worry about the United States's leadership of the free world. The
idea that the British do not accept the transfer of power westward
across the Atlantic is superficial. They may not like it, but they do
accept it. Yet the idea has great vigor. An American editor of the
highest intelligence once said: "These people will never get used to
our being in the number-one position!" I think they _are_ used to it.
But acceptance has not ended their doubts and criticisms about how
we exercise the tremendous power that is ours, or their resentment
of United States suggestions that Britain is finished and no longer
counts in the councils of the West. The British do not mind when
Senator Knowland accuses them of feeding military matériel to the
Communist Chinese. They do mind when in an international crisis the
State Department treats Britain as though she were on the same level as
Greece.
For, whatever the alliance means to Americans, to Britons it has meant
a special relationship between the two countries under which the United
Kingdom is entitled to more consideration than she often receives.
It was the realization that the United States did not recognize this
special relationship which touched off the wave of criticism and doubt
during the Suez crisis.
From the welter of words loosed in that period--speeches, Parliamentary
resolutions, editorials, and arguments in pubs--a central theme
affecting relations between Britain and the United States emerged. The
decision of the United States administration to condemn British action
in Egypt and to vote with the Soviet Union against Britain in the
General Assembly of the United Nations smashed the conception of the
alliance held by millions of Britons. This sorry development is quite
unaffected by such considerations as whether the British government
should have ordered intervention or whether the United States
government should have been as surprised by intervention as it was.
The British regarded the alliance as one in which each partner
was ready to help and sustain the other. They felt that the
administration's actions mocked a decade and a half of fine talk
about standing together. Traveling through Britain early in 1957, I
found "that United Nations vote" was a topic which arose in every
conversation and to which every conversation inevitably returned.
Some could understand the logic of the United States. But very few
understood how, in view of the past, we could bring ourselves to vote
against Britain.
Whatever Washington may think, the British believe they deserve special
consideration because of their present exertions and past performances.
They point out, accurately, that the United Kingdom has put more men,
money, and matériel into NATO than has any other ally of the United
States. They assert that, although there have been differences between
the two powers, Britain has sustained United States policy in Europe
sometimes, as in the case of German rearmament, at the cost of great
political difficulty. An alliance, they say, should work both ways.
Britons are thankful for American generosity after World War II. But
their gratitude is affected by a powerful psychological factor often
overlooked by Americans, one that strengthens the British belief that
their country merits a special position in America's foreign policies.
This factor is the British interpretation of the role played by their
country in two world wars.
It is an article of popular faith in Britain that the nation twice went
to war in defense of smaller powers--Belgium in 1914 and Poland in
1939--and that the United States, whose real interests were as deeply
involved as Britain's, remained on the sidelines for thirty-three
months of the first war and for twenty-seven months of the second war.
Americans find it tedious to be told by the more assertive Britons how
their beleaguered island stood alone against the world in 1940. The
American conviction that the war really began when the Japanese blew us
into it at Pearl Harbor is equally tedious to Britons. Nevertheless,
the British did stand defiantly alone. They whipped the _Luftwaffe_,
and they took heavy punishment from German bombs. They fought hard,
if often unsuccessfully, in the Western Desert, Greece, Crete,
Abyssinia, and Syria. All this went on while we across the Atlantic
began ponderously to arm and to argue at great length whether the Nazi
dictatorship really was a threat to freedom.
These events affected those Britons who are now moving toward the
direction of the nation's destinies. The cabinet minister of today or
tomorrow may be the destroyer seaman, tank-commander, or coal-miner
of 1940. However deplorable the attitude may seem from our standpoint
and from the standpoint of some individual Britons, the British people
believe something is due them for their exertions. The wiser leaders,
speaking from both the left and the right, advise their countrymen to
forget the past and think of the future.
How they will think of their international future is a different
matter. For the first time since 1940 there is now a strong sentiment
in Britain for going it alone. There is also a revulsion against all
forms of international association, starting with the United Nations
and extending to NATO and SEATO. To anyone who understands the pride
and toughness that lie at the center of the British character this is
understandable. They have never been afraid of being alone.
In considering British dissatisfaction with the place accorded their
country in the American outlook, it should not be thought that this
reflects lack of liaison between the two nations on the lower echelons
of diplomacy. The co-operation between the United States Embassy
officials and the Foreign Office in London ordinarily is very close. So
is the co-operation between the British Embassy diplomats in Washington
and the State Department. To repeat, it is in situations like the
crises over Cyprus and Suez that the British feel they are treated by
the State Department and the administration not as the most powerful
and reliable of allies but as just another friendly nation.
This concern over Britain's place within the alliance is sharpened by
doubts over the ability of the United States to exercise leadership
in a manner that will secure both the peace of the world and the
maintenance of the interests of the West.
