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American Empire

Roosevelt’s Geographer and the Prelude to Globalization

Neil Smith (Author)

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Paperback, 586 pages
ISBN: 9780520243385
October 2004
$41.95, £28.95
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An American Empire, constructed over the last century, long ago overtook European colonialism, and it has been widely assumed that the new globalism it espoused took us "beyond geography." Neil Smith debunks that assumption, offering an incisive argument that American globalism had a distinct geography and was pieced together as part of a powerful geographical vision. The power of geography did not die with the twilight of European colonialism, but it did change fundamentally. That the inauguration of the American Century brought a loss of public geographical sensibility in the United States was itself a political symptom of the emerging empire. This book provides a vital geographical-historical context for understanding the power and limits of contemporary globalization, which can now be seen as representing the third of three distinct historical moments of U.S. global ambition.

The story unfolds through a decisive account of the career of Isaiah Bowman (1878–1950), the most famous American geographer of the twentieth century. For nearly four decades Bowman operated around the vortex of state power, working to bring an American order to the global landscape. An explorer on the famous Machu Picchu expedition of 1911 who came to be known first as "Woodrow Wilson’s geographer," and later as Frankin D. Roosevelt’s, Bowman was present at the creation of U.S. liberal foreign policy.

A quarter-century later, Bowman was at the center of Roosevelt’s State Department, concerned with the disposition of Germany and heightened U.S. access to European colonies; he was described by Dean Acheson as a key "architect of the United Nations." In that period he was a leader in American science, served as president of Johns Hopkins University, and became an early and vociferous cold warrior. A complicated, contradictory, and at times controversial figure who was very much in the public eye, he appeared on the cover of Time magazine.

Bowman’s career as a geographer in an era when the value of geography was deeply questioned provides a unique window into the contradictory uses of geographical knowledge in the construction of the American Empire. Smith’s historical excavation reveals, in broad strokes yet with lively detail, that today's American-inspired globalization springs not from the 1980s but from two earlier moments in 1919 and 1945, both of which ended in failure. By recharting the geography of this history, Smith brings the politics—and the limits—of contemporary globalization sharply into focus.
Neil Smith is Distinguished Professor of Anthropology and Geography and Director of the Center for Place, Culture and Politics at the Graduate Center, City University of New York. His recent books include Uneven Development (1990) and New Urban Frontier (1996).
"Important, far-reaching and unsettling book.”—Baltimore Sun
“More than a biography, this is an intellectually invigorating challenge to the assumption that globalism is a process that can be divorced from specific territorial and political objectives.”—Ronald Steel The Nation
"This is a dazzling and original book, the product of painstaking and meticulous research, artfully conceived and beautifully written. Given the complexity of the account, its breathtaking range, and the number of vitally important issues to which it speaks, it is written with a clarity that I can only applaud."—Derek Gregory, author of Colonizing Geographics

"This is a very good book…. It should become a major work not only of reference but also for reflection on how foreign and commercial policy got shaped in the United States in the first half of the twentieth century."—David Harvey, author of Spaces of Hope

AAG Globe Book Award, Association of American Geographers

Henry Adams Prize, Society for History in the Federal Government

Los Angeles Times Book Award (Biography), Los Angeles Times

14

Frustrated Globalism, Compromise Geographies:
Designing the United Nations

 

With war drawing to a close, attention in the U.S. State Department increasingly turned toward the design of the United Nations, the jewel in the crown of the postwar American Lebensraum and the fulcrum on which the second moment of the American Century balanced. Disabling Germany and shaking loose the colonies for U.S. trade inevitably involved compromise with the larger goal of immunizing the global economy from local, geographically rooted squabbles; territorial considerations were a necessary evil if geography was to be taken out of the postwar political equation. It was otherwise with the United Nations. As Roosevelt and the State Department contemplated its design, they could give full vent to their ambition for a global organization devoted to securing a "permanent peace." They knew they had a second chance at Woodrow Wilson's "global Monroe Doctrine" and a more realistic version of the League of Nations, and they were determined to avoid Wilson's mistakes.

This is not at all to say that the UN was designed out of pure altruism. Hastened on the one hand by war and by the fear that the 1930s depression would return after the war, when no longer staved off by military mobilization, and on the other hand by a recognition of the expanded scale of economic production and the proliferation of U.S. multinational interests, Roosevelt in the early 1940s voiced the ambition of global power more clearly than any U.S. president ever had. This vision only became sharper as the war continued and the unprecedented scale of U.S. postwar political and economic power came into view. Therefore, although Roosevelt and the State Department sometimes disagreed on the details, they clearly understood the United Nations' role as a pivotal institution for postwar U.S. globalism. High-sounding rhetoric about global peace simultaneously conveyed a more self-interested ambition for global political and military stability so that economic growth could continue unhampered. The UN was to be the organization that successfully absorbed and displaced local territorial and political conflicts, decoupled them from the free operation of a world market in which the United States inevitably dominated. Unlike any of its predecessors, the American Empire was to be market based.

That Secretary of State Dean Acheson should have exalted Bowman as one of the "architects of the United Nations" has a certain irony1—not because the praise was unworthy, but because as Bowman's own amalgam of nationalism and conservatism grew more brittle after 1944, he remained thoroughly committed to building an institution that became a lightning rod for reactionary American nationalists. While he barked at the New Deal for attracting "the lunatic fringe of social progress,"2 pilloried the U.S. government as the major threat to freedom in domestic social affairs, and excoriated any whiff of federal intrusion into free enterprise science, he remained an internationalist and devoted his deepest political hopes and energies to the establishment of the UN, which, to many Americans in this period, was akin to world government, the emasculation of the nation, the ultimate political evil.

It is tempting to see Bowman's unswerving commitment to the UN as simply the residue of a lost liberalism, the remnants of a Wilsonianism otherwise cuckolded by the fervent conservative nationalism unleashed toward war's end. But that misreads Bowman and Wilson both, insofar as Bowman, like many aging Wilsonians, easily donned much of the same conservative nationalism. It was a nationalism that in no way denied his internationalism but lay coiled within it. Thus the story of the UN's origins is generally told as a distillation, liberally or conservatively inflected, of just such political dichotomies—nationalism versus internationalism, liberalism versus conservatism, idealism versus pragmatism—slipping toward cold war conflict.3 This orthodoxy already expresses a distinctly American postgeographic ambition, whereas if the origins of the UN are reread through the lenses of a contested global geography, a very different vision emerges.

The central dilemma faced by U.S. postwar planners was how to design a global organization that followed broadly democratic principles and recognized certain universal rights, regardless of geography, while ensuring as best they could that this organization would work for their own nationally defined interests. To be sure, the same dilemma was faced by all other national governments, but insofar as the United Nations was designed first and foremost within the State Department, the question of U.S. power is paramount. In the end, the abstraction from geography proved unsustainable, and the contradiction between universality (a world beyond geography) and particularity could be resolved or at least rationalized only by a resort to partisan political geographies. Far from escaping geography, the UN became its prisoner. The geographies built into the structure of the postwar United Nations are alive and multidimensional, mutable and partial, and the story of these constitutive geographies provides a sharp etching of the central contradictions not so much of globalism per se but of twentieth-century U.S. globalism in particular, as it evolved from Wilson to Roosevelt and beyond. It is not that particularism won out over universalism, nationalism over internationalism, but rather that a nationally specific and quite prejudicial internationalism defined the core of what the UN became. In the United Nations the second moment of American globalism came face to face with its own contradictions.

 

"The Unhappy Past": Beyond Geography?

The postgeographic ambition of Roosevelt's new world order embodied in the UN did not spring onto the global diplomatic stage full grown. As late as August 1941, Roosevelt was reticent even in private about anything smacking of a revived League of Nations, arguing to Churchill that such an organization would be futile and that the United States and the United Kingdom would simply have to run the world themselves. He rebuffed more ambitious appeals from his advisers and eliminated from the Atlantic Charter the original British call for an "effective international organization" in favor of weaker, noncommittal language. Still, it was Roosevelt at the end of 1941 who coined the name "United Nations" in the final edit of the United Nations Declaration,4 although at this point the label referred not to an organization but to the "associated powers" opposing Germany, Japan, and their allies.

But his aspirations evolved quickly. Many in the State Department assumed by 1942 that international administration would comprise some kind of regional power-sharing arrangements, and FDR's early notion of the Four Policemen—the United States, Britain, the USSR, and China—was at first conceived in regional terms. Each of the four powers would have primary responsibility for peace and security in its own ward. No exact continental and intercontinental divisions among the Four Policemen were ever enunciated, however, and by the time a more precise political cartography would have been necessary, Roosevelt had something more ambitious in mind. By 1943 regional security divisions among the Four Policemen were subordinated to a more global organization. Secretary of State Cordell Hull's triumph in Moscow in October of that year was principally that he convinced the British and Soviet leaders to sign on to such an overarching world organization, however vaguely its structure and functions were yet conceived. There "will no longer be need for spheres of influence, for alliances, for balance of power, or any other of the special arrangements through which, in the unhappy past, the nations strove to safeguard their security or to promote their interests," Hull enthused.5

There could hardly be a clearer statement of the way in which the UN, as the administrative and political centerpiece of the American Lebensraum, was intended to spirit international diplomacy beyond national differences, beyond geography. Glimpsed here is not simply an internationalism but a globalism in which the significance of geographical boundaries and territorial sovereignty exclusions are circumscribed by a world organization. The intent was nothing less than the unhitching of specific geographical claims and territorial struggles from the central dynamics of the global economic intercourse. The UN would mediate geographically rooted struggles, conflicts, and skirmishes while global commerce proceeded apace. If this reactive vision stopped short of Wendell Willkie's "world government," it nonetheless articulated the implicit claim that geography—more accurately, political, cultural, and economic differences written into world geography—had been the major impediment in the past to global peace and prosperity, the cause of Hull's "unhappy past." "America's rise to globalism" was ipso facto an escape from geography.6

This was a quintessentially American panorama of global prospects. British and Soviet postwar aspirations pointed toward very different kinds of international organization, rooted in more geographical calculations. Britain had been an enthusiastic member of the failed League of Nations and remained dedicated to some kind of international security organization, but the country's keenest interest lay in the defense of a widespread empire and a peaceful Europe, and the expansiveness of U.S. ambitions for such an organization was deeply threatening. As Roosevelt's vision evolved away from a regional toward a global structure, Churchill conceded as little as possible, preferring the establishment of several continent-scale regional bodies. Despite the anticommunist paranoia harbored by Churchill and many U.S. conservatives, Stalin's postwar territorial ambitions were more regionally constrained than those of either of the other leaders. His 1920s slogan, "socialism in one country," more accurately described Soviet aspirations in the early 1940s than any lingering rhetoric about world communism. Surrounded by capitalist nations, many sustaining an economic embargo, and with Hitler's army having encroached to within artillery range of Moscow, Soviet interests were sharply focused on securing their postwar borders, and this strongly disposed Stalin toward a regional structure for global security. Stalin's ambivalence about a world organization therefore sprang from several sources in addition to his geographical disinterest in many parts of the world. He sensed the utility of such an organization for American expansionism, understood that capitalist rules of global economic intercourse would surely govern, and saw that the Soviet Union as the only "socialist" state could easily constitute a permanent minority of one. Yet at the same time, with the USSR having sustained by far the worst losses of the war and with the German military in full retreat by 1943, he could expect a prominent place in any such world organization.

The United Nations Charter was hatched in the wartime State Department. Serious deliberations commenced in 1942, but it remained a secondary concern until the Moscow summit. By 1944, anticipation of some kind of postwar world organization whipped the American public into a Woodrow Wilson revival, resulting in loud calls for a new and better League of Nations and the demand that the peace not be botched this time. For some, that meant not repeating the league experiment at all, while for others it meant a far more replete globalism than even Wilson had envisaged. Still others warned against such pie in the sky, insisting that only naked force after the war would ensure peace. A near moribund Woodrow Wilson Foundation sprang back to life.7 By August 1944, on the eve of the four-power Dumbarton Oaks conference on postwar arrangements, the United Nations Organization became the central public concern except for the progress of war itself. It was the issue on which Roosevelt campaigned for a fourth term that November, and the Yalta negotiations three months later sharpened expectations for the climactic "United Nations Conference" in San Francisco in April 1945.

Roosevelt's ambition for a globalism unhinged from specific geographical interests was as heady as it was optimistic, but squabbles over the founding of the United Nations from 1942 to 1945 seriously circumscribed that ambition. It is often held that power politics and the slide toward "spheres of influence" dashed the American idealism of a world organization. The trivial, binary geographies of cold war ideology were for nearly a half century premised on precisely this originary myth. "The Western statesmen failed . . . to face up to the ruthlessness of the emerging postwar Soviet might," insists Zbigniew Brzezinski, "and in the ensuing clash between Stalinist power and Western naïvete, power prevailed." If the clarity of this diagnosis is enhanced by temporal distance from the events of the day, it nonetheless reflects a conservative pattern of response to Roosevelt after 1944. Bowman himself advanced the naïveté thesis: FDR's profoundest blunder, he came to believe, lay in "saying 'nice kitty' to Stalin" in the erroneous belief that he could charm and flatter "Uncle Joe" into compliance with American aims.8

But this innocence narrative concerning the postwar United States and the portrayal of the USSR as global predator is unconvincing in several respects. First, the political contest was not railroaded into a one-dimensional struggle between Stalin and a combined "West" until at least after 1945, much as naïveté theorists believe it perhaps ought to have been. Second, Roosevelt understood Churchill's defense of empire as an equal if not greater threat to U.S. globalism than the USSR, and the British prime minister was not above siding with Stalin on territorial questions if it restricted U.S. expansionism. Likewise, third, even after the 1945 UN conference, Stalin may have been "the least inclined . . . to insist on the partition of Europe."9 More important, this conservative shibboleth takes the liberal postgeographic rhetoric at face value, and in accepting Roosevelt's global ambition as legitimate is blind to its constitutive geography.

