(The Cummings Center Series) Gabriel Gorodetsky - Soviet Foreign Policy, 1917-1991 - A Retrospective-Routledge (1994) PDF

SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY, 1917-1991
A Retrospective
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T h e Cum m ings C enter for Russian and East European Studies

T h e Cum mings C enter Series
Soviet Foreign Policy, 1917-1991

A R etrospective
Gabriel G orodetsky, Editor

a THE CUMMINGS CENTER
xJjtf FOR RUSSIAN AND EAST EUROPEAN STUDIES
JH TEL AVIV UNIVERSITY
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SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY
1917-1991
A Retrospective
Edited by
GABRIEL GORODETSKY
| J Routledge
Taylor &. Francis Group
LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 1994 by
FRANK CASS AND CO. LTD.
Published 2013 by Routledge

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Routledge is an imprint o f the Taylor & Francis Group,

an informa business
Copyright © 1994
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Soviet Foreign Policy, 1917-91:
Retrospective
I. Gorodetsky, Gabriel
327.47
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Soviet foreign policy, 1917-1991: a retrospective / edited by Gabriel
Gorodetsky
p.cm.
1. Soviet Union — Foreign relations. I. Gorodetsky, Gabriel, 1945—
DK266.45.S68 1993 93-30 555
327.47'009'04-dc20 CIP
ISBN 13: 978-0-714-64506-3 (hbk)

ISBN 13: 978-0-714-64112-6 (pbk)
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Typeset by University Publishing Projects, Tel Aviv, Israel

Contents
Introduction 1
Part One
THE GENESIS OF SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY
1. The NEP in Foreign Policy: The Genoa Conference
and the Treaty of Rapallo 11
Carole Fink
2. G. V. Chicherin: A Historical Perspective 21

Richard K. Debo
3- The Formulation o f Soviet Foreign Policy —

Ideology and Realpolitik 30
Gabriel Gorodetsky
4. The Foreign Policy of the Soviet Ukraine and Its

Domestic Implications, 1919-1923 45
Francis Conte
5. Litvinov, Stalin and the Road Not Taken 55

Jo n ath an Haslarn
Part Two
THE SECOND WORLD WAR AND THE GRAND ALLIANCE
6. Soviet Security Policy in the 1930s 65
Teddy J. Uldricks
7. The Secret Protocols of 1939 as a Problem of Soviet

Historiography 75
Lev Bezymensky
8. Poland between East and West — The Politics

of a Government-in-Exile 86
Anita J. Prazmowska
9- The Soviet Union and the Grand Alliance: The Internal

Dimension of Foreign Policy 97
Aleksei Filitov
Part Three
THE COLD WAR
10. Soviet Foreign Policy and the Origins of the Cold War 105
M ikhail Narinsky
11. British Policy towards the Soviet Union 1945-1948 111

Martin Kitchen
12. The Origins of the Cold War in the Near East 135
B ru ce R. Kuniholm
13. The Problematics of the Soviet-Israeli Relationship 146

Yaacov R o’i
14. Gorbachev and the Reunification of Germany:

Personal Recollections 158
A natolii C herniaev
15. On the Road to German Reunification: The View

from Moscow 170
Vyacheslav D ashichev
Part Four
CHANGING PERCEPTIONS OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY
16. Politics and Morality in Soviet Foreign Policy 183

A lexan der Tchoubarian
17. International Affairs at the End of the Cold War 187

Igor Lebedev
18. From Cold War to New World Order 192

Viktor Kuvaldin
19. Moscow and the Gulf War: The Policies of a Collapsing

Superpower 198
C arol R. Saivetz
20. Domestic Aspects of Soviet Foreign Policy 209

A lexan der Dallin
Notes on Contributors 217
Index 221
A Retrospective
Introduction
Since Russia’s emergence as a major power in the eighteenth century,

