Table of Contents

Tragedy and Hope

A History of the World in Our Time

By Carroll Quigley


Part Nineteen: The New Era: 1957-1964

Chapter 71: The Growth of Nuclear Stalemate

     The decade from 1953 to 1963 was the most critical in modern history. Man's ability to get through it successfully was a tribute to his good luck and good sense. The avoidance of nuclear war and the extraordinary burst of economic prosperity in the advanced industrial nations during that decade were balanced by the continued growth of acute social disorganization and the even more acute growth of ideological confusions. Nevertheless, man survived, and, by 1963, was at the opening of a new era, based very largely on the relaxation of the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union and on the opportunities to do something about the lagging social and intellectual problems provided by the combination of political relaxation and economic prosperity.

     The decade as a whole fell into two parts, divided about 1956. The first three years were marked by the continued "Race for the H-Bomb," and covered the period from the early thermonuclear explosions in 1953 to the achievement of a fusion bomb that could be dropped from an airplane in 1956. The next seven years were filled with the missile race, and reached their culmination and denouement in the year from the Cuban missile crisis of October-November 1962 to the death of President Kennedy in November 1963.

     Closely related to this division based on weapons development was the somewhat delayed division of the decade into two parts by a change in American strategic policy. Here the dividing point was about 1960, and is marked by the shift from the strategy of "massive retaliation," associated with the name of John Foster Dulles, to the strategy of "graduated deterrence," associated with the new Democratic Administration of President Kennedy. The shift in 1960, however, was only incidentally associated with the presidential election of that year and the subsequent shift of Administration in the White House. The real change in 1960 was brought about, as we shall see, by the full achievement, at that time, of intercontinental thermonuclear striking ability by the two great Superpowers. The "balance of terror" thus achieved by 1960 led directly to the missile crisis of 1962 and the thermonuclear stalemate of 1963. And these developments led to major changes in the political and ideological structures of all areas of the world, changes that are still going on.

The Shifting Power Balance

     As we have seen, the whole period of 1953 to 1960, in the area of defense, was dominated by the so-called "New Look," the Republican effort to reduce the cost of the American defense effort by shifting from "containment" to massive retaliation. This involved a reduction in the American defense budget from an average of $43 billion a year over the last four Truman budgets (1949-1953) to an average of S37.4 a year over the six Eisenhower budgets of 1954-1960. In this process American military manpower was reduced from 3.7 million men to '.5 million over the six years January, 1953-January, 1959. Foreign economic aid was decreasingly emphasized.

     In this fashion, the effort to deter Soviet aggression was based more completely on the threat of American nuclear attack by SAC bombers on the Soviet homeland and less on American readiness to meet Soviet forces on the ground or to win third Powers to our side by economic or other aid. Dulles, who saw the world in black-and-white terms, refused to recognize the right of anyone to be neutral, and tried to force all states to join the American side in the Cold War or be condemned to exterior darkness.

     Having thus divided the world into two blocs, he sought to set up between them a continuous circuit of paper barriers along the land frontiers of the Soviet bloc from the Baltic Sea, across Europe and Asia, to the Far East. The chief portions in the barrier were the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) in Europe (1949), the Central Treaty Organization (1955) in the Near and Middle East (CENTRO), and the South-East Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO) in the Far East (1954). In theory, the paper barrier was made continuous by the presence of Turkey in both NATO and CENTRO and of Pakistan in both CENTRO and SEATO.

     Dulles cared little about the military strength, economic prosperity, or political democracy of the states forming this paper ring around the Soviet bloc, since their chief function was to form a paper barrier so that any movement outward by Russia or its satellites, by breaking the paper, would trigger the trip-wire circuit that hurled America's nuclear retaliatory power on the Soviet homeland. In theory this strategic policy meant that any outward movement by the Soviet Union, or by one of its satellite states, in some remote jungle or on some barren mountaintop of central Asia, might lead to all-out nuclear war, initiated by the United States, which would totally destroy European civilization as we know it. For, until 1960, the ability of either of the Superpowers to strike directly at the other from its own soil was very limited, and, accordingly, the two Superpowers had to strike f rom or strike at bases in Europe or the Far East.

     This change, which took place over the period 1956-1962, is of major significance, since it meant that the Soviet Union and the United States became capable of striking directly at each other and did not have to involve third Powers in their disputes immediately. From the weapons point of view, it represented, on the American side, three changes: (1) the shift in manned bombing planes from the long-range B-47's to the intercontinental-range B-52's and B-58's; (2) the shift in missiles from the intermediate-range ballistic missiles (IRBM's), such as Thor or Jupiter, which had to be based in Turkey, Italy, or Britain in order to reach the Soviet Union, to intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBM's), such as the Minuteman or Atlas, which could hit the Soviet Union from launching sites in the United States; and (3) the advent, about 1960, of the nuclear-propelled Polaris submarines, whose sixteen nuclear-armed missiles could strike the Soviet Union from submerged positions in the seas bordering the Eurasian land mass.

     This American capability to strike the Soviet homeland from North America was not achieved so quickly or so completely on the Russian side, even by the time the nuclear stalemate had been reached in 1963. As a result, the Soviet Union could strike at the United States only by striking at its bases or its allies in NATO or in the Far East. At first, in the 1950's, such a Soviet counterstrike would have been largely by the Soviet ground forces invading westward across central Europe, but by the late 1950's, as the Soviet strategic striking forces were strengthened by its acquisition of strategic bombing planes like the Tu-16 and of IRBM's, this Soviet counterstrike to America's massive retaliation would have resulted in the nuclear destruction and radioactive pollution of much of Europe. The gradual shift of American retaliatory power from intermediate range to intercontinental range (in 1962) reduced the Soviet pressure on Europe by reducing the importance of America's European bases. This had many significant implications for all the nations of Europe, both Communist and Western.

     The key to the missile race rested on the fact that the United States and the Soviet Union took opposite routes in their efforts to obtain nuclear-armed rockets. One basic problem was how to combine the American A-bomb of 1945 with the German V-2 rocket. Since the A-bomb was an egg-shaped object 5 feet wide and 10 feet long, which weighed 9,000 pounds, and the V-2 could carry a warhead of only 1,700 pounds 200 miles, the problem was not easy. The Soviet government sought to close the gap between rocket power and nuclear payload by working toward a more powerful rocket, while the American scientists, over the opposition of the Air Force and the aviation industry, sought to close the gap by getting smaller bombs. The result of the race was that the Soviet Union in 1957-1962 had very large boosters which gave it a lead in the race to propel objects into space or into ballistic orbits around the earth, but these were very expensive could not be made in large numbers, and were very awkward to install or to move. The United States, on the other hand, soon found it had bombs in all sizes down to small ones capable of being used as tactical weapons by troops in ground combat and able to be moved about on jeeps.

     As a consequence of the American decision to reduce the size of the bomb (a decision for which the great scientist Robert Oppenheimer was largely responsible), by the early 1960's the United States was producing large numbers of warheads in a great variety of sizes, capable of being delivered by all kinds of vehicles from tactical rockets and cannons, up through Polaris missiles, airplanes of all sizes, and rockets of all ranges, up to city-destroying bombs carried by gigantic SAC bombers or ICBM's.

     Apparently the Soviet success in obtaining the A-bomb in 1949, in dropping an H-bomb in 1953, and in startling the world with its powerful rocket boosters in 1957 not only alarmed the United States but also lulled the Kremlin itself into the mistaken idea that it was ahead of the United States in the development of missile nuclear weapons. This so-called "missile gap" was a mistaken idea, for the vast expansion of American production of nuclear materials begun in 1950, combined with the simultaneous reduction in the sizes of nuclear warheads, by 1959 was bringing the United States into a condition of "nuclear plenty" and of "overkill capacity" that posed a grim problem for the Soviet Union. It was, strangely enough, just at that time (end of 1957) that two American studies (the Gaither Report and the Special Studies Project of the Rockefeller Brothers Fund) suggested the existence of a missile gap or inferiority in missile capacity of the United States compared to the Soviet Union. This judgment, apparently based on overemphasis on the size of Soviet rocket boosters, played a chief role in the American presidential campaign of 1960 and in the ebullient self-confidence of Khrushchev and his associates in 1957-1961.

     The reality of the situation apparently was not recognized in Moscow until 1961, when it penetrated with a cold shock of fear through the deceptive festivities of self-congratulations that had begun with the success of Sputnik I (October 1957) and the successful moon shot, Lunik II (of September 1959).

     In this pleasant period of self-deception, intensified by the American presidential campaign's unrealistic discussion of the missile gap in 1960, the Kremlin entered upon an unofficial international suspension of nuclear-bomb testing (the Test Moratorium) from October 31, 1958 to October 23, 1961. Suddenly, in 1961, the Soviet authorities recognized that they had fallen far behind the United States, both in number and in variety of nuclear weapons, because their existing nuclear bombs were too large for many purposes, especially for accurate and numerous long-range ICBM's. Accordingly, in October 1961, the Soviet Union broke the test moratorium of three years by resuming nuclear testing, but, to conceal the purpose of the tests in seeking smaller bombs, they aimed their publicity on the tests at the fact that they exploded the largest bomb ever used, a 58-megaton fusion thermonuclear monstrosity.

     After these tests, it soon became clear to the Soviet Union that the American lead in ICBM's could not be overcome by the Soviet Union, in view of its limited industrial capacity and the other urgent demands on that capacity, in any period of time that had strategic meaning. Accordingly, Moscow, probably at the instigation of the Red Army itself, decided to remedy its weakness in ICBM's by seeking to move some of its numerous ICBM's within range of the United States by secretly installing them in Castro's Cuba..

     This decision, if we have analyzed it correctly, showed once again the way in which the Soviet defense strategy moved in a direction opposite to that which was influencing American defense decisions. Just at the time (summer 1962) that the Soviet Union was deciding to remedy its weakness in ICBM's by trying to install IRBM's in a third Power close to the United States, the latter was deciding that its supply of ICBM's was increasing so rapidly that it would close down its IRBM bases in third countries close to the Soviet Union (such as Turkey). This American decision was already beginning to be carried out when the Cuban missile crisis broke in October 1962.

     The Cuban missile crisis was a turning point in Soviet-American relations, similar in some ways to the Fashoda crisis of r898 between France and England. It showed both sides that neither wanted a war and that their interests were not antithetical on all points. Thus it signaled the suspension of the Cold War and of the all-out insane armaments race between them. It showed that the United States had missile superiority sufficient to veto any major Soviet aggression, while the Soviet Union had sufficient missile power, in combination with the generally nonaggressive American attitude, to discourage the United States from using its missile superiority to make any aggression on the Soviet Union. Thus was established a nuclear or power stalemate of nuclear vetoes between the United States and the Soviet Union that secured each against the other.

     This American-Soviet stalemate, by inhibiting the use of the power of each, permitted third Powers to escape, to a considerable extent, from the need to have power sufficient to hack up their actions. This meant that third states could undertake actions which their own power could not in itself justify or enforce. That is to say that the Superpower stalemate allowed third states a freedom of action beyond their own intrinsic powers. Thus Indonesia could attack Malaya; China could attack India; Pakistan, although allied to the United States, could be cozy with Red China; Cyprus could defy Turkey; Egypt could attack Yemen; France could defy the United States; Romania could flirt with Peking; and Britain or Spain could trade with Castro's Cuba, without the Superpowers feeling free to use their own real strengths to obtain what they wanted, since most of these strengths were neutralized opposing each other.

     One significant consequence of this situation was the almost total collapse of the system of international law that had been formulated in the seventeenth century by the work of writers like Grotius. That system of international law had regarded the state as the embodiment of sovereignty, an organization of political power on a territorial basis. The criteria for the existence of such a sovereign state had been its ability to defend its boundaries against external aggression and to maintain la\v and public order among its inhabitants inside those boundaries. By 1964, as a consequence of the power stalemate of the Cold War, dozens of "states" (such as the Congo) which could perform neither of these actions were recognized as states by the Superpowers and their allies, and achieved this recognition in international law by being admitted to the United Nations. This development culminated over fifty years of destruction of the old established distinctions of international law such as the distinctions between war and peace (destroyed by the Cold War, which was neither), between belligerents and neutrals (destroyed by British economic warfare in World War I), or between civilians and combatants (destroyed by submarine warfare and city bombing). Nuclear stalemate in the Cold War context made it possible for political organizations with almost none of the traditional characteristics of a state not only to be recognized as states but to act in irresponsible ways and to survive on economic subsidies won from one bloc by threatening to join (or merely to accept subsidies from) the other bloc.

     As a consequence of this situation, all the realities of international affairs by 1964 had become covered with thick layers of law, theories, practices, and agreements that had no relationship to reality at all. Today, the pressure of the realities beneath that layer to break through it and emerge into the daylight where they can be generally recognized has reached a critical point. As part of that process of increasing sanity (which the recognition of reality always is), the future of disarmament became more hopeful than it had been in decades, although the chances of reaching any substantial disarmament agreements remain slight. This means that disarmament is more likely to appear in the form of nuclear disengagement and tacit adoption of parallel actions than in the form of explicit agreements or signed documents.

     The amount of myth and false theories that must be pushed aside to permit even the highest peaks of reality to emerge is very large. In the United Nations alone, it involves such points as the recognition of the Congo as a "state," the belief that Taiwan is a Great Power worthy of one of the four permanent, veto-wielding seats on the Security Council, or the pretense that Red China, in spite of its possession of all the traditional attributes of statehood, does not exist.

     Part of this return to reality is embodied in the growing recognition that there are more situations in which the United States and the Soviet Union have parallel interests than there are in which their interests are antithetical. Certainly they have a common interest in avoiding nuclear war, in preventing the spread of nuclear weapons to additional states, in not poisoning the atmosphere with radioactive fallout from nuclear testing, in slowing up weapons development, technological rivalry, and the space race in order to direct more resources to domestic problems of poverty, social disorganization, and education; or in refraining from outbidding each other in grants of arms and aid to unreliable, ungrateful, unstable, and inefficient neutralist regimes.

     One first clear evidence of recognition of this common interest was the peaceful settlement of the Cuban missile crisis, but the first formal agreement based on it was the official Test Ban Treaty of August 1963. This treaty not only aimed to maintain the stalemate between the two Superpowers to the degree that it might be jeopardized by their future testing; it also sought to hamper the spread of nuclear weapons to additional powers by this restriction. Both Superpowers and many neutrals feared that nuclear explosives would get into the control of Red China or other irresponsible hands.

     By the late 1960's, considerations such as these revealed that there were considerable areas of common interests among the states of the world covering all three groups of the so-called Free World, the Communist bloc, and the neutrals. The net result was the almost total disappearance of the world as seen by John Foster Dulles only a decade before. The two-power world of Dulles was being replaced by a multi-bloc world in which the two Superpowers, instead of being antithetical on all points, were finding large areas in which their interests were closer to each other than they were to those of some of the other, newer blocs, especially that growing up around Red China. Moreover, as we shall see, in some ways the aims, methods, and structures of the two Superpowers were converging on increasingly parallel courses. Most obviously repugnant to Dulles would have been the rise of neutralism, evident not only in the increasing numbers and independence of the neutral states, but in the disintegration of both the old Superpower blocs as these weakened and dissolved, and former members of these, such as France in the West and Romania in the East, adopted increasingly neutralist policies.

     As one obvious consequence of this, the paper groupings and barriers Dulles had so painfully constructed in the 1950's were under liquidation as one of the chief tasks of the 1960's. This was evident, with increasing obviousness, in NATO, the Organization of American States (OAS), CENTRO, and SEATO. Less obviously, except in the Far East, the same disintegrative process has been going on within the Soviet bloc, at first with Yugoslavia in 1948 and then with Red China (1960), Albania, Romania, and others. This whole process of growing neutralism, diversity, and the disintegration of the Super-blocs, followed by the increasing emphasis of all groups on the problems of poverty, social disorganization. and spiritual nihilism, was possible only because of the growth of nuclear stalemate, and must, throughout, I.,e recognized as occurring under the umbrella of thermonuclear terror and the danger from new, equally horrible biological weapons.

The Denouement of the Cold War, 1957-1963

     Two revealing events in the late summer of 1957 offer conflicting evidence on the nature of the Soviet system. On August 26th the Kremlin claimed its first successful test of an ICBM. A month later it announced that the sixth Five-Year Plan had been scrapped and would be replaced by a new Seven-Year Plan for 1959-1965.

     The meaning of this second announcement was difficult to evaluate, but it showed the regime's increasing difficulty in carrying out its grandiose economic projects, a difficulty that arose from the failures of the Soviet agricultural system. The state and collective farms used such quantities of equipment and manpower, and gave such limited production in return, that they became the chief limiting factor in the Soviet efforts to raise standards of living, to maintain the size and power of the defense forces, to win over third states by economic and technical assistance, and to lead the United States in the conquest of outer space. The output of food from the small private plots of the Soviet peasantry, which were presumably worked only in their owners' spare time, produced four or five times the output per acre of the state and collective farms. This was, of course, an indication of the success of private enterprise as a spur in the productive process, a fact which was specifically recognized by Khrushchev in a series of speeches early in 1964.

     But in 1957-1959 this meaning of the change in the Soviet economic plan was unrecognized, or at least disputable, and the world's attention became riveted instead on the Soviet success with its rocket boosters. From October 1957, over a period of five years, the Russians showed the way in outer space to the United States. In the newspapers and consequent world opinion, the margin of the Soviet superiority seemed much greater than it was in fact. On October 4th Sputnik I, weighing 184 pounds, was shot into an orbit around our earth; a month later, Sputnik II, weighing 1,120 pounds and containing a living dog, also went into successful orbit. But on December 6th a much publicized effort hy the United States, in Project Vanguard, failed in its attempt to place a small sphere of 3 1/4 pounds into orbit. On the last day of January 1958, the first American spacecraft, Explorer I, weighing 31 pounds, successfully was shot into orbit around our earth, but it was followed by another failure of Vanguard and a failure of Explorer II in the next two months.

     In the spring of 1958, our success with Explorer III (31 pounds) and another failure with Vanguard were followed by the successful Sputnik III (2,925 pounds). The two years 1958 and 1959 saw many American failures in space (20 in all) mingled with 16 successful efforts (mostly in 1959). In January 1959, the Soviet government put Lunik I (3,245 pounds) in orbit around the sun five months after our first lunar probe had failed. In September 1959, Lunik II hit the surface of the moon, and a month later Lunik III passed around the moon, photographing its hidden side. In 1960 and 1961 the United States launched numerous successful space vehicles that gathered valuable scientific information. One of these, in January 1959, made the first broadcast from space, relaying messages from American ground stations, but in April and August 1961 Soviet vehicles successfully sent the first human beings into space: Vostok I was recovered after a single orbit, and Vostok II, after 18 successful trips around the globe, was recovered the next day. These first space travelers, Major Yuri Gagarin and Major Gherman S. Titov, returned safely to Soviet soil, descending to earth in remarkable demonstrations of the Soviet success in controlling their space vehicles. The first American astronauts, Captain Alan B. Shepard, Jr., who made a suborbital flight of 117 miles in May 1961, and Colonel John H. Glenn, who orbited the earth three times in February 1962, were recovered by landing in the ocean. In October, United States Navy Commander Walter M. Schirra made a similar landing after a smooth countdown and blast-off at Cape Canaveral (now called Cape Kennedy) and six orbits around the earth. These American achievements were seen on television by millions of viewers and roused considerable praise throughout the world at the courage of the American government in permitting live broadcasts of what could have turned into humiliating fiascos.

     The Soviet fiascos in space developments, if any occurred, were well concealed, while their successes continued to astound the world at the end of 1962. In August of that year, the Russians in less than twenty-four hours blasted off Vostok III and Vostok IV, each with a human passenger, brought them within four miles of each other in space, and landed them together, six minutes and 124 miles apart, after several days in space, most of it in a weightless condition. This achievement was remarkable for its exhibition of control of the whole process, since the two vehicles were in almost identical orbits, almost came together in space, and broke all previous records for time and distance in space. Major A. G. Nikolayev circled the earth 64 times, covered 1,625,000 miles, and was weightless for almost four days, during which he worked, ate, slept, and moved about in his capsule. His companion cosmonaut, Lieutenant Colonel P. R. Popovich, made 48 orbits around the earth and was weightless for almost three days. These achievements in the Soviet space program were repeated in June 1963 by similar dual flights of Valentina Tereshkova, the first woman in space, who made 48 orbits, and Lieutenant Colonel Valery Bykovsky, who completed 81 orbits.

     The impact of these Soviet "space spectaculars" on world opinion was tremendous. To many neutrals, and even to some in the Western nations, their exploits seemed to indicate that the Soviet Union had moved to first place in ability to apply science to technological development. Only gradually, and never completely, did realization spread that the Soviet Union, by announcing only its successes and concealing its failures, gave a misleading appearance of success. In time, it also began to appear that, while the Soviet Union unquestionably had tremendous boosters and an almost unbelievable accuracy in firing them, the United States space effort included a greater number of attempts, in much greater variety and size, and yielded immensely larger amounts of scientific information. By 1963-1964, when the space rivalry had entered upon a race to place men on the moon, and both sides were beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of this (or at least the wisdom of racing to it), it became clearer that the American space effort was larger, sounder, and more fruitful to science than the amazing and earlier exploits of the Soviet Union. But no such process of revaluation could change the fact that the first men in space were Russians, Yuri Gagarin and Gherman S. Titov, in 1961.

     The Soviet successes in space had a triple impact on the United States, with the final result that the whole movement of American life was turned in a new direction. The psychological impact was the least important in spite of its force. More significant was the influence on American education and economic development.

     The economic impact of Sputnik and Vostok was such as to direct immense resources, through government spending, toward research in science and technology. By 1964, after six years of its existence, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) had settled down to an annual budget of over five billion dollars a year. Sums as large were directed by government sources into research and development in science, medicine, and technology. As a consequence, the whole pattern of American education was changed and so was the relationship between government and education, as well as between the public and education. The educational system was brought into the tempestuous atmosphere of the frantic American marketplace and was being ransacked from the highest levels down to high school and even below for talented, trained, or merely eager people. As the demands for such people grew and their remunerations and opportunities increased, the substantial minority who were not talented, trained, or eager found fewer and fewer opportunities to make a living and began to sink downward toward a steadily growing lower class of social outcasts and underprivileged, the socially self-perpetuating group of the impoverished.

     At the same time, within the Soviet Union, similar revolutionary changes were taking place, as millions were called from rural and depressed urban areas to educational opportunities and upward advancement in technological skills and social rewards. The Socialist pretenses of equal rewards were gradually abandoned, with increased emphasis on individual enterprise, advancing hierarchies of wealth and power, and disparate compensations for ambition, application, talent, and adaptability. On the whole, as we shall see, there was a development of Soviet and American ways of life not only in convergence toward each other, but, in a sense, away from life in most other nations.

     During this period of convergence of the Soviet and American ways toward more highly developed scientific and technological systems, there was, simultaneously, a superficial sharpening of their political struggle and a less obvious opening of numerous bridges of cooperation between them. Such bridges appeared first in those areas of scientific and educational life where they were developing away from the majority of other nations. It appeared in such a remarkable example of international cooperation as the International Geophysical Year (July 1957 to the end of 1958) and, more specifically, in the Soviet-American agreements on cultural and educational changes, such as that for 1958-1959 signed in January 1958. These brought scientists, teachers, musical performers, industrialists, and even tourists from one country to the other.

     In November 1958, two unconnected events began the process that led in four years to the Cuban missile crisis and the relaxation of the Cold War. On November 27th, Khrushchev, filled with self-confidence and truculence, sent a note to the Western Powers demanding settlement of the Berlin problem, under threat that the Soviet Union, at the end of six months, would itself sign a peace treaty with the East German government, would withdraw its own forces from the area, and hand over its rights in Berlin (including control of the Allied access routes into the city) to the East German government. Because the Western Powers did not recognize the East German regime, this action would not only force such recognition but would force them to negotiate with East Germany over rights, based on victory and agreement with the Soviet Union, which were not negotiable, particularly with it.

     When Khrushchev sent this "ultimatum" on November 27, 1958, NATO had only twenty-one divisions, one-third of them West German, to defend its position in Europe. But the next day, America's Atlas ICBM, for the first time, shot full range of 6,325 miles.

     While the six months of Khrushchev's "ultimatum" were ticking off, the two hostile camps began to disintegrate internally, in western Europe and in the Far East.

     In the Far East, the first year of Red China's Five-Year Plan, the so-called "Great Leap Forward," began to collapse within six months of its beginning. Apparently to cover this up, the Chinese government began to adopt a very aggressive attitude toward the Nationalist Chinese government on Formosa (Taiwan), and prepared to mount an all-out assault on its forces on the Chinese territorial islands of Matsu and Quemoy, which were still under Chiang Kai-shek's control. The strong support Dulles gave to Chiang, including reinforcement by an American naval carrier task force, and his psychological readiness to go to "the brink of war," spread down to all parts of the world. The Red Chinese threat gradually petered out, and they made extensive demands on Moscow for military, technical, and financial assistance. About the same time, France made demands on the United States to prevent any possibility of Europe becoming involved in a nuclear war arising from unilateral American actions in the Far East, or elsewhere, in which France had not been consulted. These two demands, from Peking and Paris, soon showed the disintegrative features developing within the two Super-blocs.

     Red China's demands for assistance from Moscow could not be met, for the simple reason that the Kremlin could not fill the demands of the Soviet Union itself, caught as it was in a three-way vise of a faltering agricultural system, the increasing demands of the Russians themselves for improved standards of living, and the needs of the missile and space races with the United States. Accordingly, the Chinese-Soviet technical assistance agreement of February 1959 offered only five billion rubles over the next six years, approximately half the amount that had been provided during the previous six years. Within six months, Red China began aggressions against its inaccessible borders with India and was making unfavorable comments about Khrushchev's doctrines of "peaceful coexistence with capitalism" and the "inevitable victory of Socialism without war."

     In this same six months, the United States was having growing difficulties with France within NATO. In September 1958, De Gaulle asked that a tripartite directorate be established of the United States, Britain, and France to provide consultation on a global basis wider than the European limited control exercised through NATO. This demand was very well founded, since America's actions in Quemoy or in the landing of American marines in Lebanon (in July 1958) might have led to war with the Soviet Union and a Soviet attack on western Europe over an area and issue in which France had not been involved or consulted.

     De Gaulle's request was rejected. As soon as the imperious general had been inaugurated as the first President of the Fifth French Republic (January, 1959), he took steps to extricate France from some of the French commitments to NATO: The French Mediterranean fleet was removed from NATO control, the use of France as a base for nuclear weapons, either from planes or missiles, was refused, and French participation in a unified European air defense system was denied.

     In two-day talks in Paris, December 19-20, 1959, the two Presidents, Eisenhower and De Gaulle, went over the ground again and reached a stalemate: Eisenhower rejected De Gaulle's suggestion for a three-Power global policy directorate, and De Gaulle rejected Eisenhower's desire for an integrated air and naval defense system for Europe.

     While these positions were developing, a significant turning point in Soviet-American relations appeared during Khrushchev's visit to the United States, September 15-17, 1959. The Kremlin leader was full of his usual talk of the inevitable future victory of Socialism and the need for peaceful co-existence until that time. He welcomed competition in economic or technological affairs, in athletic or cultural matters, but he ruled out the need for war or the legitimacy of aggression by either side. At first he refused to be impressed with the wealth and power of America, implying that it was not surprising to him and that the Soviet Union could do it better at some future date. But gradually a very important change occurred. In spite of himself, he was impressed. He ceased to pretend to himself that the things he saw were some special exhibits set up, regardless of cost, to delude him. Gradually the incredible truth dawned in his mind: many Americans actually lived like this, in what the ordinary Russian would regard as unbelievable luxury. The real revelation came when he visited farms in Iowa, saw the equipment and way of life of these successful American farmers, and found out the economic statistics of American agriculture at its best. For years afterward he talked of these matters, and, as recently as April 1964, he told the Hungarians about it and advised them to emulate the American farmers.

     Khrushchev's journey was notable in other ways. At Camp David with President Eisenhower, he revoked his six-month time limit for settling the German question, on the ground that the consideration of the problem by the Foreign Ministers Conference of the summer of 1959 had suspended the urgency of the problem. At the meeting of the General Assembly of the United Nations in September, Khrushchev won considerable support for his suggestion that the Soviet Union was willing to reach complete disarmament supervised by mutual controls, including aerial photography.

     During his visit, Soviet Foreign Minister Gromyko provided a curious glimpse into the intricacies of the Soviet system. At Camp David he tried to make a deal binding each party to limit its propaganda radio broad casts to the other to three hours a day, with the unstated implication that Moscow might stop jamming the Voice of America if this agreement was reached. Although our broadcasts in Russian, at that time, were only three hours a day, we refused the offer by saying that we wished to increase, not reduce, the flow of information. Gromyko left the impression that the jamming was an expense and burden on the Soviet system. At any rate, in June 1963, with the relaxation of the Cold War, jamming was stopped by the Russians without any agreement.

     The weakening of the Soviet position, which the Kremlin recognized in regard to missiles in 1961, also appeared to them in other fields, and was fully apparent to anyone who wished to look at the comparative prosperity of the two Super-blocs. Nowhere did this comparison stand out more clearly than in divided Germany, and nowhere could the Kremlin accept it less readily.

     In the 1950's and early 1960's, the contrast between the (East) German Democratic Republic and the (West) German Federal Republic were as between night and day. The West, with about 55 million persons, was booming, while the East, with less than 17 million, was grim and depressed. The West German economic miracle was based, as we have said, on low wages, hard work, and vigorous pursuit of profits by private enterprises little hampered by the government or labor unions. It was, in fact, the closest example of traditional nineteenth-century laissez faire that the mid-twentieth century had to offer. The government, under the influence of Minister of Economics (later Chancellor) Ludwig Erhard, operated in terms of what they called "a socially conscious free market economy" (soziale Marktwirtschaft), but the play of free economic forces was to be found in lack of interference by the government and competitive wage rates rather than in price competition among industrial producers. The fluctuations of the business cycle were dampered down by the government's fiscal policy, and it was said that possible inequities in the distribution of the national product could be remedied by a progressive income tax mild enough not to interfere with incentives. Otherwise, taxes were drawn to encourage industry to plow its profits back into the business rather than to raise wages. This policy and the national tendencies of the German outlook favored production of capital goods over consumer goods and for the export market rather than for domestic use. After 1945, labor unions, which had been closely associated with political activities and with agitations for drastic economic and social reforms before the Nazi regime enslaved them, sought to avoid politics and to concentrate on wages and work conditions (as do unions in the United States); but these activities in Germany had traditionally been the concern of other agencies (such as works councils), and they could hardly be much influenced by unions in a period of surplus labor and low prices such as prevailed in Germany in the 1950's.