The evolution of a global vision in postwar planning after 1942 grew out of a resilient regionalism in U.S. foreign policy that can be traced back to the Monroe Doctrine and to isolationist ideologies of the 1920s and 1930s. Postwar regional and global visions were not inherently opposed at first but rather evolved in symbiotic connection. Roosevelt, Bowman, and others happily embraced a combination of regional and global ambitions. But as preparations moved toward a climax, the contradiction between regional and global strategies erupted within the U.S. administration, and the appropriate geographical scale of postwar power became the focus of a major crisis in U.S. strategy regarding the UN.10 Bowman sat at the fulcrum of this debate. He was too shrewd to entertain the vanity that U.S. power led in any way beyond geography and understood that U.S. globalism was itself a geographical strategy. The contest for power in the UN was asymmetric, he sensed. By setting the UN up as a clearinghouse for territorial disputes, U.S. globalism recognized a divestment of the country's power directly into the world market. Bowman's coining of "the American Lebensraum" therefore represented an appropriately spatial lexicon for this ambitious new globalism, and the UN was its political arm.

 

Globalism versus Regionalism: A Federalist UN?

The question of a replacement organization for the League of Nations arose almost immediately in the State Department's Advisory Committee on Postwar Foreign Policy. Undersecretary Sumner Welles proposed the initial scheme. A "United Nations Authority" would be led by the four major powers (the United States, the United Kingdom, the USSR, and China) and would include a broad membership ensuring good regional representation. It was a rudimentary scheme by later standards, but from the start the State Department planners envisaged an organization that went well beyond simply questions of security.11 A separate subcommittee on International Organization (IO) was establish in June 1942 to begin drafting protocols for the parent organization, and while it was the most focused of the postwar subcommittees, the issues it dealt with were no less complex.12 Organization membership was crucial: who would be included and who excluded? In the first place it was simply assumed that nation-states were the exclusive representatives of the world's citizenry and therefore only they could attain membership in what was now called the United Nations Organization. Members of the IO subcommittee never seriously entertained the possibility of membership by social, political, or economic organizations or other nongovernmental bodies that did not enjoy territorial state authority. But who then constituted a sovereign state? Established republics were obviously included, and so the IO subcommittee quickly turned its attention to dependent territories. But how was the line to be drawn between eligible and ineligible states and peoples? The subcommittee excluded British Empire possessions from consideration, assuming them under the British flag, but was otherwise very inclusive. Hull thought them too inclusive, too ambitious on behalf of peoples not yet "worthy and ready" for self-government. Numerous other protocols on all aspects of the organization were drafted and redrafted, and by March 1943 a draft charter was produced. Washington visits by Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden and Prime Minister Winston Churchill of Britain flushed out not only British thinking—they agreed on strong police powers and the need to revive international economic trade after the war, but disagreed about trusteeship and therefore membership—but also Roosevelt's.

The "tragedy of Wilson" was always somewhere "within the rim" of Roosevelt's consciousness,13 and he knew that Wilson's fatal mistake lay in not explicitly protecting the Monroe Doctrine in the League of Nations charter. FDR therefore sought to juggle both a global and a regional scale of international administration in the new world organization. As for the State Department, Wilson's internationalism survived there too but was much weakened. While the conservative Hull remained largely unreconstructed in his emphasis on a global organization, a range of other views also occurred. Early on, Bowman shared surprising ground with isolationists: "We can stand on the Monroe Doctrine as a moral principle," he warranted even as Hitler drove toward the English Channel, "only so long as we do not militarily occupy Latin American countries and do not join in military control in Europe." (Since World War I, of course, U.S. military incursions had been made into seven Latin American republics, but that was not on the rim of Bowman's consciousness.) The scale of Bowman's Wilsonian ambition had shrunk, and he now echoed Madison in the eighteenth-century Federalist debates, albeit at a global scale, in averring that the "world is too large for its affairs to be run from a central place and by a central authority." Rather than Wilson's global Monroe Doctrine, he envisaged a series of regional "Monroes." Postwar "regional associations" would be the backbone of peace; the "rebuilding process" would be on a "continental" rather than a global scale, he advised Herbert Hoover.14

Such a limited territorial scope for postwar political and economic expansion directly reflected earlier discussions in the Council on Foreign Relations, where the 1941 War and Peace Studies discussions began to conceive of U.S. power spanning a "Grand Area." Conceived at the height of German military success in the early part of the war, the Grand Area assumed a divided world after the war even if the Allies won. The Grand Area included the Western Hemisphere, the Atlantic and Pacific economies, and explicitly included China, Japan, and Southeast Asia. It was in effect a non-German bloc that deliberately split Europe and was intended as a subglobal base for postwar U.S. economic prosperity.15 Even before the council became integrated into the State Department, the notion of the Grand Area influenced early thinking about the geography of postwar reconstruction. Although the regional assumption lingered well into the war, the definition of the Grand Area and U.S. regional interests evolved considerably when the U.S. became a belligerent.

This prospective geography of U.S. economic influence bore directly on the political question of the geographical scope and scale of the proposed international organization. At first the issue was not contentious. When Churchill came to Washington in 1943, he was increasingly defensive about postwar plans, sensing that not only the empire but also Britain's status as the leading world power was now in question. He was no more keen than Roosevelt to rush into highly publicized proclamations about a new world organization, but he did propose regional councils for Europe and Asia following the war.16 He made no mention of councils for Africa or the Americas, but if this model were generalized, Britain could be expected to use its empire possessions to assume a leading role in most such councils. British regionalist proposals therefore represented a thinly veiled defense of worldwide empire against U.S. globalism—divide and conquer.

State Department officials recognized the politics of this geographical strategy, but given Churchill's adamance, they did not address it directly, preferring to fashion their own counterproposal. Roosevelt now had a broader organization in mind with a stronger centralized administration, and although he balked at U.S. membership in a European council, he endorsed British regionalism as long as it was clear that regional councils were subordinate to the "big four." Welles remained wedded to a strong regional presence in the world organization, and he had the IO subcommittee weave Roosevelt's and Churchill's proposals into a "draft constitution," submitted to the president on 26 March 1943. The subcommittee now proposed three levels of administration: an executive body of the four big powers, concerned with security and committed to unanimity; a council of eleven, including seven regional representatives from Europe, Latin America, the Far East, the Middle East, and the British Empire, as well as the big four; and an international conference of all member nations.17 The eventual structure of the UN can be traced to this document.

Bowman began to renounce a regional approach by early 1943. A "geographical extension of responsibility" was inevitable for the United States after the war, he now conceded, but the real "question was where it would stop." He now grasped the need "to make a sudden shift into a new world order" and became more centrally involved in the UN discussions. He was sufficiently committed to a powerful executive committee to be heartened by Eden's ambivalence about a regional rather than a global security structure, but he worried with conservatives that the "Four Policemen" smacked too much of big power domination. He went so far as to propose that the national model of the United States and its relationship to component states should be the explicit model for a world organization, and evoked U.S. history from the Federalist debates to the Civil War to remind committee members that even with a common language, securing unity and a common document was difficult.18

Bowman was not the only subcommittee member who envisaged a United Nations charter modeled on the U.S. Constitution, but he was the most ardent by far. When Hull now presided over a redraft of the UN constitution—he felt it conceded too much to Churchill's regionalism—Bowman launched the discussion with a lengthy and extraordinary speech, as significant for its waywardness as for its crystallization of State Department thinking . They should surely start, he claimed, by establishing "certain self-evident truths" universal to all nations and peoples. "Nearly a fourth of the text of the Declaration of Independence," he pointed out, "is devoted to an examination of this question." Where Jefferson could identify only four such truths, Bowman happily amassed eighteen. These ranged from clichés about "the love of peace" and his vapid personal fixation on "experiment and principle" to assorted negative truths. If neither justice nor democratic government nor sovereign equality was a universal, the sanctity of nationhood, "national identity," and national "individuality" were. And one can only imagine the response when he wandered into a discussion of overpopulation and raised U.S. xenophobia and anti-immigration hysteria to the status of self-evident global truth: "We cannot receive millions of Chinese into the United States who will lower our standard of living and introduce a non-assimilable element that goes contrary to the self-evident truths that a strong nation requires. . . . The responsibility for the Chinese birth rate or the Indian birth rate and for their related social theories or values does not rest upon the United States."19

This speech was remarkable not just for exhibiting the instability of the State Department vision for the United Nations Organization as late as June 1943 but also for exposing, in dramatic fashion, the nationalist assumptions, interests, and phobias that undergirded the internationalist vision. Nonetheless, two other salient features loitered amid the windbaggery, and they were more lasting. First, his opening self-evident truth was not about security at all but about commerce, "the principle of our reciprocal trade agreements": "Trade," he averred, "is a bigger prize than ever before in world history." But second, having made the U.S. Constitution the model for the UN, he had to confront directly the geographical dilemma of the Federalist debates, namely, the balance of power between the Union as a whole and its members, and he now made a decisive shift. No Madisonian doubts remained. His seventeenth self-evident truth led to the inference that the desired universality "seems to drive us farther and farther away from regionalism as a basis for international organization" insofar as "the regional is the distinctively local."20

This connection between economic interests and the global scale of political organization had always guided free trader Cordell Hull, and Bowman was now enlisted to flesh the vision out. He was now adamant that U.S. economic self-interest take priority over the political; the crucial economic question was: "What would our trader people gain or lose by any proposed economic combination" in Europe? What kind of economic confederation should the United States encourage? Only after the economic questions were clarified should the State Department consider security issues, and only after that should it consider specific regional proposals: "Mr. Churchill's 'Council of Europe'" should be examined when the department was in a position to judge "whether it is dangerous for the United States with respect to both trade and policy in Europe and the world generally after the war."21

On this question at least, the State Department now found itself in broad agreement with the Treasury Department, which was already preparing for the Bretton Woods conference, responsible for establishing international financial machinery that included the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and eventually the GATT trade agreements. The work of the treasury planners perhaps expressed in purest form the aspirations that America's postwar economic Lebensraum get beyond geography,22 whereas the State Department, concerned with more direct political matters and in no small part influenced by Bowman, always had to balance economic priority against the need to fix the geography of postwar reconstruction. Bowman now hammered the point home. In a subsequent meeting of the streamlined Informal Agenda Group, when the conversation threatened to reprise yet again (at Hull's guiding) the structure of the League of Nations and U.S. responses to it, a frustrated and animated Bowman led the subcommittee to what Hull consented was the "core" question: "The British Empire had of necessity to interest itself in world politics because it was territorially and commercially universal in its trading interests," Bowman stated. "It is easy to see why Great Britain would join a world league. But what are the United States interests that correspond?" The United States trades everywhere, he pointed out, but under what conditions?23

The core question, then, was this: How should the political geography of the new organization be designed to enhance global U.S. economic interests in the postwar world? Churchill's regionalism had brought U.S. globalism into focus at precisely the time when Britain was beginning to take "the role of junior partner in the Anglo-American alliance,"24 and in the design of the United Nations the question of regional scales of organization vis-à-vis a global scale would never again be far from the surface.

 

"Here, Again, World Organization on a New Basis": Moscow

While Britain's outlook on international organization was well understood by 1943, the State Department lacked serious knowledge about Soviet thinking. Efforts to fill that lacuna were hampered by the personal and organizational turmoil that increasingly paralyzed the State Department in mid-1943. The causes were various. Only haphazardly did Roosevelt involve his secretary of state in foreign policy, and this demoralized and frustrated many in the department. Hull's inveterate caution in turn frustrated Roosevelt, but Hull was kept on largely because of his skill at building bridges with congressional Republicans and the Senate. Hull also clashed openly with his undersecretary. A dashing patrician with Roosevelt's ear, Welles's occasional public depictions of postwar schemes gave Hull apoplexy. Meetings involving the department's two top officials were tense, and the friction reverberated when lower-level officials and staffers took sides. "Sabotage . . . obstruction, understaffing and rival ambitions" permeated a dysfunctional department, Bowman concluded, in a set of secret memos that tracked the rising departmental discord in 1943. Bowman's natural inclination was to side with the more conservative and unassuming Hull, but he was also frustrated by Hull's lack of leadership, and whatever his patrician arrogance, Welles at least wanted to get things done.25

Bowman did not stay above the fray. Emerging as one of two or three leading advisers in the department, he found himself increasingly pitted against the top technical specialist on the full-time staff, the research director Leo Pasvolsky, to whom he had taken an instant dislike. The simmering feud revealed Bowman's most distasteful side. Pasvolsky was "Hull's man," he sniffed at their first meeting, a "foreign-born Polish or Russian Jew who . . . made himself useful to Hull" and played "a cautious, cat-like game." Bowman saw Pasvolsky as "dangerous," given his "foreign racial origin," and he may even "have communistic ideas," Bowman recorded, however ludicrously. Although he grudgingly came to appreciate Pasvolsky's "prodigious energy and colossal memory" and intellect, this only accentuated Bowman's resentment. A "struggle for power" emerged among Bowman, Welles, and Pasvolsky by late 1942 over the role and direction of the Advisory Committee.26

Despite Hull's failing health and alertness, Bowman always treated him respectfully, and as Bowman drew closer to the secretary in the spring of 1943, Hull confided his bitterness with Welles and Roosevelt. The denouement came in the summer, with Hull angry at his undersecretary's obdurate insistence on regional rather than global postwar organization. He suspected that Roosevelt was not getting a representative picture of the State Department's growing global focus and was outraged by Welles's continued public divulgences. After consulting Bowman and Myron Taylor, a friend of Roosevelt's who had made his first fortune in cotton milling before moving on to the chair of U.S. Steel and eventually the U.S. ambassadorship to the Vatican, the secretary succeeded in having Roosevelt curb Welles directly. Hull quickly dissolved the Advisory Committee, Welles's power base, and Bowman now distanced himself from Welles, whom he suspected of "going off the deep end."27 Press accounts began to report rumors of a factional State Department.

