its bureaucracy in 1950, would become a model of successful international activism. Gordon’s growing internationalist propensities can also be traced in part to what Inis L. Claude, a leading scholar of the United Nations, identified as the shared liberal origins of the League of Nations and the United Nations. Whereas the league’s liberalism had been a nineteenthcentury variant – what Claude referred to as “the doctrinal foundation of the night-watchman state” – the twentieth-century liberalism of the UN incorporated the doctrine of the welfare state. Conventional faith in the ability of Adam Smith’s invisible hand and “freewheeling

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individualism” to provide for broadly based economic and social needs thus gave way to a reliance on centralized government planning. As Gordon’s intellectual development since the mid-1920s reveals, he was largely sympathetic to this ideological progression. According to Claude, the embryonic organizational structure of the UN heralded an international order of “deliberate contrivance and positive action” that diminished the “unregimented behaviour of free and nationally selfdetermined political entities.” Granted, individual nation states continued to assume “vastly expanded functional responsibilities” internally and to impose an ever-increasing array of regulatory interventions on their own citizens.65 But to a confirmed internationalist like Gordon whose socialism was steadily conceding pride of place to liberalism, it was a moral as well as pragmatic imperative to offset increases in state control by empowering the UN to act as a supranational check on ­individual nations in cases where the welfare of the broader global community was at stake. Assigned by the Nation during 1946 to cover the first American ­meetings of the United Nations Security Council at Hunter College in Manhattan, Gordon quickly realized that the grand ideal of sovereign states collaborating selflessly and creatively to achieve a common good was still more pipe dream than reality. He complained of meetings frequently bogged down in “procedural anarchy” and “utter confusion” as delegates fixated on the minutiae of “motions, substitute motions, and amendments floating around in twos and threes.” Meanwhile, ­tangible matters of potentially ruinous consequence were studiously avoided. Particularly worrisome were threats by the militantly hegemonic Soviet Union to withdraw from the UN even before it was fully operational, thus isolating itself even further from much of the world community.66 When a debate over the imposition of international controls on the development and diffusion of atomic energy degenerated into “an unseemly brawl,” Gordon wished the “politicos and their disciples” would stand aside and allow the scientists, who were much less prone to political posturing, to solve the technical problems of nuclear arms verification and management.67 Equally exasperating was the second session of the United Nations General Assembly, held during the fall of 1947 in temporary headquarters at Flushing Meadows in New York. In his reports for the Nation, Gordon criticized delegates’ proclivity to make “the most of their parliamentary right of debate” while disregarding “another quaint democratic tradition,” that of majority rule. Too many speakers appeared loath to

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accept the concept of collegial internationalism on which the entire UN enterprise rested, opting instead for the “archaic reiteration that absolute national sovereignty must be considered the inviolable bastion of peace.” No stranger to the contrived cut-and-thrust of political debate, Gordon conceded that “ideological dissertations” and “accusatory harangues” were an inevitable by-product of free and open discourse in a forum such as the UN where every speech and declaration was subjected to intense public scrutiny. Nevertheless, he maintained that ultimately it was the responsibility of each nation’s representatives to afford the General Assembly the respect and authority it required to fulfil its expansive mandate. Alas, the early indications were not encouraging. If the UN was “a school of international democracy,” Gordon chided, evidently “quite a few members are still in the kindergarten.”68 Gordon’s reporting of the General Assembly had been incisive, intricate, and forceful. His articles in the Nation applauded evidence of cooperation among member states that less enthusiastic observers might have ignored, such as the smaller powers’ show of pluck in banding together to challenge the great powers’ assumed dominance over the UN. In a similar fashion, he cheered the refusal of Asian delegates to kowtow to the feigned superiority of the white nations. Gordon by turns upbraided the Americans and the Soviets for affecting “hysteria” over each other’s imagined intransigence. He also praised the November 1947 decision to accept the partition of Palestine as an optimistic signal that “a middle force” had emerged that was more concerned with achieving a fully functional United Nations than with “trying to gain a victory for one side or the other.” About the Marshall Plan, America’s financial aid program to spur Europe’s post-war economic recovery, Gordon perceptively predicted that rather than projecting Western capitalism into Europe as the Soviet Union feared, or advancing individualistic democracy as the Americans hoped, it would instil in Western Europeans a preference for social democracy that was ideologically displeasing to Russia and the United States alike. Gordon wrapped up his reporting on a “tragically plaintive note”: international economic cooperation, despite figuring prominently in the UN Charter, appeared stillborn, a consequence of “colonial powers” acting in “solidarity” to neglect the rights of “non-self-governing peoples.” All in all, he concluded, the General Assembly had been no place for “gauze-­ curtain idealists.”69 After three years at the Nation, Gordon was convinced the magazine could be doing a better job of providing America’s “opinion makers”

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5.3 (Left to right) Keith Hutchinson, J. King Gordon, Joseph Wood Krutch, Freda Kirchwey, Maxwell Stewart, I.F. Stone, office of the Nation, ca 1946. (Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe College)

with the comprehensive economic, political, and social analyses they required to “act with intelligence and sureness.” He advised Kirchwey that the weekly’s appeal was limited by its exclusivist reputation as the mouthpiece of “east coast intellectuals trying to tell the rest of the country how to behave and think.”70 Unfortunately, Gordon’s insights for expanding the Nation’s niche in American highbrow journalism were constrained by one unassailable fact: successful intellectual crusades march on money as well as idealism, and the Nation, as Niebuhr had warned Gordon years earlier, was in perilously short supply of the

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former. Kirchwey had hired a fundraiser – a “master of circuses” was Gordon’s disparaging assessment – to tackle a deficit, which by 1947 was approaching $80,000 annually, but the results were insufficient to stanch the flow of red ink. The Nation’s circulation, ironically, recently had reached record highs. This was due in part to bulk shipments of the magazine being sent to armed forces personnel during the war, but the majority of these subscriptions were discontinued once the troops returned home.71 With the creditors circling, Kirchwey was forced to conduct a drastic restructuring of her management team in February 1947. Gordon’s position was among those eliminated, despite Kirchwey’s apologetic acknowledgment that he had “done a fine job, intelligent and creative, putting into it more energy and devotion than you probably should have spent.” With seven months’ severance pay in his pocket to tide him over, Gordon was once again in the familiar position of looking for work.72 Truth be told, he was “not altogether unhappy” being released from what at times had seemed “a grilling and not always creative job.” King reported to his mother that in the first few months after leaving the Nation he spent more time on his own writing than had been possible during the preceding three years “worrying about the whims and birth pangs of other writers.”73 Much of his reportage for the Nation of the 1947 sessions of the General Assembly was done as a freelance journalist. When he shared with Frank Scott his feelings of relief over departing the magazine, Gordon described “the wear and tear in a managing editor’s life that cuts down heavily on any creative effort.” What is more, he was glad to escape the “increasing tug and strain in relationships” that infected the Nation’s editorial offices of late. Recurrent battles were breaking out between those “leaning towards the ‘popular front’ interpretation of liberal politics,” and others like himself who held “pretty firm views on the impossibility of cooperation with communists and the unwisdom of attempting it.” On top of everything else, the magazine’s dire financial straits were certain to impose “heavy economies” and an untenable workload on the skeleton staff that remained. This constellation of regrettable circumstances suggested to Gordon that nine years was perhaps “long enough” to remain in New York. The self-absorbed city’s “post-war tempo,” he explained to Scott, had produced a lifestyle “of a most arbitrary or synthetic kind” that accentuated the “contemporary tensions” of the world without providing “any of the solid community compensations” in return. Knee-deep in nostalgia, Gordon attributed to Canada “a sanity of outlook and a

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freedom from hysteria,” along with “a more liberal outlook,” far surpassing the situation in the United States. He could imagine “no other country on earth” with greater “chances of doing things in the next few years.” No doubt with himself in mind, Gordon concluded that opportunities abounded in Canada for “a person with liberal ideas” to make a lasting contribution to societal reform and renewal, whereas “down here most of what he attempts is waste effort.”74 Thinking the proverbial grass looked greenest north of the fortyninth parallel, Gordon was enticed momentarily by a novel employment proposal he received during the summer of 1947. Henry S. Ferns, a former federal civil servant turned economics professor at Winnipeg’s United College, was just then attempting to organize and finance the Winnipeg Citizen, which he envisioned becoming the world’s first cooperatively owned newspaper. The city already was home to two wellestablished dailies, Sifton’s Winnipeg Free Press and Southam’s Winnipeg Tribune, deep-rooted supporters of the Liberal and Conservative parties respectively. What Ferns and his associates on the board of the Winnipeg Citizen Cooperative Publishing Co. Ltd had in mind was a progressivist reader-owned newspaper to give voice to Winnipeg’s vibrant Leftist community. On the recommendation of several leading CCF partisans, Ferns offered Gordon the position of publisher and editor.75 Before giving his answer Gordon sought the advice of Harry Sharkey, the proprietor of the Gazette & Daily, of York, Pennsylvania, and an authority on “what can be done with a small city paper.” Sharkey supposed that the Citizen’s board anticipated that by recruiting King, the paper might capitalize on the celebrity of his father, Winnipeg’s “most famous citizen.” He urged Gordon to seize the opportunity nevertheless, since his unique combination of publishing experience and strong family ties to Winnipeg were certain to enhance the Citizen’s chances of success.76 Gordon’s former CCF colleagues Stanley Knowles and David Lewis also enthused over his possible return home, optimistic that with King at the helm of the Citizen their party’s fortunes would receive a boost in Manitoba.77 In the end prudence prevailed and Gordon declined Fern’s offer. Perhaps doubly cautious because of his recent discharge from a long-established but cash-strapped periodical, Gordon could not muster sufficient confidence in Fern’s financial projections for inserting a new player into Winnipeg’s already well-populated daily newspaper market. His suspicions were borne out in April 1949 when the Citizen declared bankruptcy just thirteen months after its first edition appeared on Winnipeg newsstands. In the interim, his recent

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slights about New York living notwithstanding, Gordon set his sights on reporting fulltime the happenings at United Nations headquarters, albeit on behalf of a much more solidly established media outlet, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC).78 Previously when covering the UN for the Nation, Gordon also recorded his impressions of the proceedings in a series of CBC radio broadcasts.79 He was already well known to the publicly owned national broadcaster and its listeners, therefore, when Stuart Griffiths, the head of CBC’s English-language International Service, approached him in September 1947 about preparing daily commentaries on the General Assembly’s activities for multilingual translation and transmission abroad. The only proviso, Griffiths insisted, was that Gordon’s reports portray the CBC “as a Canadian organization” reflecting a “Canadian viewpoint” fully supportive of the UN. Gordon leapt at the opportunity, assuring Griffiths there was unlikely to be “any basic difference” between the CBC’s stance and his own. Generally unimpressed by Canadian media treatment of the UN, Gordon interpreted his new role as essentially educational. He believed that before the UN could attract the widespread public interest formerly accorded the League of Nations, the coverage of its issues, deliberations, and key personalities must be made to appear much more vibrant, insightful, and relevant. Most important of all, the pivotal message must be communicated far and wide that the UN was “all there is between us and international chaos.” Working more or less independently, Gordon set about recruiting a stable of French, German, Danish, Czech, Spanish, Polish, and Swedish stringers whose stories on the UN he used to supplement his own ­reporting for broadcast over the CBC’s International Service.80 Providing daily analyses of the General Assembly was a gratifying beginning, but the job Gordon desired most – permanent CBC correspondent to the UN – did not yet exist. When he suggested the UN was too newsworthy to be relegated to teams of Canadian reporters sent to New York only when “gala events” like the General Assembly were held, the CBC offered him a position with its Montreal-based International Service. Encouraged that the corporation was coming around to his way of thinking, Gordon continued to push his own agenda by suggesting his extensive contacts at the UN could be used to maximum advantage if he remained resident in New York.81 Davidson Dunton, the CBC’s chair, conceded that the broadcaster’s UN coverage was indeed “rather slim and sporadic.” Given the growing interest in international affairs generally, and anticipating an appreciable rise in

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Canada’s UN profile once it took a seat on the Security Council after January 1948, Dunton acted. In February 1948 he appointed Gordon special UN correspondent for the CBC’s International Service, with additional reporting responsibilities to the Domestic Service as required. The one remaining stumbling block was Gordon’s CBC salary. At $5,000 per year it was less than he had earned at the Nation and insufficient to cover the costs of his family’s recent relocation to a large farmhouse on 200 acres of undeveloped land near the hamlet of Garrison, 100 kilometres from the UN’s temporary home at Lake Success, Long Island. To close the deal the CBC consented to Gordon supplementing his income by public lecturing and the occasional freelance writing assignment.82 One of his commissioned projects was a series of UN updates for the American magazine Atlantic Monthly. In the March 1948 segment, to cite but one example, Gordon applauded the crucial intermediary role that small and medium-sized nations were playing so capably in assembly debates. Specifically, by collaborating they were preventing the UN from “being transformed into either a battleground or a recruiting station” for its two most pugnacious rivals, the United States and the USSR. The Soviets might pose the greater threat to “world equilibrium,” but Gordon thought the Americans were equally careless in their selective pursuit of imperialist ambitions by rendering material assistance to the most economically vulnerable democracies. He warned against underestimating the gravity of the emerging standoff between the world’s two military leviathans and characterized the “system of security based on national sovereignty” as “a quicksand foundation for peace in an atomic age” threatening to cause “the death of us all.” The small and medium-sized nations, by contrast, were exploring new means of cooperating in the high-stakes quest to preserve world peace amidst “the shifting fortunes of the big-power struggle.” Gordon concluded that if the UN was to prevail in this diplomatic duel of life-anddeath consequences, it must broker “an uneasy compromise between the claims of power and the claims of international order.”83 Continuing the theme in an article he published in the Nation, Gordon dismissed obsolete national sovereignty as an absurdly anachronistic concept, since there was no controlling the world’s growing stockpiles of nuclear weaponry. Nothing less than a global reality check was needed: unless the human race was “prepared to accept the supreme irrationality of burrowing underground and joining forces with the moles,” it  must cease planning for wars under the naive assumption they would be fought solely with conventional weapons and therefore

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of predictable lethality. Gordon was certain nuclear weapons would be unleashed in any future conflict involving the great powers. Consequently, talk of forestalling a nuclear holocaust by implementing international atomic control systems was specious until the existing disparate tangle of myopic nation states was reconfigured as “a fairly rational world community.”84 During the two years he reported on the UN for the CBC, Gordon described a world body whose member nations were attempting to reconstruct themselves physically and emotionally in the wake of the war recently ended, while simultaneously they slid headlong into the Cold War that divided them and dominated international relations for the next forty years and more. Looking back on the late 1940s from the perspective of the 1980s, he recalled his zeal for the UN. “After the sufferings and disaster of war,” Gordon wrote, “we were off to a new start and the UN carried our hopes.”85 Cognizant of witnessing a new epoch in the making, Gordon was captivated by the often acrimonious and always impassioned debates in which delegates wrestled to define universal human rights, sought to calm the East-West great power rivalry, or calculate the merits of establishing a Palestinian homeland. Yet for all his enthusiasm over the UN’s evolving principles and practices, Gordon never denied that the international body from its outset failed to measure up to its creators’ hopes. Over time there were more lapses in the organization’s resolve to stare down recalcitrant opponents, as well as inconsistencies in its application of founding principles, than he cared to recall. But disappointment did not translate into lost faith. Gordon remained convinced that the UN alone possessed the organizational means and moral legitimacy necessary for aligning disparate and often unruly nations behind the common goals of global peace and justice. This was without question a euphoric vision of the UN’s potential. However, every progressive society ultimately depends upon its creative dreamers and idealists to keep moving forward, and Gordon fit that role comfortably in his own time. Gordon was barely three months into his assignment as the CBC ­International Service special correspondent when war broke out in ­Palestine in May 1948 over Arab refusal to recognize the state of Israel created under a partition plan the UN endorsed the preceding November. As the war waged in the Middle East, Jewish and Arab delegates to the UN traded verbal blows in New York. Their acid exchanges opened Gordon’s eyes to the intractability of a dispute that still defied resolution more than sixty years later. After only a few weeks’ witnessing the

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two camps rail against each another, King announced to his mother – but not his CBC audience – how he had lost patience with even the more moderate Jews and Arabs over their blatant use of “unscrupulous propaganda.” On balance he was slightly more sympathetic to Jewish claims but nevertheless found their campaign of distortion and frenzied exaggeration, chiefly the tendency to accuse the British of every “crime under the sun,” to be “pretty sickening.” Neither could he accept Arabs’ fanatical characterization of Jews as vile imperialists bent on “gobbling up” Palestinian lands. He considered both sides to be guilty of intolerance, prone to hysteria, too hasty in levelling charges of betrayal, and incapable of distinguishing “between good and bad, right and wrong.” War or no war, Gordon longed for the UN to redirect its focus to another subject, as “I’m getting a little tired of all Semites – ­Arabs and Jews.” Perhaps if a “half-decent settlement” were reached, he mused wistfully, “both peoples will change.”86 By the time an uneasy truce ended the war in Palestine in January 1949, Gordon had travelled to Paris to cover the UN’s Third General Assembly that convened the previous fall. The Paris assignment was an especially welcome respite from New York, not least because Ruth and the children were able to accompany him. After the assembly adjourned, the Gordons extended their vacation to the United Kingdom, Switzerland, and Italy, celebrating Christmas in Rome and ushering in the New Year in Pisa. Meanwhile, the CBC extended King’s European assignment to include the Berlin blockade and airlift.87 When the Americans, British, and French announced plans in June 1948 to establish a separate West German state, and to replace the old Reichsmark currency with the Deutschemark, the Soviets with whom they shared the occupation of Berlin responded belligerently by halting all rail, road, and canal access to the city. For the next eleven months the American and British governments organized a massive airlift of more than 277,000 cargo flights to deliver food and fuel to over two million Berliners imperilled by starvation and exposure. Flying into Berlin aboard one of the transports, Gordon was shocked by the “enormity of the desolation” and the “great waste land” left behind by Allied bombers during the recent world war. Not since visiting Vienna and Prague as an Oxford undergraduate in the early 1920s, and not even in the most destitute corners of Canada during the Great Depression, had he come face-to-face with such acute deprivation. Shivering and gaunt masses of Berliners scoured the city for roots, sticks, and anything else that sufficed for firewood, many of them surviving on little more than

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5.4  King, Ruth, Alison, and Charley Gordon, ca 1947. (Charles William Gordon)

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a diet of cabbages grown in small garden plots.88 Here was the abysmal human toll, Gordon reported, of the “vicious cycle of fear” being propagated by blinkered and presumably well-fed delegates to the recent UN General Assembly. The consequences of the worrisome “pattern of the postwar world” on display during the Paris meetings as the Western democracies and the Soviet Union moved ever farther apart now was being lived out in the streets and hovels of Berlin. Gordon fully expected the UN to survive this latest setback, not least because its Charter, “firmly based in the libertarian and democratic traditions of the West,” provided a “moral basis for the Western Alliance” and its plans for a reconstructed West Germany. The Soviet Union as well, despite its predilection for obstructionism, would no doubt remain a member of the UN. The international organization was proving too valuable a forum for “propaganda purposes” for the Kremlin simply to ignore.89 If ­untold thousands of cold and hungry Berliners were among the first to bear the burden of heartless exercises in realpolitik and ideological ­one-upmanship, they unfortunately would not be the last. After returning to the United States from his extended European mission, Gordon attended the 4 April 1949 signing ceremony in Washington inaugurating the eleven-member North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). In his CBC radio broadcast of the extraordinary occasion, he interpreted the mutual defence alliance as a welcome refutation by its signatories of dangerous isolationism. Canada in particular, he noted, demonstrated a healthy openness towards constructing a more consultative foreign policy by joining the pact. Gordon described NATO as signalling an end to “the Maginot Line type of thought which regarded the Atlantic as a barrier between the new world and the old,” surely an anachronism in an era of long-range bombers. Henceforth even the two strongest powers in the alliance, the United States and the United Kingdom, must accept that defending Oslo or Frankfurt was as essential to their national security as protecting New York or London. Yet Gordon doubted NATO’s imposing military presence alone would contain the threat of Soviet aggression. Only when “a healthy and just economic society” existed internationally could the West breathe easily, because communism “simply doesn’t thrive” where traditions of “sound democratic institutions” and social well-being abound. America’s far-sighted Marshall Plan of European financial aid was a recent case in point. Its conspicuous success in speeding the post-war economic recovery of France and Italy had done more to halt communism’s spread in those

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two countries, Gordon maintained, than a stockpile of nuclear weapons could ever have accomplished.90 Gordon returned to the topic of NATO’s relevance later that summer in a speech he gave to the annual gathering of the Couchiching Conference. Anyone listening could no longer doubt that his former enthusiasm for the Soviet experiment in social engineering, which brought Gordon so much opprobrium in the 1930s, had fully expired. He now branded Russia as paranoiac for raucously insisting that international initiatives by Western governments to distribute economic aid and ­implement controls on atomic energy were ill-disguised covers for their “imperialist-capitalist plots.” Because communism posed a global threat to peace, Gordon believed it could be constrained only by the creation of an international military force operating under the authority of the United Nations Security Council. Until then, NATO was the best stopgap available.91 After acknowledging the full scope of the Soviet menace, Gordon stressed that the West must try to “forget about ­Russia.” The “obsession with Russia,” he charged, “is dominating our foreign policy, feeding hysteria at home, damaging our civil liberties, frustrating efforts to give constructive leadership in world economic affairs, and generally fouling up our peace of mind.” “Russophobia” stemmed from Westerners’ limited knowledge about life behind the Iron Curtain, thus consigning them to “the same prison house of fear”  where average Russians resided. A year before Senator Joseph ­McCarthy’s draconian campaign to root out a suspected “red menace” in the United States got underway, Gordon warned of domestic civil liberties and “constructive thought” being sacrificed to reactionaries who by searching for “subversive elements” spread distrust and induced “a dangerous conformism.” Meanwhile, the bold economic initiatives capable of spreading Western prosperity to the most vulnerable developing nations and lessening communism’s appeal were “constantly hamstrung” by donor nations’ reluctance to antagonize the ­Soviet Union. Gordon estimated that the threat of war breaking out with the USSR was serious but not imminent. All the same, if fears of a Soviet backlash constrained the free world from adopting domestic and foreign policies “in keeping with our basic democratic traditions,” the ideological battle was already lost.92 A year and a half covering the UN beat for the CBC convinced Gordon that the “great task” confronting the international body was twofold. First, it needed to be at the forefront in creating a genuine

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“world community” by modelling strong-willed but non-aligned diplomacy when mediating conflicts between nations. Second, the UN must focus on organizing the transfer of technical assistance from developed to underdeveloped nations. Doing so would promote recognition and protection of basic human rights and fundamental freedoms as mandated by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights adopted at the Third General Assembly in Paris. Gordon predicted that this emphasis on the interconnectedness of technical assistance and human rights – soon to become his chief professional preoccupation – would hasten the decline of the “anarchic” and “thoroughly unscientific” notion that “no law was higher than the law of the nation state.” Because laws constantly evolved “from lower to higher orders” and “from less inclusive to more inclusive human groups,” the claims of national sovereignty on which the Cold War rested must inevitably give way to “the trend toward a world order of law.”93 Gordon also took issue with critics who insisted that peace was enforceable only by military might, and that the UN was a failure for refusing to act as an “armed international policeman.” He countered that the UN should be viewed not as a “utopian society from which all evil forces have been eliminated,” but as a global collective ultimately dependent upon its member states’ freely subordinating “their national sovereignty to the claims of world order.” Sadly, such goodwill was proving all too rare in practice, particularly among the great powers who continued to link national security with the maintenance of large standing militaries. The best hope for realizing a functional world community, Gordon concluded, rested with the middle and smaller powers. These nations, because their military influence was marginal, were more likely to accept that the best defence against war was a strengthened world organization.94 The more Gordon learned about the UN’s structure and operations, the more convinced he became that it represented the best hope for advancing economic development, respecting cultural diversity, and maintaining peace in what was threatening to become a dangerously fractious post-war world. Not surprisingly, as his enthusiasm for the UN increased, the less satisfied he became in simply reporting its activities. Also contributing to his discontent was a rapidly expanding workload – he had attended four General Assemblies in just two years, while simultaneously taking the lead in transforming the CBC’s ad hoc UN coverage into a fully operational bureau – that left little time for pursuing the extra writing assignments necessary for supplementing his income.95 Accordingly, when John Humphrey, the director of the UN’s

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Division of Human Rights, invited Gordon to join the unit in November 1949, he wasted little time accepting. In justifying his resignation to Ira Dilworth, the director of the CBC’s International Service, Gordon explained how his “central interest has always been international affairs.” He was leaving the broadcaster because of the “feeling that after being a commentator and interpreter for so long, I should accept a more direct share in making the United Nations work.”96 Responding to this “feeling” of duty – and Gordon’s vocational choices, as we have seen, were often influenced by a deeply ingrained sense of obligation – would be his inspiration for the next twelve years while carrying out a variety of roles for the international body. When Gordon wrote to President Roosevelt in 1941 claiming a “bifocal view towards American affairs,” he meant that as a politically engaged and public-spirited Canadian with several years’ professional experience in New York collaborating with some of America’s most progressive intellectuals on the Left, he possessed a unique perspective on the complex domestic and international pressures confronting the United States as it braced for war. Certainly Gordon’s colleagues at Farrar & Rinehart and the Nation, along with his associates in the Union for Democratic Action and the League for Industrial Democracy, put great stock in his transnational point of view. Besides designating him their resident expert on Canadian political happenings, they frequently sought Gordon’s take as an “outsider” on the current state of affairs in his adopted country. In emphasizing his “bifocal” outlook, Gordon inadvertently indicated that one significant consequence of his moving to the United States in 1938 was that he had become more an observer and commentator than active participant in campaigns for political and social reform. His positions in American publishing and journalism certainly afforded him access to larger and more influential audiences than he would have encountered by remaining in Canada. In addition, he thrived intellectually and socially from the extensive personal links he established with some of the most liberal intellectuals and progressive politicos in the eastern United States, his friend Reinhold Niebuhr often providing the entrées. Yet for all the obvious satisfaction Gordon took from editorializing and reporting in the media, and hobnobbing with like-minded leftists in a variety of non-governmental organizations intent on shaping a more equitable American society, he longed to participate in the type of grassroots reform activities he had enjoyed back in Canada with the LSR, the CCF, and the FCSO. Consequently, he thought that by reinventing himself yet again, this time as a United Nation’s

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bureaucrat, he would access more hands-on opportunities for service than reporting for the CBC permitted. In accepting Humphrey’s offer to sign on with the UN in New York, Gordon ended any speculation that he might resume a professional role in Canada any time soon. During his residency in the United States he had continued to maintain close ties to his former associates in the CCF. They reciprocated by periodically inviting him to rejoin the party in various official capacities, all of which Gordon graciously but firmly declined. One meaningful way in which he had demonstrated that physical absence from Canada was not be construed as emotional detachment, was his enthusiastic representation of labour’s interests on the Royal Commission on Steel in 1942. His minority report advocating a generous response to the strikers’ demands was a perspicacious and ultimately prescient account of the risks inherent in failing to use the power of the state to ensure workplace equity in a vital wartime industry. Less obvious to Gordon was the part he should play in wartime America, especially during what seemed to him the interminable period between September 1939 and December 1941 when Canada was at war but the United States was not. He felt compelled to improve communications between Great Britain and the United States in a bid to overcome traditional political and cultural barriers that too often created misunderstanding and suspicion between the two countries, and that threatened to reinforce American isolationist sentiment. By rallying his many publishing and media connections in Canada and the United States to share information designed to assist the American public in understanding the nature and purposes of the Allied war ­effort, Gordon enjoyed some small successes in this regard. Overall, however, Gordon never developed as fully as he might have wished his imprecisely defined aspirations for linking Canadian with American liberal progressives. This failure was probably due in part to the changing nature of progressivism in the intellectual life of 1940s America. As the historian Peter Beinart has explained, by the time Gordon arrived in New York the trend among many American intellectuals was to focus their anxieties more on “the menace of fascist aggression” than on “the injustice of Depression-era capitalism.” They joined Niebuhr in extracting from the blighted 1930s the lesson that evil originated in human nature and was not to be blamed on failures in education or the prevalence of any single mode of economic or political system. Many of those same socialists, progressives, and liberals to whom Gordon naturally gravitated had lost, or were in the throes of

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losing, their “faith in grand schemes for remaking the world because they had lost faith in grand schemes for remaking human beings.”97 Gordon did not share these disheartened views. Certainly he was not prepared to abandon the progressive ideal, which his mentor Niebuhr disparaged, that a suitably educated public would inevitably demand of its leaders the political and economic reforms essential for creating a harmonious society. He regarded his own tasks in the public square as editor, journalist, and pundit as fulfilling primarily an educational function, at the heart of which was a fundamental belief in the inherent advancement, if not perfectibility, of humanity. Given that Gordon undoubtedly had more first-hand experience witnessing the human devastation wrought by the Great Depression than most of his associates in America’s left-leaning intelligentsia, it is ironic, or perhaps merely a testament to the depth of his distrust in the existing political and economic order, that he remained committed to far-reaching social reform after so many of his peers had wavered. As already noted, a striking aspect of Gordon’s relocation to New York in 1938 was the rapidity with which he replaced the fervid idioms of a reforming evangelical clergyman with the measured and decidedly secular speech of a liberal publisher and journalist. In one respect, this transformation might be interpreted simply as Gordon instinctively repackaging himself to capitalize most effectively on the new vocational opportunities he found in New York’s sophisticated intellectual milieu. But more substantively, moving to the United States marked an ideological shift for Gordon, as the Christian socialism at the root of his ­association with the LSR, the CCF, and the FCSO tempered into a progressive liberalism more emblematic of the UDA. This might be thought an easy if not automatic transition, for as Carl Berger has pointed out, the LSR’s eventual objectives “were quite compatible with the goals of  liberalism.”98 Even so, the philosophical ambiguities inherent in Gordon’s former advocacy of Christian socialism – an inescapably dualistic concept – were gradually supplanted by a shift to unbridled socialism. When in turn his faith in socialism was diminished by horrific revelations of Stalin’s abusive reign in the Soviet Union – a reaction not unlike that of the American intellectuals who, according to Peter Beinart, were prompted “to reconsider their communist sympathies”99 – Gordon responded by adopting the descriptors of “progressive” and “liberal.” He thereupon joined the swelling ranks of social democrats who accepted that it was feasible for an interventionist government to implement enlightened reforms for eradicating social inequities, while

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permitting the means of production to remain largely in private hands. In shifting his philosophical focus, Gordon by no means diminished his fervour. If anything, his staunch idealism periodically lulled him into overstating the allure of political and economic reform. One such occasion was his erroneous conclusion in 1946 that a third major party founded on progressive principles similar to the CCF in Canada was poised to rise in the United States as a viable alternative to the Republican and Democratic Parties. This would suggest that possessing a “bifocal view towards American affairs” did not protect Gordon from intermittent bouts of myopia when scrutinizing the neighbouring nations’ respective political cultures. Be that as it may, Gordon demonstrated impressive foresight early in the post-war period with his observations about the declining relevance of nation states and the implications for military power in a world characterized by increasing economic and culture interconnectedness. In that regard, much of what he wrote about the future of international relations should be seen as preceding by several decades the musings of globalization theorists in the late twentieth century. Gordon’s multiple career moves between 1938 and 1949 away from ministry in the United Church of Canada and into publishing, journalism, and finally the United Nations, signalled an extension rather than abandonment of the core values he had exhibited since at least the mid1920s. The commitment he exhibited in the 1930s, for example, to ferreting out the social and economic injustices inflicted upon Saskatchewan wheat farmers and Nova Scotian coal-miners had been recast by the late-1940s as reformism with a distinctly international focus. As Gordon revealed to an acquaintance in the Anglican clergy, his decision to join the UN was driven by many of the same theological and philosophical impulses he had acquired as a youth during Charles Gordon’s dinner table seminars. “The United Nations,” King enthused, “represents the highest plane yet achieved not only in man’s political relationships but also in his ethical and spiritual relationships.” All the same, he was suitably worldly wise to approach this next vocational endeavour with eyes wide open. He shared, for instance, “some of Niebuhr’s scepticism over the possibility of political institutions embodying and fulfilling spiritual principles.” Having observed the UN up close since its founding, he felt “acutely aware of its moral limitations.” Gordon commented that hardly a day passed at the UN when “the anachronistic forces of nationalism and imperialism” were not vying for supremacy over the  “more transcendent forces that are inspired by obligations to an

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international society or by the needs of humanity itself.” Moreover, he realized full well that “the highest forces” often did not prevail in this rivalry. Nevertheless, he vacated his CBC office optimistic that the UN would one day “give leadership in challenging all nations and all peoples to more inclusive moral and spiritual concepts.”100 He hoped to play a part, in whatever guise fate and circumstances allowed, in bringing that praiseworthy ideal to pass. In a sequence of often emotionally challenging postings on four continents over the following twelve years, Gordon would rarely lose touch with the sanguinity he felt at the onset of his UN career.

6 “A ringside view of contemporary history in the making” (1950−1961)

On 8 October 1952, John Humphrey, a Canadian and director of the United Nations Division of Human Rights, described in his diary a convivial luncheon held earlier that day in a New York restaurant. His table companions were King Gordon and Frank Scott, both of whom had been his associates in the League for Social Reconstruction during the early 1930s when all three men were idealistic young academics just beginning their careers in Montreal. “What would we have thought,” Humphrey wondered, had one of them suggested twenty years ago that they were all to become “international officials?” He answered his own question with the spirited observation that “everything is possible in New York or at the United Nations.”1 Scott’s stint with the UN – during 1952 he travelled to Burma as a UN technical assistance adviser – was a comparatively brief interlude to an illustrious and inordinately varied professional career based largely in Canada. Gordon, by contrast, spent twelve years with the UN, mainly in postings outside of the  United States. Along the way he became a devoted adherent of Humphrey’s dictum, believing the UN represented boundless possibilities to individuals, nation states, and the world. Gordon’s first professional contacts with the UN occurred immediately following its creation in 1945, when as an editor and writer for the American magazine the Nation and journalist for the Canadian Broad­ casting Corporation he reported on its early landmark deliberations. Instantly enthralled by what he witnessed and believing the UN represented the best hope for achieving social and economic justice globally and peace among nation states, he was eager to become directly involved in the organization’s operations and not just observe them. Gordon likened the UN to a secular and radically ambitious missionary

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enterprise on which nothing less than the physical salvation of humanity depended. From the outset he regarded serving the UN as both a privilege and duty and to some extent analogous to the divine calling  he had followed into the ordained ministry many years earlier. Beginning in the Division of Human Rights at UN headquarters in New York, Gordon subsequently served in South Korea as director of the United Nations Korean Reconstruction Agency’s Office of Public Information, in Egypt as director of the UN’s Information Centre for the Middle East, and in Congo as chief information officer of the Opération des Nations Unies au Congo. Regardless of locale or the specific duties associated with each of these assignments, he treated them all fundamentally alike; they were opportunities for promoting and protecting human rights, while augmenting his personal ideological development as an internationalist. It was John Humphrey who opened the door to Gordon’s UN career. They first met in Montreal in 1932, brought together by Frank Scott, who recruited them into the nascent League for Social Reconstruction. Although Humphrey, like Gordon, enjoyed socializing with the fascinating mix of personalities who congregated under the LSR’s umbrella, he was less enamoured over the direction its political activism was soon taking. He felt the LSR focused too much on Canadian domestic issues and was insufficiently attentive to Humphrey’s principal interests in international relations. After Gordon moved to New York in 1938 he had little contact with Humphrey for almost ten years. Humphrey meanwhile resigned his teaching position in the Faculty of Law at McGill University after being invited in 1946 to join the United Nations as director of the Division of Human Rights in the Department of Social Affairs. The impressively erudite Canadian promptly demonstrated his value to the international body in an enduring fashion. As a member of the committee to prepare a statement of human rights, Humphrey personally drafted the 400-page handwritten document that became the template for the Universal Declaration of Human Rights – famously dubbed “the Magna Carta of all mankind” by the committee’s chair, Eleanor Roosevelt – adopted by the Third General Assembly on 10 December 1948.2 Humphrey and Gordon were reacquainted by 1948, once Gordon started frequenting the United Nations headquarters and general assemblies in his role as the CBC’s UN correspondent. Building on their shared interest in all UN-related subjects, the two became fast friends. They socialized together regularly, their conversations invariably

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turning to protracted critiques of human rights issues and the significance of the Universal Declaration. Humphrey, who wrote admiringly in his diary of Gordon’s “distinguished and penetrating” mind, mentioned to King in November 1949 that he wanted to recommend him for a position in the Human Rights division. Gordon was instantly amenable to the idea. As his enthusiasm for the UN had grown over the preceding months, he had been feeling increasingly constrained by the necessity of maintaining an air of journalistic detachment in his reporting. He was keen to jump from the periphery to the centre of the organization’s action. Humphrey accommodated by moving the requisite paperwork through the UN bureaucracy at breakneck speed, and Gordon was appointed a section chief in the Human Rights division in  January 1950. Although delighted over his new career prospects, Gordon freely admitted to lacking qualifications as a human rights specialist, not unlike when he assumed the editor’s position at Farrar & Rinehart without possessing formal training in that line of work either. Initially he found the UN beat “a bit restricting.” As the CBC correspondent he had been free to probe whichever of the UN’s multifaceted activities he fancied. Now he was tied to only one division. The ennui quickly passed, however, once he realized the Division of Human Rights was as intellectually compatible a home as he could have wished for. In many respects the work of the division seemed a logical next step in an ideological progression that thus far had taken Gordon from Christian socialism to liberal progressivism.3 Gordon’s first assignment for Humphrey was to write a short book, later published as These Rights and Freedoms, exploring the likely impact of the Universal Declaration on a world in which traditional forms of colonialism were fast disappearing. Researching the study convinced Gordon that the Division of Human Rights was dealing with “revolutionary dynamite.” He was optimistic that once the declaration’s ideals were embedded within the constitutions of sovereign nation states comprising peoples recently freed from centuries of colonial servitude,  a progressive global age of unprecedented political, economic, and social egalitarianism would ensue. Not since the 1930s, when he criss-crossed Depression-ravaged Canada as an evangelizing socialist preaching a gospel of human dignity achieved through economic cooperation, had Gordon been so inspired by the potential for social reform. The principal difference between the two experiences was that now his focus was on the needs of an international and primarily non–North

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6.1  John Humphrey. (University of Toronto Press, McGill University Archives, ISBN 9780802092618)

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American underclass. Gordon’s other duties as section chief included writing speeches, briefing reports, and background papers for sundry UN dignitaries, and serving as his division’s liaison with the Parisbased United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO).4 His longest continuing assignment – also by turns his most frustrating and satisfying – was serving as secretary to the UN Ad Hoc Commission on Prisoners of War established by the General Assembly in June 1951. The commission was the UN’s response to disturbing charges by the German Federal Republic, Italy, and Japan, that the USSR, China, Albania, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, and Romania were refusing to repatriate – much less provide information about – possibly hundreds of thousands of prisoners they were accused of holding in custody ever since the Second World War. West Germany alone could not account for 1,154,000 of its nationals, claiming that at least 923,000 of them were last reported in either the USSR or its satellites. Japan was seeking information on 370,000 of its missing citizens, many of them women and children. The Soviet Union’s ardent assertion that it had repatriated the last of the wartime prisoners in 1950 was treated as disingenuous by most observers. The real culprit, according to the Soviets, was the United States. The Americans stood accused of spreading fallacious allegations about secret Russian POW camps in order to divert world attention away from not only their intended political and economic subjugation of Germany and Japan, but also the United States’ ongoing remilitarization in preparation for launching a first strike against the Soviet bloc. The true victims, as presented in the  official Soviet narrative, were the half-million Russians who had vanished within territories controlled by the United States and Britain ­during the war.5 Once it became apparent that normal diplomatic channels were incapable of breaking the stalemate, UN Secretary-General Trygve Lie named the three-person Ad Hoc Commission on Prisoners of War to investigate the vastly contradictory claims and to mediate the repatriation of prisoners still held by former combatants. El Salvador’s José Gustavo Guerrero, the vice-president of the International Court of Justice, was appointed commission chair. Joining him were Aung Khine, a justice of the High Court of Burma, and Estelle Bernadotte, an American heiress and widow of Folke Bernadotte, a Swedish diplomat and UN mediator who had been killed in Palestine by Jewish assassins in 1948. Twice annually between 1951 and 1954 Gordon travelled to

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Geneva to organize the commission’s hearings. In short order he became the group’s recognized expert on treaties and international agreements governing the treatment and repatriation of prisoners of war. His contributions to the commission’s work extended beyond customary administrative efficiency. Graced with a naturally jocund disposition, Gordon was adept at dispensing liberal doses of charm and deference to any and all parties engaged in the often tempestuous hearings whenever doing so helped to keep the negotiations moving ahead.6 Determining definitively the number and location of missing prisoners proved a painstaking process. Not only were records of prisoners taken in the midst of battle notoriously unreliable. Often the most recent evidence of individuals’ whereabouts was several years old, consisting of outdated eyewitness accounts by other prisoners or letters that the missing had sent their families. The work of the Guerrero commission was also seriously hindered by the accused nations’ practice of classifying as war criminals some of the prisoners in their custody, thereby technically removing them from the purview of the repatriation investigations. The commission frequently called upon the International Committee of the Red Cross and its national branches to act as neutral intermediaries in providing information about the location and condition of prisoners. But ultimately the only way the commission could fulfil its mandate was if all of the nations involved in the negotiations agreed to full transparency. That was too tall an order to place so early in the Cold War. The Soviets in particular initially refused even to meet with the commission, on the grounds that its solicitation of so many aggrieved claims and counter-claims threatened to revive international tensions and disrupt an already uneasy peace.7 Worn down by two years of Russian intransigence, the three commissioners reluctantly announced in 1953 that they had reached an impasse.8 Up to that point their annual reports to the secretary-general documenting the pace of repatriations had kept the issue plainly in the public eye and thus may have pressured the Soviets and Chinese into remaining at the negotiating table. Yet overall the commissioners felt progress was unacceptably slow, given that innocent human beings were believed to be languishing in foreign prisons year after year while diplomats for the accused stalled and obfuscated at Geneva. When Countess Bernadotte vented her frustrations to Gordon – the two had become close friends and frequent correspondents during the commission’s extended hearings – he reminded her that many knowledgeable observers had warned from the outset that the mystery of the missing