     This surplus of labor in West Germany came from the influx of 13 million refugees into the area, chiefly from East Germany and Czechoslovakia. Once the boom started, the demand for labor was so great that refugees continued to be welcomed, and at least two-thirds of a million non-German, unskilled workers were imported from Italy, Greece, Spain, and elsewhere in southern Europe. The docility and eagerness to work of these peoples kept wages low, profits high, and the boom going through the 1950's and into the 1960's. As late as 1960 only 38,000 man-days of labor were lost by strikes and lockouts in West Germany, compared to almost half a million in the Netherlands, 3 million in the United Kingdom, and 19 million in the United States in that year.

     Some of the consequences of this system, besides the most obvious one of booming prosperity, were that the structure of monopolized industry with great rewards for the upper classes, with lesser rewards and little social mobility for workers, continued in the 1950'5 as it had been in Germany since its industrialization began. In 1958 eight great "trusts" still controlled 75 percent of crude steel production, 80 percent of raw iron, 60 percent of rolled steel, and 36 percent of coal output. The number of millionaires (in marks) more than doubled in four years in the middle 1950's. Yet less than half of the eligible workers were in unions, union membership went up only 20 percent, while the working force increased 67 percent after 1949, and only an insignificant part (5 percent) of university students came from the working class compared to a rate five times as high in Great Britain.

     To the outside world, and to most Germans, especially East Germans, the inner nature and structure of the West German "economic miracle" was of little significance. What did matter was that the average West German had steady work at adequate wages and limitless hope for the future. The lo percent increase each year in the West German gross national product was something that could not be denied or belittled..

     Among those who had no desire to ignore it or to belittle it, but, on the contrary, were eager to participate in it, were the East Germans. They continued to flee westward from poverty and despotism to plenty and freedom. Every effort made by the Communist regime to stem that flow merely served to increase it. The more police who were sent to guard the frontier between East and West Germany, the more police there were to flee westward with the others.

     The reasons for these flights to the West were clear enough. East Germany has been a Stalinized regime under an unpopular tyrant who is sustained by twenty-two Russian divisions because he is willing to administer East Germany as an economic colony of the Soviet Empire. In spite of Khrushchev's denunciations of Stalinism, he supported a Stalinist regime under Walter Ulbricht, the Communist dictator of East Germany, because that type of regime extracted the largest booty from its territory for the Kremlin..

     This pressure became worse on East Germany just after 1959, when the attractions of West Germany became greater, and the endless demands on Soviet resources for missiles, space spectaculars, improved standards of living, and a disintegrating agricultural system were increasing. To fulfill these demands, East Germany scrapped its unfinished second Five-Year Plan in 1959 and switched to a Seven-Year Plan synchronized to the Soviet Union's new Seven-Year Plan for 1959-1965. As part of that plan, came a forced collectivization of the half of East German agriculture that still remained in private hands. In three months, February-April 1960, almost a million farmers were forced into less than 20,000 collective farms by methods of violence and social pressure similar to those Stalin had used thirty years earlier in Russia. And the consequences were, in an economic sense, very similar: agricultural production collapsed. Shortages of food were soon followed by other shortages, especially of coal. As might be imagined, the East German winters of 1961-1963 became grim nightmares. The Seven-Year Plan of 1959 proved almost at once to be unfulfillable, and was replaced by a new and more modest one for 1964-1970. But the area's subordination to Russia was hardly eased at all.

     East Germany, like the rest of Moscow's European satellites, is organized into a unified system of industrial specialization and economic exploitation, the Comecon (Council of Mutual Economic Assistance), the Soviet's version of a common market, set up in opposition to the Marshall Plan in 1949. As a consequence, 80 percent of East Germany's exports go to Communist countries, and it became the Soviet Union's largest customer, supplying 20 percent of its total imports. Generally, this exchange took the form of Russian raw materials exchanged for German industrial goods, especially machinery, chemicals, optical products, and scientific instruments. But the failure of the whole system may he seen in the fact that East Germany, whose prewar industrial capacity was about as large as West Germany's, by 1960 was producing only one-fourth the industrial output of West Germany.

     The Communist solution to these difficulties was to increase the tyranny, but this simply forced more East Germans to flee westward. To prevent this, and to prevent, if possible, Communist knowledge of the great successes of the capitalist system to the west of them, the East German authorities on August 13, 196r, clamped down a rigid "death strip" along the East German-West German frontier, and hastily built a wall along the line dividing East Berlin from West Berlin. For months this wall was strengthened and heightened, surrounded and surmounted by barbed wire and watchtowers, with the buildings and concealing places along its length cleared away. Nevertheless, 20,000 persons risked death, injury, and prison and successfully escaped over the wal1 in its first twelve months. Since then the figure has fallen to 10,000 to 13,000 a year with about 8 to 10 percent made up of those who were supposed to be guarding it.

     In contrast witl1 this, the West German economic miracle that made that country the third largest importer and the second largest exporter in the world, witl1 freedom and prosperity, was more than Khrushchev could stand. West Berlin, which shared in the freedom and prosperity of the West, in spite of the fact that it was surrounded by the grim penury of East Germany, was even more objectionable to Khrushchev, because it was a glaring exhibition of the success of the West and the failure of the East. As Khrushchev himself said, West Berlin was "a bone stuck in my throat."

     There can be little doubt that Khrushchev's talk about "peaceful coexistence" and "the inevitable triumph of Socialism by competition without war" was sincere. He was convinced that the Soviet Union, as the sole earthly representative of a Communist regime, must be preserved at any cost. He, with his associates, since the testing of the first successful Soviet thermonuclear explosion in August, 1953, have recognized that a thermonuclear war would destroy all civilized living, including the victor's. The Red Army at times, and Red China always, objected to this, with the argument that enough would survive to permit reconstruction of a socialistic way of life, but Khrushchev was not persuaded. On this basis, he sincerely wished to divert the Communist-capitalist struggle into nonviolent areas. Thus he was sincere in his disarmament suggestions and negotiations, but since he distrusted the Western Powers just as thoroughly as they distrusted him, any advance along the road to disarmament was almost hopeless. The Soviet position sought limitation of nuclear arms and long-range vehicles, and was much less willing to accept limits on conventional arms or ground forces. This is equivalent to saying that he wished to limit the United States and was reluctant to limit the Soviet Union. Only after 1959, with the increased strain on the Soviet Union's economic manpower, was there any readiness to curtail infantry forces. At the same time, the almost insane secrecy of the Russian system made the Kremlin reluctant to accept any effective kind of inspection of disarmament, which was almost automatically regarded by them as espionage. The United States was even less eager than the Kremlin to reach any effective disarmament agreement, since, unlike the Soviet Union, most of the pressures from American economic and business circles were in favor of the continuation of large defense spending, the source of a major segment of America's employment opportunities and industrial profits. Only at the beginning of 1964, when President Johnson astutely sought to combine reduced military expenditures with reduced taxes and a large-scale attack on American domestic poverty to expand demands in the consumers' markets, did it become possible to dissipate some of the opposition to reduced arms expenditures from the military-industrial complex.

     Accordingly, the Soviet disarmament proposals of April 30, 1957 were discussed month after month, and year after year, with minimal progress. By 1959 it was quite clear that the Kremlin's chief aim was to prevent Germany and Red China from getting nuclear weapons. Accordingly, they concentrated on efforts to direct the disarmament discussions toward restrictions on nuclear testing and on nuclear-free zones in central Europe and in Asia. The nuclear-free zone in central Europe, which fitted in well with a British-favored policy of "disengagement" in that area, was known as the Repacki Plan, after its nominal proponent, but reappeared, in various versions, for many years.

     There can be little doubt that a central role in Soviet foreign policy was played by the Kremlin's not unjustified fear of Germany, and its almost neurotic opposition to a unification of Germany that was not under Soviet control, or to the acquisition by West Germany of nuclear weapons. A stalemate on this subject was ensured by America's refusal to accept the status quo of a divided Germany because of our devotion to the Adenauer regime, and our fear that West Germany, rebuffed by us on the issue of reunification, might prefer reunify to prosperity or democracy and make a deal with the Soviet Union to achieve such unity. This we could not accept because of our conviction that German infantry forces were necessary to the West European defense system if there was to be any hope of defending Europe against Soviet ground forces on any level of combat below all-out thermonuclear warfare.

     For these reasons, the United States committed itself repeatedly to the Adenauer regime to work for the unification of Germany on democratic lines. Moreover, in 1957, an Eisenhower commitment to Adenauer, subsequently expanded into a formal Declaration of Berlin by the three Western Powers (July 29, 1957), stated that any comprehensive disarmament agreement with the Soviet Union "must necessarily presuppose a prior solution of the problem of German re-unification."

     A series of bitter disappointments during the four years 1958-196: led the Kremlin to the desperate decision to move part of its IRBM's to Cuba. Three factors may have played significant roles in this reckless decision. In the first place, the inability of the Soviet Union in 1961 to overtake the American lead in ICBM's made it seem necessary for the Kremlin to seek to remedy some of its deficiency in these long-range weapons by deployment closer to the United States of some of its larger supply of IRBM's. Moreover, increasing evidence that the Soviet Union could not compete successfully with the United States in such nonviolent areas as agricultural production, raising standards of living, or aid and technical assistance to neutral nations made it seem necessary that the Soviet Union seek some method of increasing its military and political pressure on the United States that would, at the same time, give a boost to its prestige throughout the world among neutral or sympathetic states. Finally, the growing recognition that the Soviet chances were dwindling for reaching the kind of settlement it wanted in West Germany or West Berlin undoubtedly led many in the Kremlin to conclude that a successful emplacement of Soviet missiles in Cuba, even if there were no real intention of using them, could lead to a compromise settlement under which these missiles would be removed from Cuba in return for a Berlin settlement more favorable to the Soviet desires..

     Whatever the reason for the Soviet missile buildup in Cuba, once begun, in August 1962, it proceeded with amazing speed. The White House was suspicious by the beginning of September, and on the 24th of that month President Kennedy obtained from the Congress permission to call up 150,000 reservists, but aerial photography did not show missile placements until October 15th. Soviet high altitude AA rockets (SA-2's) had been identified in Cuba in August, and Ilyushin-28 jet bombers in September..

     The week of October 14-21 was one of steadily increasing crisis within the United States government, although no public announcement was made before the President's speech of Monday, October 22, 1962. This speech established a "quarantine on all offensive equipment under shipment to Cuba," demanded dismantling of the missile sites, and withdrawal of Soviet forces under threat of stronger action by the United States, and announced that "any missile launched from Cuba against any nation shall be regarded as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring full retaliation."

     The effects of this speech were explosive. To the world it began six days of crisis in which the two Superpowers hung on the brink of nuclear war. In reality the situation was quite different. The crisis, in fact, was an almost perfect example of a diplomatic crisis and of how such a crisis should be handled.

     The pattern for a classic diplomatic crisis has three stages: (1) confrontation; (2) recognition; and (3) settlement. The confrontation consists of a dispute, that is, a power challenge in some area of conflict; Stage 2 is recognition by both sides of the realities of the power relationship between them (always much easier when only two states are involved); and Stage 3 is a yielding by the weaker of the two accompanied by an effort by the stronger to cover that retreat by refusing to inflict a humiliation or obvious triumph over the weaker. As Metternich said, "A diplomat is a man who never allows himself the pleasure of a triumph," and does so simply because it is to the interest of the stronger that an opponent who recognizes the victor's strength and is reasonable in yielding to it not be overthrown or replaced by another ruler who is too ignorant or too unreasonable to do so. The crisis of October 1962 was conducted along these lines in a masterly fashion by President Kennedy, except for a few minor blemishes caused by some of his subordinates.

     The power situation throughout the missile crisis was overwhelmingly in favor of the United States (by at least a 4 to 1 ratio). The Kremlin could do nothing to defend Cuba if we attacked it, since its missiles and jet bombers there were not yet ready. Moreover, the Kremlin could expect devastation of the Soviet Union itself, if it pushed the Cuban project. It was a mark of Kennedy's masterful analN7sis here that he ignored Cuba and made the crisis a simple USSR-USA confrontation. In doing so, he placed the issue on a pure power basis, and made rubbisl1 of the clutter of unrealities accumulated on the American foreign policy scene since 1945: NATO, our allies elsewhere, the United Nations, and the Organization of American States were not consulted before decision and action; they were informed afterward (chiefly on October :3 ). When informed and asked to back the White House, they could neither decide nor act.

     The dominant fact in the whole situation was the overwhelming character of America's power and the fact that this was known both to the White House and to the Kremlin, but was largely unknown, and certainly unpublicized, to the world. Around the Soviet Union's border were 144 Polaris, 103 Atlas, 159 Thor, Jupiter, and Titan missiles; 1,600 long-range bombers, many of them constantly in the air with nuclear bombs. When the President's speech began the public crisis, five divisions of the United States Army Strategic Reserve, totaling about 100,000 men, plus 100,000 air force and an equal number of naval and marine personnel had been mobilized or alerted, the First Armored Division had been flown from Texas to the east coast, 9o naval vessels, including 8 carriers, were on patrol to blockade, a Cuban invasion command had been assembled in Florida, and 2,700 relatives of military personnel had been evacuated from Guantanamo.

     Under such pressure Khrushchev wilted (it might almost be said that he panicked) on Friday, October 26th. Only eight days before, on October 18th, Soviet Foreign Minister Gromyko had made a personal visit to the White House and, without mentioning the Soviet activities in Cuba, had threatened Mr. Kennedy: The Soviet Union was unable to postpone any longer the conclusion of a peace treaty with the (East) German Democratic Republic, yielding to it control over the access routes to Berlin. The President had listened and dismissed the foreign minister without saying anything about the missile buildup in Cuba, which was already under discussion within his government. But a week later the world could think of nothing else except the missile buildup and the American response.

     As Washington waited for the Kremlin's reaction to the President's speech, work on the missile sites continued, Soviet vessels were approaching the American naval patrol around Cuba, and the American government was approaching its allies, the UN, and the OAS. Before the public crisis began on Monday, the Administration recognized that its blockade was illegal, that the United States itself had once fought a war for free navigation of the seas, and that we recognized blockade only in connection with a declared war. As a concession to this, the American action was called a "quarantine" not a "blockade." The chief point of concern was: Would the Soviet accept it or would their vessels precipitate war by trying to break through? The test came on Thursday, October 25th, at the end of three days of confused activity in other corners of the stage.

     On Tuesday, October 23rd, as the United States took its case to the UN and the OAS, reactions came from its allies and world opinion. Both reactions were adverse, but most states made it clear that they would not oppose the American action. Although the British govern meet, like the rest of our allies, supported the American action, public opinion in England, including The Guardian, The Times, and the leaders of the Labour Party, flung back at us the criticism the Eisenhower Administration had made of the British attack on Suez six years earlier: ignoring the United Nations, deceiving and bypassing one's allies, resorting to violent rather than peaceful procedures in international disputes, and risking nuclear war before negotiations have been exhausted. Pakistan and India, unable to agree on anything else, were united in their criticism of Kennedy's irresponsible exposure of the world to the risk of war. Sweden flatly rejected the blockade.

     In these same days, the twenty other Latin American states voted to support the American blockade of Cuba, and Argentina offered to provide ships to participate in it, but several states indicated that they would not support an American invasion of Cuba if the blockade failed to enforce removal of the missiles.

     The United Nations, as might be expected, was not so successful in reaching any agreement. Three resolutions were introduced, submitted by the United States, the Soviet Union, and the forty neutrals (out of 105 member states), but it was impossible to obtain the necessary two-thirds vote for any one of them, and none came to a vote.

     In the meantime, for two days the important question hung unanswered: What would the Soviet ships do when they reached the blockade; The first, a tanker, was challenged by an American destroyer on Thursday, was acknowledged, and gave the necessary information that it was carrying no arms to Cuba. Within a few hours, it became clear that twelve of twenty-five Soviet ships en route to Cuba were turning back. The Kremlin had backed down.

     The following night (Friday, October 26, 1962) the White House received a long and confused letter from Khrushchev. Its tone clearly showed his personal panic, and, to save his reputation, it was not released to the public. The next morning the Soviet Foreign Office published a quite different text, suggesting that a deal be made dismantling both the American missile sites in Turkey and the Soviet missile sites in Cuba. To those inside both governments, this was recognized as a Soviet surrender, since they knew that the Turkish sites were obsolete and were already scheduled to be dismantled within a few months. Although this would have amounted to giving something for nothing on the Russian side, it was rejected by the White House because it would have represented to the world a surrender of Turkey, our ally on the Soviet border, because the Kremlin had succeeded in establishing a direct threat on our border. Instead, the White House replied to Khrushchev's unpublished first note, extracting from it an offer to remove the Russian missiles if we would lift the blockade and promise not to invade Cuba.

     This acceptance was sent off to Moscow on Saturday night, while our mobilization for an attack on the Soviet missile sites if their construction continued went on. On Sunday morning, by radio from Moscow, Khrushchev's acceptance was announced: the work on the missile sites was ordered stopped and they would be dismantled, with UN observation to verify the fact; in return the President would promise not to attack Cuba or allow our allies to do so. This led directly to the removal and deportation of the missiles and Ilyushin bombers over the next few weeks. The Soviet soldiers and technicians left much more slowly and never completely. Inspection of the sites was prevented by Castro, who was wild with anger at the way he had been brushed aside and finally sold out by the Kremlin. As a result of this failure, the American promise not to invade Cuba was also not given.

     The missile crisis, by stripping the Soviet-American rivalry down to its essential feature as a crude power rivalry, cleared up a number of ambiguities and opened a new era in twentieth-century history. It showed (1) that the power balance between the two Superpowers was clearly in America's favor; (2) that the United States government, in spite of Khrushchev's doubts, had the will power to face and begin atomic war if necessary; (3) that no one really wanted thermonuclear war and that Khrushchev was prepared to go to any reasonable point to avoid it; and (4) that deterrence actually does deter and, accordingly, that a modus vivendi might ultimately be achieved between the two Superpowers.

Chapter 72: The Disintegrating Super-blocs

     The chief consequence of the nuclear stalemate was that it made possible a greatly increased diversity in the world. The mutual cancellation of the strength of the two Superpowers made a situation in which states with little or no power were able to play significant roles on the world stage. At the same time, the Superpowers w ere not even in a position to press their desires on the members of their own blocs, and the neutrals could act witl1 growing neutrality or even growing irresponsibility. Examples of such behavior could be seen in France, Pakistan, or Red China among the members of the two blocs, or in the Congo or the Arab states among the neutrals. Accordingly, the next divisions of our subject must be concerned with the disintegration of the Super-blocs and the growth of neutralism.

Latin America: A Race between Disaster and Reform

     As time remorselessly moves forward through the second half of the twentieth century, a major problem for the United States is the fate of Latin America, that gigantic portion of the Western Hemisphere that is south of the Rio Grande. It is not an area that can continue to be ignored, because it is neither small nor remote, and its problems are both urgent and explosive. Yet, until 1960, it was ignored.

     The Latin America that demanded attention in 1960 was twice the size of the United States (7.5 million square miles compared to 3.6 million square miles), with a population about lo percent larger (200 million persons compared to our 180 million in 1960). Brazil, which spoke Portuguese rather than Spanish, had almost half the total area with more than a third the total population (75 million in 1960). In 1960 Brazil reached the end of a decade of economic and population expansion during which its economy was growing at about 7 percent a year while its population was growing over 2.5 percent a year, both close to the fastest rates in the world. (The population increase of Asia was about 1.8 percent a year, Russia and the United States were less, while Europe was only 0.7 percent a year.) Brazil's rate of economic growth fell to about 3 percent a year after 1960, while its population explosion became worse, apparently trying to catch up with the Brazilian cost of living, which rose 40 percent in 1961, 50 percent in 1962, and 70 percent in 1963.

     Except for its fantastic price inflation, Brazil's problems were fairly typical of those faced by all of Latin America. These problems might be boiled down to four basic issues: (1) falling death rates, combined with continued high birthrates, are producing a population explosion unaccompanied by any comparable increase in the food supply; (2) the social disorganization resulting from such population increase, combined with a flooding of people from rural areas into urban slums, is reflected in disruption of family life, spreading crime and immorality, totally inadequate education and other social services, and growing despair; (3) the ideological patterns of Latin America, which were always unconstructive, are being replaced by newer, equally unconstructive but explosively violent, doctrines; and (4) there is simultaneously an unnecessary spreading of modern weapons and a growing disequilibrium between the control of such arms and the disintegrating social structure and the increasing social and political pressures just mentioned.

     Some of the more obvious consequences of these four problems might be mentioned here.

     Latin America is not only poverty-ridden, but the distribution of wealth and income is so unequal that the most ostentatious luxury exists for a small group side by side with the most degrading poverty for the overwhelming majority, with a growing but very small group in between. The average yearly per capita income for all of Latin America was about $253 in 1960, ranging from $800 in Venezuela to $95 in Paraguay and $70 in Haiti. The distribution is so unequal, however, that four-fifths of the population of Latin America get about $5 3 a year, while a mere 100 families own 9/10 of the native-owned wealth of the whole area and only 30 families own 72 percent of that wealth. This disequilibrium is seen most clearly in landholding, on which more than half the population, because of the area's economic backwardness, is dependent. Agrarian reform (land redistribution), which seems attractive to many but is really no solution so long as the peasants lack capital and technical know-how, has been carried out, to some extent, in a few countries (such as Mexico or Bolivia), but, in Latin America generally, landholding is still very unequal. In Brazil, for example, half of all land is owned by 2.6 percent of the landowners, while 22.5 percent of all the land is held by only ฝ percent of the owners. In Latin America as a whole, at least two-thirds of the land is owned hy lo percent of the families. Such inequality attracts a good deal of criticism, especially by North American "reformers," but in itself it would be good and not bad if the wealthy owners felt any desire or obligation to make the land produce more, but the greatest bane of Latin American life, as it is in Spain also, is the self-indulgence of the rich that allows them to waste their large incomes in luxury and extravagances without any feeling of obligation to improve (or even to utilize fully) the resources they control. We shall return in a moment to the disastrous ideological patterns that lie behind this attitude.

     Almost equally indicative of an unhealthy society is the age distribution within that society and the failure to provide education and healtl1 protection. About half of Latin America's population is unproductive and a social burden on the other half because it falls into the two groups of the young (below 15 years) or the old (over 65 years). This compares with only 26 percent of the population in these dependent groups in the United States. Such a distribution, in a healthy society, would require very considerable direction of resources into such social services as education, health protection, and retirement security. All such services in Latin America are painfully inadequate. About two-thirds of Latin Americans are illiterate, and those who may be classified as literate have very inadequate schooling. The average Latin American has had less than two years of schooling, but, like all averages, this one is misleading, since it covers both Paraguay (where very few children ever get near a school) and Castro's Cuba (where, we are told, illiteracy has been wiped out and all children of school age up to 15 are supposed to be in school). Leaving out these two countries, we find that in 1961 in 18 other Latin American countries only 38 percent of the population had finished two years of school, while only 7 percent had finished primary school, and one out of a hundred had attended a university.

     The inadequacy of health protection in Latin America is as startling as the inadequacy of education, hut may not, in a wider frame, be so objectionable. For if health were better protected, more people would survive, and the problems of scarce food and scarce jobs would have reached the explosive point long ago. Unfortunately, this problem of health and death rates has a very great impact on humanitarian North American observers, with the consequence that a considerable portion of the funds for development provided by the Alliance for Progress since 1961 are aimed at reducing these evils of disease and death. Since this effort is bound to be more successful than the much smaller funds aimed at increasing the food supply, the net consequence of these efforts will be to give Latin America more and hungrier people.

     As things stood in 1960, infant mortality varied between 20 and 35 percent in different countries. Even in the Latin American country with the lowest death rate for the first year of life (Uruguay with 25 deaths per thousand births), the rate is ten times as high as in the United States (2.6 per thousand), while in Latin America as a whole it was 56 per thousand, rising to about 90 per thousand in Guatemala. The expectation of life for a new baby in all Latin America is only two-thirds that in the United States (44 years compared to 66 years), but in some areas, such as northeast Brazil, men are worn out from malnutrition and disease at age 30.

     While such conditions may rouse North Americans to outrage or humanitarian sympathy, no solution of Latin America's problems can be found by emotion or sentimentality. The problems of Latin America are not based on lack of anything, but on structural weaknesses. Solutions will not rest on anything that can be done to or for individual people but on the arrangements of peoples. Even the greatest evil of the area, the selfish and mistaken outlook of the dominant social groups, cannot be changed by persuading individuals but must be changed hy modifying the patterns of social relationships that are creating such outlooks. The key to the salvation of Latin America, and much of the rest of the world, rests on that word: "patterns." Latin America has the resources, the manpower, the capital accumulation, even perhaps the know-how to provide a viable and progressive society. What it lacks are constructive patterns—patterns of power, of social life, and, above all, of outlook—that will mobilize its resources in constructive rather than destructive directions.

     Failure to recognize that Latin America's weaknesses are not based on lack of substance but on lack of constructive patterns is one of the two chief reasons why the future of Latin America looks so discouraging. The other reason is failure to recognize that the chief problem in planning Latin America's future is that of establishing a constructive sequence of priorities. In fact, these two problems: obtaining constructive patterns and obtaining a constructive sequence of priorities, are the keys to salvation of all the underdeveloped and backward areas of the globe. We might sum up this general situation by saying that the salvation of our poor, harassed globe depends on structure and sequence (or on patterns and priorities)..

     In applying these two paradigms to Latin American development, we shall find that the problem of priorities is much easier to solve than the problem of patterns. Obviously, the ... food supply must be increased faster than the population. And some provision must be made to provide peasants with capital and know-how before the great landed estates are divided up among them. Equally urgent is the caution that some provision for capital accumulation and its investment in better methods of production must be made before the present accumulation of excess incomes in the hands of the existing oligarchies is destroyed by redistribution of the incomes of the rich (who could invest it) to the poor (who could only consume it). It should be obvious (but unfortunately is not) that a more productive organization of resources should have priority over any effort to raise standards of living. And it should be equally obvious that Latin America's own resources (including its own capital accumulation and its own know-how) should be devoted to this effort before the responsibility for Latin American economic development is placed on the resources of North Americans or other outsiders.

     This last point might be amplified. We hear a great deal about Latin America's need for American capital and American know-how, when in fact the need for these is much less than the need for utilization of Latin America's own capital and know-how. The wealth and income of Latin America, in absolute quantities, is so great and it is so inequitably controlled and distributed that there is an enormous accumulation of incomes, far beyond their consumption needs, in the hands of a small percentage of Latin Americans. Much of these excess incomes are wasted, hoarded, or merely used for wasteful competition in ostentatious social display. This, as we shall see, is largely due to the deficiencies of Latin American personalities and character. The contrast, from this point of view, between England in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and Latin America in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries is very instructive. In both cases there was such a drastic inequity in the distribution of national incomes that the masses of the people were in abject poverty and probably getting poorer. But in England there were groups benefitting from this inequality who eschewed all self-indulgence, luxury, or ostentatious display of wealth, and systematically invested their growing incomes in creating new and more efficient patterns of utilization of resources. This is in sharp contrast to the situation in Latin America where such excess wealth, in the aggregate, is much greater than that being accumulated, a century or more ago, in England, but is very largely wasted and surely is not being used to create more productive patterns for utilization of resources, except in rare cases..

     The solution to this problem is not, as we have said, to redistribute incomes in Latin America, but to change the patterns of character and of personality formation so that excess incomes will be used constructively and not wasted (nor simply redistributed and consumed).

     A similar situation exists in regard to foreign exchange. Alternately our compassion is stirred and our anger aroused by American reformers and Latin agitators at the iniquities of the colonial character of Latin America's position in the world economy. This simply means that Latin America exports raw materials, minerals, and agricultural products (generally unprocessed goods), and imports processed, manufactured goods. Since the prices of unprocessed goods are generally more competitive, and therefore more fluctuating, than those of manufactured goods, the so-called "terms of trade" tend to run either favorably for or very unfavorably against Latin America. In the latter case, which has been generally prevalent for the last few years, the prices Latin America has to pay on the world's markets have tended to rise, while the prices that it gets for its own goods have tended to fall. As European economists would say, "The blades of the scissors have opened." American farmers, who speak of the "terms of parity," have been suffering the same way in the American domestic market.

     Now, this is perfectly true. The Latin American economy is largely a colonial one (like Australia, New Zealand, West Africa, or Montana). In fact, in Latin America, in recent years, at least half the value of American aid has been wiped away by the worsening of Latin America's terms of trade, which made it necessary for it to pay more and more foreign moneys for its imports at the same time that it got less and less foreign moneys for its exports. But the fact remains that this reduction in the supply of foreign exchange available for Latin America's purchases of advanced equipment overseas has been made much worse by the fact that wealthy Latin Americans buy up much of the available supply of such foreign exchange for self-indulgent and nonconstructive spending abroad or simply to hoard their incomes in politically safer areas in New York, London, or Switzerland. Estimates of the total of such Latin American hoards abroad range between one billion and two billion dollars.

     The solution to this problem must be found in more responsible, more public-spirited, and more constructive patterns of outlook, of money flows, and of political and social security.

     A similar solution must be found for some of the social deficiencies of Latin America, such as inadequate education, housing, and social stability. Widespread tax evasion by the rich; bribery and corruption in public life; and brutality and selfishness in social life can be reduced and largely eliminated in Latin America by changing patterns in Latin American life and utilization of resources without much need for funds, sermons, or demonstrations from foreigners (least of all Americans).