Welles was personally and politically vulnerable. He was now the target of a Washington whispering campaign insinuating "immorality" and "indiscretion." The source was William Bullitt, a miscreant upper-crust Philadelphian who had served as ambassador to Moscow and Paris in the 1930s and who thought himself better suited to State Department leadership than Welles and said so to Roosevelt. By August 1943 the feud between Welles and Hull was an open secret, and scandal surrounding Welles threatened to come out in the press. It seems that a drunken Welles, who had periodic sexual liaisons with men for much of his life, had propositioned a sleeping-car porter several years earlier on a presidential train.28 Discreet homosexuality among the patrician classes was one thing in the ruling morality of the day; propositioning "Negro" sleeping-car porters, quite another. Roosevelt eventually accepted Welles's resignation.

"Welles forgot Machiavelli's advice regarding the favor of princes," Bowman concluded when he saw his own star rising in direct consequence. Horrified by Welles's homosexuality, Bowman had survived a close association with the undersecretary and backed the right horse in the end. As Hull reorganized the department, Bowman's loyalty was rewarded by inclusion in the small, influential inner group of postwar advisers, which became markedly more conservative in Welles's absence, Pasvolsky notwithstanding. Bowman's position was further enhanced with the appointment of Edward Stettinius as the new undersecretary, reaffirming Roosevelt's reliance on prominent figures from the capitalist classes. A manager more than a policy leader, Stettinius set about a departmental reorganization and chose Bowman and John Lee Pratt as his chief advisers. Bowman found Stettinius congenial if naive politically, a judgment shared by press cartoonists across the country.29

With the personnel crisis relaxing, the administration was under increasing public pressure to show more of its hand on postwar international organization. Roosevelt had supported the United Nations Food and Agriculture Conference in 1943 and aligned the United States with the UN Relief and Rehabilitation Administration, but these were easily seen as sideshows to the main event. As the clamor rose to a fever pitch, Walter Lippmann published U.S. Foreign Policy, which vied with Willkie's One World for the top of the best-seller list. Against Willkie's ambitious globalism, Lippmann offered a cold if equally internationalist "realism" about world power. By one reviewer, he was praised for having "tossed overboard the last vestige of well-meaning but essentially futile Wilsonianism." Hull and Roosevelt knew they had to stem the tide of this rising conservative "realism" and used a Moscow foreign ministers' meeting in October 1943 to include the Soviet Union in the discussion.30

The Moscow summit was a big deal, promising the first wartime agreement among the United States, the USSR, Britain, and China and raising the possibility of a four-way agreement on building a United Nations organization. Hull knew that a successful meeting would open a new phase of postwar planning, and he eagerly anticipated the chance to crown his own diplomatic career, seeing an opportunity to step out from Roosevelt's shadow. He took a revised copy of the State Department's draft constitution for the UN organization to the summit, but before embarking for Moscow, he held a last-minute briefing with Stettinius, Bowman, and Pasvolsky. Pasvolsky advised that economic reconstruction, especially in the USSR, should be a priority, while Bowman insisted that territorial agreements should be made now with Molotov and Stalin to minimize Soviet territorial gains in Eastern Europe resulting from Red Army victories over retreating German armies. Yet Hull knew that Soviet foreign secretary Molotov was in a mood to talk only about the war and especially about the long promised but always delayed second front that would take the murderous pressure off Soviet forces and civilians. Hull had also never flown before, largely out of fear.31

The public Four Nations Declaration, drafted in the State Department and issued at Moscow, was relatively innocuous. The fourth of seven points specified a principle of membership in the postwar international organization, namely, "the sovereign equality of all states," a phrase Bowman claimed to have put in final form.32 The most controversial issue was not the wording at all but U.S. insistence that it be a four-power rather than a three-power agreement. The USSR had never declared war on Japan, and a joint declaration with China raised the risk that Japan would target the USSR in the east, where it was wide open. The United States wanted Chinese inclusion, because, short of revolution, the country would oppose the interests of the huge socialist state along its northwestern frontier, yet also oppose European colonialism. Churchill was indignant that the Chinese—"the pigtails," in his racist disparagement—be included on anything like equal footing with Britain, but he had already reluctantly acquiesced, so when Molotov refused to sign alongside China, citing the absence of its representatives from the conference, Hull revealed that he had already gained Chinese consent for the document, and Molotov too relented. The Chinese ambassador in Moscow was called in to cosign.

Roosevelt shared Churchill's evaluation of Chinese backwardness if not his overt racism, but he calculated that in the event of major postwar tension between the United States and the USSR, tripartite power would leave Britain as a potential power broker. China's inclusion killed not just two but several birds with a single stone: Roosevelt added what he smugly assumed would be a reliable ally; diminished potential British power; prevented an Old World alliance between the USSR and Britain against U.S. globalism; and blunted liberal criticism at home aimed at big power domination of the postwar world.33 Magnanimity toward the "lesser" powers and peoples of the world doubled as strict self-interest.

Public support in the United States for the postwar organization was widespread, and it built to a crescendo with quick Senate approval. It was especially gratifying to Hull that the Senate measure was engineered by the young Texan and chair of the Foreign Relations Committee, Tom Connally, whom Hull had cultivated in the State Department Advisory Committee. The folly of nearly a quarter century might yet be righted. Bowman, too, was delighted. "Here again," he breathed, with a great sigh of historical relief, "we have the very beginnings of a world organization on a new basis." Having not abandoned Wilsonianism with the same drama as Lippmann but having mined and hardened the pure pragmatism of Wilson's idealism, he remained captivated by the prospect of international political organization. He heard news of the Moscow agreement directly from Roosevelt, days ahead of its announcement to the Senate, and was thrilled to have the arduous State Department work come to some sort of palpable, public result. But he was also irked that Hull's well-deserved success eclipsed the work of Welles, and therefore of the IO subcommittee. It was "our documents" that Hull took to Moscow, because "he had nothing else to take," Bowman complained.34

Four-power adherence to "world organization on a new basis" was bought at a price, however. U.S. insistence on Chinese inclusion signaled the willingness of the most globally inclined of the powers to resort to regional self-interest in designing the world organization when it was strategically advantageous. Playing the China card was the most explicit expression thus far of the contradiction between regionalism and globalism in U.S. strategy. Its significance was not missed by the Allies, and a precedent was set.

 

The Triumph of "Conservative Nationalism"

At the end of 1942 the impatient editors of the liberal New Republic complained that the State Department was, as Robert Divine has put it, "honeycombed with conservatives intent on preserving the status quo," and that the president should more actively guide foreign policy himself.35 This conservatism was reaffirmed in the following year, but what the New Republic editors failed to grasp, and what many liberal historians have likewise missed ever since, is that this conservatism itself embraced an evolving Wilsonian activism, most evident perhaps in Bowman and Hull, and had no intention of maintaining any kind of status quo. It was an activist conservatism—more properly a conservative liberalism—whose self-interested globalism was simultaneously progressive and nationalist. Bowman remained the "gradual revolutionary" in the early 1940s, but with a clearer reconciliation of the fit rather than the contradiction between national self-interest and globalism. Further, it was a conservatism that lurked just below the surface of Roosevelt's own liberal rhetoric on foreign policy. This activist, conservative nationalism developed nowhere more clearly than in the context of the embryonic United Nations in late 1943 and 1944.

The Moscow agreement was a good start, but Roosevelt now wanted Stalin brought into direct negotiations. Although Roosevelt had met Churchill five times in the previous two years, he would not meet Stalin until Tehran in November 1943. The main business there was naturally military—the second front was now promised for spring 1944, Soviet involvement in the Pacific war was discussed, and much more—but postwar arrangements in Indochina and Europe, especially Poland, also occupied them. Roosevelt, pushing a more global agenda, urged the confiscation of Indochina from France, while Stalin, attendant to affairs on his own borders, pushed for a realignment of Polish frontiers at the expense of Germany. Churchill opposed the former as a bad anticolonial precedent but could offer little resistance to the latter in light of massive Soviet losses in the war and the confiscation of Soviet territory sanctioned by the 1919 Paris Peace Conference, to which the USSR was not even invited. Roosevelt protested too but ducked a showdown on Poland.

The only significant discussion of international organization at Tehran came in private talks between Stalin and Roosevelt, where Roosevelt attempted to divide and conquer. He presented Stalin with the State Department's UN draft constitution for a tripartite organization comprising an assembly, an executive council, and the Four Policemen, but Stalin responded that he preferred a regional model of the sort he knew Churchill favored, whereupon Roosevelt invoked guaranteed congressional opposition to potential U.S. military responsibility in Europe. Why, Stalin came back, would that objection apply to the regional scheme alone when a global organization would also imply such responsibility? Roosevelt dissembled that he envisaged the commitment of only U.S. naval and air forces, not ground forces, in Europe, but Stalin also insisted that the Four Policemen proposal would draw the ire of the small nations, especially in Europe, where there would be additional resentment over the superior role given the Chinese. This too inclined him toward a regional scheme.

This was a setback for Roosevelt, but not for long. Whether the Soviet leader was sufficiently impressed by Roosevelt's entreaties and the genuine differences he stressed between the U.S. and British positions, or whether Stalin softened with the promise of the second front, on the last day of the conference he, again privately, informed Roosevelt that he was becoming convinced about the necessity of global rather than regional organization. Not only had a delighted Roosevelt separated Churchill and Stalin on an issue central to U.S. postwar interests, but also he was now in a position to further clarify his vision to the U.S. public without fear of alienating Stalin. Seeking to preserve his advantage, he cautioned Stalin quite dishonestly that it was too early to discuss this issue with Churchill, when of course it had been an evolving topic between the British and U.S. leaders for nearly two years.36

In his refusal to back prewar Polish boundaries against Stalin, Roosevelt was quite calculating. Only the most naive had much doubt that the Soviets intended to retake territory lost after 1918 and probably more, and this is why Roosevelt fought so hard to get Stalin's assent to the Atlantic Charter. But did he really want to side with the old codger of the British Empire to oppose Stalin's claims on his own borders? The Atlantic Charter disavowed such territorial transfers prior to the end of war, until a United Nations organization could arbitrate such claims, but a realistic Roosevelt knew better, seeking only to keep such transfers to a minimum. The westward realignment of Soviet borders into territory given Poland after World War I was inevitable in any Allied victory. It is not that Roosevelt was above resorting to geographical resolutions himself but that the greater priority for an American globalism lay in establishing a world organization. It made little sense to sacrifice that goal by wading into a messy and presumably unwinnable territorial dispute approached according to Old World rules. Stalin's concession on world rather than regional organization may even have been a quid pro quo for Roosevelt's refusal to dig his heels in on Poland.

With Stalin broadly on board after Tehran, the next step was to tack back against British recalcitrance—Churchill's in particular—and fill in the details of what the UN organization would look like. While in London with the Stettinius mission in April 1944, Bowman had a chance to negotiate directly with Churchill about his plan for a "Council of Europe." Churchill at first stuck doggedly to a regional rather than a global scheme for world organization, but pushed by Bowman to explain what authority would bind his different regional councils, the prime minister eventually sketched on a piece of paper a "tripod of world peace." It comprised three regional security councils—the Western Hemisphere, Europe, and Asia—and a "Supreme Council," under the authority of the three major powers (China was excluded), acting as a largely independent umbrella. He handed the paper to Bowman, then grabbed it back to append a "world court." He did not oppose a world organization as such, he insisted, only the vague plans that had accompanied such proposals, and he concluded with a carefully worded appeal to the "diaphanous idealism" for which Bowman was known. They had to try, he said, quoting Tennyson's poetic longing for a parliament of man, to "faintly trust the larger hope."37

Churchill's willingness to talk about a global organization and even to sketch a design marked a significant step forward, even if his "tripod" remained narrowly concerned with security and left the regional councils in an ambiguous relationship to the global. It was more than the U.S. government had managed to elicit from him before. His plan for the Council of Europe was a different story. In addition to the United States, the USSR, and Britain, the council would include "eight continental nations": France, Italy, Iberia, a federated Scandinavia, the Low Countries, a Balkan federation, a Danubian federation, and Poland. The resemblance to the Renner plan, which had caused such a political firestorm in the United States in 1942, was striking, and Churchill's proposal was not taken seriously in the State Department. Bowman noted only that the plan was not well thought out.38 Whether Churchill even meant to push this proposal earnestly is unclear, for he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He strove to ensure British hegemony in any European council, but his own officials in the Foreign and Colonial Offices increasingly followed Eden in recognizing the lost cause of a defensive regionalism. Churchill's Council of Europe looked transparently like a European bulwark against the USSR and would prove unsupportable. As one Foreign Office official conceded, the regional councils "could only be put into practical effect inside the framework of a World Organisation embracing all states great and small." When a meeting of dominion prime ministers the following month also reaffirmed the global approach, presumably anticipating looser British control, Churchill's regionalism seemed doomed.