the Western world has been reluctant to accept it as an integral part of
Europe. This rebuff, embedded in a deep-rooted Russophobic tradi
tion, was heightened by the Bolshevik Revolution. In 1839 the Marquis
de Custine returned from Russia appalled, preaching to the Europeans
that the Russians were no more than “Chinese masquerading as
Europeans”. Two centuries later Churchill referred to the Soviet Union
as “an enigma wrapped in a mystery”. Earlier on he had applied less
flattering metaphors to the Russians, comparing them to “crocodiles”
and a “plague of baboons”. The continuity in the Western perception
of Russia was conspicuous in Churchill’s choice of the “Iron Curtain”,
a mere paraphrase of the “cordon sanitaire” with which Lord Curzon
had hoped to isolate Western civilization from the Bolshevik “plague”
during the Civil War.
Nor have the Russians been unanimous about their own destiny
and identity. From the early 1830s the Russian intelligentsia pursued a
fierce debate over the road which Russia should follow to surmount
her political, social and economic backwardness. The debate has
accompanied each twist in Russian history. Originally the Westernizers
identified Russia as an integral part of European civilization, while the
Slavophiles valued the unique features of a way of life which derives
from Russia’s position between West and East. The contemporary
variation on the controversy is expressed by the liberal reformers, who
look towards the West, and the nationalists who favour the establish
ment of a unique Eurasian entity. The reopening of the age-old
dialogue on the nature of Russian nationalism and the place of Russia
in world affairs reflects the search for a new identity.
On both the Western and Russian sides vindictiveness, resentment
and suspicions have shaped perceptions which in turn have generated
antagonistic policies. Russia has long been regarded as a cancerous
element within the European community despite its military efforts in
the First World War, its attempts to form a united resistance to Nazism,
and its major role in the reshaping of postwar Europe. The Cold War
ultimately cast a long shadow over Russia’s contribution to the final
victory over Nazism in Europe. This in turn encouraged isolationist
and xenophobic tendencies in Moscow, fuelling Stalin’s pathological
suspicion of Western intentions.
The dismemberment of the Soviet Empire finds Russia once again
1
at a crossroad. In its feeble state, troubled by internal havoc, instability
and econom ic hardship, Russia is once again being forced to forfeit its
connection to Europe. The move towards a united Europe continues
with vigour and there is a clear sense of relief now that the menace
from the East has been lifted. For a while it seemed that Russia’s claim
to membership in Europe might disturb the tranquillity of the
European Home. The undeniable departure of Russia as a dynamic
force from the European scene is welcomed, as long as Russian
domestic chaos does not spill beyond its borders. In its present
weakness Russia is once again being ostracized and left out in the
cold.
For historians the dissolution of the Soviet Union permits an overall
view of Soviet foreign policy. They are now in a position to explore
archival sources which have been entirely inaccessible, and to
examine topics which have been highly politicized in the past. For the
Russian scholar, the historical journey cannot be divorced from the
dynamics of the present reshaping of Russia. While it is commonly
acknowledged that historical precedents cannot serve as a yardstick
for forecasting the future, the search for a new identity relies heavily
on the legacy of the past. Allusion to the past, whether the Communist
or the Imperial one, is a means to reestablish Russia’s international
stature. In the best Russian tradition, further assisted by a diehard and
less appealing communist practice, Russian historians still feel
politically responsible and committed to their past history.
In the sphere of East-West relations the historical lessons are
indispensable for the reevaluation of the perceptions and prejudices
which have underlain the policies pursued. More than in any other
field of history, both Russian and Western students of Soviet foreign
affairs have been bound in differing degrees by political dispositions.
The emergence of a new Russia provides a unique opportunity to shed
biases and examine controversial historical precedents in a temperate
fashion.
It was the need to put this historical experience into perspective
which brought together leading Russian and Western historians in
Moscow to sum up their research, identify contentious issues and
ponder whether indeed past experience has any relevance for the
emergence of a new Russia. While the present collection does not
pretend to encompass the whole range of issues relating to the course
of seventy years of Soviet foreign policy, it does address the crucial
ones pertaining to the Soviet Union’s relations with the West.
The mere opening of archival sources is not a sufficient guarantee
o f a proper re-examination of Soviet foreign policy. The encounter
with the Russian scholars confirmed the need to set common
2
INTRODUCTION
paradigms in view of the basic discrepancy in methodology and con