     This is not an argument for a reduction in American aid or in American concern for Latin America. It is a plea for recognition, by all concerned, that the problems of Latin America, and the possible solutions to these problems, rest on questions of structure and sequence and not on questions of resources, wealth, or even know-how.

     The connection of that last word "know-how" to the whole problem may not be sufficiently clear. We Americans have such pride in our technological achievements that we often seem to feel that we "know how" to do almost everything, but this know-how really exists on two levels. One level is concerned with general attitudes such as objectivity, rationality, recognition of the value of social consensus, and such, while the other level is concerned with technological achievement in any specific situation. The former level has a great deal to contribute to the Latin American situation, while the latter level (the engineering level, so to speak) has much less to contribute to Latin America than most people believe. For example, American agricultural techniques, which are so fantastically successful in the temperate seasonal climate and well-watered and alluvial soils of North America, are frequently quite unadapted to the tropical, less seasonal climate, and semiarid, leached soils of South America. The solution to the Latin American problem of food production is not necessarily to apply North American techniques to the problem, but to discover techniques, different from our own, that will work under Latin American conditions. This situation, applied here to agriculture, is even more true of social and ideological problems.

     The problem of finding constructive patterns for Latin America is much more difficult than the problem of finding constructive priorities. One reason for this is that the unconstructive patterns that now prevail in Latin America are deeply entrenched as a result of centuries and even millennia of persistent background. In fact, the Latin American patterns that must be changed because today they are leading to social and cultural disruption are not really Latin American in origin, or even Iberian for that matter, but are Near Eastern, and go back, for some of their aspects, for two thousand or more years. As a general statement, we might say that the Latin American cultural pattern (including personality patterns and general outlook) is Arabic, while its social pattern is that of Asiatic despotism. The pattern as a whole is so prevalent today, not only in Latin America, but in Spain, Sicily, southern Italy, the Near East, and in various other areas of the Mediterranean world (such as Egypt), that we might well call it the "Pakistani-Peruvian axis." For convenience of analysis we shall divide it into "Asiatic despotism" and the "Arabic outlook."

     We have already indicated the nature of Asiatic despotism in connection with traditional China, the old Ottoman Empire, and czarist Russia. It goes back to the archaic ... empires, which first appeared in Mesopotamia, Egypt, the Indus Valley, and northern China before 1000 B.C. Basically such an Asiatic despotism is a two-class society in which a lower class, consisting of at least nine-tenths of the population, supports an upper, ruling class consisting of several interlocking groups. These ruling groups are a governing bureaucracy of scribes and priests associated with army leaders, landlords, and moneylenders. Such an upper class accumulated great quantities of wealth as taxes, rents, interest on loans, fees for services, or simply as financial extortions. The social consequences were either progressive or reactionary, depending on whether this accumulated wealth in the possession of the ruling class was invested in more productive utilization of resources or was simply hoarded and wasted. The essential character of such an Asiatic despotisn1 rests on the fact that the ruling class has legal claims on the working masses, and possesses the power (from its control of arms and the political structure) to enforce these claims. A modified Asiatic despotism is one aspect of the social structures all along the Pakistani-Peruvian axis.

     The other aspect of the Pakistani-Peruvian axis rests on its Arabic outlook. The Arabs, like other Semites who emerged from the Arabian desert at various times to infiltrate the neighboring Asiatic despotic cultures of urban civilizations, were, originally, nomadic, tribal peoples. Their political structure was practically identical with their social structure and was based on blood relationships and not on territorial jurisdiction. They were warlike, patriarchal, extremist, violent, intolerant, and xenophobic. Like most tribal peoples, their political structure was totalitarian in the sense that all values, all needs, and all meaningful human experience was contained within the tribe. Persons outside the tribal structure had no value or significance, and there were no obligations or meaning associated in contacts with them. In fact, they were hardly regarded as human beings at all. Moreover, within the tribe, social significance became more intense as blood relationships became closer, moving inward from the tribes through clans to the patriarchal extended family. The sharp contrast between such a point of view and that associated with Christian society as we know it can be seen in the fact that such Semitic tribalism was endogamous, while the rule of Christian marriage is exogamous. The rules, in fact, were directly antithetical, since Arabic marriage favors unions of first cousins, while Christian marriage has consistently opposed marriage of first (or even second) cousins. In traditional Arabic society any girl was bound to marry her father's brother's son if he and his father wanted her, and she was usually not free to marry someone else until he had rejected her (sometimes after years of waiting).

     In such traditional Arabic society, the extended family, not the individual, was the basic social unit; all property was controlled by the patriarchal head of such a family and, accordingly, most decisions were in his hands. His control of the marriage of his male descendants was ensured by the fact that a price had to be paid for a bride to her family, and this would require the patriarch's consent.

     Such a patriarchal family arose from the fact that marriage was patrilocal, the young couple residing with the groom's father so long as he lived, while he continued to live with the groom's paternal grandfather until the latter's death. Such a death of the head of an extended family freed his sons to become heads of similar extended families that would remain intact, frequently for three or more generations, until the head of the family dies in his turn. Within such a family each male remains subject to the indulgent, if erratic, control of his father and the indulgent, and subservient care of his mother and unmarried sisters, while his wife is under the despotic control of her mother-in-law until her production of sons and the elimination of her elders by death will make her a despot, in turn, over her daughters-in-law.

     This Arabic emphasis on the extended family as the basic social reality meant that larger social units came into existence simply by linking a number of related extended families together under the nominal leadership of the patriarch who, hy general consensus, had the best qualities of leadership, dignity, and social prestige. But such unions, being personal and essentially temporary, could be severed at any time. The personal character of such unions and the patriarchal nature of the basic family units tended to make all political relationships personal and temporary, reflections of the desires or whims of the leader and not the consequence or reflection of any basic social relationships. This tended to prevent the development of any advanced conception of the state, law, and the community (as achieved, for example, by the once tribal Greeks and Romans). Within the family, rules were personal, patriarchal, and often arbitrary and changeable, arising from the will and often from the whims of the patriarch. This prevented the development of any advanced ideas of reciprocal common interests whose interrelationships, hy establishing a higher social structure, created, at the same time, rules superior to the individual, rules of an impersonal and permanent character in which law created authority and not, as in the Arabic system, authority created law (or at least temporary rules). To this day the shattered cultures along the whole Pakistani-Peruvian axis have a very weak grasp of the nature of a community or of any obligation to such a community, and regard law and politics as simply personal relationships whose chief justification is the power and position of the individual who issues the orders. The state, as a structure of force more remote and therefore less personal than the immediate family, is regarded as an alien and exploitative personal system to be avoided and evaded simply because it is more remote (even if of similar character) than the individual's immediate family

     This biological and patriarchal character of all significant social relationships in Arab life is reflected in the familiar feature of male dominance. Only the male is important. The female is inferior, even sub-human, and becomes significant only by producing males (the one thing, apparently, that the dominant male cannot do for himself). Because of the strong patrilocal character of Arab marriage, a new wife is not only subjected sexually to her husband; she is also subjected socially and personally to his family, including his brothers, and, above all, his mother (who has gained this position of domination over other females in the house by having produced male children). Sex is regarded almost solely as simply a physiological relationship with little emphasis on the religious, emotional, or even social aspects. Love, meaning concern for the personality or developing potentialities of the sexual partner, plays little role in Arabic sexual relationships. The purpose of such relationships in the eyes of the average Arab is to relieve his own sexual desire or to generate sons.

     Such sons are brought up in an atmosphere of whimsical, arbitrary, personal rules where they are regarded as superior beings by their mother and sisters and, inevitably, by their father and themselves, simply on the basis of their maleness. Usually they are spoiled, undisciplined, self-indulgent, and unprincipled. Their whims are commands, their urges are laws. They are exposed to a dual standard of sexual morality in which any female is a legitimate target of their sexual desires, but the girl they marry is expected to be a paragon of chaste virginity. The original basis for this emphasis on a bride's virginity rested on the emphasis on blood descent and was intended to be a guarantee of the paternity of children. The wife, as a child-producing mechanism, had to produce the children of one known genetic line and no other.

     This emphasis on the virginity of any girl who could be regarded as acceptable as a wife was carried to extremes. The loss of a girl's virginity was regarded as an unbearable dishonor by the girl's family, and any girl who brought such dishonor on a family was regarded as worthy of death at the hands of her father and brothers. Once she is married, the right to punish such a transgression is transferred to her husband.

     To any well-bred girl, her premarital virginity and the reservation of sexual access to her husband's control after marriage ("her honor") have pecuniary value. Since she has no value in herself as a person, apart from "her honor," and has little value as a worker of any sort, her virginity before marriage has a value in money equal to the expense of keeping her for much of her life since, indeed, this is exactly what it was worth in money. As a virgin she could expect the man who obtained her in marriage to regard that asset as equivalent to his reciprocal obligation to support her as a wife. As a matter of fact, her virginity was worth much less than that, for in traditional Arabic society, if she displeased her husband, even if she merely crossed one of his whims, he could set her aside by divorce, a process very easy for him, with little delay or obligation, but impossible to achieve on her part, no matter how eagerly she might desire it. Moreover, once her virginity was gone, she had little value as a wife or a person, unless she had mothered a son, and could be passed along from man to man, either in marriage or otherwise, with little social obligation on anyone's part. As a result of such easy divorce, and the narrow physiological basis on which sexual relationships are based, plus the lack of value of a woman once her virginity is gone, Arab marriage is very fragile, with divorce and broken marriage about twice as frequent as in the United States. Even the production of sons does not ensure the permanence of the marriage, since the sons belong to the father whatever the cause of the marriage disruption. As a result of these conditions, marriage of several wives in sequence, a phenomenon we associate with Hollywood, is much more typical of the Arabic world and is very much more frequent than the polygamous marriage, which, while permitted under Islam, is quite rare. Not more than 5 percent of married men in the Near East today have more than one wife at the same time, because of the expense, but the number who remain in monogamous union till death is almost equally small.

     As might be expected in such a society, Arabic boys grow up egocentric, self-indulgent, undisciplined, immature, spoiled, subject to waves of emotionalism, whims, passion, and pettiness. The consequence of this for the whole Pakistani-Peruvian axis will be seen in a moment.

     Another aspect of Arabic society is its scorn of honest, steady manual work, especially agricultural work. This is a consequence of the fusion of at least three ancient influences. First, the archaic bureaucratic structure of Asiatic despotism, in which peasants supported warriors and scribes, regarded manual workers, especially tillers of the soil, as the lowest layer of society, and regarded the acquisition of literacy and military prowess as the chief roads to escape from physical drudgery. Second, the fact that Classical Antiquity, whose influence on the subsequent Islamic Civilization was very great, was based on slavery, and came to regard agricultural (or other manual) work as fit for slaves, also contributed to this idea. Third, the Bedouin tradition of pastoral, warlike nomads scorned tillers of the soil as weak and routine persons of no real spirit or character, fit to be conquered or walked on but not to be respected. The combination of these three formed the lack of respect for manual work that is so characteristic of the Pakistani-Peruvian axis.

     Somewhat similar to this lack of respect for manual work are a number of other characteristics of tradition! Arab life that have also spread the length of the Pakistani-Peruvian axis. The chief source of many of these is the Bedouin outlook, which originally reflected the attitudes of a relatively small group of the Islamic culture but which, because they were a superior, conquering group, came to be copied by others in the society, even by the despised agricultural workers. These attitudes include lack of respect for the soil, for vegetation, for most animals, and for outsiders. These attitudes, which are singularly ill-fitted for the geographic and climatic conditions of the whole Pakistani-Peruvian area, are to be seen constantly in the everyday life of that area as erosion, destruction of vegetation and wild life, personal cruelty and callousness to most living things, including one's fellow men, and a general harshness and indifference to God's creation. This final attitude, which well reflects the geographic conditions of the area, which seem as harsh and indifferent as man himself, is met by those men who must face it in their daily life as a resigned submission to fate and to the inhumanity of man to man.

     Interestingly enough, these attitudes have successfully survived the efforts of the three great religions of ethical monotheism, native to the area, to change these attitudes. The ethical sides of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam sought to counteract harshness, egocentricity, tribalism, cruelty, scorn of work and of one's fellow creatures, but these efforts, on the whole, have met with little success throughout the length of the Pakistani-Peruvian axis. Of the three, Christianity, possibly because it set the highest standards of the three, has fallen furthest from achieving its aims. Love, humility, brotherhood, cooperation, the sanctity of work, the fellowship of the community, the image of man as a fellow creature made in the image of God, respect for women as personalities and partners of men, mutual helpmates on the road to spiritual salvation, and the vision of our universe, with all its diversity, complexity, and multitude of creatures, as a reflection of the power and goodness of God—these basic aspects of Christ's teachings are almost totally lacking throughout the Pakistani-Peruvian axis and most notably absent on the "Christian" portion of that axis from Sicily, or even the Aegean Sea, westward to Baja California and Tierra del Fuego. Throughout the whole axis, human actions are not motivated by these "Christian virtues" but by the more ancient Arabic personality traits, which became vices and sins in the Christian outlook: harshness, envy, lust, greed, selfishness, cruelty, and hatred.

     Islam, the third in historical sequence of the ethical monotheistic religions of the Near East, was very successful in establishing its monotheism, but had only very moderate success in spreading its version of Jewish and Christian ethics to the Arabs. These moderate successes were counterbalanced by other, incidental consequences of Muhammad's personal life and of the way in which Islam spread to make the Muslim religion more rigid, absolute, uncompromising, self-centered, and dogmatic.

     The failure of Christianity in the areas west from Sicily was even greater, and was increased by the spread of Arab outlooks and influence to that area, and especially to Spain. The old French proverb which says that "Africa begins at the Pyrenees" does not, of course, mean by "Africa" that Black Africa which exists south of the deserts, but means the world of the Arabs w hicl1 spread, in the eighth century, across Africa from Sinai to Morocco.

     To this day the Arab influence is evident in southern Italy, northern Africa and, above all, in Spain. It appears in the obvious things such as architecture, music, the dance, and literature, but most prominently it appears in outlook, attitudes, motivations, and value systems. Spain and Latin America, despite centuries of nominal Christianity, are Arabic areas.

     No statement is more hateful to Spaniards and Latin Americans than that. But once it is made, and once the evidence on which it was based is examined in an objective way, it becomes almost irrefutable. In Spain, the Arab conquest of 711, which was not finally ejected until 1492, served to spread Arab personality traits, in spite of the obvious antagonism between Muslim and Christian. In fact, the antagonism helped to build up those very traits that I have called Arabic: intolerance, self-esteem, hatred, militarization, cruelty, dogmatism, rigidity, harshness, suspicion of outsiders, and the rest of it. The Arab traits that w ere not engendered by this antagonism were built up by emulation—the tendency of a conquered people to copy their conquerors, no matter how much they profess to hate them, simply because they are a superior social class. From this emulation came the Spanish and Latin American attitudes toward sex, family structure, and child-rearing that are the distinctive features of Spanish speaking life today and that make Spanish-speaking areas so ambiguously part of Western Civilization in spite of their nominal allegiance to such an essential Western trait as Christianity. For the West, even as it nominally ceases to be Christian, and most obviously in those areas which have, at least nominally, drifted furthest from Christianity, still has many of the basic Christian traits of love, humility, social concern, humanitarianism, brotherly care, and future preference, however detached these traits may have become from tile Christian idea of deity or of individual salvation in a spiritual eternity.

     In Latin America the Mediterranean version of Arabized life again found its traits preserved, and sometimes reinforced, by the historical process. In Latin America non-Spanish influences, chiefly Indian, Negro, and North American, can he observed in such things as music, dances, superstitions, agricultural crops and diet (largely Indian), or in transportation, communications, and weapons (largely European); but the basic structures of family and social life, of ideological patterns and values are, to this day, largely those of the Arabic end of the Pakistani-Peruvian axis.

     The Iberian conquest of Latin America, not as an area of settlement but as an area of exploitation, and the Spanish attitude toward the Indians and Negro slaves as instruments in that exploitative process, the development of plantation colonialism, and of mineral extraction, intensified the exploitative, ransacking, extensive attitude toward resources and peoples which the Mediterranean area had obtained from the Romans and the Saracens. None of these activities became permanent community traits for those involved in them, even for the underlings who operated as part of the exploitative way of life, but remained temporary, get-rich-quick methods of mercenary gain for persons who regarded themselves as strangers whose roots were elsewhere, or nowhere. The Spanish oligarchy in the colonial period saw its roots in Spain itself, and this attitude, widened somewhat to include Paris, London, the Riviera, or New York, has remained the attitude of the ruling oligarchy after the wars of liberation broke the formal links with Spain or Portugal. In the same way, and for these reasons, the colonial economy, and colonialism in financial, educational, cultural, and commercial life, has continued after it ceased in the narrowly political sphere. To this day, the characteristics we have listed as Arabic dominate Latin America: no real concern for the soil, the area, for workers, one's fellow men, or the community as a whole; the dominance of family connection and of masculine dominance with its dual standard of sexual morality, its cult of virility, its selfishness, self-indulgence, lack of self-discipline or of concern for others; and the whole Mediterranean view of politics as a system of exploitative, personal relationships of an arbitrary and corrupt character combining extortion, bribery, tax evasion, and total divorce from community spirit or personal responsibility for the welfare of others or of the nation.

     This picture of Latin America and its problems will be resented and criticized by many as exaggerated, one-sided, or even as mistaken. Naturally, in view of its brevity, it is oversimplified, as all brief expositions must be. And equally naturally all its statements do not apply to all groups, all areas, all classes, or all individuals. There are numerous exceptions to large portions of this picture, but they are exceptions and are explicable as such. And there are obviously different degrees of emphasis among various groups, backgrounds, and periods. These again are explicable. Those Latin Americans who are close to the Negro traditions of Africa and of slavery put more emphasis on present preference and sociability than they do on domination, harshness, and cruelty. Again those Latin Americans who are close to the Indian tradition put more emphasis on resignation to fate and indigenous superstitions than they do on male dominance and proving their sexual virility (called machismo, a key concept in Latin American outlook and behavior). Above all, the scores of millions of Latin Americans who are on a poverty level at, or even below, subsistence have many of the characteristics of social and psychological disintegration that we associate with extreme poverty everywhere, even in the United States, and are to that degree unable to carry on the traditions of Latin American life— or any traditions. As such, they emphasize, interestingly enough, the traits of male dominance and egocentric selfishness rather than the companion traits, in the Arab tradition, of female chastity or family solidarity.

     In general, we might say that the Latin American tradition we have identified as a modified Arabic tradition with Asiatic despotic overtones is more typical of the oligarchic, Spanish upper classes than it is of the Negro, Indian, or poverty-racked urban poor. And this is of the greatest significance. For this shows that the means and the method for the reform of Latin American society rest in the same group of that society. Such reform can come about only when the surpluses that accumulate in the hands of the Latin American oligarchy are used to establish more progressive utilization of Latin American resources. By the word "reform" we mean that the power pattern, the economic and social pattern, and the ideological pattern be reorganized in more constructive configurations rather than on the destructive patterns in which they now exist. And of these three, the patterns of ideology—that is, of outlook and value systems—are most in need of change. Of course, in any society it is precisely this pattern of outlook and values that is most difficult to modify. In most societies this remains unchanged—repeated in slogans, war cries, and religious incantations long after the behavioral and structural patterns have changed completely. But in Latin America there is this ray of hope. A more constructive ideological pattern is already familiar, at least in words, to Latin America: Christianity.

     The whole system is full of paradox and contradiction. The real obstacle to progress and hope in Latin America rests in the oligarchy, not so much because it controls the levers of power and wealth but because it is absorbed in the destructive Latin American ideology. But the real hope in the area rests in the same oligarchy, because it controls wealth and power, and also because there is no hope at all unless it changes its ideology. The ideology it could adopt is one that places emphasis on self-discipline, service to others, love, and equality, but these virtues, almost wholly lacking in practice in Latin America, are the very ones that are, in words, embodied in the Christian religion to which the oligarchy of Latin America nominally belongs. In a word, Latin America would be on the road to reform if it practiced what it preached, that is, if it tried to be Christian. Of course, we cannot really say that the solution lies in practice of what one preaches, the Christian virtues, because Latin American religion, like everything else, is largely corrupt and, as a consequence, no longer preaches the Christian virtues. The upper clergy have been generally allied to the oligarchy; the lower clergy are as poverty-stricken and almost as ignorant as their fellow poor in lay society. Moreover, both levels of clergy have come to accept the outlook and values of the society in which they live. The message of Christ itself, a positive message of action, has been lost in the negative messages of the Catholic clergy reacting within a corrupt society drenched in the non-Christian outlook that dominates the oligarchy as a whole.

     Only in recent years has there been much change in this situation. In most of Latin America, the Church's failure is recorded in the fact that the great mass of Latin American people, especially those below the level of the oligarchy itself, ignore it or reject it, just as they do in Spain. And especially the dominant males have rejected it, except as a social necessity, or an anti-revolutionary force, or as a refuge for their martyr-obsessed women. But the advent of Pope John XXIII has had a profound influence on the Church by recalling it from its interests and crass power relationships to the content of Christ's message. The degree to which this can change the clergy's negative injunctions against adultery, Communism, and criminal acts into positive exhortations to acts of social benefit, help, and love is problematical. And even more dubious is the question if it is not going to be too little and too late. This is, indeed, the great question with which all talk of reform in Latin America must cud: "Is there still time-"

     There was time enough in 1940, when the demands of war in Europe began to push away the acute problems and controversies that had arisen from the world depression, the rise of Fascism; and the Spanish Civil War of the 1930's. World War II, by increasing the demand for Latin America's mineral and agricultural products, pushed starvation and controversy away from the immediate present and into the more remote future. Unfortunately, nothing constructive was done with the time thus gained, and, almost equally tragic, little constructive use was made of the wealth brought to Latin America by the demands of \var elsewhere on the globe. Latin America boomed: the rich became richer; the poor had more children. A few poor, or at least not rich, became rich, or at least richer. But nothing was done to modify the basic pattern of Latin American power, wealth, and outlook.

     The wars of independence that ended Latin America's political connection with Spain and Portugal did not destroy the power of the upperclass oligarchies or change their outlooks, except to make them somewhat more local. It was about a century, say from 1830 to 1930, before the oligarchic alliance of army, landlords, bankers, and upper clergy was seriously challenged in their exploitation of their peasant subjects or the natural resources of their local areas.

     This challenge, which first appeared in Mexico in 1910, was a consequence of the commercialization and, much later, the incipient industrialization of Latin American society. The same influences, reinforced by other developments, such as growing literacy, population increase, and the introduction of new ideas of European and North American origin, served to weaken the union of the older oligarchic groups so that the solidarity of the military with the other three groups was much reduced.

     This process of commercialization and incipient industrialization of Latin American society was largely a consequence of foreign investments, which introduced railroads, tram lines, faster communications, large-scale mining, some processing of raw materials, the introduction of electricity, waterworks, telephones, and other public utilities, and the beginnings of efforts to produce supplies for these new activities. These efforts served to create two new and quite divergent social classes which began to fill the gap between the older rural dichotomy of oligarchy and peasantry. The new classes, both largely urban, were labor and bourgeoisie. Both were infected by the class-struggle ideologies of European Socialist groups, so that the new laboring masses sought to be unionized and radical. Both groups were much more political than the old peasant class had ever been. A chief consequence of the whole development Noms the urbanization and radicalization of Latin American society.

     From the political point of view, these developments made the power relationships of Latin America much more complex and unpredictable. For one thing, the army was no longer completely dependent on the landlord groups for support, but found, on the contrary, that its urban bases were under pressure of local labor-union controls of its supplies, while its relations with the bourgeois groups were much more ambiguous than its relations with the landlord group had been previously. At the same time, the influence of the clergy was generally weakened by the influx of anti-clerical ideas of European origin into both the new urban groups and, to a much smaller extent, to the peasants.

     These changes have not occurred in all areas of Latin America. Indeed, many areas remain much as they were in 1880. But in Mexico, Argentina, and Brazil the process has gone far enough to modify the whole social pattern, while in some lesser areas like Bolivia, Uruguay, Costa Rica and, above all, Cuba, drastic changes have been occurring.

     In Mexico the revolution has continued for more than half a century. During at least half of that period, the chief problem was the control of militarism, a task that must be done in all of Latin America. In its early days, the Mexican Revolution was distracted from constructive change by a number of destructive efforts. For example, its attacks on foreign capital led to more damage than good by curtailing foreign investment and foreign technological skills. At the same time, its emphasis on agrarian reform distracted attention from the real agricultural problem to the pseudo-problem of landownership; the real problem is that of increasing agricultural production, regardless of agrarian arrangements. These three early problems have been to some extent overcome. The Mexican Army is now largely professionalized and relatively nonpolitical and responsive to civilian controls. For more than a generation now, the army has not overthrown a government. At the same time, political stability has been increased by the depersonalization of political life, by circulation of leadership within one dominant party, by the establishment of some political principles, including the very significant one of no reelection of the president, and by the use of political power to encourage some progressive tendencies, such as more public funds for education than for defense, encouragement of improved communications and transport, of foreign investment, and of balanced economic development. Many acute problems remain, such as an exploding population, acute poverty, and a very low level of social welfare, but things have been moving, and in a hopeful direction. During the two decades before 1962, the gross national product rose over 6 percent a year, while industrial production rose more than 400 percent in that period. The political system itself is corrupt, with most elections jobbed by the dominant Institutional Revolutionary Party, but at least the outlook for the average Mexican today is more hopeful than it was for his father a generation ago or than it is for his contemporaries in much of the rest of Latin America. The problems of life have not been solved in Mexico, but valuable time has been won.

     Efforts of other countries to follow in Mexico's footsteps have been less successful and even disastrous. In Argentina patterns of life have become less constructive during the last generation, despite the fact that Argentina has been less burdened with population and more endowed with resources than other countries in Latin America. But lack of moral principles and excess self-indulgence has betrayed all efforts to obtain better patterns of life. This was evident in the career of Juan D. Per๓n, an army officer who came to power by a coup d'้tat in 1943 and sought to base that control on an alliance of the military with the workers. He built up a strong labor movement, but his concern with maintaining his own power, his lack of any over-all plan, and his basically unprincipled outlook led to a disintegration of his movement and his overthrow by his own military forces in 1955. The waste of resources by inefficiency and corruption under Per๓n has left Argentina disorganized and divided, with real power increasingly in the hands of the armed forces (if they could agree on anything) and with many people looking backward with regret to the more affluent days of Per๓n.

     The disintegration of Argentina, which lacked the basic problems that have haunted most Latin American countries, helps to demonstrate the significant role played in Latin American backwardness by unconstructive patterns, especially patterns of outlook. Argentina did not have such problems as excess population, lack of capital, poor and unbalanced resources, extreme poverty, social disorganization, or illiteracy (which is below lo percent), but the argumentative and divisive nature of social attitudes is as prevalent in Argentina as elsewhere on the Pakistani-Peruvian axis, and is the consequence along the whole length of that axis of the egocentric and undisciplined way in which sons are brought up by their mothers. In all societies, individuals have traits in which they differ from other individuals and traits in which they share. A highly civilized people like the English, by training of the young of all classes (until very recently) have tended to produce adults who emphasize the qualities they share, and play down the qualities in which they differ, even in activities such as games, politics, or competitive business where opposition is part of the rules. In Latin America the opposite is true, as each person tries to emphasize his individuality by finding more and more features of his life (often artificial ones) that distinguish or oppose him to others.

     In Argentina, as elsewhere along the Pakistani-Peruvian axis (especially in Spain), this tendency has fragmented social life and led to extremism. Even groups that seem to have the most obvious common interests in Argentina, such as the armed forces or the urban middle classes, are hopelessly split, and fluctuate from position to position. It is the splitting of these groups, especially of the middle classes, that has given such influence in Argentina to the labor unions on the Left or the landlord group on the Right. The middle classes in Argentina have been split into two political parties that refuse to cooperate. Together they could poll at least half the total vote in any election, but instead each obtains a quarter or less of the total vote and, refusing to join each other, must seek a majority by coalition with smaller, extremist parties.

     The failure of Latin America to find solutions to its most urgent real problems are, thus, much more fundamental than the cliches of political controversy, the complexion of governments, or the presence or absence of "revolutionaries." The words Left, Center, or Right mean little in terms of solutions to Latin America's problems, since disorganization, corruption, violence, and fraud are endemic in all. Bolivia, which has had a revolutionary government of peasants and tin miners since 1952, is in a mess, and Nicaragua, which has been under control of a military-dominated oligarchy for almost thirty years, is in a similar mess. So long as any real solutions of Latin America's problems depend upon the slow building up of constructive patterns, including ideological patterns, no solution will be found in shifting power or property from one group to another, even if the beneficent group in such transfers is much larger. This failure of social and economic revolutions to achieve more constructive patterns is evident in Bolivia, Guatemala, and Cuba.

     Bolivia's problems always seemed hopeless. In three unsuccessful wars with Chile, Brazil, and Paraguay from 1879 to 1935, it lost territory to its neighbors, including its only outlet to the sea. Its population of less than three million in 1950 (3.6 million a decade later) was crowded on its bleak western plateau, over 12,000 feet up, while its subtropical eastern lowlands were inhabited by only a few wild Indians. These lowlands and its mineral resources, source of 95 percent of its foreign exchange (mostly from tin), were Bolivia's chief assets before the revolution of 1952, but the former were unused, while the tin earnings went chiefly to swell the foreign holdings of three greedy groups, Pati๑o and Aramayo (both Bolivian) and Hochschild (Argentine). Until the revolution, the Bolivians, mostly of Indian descent, who were treated as second-class persons working as semi-slaves in the mines or as serfs on the large estates, had a per capita annual income of about $100, one-fifth that of Argentina. and the lowest but two of the twenty-one Latin American countries. As might be expected, the majority were illiterate, sullen, and discouraged.

