Cold War

month in 1942, twenty-three of thirty-seven merchant vessels on their way

to the Soviet Union were destroyed, forcing a cancellation of shipments to

Murmansk. Indeed, until late summer of 1942, the Allies lost more ships in

submarine attacks than they were able to build.

Above all, old suspicions continued to creep into the ongoing process

of negotiating and distributing lend-lease supplies. Americans who had

learned during the purges to regard Stalin as "a sort of unwashed Genghis

Khan with blood dripping from his fingertips" could not believe that he had

changed his colors overnight and was now to be viewed as a gentle friend.

Many Americans believed that they were saving the Soviet Union with their

supplies, without recognizing the extent of Soviet suffering or

appreciating the fact that the Russians were helping to save American lives

by their sacrifice on the battlefield. Soviet officials, in turn, believed

that their American counterparts overseeing the shipments were not

necessarily doing all that they might to implement the promises made by the

president. Americans expected gratitude. Russians expected supplies. Both

expectations were justified, yet the conflict reflected the extent to which

underlying distrust continued to poison the prospect of cooperation.

"Frankly," FDR told one subordinate, "if I was a Russian, I would feel that

I had been given the runaround in the United States." Yet with equal

justification, Americans resented Soviet ingratitude. "The Russian

authorities seem to want to cover up the fact that they are receiving

outside help," American Ambassador Standley told a Moscow press conference

in March 1943. "Apparently they want their people to believe that the Red

Army is fighting this war alone." Clearly, the battle against Nazi Germany

was not the only conflict taking place.

Yet the disputes over lend-lease proved minor compared to the issue of

a second front—what one historian has called "the acid test of Anglo-

American intentions." However much help the United States could provide in

the way of war materiel, the decisive form of relief that Stalin sought was

the actual involvement of American and British soldiers in Western Europe.

Only such an invasion could significantly relieve the pressure of massive

German divisions on the eastern front. During the years 1941-44, fewer than

10 percent of Germany's troops were in the west, while nearly three hundred

divisions were committed to conquering Russia. If the Soviet Union was to

survive, and the Allies to secure victory, it was imperative that American

and British troops force a diversion of German troops to the west and help

make possible the pincer movement from east and west that would eventually

annihilate the fascist foe.

Roosevelt understood this all too well. Indeed, he appears to have

wished nothing more than the most rapid possible development of the second

front. In part, he saw such action as the only means to deflect a Soviet

push for acceptance of Russia's pre-World War II territorial acquisitions,

particularly in the Baltic states and Finland. Such acquisitions would not

only be contrary to the Atlantic Charter and America's commitment to self-

determination; they would also undermine the prospect of securing political

support in America for international postwar cooperation. Hence, Roosevelt

hoped to postpone, until victory was achieved, any final decisions on

issues of territory. Shrewdly, the president understood that meeting Soviet

demands for direct military assistance through a second front would offer

the most effective answer to Russia's territorial aspirations.

Roosevelt had read the Soviet attitude correctly. In 1942, Soviet

foreign minister Molotov readily agreed to withdraw his territorial demands

in deference to U.S. concerns because the second front was so much more

decisive an issue. When Molotov asked whether the Allies could undertake a

second front operation that would draw off forty German divisions from the

eastern front, the president replied that it could and that it would.

Roosevelt cabled Churchill that he was "more anxious than ever" for a cross-

channel attack in August 1942 so that Molotov would be able to "carry back

some real results of his mission and give a favorable report to Stalin." At

the end of their 1942 meeting, Roosevelt pledged to Molotov-and through him

to Stalin-that a second front would be established that year. The president

then proceeded to mobilize his own military advisors to develop plans for

such an attack.