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POWs might be unsolvable. Indeed, considering the huge discrepancies in the estimated numbers of those still missing, there was no reliable means for measuring the commission’s success. When Gordon suggested that one moral marker of progress had been the commission’s ability to shift the highly charged question “out of the atmosphere of politics in which it wallowed” when first broached by the General Assembly, Bernadotte disagreed. She viewed the commission’s efforts, its “humanitarian” aspirations notwithstanding, as repeatedly compromised by the political posturing of every national delegation that had appeared before it. Even those governments seeking to repatriate citizens had shamelessly hijacked the proceedings by staging “flimsy and heavily emotional” performances in pursuit of political objectives largely unrelated to the commission’s business. Gordon attempted to clarify for Bernadotte his earlier position, pointing out that “the play of politics” occurs in all human relationships, whether individual or international, and the mere presence of “political forces” did not necessarily sacrifice the integrity of the process. As for Russian stonewalling over prisoner repatriations, here was proof that “morality seldom if ever ­applies to national behaviour,” except in highly developed democracies where “the political responsibility of good men and women can influence national policy.”9 Soldiering through the disillusionment, the Guerrero commission continued its labours for several more years, with Gordon providing moral and technical support for the duration. By 1956 even he was prepared to admit that the commission was approaching the end of its usefulness. As it was now more than ten years since the war had ended, the whereabouts of any still believed to be missing appeared destined to remain unknown. Among the detainees in foreign prisons who had been accounted for, the majority were branded as war criminals by their captors, leading Gordon to suggest to Humphrey that future prisoner repatriations would likely be made “in the context of a broader political settlement.”10 Despite the many obstacles strewn across the commission’s path en route to completing its protracted and delicate negotiations, the final results were reasonably gratifying. By the end of 1957 more than 65,000 Japanese and German nationals, including military personnel and civilians, had been repatriated, most of them from the USSR and China. Ascertaining that the original estimates of missing prisoners had been grossly exaggerated, the commission adjourned for the final time uncomfortably aware that the fate of almost

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142,000 German, Japanese, and Italian prisoners last seen in the Soviet Union and China was unlikely ever to be determined.11 Serving the Ad Hoc Commission on Prisoners of War opened Gordon’s eyes to the challenges of applying the Universal Declaration’s towering principles on human rights to a Cold War world shaped by callous considerations of national self-interest. It was one thing to swaddle the globe with inspirational declarations, treaties, and conventions espousing the declaration’s values, which occurred repeatedly following its much heralded introduction in 1948. Transforming idealistic phrases into purposeful action was another matter altogether. Sitting atop the UN’s original agenda, along with the goal of maintaining international peace and security, was the unenviable task of persuading ostensibly autonomous nations to comply with a universal standard of civil, political, social, and economic human rights protections. This was an endeavour rife with complications. In the time-honoured view of what constituted national sovereignty, no interference by uninvited outsiders was to be countenanced. Yet UN human rights initiatives rested on the novel and wholly untested expectation that a common ethical standard existed to which all legitimate governments were expected to adhere. As Sven Gareis and Johannes Varwick, two scholars of the UN, have observed, “Hardly any other form of state behaviour belongs more immediately to the realm of ‘domestic affairs’ than the way that a state or society deals with individuals.” Political and cultural turf wars between the UN and those nation states most protective of their autonomy therefore appeared inevitable. According to the historian Paul Kennedy, a momentous consequence of the declaration’s attribution of universal status to human rights was that it tilted the balance, “at least on paper, away from states and toward individuals.” But as Kennedy also observed, the extensive horse-trading that occurred among delegates to the multinational committee originally assembled to draft the  Universal Declaration was a sobering reminder of how threatening  “this new world order” seemed to some “vested interests.” The Canadian diplomat and academic John Holmes, who studied the UN’s formative years as closely as anyone, recalled heated debates over the question of whether a universal definition and application of human rights was even practicable. Since national customs and practices varied dramatically, many discussants feared that insisting upon one human rights standard for all peoples and nations would produce “vapid moralizing,” or even worse, physical clashes.12

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Given the widespread approbation, if not necessarily observance, that the Universal Declaration eventually commanded internationally, early efforts by Gordon and other human rights devotees to promote its principles and practices are easily underrated. In Gordon’s case, advocacy on the UN’s behalf in the 1950s was a natural extension of the political activism and commitment to social reform he first embraced in the 1920s. Shortly after joining the UN, he appeared on Humphrey’s behalf before a special committee of the Canadian Senate to explain the purpose and function of the Division of Human Rights. Irving Himmel, a Toronto-based lawyer, civil libertarian, and human rights activist, objected to Gordon’s designation as spokesperson on the grounds he was “too closely connected with the C.C.F.” Humphrey was not dissuaded and Gordon went ahead with the presentation. In his comments to the Senate committee he urged all nations interested in advancing their citizens’ liberties to work closely with the UN as a means of demonstrating to less liberal or democratic countries that human rights must be entrenched locally and nationally before they could be expected to spread internationally.13 Later that same year in a speech to the Summer Institute of Social Progress held at Wellesley College in Massachusetts, Gordon declared there was “no more corroding practice in national or international societies than the denial of human rights.” He credited the UN’s founders for linking the abolition of war to the extension of basic rights and freedoms including speech, assembly, education, leisure, gainful employment, and gender equality. This was “no idealist’s dream,” he said. Its realization depended upon nation states willingly consigning to the world organization certain of their most cherished sovereign powers. Gordon was not so naive as to minimize the ­instinctive reluctance of national leaders to sacrifice any measure of their independence, no matter how large or small. But the unacceptable alternative, he concluded, was for the world to become further entangled in the intricate web of historical, political, socio-economic, and psychological forces that were feeding Cold War tensions at the outset of the 1950s.14 As a gifted educator and compelling orator who believed unequivocally that a robust UN was essential for securing peace in a dangerous and increasingly fragmented post-war world, Gordon was an excellent envoy for his division. This is not to suggest he was oblivious to the UN’s considerable shortcomings in its early years. To the contrary, he frequently carped at the willingness of member nations to sacrifice on the altar of national self-interest what few internationalist ideals they

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possessed when it suited them. In his capacity as liaison between the Division of Human Rights and UNESCO, Gordon was repeatedly disheartened by the reluctance of wealthy Western nations to donate adequate funding for educational, scientific, and cultural projects in Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and Latin America. UNESCO was originally intended to reduce cultural and ideological misunderstandings among nations at dissimilar stages of development and to foster universal respect for justice and human rights. The reality proved quite different, as the organization became the target of anti-Western sentiment in disputes between developed and undeveloped nations. At issue was the extent to which rigidly centralist governments in recently decolonized countries should be permitted to dictate the allocation of scarce domestic resources during the early stages of state-building. Gordon disagreed with detractors in developed nations who automatically condemned the practice as corrupt and fostering rampant cronyism, and therefore an excuse for withholding desperately needed donations of foreign aid. In a rare display of disillusionment, he complained to his friend Lester Pearson, Canada’s minister of external affairs in 1951, that UNESCO’s internecine struggles were “one more sign that the international community was disintegrating,” leaving him “very gloomy about the prospects for the United Nations system.”15 Gordon’s occasional bouts of disenchantment were not so grave as to cause him to contemplate abandoning the UN, even as other career opportunities appeared. M.J. Coldwell, the indefatigable leader of the national CCF, tried luring Gordon back to Canada in 1952 with a lament over “the great loss in intellectual leadership” the party had suffered through the years, and an offer to lead its Manitoba wing. Gordon declined on the grounds he no longer knew enough about the province’s politics, economy, or “special problems” to be credible in a leadership role. Besides, his core activist interests had evolved well beyond his former fixation with Canadian social democracy. Were he ever to return home, he explained to Coldwell, he hoped that his “years in the field of international affairs will have immediate bearing on what I may do in Canada.”16 Not long afterwards Gordon was en route to the first of three demanding foreign postings he completed for the UN between 1954 and 1961. When at last he returned to North America to stay, the political party whose founding ideology he helped articulate at Regina in 1933 had been reinvented as the New Democratic Party, and whatever aspirations he once entertained of championing social democracy from the floor of a legislative assembly were long past.

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In July 1954, Gordon was seconded by the United Nations Korean Reconstruction Agency (UNKRA) to serve as director of its Office of Public Information based in Seoul, South Korea.17 His initial hesitancy in accepting the job was due to uncertainty over how relocating halfway around the world would affect his young family. Since the UN would not permit Ruth and the children to live in South Korea because there were severe shortages of basic amenities in the war-scarred ­country, they would be residing 1,200 kilometres away in Tokyo. But ultimately the allure of a new adventure was too much for the fiftythree-year-old to pass up. King had joined the UN intent upon getting as close to its work on the ground as possible, and the South Korean position promised just that. In attempting to rationalize his decision to Humphrey, Gordon ­alluded to the omnipresent if somewhat imprecise tug of vocational duty that, as on several previous occasions in his life, he again felt compelled to answer. There comes a time “when one has to cut loose,” he told Humphrey, “when you begin to look at a job not merely as a job to be done but as your job to do.” Unfortunately for their friendship, Humphrey detected more abandonment than altruism in Gordon’s departure. Humphrey was at that moment engaged in a losing battle with UN Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjöld over an imposed reorganization of the Division of Human Rights that required substantial cutbacks and reallocation of personnel. Whereas Humphrey previously had only the highest praise for Gordon’s abilities, he never forgave him for departing the division when its need for experienced leadership was greatest. The raw feelings were exposed at a dinner party a short while later, when Gordon made what Humphrey interpreted as “a very sharp remark to me about going sour on the U.N.” and suggested it was time Humphrey returned to Montreal and academia. “Friendship,” Humphrey concluded caustically, “is a thing of which one can never be certain.” The ill will had still not dissipated four years later. Following a dinner party hosted by King and Ruth in Geneva during the UNESCO meetings of July 1958, Humphrey confided to his diary, “My relationship with King will never be confident and frank again. Whenever I am with him I am on my guard, full of hesitations and even distrust. I remember Jeanne [Humphrey’s wife] once saying about King – in the early McGill and L.S.R. days – that if she ever lost her confidence in him she wouldn’t have much belief left in the human race. What a hero he then seemed, almost a paragon of virtue and moral courage. And how disappointing my experience with him turned out to be.”18

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It is unlikely Gordon ever fully realized the extent of Humphrey’s disappointment that he accepted the South Korean assignment. Frank Scott, who remained intensely interested in Gordon’s career perambulations, offered an entirely different perspective. He spoke emphatically of the “enormous debt we comfortable people owe to those who take up the distant and essential tasks, without which we would soon cease to be comfortable.” Gordon’s move to the Republic of Korea, Scott predicted, would afford him “a tall vantage point from which to view the Western world.”19 In July 1953, three years after the Soviet-sponsored People’s Demo­ cratic Republic invaded its southern neighbour, the American-backed Republic of Korea, the Korean peninsula was split by an armistice line drawn slightly north of the 38th parallel. Estimates vary widely, but the war is thought to have cost between 3.5 and 4 million civilian and military deaths, approximately one-tenth of Korea’s civilian population. The physical destruction was no less devastating, with vast swathes of the country denuded of habitable dwellings, and much of its public, commercial, and industrial infrastructure in ruins. As early as December 1950, the UN General Assembly had established the UNKRA to provide food, shelter, and medical treatment to hundreds of thousands of South Koreans displaced by the North Korean assault. Its mandate also included planning and implementing a comprehensive $250-­million program of civilian relief and infrastructure restoration following the 1953 ceasefire. Having provided the bulk of the UN’s military thrust during the war, the United States continued as primus inter pares in organizing the peace. It contributed fully 65 per cent of the UNKRA’s budget, conditional upon a broadly based multinational partnership of donor ­nations supplying the balance. American primacy was further demonstrated by the appointment of one of its own, John B. Coulter, as UNKRA agent general. The General Assembly assigned the agent general an advisory committee comprising representatives from Canada, India, the United Kingdom, the United States, and Uruguay, but ultimately it was Coulter’s decision how monies and resources were to be procured and allocated. When UNKRA operations wound down in 1958, approximately $146 million contributed by thirty-eight governments had been spent on 4,235 individual projects. Massive amounts of direct American aid continued to pour into South Korea in the years that followed, as the United States fostered its newest strategic partner in Southeast Asia. But it was the UNKRA that laid the foundation for South Korea’s remarkable post-war economic growth and industrialization.20

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Headquartered in an old warehouse in Seoul, UNKRA staff worked jointly with the South Korean government identifying, prioritizing, and coordinating an extraordinary array of reconstruction and development projects. As the South Korean economy was primarily agrarian, emphasis was placed on improving irrigation systems, replenishing herds and flocks with imported livestock and poultry, and securing vaccines for animal immunization. Steel and iron imports supplied the farm tool industry, and an agricultural college and experimental station damaged during the war were reconstructed. South Korea’s fishing fleet was rejuvenated with imported deep-sea trawlers, and its shipyards were provided with the funds and technical support necessary for designing and building a national merchant marine. Industrialization was boosted with UNKRA equipment for refitting textile and paper mills, cement and glass plants, coal mines, and an ore assay laboratory. Hundreds of aspiring entrepreneurs received small business loans, and UNKRA grants-in-aid were made available to voluntary agencies prepared to tackle the country’s pervasive shortages in health and child care, nutrition, and welfare. Over nine thousand low-cost homes were constructed in Seoul and other cities, while in rural areas villagers shared responsibility with the UNKRA for improving wells, flood-­ control dikes, roads, and schools.21 As its director of public information, Gordon was responsible for ensuring that the UNKRA’s frenetic activities were thoroughly and favourably publicized both within the UN’s area of operations and to countries abroad. It was essential that he enlist the cooperation of the foreign press corps – a collection of free-spirited individualists who to his recurring dismay refused to be herded in any single predetermined direction – to view UNKRA projects first-hand, or at the very least refer to Gordon’s monthly progress reports before filing their stories. His hope, of course, was that agreeable accounts of the UNKRA appearing in the international media would translate into additional donations essential to the agency’s long-term viability. Accordingly, under Gordon’s watch no event was too picayune to publicize. The building of a new cement plant vied for attention with the arrival of 60,000 fertilized duck eggs flown in from Holland, or Agent General Coulter’s ceremonial transfer of donated bulldozers to Korean workers at an irrigation construction site. Gordon’s considerable patience was frequently tested by visiting journalists whose idea of investigative reporting, he grumbled to his mother, was “to stay at [Seoul’s] one good hotel, talk to the same people, mostly disgruntled Americans, and then write their stories.”

6.2  King Gordon in South Korea, ca 1955. (Charles William Gordon)

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He discovered that few reporters shared his fondness for living and working “in the field,” which he insisted was the only way to observe accurately the full extent of the UNKRA mission. Gordon always attributed his personal predilection for roughing it while on UN field assignments – whether in a Korean mountain pass, Egyptian desert, or Congolese jungle – to his boyhood adventures camping and canoeing the rugged Canadian Shield that cradled Birkencraig.22 Gordon periodically found respite from the daily strain of recording the devastation that the war had brought upon South Korea’s civilian population by exploring the country’s seashores, mountain ranges, and terraced valleys. It is unknown if spending his free time travelling through the scenic vistas was a temporary distraction from the loneliness of extended separations from Ruth and the children, or only made his family seem farther away. King managed to visit them in Japan every couple of months, but otherwise anxiously awaited their letters.23 Alison and Charley were enrolled in a multinational school in Tokyo attended by students from at least two dozen countries. King hoped the experience – an exposure to ethnic diversity quite unlike his own comparatively sheltered upbringing in a Winnipeg manse – would teach his children that people are not so different from one another, “even if their cultures and history and traditions have tended to make them so.”24 He may well have been missing his son and daughter more than ­usual one day in June 1955, when an eleven-year-old Korean orphan approached him on the street asking for money to buy food. Gordon accompanied the girl to the office of the Canadian mission in Seoul, where officials recommended placing her in an orphanage nearby. When he returned a few hours later to check on her, she had disappeared. His thorough search of the area over the next several days revealed no trace of the girl. Gordon suspected that rather than entering the orphanage – most of them, he acknowledged, “are pretty bad” – she opted to take her chances living on the streets.25 It was a brief encounter with a single child victim of a war that had created tens of thousands of orphans just like her, but it affected Gordon deeply. He resolved that if he could not help that one child specifically, he would attempt to assist other innocents in similar straits. To that end, one of Gordon’s personal projects while in South Korea was to urge his former employer, the United Church of Canada, to lobby federal immigration authorities to ease restrictions impeding Canadian families from adopting Korean children. He was especially concerned that orphans of mixed blood, who suffered discrimination because their fathers were members of the UN military force, be assisted in getting out of South Korea.26

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The appreciation for multicultural diversity Gordon hoped his children would derive from attending school in Tokyo was reflected in his frequent media portrayals of UN resourcefulness in merging nationalities and cultures in the pursuit of shared humanitarian objectives. It was a favourite theme to which he returned repeatedly during each foreign posting. One example is a radio script Gordon wrote in the spring of 1955 extolling the UNKRA’s “demonstration of teamwork in an international venture without historical precedent.” He told of Peruvian, Danish, and Korean engineers joining forces to build dams and cement plants, a British consultant demonstrating a drill to a Korean miner deep underground, an Australian nurse accompanying a Korean doctor on his rounds of a sanatorium for tubercular children, and an American architect reviewing plans for a new school building with a Korean education official. Gordon maintained that these and hundreds of comparable collaborations under UNKRA auspices were irrefutable evidence the UN was not, despite its critics’ repeated claims, precariously balanced on naively idealistic principles. Rather, the international reconstruction agency was achieving a depth of invaluable cross-cultural understanding “that could not have been produced in any other way.”27 Gordon accepted that South Korea’s battered physical infrastructure was likely to be rebuilt long before its government agreed to a commensurate ideological advance by entrenching citizens’ human rights. He noted when organizing the national observance of Human Rights Day on 10 December 1955 that the South Korean government’s expressed enthusiasm for the event seemed more a ploy to differentiate itself from the communist regime to the north than a sincere expression of principle. As he confided to Humphrey, it was “very easy to be cynical” about Human Rights Day celebrations in South Korea, a nation where police powers were pre-eminent, regular exercise of the presidential veto stymied the will of elected legislators, and minority opposition parties remained ineffective. Gordon was prepared to grant that the country’s human rights deficit might be partly a defensive reflex, an inevitable response to years of Japanese occupation followed by the widespread devastation and dislocation of the recent war. He also saw reasons to hope that a more liberal human rights regime was on South Korea’s horizon. The rapid recovery in enterprise and efficiency being modelled by the nation’s industrial and business leaders, along with steady improvements to the system of public administration, all suggested to Gordon that an increased openness to human rights protections might logically follow.28

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Of more immediate concern were the spreading rumours that UNKRA funding sources might dry up before many of the reconstruction projects were completed. As early as October 1954, Gordon lamented that “governments which have plenty of billions for guns have very little for rebuilding a battered country.”29 Shortly thereafter the United States and the United Kingdom, by far the largest donors to the UNKRA, announced a moratorium on additional contributions until other countries increased their own pledges. Gordon did what he could to forestall the funding crisis. First and foremost, he used the Office of Public Information to highlight internationally the UNKRA’s extensive activities and achievements. Privately, he lobbied Arthur Rucker, the European representative to UNKRA and its deputy agent general, to pressure Whitehall to join Canada, Australia, and New Zealand by increasing its financial support.30 In Canada, Gordon persuaded the CBC to air several television reports highlighting UNKRA’s good works. He also recruited Jim Mutchmor, secretary of the United Church of Canada’s Board of Evangelistic and Social Service, to lobby the Canadian government to increase its $6.9 million donation to the agency. Gordon warned all and sundry that a premature cessation of the UNKRA’s work would deliver a serious blow to UN credibility as a provider of aid and technical assistance.31 In an impassioned letter to Lester Pearson, he contended that the UNKRA was helping South Koreans develop “into a democratic and self-reliant people.” Gordon implored Pearson to “make some of your British pals see” that South Korea, “the testing ground which we chose,” must not be abandoned, since nations that cherish freedom must be “prepared to pay most for its survival.”32 Gordon’s most pressing fears were realized in October 1955 when Coulter convinced the General Assembly that dwindling funding necessitated winding down the UNKRA, once projects currently underway were completed in 1957 or 1958. A worldwide appeal for donations earlier in the year had garnered a weak response, despite emphasizing that the agency’s future remained in jeopardy, barring a quick infusion of new money. Under the circumstances, the General Assembly concurred with Coulter that one final trip to the well appeared pointless. Raising money for the UNKRA had been a struggle from the outset. Only 58 per cent of the $250 million in expenditures originally projected was eventually donated, as many European nations proved reticent to join the United States in making South Korea’s reconstruction their priority too. Among their reasons for pulling the purse strings tight were

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lingering uncertainties over Korea’s future security, hesitancy about ­endorsing Syngman Rhee’s constrictive right-wing government, and concerns over their own increasingly burdensome Cold War military expenditures. Also a factor was the presence of a growing bloc of neutralist European states loath to compromise their autonomy by aligning behind a program that, its UN moniker notwithstanding, was indisputably an American initiative.33 Given South Korea’s strategic importance to America’s expanding East Asian interests, the United States unilaterally assumed responsibility for the country’s ongoing reconstruction after the UNKRA was dismantled. This outcome, Rucker suggested to Gordon, should cause the UN “no shame.” Gordon vehemently disagreed. He thought that allowing the United States to remain as the UNKRA’s “sole successor” was a weak substitute symbolically for “an  effort under the active sponsorship and direction of the United Nations.” “I fear,” Gordon divulged to Pearson, paraphrasing T.S. Eliot’s poem “The Hollow Men,” that the UNKRA was “destined to go out, not with a bang but in a whimper.”34 Although disappointed over the UNKRA’s untimely dissolution, Gordon believed the agency’s many tangible accomplishments would convince all but the most intransigent sceptics “that the answer to the fairly desperate problems we face today has to be found within the United Nations framework.” Gordon’s personal value to the UN had also been duly noted, with Agent General Coulter commending his “intelligence, ingenuity, tact, and persistence” in creating an international profile for the UNKRA. His reward was an 8,500 kilometre transfer to Egypt as director of the UN Information Centre for the Middle East. V.J.G. Stavridi, the UN director of external services, briefed Gordon on the requirements of his new position. First, the head of the Information Centre was expected to make the UN “popular or even understood and appreciated” in a volatile region of the world where even the perception of interference by outsiders invariably proved fractious. Second, he must demonstrate “very good political sense and judgement,” and above all prevent the UN from becoming embroiled in “domestic issues.”35 Stavridi’s conditions sounded neither unreasonable nor beyond Gordon’s capabilities. But with the Suez Crisis poised to break out unexpectedly in the heart of his vast bailiwick, Gordon had no way of foretelling just how tall an order Stavridi had given him. Although the Middle East appointment was a promotion, Gordon admitted to Lester Pearson that the “news doesn’t cheer me too much: all I wanted after Korea was a nice, long quiet time at home with the

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family and a pleasant responsible job at Headquarters.” John Humphrey, still smarting over Gordon’s earlier departure and continuing to struggle with staffing shortages in the Division of Human Rights, expressed regret that his section chief’s secondment had been extended. But King had come to regard foreign assignments with the UN as synonymous with mission work, and mission work as the son of the unfaltering Charles W. Gordon had been taught at an early age, must always be tackled head-on and not by proxy. Therefore, after wavering momentarily, he accepted the job. In justifying the decision to his mother, who required repeated assurances over the years that her eldest child was never as far from home as the place names on maps suggested, King paraphrased Methodism’s founder John Wesley, who in 1739 professed, “I look upon all the world as my parish.”36 King explained that, like many who worked for the UN, he believed “‘The world is our parish,’ and we are learning that the world is not a very big place.”37 Whether or not he realized it, King briefly encapsulated how his work as a secular internationalist in the 1950s retained trace elements of the same evangelizing tendencies that he first displayed as a Christian socialist some thirty years earlier. While Ruth organized the family’s move back to the United States, King travelled to Rome in April 1956 to attend a conference of UN ­directors of information centres. On the agenda was an audience with Pope Pius XII, which Gordon confessed to attending only “out of curiosity but with no real excitement.” In the event, he was glad he tagged along. He was surprised to discover how much he valued the pope’s assertion that it was the UN directors’ “sacred calling” to promote the cause of universal peace by overseeing the objective dissemination of information from within their respective jurisdictions.38 Following two months of training at UN headquarters in New York, Gordon boarded a plane for Cairo in June 1956. There could hardly have been a more portentous moment for a newcomer to arrive in the Middle East. Gordon’s superior, Alfred Katzin, the UN’s deputy undersecretary for public information, had previously told him that the greatest contribution the Cairo Information Centre could make towards achieving a “sane and peaceful” resolution to the region’s simmering territorial disputes was to provide “a more optimistic and less destructive presentation of daily alarums and excursions than is the wont of a free world press and radio in reporting incidents.”39 This was reasonable advice. But what neither Katzin nor Gordon, nor the rest of the world, for that matter, could have anticipated, was how quickly the “daily alarums

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and excursions” would escalate into an armed invasion of Egypt and one of the most dangerous diplomatic rows the UN was ever to encounter. Otherwise, Gordon’s introduction to life in Cairo was deceptively orderly and pleasant. The first few weeks were spent settling his family into an apartment overlooking the Nile and delighting in the city’s cultural amenities, both ancient and modern. He and Ruth began Arabic lessons, tried their hand at haggling with vendors in the old sector’s marketplace, and toured the Pyramids with the children. King launched his official duties by making the rounds of local embassies to present his UN credentials and establish the myriad personal contacts on which the effectiveness of the Information Centre ultimately relied. During these initial days in the Egyptian capital, Gordon detected no hint of the imminent clash that was to jump-start his “accelerated education in both Middle East and great power politics.”40 On 26 July 1956 Gordon was home relaxing with friends and listening to a radio broadcast of Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser’s speech in Alexandria commemorating the 1952 coup d’état that won Egypt’s independence. Suddenly their interpreter blurted out, “‘My God, he’s nationalized the Suez Canal!’” The ensuing crisis would permanently alter Great Power relations within the increasingly refractory Middle East and raise longstanding Arab-Israeli tensions to lethal new heights. In defence of his decision to nationalize the predominantly British and French-owned Suez Canal Company, Nasser contended that canal dues were needed to fund construction of the proposed Aswan Dam on the upper Nile River. The $1.2 billion project, which was intended to irrigate a million hectares of new agricultural land and provide electrical power for Egypt’s future industrial development, was originally to have been financed in part by a $200 million loan from the World Bank and possibly an equal amount in combined loans and grants from the United States and Great Britain. But when U.S. Secretary of State John Foster Dulles announced his country was withdrawing its funding, prompting Britain to do likewise, Nasser wasted little time nationalizing the company that operated the 163-kilometre canal, a vital shipping link between Europe and Asia. Explanations abound as to why the United States and Britain revoked their support of Aswan, but Gordon’s opinion is also the majority view. The official version at the time was that the dam’s construction costs could not be justified because Egypt’s economy was insufficiently advanced to take optimal advantage of the resulting water and energy resources. In fact, as Gordon and many others maintained, the United States and Britain

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6.3  King Gordon, ca 1956. (Charles William Gordon)

were punishing Nasser for his growing anti-Western rhetoric, his advocacy of a united Arab front, and Egypt’s recent Czechoslovakianbrokered arms purchases from the Soviet Union. Regardless, Nasser’s actions were widely denounced as a blatant violation of the Suez Canal Convention that the Great Powers had signed at Constantinople in 1888 establishing the canal as an international waterway open to navigation by vessels of every nation, even in wartime.41

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After three months of half-hearted parleys by the British, French, and Egyptians failed to produce an acceptable compromise to resume international management of the canal, Israeli troops launched attacks on Egyptian border positions in the Sinai and Gaza on 29 October. The following day, in keeping with the invasion strategy they had planned in secret with the Israelis, Britain and France issued an ultimatum demanding Egypt and Israel halt all military operations and withdraw their forces ten miles back from the canal. British and French troops would then occupy the canal region to ensure the waterway remained operational. When Nasser refused to comply, Britain and France ordered air attacks on Egyptian bases on 31 October, and landed airborne forces around Port Said on 5 November. The first UN attempt at untangling the rapidly tightening knot failed miserably when a Security Council resolution calling for a ceasefire and withdrawal of Israeli, British, and French troops from Egyptian territory was defeated by a British and French veto. It was immediately evident that the Security Council would be incapable of initiating ­ meaningful remedial action as long as two of its five permanent members claimed a vested interest in the Canal Zone and remained combatants in the dispute. The General Assembly therefore met in special emergency session to pass a resolution on 2 November demanding an immediate ceasefire, the withdrawal of all invading forces, and the canal’s reopening. Even in Britain and France a broad cross-section of public opinion favoured the assembly’s decision to reprimand their countries for taking bellicose actions under such suspicious pretences. More importantly, once fears of the crisis spreading beyond its epicentre in the eastern Mediterranean started disrupting international currency markets, tensions between the Americans and their British and French allies escalated rapidly. It was then that Canada’s erudite foreign minister, Lester Pearson, proffered an ingenious solution that permitted all combatants to retire to their corners with dignities relatively intact. Following Pearson’s lead, the General Assembly established the United Nations Emergency Force (UNEF), a multinational military ­contingent to be interposed as required between opposing sides in an international conflict. The intent was that neutral and distinctively blue-helmeted UN troops would supervise ceasefires and withdrawals, secure borders, and generally stabilize conditions in afflicted areas until diplomats hammered out a political settlement to disputes. Under Resolution 998 of 4 November 1956, the General Assembly empowered Secretary-General Hammarskjöld to dispatch the first UNEF peacekeeping mission into the Suez Canal region.42

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Hammarskjöld’s impressive political and administrative acumen was on full display as he speedily assembled a multinational force of 6,000 troops from ten nations – twenty-five countries had offered to contribute personnel – and persuaded Nasser to accept UNEF’s presence on Egyptian soil. UNEF was placed under the command of a Canadian, Lieutenant-General E.L.M. “Tommy” Burns, who was on a  UN staff appointment in the Middle East when he received Hammarskjöld’s call. In the meantime, British and French forces commenced their withdrawal in response to intense economic pressure from America’s Eisenhower administration – Israel did not remove its troops from the Sinai Peninsula until March 1957 – and UNEF troops were inserted into the vacuum by mid-November. Hammarskjöld, who preferred to direct rather than delegate, coordinated next the painstakingly protracted task of readying the canal to reopen for navigation by clearing it of ships that had been sunk during the brief but intense hostilities. UNEF troops remained in Egypt until May 1967 when, at Nasser’s insistence and with an Arab-Israeli war looming, they were pulled out by Hammarskjöld’s successor, U Thant. As the scholar Inis L. Claude has written, UNEF’s withdrawal to make way for the resumption of fighting highlighted its intermediary function as “a peace-­ keeping, not a peace-enforcing mechanism.”43 The tragic fact that a lasting and comprehensive peace still eludes this troubled region of ancient hostilities cannot diminish UNEF’s original achievement of maintaining relative political stability in the Middle East for over a decade. Nasser’s nationalization of the Suez Canal brought to an abrupt halt Gordon’s tranquil transition to life in Cairo. As the world’s attention turned to Egypt, and foreign journalists flooded in to cover the story, Gordon and the Information Centre hustled to correct the multitude of “rumours and distorted reports” that immediately began circulating. Eventually some two hundred correspondents accredited to cover UNEF operations would rely on the updates Gordon and his overstretched staff provided.44 The centre interpreted its mandate as managing rather than censoring – admittedly a fine distinction – the flow of information surrounding UNEF’s untested efforts to restore calm to the region. Meanwhile, between Nasser’s opening gambit and the October invasion, the city appeared deceptively serene. “The Nile flows quietly along,” Gordon wrote Frank Scott, “and the only hectic element in Cairo life is the traffic.” There was no sign of civil unrest, the Egyptians were unfailingly courteous, and “stories of xenophobia” disseminated by the international press were unfounded. Far more disconcerting to

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Gordon was the Western media’s “hysterical portrayal” of Nasser as a latter-day Hitler, which he interpreted as a shameful attempt at feeding “the imagination of London and Paris.” He was indignant that embassies in the Middle East continued to spend “millions on publishing their pretty books and magazines and releases to tell how good the Americans and British are,” when the entire public relations effect could be undone by just “one Dulles speech.”45 Gordon’s largely sympathetic view of Nasser’s bold decision to nationalize the Suez Canal was decidedly out of step with the majority of Western opinion but consistent with his long-held Leftism and faith in the ability of centralist welfare states to raise living standards of the poor. He credited Nasser with providing Egypt, long dominated by “foreign powers and puppet kings,” with a vision of “ambitious social programs” and its own “sense of destiny.” Development of the Aswan Dam was central to realizing these dreams. Not long before the crisis broke, Gordon had visited one of Egypt’s approximately one hundred “combined community centres” – state-owned facilities providing health, education, and agricultural services to approximately fifteen thousand people living in the vicinity of five neighbouring villages. The surrounding countryside, he recorded, was a scene “strictly out of the Old Testament.” The fellahin, the Egyptian peasants who inhabited the district, appeared “much less rugged, much sicklier” than the rural South Koreans Gordon had encountered with the UNKRA. But the community centre was a desert oasis of modernity and hope, which Nasser intended to replicate many times over throughout the Nile Valley under his government’s grand program of innovative social planning. It was clear to Gordon that when the Egyptian president “gets worked up about the High [Aswan] Dam and those who would block its construction,” his actions were driven by a praiseworthy determination to provide the fellahin with better futures, and not some demagogic impulse to engage “outside” powers in reckless adventurism. Ruth Gordon held an equally favourable view of Nasser, particularly after visiting a UNESCO aid centre left her “terribly depressed by the poverty of these people.” The surrounding villages, she observed, were dirty and crowded, the children looked “half-starved and ill,” and the adults were “mostly tattered … and kind of hopeless looking.” Like King, she did not question Nasser’s sincerity in wanting to relieve the plight of the poorest Egyptians. She too regarded the Great Powers’ cancellation of their promised Aswan Dam grants and loans an indefensible affront to humanitarian efforts in the region.46

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Gordon well understood the need for circumspection when expressing his personal views, for the UN’s every action in the Middle Eastern tinderbox was closely scrutinized by its friends and foes alike. He counselled Ahmed Shah Bokhari, the UN undersecretary-general for public information, that the organization was certain to be judged against “some ideal context and not within the scheme of existing international politics.” The Middle East thus posed an inordinately rigorous public test of the UN. Gordon contended that all parties to the imbroglio, even self-consciously nationalistic Egypt, which was eager to excise the vestiges of its colonial subordination, must be persuaded by the UN to sacrifice elements of its sovereignty in order to achieve a greater collective good. For that to happen, newly self-governing states must be convinced that “Imperial Powers” did not dominate the “World ­ Organization.” Conversely, powerful nations with long histories of autonomy must trust that their interests would not be compromised by upstart countries banding together to create voting majorities in the General Assembly diametrically opposite their own. True to form, Gordon thought the “political conflicts and stresses” unfolding in the Middle East, though grave, might prove propitious. Possibly “the historian ten or twenty-five years from now,” he suggested to Bokhari, would be interpreting the current harrowing events “as the inevitable accompaniments of the birth of a new international order.”47 In the days immediately following Nasser’s 26 July announcement, Gordon worked feverishly with a three-person committee to develop an evacuation plan for UN staff and their families, should hostilities in the region suddenly escalate. When the American Embassy in Cairo learned of the Israeli attacks of 29 October, staff were instructed to prepare to leave the city at a moment’s notice. On 31 October, as the British and French commenced the air assault, King arrived home in the evening under blackout to find Ruth and the children on the apartment balcony watching what appeared to be a fireworks display over Cairo’s airport. They did not realize the invasion had begun and that the ­entertaining light show was created by flares that British and French aircraft were dropping to mark their bombers’ targets. Two days later, amid what Ruth described as “much confusion, crying children, and hysterical wives,” a convoy of approximately one hundred vehicles, the lead car draped with the American flag and the rest marked by UN insignia and escorted by Egyptian guards, hustled the UN families across the desert to Alexandria. From there, two American naval transports carried the rattled exiles to Naples, where they boarded buses for

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Rome. It would be another seven months before King and his family were reunited.48 Following the general evacuation, UN offices in Cairo remained operational with skeleton staffs. Gordon regarded his immediate assignment of preparing for the anticipated influx of foreign journalists seeking a close-up look at UNEF as “quite a headache” but necessary. As he told his mother, he had “seen a lot of history in the making” during the preceding two weeks, and it was imperative that the international community be kept fully apprised of the dramatic story with its potentially global ramifications that was unfolding in the Middle East. Although not a widely held opinion, Gordon thought a significant sidebar to the developing narrative was the “tragedy” that Britain might never again “be able to exert any moral influence in the world.” He deemed its aerial bombardment of Egypt the most “ruthless” and “hypocritical” action a supposedly “‘friendly power’” could take without formally declaring war. When Ruth described the UN families’ frenzied evacuation to her father, she was equally scathing of Britain’s aggression. Having just enrolled Charley and Alison in a school in Rome, but contemplating their eventual return to Egypt, she was adamant that “even if the British school [in Cairo] carries on, I can’t imagine sending our children there.” Given the “tremendous bitterness among many of us,” she wrote of her fellow evacuees, “I don’t even want to eat British candy, and smoke British cigarettes!”49 On 7 November the first aircraft to land at Cairo’s airport following the bombardment carried UNEF’s commander, Lieutenant-General Eedson Louis Millard Burns. A veteran of both world wars, Burns served briefly as Canada’s deputy minister of veterans’ affairs before becoming chief of staff of the United Nations Truce Supervision Organization in Palestine in 1954. Gordon was immediately seconded to Burns’s staff as UNEF’s information officer and headquartered at El Ballah on the Suez Canal twenty kilometres north of Ismailia. For the next seven months he was continually on the move, accompanying Burns to military outposts, reporting to foreign journalists on the status of peacekeeping operations, and overseeing publication of UNEF’s ­in-house newspaper, the Sand Dune.50 Burns later described his path-breaking UNEF command as the “‘most thankless’” of his lengthy career. Certainly it entailed walking a perilous political tightrope without obvious precedents to guide him. For Gordon, the months spent shadowing Burns were an unparalleled object lesson in adroit diplomacy under pressure. UNEF was an

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altogether novel concept, the world’s first multinational police force. Under Burns’s steady hand it formed an effective buffer between the warring parties, facilitated the orderly withdrawal from Egypt of French, British, and Israeli troops, maintained a close watch over Egypt’s border with the Gaza Strip, and for the most part earned the trust of all sides without resorting to physical force.51 Burns’s first task was to establish a temporary base at Abu Suweir near Ismailia to accommodate the initial  contingent of Danish and Norwegian UNEF troops arriving on 15 November. Gordon noted that from the moment the lead convoy of blue-helmeted UNEF soldiers rolled into what had recently been a British army encampment, a palpable calm descended over the area. Then on 22 November he flew with Burns to Port Said where, with the ornate Byzantine-style headquarters of the Suez Canal Company as the backdrop, the general speedily negotiated with British and French commanders a timetable for their troops’ removal from Egypt. As UNEF was still woefully under-equipped, Burns even persuaded the departing British to sell him their trucks for use by his own forces.52 Gordon returned repeatedly to Port Said to document the evacuation before it was finalized on 22 December. The turnover was “not without some nasty incidents” he wrote his mother, especially since many Egyptians provocatively expressed their loyalties by “cheering the UN flag whenever it appears in a car.” In striking contrast, the last sectors of Port Said to be handed over by the British were “eerie to visit,” as soldiers ­patrolled deserted streets “their guns ready, hands on the trigger.”53 Gordon also covered the phased withdrawal of Israeli forces eastward across the Sinai that lasted until early March 1957. On at least one occasion he joined Burns in the “somewhat ghoulish mission” of investigating inconclusive allegations of a massacre purportedly carried out by Israeli forces during their advance into Egypt the previous October. As the extraction of foreign forces from the region became an increasingly routine event, Gordon struggled to find fresh perspectives from which to report the story. He speedily exhausted the standard fare of describing “a day in the life” of the troops, praising UNEF as a model of multinational cooperation, or explaining the historical significance of the Suez Crisis.54 By mid-February Gordon was admitting to friends that he “would be radiantly happy to see the end of this bloody stretch of sand,” even if, unlike most of his staff, he rather enjoyed the privations of bunking, dining, and travelling with the troops. He suggested,

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not entirely in jest, that his fondness for life in the field “may be an expiation of a guilt complex on my part because I happened to be the wrong age for two wars.”55 Whatever the inducement, Gordon did not shy away from the physical dangers of documenting the uneasy ceasefire, which, despite outward appearances of calm, could have collapsed into chaos at any moment. Gordon was present in early March to witness the formal handover of the Sinai to UNEF troops by General Moshe Dayan, the chief of staff of the Israel Defence Forces. After describing the ceremony to Ruth, King explained its implications. The UN had once again entered uncharted territory by assuming sole responsibility for Gaza’s civil administration, including its transportation and power systems, finances, judiciary and police, post office, schools, and aid programs. His own task was to create a communications network linking UNEF to the throng of international news organizations reporting on its activities in the Sinai and Gaza. Gordon hoped the job might be simplified by the fact the total geographical area covered was not large. Indeed, it seemed “very small for all the trouble it has caused the world.”56 And of course the “trouble” did not soon pass. Word of the Israeli withdrawal set off celebrations across Egypt, but within days Nasser again raised tensions by insisting that his government and not UNEF must be responsible for Gaza’s civil administration. In the resulting uproar, Egyptian protesters who stormed Gordon’s headquarters had to be dispersed by UNEF guards lobbing tear gas into their midst and firing warning shots into the air. Mass demonstrations against the UN’s ongoing presence continued for a week before calm was restored. Gordon, in a revealing demonstration of character, expressed sympathy for the protesters, despite the threat they posed to his personal safety. “The poor people haven’t much else to do,” he wrote his mother, “when out of a population of 300,000 about 215,000 were refugees.”57 While UNEF endeavoured to establish a meaningful presence on land, salvage crews raced to finish on and under the water the task they had been labouring at since December 1956, reopening the canal by clearing it of ships sunk by British and French bombs during their initial assault on Egypt. On instructions from New York, Gordon and his crew were on hand near Ismailia on 10 April to record the raising of the final ship, the Edgar Bonnet. Boarding a tugboat, they steamed across the canal for an unobstructed view of the operation. Cranes hoisted the disabled ship’s dead weight until her bow broke the surface and Gordon