     The poor Bolivian performance in the Chaco War with Paraguay in 1932-1935 gave rise to national feeling even among the Indians, and inspired a group of academic intellectuals, led by Victor Paz Estenssoro, to found a new political party, the National Revolutionary Movement (MNR). Many of the younger officers and the Indian enlisted men sympathized with the movement, and it won the largest vote of any party (45 percent) in the election of 1951. The older officers prevented the MNR from participating in the new government, but their junta split and was overthrown by an uprising in April 1952. Paz Estenssoro returned from exile to become president, with Juan Lechin, leader of the revolutionary tin miners' union, as his chief aid.

     Within a year, pressure from the tin miners and from the peasants (campesinos) forced the new regime to nationalize the mines and to break up many of the large estates into small peasant holdings. Production of metals and of food both collapsed, the miners demanding more pay and shorter hours for less and less work, driving Bolivian costs of production above the world market price for tin, thus wiping out a major part of the country's foreign-exchange earnings. These fell from $150,770,700 (96 percent from metals) in 1951 to $63,240,000 (86 percent from metals) in 1958. To make matters worse, as Bolivian costs of tin rose, the world price of tin collapsed in 1957 when the Soviet Union, for the first time, came into the world markets with low-priced tin. In these same years, Bolivia's production of food for the market, which had never been sufficient, was reduced by the transformation of large estates producing for market into small farms producing for subsistence. The nationalization of the railways used to export Bolivia's metals proved as disastrous as the nationalization of the mines, and hy 1961 only eighteen of sixty main-line locomotives were still functioning. As might he expected under such a regime, price inflation drove the value of Bolivia's monetary unit down from an official rate of 190 to the dollar in 1954 to an open market rate of 12,000 to the dollar in 1958.

     These problems could hardly be handled, even by a government that knew better, because of the popular pressures in a democratic country to live beyond the country's income. Fortunately, the final collapse did not occur, despite continued troubles from Juan Lechin's miners, because of the courageous efforts of Hernแn Siles (President in 1956-1960, but unable to succeed himself constitutionally) and assistance from the United States (this increased from $4,853,000 in 1953 to $32,120,000 in 1958). Siles sought to encourage both workers and peasants to seek production increases as a preliminary to increased consumption, a monetary stabilization plan, freezing of wages even while prices were still rising, encouragement of peasants to join in larger groupings with increased emphasis on production for market rather than for subsistence, efforts to bring some of the fertile eastern lowlands into agricultural production, and largely unsuccessful efforts to stop the drastic fall in industrial productivity in order to obtain some goods that could be offered to the peasants in return for their increased production of food. To reduce political pressures from the miners, 10,000 of their total working force of 36,000 were relocated in a new sugar industry in Santa Cruz. But the problem remained critical. Manufactured goods fell from $55.7 million in 1955 to about $40 million in value in 1962, while agricultural goods for sale fell from $132.6 million to $118.7 million in 1959-1961.

     The struggle still goes on, showing, if any proof were needed, that radical reforms for sharing the wealth of the few among the many poor is not an easy, or feasible,-method for settling Latin America's material problems. However, one asset from this Bolivian experiment does not appear in the statistics or on the balance sheets. Bolivia's intelligent and hard-working Indians, once hopelessly dull, morose, and sullen, are now bright, hopeful, and self-reliant. Even their clothing is gradually shifting from the older funereal black to brighter colors and variety.

     Few contrasts could be more dramatic than that between the Bolivian revolutionary government (in which a moderate regime was pushed toward radicalism by popular pressures, and survived, year after year, with American assistance) and the Guatemala revolution where a Communist-inspired regime tried to lead a rather inert population in the direction of increasing radicalism but was overthrown by direct American action within three years (1951-1954).

     Guatemala is one of the "banana republics." This perishable fruit, with a world production of 26 billion pounds a year, forms 40 percent of the world's trade in fresh fruit, with almost 70 percent of the world's total produced in Latin America and almost 57 percent of all the world's banana exports going to North America. The retail value of Latin America's part of the world's trade in bananas is several billion dollars a year, but Latin America gets less than 7 percent of that value. One reason for this is the existence of the United Fruit Company, which ov. ns two million acres of plantations in six Latin American countries, with l,500 miles of railroad, 60 ships, seaports, and communications networks. This corporation handles about a third of the world's banana sales and about two-thirds of the American sales. It controls 60 percent of the banana exports of the six banana republics (Guatemala, Honduras, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Colombia, Panama) and accounts for over 40 percent of the foreign-exchange earnings in three of the six countries. It pays about $145 million a year into the six countries, and claims to earn about $26 million profits on its $159 million investment each year, but this profit figure of about 16.6 percent a year is undoubtedly far below the true figure. A United States suit against United Fruit in 1954-1958 claimed that the latter controlled 85 percent of the land suitable for banana cultivation in five countries, and ordered it to get rid of most of its subsidiary transportation, distribution, and land operations by 1970. At the time, about 95 percent of the land held by United Fruit was uncultivated. The antitrust consent decree, even if carried out, will not materially reduce United Fruit influence in Central America, since its relations with its subsidiaries can merely be shifted from ownership to contractual arrangements.

     Guatemala, like Bolivia, has a population that consists largely of impoverished Indians and mixed bloods (mestizos). From 1931 to 1944 these were ruled by the dictator Jorge Ubico, the last of a long line of corrupt and ruthless tyrants. When he retired to die in New Orleans in 1944, free elections chose Juan Jos้ Arevalo (1945-1950) and Jacobo Arbenz Guzmแn (1950-954) as presidents. Reform was long overdue, and these two administrations tried to provide it, becoming increasingly anti-American and pro-Communist over their nine-year rule. When they began, civil or political rights were almost totally unknown, and 142 persons (including corporations) owned 98 percent of the arable land. Free speech and press, legalized unions, and free elections preceded the work of reform, but opposition from the United States began as soon as it became clear that the Land Reform Act of June 1952 would be applied to the United Fruit Company. This act called for redistribution of uncultivated holdings above a fixed acreage or lands of absentee owners, with compensation from twenty-year, 3 percent bonds, equal to the declared tax value of the lands. About 400,000 acres of United Fruit lands fell under this law and were distributed by the Arbenz Guzmแn government to 180,000 peasants. This and other evidence vv-as declared to be Communist penetration of the Americas, and John Foster Dulles, in a brief visit to the OAS meeting at Caracas in 1954, forced through a declaration condemning Guatemala. The Secretary of State left the execution of this condemnation to his brother, Allen Dulles, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, which soon found an American-trained and American-financed Guatemalan Colonel, Carlos Castillo Armas, who was prepared to lead a revolt against Arbenz. With American money and equipment, and even some American "volunteers" to fly "surplus" American planes, Armas mounted an attack of Guatemalan exiles from bases in two adjacent dictatorships, Honduras and Nicaragua. Both these countries are horrible examples of everything a Latin American government should not be, corrupt, tyrannical, cruel, and reactionary, but they won the favor of the United States Department of State by echoing American foreign policy at every turn. Nicaragua, often a target of American intervention in the past, was decayed, dirty, and diseased under the twenty-year tyranny of Anastasio Somoza (1936-1956). His assassination in 1956 handed the country over to be looted by his two sons, one of whom became President while the other served as Commander of the oversized National Guard. In 1963 the presidency was transferred to a Somoza stooge, Rene Schick.

     From these despotic bases, the CIA-directed assault of Colonel Armas overthrew Arbenz Guzmแn in 1954 and established in Guatemala a regime similar to that of the Somozas. All civil and political freedoms were overthrown, the land reforms were undone, and corruption reigned. When Armas was assassinated in 1957 and a moderate elected as his successor, the army annulled those elections and held new ones in which one of their own, General Miguel Ydํgoras Fuentes, was "elected." He liquidated what remained of Guatemala's Socialist experiments by granting these enterprises, at very reasonable prices, to his friends, while collecting his own pay of $1,094,000 a year. Discontent from his associates led to a conservative army revolt against Ydํgoras in November 1960, but American pressure secured his position. The United States at the time could not afford a change of regime in Guatemala, since that country was already deeply involved, as the chief aggressive base for the Cuban exiles' attack on Cuba, at the Bay of Pigs, in April 1962.

     As we all know, the CIA success in attacking "Communist" Guatemala from dictatorial Nicaragua in 1954 was not repeated in its more elaborate attack on "Communist" Cuba from dictatorial Guatemala in 1962. In fact, the Bay of Pigs must stand as the most shameful event in United States history since the end of World War II. But before we tell that story we must examine its background in Cuba's recent history, a story that well exemplifies the tragedy of Cuba.

     The causes of the Cuban disaster are as complex as most historical events, but, if we oversimplify, we may organize them in terms of two intersecting factors: (1) the personality deficiencies of the Cubans themselves, such as their lack of rationality and self-discipline, their emotionalism and corruptibility' and (2) the ignorance and ineptitude of the American State Department, which seems incapable of dealing with Latin America in terms of the real problems of the area, but instead insists on treating it in terms of America's vision of the world, which is to say in terms of American political preconceptions and economic interests.

     Cuba is more Spanish than much of Latin America, and obtained its independence from Spain only in 1898, two generations later than the rest of Latin America. Then, for over thirty years, until the abrogation of the Platt amendment in 1934, Cuba was under American occupation (1898-1902) or the threat of direct American intervention. During that period the island fell under American economic domination by American investments on the island and by becoming deeply involved in the American market, especially for its sugar crop. In the same period, a local oligarchy of Cubans was built up, including an exploitative landlord group that had not existed previously.

     With the establishment of the Good Neighbor Policy in 1933 and the ending of the threat of American direct intervention, it became possible for the Cubans to overthrow the tyrannical and bloody rule of General Gerardo Machado which had lasted for eight years (1925-1933). The opportunity to begin a series of urgently needed and widely demanded social reforms under Machado's successor, Ram๓n Grau San Martin, was lost when the United States refused to recognize or to assist the new regime. As a result, a ruthless Cuban army sergeant, Fulgencio Batista, was able to overthrow Grau San Martํn and begin a ten-year rule of the island (1934-1944) through civilian puppets, chosen in fraudulent elections, and then directly as president himself. When Grau San Martํn was elected president in 1944, he abandoned his earlier reformist ideas and became the first of a series of increasingly corrupt elected regimes over the next eight years. The fourth such election, scheduled for 1953, was prevented when Batista seized power once again, in March 1952.

     The next seven years were filled by Batista's efforts to hold his position by violence and corruption against the rising tide of discontent against his rule. One of the earliest episodes in that tide was an attempted revolt by a handful of youths, led by twenty-six-year-old Fidel Castro, in eastern Cuba on July 26, 1953.

     The failure of the rising of July 26th gave Castro two years of imprisonment and more than a year of exile, hut at the end of 1956 he landed with a handful of men on the coast of Cuba to begin guerrilla operations against the government. Batista's regime was so corrupt and violent that many of the local powers of Cuba, including segments of the army and much of the middle class, were either neutral or favorable to Castro's operations. The necessary arms and financial support came from these groups, although the core of the movement was made up of peasants and workers led by young, middle-class university graduates.

     This Castro uprising was not typical of the revolutionary coups that had been familiar in Cuba and throughout Latin America in an earlier day, because of Castro's fanatical thirst for power, his ruthless willingness to destroy property or lives in order to weaken the Batista regime, and his double method of operation, from within Cuba rather than from abroad and from a rural base, the peasants, rather than the usual urban base, the army, used by most Latin American rebels.

     By destroying sugar plantations and utilities, Castro's rebels weakened the economic and communications basis of the Batista government. The steady attrition of the regime's popular and military support made it possible for Castro's forces to advance across Cuba, and, on New Year's Day of 1959, he marched into Havana. Within two weeks, an additional and very ominous difference in this revolution appeared: the supporters of the Batista regime and dissident elements in Castro's movement began to be executed by firing squads.

     For a year Castro's government carried on a reformist policy administered by his original supporters, the July 26th group of young, middle-class, university graduates. These reforms were aimed at satisfying the more obvious demands of the dispossessed groups who had provided the mass basis for Castro's movement. Military barracks were converted into schools; the militia was permanently established to replace the regular army; rural health centers were set up; a full-scale attack was made on illiteracy; new schools were constructed; urban rents were cut by half; utility rates were slashed; taxes were imposed on the upper classes; the beaches, once reserved for the rich, were opened to all; and a drastic land reform was launched. These actions were not integrated into any viable economic program, but they did spread a sense of well-being in the countryside, although they curtailed the building boom in the cities (especially Havana), largely rooted in American investment, and they instigated a flight of the rich from the island to refuge in the United States.

     Beneath this early and temporary bloom of well-being, many ominous signs appeared. Castro soon showed that he was a tactician of revolution, not a strategist of reconstruction. He not only proclaimed permanent revolution in Cuba, but at once sought to export it to the rest of Latin America. Arms and guerrilla fighters were sent, and lost, in unsuccessful efforts to invade Panama, Nicaragua, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic. Failure of these turned him to methods of more subtle penetration, largely worked by propaganda and the arming and training of small subversive underground groups, especially in areas where democratic or progressive regimes seemed to be developing (as in Venezuela under Betancourt or Colombia under Alberto Lleras Camargo). At the same time, an unsuccessful effort was made to persuade all Latin America to form an anti-Yankee front.

     Although the United States, in October 1959, had promised to follow a policy of nonintervention toward Cuba, these changes within the island, and especially the long visit there of Soviet Deputy Premier Anastas Mikoyan in February 1960, forced a reconsideration of this policy. The Mikoyan agreement promised Cuba petroleum, arms, and other needs for its sugar, although the price equivalent allowed for the sugar w as only 4 cents a pound at a time when the American price was 6 cents; by June 1963, when world sugar prices reached 13 cents, the USSR raised its price for Cuban sugar to 6 cents. This trade agreement was followed by establishment of diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union in May and with Red China later in the year. The Soviet embassy in Havana became a source of Communist subversion for all of Latin America almost at once, while in September Khrushchev and Castro jointly dominated the annual session of the General Assembly of the United Nations in New York.

     As part of the trade agreement with Russia, Castro obtained Soviet crude petroleum for Cuban sugar. When he insisted that American-owned refineries in Cuba process this oil, they refused and were at once seized by Castro. The United States struck back by reducing the Cuban sugar quota in the American market, which led, step by step, to Castro's sweeping nationalization of foreign-owned factories on the island. The United States retaliated by establishing a series of embargoes on Cuban exports to the United States. These controversies led Castro into an economic trap similar to that into which Nasser had fallen with Egypt’s cotton. Each nationalist revolutionary leader committed his chief foreign-exchange-earning product (sugar or cotton) to the Soviet Union as payment for Communist (often Czech) arms. This tied these countries to the Soviet Union and deprived them of the chance to use their one source of foreign money for equipment so urgently needed for economic .improvement. By December 1960, when American diplomatic relations with Cuba were broken off, the Cuban economic decline had begun, and soon reached a point where standards of living were at least a third below the Batista level, except for some previously submerged groups.

     At the end of 1960, the Eisenhower Administration decided to use force to remove Castro. This decision was a major error and led to a totally shameful fiasco. The error apparently arose in the Central Intelligence Agency and was based on a complete misjudgment of the apparent ease with which that agency had overthrown the Arbenz regime in Guatemala in 1954 by organizing a raid of exiles, armed and financed by the CIA, into Guatemala from Nicaragua. The CIA analyzed this apparently successful coup quite incorrectly, since it assumed that Arbenz had been overthrown by the raiding exiles, when he had really been destroyed by his own army, which used the raid as an excuse and occasion to get rid of him. But on this mistaken basis, the CIA in 1960 decided to get rid of Castro by a similar raid of Cuban exiles from Guatemala.

     This decision was worse than a crime; it was stupid. A unilateral, violent attack on a neighboring state with which we were not at war, in an area where we were committed to multilateral and peaceful procedures for settling disputes, was a repudiation of all our idealistic talk about the rights of small nations and our devotion to peaceful procedures that we had been pontificating around the world since 1914. It was a violation of our commitment to nonintervention in the Americas and specifically in Cuba. In sequence to our CIA intervention in Guatemala, it strengthened the Latin American picture of the United States as indifferent to Latin America's growing demand for social reform and national independence and as hostile to these when they conflicted with its own drives for wealth and power. Moreover, the attack on Cuba was ill-advised at a time when Castro's prestige at home was rapidly dwindling and when opposition was rising to his chaotic rule throughout the island. And, finally, the whole operation, patterned on Hitler's operations to subvert Austria and Czechoslovakia in 1938, was bungled as Hitler could never have bungled anything. The project was very much of a Dulles brothers' job, and its execution was largely in the hands of the Central Intelligence Agency, which organized the expeditionary force from Cuban exiles, financed and armed them, and supervised their training in Guatemala and elsewhere.

     The plan of the invasion of Cuba seems to have been drawn on typical Hitler lines: the expeditionary force was to establish a beachhead in Cuba, set up a government on the island, be recognized by the United States as the actual government of Cuba, and ask Washington for aid to restore order in the rest of the island which it did not yet control. The Joint Chiefs of Staff approved of the plan, and President Kennedy was persuaded to accept it, after his inauguration, because of the CIA's argument that something must be done to remove Castro before his newly acquired Soviet armaments became operational. The President was assured that if matters were allowed to go on as they were, Castro would be strengthened in power ... and that the invasion would be a success because the Cuban people, led by the anti-Castro underground, would rise against him as soon as they heard of the landing.

     Whatever truth there Noms in this last contention, the CIA handling of the invasion made it impossible, because the CIA refused to use either the anti-Castro underground in Cuba or the Cuban refugees in the United States (except as volunteers to be targets in the invasion attempt), and kept all planning and control of the invasion in its own hands. The executive committee of Cuban refugees in the United States, mostly representatives of the older ruling groups in Cuba, were eager to restore the inequitable economic and social system that had existed before Castro. They were alienated from the most vigorous anti-Castro groups in the Cuban underground, who had no desire to turn back the clock to the Machado-Batista era but wanted to free the social and economic reform movement from Castro, the Communists, and the anti-democratic and totalitarian forces that had taken control of it. The CIA would not cooperate with the anti-Castro underground because it was opposed to their wish for social and economic reform, and it would not use the Miami refugee committee because it doubted either their discretion or fighting spirit. Accordingly, the CIA launched the invasion without notifying the Cuban underground and kept the refugee committee locked up without communication for the week of the attack. Then the attack itself was bungled, since it was aimed at an inappropriate spot, without eliminating Castro's air power, and without provision for fighting it, and with the logistics for the whole tactical operation of the invasion at an unbelievable level of incompetence.

     As a result of these errors, the 1,500 men landed at the Bay of Pigs in southern Cuba on April 17, 1961 were destroyed in seventy-two hours by Castro's speedily mobilized and well-armed militia. At the same time, Castro's police destroyed any possible simultaneous rising of the underground by arresting thousands of suspects. To do the wrong thing is bad, but. to do it incompetently is unforgivable.

     The blow to American prestige from the Bay of Pigs was almost irretrievable. On the other hand, it greatly strengthened Castro s prestige, in Latin America more than in Cuba itself, and made it possible for him to bind the Kremlin to his cause so tightly that it could neither reduce its support nor control his policies. This in turn permitted him to survive a deepening wave of passive resistance and sabotage within Cuba itself, chiefly from the peasants. And, finally, as we shall see, this made it possible for him to recapture control of the Cuban revolutionary movement for himself and the Fidelistas from the Cuban Communists. This last point was in March, 1962, but the others began in 1961.

     Until the Bay of Pigs fiasco, the Soviet commitment to Castro had been considerable but not irretrievable. Soviet armaments began to arrive as early as July 1960, and in the first year exceeded 30,000 tons valued at 50 million dollars. As payment, the Communist bloc's portion of Cuba's export trade rose from 2 percent to 75 percent. Within a year of the failure at the Bay of Pigs, Sino-Soviet military support for Castro doubled. It also changed its quality to late model antiaircraft missiles, long-range missiles capable of carrying nuclear warheads, and even Soviet combat troops. By the time these changes became evident to Washington in October 1962, the Soviet military buildup in Cuba had cost over 700 million dollars.

     Before this Soviet military buildup in Cuba reached its stage of most rapid acceleration in July-October 1962, a number of significant changes occurred in Cuba itself. Two of these were the growth of Cuban resistance to the Castro regime and Castro's acceptance and sudden reversal of a Communist usurpation of his power within Cuba.

     Castro's efforts to take Cuba into the Communist bloc began almost as soon as he took Havana in January 1959. His refusal to allow post-revolutionary elections to confirm his victory, a traditional Latin American tactic, and his outlawing of the traditional political parties (but not the Communists, PSP, which had secretly cooperated with Batista for years) left him in an ideological and political vacuum. Soon the closing down of all opposition newspapers, but the continued publication of the Communist paper, Hoy, showed that only this group would fill that vacuum. And finally the small group of Old Communists in Cuba were allowed to take over control of the administrative system and, within months, had a reasonable facsimile of the Kremlin's arrangements operating from Havana. They took control of the Rebel Militia, especially G-2, its Intelligence branch; President Manuel Urrutia was removed for an anti-Communist speech and replaced by a fellow-traveler, Osvaldo Dortic๓s Torrado. A struggle between the Communists and the Fidelistas of the 26th of July Movement for control of the Confederation of Cuban Labor Unions was settled by Castro himself in favor of the Communists. A chief Communist leader; Carlos Rafael Rodrํguez, professor of economics at the University of Havana, led a student revolt that gave the Communists control of the university. All political movements were merged into the Integrated Revolutionary Organizations (ORI), whose leadership was practically identical with the Old Communist leadership. This group set up Communist-type cells in farms, factories, and government offices. Anibal Escalante, secretary of the Communist Party, became organizational secretary to ORI. The Military Secret Police, G-2, was transformed into a Ministry of the Interior, based on the Kremlin's MVD, with a Communist, Ramiro Valdes, at its head. The lands that had been distributed or seized by peasants were "nationalized" by local Communist groups, and many of the cooperative farms that had risen from these became collective farms. In all significant governmental posts, Fidelistas were replaced, or circumvented, by Communists. Control of the economy was taken from Major Ernesto "she" Guevara and given to Professor Rodriguez, who became president of the Agrarian Reform Institute, and drew up the economic development plans for the years following 1961. Thus within a few months, the ORI became a real government, making most of the significant daily decisions, and Escalante was exercising more power than Castro. The latter, still the darling of the masses, spent much of his time rousing them to frenzy with his speech-making and marching.

     The chief resistance to this Communization of Cuba came from the peasants, by curtailing production and by sabotage. Smaller farmers produced enough for their families but no more, in resistance to government-fixed prices and the compulsion to sell all their marketable produce to the National Institute of Agrarian Reform. Farmers refused to labor on the collective or state farms and occasionally set fire to the canebrakes on these. A good part of the coffee crop of 1961 was lost because the workers refused to harvest it. Similar resistance arose with the sugar and other crops. Drastic food rationing had to be established in March r962. The 196z coffee crop was sabotaged, and coffee rationing had to be established in February 1963. Most critical was the sugar crop, source of four-fifths of Cuba's foreign exchange. Efforts to harvest the crop with the militia, students, or city workers failed, and by 1962 the crop harvested had fallen to about half of the pre-Castro figure. At the same time, the ending of almost all trade ties with the United States, which had been a principal source of Cuban food, left Cuba dependent on countries like the Communist bloc, which had difficulties feeding themselves. The food ration fell to 3/4 pound of meat a week per person, and 5 eggs with 2 ounces of butter a month. The food shortage was soon followed by shortages of manufactured goods, as the exodus of technicians, lack of spare parts, and bureaucratic confusions disorganized industrial production.

     The economic collapse in no way discouraged Castro's efforts to establish a socialist regime, but the Communist Party's curtailment of his personal power led to a strong counteraction in March 1962. On May Day 1961, Castro had proclaimed that Cuba would be a socialist state and, in a two-day speech on December 1-2, 1961, he had announced his own "Marxist-Leninist" beliefs. This ended the earlier arguments, disseminated by American Establishment circles led by The New York Times, that Castro was simply a progressive reformer. But despite his statements, he was not in any way a convinced Communist or a convinced anything else, but was a power-hungry and emotionally unstable individual, filled with hatred of authority himself, and restless unless he had constant change and megalomaniac satisfactions. His tactical skill, especially in foreign affairs, is remarkable, and shows similarity to Hitler's. His allegiance to Communism had nothing to do with ideological conviction or devotion to the Kremlin, but arose from his recognition that Russia was the only Power in a position to counterbalance the United States and was, to him, preferable to the United States both because of its greater distance and because its ideological pretenses would never allow it to permit an admitted Communist state like Cuba to be attacked by the United States. Thus Castro sought to get the Soviet Union more deeply committed to Cuba so that it could not disentangle itself whatever Castro did but must protect him from the United States, even when he openly disregarded its advice. In the same way, Castro was willing to build up his indebtedness to the Soviet Union because the Communist commitment would not allow the Kremlin to do anything drastic to collect such a debt. For these reasons, Castro wished to join the Warsaw Pact, but this at least Moscow was able to prevent. At the same time, Castro recognized that his own adoption of the Communist ideology would not weaken him in Latin America, where the impoverished masses care nothing about ideologies, and the middle classes, especially the youth and university students, like Communism as an ideology, although it has little influence on their own actions or political behavior.

     Although the Communist takeover in Cuba began in 1960, it was not until February 196 z that Castro began to realize what had happened. Within a month, particularly during the week of March 16-22, he eliminated the Communists from most positions of significant power. The Rodrํguez economic plan of November 1961 was denounced; the ORI system was purged; his brother, Ra๚l Castro, was made vice-premier; Escalante was forced into exile; the militia and bureaucracy were recaptured by the Fidelistas; and on March 26th Fidel himself gave a five-hour speech narrating what had happened. Pravda did not accept the change until April 11th.

     This acceptance of the reestablishment of Fidelism by both the Kremlin and the Cuban Communist Party, largely because they had no alternative, was followed by their full-scale support of the Castro regime in political and economic policies. On May 31st it was announced that Moscow would provide 600,000 tons of food in the balance of 1962 to stave off the Cuban economic collapse, and later Moscow released claims on some Cuban sugar so that it could be sold in the world market for hard currencies Above all, the Soviet Union appeared to accept Castro's argument that another American military assault on Cuba was in preparation.

     The United States, Castro, and Moscow all must have known that no effort was likely to be made to repeat the American invasion of Cuba, but Castro made the charge because he wanted Soviet weapons, and the Kremlin pretended to believe it for reasons that are still doubtful. It is possible that the Russians hoped that the Soviet IRBM's in Cuba would help to slow up the increasing American lead over the Soviet Union in the missile race. It is also possible that they hoped that such missiles, once established, might be bargained away in return for a Soviet-favored solution to the Berlin question.

     The increasing American aerial patrols over Cuba, which detected the Russian missile buildup on the island, were used by Cuba and the Soviet Union as evidence of the approaching American attack. By September, still unknown to the public, the crisis began to form, and in October it was in full progress, with the consequences already described.

     The ending of the Cuban missile crisis at the end of 1962 may have opened a new era in the world's history, but it left Latin America still floundering in the same old problems, which became more complicated and insoluble with each passing day. As we have said, these problems can be solved only by obtaining more constructive patterns in the proper priority sequence. On the whole, the role of the United States in Latin America has not been such as to help either patterns or priorities, largely because our concern has been with what seems to be useful or better for us rather than with what would be most helpful to them.

     From the point of view of Latin America's real interests, basic priorities might include...: (1) more constructive psychological patterns; ( 2 ) increased political stability; ... (3) a large increase in the food supply and in the most fundamental needs of human life, such as housing; (4) increased emphasis on light industry, especially processing and semi-processing of local raw materials; and (5) continued improvements in transportation and communications. This combination of advances could provide rising standards of living and jobs for everyone. In moving in this direction much greater use should be made of local resources, including local capital and local skills, especially those of the present upper classes. This last point will become feasible only if the first two points begin to develop: a better outlook, especially in the upper classes, and a sufficiently stabilized political system so that duress can be put upon those classes to force them to use both their lives and their resources in a more constructive way. This will he possible only if the armed forces of Latin America (and of the whole Pakistani-Peruvian axis) move much more rapidly in a direction their have been moving in already, but too slowly: the direction of increased concern for stronger, more honest, more constructive, and more widely distributed improvements in conditions of living among their own people.

     This point of view has already shown itself along the Pakistani-Peruvian axis, in military circles in Pakistan, Egypt, Argentina, and elsewhere; in the royal entourage in Iran; among university voutl1 in much of Latin America. But in all these circles, despite the enthusiasm and energy that make it possible for them to overthrow corrupt and tyrannical regimes, it soon becomes clear that they have little idea what to do once they get into power. As a result, they fall under the personal influence of unstable and ignorant men, the Nassers, the Per๓ns, and the Castros, who fall hack on emotionally charged programs of hatreds and spectacular displays of unconstructive nationalism that waste time and use up resources while the real problems of the whole enormous area go unsolved.

     A heavy responsibility rests on the United States for this widespread failure to find solutions to problems all the way from Pakistan to Peru. The basic reason for this is that our policies in this great area have been based on efforts to find solutions to our own problems rather than theirs: to make profits, to increase supplies of necessary raw materials, to fight Hitler, to keep out Communism, and in recent years to fight the Cold War and prevent the spread of neutralism. The net result of our actions has been that we are now more hated than the Soviet Union, and neutralism reveals itself as clearly as it dares through the whole area. [This hatred is due to the imperialistic actions of the Eastern Establishment and their policies around the world, not the American people. The United States possesses the key to prosperity around the world. It is the free market system. However, powerful monopolies and cartels now encircle the globe and will combine to fight the re-emergence of the free market system and basic competition among corporations.]

     This is, perhaps, more obvious on the Pakistan end of the axis than on the Peruvian end, but is true from one end to the other. Dulles's insistence on arming the Middle and Near East and seeking to line the area up into a military bulwark against the Soviet Union destroyed the precarious political stability of the area, intensified local rivalries and animosities (as between India and Pakistan or between Egypt and Israel), led to large-scale waste of resources and energies on armament rivalries divided the armed forces into cliques whose rivalries increased the frequency of military coupe, and often entrenched in power reactionary and unprogressive minorities.