But Roosevelt could not deliver. Massive logistical and production

problems obstructed any possibility of invading Western Europe on the

timetable Roosevelt had promised. As a result, despite Roosevelt's own best

intentions and the commitment of his military staff, he could not implement

his desire to proceed. In addition, Roosevelt repeatedly encountered

objections from Churchill and the British military establishment, still

traumatized by the memory of the bloodletting that had occurred in the

trench fighting of World War I. For Churchill, engagement of the Nazis in

North Africa and then through the "soft underbelly" of Europe-Sicily and

Italy-offered a better prospect for success. Hence, after promising Stalin

a second front in August 1942, Roosevelt had to withdraw the pledge and ask

for delay of the second front until the spring of 1943. When that date

arrived, he was forced to pull back yet again for political and logistical

reasons. By the time D-Day finally dawned on June 6, 1944, the Western

Allies had broken their promise on the single most critical military issue

of the war three times. On each occasion, there had been ample reason for

the delay, but given the continued heavy burden placed on the Soviet Union,

it was perhaps understandable that some Russian leaders viewed America's

delay on the second front question with suspicion, sarcasm, and anger. When

D-Day arrived, Stalin acknowledged the operation to be one of the greatest

military ventures of human history. Still, the squabbles that preceded D-

Day contributed substantially to the suspicions and tension that already

existed between the two nations.

Another broad area of conflict emerged over who would control occupied

areas once the war ended? How would peace be negotiated? The principles of

the Atlantic Charter presumed establishment of democratic, freely elected,

and representative governments in every area won back from the Nazis. If

universalism were to prevail, each country liberated from Germany would

have the opportunity to determine its own political structure through

democratic means that would ensure representation of all factions of the

body politic. If "sphere of influence" policies were implemented, by

contrast, the major powers would dictate such decisions in a manner

consistent with their own self-interest. Ultimately, this issue would

become the decisive point of confrontation during the Cold War, reflecting

the different state systems and political values of the Soviets and

Americans; but even in the midst of the fighting, the Allies found

themselves in major disagreement, sowing seeds of distrust that boded ill

for the future. Since no plans were established in advance on how to deal

with these issues, they were handled on a case by case basis, in each

instance reinforcing the suspicions already present between the Soviet

Union and the West.

Notwithstanding the Atlantic Charter, Britain and the United States

proceeded on a de facto basis to implement policies at variance with

universalism. Thus, for example, General Dwight Eisenhower was authorized

to reach an accommodation with Admiral Darlan in North Africa as a means of

avoiding an extended military campaign to defeat the Vichy, pro-fascist

collaborators who controlled that area. From the perspective of military

necessity and the preservation of life, it made sense to compromise one's

ideals in such a situation. Yet the precedent inevitably raised problems

with regard to allied efforts to secure self-determination elsewhere.

The issue arose again during the Allied invasion of Italy. There, too,

concern with expediting military victory and securing political stability

caused Britain and the United States to negotiate with the fascist Badoglio

regime. "We cannot be put into a position," Churchill said, "where our two

armies are doing all the fighting but Russians have a veto." Yet Stalin

bitterly resented being excluded from participation in the Italian

negotiations. The Soviet Union protested vigorously the failure to

establish a tripartite commission to conduct all occupation negotiations.

It was time, Stalin said, to stop viewing Russia as "a passive third

observer. ... It is impossible to tolerate such a situation any longer." In

the end, Britain and the United States offered the token concession of

giving the Soviets an innocuous role on the advisory commission dealing

with Italy, but the primary result of the Italian experience was to

reemphasize a crucial political reality: when push came to shove, those who

exercised military control in an immediate situation would also exercise

political control over any occupation regime.

The shoe was on the other foot when it came to Western desires to have

a voice over Soviet actions in the Balkan states, particularly Romania. By

not giving Russia an opportunity to participate in the Italian surrender,

the West-in effect-helped legitimize Russia's desire to proceed

unilaterally in Eastern Europe. Although both Churchill and Roosevelt were

"acutely conscious of the great importance of the Balkan situation" and

wished to "take advantage of" any opportunity to exercise influence in that

area, the simple fact was that Soviet troops were in control. Churchill-and

privately Roosevelt as well-accepted the consequences. "The occupying

forces had the power in the area where their arms were present," Roosevelt

noted, "and each knew that the other could not force things to an issue."

But the contradiction between the stated idealistic aims of the war effort

and such realpolitik would come back to haunt the prospect for postwar

collaboration, particularly in the areas of Poland and other east European

countries.

Moments of conflict, of course, took place within the context of day-to-

day cooperation in meeting immediate wartime needs. Sometimes, such

cooperation seemed deep and genuine enough to provide a basis for

overcoming suspicion and conflict of interest. At the Moscow foreign

ministers conference in the fall of 1943, the Soviets proved responsive to

U.S. concerns. Reassured that there would indeed be a second front in

Europe in 1944, the Russians strongly endorsed a postwar international

organization to preserve the peace. More important, they indicated they

would join the war against Japan as soon as Germany was defeated, and

appeared willing to accept the Chiang Kaishek government in China as a

major participant in world politics. In some ways, these were a series of

quid pro quos. In exchange for the second front, Russia had made

concessions on issues of critical importance to Britain and the United

States. Nevertheless, the results were encouraging. FDR reported that the

conference had created "a psychology of ... excellent feeling." Instead of

being "cluttered with suspicion," the discussions had occurred in an

atmosphere that "was amazingly good."