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could make out the handwriting on the hull just above the water line – “KILROY WAS HERE.” At that moment, he recalled many years later, “It seemed to us that the Suez Crisis was over.”58 Gordon’s relief that political conditions had stabilized sufficiently to permit his family’s imminent return to Cairo was marred on 4 April by shocking news of the suicide of his close friend, Herbert Norman, Canada’s ambassador to Egypt. Norman, a diplomat and scholar of the first order, had been living under a cloud of suspicion since 1950 when he was implicated as a communist sympathizer by the Republican senator from Wisconsin, Joseph McCarthy. Although McCarthy’s odious witch-hunt initially targeted suspected subversives in the American State Department, Canadian officials were sufficiently concerned with the charges against Norman that they recalled him from his Japanese posting for questioning by the Department of External Affairs and the RCMP. Truth be told, Norman had flirted with communism as a student at the University of Cambridge in the 1930s, although such dalliances were common among idealistic if naive undergraduates of that time and place. He nevertheless managed, by what historian John English described as “ambiguities, half-truths, and – in some cases, it seems – lies,” to deflect his inquisitors in Ottawa and avoid dismissal. When a second investigation in 1952 exposed further details of Norman’s alleged “Red” past, he again avoided disciplinary measures, this time thanks to the personal intervention of Lester Pearson, the minister of external affairs. Pearson was so keen to demonstrate to demagogic McCarthyites his confidence in Norman, he appointed him ambassador to Egypt in April 1955. In that position, as in all his previous postings, Norman performed admirably, including playing a central role in UN peacekeeping negotiations during the Suez Crisis. Then, in March 1957, the United States Senate Subcommittee on Internal Security revived accusations of Norman’s communist affiliations. Emotionally shattered and unable to bear the opprobrium of a third enquiry, Norman leapt to his death a few days later from atop a nine-storey building in Cairo.59 Just days before his suicide, Norman had visited Gordon at home and admitted to being more depressed than at any other time in his life. Clearly distraught, he blanched at the prospect of being forced to defend himself yet again against old charges that he was certain the FBI would embellish to impress not just the Senate subcommittee, but more importantly the Canadian government. As Gordon recounted the conversation to Lester Pearson, Norman had said to him, “‘King, I wakened up the other night suddenly with the phrase going through my

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head: ‘Innocence is not enough.’ I have, I believe served the Department with complete integrity. I have been completely scrupulous and discreet in everything that I have done and said in carrying out my job. But that is not enough. If this thing comes up again I don’t think I can go on.’” Gordon assured Norman that the senatorial committee had “lost caste” since McCarthy’s censure by the Senate in 1954, and predicted a third investigation would never occur. Even if it did, Norman should know that the Department of External Affairs was certain to back him “to the hilt.” Norman appeared much relieved by Gordon’s words of consolation, saying King “was one of the few people he could talk it out with.” Gordon later recognized that tragically he had misjudged the depth of Norman’s “melancholy.” “Herbert’s very integrity,” Gordon lamented to Pearson, “may have been his undoing. Most of us, with less integrity, make our mental compromises with evil … We cultivate thick skins to protect ourselves. Herbert refused this easy way out.”60 Gordon’s replacement as UNEF’s information officer arrived in late May 1957. Now for the first time since embarking upon his Middle East assignment the previous year, Gordon could focus on carrying out the Information Centre’s twofold mandate: documenting for an international audience the progress of UN technical assistance projects in the region, and raising the UN’s profile and trustworthiness throughout the region by educating the public about its commitment to improving local living conditions. The first step, Gordon told his mother, was “to get in touch with my parish,” which was “mostly sand” and “almost as big as Canada.” During an inaugural far-flung inspection encompassing Libya, Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, the Sudan, and Ethiopia, Gordon was pleased finally to report on stories more uplifting than just “political movements and military threats.”61 Among the social and physical infrastructure development projects he visited were a UNESCO literacy program near Baghdad, a UNICEF infant and child centre in Benghazi, and the International Labour Organization’s training shop in Tripoli. In a presentation he made for the CBC some years later, Gordon remembered, idyllically, his stopover at the World Health Organization’s nurse training centre in Khartoum: “The Bedouin girls from the desert were being trained as midwives and assistant midwives so that under the developing public health system they could go back and help out in their villages. I’d seen these Bedouin youngsters so many times in the Sinai and in Gaza, bright eyed kids with a sense of humour, with the metal ornaments jangling before their faces, chasing their herds of goats with shouts and laughter. Now here were their

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sisters, in smart nurses’ uniforms, studying modern medicine and child care.”62 From Gordon’s rose-coloured vantage point the evidence was indisputable: the UN and its sundry specialized agencies represented the best hope for effecting real and lasting improvements to the lives of the world’s most disadvantaged and impoverished peoples, regardless of location or nationality. He likewise believed that UNEF – “this incredible international army,” was how he portrayed it to Countess Bernadotte – should be maintained as a permanent peacekeeping force on standby for immediate deployment by the UN anywhere in the world that sparring nation states needed to be kept apart until a nonviolent resolution to their differences could be reached. UNEF’s success in introducing a “bit of peace and sanity in the Middle East” was proof that only “trained human beings who are sane and for the most part represent a sane cultural tradition” could mitigate “the tortures of this sad and benighted region.” All other approaches, he told the countess, were doomed to flounder in a miasma of “folly and violence.” Because “politics makes people unbalanced” – Gordon’s wide-ranging experiences as a political participant and observer over the preceding two decades certainly put him in a position to know – UNEF’s credibility and by extension effectiveness emanated from its “deliberately non-political” nature.63 Given these views, it was ironic that not long afterwards in November 1957 Gordon received a stern rebuke from Wilder Foote, a divisional director in the UN’s Department of Public Information, for inserting his personal political opinions into a recent press conference. When Foote demanded that in future he restrict his comments to “non-political and non-controversial questions,” for the “risks are too great” otherwise, Gordon remained obdurate. As has been seen, Gordon’s reputation for refusing to be muzzled in public long predated his joining the UN. He told Foote in no uncertain terms that he refused to answer legitimate queries of political importance with vacuous references to “the splendid profile of a new DDT plant or the increased milk content of a UNICEF-fed nursing mother.” The chief effect of Foote’s reprimand was to reinforce Gordon’s disdain for bureaucrats comfortably ensconced at headquarters in New York, who “conveniently reduced to initials in UN reports” the organization’s great achievements while remaining oblivious to the complexities faced by those working “in the field.”64 Gordon travelled extensively throughout the Middle East during 1957 and 1958, composing detailed accounts of the region’s shifting political

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topography along with succinct analyses of how these developments were likely to affect the UN and the West. The one-time Soviet apologist now issued sombre warnings to his superiors at UN headquarters of communism’s innate and spreading appeal in Middle Eastern countries, where “emotional concepts play a heavy part in men’s thinking” and ideologies were shaped by “the strong flowing tides of nationalism and the common antipathy of imperialism and colonialism.” The challenge confronting Western liberal democracies, Gordon contended, was to offer the Arab world, which was adamantly and justifiably seeking redress from injustices suffered under its former colonial overlords, a viable alternative to communism.65 When Syria and Egypt joined in the United Arab Republic (UAR) in February 1958, Gordon warned Hammarskjöld’s executive assistant Andrew Cordier that the West was naive to dismiss Arab plans for unification as harmless diversions from “the misery and frustration of economic distress.” Although a homogeneous “Arab World” was still only an “ideological concept” because of persisting political differences across the region, Gordon construed in Arab nationalism a latent force for unification more powerful than “the political elements that hold these nations apart.” The UAR might therefore become the unwelcome first step towards a “comprehensive United Arab State.” Three months later, Gordon reported to Foote on the development of “as tense a situation in the region as we have faced since the Suez crisis.” The “revolutionary fervor” Nasser had generated as the UAR’s elected head of state was fuelling antagonisms with “reactionary dynasties” like Jordan and Iraq, as well as Lebanon’s West-oriented government. More positively, Gordon detected among the Middle Eastern public generally a growing receptivity towards the UN, where previously “disillusionment” and even “hostility” had been the norm.66 By early 1958 Gordon was seeking a transfer out of the Middle East. His growing dissatisfaction with life in Cairo had less to do with his work at the Information Centre than with concerns about the limited educational opportunities available locally for Charley and Alison, now age seventeen and fifteen respectively. In the past four years alone they had attended schools in Tokyo, Cairo, and Rome. Most recently, while Alison attended Cairo American College, the family was again separated when Charley opted to finish high school in Beirut, where the educational standards were believed to be higher.67 Frustrated by headquarters’ tardiness in responding to his queries about a different assignment, Gordon told Frank Scott in February 1959 that he was

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contemplating leaving the UN altogether. “After nine years of emasculating propriety of thought,” Gordon claimed he was “anxious to see whether there’s any creative tissue left.” He asked Scott about the feasibility of starting a new magazine in Canada, one that offered “more radical and critical comment” than Maclean’s, Saturday Night, or any of their mainstream “American counterparts.”68 While Scott concurred that Canada’s journalistic landscape had not altered appreciably since the 1930s, with the result that “there is heaps to be said that never gets said,” he nevertheless encouraged Gordon to consider a “straight political job” organizing and promoting the “New Party” that the CCF was in the throes of creating with the Canadian Labour Congress (CLC). Since “the larger world … is now our national context,” Scott felt Gordon’s international experience would prove invaluable in this second attempt to make “the kind of CCF we aimed at in 1933 – broadbased on many groups and individuals.” Acknowledging that “there’s life in us old dogs yet,” Scott recommended that Gordon meet with the  CLC’s Stanley Knowles and the CCF’s David Lewis to discuss the possibilities.69 Gordon seems not to have investigated Scott’s proposition seriously. Instead, in March 1959 he was reassigned to UN headquarters in New York as chief public information officer for all technical assistance programs. The role was a good fit, and not only because Gordon could bring to it the helpful insights acquired first-hand in Korea and the Middle East. It also enabled him to maintain close ties to UN field operations around the world, especially developments in newly independent African countries.70 He later recalled regretting to some extent his return to “the in-basket and the out-basket … headquarters work of an international civil servant.” Metropolitan New York offered incomparable social and cultural amenities, but there would be “no more crocodile hunts on the Awash, no more desert sunsets looking across the sands towards the great pyramids, no more sails on the Nile, no more exploration of the tombs of the Ancient Egyptians at Luxor or Karnack or Sakkara, no more meals in army messes.”71 Moreover, as King told his mother, it felt awkward returning to New York’s frenzied and affluent way of life, “a world which excludes so much of what I have been experiencing and seeing.” Except for a handful of colleagues who shared his knowledge of Third World development challenges, Gordon lamented that so few of his acquaintances in the United States seemed able to comprehend his passion for UN technical assistance initiatives. Expressing a view that globalization theorists were still several decades

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removed from popularizing, Gordon emphasized the importance of educating North Americans about “what a small world we are living in,” and how events in the developing world were “in fact happening to us.”72 Also forward-looking was Gordon’s contention – increasingly his professional preoccupation as well – that as developed and developing nations inevitably become more interconnected, they must cooperate in constructing internationalist solutions to the poverty and suffering arising from inequitable patterns of global development. In a public lecture, “The United Nations and Human Need,” which he presented a month after returning to the United States from Egypt, Gordon argued that the gross imbalance in global living standards exemplified by America’s $2,200 per capita annual income, compared to just $100 for the poorest two-thirds of the world’s population, was not a dilemma solely “for the moralists and the missionaries.” It also posed “one of the grave menaces to the solvency of our system,” both economically and politically. Should the economic aspirations of underdeveloped nations continue to be frustrated by their inability to access “the knowledge and … resources of the more fortunate part of the world,” not even the most privileged of the developed countries would escape the “explosive” political instability certain to ensue. In addition to calling for generous increases in direct foreign aid for “our less fortunate brothers” in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, Gordon urged developed countries to renounce selfish nationalism and exploitative economic practices better suited for a colonialist era by supporting UN initiatives to create a just and sustainable international order for all. In language reminiscent of his days as an evangelizing social reformer, Gordon ended the lecture suggesting that citizens of affluent nations might even be “saving our own souls” in opting to assist the downtrodden of foreign lands.73 Between February and May 1960, Gordon conducted a lecture tour throughout central and western Canada on behalf of the Canadian Institute of International Affairs (CIIA), during which he focused on economic development in newly independent nation states. Established in 1928, the CIIA was custom-made for Gordon: a private and non-­ partisan organization with branches in several Canadian cities and ties to many other foreign affairs institutes, its primary aim in bringing together business leaders and academics was to increase the public’s knowledge of international relations and, where possible, to exercise influence over decision-makers in the federal Department of External Affairs.74 An educated public, Gordon had long claimed, was the best

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hope for achieving enlightened social policies, whether at home or abroad. He thereafter remained an active supporter of the CIIA. In his several CIIA presentations during 1960 he expounded upon “the revolution of rising expectations,” a term social development campaigners had been using since the early 1950s to describe the progression of developing nations beyond simply dreaming of an improved living standard to actually believing one attainable. “The fatalistic mould in which human thought was cast since time immemorial has been broken,” Gordon announced, replaced by a “rising belief … that poverty and disease are not the inevitable accompaniments of living.” The embryonic social and economic institutions the “metropolitan powers” had left behind in the aftermath of colonialism represented invaluable tools that even the poorest nations could use when beginning to take charge of their own development. But first they must be allowed unfettered access to the tools of modern science and medicine, which were the “monopoly of no nations.” Since national well-being was a combination of many key variables, including the quality of local educational and cultural institutions, the scale of social cohesion, the rule of law, and the guarantee of human rights, Gordon maintained that UN support was vital to making the “revolution of rising expectations” a reality for the world’s disadvantaged peoples. In describing to audiences the rapidity with which some struggling countries were beginning to correlate their security and economic advancement with the arrival of UN personnel and resources, Gordon drew upon a wealth of personal anecdotes from his professional service abroad. But each story, whatever its provenance, highlighted a common theme: the UN’s paramount concern was to advance the welfare of individuals, for “the end of human society is the human individual, the realization of whose rights, the guarantees of whose freedoms, is the end of all national or international society.”75 Formerly as a Christian socialist Gordon had focused on improving the material and physical well-being of individuals, who in turn would be better able to provide for their own spiritual welfare. As an internationalist he continued to be driven by a similar moral imperative, although the primary raison d’être for assisting those individuals least able to help themselves was the pursuit of global peace and prosperity. In the summer of 1960 Gordon was fifty-nine years old and within months of the normal retirement age for UN employees. If he was tempted to bide his time until superannuation shunting paper through the UN bureaucratic maze and making occasional forays onto the ­public lecture circuit, he did not show it. Rather, as a consequence of a

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dramatic breakdown of civil order in the newly independent nation of Congo, Gordon rounded out his UN service with a foreign posting in central Africa that he served intermittently between August 1960 and July 1962. He first caught wind of this latest assignment while taking his annual vacation at Birkencraig, where he had gone to escape New York’s stifling summer heat. An RCMP patrol boat docked unexpectedly at the family’s island retreat bearing the urgent message that King was to contact UN headquarters immediately. Four days later he was en route to the Congolese capital of Léopoldville, as chief information  officer of the UN’s hastily assembled peacekeeping and civilian operation in the chaotic African state.76 Congo had plunged into crisis immediately after achieving independence from Belgium on 30 June 1960. Overnight, most of the Belgian and other European expatriates who had overseen Congo’s administration and infrastructure departed the country, stripping it of technological expertise and exposing just how ill-prepared the African nation was for statehood. The situation deteriorated appreciably a few days later when Congo’s mineral-rich province of Katanga, led by Moïse Tshombe and with the backing of Belgian mining and political interests, announced its unilateral secession from the rest of the country. Widespread rioting, tribal clashes, and mutiny by the Congolese army ensued, conveniently providing Belgium with an excuse to redeploy its troops throughout the distressed country under the pretence of safeguarding European nationals and their property. Quickly overwhelmed by their country’s precipitous descent into internal mayhem, along with the threat to Congolese sovereignty posed by the unwelcome return of foreign troops, President Joseph Kasavubu and Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba appealed for assistance first to the United States, and then the United Nations. On 14 July, Secretary-General Hammarskjöld successfully lobbied the Security Council to create the Opération des Nations Unies au Congo (ONUC). Emulating UNEF’s widely hailed example, ONUC adopted a two-pronged strategy: deploy a multinational military force to restore peace to the embattled nation as swiftly as ­possible, and put in place a comprehensive civilian team to administer ­indefinitely Congo’s transportation and communication, health, agriculture, education, public administration, and financial sectors.77 The ONUC mission attained a scale and complexity far exceeding all original estimates and eventually entailed some 20,000 troops from twenty-nine countries and a massive $400 million civilian aid effort. Optimism over the UN’s early success negotiating the withdrawal of Belgian forces from Congo promptly faded once it became apparent

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Belgian paramilitary personnel continued to operate in Katanga in support of Tshombe’s secession bid. Soon after arriving in the country, Gordon reported blatant challenges to ONUC authority by Belgian civilians who were reclaiming administrative and technical posts they had occupied prior to Congolese independence. More ominous still as the country continued its deadly slide into civil war was the readiness of Katangan secessionists and their foreign mercenary allies to open fire on ONUC peacekeepers. The Security Council responded in February 1961 with an unprecedented decision to transform the UN into a combatant by authorizing ONUC troops to use their weapons for other than purely defensive purposes. As a result, UN troops engaged in combat intermittently until 1963, when Tshombe fled to Europe. ONUC military and civilian personnel finally exited the still-tottering country in June 1964 when the Congolese government declined to extend the UN mission’s mandate. A coup d’état in November 1965, led by the commander of the Congolese Army, General Joseph-Désiré (Sésé Seko) Mobutu, initiated twenty-five years of military dictatorship, which descended into a heinous kleptocracy stifling the besieged state’s economic and social development. Another tragic casualty of the campaign was Dag Hammarskjöld – the UN official Gordon revered above all others – who died in September 1961. The intrepid secretary-general was on a diplomatic mission to Congo, determined to broker a peaceful resolution to the bloody dispute, when the plane in which he was travelling crashed, killing all sixteen on board.78 As he had done in Korea and the Middle East, Gordon seized every opportunity while in Congo to hitch rides on cargo planes or tag along with military convoys to get as close to the action as possible. He was continually on the lookout for stories to supply international media outlets documenting ONUC’s military and civilian activities, anything to heighten public awareness and encourage ongoing financial and political support for the UN’s massive undertaking in the embattled country. Moreover, the events he chose to publicize reflected his personal view that the large-scale mobilization of diverse multinational resources in pursuit of common humanitarian goals was at the heart of the UN mandate. Gordon’s recollection of a trip to Coquilhatville, the capital of Equateur province, was typical: It is on the Congo a few hundred miles above Léopoldville and right on the equator. I met four Moroccan engineers; they were keeping the telephone system going and the radio station in operation. A Haitian and a

1950–1961 259 Swiss were keeping the water purification plant and the pumping system going – they got there just in time to prevent an epidemic of typhoid. A Swedish engineer was laying out a public works project to help keep down unemployment. A Canadian signals outfit had established a communications system for the whole UN group there that kept them in contact with Léopoldville. An Indonesian battalion … was in a cheerful relaxed way preserving order. And the hospitals and a large leprosarium was the main responsibility of a Canadian Red Cross team.79

Crisscrossing the vast country, Gordon was struck by the enormous economic potential bound up in Congo’s immense and largely untapped natural resource wealth. But he could also see the Congolese people were as yet “pathetically unprepared” to develop these resources on their own, much less assume responsibility for administering the country, without first receiving benevolent direction from external sources like the UN. This sad state of dependency, Gordon concluded, was the inevitable legacy of Belgium having monopolized the management of Congo’s civilian affairs for over half a century. The more immediate and daunting challenge involved delivering basic foodstuffs and medical services to the country’s large indigent population whose condition was steadily deteriorating. On Christmas Day 1960, Gordon accompanied an ONUC team investigating relief requirements in an area of Kasai Province where fighting between Lulua and Baluba tribesmen, in addition to creating some three hundred thousand refugees, was believed to have resulted in several massacres. He and a worker from the World Health Organization made a particularly deplorable discovery when they happened upon a 200-bed hospital jammed with 1,200 patients, but without any doctors, nurses, or food on site. The two men responded to the crisis the best they could by mixing several large batches of dried milk they had scrounged and distributing it throughout the wards before arranging for an emergency airlift of food and medical teams. The unsettling experience reinforced for Gordon the fact that too often relief efforts were little better than a temporary and partial fix that fell far short of remedying the myriad woes plaguing a large majority of Congo’s population. In addition to the UN’s colossal challenge administering physical relief to the beleaguered peoples, ­cultural barriers needed to be surmounted. As an example, Gordon ­pointed out that until such time as more Congolese abandoned their traditional superstitions concerning physical health and healing, and started trusting “that there is no magic in the power of a well-trained

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doctor or nurse,” ONUC’s ability to deliver ample medical care would remain stymied.80 In addition to composing radio and print scripts describing for international audiences the often intractable physical and political conditions under which ONUC laboured, Gordon produced radio broadcasts to help maintain morale among the thousands of isolated UN troops and civilian workers spread out across Congo. He also edited the TomTom, a weekly English- and French-language newspaper that kept ONUC personnel up to date about the progress of their mission and highlighting current events in their home countries.81 On a diplomatic level, Gordon participated with several delegations urging the Lumumba government to collaborate more closely with the UN in identifying and devising relief priorities and strategies.82 But as had been the case while on previous UN assignments, his greatest pleasure remained participating in field operations. It was entirely fitting that on his sixtieth birthday, a day when UN employees typically emptied their desks and glided gracefully into retirement, Gordon was aboard a DC-4 flying from Léopoldville to Bakwanga in South Kasai. The purpose of the operation was to deliver a cargo of dried fish to an emergency famine relief station and to organize a more permanent aid program for the district. The circumstances necessitating the trip were undeniably dire, but Gordon considered himself privileged to be celebrating his ­personal milestone in this “wonderful way.”83 With experienced field officers in short supply, the UN delayed Gordon’s retirement by one year. He was grateful for the extension, as he hoped to remain in Congo long enough to witness the implementation of a comprehensive development assistance program and, less likely, the return of stability to the nation.84 This final tour was interrupted suddenly in February 1961 when King was summoned to Canada to visit his mother, who had turned gravely ill. Helen Gordon, with whom King had maintained an extraordinarily close relationship, despite his prolonged and far-flung absences from home over the preceding forty years, died in Winnipeg on 17 March 1961. That her enduring influence had shaped King’s character, values, and moral purpose was indisputable. In an intimate reflection written shortly after Helen’s death, King remembered his mother as “shy by nature,” of “great courage and grace,” “deeply affectionate,” and exhibiting a total “absence of meanness.” Yet her “tremendous sense of duty,” performed naturally and “without display,” is what impressed him most, for in Helen he found an invaluable model for leading a purposeful life.85 In extensive

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6.4  King Gordon in Congo, ca 1961. (Charles William Gordon)

correspondence with his mother over the years, King remained unfailingly deferential. Time and again, when navigating life’s decisive twists and turns, he had relied upon Helen and Charles Gordon’s impeccable ethical standards, whether expressly stated or simply implied, as reliable markers against which to measure his own choices. While in Winnipeg on compassionate leave during his mother’s final illness, King developed several opportunities for raising Canadians’ awareness of ONUC and the victims of the Kasai famine. He provided updates to officials from the International League of Red Cross Societies and the Canadian Save the Children Fund, published an article in the United Church of Canada’s Observer magazine, broadcast a report on CBC radio, and briefed the undersecretary of state for external affairs, all on the subject of war-torn Congo.86 It was at this juncture also that

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Gordon determined he finally was ready to depart the UN. Although headquarters had recently initiated discussions about posting him to yet another field assignment – Jordan was proposed – Gordon confided to friends he had “reached the conclusion that other things are more important,” even if his plans for life after the UN remained vague. He looked forward to having more time to devote to writing and also thought lecturing at a university might be a possibility, yet noted sardonically concerning the latter option that a “lack of the relevant wisdom” might disqualify him. Regardless of the path he was to follow next, Gordon was certain he had “been too long a civil servant” even if “I don’t really believe I was cut out to be one.”87 After returning briefly to Congo between March and July 1961 to finish his assignment as chief information officer, Gordon moved back to UN headquarters in New York and his previous post as chief of public  information for technical assistance, before retiring at the end of 1961. His third and final trip to Congo was to fulfil a two-month post-­ retirement contract in the summer of 1962 leading a UN film crew that documented the country’s quickening slide into anarchy at the hands of vicious warring factions. The human toll of the turmoil the project recorded was staggering in the extreme. At a single refugee camp in Kalonge Gordon encountered 50,000 Kasai refugees wallowing in the worst squalor he had seen anywhere, and without a single doctor or nurse available to provide medical care. Filming such unchecked misery, he told Ruth, was “the most strenuous” and disturbing mission of his entire UN career. As he left Congo for the final time, he worried that the civil war’s blinding brutality had escalated to the point where ONUC’s civilian undertakings among the anguished and displaced were hopelessly jeopardized. It was a rare expression of pessimism by someone normally so bullish over the UN’s capacity to mediate convoluted conflicts between and within nations.88 Shortly after retiring from the UN, Gordon was commissioned by the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace to write a book analysing ONUC’s recent role in the central African state. Published in 1962 as The United Nations in the Congo: A Quest for Peace, the book is a detailed ­political narrative describing the confluence of external and domestic influences behind Congo’s descent into pandemonium. Gordon unambiguously identifies those whom he considered the villains (a deceitful Congolese leadership, intransigent Soviets, and immoral mercenaries and foreign corporate interests) and the heroes (ONUC and SecretaryGeneral Hammarskjöld) of the calamity.89 The United Nations in the

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Congo, along with a companion study Gordon prepared for the Canadian Institute of International Affairs, was a credible response to the growing chorus of criticism several European and Latin American nations were expressing over the Security Council’s February 1961 decision permitting ONUC troops to go on the offensive. According to the critics, this dramatic policy shift irreparably compromised the UN’s storied reputation – earned by UNEF in the Middle East – as an impartial mediator of international disputes. Gordon was supremely qualified to offer an informed, if not completely unbiased comparison of the two very dissimilar UN operations. UNEF had been a brazen experiment conducted atop a Middle Eastern powder keg that, if ignited, would have released political shockwaves far beyond the immediate vicinity of the blast. But in Gordon’s estimation it was ONUC, with its vastly larger theatre of operations, that faced the more complex set of challenges. Specifically, ONUC was expected to reinstate order to a newly independent country largely bereft of administrative and technological expertise that was being split apart by political dissent and tribal violence. Severely exacerbating the situation was the armed intervention of troops from Belgium, Congo’s former colonial overlord, accompanied by bands of ruthless mercenaries. Any attempt by the UN to define a duly constituted government for Congo under such ill-fated conditions was bound to be misconstrued and challenged by one domestic faction or another.90 For all that, Gordon argued ONUC’s accomplishments by 1962 were considerable. Belgian troops and foreign mercenaries had been dispatched, Katanga’s secession forestalled, a promising measure of law and order restored, emergency relief distributed and essential public services made operational, rudimentary technical training provided the Congolese, and threats of further intervention by foreign governments reduced substantially. In addition, ONUC’s expeditious response to the crisis had forestalled the Soviet Union from inserting itself into the political and military vacuum formed by Congo’s weak hold on independence, thereby preventing a further escalation of Cold War ­tensions in Africa. Gordon conceded that when “judged by western standards” UN efforts to preserve order in Congo appeared wanting. Armchair observers needed to appreciate, however, “the extent of anarchy in the Congo and the limitations placed on United Nations freedom of action.” ONUC must be judged, therefore, in accordance with the unprecedented obstacles it faced in Congo, not on the basis of the quite dissimilar set of experiences UNEF encountered in the Middle East. If

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only relations between the UN and the Congolese government had been “close and more sympathetic,” Gordon deduced, ONUC would certainly have achieved better outcomes. As it was, only the “restraining influence” of the United Nations had prevented Congo’s distress from becoming a great deal worse.91 Writing The United Nations in the Congo provided Gordon with a ­reflective interlude between the end of his UN career and deciding where next to focus a life already noteworthy for its vocational diversity. ­Given that he had served, as the UN’s Undersecretary for Public Information Hernane Tavares de Sá pointed out, “in practically all of the toughest areas of assignment in which the United Nations has operated in the last several years,” almost any new endeavour was likely to seem tranquil by comparison.92 For several months in late 1961 and early 1962 Gordon entertained a wide range of proposals. Nova Scotia’s Dalhousie University approached him about setting up a Latin American Institute,93 and the recently formed Canadian University Service Overseas (CUSO), which recruited recent university graduates to volunteer as aid workers in developing countries, invited him to become its executive secretary. Given his frequent assertion that it was incumbent upon the privileged First World to provide aid and comfort to its less fortunate neighbours within the international community, Gordon seemed a likely enthusiast of the CUSO model, a northern version of America’s Peace Corps. In fact, he questioned whether freshly minted  graduates possessed the skills necessary to provide the quality of ­technical assistance recipient nations required. Eventually he declined CUSO’s offer, awaiting assurances the organization could rely on ­adequate funding from the Diefenbaker government in Ottawa.94 Gordon also received an unexpected overture from the Canadian broadcaster CTV to audition as newsreader for the national television newscast it was planning to launch. Although an old hand at writing and reading scripts for radio audiences, he opted against venturing into what was still a relatively new communications medium.95 Throughout this interim period of contemplating life after the UN, Gordon put his well-honed oratorical skills to good effect by returning to the public lecture circuit, as he had done periodically in the past to supplement his income. He toured the country speaking to a range of audiences about international affairs, and in particular how increasing Western foreign aid to underdeveloped nations contributed to the preservation of world peace. Unfortunately, as Gordon acknowledged to John Holmes, then the head of the CIIA, public speaking, while

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enjoyable, was not especially lucrative. “One of these days,” he realized, “I shall have to pay a bit more attention to the economics of it.”96 In 1950 when Gordon left the CBC and his budding journalism career, he intended to become less an observer and more an active participant in the ambitious work of the UN in the early years of the Cold War. Ironically, after an initial stint with the Division of Human Rights that also involved service to the Ad Hoc Commission on Prisoners of War and the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, the remaining seven years of his UN career were principally journalistic. In managerial roles abroad with the United Nations Korean Reconstruction Agency, the Information Centre for the Middle East, the United Nations Emergency Force, and the Opération des Nations Unies au Congo, as well as at UN headquarters in New York where he was chief of public information for technical assistance, Gordon observed and reported on policy rather than shaped it. Yet regardless of the specific locale or the task to which he was assigned, Gordon steadfastly upheld what he construed as the UN’s core ideals. In an increasingly fragmented Cold War world marred by the proliferation of nuclear weapons, widespread governmental abuses of fundamental human rights, and a deep chasm in the quality of life separating developed from developing nations, Gordon was adamant the UN alone could marshal the multinational cooperation necessary for ushering in an era of global justice and peace. Robert Bothwell, an expert on the history of Canadian international relations, has written that the UN during the 1950s was widely perceived to be a “‘good’ cause” that attracted much enthusiasm “along the surface of politics and in editorial columns.” But superficial appearances were sometimes deceiving, because overall “the depth of pro-UN sentiment remained highly doubtful.”97 Gordon’s crusade to buttress positive opinions of the UN extended far beyond Canada. He recognized that a viable UN needed the solid backing of much of the global community. Consequently he deemed it his personal calling to ensure the UN story was told and its good works heralded before a worldwide audience often sceptical of the international organization’s utility. Idealism can shroud practicality, and Gordon was prone to understating the obstacles standing in the way of the UN’s ambitions. He believed that reasonable people everywhere, once properly informed of the UN mission and touched by its moral rightness, stood a good chance of being converted to the cause. From there it was only a short step to pressuring governments into issuing the human, material, and financial

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resources necessary for advancing and legitimizing the UN agenda. Similarly, he considered his public lectures on behalf of the Canadian Institute of International Affairs to be an important extension of his role as educator and proselytizer for the UN. Travelling the globe on UN business had exposed Gordon to places, cultures, and challenges dramatically different from any he had encountered in previous vocational endeavours. Even so, much of the same idealism involving duty and service that had motivated him as an evangelizing Christian socialist in the 1930s and a liberal-minded book and magazine editor in the 1940s also shaped his attitudes towards the UN. Gordon explained in a lecture at the American University in Cairo in 1958 what he valued most about representing the UN “in the field” was seeing up close the innumerable ways it “affects people in their daily life.” The down side of accumulating so much first-hand experience was it made him increasingly resentful of comfortably cloistered bureaucrats at headquarters in New York who minimized the hardships and understated the complexity of the problems UN fieldworkers regularly encountered. Gordon admitted that his impressions of the vast UN bureaucracy and the relative importance of its policymakers vis-àvis the dedicated throngs of technicians on the ground who implemented headquarters’ directives was best expressed “in terms that don’t usually fit into the textbooks.”98 Some months before the Cairo lecture Gordon aptly characterized his UN experiences in a letter to his former Oxford instructor Godfrey Elton as providing “a ringside view of contemporary history in the making, which some day may be turned into a brief footnote for a more erudite historian.” He acknowledged his own interpretative limitations, for “I saw things of course at too close range and much of what I saw acquired meaning only in a much larger historical context.”99 Many years later Gordon expressed gratitude to the UN for having placed him “close to significant developments and in some ways linked to those who are influencing the course of events.”100 All told, these are fair self-­ appraisals of his UN service. Gordon neither overstated his influence nor diminished unduly the merit of his insights into international affairs gleaned from, as Undersecretary Tavares de Sá noted, assignments in the “toughest areas” the UN tackled between 1954 and 1961. Gordon’s view of the UN was also shaped by encounters with many of its leading officials, most notably Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjöld, whom he idolized. He once memorialized Hammarskjöld as “no romanticist, no sentimentalist,” but one whose “idealism was conjoined

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with a clear, cold, logical mind that would not be deflected from its purpose.” Hammarskjöld had viewed the United Nations as a “desperately relevant instrument” offering the best hope for averting the world from destruction at the hands of a plethora of Cold War problems.101 Gordon’s idealism was not as free of romanticism and sentimentality as Hammarskjöld’s. Nevertheless, the two men shared matching views of the UN’s restorative role within the global community. The historian Paul Kennedy has described the UN at its creation as a “sort of three-legged stool.” One of the legs, reinforced by “shared military force,” stressed “cooperative diplomacy and arbitration” as the best means for obtaining “international security.” A second leg “rested upon the belief that military security without economic improvement was short-term and futile.” And the third leg held that the sturdiness of the other two legs could not spare the stool from collapse unless means were found of “improving political and cultural understandings among peoples.”102 Kennedy’s classification closely reflects Gordon’s vision for the UN during his tenure there. He was an unabashed champion of the UN’s specialized agencies that converted voluntary contributions from member nations into technical assistance for developing countries, ­providing desperately needed improvements in health, agriculture, science and education, civil aviation, communications, and labour relations. These were, in Gordon’s estimation, humanitarian activities pure and simple, and vital to furthering the “political and cultural understandings” Kennedy identified as the critical third leg of the UN’s mandate. Even if, as often was the case, the UN’s ambitious ameliorative measures paled in scale and scope relative to the extreme economic backwardness constraining many developing countries, Gordon remained undeterred. There was deep-seated value, he believed, in any initiative, no matter how futile it might appear, that prompted governments and non-governmental organizations alike to support the novel concept of restructuring the international order to provide for the “equitable distribution of the earth’s resources.”103 This idealism, which he cultivated in settings as diverse as the austere orphanages of war-worn South Korea, the desert encampments of malnourished Egyptian fellahin, and the hastily erected emergency relief centres teeming with refugees all across Congo, underpinned the internationalism that was to dominate the final chapter of Gordon’s professional life following his return to Canada in 1961.