     The sad thing about all this is that it was so unnecessary. There never was a moment in which the arms of this axis (excluding Turkey and Israel) contributed anything significant to keeping the Soviet Union out of it. Even less so in Latin America. On the contrary, the Dulles efforts to bring both areas into the Cold War in a military way by treaties and armaments have succeeded only in bringing Soviet influences and Communism in by methods of subversion, propaganda, and economic penetration that cannot be excluded by military agreements and armaments.

     And at no time did these military agreements and armaments provide any real strength to keep Russia out as a military threat, for at all times that task rested on the deterrent power of the United States and the Western alliance. The sole consequence of the Dulles efforts to do the wrong thing along the Pakistani-Peruvian axis has been to increase what he was seeking to reduce: local political instability, increased Communist and Soviet influence, neutralism, and hatred of the United States.

     Although the Dulles period, because it was a crucial period, shows most clearly the failures of American foreign policy in Latin America, the situation was the same, both before and since Dulles, with a possible brief e:;ception in the first administration of Franklin Roosevelt. Otherwise, American policy in Latin America has been determined by American needs and desires and not by the problems of Latin Americans. A brief survey of these policies will show this clearly.

     There are four chief periods in United States policy toward Latin America in the twentietl1 century. The first, a period of investment and interventionism, lasted until 1933 and was basically a period of commercial imperialism. American money came to Latin America as investments, seeking profits out of the exploitation of the area's most obvious local resources, mineral or agricultural, such as copper, bananas, and petroleum, or as markets for American goods. There was little respect for the people themselves or for their way of life, and intervention by American military and diplomatic forces was always close at hand as a protection for American profits and investments.

     The Good Neighbor Policy, announced by President Roosevelt in 1933, reduced intervention while retaining investment. It was partly a consequence of the idealism and progressive nature of the New Deal itself, but was equally based on the fact that the need of Latin America for American investment funds and for the American market, especially in the depressed conditions of 1933, made it so amenable to our economic and commercial influence that there was little need for our use of diplomatic intimidation or the Marines.

     The third and fourth stages in America's Latin American policy, from 1940 to the present, have been concerned with our efforts to involve the area in our foreign policy (not theirs), that is, in the effort to get them as deeply involved as possible in the struggle against Hitler and Japan and, since 1947, in the struggle against the Soviet Union. Both of these efforts have been mistakes (with the possible exception of our relations with Brazil and Mexico in the period following 1940) because the states of Latin America, however dutifully they may have lined up in the Hot War against Hitler or the Cold War against Soviet Russia, contributed little more to victory in these struggles than they would have contributed if they had not been pressured by us to line up at all.

     This four-stage chronology of American policy toward Latin America ignores completely the significant change that has occurred in the history of Latin America itself during the twentieth century, chiefly in the 1950's. This is the shift in emphasis in Latin American history, especially in the history of political disturbances and governmental changes from the superficial coups d'้tat that were prevalent in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to the profound economic and social upheavals that first appeared in Mexico in 1910 and were followed in the 1950's by the revolutions in Bolivia, Cuba, and elsewhere. The failure in coincidence between the stages of the history of American policy and the stages of the history of Latin America itself is a fair measure of the irrelevance and futility of our policy. That this failure continued into the 1960's was clear in Washington's joy at the military coup that ejected the left-of-center Joใo Goulart government from Brazil in April 1964, for that government, however misdirected and incompetent, at least recognized that there were urgent social and economic problems in Brazil demanding treatment.

     No real recognition that such problems existed was achieved in Washington until Castro's revolution in Cuba forced the realization. As a consequence the Alliance for Progress should be regarded as the North American reaction to Castro rather than its reaction to Latin America's real problems. This helps to explain why the achievement of the Alliance for Progress has been so limited.

     In its early announcement, by President Kennedy during his second month in office, the projected Alliance for Progress seemed more hopeful than any earlier United States reaction to Latin America's problems had been. It accepted the idea of central economic planning for the Latin American nations and the role of state intervention in investment and economic life, both of which had been rejected by the Eisenhower Administration. To these it added two other basic assumptions: that Latin America he required to take steps to help itself and not merely expect grants from the United States and, also, that social improvements, such as better housing, increased literacy, and improved social amenities, be regarded as intrinsic parts of, or even prerequisites to, purely economic expansion, and not he considered, as hitherto, to be incidental consequences of such expansion.

     The formal agreement for the Alliance for Progress was signed by all members of the Organization of American States except Cuba, at Punta del Este, Uruguay, on August 17, 1961. Its aims and attitudes were admirable, but required implementation and organizational features that were not covered in the Charter itself and have largely remained deficient since. Its preamble said, in part, "We, the American Republics, hereby proclaim. our decision to unite in a common effort to bring our people accelerated economic progress and broader social justice within the framework of personal dignity and personal liberty. Almost two hundred years ago we began in this Hemisphere the long struggle for freedom which now inspires people in all parts of the world. . . . Now we must give a new meaning to that revolutionary heritage. For America stands at a turning point in history. The men and women of our Hemisphere are reaching for the better life which today’s skills have placed within their grasp. They are determined for themselves and their children to have decent and ever more abundant lives, to gain access to knowledge and equal opportunity for all, to end those conditions which benefit the few at the expense of the needs and dignity of the many.”

     These were fine words, and the specific detail to fulfill them was generally recognized. The latter included "a substantial and sustained growth of per capita incomes at a rate designed to attain, at the earliest possible date, levels of income capable of assuring self-sustaining development, and sufficient to make Latin American income levels constantly larger in relation to the levels of the more industrialized nations.... In evaluating the degree of relative development, account will be taken not only of average levels of real income and gross product per capita, but also of indices of infant mortality, illiteracy, and per capita daily caloric intake." The minimum desirable rate of economic growth was stated to be 2.5 percent per capita per year. It was, perhaps unrealistically, stated that economic progress should be made "available to all citizens of all economic and social groups through a more equitable distribution of national income, raising more rapidly the income and standard of living of the needier sectors of the population, at the same time that a higher proportion of the national product is devoted to investment." This aim to redistribute income and achieve simultaneously higher consumption and higher investment is, of course, impossible except in the most advanced industrial societies that have already reached such levels of consumption of material goods that further increases in consumption increase problems rather than solve them. To add to this rather confused idea of the process of economic development, the Charter immediately added, "Special attention should be given to the establishment and development of capital-goods industries."

     Other desirable goals listed in the Charter included "replacing latifundia and dwarf-holdings by an equitable system of land tenure," "to maintain stable price levels, avoiding inflation or deflation and the consequent social hardships and mal-distribution of resources," "to strengthen existing agreements on economic integration," and "to develop cooperative programs designed to prevent the harmful effects of excessive fluctuations in the foreign exchange earnings derived from exports of primary products...." Among the social goals were "to eliminate adult illiteracy and by 1970 to assure, as a minimum, access to six wears of primary education for each school age child in Latin America," "to increase life expectancy at birth hy a minimum of five years, and to increase the ability to learn and produce, by improving individual and public health . . . to provide adequate potable water supply and drainage to not less than 70 percent of the urban and so percent of the rural population; to reduce the mortality rate of children less than five years of age to at least one-half of the present rate; to control the more serious transmittable diseases, according to their importance as a cause of sickness and death . . . ," and so on.

     The methods of achieving these desirable goals were only incidentally established in the Charter. The participating Latin American countries were required to formulate, within eighteen months, long-term development programs that would include improved human resources through education and training, a reform of tax structures (including adequate taxation of large incomes and real estate), laws to encourage investment both foreign and domestic, and improved methods of distribution to provide more competitive markets. The drawing of such programs in areas that lacked adequate statistical information and had few trained economists was a considerable obstacle to carrying out the Charter, and only a handful of programs were approved in the first three years of the Alliance.

     As part of the Charter the United States offered "to provide assistance under the Alliance" amounting to $20 billion, of which half was to come from the government and half from private sources, over a ten-year period. Nothing was said in the Charter as to the nature of this assistance, but the government's share has been generally in the form of credits, the least helpful type of such foreign assistance, and the amount of such assistance has not, as might appear at first glance, amounted to $2 billion a year in new moneys, since private American investments in Latin America already amounted to many hundreds of millions a year and aid from the United States government was almost equally large, so that the total of additional assistance promised by the Alliance was roughly about two-thirds of a billion dollars or less each year.

     It would be possible to state the achievement of the Alliance for Progress in terms of hundreds of thousands of housing units, schools, new hospitals, roads, additional drinking water, and experimental or demonstration farms, but such lists, however large the numbers, indicate little about the success of the Alliance. On the whole, it cannot be said that the Alliance has failed; but, even more emphatically, it cannot be said that it has been a success. Its achievement has been ameliorative rather than structural, and this alone indicates that it has not been a success. For unless there are structural reforms in Latin American society, its economic development will not become self-sustaining or even manage to keep up with the growth of population on the basis of income per capita.

     The failure of the Alliance for Progress to achieve what it was touted to achieve has many causes, but the chief is undoubtedly that it was not intended primarily to be a method for achieving a better life for Latin Americans but was intended to be a means of implementing American policy in the Cold War. This became clearly evident at the second Punta del Este Conference of January 22-31, 1962, where Washington's exclusive control over the granting of funds for the Alliance vv-as used as a club to`force the Latin American stares to exclude Cuba from the Organization of American States. The original plan was to cut off Cuba's trade with all Western Hemisphere countries and to break off diplomatic relations as well. A two-thirds vote by countries was needed to make the recommendations official; it was obtained only by the minimum margin (14 votes out of the 21 members) and only after the most intense American "diplomatic" pressure and bribery involving the granting and withholding of American aid to the Alliance. Even at that, six countries, representing 75 percent of Latin America's area and 70 percent of its population, refused to vote for the American motions. These six were Brazil, Mexico, Argentina, Chile, Bolivia, and Ecuador.

     Much of the weakness of the Alliance for Progress arises from its failure to work for structural reforms that will change the patterns of Latin American life in more constructive directions. The aid, as we have said, is entirely under the control of the United States; it generally takes the form, not of money which can be used to buy the best goods in the cheapest market, but as credits which can be used only in the United States. Much of these credits goes either to fill gaps in the budgets or the foreign-exchange balances of Latin American countries, which provides a maximum of leverage in getting these governments to follow America's lead in world affairs but provides little or no benefit to the impoverished peoples of the hemisphere. Moreover, the grants, which provide dollars to these countries, are often counterbalanced by contrary influences, such as increased tariffs or other restrictions on the flow of Latin American goods to the United States, or decreases in the prices of Latin American primary products, or (what leads to the same results) increases in the export prices of American industrial goods.

     A decrease of a cent or two in the price that the United States pays for coffee can wipe out all the funds that it provides for the coffee-producing countries under the Alliance for Progress. For example, from 1959 to 1960 the price that the United States paid for its coffee fell from an average of 39ข a pound to 34ข a pound. This decrease of a nickel a pound would represent a decrease in the total amount the United States paid for coffee, from one year to the next, of more than $150 million for the 30 billion pounds bought in 1960. Similarly, a decrease of one cent per pound on Chile's copper means a loss of about $11,000,000 a y ear. On the other hand, an increase in the prices of American television sets of one dollar each costs Latin American buyers about $15,000,000.

     When both occur together, so that the prices of what Latin America sells are falling while the prices that it has to pay for American goods are increasing, as has been generally true during recent years, it means that most of the funds that Washington extends to Latin America under the Alliance for Progress are evaporating before they can be used, in terms of the total amount of dollars available for Latin American purchases of goods and equipment needed to modernize the Latin American production system.

     There are many other aspects of this situation that help to explain the weak achievement of the Alliance for Progress. The tax-reform projects designed to force the rich to pay a fair share of taxes and to encourage them to invest rather than simply to hoard their surplus funds have come to almost nothing. But the possibility that something of this nature might he done has caused large volumes of funds to flee from Latin America to seek shelter abroad. It is possible that the total of such Latin American funds hiding abroad may amount to as much as $20 billion, the same amount the United States promised to provide over the whole ten years of the Alliance's projected life. While we have no accurate figures on these sums, an official report gives $4 billion as the amount of Latin American money on deposit in the United States at the end of 1961.

     All of these considerations make it clear that problems of our neighbors in the Western Hemisphere are still rising more rapidly than they are being solved, a condition equally true in southern Asia, southeast Asia, and the Near East. In all of these, failure to find some answers to the problems that are rising can only lead to neutralism, eventual hatred of the Western world, and violent explosions by disappointed peoples that achieve nothing constructive either for them or for us. There are those who say that all these disappointments are inevitable because the problems of the backward areas are basically insoluble. To these skeptics we need only say: Look at the Far East, where, in vivid contrast, we can see the outstanding case where the problem of development has been solved and the most frightening example of what may happen when it is not solved.

The Far East

     From the opening of the Far East to Western trade and influence, largely at the insistence of American traders, China was the recipient of American favor and protection, while Japan was regarded with suspicion and rivalry. The culmination of this process was in World War II, when China was an ally and Japan was our enemy. In fact, as Pearl Harbor showed, American intervention in the war arose over its efforts to protect China from Japanese aggression. Yet, in the postwar period, this relationship was reversed. Japan now represents the greatest success and China the greatest failure of America's postwar foreign policy. Our policies are often praised or blamed for these discordant results.... This almost certainly is correct in China, but the amazing success story that is to he seen in contemporary Japan may well be attributed to successful American policies in combination with the peculiar social and personality patterns of the Japanese people. [Japan is a socialist country which has adopted the American system of tariffs to prevent certain goods from being imported into their country. The restricted import policy coupled with a vigorous export policy in combination with the secret alliance of government and business is what led to the so-called Japanese miracle.]

The Japanese Miracle

     The word "miracle" has been applied to a number of postwar events, such as the economic upsurge in West Germany, but it is nowhere more applicable than in Japan. For Japan is the only major area outside Europe, except the United States itself, which has reached that stage in economic development which W. W. Rostow called "takeoff." That is, it has reached a point in development where the process continues by its own momentum, accumulating and investing its own capital, with increasing production of food from a constantly dwindling farm population, a shift in diet from emphasis on "energy foods" to emphasis on "protective foods," and a shift in industrial activity from products requiring unskilled labor in a low capital-to-labor ratio toward products requiring highly skilled labor in a high capital-to-labor ratio. The Soviet Union itself has not yet reached this point in development, so that Japan is now the only fully advanced industrial nation in Asia and has, as a consequence, taken on characteristics that are familiar to us from Western European and American experience but are totally unknown elsewhere in Asia, Latin America, or Africa. As a consequence, Japan is, for these still backward areas, a more helpful model of economic development than either the United States or Western Europe, since these two earlier examples of development did not have to face some of the problems, such as lack of resources and heavy population pressure on the land, which Japan was able to overcome. Thus a Peace Corps of missionaries for development techniques would be more helpful from Japan than the present American Peace Corps of recently graduated college students, on the ground of technical experience if not on the ground of humanitarian motivation.

     The key to the Japanese "takeoff" rests, as it must, on the relationship between population growth and food supply.

     Japan, whose population growth from 44 million in 1900 to 93 million in 1960 once made it a prime example of an "overpopulated" country, now has the demographic pattern of a Western industrial society. It has one of the world's lowest birth and death rates and a life expectancy of sixty-five years for males and seventy for females, witl1 an increasing percentage of older persons. The birthrate and death rate per 1.000 were both cut in half from 1946 to 3961, the former from 34.6 to 16.9 and the latter from 15.3 to 7.4. By 1963 Japan had the lowest death rate in the world (about 7 per 1,000). As a result of these factors, the population increase of Japan, which was once over 1,700,000 a year, is now about 900,000 yearly and in 1959 fell to 780,000. It is expected that Japan's population may reach a peak of about 107 million by 1990 and then begin to decrease, falling below 100 million again by 2010.

     This changing population picture in Japan owes nothing to the American military occupation and rests, very largely, on the strong, self-disciplined, "inscrutable" Japanese character. Of this we know very little. There have been a number of studies of the Japanese personality, the best known of which, by Ruth Benedict and Geoffrey Gorer, are based on no real personal knowledge and on impressionistic evidence. The truth is that the Japanese personality seems to have an "achieving" pattern, but at present we know very little about it. At any rate, the Japanese solution of their population explosion rests very largely on aspects of their personality structure. Abortion plays a much greater role in their population control than would be acceptable to many persons in our Western culture.

     Unlike their population control, the recent Japanese success in producing food owes a great deal to the American occupation. This Japanese agrarian reform is one of the remarkable economic transformations of this century.

     With 650 persons per square mile, compared to so in the United States and 25 in the Soviet Union, Japan has only two-tenths of an acre of arable land per person, and most farms are merely gardens of less than two acres. By 1940 about 70 percent of Japanese farmers were paying rent for tend and almost 3o percent were landless. Rents were high, and agrarian discontent became one of the chief pressures behind Japanese aggression in the 1930'5. At that time, the land was extensively exploited in the Asiatic fashion, by applying larger amounts of hand labor to it. Much of it was terraced; more than half of it was irrigated; there was intensive application of fertilizers, including human waste, and the chief emphasis was on energy-yielding food, mostly rice.

     The reorganization of Japanese agriculture was largely due to the American Military Occupation (SCAP), and was so successful that the index of agricultural production increased 40 percent in the decade 1951-1961. This revolution rested on two supports: the agrarian reform and technological advances.

     The agrarian reform redistributed the ownership of land by the government taking all individual land holdings beyond 7.5 acres, all rented land over 2.5 acres, and the land of absentee owners. The former holders were paid for these lands with long-term bonds. In turn, peasants without land or with less than the maximum permitted amount of 7.5 acres were allowed to buy land from the state on a long-term, low-interest-rate basis. Cash rents for land were also lowered.

     As a result of this program, Japan became a land of peasant owners with about go percent of the cultivated soil worked by its owners. The peasants w ere helped in making the transfer because the early period of the Occupation was one of food shortages, inflation, and an active black market with high prices. These profits also helped finance the beginnings of the new revolution in agricultural technology.

     This drastic change in farming methods in Japan was toward the American method of farm development, using less and less hand labor and greater amounts of capital, especially in farm machinery and fertilizers. Today all kinds of power and mechanical equipment, such as threshers, pumps, lifts, sprayers, and such, are common in Japan. Most spectacular has been the spreading of hand tractors or power cultivators of 3 to 7 horsepower, something like American rototillers. These have increased from 7,000 in use in 1947 to 85,000 in 1955, and to almost a million by 1962. These can be used with special attachments as plows cultivators, pumps, sprayers, saws, and draft vehicles, and have helped to eliminate draft farm animals and to reduce heavy human labor. Since a farmer can do as much work, especially plowing, with this piece of equipment, in one day as used to require ten days' work using animal power, he has a longer growing season, can extend the practice of double cropping, and has much more time for other work.

     Two aspects of this agricultural revolution deserve special mention. Japan, like the United States, is now shifting its diet from energy foods, like rice, toward protective foods, like meat, milk, fruit, and green vegetables. And Japan, also like the United States, has now broken free from the older alternative of eit1'er high output per acre or high output per unit of labor, and has now reached the stage where both are rising together. In the ten years of this agricultural revolution (1951-1961) rice production went up 3o percent, but dairy cattle increased ten times, meat products about three times, fruit production almost doubled, and the number of persons engaged in farming has fallen rapidly, by better than 10 percent, or more than 1.5 million persons, in the five years 1956-1961. As a result, the percentage of the working population engaged in farming is now about 28 percent, and has a steadily increasing portion of older persons and of females, as the younger males stream steadily to the city, seeking jobs in industry.

     Of course, this transformation in agriculture could never have occurred if there had not been taking place equally drastic changes in industry. These industrial changes, including a high rate of investment, rapid technological change, and excellent demand for industrial products, provided a plentiful supply of jobs and an increased demand for food and other agricultural products by city dwellers. These conditions acted like a magnet to attract a growing flood of farm products and energetic young peasants to the cities.

     The contrast between the structure and distribution of Japan's population and that of other Asiatic nations shows clearly that Japan is no longer a backward, underdeveloped, or colonial area from any point of view. The marks of such a backward society are usually a high birthrate and death rate, a largely young, rural population, with the great majority in agriculture, and mostly illiterate. In Japan, all of these characteristics are untrue. Birth and death rates are very low; the population is aging rapidly, is almost totally literate, has below 29 percent in agriculture, and has over 60 percent resident in areas classified as urban. Moreover, the revolution in Japanese industrial development has shifted the country out of its previous colonial orientation in economic organization and commerce.

     Before the war, Japan lived by exporting labor, largely unskilled labor. It did this by importing raw materials, working them up by largely unskilled labor into products of light industry, chiefly textiles, and exporting these products for more raw materials and food. Today the Japanese need for imported food is decreasing and is shifting away from its previous food needs, notably rice, to foods of more protective character, such as proteins. At the same time, its raw material imports are slowly shifting from those used in light industry, such as raw cotton, to those used in highly skilled industrial lines, such as electronics, where few other nations can compete. This inevitably means that Japan's trade has been shifting from Asia and other backward areas, where it exchanged cotton textiles for rice, to the United States and Europe where it exchanges cameras, radios, tape recorders, and optical supplies for metals, manufactured goods, or materials for advanced industry. Its needs for petroleum, iron ore, and other bulk raw materials are tending to shift to colonial areas, so that its petroleum now comes from the Persian Gulf instead of the United States, and its iron ore comes increasingly from India.

     The social impact of economic changes such as these is far-reaching. The cities are growing rapidly, while many rural areas are losing population as their peoples flock to urban areas. By 1961, 44 percent of the total population was clustered in 1 percent of the country's total area. Tokyo, with 7 million people in 1940, was down to 3 million in 1945, and passed 10 million in 1961. Other cities grew steadily but at a slower rate, and by the present day are agglomerating into four megalopolitan areas. Tens of millions of commuters swarm into these to work each day, and the traffic problem, especially in Tokyo, has become almost insoluble.

     As might be expected, such rapid material advance and profound social change has given rise to all kinds of social problems. Family discipline has weakened, and the older Japanese morality and outlooks are now widely rejected. Marxism and existentialism vie for the allegiance of the educated, while the less esoterically informed are satisfied with the pursuit of material success and personal pleasures. The gap between these two groups is considerable, and much of the stability, both political and social, in Japanese society today seems to rise from the self-satisfaction of the ne\v middle class and the eagerness of many peasants and workers to get into that class and enjoy its benefits. These benefits increasingly provide a life like that in American suburbia, with television, baseball, bulldozers, picture windows, neon-lighted department stores, mass advertising, instant foods, and weekly slick magazines. The speed with which this has come about is almost beyond belief. Commercial television began in Japan in 1953; five years later, 16 percent of urban houses had a set, but by 1961, 72 percent had sets; electric washing machines increased from 29 percent of urban houses in 1958 to 55 percent three years later. This salaried middle class is the key to the rapid achievement and political stability of Japan. Ambitious, hard-working, loyal, reliable, very adaptable to bureaucratic organization, scientific training, and rationalizing processes, they are suspicious of ideologies or extremist doctrines of any kind, and form one of the world's most amazing peoples.

     These general attitudes have given Japan the appearance of successful adaptation to democratic political life as determined by the SCAP-imposed constitution of 1947. As a matter of fact, the Japanese are basically uneasy about individualism, democracy, mass society, and the speed of their economic change, but few have much of an urge to rock the boat, and those old enough to remember the years of tension and war from 1931 to 1944 have no preference for them. There are discontented groups, including the ultra-nationalists on the extreme Right and the various Socialist, Communist, and student groups on the Left. Both of these extremes, especially the former, operate in an atmosphere of considerable unreality. The really notable feature of Japanese political ideology is the way in which SCAP's agrarian reform has driven Communism out of the rural areas and restricted it to the cities, chiefly to student groups.

     The foundations of the present political system in Japan were established by SCAP in the early years of the Occupation. In the early months of peace, 5,000,000 Japanese military were demobilized and 3,000,000 civilians were repatriated from overseas areas. When Japanese prisoners of war were eventually returned, about 375,000 in the hands of the Russians were never accounted for. More than 4,200 Japanese were convicted of war crimes, over 700 were executed, and about 2,500 were sentenced to life imprisonment. An additional 220,000 persons were permanently excluded from public life, and about I,3oo nationalist and extremist organizations were banned. The Shinto religion was separated from the state, forbidden to propagate militaristic or ultra-nationalist doctrines, and Emperor Hirohito was forced to issue a public statement denying that he was divine.

     A Japanese "Bill of Rights" protecting the rights of individuals and political freedoms, on a much more extensive basis than we have in the United States, was issued in 1945. The centralized police control in the Home Ministry was abolished, and police powers were curbed. A new civil code established freedom from family domination for all and equality for females.

     The Constitution itself, issued by SCAP in 1946, provided that a prime minister be chosen by the 467 members of the House of Representatives, who themselves were chosen by universal adult suffrage. These were elected from 118 electoral constituencies, each represented by from three to five members, although the voter could cast his ballot for only one candidate. This ensured representation for minority views and made it difficult to obtain a majority in the House without coalitions of parties. However, the parties have tended to coalesce into two wings around the conservative Liberal Democrats and the Socialist Party. Except for the period April 1947-October 1948, when the Socialists controlled the government during a period of extreme labor unrest and violence, control has been in the hands of the Liberal Democratic Party and its allied groups. These have generally won almost two-thirds of the seats in elections over the last ten years (since 1955), while the Socialists have had difficulty in obtaining one-third of the seats.

     The chief differences between the two parliamentary groups revolve around foreign affairs, with the Liberal Democrats committed to a pro-Western policy in strong alliance with the United States and rather isolated from Asia. The Socialist group wishes to weaken the American connection and resume Japan's traditional position as a leading Asiatic Power. The economic orientation of Japan and its booming prosperity have made the task of the Socialists a difficult one.

     The different views of the two parties in domestic politics are reflected in a controversy over the Constitution. This document, in Article Nine, renounces war and forbids maintaining an army, navy, or air force. Despite this, in July 1950, General .MacArthur ordered formation of a defense force, and the United States insisted on this at the time of the Peace Treaty with Japan, the following year. The Mutual Defense Alliance with the United States, signed in March 1954, bound Japan to maintain a defense force of 275,000 men. Since this force is unconstitutional, the Socialists have sought vigorously to keep their parliamentary representation at over one-third of the seats, to prevent an amendment removing Article Nine. All amendments require a two-thirds vote of the Parliament plus a majority in a national referendum.

     However, even in 1963, when the Socialists made a desperate effort to obtain one-third of the seats (156), they fell 12 seats short of the necessary number. They have received little help from the Communists whose parliamentary representatives rose to a peak of 35 seats in the disturbed period of 1949, but they alienated the Japanese by their addiction to violence and have elected only a handful of members since 1950 (none in October 1952, following the May Day riots of that year and only 3 in 1960, increased to 5 in 1963).

     On the whole, Japan in the twentieth century has been an extraordinary country, and this characterization does not decrease with the passing years. It is a bulwark of strength to the Western bloc, not because of its military power, which is insignificant, or even as an American military base in the Far East, but because it, like West Germany, is an example of the ... prosperity associated with being an American "satellite," in sharp contrast with the unhappy plight of the Soviet satellite states....

Communist China

     Nothing could be more different from the experience of Japan than that of Japan's greatest neighbor, mainland China. On Taiwan, the Nationalist Government of China has combined ... an economic program, including agrarian reform, somewhat similar to Japan's, but Red China, as far as we can discern, has passed through one great crisis after another in a desperate and tyrannical effort to follow the Stalinist model of Soviet Russia's experience. Like the Soviet Union, Red China may be able to organize itself into a powerful and expanding society, but the problems in China are much greater and more intractable than they were in Russia.

     For one thing, China's huge population has been placing heavy pressure on limited resources, while Russia has always been an underpopulated country with enormous untapped resources capable of extensive exploitation. Under the czar, Russia produced great surpluses, especially of food, which were exported abroad. In a sense the Communist problem in Russia was to reestablish these surpluses (which had been destroyed in the Civil War period of 1917-192l) and divert them, along with surplus peasants, to the city to provide capital and labor for the industrialization process. In China there was no surplus food, so that the problem, from the beginning, was how to increase the production of food, not ho\v to reestablish it and re-channel it. Moreover, in Russia, a centralized despotic state capable of enforcing these changes was part of the country's past experience; the direct authority of the state in the form of the recruiting officer, the tax collector and the priest had impinged on the lowest peasant, at least since the abolition of serfdom, and on most of the society for over a thousand years. In China, as we have seen, the state's authority was remote and separated from the peasants by many layers of semi-autonomous gentry. In China the authority that impinged on the peasant was social rather than political; the enveloping influence of his family and clan formed the real social unit of the society, which was structured on these units and not on the individual, as in Russia or the West.

     Moreover, in China, the authority that impinged on the ordinary individual was not only social; it was static. Based on custom and tradition rather than on law or political power, its whole tendency was to resist change. In Russia, on the other hand, the absence of such a binding social nexus, the fact that the basic social and metaphysical reality there was the individual, the fact that the state's power impinged on that individual and that that power, for centuries, had been seeking change (as it had under Peter or Catherine, under Alexander I and II), all these things assisted the establishment of a Communist dictatorship in the Soviet Union. Moreover, almost constant internal migration in Russia from its earliest days, and the constant threat and reality of war and invasion, gave Russia an ability to accept changing personal conditions. This was in the sharpest possible contrast with Chinese conditions, where the heaviest obligation on each family was to maintain its fixed ancestral shrines, an obligation that tied the family to its traditional village.

     Nowhere was the contrast between Russian and Chinese conditions more emphatic than in religion and general outlook. The Chinese were pragmatic, while the Russians were dualistic, and the West was pluralistic. In both the West and in Russia, belief in personal salvation in the hereafter and the need to work or to suffer for such future reward had given the prevailing outlooks a powerful impression of "future preference." Moreover, in Russia the close association of Church and State, and the teaching of the former that the latter was an essential element in reality and that submission to the czar's authority was part of the process of future salvation, prepared the way for the future Communist system. The dualistic and messianic outlook of Russia prepared Russian minds to accept any kind of uncompromising, intolerant, and painful authority as the only mechanism by which man could be shifted from this level of materialistic deprivation to the other level of salvationist future reward, since man, by his own power, could not cross the metaphysical gap, the no-man's land of almost unbridgeable distance, between the two levels of Russian dualism. In the West, man could, by his own activity, contribute to his rise to a high level of value and reward be cause, to the West, reality was not dualistic but pluralistic, with an infinite variety of steps and paths formed by the mutual inter-penetration of spirit and matter in all the intermediate levels between their two extremes.