ceptual outlook. Setting up a common platform for collaboration will
facilitate future joint investigation with Russian scholars, whose prox
imity to and familiarity with the archival sources and acquaintance
with the environment which they investigate are valuable assets.
Any revisionist approach requires the transcendence of biases and
political beliefs. Bidding farewell to a familiar and congenial past with
a smile, as Bezymensky astutely comments, can be an agonizing task.
For instance, the attempts made by the Gorbachev administration to
deny the existence o f the Secret Protocols of the Ribbentrop-Molotov
Pact in the Soviet archives manifest the need for a continuous dialogue
which will maintain the momentum of reviewing Soviet history.
New facets of Soviet foreign policy should be explored, particularly
the domestic aspects, as is pointed out by Alexander Dallin. Dallin sets
the agenda for further study of the process of foreign policy decision
making and the need to investigate institutional rivalry over matters of
foreign policy. The neglect of these aspects has led to the total
bankruptcy of Sovietology in its attempts to understand the workings
of Soviet foreign policy.
Although Russian historians are no longer fettered by official
diktats, their historical approach to the subject matter is under
standably governed by their individual and collective attitudes to the
colossal changes now sweeping Russia. They are once again joining
hands with politicians in a search for clues and moral lessons in the
past which can be applied to the future course of the country. A
disturbing tendency is the attempt to erase the entire Soviet experience
from the collective Russian memory and then pick up the threads back
in 1914, dismantling the legacy, history and traditions of almost an
entire century.
A number of historians feel compelled to come to terms with the
Soviet legacy. The formulation of policy must be based, as Igor
Lebedev observes, on a continuity which is grounded in constant
geopolitical, national and psychological conditions. As is evident from
most of the chapters in this volume, the Russian Federation will find it
exceedingly difficult to dissociate itself from the communist legacy,
just as the Bolshevik Revolution failed to sever its ties with the Tsarist
heritage. Lebedev calls for a dispassionate reassessment of Soviet
foreign policy, which will help to reconstruct Russia’s identity on the
basis of past legacy and establish its corresponding responsibilities.
This is essential for the stability of the entire world. Others like
Alexander Tchoubarian, apply a new blend of ethics and morality as
the main criterion for passing historical judgment. The application of
morality and ethics to the search for a new foreign policy seems to
3
Tchoubarian the best means of bridging the gap between science and
politics.
A major historical debate, which had a direct political influence on
the formulation of policy towards the Soviet Union, involved the
evaluation of the nature and aims of Soviet foreign policy. Up to the
very collapse of the Soviet empire, historians and politicians continued
to haggle over the issue of whether the dual policy was based
predominantly on ideology or realpolitik. The first decade of the
Bolshevik Revolution is now recognized as a dramatic epoch in which
ideology and statesmanship clashed in a still relatively pluralistic
environment. The majority of the historians writing in this volume
agree that from the beginning Soviet foreign policy was characterized
by a gradual but consistent retreat away from unbending hostility to
the capitalist regimes and towards peaceful coexistence based on
mutual expediency.
The subsequent string of “breathing spaces”, though clad in
revolutionary jargon, brought about a steady erosion of the ideological
component of Soviet foreign policy. In her case study Carole Fink
presents the Genoa Conference in 1922 as a daring attempt to
negotiate a compromise through the acceptance of ideological
differences and the search for accommodation. Ironically, Genoa
turned out to be a model of failure of a genuine search for peaceful
coexistence. A neat assessment of M oscow’s dilemmas in the 1930s
leads Teddy Uldricks to the similar conclusion that Soviet foreign
policy was indeed motivated primarily by a genuine and desperate
search for security.
Richard Debo and Uldricks agree that a review of the initial stages
of Soviet foreign policy is essential for detecting missed opportunities
in the 1930s, such as the establishment of a common front against
Nazism which might have created a solid basis for the Grand Alliance,
thus averting the Cold War. The Cold War increasingly emerges as a
prolonged process of mutual errors of judgment, most of which
derived from the often irrational suspicions prevailing not only in
Moscow but also among Western academics and politicians alike. The
deterioration of relations in the wake of the Second World War, as
Mikhail Narinsky argues on the basis of Soviet archival material, rested
on earlier suspicions and mistrust, and led to a situation in which
military means becam e the sole language of diplomacy.
Martin Kitchen offers a survey of Labour’s attitude towards the
Soviet Union against the background of the looming Cold War. He
shows how Bevin, aware of the limitations of British policy in the
wake of the Second World War, moulded a sober and realistic
relationship with Moscow, demolishing many relics of the past. But by
4
INTRODUCTION
1947 the USA had taken the lead from the British in confronting the
Russians with great power politics. East-West relations were further