After Tehran a jubilant Roosevelt began mulling over appropriate locations for his United Nations Organization (he mused about the Azores) and requested for the first time an organizational plan from the State Department's Informal Agenda Group. Senators and congressmen now clamored for details of postwar plans, and Walter Lippmann even appeared at Bowman's State Department office, desperate for information. But few details were forthcoming, and conservative commentators began to surmise, correctly as it turned out, that secret deals had been made at Tehran. Not even Hull knew the details of Tehran, and he grew suspicious. The naïveté myth began to fill in the resulting vacuum. The government had reached an "extreme low point in the confidence of the country," Bowman reflected in March 1944, and "the good effect of Moscow has been lost." In Tehran, "Stalin was master of the party," he concluded.39

State Department refinements of the draft UN charter continued after the Stettinius mission to London. Department members had envisioned not a standing military but a force seconded from member nations, and they specified for the first time that the four "permanent members" would enjoy the right of veto. Showing it to lawyers (who approved) and senators (who were cagey), Hull took Stettinius, Bowman, and Pasvolsky to present this next iteration to the president in June. A Milquetoast press release revealed little, but newspapers got this point: "State Department experts on international geography and economics" are hard at work, reported the San Francisco Chronicle, and the United States is "the first major nation to present a blueprint for post-war world peace."40 Copies of the "tentative proposals" were sent to the British, Soviet, and Chinese governments in advance of the next step in UN negotiations: a four-power conference in Washington, D.C., in August 1966. Dumbarton Oaks, a walled and gardened Georgian mansion in the Georgetown section of the capital, named for the Scottish ancestral home of its original owner, was to be the venue. For three years—from Quebec to Casablanca, Moscow to Tehran—Americans had watched summits unfold elsewhere, but now the new world show was coming home. So well had the State Department integrated nationalist interests with global ambition that when the proposals for international organization were shown to the powerful Arthur Vandenberg, a conservative Republican senator and prewar isolationist, he was overjoyed. "The striking thing about it," he recorded in his diary, "is that it is so conservative from a nationalist standpoint."41

 

The Resort to Geography: Dumbarton Oaks

The goal of the Dumbarton Oaks conference was to thrash out a draft UN charter. The State Department began final preparations in July 1944, resulting in two working books of compiled materials. Headed by Stettinius, the U.S. delegation included seven senior State Department officials, six generals and admirals, and in bipartisan spirit a lawyer from the Republican National Committee. With the work passing more and more to career officials in the department, only two departmental advisers were included, among them Bowman, who was also reappointed "special adviser" to the secretary of state and president. The British delegation was led by Sir Alexander Cadogan, undersecretary at the Foreign Office, and included Charles Webster and Gladwyn Jebb, with whom Bowman had conferred months earlier in London. The Soviet delegation was headed by the young Andrei Gromyko, freshly appointed to the U.S. ambassadorship. Public anticipation was intense. A potentially damaging broadside by Thomas Dewey, the Republican candidate in the upcoming presidential elections, who felt the conference ratified big four "coercive power," was headed off, and the Soviet insistence on not meeting with the Chinese was eventually resolved by an agreement to meet in two shifts.

When the first phase of the conference, involving the Soviet Union, officially opened on 21 August 1944, the siege of Leningrad had broken, German forces were in broad retreat, and at least in Europe an end loomed to one of the most terrible wars ever waged.42 Rome was in Allied hands, the perennially delayed second front had at last begun in Normandy, and news of the liberation of Paris reached Dumbarton Oaks in midsession. If this now fed British and U.S. urgency about finalizing a postwar agreement, the Soviet Union was enjoying sweeping battlefield success, and every passing day increased their moral and political high ground.

The U.S. delegation knew the conference would be arduous but expected success for their broad design of a world organization and did not anticipate the ferocity of debate that quickly ensued. The conference began smoothly enough. The British and Soviet delegations had prepared their own draft proposals, but with British support the State Department draft was adopted as the base document. Less controversial provisions for an international air force and a human rights protocol were easily passed, and the name "United Nations Organization" was also agreed. But there were thornier issues. In the first place there was a question of purpose that centered on whether the organization would have a purely security function or broader functions. Second, the composition of the executive council, now called the Security Council, had to be fixed. Third, the precise nature of the voting procedures, and especially the extent of veto power in the Security Council, became a major issue. But the question of membership became the most explosive of all.

Differences over the organization's purpose emerged immediately. All were agreed, in light of the failure of the League of Nations and its minimal enforcement capacity, that security functions should be central, but the State Department proposals envisaged a major "social and economic" function for the UN. Security questions were inextricably connected to economic issues, the U.S. delegation argued, and Britain concurred, but for the Soviets, negotiating on the heels of the Bretton Woods agreement, the linking of security and economic issues potentially entwined capitalist economic assumptions with security arrangements. Gromyko eventually conceded, and the Economic and Social Council originally advanced by the State Department was approved.43

The question of Security Council membership would not be resolved so easily. At Tehran, the United States had wedged China into the council, and Britain now used the indeterminate status of occupied France to propose a fifth seat. This issue had arisen at London, where Stettinius responded coolly. Publicly, the uncertain complexion of the French government succeeding the Vichy was raised as an objection; Hull especially disdained the Committee of Liberation, led by a mercurial Charles de Gaulle. But the unspoken geopolitical calculation was more important: a fifth seat to France tilted the weight of the council back to Europe and specifically strengthened Britain's position, whereas the China card made their position weak; despite the dilution of its power the United States acceded to the British proposal, calculating it was a minor retreat. The Soviet government had the most to lose and had consistently rejected a permanent seat for France on the grounds of its powerlessness and defeat in the war, but it too eventually acquiesced. A Security Council seat was earmarked for France. The addition of a fifth "policeman" opened the door for more, and Roosevelt had already planned to counteract any French seat with the insistence on a sixth seat, for Latin American. He had Brazil in mind, but it was a transparent move and was quickly shot down.44

The third major issue concerned the proposed Great Power veto that would operate in the Security Council. Actually, it was the whole voting formula that was in question. State Department drafts had assumed that the Security Council would work on a principle of unanimity: whatever the council voted would be carried out unanimously by the Great Powers. But this would be difficult to square with the congressional prerogative to declare war, and the State Department, out of clear self-interest, was the first to propose a Great Power veto. But the same veto power could enable other powers to block otherwise unanimous action, and prior to Dumbarton Oaks State Department officials began to have doubts. What if the veto was made nonabsolute? If unanimity of action were still retained, the Great Powers might find themselves obliged to contribute to an enforcement operation they had voted against, potentially even an operation against their own national governments.45 Yet an absolute veto would also virtually guarantee that only the smaller nations would become the targets of UN peacekeeping, and the role of the UN as cover for big power coercion would be transparent.

There was a lot of hand wringing in the State Department precisely because there was no clear resolution that best advantaged U.S. interests. In effect, the department wanted the argument both ways: it wanted the prerogative of vetoing proposals antagonistic to U.S. interests yet the ability to prevent vetoes of U.S. global prerogatives. The best compromise the United States delegation could produce, echoing a British suggestion, was that a Great Power's vote should not be counted when it itself was party to a dispute. This still raised the danger that the United States would have to adhere to a policy it opposed, but given the composition of the Security Council, it was a reasonable calculation that such a formula would more often favor than oppose U.S. interests. Roosevelt eventually accepted this position in his preconference meeting with several delegation members.46

But the veto proposal ran into immediate trouble. The British and Soviet delegates could make much the same calculation, and while Cadogan gave initial support, Gromyko refused. The U.S. formula would retain UN power in the face of Great Power aggression, but it also held out the possibility that four of the Security Council powers could gang up on the fifth, and the Soviet delegation, not unreasonably, now felt vulnerable. Instead, the Soviet delegates resolutely supported the State Department's initial proposal, an absolute veto in the Security Council, and this led to the most convoluted wrangling at the Dumbarton Oaks. The British and U.S. representatives shifted their positions during several weeks of intense jockeying, as much because they were genuinely undecided and even muddled about the implications of different veto arrangements as they were opposed to them. The Soviets had no such uncertainties: they consistently and adamantly argued for absolute veto power despite Roosevelt's personal appeal to Stalin. After three weeks, the conference deadlocked on the issue, and it was set aside.47

The final and most delicate issue involved overall UN membership. After only several days of discussion, Gromyko alerted the other delegations that he intended to push for the admission of all sixteen Soviet republics as separate members. Stettinius was so panicked about this request that after consultation with Roosevelt, he pleaded with Gromyko not to publicize this demand lest the whole conference grind to a halt. The conference was subject to disturbingly accurate and systematic press leaks, and Stettinius referred to this request only as "the X matter." He ordered the small U.S. group who had been present at the meeting not to reveal it even to other members of the delegation and tried to expunge it from the minutes too, but Gromyko's protest prevailed. Roosevelt sent another telegram to Stalin, but to little avail. Gromyko argued that the Soviet socialist republics were free to pursue their own foreign policy, and technically this was true. But the larger intent was obviously to offset the very real threat of Soviet isolation in the emerging organization.48

In holding themselves blind to Soviet concerns, Britain and the United States, having already stacked the all-important Security Council with their own allies, acted in naked national self-interest. Whatever their disagreements over colonies, these two governments acted more and more in unison at Dumbarton Oaks, and both already represented de facto regional blocs. Of the base membership for the new organization, the twenty-six signatories of the UN Declaration in 1942, there were three quite distinct groups in addition to the Great Powers. There were eight European nations, all of which had been wholly or partly overrun by Axis forces, five members of the British Commonwealth, and nine "Monroe Doctrine" republics from Latin America. Seven of the last group had experienced U.S. military intervention since the last war, and many were still run by puppet dictatorships installed or shored up by the United States. Britain and the United States therefore had their own inbuilt regional blocs in the new organization, and they worked hard to keep it that way. In "accord with customary practice," the British delegation had consulted with the dominion governments in preparation for the conference and provided periodic briefings throughout; the United States in the person of Cordell Hull likewise "made every effort" to keep the Latin American republics informed, insisting that the new organization "sought to preserve Western Hemispheric principles on a global basis."49 Contrary to the tack eventually taken in the U.S. press, it was not paranoia but unsentimental realism that led Gromyko and Stalin to insist on membership for the Soviet republics. Stalin would have been a fool not to have recognized the way the United Nations was stacking up, and Stalin was a dictator, not a fool. Gromyko warned that the issue would not go away but agreed not to force a definitive solution at Dumbarton Oaks. He was true to his word, raising it again only as a reminder of unfinished business at the end of the conference.

The business of the conference was conducted by three main subcommittees responsible for general, legal, and security aspects of the organization and reporting to a joint steering committee. Bowman was assigned to the first subcommittee, covering "General Questions of International Organization" which included seven Americans (Stettinius, Pasvolsky, and army general Stanley Embick among them), four British delegates including Cadogan, Jebb, and Webster, and three Soviet representatives led by Andrei Gromyko. Bowman also chaired several meetings of the U.S. delegation in the absence of Stettinius or Assistant Secretary Breckenridge Long and helped explore locations for the organization. In addition to the Azores, Roosevelt had tossed out the Pentagon or the Empire State Building as possibilities, but he also felt that the assembly ought to move among continents. Bowman advised against a U.S. location for the United Nations, fearing it would lead to a "Hollywood fiasco," given the "uncontrolled press and radio" that would crowd around, but no decision was made.50

Bowman's most substantive contribution came in regard to an issue with which he was closely tied. He chaired the U.S. committee that adjusted the design of the Economic and Social Council, which he pioneered in the State Department and which facilitated the Soviet concession that the UN's prerogative might go beyond strict security concerns. Less predictably, he also helped draft the human rights provision that had drawn a prickly response from both Britain and the Soviet Union, and even less likely, he first proposed the inclusion of a statement about "sexual equality." Reduced to a purely internal organizational proposal—employment in the UN would not be barred "because of race, nationality, creed or sex"—this remarkable innovation was quietly dropped by the joint steering committee. On the Brazil question, Bowman thought Roosevelt's insistence ill-advised and was part of a group that talked him away from it. Tense debate over its inclusion might well rekindle regionalist aspirations elsewhere, he realized, and in any case Brazil had not assuredly matured into a Great Power; jealousies would be raised among the Spanish-speaking republics, especially Argentina. On the veto issue, he accepted the principle of unanimity on the Security Council but agreed with the provision that parties to a dispute not vote, and he worked to smooth over confusions in the U.S. group about the evolution of their own position. When the veto dispute climaxed in the second week of September, he not only opposed acquiescence to the Soviet Union but was one of only two members of the U.S. delegation who advocated no compromise whatsoever. Several military delegates felt that they may have to accept the Soviet insistence on an absolute veto if the conference was to be saved and short-term military objectives not jeopardized, but Roosevelt was reluctant.51 The United States did not acquiesce, and the deadlock, along with the unresolved question of Soviet republic membership, hung like a pall over the closing of the first phase of the conference in late September.