     China had none of this. There all reality was on the same mundane level; human activity sought to survive, that is, to retain the existing situation, by pragmatic adaptation and flexible response to shifting pressures. In China both philosophy and religion were largely ethics, and this ethics was both pragmatic and conservative. In such an environment the messianic, salvationist, dynamic, future-oriented, state-dominated, abstract, and doctrinaire nature of Marxist-Leninism was utterly alien.

     Nevertheless, Marxist-Leninism came to China and took control of it. This could not have occurred if the Old China had not been almost totally destroyed by the intrusion of the West, by the destruction of Chinese confidence in their way of life in the face of Western power, wealth, and ideology, and by the sixty years of turmoil and war extending from the Japanese attack on China of 1894 to the final Communist pacification in 1954.

     Of course, no people lose their culture completely, no matter how it may disintegrate, and many of the fragments of Chinese cultural patterns continue to persist. One obvious example of this is in foreign policy, where China's patterns were remote from those of the traditional sovereign states, equals in international law, found in modern Europe. The Chinese system was always very ethnocentric in that they not only saw themselves as the center of the world, but saw themselves as the only civilized unit in their world picture in a planetary arrangement in which lesser peoples encircled them and lived in increasingly dark barbarism, depending on their distance from Peking. In the traditional view of China by the Chinese, there was, outside the three planetary rings of China itself (the imperial system, the provincial gentry' and the Chinese peasantry), increasingly remote peoples who were dependent upon China for cultural guidance, civilized example, and economic stimulation and were, in many cases (such as Indochina, Tibet, Mongolia, or Korea), in a tribute-paying relationship. This whole relationship, which was quite alien to Europe's idea in the nineteenth century of the balanced powers of equally sovereign states, was, on the contrary, very similar to the modern Communist idea of satellite states.

     It seems likely that the Chinese, in spite of the many good reasons they had to be resentful of the Russians, were willing to be a satellite to the Russian sun until about 1955, when they became increasingly impatient with Khrushchev's efforts to relax the Cold War.

     These relationships can be seen most clearly in military assistance and economic add. The Chinese Communists triumphed over Chiang Kai-shek in the civil war with ... Soviet assistance.... Stalin wanted China weak ... and all his actions seem to have been consistent with this aim. The Russians allowed some of the captured Japanese military equipment to go to the Communists in 1945, but this was small in amount compared to that which the Communists obtained by capture or purchase from the Nationalist forces, and the Soviet Union gave no military aid to the Communists during the last four years of the civil war (1945-1949). [Secret military aid was supplied.]

     The Sino-Soviet Alliance of February 1950 was accompanied by an economic development loan of $300 million and was followed by the arrival in China of a Soviet military mission of about 3,000 men, but all military aid was sold to China, and at high prices. These arms, which were entirely of obsolescent types, cost about two 70 billion dollars over seven years, 1950-1957. No effort was made toward coordination of military exercises or training, in spite of the alliance of 1950; there was no coordination of air or sea defenses, and China was not brought into the Warsaw Pact. Moreover, the Soviet Union, by its exclusive control of the North Korean Army, built it up, launched it into the Korean War, and thus eventually dragged Red China into a war on which they had not been consulted and had no wish to be involved, but were compelled, in defense of their own security, to intervene. Early in 1955, the Soviet Union gave China some moderate help in starting a Chinese military industrial base, chiefly in the assemblage of light planes, tanks, and naval vessels, but the development of American and Soviet thermonuclear capacity and missiles left China even further behind. In November 1957, Mao Tse-tung took a delegation to Moscow and made a formal request for nuclear warheads, but was rebuffed. As a result, by 1958 Red China was embarked on the long and difficult task of seeking to make an atomic bomb of its own. This seemed such an impossible job that, almost at once, Mao began to issue public statements belittling nuclear weapons and promising that the enormous numbers of China's militia would be able to survive any nuclear attack. The Quemoy crisis of August-September 1958 showed how little support the Soviet Union would give Red China on that issue and showed equally how divided the two countries were and how averse the Soviet Union was to China's approach "to the brink of war" in the Far East.

     The defensive power of Red China remains very great, chiefly because of its large population and the great distances in which it can maneuver, but its offensive power, except over the minor states on its borders, is small. Military strength in the Far East is still in the hands of the Soviet Union, which has no intention of allowing it to be used in that part of the world, except in the unlikely event that the United States made an all-out assault on Red China. Even in that remote case, the Soviet Union's contribution would be limited, and its real strength would continue to be aimed at Europe, to be used there rather than in the Far East. Nonetheless, China's power in world politics does not rest on its own military strength but on the nuclear stalemate of the Soviet Union and the United States, both of whom are immensely more powerful in a strategic sense than anyone else in the Far East.

     Under cover of that nuclear stalemate and the high restraint of both Superpowers in the use of nuclear weapons, Red China is in a position to engage in local wars, "national liberation movements," and "anti-imperialist" guerrilla activities all around its own borders, except along the frontier it has with the Soviet Union itself. These guerrilla adventures by Red China are correlated with domestic policy rather than with foreign policy, as the Quemoy crisis of summer 1958 was related to the "Great Leap Forward" of that year..

     In this correlation of China's domestic and foreign policies, a major role will be played by China's most critical problem: the population-food-production balance.

     This problem is probably more acute in China than in any similarly large area in the world. The Communist census of 1953 showed a Chinese population of almost 583 million, considerably more than had been expected. By 1962 this figure may have reached 700 million. With a birthrate of 17 per 1,000, China's natural increase was about 2 percent, and gave the country about one-quarter of the world's total population. Only about one-tenth of the land was arable, providing about 270 million acres, or less than an acre of cultivated land for every two persons. There has been some small success in increasing the area of cultivated lands, but obviously the problem can be solved only by slowing up the increase in population and by increasing the yields of crops per unit area of land. There seems to have been little success in either of these over the past decade or so. However, the centralized control of the Peking government over the Chinese people is so strong that it could probably bring the population explosion under control fairly quickly if a decision was made to do so. This would probably be achieved by supplying every woman with a birth-control pill at the noon meal each day, since that meal, for the majority of Chinese, is usually taken in a communal eating place where the process could be controlled as the authorities wished. The exclusive control of the state over information and public opinion, and its ability to mobilize local social pressures, increase its ability to carry out this policy.

     This steadily growing crisis was brought abruptly to the acute stage by the "Great Leap Forward" in 1958, the first year of the Second Five-Year Plan. The earlier Five-Year Plan of 1953-1957 was based on the similar plan of the Soviet Union. It concentrated on investment in heavy industry, with little attention to consumers' goods or agriculture. About $3.5 billion a year, probably 20 percent of national income, was allotted to investment, with another 16 percent assigned to the armed forces. If we can believe China's own figures, the plan was a success, with output of coal, electricity, cement, and machine tools doubled and production of- steel tripled. Total production of these commodities still left China largely unindustrialized, but by 1957 the government controlled 70 percent of all industry, 85 percent of retail trade, and almost all banking, foreign, and wholesale trade.

     In the First Five-Year Plan, China was almost totally lacking in trained personnel, and was dependent for these, as well as for necessary equipment, on foreign sources. These could be found only within the Soviet bloc, but were not provided freely and had to be paid for, with settlement of accounts and new yearly agreements on an annual basis. The severity of the Soviet's terms on aid to China were in sharp contrast to its more generous behavior toward some of China's lesser neighbors and must have had an adverse influence on China's attitude toward Moscow even from the beginning. However, the necessary help could not be obtained elsewhere, and the achievement of the First Chinese Five-Year Plan rested on this assistance. In addition to the loan of $300 million in 1950, the Soviet Union in 1953-1956 agreed to sell China $2 billion in equipment, and sent several thousand technical advisers to help build 211 major industrial projects.

     On this basis, the First Five-Year Plan achieved an annual rate of increase in production of at least 6 percent. The effort was financed very largely by accumulation of surplus agricultural commodities from China's hard-pressed peasantry and exchange of these for petroleum, machinery, and other commodities needed for the industrialization of China. Since these came largely from the Soviet Union and the European Communist satellites, 80 percent of China's trade was with the Communist bloc at the end of this First Five-Year Plan.

     It is possible that this process could have continued, but it is even more likely that the faster rate of increase of population in comparison with the rise in food production may have indicated that the process could not continue. In any case, the powers in Peking decided to do something about it. Although it is not completely clear what they decided to do, and even less clear why they decided to do it, the consequence was a disaster. The "Great Leap Forward" of 1958 became a great stumble. This was the third stage in the agrarian reorganization of China.

     The first stage in agrarian reform had been the "elimination of landlordism" in 1950-1952. Previous to the Land Reform Law of June 1950, 10 percent of families owned 53 percent of the farm land, while 32 percent owned 78 percent of the land. This left over two-thirds of such families (58 percent) with only 22 percent of the land. The landlords were eliminated with great brutality in a series of spectacular public trials in which landlords were accused of every crime in the book. At least three million were executed and several times that number were imprisoned, according to the official figures, but the total of both groups may have been much higher. The land thus obtained was distributed to poor peasant families, with each obtaining about one-third of an acre.

     The second stage in the agrarian reform (1955) sought to establish cooperative farming. In effect it took away from the peasants the lands they had just obtained. The argument for forming collectives was ... [that] most peasant holdings were too small to work effectively, since abundant fertilizers, new crops and methods, specialized tools, and efficient land management could not be used on the average peasant farm of half an acre. To permit such improvements in farm practices, the peasants were forced into cooperatives. By the end of 1956, 83 percent of the peasants, or 125 million families, had joined into 750 thousand cooperatives.

     The third stage of agrarian reform, constituting the basic feature of the "Great Leap Forward," merged the 750 thousand collective farms into about 26,000 agrarian communes of about 5,000 families each. This was a social rather than simply an agrarian revolution, since its aims included the destruction of the family household and the peasant village. All activities of the members, including child rearing, education, entertainment, social life, the militia, and all economic and intellectual life came under the control of the commune. In some areas the previous villages were destroyed and the peasants were housed in dormitories, with communal kitchens and mess halls, nurseries for the children, and separation of these children under the communes' control in isolation from their parents at an early age. One purpose of this drastic change was to release large numbers of women from domestic activities so that they could labor in fields or factories. In the first year of the "Great Leap Forward," go million peasant women were relieved of their domestic duties and became available to work for the state. In many cases, factories and craft centers were established in the communes to use this labor, manufacturing goods not only for the commune but for sale in the outside market.

     One of the chief aims of this total reorganization of rural life was to make available, for savings and investment, surpluses of agricultural income from the rural sector of Chinese society in order to build up the industrial sector. The regime estimated that it could reverse the previous division of agricultural incomes, under which 70 percent was consumed by the agricultural population and only 30 percent was available to the nonagricultural sectors of Chinese society. At the same time, it was expected that the communes would totally shatter the resistant social structure of Chinese society, leaving isolated individuals to face the power of the state. Finally, it was expected that these isolated individuals could be mobilized along military lines to carry out agricultural duties in squads and platoons assigned to specific fields and tasks.

     This last expectation, at least, was mistaken. "The Great Leap Forward" did not increase agricultural output but on the contrary reduced it drastically, despite the extravagant estimates of increases in production that were issued by officials toward the end of the first year. Officially, the agricultural disasters of 1958-1962 were attributed to unfavorable climate conditions, including unprecedented droughts, floods, storms, and insect pests, but the reversal of the "Great Leap's" plans and priorities in 1960-1961 shows that the Chinese themselves recognized the organizational element as contributing to their farming problems. It is undoubtedly true that adverse climate also contributed to the difficulties, and it may well be true that such climate conditions in the nineteenth century might have resulted in far greater want and famine than did actually occur in 1958-1962, for the Communist government was ... involved in corruption, self-enrichment, and calculated inefficiency as earlier Chinese governments were, and had both greater power ... to operate a fair rationing system, but the fact remains that in China, as in other Communist states, including the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia, the inability of a communized agricultural system to produce sufficient food surpluses to support a thoroughly communized industrial system at a high rate of expansion is now confirmed. On the other hand, the need for all these Communist regimes to purchase grain from the bulging agricultural surpluses of the Western countries, including Australia, Canada, the United States, and even Europe, confirms the fact that there is something in the Western pattern of living ... which does provide a bountiful agricultural system. [The key is the free market system with private property and natural rights.]

     The details of the Chinese agricultural fiasco are not yet clear. It would appear that the Chinese diet (in which at least three-quarters of food is carbohydrates, and statistically recorded as "grain" even when it may be potatoes) requires a basic survival diet of at least 2,000 calories a day, with at least 1,500 calories from "grain." For a population of 700 million this requires a minimum crop of 180 million metric tons of "grain" a year, a figure that leaves nothing for reserves or for the inevitable inefficiencies of mal-distribution through the inadequate Chinese transportation system. Moreover, this crop must increase each year to provide for the annual population increase of 2 percent (which gave 14 million more mouths in 1962).

     The official estimates for the 1958 grain crop were originally set at over 300 million tons, but in 1959 and later, this was revised to less than 250 million tons. It was probably less than 200 million. The crop for 1959 was even less (perhaps 190 million tons), while that for 1960 may have been 150 million tons. These three adverse years undoubtedly used up all China's grain reserves, and the Chinese purchases of grain in the world's markets, beginning with about 10 million tons in 1961, may have been to rebuild some reserves rather than to provide a minimal increase for the average hungry Chinaman. It seems clear that the "average diet" of urban Chinese over these three harsh years may have fallen as low as 1,400 calories a day, at least 600 below the level that permits steady effective work.

     The impact of the Chinese food crisis of 1958-196: extended into all aspects of Chinese life and policy, including foreign affairs. This process was intensified from the fact that the "Great Leap Forward," from the beginning, involved much more than the reorganization of China's agriculture. It also included a considerable decentralization of economic management of China as a whole, from centralized technical experts to local party and working leaders; there was a considerable increase in the influence of the Communist Party in contrast to the state bureaucracy, and there was the general shift from emphasis on heavy industrial investment to more short-range economic objectives. It seems likely that there was also a change in economic accounting from emphasis on output to emphasis on the profits accumulation of individual enterprises.

     Some of these changes were undoubtedly steps in the right direction, but they were lost to view under the general failure of agricultural production in 1958-1961. This failure reacted on industrial production by curtailing both investment and labor, so that output from this sector of the economy may have fallen by half. At the same time, China's reduced ability to export raw materials and agricultural products (simply because they could not be spared) and the need to make bulk purchases of food, especially grain, in Australia, Canada, or elsewhere, brought China face to face with a great shortage of foreign exchange and made it almost impossible for China to purchase necessary equipment abroad. China received little help from the Soviet Union during these difficult years. The repayment of loans to Russia continued and was, if anything, speeded up in spite of the terrible burden they placed on the Chinese economy. Soviet imports from China were 793 million rubles in 1958 and ago million in 1959, but fell to 496 million in 1961; Soviet exports to China, which were 859 million rubles in 1959, were down to 331 million in 1961. As a result, Sino-Soviet trade as a whole had a total balance favorable to China (in the sense that China received more than it gave to Russia) of 984 million rubles over six years, 1950 1955, but had a total balance unfavorable to China of —750 million rubles over six years, 1956-1961. The Soviet Union advanced no development credits to China in these difficult years (as it was doing to Mongolia, North Korea, and North Vietnam at the time), but collected payment on China's debts to it exactly as if no Chinese food crisis were occurring. The Soviet Union exported 6.8 million tons of grain to other countries in 1960 and 7.5 million tons in 1961, but none to China. On the contrary, China's debt obligations made it necessary for it to ship over $250 million in agricultural exports to Russia in 1960 at the same time that it was paying out over $300 million of hard-earned foreign exchange for grain from Western countries. The Soviet attitude was: Business is business; an agreement is an agreement; and the economic development of the Soviet Union itself cannot be sacrificed for the sake of a heretical member of the Communist bloc. In 1961 the Soviet Union made some minor concessions to China's difficulties, including release of 500,000 tons of Cuban sugar to China from the total due to Russia, to be repaid in sugar later, and the sale of 300,000 tons of Soviet grain to China (only about 5 percent of China's foreign grain purchases that year). The withdrawal of almost all Soviet technical and military advisers in China during the summer of 1960 could not be defended solely on the basis of "good business practice," and marked one of the major steps on the continued deterioration of Sino-Soviet relations. It also established the almost complete dependence of China on its own resources, supplemented by whatever it could get wherever it could get it, for building up its economic system. As one symbol of that changed situation, it might be noted that trade with the Communist bloc had, at its peak, accounted for over 80 percent of China's total foreign trade, but by 1962 it had fallen below so percent..

     The food crisis in Red China is, apparently, chronic, as it is, to a lesser degree, in all Communist countries. For example, in May 1962, not a year in which the crisis was generally acute, 70,000 hungry Chinese pushed across the barricaded border of China into the booming British colony of Hong Kong during the month. This intrusion was apparently caused by some local food mal-distribution within China. It is not clear why the Chinese border guards permitted this worldwide revelation of its agricultural failure, although it might have been part of an effort to overwhelm and suffocate Hong Kong's booming prosperity, which must be as unacceptable on China's border as the prosperity of West Germany or West Berlin is to Communist East Germany.

     Although the Soviet Union did not take advantage of China's food crisis in 1958-1962 to wage direct economic warfare on its fellow Communist regime, its businesslike indifference to all appeals of fellowship or even humanitarian considerations undoubtedly intensified the alienation of the two countries, which had begun much earlier and on quite different grounds.

     This alienation of the world's two greatest areas of Communist rule began in the earliest days of the Red Chinese regime and was bound to become an open schism sooner or later. From the simple fact of balance of power, the one political event the Soviet Union had to fear was the appearance of a new Superpower adjacent to the Soviet Union on the land mass of Eurasia. The only possibilities for such a development would be a unified western Europe or a powerful China, with India as a much more remote and unlikely possibility.

     In the second place, Communist China's needs for technical and economic assistance were inevitably so great that they directly compete with the Soviet Union's need for its own resources for its own development. Whatever China obtained of this nature from Russia could hardly fail, in the long run, to become a source of bitter feelings.

     In the third place, from the beginning, a fissure between the two was inevitable, because, to the Soviet Union, Europe was the primary area of concern, while to China the Far East was primary. Each Power inevitably felt that the other should support it in its primary area and ease off pressures in the area of its own primary concern, an assumption about as unrealistic as any could be. Thus Red China resented the Soviet Union's attempts to work up crises over Berlin as deeply as Moscow resented Peking's efforts to work up crises over Taiwan. As we shall see in a moment, China's aggressive foreign policy in the Far East extended far beyond Taiwan, to all of the border areas that had once been tributary to Peking.

     A fourth source of discord arose from the fact that the two Communist Powers were at quite different stages on the road to Socialism. The basic question in the allotment of economic resources in any state is concerned with the division of such resources among the three sectors of (1) governmental, especially defense; (2) investment in capital equipment; and ( 3 ) consumers' goods for rising standards of living. In Stalin's day the Soviet Union placed major emphasis on (1) and (2) at the expense of (3), but under Khrushchev there have been increasing pressures to shift the allotment of resources toward (3). Red China, which is at least forty years behind the Soviet Union in the development process, must emphasize the first two sectors, and can obtain the resources to do this only from curtailed consumption. Thus it must look at its problems from a point of view much closer to Stalin than to Khrushchev, a difference that led to alienation when Khrushchev began to attack Stalinism in 1956.

     Closely related to this fourth source of friction was a fifth, the monolithic quality of the Marxist-Leninist states. By 1960 the Soviet Union's experiences in Europe, especially with Yugoslavia, Hungary, and Poland, clearly demonstrated that Communist states had their individual characteristics and rhythms of development and could not all be ruled from one center. This necessity by 1960 was being hailed in Moscow under the name "Socialist polycentrism," but was unacceptable in Peking under any name. At first Peking wanted the monolithic solidarity for which it yearned to be operated from Moscow after discussion by all Communist states, but by 1960 it was clear that if a Communist monolith were to be created it would have to be done by Peking itself.

     A sixth source of alienation between Moscow and Peking is rather difficult to document but may well be more important than the others. It is concerned with a growing recognition, by China if not by the Soviet Union, that the Kremlin was being driven, under a multitude of pressures, toward a policy of peaceful co-existence with the United States, not as a temporary tactical maneuver (which would have been acceptable to China) but as a semipermanent policy. Part of this policy involved the Soviet attitude toward the fundamental theories of Marxist-Leninism, especially on the Leninist side. These theories had envisioned the advanced capitalist states as approaching a condition of economic collapse from "the internal contradictions of capitalism itself." According to the theory, this crisis would be reflected in two aspects: the continued impoverishment of the working class in advanced industrial countries, with consequent growth of the violence of the class struggle in such countries and increasing violence of the imperialist aggressions of such countries toward each other in struggles to control more backward areas as markets for the industrial products that the continued impoverishment of their own workers made impossible to sell in the domestic market. The falseness of these theories was fully evident in the rising standards of living of the advanced industrial countries, and especially in the ones, such as West Germany or the United States, which were most capitalistic in their orientation; it was also evident in the willingness of Britain, the United States, and others to [allow] ... the end of colonialism in Asia and Africa.

     This evidence of the errors of Marxist-Leninist theories was increasingly clear to the Kremlin, although it could not be admitted, but it was quite unclear to Peking, whose leaders were almost totally ignorant of the conditions of the non-Communist world. None of the chief Chinese leaders had any firsthand knowledge of the outside world and, indeed, had in most cases never been outside China at all, except for a couple of quick visits to the Soviet Union late in life. As a consequence, the Chinese Communist leaders were ignorant, dogmatic, doctrinaire, and rigid.

     These attitudes appeared clearly within China in the fading of the "Hundred Flowers Campaign" of 1957. In theory the Communist system, after the elimination of Trotsky, accepted free discussion of goals and means until a decision on these had been reached by the party machinery, when discussion must stop and the decision be carried out with full loyalty. This procedure had never been observed under the tyrannical rule of the Kremlin and was even less likely to be followed in Peking. In 1956, however, Mao Tse-tung announced a new policy of free criticism of the regime: as he said, "I et a hundred flowers bloom and a hundred schools of thought contend." This was a period of ideological confusion in the world Communist movement, which looked back on the struggle in the Kremlin to establish Stalin's successor, was still reeling from Khrushchev's anti-Stalin speech at the Twentieth Party Congress, and late in 1956 was called upon to face revolts against the Kremlin in Budapest and Warsaw. Although Chou En-lai, the foreign minister of Red China, rushed to Europe to extend his country's support to Khrushchev in this power struggle, ideological confusion was everywhere within the Communist world, and Mao was undoubtedly concerned about the solid basis for his own power and the problem of establishing a rule of succession in Peking.

     In February 1957, Mao gave a speech to a large conference on the subject of "The Correct Handling of Contradictions Among the People." It was not published until June, but in the interval gave rise to the "Hundred Flowers" controversy. In his speech Mao invited criticism and free discussion within the structure of true existing Communist state system. He promised immunity to the critics, so long as their criticism contributed to the unity of Red China. These restrictive phrases were widely ignored and, in a few weeks, widespread and often fundamental criticisms of the regime were being voiced in meetings, the press, and especially in educational institutions. Three evils that Mao had mentioned—"bureaucracy, dogmatism, and sectarianism"—were being freely denounced, with the Communist Party cadres the chief targets. Some critics suggested that the proper solution to these problems was to permit the establishment of a legal opposition party within some kind of parliamentary system. The general consensus of the complaints was aimed at the lack of freedom to speak out, to move about, to disagree, or to publish.

     On June 8th the government's counterattack began, at first relatively moderately but with increasing insistence. The principle of free criticism was not revoked, but the publication of Mao's February speech on June 17th set the limits that had presumably always been in effect. Within a year there had been a considerable shake-up of party and state personnel, many discontented persons (revealed by their criticism) had been removed or disciplined in various ways, and "all Rightists had been eliminated." The chief punishment was public denunciation and personal criticism of these discontented, but undoubtedly punishment, in many cases, went much further than that.

     One sequel to the "Hundred Flowers" criticism was a reorganization of the upper ranks of the party and government and the provision of a succession to Mao.

     Mao Tse-tung, son of a peasant who became wealthy on speculation and money-lending, was born in 1893 in Hunan Province. His father, a domestic tyrant and local miser, had less than four acres, but used the labor of his three sons and a hired hand to work them. He gave his sons a basic education, but his personal despotism drove his whole family into alliance against him. Young Mao's early life thus was one of severe discipline, constant domestic strife, and secret dreams of rebellion. By paying for a substitute worker in his own stead on the family land, he was able to get away to study for five years in Hunan Normal School (finished 1918). There he read deeply in Chinese history, especially military history, and formed a discussion group on large social questions. Becoming an employee of the library of Peking National University, he continued his reading, discussion, and self-education, and in 1920 was one of the eleven original founders of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP).

     Until 1935, Mao's position in the CCP was that of a dissident, and he was, more than once, reprimanded and demoted, or removed from party positions. His chief difficulty was that he refused to accept the party's official view, insisted on by Russian-trained Communist leaders, that the revolution must be based on urban industrial workers, the "real proletariat." Instead Mao envisioned the party as a tightly disciplined group that could be raised to power on the revolutionary activities of the great mass of impoverished and discontented peasantry. Closely related to this idea were two others that were equally unorthodox: (1) the role of rural guerrilla warfare in wearing down and ultimately defeating a "reactionary government" and (2) a fundamental emphasis on the distinction between "imperialist" and "colonial" nations. This last point made it possible for Mao to regard the backward and undeveloped colonial areas as possible areas of revolutionary activity, where, as in China, the exploited peasants could provide the revolutionary impetus and could defend their revolutionary achievements by guerrilla warfare. The more orthodox Communist line was that a revolution could be carried out only by an urban proletariat that could be found only in an advanced industrial area, and that such an industrial base was essential to provide the modern military equipment needed to defend the revolutionary achievement against the counterattacks of aggressive, capitalist countries. In a sense Mao was much closer to the realities of modern politics and to the experience of Soviet Russia itself, since it is perfectly clear that no advanced industrial nation will go Communist and that the movement must make its advances in underdeveloped areas if it is to be successful anywhere. Since the objections to Mao's position came from the center of world Communist theory in Moscow, Mao distinguished between the Russian and the Chinese experience by calling Russia an "ex-imperialist" country and China an "ex-colonial country." In fact, however, they both became Communist while still backward countries, and did so as a consequence of invasion and defeat of the established government in a foreign war. Thus Mao's ...belief that the revolutionary regime comes to power by guerrilla warfare supported by discontented peasantry, may well be correct, based on the Russian precedent, that Communist regimes are more likely to come to power in backward states and will survive there if they are able to use the state's despotic power to direct the utilization of economic resources toward investment to provide a high rate of economic development, as Soviet Russia has done.

     Red China, like Soviet Russia, is governed under a parallel structure of the party and the government in which successive layers of assemblies and committees build up from the local level to the central authority. Until 1959, Mao held the chairmanship at the peak of both party and government. As a first step toward establishing a succession that would not repeat the desperate intrigue and violence that had occurred in the Kremlin following Stalin's death, he resigned from the chairmanship ... in favor of Liu Shao-chi, but retained his position as chairman of the Central Committee of the party. The third man in the system Chou En-lai, is a member of the seven-man Standing Committee that controls the party, has been premier of the government since 1949, and was also foreign minister in 1949-1958.

     While the structure of the governmental system of Red China is very similar to that of Soviet Russia, its spirit seems quite different. This is reflected in two ways. In Russia the Old Bolsheviks of the early days of the party were all eliminated, mostly by violent death, in the internecine power struggles which went on behind the grim walls of the Kremlin, while the Politburo throughout maintained a monolithic, impassive face to the outside world. In Red China most of the party leaders of today are still those who came together to engage in the earliest revolutionary struggles of the party in the 1920'S. Moreover, they have, over the past forty years, often differed and even engaged in violent struggles and controversies with each other, but always were able to continue to work together, and to patch up their differences. The real distinction here is that the Kremlin has always insisted on presenting to the outside world a picture of itself as united and infallible. This is why Khrushchev's speech at the Twentieth Party Congress, attacking Stalin, was such a shock to the world....

     The key to this rather significant difference in the tone of Communist government in Moscow and Peking may be found in two basic distinctions: a difference of outlook and a difference of procedure. In Russia the ancient doctrinaire and rigidly ideologistic tone associated with the traditional Russian outlook and the traditional Russian religious system, both going back to their roots in Greek rationalism and Zoroastrian religion, established patterns of ideology that have continued under materialistic and atheistic Communism. Such attitudes are foreign to the traditions of Chinese pragmatism. Moreover, the origins of Chinese Communist organization in discussion groups in which all those present recognized their own ignorance and the inadequacy of their information on social facts, as well as on Marxist dogma, has continued in the practice of almost endless party meetings on all levels, filled with discussion, debate, and individual examination of one's own position and attitudes. As one remarkable consequence of these differences between China and the Soviet Union, there are at least half a dozen legal, minor political parties in Red China today. These not only exist and are permitted to participate in the governing process in a very minor way, but they are subject to no real efforts at forcible suppression, although they are subject to persistent, rather gentle, efforts at conversion. Such efforts would, of course, change to ruthless reprisal, if these tamed minor parties made any real effort to change or destroy the position of the Communist Party itself.

     These differences between Communism in China and the Soviet Union may be explained most readily in terms of the different traditions of the two countries. The same applies to their different foreign policies, to which we have already referred.