7 “To get on in the world you accept the beliefs and values of the establishment” (1962–1989)

In 1977, when Gordon was awarded the Order of Canada, his country’s highest civilian honour, he recalled to Grace MacInnis, another progeny of a Winnipeg manse, how he had been taught as a child that the topmost virtue was to serve others. The pursuit of wealth, by contrast, was deemed a weak and unworthy substitute. “With my mother and father,” King explained, serving those less fortunate than oneself “was a kind of imperative that came from one’s nature as a human being in a divine universe.”1 Obviously the lesson stuck. By the time he retired from the United Nations in 1961, a constant theme of Gordon’s vocational and intellectual meanderings over the decades had been the moral necessity of advocating for economic and political justice on behalf of society’s most vulnerable citizens, whether they resided across the street or on the other side of the world. Ever since joining the European Student Relief movement while an undergraduate at the University of Oxford in the 1920s, Gordon had displayed a dogged determination to challenge individuals, institutions, or ideologies he thought contributed to the exploitation of the disadvantaged. It was a testament to his extraordinary energy and dedication that after returning to Canada at the age of sixty-one he embarked upon a further twenty-eight years of robust activity championing an array of internationalist, educational, political, and human rights causes. This chapter provides an overview of the wide range of activities, organizations, and interests in which Gordon was immersed during his post-UN years, and considers in particular his ideological commitment to an ethical, and by extension benevolent, model of Canadian internationalism. When he was hired as an academic to teach the theory and practice of international relations at the University of Alberta and the University of Ottawa between 1962

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and 1975, Gordon’s vast practical experience in the subject was no doubt a welcome novelty in the classroom. Equally significant were his ardent contributions to a melange of non-governmental organizations until just before his death in 1989 at the age of eighty-eight. Among the most noteworthy were the Canadian University Service Overseas, the Canadian Institute of International Affairs, the International Ocean Institute, the International Development Research Centre, the United Nations Association in Canada, and the Group of 78. By the end of his life, Gordon was one of Canada’s most vocal and respected internationalists. If no longer the radical reformer of his youth, he was nonetheless a passionate participant in public debates between the 1960s and the 1980s over how Canada could contribute most appropriately to the welfare of the global community. These years were also when Gordon received due recognition for his life’s work, and especially his promotion of internationalism. In addition to the Order of Canada he was granted honorary doctoral degrees from Manitoba’s Brandon University in 1974, Carleton University in Ottawa in 1977, the University of Winnipeg in 1979, as well as St Francis Xavier University in Nova Scotia and his alma mater the University of Manitoba in 1981.2 His selection by the United Nations Association in Canada as the 1980 recipient of the Pearson Peace Medal was particularly meaningful. Named after the former prime minister and Gordon’s close friend, the award honoured Canadians whose commitment to internationalism advanced causes dear to Lester Pearson, such as “aid to the developing world, mediation between those confronting one another with arms, succor to refugees and others in need, and peaceful change through world law and world organization.”3 In his journalism and political activism before joining the UN, and during field assignments in Korea, the Middle East, and Congo undertaken on behalf of the international organization, Gordon consistently championed all of these concerns. His efforts on behalf of internationalist causes following his retirement from the UN were also celebrated. For instance, after his initial hesitation in joining the Canadian University Service Over­ seas, Gordon went on to chair its national executive from 1963 to 1969, and continued as honorary president for many years thereafter. His leadership on behalf of CUSO specifically and advancement of international development causes generally were formally recognized by Governor-General Jeanne Sauvé in 1986.4 Gordon took all of these and many other accolades in stride, recalling Reinhold Niebuhr’s admo­ nition about “the dilution of the purer ethic as a result of human

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7.1  King Gordon receiving the Order of Canada from Governor-General Jules Léger, 1977. (Charles William Gordon)

recognition and rewards.” All the same, as he quipped to MacInnis, “I realize I’m a sinner and rather enjoy it.”5 When Gordon departed Canada in 1938 to pursue new career opportunities in New York, he was a died-in-the-wool Christian socialist. By the time he returned to Canada permanently in 1961 Gordon had evolved ideologically into a liberal, although he self-identified first and foremost as an internationalist. To place Gordon’s internationalism within a broader intellectual context, it is useful to reference his colleague in the Canadian Institute of International Affairs, the scholar

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and former diplomat John Holmes. The political scientists Don Munton and Tom Keating credited Holmes with doing more than any other individual to raise the profile of internationalism within Canada’s academic community. Whereas Holmes’s definition of internationalism was inexact – he described it as cooperative and collaborative efforts among nations to accomplish “the common good” and “international agreements which fortify the world structure” – Munton and Keating believe he actually meant “being aware of the interests of others, being prudent, being pragmatic, seeing realities, avoiding vehemence and hysteria, accepting paradox and contradiction, accepting limitations on sovereignty and independence, and, perhaps above all, being constructive, avoiding absolutes, and, if possible, doing it all multilaterally.” Of particular significance to Gordon, but not prioritized by Holmes, internationalism also rested on an ethical foundation.6 By attributing to internationalism an ethical requisite, Gordon was an early proponent of what another scholar, Cranford Pratt, later described as “humane internationalism.” Pratt identified three distinct variants of humane internationalism. Each regarded the alleviation of global poverty as in the best interests of developed nations over the long term and consistent with their desire to implement “socially responsible national economic and social welfare policies” domestically. As a university student and social activist in the 1920s and 1930s, Gordon espoused elements of what Pratt eventually dubbed radical internationalism. Specifically, he expressed “hostility to consumerism and the ethics of capitalism” and warned that international trade and aid initiatives, although well-intentioned, had the deleterious effect of binding the less-developed recipient nations to a Western-dominated global capitalist system. Next Gordon championed the creation of open and multilateral trading systems, as well as development assistance and emergency relief programs. Pratt later included these sorts of initiatives under the heading liberal internationalism, which was prevalent among national and international aid agencies by the 1960s. This view held that the benefits of international trade were greatest when all the  participants were “economically healthy and growing.” Finally, Gordon’s focus later in life was on urging a “fairer distribution of power within international financial, monetary, trade, and development ­institutions,” as the best means for reducing the gross disparities in wealth that separated rich from poor nations. Pratt called this reform internationalism, and it was deeply pessimistic about “the social consequences of unguided market forces.”7

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Additional context on Gordon’s internationalism is provided by Costas Melakopides, whose theoretical concept of pragmatic idealism closely resembles Pratt’s humane internationalism. One notable distinction is that Melakopides placed less emphasis than Pratt (and, by extension, Gordon) on holding Canada’s internationalist endeavours to a “remarkably high” moral standard. Yet Gordon also fits Melakopides’s description of Canadian internationalism as a “synthesis of pragmatism and idealism,” and committed to advancing Canada’s “enlightened self-interest, in harmony with the broad human interests for peace, justice, order, and development.”8 Moreover, Gordon’s core values were closely aligned with Melakopides’s characterization of the “generally optimistic” idealist internationalist who trusted in “mediation, generosity, and justice, and pursuing the broad ends of a more rational, developed, just, ecologically responsible, and peaceful world.” Gordon also subscribed wholeheartedly to the pragmatic idealist’s faith in the potential of “international law, international organizations, collective security, multilateral cooperation, and international ethics” to solve “the world’s manifold malaise.” Melakopides acknowledged how some observers might dismiss any reliance on ethical principles and values in shaping the international sphere as so much “sentimentalism, naïveté, and romantic excess,” but Gordon remained unapologetic and unrelenting in his views.9 Munton and Keating’s discussion of a 1985 External Affairs Decima survey of Canadians’ views on internationalism provides helpful historical context, since the data refer precisely to the period when Gordon’s extended career as an activist for internationalist causes was drawing to a close. The survey revealed high levels of support for a form of “general internationalism” that was both “complex” and “multidimensional” and involved the federal government’s active and multilateral “pursuit of a common good” for the world beyond Canada’s borders. While the findings also indicated a “substantial consensus” among Canadians that they wanted their country to be “economically internationalist,” there was less agreement over how liberal humanitarian or conservative its foreign policy should be, and the extent to which Canada’s international agenda should be developed and implemented independent of the United States.10 Hector McKenzie, another scholar of Canada’s external relations, clarifies the latter point. He has demonstrated that, contrary to traditional belief, Canada’s internationalism during Gordon’s era – which is typically dubbed “Pearsonian” and hailed as a “disinterested effort to

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improve relations among nations, especially by mediation and conciliation, and thereby to advance the prospects of peace and the good of humanity” – did not take shape as a more “noble” variant of American policies and actions. Rather, “in war and peace, and in the uneasy truce of the Cold War,” the Canadian government’s foremost concern was to effect positive change in global affairs by cooperating with Britain and the United States, not to “differentiate its perceptions or its actions” from those of its closest allies.11 Such a distinction would have resonated positively with Gordon. Although a Canadian by birth and emotional attachment, as a long-time resident of the United States, he had amassed extensive professional experience on three other continents witnessing first-hand the UN’s triumphs and shortcomings. Not surprisingly, therefore, once back in Canada, Gordon tended to view internationalism more broadly than simply in relation to Canadian foreign policy objectives. An educator at heart, Gordon was drawn back to academe – three decades after his appointment at United Theological College had ended so inauspiciously – as a fitting follow-up to his recent retirement from the UN. This time around, his subject matter was to be international relations rather than Christian ethics, and instead of preparing seminarians for pastoral work he hoped to impress upon Canada’s next gen­ eration of foreign policymakers their moral obligation to pursue an ambitious internationalism beneficial to developed and developing nations alike. As had happened in the past when Gordon contemplated a career change, serendipity once again intervened. In March 1962, while on a CIIA-sponsored speaking tour of western Canada, he was introduced to W.H. Johns, president of the University of Alberta. After ­attending one of Gordon’s public lectures, Johns proposed he join the university’s Department of Political Economy in Edmonton. The idea, Gordon recalled, initially received only “cautious interest” from some of the department’s more conventionally trained and academically credentialed faculty. He understood their reluctance. “I am not an academic,” he admitted years later to his friend George Ignatieff, “however rare some of my other qualifications might be!” Regardless, presidential prerogative ultimately prevailed and a “somewhat free-wheeling” appointment as visiting professor of international relations was arranged. Gordon was assigned a relatively light teaching load and expected to lecture periodically to the general public through the university’s extension program. Otherwise he was largely unencumbered to do and to write as he pleased. The job was perfect for Gordon, and any academic’s

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dream. His first order of business, he noted tongue in cheek, was “to plunge myself into books to learn what I had been doing in the last twelve years so that I could teach a course on International Relations.”12 Gordon aptly differentiated between the approaches taken by academics and practitioners to the study of international relations, albeit in terms unlikely to increase his favour among faculty colleagues already questioning his suitability for a university appointment. The professoriate, he observed, was inundated with “self-styled ‘scientists’” obsessing over “abstract mathematical models and … computerized appraisals and predictions” in an attempt to comprehend the “large frame of reference,” but who ultimately bore no responsibility for their conclusions. The professional international relations practitioner, by comparison, was required to act within “a limited and defined context of space and time” and was fully accountable for making decisions that affected real people.13 As Gordon explained to Reinhold Niebuhr – an academic who had bridged the chasm between theory and practice more successfully than most – theorists rendering political judgments from within ivory towers frequently had “to undergo such qualifications in the light of the actual situation” as to be “completely irrelevant.” Gordon’s criticisms of academic affectation extended to the realm of publishing as well. He professed to Norman Smith, editor of the Ottawa Journal, that the international relations commentaries many newspapers ran were usually more relevant than much of the “learned, footnoted and frequently pretentious stuff carried in the ‘learned journals.’”14 Having published his own work in both popular and scholarly forums, Gordon’s views on their respective merits can be taken at face value. Not surprisingly, he also found academia less stimulating than life in “the field” with the United Nations. His students, presumably, were the real beneficiaries. Gordon’s copiously detailed classroom lectures on international relations were replete with references to personal experiences in Korea, the Middle East, and Congo, thus bringing the subject to life in ways that instructors without his practical experience were unlikely to emulate.15 What Gordon valued most about his university positions in Edmonton – a city he described as “not so far removed from the world scene as the map might suggest”16 – and Ottawa was the freedom they afforded to promote his internationalist views within a broad spectrum of organizations and activities locally, nationally, and internationally. One such initiative was the annual conference on international affairs and world development he directed each summer between 1963 and 1968 in the magnificent mountain setting of Alberta’s Banff National

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Park. Sponsored by the Canadian Institute of International Affairs and the Edmonton branch of the United Nations Association, the Banff meetings brought together politicians, diplomats, journalists, and academics to discuss Canada’s place in a rapidly integrating global community.17 The theme of the inaugural gathering, “The Challenge of World Development,” examined Canada’s role as a provider of international economic assistance. As Gordon admitted to his former CCF colleague Tommy Douglas, who in 1963 was leader of the federal New Democratic Party, this was a subject about which he felt “a bit messianic.” He regarded the conference as a vehicle for advancing “basic education” about economic development and technical assistance, while substituting “perennial Canadian modesty” about the nation’s international achievements “with a bit of brashness.” Gordon’s original impetus in organizing the Banff meetings had been a public challenge by Paul Martin, the federal secretary of state for external affairs, urging Canadians “to build some fires under the government and compel [it] to do more for the less-developed countries.” Gordon was game to try, but as he acknowledged to Douglas, who also knew a thing or two about the trials of rallying support for visionary initiatives, “the local tinder is a bit damp.”18 In the years immediately following his return to Canada, Gordon’s confidence in the UN as the foundation for a politically viable and ethically sensitive new international order only increased. For a time during the 1960s he even mused aloud about the feasibility of the UN assuming certain functions associated with a “world government.” In at least one public presentation, during which he clearly was playing provocateur, he contended it was unreasonable to treat the present structure and activities of the typical nation state – an “artificial creation,” if ever one existed – as “the last word in political organization.” Instead, he advocated converting the UN “into a genuine world government with special authority in the field of security.” Gordon suggested the global community create a permanent United Nations military force commanding enough offensive punch that no single country would wish to match it, thereby permitting every nation state to scale back dramatically its military. Since the UN force would act as a deterrent to potential aggressor states, individual countries could get by with much smaller militaries for internal security purposes only. The resulting aggregate savings in national expenditures on defence could then be redirected into more socially advantageous purposes, such as funding desperately needed international development programs on an unprecedented scale.

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Gordon went on to suggest that his idea did not diminish significantly the autonomy of nation states, for “the cultural values of nationhood” would continue to be recognized and respected. As an obvious and universal benefit, removing “fear of war and the clash of national interest” would enable all cultures to flourish beyond what was pos­sible “in our present state of international anarchy.” As mentioned, ­Gordon intended to stimulate debate and would have expected his recommendation that nations voluntarily disarm and entrust their borders and international interests to an ill-defined UN security force to be dismissed as fanciful delusion. He did, after all, concede that “modern man and modern nations” were unlikely to possess the foresight necessary to risk “a supranational government.” Gordon’s reading of history revealed that an essential precondition for political progress and legal innovativeness was an unambiguous sense of community. Unfortunately, he observed, modern technology may be creating among nations a heightened awareness of “interdependency,” but “we have not yet achieved anything resembling an international community.”19 Gordon considered UNEF’s admirable record for maintaining order in the immediate aftermath of the Suez Crisis as the logical starting point for discussions about establishing a global security force. With the proliferation of nuclear weapons increasing daily the threat of Armageddon, he thought the international community foolhardy even to consider “ad hoc measures for peace-supervision” in lieu of “comprehensive schemes of peace-enforcement.” Asked in 1964 by the Canadian parliamentary Special Committee on Defence to comment on the practicability of an international police force, Gordon insisted it was an idea whose time had come. A permanent and rapid-response force drawn from the militaries of UN member states could stand ready to prevent localized outbreaks from spreading into neighbouring countries, thereby affording diplomats valuable time to resolve disputes peacefully.20 Gordon subsequently explained in an article on peacekeeping that he published in the journal International Affairs why support for a UNsanctioned multi-state police force was muted. The major impediment was not a dearth of military resources or experienced leadership – UNEF’s worthy accomplishments was proof of that – but the unwillingness of superpowers to relinquish influence over their surrogate states. The interminable political entanglements of the Middle East were a case in point. As long as all of the putatively sovereign states joined in conflict there remained de facto clients of one superpower or

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the other, Gordon doubted any of them would be free to accept an international police force as the final supranational authority.21 Gordon’s views on internationalism were also shaped by the steady deepening of economic and political interdependence between industrialized and comparatively affluent nations of the northern hemisphere, and the typically poorer and underdeveloped countries of the  southern hemisphere. By the 1960s, he concluded, this rising co-­ dependency was rendering “increasingly obsolete” such traditional concepts as national sovereignty, national interest, and national security. No longer could any country, especially one as affluent as Canada, regard its economy “as an island unto itself.” The way forward required an unprecedented openness to new concepts and forms of global cooperation by North and South alike. He noted in particular the pressures that interdependency posed for recently liberated colonial regimes in Asia, Africa, and Latin America, where consolidating and celebrating their newfound nationalism was the first priority. Although sympathetic to the need of newly autonomous states to express cultural distinctiveness and secure for their peoples a fair share of the earth’s resources, Gordon feared such attitudes would inevitably augment “North-South polarization” for the foreseeable future.22 Gordon was also concerned that blithely well-intentioned donor ­nations might interpret this growing interdependency as a moral imperative simply to transfer aid dollars from developed to developing nations without first taking into account the likely consequences of their largesse. He thought it essential, for example, that recipient nations participate actively with their benefactors in setting priorities and designing aid projects capable of correcting the underlying causes of their privation. Otherwise they would be lulled into the mistaken belief that receiving dollops of foreign cash was sufficient in itself to solve their development woes.23 To illustrate his point, Gordon referred to beleaguered South Vietnam, during a CBC radio broadcast on international assistance programs that he made in 1963. The United States was pouring military and economic aid into that southeast Asian country for the ostensibly humanitarian purpose of stemming communism and keeping “the world safe for democracy.” But the real effect, Gordon asserted, was to prop up an authoritarian and corrupt South Vietnamese regime that ignored its own citizens’ democratic rights and material needs. Consequently, millions of misspent American dollars were failing to improve the lot of schoolchildren in Saigon, and “peasants in the

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paddy fields of the Mekong delta” remained far more fearful of the depredations of their own government than they were of “the menace of a distant thing called ‘communism.’”24 Not unlike globalization theorists at the beginning of the twenty-first century who heralded the Internet for fostering an unprecedented interconnectedness among nations, Gordon in the 1960s and 1970s described rapid innovations in communications technology – television in particular – exposing glaring inequities between “our affluent society and the societies of the developing countries” in a “much-shrunken world.”25 Hitherto distant and culturally foreign peoples were appearing, now figuratively as well as literally, on one another’s “doorsteps.” The spread in global communications had a simultaneously dichotomous effect: it homogenized “fashions, songs, gadgets, industrial methods, architecture – even political and religious ideas,” while reinforcing the impression “that nations, peoples, cultures are different.” In an era of diminishing distances and increasing cultural convergence, Gordon cautioned that Canada and other developed nations should not attempt “to impose what we may regard as our superior culture on another.”26 Speaking to the Canadian Club of Edmonton in 1966, he predicted that the coming decade would produce one of two possible outcomes: developed and undeveloped nations would continue a descent into bitter divisions “along racial and ideological lines,” or preliminary steps would be taken towards forging an integrated world society committed to elevating even the lowest living standards to a universally acceptable minimum. Gordon was not optimistic the latter outcome would be realized any time soon. It already had been five years since the UN General Assembly launched “The Development Decade,” a much-­ heralded initiative to promote self-sustaining economic growth and social advancement in the developing world. Yet thus far the wealthiest countries had persisted in adopting “a siege mentality in defense of their good way of life,” spending much less on international aid programs than the targeted 1 per cent of GNP. During these days of “great and incalculable revolutionary change,” Gordon warned, the developed world risked bringing upon itself “the most terrible confrontation that history has seen” by continuing to neglect the impoverished Third World.27 Referring to the miserable living and working conditions that sparked a moral and political backlash nationally among the social under­class of Great Britain’s industrial communities during the late eighteenth century, Gordon feared that global unrest of infinitely ­greater scale and ferocity would be unleashed by the 1970s unless the

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international community began addressing the grave social and economic injustices percolating in its midst.28 Evidence of Gordon’s moralistic and chiefly class-centric approach to internationalism is seen in his 1976 speech, “Canada and the New International Economic Order.” In it he lamented that vastly improved global communication technologies now provided residents of the developed world with close-up images of life among the masses of Asia, Africa, and Latin America, yet most viewers took note only when an earthquake, plane crash, or civil war in the Third World provided “good television material.” It was ethically abhorrent that the spectacular suffering of a comparative handful momentarily commanded the world’s disengaged stares, while the “silent death of millions from hunger and disease” went largely unnoticed. Westerners’ tunnel vision and indifference – “except in a philosophical or moralistic sense” – stemmed from being “prisoners of a tribal imperative.” Canadians en masse trusted that the “endemic benevolence” of free enterprise would eventually deliver to all people, regardless of social status or class, a higher living standard and greater measure of social security than was possible under any other economic system. Gordon was certain the contemporary oracles of economic orthodoxy who heralded the bold assertions of the eighteenth-century philosopher Adam Smith were woefully misguided. Canada’s affluence, he contended, was not, as Smith might have averred, a result of individuals in free pursuit of private gain incidentally benefitting the common good. Rather, prosperity was fuelled by “the bitter struggle waged by the most vulnerable of our social groups” – trade unions in particular – and was “fired by an ethic of social justice and compassion that has come from the interwoven tradition of Judaism and Christianity.” Gordon’s message in the 1970s, which was directed principally at the politicians and bureaucrats responsible for designing Canada’s foreign aid programs, bore a striking resemblance to the fervent critiques of the titans of corporate capitalism that had generated so much ill will towards him in the 1930s.29 Indeed, much about the international order of the 1970s reminded Gordon of the poverty-stricken Canada of the 1930s, when “narrow parochialism, selfishness and greed” impeded the planned and evenhanded allocation of resources necessary for eliminating scarcity and giving all people “an equal chance to a decent life.”30 As a professor, pastor, and political activist he had witnessed repeatedly during the Great Depression how charity merely reinforced recipients’ dependency without addressing the structural deficiencies underlying their

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oppression. Similarly, he concluded the Third World would never escape penury on the strength of foreigners’ gifts alone, but depended upon fundamental readjustments being made to the international order. To that end, Gordon called for liberalized trade between First and Third World nations, a fair and regulated global monetary system, a code of conduct for transnational corporations, and greater ease in transferring from developed to developing countries the technologies critical for economic growth.31 These were the same remedies that international development experts, a decade and more after Gordon’s death, were prescribing to smooth out the social and economic imbalances produced by the latest manifestation of globalization. Gordon subscribed to the old saw that the truest determinant of a society’s values was how equitably the “means of life” were distributed to its weakest members. In his register of moral values the most resilient humanitarian actions required more than “a collective concern for human society” and were rooted in an authentic and benevolent awareness of each ­individual who suffered.32 The post-war communications revolution not only provided observers in the developed world with windows into the lives of their poorest neighbours residing outside their borders. It also increasingly enabled residents of developing nations to see fully for the first time how abysmal their own living standards were, relative to the norms in more prosperous countries. As awareness grew in developed and developing nations alike of the vast gulf separating the world’s rich and poor, the status quo appeared ever more untenable. One consequence was a “revolution of rising expectations,” the term Gordon and other international development proponents used when describing the indissoluble link between economic justice and the advancement of human rights.33 Despite sharing elements of Reinhold Niebuhr’s belief in “man’s propensity for avarice, fear, lust for power, [and] tribal hatred … in his individual and collective behaviour,” Gordon trusted that the political will existed to build “an egalitarian and just social order on a world scale.” He suggested to John Holmes in 1970 that growing acceptance of international institutions like the International Monetary Fund and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade might be the harbinger of a global strategy for managing economic problems.34 Much later, in a 1982 speech to the Society for International Development, Gordon declared to the Toronto gathering that the “world of the independent, self-sufficient nation state is finished.” Appearing in its place was an interdependent global system to which every country and regional

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association of nations must necessarily belong, for no longer was it possible for any individual country to stand apart from the world community. This was not to say that the new global reality stripped all sovereign states of their power to act independently. To the contrary, as Gordon decried in a 1983 letter to the Canadian broadcaster Patrick Watson, national governments continued to demonstrate the “utter inadequacy” of their individualistic and often adversarial responses to problems of global security, environmental decay, population growth, and food and energy shortages. The main obstacle to forging a single global community capable of tackling these sorts of shared transnational quandaries was not a lack of autonomy among nation states, but the persistence of selfish and inward-looking thinking.35 An inveterate defender of the United Nations, Gordon nevertheless admitted there were many facets of shared international jurisdiction that the original architects of the UN Charter had failed to address when they designed a world organization appropriate for the late 1940s. One notable omission was an international legal framework for regulating nations’ activities in outer space, a rapidly growing theatre of superpower rivalry by the 1960s. These early oversights did not prevent a plethora of innovative institutions of international control and regulation from emerging after 1945 from both within and without the UN in response to the growing interdependency of nation states. Between 1971 and 1984 Gordon was active on the planning council of one such body, the Malta-based International Ocean Institute, as it campaigned vigorously to establish a regulatory regime for the world’s ocean resources. It was, as he liked to say, an unusual crusade for a “prairie boy.”36 In an impassioned speech to the General Assembly in November 1967, Arvid Pardo, Malta’s ambassador to the United Nations, urged that the seabed and its tremendous untapped wealth lying beyond the recognized jurisdiction of coastal nations be treated as the shared heritage of all humankind. He argued for a worldwide regulatory regime to protect the oceans as a global commons for the benefit of all nations and peoples, particularly since recent technological advances in activities like seabed mining were nullifying the limited protections provided by extant international laws and practices. Pardo’s forceful appeal persuaded the General Assembly not only to adopt a set of principles endorsing the protection of seabed resources, but also to convene in 1973 a UN Conference on the Law of the Sea. In the meantime, at the Centre for the Study of Democratic Institutions in Santa Barbara, California,

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the environmentalist and academic Elisabeth Mann-Borgese spearheaded the drafting of an international ocean-management treaty giving substance to Pardo’s initiative. Mann-Borgese was also instrumental in organizing the first Pacem in Maribus (Peace in the Oceans) conference at Malta in 1970, during which the International Ocean Institute (IOI) was created as a non-governmental organization with consultative status at the UN. Interdisciplinary in composition, the IOI brought together scientists, environmentalists, industrialists, and politicians committed to managing the oceans as sustainable socio-economic ecosystems for the benefit of future generations.37 The name Pacem in Maribus was derived from Pope John XXIII’s 1963 encyclical Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth), which had linked the quest for global peace and fundamental human rights to a fairer distribution of the earth’s resources. Pacem in Maribus similarly underscored the need for an international regulatory framework not only to protect oceans from pollution and excessive resource exploitation, but to ensure that competing claims by nation states neither barred universal access to the fruits of the sea nor jeopardized global peace. Gordon was instantly attracted to Mann-Borgese’s campaign after the two were ­introduced at an Ottawa luncheon hosted by Lester Pearson in 1972. That July he attended the third Pacem in Maribus conference in Malta on behalf of Canada’s International Development Research Centre (IDRC).38 Gordon thereafter remained one of the IOI’s most ardent promoters. Over the next several years he wrote numerous newspaper articles detailing Pacem in Maribus proceedings in an attempt to educate Canadians, whose nation bordered three oceans, about the potential benefits of an international law of the sea. Gordon maintained that the “ultimate goal” of such a law was to replace “the obsolescent dichotomy of the freedom of the high seas and the sovereignty of territorial waters” typically favoured by selfish governmental and corporate freebooters, with a unified and accountable international system of ocean management. Ever since the Santiago Declaration of 1952, when Chile, Ecuador, and Peru claimed exclusive jurisdictional and economic rights to the 200 nautical miles of ocean and seabed off their respective coastlines, two competing concepts of ocean management had vied for international sanction. One was the “patrimonial sea,” which appealed to the Santiago Declaration signa­ tories and other nations possessing expansive ocean shorelines who ­regarded a 200 nautical mile buffer as vital for protecting valuable offshore fisheries and mining resources from foreign predators. Adherents

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of the “matrimonial sea” idea, by contrast, which included nations in the island-studded Caribbean, where it was unavoidable that individual 200 nautical mile claims would overlap, held that in the interest of economic fairness and political stability all offshore fishing and mineral rights, regardless of location, should be deemed a “common heritage” and “community of property.” Gordon was sympathetic to this latter view. He considered the oceans’ unexploited wealth too valuable to be left exclusively for the benefit of the most geographically advantaged nations, as its fair allocation was an essential precondition for raising global living standards. An ancillary benefit of developing a cooperative international mechanism for managing the world’s oceans was that it would serve as a useful model for organizing and regulating other activities where nation states interacted on a global scale.39 Gordon worried over the potentially detrimental impact that granting states exclusive access to the 200 nautical miles of ocean and seabed off their coasts would have on developing nations attempting to acquire the professional and technological skills essential to their future prosperity. Seabed mining, for example, required inordinately sophisticated technologies that only a handful of highly industrialized nations possessed. Yet less developed countries would be precluded from developing the technical capabilities necessary for practising seabed mining unless coastal states relaxed their excessive territorial claims.40 Gordon also predicted that the already “gross inequality among nations” would be accentuated if countries like Canada succeeded in adding the 200 nautical mile limit onto existing claims to the continental shelf stretching several hundred miles off their coasts. As a Canadian, he was acutely embarrassed by his government’s decision in 1972 to relinquish its support for “the common heritage principle” of ocean control and management. In its bid to acquire internationally recognized title to an underwater domain almost equal in size to Western Europe, Canada shamelessly exposed itself as “one of the greediest of the shelf countries.” Gordon thought it contemptible of Canada even to consider appropriating, along with nineteen other wealthy nations, fully two-thirds of all ocean territory.41 These were the sort of contentious issues the Third UN Conference of the Law of the Sea grappled with continuously between 1973 and 1982. Ultimately it agreed to ­divide the world’s oceans into six zones, each defined by the specific controls that adjacent coastal states were permitted to exercise over ­resource development. For all his faith in the United Nations as a fair arbiter of international differences, Gordon found more to mourn than

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cheer in this final apportionment. Specifically, he objected to a partitioning that allowed some nations to maintain their privileged access to the oceans’ riches, while many weaker claimants remained severely constrained in acquiring their fair share. Disappointment over the reticence of nation states to compromise their vested interests and emulate his highly idealistic and selfless internationalism fuelled Gordon’s determination to help shape the next generation of leaders by improving the quality of training provided to Canadian university students preparing for careers in international ­development. As a director of the University of Ottawa’s Institute for International Cooperation between 1968 and 1972 he assessed the effectiveness of the technical and professional training that Canadian universities, acting both independently and in collaboration with the federal government, offered to students preparing to staff foreign aid missions in developing nations. Using his own extensive UN field ­experience as the benchmark, Gordon found Canadian university graduates sorely lacking in the requisite skill sets. After touring several universities in the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, Italy, and Switzerland, he concluded that their training standards were only marginally higher than Canada’s, but this was cold comfort. Given his own convoluted career path, it is understandable that Gordon was especially keen to disabuse students of the view that possessing a particular academic, technical, or professional qualification necessarily indicated their suitability for foreign aid and development work. He insisted that of greater consequence was their innate sensitivity towards, and ability to adapt to, the cultural and political diversity of the foreign countries in which they would be living and working.42 It probably would have saddened but not surprised Gordon to learn that several more decades had to pass before most West-based multinational corporations, in deference to the cultural norms of their host countries, started adopting a less ethnocentric approach to the selection and training of expatriate employees. Certainly he would have expected the public sector and non-governmental organizations involved in foreign assistance to be more culturally attentive. Gordon alluded to this situation as early as 1969 when he reported to the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) that before Westerners could provide effectual development assistance to “transitional” societies, they must become “teachers in the true sense of being able to share in the problems faced by those with whom they work.” Universities, therefore, should strive to produce a “new breed” of international

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specialist who “has lost some of his national bristles but not all his ­national traits.”43 Similar concerns informed Gordon’s work from 1973 to 1980 as a ­consultant with the International Development Research Centre, an Ottawa-based Crown corporation. Established in 1970 at Lester Pearson’s behest, the IDRC invested in applied scientific research in developing countries. A special emphasis was placed on improving the university infrastructure of recipient countries, in order that local scientists could identify and pursue the projects most germane to local needs. IDRC funding was therefore targeted at applied research into food production, drought control, and correcting the chronically low levels of health, welfare, and education endemic to rural communities in the Third World. Gordon’s forward-looking advice to the corporation’s first president, David Hopper, was that the IDRC would generate greater returns on its investments by prompting Canadian universities to concentrate on enhancing the research capabilities of developing nations, instead of attempting quick fixes to the deeply entrenched social and economic structural deficiencies handicapping the Third World. As the first step, Canada’s universities needed to shift their “parochial and provincial pre-occupation” towards a broader and more collaborative form of international intellectual enterprise.44 Gordon’s extensive travels through Europe, Africa, Asia, and Australia on behalf of the IDRC placed him in close contact with a large number of university associations and research institutes, as well as the UN-affiliated International Labour Organization, World Health Organization, and Industrial Development Organization.45 The assignments were not strictly academic enquiries. In 1975 Gordon led a four-person delegation from the United Nations Educational Training Program to  southern Africa, where thousands of refugees from Rhodesia, ­Mozambique, Angola, Namibia, and South Africa had fled into neighbouring countries in a desperate bid to acquire education and training denied them at home. The purpose of Gordon’s mission was to advise the UN on how to rally international material and moral support for the refugees until they had been trained and could return home safely – possibly not before national independence was won – bringing with them skills invaluable to their countries’ future development.46 Now in his mid-seventies, Gordon was no less enthusiastic in tackling foreign aid challenges on behalf of the IDRC than he had been twenty-five years earlier when, as a UN official, he first dubbed himself an international “civil servant.” The IDRC, he explained, “pushes your head right

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into the middle” of the world’s environmental, demographic, and resource “crisis issues.” Sounding a little world-weary on one occasion in 1974, he griped that after so many years investing himself body and spirit in these types of “issues,” it unfortunately remained true that whenever solutions to problems were proffered they invariably were judged “too rational and ethical for our greedy and brutal system” to endorse.47 Gordon thought it propitious the IDRC was created at the beginning of the 1970s, a “critical time of transition in the theory and practice of development.” He told Ivan Head, the IDRC’s president in 1978, that justice gradually was replacing charity as the fundamental motivation behind much international assistance. Increasingly it appeared that developed nations recognized the intrinsic fairness in sharing financial, physical, and intellectual resources with developing nations to assist them in creating the infrastructure essential for combating poverty, improving living standards, and reducing dependence on foreign aid.48 Bilateral and multilateral agreements such as the Colombo Plan and the World Bank’s capital assistance program were also helping to diminish the hierarchical “patron–client” relationship so potentially demeaning to recipient countries. Another positive sign was the growing determination of more Third World nations to break free of their dependency on First World foreign aid.49 To that end, Gordon called upon Canada’s universities to follow the lead of their Western European counterparts by generously assisting in enhancing the educational standards and applied research capabilities of developing nations. After so many years stationed abroad with the UN, Gordon was convinced Canada enjoyed a generally positive reputation throughout the Third World, thanks to its overall beneficent and intelligent approach to foreign aid and development. It was essential, therefore, that the universities not com­ promise Canada’s good name by being less than magnanimous in transferring to developing nations the intellectual capital they ­depended upon to hasten their escape from penury.50 A lifetime immersed in myriad campaigns for social reform taught Gordon that change, when it happened at all, usually occurred incrementally. All the same, advancing age enhanced his impatience with the achingly slow pace at which the living standards of the Third World’s most impoverished peoples were improving. His exasperation emerged in one of his final consulting projects, a 1982 report prepared for CIDA examining ways international donor agencies could enhance the effectiveness of educational investments in developing

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countries. An unflagging octogenarian by that point, Gordon visited universities and aid agencies in the Netherlands, France, Switzerland, Sweden, and England prior to writing his stinging assessment. In it he refuted the  conventional wisdom that transferring Western technology to the world’s poorest nations increased per capita GNP and eliminated poverty by enabling wealth to trickle down from a higher to lower social strata. Gordon pointed to 800 million Asians, Africans, and Latin Americans living in absolute poverty as proof that even the considerable economic growth each of these regions experienced over the post-war period had failed to eradicate widespread scarcity and economic despair. He concluded that the “technocratic aid programs” of industrialized nations were a mixed blessing at best: while providing desperately needed development assistance to the Third World, they also fostered dependencies and enhanced income disparities between rich and poor nations. Gordon advised CIDA that First World nations needed “a single global context” as a reference point against which to measure Third World priorities when fashioning their foreign aid strategies. Specifically, donor nations should adopt a “social development approach” to aid that was unambiguously polycentric and thus driven by human rather than technological imperatives. Recipient countries would not only perform a paramount role in determining specific economic and cultural development objectives of any aid received; they also would be entrusted with administering the aid to the fullest extent possible. Finally, all future aid initiatives should rest on the premise that whereas First and Third World nations presently were differentiated by dramatically dissimilar living standards, over time the economic, social, and political challenges they shared as members of the same global community ensured they would become ever more interrelated.51 Another forum through which Gordon attempted to raise Canadians’ consciousness of pressing international issues was the United Nations Association–Canada (UNA-Canada). He joined it immediately following his return to Canada in 1961 and soon became one of the association’s most vociferous and active members, also serving as its president for several years during the 1970s. Created in 1946, UNA-Canada participated at the World Food, the World Population, and the Law of the Sea conferences while Gordon was at its helm. He also had a hand in publishing several of the association’s impressively comprehensive studies – most were targeted at a well-informed if non-specialist readership – on such topics as the New International Economic Order, the Middle East crisis, the dangers of nuclear proliferation, and threats to

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human rights. UNA-Canada lobbied the federal government on a range of international issues throughout Gordon’s tenure as president, primarily via his ongoing correspondence with Allan J. MacEachen, the secretary of state for external affairs in Pierre Trudeau’s Liberal government.52 In 1978, for instance, as ongoing tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union spread fears that a nuclear holocaust would be unleashed by century’s end, UNA-Canada under Gordon’s leadership pressured the Canadian government to petition the UN Special General Assembly on Disarmament to establish a permanent rapid response peacekeeping force capable of preventing volatile regional clashes from escalating into major international conflicts. Whereas previous UN military interventions – Gordon was most familiar with UNEF and ONUC – had been effective, they were by design ad hoc affairs that took far longer to organize and deploy than would be prudent in a future emergency involving nuclear weapons when the fate of the entire planet might hang in the balance. The idea, Gordon explained to MacEachen, was premised on historical evidence that the introduction and consistent enforcement of codified rules of public law had dramatically reduced levels of private violence within the modern nation state. Gordon and UNA-Canada were optimistic – many might contend naively so – that adopting an international rule of law, shored up by a permanent UN peacekeeping force, would lessen substantially the likelihood of violent outbreaks between nations.53 Gordon considered the Middle East, in which he had maintained a deep interest ever since witnessing the Suez Crisis of 1956, a likely destination for United Nations peacekeepers under UNA-Canada’s proposed scheme for a permanent force. His concern over the seeming intractability of Arab-Israeli conflicts and the necessity of the international community providing ongoing intermediation in the area long predated the 1978 recommendation to the UN Special General Assembly on Disarmament. For instance, when war returned to the region for six days in June 1967, resulting in a decisive victory for Israel over Egypt, Jordan, and Syria, Gordon was quick to offer his assessment to Prime Minister Lester Pearson. The recent war, he observed, was further alarming evidence of the “endemic hatreds and fanaticisms” that all the combatants demonstrated. From his own experience, Gordon characterized the Middle East as “a group of oasis economies” confronting the desert as “the common enemy.” Moreover, the extreme discord would continue to worsen as rapid population growth placed ever greater pressure on the region’s limited resource base, perpetuating

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local beliefs that “the salvation of one oasis” was possible only “at the expense of another.” Without downplaying the intensity of the poisonous political divide separating Arabs and Jews, Gordon concluded there could be no lasting and comprehensive peace until a massive international development program improved living standards across the ­entire region.54 The Arab-Israeli conflict was renewed in October 1973 when Egyptian and Syrian forces launched a surprise attack against Israel during the Jewish observance of Yom Kippur. This time a ceasefire was established under UN auspices after eighteen days of fighting, the Israeli military having repulsed the invasion and launched a commanding counter-­ attack. The escalating violence in the Middle East persuaded Gordon that the re-establishment of an independent Palestinian homeland was long past due. He believed that before a political solution to the region’s unrest could be reached, the plight of hundreds of thousands of desperate Palestinian refugees must be relieved by Israel promptly returning to them at least some of the contested territories it had seized in the several wars since its founding in 1948. Writing in the Ottawa Citizen shortly after the ceasefire, Gordon defined the “gut issue” in the Middle East as Israel denying some two million Palestinian Arabs the right to occupy lands their ancestors had inhabited for centuries. Israeli refusal to budge on this issue was abjectly short-sighted, for it fuelled a broadening spiral of violence on both sides of the political divide and emboldened Arab extremists committed to destroying the state of Israel. Gordon urged the establishment of a massive international program of economic assistance for the Palestinians, not only to curtail current shortages of food and other necessities, but to pressure Israel into accepting a reasonable compromise over the disputed lands. In addition, the gift of funds would provide destitute Palestinians the means to settle with dignity lands that rightfully belonged to them, while raising hopes for future prosperity.55 In retrospect, this was wishful thinking on an outsized scale. When these optimistic outcomes had still not been achieved in the early 1980s, Gordon’s predictions for the region turned gloomy. He envisioned militant Islamic fundamentalism flourishing in an intensifying Cold War environment as both the United States and the Soviet Union jockeyed to recruit client states throughout the tormented Middle East. Returning to a familiar theme, he claimed that with economically dependent nation states lining up opposite each other as superpower proxies, the risk was greater of a localized military  eruption mushrooming into a global conflagration that only a

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“genuinely international” peacekeeping effort could contain. If there was a silver lining to the darkening Middle Eastern cloud, Gordon suggested it was to be found in a corresponding lessening of superpower nervousness in Europe and the possibility of accomplishing some ­measure of disarmament there.56 Obviously Gordon’s professional preoccupation once he was back in Canada after more than twenty years away was to encourage Canadians, by his university seminars, his writing, and the several non-­ governmental organizations he joined, to become resolutely internationalist in their awareness, outlook, and political action. Yet former acquaintances in the CCF, which reconfigured itself as the New Democratic Party (NDP) in 1961, had other plans in mind for him. Gordon barely finished unpacking in Edmonton before they were urging him to stand for election at the earliest opportunity, which he had not attempted since the 1937 federal by-election in Victoria. Over the years, invitations from provincial and federal CCF riding associations to run in one election or another had followed Gordon to the United States and his UN postings abroad. In every instance he graciously declined. He did so again in 1962 when the NDP offered him the choice of either the High Park or Rosedale ridings in Toronto for the federal election campaign expected later that year. This time he excused himself on the grounds his “earlier political fervor” had ebbed, and because he no longer had sufficient knowledge of Canadian domestic issues to pass as a plausible candidate. He explained that he preferred instead to devote his post-UN career and extensive international experience to educating Canadians about the importance of being global leaders in the promotion of Third World social and economic development.57 Gordon had no desire to re-enter the electoral trenches as a candidate, and his past ardour for the CCF had not translated into deep loyalty for the NDP or its variant of social democracy. Neither did he, despite remaining an avid observer of Canadian political affairs, participate publicly in the debates over national unity and linguistic equality that pervaded the country during the 1960s. Privately, however, after moving from Edmonton to Ottawa in 1967, Gordon met regularly with Frank Scott, Eugene Forsey, Graham Spry, and several other comrades from bygone political escapades in an informal discussion group they dubbed “O Canada.” Committed federalists all, they debated strategies for countering Quebec separatism, which was now demonstrating a disquietingly violent underside. Most notably, the terrorist organization Front de Libération du Québec had graduated from armed

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robberies and bombing Westmount mailboxes to kidnapping the British trade commissioner James Cross and Quebec’s labour minister Pierre Laporte in 1970, eventually murdering the latter. In the estimation of the greying politicos of “O Canada,” the best weapon for combating separatism was an enlightened and generous federalism committed to enabling the cultural and economic aspirations of not just Quebec but every region in the country.58 The convivial gatherings reminded Gordon how far he had travelled ideologically since the 1930s when he and other members of “O Canada,” meeting in Montreal as the embryonic League for Social Reconstruction, first debated politics late into the night. Gordon recalled that as an impassioned clergyman and university professor in his thirties he was convinced the only way to achieve “distributive justice” and rescue the nation from the Great Depression was to discard capitalism and adopt socialism. Now in his seventies, he claimed to have discarded the “doctrinaire” certitude of youth. Granted, the prevailing economic system remained seriously flawed and was more complex than ever before because of its increasingly international structure and scope. But the radical prescriptions for eradicating capitalism he once embraced so fervently were no longer a priority. Over the preceding forty years the trend in Canada had been towards incremental increases in governmental supervision of, and control over, the worst abuses of private capital. While continuing to believe that much of capitalism’s “root evil” remained intact, he detected a growing “social consciousness” among policymakers. This was a promising sign that over time public good would finally prevail over private privilege – one of Gordon’s original and most cherished political objectives.59 Gordon was further reminded of his socialist past when he and the other surviving contributors to the LSR’s 1935 landmark book, Social Planning for Canada, were asked to write the introduction to a reissued edition planned for 1975. This became an acutely rewarding project for Gordon, not least because it afforded him the opportunity to collaborate once again with an eclectic collection of individuals whose careers over the intervening four decades had diverged so markedly from his own. As the historian Ernest Dick observed in his review of the 1975 volume, each of the original authors had moved beyond their shared experiences and enthusiasms of the 1930s to achieve distinction across a broad variety of vocations. Yet despite taking separate paths, Dick noted, “their public consciences have remained always awake,” which kept them united on an ideological dimension even as the rest of

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society and the authors themselves otherwise changed. Gordon was also gratified, he told Frank Scott, that so many of the reform measures proposed in Social Planning for Canada, especially in social security, health care, labour, and collective bargaining rights, and a centralized economic planning role for government, had become accepted, even by the business community, as integral to Canadian public policy – so much, in fact, that it seemed almost unimaginable to him that the book’s recommendations were initially deemed “so radical.” Gordon conceded that in retrospect the authors’ original faith in socialism seemed “a bit starry-eyed.” He hastened to add, however, in their and his defence, that in the midst of the human destitution and despair caused by the Great Depression, many objective social critics were hard pressed to imagine how so thoroughly diminished and discredited a belief system as capitalism could possibly make a “spectacular recovery.” Certainly the authors of Social Planning for Canada were not the only intellectuals who failed to foresee the remarkable “capitalist revival” ignited by the onset of the Second World War. For all that, Gordon continued to believe that “morally the system has not changed.” Canada’s political left, by contrast, had “retrogressed” dramatically over the same period. To Gordon’s mind, the NDP platform and performance by the 1970s was woefully bereft of the philosophy and daring that had characterized the CCF’s “frank exposition” of socialism in earlier times.60 Gordon’s disillusionment with the NDP may have stemmed in part from the philosophical differences that inevitably separate some members in each generation of true believers. Without a doubt he felt the new party’s leadership failed to show due deference to the founding principles of its CCF forebears. In the 1980s Gordon fussed to the historian Richard Allen that the NDP lacked the CCF’s “strong Christian ethical content” and was overly influenced by “ad hoc opportunism.” On the internationalist front as well, the NDP was fundamentally misguided. In July 1983, after attending celebrations in Winnipeg marking the fiftieth anniversary of the Regina Manifesto, he allowed to Frank Scott how the contemporary necessity of thinking in “global terms” made policymaking for the NDP a much more complicated process than it had been for the CCF. Even so, as he explained in 1987 to Marion Dewar, the MP for Hamilton Mountain and the national NDP’s former president, the party erred by advocating Canada’s withdrawal from NATO and pursuit of an independent defence policy. To an internationalist like Gordon, the notion was highly dubious that a wholly autonomous approach to defence even remained an option for nation states in