The second phase of the conference, involving the Chinese, was largely pro forma and treated as a sideshow. Confronted by a shabby mix of polite paternalism and impatience by the United States and Britain, the Chinese delegation had been kept in the wings for more than five weeks and had little leverage. The second shift produced nothing novel. Kept abreast of the first phase of the conference on a daily basis, the Chinese delegation had already expended their major weapon by making routine leaks to James Reston of the New York Times, who, to the horror of Roosevelt and the U.S. delegation, published authoritative updates during first-phase negotiations.52

The conference produced a draft charter that was agreed on among the four powers and could be taken to an inaugural UN convention. It was a compromise with fewer and blunter teeth than first envisaged under Roosevelt's Four Policemen: there were now five permanent seats diluted by six rotating seats on the Security Council and no provision for a standing military, but the economic and social provisions survived. The two loose ends of membership and veto power loomed large. Nevertheless, the U.S. group embarked on a wide and energetic propaganda campaign, "Operation Soapbox," to sell what they had achieved to the American public, and Bowman too hit the lecture circuit.53 Immediate responses to Dumbarton Oaks among the U.S. public ranged from relief to skepticism, from outrage to enthusiasm: relief for some that the extremes of world government seemed to have been laid well aside; outrage among conservative Americans when Soviet positions on the veto and republic membership became known (all transpiring against the backdrop of a premature Warsaw uprising and Soviet failure to intervene); skepticism by a few that anything new would come of a UN organization; enthusiasm by many that a United Nations might just work. Jaded rationalization was more the mood of British representative Gladwyn Jebb, who lamented that in such "a wicked world" the original hopes for a pacifist globalism may have aimed too high.54

But it was nothing so enigmatic as Jebb's wicked world that deflated the promise of Dumbarton Oaks. If the conference watered down the grandest aspirations of U.S. globalism, the blame lay as much with the U.S. administration itself as with other participants of the conference. "Although Russian intransigence is often blamed for almost scuttling the United Nations at birth," concludes one UN historian, "Gromyko, in fact, accommodated the Americans on almost all issues" at the conference.55 In fact, Dumbarton Oaks represented a significant resort to geography, initiated not by traditional defenders of the old world order but by would-be inheritors of the new. If the United States had come to the conference on a carriage of Roosevelt's most assertive globalism, activated by the dream of power beyond geography, the delegation had also opened the door widest to a United Nations of implicit regional blocs when it played the China card. The other delegations well understood that U.S. economic and military ambition was best placed to exploit the political globalism of the UN, but the transparent attempt to install Brazil on the Security Council, the retreat from an absolute veto, and the inclusion of ten American republics among the original membership of twenty-six, all demonstrated the constitutive regionalism of the U.S. design for a sympathetic UN. The emerging Anglo-American alliance and perfunctory negotiations with the Chinese simply confirmed the status that the USSR could expect in the coming organization. As an astute Charles de Gaulle concluded concerning American strategy for the UN, "Roosevelt . . . intended to lure the Soviets into a group that would contain their ambitions and in which America could unite its dependents."56

As Robert Hilderbrand has concluded in his excellent historical analysis of the conference, "traditional nationalism" came to replace "the prevention of the next war as the dominant force in postwar policy-making." All of the Great Powers "feared the effect that such a strong body might have on their own national objectives for the postwar era."57 The dilution of central power authority ratified at Dumbarton Oaks sprang directly from this defensive resort to existing state-centered political geographies. Once again "states' rights" prevailed over federal unity, except this time on the global scale. Put this way, the prospects for the UN were perhaps more ominous than even the Dumbarton Oaks participants could yet see. From the Monroe Doctrine to Eastern Europe to the British Empire, regionalism was premised on a wider geographical fortification of competitive national interests. The slippage from regional associations to "security zones" to "spheres of influence," driven by a resurgence not just of nationalist interests but also of a traditional geographical calculus of political and economic power, would therefore prove difficult to halt. Hull's "unhappy past" reappeared as a gloomy future. This was not an inevitable result or a simple retreat. Dumbarton Oaks was a resort to geography, but it was more than simply a retreat to an outmoded nationalism. The strategy that de Gaulle detected also began to unravel at Dumbarton Oaks, and the frustration of a placeless globalism nonetheless presaged a new compromise global geography that no one especially desired.

Yalta in February 1945 was the next stop en route to a postwar United Nations. For many, Yalta has become a brittle and lasting symbol of the naïveté myth in U.S. foreign policy, whereby a wily Stalin apparently outfoxed a naive Roosevelt, successfully frustrated U.S. global hegemony, and won the first round of the cold war with a sucker punch. But there are several problems with this conservative orthodoxy. It is, first, a classic if updated example of an anticonquest narrative that reaffirms the essential innocence of U.S. strategy while ascribing the lowest motives to its opponents.58 Second, it wants the argument both ways: a virtuous United States stood above the fray of tawdry territorial politics but deserved to win it anyway. Third, the naïveté myth expresses a naïveté of its own insofar as it takes Roosevelt's idealistic public relations rhetoric seriously. Finally, the myth is historically suspect, since it was at Tehran fifteen months earlier that the geographical carve-up of the postwar world began in earnest, and the diplomatic resort to geography at Dumbarton Oaks was part of the process. The liberal orthodoxy is only the opposite side of this coin and is equally self-serving. It too accepts uncritically Roosevelt's "idealism," which is defended as necessary in the face of the alternative, a geographically acquisitive power politics. But Roosevelt surely wanted it both ways himself. He knew he had to fight the territorial fights, tried to concede as little as possible, but wanted above all to protect the larger goal of a United Nations from the collateral diplomatic damage of specific territorial clashes. Yalta does not represent a break in Great Power negotiations so much as a quickening of existing policies. That the naïveté myth still dominates interpretations of Yalta is testimony not just to conservative nationalism in American politics after 1945 but also to the nexus of agreement between conservative and liberal visions.

By all accounts Yalta was a tawdry scene, and the tawdriness was nothing if not multilateral. Politically inspired deals came thick and fast. Quite apart from negotiating a friendly Polish government, Stalin committed to enter the war against Japan in exchange for territory taken by the Japanese in 1905 (southern Sakhalin), the Kuril Islands, and rights to the Manchurian section of the trans-Siberian railway to Vladivostok. Stalin and Churchill carved up much of eastern and southern Europe, and Indochina was earmarked for independence from French colonial control. Any U.S. objection to Soviet prerogative in territory reconquered from German control was quickly countered by the argument that when U.S. and British troops moved into Italy, before opening the second front, they cited urgent military exigency for failing to consult with Stalin when they set up a provisional Italian government that excluded partisans and communists. Stalin had protested but demurred in the face of the inevitable, and an Anglo-American alliance could have little complaint if the Red Army invoked the same courtesy after beating back the Germans along a wide front from the Balkans to the Baltic. Bowman was to have been at Yalta if not for laryngitis and flu, and one can only imagine his response had he been there.59 Certainly none of the principals seemed too pained about the outcome as they toasted each other with vodka and caviar on the last night and decided on San Francisco for the founding UN conference.

Roosevelt wanted a postwar world open for business, and the "American delegation at Yalta considered the United Nations to be the crucial issue of the conference." The geographical contradictions of Dumbarton Oaks were accentuated at Yalta, and the emerging regional blocs sat awkwardly alongside Roosevelt's continued rhetorical internationalism. But there was also real progress toward a global organization, and Roosevelt left Yalta "with his two allies firmly committed to the UN policy, largely on American terms."60

But by April, Roosevelt was suddenly dead, and the contradictions were further accentuated, not just because the "dead are peering through the windows," as Bowman put it, but also because some of the so-called lesser nations were now invited to the party.61 The touch of democracy occasioned by congressional representation and the presence of forty-three other nations augured against Roosevelt's dire hope that the solidification of national interests into regional blocs could be minimized. Quite contradictory positions among the U.S. delegates exposed the dilemma at its most extreme. Although the immediate issue was the status of the Monroe Doctrine, the larger predicament was the issue that had dogged them from the first State Department deliberations: how to accommodate new and existing regional and national claims without abrogating a robust political and economic globalism.

 

The "Regionalism Crisis": Geographical Contradictions of Political Globalism

The United Nations Conference on International Organization opened in San Francisco on 25 April 1945, the same day the Red Army and the U.S. First Army first greeted each other face to face on the banks of the Elbe.62 The soldiers were euphoric and the public too, and German unconditional surrender soon followed. After years of war, optimism filled the air. The U.S. delegation took over the Fairmont Hotel, and although the conference officially met in the Beaux Arts Opera House, the real action was centered on the Big Four meetings, which invariably occurred in the hotel penthouse, occupied by Stettinius, now secretary of state following the resignation of a seriously ill Hull. Stettinius headed the delegation, which included Senators Arthur Vandenberg and Tom Connally, Congressmen Charles Eaton and Sol Bloom (all veterans of the State Department's postwar advisory committees), Harold Stassen (ex-governor of Minnesota and a naval commander), and Virginia Gildersleeve (dean of Barnard College). In addition to a technical staff headed by Pasvolsky, the delegation had three "principal advisers": Hamilton Fish Armstrong, John Foster Dulles, nephew of Robert Lansing and an activist Presbyterian and Republican who was emerging as a foreign policy broker after advising the 1944 Dewey campaign, and Isaiah Bowman.

The loose ends of Dumbarton Oaks—UN membership and the Security Council veto—were the flashpoints in San Francisco. The membership issue erupted as soon as delegates were seated, making Eastern Europe an early and consistent focus of the conference. Molotov, leading the Soviet delegation, insisted that the Polish government be seated at the conference, but Stettinius objected that the Lublin government had not added representation from the "London Poles" in accord with the Yalta agreement. The question of the Soviet republics quickly followed, and although President Truman was indignant about the Yalta compromise he inherited, he had the U.S. delegation support admission for the Ukraine and Belorussia. The Latin American nations now balked, insisting that Argentina also merited immediate membership. Stettinius brokered a compromise in which Argentina would be admitted in exchange for a positive Latin American vote on Belorussia and the Ukraine, but Molotov was incensed. Something was wrong, he rasped, if the country over which the European war began and which was subsequently devastated was excluded while Argentina, which had continued to provide the Nazis with valuable resources until recent months, was admitted. Many newspapers in the United States agreed. "I saw Stettinius and Nelson Rockefeller marshal the twenty Latin American republics in one solid block," witnessed Walter Lippmann, and "steamroller" the trade-off of Argentina and Ukraine-Belorussia "through the United Nations."63

The veto issue prompted an even greater crisis. At Yalta a compromise was agreed whereby the veto would be operable in "enforcement" decisions but not in the case of peaceful settlement. This was a very nebulous distinction, however, and while the United States assumed a narrowly applicable veto, Gromyko, heading the Soviet delegation after Molotov's departure, took an expansive view. An impasse was reached by the end of May, with Truman instructing Stettinius not to budge and Gromyko acting on similar instructions. Outmaneuvered on Argentina and Poland, Stalin dug in on the veto. The Soviets were pilloried in the U.S. press as selfishly obstructing world peace, and few displayed the sympathy of Sumner Welles: "Russia's veto right is her only assurance that the United Nations will not endanger Russian security."64 The drama dragged on, with significant swings in the positions of the main delegations but without resolution. Only after Stettinius telegraphed the U.S. Embassy in Moscow to intercede with the Soviet leader did Stalin appease U.S. and British demands. The difference in the positions, he said, was "insignificant." Whether simply cutting his losses with British and American blocs stacked against him in the emerging organization is not clear. But for those nations excluded from the Security Council, with no access to the veto, this unseemly struggle was a bitter pill, and the USSR's insistence on a strong veto dissolved much of the moral high ground they had gained in the fight over Argentina.

Bowman gravitated toward Texas senator Tom Connally, who tried to obtain the geographer as a personal adviser, and to Arthur Vandenberg from his native Michigan, and his positions on the major questions mirrored their conservatism. On seats for the Ukraine and Belorussia he was largely resigned. On the veto and voting questions, he stopped short of the hardliners' refusal to negotiate concessions with the broad Soviet interpretation, agreeing with Stassen that the real issue was the lack of "an agreed American position." At the height of the veto impasse, he advised a chagrined Vandenberg against threatening to "go home," suggesting instead that the United States could score major public relations points by continuing to "suffer in silence." Most of Bowman's work on the veto question came in a subcommittee with Dulles and Pasvolsky aimed at wording successive U.S. proposals.65 His major contribution may have been his role in drafting Article 55, on social and economic cooperation, and his insertion of language about "cultural and educational cooperation"— a not uncontroversial issue amid multilateral fears of ideological indoctrination in the resulting council. He grumbled a lot too about the preamble to the charter, opposing Gildersleeve's proposal on sexual equality in the job market on the grounds that the "corollary issue relating to race, color or creed" would surely follow. Sexual equality was an issue for Woodrow Wilson, he conceded, but it was forced on Wilson in Paris by "organized Women's groups," and "the progress which women have made since Versailles makes this issue a completely dead one." He also ridiculed a Russian proposal on "respect for human rights in particular the right to work and the right to education and also for fundamental freedoms for all without distinction as to race, language, religion or sex."66

It was in San Francisco that Bowman's long-simmering feud with Pasvolsky erupted. Thinking Pasvolsky "dangerous to American interests," temperamentally un-American, and involved in murky "relations with the Russians," he concluded that it was "a mistake to put one man with his background into a key position."67 Here, at least, Bowman and the Soviets agreed, because the latter also deeply distrusted Pasvolsky, a White Russian émigré who had fled the revolution. Pasvolsky resented Bowman quite as much, especially for his public acclaim following the London mission, and unceremoniously wrote the geographer out of subsequent historical accounts of the origins of the UN.68

But there were far more momentous clashes in San Francisco. Lost in the cold war scripting of this history is a telling story about the geography of postwar globalism. The salience of the UN conference emerges as much from debates that surfed through the dominant U.S. delegation as from the actual ink of the charter and from the ways these debates were refracted onto the world map. It was here that the geographical contradictions of American globalism, from Wilson to Roosevelt, came most forcefully to the surface. It was the State Department blueprint via Dumbarton Oaks that occupied the conference, and this had lasting consequences for the UN, but just as important, the U.S. delegation itself was deeply ambivalent about what it had produced. Roosevelt's geographer found himself stretched to the limits of his ability to reconcile the conflicting geographical requirements that lay at the heart of American globalism.