aggravated by the Americans’ conviction of ideological superiority.
Indeed, Bruce Kuniholm clearly depicts how Soviet-American rivalry
in the Near East superseded the earlier Anglo-Soviet one. Unlike Teddy
Uldricks, he believes that while American policy in the region was
predominantly dictated by genuine security concerns and aimed at
containing the Russians, that of Moscow was expansionist and in
flagrant violation of international codes of behaviour.
From a different perspective, Prazmowska relates how the Polish
issue came to dominate the meeting at Yalta which symbolizes the
“great betrayal” and the emergence of the Cold War. This
phenomenon should be viewed in the context of the strategic and
military policies pursued by Poland in 1941-43. She contends that the
Poles sought to exert disproportional influence, pursuing an illusory
conviction that Britain and the United States would prevent the Soviets
from taking control of Poland in the event of victory over Germany.
The twentieth century is commonly regarded as the age of “mass
participation”. Modern governments, sustained by the powerful
bureaucratic edifice of civil administration, are compelled to seek
legitimization through multiple channels of popular consent. And yet it
is hard to deny the prominent role played by the towering figures of
this century. Their leadership, often forged by crisis, underlines the
supremacy of personality and circumstances.
The absence of archival sources and inside knowledge has diverted
historians towards ideology and power politics; in a society where
personal contact and back-room politics were and remain a major
feature, the human dimension has been ignored. As Alexander Dallin
observes, the mechanism o f policy making and the relative weight of
its executors remain practically unknown. Because of the heavily
censored and hagiographic nature of the portraits drawn in the Soviet
Union, it was hardly possible to visualize prominent diplomats such as
Rakovsky, Maiskii, Krestinskii, Ioffe, Litvinov and Molotov as mortals.
Their faces, so far distinguished only by their general contours, have
suddenly com e to life. Their personal habits, inner thoughts and
entourages are brought into focus. Such changes call for striking re-
evaluations of the decision-making process.
For many years historians have been blindly clinging to the
obsolete totalitarian model of Friederich and Arendt. Besides making a
crude and superficial comparison between the Nazi and the Soviet
systems, aimed at discrediting the Soviet Union during the Cold War,
the model did little to enrich our knowledge of Soviet policy.
Sovietologists were often led to produce a subjective evaluation of the
5
motives behind Soviet foreign policy. More often than not such an
approach was dictated entirely by preconceived ideas divorced from
reality. One of the outstanding features of this collection is the attempt
to view the decision-making process through the eyes of leaders and
practitioners rather than focusing on ideological, social or econom ic
factors.
Richard Debo, for example, reveals the significance of the intimate
friendship between Chicherin and Brockdorff-Rantzau. Their relation
ship, cultivated in nocturnal sessions at Chicherin’s flat in the Com
missariat, and nourished by a shared interest in music, literature and
culture, transcended national interests or ideological persuasions.
These personal insights bring to mind Chicherin’s preface to his
scholarly book on Mozart written in 1931, in which he defied the
newly established practice of alluding to Marx, Engels, Lenin and
Stalin. “Mozart,” he wrote as an introductory note, “remained through
out my life my best friend and comrade...standing high above world
history, beyond its drifts and influence.”
The complexities of the decision-making process and the colourful
figures behind it are illuminated in Haslam’s study. Soviet foreign
policy in the crucial late 1930s and in the aftermath of the Second
World War is presented as a bone of contention among Litvinov,
Molotov and Stalin, rather than the product of a lacklustre hierarchy
devoid of any personal initiative. These observations are corroborated
by Filitov, who provides further evidence from the Soviet archives on
dissent in Moscow over issues such as the outbreak of the war in the
Pacific and Roosevelt’s proposal for setting up a Supreme War Council.
The inside story is further unravelled in Anatolii Cherniaev’s per
sonal reminiscences of the negotiations between Kohl and Gorbachev
which led to the reunification of Germany. The proliferation of sources
only sharpens controversies and unfolds the intricacy of events for
which, in the past, Western historians provided simplified answers and
Soviet historians produced dull and dogmatic interpretations. Thus,
while Cherniaev credits Gorbachev with a well-orchestrated move
towards reunification, Dashichev’s eye-witness report depicts the
tremendous pressure which forced Gorbachev to concede step by
step. Such a discrepancy signals the opening of a diversified and
genuine historical dialogue. There is potential for a similar exchange
between Viktor Kuvaldin and Carol Saivetz. In Kuvaldin’s review of the
emergence of “new thinking” in foreign policy his inside information
On the Gulf War adds colour to Carole Saivetz’s interpretation, which
derives from more conventional Western tools.
Another feature which deserves renewed attention is the role
played by the various national and ethnic groups in the conduct of
6
INTRODUCTION
Soviet foreign policy. The axiomatic recognition of the Soviet Union as