     The foreign policy of Red China has a number of diverse aims that hold quite distinct status on any list of Chinese priorities. Naturally, in first place is to avoid any foreign-policy action that might jeopardize the Communist regime in China. In second place is the desire to restore the traditional international position of old imperial China as a self-sufficient, isolated giant surrounded by subordinate tributary states; in this case the tribute consists of ideological loyalty to the Chinese Communist position. In third place is the Chinese desire to restore a unified ideological bloc on a world-wide basis supporting the true (Chinese) version of Marxist-Leninism. This version is not completely orthodox in traditional Marxist-Leninist terms, since it expects Communist regimes to rise in backward and ex-colonial countries rather than in advanced industrial countries, and expects these events to be precipitated and carried through by discontented peasants under intellectual leaders rather than by the industrial proletariat. On the other hand, this version is certainly closer to the facts of present-day politics, and on many points, such as the inevitability of revolution, the necessary imperialist aggression of advanced capitalist states, and the role of war as the midwife of Communism, is closer to Leninism than the ideas actually held in the Kremlin.

     The argument as to which version of Communist ideology, the Chinese or the Russian, is closer to Marxist-Leninist orthodoxy is singularly unrewarding, since both sides claim the advantage here, and the ideology itself, however interpreted, is so remote from the facts of economic-social development in advanced countries that no real virtue can exist in being orthodox. The chief fact is that the Chinese version is potentially a much greater source of trouble to the outside world than Khrushchev’s ideas of peaceful competition and non-inevitable war. The Chinese version is dangerous simply because it threatens the West in an area where it is particularly vulnerable and where it has shown no great competence, that is, among the underdeveloped nations.

     However, Chinese aggression in the period since 1954 has not been based on this third priority in its foreign-policy schedule but on its second priority, which seeks to create a belt of satellite subordinate states around the Chinese borders. The year 1954 may be taken as the initial date in this effort, because at that time the Peking government published a map of China that showed the Chinese border pushed deeply into Tibet, India, and southeast Asia. As early as the end of 1949, the Red Chinese had commenced a moderate intervention in Vietnam, but their most successful effort to restore the traditional Chinese satellite system was in Tibet.

     China's suzerainty in Tibet has been generally recognized by the outside world, even in the years when China was rent by civil wars and banditry. By the treaty of May 23, 1957, Tibet itself accepted this status without recognizing that the status of "suzerainty" could become one of direct subordination, under Chinese pressure. This pressure began at once, and reached an acute stage in March 1959, when the Chinese authorities sought to arrest the Dalai Lama, head of the theocratic Tibetan government. The anti-Chinese revolt that resulted was crushed in two weeks, and the Dalai Lama fled to India.

     During this period Chinese pressure continued into southeastern Asia, in Burma, which desperately tried to maintain a neutralist course, and especially in the successor states of former Indochina. The subsequent division of Vietnam, the struggle for Laos, and the valiant efforts of Cambodia to follow Burma's path to neutralism have already been mentioned. For years, guerrilla operations in South Vietnam and Laos have permitted an increased Chinese intervention in the area and have made increasing demands on American wealth and power to oppose it.

     No solution to the problem of southeast Asia can be based on the belief that its troubles arise wholly ... from Communism or from Chinese aggression. For centuries, the central portion of the Malaysian peninsula, consisting of Laos and Cambodia along the Mekong River, has been under pressure from the Thai peoples to the west and the Vietnamese to the east. From at least the seventeenth century, the area we regard as Laos was divided into three or more petty kingdoms that were unable to unite in resistance to their more imperialist neighbors. The French hegemony in all of Indochina, from the nineteenth century to the Japanese invasion in 1942, suspended this process, but it would have been resumed in any case with the collapse of the French colonial system there in 1954. So too, the southward movement of the Chinese, attracted by the rich rice lands of the Malayan river deltas, would have occurred in any case, even if Communism had never been invented. The Communist issue simply added another, very acute, issue to a complex situation.

     As we have seen, French expenditure of $7 billion and about 100,000 lives during an eight-year struggle ended at Geneva in 1954. The Geneva agreements opened the way to a succession of troubles in Laos by recognizing the Leftist Pathet Lao as the government of two provinces, and recommending that it be admitted to a coalition government after a proved cease-fire and free elections. The most vital clause provided that all foreign military forces, except a French training group, be withdrawn from Laos. An International Control Commission representing India, Poland, and Canada was to supervise these provisions.

     These agreements settled nothing. The elections of December 1955 brought the premiership to Prince Souvanna Phouma; he was a neutralist and brother of Souphannouvong, a Communist fellow traveler and founder of Pathet Lao. The two brothers brought Pathet Lao into the government, but it did not give up its military bases in the two provinces it dominated. The withdrawal of other military forces greatly increased the potential power of Pathet Lao. When the latter showed increased strength in subsequent elections in May 1958, the anti-Communist group combined in August to oust Souvanna Phouma and put in as premier the pro-Western Phoui Sananikone. This government in turn was ejected and replaced by a Right-wing military junta led by General Phoumi Nosavan in January 1960; but within seven months a new coup, this time from the Left, and led by Kong Le, changed the regime and brought Souvanna Phouma back to office. Four months later, in December 1960, Nosavan once again replaced Phouma by military force. The Communist countries refused to recognize this change, continued to recognize Souvanna Phouma, and increased their supplies to the guerrilla Pathet Lao by Soviet airlift. In March 1961, England and France, acting through the SEATO conference in Bangkok, vetoed any direct American or SEATO intervention in Laos.

     At the suggestion of Soviet Russia, the Geneva Conference was reassembled in 1962 and drew up two complicated agreements whose chief consequence was to revive the agreements of 1954 within a more neutralized frame: coalition government, elimination of all foreign military forces, neutrality, and a reactivation of the International Control Commission. The resulting troika coalition of Leftists, Neutrals, and Rightists served to paralyze the country, while the Pathet Lao guerrillas, using Communist North Vietnam as a base, threatened to secure control of the whole country. This effort broke out into open warfare in the Plaine des Jarres in April 1963. The growing success of these attacks over the next few years greatly agitated Washington, where officials generally felt that the fall of Laos, because of its central position, might well lead to a succession of Communist take-overs, in Cambodia, South Vietnam, Thailand, and Burma, leaving India wide open to a Red Chinese intrusion directly across these collaborating areas into the Indian plains. Some substance was lent to this fear from the fact that Red China spent the years 1955-1958 constructing a number of military roads that linked Sinkiang to Tibet, with offshoots southward toward the Malay Peninsula. This fear became intensified in 1962-1964 as a consequence of the Communist take-over in Burma, the American fiascoes in Vietnam, and the direct Chinese attack on India.

     The strange thing about Burma was that the increase in Communist power was brought about by the army, which was increasingly dissatisfied by the ineffectual and corrupt government of the democratic U Nu. The latter, who was personally sincere, idealistic, and honest, represented the Burmese desire for peace, democracy, and unity from World War II on. By October 1958, however, his subordinates in the government had paralyzed the government with bickering and corruption. When the ruling Anti-Fascist Party split, U Nu judged it impossible to carry out the approaching elections, and yielded control of the country to a caretaker military government that promised to restore unity, honesty, and adequate administration, and supervise the elections.

     By February 1960, the military leaders judged their task to be achieved, and held the new elections. U Nu's section of the Anti-Fascist Party won a sweeping victory, and he returned to office. The restored premier made valiant efforts to establish national unity, to raise the level of public spirit and cooperation, and to placate the various groups that divided the country, but was no more successful in restraining partisan conflict and corruption in 1960-1962 than he had been in the period before October 1958. Accordingly, in March 1962, another military coup, led by General Ne Win, ousted U Nu, suspended the constitution, and ruled through a junta of seventeen officers. Soon an effort was made to merge all political groups into a single national political party with a socialist program. The Communists were treated with increasing leniency, while leaders of democratic groups continued to languish in prison. Students and other dissident groups were violently suppressed, and civil liberties were generally curtailed. Suddenly, in February 1963, a completely socialist regime was established by the nationalization of most property rights under increasing Communist influence.

     Although Burma has sought to hold a neutralist course in foreign affairs, it has been drifting toward the Red Chinese camp. Late in 1960 a protracted frontier dispute between the two nations was ended by an agreement that was generally favorable to Burma, and a few months later, in 1961, the two countries signed an economic agreement that brought Burma a loan of 584 million and technical cooperation from China. Like everything in Burma, this was implemented in a lackadaisical fashion, and the Burmese economic situation has deteriorated steadily since World War II. Part of this has been due to increased difficulty in marketing Burma's chief exports, rice and lumber, but the chief problem has been the steady increase in population, which has reduced the per capita income by about a third, although national income as a w hole has increased about a seventh since independence was won in1948.

     While Burma on the western edge of the Malay Peninsula thus drifted toward Communism, Vietnam on the eastern edge moved in the same direction with violent struggles. The Geneva agreement of 1954 had recognized the Communist government of North Vietnam, dividing the country at the 17th parallel, but this imaginary line across jungle terrain could not keep discontent or Communist guerrillas out of South Vietnam so long as the American-supported southern government carried on its tasks With corruption, favoritism, and arbitrary despotism. These growing characteristics of the Vietnam government centered around the antics of the Diem family. The nominal leader of the family was President Ngo Dinh Diem, although the fanatical spirit of it w as his brother's wife, Madame Nhu. The brother, Ngo Dinh Nhu, was the actual power in the government, residing in the palace, and heading up a semi-secret political organization that controlled all military and civil appointments. Madame Nhu's father, Tran Van Chuong, who resigned from his post as Vietnam Ambassador to the United States as a protest against the arbitrary nature of the Diem family government, summed up his daughter's career as "a very sad case of power madness." The same authority spoke of President Diem as "a devoted Roman Catholic with the mind of a medieval inquisitor." On the Diem family team were three other brothers, including the Catholic Archbishop of Vietnam, the country's ambassador in London, and the political boss of central Vietnam, who had his own police force.

     The Diem family tyranny came to grief from its inability to keep in touch with reality and to establish some sensible conception of what was important. While the country was in its relentless struggle with the Vietcong Communist guerrillas who lurked in jungle areas, striking without warning at peasant villages that submitted to the established government or did not cooperate with the rebels, the Diem family was engaged in such pointless tasks as crushing Saigon high school agitations by secret police raids or efforts to persecute the overwhelming Buddhist majority and to extend favors to the Roman Catholics who were less than lo percent of the population.

     When Diem became president in 1955, after the deposition of the pro-French Emperor Bao Dai, the country had just received 800,000 refugees from North Vietnam which the Geneva Conference of 1954 had yielded

     Ho Chi Minh's Communists. The overwhelming majority of these refugees were Roman Catholics, and their arrival raised the Catholic population of South Vietnam to over a million in a total population of about 14 million. Nevertheless, President Diem made these Catholics the chief basis of his power, chiefly by recruiting the refugees into various police forces dominated by the Diem family. By 1955 these were already beginning to persecute the Buddhist majority, at first by harassing their religious festivals and parades but later with brutal assaults on their meetings. An attempted coup d'้tat by army units which attacked the Royal Palace in November 1960 was crushed. From that date on, the Diem rule became increasingly arbitrary.

     In the middle of all this disturbance, American aid tried to revive the country's economy, and American military assistance tried to curtail the depredations of the Communist guerrillas. The two together amounted to about $200 million a year, although economic aid alone was originally twice this figure. The intensity of the guerrilla attacks steadily increased, following President Diem's reelection, with 88 percent of the vote, in April 1961. As these attacks slowly increased, the American intervention was also stepped up, and gradually began to shift from a purely advisory and training role to increasingly direct participation in the conflict. From 1961 onward, American casualties averaged about one dead a week, year after year. The Communist guerrilla casualties were reported to be about 500 per week, but this did not seem to diminish their total numbers or relax their attacks, even in periods when their casualties were heavy.

     These guerrilla attacks consisted of rather purposeless destruction of peasant homes and villages, apparently designed to convince the natives of the impotence of the government and the advisability of cooperating with the rebels. To stop these depredations, the government undertook the gigantic task of organizing the peasants into "agrovilles," or "strategic hamlets," which were to be strongly defended residential centers entirely enclosed behind barricades. The process, it was said, would also improve the economic and social welfare of the people to give them a greater incentive to resist the rebels. There was considerable doubt about the effectiveness of the reform aspect of this process and some doubt about the defense possibilities of the scheme as a whole. The American advisers preferred stalking-patrols to seek out the guerrillas rather than static defenses, stressed the need for night rather than only daytime counteractions, and the use of the rifle instead of large-scale reliance on air power and artillery. Moreover, most observers felt that very little of America's economic aid ever reached the village level but, instead, was lost on much higher levels, beginning with the royal palace itself. By the summer of 1963, guerrillas were staging successful attacks on the strategic hamlets, and the need for a more active policy became acute. Unfortunately, just at that time, the domestic crisis in Vietnam also was becoming acute.

     This final crisis in the story of the Diem family and its henchmen arose from religious persecution of the Buddhists under the guise of maintaining political order. Restrictions on Buddhist ceremonies led to Buddhist protests, and these in turn led to violent police action. The Buddhists struck back in a typically Asiatic fashion, which because it was Asiatic proved to be very effective in the Asiatic context: individuals or small groups of Buddhists committed suicide in some crowded public place near a governmental center. The favorite mode of suicide was to drench the victim's long yellow robes with gasoline and ignite these with a match as he knelt in a public square or street. The calloused reaction of the Diem family, especially of Madame Nhu, shocked the world, and outraged feeling rose rapidly in the summer of 1963. When thirty-five university professors and a number of public officials (including the father of Madame Nhu) resigned, the police attacked Buddhist shrines, arresting hundreds of their priests. Student agitations led to the closing of Saigon University and of all public and private schools, with the arrest of many students. A United Nations fact-finding commission was isolated by Diem police. On November 1, 1963, an American-encouraged military coup, led by General Duong Van Minh, overthrew the Diem family, killing several of its members. A new government, with a Buddhist premier, calmed down the domestic crisis, but by 1964 showed itself no more able to suppress guerrilla activities than its predecessor had been.

     The Red Chinese intervention in southeast Asia, except perhaps in Burma, was generally indirect and through intermediaries. Elsewhere in southern and eastern Asia, this was not true. But in all areas, from 1960 onward, it was evident that the increase in Chinese influence was not so much at the expense of the United States as it was at the expense of the Soviet Union. In North Vietnam and Burma, the Chinese influence was direct before 1960, hut after that date it grew stronger in Laos, South Vietnam, and Siam, while Cambodia vainly sought to obtain a guarantee of its neutrality from all concerned. In North Korea the change was dramatic, since the dominant Soviet influence there was replaced hy open Chinese influence in 1961. A similar process could be observed in southern Asia, especially in Pakistan, and even in India..

     The Chinese invasion and crushing of Tibet in March 1959 revealed that they had constructed a military road from Sinkiang to Lhasa. The Dalai Lama, in exile in India, accused the Chinese of genocide, and it seemed clear that a third of a million Chinese had moved into southern Tibet after resistance was crushed. Many Tibetans were compelled to work on a l,500-mile railroad from China to Lhasa and on a road system toward the borders of India, Nepal, Sikkim, and Bhutan. Thousands of Tibetan refugees crowded into these countries, while others were machine-gunned hy the Chinese as they fled. Many Buddhist shrines and lamasaries were destroyed.

     By October 1962, Chinese-Indian border incidents, on territory claimed by both, erupted into open war. The consequences were startling: Indian forces collapsed almost at once and were revealed to be almost wholly lacking in supplies, training, and fighting spirit. As the responsible official concerned, the minister of defense and vice-premier, Krishna Menon, a close adviser of Nehru, an open sympathizer witl1 the Soviet Union, and a skilled and sardonic baiter of the West, was removed from power. India's appeal for aid was answered by the United States with five million dollars' worth of weapons by November loth, but the Soviet Union found itself in the cruel dilemma of either abandoning its long efforts to win over India or contributing to a war on its nominal ally, China. It abandoned the former by suspending arms shipments already committed. Most ominous of all, by the end of November 1962, the Indian military collapse was so complete that it became clear that China could achieve in three months what Japan had sought to achieve without success, throughout World War II: a breakthrough with ground forces onto the Indian plain.

     Such a breakthrough was, apparently, not China's aim. Its chief concern seems to have been to secure control of the Aksai Chin area, where the territories of China, India, and the Soviet Union converge. Chinese domination of this inaccessible area and improvements of Chinese communications there is a threat to the Soviet Union rather than to India, whicl1 has generally ignored the area. The Chinese desire to hold the region may be part of a scheme to relieve Soviet pressure on the Chinese borders farther east, near Mongolia.

     In any case, the Chinese resort to war on India must have been a consequence of very complex motivations, and surely gave rise to complicated consequences. It was aimed at the Soviet Union and at the United States rather than at India, but did serve to discredit all concerned, to demonstrate the power and vigor of the new China, and to cut down drastically the Indian way (as contrasted with the Chinese way) as a model for other underdeveloped Asiatic nations.

     One notable consequence of the Chinese attack on India was that it served to pull Pakistan further out of the Western camp toward the Communist side of neutralism. Pakistan as a member both of CENTRO and SEATO had a vital position in John Foster Dulles's line of paper barriers surrounding the Soviet heartland, but in Pakistani eyes the controversy with India over Kashmir was of more immediate and more intense appeal. The Chinese humiliation of India was received with ill-concealed pleasure in Pakistan, although the Chinese were also intruding on some areas claimed hy Pakistan. These disputes were settled by a frontier treaty with China in May 1962, and the Muslim state showed increased confidence that its claims against India over Kashmir would obtain Chinese support.

     During all these events the divisions between the Soviet Union and Red China became increasingly public and increasingly bitter. As usual in Communist controversies, they were enveloped in complicated ideological disputes. By 1962 the Chinese had reached the point where they were accusing Khrushchev of betraying the revolution and the whole Communist movement from a combination of increasingly bourgeois obsession with Russian standards of living and a cowardly fear of American missile power. Thus they accused the Soviet Union of betraying international Communism in accepting "polycentrism" (especially in Yugoslavia) and of weakness in accepting "peaceful co-existence" (as in the Cuban missile crisis). Khrushchev alternated between striking back at the Chinese criticism and seeking to stifle them in order to avoid a complete ideological split of the world Communist movement. The Chinese were adamant, and continued to work toward such a split, seeking to win over to their side the Communist movement and Communist parties throughout the world, especially in the more backward countries where the Chinese experience often seemed more relevant. By 1964 the split within the Communist movement seemed unbridgeable.

Chapter 73: The Eclipse of Colonialism

     One of the most profound and most rapid changes of the postwar period has been the disintegration of the prewar colonial empires, beginning with the Dutch in the Netherlands Indies and ending with the Portuguese in Africa and elsewhere. We have no need to go into any detailed narration of the events that accompanied this process in specific areas, but the movement as a whole is of such great importance that it must be analyzed.

     When World War II began in 1939, a quarter of the human race, six hundred million people, mostly with nonwhite skins, were colonial subjects of European states. Almost all of these, with the exception of those under Portuguese rule, won independence in the twenty years following the Japanese surrender in 1945.

     Except in a few areas, such as the Dutch Indies, French Indochina, and British Malaya, which had been under Japanese occupation during the war, the anti-colonial movement was not significant until a decade or more after the war's end. In many places, especially in Africa, the movement toward independence was of little importance until 19j6. Nevertheless, the war may be regarded as the trigger for the whole process, since the early defeats suffered by the Netherlands, France, and Britain, especially when they were inflicted by an Asiatic people, the Japanese, gave a deadly blow to the prestige of European rulers. The war also mobilized many natives into military activities, during which they learned to use arms and were often moved to unfamiliar areas where they discovered that the subordination of natives to Europeans, and especially the subjection of dark-skinned peoples to whites, was not an immutable law of nature.

     These events also showed many native peoples that their tribal divisions were but local and parochial concerns and that they could, and must, learn to cooperate with other persons of different tribes, different languages, and even different religions, to face common problems that could be overcome only by cooperative efforts. In many cases, the great demand and high prices for native products during the war gave native peoples, for the first time, a realization that the contrast of European affluence and native poverty was not an eternal and unchangeable dichotomy. Accordingly, such peoples were unwilling to accept the decreasing demand, falling prices, and declining standards of living of the postwar period, and determined to take political action to obtain independent control of their own economic situations. Moreover, just at that time, the Communist argument that colonial impoverishment and European affluence arose from the exploitation of colonial peoples by imperialist Powers began to spread in Asia and Africa, brought back from imperial cities like London and Paris where small groups of natives, in search of education, had come in contact with Communist propagandists.

     Except for this last point, these factors were closely associated with the war and its outcome. But there were other influences of a much longer duration. The acquisition of European languages that permitted native peoples to surmount the linguistic isolation of their tribal differences had begun in the nineteenth century, but by the 1950's had become a more widespread phenomenon, especially among those natives who were most unwilling to fall back into tribal apathy and an inferior status. Many natives, in one way or another, had acquired a smattering or more of European education, and with this, even when it entailed a respect and affection for European culture, they had picked up much of the basic libertarian outlook endemic in European politics. In fact, in British colonial areas, educated natives had been systematically inculcated with English theories of political resistance and self-rule which went back to Magna Carta and the Glorious Revolution. Thus the ... [basic tenets] of English history became part of the solvent of the British imperial structure.

     Another factor, which had been going on for a considerable time in 19j6, was the process of detribalization associated with the growth of cities and the development of commercial and craft activities that brought many diverse subjects of colonialism together in urban districts or trade unions outside the stabilizing nexus of their previous tribal associations or of their peasant communities. Better educated and more energetic individuals among these natives took advantage of this situation to organize groups and parties to agitate for a larger share in the political control of their own affairs and eventual independence..

     In spite of the pressure and even the power of these changes in the colonial situation on the side of the subject peoples, there were at least equally significant, and largely unrecognized, changes on the side of their imperial rulers. For it must be recognized that in very few cases did native peoples achieve independence as a consequence of a successful revolt by force. On the contrary, in case after case, independence was granted, after a relatively moderate agitation, hy a former ruling power which showed a certain relief to be rid of its colonial burden. This indicates a profound change in attitudes toward colonies within the imperialist countries. The significance of this change can hardly be denied; the real question is concerned with its causes.

     Before 1940 the possession of colonial territories was of little direct concern to most persons in the imperial homeland. They knew that their country had colonies and ruled over peoples quite different from themselves, and this was regarded, rather generally, as probably a good thing, a source of pride to most citizens and probably of some material advantage to the country as a whole. The costs of holding colonial areas were not generally recognized and were usually felt to be minor and incidental. But in the postwar period these costs very rapidly became major and direct charges, quite unacceptable to the ordinary citizen, when the postwar period and increased anti-colonial agitations required heavy taxation and compulsory military service to regain or to retain such colonial areas. Once this was recognized, the former rather vague satisfaction with colonial possessions soon disappeared, and there was a rapidly spreading conviction that colonies were not worth it. The burden of taxes and military service in remote areas was regarded as part of the war, to be ended, as completely as possible, with the war itself, not to be continued indefinitely into the postwar period.

     Another closely related change occurred in economic aspirations. The citizens of the European colonial Powers had survived six years of hardships in the war itself and, in most cases, a decade or more of economic hardships in the pre-war depression. The war demonstrated that such economic hardships had been needless. The massive economic mobilization for the war should clearly that there could be an equally massive postwar mobilization of resources for prosperity. T he ordinary European was determined to obtain the rising standards of living and welfare security that he had been denied in the depression and war, and he had no stomach to be denied these any longer in order to hold in subjection native peoples who wanted independence. Thus the former beneficiaries and upholders of empire, usually restricted to an upper-class minority or specialized interest groups, found that these interests no longer would be supported by the majority of their own citizens.

     In some cases independence was achieved after a period of violence, rioting, and guerrilla warfare, although in no case did these actions, however extensive, become a matching of force between the colonial area and the imperial Power. In no case could these powers be matched, since the latter was overwhelmingly larger. In most cases, a more or less token display of force by the colonial peoples showed that they could be subdued only by an expenditure of resources and inconveniences which the ruling Power decided it did not care to make. The existence of the Soviet bloc and the appearance of the Cold War, with its almost irresistible demands for expenditures of resources, helped to tip the decision toward independence. Moreover, the opinion of the United States was favorable to independence for subject peoples in a rather doctrinaire and ... anti-colonialism, rooted in the American revolutionary tradition....

     Resistance to the decolonizing process was strong only in exceptional cases, such as in the French Army and in the Portuguese ruling groups. In Portugal the despotic character of the regime made it possible for the adherents of the colonial system to sustain the policy of resistance to independence, but the role of the French Army, especially in Indochina and Algeria, was almost unique.

     This unique quality in the Algerian crisis rested on three factors: (1) Algeria, which had been held by France since 1830, was constitutionally part of France, and its problem was part of the domestic history of the metropolitan country, since 30 of the 626 members of the French Assembly represented Algeria; (2) in Algeria there was a large group of European settlers (about 12 percent of the total population) who could not be turned over to an independent Arab majority, whom they had treated as inferiors for years; and (3) the French Army, after a series of defeats from 1940 to Indochina in 1954, resolved not to be defeated in Algeria and was prepared to overthrow by civil war any French cabinet that wished to grant independence to that area. Bitterness in Algeria was intensified by many other issues, including drastic religious, economic, social, and intellectual contrasts between the European settlers and the Algerian majority. The latter, for example, as a result of French medical skills, had one of the world's major population explosions, while the settlers owned most of the land and almost all the local economic activities.

     The bitterness of the Algerian struggle almost exceeded belief, as the extremists on each side adopted intransigent positions and sought to eliminate by assassination the more moderate of their own groups. Both sides resorted to strikes and riots in the cities, guerrilla operations and farm burnings in rural areas, and assassination in France itself. By 1960 indiscriminate bombings and reprisals against innocent peoples were alienating increasing numbers of persons from the extremes toward more moderate positions nearer the center, although the extremists as they decreased in numbers became more violent in action. In 1958 the crisis brought General de Gaulle back to office in France from retirement, largely because his supreme self-confidence and ambiguous position on the chief issues of controversy gave grounds for belief that he could find some solution to the crisis, or at least could maintain domestic order. This change ended the Fourth French Republic and brought into existence a new regime, the Fifth Republic, whose constitutional provisions were custom made to De Gaulle's type of despotic ambiguity (October 1958).

     It took almost four years more before agreement was reached between the Algerian rebels and the De Gaulle regime on a settlement of the Algerian dispute (March 18, 1962). Even then, sporadic violence continued for months. The final cost of the Algerian crisis, over seven years, has been estimated at 250,000 lives and 520 billion.

     The intensity of this conflict and the socialistic policies of the new Algerian government of Muhammad Ben Bella provided an unattractive future to the previously superior European settlers, and many of these left the country to seek residence elsewhere, chiefly in France although only a small portion of them were of French origin. The erratic instability and demagogy associated with so many newly independent states was displayed by Ben Bella during his visit to the Western Hemisphere in October 1962. Although he came to seek economic concessions and was given an especially warm welcome by President Kennedy, a few days later he visited Castro in Cuba and made a scathing attack on United States policy, demanding American evacuation of the Guantanamo Bay Naval Base. The following month, on his return home, Ben Bella nationalized mines, power, foreign trade, and much of the lands of European settlers. At the same time, the Communist Party was outlawed and hundreds of "enemies" of the regime were arrested.

     A number of newly independent states followed what we might call the Nasser pattern of post-colonial policy. This involved a large amount of verbal attack on the United States and the European ex-colonial powers, a rather ambivalent but generally favorable attitude toward the Soviet bloc, and a less public effort to obtain Western aid or economic concessions to compensate for the basic inability of the Soviet bloc to provide such aid. With this double policy, there frequently went a rather aggressive attitude toward neighbors with which the new state had real or fancied grievances, which were played up at critical moments as a cover for the inability of the new regimes to cope with the post-liberation economic and social problems of their own peoples. In many cases, such as Sukarno of Indonesia, Nasser, Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, and Castro, these leaders sought to exercise the qualities of personal popularity and superhuman personification of popular aspirations that we call "charismatic leadership."

     None of these policies or attitudes was much help in coping with the very real problems that have faced the newly independent nations with growing urgency. The enthusiasm that greeted independence and the acceptance by the world of that status through admission to the United Nations was followed, in most cases, by a post-independence reaction as the scope and almost insoluble nature of each country's problems had to be recognized.

     The nature of these problems must be evident from what has already been said. At a minimum they could be divided into three or four groupings concerned with the patterns of power, of wealth, of social relationships, and of outlook.

     In the European tradition, power has tended to rest on some kind of synthesis of military (force), economic (material rewards), and ideological elements and on some kind of political structure (such as the parliamentary system) in which the opposition was incorporated into the constitutional system. In most colonial or backward areas, power has tended to rest on other aspects of the total social structure, notably on religion or on social pressures derived from kinship and tribal groupings or from stable social patterns in villages or residential patterns. There has been a tendency toward conformity and even uniformity; opposition groups and diversity have tended to be encapsulated into exogamous social groupings like the castes of India.

     In these traditional societies, except where the English tradition was successfully established, there has been a reluctance to accept majority rule or the organized oppositional structure of the parliamentary system because of the native desire for a unified social context. Instead of decision by majority rule, which was often unacceptable to native peoples because it seemed to force an alienated situation on the minority, native peoples in many areas preferred to reach decisions by what could be called "reaching a consensus." This method, exemplified in the American Indian "powwow" or in American business conferences, achieved agreement and decision, usually unanimously, by comment from each person present in sequence until consensus was reached. The difficulty of using this method in the large assemblies of newly independent governments often led to other mechanisms for achieving unanimity, such as a constitutional provision that any political party that captured a majority of the vote should have all the seats. To the Western European such a rule seems to be a scandalous refusal to listen to minority opinion; to natives it often seems a most necessary mechanism for preserving solidarity. Really it is a mechanism for keeping diverse opinions behind the scene, out of public view, and force the reconciliation of differences to take place in some concealed area of backstage intrigue and discussion rather than out in the public arena of the national assembly. The latter body becomes a mechanism for publicly demonstrating national solidarity or for proclaiming public policy, rather than an area of conflict as it had become in the western European parliamentary system.