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the 1980s. The NDP’s claims notwithstanding, this was no way to promote peace. By downplaying the importance of collaborating with Canada’s NATO allies, Gordon felt the NDP was endorsing the “thoroughly outmoded concept of the adversarial relationship of nation states,” thereby contributing to a permanent military standoff between East and West. He recommended the NDP back instead an international campaign to forge cooperative political and economic links with the Soviet bloc, without which “a just and secure world community” must remain a pipe dream. Yet when all was said and done, he doubted the NDP was prepared to rise to the challenge. As he lamented to his old CCF colleague and kindred spirit Grace MacInnis, the NDP was demonstrating “no appreciation at all of what leading Social Democrats have been saying throughout the world.”61 Not surprisingly Gordon believed that the political fortunes of not only the NDP but the nation as a whole would benefit from Canada becoming more fully engaged with the international community. By the 1970s, perplexing questions of how to offset unprecedented challenges to Canada’s national unity fomented more domestic angst than at any time in the country’s history. Gordon thought the solution self-evident: Canadians would cease fixating inward on the issues that divided them by redirecting their focus outward. The key was to identify a worthy cause around which people from every region and province could coalesce. An active internationalism characterized by generous development assistance to the Third World, Gordon averred, would foster precisely the unifying effect Canada needed. Not only would such an emphasis draw upon the nation’s natural reservoir of liberality and commitment to material progress. Canada would also be setting a sterling example that other developed nations ideally would be encouraged to emulate. Consequently, when René Lévesque’s sovereigntist Parti Québécois won the provincial election of November 1976, Gordon worried that the victory, besides providing an ominous boost to the fortunes of Quebec separatism, might encourage a defensive parochialism elsewhere in the country. As he explained to the political scientist Peyton Lyon, an increasingly interconnected world created the illusion that nation states were becoming less capable of guaranteeing their ­citizens’ security and prosperity. Divisive movements like the Parti Québécois fed off this “disillusionment with the apparent impotence” by offering visions of “a new isolationism,” which rejected “responsible global management through functional institutions.” What separatists failed to realize, Gordon continued, was that a “multi-cultural and

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pluralistic society is far more able to contribute to a viable world order than the small ethnocentric splinter state.” Furthermore, their insular political and economic world view inadvertently encouraged further expansion of superpower domination over the international order. Gordon was adamant this need not be so. As a progressive country with a small population but immense natural resource wealth, Canada was ideally positioned to counter internal challenges to its national unity. But this would require the country to abandon its propensity for nursing regional grievances and to strive, in conjunction with the UN, to become a model of benevolent internationalism.62 In contemplating the international role for which Canada was best suited, Gordon started from the premise that natural resource endowments, industrial capacity, educational levels, and military strength were not necessarily the prime determinants of a nation’s influence beyond its borders. This view was essentially in accord with John Holmes’s definition of “the Canadian theory of functionalism,” which attributed special military responsibilities to the “great powers” and left the secondary or “middle powers” like Canada to fulfil a host of other nonsecurity duties more reflective of their unique attributes and skills. In Canada’s case, “functionalism” involved highlighting its recent reputation as a rising economic power as justification for being allowed a voice on any UN councils where development issues were a priority. Conversely, on global security matters a lightly armed nation like Canada should concede the floor to the great military powers that controlled the UN Security Council. Segregating responsibilities in this fashion, Holmes suggested, satisfied Canadian functionalists opposed to the Security Council elevating itself into a de facto “executive committee or cabinet of the United Nations” commanding the final word on all non-security matters as well.63 Gordon detected in Canada’s middlepower status an advantage the great powers were unlikely to share. In a speech “Canada and Détente” he gave at the 1968 Banff conference, he noted that because Canadian diplomats traditionally wielded limited clout on the world stage, they were required to develop sophisticated skills when promoting their country’s international agenda among nations of greater stature and influence. As he later affirmed with one such brilliant diplomat, Lester Pearson, a country’s capacity for devising solutions to complex global problems should never be measured “in absolute terms,” but “in relation to the resources of other likeminded nations.” In Gordon’s analysis, Canadian functionalism must above all else be cooperative in design and application if it was to thrive upon

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an international stage continually undergoing reconstruction. Simply put, solitary players need not apply.64 His faith in the ability of a creative and functionalist internationalism to augment Canada’s profile abroad and preserve unity at home permeated Gordon’s ongoing correspondence with Liberal prime minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau throughout the latter half of the 1970s. He frequently prodded Trudeau to purge Canadians of their “parochial, complacent and isolationist” tendencies by demonstrating “leadership in the establishment of a new scheme of values and new practices in international relations.” Since several problems perplexing Trudeau’s government at the time – most notably a growing foreign exchange ­imbalance combined with simultaneous increases in inflation and unemployment – were pieces of a much larger global puzzle, Gordon proposed that Canada press for a strengthened United Nations. Specifically, he urged Trudeau to treat the UN as a convenient forum in which countries confronting similar domestic challenges could devise mutually beneficial solutions, while fulfilling their moral obligation to provide aid and comfort to weaker partners within the new international order. Among Gordon’s many recommendations to Trudeau, one stands out as atypical insofar as it appealed for a measure of restraint in a certain area of international cooperation. Normally a forceful advocate of sharing generously with developing nations whatever technologies they required to achieve economic self-sufficiency, Gordon made a notable exception over the Trudeau government’s decision to sell CANDU nuclear power reactors abroad. He insisted the risk of sophisticated nuclear knowledge surreptitiously ending up in the wrong hands and being applied to nonpeaceful purposes easily outweighed all competing humanitarian or trade considerations. Not to be outdone, Trudeau promptly countered with one of Gordon’s favourite arguments: Canada was duty bound as a privileged nation to share its knowledge with the developing world “in order to permit individual countries to leapfrog the industrial revolution and raise the living standards of their own peoples.” Normally Gordon would have concurred, but not when the “leapfrog” entailed possibly contributing to the proliferation of nuclear weapons.65 Gordon consistently chided Canada’s political leadership throughout the 1980s for expending vast quantities of time and political capital in negotiating constitutional reforms intended to resolve long-standing domestic differences, when national unity could be better served by  setting “challenging international goals in which Canada can take a  ­responsible part in achieving.” He vigorously refuted Trudeau’s

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argument that certain “‘Canadian realities’” existed separate from “‘­international realities,’” and that these “insulated interests … can be served even if the rest of the world goes to pot and ruin.” Indeed, the impossibility of any nation pursuing its interests entirely in isolation when the world was so tightly interconnected was the touchstone of Gordon’s internationalist ideology. He was convinced Canada had no alternative but to participate fully in building a “strengthened and collaborative international society.” Trudeau in turn accused Gordon of overstating the influence Canada could bring to bear on international affairs. While agreeing that Canadians “should be resolute in the pursuit of our ideals,” Trudeau insisted his government must be “realistic in appraising our own effectiveness in influencing the nuclear powers [and] cannot afford the luxury of concentrating our attention on one or two simple goals, no matter how important they may be.”66 Barely a year after this 1982 exchange with Gordon, Trudeau was markedly less diffident about Canada’s ability to reshape international events. In a spirit more in keeping with the confident internationalism of his predecessor Lester Pearson than with his own largely uninspired record on international relations, Trudeau flew off on a six-month mission to national capitals around the world hoping to recruit support for  a plan to ease tensions between the two nuclear superpowers. Expressions of ill-will between the United States and the Soviet Union – both rhetorically and in the physical deployment of their expanding nuclear arsenals – were approaching a dangerous new nadir by 1983. Trudeau’s self-declared objective was “‘to lower tensions, to civilize the dialogue, to get out of the Cold War.’”67 Trudeau’s “peace mission” was widely publicized, much maligned, and ultimately futile.68 As might be expected, Gordon did not join the naysayers deriding the prime minister’s grand ambassadorial initiative, but heralded him as a bold visionary. He saw in Trudeau’s unconventional attempt at shuttle diplomacy a promising sign that, at least within the peace movement, the people were not always “ahead of their leaders.” In an essay “Global Perspective” written shortly before the peace mission was announced, a dispirited Gordon concluded that Clausewitz’s warning that war was “‘too serious a matter for the generals’” could aptly be restated as “‘Peace is too serious a matter for the politicians.’”69 Then out of the blue Trudeau’s globetrotting venture to open a dialogue for disarmament and peace gave him reason to think otherwise. He encouraged Trudeau to implement an assertive Canadian foreign policy that replaced recent pandering to the United States with

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innovative leadership among the world’s middle powers. The resulting “coalition of the reasonable” could help extricate the superpowers from a nuclear arms race that imperilled the future of civilization. To start the process with a gambit both practicable and symbolic, Gordon recommended to Trudeau that his government revoke the permission previously granted the United States to test cruise missiles over Canadian territory. He maintained the Americans would not consider the action a rebuff by their closest ally – surely an unduly confident assessment of neighbourly understanding – so long as the policy reversal was presented as just one piece in a “collective undertaking that would liberate both superpowers from a bind and stalemate.”70 Gordon also advised Trudeau that worsening global food shortages threatened millions of lives, transcended “ideological and strategic lines of confrontation,” and were poised to rival the proliferation of nuclear weapons as the greatest threat to political stability and world peace. He entreated the prime minister to pilot “a great new combined effort to mobilize the resources of the world community,” with the goal of allocating to food aid programs a level of funding equivalent to 1 per cent of the total amount spent annually on armaments globally. According to Gordon this transfer of monies would purchase enough food and related resources to reduce by half the number of the world’s starving. The international infrastructure to administer so colossal an undertaking – “non-governmental organizations, ministries of health and agriculture in developing countries, bi-lateral cooperation programs and international specialized agencies” – was already in place. All that was lacking was a demonstrated Canadian willingness to take the lead.71 Gordon had long chaffed over the “all-too-typical Canadian exercise in parochial and inward-looking concern,” manifested in the public’s general indifference to the fact that a growing number of domestic issues – economic, political, social, and cultural – were integrally related to international affairs.72 In response, he prepared – at approximately the same time as Trudeau launched the 1983 peace mission – a statement enumerating three overarching foreign policy objectives for Canada. The first objective, “security and nuclear disarmament,” reflected Gordon’s disquiet over Canada’s recent retreat from a “fully internationalist” foreign policy. He thought the country’s current level of international commitment paled in comparison to its previous enthusiasm for collaborative bodies like UNEF and the United Nations Atomic Energy Commission. Gordon also criticized Canada’s endorsement of American militarism, as demonstrated by a willingness to support

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cruise missile testing. This action made Canada complicit in raising the nuclear arms race to “a new plateau of confrontation” and encouraging the United States to challenge the “tradition that national security must be based on the balanced military strength of nation states in a potentially adversary relationship.” A far more appropriate role for Canada, given its budding reputation as a peacekeeper, would be to rally governments in every hemisphere to pressure the superpowers into implementing comprehensive nuclear weapons test bans and arms reduction programs. Gordon’s second foreign policy objective was premised on the notion that “the building of peace” followed from “the building of a good society.” He thus repeated his time-honoured call to Canadians to take the lead creating “a stable and equitable economic order” in which the material essentials of life were available to all peoples, in developed and developing countries alike. Finally, in order to realize the first two foreign policy objectives, it was imperative that Canada participate actively in the ongoing development of “viable international practices and institutions.” This third objective should be carried out preferably, but not necessarily, under the auspices of the United Nations.73 Gordon found an influential voice for his internationalist prescriptions in the Group of 78, a lobbyist organization named after the number of signatories to its 1982 statement on foreign policy objectives for Canada. As one of the group’s chief representatives throughout the 1980s, Gordon regularly adjured Canada’s political elites to lead in an assortment of UN-based international initiatives. Few global quandaries, it seemed, were too obdurate for the Group of 78 to tackle. Its recommendations to the Canadian government included strategies for reducing the threat of nuclear war, promoting world peace, protecting human rights, and eradicating Third World poverty. All desirable ends were attainable, or so Gordon and the Group of 78 implied, provided enlightened governments consolidated their efforts under the umbrella of an equitable and cooperative international order.74 In 1985, for example, Gordon lobbied Progressive Conservative prime minister Brian Mulroney to support the creation of an international satellite-­monitoring agency that enabled developing nations to access information ­essential for managing resources, crops, and natural disasters. To Mulroney’s secretary of state for external affairs, Joe Clark, he preached an ideal of “security” that no longer involved “enclosing ourselves in a fortress of privilege and protection.” The better alternative entailed “transforming our social and physical environments so that the welfare of all peoples is the primary objective, and security the happy consequence.” The

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Group of 78 added its voice to Gordon’s in censuring the Canadian government’s “immoral” policy of facilitating tests of American cruise missiles. Another target was South Africa’s apartheid regime. In 1988 the Group of 78 pressured Clark and Mulroney to impose comprehensive economic sanctions on South Africa in order to provide a “moral boost” to the people and leadership of that country’s besieged black communities. An added benefit of sanctions, Gordon explained to Clark, was their implicit message to the rest of the world that Canada was beholden to no other nation in charting a completely independent foreign policy. Leading by example, Canada ideally would embolden other Western countries and members of the United Nations to support “a free and just democratic society” in South Africa.75 Amidst the surfeit of thorny global challenges marking the 1980s, one event in particular – the international community’s fervent response to horrific revelations of famine in the east African country of Ethiopia – caused Gordon to wonder if perhaps the world had unwittingly “crossed one of the great dividing lines of history.” He commented how extensive television coverage of the human carnage during 1984 momentarily “made a community of the world” in two significant ways: through the almost universal expression of revulsion over the projected images of starving masses, and by merging grassroots famine relief campaigns from across the globe. This was proof, Gordon concluded, that the “greatest technological achievement” of the age was not space exploration but “the discovery of humanity,” particularly of “neighbors who share our planet but who have been excluded from all the resources that we enjoy and on which our good life depends.” He dared to imagine that if the international community could unite selflessly in a partnership to liberate destitute Africans from their crushing scarcity, then perhaps it was not too idealistic to hope that a global crusade was possible for replacing the “nuclear insanity we mistake for security” with the “progressive creation of a just society” where material needs are met and “human aspirations” realized.76 Gordon counselled David MacDonald, a United Church of Canada clergyman and Canada’s emergency coordinator for African famine relief in the Progressive Conservative government of Prime Minister Joe Clark, to treat the Ethiopian disaster as more than a temporary food distribution ­operation. The objective should be nothing less than devising and implementing strategies to make all of Africa self-sufficient in food. It would be “a tragedy of the first order,” Gordon cautioned MacDonald, if the Canadian government squandered this unparalleled opportunity

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to exercise international leadership in righting a humanitarian crisis ­extending far beyond Ethiopian borders.77 Gordon’s wishful conjectures about the potential for a greater global benefit – symbolic as well as actual – emerging from Ethiopians’ incomprehensible despair could possibly be dismissed as the improbable musings of an elderly and naturally sanguine man. To be fair, even well into his eighties Gordon derived energy and purpose from challenging Canadians to join him in championing an independent and progressive internationalism. Throughout his final decade of life, this message took several forms, of which just a few examples will suffice. In 1985, he expressed dismay that a fawning Prime Minister Mulroney was “completely in the pocket of his fellow Irishman in the US White House,” President Ronald Reagan. “In our old Oxford days,” Gordon reminisced, “we Canadians used to talk about the implications of our emerging from a former colonial status with the maintenance of close relations in the new Commonwealth.” To witness sixty years later a “new colonialism exerted by the imperial power to the south of us,” and the Mulroney government’s seeming obliviousness to the threat it posed Canadian sovereignty, was an unwelcome and even “frightening experience.”78 Two years later, at the age of eighty-six, Gordon was still decrying Canada’s demeaning allegiance to an “outmoded” foreign policy that bowed before American “great-power domination,” looked to a “fully militarized NATO” rather than the United Nations to maintain international security, and accepted as inevitable the adversarial world view that divided East from West in an escalating arms race.79 When asked in 1987 to comment on the Mulroney government’s plan to establish an international institute to work alongside Third World countries promoting human rights and democracy, Gordon’s testy response was the project rested on the erroneous assumption that Canadians possessed “some special knowledge” about these topics. His years living and working abroad convinced him that “our neighbours” in the developing world had no need for moral or ideological instruction from Canadians about “the nature and value” of democratic institutions or human rights. What they lacked were the material, technological, and human r­ esources essential for present development and future prosperity. If the Canadian government genuinely wished to improve Third World living standards, Gordon recommended it preach less and donate more, ­because development was fuelled by hard cash, not hollow words.80

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As was previously noted, Gordon swiftly traded the language and outlook of the evangelical Christian socialist for those of a worldly and liberal secularist after he left the ordained ministry in 1938 to enter the publishing business in New York. But as his political philosophy evolved over the ensuing half-century, as evidenced by a profound commitment to a functional and humanitarian internationalism, Gordon continued to be influenced by the deeply rooted Christian ethic he once promulgated so earnestly. Periodically over the years, as he contemplated the stark dichotomy in living conditions that differentiated the developed from developing nations, traces of the former preacher and professor of Christian ethics resurfaced. One such occasion was in 1974 when he received an honorary doctoral degree from Brandon University in Manitoba. During his convocation address, Gordon attempted to impress upon the graduates that the “big questions” surrounding the contemporary struggle between rich and poor nations for control of the world’s raw resources contained economic, technological, and political dimensions, but the best answers to those questions were fundamentally ethical in origin.81 He may not have couched his explanation of desirable ethical responses in overtly Christian idioms, but his overarching objective of inspiring the upcoming generation of privileged Canadians to respond generously to expressions of need from their global neighbours was not dissimilar to the evangelical gospel he had preached in the 1920s and 1930s as a young clergyman. Gordon was into his forties when he largely abandoned formal ­religious practices and observances. As he slipped into old age, and ­considerations of mortality became increasingly difficult to ignore, he again expressed openly thoughts about a personal theology. He told an interviewer in 1988, “I hesitate to call myself a Christian,” as the name “suggests an unshakeable commitment which I fear I haven’t got.” All the same, he acknowledged that “the truth of Christianity and the challenge of Christianity have certainly been important factors in my life and are today.” An instinctive idealist who understood that idealism is easily made to appear naive in a modern world where human interactions in politics, business, and most other activities are dominated by a ruthless realpolitik, Gordon concluded that “perhaps Christianity represents the realistic approach to a peaceful, secure, and just world as well as to a loving and fulfilled life.”82 When he was eighty-three he confided to the celebrated Canadian author Margaret Laurence that he did not wish to downplay “the value of personal religion.” However,

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the lessons of a long lifetime had reinforced his belief that in order for “religious faith” to be genuine it must find “expression in mutual human relations and in social action.” In the commentary “Christianity and Crisis” he composed at around the same time, Gordon applauded the recent ecumenical surge in North America for reducing traditional doctrinal and institutional divisions within the Christian church, and accentuating “the imperatives of a common faith in an age of crisis.” Denominational distinctions, he contended, were a petty and even hazardous distraction in a “nuclear age,” when the greater need was for religious leaders firmly grounded in “ethical realism” to help shape a single human community out of an “interdependent world.”83 Gordon’s generation had experienced the tail end of a major cultural shift in Canada as the Christian church abdicated to the secular state much of what he dubbed its “missionary effort” in education, health care, and the workplace. Christian precepts henceforth constituted a steadily diminishing voice in a political culture of increasing ideological diversity. Yet this was no reason, Gordon believed, for the church to ­recede into silent irrelevance. It could perform a vital role impressing upon well-to-do governments that they were morally obligated to contribute international aid on levels commensurate with their own populations’ affluence and technical expertise. Before the church could credibly exercise moral suasion over public policymakers, however, Gordon recommended putting its own ethical house in order. In 1964 he upbraided Ernest Marshall Howse, the moderator of the United Church of Canada, for his denomination’s claim that “the salvation of our immortal souls” was its “main concern.” Gordon concluded from the United Church’s lacklustre record on foreign aid that it was “content to watch our brothers perish,” regardless of the condition of their souls.84 The following year in an essay “The Christian and the World Community,” Gordon criticized the Western church for sacrificing its “powers of confrontation and criticism” on the altar of social respectability and joining secular society in paying obeisance to mammon in flagrant disregard of Christian ethical standards. All in all, Gordon did not renounce Christianity, but he certainly lost confidence in the institution to which he had vowed allegiance at his ordination so many years earlier. He refused to condone institutional Christianity’s vacillation “between a confidence that progress and enlightenment will overcome the major problems which we face, and a resignation to the power factors which determine the pattern of a polarized world.”85 Consequently, in the second half of his life Gordon shared an increasingly crowded pew with

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many others who felt there was no contradiction in claiming to be part of the Christian church, without actually being in it, either figuratively or literally. Even after he made the determined choice not to pursue the political causes and social reforms dearest to him from within the precincts of the institutional church, Gordon’s activism continued to be shaped by an ethical imperative that was Christian at its core and traceable to his early upbringing and education. Gordon’s lingering cynicism over the church’s ethical legitimacy was vividly expressed in 1983 when he was invited by the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives to participate in a public forum responding to recent controversial statements by the Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops on the depressed state of the domestic economy. The bishops’ proposals to reform the prevailing capitalist system sparked a dialogue of such intensity that Gordon quipped it was like being “back among the Christian socialists of the 1930s.” In his correspondence with William Edward Power, bishop of the Diocese of Antigonish in Nova Scotia, Gordon as expected expanded the geographic parameters of the discussion, maintaining that “as members of a spiritual world community we have a duty to participate in the solution of global problems.” He needled Power over the “tendency of all churches to conform to the status quo and not take too much umbrage at the unethical behaviour of economic overlords on whose bounty the institutional church is wont to depend.” In every generation, Gordon continued – and here he may have been recalling his own involvement in the FCSO half a century earlier – “prophetic radicals” emerged proclaiming bold new directions for the church to follow. Yet throughout the ages Christ’s teachings remained a perpetual reminder for the religious community of the essential “socio-ethical responsibilities arising from Christian faith.” These obligations, he reminded the bishop, had been forcefully expressed in the “great encyclicals” Rerum Novarum (1891) and Quadragesimo Anno (1931), which together affirmed social justice and social charity as the guiding principles of economic life and exposed the ethical limitations of unrestrained capitalism and totalitarian communism.86 On another occasion later that year Gordon cited Matthew 25:31–40 as the “most significant passage” in the New Testament, based on its declaration that “the ultimate judgment of one’s devotion to God is one’s response to the needs of others.” His exegesis of the scriptural text persuaded Gordon that individual faithfulness on its own was insufficient to absolve the believer; an appropriate communal response was demanded as well. Personally, he confessed a “deep sense of guilt”

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for belonging to a wealthy society that, for all its charitable pretensions, permitted forty thousand children worldwide to die every day from malnutrition-related diseases.87 Suffice it to say, the social conscience and concern for the innocent that was awakened in Gordon in the aftermath of the First World War when he witnessed up close the effects of starvation on Europe’s dispossessed masses had still not dimmed sixty years later. The vibrant physical constitution and sharp intellect that sustained Gordon throughout his life did not fail him in old age. He largely succeeded in maintaining familiar regimens until almost the day of his death, an enviable accomplishment for anyone in his late eighties. A sadly inevitable consequence of living to an advanced age was that Gordon’s circle of contemporaries continued to shrink over time. When he eulogized his closest friend and intellectual companion Frank Scott at his funeral held on the McGill University campus in 1985, it was no doubt a poignant reminder that the end of Gordon’s era was fast approaching.88 Yet to his credit Gordon never retired, in any conventional meaning of the term, to a reduced state of intellectual disinterest or detachment. At the ripe age of eighty-two he congratulated Margaret Laurence for a recent speech in which she exhorted, “‘As we grow older we should become not less radical but more so.’” Gordon thought this a mantra deserving praise. He recalled to Laurence that he had known his “share of foolish young radicals,” most of whom eventually discovered “that to get on in the world you accept the beliefs and values of the establishment.” The observation was in part autobiographical, for Gordon too had mellowed ideologically over the decades since attracting widespread public notice in the 1930s for espousing polarizing political beliefs that many thought did not befit a clergyman. Through it  all he maintained a healthy scepticism, out of which periodically emerged revealing hints of his former radicalism. If when “young and inexperienced,” he explained to Laurence, one “suspected that the ­values of the establishment were wrong,” the gradual accumulation of ­experience and wisdom often reinforced those original suspicions – unless, of course, the fatigue that typically accompanies advancing age increased “the temptation to acquiesce.”89 Gordon never acquiesced in the deep-seated morality at the core of his commitment to social justice and a humane internationalism. Nor did he indicate until very late that he was even slowed by fatigue. Periodically he contemplated writing his autobiography, but “the intrusion of today’s imperatives,” he said, always got in the way. His former

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colleague and fellow Christian socialist from the Great Depression, Eugene Forsey, encouraged Gordon in 1983 to make publishing his memoir a priority. Forsey described his own life as having been “more variegated” than Gordon’s – a debatable distinction – and marked by “far more nonsense, sins and failures.” This was surely a good reason, Forsey contended, “why I should refuse to write my memoirs, and why you should write yours.” In any event, Forsey published his autobiography A Life on the Fringe in 1990.90 Gordon’s efforts to document his life never advanced beyond intermittent attempts to organize his voluminous personal papers and draft some tentative chapter outlines, for death arrived with little warning. Gordon was driving through downtown Ottawa late on the afternoon of 23 February 1989 when he suffered a stroke. He died the following day in Ottawa General Hospital, never having fully regained consciousness. At the funeral three days later held in Ottawa’s DominionChalmers United Church, the Toronto MP David MacDonald eulogized Gordon as a former professor of Christian ethics who, over the subsequent decades, was determined not only to seek truth, but “also lived what he taught.” His brother-in-law Humphrey Carver, in addition to highlighting Gordon’s “sense of justice and compassion” and “genius for creating friendships,” accurately characterized the elderly activist’s “departure” as “the end of an era.” Yet it was another Gordon acquaintance, Clyde Sanger, an author, journalist, and close observer of international affairs, who told a particularly illuminating anecdote in the Ottawa Citizen the day following the funeral. Less than a week before his death, King had accompanied Ruth to a small social gathering during which the guests were invited to read their favourite poems. Since St Valentine’s Day had recently passed, the other attendees read love poems. King chose instead to read poems by his close friend and intellectual soul mate Frank Scott. “The best moment of the evening,” Sanger recalled, “came when our host played a record of Scott reading his poem “Surfaces,” and King’s eyes glistened at those final lines: Come, flaunt the brief prerogative of life, Dip your small civilized foot in this cold water And ripple, for a moment, the smooth surface of time.91

Gordon’s retirement from the United Nations in 1961 and return to Canada at the age of sixty marked the beginning of a further twentyeight years of vigorous involvement in social justice and human rights

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as he persistently strove to “ripple … the smooth surface” of Canadian complacency. In many respects these inordinately busy years represent the logical continuation and culmination of a life dedicated to public service, political reform, social justice, and ethical responsibility. How­ ever, it was Gordon’s steadfast efforts at persuading Canadians to replace their “all-too-typical … exercise in parochial and inward-looking concern” with a more benevolent form of internationalism that best distinguishes this extended final phase of his public life. His belief that an identifiably Canadian variant of internationalism could help correct human rights abuses globally, calm military and economic rivalries abroad, and be a distraction from political disunity at home placed Gordon at some remove from majority public opinion at the time, for if, as John Holmes observed, internationalism in Canada “‘was almost a religion in the decade after the Second World War,’” it was not a universally accepted creed thereafter. As the Cold War settled in, and world affairs increasingly were dominated by two ideologically opposed superpowers locked in a nuclear-armed stand-off, opportunities for independent international action by a middle power such as Canada were severely constricted. Seeing strength in alliances, Canadians responded by parking their support, in the words of the political scientist Kim Nossal, with several “ritualistic ‘cornerstones’” of foreign policy, most notably the UN, the British Commonwealth, and NATO. Gordon too was a strong proponent of these “institutional manifestations of Canadian internationalism,” the UN in particular, but he bridled at the complacency of his fellow citizens who seemed content when Canada merely joined international organizations without assuming dynamic and autonomous leadership within them. Not until Pierre Trudeau launched a peace initiative in 1983 – he was approaching the end of his fifteen-year run as prime minister and eager to buff his legacy as a world figure – was this orthodoxy of Canadian internationalism challenged. A minority voice once again, Gordon enthusiastically applauded Trudeau’s efforts to reintroduce Canadians and the rest of the world to the “classical internationalist goals” of open dialogue and compromise as humankind’s best defence against the grave risks posed by the proliferation of nuclear weapons.92 In matters of global peace and security, Gordon urged Canada to stand tall as an example to other middle and small powers that they too, even when acting independently, could exert a moral influence over the direction of the Cold War by refusing, for example, to assist in the development and proliferation of nuclear weapons. Admittedly his grand

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expectations of what a marginal power like Canada could accomplish internationally sometimes appeared unrealistic, a charge Gordon is unlikely to have refuted. It is said that experience is preceded by idealism and followed by cynicism; if so, then Gordon’s career is surely an exception, for solid experience informed his idealistic views of the UN and Canada’s potentially instrumental role within it. He had witnessed the UN stumble repeatedly over the years in attempting to effect an equitable and peaceful international order. In addition, he was frequently embarrassed that Canada did not demonstrate on the world stage greater independence, magnanimity, and awareness of its ethical obligations, particularly in relation to opportunities for furthering development assistance and human rights. If Gordon was at times a disappointed idealist, he did not consider lingering cynicism an acceptable alternative. After many years living abroad in regions much more culturally diverse and far less affluent than Canada, Gordon recognized that the world was not nearly as amenable to blatant ideological interpretation as he once had professed as a Christian socialist. Ironically, the more integrated the post-war global community became, the less it seemed to Gordon that its many separate parts could be accommodated within a single economic or political design. Hence the appeal of an essentially benevolent internationalism that depended less on the intricacies of political ideology than on the acknowledgment by enlightened peoples and nation states of their ethical obligation to forswear individual selfinterest for the sake of fostering the global common good. The upshot was that Gordon’s belief in internationalism’s potential to bridge broad ideological chasms might be judged too idealistic by half. His claim, for instance, that Canadians would be less inclined to dwell on domestic differences imperilling national unity, if only they would rally around a shared internationalist objective, downplayed the depth of alienation many Quebeckers and western Canadians felt by the 1970s. Similarly, when contemplating how the international community might help resolve the Arab-Israeli divide in the Middle East, a region about which Gordon was especially knowledgeable, he repeatedly understated the deep-rooted obstacles to negotiating a lasting peace there. On the other hand, he demonstrated commendable prescience by predicting that unless headway was made settling territorial disputes in the Middle East, the rise of militant Islamic fundamentalism would inevitably bring dire consequences to an already volatile region. Few of Gordon’s Canadian contemporaries could have matched his knowledge of the UN’s internal machinery or been as familiar with the

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bureaucratic impediments and ideological biases that affected its decisions. Likewise, not many equalled his unmitigated support for the cooperative principles that underlay the UN or placed greater confidence in its potential as a vehicle for international dialogue and action. This high level of enthusiasm explains Gordon’s openness to schemes for a limited form of world government, and his conviction that nation states, once provided the right incentives, would freely forfeit responsibility to the international body for an activity as integral to their sovereignty as defence. The idea was a non-starter. Then as now, the UN’s missteps typically attracted far more attention than its successes. In the eyes of all but the most tolerant UN watchers, the international body clearly lacked the legitimacy, much less the operational capacity, to serve as the world’s police force. It bears emphasizing that even Gordon’s faith in the UN had limits. He was deeply disappointed, for instance, over its 1982 settlement of the 200 nautical mile ocean and seabed claims aired during the Law of the Sea negotiations. The UN convention, he concluded, had bowed to conflicting national pressures by agreeing to a convoluted partitioning of the disputed ocean territories that might satisfy some of the claimants in the short term but was unlikely to produce a workable solution over the long run. Finally, Gordon’s perspicacity must be acknowledged for describing in the 1970s and 1980s the interconnected world community that was to emerge by the early twenty-first century. He explained with impressive foresight how the global spread of sophisticated communications technologies would simultaneously produce a homogenization as well as a heightened differentiation of cultures. Indeed, well before the expression “globalization” and the maxim “Local actions have global effects” became commonplace in the 1990s, Gordon was discussing the transformative effects that unprecedented levels of cultural, social, political, and economic interdependency were eventually to exert on humans everywhere. As these developments brought into sharper focus a world dramatically split between developed and developing, rich and poor, North and South, they reinforced the need for precisely the sort of cooperative local responses to global challenges about which Gordon had been musing for decades. Therefore his self-appointed mission as he travelled from middle to old age was heralding the message, as he once wrote his mother from South Korea, that “the world is our parish.” As the physical and cultural barriers separating nations were diminished by new technologies, it became not only possible but imperative to treat the world as a single interdependent entity. Moreover, each member of

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this global community was morally obligated to provide for the care and support of every other member, while paying special attention to the poorest and weakest among them. In other words, the nations united were a parish. Although the metaphor’s resonance is largely lost in today’s secular Canada, Gordon’s generation would have encountered no difficulty grasping it, particularly those with ties to evangelically inspired social reform movements of an earlier era, for as Gordon’s purposeful life demonstrates, only the missionary’s methods change with the times; the essence of the mission remains unaltered.

Conclusion: “An observer, not an actor”

Attempting to settle on just one event above all others as pivotal to a life spanning almost nine decades could well become a mug’s game. Nevertheless, in King Gordon’s case, the likeliest contender for the distinction was his decision in 1937 to edit the memoir of his recently deceased father. Completing this task led to an unforeseen invitation from the publisher Farrar & Rinehart to join its New York office as a non-fiction editor, and Gordon’s quick turning away from an identity as clergyman and Christian socialist that until then had been integral to his sense of vocation and mission. From that point forward his intellectual focus widened appreciably and irreversibly as he ceased to identify exclusively with the interests of any particular nation or region. Especially after joining the United Nations, he conveyed the impression of an individual who would feel quite at home bearing the passport of a “citizen of the world.” No longer concerned with championing social, economic, and political reforms within Canada principally, Gordon became an assiduous proponent of an eclectic range of internationalist activities and organizations that shared his dream of creating a mutually supportive global community. As a self-confessed “observer, not an actor,” Gordon never pretended to influence the historic events he witnessed, but rather to shape how other people perceived and r­ esponded to those events. In his introduction to Postscript to Adventure, King commented on his father’s reluctance to get “launched on the reminiscences of his life.” Evidently Charles Gordon regarded memoir writing as literally the ­final chapter, an activity best reserved for “the end of life,” since autobiography was “the work of an old man who had laid down the burden of today’s battle and who looked back upon a finished life.”1 Such

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reticence did not prevent Charles from essentially completing his “reminiscences,” whereas King barely started his own. When in his mideighties he at last sorted through the mounds of personal files compiled over a lifetime of writing, preaching, teaching, organizing, campaigning, lobbying, and advocating, he observed “a strange continuity” linking the many constituent activities. As he explained to an interviewer at the time, “Somehow the ‘international’ experience and attitude” central to the second half of his life “was a kind of holistic development out of the more immediate special concentration of the earlier period” when he was drawn to Christian socialism, for Gordon believed there was “no dividing line,” either theologically or ethically, “between the national or domestic and the international or global.”2 On a strictly personal level as well, it obviously was important that he identify the intellectual continuum of his vocationally diverse life. He had conveyed a similar message to the biographer Sandra Djwa not many years before, when he took issue with her “difficult – and indeed wrong” decision to “attempt a dissection” of the life of Gordon’s closest friend, Frank Scott, “into poet, scholar, lawyer, social and political activist, moralist.”3 The criticism was unduly harsh, for Djwa’s book beautifully conveys the complexity and continuities of Scott’s inordinately accomplished life, but Gordon’s insistence that individuals be interpreted as more than the sum of their collective experiences is warranted. Gordon was willing to countenance that “the Presbyterian doctrine of ‘foreordination’” had provided substantial intellectual coherence to his own “lifelong history of apparently fortuitous happenings.” Even so, he did not discount human agency in determining one’s fortunes. The aggregate of his multiple career shifts may indeed have been a discernible intellectual and philosophical progression. But on a purely pragmatic level, Gordon’s frequently straitened circumstances had ­repeatedly required him to secure new sources of paid employment; overall he demonstrated impressive versatility and open-mindedness in seeking them out. However, he also reserved ample opportunity for fate to exercise its often enigmatic influence. In his 1986 review of Doug Francis’s biography of Frank Underhill, with whom King had collaborated closely in the League for Social Reconstruction during the 1930s, he proposed, “It is the accidents on the road rather than careful planning and accurate map-reading that frequently determine the course of  one’s life.”4 Unquestionably that had been true of his personal ­peripatetic path. The sequence of “foreordained” career opportunities that conveniently materialized with little apparent input on Gordon’s

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part – the student mission parishes, his professorship in Christian ethics at UTC, two New York–based editorships, and John Humphrey’s invitation to join the UN Division of Human Rights, to name just a few – had coalesced to give Gordon’s work a logical and coherent ideological “progression from left-wing socialism, to Christian socialism, to anti-fascism, to full internationalism.”5 What Gordon did not specifically identify as linking all parts of his intellectual and vocational “progression” was his core belief that the beneficiaries of privilege and good fortune, individuals and nation states alike, faced an ethical imperative to provide for their less fortunate counterparts. This feeling of bounden moral duty, which King first imbibed under his parents’ tutelage, was later manifested in his advocacy of the social gospel and Christian socialism during the 1920s and 1930s. Integral to these beliefs was Gordon’s steadfast idealism, which formed the cornerstone of his activism in all manner of circumstances and settings. Not many months before his death he recalled that a friend once commented, “‘King, I admire your idealism.’” In response, Gordon “‘blushed a little and thanked him’” before concluding, “‘What he means is that in contrast with his realism, my idealism merits a kindly pat on the head.” At that point Gordon recognized, “‘Perhaps I am the realist. And perhaps Christianity represents the realistic approach to a peaceful, secure, and just world as well as to a loving and fulfilled life.’” Late in life, as we have seen, Gordon admitted reluctance “to call myself a Christian,” feeling he lacked the “unshakeable commitment.” All the same, when explaining the unbroken warp of his many vocations, Gordon recognized that “the truth of Christianity and the challenge of Christianity have certainly been important factors in my life,”6 even if after moving to New York in 1938 he rarely resorted to overtly sectarian or theological language and imagery in pursuing his activist agendas. Valuable perspective in this regard is provided by Richard Allen, who has pointed out in his comprehensive biography of Salem Bland, an older contemporary of Gordon’s, that the fact that an individual’s work “was cast in secular language did not make it less religious either in its motivation or in its results in social policy.”7 A similar point of clarification should be applied to Gordon as well. A revealing commentary by Gordon about his lingering respect for Christian belief as a motivator of social reform in a world where secular forms and opinions often prevailed was a speech he made at St Francis Xavier University in October 1978 commemorating the Antigonish Movement’s fiftieth anniversary. The “underlying and well-reasoned

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theology” of the Antigonish Movement that he had encountered while travelling through Nova Scotia during the depths of the Great Depression had not been lost on Gordon, even four decades later and after experiencing a rich array of cultures and polities internationally. He spoke of “all human relations” being essentially spiritual, “if they were to be valid and … lead to human fulfilment.” This he considered a “portable” truth and “no sectarian creed.” Crediting the religious realism of the Antigonish Movement with saving it “from sentimental idealism as well as from cynical despair,” its greatest accomplishment was in staring down “human greed” and “the destructive carnage resulting from the exercise of selfish power,” while empowering ordinary individuals to loose the “chains” that prevented them from creating the sort of “community” that fulfilled their material and spiritual needs “as a child of God.”8 By 1978 this type of religious vocabulary and imagery had long ceased to be Gordon’s norm. But in this instance, intentionally or otherwise, he was describing an outlook and attitude that was as much autobiographical as it was a portrayal of the Antigonish Movement. In effect, he was revealing the internal inspiration behind the very public political ideals of a unique and distinguished Canadian internationalist. Gordon’s idyllic vision of the world functioning as one inter­ connected and mutually supportive parish, its diverse members freely sacrificing self-interest in order to devise common solutions to shared problems, was easily dismissed as fanciful in his own time. It is a ­Weltanschauung that may very well, by necessity, resonate more forcefully in the present century. Shortly before his untimely death in 2010, the brilliant historian Tony Judt published Ill Fares the Land. The book is a moving paean to social democracy, a political philosophy Judt acknowledged as out of favour in North America and Europe, but that he believed offers the best hope for reversing “the growing inequality in and between societies” that has generated “so many social pathologies” internationally since the 1980s. The present age that Judt described is rife with endemic insecurities – economic, physical, and political – and consists of “much to be angry about: growing inequalities of wealth and opportunity; injustices of class and caste; economic exploitation at home and abroad; corruption and money and privilege occluding the arteries of democracy.” The resulting economic and emotional morass, he argued, highlights “a practical need” for the traditional social democratic prescription of “strong states and interventionist governments.” Judt adjured the remnants of today’s Left – if “it is to be taken seriously again” – to “find its voice”