The vision of an open political and economic world of the sort Roosevelt envisaged awkwardly contradicted the hemispheric privilege and exceptionalism enshrined in the Monroe Doctrine. U.S. internationalists had always had to tiptoe carefully around the Monroe Doctrine, but never before, not even in the Senate in 1919, was the Monroe Doctrine so fully confronted by a U.S. globalism. If any vestige of the Monroe Doctrine was to be retained, how could the United States object to regional claims in Eastern or Western Europe or to British Empire exceptionalism? Others were rarely slow to raise this contradiction—it had been a smug British favorite since at least 1942—but at San Francisco the majority of states represented at the conference now bristled at such big power prerogatives. For them the birth of the United Nations should signal the demise of such regional hegemonies of powerful over weak nations. International expectations were high, as were internationalist aspirations in the United States itself, and Roosevelt's death multiplied the expectations for a conference that was now emotionally attached to his legacy. But such aspirations also provoked the ire of wary conservatives in Congress and even some in the State Department who balked at any weakening of the Monroe Doctrine. This was not a contest of nationalism versus internationalism so much as a contest between regional and global visions of a nationalist internationalism. It led to an outright "regionalism crisis" over the constitutive geography of UN globalism and a crisis of U.S. globalism overall.69

The discussion of regionalism and the Monroe Doctrine in the U.S. delegation was first provoked not by Latin American concerns but by Soviet interests in Eastern Europe. It had been agreed informally at Dumbarton Oaks that no regional organization could take "enforcement action" without Security Council authorization, but acceptance of the veto provision at Yalta meant that a single Security Council member could block regional enforcement, thereby gutting effective regional prerogatives. Early in the conference Molotov introduced a series of bilateral treaties that the USSR had concluded with various European states—Britain, Czechoslovakia, France, Poland, and Yugoslavia—to prevent any resurgence of German militarism in the borderlands of Eastern Europe. France had made similar treaties. Insofar as they were a local preemption of a not-yet-ratified UN framework and were vital for immediate security purposes, Molotov sought exemption from Security Council authority. The Italian precedent again lurked in the background, and Pasvolsky, drafting the initial U.S. response, treaded lightly. Recognizing the increased regional prerogative it gave the USSR, but recognizing too that this exception to UN control did not itself harden an Eastern European bloc, Pasvolsky tried to finesse the amendment through both the U.S. delegation and the conference, but he failed. The immediate concern in the U.S. delegation was less with Europe than with the Americas. Arthur Vandenberg was the U.S. delegate responsible for "regional arrangements," and he quickly objected that if the general principle of Security Council authority over regional arrangements were maintained, it would "spell the end of the Monroe Doctrine." The U.S. could be vetoed in its own backyard, and the Senate would never agree to that.

Pasvolsky responded that Vandenberg's fears were unfounded. On the one hand, if a Security Council member vetoed any proposed U.S. action in the Americas, the United States could always invoke the right of self-defense. On the other hand, the United States was protected against unwelcome interference in the Western Hemisphere by dint of its own veto power on the Security Council. Did self-defense include U.S. defense of Argentina, asked the banker and assistant secretary of war John McCloy? Did not Vandenberg risk jettisoning a worldwide system for the sake of an old regionalism? asked Harold Stassen. Bowman was in a tricky spot. He still embraced the Monroe Doctrine but was unwilling to promote its regionalism so outspokenly at the expense of international organization, as Vandenberg now seemed to do. Yet he also distrusted the vague language of Pasvolsky's defense—a "weak and vacillating" solution, as Stassen called it—which left the USSR with a power in Europe that now seemed exempt from veto. In deference to Vandenberg the delegation eventually included a minor strengthening of regional prerogatives. Stassen and Bowman continued to object, arguing for further curbs on regional power (Stassen) and Soviet power in particular (Bowman), but Bowman's attempt to derail U.S. support for the amendment was rebuffed.70

The geographical contradiction that Roosevelt had always skated over now writhed on the table. It was felt sharply by Bowman but by Vandenberg even more acutely. After the Soviet amendment, which exempted preexisting treaties, was accepted by the Big Four, he dolefully recorded that he "could not object" because he was already on record advocating immediate military alliances to prevent Axis rearmament. The corollary, he concluded, was that the Monroe Doctrine, not covered in the Europe-specific language of the amendment, was evacuated. How, he brooded, could "legitimate" regional arrangements be protected "without inviting the formation of a lot of dangerous new 'regional spheres of interest?'"71 How, in other words, could they retain Monroe Doctrine privileges without diluting the power of a U.S.-disposed United Nations? Just as much as Roosevelt or Bowman, Vandenberg too wanted it both ways. They fought for a U.S. globalism that kept the regional prerogatives of the Monroe Doctrine intact—a global Monroe Doctrine indeed.

Informed by Nelson Rockefeller, assistant secretary of state for Latin America, that the South American republics were also up in arms, Vandenberg resolved to act. Latin American leaders feared the effects of communism on their own working and peasant classes even more than the indignities of the Monroe Doctrine, and they erupted at the possibility that Latin American security might be subject to British, French, Chinese, or Soviet veto. Vandenberg therefore sought to insert the Act of Chapultepec in the Russian amendment. Agreed on only two months earlier between the United States and the Latin American republics, this act was "merely the modern name for the Monroe Doctrine," the senator believed, although he did not put it quite so bluntly to Latin American leaders. In any case, it reiterated joint hemispheric defense, and he felt its inclusion provided a deft means of smuggling protection for the Monroe Doctrine into the UN Charter. Receiving enthusiastic support from Cuban and Colombian delegates, with whom Rockefeller tested the waters, the senator went public with this proposal.

Its intent was so transparent, however, that "'Hell' broke loose." The Soviet delegation sensed the subterfuge to weaken their security in Eastern Europe, while many Latin American leaders were utterly disaffected by the position they now seemed to occupy between the twin threats of communism and an arrogant Monroe Doctrine. Vandenberg recoiled from what he had unleashed as new regional claims proliferated: Australia weighed in for its own regional protection, Britain and France perceived the need for a more explicit Western European union, and other regional groups organized. Most horrifying for the senator was the "Arabian bloc." Furious at this can of worms, Stettinius upbraided Rockefeller, and on the day of German surrender, made the senator defend his proposal to the entire U.S. delegation. It was an "acrimonious" meeting. Vandenberg got some support from the military, who had long chafed at the openness of global security arrangements but who were muzzled by Roosevelt, and more explicit support from his fellow Republicans Bloom and Eaton. But most in the State Department feared, as Roosevelt had, that such an explicit embrace of a self-serving regionalism would gut the global organization. Pasvolsky and Stassen led the fight. The staunchest proponent of a jeopardized globalism, Pasvolsky was explicit that the greatest American good would come from keeping regional blocs as powerless as possible. Vandenberg in turn was stunned at Pasvolsky's casual avowal that the United States would take unilateral action, regardless of the UN, when it suited U.S. interests, thinking this a much greater threat to UN unity than regionalism.72

If Bowman detested Pasvolsky's initial proposal, he also knew that Vandenberg's suggestion, in its present form, could be fatal to any serious UN organization, although he did favor some kind of reaffirmation of the Monroe Doctrine. Armstrong agreed, and Vandenberg, who first dug in his heals, suggesting they should retract their vote for the Russian proposal, now had to reassert his own internationalism: "We do not propose to give regional arrangements any such supremacy as will destroy the unity of the world organization, and invite a general break-up of the world into regional groups," he conceded.73 But many from the State Department now recognized that it might already be too late. The conference was in turmoil, Molotov was leaving, and the press had the story. A badly split U.S. delegation had no solution or any obvious means of arriving at one in regard to the regional crisis.

Intense discussion of regionalism and globalism engulfed the U.S. delegation in the second week of May 1945. Consistent stances were a rarity as delegation members genuinely struggled to fix their own reconciliations of globalism and Monroe. They had struck the hard-core contradiction of a nationalist internationalism. A State Department official volunteered that mention of the Monroe Doctrine in the League of Nations Covenant had always been an "embarrassment," and Vandenberg allowed that any mention of the Monroe Doctrine in the absence of world organization was surely "outdated." They looked to the Truman White House for guidance but none was forthcoming. Stettinius, present for the Act of Chapultepec in order to secure Latin American registration for the San Francisco conference and thereby ensure the U.S. bloc, now secured testy approval from Alberto Lleras Camargo, the Colombian foreign minister and spokesperson for the Latin American delegations, to include mention of the act in the charter. He had Bowman, Dulles, Pasvolsky, and James Dunn draft the wording of the new formula, which expanded the concept of self-defense from the national to the regional scale in cases where nonaggression "arrangements" existed. A skittish consensus seemed in sight whereby inclusion of the Act of Chapultepec would finger "the historical chain . . . of events" from Monroe, as Bowman put it. They knew this would create a lightning rod and would require Truman's approval, which it received, despite opposition from the retired Cordell Hull and more surprisingly from the War Department, where even Stimson, a traditional regionalist, felt it gave too much authority to regional arrangements.74

Should Britain or the USSR balk at this delicate wording, Bowman understood, the blunt question would be "whether the United States would wish to give up its hemispheric organization in order to preserve the world organization." Neither he nor anyone else in the delegation was willing to entertain such an all-or-nothing predicament, and their work in the first half of May was largely focused on devising a text that would let the United States have it both ways. The crucial language read: "The right to take measures of self-defense against armed attack shall apply to arrangements, like those embodied in the Act of Chapultepec, under which all members of a group of states agree to consider an attack against any one of them as an attack against all of them." Gromyko responded that he would have to study it, but Eden, in his most angry outburst of the conference, exploded at such a naked American exceptionalism, momentarily rupturing the harmony that had prevailed between the United States and Britain at San Francisco. It "would result in regionalism of the worst kind," and he objected that "if such a provision as this were included in the Charter he would not be able to sign it." "Either we have a world organization or we don't."75

The geographical flip-flop on regionalism was now complete. Here was Stettinius, backed by the entire U.S. delegation, defending regional exceptions to the world organization while the British publicly insisted on globalism! But the impasse did not last long, and a private huddle between Eden and Stettinius quickly restored Anglo-American harmony. With the USSR and the United States writing their own regional blocs into the charter, Britain wanted the same privilege in Western Europe, where, Eden said, he was worried about Soviet expansionism in the Mediterranean. Thus the regional provision was subsequently generalized, and the specific reference to the Act of Chapultepec was omitted. Stettinius conferred again with Truman, and with Vandenberg he confronted the Latin American leaders, who acquiesced only when Stettinius agreed to hold a hemispheric conference to implement the Act of Chapultepec, and Vandenberg promised that the Senate would make explicit that this delicately worded article of the charter covered regional defense arrangements in the Americas. The irony of Stettinius's appeal to the Latin American leaders—that they eschew a "small hemispheric view" and embrace "world leadership," when of course it was stubborn U.S. calculation about regional blocs that caused the crisis in the first place—is matched only by the cynicism of Vandenberg's appeal that the Latin Americans trust his "well known sympathy" for their regional interests while he was simultaneously advising Stettinius to stop the Latin Americans from "pushing us around."76

In the United Nations Charter, one's eyes can easily glaze over the dry language of Articles 51 and 52. The seemingly innocuous wording conveys little of the intense political battle that went on in San Francisco or the stakes that were in play, especially within the U.S. delegation, over the appropriate political geography of the United Nations.

A second issue at San Francisco, that of trusteeship, only confirmed the extent to which an American globalism was premised on specific nationalist and regional interests, and again bared the contradictions of regionalism. Bowman's personal flip-flop on this issue was dramatic. Trusteeship was omitted from the Dumbarton Oaks agenda, not in deference to British colonial sensibilities, but because the U.S. military was vehement about the need to occupy an array of Pacific Islands as strategic bases. U.S. possession of these bases had to be unambiguous, the military argued, not subject to the political smog of UN trusteeship and the whim of a body the United States did not control. Roosevelt went along, calculating that the bases could double as airports for commercial airline companies such as Pan Am.77

Having shepherded trusteeship questions through the State Department since 1942, Bowman felt proprietary, and his advice was carefully solicited. He respected Stassen, who favored a wide-ranging plank on trusteeship, but thought the military had a good argument on bases. It is easy to "appeal to the patriotism of the people" in support of Stimson's demand that the United States simply take what it needs in the Pacific, Bowman argued prior to the conference, but such unilateral action would "destroy what we are going to San Francisco to achieve." He understood the importance of the bases, but the priority surely was to finesse the bases without establishing a precedent for others or closing off economic intercourse, and this could be achieved only if the United States first set up "a principle of trusteeship in the interests of the natives."78 It was the regionalism dilemma in a different form.