Such doubts arise generally from the wide differences between what
American policy really is and what various spokesmen for the United
States say it is. Let us consider two statements by John Foster Dulles,
a man who, when he became Secretary of State in 1953, was admired and
trusted by professional British diplomats and by politicians interested
in international affairs.
At one point Mr. Dulles spoke of "massive retaliation" against any
enemies of the United States in the Far East. The remark made a great
splash in the headlines of the world, and in the view of the British
it was totally useless. The Russians and Communist Chinese leaders,
they argued, realized that the United States had nuclear weapons and
would be prepared to use them in the event of war. As both nations
are dictatorships and as the government controls all communications
media in each country, there was no prospect of Mr. Dulles's warning
being relayed effectively to the Russian and Chinese masses whom it
might conceivably impress. But it was relayed to all those people in
the world, especially in the Asian world, who in any case consider the
United States as a huge, powerful, and possibly aggressive nation.
The British were appalled by the effect of the statement on India.
There, as elsewhere, it was well ventilated by the Communists and other
enemies of the United States as an example of America's devotion to
belligerence.
Earlier in his busy career as moral lecturer for the West, Mr.
Dulles had spoken of the possibility that the defeat of the European
Defense Community plan in the French National Assembly might provoke
an "agonizing reappraisal" of the United States policy toward Europe.
Again the result was quite different from that desired by the Secretary
of State. The National Assembly rejected EDC, just as everyone
interested in the matter, with the exception of the Secretary of State,
Dr. Adenauer, M. René Pleven, and M. Jean Monnet, knew it would. The
United States did not immediately begin any "agonizing reappraisal" of
its position in Europe because quite obviously it could not do so at
the time. It had to keep its troops in Europe, it had to rearm Germany,
it had to sustain the NATO alliance because these are the essentials of
a foreign policy that is partly the result of American initiative and
partly the outcome of our response to the challenges of the times.
In both cases it slowly became plain that neither the Congress nor the
people of the United States were prepared for massive retaliation or
even agonizing reappraisal. The reappraisal did start in 1956, but it
was the result of very different factors: the rising costs of nuclear
weapons and the necessity in both Britain and the United States of
reducing armament expenditures and taxes, the change in the tactics
of Soviet foreign policy, the reassurance (largely illusory) given
the West by the summit conference at Geneva in the summer of 1955,
which convinced many that the need for heavy armament expenditure was
receding. This reappraisal may be agonizing, but it has nothing to do
with the one the Secretary of State was talking about.
The crisis in European affairs caused by France's rejection of EDC
was solved largely by British initiative and diplomacy. Today most
Britons interested in international affairs feel that this feat has
received too little recognition in Washington. Sir Anthony Eden, then
Foreign Secretary, pulled the forgotten Brussels treaty out of his
pocket--or, more accurately, out of the soap dish, for he was bathing
when he thought of it--and hied off to Europe to sell the treaty
to the interested governments as an instrument under which Germany
could be rearmed. Sir Anthony was eminently successful in his sales
talks. Mr. Dulles remained aloof for the first few days, thinking dark
thoughts about the French. He had been advised by high State Department
officials that Eden didn't have a chance of selling the Brussels treaty
idea. When it became evident that Sir Anthony was selling it and was
being warmly applauded even by the Germans for his initiative and
diplomatic skill, Mr. Dulles flew to Europe. It looked very much to the
British as though he wanted to get in on the act.
Many Britons felt that Mr. Dulles let Sir Anthony and the Foreign
Office do the donkey work in patching up European unity in the autumn
of 1954 and in negotiating a settlement in Indochina that spring. The
Secretary of State and the administration were ready to take a share of
the credit for success, but were only too eager to remain aloof from
failure. Only the patience, experience, and forthrightness of General
Walter Bedell Smith, then Under Secretary of State, enabled the United
States to cut any sort of figure at the conference on Southeast Asia.
Such a policy of limited liability in great affairs is not in accord
with either the power of the United States or the principles preached
by Mr. Dulles and others.
Another American phenomenon that annoys and occasionally frightens the
British (and, incidentally, many other allied and neutral states) is
the belligerent loquacity of our generals and admirals. The American
public is not particularly aroused when someone in the Pentagon
announces that we must be on our guard and must build enough heavy
bombers or atomic cannon or aircraft-carriers to blow the Kremlin
to Siberia or even farther. The public is pretty well sold, perhaps
oversold, on defense. Besides, the public is much brighter than the
generals or the admirals or their busy public-relations officers think
it is--bright enough to realize that behind these dire prophecies of
doom, these clarion calls for more weapons, the services may be having
some trouble in squeezing the treasury. The citizen reads the first
few paragraphs and turns to the sports pages to see what Mantle did
yesterday.