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and take up this cause. Were King Gordon alive today to see how closely the continuing insecurities, inequalities, and injustices of the early twenty-first century that Judt found so troubling resemble the circumstances that were the raison d’être for his own activism throughout much of the twentieth century, he surely would greet Judt’s cri de coeur with a resolute “Amen.” But above all it is Judt’s final rallying cry that is pertinent to this account of Gordon’s public life and political ideals, for markedly similar words and ideas are found in hundreds of speeches, sermons, journal articles, books, memoranda, consultancy reports, newspaper stories, and radio scripts Gordon composed throughout his long lifetime. “Social democrats,” according to Judt, “need to learn once again how to think beyond their borders: there is something ­deeply incoherent about a radical politics grounded in aspirations to equality or social justice that is deaf to broader ethical challenges and humanitarian ideals.”9 A comparable summons to political radicalism, but one grounded in peaceful idealism and insisting upon the moral necessity of social change, was at the heart of Gordon’s remarkably persistent and varied activism that began in the 1920s and carried through to the end of the 1980s. When he took up residence in Canada in 1961 after an absence of twenty-two years, Gordon was not nearly so vocal and public a supporter of social democracy as he had been prior to emigrating to the United States in 1938. Having contributed intellectually to the founding of the social democratic Co-operative Commonwealth Federation, he never fully transferred his loyalties to its ideological successor, the New Democratic Party. Gordon’s disenchantment was with the NDP, which he sensed lacked the CCF’s far-reaching vision and passionate drive, and not with the fundamental principles of social democracy, to which he in fact remained committed for life. Thus as early as the 1970s and 1980s Gordon was reacting against what the political scientists Nelson Wiseman and Benjamin Isitt documented in 2007 as social democracy’s “increasingly defensive posture” in Canada in the early twenty-first century, observations subsequently reinforced by Judt’s description of events in the United States. They describe Canada’s social democrats adopting, along with their political equivalents abroad, “an amorphous, decentralized and growing global network of social movements that shunned electoral solutions to social and economic ills.” Whereas social democracy had been characterized by “systematic thinking and theorizing,” the current generation of leftists errs by taking a largely “non-theoretical” approach to politics and “reflexively

Conclusion 315

supporting whatever movements of poor and oppressed groups arise on the ground.”10 Plainly there was little in this modern adaptation of the Left to inspire a seasoned social and political activist of Gordon’s background and disposition. A consummate joiner of organizations pledged to social, economic, and political reform, Gordon understood that activism was premised on planning, which in turn depended upon identifiable organizational structures and ideologically consistent strategies, not reflexivity. Beginning in the 1920s as an impressionable young university student, Gordon over the ensuing decades and from an eclectic mix of geographical locations engaged with each of the four evolutionary phases Wiseman and Isitt attribute to social democracy – the social gospel, social planning, social security, and social movements – while consistently championing the “common threads” of “equality of condition and a questioning of market forces” linking all of them.11 Over the final decade or two of his life, Gordon could take satisfaction from knowing that the early battles for social and economic justice in which he was a prominent voice had impelled Canada’s governments at all levels to erect social welfare nets, then among the most comprehensive in the world. Nevertheless, when contemplating the extensive social and political reforms still remaining to be achieved domestically and internationally in order to excise capitalism’s remaining inequities, Gordon was sceptical that the inheritors of Canada’s social democratic torch were equal to the task. Of the many awards Gordon received later in life in recognition of his work as a humanitarian and internationalist, one stands out as especially representative. In 1980 Governor General Edward Schreyer presented him with the United Nations Association in Canada’s Pearson Peace Medal. George Ignatieff, the UNA president at the time, used the occasion to recount Gordon’s unrelenting efforts at educating Canadians about international peace and development, and in “promoting international cooperation for the removal of the causes of war.” Gordon commented when accepting the award that there were hopeful signs afoot of a radical new approach to achieving and maintaining peace all across the world. Ever the optimist, he described how a movement “away from the traditional view of world affairs based on the pursuit of national goals and the threat of military might” reflected a heightened awareness globally of values embedded in the UN Charter. This shift was most notable in the “international sponsorship of human rights in the growing struggle against colonialism,” and “in the sensitizing of

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member nations to the rights of their own citizens.”12 Although not stated explicitly during the ceremony, the point in granting Gordon the Pearson Peace Medal was to acknowledge that he, as much as any private citizen, deserved credit for ensuring, through his incessant public lobbying and activism, that Canadians were global partners in that value shift. Gordon’s copious spoken and written commentaries on international affairs were as much descriptive as prescriptive; he was especially adept at placing contemporary issues and events within their correct historical context. Like any serious student of history, he understood that a preliminary step in crafting improved public policies in the present was to comprehend how flawed decisions in the past contributed to social injustice and dysfunction. Yet Gordon’s foremost concern was to tell politicians, policymakers, and the public what the international community could become, not what it had been. To that end, his myriad contributions to public debate were frequently variations on the ­recurring theme of a “new international economic order,” which he imagined as the gradual erasure of foreign and domestic dividing lines, as more nation states began to accept that the solution to many of their internal problems rested with the creation of a unified and cooperative global society. Gordon pointed to recent discoveries in the food and energy sectors by scientists working as a single multinational community that paid little heed to ethnic or national distinctions as evidence of an international collaboration benefiting all participants.13 Flaying North America’s prevalent ethnocentrism, he also insisted upon widespread consultation with the intended recipient nations to ensure that aid programs fully respected and made provision for their social and political cultures and structures. He accurately portrayed Third World development challenges as far more complex than many First World government bureaucrats and aid agencies were willing to admit, and took special umbrage with the “favorite myth” that so long as poor countries’ overall productivity increased, the economic benefits inevitably would trickle down to include even the least favoured groups in society. An appropriate mantra for Gordon, had he adopted one, would have been “Self-sufficiency trumps charity.” Wealthy societies, he contended, although well-meaning, were too often misled by the conventional wisdom that if they managed to “spare even one per cent of their income, and distribute it to the poor in the so-called ‘developing countries,’ all will be well.”14 Gordon criticized this myopic approach for

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fostering dependencies on foreign benevolence without equipping the peoples of developing nations to provide for their own needs. Moreover, he detected in the post-1945 “liquidation of the colonial system” an unprecedented opportunity to make a fairer allocation of the earth’s resources among developed and developing nations. The result would also be the elimination of social and economic disparities within developing countries, a critical component of the new international economic order. Gordon granted that his vision smacked of utopianism and was unlikely to resonate with donor communities appalled by accounts of corrupt elites in some developing nations enriching themselves with absconded aid funds at the expense and unalloyed misery of their poorer compatriots. Without denying such misappropriations took place, Gordon countered that “at the heart of every revolutionary movement is a burning demand for absolute justice” that must never succumb to cynicism.15 Idealists by definition tend to be minority voices in the causes they embrace, and Gordon’s espousal of internationalist ideals was no exception. Needless to say, the high threshold for benevolence in foreign policy that he challenged Canadians and their leaders to attain was not realized in his own day, nor has it been since. Robert Bothwell has ­referred to Canada’s aid initiatives after the Second World War as “a ­continuation of the old missionary impulse” that prompted earlier generations to send “hundreds of Canadian clergy abroad to dispense goodness and religion in Asia and Africa.”16 While a similar “altruistic impulse” certainly was central to Gordon’s activism, recent studies of Canadians’ internationalist sentiments reveal that many are satisfied simply paying lip service to these traditional ideals. Attracted in principle to “a pure form of Pearsonian internationalism,” Canadians have been described in practice as “selective” internationalists for basing foreign aid commitments almost exclusively on economic considerations “designed to promote immediate self-interest.”17 Some observers credit Canadians for typically endorsing aid programs “anchored in social values,” even if overall their generosity is “guarded” and support levels tend to be “‘a mile wide and an inch deep.’”18 Gordon would not have been so forbearing of half-measures. On the other hand, he would have appreciated how easily the absence of a “single, monolithic conception of internationalism” among Canadians could be misconstrued as indecisiveness or indifference. After all, he understood better than most that sound foreign policy decisions must incorporate a complex mosaic of interests and priorities: international trade and investment,

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bilateralism and multilateralism, humanitarianism, poverty reduction and development assistance, reversal of social inequality, protection of human rights, the relationship between military strength and security guarantees, and determination of how distinct Canada’s foreign policy can or should be from that of the United States.19 Admittedly it is not possible to take a definitive measure of Gordon’s more than sixty years of activism. It will be recalled that he once described his professional life as taking place “just on the perimeter of things,” that he was “an observer, not an actor.” On other occasions Gordon acknowledged having “seen a lot of history in the making” and occupying “a ringside view” of contemporary history unfolding, even if from a vantage point “at too close range” and therefore meaningful “only in a much larger historical context.”20 Because he never wielded political power directly, Gordon cannot be credited with initiating specific legislative initiatives or designing actual public policies. It was his life’s mission instead to advocate for what he believed to be the most enlightened social, economic, and political reforms attainable under any given set of circumstances, and to educate and inspire policymakers and the public to opt for the most ethically tenable choices. Gordon began his unique professional odyssey wearing the robes of an evangelical preacher, one divinely called to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. It was a role he never abandoned entirely, even long after he had ceased to be a practising clergyman. John King Gordon would occupy multifarious pulpits in his lifetime, most of them metaphorical and situated nowhere near a physical church. But from inside each of them, regardless of the professional hat he was wearing at the time, and communicating as often as not with his pen as with his voice, he expressed the overarching message that it was the moral obligation of the privileged, acting both individually and collectively, to pursue social, economic, and political justice for those not so well-favoured.

Notes

Introduction 1 “New Social Order in Canada Forecast by C.C.F. Speakers,” Regina Leader-Post, 18 July 1933; “C.C.F. Is Prepared to Govern Canada, Woodsworth Says,” Globe and Mail, 18 July 1933. 2 “‘A Great Canadian’; Crusader for Peace and Justice Dies at 88,” Ottawa Citizen, 25 February 1989. The comment was by Bernard Wood, director of the Ottawa-based Canadian Institute of International Peace and Security. 3 Ibid. 4 Shore, Science of Social Redemption, xviii. 5 I am grateful to the anonymous reader of my manuscript who made this point so effectively. 6 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 77, file 8, John King Gordon (JKG), “On Being Seventy,” 6 December 1970. 7 Spry quoted in Vipond, “National Consciousness in English-Speaking Canada,” 539. 8 Owram, Government Generation, 135–59. 9 Ibid., 153, 158–9. 10 Ibid., 135–43. 11 Marshall, Secularizing the Faith, 8, 19, 229, 250. 12 Gauvreau, “Baptist Religion and the Social Science of Harold Innis,” 161–3, 181. 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “Pilgrim’s Progress: The Journey of J.K.G,” n.d., 3. 14 Bothwell, Alliance and Illusion, 23. 15 Melakopides, Pragmatic Idealism, 13, 25, 38–9, 42–3, 50, 84, 186; Nossal, Politics of Canadian Foreign Policy, 53–4.

320  Notes to pages 11–23 1 6 Stairs, “Liberalism, Methodism, and Statecraft,” 679–80. 17 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 18, “Citation for Professor John King Gordon,” Fall Convocation, Carleton University, 14 November1977 [for the degree of Doctor of Laws, honoris, causa]. 18 Parker, Journals of John Wesley, 74. 19 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 11, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 2 January 1956; vol. 88, file 11, JKG to Helen Gordon, 23 February 1956; vol. 24, file 22, John Humphrey to JKG, 6 January 1956; vol. 26, file 11, JKG to J.A.C. Robertson, 9 January 1956; J.A.C. Robertson to JKG, 7 February 1956. 1 1900–1924 1 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 16, “Oxford: recap,” n.d., 1. 2 Champion, “Mike Pearson at Oxford,” 264. 3 Dobson, “The Ancestry of the Rev. Dr Charles W. Gordon,” 1 January 2005, n.p. 4 DeGraves and Legg, 54 West Gate, 74–5; Bedford, University of Winnipeg, 16–17, 75. 5 DeGraves and Legg, 54 West Gate, 70; Bedford, University of Winnipeg, 17. 6 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 67, file 29, JKG, “The World of Helen Gordon,” n.d.; Gordon, Postscript to Adventure, 417. 7 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 92, file 14, transcript of JKG interview, tape 44, n.d.; DeGraves and Legg, 54 West Gate, 73. 8 DeGraves and Legg, 54 West Gate, 17, 19, 83, 86, 92–3, 97. 9 Fraser, “From Anathema to Alternative,” 42; Allen, Social Passion, 143–4; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 82, file 11, JKG, “The Gordon Cottage,” n.d.; vol. 92, file 14, transcript of JKG interview, tape 44, n.d. 10 For a summary of Charles Gordon’s publishing career, see Marshall, “‘I thank God,’” 178, 187. 11 LAC, MG 30, C 241,vol. 92, file 14, transcript of JKG interview, tape 44, n.d.; vol. 78, file 6, JKG to Shelley, 27 January 1973. 12 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 92, file 16, JKG to Jean Wilson, 1 December 1972; Fraser, “From Anathema to Alternative,” 43. 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 92, file 14, transcript of JKG interview, tape 44, n.d.; vol. 92, file 16, JKG to Jean Wilson, 1 December 1972; Fraser, “From Anathema to Alternative,” 43. 14 Gordon, Postscript to Adventure, 422. 15 Gordon, “World of Helen Gordon,” n.p. 16 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 81, file 14, JKG recollections of YMCA influences, n.d.; vol. 87, file 4, “Pilgrim’s Progress: The Journey of J.K.G.” n.d., 5; vol. 89, file 20, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 19 June 1913.

Notes to pages 23–35 321 17 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Winnipeg: 1900–1921,” n.d., 2; Lois Gordon (sister of JKG), in discussion with the author, 11 June 2003. 18 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Winnipeg: 1900–1921,” n.d., 2. 19 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 23, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 4 January 1919. 20 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 20, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 31 May 1915. 21 DeGraves and Legg, 54 West Gate, 79–80. 22 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 21, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 28 July 1917. 23 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 22, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 17 February 1918. 24 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 22, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 4 December 1918. 25 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “Pilgrim’s Progress: The Journey of J.K.G.,” n.d., 6. 26 Richthammer, “Ralph Connor,” n.p.; DeGraves and Legg, 54 West Gate, 78–9, 85; Doran, Chronicles of Barabbas, 205. 27 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “Pilgrim’s Progress: The Journey of J.K.G.,” n.d., 6; Bumsted, University of Manitoba, 43; Morton, One University, 101. 28 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, no. 15, “Winnipeg: 1900–1921,” n.d., 4. 29 Ibid. 30 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 81, file 14, JKG’s recollections of influence of YMCA, n.d.; vol. 87, file 4, “Pilgrim’s Progres: The Journey of J.K.G.” n.d., 6. 31 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Winnipeg: 1900–1921,” n.d., 5. 32 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 8, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 20 April 1918. 33 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 23, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 4 January 1919. 34 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “Pilgrim’s Progress: The Journey of J.K.G.,” n.d., 6–7; vol. 81, file 14, JKG’s recollections of influence of YMCA, n.d. 35 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Winnipeg: 1900–1921,” n.d., 6; vol. 87, file 4, “Pilgrim’s Progress: The Journey of J.K.G.” n.d., 7. 36 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 1, file 24, JKG diary. 37 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 1, file 24, JKG to Kay, 11 October 1921. 38 Harrison, “College Life, 1918–1939,” 93. 39 Ibid., 94, 96; Champion, “Mike Pearson at Oxford,” 277, 281; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 16, “Oxford: 1921–24,” n.d., 5. 40 Champion, “Mike Pearson at Oxford, 264, 277, 287. 41 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 16, “Oxford: Recap,” n.d. 42 Harrison, “College Life, 1918–1939,” 90; Currie, “Arts and Social Studies, 1914–1939,” 113–14, 116. 43 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 1, file 24, JKG diary. 44 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 67, file 28, “The University and the Global Community” by JKG, University of Manitoba convocation address, 29 May 1981.

322  Notes to pages 37–44 4 5 Harrison, “Politics,” 391. 46 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Oxford: 1921–1924,” n.d., 2–3; vol. 86, file 16, “Oxford: Recap,” n.d., 1. 47 Darwin, “World University,” 610–11. 48 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Oxford, 1921–1924,” n.d., 4; Wenden, “Sport,” 527, 535. 49 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 10, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 2 November 1921. 50 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 3, file 14, “Oxford Goes Up” by JKG, n.d. 51 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 16, “Oxford: Recap,” n.d., 1. 52 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Oxford: 1921–1924,” n.d., 7. 53 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 16, “Oxford: Recap,” n.d., 4; vol. 74, file 2, “Graham Spry: Renaissance Man,” by JKG, n.d., 4. 54 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 4, JKG to Helen Gordon, 25 March 1923; vol. 74, file 2, “Graham Spry – Renaissance Man,” by JKG, n.d., 5–6. 55 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 75, file 1, “How I Look at the World Today,” by JKG, 28–30 June 1983; vol. 2, file 5, “A New Internationalism in Action,” by JKG, ca 1923, 21–3. 56 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Oxford: 1921–1924,” n.d., 9. 57 Ibid., 10; vol. 1, file 24, JKG to unknown recipient, 5 February 1922. 58 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 2, file 7, “E.S.R. in Terms of Finance,” ca 1923. 59 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 2, file 7, Ruth Rouse to JKG, 9 March 1922; Ruth Rouse to JKG, 13 March 1922; vol. 81, file 14, JKG’s recollections of influence of YMCA, n.d.; vol. 86, file 15, “Oxford: 1921–1924,” n.d. 60 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 15, “Oxford, 1921–1924,” n.d., 12. 61 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 1, file 24, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 18 April 1922. 62 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 2, file 5, “A New Internationalism in Action” by JKG, ca 1922, 21–3. 63 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 30, file 2, JKG to W.H. Johns, 5 March 1962; vol. 67, file 28, “The University and the Global Community,” by JKG, University of Manitoba convocation address, 29 May 1981. Riddell later became Canada’s permanent representative at the League of Nations; Harrison, “Politics,” 379, 408–9. 64 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 16, “Oxford: Recap,” n.d., 4. 65 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 3, file 16, “Oxford International Assembly: An Analysis and Review,” June 1923. 66 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 3, file 16, Jack Stirrett to JKG, 21 August 1923; vol. 86, file 15, “Oxford, 1921–1924,” n.d., 12. 67 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 17, C.W. Gordon to JKG, ca 1921. 68 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 10, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 19 November 1922. 69 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 26, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 31 May 1923.

Notes to pages 45–55 323 7 0 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 10, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 29 January 1924. 71 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 2, file 15, JKG reflection, 31 July 1924. 72 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 83, file 15, JKG to Elizabeth Maclaren, 17 March 1984; Champion, “Mike Pearson at Oxford,” 285. 73 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 77, file 8, “On Being Seventy,” by JKG, 6 December 1970. 74 Marsh, Canadians in and out of Work, 388. 75 Porter, Vertical Mosaic, 230, 527. 76 Helmes-Hayes, Measuring the Mosaic, 140, 147, 159. 77 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 75, file 4, JKG to Charley Gordon, 5 May 1958. 2 1924–1931 1 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4 “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 3–4. 2 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to Helen Gordon, 8 December 1924. 3 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 5, file 9, George Wilson to JKG, 13 November 1926; George Wilson to JKG, 19 November 1926. 4 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 75, file 6, “Giscome Diary,” JKG to Ruth Gordon, 2 December 1924. 5 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to Helen Gordon, 12 March 1925; JKG to Helen Gordon, 30 November 1924. 6 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 2 March 1925; JKG to C.W. Gordon, 22 February 1925; vol. 77, file 8, “On Being Seventy,” by JKG, 6 December 1970. 7 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 27, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 15 December 1924; vol. 89, file 28, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 7 January 1925. 8 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 2 March 1925; JKG to C.W. Gordon, 14 June 1925. 9 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 23 March 1925; JKG to Helen Gordon, 6 April 1925; JKG to Helen Gordon, 14 April 1925; JKG to Helen Gordon, 10 May 1925. 10 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 3, file 21, Malcolm MacDonald to JKG, 7 January 1925. Ramsay MacDonald was Britain’s prime minister from January to November 1924, and from June 1929 to June 1935. 11 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 14 May 1925. 12 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 6 July 1925; JKG to Helen Gordon, 9 August 1925. 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 30, file 2, JKG to W.H. Johns, 5 March 1962; vol. 78, file 9, JKG to David Stewart, 13 May 1974; Bedford, University of Winnipeg, 206.

324  Notes to pages 55–65 14 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 78, file 9, JKG to David Stewart, 13 May 1974; Morton, Manitoba, 395. 15 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 5–7. 16 Ibid.; vol. 5, file 13, telegram, JKG to editor, Manitoba Free Press, 6 January 1928; vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 15 November 1926; vol. 77, file 8, “On Being Seventy,” by JKG, 6 December 1970. 17 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 1, “A Discussion of the Industrial and Social Conditions of Pine Falls, a Company Town Owned and Operated by the Manitoba Paper Company Ltd.” 18 Ibid. 19 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 4, file 22, Department of Public Welfare to JKG, 27 January 1928. 20 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 10 January 1928. 21 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 30, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 4 January 1929. 22 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 77, file 8, “On Being Seventy,” by JKG, 6 December 1970. 23 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 4, file 16, “The Idea of Immorality in the Light of Evolution,” by JKG, ca 1927. 24 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 4, file19, “What Does Jesus Mean to Me.” 25 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 5, file 21, JKG to Henry Coffin, 14 August 1929; vol. 30, file 2, JKG to W.H. Johns, 5 March 1962. 26 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 9. 27 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen and C.W. Gordon, 26 September 1929. 28 Handy, History of Union Theological Seminary, 159, 164–6. 29 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 79, file 12, JKG to Frank Adams, 7 January 1979. 30 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 17, Harold H. Tryon to JKG, 8 May 1930. 31 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 25 November 1930. 32 Handy, History of Union Theological Seminary, 147–8, 190–3; New York Times, 12 December 1966. 33 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 69, file 12, “The Relevance of Reinhold Niebuhr,” ca 1975. 34 Brown, Niebuhr and His Age, 7, 231; Lovin, Reinhold Niebuhr and Christian Realism, 6; Handy, History of Union Theological Seminary in New York, 174–5; “Obituary: Dr Harry Ward,” New York Times, 12 December 1966; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 71, file 2, obituary, Ottawa Journal, 3 June 1971. 35 Kennedy, Freedom from Fear, 221. 36 Fox, Reinhold Niebuhr, 140. 37 Fox, Niebuhr, 141; Brown, Niebuhr and His Age, 47; Janzen, “King Gordon’s Christian Socialism,” 351–2, 358.

Notes to pages 65–72 325 38 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 69, file 12, “The Relevance of Reinhold Niebuhr,” by JKG, ca 1975. 39 Brown, Niebuhr and His Age, 25; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 71, file 2, Reinhold Niebuhr obituary, June 1971. 40 Janzen, “Development of Democratic Socialist Ideas,” 259. 41 Brown, Niebuhr and His Age, 235. 42 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 84, file 6, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 25 November 1984. 43 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file, 4, “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 9. 44 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 71, file 2, “Portrait of a Christian Realist,” Ottawa Journal, June 1971. 45 Ibid. 46 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 9; vol. 6, file 18, JKG to Miss Dudley, 23 October 1930. 47 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 18, “Angry Men and an Empty Gymnasium,” by Erdman Harris in Christian Century, 3 December 1930, 1481–2. 48 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 18, JKG to Miss Dudley, 23 October 1930. 49 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 25 November 1930. 50 JKG, “All Quiet on the Waterfront,” 5–6; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 25 November 1930. 51 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 79, file 12, JKG to Frank Adams, 7 January 1979. 52 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 25 November 1930. 53 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 5, JKG to superintendent, ca 1930. 54 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen and C.W. Gordon, 26 September 1929. 55 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 2, sermon by JKG, First Presbyterian Church, ca 1930. 56 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 2 March 1930. 57 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 17, JKG to editor, New Outlook, 19 March 1930. 58 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 20 February 1930. 59 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 17, JKG to editor, New Outlook, 19 March 1930. 60 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 2 March 1930. 61 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 70, file 11, “The L.S.R.: Thirty Years Later,” by JKG, 2 December 1963; vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 17 February 1930.

326  Notes to pages 72–83 6 2 JKG, “Wanted – a New Dogmatism,” 155. 63 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 70, file 11, “The L.S.R.: Thirty Years Later,” by JKG, 2 December 1963; vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 17 February 1930. 64 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 5 December 1929; R.F. MacWilliams to JKG, 6 January 1931; vol. 5, file 21, JKG to R.F. MacWilliams, 1 May 1931. 65 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 16 December 1930. 66 Ibid. 67 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 8 January 1931; JKG to Helen Gordon, 22 January 1931. 68 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 1 February 1931. 69 Frost, McGill University, 286–7. 70 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 6, file 14, J.S. Woodsworth to JKG, 16 February 1931. 71 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 3 March 1931. 72 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 5, file 22, JKG to James Smyth, 7 March 1931. 73 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 17, Harry F. Ward to W.A. Gifford, 5 March 1931. 74 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 5, file 22, James Smyth to JKG, 11 March 1931; W.A. Gifford to Harry F. Ward, 12 March 1931; JKG to James Smyth, 13 March 1931; JKG to James Smyth, 16 March 1931; vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 16 March 1931. 75 Janzen, “Development of Democratic Socialist Ideas,” 267. 76 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 16 March 1931. 77 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 32, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 4 April 1931. 78 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 5, file 22, Salem Bland to JKG, 4 April 1931; Wiseman and Isitt, “Social Democracy in Twentieth-Century Canada,” 575. 3 1931–1934 1 2 3 4 5

LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 21 June 1931. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 8, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 6 October 1931. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 7 October 1931. Marshall, Secularizing the Faith, 229–31, 237, 239, 241, 244, 247. Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 128–30; Gordon, “King Gordon remembers F.R. Scott,” 22–5; Djwa, Politics of the Imagination, 287. See also Mills, “Of Charters and Justice,” 44–62; and Djwa, “‘Nothing by Halves,’” 52–69.

Notes to pages 84–9 327 6 Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 128–30; Gordon, “King Gordon Remembers F.R. Scott,” 22–5; Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 26–7; Francis, Frank H. Underhill, 84–6. 7 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 17, file 19, F.R. Scott to Frank Underhill, 12 February 1932; F.R. Scott to Frank Underhill, 7 March 1932. 8 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 17, file 19, F.R. Scott to Isabel Thomas, 14 March 1932. 9 Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 128–30; Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 27–8; Djwa, Politics of the Imagination, 138. Gordon was also a member of the LSR’s national executive committee in 1935 and 1936. 10 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 15, “League for Economic Democracy: Outline of National Constitution,” 23–4 January 1932; Wiseman and Isitt, “Social Democracy in Twentieth-Century Canada,” 577. 11 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 15, “League for Economic Democracy: Outline of National Constitution,” 23–4 January 1932; MG 30, D 211, vol. 18, file 3, League for Social Reconstruction, Montreal Branch, “Report of the Secretary for the Season 1933–34,” Dec 4/34, and “Week-end Conference of the League for Social Reconstruction, Knowlton, P.Q., June 15th and 16th, 1935.” Cripps was expelled from the Labour Party in 1939 for advocating a Popular Front that included communists, but readmitted in 1945. He was Britain’s ambassador to Moscow from 1940 to 1942 and chancellor of the exchequer from 1947 to 1950. 12 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 70, file 12, “Relevance of the LSR,” by JKG, ca October 1981. 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 72, file 21, “The Politics of Poetry,” by JKG, ca 1985; Gordon, “King Gordon Remembers F.R. Scott,” 22–5. 14 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 17, Harry F. Ward to W.A. Gifford, 5 March 1931; vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 17 November 1931. 15 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 5, JKG speech to YMCA National Council, Montreal, 9 November 1931. 16 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 16, “McGill Committee for Unemployed Young Men,” ca 1932; vol. 7, file 16, G.R. Parkin to JKG, 20 January 1932. 17 Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 131; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 11, file 14, “Information Bulletin of the Committee on Economic and Social Research of the Montreal Presbytery of the United Church of Canada,” ca May 1932; “Report of the Presbytery’s Committee on Economic and Social Research,” 6 December 1932. 18 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 11, file 14, “Information Bulletin,” Committee on Social and Economic Research of the Montreal Presbytery, United Church of Canada, vol. 1, no. 2, December 1932.

328  Notes to pages 89–97 19 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 9, “Information Bulletin,” Committee on Social and Economic Research of the Montreal Presbytery, United Church of Canada, vol. 1, no. 3, February 1933. See also Milligan, Eugene A. Forsey, 78–81. Section 98 permitted the federal government to deport persons without trial, and abolished – for anyone accused of fomenting revolution – the presumption of innocence until proven guilty. It was repealed in 1936. 20 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 70, file 11, “The L.S.R.: Thirty Years After,” by JKG, 2 December 1963; “Policy in Church Bulletins Scored,” Montreal Star, 2 March 1933; Milligan, Eugene A. Forsey, 82. 21 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 4, “Correspondence,” n.d. The description of JKG is included in promotional materials for a lecture, “Reconstruction and Social Reform,” he presented at a meeting of the Student Christian Movement held at Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario, on 2 March 1932. 22 “Halifax Clubs Hear Brilliant Address by Prof. King Gordon,” Halifax Daily Star, 10 January 1933; LAC, MG 30, A 25, vol. 48, file 9, Eugene Forsey to mother, 28 June 1932, 6 July 1932. 23 LAC, MG 30, A 25, vol. 48, file 9, Eugene Forsey to mother, 7 July 1932; Eugene Forsey to mother, 10 July 1932; Eugene Forsey to mother, 16 July 1932. 24 LAC, MG 30, A 25, vol. 48, file 10, Eugene Forsey to mother, 29 July 1932. 25 “Religion – in Russia and in Canada,” Witness and Canadian Homestead, 5 October 1932; “Real Religion in Russia Discovered,” Montreal Gazette, 3 October 1932. 26 “Religion – in Russia and in Canada,” Witness and Canadian Homestead, 5 October 1932; “Halifax Clubs Hear Brilliant Address by Prof. King Gordon,” Halifax Daily Star, 10 January 1933; “New Religion in Russia Challenge to Christianity,” Ottawa Citizen, 24 October 1932. 27 “New Religion in Russia Challenge to Christianity,” Ottawa Citizen, 24 October 1932; “Halifax Clubs Hear Brilliant Address by Prof. King Gordon,” Halifax Daily Star, 10 January 1933. 28 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 26 October 1932; vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 28 October 1932. 29 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 11, file 9, Monitor, 16 December 1932. 30 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 15, JKG to editor, Montreal Gazette, 16 December 1932; JKG to editor, Montreal Daily Star, 17 December 1932. 31 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 81, file 6, Wilfrid Bovey to J.H. MacBrien, 17 December 1932. 32 Horn, Academic Freedom in Canada, 69–70. 33 Ibid., 87, 93–6, 125.

Notes to pages 97–105 329 34 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 83, file 7, “Christianity and Crisis,” by JKG, ca 1980s. 35 “Church Must Take Part in Revolutionary Change,” Halifax Chronicle, 8 January 1933; “Dare the Church Be Christian?,” New Outlook, 22 March 1933, 253. 36 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 11, file 17, JKG to chairman, UTC Board of Governors, 22 February 1933. 37 UCA/VUA, Records of Proceedings of Fifth General Council, October 1932, 93; “Prof. King Gordon May Leave Staff,” Montreal Gazette, 30 March 1933. 38 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 22 February 1933. 39 Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 127. 40 “Christian Ethics Retention Sought,” Montreal Gazette, 31 March 1933; “Christian Ethics at a Discount,” Saturday Night, 8 April 1933; “Editorial,” Weekly Sun, 20 April 1933. 41 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 34, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 31 March 1933. 42 “Christian Ethics Retention Sought,” Montreal Gazette, 31 March 1933; Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 142–3; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 9 April 1933; vol. 8, file 16, “Report of Committee on Evangelism and Social Service, 1933, Montreal and Ottawa Conference.” 43 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file11, JKG to Harry F. Ward, 14 June 1933. 44 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 11, JKG to Warwick F. Kelloway, 22 June 1933. 45 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 70, file 11, “The L.S.R.: Thirty Years After,” by JKG, 2 December 1963; Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 42–3; Young, Anatomy of a Party, 43–4; Djwa, Politics of the Imagination, 141. 46 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 89, file 34, C.W. Gordon to JKG, 9 June 1933; vol. 89, file 33, C.W. Gordon to JKG, ca 1933. 47 Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 43–4. 48 “New Social Order in Canada Forecast by C.C.F. Speakers,” Regina Leader-Post, 18 July 1933; C.C.F. Is Prepared to Govern Country, Woodsworth Says,” Toronto Globe, 18 July 1933. 49 Ibid. 50 Ibid. 51 Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 43–6; Djwa, Politics of the Imagination, 143–5. 52 Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 43–6; Djwa, Politics of the Imagination, 143–5; Stewart, M.J., 102–3; Francis, Frank H. Underhill, 89; Whitehorn, Canadian Socialism, 42–3. 53 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 73, file 2, JKG to F.R. Scott, 15 April 1979.

330  Notes to pages 105–12 5 4 “Socialism Not Popular,” Regina Daily Star, 19 July 1933. 55 Financial Post cited in “Canada’s Brain Trust at Work,” Montreal Herald, 8 August 1933; “The Days of Planning,” Regina Leader-Post, 24 July 1933; “Professors and Hats,” Regina Leader-Post, 24 July 1933. 56 “To Teach the Miners,” Toronto Globe, 14 August 1933; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 14, Albert McLeod to JKG, 21 June 1933. 57 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 17, JKG to Harriet Roberts, 11 January 1934. 58 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 8, H.M. Cassidy to JKG, 13 January 1934; vol. 7, file 19, JKG to M.H. Conroy, 29 January 1934. 59 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 11, file 17, R.H. Barron to JKG, 24 March 1934. 60 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 17, “The Constitution of the F.C.S.O.: Historical Data.” 61 “King Gordon Chair Is Being Vacated,” Montreal Gazette, 30 March 1934; Montreal Star, 25 March 1934. 62 “Ethics Chair Is Abolished by United Church College,” Toronto Star, 30 March 1934. An account of the circumstances surrounding Bland’s dismissal is found in Allen, Social Passion, 54–60, and Horn, Academic Freedom in Canada, 50. 63 “Ethics Chair Is Abolished by United Church College,” Toronto Star, 30 March 1934; UCA/VUA, Records of Proceedings of Sixth General Council, September 1934, 164–5. 64 “King Gordon Loses Chair,” Christian Century, 11 April 1934, 505. 65 “The Case of the Montreal College,” New Outlook, 11 April 1934, 252. 66 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 45, Reinhold Niebuhr to Paul, ca 1934. 67 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 11, file 19, W.D. Lighthall to JKG, 18 April 1934. 68 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 21 April 1934. 69 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 11, file 14, Charles Clayton Morrison to C.W. Gordon, 20 April 1934; vol. 7, file 19, JKG to Charles Clayton Morrison, 22 May 1934. 70 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 3, T. Lehmann to JKG, 27 April 1934; JKG to T. Lehmann, 22 May 1934; vol. 7, file 19, JKG to W.J. Tate, 14 May 1934. 71 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 3, J.S. Woodsworth to JKG, 26 April 1934. 72 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 45, JKG to Reinhold Niebuhr, 26 April 1934; “The Fellowship for a Christian Social Order,” New Outlook, 9 May 1934, 345; Socknat, Witness against War, 138–9. 73 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 45, JKG to Reinhold Niebuhr, 26 April 1934; vol. 10, file 17, “The Constitution of the F.C.S.O.: Historical Data”; vol. 83, file 7, “Christianity and Crisis,” by JKG, ca 1980s; vol. 10, file 14, JKG to Reinhold Niebuhr, 24 February 1938; Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 136–40; Kroeker, Christian Ethics, 76–7, 84.

Notes to pages 112–23 331 74 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 45, JKG to Reinhold Niebuhr, 26 April 1934; vol. 83, file 7, “Christianity and Crisis,” by JKG, ca 1980s. 75 “Attempt of Rich Men to Oust King Gordon Flayed by Preacher,” Toronto Daily Star, 30 April 1934; “Financiers to Blame for His Retirement King Gordon Declares,” Toronto Daily Star, 4 May 1934. 76 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 3, JKG to Vernon Knowles, 8 May 1934; Vernon Knowles to JKG, 15 May 1934; H.J. Hamilton to G.M. Brown, 15 May 1934; JKG to Vernon Knowles, 22 May 1934. 77 UCA/VUA, Records of Proceedings of Sixth General Council, September 1934, 165; “The Fellowship for a Christian Social Order,” New Outlook, 9 May 1934, 336; “King Gordon Chair Incident Is Over,” Montreal Gazette, 5 May 1934. 78 “Lowering the Church,” Saturday Night, 12 May 1934, 1. 79 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 30 May 1934. 80 Ibid.; LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 97, file 8, “Christianity and Socialism,” by JKG in Saskatchewan CCF Research Review, May 1934, 4–9. 81 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 3 August 1934. 82 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 17, JKG to Harry F. Ward, 9 April 1934; vol. 8, file 11, JKG to Mary H. Deeves, 8 May 1934; vol. 86, file 3, Norman Hillmer to JKG, 14 April 1988; JKG to Norman Hillmer, 26 April 1988. 83 UCA/VUA, Records of Proceedings of Sixth General Council, September 1934, 55–6; 82.001 C box 25, no. 214, UCC General Council, series II, minutes vol. 934–6, 19; “College Refuses to Retain Gordon,” Montreal Star, 13 October 1934. 84 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 17, Harry F. Ward to JKG, 25 October 1934. 85 UCA/VUA, Records of Proceedings of Seventh General Council, September 1936, 137–8, 148. 86 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 17, Harry F. Ward to W.A. Gifford, 5 March 1931; unidentified newspaper, ca 1930s. 87 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 17, Harry F. Ward to W.A. Gifford, 5 March 1931; unidentified newspaper, ca 1930s; vol. 10, file 26, Stanley Knowles to JKG, 22 October 1934. 88 “Gordon Speaks at Central Church on Social Ills,” Winnipeg Free Press, 5 November 1934. 89 “Says Russia Very Determined to Improve Itself,” Winnipeg Free Press, 9 November 1934. 90 “Armament Firms Are Attacked by Professor Gordon,” Winnipeg Free Press, 12 November 1934. 91 Montreal Gazette, 7 December 1934. 92 Horn, Academic Freedom in Canada, 377n110.

332  Notes to pages 124–33 93 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 17, JKG notes on “The Fellowship for a Christian Social Order,” ca 1936–8. 94 McKay, Reasoning Otherwise, 118. 95 Ferguson, Remaking Liberalism, 237–8, 246. 96 Allett, New Liberalism, 15–17, 21. See also, Kloppenberg, Uncertain Victory, 299; Leach, Political Ideology in Britain, 42–3. 97 Helmes-Hayes, Measuring the Mosaic, 358, 360, 362–3, 368, 371, 375. 98 Janzen, “Development of Democratic Socialist Ideas,” 277, 281, 293; Janzen, “King Gordon’s Christian Socialism,” 349, 352, 355–8, 360. 99 Fraser, “From Anathema to Alternative,” 45, 48. 100 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 11, Reinhold Niebuhr to JKG, 28 November 1932. 4 1935–1938 1 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 18, file 4, Frank G. Pedley to contributors to “Christian Ethics Lectureship Fund” May 1935. Pedley reported that during the winter of 1934–5 Gordon’s paid duties included two nine-week lecture series presented in Montreal, a weekly course for local ministers, a five-week Student Christian Movement “Current Events” course, as well as regular Friday-afternoon SCM meetings he hosted at his home. In addition, he frequently travelled beyond the Montreal area to present sixty-five lectures, speeches, and sermons in fourteen cities. 2 Forster and Read, “Politics of Opportunism,” 324–49; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 8 January 1935. 3 Struthers, No Fault of Their Own, 126. 4 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 8 January 1935. 5 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 4a, T. Albert Moore to JKG, 10 May 1935; UCA/VUA, Records of Proceedings of Seventh General Council, September 1936, 159; “Position Is Created for Rev. J. King Gordon,” Montreal Star, 26 April 1935. 6 “The King Gordon Case,” New Outlook, 8 May 1935, 464. 7 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 4a, R.F. McWilliams to JKG, 26 April 1935. 8 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 5, F. Wilson to JKG, 22 March 1935; vol. 9, file 27, Hugh MacLean to JKG, 30 March 1935. 9 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 4a, F. Wilson to JKG, 4 May 1935; Graham Spry to JKG, 2 May 1935; telegram, F.R. Scott to JKG, 7 May 1935; telegram, F.R. Scott to JKG, 9 May 1935; Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 129. 10 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 2, “Autobiographical notes,” 12.

Notes to pages 133–41 333 11 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 4a, H.A. Bowden to JKG, 11 May 1935; T. McHugh to JKG, 11 May 1935; “J. King Gordon Is Nominated,” Daily Colonist, 11 May 1935. 12 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 4a, J.S. Woodsworth to JKG, 13 May 1935. 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 4a, Graham Spry to JKG, 14 May 1935. 14 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 4a, W.A. Gifford to JKG, 11 May 1935. 15 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 4a, T. Albert Moore to JKG, 28 May 1935; T. Albert Moore, to JKG, 8 June 1935; T. Albert Moore to JKG, 1 August 1935; UCA/VUA, Records of Proceedings of Seventh General Council, September 1936, 164–5, 167, 168, 171–2, 181; 82.001C, box 25, no. 214, UCC General Council, series 2, minutes, vol. 1934–36, 155, 162–3. 16 Beck, Pendulum of Power, 206–19. 17 “Manifesto of C.C.F. Says Aim of Party Is New Social Order,” Daily Colonist, 16 July 1935, 2; Beck, Pendulum of Power, 206–19. 18 LAC, MG 30, D211, vol. 16, file 9; JKG to F.R. Scott, 4 October 1935. 19 Barman, West beyond the West, 239, 243–4; Ormsby, British Columbia, 452–3; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 9, file 30, H.A. Bowden to JKG, 22 June 1935. 20 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 15, JKG to Helen Gordon, 7 July 1935. 21 “Crowded Auditorium Aids C.C.F. Nominee Start the Campaign,” Daily Colonist, 23 July 1935. 22 “Dr K. Gordon Says System like Jungle,” Daily Colonist, 1 August 1935; “Says Capitalism Responsible for Economic Strife,” Daily Colonist, 4 September 1935. 23 “Oriental Vote Is Real Issue,” Daily Colonist, 25 September 1935, “C.C.F. Only Foe of Capitalism,” Daily Colonist, 27 September 1935, “Candidate Given Big Reception,” Daily Colonist, 13 October 1935. 24 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 9, file 34, JKG to H.S. Pringle, 7 August 1935. 25 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 15, JKG to Helen Gordon, 22 September 1935. 26 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 18, file 3, JKG to F.R. Scott, 10 September 1935. 27 “Socialism and Human Motives,” Daily Colonist, 21 August 1935, “The Goal of Socialism,” Daily Colonist, 11 October 1935. 28 “C.C.F System Is Criticized,” Daily Colonist, 20 September 1935; “Personal View Is Challenged,” Daily Colonist, 2 October 1935; “Communists to Support C.C.F.,” Daily Colonist, 11 October 1935. 29 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 21 July 1935. 30 Adachi, Enemy That Never Was, 52, 105. 31 “Oriental Vote Is Real Issue,” Daily Colonist, 25 September 1935; “Party Stands behind Record,” Daily Colonist, 26 September 1935.