The same spirit continued at the first meeting of Stalin, Churchill,

and Roosevelt in Tehran during November and early December 1943. Committed

to winning Stalin as a friend, FDR stayed at the Soviet Embassy, met

privately with Stalin, aligned himself with the Soviet leader against

Churchill on a number of issues, and even went so far as to taunt Churchill

"about his Britishness, about John Bull," in an effort to forge an informal

"anti-imperial" alliance between the United States and the Soviet Union. A

spirit of cooperation prevailed, with the wartime leaders agreeing that the

Big Four would have the power to police any postwar settlements (clearly

consistent with Stalin's commitment to a "sphere of influence" approach),

reaffirming plans for a joint military effort against Japan, and even—after

much difficulty—appearing to find a common approach to the difficulties of

Poland and Eastern Europe. When it was all over, FDR told the American

people: "I got along fine with Marshall Stalin ... I believe he is truly

representative of the heart and soul of Russia; and I believe that we are

going to get along very well with him and the Russian people—very well

indeed." When pressed on what kind of a person the Soviet leader was,

Roosevelt responded:

"I would call him something like me, ... a realist."

The final conference of Stalin, Churchill, and Roosevelt at Yalta in

February 1945 appeared at the time to carry forward the partnership,

although in retrospect it would become clear that the facade of unity was

built on a foundation of misperceptions rooted in the different values,

priorities, and political ground rules of the two societies. Stalin seemed

to recognize Roosevelt's need to present postwar plans—for domestic

political reasons—as consistent with democratic, universalistic principles.

Roosevelt, in turn, appreciated Stalin's need for friendly governments on

his borders. The three leaders agreed on concrete plans for Soviet

participation in the Japanese war, and Stalin reiterated his support for a

coalition government in China with Chiang Kaishek assuming a position of

leadership. Although some of Roosevelt's aides were skeptical of the

agreements made, most came back confident that they had succeeded in laying

a basis for continued partnership. As Harry Hopkins later recalled, "we

really believed in our hearts that this was the dawn of the new day we had

all been praying for. The Russians have proved that they can be reasonable

and far-seeing and there wasn't any doubt in the minds of the president or

any of us that we could live with them and get along with them peacefully

for as far into the future as any of us could imagine."

In fact, two disquietingly different perceptions of the Soviet Union

existed as the war drew to an end. Some Washington officials believed that

the mystery of Russia was no mystery at all, simply a reflection of a

national history in which suspicion of outsiders was natural, given

repeated invasions from Western Europe and rampant hostility toward

communism on the part of Western powers. Former Ambassador to Moscow Joseph

Davies believed that the way to cut through that suspicion was to adopt

"the simple approach of assuming that what they say, they mean." On the

basis of his personal negotiations with the Russians, presidential aide

Harry Hopkins shared the same confidence.

The majority of well-informed Americans, however, endorsed the opposite

position. It was folly, one newspaper correspondent wrote, "to prettify

Stalin, whose internal homicide record is even longer than Hitler's."

Hitler and Stalin were two of the same breed, former Ambassador to Russia

William Bullitt insisted. Each wanted to spread his power "to the ends of

the earth. Stalin, like Hitler, will not stop. He can only be stopped."

According to Bullitt, any alternative view implied "a conversion of Stalin

as striking as the conversion of Saul on the road to Damascus." Senator

Robert Taft agreed. It made no sense, he insisted, to base U.S. policy

toward the Soviet Union "on the delightful theory that Mr. Stalin in the

end will turn out to have an angelic nature." Drawing on the historical

precedents of the purge trials and traditional American hostility to

communism, totalitarianism, and Stalin, those who held this point of view

saw little hope of compromise. "There is as little difference between

communism and fascism," Monsignor Fulton J. Sheen said, "as there is

between burglary and larceny." The only appropriate response was force.