The discussion of trusteeship hit a rock when the Chinese and Soviet delegations took explicitly anticolonial positions, proposing that "independence" be written in as the eventual goal of trusteeship. In so doing, they sided strongly with the so-called small nations. The prospect of a globally ordained goal of independence was too much for Britain and France, and the State Department too had long since backed away from such a position. Bowman was pivotal in shifting the fulcrum of debate toward the vaguer goal of "self-government."79 Stassen, Dulles, and most of the delegation thought they could finesse the issue by referring to "progressive development toward self-government," but Bowman, whose position had evolved considerably in a month, insisted on confronting the contradiction squarely. In a turbulent delegation meeting on 18 May, he was invited by Stettinius to address the trusteeship issue. We are "face to face with a real problem," he announced grimly and immediately blamed their predicament on the Soviets for having the audacity even to raise the question of independence. After sarcastically commenting that the peoples surrounding the USSR could themselves do with a little independence, Bowman argued that the real motive here was Soviet expansionism into ex-colonies, and he launched a proto-cold war tirade that reached a new level of anti-Sovietism in the U.S. delegation. "When perhaps the inevitable struggle came between Russia and ourselves," he predicted, "the question would be who are our friends."80

The regionalism pot he had helped stir two weeks earlier was now fully cooked, and his remarks set off another polarization of the U.S. delegation. Deft consensus was blown apart again. One official defended independence for dependent territories as the dying wish of the late President Roosevelt, and Adlai Stevenson insisted that anything short of independence would draw blaring newspaper headlines that the United States opposed colonial liberty. Others thought the language of self-determination was sufficient. Still others picked up Bowman's invitation and ran with it. For New Jersey congressman Charles Eaton, the predicament was clear and simple: "who was going to be masters of the world."81

The implication of Bowman's position was also clear: with bigger fish to fry, any principled imperatives concerning dependent peoples could wait. Erstwhile champion of trusteeship principles "in the interests of the natives," Bowman now threw the people and the principles to the wind for the sake of a nationalist contest with the USSR, which he now saw as the central threat to an American Lebensraum. The conference did eventually establish a Trusteeship Council that had narrowly circumscribed powers, fell short of requiring British, French, and Dutch decolonization, and sanctioned U.S. control of several Pacific islands confiscated from the Japanese.

The crisis of regionalism at San Francisco has traditionally been seen as an outgrowth of the hardening bipolar confrontation between U.S. and Soviet leaders and to a lesser extent as a contest between regionalism and globalism within the U.S. delegation. Although it was certainly provoked in response to Soviet attempts to exempt preexisting European treaties from UN control, it is important to recall that Vandenberg's earlier consternation was raised not directly in competition for global control but in regard to hemispheric defense for the United States. The regionalism crisis was not so much a by-product of emerging cold war tensions as a preexisting condition that became entwined with that confrontation. It predated San Francisco, was born from the contradictory geography inherent in U.S. internationalism, and flourished when that vision blossomed into an American globalism. That incipient cold war tension became braided with the struggle over regionalism is hardly surprising, but it was stubborn defense of the Monroe Doctrine that made it so. Thus the regionalism crisis encompassed globalism; it did not intrude from the outside. Regionalism was not alien to, but inherent within, the specific vision of twentieth-century U.S. globalism. A U.S. globalism that was prepared to jettison such regional prerogatives and cede a modicum of power to a global organization it did not entirely control could easily have avoided the coming denouement. But no such risky magnanimity governed Vandenberg's or Bowman's or even Pasvolsky's vision for the UN. Nor did it rule Roosevelt's vision.

Nor is it plausible to argue that regionalism is inherently contradictory to any global vision. For Churchill particularly, regionalism was a strategy for maintaining global power, an effort to divide and conquer, and it was Roosevelt's brilliance to comprehend that U.S. global power no longer depended on such a strategy. The ambivalence of Churchill and Stalin concerning United Nations globalism reflected an understanding that the UN was inflected by a specifically American globalism emanating from the State Department, and the resort to regionalism by the British and Soviet leaders was defensive from the beginning. The United Nations was to be the political embodiment of the American Lebensraum, a new federalism at the global scale that opened the world to ordered political economic expansion. But some were more equal than others at San Francisco, as the veto provision ensured, and in the postwar global market it was well understood, echoing a contemporaneous George Orwell, that one would be more equal than the rest. In 1945, globalism, by definition, spoke with an American accent.

 

The Rest Is Geography

"Behind the scenes in Washington, a new world is being planned for you," began an extraordinary 1942 article in H.L. Mencken's periodical American Mercury. Clearly written with State Department approval but without direct attribution to State Department sources, it went on to give an authoritative summary of the highly secret work of the Postwar Advisory Committee:

If the plans materialize, you are going to be given a try at running the world. . . . If you think that defeating the Axis is the chief aim of the Government's foreign policy, you are going to get a surprise. American leadership in world affairs, looking toward a pacific and prosperous epoch, is the ultimate goal of those in Washington who are endeavoring to design the shape of things to come.82

Such candor and clarity in the press was unprecedented and presumably reflected an attempt by frustrated officials to convey their nationally focused larger vision to the American people. Certainly by the time of the San Francisco conference, no one on the delegation disagreed with Congressman Eaton that they were seeking to be "masters of the world," although they may have been embarrassed at the brusqueness with which he stated the shared goal.

Three years of State Department work culminated in San Francisco, and for Bowman the conference represented the pinnacle of his career in foreign policy. He was a lead architect of the articles dealing with economic and social cooperation, the Economic and Social Council, and the trusteeship provisions, especially the linkage between trusteeship and economic development. While conservatives in the United States railed at any concessions to the Soviets, Roosevelt liberals, such as Commerce Department adviser Frank Waring, found the delegation too "timid and legalistic" and the three principal advisers pedantic.83 It was probably Bowman's legalism and pedantic attention to detail that got him his last job of the conference, coordinating and compiling the delegation's final report to Truman. After many days of round-the-clock editing, Bowman gave the 266-page report to Truman prior to his 26 June closing speech at the conference; two weeks later it was released to the public. Mindful of Wilson's fate, Bowman took the U.S. Senate as his target audience.84 In a long walk around Union Square, as the conference wound down, Stettinius offered Bowman the job as U.S. delegate to the Interim United Nations Commission, which would now take over, but he demurred, suggesting instead Alger Hiss, State Department organizer of the Dumbarton Oaks and San Francisco conferences.85

Ironically, Bowman soon found himself assisting Stettinius with his career. The secretary was widely believed to have fumbled negotiations in Yalta, allowing the Soviet Union to add the Belorussia and Ukraine seats to the General Assembly,86 and Truman wanted James Byrnes as secretary of state. But the resignation of a secretary of state has to be choreographed. The San Francisco conference delayed any public action, and Stettinius did not receive definitive word of Truman's intent until 21 June. Having lived with rumors of his demise throughout the conference, he was deeply resentful and called Bowman to the penthouse. Stettinius knew he had been appointed as "a pair of legs for FDR" and thought he deserved better,87 but Bowman advised against any impetuous rejection of the U.S. ambassadorship to the UN, which Truman dangled in front of Stettinius. From secretary of state to U.S. ambassador was an ignominious demotion, Stettinius felt. But Truman was "in a jam," Bowman advised, having promised the job to Byrnes, and he convinced Stettinius that he could carry off the UN ambassadorship as a logical next step in his public service. They met with Truman's emissary to hammer out details. First was the extraordinary calculation that went into the timing. With the Senate due to take up ratification of the UN Charter on 28 and 29 June, they agreed to have Stettinius's resignation announced the day before so that, in the press, the 28th would be "Ed's day," as Bowman put it. Byrnes's name would be sent to the Senate the day after, giving him his own day in the headlines. They then organized the mutual letters of resignation and the UN appointment, with Bowman drafting the secretary's letter of resignation. Both letters were edited by shuttling them back and forth between San Francisco and Washington, and on the day of Truman's closing address, Bowman had a brief meeting with the president to confirm the details. Earlier, en route to the airport with Stettinius for Truman's arrival, Bowman even found himself interceding by telephone with Virginia Stettinius, the secretary's wife, who was livid at Truman for shunting her husband aside and even madder at her husband for not consulting her in the whole matter.88

From Wilson and the Council on Foreign Relations to Roosevelt and beyond, twentieth-century American internationalism was an economic strategy as much as a political commitment. It provided an acceptable rationale for postwar planning that was oriented strictly toward national self-interest. As the struggle over the UN vividly indicates, Roosevelt's internationalism in particular was less a departure from previous foreign policy than a global extension of an already existing internationalism. The Monroe Doctrine embodied an older, more limited internationalism focused on Latin America, but by 1943 this weapon aimed at European economic prerogative was expanded from the continental to the global scale and inverted from a defensive to an offensive strategy. Globalism, not internationalism, was the crucial issue. As Bowman put it, "In the economic field we shall want to be in on everything the world around."89

But the failure of the second moment of the American Century paralleled the failure of the first. The halcyon antigeography of the American Lebensraum nurtured the seeds of its own impossibility. Initially conceived to prevent the balance of economic and political power from reverting to competing geographical localisms, the UN was the bastard child of a locationally and politically specific universalism emanating from Washington, D.C. Long before the San Francisco conference, the self-interest involved in conceiving the world as unhinged from its geography—Hull's adieu to the "unhappy past"—was clearly visible. As Bowman conceded about arrangements for the UN, "Down to the time of the Yalta conference, we could not find a generally satisfactory formula for having our cake and eating it too"—for designing a world body in which all were equal but some more equal than others.90 The relapse into regionalism certainly involved compromises with Britain and the USSR in particular, but it also provided the means for accessing most of the cake in hopes of eating it too.

Yet the UN can be considered stillborn, as is sometimes claimed, only if one accepts the postgeographical fantasies for an American Lebensraum. Britain, the USSR, and especially the United States ultimately failed to create a global policing mechanism that would do their bidding. Rather, its subsequent functionality and dysfunctionality continued to express the contradiction of its own founding assumption, namely, that territorial sovereignty as enshrined in the system of discrete and exclusive territorial states is the basis for a globalism beyond territorial power. It was an internationalism of nationalisms, a geographically defined abstraction from geography. There was no "being able to get away from the nation," Bowman lamented, much as he helped to make it so. For the UN's founders, nations were the naturally evolved geographical expression of a people, one of the self-evident truths in Bowman's early draft of a UN constitution. The suppleness of Bowman's earlier claim, that "to a revolutionary extent man makes his own geography," was now replaced by the brittle inevitability of nationalism coiled in the rhetoric of internationalism. The success of the international organization "for which we strive today," he once declared, "turns largely on the wide recognition of national interest in an international undertaking for peace."91

Frank Waring was prophetic in his assessment of the U.S. performance in San Francisco: "This country, for the first time, has a pre-eminent position in world affairs and is acting very much like a tired liberal who, when he is finally given responsibility for government, becomes as conservative as his predecessor."92 It was a profound observation. The seamless geography of global intercourse envisaged in a supranational UN was frustrated by contradictions at the heart of the vision itself. Yet the postwar world was no simple reversion to prewar nationalisms. Lloyd Gardner traces the origins of postwar spheres of influence to the fateful British-Nazi pact at Munich in 1938 and the Nazi-Soviet pact a year later.93 Prior to the conferences at Dumbarton Oaks and Tehran, however, there was no certainty that such regional spheres would materialize. That took a further ingredient: the regionalism at the core of U.S. planning for postwar globalism—the assumption that the global economy and polity should be Americanism writ large. This was the major catalyst hardening regional blocs into spheres of influence by the middle of 1945. In the interstices of that frustrated globalism, a compromise world geography emerged, organized on the transnational more than the national scale. The scale of political and economic organization was indeed enlarged but stopped short of the global by the impending cold war. It was a compromise geography and a compromised geography, a truncated fruit of U.S. globalism, which as late as San Francisco could have ripened with different results.

At least until the 1990s, the UN never did work as the instrument of US foreign policy—the global political manager of the American Empire—intended by its State Department architects. On the one hand, postwar independence movements fought for and won decolonization, and from China to Cuba, Guatemala to Vietnam, they threatened to circumscribe U.S. globalism on the ground while confronting it in the UN General Assembly. On the other hand, the spurious if self-serving ambition of a globalism beyond geography gave rise to its mocking opposite: the trivial binary geographies of the cold war, containment, and the domino effect. Endemic to the architecture of the American Lebensraum in the early 1940s, this frustrated globalism could have turned out quite differently.

 

NOTES

1 Dean Acheson, "Statement by Secretary of State Dean Acheson . . . ," 6 January 1950, No. 17, Department of State, JHU.

2 Bowman, untitled memo, 7 January 1944, JHU.

3 See, for example, Ruth Russell and Jeanette E Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 1958); Stanley Meisler, United Nations: The First Fifty Years (New York: Atlantic Monthly, 1995); and Townsend Hoopes and Douglas Brinkley, FDR and the Creation of the UN (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997).

4 Robert E. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948), 453.

5 Cordell Hull, Memoirs, 2 vols. (New York: Macmillan, 1948), 2: 1314-15.

6 Stephen E. Ambrose, Rise to Globalism, 3rd ed. (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1983).

7 Robert A. Divine, Second Chance: The Triumph of Internationalism in America during World War II (New York: Oxford University Press, 1967), 167-74.

8 Bowman, memo, marked "File: FDR," undated, JHU; Zbigniew Brzezinski, "The Future of Yalta," Foreign Affairs 63 (1984): 279. (Note that this article appears in the journal that Bowman helped to found more than six decades earlier.)

9 Lloyd Gardner, Spheres of Influence: The Great Powers Partition Europe, from Munich to Yalta (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 1993), 261; Warren F. Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt: The Complete Correspondence, 3 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). On Roosevelt's supposed naïveté, see William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New York: Delta, 1962), 223-24.

10 The UN's origins, long ignored by historians as unimportant, have become the focus of more geographically prescient analyses appearing recently. See Thomas M. Campbell, Masquerade Peace: American UN Policy, 1944-45 (Talahassee: Florida State University Press, 1973); Robert C. Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks: The Origins of the United Nations and the Search for Postwar Security (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1990); and Georg Schild, Bretton Woods and Dumbartion Oaks (Houndmills, England: Macmillan, 1995). See also Gardner, Spheres of Influence.