334  Notes to pages 141–50 32 “Claims Hatred Inflamed Here,” Daily Colonist, 4 October 1935; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 3 October 1935; Adachi, Enemy That Never Was, 181–2; Roy, Oriental Question, 156–8. 33 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 11, JKG to C.W. Gordon, 3 October 1935. 34 “C.C.F. Show Enthusiasm,” Daily Colonist, 15 October 1935; “D.B. Plunkett Is Elected in City for Third Term,” Daily Colonist, 15 October 1935; “Member-Elect Increases His Lead in the City,” Daily Colonist, 16 October 1935; Adachi, Enemy That Never Was, 182–3; Beck, Pendulum of Power, 220–1. 35 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 17 October 1935. Emphasis in original. 36 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 17 October 1935; MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 14, “Lectures in Christian Social Ethics,” n.d. 37 “Fascism Begins in Acute Economic Disintegration,” Saskatoon StarPhoenix, 4 December 1935, 5 December 1935; “Ralph Connor’s Son Talks Socialistic,” Blenheim News-Tribune, 13 May 1936. 38 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to Marian Scott, 13 January 1936. 39 League for Social Reconstruction, Social Planning for Canada, v, vii, xv, xvii–xviii; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 70, file 11, “The L.S.R.: Thirty Years After,” by JKG, 2 December 1963; Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 67–70, 78. Horn credits Gordon as principally responsible for writing the book’s introductory chapter “The End of a Century of Progress.” The authors note in their original preface to the book that it “is a compilation from many contributions, so much so that no chapter has been the product of one hand alone” (viii). 40 MacAulay, “The Smokestack Leaned toward Capitalism,” 44, 46, 49–54. 41 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 1, “Education for a World Community,” JKG convocation address, St Francis Xavier University, 6 December 1981. 42 Gordon, “St Francis of Antigonish,” 21–3; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 83, file 7, “Christianity and Crisis,” by JKG, ca 1980s; vol. 7, file 6, CBC script “Cooperation and Democracy,” 1 May 1938; vol. 84, file 6, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 25 November 1984. 43 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 3, “King Gordon” [biographical notes], n.d. 44 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 4 February 1936. 45 “Japanese Delegation Seeks Right to Vote in British Columbia,” Daily Colonist, 23 May 1936; Adachi, Enemy That Never Was, 160; Roy, Oriental Question, 159–60. 46 “Japanese Delegation Seeks Right to Vote in British Columbia,” Daily Colonist, 23 May 1936; see chapter 5 of Vipond, “National Consciousness,”

Notes to pages 150–5 335

47

48 49

50

51 52

53

54 55 5 6 57

58

for a discussion of the Native Sons’ views, which were by turns “subjective and rational, tolerant and nativist, anti-colonial and loyal,” for establishing a Canadian national identity” (328). “King Gordon Is Candidate,” Daily Colonist, 24 May 1936; “King Gordon Speaks to Big Audience at C.C.F. Headquarters,” Daily Colonist, 29 May 1936; “King Gordon Opens Election Campaign at Large Gathering,” Daily Colonist, 31 May 1936; “Camps Cost Huge Amount to Operate,” Daily Colonist, 3 June 1936; “Answers Complaint Government Meddles in Business World,” Daily Colonist, 4 June 1936. “Liberal Candidate Issues Challenge to His Opponents,” Daily Colonist, 31 May 1936. “Dr S.F. Tolmie’s Candidature,” Daily Colonist, 22 May 1936; “Sane Progress Need of Canada Declares Hon. Dr S.F. Tolmie,” Daily Colonist, 29 May 1936; “Hon. S.F. Tolmie Opposes Oriental Votes in Canada,” Daily Colonist, 2 June 1936; “Coast Defences Inadequate Says Hon. Dr Tolmie,” Daily Colonist, 4 June 1936; “Good Roads Vital to Province, Says Hon. Dr Tolmie,” Daily Colonist, 5 June 1936. “Hon. S.F. Tolmie Opposes Oriental Votes in Canada,” Daily Colonist, 2 June 1936; “Coast Defences Inadequate Says Hon. Dr Tolmie,” Daily Colonist, 4 June 1936; “Issues of Campaign Are Place before Electors at Rousing Tolmie Rally,” Daily Colonist, 6 June 1936. “Answers Complaint Govt Meddles in Business World,” Daily Colonist, 4 June 1936; “Votes for Orientals,” Daily Colonist, 7 June 1936. “King Gordon Is Heard in Three Talks,” Daily Colonist, 2 June 1936; “Public Rights Are Denied by Dominant Group, Speaker Says,” Daily Colonist, 5 June 1936, 7 June 1936. “Dr Tolmie Wins Victoria By-Election,” Daily Colonist, 9 June 1936; “Is Declared Victor Here,” Daily Colonist, 13 June 1936; LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 12, file 9, telegram, JKG to F.R. Scott, 8 June 1936. The final results were Tolmie, 5,977; Gordon, 5,887; McDowell, 5,725. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 12, F.W. Kerr to George Dahl, 23 November 1936. “The Matter of Montreal College,” New Outlook, 9 May 1934, 345; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 4 December 1936. Hutchinson, “Fellowship for a Christian Social Order,” 18, 27. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 18, JKG to Mr Johnson, 17 February 1948; Craig, “Ungodly Capitalism,” 56; Lacombe, “Le socialisme coopératif,” 101. Scott and Vlastos, Towards the Christian Revolution, ix; Hutchinson, “Fellowship for a Christian Social Order,” 25.

336  Notes to pages 155–62 5 9 60 61 62 63

64 65 6 6 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

75

76

7 7 78

79

Scott and Vlastos, Towards the Christian Revolution, 146–74. Ibid.; Gordon, “Marxist Explains the World,” 25. Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 143–4. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 17, “The Constitution of the F.C.S.O.” “Depression Lesson Must Not Be Lost,” Edmonton Journal, 4 January 1937; “Europe in Grip of Grim Forces Gordon States,” Lethbridge Herald, 20 January 1937; “Declares New Order Needed by Dominion,” Lethbridge Herald, 21 January 1937; “Sees Better Times for Near Future,” Albertan, 23 January 1937; “Christians Have Reason in Anti-War Attitude, States Prof. King Gordon,” Saskatoon Star-Phoenix, 17 February 1937. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 8, file 12, “Notes for FSCS tour,” 15 February 1937. LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 7 January 1937; JKG to F.R. Scott, 23 February 1937. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 15, JKG to Bob Scott, 9 June 1937. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 18 June 1937. Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 146. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 15, JKG to Bob Scott, 24 June 1937. Fraser, “From Anathema to Alternative,” 46–7. LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 12, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 1 August 1937. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 73, file 1, F.R. Scott to JKG, 11 August 1937. Gordon, “C.C.F. Convention,” 189–91; Horn, League for Social Reconstruction, 139; Young, Anatomy of a Party, 79. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 22 September 1937; JKG to C.W. Gordon, 4 October 1937; Saywell, “‘Just call me Mitch,’” 343–60. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 24 October 1937; vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 25 October 1937; vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 9 November 1937. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 11 November 1937; vol. 92, file 5, JKG to unidentified family member, 31 October 1937; “King Gordon Reaches City,” Daily Colonist, 12 November 1937. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 9, file 36, “Campaign Materials.” “Oak Bay Hears J. King Gordon,” Daily Colonist, 20 November 1937; “Social Security Is Goal of Democracy, Avers Prof. Gordon,” Daily Colonist, 23 November 1937; “Dictatorship Is Predicted,” Daily Colonist, 25 November 1937; Neatby, William Lyon Mackenzie King, 243. An excellent account of the National Employment Commission is found in Struthers, No Fault of Their Own. “Youth Urged to Vote C.C.F.,” Daily Colonist, 26 November 1937.

Notes to pages 163–73 337 80 “King Gordon Demands Embargo on Shipment of Materials of War,” Daily Colonist, 16 November 1937; “Says Canada Aids Japan,” Daily Colonist, 18 November 1937. 81 Neatby, William Lyon Mackenzie King, 217–18, 221; “Liberal Candidate Launches Campaign at Large Meeting,” Daily Colonist, 13 November 1937; “Wants City to Succeed,” Daily Colonist, 17 November 1937; “Support of Defence Policy Is Urged Here by Liberal Speakers,” Daily Colonist, 19 November 1937. 82 “Says Interference with Empire Pacts Serious for Canada,” Daily Colonist, 26 November 1937; “Declares Canada Is Facing Struggle to Retain Preferences,” Daily Colonist, 27 November 1937; “Victoria Testing Ground for Empire,” Daily Colonist, 28 November 1937. 83 “Urges Stand against War,” Daily Colonist, 24 November 1937; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 9, file 24, JKG to T.H. Hughes, 10 December 1937. 84 “The Tyranny of Socialism,” Daily Colonist, 20 November 1937; “Doctrinaire Politicians,” Daily Colonist, 27 November 1937. 85 “Robert W. Mayhew, Liberal Wins By-Election in Victoria,” Daily Colonist, 30 November 1937. The final totals were Mayhew 9,493; McKelvie 7,654; Gordon 6,550. 86 Gordon, “Battle of Victoria,” 338–40. 87 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 17 December 1937; MG 30, C 241, vol. 10, file 15, JKG to Bob Scott, 8 December 1937; vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 11 December 1937. 88 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 11 December 1937; vol. 92, file 5, JKG to unidentified family member, 31 October 1937. 89 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 91, file 21b, JKG to John Farrar, 11 December 1937. 90 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 92, file 4, R.F. McWilliams to JKG, 25 March 1938; JKG to R.F. McWilliams, ca 30 March 1938; JKG to R.F. McWilliams, 12 April 1938; Helen Gordon to JKG, 26 March 1938. 91 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 14; vol. 87, file 16, JKG to Helen Gordon, 13 February 1939. 92 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 13 March 1938. 93 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 14, R.K. Fairbairn to JKG, 4 April 1938; vol. 8, file 4, JKG to M.J. Coldwell, 18 July 1938. 94 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 92, vol. 4, R.F. McWilliams to JKG, 25 March 1938; vol. 12, file 12, Norval to JKG, 13 October 1938. 95 LAC, MG 30, D211, vol. 82, file 11, F.R. Scott to JKG, 27 March 1938. 96 Gordon, “Christian Socialist in the 1930s,” 140. 97 Christie and Gauvreau, Christian Churches and Their Peoples, 106, 148, 156, 176–8. 98 Marshall, “‘I thank God,’” 204, 205.

338  Notes to pages 175–83 5 1938–1949 1 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 12, file 2, “New York: 1938–1944,” 1. 2 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 16; vol. 13, file 3, “King Gordon” (autobiographical notes), n.d.. Of the many books for which Gordon was responsible at Farrar & Rinehart, his favourites included Stephen Vincent Benét, Zero Hour (1940); J.W. Dafoe, Canada Fights (1941); Erich Fromm, Escape from Freedom (1941); Percy E. Corbett, Post-War Worlds (1942); Robert Bendiner, The Riddle of the State Department (1942); and Karl Polanyi, The Great Transformation (1944). 3 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 9, file 34, JKG to H.S. Pringle, 7 August 1935. 4 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Mary Gordon, 16 March 1939; vol. 87, file 17, JKG to Helen Gordon, 19 July 1939; vol. 87, file 16, JKG to Helen Gordon, 14 July 1939; Charles Gordon, e-mail message to author, 29 June 2005. 5 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 17, JKG to Helen Gordon, 4 December 1939. 6 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 7, file 17, JKG to Helen Gordon, 27 August 1939. 7 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 16, JKG to Helen Gordon, 4 September 1939. 8 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 15, file 10, F.R. Scott to JKG, 12 September 1939. 9 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 15, file 8, JKG to Helen Gordon, 26 June 1940. 10 Fox, Reinhold Niebuhr, 200. 11 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 17; vol. 13, file 1, Reinhold Niebuhr to JKG, 29 March 1941; JKG to Reinhold Niebuhr, 2 April 1941; vol. 13, file 2, JKG to F.R. Scott, 12 May 1941; vol. 12, file 7, James Loeb Jr to UDA members, 21 June 1941. 12 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol.15, file 15, Jan Hasbrouck to W.T. Arms, 17 July 1941. 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 15, file 15, W.W. Lockwood to JKG, 24 April 1941; “Memorandum on an International Coordination Council in the United States,” n.d. 14 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 12, file 14, Harry Laidler to JKG, 16 September 1943; vol. 88, file 1, JKG to Helen Gordon, 11 November 1943. 15 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 5, “We’re Allies Now,” by JKG, n.d. 16 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 3, “American Opinion and the Battle of Britain,” September 1940; MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 30 June 1940, 30 October 1941, 10 November 1941. 17 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 12, file 14, JKG to Joseph Thorson, 8 October 1941. 18 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 12, file 9, JKG to Brooke Claxton, 10 April 1941; James A. MacKinnon to Brooke Claxton, 1 May 1941; Brooke Claxton to JKG, 7 May 1941.

Notes to pages 184–9 339 19 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 6, JKG to A.G. Sinclair, 10 January 1941; JKG to F.R. Scott, 8 January 1941; JKG to F.R. Scott, 10 January 1941; JKG to Grant Dexter, 8 January 1941; vol. 88, file 2, JKG to Helen Gordon, 12 January 1941. Underhill’s battle to retain his university position is discussed in Francis, Frank H. Underhill, 109–27. 20 Gordon, “Neutral Corner,” 316–17; Gordon, “United States and the War,” 203–5. 21 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 4, JKG to F.D. Roosevelt, 23 May 1941. 22 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 84, file 6, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 25 November 1984; vol. 13, file 8, JKG to David Lewis, 30 October 1941; JKG to M.J. Coldwell, 30 October 1941. 23 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 8, JKG to James H. Causey, 4 November 1941; JKG to Reinhold Niebuhr, 5 November 1941. 24 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 2, JKG to Helen Gordon, 26 April 1941; vol. 88, file 18, JKG to Humphrey Carver, 11 May 1941. 25 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 17, JKG to Helen Gordon, 10 December 1941; JKG to Helen Gordon, 28 April 1942; vol. 13, file 2, JKG to Norman Robertson, 10 December 1941; vol. 13, file 3, Norman Robertson to JKG, 24 December 1941; MG 30 D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 10 December 1941. 26 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 3, “King Gordon” (autobiographical notes), n.d.; MacDowell, “1943 Steel Strike,” 65–85; McDowall, Steel at the Sault, 219–22. 27 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 1, A.R. Mosher and Pat Conroy to National War Labour Board, 4 September 1942. 28 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 3, JKG to Helen Gordon, 14 November 1942; JKG to Helen Gordon, 28 October 1942. 29 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 2 November 1942; MG 30, C 241, vol. 12, file 9, JKG to Henry David, 14 September 1942. 30 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 82, file 4, JKG to Laurel Sefton MacDowell, 13 June 1981. 31 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 3, JKG to Helen Gordon, 18 December 1942; vol. 16, file 11, JKG to Fred H. Barlow, 15 December 1942. 32 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 1, “Majority Report of Royal Commission Appointed to Report as to Adjustments (If Any) of Wage Rates of Employees in Algoma Steel Corporation Limited and Dominion Steel and Coal Corporation Limited, Pursuant to Order in Council P.C. 5963,” 28 December 1942. 33 LAC, MG 30, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 18 December 1942, 23 December 1942, 29 December 1942, 4 January 1943; MG 30, C 241,

340  Notes to pages 190–6

34 35 36

37 38 3 9 40 4 1 42

43 4 4 45

4 6 47

4 8 49 50 51

vol. 16, file 10, F.R. Scott to JKG, 23 December 1942; vol. 17, file 1, F.R. Scott to JKG, 27 December 1942. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 1, JKG’s “Minority Report” for the Royal Commission on Steel, 28 December 1942. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 13, file 10, JKG to George Ferguson, 11 January 1943. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 1, “Memorandum of Understanding with Respect to the Settlement of the Dispute in the Steel Industry of Canada,” 22 January 1943; “Order in Council Authorizing that the Memorandum of Understanding with Respect to the Settlement of the Dispute in the Steel Industry of Canada, Be Implemented, P.C. 689,” 26 January 1943; MacDowell, “1943 Steel Strike against Wartime Wage Controls,” 72–85. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 4, “JKG: En passant,” n.d., 18; King, Mackenzie King Diaries, 14 January 1943, 18 January 1943, 19 January 1943. LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 11 June 1943, 13 June 1943. LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 28 February 1943. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 9, “CCF: Awakening in the North,” by JKG, ca Oct. 1943. Gordon, “CCF,” n.p. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 7, “Canada Is Swinging Left,” by JKG, ca December 1943; JKG to Carl Brandt, 1 December 1943; JKG to Carl Brandt, 2 December 1943. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 73, file 2, JKG to F.R. Scott, 12 August 1943; vol. 13, file 11, JKG to F.R. Scott, 17 August 1943. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 73, file 2, F.R. Scott to JKG, 22 August 1943. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 16, JKG to Helen Gordon, 20 November 1943; vol. 13, file 3, JKG to Mr Horricks, 21 November 1943; JKG to Mr Rayment, 21 November 1943. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 14, file 6, JKG to Bob Bendiner, 9 September 1943. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 87, file 16, JKG to Helen Gordon, 27 September 1943; 7 February 1944; 12 February 1944; vol. 88, file 1, JKG to Helen Gordon, 27 February 1944; vol. 78, file 9, JKG to David Stewart, 13 May 1974; MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 28 August 1943. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 73, file 2, F.R. Scott to JKG, 9 February 1944. Alpern, Freda Kirchwey, 157. “Superintendents Ban the Nation from Schools as Anti-Catholic,” New York Times, 24 June 1948. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 6, “The Nation: 1944–1947,” n.d., n.p.

Notes to pages 196–207 341 52 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 18, file 5, memo from Hugo Van Arx to Freda Kirchwey, JKG, Lillie Shultz, n.d. 53 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 4, JKG to Helen Gordon, 21 July 1944; MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 3 August 1944. 54 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 19, file 8, “The United States in the Postwar World,” by JKG, 19 August 1944. 55 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 10, transcript of “The American Forum of the Air,” 19 September 1944; Theodore Granik to JKG, 12 September 1944. 56 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 18, file 5, James Loeb to Sidney Hillman, 14 November 1944; JKG to James Loeb, 21 November 1944; James Loeb to JKG, 20 November 1944; vol. 88, file 5, JKG to Helen Gordon, 16 January 1945. 57 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 17, file 13, transcript of Queens College Forum “Winning the Peace,” 22 May 1945. 58 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 18, file 10, Eugene Forsey to JKG, 25 September 1947; vol. 20, file 19, Alistair Stewart to JKG, 5 February 1948; JKG to Alistair Stewart, 5 March 1948. 59 Gordon, “Canada’s Post-war Election,” 618–19; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 19, file 13, JKG to A. Percy Rayment, 14 June 1945. 60 Gordon, “Prairie Socialism,” 17 August 1946, 180–3; 24 August 1946, 207–9. 61 Canada, House of Commons Debates (25 March 1946), 220; (11 April 1946), 758–9; “Seditious Professors,” Saturday Night, 30 March 1946; LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, F.R. Scott to JKG, 28 March 1946; JKG to F.R. Scott, 2 April 1946. 62 Gordon, “After the New Deal,” 205–6; Gordon, “Political Prospects: USA,” 149–51. 63 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 5, JKG to Helen Gordon, 16 August 1945. 64 Gordon, “The Bomb Is a World Affair,” 541–3. 65 Claude, Swords into Plowshares, 78–9. 66 Gordon, “Big States, Little Men,” 387–8. 67 Gordon, “Primer for Atomic Politicians,” 423–4. 68 Gordon, “Palestine and Other Disputes,” 372. 69 Gordon, “Littler Assembly,” 438; Gordon, “UN Box Score,” 584; Gordon, “Who’s a Warmonger?,” 465; Gordon, “Wind-up at Flushing,” 619–20. 70 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 18, file 6, JKG to Freda Kirchwey, 2 February 1947. 71 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 16, “Autobiographical notes by JKG on CBC,” n.d. 72 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 18, file 7, Freda Kirchwey to JKG, 16 February 1947; vol. 18, file 6, Freda Kirchwey to JKG, 6 July 1947.

342  Notes to pages 207–14 73 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 17, JKG to Charles, 28 October 1947; vol. 88, file 4, JKG to Helen Gordon, 22 September 1947. 74 LAC, MG 30, D 211, vol. 16, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 3 April 1947. 75 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 19, file 14, H.S. Ferns to JKG, 6 August 1947; JKG to H.S. Ferns, 4 September 1947; H.S. Ferns to JKG, 8 September 1947; Boughton, “People’s Paper,” 27–9. 76 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 19, file 14, JKG to Harry Sharkey, 4 September 1947; Harry E. Sharkey to JKG, 11 September 1947. 77 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 19, file 14, David Orlikow to David Lewis, 25 September 1947; Stanley Knowles to David Lewis, 25 September 1947; David Lewis to JKG, 27 September 1947. 78 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 19, file 14, JKG to J.F. Sweeny, 1 October 1947; vol. 88, file 4, JKG to Helen Gordon, 22 September 1947; vol. 20, file 16, “UN Representative CBC: 1948–1950,” n.d., 1. 79 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 18, file 9, JKG to Tannis Murray, 21 January 1947; vol. 88, file 5, JKG to Helen Gordon, 2 April 1947; vol. 20, file 20, Marjorie McEnaney to JKG, 17 April 1947; JKG to Marjorie McEnaney, 9 April 1947; Marjorie McEnaney to JKG, 30 May 1947; vol. 18, file 10, JKG to Marjorie McEnaney, 24 August 1947. 80 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 17, Stuart W. Griffiths to JKG, 4 September 1947; vol. 20, file 20, JKG to Stuart W. Griffiths, 6 September 1947; vol. 20, file 16, “Autobiographical Notes by JKG on CBC.” 81 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 18, JKG to Stuart Griffiths, 11 December 1947; vol. 88, file 4, JKG to Helen Gordon, 15 December 1947. 82 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 18, JKG to Davidson Dunton, 25 January 1948; vol. 20, file 20, Neil Morrison to JKG, 16 February 1948; JKG to Ira Dilworth, 16 March 1948; Ira Dilworth to JKG, 17 March 1948. 83 Gordon, “United Nations,” 5, 8. 84 Gordon, “Atomic Power Came Too Soon,” 52. 85 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 16, “Autobiographical Notes by JKG on CBC.” 86 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 6, JKG to Helen Gordon, 9 May 1948. 87 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 16, “UN Representative CBC: 1948–1950,” n.d., 3. 88 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 8, JKG to Helen Gordon, 7 November 1948. 89 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 22, file 9, JKG to William C. Hankinson, 23 November 1948; “Report on the United Nations,” by JKG, n.d.; vol. 23, file 9, “Western Europe: December–January, 1948–9: Some Reflections on a Trip through France, Switzerland, Italy and England,” by JKG.

Notes to pages 215–27 343 90 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 76, file 15, “The North Atlantic Treaty Organization,” by JKG, 4 April 1949. 91 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 23, file 9, “The Atlantic Pact and the United Nations,” by JKG, 15 August 1949. 92 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 22, file 6, “Let’s Forget about Russia,” by JKG, ca 1949. 93 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 22, file 3, “The United Nations and the Atlantic Pact,” by JKG, 4 July 1949. 94 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 6, “Can the United Nations Stop War?,” by JKG, n.d. 95 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 20, JKG to Ira Dilworth, 1 November 1949. 96 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 20, JKG to Helen Gordon, 20 November 1949; JKG to Ira Dilworth, 26 December 1949. 97 Beinart, Icarus Syndrome, 80, 94. 98 Berger, Writing of Canadian History, 69. 99 Beinart, Icarus Syndrome, 80. 100 Janzen, “King Gordon’s Christian Socialism,” 361; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 20, file 22, JKG to Canon Heeney, 30 December 1949. 6 1950–1961 1 Hobbins, Edge of Greatness, 3:34 (diary entry, 8 October 1952); Djwa, Politics of the Imagination, 249–53. 2 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” JKG U.N. recollections, n.d.; Humphrey, Human Rights and the United Nations, 1–2, 29–77. 3 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” JKG U.N. recollections, n.d.; Humphrey, Human Rights and the United Nations, 1–2, 29–77; Hobbins, Edge of Greatness, 1:16–17, 52 (diary entry, 3 October 1948), 241 (diary entry, 14 November 1949), 245 (diary entry, 29 November 1949); 3:69 (diary entry, 18 June 1954). 4 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 85, file 5, JKG to Ronnie St J. Macdonald, 21 September 1986; vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” JKG U.N. recollections, n.d.; Hobbins, Edge of Greatness, 2:39 (diary entry, 7 April 1950); 3:6 (diary entry, 12 January 1952). 5 Yearbook of the United Nations, 1950, 564–6. 6 Ibid., 564–6; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 9, JKG to Helen Gordon, 15 July 1950. 7 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 24, file 9, “Measures for the Peaceful Solution of the Problem of Prisoners of War; Progress Report to the Secretary-General

344  Notes to pages 227–33 on the Work of the Ad Hoc Commission on Prisoners of War,” 18 September 1953; vol. 88, file 9, JKG to Helen Gordon, 15 July 1950; Yearbook of the United Nations, 1953, 413–15. 8 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 24, file 9, “Measures for the Peaceful Solution of the Problem of Prisoners of War; Progress Report to the Secretary-General on the Work of the Ad Hoc Commission on Prisoners of War,” 18 September 1953. 9 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 24, file 9, JKG to Estelle Bernadotte, 24 March 1953; vol. 24, file 7, Estelle Bernadotte to JKG, 2 April 1953; JKG to Estelle Bernadotte, 16 April 1953. 10 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 12, JKG to John Humphrey, 22 February 1956. 11 Yearbook of the United Nations, 1957, 216; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” JKG U.N. recollections, n.d. 12 Gareis and Varwick, United Nations, 134–5; Kennedy, Parliament of Man, 179–80; Holmes, Shaping of Peace, 1:291. 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 23, file 16, “A Statement to Be Presented to a Special Committee of the Senate of Canada, April 25, 1950, by Mr King Gordon of the United Nations Division of Human Rights”; Hobbins, Edge of Greatness, 2:44 (diary entry, 20 April 1950). 14 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 23, file 14, “The United Nations and World Crisis,” address by JKG to Wellesley Summer Institute of Social Progress, 3 July 1950. 15 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 23, file 25, John Humphrey to Tor Gjesdal, 9 May 1951; vol. 24, file 5, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 22 November 1952; Kennedy, Parliament of Man, 172–3. 16 LAC, MG 27, III-C-12, vol. 19, file, “Gordon, Prof. J.K.,” M.J. Coldwell to JKG, 22 February 1952; JKG to M.J. Coldwell, 7 January 1953; MG 30, C 241, vol. 24, file 5, M.J. Coldwell to JKG, 23 December 1952. 17 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 1, John L. Thurston to A.G. Katzin, 13 July 1954; vol. 25, file 1, A.G. Katzin to John L. Thurston, 13 July 1954. 18 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 23, file 21, JKG to John Humphrey, 12 July 1953; Hobbins, Edge of Greatness, 2:44 (diary entry, 20 April 1950), 195 (diary entry, 6 April 1951); 3:71 (diary entry, 24 June 1954), 76 (diary entry, 15 July 1954), 102 (diary entry, 11 November 1954); 4:34–5 (diary entry, 6 July 1958); Humphrey, Human Rights and the United Nations, 191. 19 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 11, F.R. Scott to JKG, 9 January 1954. 20 Lyons, Military Policy and Economic Aid, 4, 195, 218–19, 224; Ziring, Riggs and Plano, United Nations, 452.

Notes to pages 234–40 345 21 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 14, “UN Fact Series: UNKRA,” 10 September 1955. 22 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 12, “Activities for March 1955, Public Information Divison,” report by JKG, 5 April 1955; vol. 88, file 11, JKG to Helen Gordon, 19 June 1955; JKG to Helen Gordon, 5 November 1955; JKG to Helen Gordon, 8 December 1955. 23 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” JKG U.N. recollections, n.d. 24 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 6, JKG to John Humphrey, 30 July 1954; vol. 25, file 13, JKG to Lin Mousheng, 28 March 1955; JGK to Estelle Bernadotte, 1 April 1955; vol. 88, file 11, JKG to Helen Gordon, 5 November 1955; JKG to Helen Gordon, 7 January 1956; vol. 25, file 12, JKG to John Humphrey, 22 February 1956. 25 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 11, JKG to Helen Gordon, 10 June 1955. 26 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 26, file 11, JKG to J.R. Mutchmor, 31 May 1956. 27 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 10, JKG radio script, ca spring 1955. 28 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 12, JKG to John Humphrey, 27 January 1956. 29 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 10, JKG to Helen Gordon, 6 October 1954. 30 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 24, file 25, JKG to Arthur Rucker, 10 October 1954. 31 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 24, file 25, JKG to Fergie and Norman, 10 October 1954; vol. 24, file 24, JKG to J.R. Mutchmor, 12 November 1954; JKG to J.R. Mutchmor, 15 November 1954. 32 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 11, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 31 December 1954. 33 Lyons, Military Policy, 204–5, 207, 210. By 30 June 1955, of $138,465,474 in contributions, $92,902,615 (67 per cent) was received from the United States, and $38,427,369 (28 per cent) from the United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, and New Zealand; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 15, JKG to David Rolbein, 11 January 1955; JKG to David Rolbein, 2 February 1955; vol. 25, file 14, JKG to Arthur Rucker, 11 February 1955. 34 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 15, Arthur Rucker to JKG, 1 April 1955; JKG to Ted Conant, 7 September 1955; vol. 25, file 11, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 23 March 1955. 35 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 26, file 11, JKG to V.J.G. Stavridi, 27 February 1956; vol. 25, file 12, John B. Coulter to JKG, 18 April 1956; vol. 25, file 22, V.J.G. Stavridi to JKG, 12 December 1955. 36 Parker, Journals of John Wesley, 74. 37 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 11, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 2 January 1956; vol. 88, file 11, JKG to Helen Gordon, 23 February 1956; vol. 24, file 22,

346  Notes to pages 240–8

3 8 39 40 41

42

43

44 45 46 47 48

49 50 5 1 52 53 54

John Humphrey to JKG, 6 January 1956; vol. 26, file 11, JKG to J.A.C. Robertson, 9 January 1956; J.A.C. Robertson to JKG, 7 February 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 12, JKG to Helen Gordon, 29 April 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 25, file 23, Alfred G. Katzin to JKG, 9 March 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 26, file 10, JKG to Alfred Katzin, 28 June 1956; vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” U.N. recollections of JKG, n.d. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 35, file 8, “The United Nations and Suez,” recollections of JKG, n.d.; Carroll, Pearson’s Peacekeepers, 3–8; English, Shadow of Heaven, 127–8. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 35, file 8, “The United Nations and Suez,” recollections of JKG, n.d.; Carroll, Pearson’s Peacekeepers, 28–32; Gareis and Varwick, United Nations, 12; Kennedy, Parliament of Man, 81–2. Claude, Swords into Plowshares, 315; JKG provided a useful summary of UNEF’s 1956 activities in his report “An International Police Force,” 1 February 1964. The first UNEF contingent comprised troops from Brazil, Canada, Colombia, Denmark, Finland, India, Indonesia, Norway, Sweden, and Yugoslavia. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 27, file 12, JKG to V.J.G. Stavridi, 28 March 1958; vol. 88, file 13, JKG to Helen Gordon, 30 November 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 26, file 25, JKG to F.R. Scott, 29 July 1956; vol. 26, file 31, JKG to F.R. Scott, 4 October 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 26, file 25, JKG to F.R. Scott, 29 July 1956; vol. 88, file 14, Ruth Gordon to Helen Gordon, 25 October 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 26, file 31, JKG to Ahmed S. Bokhari, 6 September 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 35, file 8, “The United Nations and Suez,” recollections of JKG, n.d.; vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” U.N. recollections of JKG, n.d.; vol. 88, file 15, Ruth Gordon to Isaac Anderson, 10 November 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 13, JKG to Helen Gordon, 2 November 1956; vol. 88, file 15, Ruth Gordon to Isaac Anderson, 10 November 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 35, file 8, “The United Nations and Suez,” recollections of JKG, n.d. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 28, file 22, New York Times, 20 April 1960. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 35, file 8, “The United Nations and Suez,” recollections of JKG, n.d. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 20 December 1956. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 26, file 23, JKG to Alfred Katzin, 4 January 1957; JKG to Ruth Gordon, 16 January 1957.

Notes to pages 249–55 347 5 5 56 57 58 5 9 60 6 1 62 6 3 64 6 5 66

67

6 8 69 70 71 7 2 73

74

LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 26, file 25, JKG to George, 17 February 1957. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 14, JKG to Ruth Gordon, 5 March 1957. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 13, JKG to Helen Gordon, 16 March 1957. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 35, file 8, “The United Nations and Suez,” recollections of JKG, n.d. English, Shadow of Heaven, 164–79. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 71, file 4, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 7 April 1957; vol. 88, file 15, Ruth Gordon to Helen Gordon, 24 April 1957. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 14, JKG to Helen Gordon, 28 May 1957. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” U.N. recollections of JKG, n.d. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 13, JKG to Estelle Bernadotte, 6 June 1957. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 27, file 12, Wilder Foote to JKG, 14 November 1957; JKG to Wilder Foote, 22 November 1957. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 27, file 22, JKG to Ahmed Bokhari, 3 January 1958. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 27, file 12, JKG to Andrew Cordier, 7 February 1958; vol. 27, file 3, memo: “Some Notes on UN Information Program in the Middle East,” by JKG, 30 January 1959;vol. 26, file 6, JKG to Wilder Foote, 20 May 1958; vol. 27, file 9, transcript of meeting of Expert Committee on U.N. Public Information, Cairo, 8 May 1958; vol 27, file 22, JKG to Ahmed Bokhari, 14 May 1958. Syria seceded from the union in September 1961, but Egypt retained the title “UAR” until September 1971. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 27, file 10, JKG to Shultz, 15 May 1957; vol. 27, file 21, JKG to Arthur Greenwood, 7 August 1957; vol. 27, file 22, JKG to Ahmed Bokhari, 3 January 1958; JKG to Ahmed Bokhari, 27 March 1958, vol. 27, file 22, JKG to Alfred G. Katzin, 27 May 1958; vol. 27, file 2, George Ivan Smith to JKG, 29 December 1958; vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” U.N. recollections of JKG, n.d.; Charles Gordon, e-mail message to author, 31 October 2010. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 28, file 9, JKG to F.R. Scott, 1 February 1959. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 73, file 2, F.R. Scott to JKG, 1 March 1959. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 28, file 17, JKG to Alan Jarvis, 5 June 1960. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” U.N. recollections of JKG, n.d. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 16, JKG to Helen Gordon, 14 March 1959. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 67, file 31, “The United Nations and Human Need,” by JKG, 19 April 1959; vol. 28, file 20, “First Draft of CIIA Speech,” by JKG, 27 April 1960. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 28, file 22, Edgar McInnis to JKG, 10 November 1959; JKG to Edgar McInnis, 25 November 1959; Edgar McInnis to JKG,

348  Notes to pages 256–62

75

76 77 78

79 80

81 82

83 84 8 5 86

8 7 88 89

27 November 1959; JKG to Edgar McInnis, 23 December 1959; Edgar McInnis to JKG, 5 January 1960; JKG to Edgar McInnis, 11 January 1960; JKG to Edgar McInnis, 8 March 1960. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 28, file 20, “The Revolution of Rising Expectations,” by JKG, 22 February 1960; vol. 28, file 20, JKG speech to Winnipeg Women’s Canadian Club, 7 March 1960. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “The United Nations and the Congo,” by JKG, n.d.; vol. 84, file 3, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 19 September 1984. Gordon, United Nations in the Congo, 7–24; Claude, Swords into Plowshares, 316. Gareis and Varwick, United Nations, 12, 102; LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “The United Nations and the Congo,” by JKG, n.d.; Ziring, Riggs, and Plano, United Nations, 221–2; Kennedy, Parliament of Man, 85. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” U.N. recollections of JKG, n.d. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 29, file 10, “South Kasai Refugee Problem,” radio scripts by JKG, 6–8 December 1960; vol. 88, file 17, JKG to Helen Gordon, 10 September 1960; JKG to Helen Gordon, 12 December 1960. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 58, file 11, JKG to Helen Gordon, 14 August 1960; vol. 32, file 10, JKG to Gerald Widdrington, 15 February 1961. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “CBC Matinee,” U.N. recollections of JKG, n.d.; vol. 29, file 10, “South Kasai Refugee Problem,” radio scripts by JKG, 6–8 December 1960; vol. 88, file 17, JKG to Helen Gordon, 12 December 1960; vol. 29, file 15, “Congo Diary: Coquilhatville,” 28 October 1960. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 32, file 5, “The U.N. in the Congo: 1960–1961,” JKG biographical notes, n.d. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 30, file 8, Reinholdt Eriksen to JKG, 9 September 1960; JKG to Reinholdt Eriksen, 16 September 1960. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 30, file 2, JKG to Mary Gordon, 20 April 1961. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 29, file 13, JKG to Alexander MacFarquhar, 7 February 1961; JKG to Kenric Marshall, 3 January 1961; vol. 29, file 9, JKG to W. Stuart Stanbury, 8 January 1961; JKG to Hugh A. McLeod, 19 January 1961. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 30, file 2, JKG to Mary Gordon, 20 April 1961. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 30, file 6, JKG to Charley Gordon, 22 June 1962; vol. 29, file 10, JKG to Ruth Gordon, 31 July 1962. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 32, file 5, “The U.N. in the Congo: 1960–1961,” JKG biographical notes, n.d.; Gordon, United Nations in the Congo, 129.

Notes to pages 263–9 349 90 LAC, MG 30, C 241,vol. 88, file 17, JKG to Ruthie Gordon, 13 October 1960; vol. 32, file 5, “The U.N. in the Congo: 1960–1961,” JKG ­biographical notes, n.d. 91 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 6, “The United Nations and the Congo,” by JKG, n.d. 92 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 30, file 2, Hernane Tavares de Sá to JKG, 4 January 1962. 93 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 29, file 13, H.L. Puxley to JKG, 31 August 1961; H.L. Puxley to JKG, 27 September 1961; vol. 75, file 9, H.L. Puxley to JKG, 19 September 1961, vol. 32, file 11, JKG to H.L. Puxley, 4 October 1961; vol. 29, file 14, H.L. Puxley to JKG, 2 February 1962; vol. 29, file 13, H.L. Puxley to JKG, 3 April 1962. 94 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 32, file 10, D.M.A. Freeman to JKG, 22 September 1961; JKG to John Holmes, 26 October 1961; JKG to John Holmes, 21 November 1961; John Holmes to JKG, 2 November 1961; JKG to H.O. Moran, 30 November 1961; H.O. Moran to JKG, 7 December 1961; JKG to H.O. Moran, 15 December 1961. 95 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 62, file 17, Stuart W. Griffiths to JKG, 7 June 1962. 96 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 29, file 13, JKG to John W. Holmes, 24 April 1962; “Disarmament and Aid Held 2 Top Problems,” Globe and Mail, 22 March 1962. 97 Bothwell, Alliance and Illusion, 275. 98 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 4, “United Nations Day 1958,” address by JKG at American University in Cairo, 24 October 1958. 99 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 27, file 24, JKG to Godfrey Elton, 2 January 1957. 100 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 84, file 3, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 19 September 1984. 101 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 5, “Brantford Rotary Club speech,” by JKG, 16 March 1962. 102 Kennedy, Parliament of Man, 1–2. 103 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 75, file 1, “How I Look at the World Today,” by JKG, 28–30 June 1983. Chapter Seven 1 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 50, file 7, JKG to Grace MacInnis, 17 November 1977. 2 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 82, file 4, D.R. Campbell to JKG, 19 February 1981; vol. 67, file 28, “The University and the Global Community,” University of

350  Notes to pages 269–74 Manitoba Convocation address by JKG, 29 May 1981; vol. 82, file 1, Gregory A. MacKinnon to JKG, 8 October 1981. 3 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 82, file 11, United Nations Association in Canada, news release, 9 October 1980; vol. 86, file 23, “Remarks upon Receiving the Pearson Peace Medal, 1980,” by JKG, 23 October 1980. 4 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 66, file 7, CUSO Forum 4, no. 4 (September 1986); vol. 78, file 9, JKG to David Stewart, 13 May 1974; vol. 41, file 2, JKG to Gordon Keeble, 2 May 1966; vol. 41, file 1, JKG to Paul Hellyer, 1 February 1966; JKG to L.B. Pearson, 10 February 1966. Established in 1961, CUSO recruited university students to serve overseas for two-year terms in response to requests from developing countries for teachers, medical staff, engineers, agriculturalists, and others with specialized technical skills. 5 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 50, file 7, JKG to Grace MacInnis, 17 November 1977. 6 Munton and Keating, “Internationalism and the Canadian Public,” 525–6, 531, 547. Holmes’s statements are from his 1970 book The Better Part of Valour, 63; Holmes and Kirton, Canada and the New Internationalism, x. 7 Pratt, “Humane Internationalism: Its Significance and Its Variants,”13, 16–17, 19–21; Pratt, “Canada: An Eroding and Limited Internationalism,” 51. See also Pratt, “Humane Internationalism and Canadian Development Assistance Policies.” 8 Melakopides, Pragmatic Idealism, 13, 28, 191. 9 Ibid., 13, 20, 22. 10 Munton and Keating, “Internationalism and the Canadian Public,” 531, 546–7. 11 Mackenzie, “Canada’s Nationalist Internationalism,” 105. 12 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 30, file 2, JKG to Robert Gardiner, 3 February 1962; JKG to W.H. Johns, 5 March 1962; Walter H. Johns to JKG, 13 March 1962; vol. 75, file 7, Walter H. Johns to JKG, 27 July 1962; vol. 32, file 6, Walter H. Johns to JKG, 8 June 1962; vol. 75, file 8, JKG to Humphrey Carver, 12 June 1962; vol. 78, file 2, JKG to George Ignatieff, 27 April 1972; vol. 78, file 9, JKG to David Stewart, 13 May 1974; vol. 84, file 3, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 19 September 1984. 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 78, file 2, JKG to George Ignatieff, 27 April 1972. 14 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 53, file 12, JKG to I. Norman Smith, 21 May 1972. 15 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 36, file 16, “Political Science 360 Lecture,” University of Alberta, 24 January 1967. 16 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 75, file 12, JKG to Reinhold Neibuhr, 3 December 1962; JKG to Carey McWilliams, 27 December 1962.