The situation is far different in the United Kingdom or in France or
Italy or even Germany, to name only our allies.
The British people live packed on a relatively small island, and it has
been estimated that six hydrogen bombs dropped in Britain would be the
knockout. Consequently, the people do not like loose talk about nuclear
bombing. They have a shrewd suspicion that they, and not the talkers,
will be the first target.
Such apprehensions may be exaggerated. But there is sound thinking
behind British insistence that such announcements by our military
spokesmen damage the cause of the West and the good name of the
United States among our allies and, equally important, among the
growing number of states now neutral or near neutral in the struggle
between East and West. For many reasons, geographical, military,
political, even religious, these states abhor war and violence.
Russian propagandists recognized this attitude at the outset of the
cold war and have played upon it with great skill. And they have been
helped immeasurably every time Senator Blowhard or Admiral Sternseadog
suggests that we should blow hell out of the Russians or the Chinese.
These manifestations of combativeness may be helpful in reminding the
Russians of United States power. But the Russians are not our primary
concern: we are their enemies, whatever the surface policy of the
Soviet government. Our primary concern in this new period when the cold
war is being continued by more complex and subtle means than blockades
and _coups d'états_ is the new nations we have helped bring into being.
It is in relation to this approach, I believe, that the British
question our judgment. Particularly those officials and politicians
who deal with foreign affairs are not immediately concerned with the
prospect of Communist revolution in Italy or France. They estimate
that the leaders of the Soviet Union would avoid such upheavals in
the present state of world affairs because revolution would sound the
alarm bells in every Western capital and prevent the Soviet Union from
accomplishing a more important objective: the steady weakening of the
regional alliances--NATO, SEATO, the Baghdad Pact--which have been
laboriously constructed by the United States and the United Kingdom
to contain Communist aggression and to provide a safer, richer life
for the peoples of the allied states. Simultaneously, the Soviet
Union, through diplomatic, political, and cultural agencies, will make
every effort to pull the neutrals, great and small--India, Egypt,
Indonesia--onto their side.
It is in this arena, one where diplomatic skill and economic assistance
are more important than military power, that Britain believes the West
must exert its strength. Both diplomats and politicians are convinced
that in the next five years there must be a thorough overhaul of the
political planning and military arrangements made by the West in the
period 1949-55. They question whether this can be done if the principal
emphasis in defense circles in the United States remains on the
prospect of an imminent war.
A point arising from this discussion is that the British themselves are
unused to the spectacle of a soldier or sailor pronouncing on issues
of national policy. In Britain the warrior, retired or serving, is
kept in his place. If the government wants the advice of Field Marshal
Montgomery it asks for it and gets it in the privacy of the cabinet
rooms.
In the field of foreign affairs the British maintain that the
tremendous physical power of the United States and our immense
resources do not automatically guarantee that in the exercise of our
power we will always be right. Leaders of both parties feel that the
United States government, particularly President Roosevelt and his
advisers, misread Soviet intentions lamentably in the period 1942-6,
and that consequently Allied strategy strove only for victory and not
for a stable peace after victory. The political tides that sweep the
United States every two years give American foreign policy an aspect of
impermanence, even instability, which weakens United States influence
in the world. There is a feeling that United States diplomacy would
benefit from fewer press conferences and more private negotiations.
Naturally, these criticisms can be irritating, especially if they are
delivered in the Pecksniffian tones characteristic of many British
officials. But history will judge, I believe, that this transfer of
power westward across the Atlantic has been carried out with great good
sense and dignity. It may also hold up to scorn the present generation
of Americans if they fail to avail themselves not only of the physical
strength but also of the diplomatic experience and skill of a nation
wise in the ways of the world. This is not a time for Americans to be
too proud to listen.
Such considerations belong to the stratosphere of Anglo-American
relations. An American living in Britain will soon be brought down to
earth in any conversation with British businessmen.
Repeatedly he will be asked why the United States bars British imports
through high tariffs, why there is discrimination against British
bids for contracts in the United States, why Senators and Congressmen
belabor the British on one hand for trying to expand their trade with
the Soviet Union and on the other hand do all they can to block the
expansion of British trade with the United States.
"Trade Not Aid" is the British goal in their economic relations with
the United States, which is Britain's second-best market. In 1954 we
bought goods valued at £198,800,000 ($556,640,000) from Britain. But
this represented only 6.6 per cent of the total United Kingdom exports,
and in 1938, long before the export drives, when Britain still counted
on her overseas investments to help finance her own imports, the
percentage was 5.4 per cent.
So, although both nations recognize this trade's importance to
Britain--it is her principal source of dollar earnings--the increase in
the trade has been relatively small.