11 Sir Charles K. Webster, "The Making of the Charter of the United Nations," History 32, no. 115 (March 1947): 21; Harley Notter, ed., Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation 1939-45, Department of State Publication 3580 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1949), 88-89.

12 In addition to Welles, Bowman, and research director Leo Pasvolsky, it included James Shotwell, a veteran of the Inquiry and the Paris conference and an energetic internationalist; Benjamin V. Cohen, a New York corporate lawyer and White House adviser; and Green H. Hackworth, a State Department legal adviser; and later, Clark Eichelberger, of the League of Nations Association.

13 Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 227.

14 Bowman to Herbert Hoover, 4 December 1940, JHU; Bowman, untitled two-page memo, marked "Insert," undated, JHU; Bowman, "Memorandum for Discussion: Refugee Settlement," T-B10, 20 May 1940, CFR, 5.

15 For the best account, see Laurence H. Shoup and William Minter, Imperial Brain Trust (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1977), 135-40. For an argument connecting the Grand Area to eventual U.S. involvement in Southeast Asia, see G. William Domhoff, "The War-Peace Studies of the Council on Foreign Relations and the Rationale for U.S. Involvement in South-East Asia, 1939-1945," paper presented at the annual conference of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations, June 1995.

16 Divine, Second Chance, 114.

17 Divine, Second Chance, 124; Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 717. See also Wilbur Edel, "The State Department, the Public and the United Nations Concept," Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University, 1951, 101.

18 Bowman to Welles, 30 March 1943, JHU; Bowman, untitled two-page memo, "Insert," undated.

19 "Mr. Bowman's Remarks in the Political Committee, June 12, 1943," 3, JHU, 3.

20 "Bowman's Remarks in the Political Committee, June 12, 1943," 4, 5.

21 Bowman, "Memorandum for Mr. Armstrong," 25 June 1943, RGB.

22 Cf. "The IMF and the World Bank were designed to be central institutions in a world free of war and destructive economic nationalism" (M. Moffitt, The World's Money [New York, Simon and Schuster, 1983], 14).

23 Bowman, "St. Com," secret memo, 25 June 1943, JHU. For an explicit comparison of Treasury and State Department preparations, see Schild, Bretton Woods and Dumbarton Oaks.

24 Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt, 1: 15.

25 Bowman, untitled memos, 7 January and 3 June 1943, JHU; Bowman, secret memo, 7 October 1943, JHU. At one point, Welles's chauffeur even bet Hull's chauffeur that Welles would be secretary of state within three months.

26 Harley Notter, "Notes," 14-26 September, NA NF, RG 59; Bowman, "Thursday February 12, 1942," memo, JHU: "LP's limitations are of course his foreign appearance, his accent, his Russian origin. . . . Armstrong says he was a Jew but I doubt this. There is nothing in his appearance to indicate it. I have never heard him comment on the Jewish question in any form and this might indicate that he is a Jew." Bowman, secret memo, 7 October 1943, JHU.

27 Bowman, "CH's Office," memo, 2 July 1943; Bowman, untitled memo, 23-24 April 1943; Bowman, "Steering Com.," handwritten memo, 21 May 1943; Bowman, untitled memo, Friday, 4 June 1943; all in JHU. Cf.: "The chief mistake which Welles made was in his actuarial estimate of Mr. Hull's length of life" (Bowman, secret memo, 1 July 1944, JHU).

28 Bowman, untitled memos, 3 and 4 June 1943, JHU; Ronald Steel, "The Strange Case of William Bullitt," New York Review of Books, 29 September 1988, 15-24. See also the account by Welles's son: Benjamin Welles, Sumner Welles: FDR's Global Strategist (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1997).

29 "The place is covered in dust," Stettinius complained to Bowman when he ordered a crew of cleaning women and painters to spruce up his dingy office. Organizationally, "too many people have access to the Secretary," with no effective "channels of command," and a messy organizational chart. "I want to reorganize this place from the top to bottom," he announced, and I want "you and John Pratt" to help me. "No one else, just us three." Bowman, "October 14, 1943, 2:45 p.m.: Under-Secretary Stettinius' Office," secret memo, JHU; Bowman, untitled memo, 10 February 1944, JHU. Stettinius's father had worked with Myron Taylor at General Motors before going on to a partnership in J.P. Morgan, and the younger Stettinius followed Taylor into the chairmanship of U.S. Steel.

30 Divine, Second Chance, 126.

31 Bowman to Secretary Hull, 27 September 1943, JHU; "Supplement to Mr. Bowman's letter of September 27" undated [probably 7 October 1943]), JHU; Bowman, secret memo, 7 October 1943, JHU (the last two memos never reached Hull, with Bowman blaming this on Pasvolsky's "sabotage": Bowman to Hamilton Fish Armstrong, 10 July 1946, JHU); Arthur Krock, "Pact a Product of U.S.," New York Times, 10 November 1943; Bowman, "Krock, New York Times," memo, (misdated) 10 October (presumably 10 November 1943), JHU.

32 The Four Powers Agreement is reprinted in Russell and Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter, 977. After Molotov's and Eden's suggestion in Moscow, the final wording read: "sovereign equality of all peace-loving nations." Bowman claimed to have devised "sovereign equality" to be used in place of Welles's "equality of all nations" on the grounds that sovereignty may be equal "but states never" (Bowman, "Krock, New York Times," misdated memo, 10 October).

33 The most revealing source on these grander geopolitical calculations concerning China is Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt, 1: 12, 293; 2: 222. On Churchill's racism, see Bowman, "Report by Bowman on Chequers Conversation," 15 April 1944, JHU; Hull, Memoirs, 2: 1277-83; Bowman, secret memo, 28 October 1943, JHU.

34 Bowman, secret memos: four-page, 3 November 1943; three-page, 28 October 1943; two-page, 3 November 1943; one-page, 6 November 1943; all in JHU.

35 Cited in Divine, Second Chance, 81-82.

36 Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 785-86; Adam Ulam, The Rivals: America and Russia since World War II, reprint ed. (1971; Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1981), 14-15; Divine, Second Chance, 157-59.

37 "Report by Isaiah Bowman on Chequers Conversation," 15 April 1943, JHU.

38 "Report by Isaiah Bowman on Chequers Conversation"; Bowman, "Colonial Policy," draft submitted to secretary of state, April 1944, JHU; Bowman, "World Organization," draft submitted to secretary of state, n.d., JHU. On the Renner maps, see the section "Strange Silence and the 'American Haushofer'" in chapter 10. The London visit was precisely one of those State Department projects that drew the ire of the Treasury Department.

39 Bowman, memo, 24 March 1944, JHU; Bowman, secret memos, 13 and 17 December 1943, JHU; Bowman "Plan for the Establishment of an International Organization for the Maintenance of International Peace and Security," 23 December 1943, JHU; Cordell Hull, "Memorandum for the President," 29 December 1943, JHU; Divine, Second Chance, 159-90.

40 "Blueprint," San Francisco Chronicle, 18 June 1944; Bowman, memo, 23 September 1944, JHU; Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 269.

41 Arthur H. Vandenberg, The Private Papers of Senator Vandenberg (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1952), 95.

42 Peter Calvocoressi and Guy Wint, Total War (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972), 487.

43 Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 87-93.

44 Bowman, untitled five-page memo, 24 August 1944, 2-3; Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 122-28.

45 Bowman, untitled five-page memo, 3 February 1944, JHU, 3.

46 Bowman, untitled five-page memo, 3 February 1944, 1-2.

47 The best account of the veto dispute is Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 183-212.

48 Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 95-101.

49 Russell and Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter, 551; Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 314; Hull, Memoirs, 2: 1709-10.

50 Bowman, untitled five-page memo, 24 August 1944, 4; Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 305-15; Bowman, memo, 23 September 1944.

51 FRUS (1944), 1: 814; Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 92-93, 125-26, 220.

52 Divine, Second Chance, 221.

53 Isaiah Bowman, "The Dumbarton Oaks Proposals," Association of American Colleges Bulletin 31 (1945): 32-43; Isaiah Bowman, "The Dumbarton Oaks Proposals," Johns Hopkins Alumni Magazine 33 (1945): 37-43.

54 Divine, Second Chance, 257.

55 Meisler, United Nations, 9.

56 Quoted in Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt, 3: 237.

57 Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 246, 257.

58 See also Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes (New York: Routledge, 1992).

59 Bowman to Charles Liebman, 16 March 1945, JHU; Robert W. Sawyer to Robert Bowman, 9 August 1950, RGB; FRUS (1943), 1: 759.

60 Diana Shaver Clemens, Yalta (New York, Oxford University Press, 1970), 216; Campbell, Masquerade Peace, 90.

61 Bowman to family, 21 May 1945, RGB.

62 See the accounts in Mark Scott and Semyon Krasilshchik, eds., Yanks Meet Reds: Recollections of U.S. and Soviet Vets from the Linkup in World War II (Santa Barbara: Capra Press, 1988); Carolyn Eisenberg, Drawing the Line: The American Decision to Divide Germany, 1944-1949 (Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1996), 1-4.

63 Lippmann is quoted in Divine, Second Chance, 291. See also Campbell, Masquerade Peace, 163-64.

64 Sumner Welles, "Dear Friend," letter to a group, 29 August 1947, JHU.

65 FRUS (1945), 1: 279, 390; Bowman, "Meeting of the Big Five," 7 June 1945, three-page memo; Bowman, "Lunch in 666 Mayflower," 5 October 1948, JHU; Vandenberg, Private Papers, 202; Bowman, untitled memo, 26 May 1945, 9:00 p.m., JHU; Bowman, "Tom Connally," two-page memo, 3 April 1945; Bowman, "American Delegation Meeting," 26 May 1945, JHU.

66 FRUS (1945), 1: 527, 546, 799-803, 1010.

67 Bowman, untitled memo, 26 May 1945, 9:00 p.m., 1-2; Bowman, untitled, undated memo [28 April?], "Cool since dressing down . . . ," JHU.

68 Bowman, untitled three-page memo, 7 June 1945; FRUS (1945), 1: 500.

69 Vandenberg, Private Papers, 187.

70 FRUS (1945), 1: 591-92, 607-9.

71 Vandenberg, Private Papers, 187.

72 Vandenberg, Private Papers, 189; FRUS (1945), 1: 683.

73 FRUS (1945), 1: 617-25; Vandenberg, Private Papers, 188, 189-91.

74 FRUS (1945), 1: 680-83; Campbell, Masquerade Peace, 173-74. Bowman's gloat at winning this round against Pasvolsky earned him a sharp public rebuke from Stettinius.

75 FRUS (1945), 1: 674, 692-94; Thomas M. Campbell and George C. Herring, eds., The Diaries of Edward R. Stettinius, Jr., 1943-1946 (New York: New Viewpoint, 1975), 362.

76 FRUS (1945), 1: 691-98; Campbell and Herring, eds., The Diaries of Stettinius, 361-72. The establishment of a British-French regional bloc in western and southern Europe was well known by the U.S. delegation and in the State Department. According to Assistant Secretary of State James Dunn, a close friend of Bowman's: "The British and French [are] engaged in setting up a Western European bloc. The question of the establishment of this bloc [is] no longer in doubt" (FRUS [1945], 1: 649).

77 Gaddis Smith, The Last Years of the Monroe Doctrine, 1945-1993 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1994), 47-48; Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 295; Russell and Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter, 224; FRUS (1944), 1: 699-703; Henry L. Stimson and McGeorge Bundy, On Active Service in Peace and War (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948), 600-601.

78 FRUS (1945), 1: 318-19; Vandenberg, Private Papers, 169.

79 U.S. espousals of colonial "independence" came from an overexuberant young man in the State Department who openly called himself an "idealist," Bowman once told the British, and he was chastised "never to use that word again" (Hildebrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 173).

80 FRUS (1945), 1: 795.

81 FRUS (1945), 1: 795.

82 Kingsbury Smith, "The American Plan for a Reorganized World," American Mercury 55 (November 1942): 536.

83 Frank Waring, reports to secretary of commerce, 26 May 1945, in Henry Wallace, Oral History, CU OH, 3828-31; Bowman to Charles Liebman, 19 January 1942, RGB.

84 Bowman to Robert and Walter Bowman, 6 July 1945, RGB; Bowman, memorandum of talk with Secretary Stettinius, 16 June 1945, JHU.

85 Bowman, untitled one-page memo, 16 June 1945, JHU.

86 For Stettinius's version of events, see his Roosevelt and the Russians (Garden City: Doubleday, 1949), 195-96.

87 Bowman, untitled three-page memo, 4 June 1946, JHU.

88 Bowman, untitled two-page memo, 29 June 1945, JHU; Bowman, "Memorandum of Conversations," 24, 25, and 26 June 1945, JHU; Bowman, memo, 4 June 1946, JHU; George E. Allen, Presidents Who Have Known Me (New York, Simon and Schuster, 1950), 172-73. Virginia Stettinius had warned that not everyone in the United States felt as enthusiastic about the UN as the San Francisco revelers now felt and that things could come to a bad end for her husband. Bowman dismissed her concerns as hysterical and "parochial," but of course she was right. Less than a year later Truman squeezed Stettinius out of the UN.

89 Bowman, untitled two-page memo, 4 May 1943, JHU.

90 Isaiah Bowman, Is an International Society Possible? (New York: National Industrial Conference Board, 1947), 10.

91 Isaiah Bowman, "The Dumbarton Oaks Proposals," Association of American Colleges Bulletin 31 (March 1945): 33.

92 Frank Waring, 26 May 1945, cited in CU OH, Henry Wallace, 3828-31.

93 Gardner, Spheres of Influence.

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