Notes to pages 275–81 351 17 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 78, file 9, JKG to David Stewart, 13 May 1974; vol. 75, file 12, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 9 May 1963. 18 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 75, file 10, JKG to T.C. Douglas, 30 July 1963. 19 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 67, file 6, “Is World Government Possible?,” by JKG, n.d. 20 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 76, file 5, E.W. Innes to JKG, 7 January 1964; vol. 34, file 8, JKG to E.W. Innes, 17 January 1964; vol. 24, file 8, “An International Police Force,” by JKG, n.d. 21 Gordon, “Prospects for Peacekeeping,” 370–87. 22 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 14, “The World Is Divided into North and South,” by JKG, n.d.; vol. 44, file 4, “The United Nations and the New World Order: The Management of Global Change,” by JKG, n.d. 23 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 59, file 11, “Proposals on Canadian External Aid,” by JKG, Western Canada Conference on the Challenge of World Development, 11–17 August 1963; JKG to L.B. Pearson, 21 August 1963; JKG to Paul Martin, 21 August 1963. 24 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 62, file 6, CBC radio script by JKG, 6 November 1963. 25 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 76, file 12, JKG to Louis Sabourin, 9 February 1967. 26 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 14, “Canada and an Interdependent World,” by JKG, n.d. 27 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 69, file 1, “The United Nations Comes of Age,” by JKG, 6 December 1966. 28 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 48, file 12, “Education for a New International Order,” by JKG, 2 April 1977; vol. 46, file 5, I.O. McFarlane to JKG, 7 March 1977. 29 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 46, file 16, “Canada and the New International Economic Order,” by JKG, 18 May 1976. 30 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 79, file 14, JKG to Flin, 11 November 1976. 31 Gordon, “Maleficent Obsession Rerun.” 32 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 80, file 12, JKG to Francis Rolleston, 27 September 1978. 33 Gordon, “Foreign Aid Is More Than Charity, More Than a ‘United Appeal.’” 34 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 60, file 6, JKG to John W. Holmes, 25 April 1970. 35 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 69, file 20, “The Global Imperative,” by JKG, 23 September 1982; vol. 63, file 4, JKG to Patrick Watson, 16 May 1983. 36 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 43, file 12, “Review of the UN Charter,” by JKG, 24 May 1972; vol. 37, file 8, JKG to George Ignatieff, 23 May 1972; vol. 79, file 3, JKG to Dave, 1 May 1974.

352  Notes to pages 282–6 37 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 69, file 6, “The International Ocean Institute,” by JKG, 26 February 1979. 38 Mann-Borgese and Krieger, Tides of Change, xv; Gordon, “Caribbean.” 39 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 56, file 14, “Towards a New Order for the Oceans: Notes on a Recent Conference in Okinawa,” by JKG, 1975; vol. 55, file 13, “Pacem in Maribus Preparatory Conference on Caribbean and Gulf Development and Its Impact on Marine Environment, October 26–29, 1972, Kingston, Jamaica,” by JKG; vol. 48, file 14, JKG to L. Berlinguet, 19 December 1977. 40 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 54, file 10, JKG to Lewis Perinbam, 10 August 1978; vol. 53, file 7, JKG to Louis Berlinguet, 29 January 1979. 41 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 55, file 13, “Pacem in Maribus Preparatory Conference on Caribbean and Gulf Development and its Impact on Marine Environment, October 26–29, 1972, Kingston, Jamaica,” by JKG. 42 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 59, file 3, G.C. Andrew to Maurice Strong, 14 August 1967; vol. 62, file 1, JKG to Archie MacKinnon, 28 September 1980; vol. 37, file 13, “Preliminary Study of Orientation and Training Programmes for Experts Proceeding on Overseas Missions,” ca 1968; “Consultations in New York: July 1, 2, 1968”; JKG to J.D. Miller, 20 August 1968. 43 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 37, file 15, “The Training and Orientation of Experts for Economic and Social Development,” by JKG, ca 1969. 44 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 48, file 7, JKG to Alexander Brady, 10 August 1973; vol. 50, file 11, W. David Hopper to JKG, 24 January 1973; “Senior Advisor on University Relations,” by JKG, 13 November 1979; vol. 48, file 8, JKG to W. David Hopper, 4 March 1974; Head and Trudeau, Canadian Way, 162. 45 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 50, file 11, JKG to L. Berlinguet, 4 October 1976; vol. 51, file 6, “Report on King Gordon’s European Trip, June 13–July 13, 1973”; JKG to Louis Berlinguet, “Reports on European Assignments: December 1–15, 1978,” 27 December 1978; vol. 51, file 7, JKG to W. David Hopper, ca 1 October 1974; vol. 48, file 8, JKG to W. David Hopper, 18 January 1974; vol. 51, file 10, JKG to L. Michaud, 23 February 1976. 46 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 36, file 3, “UN to Step Up Training Drive,” Zambia Daily, 3 March 1975; “The UNETPSA Evaluation Group: Draft Report,” by JKG, ca 1975. 47 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 79, file 3, JKG to Dave, 1 May 1974. 48 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 49, file 2, JKG to Louis Berlinguet, 25 September 1978; vol. 80, file 12, JKG to Ivan Head, 19 September 1978.

Notes to pages 286–95 353 49 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 50, file 9, “The IDRC and University Involvement in International Development,” by JKG, 22 February 1978. 50 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 51, file 7, JKG to L.F. Michaud, 19 August 1975. 51 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 61, file 16, JKG to Robert Gardiner, 23 January 1982; JKG to Bernard Chidzero, 21 January 1982; vol. 61, file 18, “Social Development in CIDA’s Strategy and Program: Education and Institutional Support,” by JKG, ca 1982. 52 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 46, file 14, JKG to Allan J. MacEachen, 23 January 1975; vol. 45, file 16, JKG to Allan MacEachen, 12 December 1975. 53 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 46, file 11, “UNA National Policy Council: Disarmament,” by JKG, ca 1978. 54 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 77, file 4, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 14 June 1967. 55 Gordon, “This Time UN Wants a Lasting Peace”; Gordon, “Middle East Peace.” 56 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 57, file 11, JKG to Ivan Head, 16 October 1981; “The Imperative of Peace in the Middle East,” by JKG, October 1981. 57 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 29, file 14, JKG to George Ignatieff, 29 March 1962; W.H. Temple to JKG, 30 March 1962; William Dennison to JKG, 3 April 1962; vol. 29, file 13, JKG to W.H. Temple, 7 April 1962. 58 LAC, MG 30, D 297, vol. 83, file 36, Graham Spry to JKG, Eugene Forsey, F.R. Scott et al., 13 July 1971; vol. 80, file 30, “O Canada,” 10 July 1971; MG 30, A 25, vol. 42, file 33, F.R. Scott to JKG, 9 August 1971. 59 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 78, file 6, JKG to Daniel M. Beveridge, 9 January 1973. 60 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 48, file 7, JKG to Leonard C. Marsh, 8 August 1973; vol. 70, file 9, JKG to Leonard Marsh, 22 February 1974; vol. 70, file 8, JKG to F.R. Scott, 30 May 1972. 61 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 82, file 9, JKG to Richard Allen, 31 December 1981; vol. 57, file 7, JKG to Marion Dewar, 31 July 1987; vol. 57, file 12, JKG to Grace MacInnis, 20 December 1987; MG 30, D 211, vol. 82, file 11, JKG to F.R. Scott, 6 July 1983. 62 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 44, file 4, JKG to Geoffrey Pearson, 29 December 1976; vol. 48, file 11, JKG to Frank Bogdasavich, 24 November 1976; vol. 79, file 11, JKG to Peyton Lyon, 1 December 1976. 63 Holmes, Shaping of the Peace, 236, 269. 64 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 60, file 5, panel discussion “Canada and Detente” at the Sixth Annual Banff Conference on World Affairs, 23 August 1968; vol. 75, file 3, JKG to L.B. Pearson, 2 January 1971.

354  Notes to pages 295–300 65 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 79, file 4, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 13 July 1974; vol. 68, file 1, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 24 October 1978; vol. 44, file 4, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 23 December 1976; vol. 80, file 3, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 3 January 1978; vol. 78, file 10, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 31 December 1974; P.E. Trudeau to JKG, 31 January 1975. 66 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 81, file 10, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 15 September 1980; vol. 55, file 5, JKG to Elisabeth Mann Borgese, 4 October 1980; vol. 63, file 6, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 12 February 1982; vol. 82, file 11, P.E. Trudeau to JKG, 5 April 1982. 67 Granatstein and Bothwell, Pirouette, 365. 68 Ibid., 365–76; Head and Trudeau, Canadian Way, 301–8. 69 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 70, file 1, “Global Perspective,” by JKG, ca 1983. 70 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 52, file 9, JKG and Murray M. Thomson to P.E. Trudeau, 24 May 1983; vol. 74, file 10, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 16 May 1983; JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 31 October 1983; JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 16 November 1983. 71 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 74, file 10, JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 20 December 1983; P.E. Trudeau to JKG, 23 January 1984; JKG to P.E. Trudeau, 12 February 1984; P.E. Trudeau to JKG, 9 April 1984. 72 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 50, file 16, JKG to Louis Berlinguet, 14 November 1977. 73 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 70, file 1, “The Priorities of Canadian Foreign Policy,” n.d. 74 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 57, file 4, “A Statement on Canadian Foreign Policy by the Group of 78,” 7–9 September 1984; vol. 56, file 14, Murray Thomas and JKG to Group of 78, 27 February 1984; vol. 57, file 7, “The Group of 78 and the United Nations,” by JKG, ca 1987. 75 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 56, file 8, JKG and Murray Thomson to Brian Mulroney, 10 September 1985; vol. 35, file 8, JKG and Ann Gertler to Joe Clark, 17 September 1986; vol. 57, file 8, Joe Clark to JKG and Ann Gertler, 21 October 1986; vol. 58, file 1, “Press Release of the Group of 78,” 7 October 1987; vol. 58, file 5, JKG to Joe Clark, 2 September 1988; vol. 58, file 1, Joe Clark to JKG, 17 October 1988. 76 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 56, file 15, “Africa and Canada: Common Cause,” by JKG, ca 1986. 77 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 58, file 9, JKG to David MacDonald, 25 November 1984; David MacDonald to JKG, 29 November 1984. 78 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 84, file 10, JKG to Mary Ryle, 29 March 1985. 79 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 57, file 10, “Canada and the United Nations,” by JKG, May 1987.

Notes to pages 300–11 355 80 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 57, file 3, John Courtney and Gisèle Côté-Harper to JKG, 23 March 1987; JKG to John Courtney and Gisèle Côté-Harper, 11 May 1987; vol. 70, file 3, “Cooperation with Third World Countries in the Area of Human Rights and Democratic Development,” by JKG, ca May 1987. 81 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 47, file 2, A.L. Dumage to JKG, 26 April 1974; vol. 69, file 12, JKG convocation address, Brandon University, 25 May 1974. 82 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 3, “Interview: David Cleary and King Gordon,” March 1988. 83 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 63, file 4, JKG to Margaret Laurence, 17 May 1983; Margaret Laurence to JKG, 29 May 1983; vol. 70, file 1, “Christianity and Crisis,” by JKG, ca 1983. 84 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 68, file 9, “The Church at the Restless Nations,” JKG, 26 January 1964; vol. 75, file 16, JKG to Ernest Marshall Howse, 22 September 1964. 85 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 67, file 15, “The Christian and the World Community,” by JKG, ca 1965. 86 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 67, file 9, Robert Clarke to JKG, 19 January 1983; vol. 67, file 9, JKG to Power, 31 January 1983; JKG to Power, 5 February 1983; vol. 83, file 7, JKG to David Macdonald, 2 February 1983. 87 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 83, file 5, JKG to Sam Gillespie, 28 March 1983. 88 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 72, file 21, JKG to Grace McInnis, 27 February 1985. 89 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 63, file 4, JKG to Margaret Laurence, 26 June 1983. 90 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 82, file 9, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 30 December 1981; vol. 83, file 12, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 23 May 1983; vol. 83, file 5, Eugene Forsey to JKG, 3 March 1983. 91 “‘A Great Canadian’: Crusader for Peace and Justice Dies at 88,” Ottawa Citizen, 25 February 1989: “Gordon’s Legacy,” Ottawa Citizen, 28 February 1989; “Gordon Recalled as Man of Conviction,” Ottawa Citizen, 28 February 1989. 92 Nossal, Politics of Canadian Foreign Policy, 57–60. Holmes quoted in Nossal. Conclusion 1 2 3 4

Gordon, Postscript to Adventure, viii. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 84, file 3, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 7 July 1984. LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 80, file 4, JKG to Sandra Djwa, 3 October 1977. Review of Frank H. Underhill: Intellectual Provocateur by JKG, Ottawa Citizen, 27 September 1986.

356  Notes to pages 312–18 5 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 84, file 6, JKG to Eileen Janzen, 25 November 1984. 6 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 86, file 3, “Interview: David Cleary and King Gordon,” March 1988. 7 Allen, View from Murney Tower, xxxi. 8 Gordon, “History of the Antigonish Movement,” 164, 168. 9 Judt, Ill Fares the Land, 8, 234–5. 10 Wiseman and Isitt, “Social Democracy,” 585–6. 11 Ibid. 12 United Nations Association in Canada, “J. King Gordon.” 13 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 69, file 10, “Canada and the United Nations in a Changing World,” by JKG, 20 October 1977. 14 Gordon, “History of the Antigonish Movement,” 165. 15 Gordon, New International Economic Order, 2. 16 Bothwell, Alliance and Illusion, 112. 17 Rioux and Hay, “Canadian Foreign Policy,” 57, 58, 64. 18 Noël, Thérien, and Dallaire, “Divided over Internationalism,” 19, 29. 19 Munton, “Whither Internationalism?,” 161–2, 177–8. 20 LAC, MG 30, C 241, vol. 88, file 7, JKG to Helen Gordon, 14 June 1949; vol. 88, file 13, JKG to Helen Gordon, 2 November 1956; vol. 27, file 24, JKG to Godfrey Elton, 2 January 1957.

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Index

Aberhart, William, 135 academic freedom, 81, 95, 96–7, 100, 110, 118, 123, 131, 183 Acquisitive Society, The, 35 Agenda Club, 68–9, 71, 78 Algoma Steel Corporation, 186–8, 190 A Life on the Fringe, 305 Allen, Richard, 292, 312 Allett, John, 125 Americans for Democratic Action, 67 Anderson, Isaac, 178 Antigonish Movement, 146–8, 157, 172, 312–13 Arnold, Thurman, 195 Aristotle, 79 Aswan Dam, 241, 245 Atlantic Monthly, 210 Banff conferences on international affairs, 274–5, 294 Barlow, Frederick H., 186, 188 Barth, Karl, 64 Beinart, Peter, 218, 219 Bendiner, Bob, 193–4 Bennett, Richard Bedford, 129–30, 135, 136, 138, 163 Berger, Carl, 219

Berlin blockade and airlift, 212, 214 Bernadotte, Estelle, 226, 227–8, 252 Bernadotte, Folke, 226 Birkencraig, 23, 73, 101, 236, 257 Birks, William, 98 Biss, Irene, 6 Bladen, Vincent, 6 Bland, Salem, 76–7, 79, 108, 312 Bokhari, Ahmed Shah, 246 Borden, Robert, 17, 136 Bothwell, Robert, 9, 265, 317 Bovey, Wilfrid, 96 Bretton Woods conference, 195 Buck, Tim, 170 Bumsted, J.M., 27 Burns, E.L.M., 244, 247–8 Canada Fights, 183 Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), 209, 211–2, 222, 238 Canadian Congress of Labour, 186 Canadian Forum, 132, 195 Canadian Institute of International Affairs (CIIA), 88, 255–6, 263, 264, 266, 269, 270, 273, 275 Canadian Institute on Public Affairs, 196

368 Index Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA), 284, 286 Canadian University Service Overseas (CUSO), 264, 269 Cape Breton workers’ school, 106, 114 Carver, Humphrey, 305 Cassidy, Harry M., 6, 105, 106 Champion, C.P., 33 Christian Century, 109, 110 Christian socialism, 8, 20, 62, 101, 111–12, 115, 124, 129, 144, 154, 168, 171, 176, 184, 219, 224, 266, 311, 312 Christie, Nancy, 172–3 Clark, Joe, 298–9 Clark, W. Clifford, 6 Claude, Inis L., 203–4, 244 Claxton, Brooke, 6, 183 Coady, Moses M., 147–8 Coffin, Henry Sloane, 61, 62, 72, 75 Coldwell, M.J., 104, 158, 185, 231 Colombo Plan, 286 Columbia University, 62, 65 Committee on Social and Economic Research, 88–90 Communist Party of the United States of America, 118 Congo, 257–60 Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO), 160, 199 Connor, Ralph. See Gordon, Charles William Co-operative Commonwealth Federation (CCF), 3, 12, 80, 86, 97, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 111, 115, 122, 126, 128, 131–2, 135–8, 140–1, 149, 150–2, 154, 158–60, 164, 166, 171, 173–4, 176, 191, 180, 181, 184–5, 194–5, 196, 199–200, 217, 218, 219, 230, 254, 292, 314 Coote, J.A., 88, 89

Corbett, Percy, 6 Cordier, Andrew, 253 Couchiching conferences, 196, 198, 215 Coulter, John B., 233, 234, 238–9 Cripps, Stafford, 86 Currie, Arthur, 96 Dafoe, John W., 183 Daily Colonist, 140, 166 Dawson, A.O., 98, 100, 101, 108, 114, 117, 170 Dawson, Carl, 6 Day of Prayer (1930), 71–2 Dayan, Moshe, 249 de Sá, Hernane Tavares, 264, 266 Des Moines conference (1920), 46 Deutsch, John J., 6 Dewar, Marion, 292 Dewey, John, 65 Dick, Ernest, 291–2 Dilworth, Ira, 217 Djwa, Sandra, 311 Dominion Elections Act, 140–1 Dominion Steel and Coal Corporation (Dosco), 186–8, 190 Douglas, T.C., 120, 200, 275 Dulles, John Foster, 241, 245 Dumbarton Oaks conference, 195, 198 Dunton, Davidson, 209–10 Duplessis, Maurice, 201 Eahle Lake Lumber Company, 50 Eddy, Sherwood, 30 Eisenhower, Dwight, 244 elections, (1935) 135–42; (1936) 149–53; (1937), 160–4, 166–7 Eliot, T.S., 239 Elmhurst College, 110 Elton, Godfrey, 34, 266

Index 369 English, John, 250 Ethiopian famine, 299–300 European Student Relief (ESR), 40–2, 47, 203, 268 Ewing, J. Armitage, 87, 107, 108, 170 Fabian Society, 82, 86 Falconer, Robert, 96–7 Farrar, John, 167–8, 175, 185 Farrar & Reinhart, 110, 167, 174, 175–6, 180, 183, 193–4, 195, 217, 310 Fellowship for a Christian Social Order (FCSO), 80, 111–12, 122, 128, 133, 154–6, 171, 173, 180, 217, 219, 303 Ferguson, Barry, 125 Ferguson, George, 33 Ferns, Henry. S., 208 54 West Gate, 21–2, 27, 73, 167 Financial Post, 105 First Presbyterian Church, Bloomfield, New Jersey, 69–70, 78 Foote, Wilder, 252–3 Foreign Policy Association, 72 Forsey, Eugene, 6, 82, 84, 88, 89, 90, 92, 96, 101, 104, 105, 111, 116, 145, 186, 290, 305 Fox, Richard, 180 Francis, Doug, 311 Fraser, Brian, 126, 158 Front de Libération du Québec (FLQ), 290–1 Gareis, Sven, 229 Gauvreau, Michael, 8–9, 172–3 Gazette & Daily, 208 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade, 280 Gifford, William A., 134

Giscome, British Columbia, 50–2, 54, 77, 123 globalization, 40 Gordon, Alison, 16 Gordon, Alison Ruth, 179, 236, 247, 253 Gordon, Charles William, 15–16, 22–3, 29, 51, 54, 60, 69, 76, 100, 102, 126, 158, 220, 240, 261, 310–11; financial losses, 27, 48, 167; military service during First World War, 24–5; publishing career as Ralph Connor, 17, 18–19, 167–8; death, 161 Gordon, Charles (Charley) William, 179, 236, 247, 253 Gordon, Donald Daniel, 14 Gordon, Gretta, 16 Gordon, Helen Skinner (née King), 15–17, 48, 167–8, 178, 179, 260–1 Gordon, John King: on The Acquisitive Society, 35; Agenda Club member, 68; on American neutrality, 182–5, 218; on American progressivism and liberalism, 198, 199– 200, 201–2, 218–20; on Antigonish Movement, 146–8, 172, 312–13; on Arab-Israeli conflict, 211–12, 288–90, 307; on Arab unification, 253; associate minister at First Presbyterian Church, Bloomfield, New Jersey, 69–71; as director of Banff conferences on international affairs, 274–5; on Berlin blockade and airlift, 212, 214; birth, 21; as Canadian Broadcasting Corporation International Service special correspondent, 209–17, 223–4; on Canadian Institute of International Affairs (CIIA), 255–6; on ­Canadian

370 Index International Development Agency (CIDA), 284–5, 286–7; in Canadian Officer Training Corps, 28; on Canadian University Service Overseas (CUSO), 264, 269; on Cape Breton worker’s school, 106, 114; childhood, 21–3; at founding of Co-operative Commonwealth Federation (CCF), 3, 101–6; CCF drought aid committee member, 158–9; on CCF prospects, 159–60, 191–3, 199–200; on the Christian church, 88–9, 97–8, 119–22, 124, 126, 150, 158, 172–4, 302–3; Christian socialism of, 8, 79, 85, 101, 111–12, 115, 123–7, 129, 144, 154, 168, 171, 175–6, 184, 190, 196, 219, 224, 240, 256, 266, 270, 307, 311, 312; on capitalism, 56–8, 60, 72, 73–4, 77–8, 85, 87–9, 94–5, 103, 111, 119–20, 122, 123–5, 143, 148, 155, 171–2, 198, 279, 291, 292; education (elementary and secondary), 23–4; on Ethiopian famine, 299–300; on European Student Relief (ESR), 40–2, 47; as Farrar & Rinehart nonfiction editor, 168–9, 175–6, 180, 183, 185, 194, 195, 217, 310; Fellowship for a Christian Social Order (FCSO) member, 111–12, 128, 154–8, 170, 173, 219; Giscome pastoral charge, 50–2, 54; Group of 78 member, 298–9; honours received, 268, 269, 315; idealism of, 11, 31, 161, 169, 174, 220, 265–7, 272, 301, 307, 312, 314, 317; on interdependent nations, 277–8; International Coordination Council (ICC) member, 181; International Development Research Centre (IDRC)

member, 285–6; International Ocean Institute (IOI) member, 281– 4; on an international police force, 275–7; on international relations and internationalism, 9–10, 11, 18, 31, 40, 42, 47, 61, 138–9, 162, 174, 176, 179, 193–4, 196, 203–5, 255–6, 268, 270–309 passim, 311, 315–18; League for Industrial Democracy (LID) member, 181–2, 217; League for Social Reconstruction (LSR) member, 84–7, 219; liberalism of, 174, 176, 204, 224; marriage to Ruth Anderson, 178; on becoming a medical missionary, 30–1, 44, 46; as member of Canadian social elite, 47, 77; Montreal Presbytery Committee on Social and Economic Research member, 88–90, 122; as Nation managing editor, 193–207, 217; on New Deal broadcasts, 129–30; on New Democratic Party, 292–3, 314–15; on “new international economic order”, 279, 287, 316–17; and New Liberalism, 125; Reinhold Niebuhr’s influence on, 63, 64–68, 78, 133; on Herbert Norman’s death, 250–1; on North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 214–15; on nuclear weapons, 202–3, 204, 210–11, 276, 288, 295, 297–8, 306; “O Canada” member, 290–1; as Opération des Nations Unies au Congo (ONUC) chief information officer, 257–64, 265; ordination, 54; Oxford International Assembly member, 43–4; parents’ influence on, 17, 19, 25–7, 30, 44, 46, 261, 268; Pine Falls pastoral charge, 54–61; edits P ­ ostscript

Index 371 to Adventure: The Autobiography of Ralph Connor, 167–8, 310; and Pouliot accusations, 200–1; radicalism of, 3, 48, 50, 62, 70, 76, 77, 79, 80, 81, 84, 88, 98, 100, 101, 110, 119, 124–7, 128, 131, 146, 158, 160, 171, 173, 254, 269, 271, 291, 304, 314, 315; Regina Manifesto, creation of, 104–5; on “revolution of rising expectations”, 256, 280; and Rhodes scholarship, 32; Royal Commission on Steel member, 186–191, 218; and secularization, 5, 8, 9, 11; and social democracy, 5, 103, 201, 205, 231, 290, 314–15; on Social Planning for Canada, 4, 145–6, 291–2; on South African apartheid, 299; criticisms of Soviet Union, 215; sympathies for Soviet Union, 71–2, 78, 89, 90, 92–4, 116–17, 120–2; Soviet Union visit (1932), 71, 90, 92, 98, 116; Soviet Union visit (1934), 71, 90, 115–17; at Union Theological Seminary, 62–74; at University of Manitoba, 28–9; at University of Oxford, 14, 33–45; on Suez Crisis, 239, 241–50; theology of, 60–1, 73, 77, 78–9, 82, 119–20, 126, 144, 301–4, 312–13; on Towards the Christian Revolution, 4, 154–5; as travelling lecturer in Christian ethics, 117, 128, 131, 134, 143–5, 153; on Pierre Trudeau’s “peace mission”, 296–7; on Turnov Conference (1922), 41, 47; on Frank Underhill academic freedom controversy, 183–4; Union for Democratic Action (UDA) member, 180, 181, 217, 219; on United Nations, 202–5, 210–11, 215–16,

220–1, 222–3, 230–1, 237, 246, 251–2, 265–7, 275–6, 308; as United Nations Ad Hoc Commission on Prisoners of War secretary, 226–9, 265; United Nations Association in Canada member, 269, 287–8; as United Nations Division of Human Rights section chief, 224–31, 265; on United Nations Educational Training Program, 285; on United Nations Emergency Force (UNEF), 252, 263–4, 265; as United Nations Information Centre for the Middle East director, 11, 239–54, 265; author of The United Nations in the Congo: A Quest for Peace, 262–4; as United Nations Korean Reconstruction Agency (UNKRA) Office of Public Information director, 11, 232–9, 265; as United Nations technical assistance programs chief public information officer, 254–6, 262; United Theological College (UTC) appointment, 74–7, 81, 94–7, 112, 114–15; on UTC dismissal and efforts at reappointment, 98–101, 107–110, 114–15, 121–3, 130; on Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 230; as University of Alberta professor, 273–4; as University of Ottawa Institute for International Cooperation director, 284; Victoria dominion election candidate (1935), 133–43 (1936), 149–53 (1937), 160–4, 166–7; Harry F. Ward’s influence on, 63–4, 67, 78; on Waterfront Project, 68–9; on Winnipeg Citizen, 208; on Winnipeg general strike, 29–30 Gordon, Lois, 16

372 Index Gordon, Marjorie, 16 Gordon, Mary, 16, 45, 98, 140, 167 Gordon, Mary (née Robertson), 15 Gordon, Ruth, 16, 51 Gordon, Ruth (née Anderson), 178, 232, 236, 240, 241, 245, 246–7, 262, 305 Government Generation, The, 6–7 Graham, J.W., 108, 110 Grant, W.L., 6 Griffiths, Stuart, 209 Group of 78, 12, 269, 298–9 Guerrero, José Gustavo, 226 Hammarskjöld, Dag, 232, 243–4, 253, 257–8, 262, 266–7 Harrison, Brian, 35 Havelock, E.A., 85 Head, Ivan, 4, 286 Heeney, Arnold, 6, 10, 32 Helmes-Hayes, Rick, 47, 125 Hepburn, Mitchell, 139, 160, 183 Hillmer, Norman, 116 Himmel, Irving, 230 Hobson, John, 125 Holmes, John, 10, 229, 264, 271, 280, 294, 306 Hoover, Herbert, 68, 84 Hopper, David, 285 Horn, Michiel, 96–7, 102, 123 Howse, Ernest Marshall, 302 Human Rights Day, 237 Humphrey, Hubert, 67 Humphrey, Jeanne, 232 Humphrey, John, 216–17, 218, 222–4, 230, 232–3, 237, 240, 312 Ignatieff, George, 273, 315 Ill Fares the Land, 313–14 Innis, Harold, 6, 9 International Coordination Council (ICC), 181

International Development Research Centre (IDRC), 4, 269, 282, 285–6 internationalism, 9–10, 11, 18, 40, 42, 47, 61, 174, 176, 271–3 International Labour Organization, 43, 45, 46, 47, 251 International Monetary Fund, 196, 280 International Ocean Institute (IOI), 269, 281–4 International Student Service, 41 Isitt, Benjamin, 314–15 Japanese Canadian Citizens’ League (JCCL), 149, 151 Johns, W.H., 273 Judt, Tony, 313–14 Kasavubu, Joseph, 257 Katzin, Alfred, 240 Keating, Tom, 271, 272 Keenleyside, Hugh, 6, 10 Kennedy, David, 65 Kennedy, Paul, 229, 267 Ketchen, Hugh Beverley, 112 Khine, Aung, 226 Kierstead, B.S., 6 King, Janet Macpherson (née ­Skinner), 15 King, John Mark, 15–16 King, John Ralph, 15 King, William Lyon Mackenzie, 6, 135, 142, 150, 159, 161–3, 183, 186, 189–90, 191, 192 Kirchwey, Freda, 195, 198, 206–7 Knowles, Stanley, 120, 121, 208, 254 Lacombe, Sylvie, 154 Larsen, Elsa, 178 Laurence, Margaret, 304 Leacock, Stephen, 105 League against War and Fascism, 118

Index 373 League for Industrial Democracy (LID), 72, 78, 84, 181, 217 League for Social Reconstruction (LSR), 3, 80, 84–7, 97, 101, 102, 105, 111, 122, 125, 128, 139, 145–6, 154, 180, 181, 183, 199, 217, 219, 222–3, 291, 311 League of Nations, 18, 40, 42, 43, 45, 47, 48, 52, 203, 209 Ledger, Edward, 25 Lévesque, René, 293 Lewis, David, 83, 84, 85, 185, 208, 254 Lie, Trygve, 226 Lighthall, W.D., 109 Line, John, 106, 111 London, Jack, 181 Lower, Arthur, 6 Lumumba, Patrice, 257 Lyon, Peyton, 293 MacBrien, J.H., 96 MacDonald, David, 299, 305 MacDonald, Malcolm, 52 MacDonald, Ramsay, 52, 96 MacDowell, Laurel Sefton, 187 MacEachen, Allan J., 288 MacInnis, Angus, 152 MacInnis, Grace, 152, 268, 270, 293 Mackenzie, Ian, 136, 162–3 MacKinnon, James A., 183 Manitoba College, 15, 16, 54, 60 Manitoba Pulp and Paper Company, 55, 56, 57, 58 Mann-Borgese, Elisabeth, 282 Marsh, Leonard, 47, 82, 145 Marshall, David B., 8, 19, 81–2, 173 Marshall Plan, 205, 214–15 Martin, Paul, 10, 275 Massey, Vincent, 6 Mayhew, Robert W., 162, 166 McCarthy, Joseph, 215, 250–1 McConnell, J.W., 98

McDowell, Christopher John, 139–40, 142, 150–1, 152–3 McGill Committee for Unemployed Young Men, 88 McKay, Ian, 124 McKelvie, Bruce Alistair, 163 McKenzie, Hector, 272 McKenzie, W.A., 141 McWilliams, Roland Fairbairn, 131, 170 Melakopides, Costas, 10, 272 Mergler, Joseph, 83, 84, 85 Millard, Charles, 191 Mitchell, Humphrey, 188–9 Mobutu, Joseph-Désiré (Sésé Seko), 258 Montreal Gazette, 121 Montreal Herald, 105 Montreal Presbytery Committee on Social and Economic Research, 88–90, 122 Moore, T. Albert, 108, 110, 118, 134 Moral Man and Immoral Society, 65, 87 Mosher, A.R., 186 Mott, John R., 30 Mullins, Harry, 106 Mulroney, Brian, 298–9 Munton, Don, 271, 272 Murphy, Alexander, 98 Murray, Gilbert, 43 Mutchmor, Jim, 238 Nansen, Frederick, 40, 47 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 241–4, 245, 246, 249, 253 Nation, 110, 175, 193–6, 199–200, 202, 204–7, 210, 217, 222 National War Labour Board, 186–8, 190 Native Sons of British Columbia, 149 National Employment Commission (NEC), 161–2

374 Index New Christianity, The, 77 New Deal (Canada), 129–30, 135 New Deal (United States), 143, 185, 192, 201 New Democratic Party (NDP), 231, 290, 314 New Outlook, 109, 131 New Liberalism, 5, 125, 172 Niebuhr, Reinhold, 63, 64–8, 71, 72, 75, 78, 81, 86, 106, 109, 126–7, 133, 154, 167, 180, 194, 196, 206, 217, 218, 219, 220, 269, 274, 280 Norman, Herbert, 250–1 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 214–15, 292–3, 300 Nossal, Kim, 306 Ogilvie, F.L., 35 On-to-Ottawa Trek, 137–8 Opération des Nations Unies au Congo (ONUC), 223, 257–64, 265 oriental enfranchisement, 140–1, 149, 151–2, 164, 166 Ottawa Agreements, 163 Owram, Doug, 6–7, 10, 129 Oxford International Assembly, 43–4, 47 Pacem in Maribus (Peace in the Oceans) conference, 282 Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth), 282 Pardo, Arvid, 281 Parkinson, J.F., 85, 101, 105, 145 Parti Québécois, 293 Paton, Herbert, 34 Pattullo, T. Dufferin, 136 P.C. 689, 190 P.C. 5963, 187–9 P.C. 8253, 186–7 P.C. 8267, 186

Pearson, Lester B., 6, 10, 231, 238, 243, 250–1, 282, 285, 288, 294, 296 Pedley, Frank, 101, 107, 108, 134 Philpott, Elmore, 102–3 Pickersgill, Jack, 6 Pidgeon, Leslie, 89, 109–10 Pine Falls, Manitoba, 54–61, 77, 123 Plaunt, Alan, 6 Plunkett, D’Arcy Britton, 136, 140–2 Pope John XXIII, 282 Pope Pius XII, 240 Porter, John, 47 Postscript to Adventure: The Autobiography of Ralph Connor, 168, 175, 178, 310 Pouliot, Jean-Francois, 200–1 Power, William Edward, 303 Pratt, Cranford, 271, 272 Quadragesimo Anno (1931), 303 Rauschenbusch, Walter, 29 Reconstruction Finance Corporation, 84 Reconstruction Party, 135 Regina Daily Star, 105 Regina Manifesto, 104–5, 135, 141, 174, 200, 292 Reid, Escott, 10, 180, 185 Rerum Novarum (1891), 303 Rhee, Syngman, 239 Riddell, Walter, 10, 43, 47 Rinehart, Stanley, 168 Robertson, Norman, 6, 10, 185 Rockefeller, John D., 68 Rogers, Norman, 6 Ronning, Chester, 10 Roosevelt, Eleanor, 223 Roosevelt, Franklin Delano, 143, 184, 185, 195, 198, 201, 217

Index 375 Royal Commission on Price Spreads and Mass Buying, 89 Royal Commission on Steel, 176, 186–191, 218 Rucker, Arthur, 238, 239 Ryle, Gilbert, 38 Sanger, Clyde, 305 San Francisco conference, 195 St Laurent, Louis, 10 St Stephen’s Presbyterian Church, Winnipeg, 15, 16, 17, 19, 22, 25 Sandwell, Bernard Keble, 6 Santiago Declaration (1952), 282 Saturday Night, 100, 114, 200 Sauvé, Jeanne, 269 Schreyer, Edward, 315 Scott, Frank, 6, 82, 83, 84, 85, 96, 101, 104, 116, 132–3, 136, 139, 142, 145, 153, 156, 159, 170, 178, 179, 188–9, 192–3, 195, 201, 207, 222–3, 233, 244, 253–4, 290, 292, 304, 305, 311 Scott, Marian, 83, 145, 178 Scott, R.B.Y., 111, 167 section 98 (Criminal Code of Canada), 89 secularization, 5, 8, 9, 82, 173 Sharkey, Harry, 208 Shore, Marlene, 4 Sinclair, Archibald, 69, 178 Sinclair, Upton, 181 Skelton, O.D., 6 Smith, Norman, 274 Smyth, James, 75, 81, 95, 106, 109 Social Credit Party, 135 social democracy, 5, 103, 180, 201, 205, 231, 290, 313, 314–15 social gospel, 18, 29, 46, 63, 76–7, 78, 79, 82, 85, 126, 312

Social Planning for Canada, 4, 145–6, 172, 291–2 South African apartheid, 299 Spry, Graham, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10, 33, 38, 105, 129, 131–2, 133–4, 145, 290 Stairs, Denis, 11 Stalin, Joseph, 90, 93, 94, 219 Stavridi, V.J.G., 239 Stelco, 190 Stevens, H.H., 89, 130, 135 Stewart, James T., 186, 188 Student Volunteer Convention, 30 Suez Crisis, 239, 241–50, 276 Tawney, R.H., 35, 46 These Rights and Freedoms, 224 Thomas, Norman, 72, 181 Thompson, R.M., 27 Thorson, Joseph, 183 Time, 195 Tolmie, Simon Fraser, 136, 151–3, 160, 163 Tompkins, Jimmie, 147 Toronto Globe, 106 Toronto Star, 108 Towards the Christian Revolution, 4, 154–5, 172 Trudeau, Pierre, 288, 295–8, 306 Tshombe, Moïse, 257–8 Turnov (Czechoslovakia) conference (1922), 41, 47 Underhill, Frank, 6, 84, 101, 104, 105, 145, 184–5, 311 Union for Democratic Action (UDA), 176, 180, 181, 199, 217, 219 Union Theological Seminary, 48, 49, 61, 62, 64, 65, 67, 68, 69, 123, 171 United Arab Republic (UAR), 253

376 Index United Church of Canada, 18, 54, 71, 72, 75, 81, 82, 87, 88, 89, 97, 98, 107, 108, 109, 110, 112, 114, 116, 117, 118, 121, 125, 130, 134, 149, 153, 171, 220, 236, 238, 302 United Nations, 12, 45, 48, 196, 199, 209–21; passim, 222–67; passim, 295, 298, 300, 306, 310 United Nations Ad Hoc Commission on Prisoners of War, 226–9, 265 United Nations Association in ­Canada, 269, 275, 287–8, 315 United Nations Atomic Energy Commission, 297 United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), 251 United Nations Conference on the Law of the Sea, 281, 283, 308 United Nations Division of Human Rights, 216–17, 222, 223, 224, 231, 232, 240, 265, 312 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), 226, 231, 232, 251, 265 United Nations Educational Training Program, 285 United Nations Emergency Force (UNEF), 243–4, 247–9, 252, 257, 263, 265, 276, 297 United Nations Information Centre for the Middle East, 11, 223, 239, 265 United Nations in the Congo: A Quest for Peace, The, 262–4 United Nations Korean Reconstruction Agency (UNKRA), 11, 223, 232–4, 237–9, 245, 265 United Theological College (UTC), 74, 78, 94, 95, 96, 98, 100, 101, 107,

108, 110, 114, 117, 118, 121–3, 128, 130, 134, 171, 273, 312 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 216, 223, 224, 229, 230 University of Manitoba, 24, 27, 28, 30, 31, 35 University of Oxford, 13, 14, 28, 33–4, 35, 37 Varwick, Johannes, 229 Vlastos, Gregory, 111 Ward, Harry F., 63–4, 65, 67, 71, 74, 75, 77, 78, 81, 87, 101, 117–18 Waterfront Project, 68–9, 88 Watson, Patrick, 281 Weekly Sun, 100 Wesley, John, 240 Whalen, Grover, 68 White, R.S., 96 Whitton, Charlotte, 6 Wilson, Woodrow, 18 Winnipeg Citizen, 208 Winnipeg Declaration, 104 Winnipeg Free Press, 208 Winnipeg general strike, 18, 29–30 Winnipeg Tribune, 208 Wiseman, Nelson, 314–15 Woodsworth, James Shaver, 20, 58, 75, 85, 101, 102, 103, 105, 110–11, 120, 131, 133, 134, 135, 141, 145, 152, 159 World Bank, 196 Wrong, Hume, 6, 10 Zwemer, Samuel Marinus, 30–1, 46