Instead of "leaning over backward to be nice to the descendents of Genghis

Khan," General George Patton suggested, "[we] should dictate to them and do

it now and in no uncertain terms." Within such a frame of reference, the

lessons of history and of ideological incompatibility seemed to permit no

possibility of compromise.

But Roosevelt clearly felt that there was a third way, a path of mutual

accommodation that would sustain and nourish the prospects of postwar

partnership without ignoring the realities of geopolitics. The choice in

his mind was clear. "We shall have to take the responsibility for world

collaboration," he told Congress, "or we shall have to bear the

responsibility for another world conflict." President Roosevelt was neither

politically naive nor stupid. Even though committed to the Atlantic

Charter's ideals of self-determination and territorial integrity, he

recognized the legitimate need of the Soviet Union for national security.

For him, the process of politics—informed by thirty-five years of skilled

practice—involved striking a deal that both sides could live with.

Roosevelt acknowledged the brutality, the callousness, the tyranny of the

Soviet system. Indeed, in 1940 he had called Russia as absolute a

dictatorship as existed anywhere. But that did not mean a solution was

impossible, or that one should withdraw from the struggle to find a basis

for world peace. As he was fond of saying about negotiations with Russia,

"it is permitted to walk with the devil until the bridge is crossed."

The problem was that, as Roosevelt defined the task of finding a path

of accommodation, it rested solely on his shoulders. The president

possessed an almost mystical confidence in his own capacity to break

through policy differences based on economic structures and political

systems, and to develop a personal relationship of trust that would

transcend impersonal forces of division. "I know you will not mind my being

brutally frank when I tell you," he wrote Churchill in 1942, "[that] I

think I can personally handle Stalin better than either your Foreign Office

or my State Department. Stalin hates the guts of all your top people. He

thinks he likes me better, and I hope he will continue to do so."

Notwithstanding the seeming naivete of such statements, Roosevelt appeared

right, in at least this one regard. The Soviets did seem to place their

faith in him, perhaps thinking that American foreign policy was as much a

product of one man's decisions as their own. Roosevelt evidently thought

the same way, telling Bullitt, in one of their early foreign policy

discussions, "it's my responsibility and not yours; and I'm going to play

my hunch."

The tragedy, of course, was that the man who perceived that fostering

world peace was his own personal responsibility never lived to carry out

his vision. Long in declining health, suffering from advanced

arteriosclerosis and a serious cardiac problem, he had gone to Warm

Springs, Georgia, to recover from the ordeal of Yalta and the congressional

session. On April 12, Roosevelt suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage and

died. As word spread across the country, the stricken look on people's

faces told those who had not yet heard the news the awful dimensions of

what had happened. "He was the only president I ever knew," one woman said.

In London, Churchill declared that he felt as if he had suffered a physical

blow. Stalin greeted the American ambassador in silence, holding his hand

for thirty seconds. The leader of the world's greatest democracy would not

live to see the victory he had striven so hard to achieve.

2.2 The Truman Doctrine.

Few people were less prepared for the challenge of becoming president.

Although well-read in history, Truman's experience in foreign policy was

minimal. His most famous comment on diplomacy had been a statement to a

reporter in 1941 that "if we see that Germany is winning [the war] we ought

to help Russia, and if Russia is winning we ought to help Germany and that

way let them kill as many as possible, although I don't want to see Hitler

victorious under any circumstances." As vice-president, Truman had been

excluded from all foreign policy discussions. He knew nothing about the

Manhattan Project. The new president, Henry Stimson noted, labored under

the "terrific handicap of coming into... an office where the threads of

information were so multitudinous that only long previous familiarity could

allow him to control them." More to the point were Truman's own comments:

"They didn't tell me anything about what was going on. . . . Everybody

around here that should know anything about foreign affairs is out." Faced

with burdens sufficiently awesome to intimidate any individual, Truman had

to act quickly on a succession of national security questions, aided only

by his native intelligence and a no-nonsense attitude reflected in the now-

famous slogan that adorned his desk: "The Buck Stops Here."

Truman's dilemma was compounded by the extent to which Roosevelt had

acted" as his own secretary of state, sharing with almost no one his plans

for the postwar period. Roosevelt placed little trust in the State

Department's bureaucracy, disagreed with the suspicion exhibited toward

Russia by most foreign service officers, and for the most part appeared to

believe that he alone held the secret formula for accommodation with the

Soviets. Ultimately that formula presumed the willingness of the Russian

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