The inability of British exporters to sell competitively in the United
States because of tariff protection provokes sharp criticism. The
Republican administration of 1952-6 was attacked in the editorial
columns of newspapers that are usually most friendly to the United
States, for, despite the reassuring speeches of President Eisenhower,
British industry still claimed it was being denied access to American
markets by the tariff restrictions.
Certainly the tariff does bar many British imports. It may be, however,
that many of them, perhaps a majority, would not be able to compete
with similar American products. There is a great deal of ignorance
about the American market among British industrialists and some
reluctance to assume the long and complex job of analyzing a particular
market. I know of one manufacturer of women's handbags who has built up
an extremely profitable business in the United States largely through a
thorough study of the market on frequent visits to this country. I also
know of other larger firms that have failed to exploit their potential
American market because they would not change their methods or their
product to meet the market's demands. Beyond this, they could not
understand the importance of servicing their product and of maintaining
continuous relations with middlemen and buyers.
We have seen that Aneurin Bevan and other politicians of the extreme
left are wedded to the idea that successive Labor and Conservative
governments have danced to Washington's tune. There are many who would
deny undue political or diplomatic influence by the United States on
Britain; indeed, many in America would say the shoe was on the other
foot. But no one could discount the growing influence of American
customs and ways of living upon the people of Britain. Part of this
is the direct result of the popularity of American movies and the
continued presence of American troops. Part comes from the fact that
British manufacturers are rather belatedly turning out the household
devices which have revolutionized living in the United States. This and
the ability of the new working class and the new middle class to buy in
abundance has led to a change in the living conditions of millions.
Ignorance of the political system and international objectives of the
United States is still fairly widespread. In some important respects,
however, there is today among the people of England a greater knowledge
about the people of the United States than there ever was in the past.
Before the entry of the United States into World War II, for instance,
there was a strong conviction in Britain that ethnically we were the
same people. The mass of Britons expected us to be as British in our
background and national outlook as the people of Australia or New
Zealand. The war corrected that impression. The army that came to
Britain was composed of men of diverse ethnic stocks, and the people
among whom they lived learned that Americans could have names like
Magliaro, Martinez, or Mannheim and still be good Americans. This
shocked both the Americanophobes who thought of us as "Anglo-Saxons"
unchanged since the administration of Thomas Jefferson and their
political representatives who envisaged us as openhearted and
openhanded former colonials only too eager to help out the "mother
country." But in the long run this clearer, more realistic view of
modern America has had a good effect on relations between the two
countries.
Similarly, the presence among Britons of several million young men
representing the United States removed some illusions built up by
years of steady attendance at the local movie house. We were not all
rich, we were not all gangsters or cowboys, we did not all chew gum.
Americans worked just as hard, worried just as much, and had the same
hopes and dreams as Britons did. The period of the big buildup in 1943
and 1944 before the Normandy invasion was marred by saloon brawls
between Americans and British and by friction on both sides. But this
is outweighed, I believe, by the fact that the same period contributed
greatly to the two peoples' knowledge of each other.
When the United States Air Force sent forces to Britain at the peak of
the cold war, it was assumed by many that this process would continue.
But the present contingent is minute compared to the millions of
Americans who moved through Britain during World War II. Moreover, its
members are more professional. They do not have the opportunity or
the inclination for close contact with British homes. They want what
professional soldiers want the world over: a bellyful of beer and a
girl. They get both.
The senior officers of the United States Air Force units in Britain and
well-intentioned Britons, zealous for the improvement of relations
between the countries, spend a great deal of time worrying about the
behavior of the airmen and their treatment by British civilians. The
time is ill spent. It is the nature of young men far from home, in or
out of uniform, to drink, to wench, and to fight. Here and there they
may encounter tradesmen eager to make an extra shilling out of the
foreigner. But such profiteering does not seem to be on the same scale
as that practiced by the good people of Florida or Texas or Kansas upon
their own countrymen in uniform during World War II.
In many superficial respects Britain is more Americanized than before
the war. There are hamburger joints near Piccadilly Circus and
Leicester Square, and the American tourist can buy a Coke in most
big towns. A pedestrian in London sees windows full of "Hollywood
models" and "Broadway styles." In the years immediately after the war,
working-class youth copied the kaleidoscopic ties and broad-shouldered,
double-breasted plumage of the American male. Today, still following
styles set in America, he is adopting the more sober appearance of
the Ivy League, and the button-down shirt has made its appearance
in High Holborn. This is a curious example of styles traveling west
and then east across the Atlantic, for the Ivy League dresses as it
believes--or, rather, as its tailors believe--English gentlemen dress.
Now the working-class young man in Britain is imitating "new" American
styles that are themselves an imitation of the styles followed by his
own upper class. Whatever the fashion in the United States, this class
clings manfully to the dark suit, the starched collar, and the derby in
London, and to tweeds in the country.