     This tendency to seek a public display of uniformity and national solidarity through political and constitutional processes was evident in Hitler's Third Reich, as it has been in other recent European authoritarian states, including the Soviet Union, and has also appeared in the more traditionally free governments of western Europe and the United States.

     The European tradition to seek a settlement of disputes or differences by force or in battle was evident in the feudal tradition, in the electoral and parliamentary systems, in the contentious (rather than investigatory) nature of English legal procedure, and in the European, and especially English, obsession with sports and athletic contests. It is part of the warlike tradition of Europe that gave it the weapons development and political power to dominate the world.

     Such an emphasis on force as a prime factor in human life is rarer in colonial areas, especially in those where peasant traditions are strong and pastoral traditions are weak (such as India, southeast Asia, China, and much of Negro Africa). In these areas force often appeared in a ritual or symbolic way, so that the outcome of a battle was settled by the infliction of a single casualty, which was taken to indicate a religious or magical settlement of the dispute, making further conflict unnecessary.

     This reluctance to the use of force in social life in many colonial areas has raised the problem of how the areas claimed by these new nations can be defended, either against their more aggressive neighbors or against more militant tribes or groups within their own population. In many areas, notably in Africa, the existing boundaries of the new nations have no relationship to any power structure or to any existing factual realities at all. As colonies these areas' boundaries reflected, to some extent, the power relationships of their imperial countries in Europe, but now that independence has been achieved, the boundaries reflect nothing. In many cases the existing boundary, drawn as a straight line on the map, cuts through the center of tribal areas, the only existing local political reality.

     The lack of a military tradition in many ex-colonial areas makes defense a difficult problem, as was shown in the Indian defensive weakness during the Red Chinese attack of 1962. In many areas, natives arc eager to become soldiers, because of the salaries and benefits associated with the role, but they do not regard fighting as part of that role. In many cases, they become pressure groups seeking additional benefits and may become a considerable burden on the new nation's budget and a threat to the stability of the state itself while providing little or no protection to the state against possible outside enemies.

     The economic problems of the new nations are already clear. Tn most cases they center upon the imbalance between a rapidly growing population and a limited food supply, with the accessory problem of finding employment for such additional population in their underdeveloped economic status. Technical knowledge is limited, and large-scale illiteracy hampers the spread of such knowledge, if it exists. But in most cases it does not exist, for it must be emphasized that the technical knowledge built up in Europe and America under quite different geographic and social conditions is often not applicable to colonial areas. This was made brutally clear in the so-called "ground-nut scheme" in British East Africa in the early postwar period, which sought to grow peanuts over a vast acreage, using American methods of tractor cultivation; it led to disastrous results, with monetary losses of many hundreds of millions of dollars. Any technology must fit into the natural and social ecology of the situation. The conditions of most ex-colonial areas are so different from those of western Europe and North America that our methods should be applied only with the greatest caution. American methods in particular are usually based on scarce and nigh-cost labor combined with plentiful and cheap material costs to provide labor-saving ut material-wasteful methods of production requiring large savings and heavy investment of capital. Almost all ex-colonial areas have an oversupply of cheap and unskilled labor with limited material and land resources and are in no position to raise or utilize heavy capital investments. As a consequence, quite different technological organizations must be devised for these areas.

     The social consequences of decolonization are, in some ways, similar to those that have appeared recently in the poorer areas of Western cities. This has been called "anomie" (the shattering of stable social relationships), and arises from rapid social change rather than from decolonization. It gives rise to isolation of individuals, destruction of established social values and of stability, personal irresponsibility, shattered family relationships, irresponsible sexual and parental relationships, crime, juvenile delinquency, a greatly increased incidence of al1 social diseases (including alcoholism, use of narcotics, and neuroses), and personal isolation, loneliness, and susceptibility to mass hysterias. The crowding of large numbers of recently detribalized individuals into rapidly growing African cities has shown these consequences, as, indeed, they have been shown in many American cities, such as New York or Chicago, where recently deruralized peoples are exposed to somewhat similar conditions of anomie.

     Some of the more intractable difficulties of newly decolonized areas are psychological, especially as these difficulties are hard to identify and often provide almost insuperable obstacles to development programs, especially to those directed along Western lines. It is, for example, not usually recognized that the whole economic expansion of Western society rests upon a number of psychological attitudes that are prerequisites to the system as we have it but are not often stated explicitly. Two of these may be identified as (1) future preference and (2) infinitely expandable material demand. In a sense these are contradictory, since the former implies that Western economic man will make almost any sacrifice in the present for the sake of some hypothetical benefit in the future, while the latter implies almost insatiable material demand in the present. Nonetheless, both are essential features of the overwhelming Western economic system.

     Future preference came out of the Christian outlook of the West and especially from the Puritan tradition, which was prepared to accept almost any kind of sacrifice and self-discipline in the temporal world for the sake of future eternal salvation. The process of secularization of Western society since the seventeenth century shifted that future benefit from eternity to this temporal world but did not otherwise disturb the pattern of future preference and self-discipline. In fact, these became the chief psychological attributes of the middle class that made the Industrial Revolution and the great economic expansion of the West. They made people willing to undergo long periods of sacrifice for personal training and to restrict their enjoyment of income for the sake of higher training and for capital accumulation. This made it possible to develop an advanced technology with massive shifting of economic resources from consumption to forming capital equipment. On this basis Quakers, Puritans, and Jews built the early railroad systems, and English Non-Conformists combined with Scottish Presbyterians to build the early iron industry and steam-engine factories. Other advances were based on these.

     The mass production of this new industrial system was able to continue and to accelerate to the fantastic rate of the twentieth century because Western man placed no limits on his ambition to create a secularized earthly paradise. Today the average middle-class family of suburbia has a schedule of future material demands which is limitless: a second car is essential, often followed by a third; an elaborate reconstruction of the basement provides a recreation room, which must be followed in short order by an elaborate patio with outdoor cooking equipment and a swimming pool; almost immediately comes the need for an outboard motorboat and trailer to carry it, followed by the need for a summer residence by the water and a larger boat. And so it goes, in an endless expansion of insatiable demands spurred on by skilled advertising, the whole keeping the wheels of industry turning, and the purchasing power of the community racing around in an accelerating cycle.

     Without these two psychological assumptions, the Western economy would break down or would never have started. At present, future preference may be breaking down, and infinitely expanding material demand may soon follow it in the weakening process. If so, the American economy will collapse, unless it finds new psychological foundations.

     The connection of all this with ax-colonial areas lies in the fact that without these two attitudes it will be very difficult for underdeveloped nations to follow along the Western path of development. This does not mean that no "achieving" society can be constructed without these two attitudes. Not at all. Many different attitudes, in proper arrangement, might be made the basis for an "achieving" society, but it would probably not be along the Western lines of individual initiative and private enterprise. Religious feeling or national pride or many other attitudes could become the basis for achievement and economic expansion, as they were in ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt or in medieval Europe, but such other bases for achievement would be unlikely to provide a system using private savings as its method of capital accumulation or personal ambition as its motivation for acquisition of highly developed technological training and skills, as in our economy.

     The ordinary African is very remote from either future preference or infinitely expandable material demands. He generally has preference for the present, and his demands are often nonmaterial and even non-economic, such as his desire for leisure or for social approval. The African has a fair recognition of the immediate past, a dominant concern for the present, and little concern for the future. Accordingly, his conception of time is totally different from that of the average Western man. The latter sees the present only as a moving point of no dimension that separates the past from the future. The African sees time as a wide gamut of the present with a moderate dimensioned past and almost no future. This outlook is reflected in the structure of the Bantu languages, which do not emphasize the tense distinctions of past, present, and future, as we do, but instead emphasize categories of condition, including a basic distinction in the verb between completed and incompleted actions that places the present and the future (both concerned with unfinished actions) in the same category. We do this occasionally in English when we use the present tense in a future sense by saying, "He is coming tomorrow," but this rare use of the present to indicate the future does not blur our conception of the future the way constant use of such a construction does in Bantu.

     In addition to his present preference, the Bantu has a list of priorities, in his conception of a higher standard of living, which contains many non-economic goals. A fairly typical list of such priorities might run thus: food, sex dalliance, joking with one's friends, a bicycle, music and dancing, a radio, leisure to go fishing. Any list such as this, with its high priority for non-economic and basically leisure activities, does not provide the constantly expanding material demands that are the motivating force in the West's economic expansion. Nor is the African's strongly socialized personality, which shares all its successes and wants with others and constantly yearns for the social approval obtained by sharing income with kinfolk and friends, capable of supporting any economy of private selfishness and individual capital accumulation that became the basis for the industrial expansion of the West.

     These remarks about the differences in African outlooks and our own could be applied also to differences in the material bases for economic expansion, as we have already indicated. It is perfectly true that the obstacles we have mentioned do not apply to all Africans or to all parts of Africa, but in general it can be said that most Western methods and organizations do not fit the non-Western context of the newly independent countries and that these differ so greatly from one another, or even in some cases (such as India) within a single nation, that the direct application of Western methods to these new areas is inadvisable [until certain principles of government and economics have been adopted]. Such Western methods might work if native peoples could acquire some of the more basic attitudes that have been the foundation of Western progress. For example, the victory of the West in World War II was attributed to our capacity for rationalization and for scientific method. These in turn rest on the most basic features of the Western outlook and traditions, on the way in which our cognitive system categorizes the world, and the value system we apply to this structure of categories. But our cognitive system is derived from our past heritage, such as our Hebrew ethical system, the Christian heritage (which strangely enough made us accept the reality and the value of the temporal world at the same time that it placed our final goal, achievable through behavior in the world of the flesh, in the eternal world of the spirit), and the lessons of Greek rationalism with its insistence on dealing with the world in a quite artificial system of two-valued logic based on the principle of identity and the law of contradiction. Non-Western peoples who do not find in their own system of cognition any acceptance of the rules of identity or of contradiction do not see reality in terms of two-valued logic, and must make an almost impossible effort to adopt the West's natural tendency to rationalize problems. On this basis, they find it difficult either to rationalize their own emotional positions and thus to control or direct them, or to rationalize (which is to isolate and analyze) their problems and thus to seek solutions for them. Africans, for example, unless they have been thoroughly Westernized, do not make the sharp distinctions we do between the living and the dead, between animate and non-animate objects, between deity and man, and many other distinctions which our long submission to Greek logic have made almost inevitable to us.

     In view of the similarity of the problem faced by the newly independent nations, it may seem curious that they have not shown a greater tendency to cooperate with each other or to attempt to form some kind of common front toward the world. The chief effort to do this has been in the form of a number of meetings of so-called "uncommitted nations" of which the chief was held at Bandung, Indonesia, in 1955, and a number of efforts to move toward some kind of Pan-African system. On the whole, however, this effort toward cooperation has been blocked by three influences: (1) the sensitivity of newly independent nations to preserve this independence intact as long as possible, even to the degree that particularist local interests and rivalries are dominant over common interests; (2) the fact that all these nations need economic aid and technical assistance from the advanced countries, and are, on the whole, in competition with each other to get it; and (3) the tendency of many of the newly independent areas (such as Indonesia or Egypt) to adopt pro-Soviet attitudes in the Cold War leading to efforts by the Soviet Union to infringe upon their basically neutralist policies to persuade them to make a commitment to the Communist side in the Cold War.

     In many ways the problems of independence have a distinctly different character in Africa from Asia. In Asia, as is traditional along the Pakistani-Peruvian axis, the structure of societies has been one in which a coalition of army, bureaucracy, landlords, and moneylenders have exploited a great mass of peasants by extortion of taxes, rents, low wages, and high interest rates in a system of such persistence that its basic structure goes back to the ... empires before l000 B.C.

     In Africa the situation has been quite different, and has generally been in constant flux. This results from a number of influences, of which one is that Africa has been underpopulated and has not developed the kind of land monopolization that supported Asiatic despotism. The dominant social units of African society have been kinship groups: extended families, lineages, clans, and tribes with landownership (generally of little importance) vested in these and often with a fairly wide division between ownership and rights of usufruct. Moreover, land use in Africa has generally been a fallow system, often of the "slash-and-burn" type, in which land is cropped for a few years and then abandoned for an extended period to recover its fertility. Thus agriculture has been on a shifting basis, and peasant life in Africa has been almost as mobile as pastoral activities are, without the permanent localism that is associated with rural villages in Eurasia. Moreover, in Africa tillage of the soil, usually by digging stick rather than by plow, has tended to be carried on by women, usually wives, and the relationship of the agricultural worker to any exploiter has been a matrimonial or family relationship rather than a relationship that was basically economic, as in Eurasia's serfdom, hired laborer, or plantation slavery.

     All these features of the basic relationships between men and the land in Africa have restricted the growth of the kind of agrarian superstructure associated with Asiatic despotisms, and left instead a very amorphous and fluctuating system in which no complex exploitative system could be screwed down on the masses of the people because these people were too free to move elsewhere. As a result of this, the kinship groups that are the chief feature of rural Africa are constantly mobile, and even today can tell how their common ancestor, a few generations back, arrived in their residence from some other vague place..

     This mobile and transitory character of native African life has been increased by two other historical features of Africa's past: the pastoral intrusions and slave raiding.

     The pastoral intrusions arose from the movement into and across Africa of warlike peoples who lived from herds of cattle or horses and imposed their loose rule upon the more peaceful peasant natives. These pastoral intruders have been of two kinds. The first were Bantu cattle herders who derived their way of life from other peoples in northeastern Africa and moved generally south and southwest toward Natal and Angola. These include such savage fighting peoples as the Zulus or the Matabeles of Rhodesia.

     The second pastoral group has been made up of Arabic or at least Islamized intruders, also from northeastern Africa, who have moved, generally westward across Africa, with horses. These generally followed the grasslands of the Sudan, between the desert and the tropical forest, and are found today as dominant and warlike upper classes in many areas such as northern Nigeria. Both groups of pastoral intruders brought in distinctive social and cultural contributions, including new religious ideas, and have enserfed numbers of the African peasants, as groups of villages or tribes rather than as individuals.

     The second major force that has traditionally disrupted African life and prevented it from developing any elaborate social hierarchies or long residence linked to specific areas has been the practice of slave raiding, which goes back to ancient Egypt, was carried on by both kinds of pastoral intruders, and culminated in the devastation of much of Africa in the massive slave-trade raids of the middle nineteenth century, such as were witnessed by Dr. Livingston.

     The establishment of European colonial rule over Africa, chiefly after 1880, eventually abolished the slave trade and greatly reduced the influence of the pastoral intruders. But this did not decrease the mobility and transistory characteristic of African life, since any increase in rural stability was more than overbalanced by the extension of commerce and of craft manufactures which led to a drastic growth of towns and the shattering of many of the kinship structures such as lineages and tribes. In fact, one of the most obvious problems brought to Africa by European influence has been the detachment of atomized individuals from the social nexus, based on blood and marriage, that previously guided their lives and determined their systems of values and obligations.

     Each imperial power imposed its own patterns on the people under its colonial domination, most obviously in the introduction of its own language. These different patterns and languages remain as dominant forces after independence is achieved, serving to link together the areas with the same colonial past and to separate those with a different colonial experience. In fact, the division of Africa into separate French-speaking, English-speaking, and Portuguese-speaking areas (with all that these differences imply) is now one of the chief obstacles to the creation of any major Pan-African unity.

     In very general terms we might say that the British impact on its African territories was largely political, the French was cultural, the Belgian was economic, and the Portuguese was religious.

     The obsession of the upper classes of Britain with government and politics was reflected in their colonial policies, which emphasized the introduction of law and order, introduced political and legal systems based on English models, and educated the minority of native peoples who obtained education in the politically dominated training provided for the English upper classes (most educated natives studied political science and law). To this day ax-British colonial areas show this pattern.

     The French in Africa talked of their "mission civilisatrice," by which they meant, at a minimum, to offer native peoples the French language with a smattering of French culture. Many natives fell in love with this culture, and with Paris, so that when liberation came they did not, as did the British-trained natives, become obsessed with the spirit of political opposition, but rather showed a desire to continue the extension of French cultural life, especially literature, along with political independence. Today some of the best poetry written in the French language comes from Africans.

     The Belgians in the Congo rejected any effort to extend political or cultural life to their native peoples, but instead sought to provide them with skills as trained laborers and to build up a prosperous economic basis for a high native standard of living while at the same time allowing them to get no glimpse of European life, the outside world, political training, or cultural and intellectual ideas. As a result, when independence came to the Congo in 1960, that vast area had one of the highest native standards of living in tropical Africa but had fewer natives who had attended a university or had even traveled abroad than any French or British territory.

     The Portuguese were concerned with conversion of natives to Christianity and with little else, believing that their control of their areas could be maintained best if all other kinds of change were kept minimal. They practiced racial equality and were willing to admit to Portuguese citizenship any native who was individually successful in obtaining a Portuguese education, but on the whole they did not encourage even this kind of development.

     The background of the whole process of African decolonization was built up in the wartime and early postwar periods, but the trigger on the chain reaction of the decolonization process was the defeat of the Anglo-French effort at Suez because of America and Soviet pressure in October 1956. As might, perhaps, be expected, the process began in a British colony, the Gold Coast, now called Ghana.

     The independence of Ghana was a personal achievement of Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, who returned to Accra from an educational process in Pennsylvania and the London School of Economics. The year before, in 1946, the Gold Coast obtained the first British African Legislative Assembly that was allowed a majority of Africans. Nkrumah's agitations, including the founding of a new political party, the Convention People's Party, under his own control, earned him a two-year jail sentence. While he was still in jail, his party won 34 of the 38 seats in the Assembly in the election of 1951; therefore he was released from confinement to take control of the administration. With good will on both sides, a transition period of six years gave Ghana its independence, under Nkrumah's rule, in March 1957.

     Within a year of independence, Nkrumah faced the typical problems of post-colonialism that we have mentioned: a rapid fall in cocoa prices upon which Ghana's international trade position depended; disease in the cocoa trees, which required destruction of thousands of trees over the violent protests of their peasant owners; dissension between the pagan, commercial, coastal area, in which the Convention People's Party was based, and the more pastoral, Islamic, remote interior.

     Nkrumah soon showed his readiness to handle all problems with ruthless decision. The "sick" cocoa trees were cut down; political opponents were silenced in one way or another; Nkrumah was ballyhooed as the father of all Africans, the unique genius of the African revolution, the mystic symbol of all black men's hopes. A Five-Year Plan for economic development (1959-1964) promised to spend over 92 million dollars. In 1960 the previous British-granted constitution was replaced by a new republican constitution that was amended almost at once by a clause allowing Nkrumah to rule without parliament whenever necessary. The leader's Pan-African hopes were reflected in a clause that permitted "the surrender of the whole or part of the sovereignty of Ghana" to a union of African states. By the end of the same year, political party designations were abolished in Parliament, and the Preventive Detention Act (which allowed Nkrumah to imprison his enemies without charge) was used to arrest the chief members of the political opposition. Ghana embarked on an economic war witl1 the Union of South Africa in protest against the latter's extreme segregation of the races and on a somewhat weaker system of economic reprisals against France in retaliation for its nuclear-explosion tests in the Sahara. Vigorous activities at the United Nations, in African affairs (chiefly in opposition to any Pan-African movement that would not be dominated by Nkrumah), in balancing the two sides of the Cold War while seeking economic aid from both, in establishing a Ghana shipping line defiantly called the "Black Star 1,ine," and in constructing a gigantic hydroelectric and aluminum manufacturing complex on the Volta River, kept Nkrumah's name in the world's press.

     Nigeria, the largest territory in the British colonial empire, larger than any European state and four times the size of the United Kingdom, with 35 million inhabitants, did not become free until 1960. The delay was caused by the internal divisions within the territory. These were not unexpected, for the territory was an artificial creation, cut out of the African wild by Lord Lugard just before World War I. It consisted of three regions—North, West, and East—which had no central assembly until 1946, and continued to have diverse interests and attitudes. Each region had a separate government with a joint federal government at Lagos. The Northern Region is Muhammadan, patriarchal, underdeveloped, poor, ignorant, and feudal, ruled by an aristocratic upper group of emirs descended from pastoral conquerors. The Western Region is small but rich and thickly populated with progressive agriculturalists, chiefly Yoruba. The Eastern Region, dominated by the Ibo peoples, tends to dominate the whole federation. There are tribal and religious differences between the three, since the south is pagan, and government of the federation must be by coalition of two regions against the third. American-educated Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe (known as "Zik") was the first governor-general, functioning as president and the dominant political figure from the Eastern Region, while the prime minister was Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, a Muslim from the Northern Region. The Opposition was led by Chief Obafemi Awolowo of the Western Region. This rather precarious balance of forces was stabilized by the strength of the English-speaking tradition of moderation and rule of law, both much more securely established in Nigeria than in Ghana, and by the industrious, alert, and balanced character of Nigeria's chief tribal groups. The economy was also better balanced than that of many African states, with a productive agriculture as well as varied mineral resources.

     The key to Africa's future may rest with the success of former French Africa, since this group seems to provide a nucleus on which the more moderate forces on the continent may congregate. The chief difficulty from which they suffer is that most are arid and all are poor (compared to the Congo or Nigeria)..

     The impact of war was much more significant in French Africa than in British Africa, because of the defeat of France and the fact that the supporters of De Gaulle's resistance, rather than of P้tain's pseudo-Fascism, controlled these territories during much of the war. Such control could be sustained only with the support of the African population, which was loyally given, although few rewards came in return for more than a decade after the war. Then freedom came swiftly, in sequence to the military disasters in Indochina in 1954 and the rising disaster in Algeria, rather than from the events or struggles in Black Africa itself.

     The first effort was not toward independence but toward closer union with France, by incorporating the African territories in an elaborate federal structure, the French Union, which gave the Africans representation and even cabinet posts in Paris. One of the incidental consequences of this largely transitory structure was that the neutralism of the African end of the structure tended to spread to the metropolitan end in Paris. At the same time, American support of independence for colonial areas, at a time when Paris was seeking to strengthen its African connections, was one more in a series of American actions that drove France, and especially De Gaulle, toward a neutral position for Paris itself.

     The French Union was still in process of being established in 1958, after having lost Indochina in 1954, Morocco and Tunis in 1956, when the Fourth French Republic disintegrated beneath the strain of the Algerian crisis, and De Gaulle came in with his constitution for the Fifth Republic. This provided a federal system by which essential powers were reserved to the central authority and other powers devolved upon the "autonomous" member states. The key "Community" functions reserved to France included foreign affairs, defense, currency, common economic and financial policy, control of strategic materials, and (with certain exceptions) higher education, justice, external transportation and communications.

     The new constitution was presented to the overseas areas of France with the opportunity to accept or reject it, but with little expectation that any area would reject it because of their need for French economic air and other expenditures of federal funds. S้kou Tour้, of Guinea, however, persuaded his area to vote against ratification and was, in retaliation by De Gaulle, instantly ejected from the French Community, and its political and financial support (about $20 million a year) was stopped. The newly independent and outcast area sought support in Moscow, spreading panic in other capitals at this opening of the African scene to Soviet penetration. For about five years, Guinea sought an alternative to the French system, established an authoritarian one-party Leftish regime, signed an act of "union" with Ghana (a meaningless agreement that brought Tour้ a $28 million loan from Nkrumah), and welcomed Soviet aid and Communist technicians to Conakry. Guinea recognized East Germany, welcomed influences from Red China, accepted American offers of counter-aid, and nationalized all schools, churches, and many French-owned business enterprises. For a while, a possible union of Ghana, Guinea, and the Mali Republic (former French Sudan), signed in 1961, threatened to form a "Union of African States," but this hope faded, along with the anticipation of any substantial Soviet aid or assistance, and Guinea, by 1963, was in process of working its way back into the French African system.

     The Guinea exodus from the French Community in 1958, regretted by both sides within a few years, opened the way to independence for all French Africa. Senegal and the Sudanese Republic, linked together briefly as the Mali Republic, obtained freedom in April 1960, and started a flood of declarations of independence led by Madagascar (Malgache Republic). This political disintegration of the French areas in Africa raised at once two acute problems: (1) What would be their relationship with France, a connection that had brought French Africa over two billion dollars in French development funds in the 1947-1958 period? and (2) What arrangements could be made between the newly independent states to prevent the Balkanization of Africa, with its resulting inability to handle problems of transportation, communications, public health, river development, and such, which transcend small local areas'

     To answer the first question, a French constitutional law of June 1960 changed the French Community to a contractual association. Fourteen French African states signed a multitude of individual agreements with France that recognized their full sovereignty on the international scene but established "cooperation" with France over a wide range of economic, financial, cultural, and political relationships. Thus by voluntary agreement, French control along the general lines of the existing status quo was preserved.

     The effort to prevent Balkanization by some sort of federal arrangement for the French African areas was prevented by the objections of Ivory Coast and of Gabon. The former was the wealthiest of the eight French Western African states, while Gabon was the richest of the four French Equatorial African states. This opposition broke up the Mali union of Senegal and Soudan in 1960, and the latter, taking the name Mali to itself, drifted off toward cooperation with Guinea. This disintegration of French Africa was stopped only because of growing anxiety at the efforts of Ghana's Nkrumah to form an opposed Pan-African bloc of a Leftish tinge. This effort gave rise to the "Union of Independent African States" and the "All-African Peoples' Conferences."

     The Union of Independent African States arose from the Pan-African dreams of the late George Padmore and was organized by him for Nkrumah. Its first meeting, at Accra in April 1958, had representatives of the eight states then independent in Africa (Ethiopia, Ghana, Liberia, Libya, Morocco, Sudan, Tunisia, and the United Arab Republic). They demanded an end to French military operations in Algeria and immediate independence for all African territories. Three subsequent meetings in 1959-1960 advanced no further, except to attack the establishment of racial segregation ("apartheid") in South Africa, and Nigeria blocked efforts to take immediate steps toward a United States of Africa in June 1960.

     The All-African People's Conferences, also sponsored by Nkrumah, were great mass conventions of labor unions, youth groups, political parties, and other organizations from all Africa, including non-independent areas. They achieved little beyond the usual denunciations of colonialism apartheid, and the Algerian war. Three of these conferences were held at Accra, Tunis, and Conakry in 1958-1960.

     In opposition to these Ghana-inspired movements, in late 1960, Dr. Felix Houphouet-Boigny, the political leader of Ivory Coast, one-time French cabinet minister and French spokesman at the United Nations, took steps to organize a French-centered union of African states. Called the "Brazzaville Twelve," after their second meeting at Brazzaville, French Congo, in December 1960, these formed a loose organization for cooperation and parallel action in Africa, the United Nations, and the world. In the United Nations they established a bloc to vote as a unit from October 1960. At the same time, they began to work closely as a group with a number of technical, economic, educational, and research organizations that had grown up under the United Nations, or with international sponsorship to deal with African problems. Of the large number of these, we need mention only the Commission for Technical Cooperation in Africa South of the Sahara (head office in London) and its advisory council, the Scientific Council for Africa South of the Sahara (head office in Belgian Congo), the Foundation for Mutual Assistance in Africa South of the Sahara (office in Accra).

     As we have said, the Ghana-Guinea Union of May 1959 was expanded, with the accession of Mali in July 1961, into the pompously named Union of African States (UAS). At Brazzaville, in December 1960, six French territories of West Africa and four of Equatorial Africa joined with the Cameroons Federation and the Malgache Republic to form the "Brazzaville Twelve" (officially entitled Union of African and Malagasy States, or UAMS). At a conference at Casablanca in January 1961, the UAS moved a step further by forming rather tenuous links with Morocco, the United Arab Republic, and the provisional government of Algeria. Four months later, at Monrovia, the UAMS formed a more stable and homogeneous grouping of twenty, by adding to the Brazzaville group Liberia, Nigeria, Togo, Sierra Leone, Ethiopia, Somalia, Libya (which had previously been at Casablanca), and Tunisia. This represented a considerable victory over the UAS group, and was the result of several influences: a number of African leaders, led by President Tubman of Liberia, objected to Nkrumah's efforts to introduce the Cold War into Africa and to his extravagant propaganda, controversy, and cult of personality within the African context; moreover, the Casablanca grouping was paralyzed by the rivalry between Nkrumah and Nasser and by the non-African orientation of the Muslim North Africa members, who constantly sought to drag the African states into non-African issues, such as the Arab hatred of Israel.

     The UAMS group has eschewed these issues, has sought to avoid controversy and propaganda, and has played down the anti-imperialist, anti-Portuguese, anti-South African issues which rouse such enthusiasn1 but achieve so little in mass assemblies of Africans. The UAMS also, unlike the UAS group, has rejected any efforts to interfere in the domestic affairs of its African members and neighbors. Instead it has tended to work quietly on rather technical questions and has been satisfied with moderate agreements. Its chief meetings, usually twice a year, have assembled the chiefs of the member states, with a different host city on each occasion. Agreements reached at these high level conferences are then generally implemented hy subsequent meetings of specialized or technical experts. The Union's concerns have been economic and social rather than political or ideological, and its approach to its problems has been generally conciliatory, tolerant, empirical, relatively democratic, pro-Western, and, above all, tentative. Most of its achievements have resulted from months of careful testing of the ground and have usually been considered at several of its "summit" conferences. Its charter of Union, for example, was not signed until the fourth conference, at Tananarive, in September 1961. Its mechanisms of operation, beyond the semiannual meetings of chiefs of state, consists of a secretariat and secretary-general at Cotonou, Dahomey; a Defense Union consisting of a council of the twelve defense ministers and a general staff and military secretariat at Ouagadougou, Volta; the Organization of African-Malgache Economic Cooperation stationed at Yaounde, Cameroon; an African-Malgache Union of Posts and Telecommunications consisting of the twelve ministers concerned with these and a central office at Brazzaville; a joint "Air Afrique" airline, associated with "Air France"; and other, similar, organizations concerned witl1 development, shipping, research, and other activities. Several agreements have been signed establishing judicial, financial, and commercial cooperation. The whole system has an independent budget financed by a fixed percentage grant from each state's budget to the common fund. The whole relationship has formed the chief element of stability in African problems, has retained its close contacts with France, and has formed the core of a moderate group among the growing multitude of neutrals at the United Nations. Its possible implications for the future political organization of Africa, if not for a wider area, will be considered in the next chapter.

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