an indivisible entity led most observers to play down regional and
autonomous interests within the various Republics. However,
nationalist undercurrents have persisted since the 1920s and are clearly
demonstrated by the emergence of an autonomous Ukrainian foreign
policy, with distinct attributes, geared towards integration into the
emerging bloc of Central European states. The extent to which the
Ukraine, under the guidance of Khristian Rakovsky, attempted to
assert econom ic and political independence from the Russians in the
1920s is the subject of a pioneering study by Conte. Yaacov Ro’i shows
that it was not global politics but anti-Semitism on the one hand and
the activities of Soviet Jewry on the other which were the major factors
determining the Soviet demeanour in the Middle East.
I am particularly grateful to Prof. Alexander Oganovich
Tchoubarian, Director of the Institute of General History of the Russian
Academy of Sciences, for the fruitful collaboration in the mounting of
the Moscow conference on the history of Soviet foreign policy in 1992.
The research papers presented at the conference served as the
backbone of this collection. A special debt of gratitude is owed to Mrs.
Deena Leventer for her devotion in the organizational work of the
conference and for the meticulous care she and Mrs. Beryl Belsky
invested in the editorial work.
Gabriel Gorodetsky
Tel Aviv
July 1993
7
Part One
THE GENESIS OF SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY

1
The NEP in Foreign Policy:

The Genoa Conference and the
Treaty of Rapallo
CAROLE FINK
One of the most significant events in the early history of Soviet-

Western relations took place at the Genoa Conference of 1922. Con
vened by the Supreme Allied Council to re-establish ties between
Soviet Russia and the West, this 34-nation summit conference lasted six
weeks but produced no agreement. After only one week, the Soviet
and German delegates signed a separate treaty at Rapallo; and after the
dismal follow-up conference to Genoa that summer at the Hague,
Moscow and the West were perhaps even further apart than before.
Historians of the Genoa Conference have long debated whether
both sides were sincere, realistic, or even capable o f establishing
peace between Soviet Russia and the capitalist world. They have
investigated leadership of both sides, their ideological, political and
financial structures, and their economic, social, and cultural situations
in 1921-22.1 The unprecedented availability and magnitude of
captured German documents, plus the archival sources of North
America, Europe and Japan facilitated in producing a balanced
multinational perspective. Even with the help of only the printed
Soviet sources, it is possible to examine one of the initial and critical
episodes in Soviet-Western relations.
The tides of revolution and counter-revolution had ebbed in 1921,
and both sides were casting about for alternatives to military and
ideological confrontation. Four years after the October Revolution,
Soviet Russia, faced at home with internal dissent and a collapsed
econom y and abroad with diplomatic ostracism and the repression of
revolutionary movements, called for a truce with the bourgeois
capitalist world. Great Britain was pressed by its own financial,
11
GENESIS OF SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY
political, and social problems. Convinced of the futility of further

efforts to overthrow or exclude the Soviet regime, and intent on re
vising what it considered an unsatisfactory postwar peace structure,
Britain was the first major power to respond to Moscow’s overtures.
The Anglo-Soviet trade agreement of 16 March 1921 signalled the end
of outright antagonism and the search for a new basis of East-West
diplomacy.2
Both sides were wary of the risks and the costs. Both were led by
charismatic, forceful, yet flexible leaders, V. I. Lenin and David Lloyd
George, who were flanked at home by vocal opponents on the left
and the right. The world’s first socialist state and leader of the
Comintern, which had repudiated traditional Great Power diplomacy,
was about to make overtures to the class enemy. Britain, burdened by
imperial responsibilities, heavily in debt to the United States, and
bound to European peace treaties, was about to deal with its sworn
global opponent.3
In 1921, Moscow launched the New Economic Policy and offered
concessions to foreign capitalists. Seeking trade and loans, Lenin in
troduced a series of legal and political reforms to attract Western
businessmen and to facilitate Russia’s recovery. In the wake of crop
failures, famine and epidemics, the Soviet state also appealed for direct
aid from the West. Lenin and Georgii Chicherin, the People’s
Commissar of Foreign Affairs, formulated a policy of peaceful
coexistence which included renouncing armed conflict, exploring
specific areas of accommodation and establishing a basis for peaceful
competition with the capitalist world.4
Russians and Westerners have written extensively during the past
seven decades on the origins and meaning of the term “coexistence”.5
Some scholars date it back to Brest-Litovsk, and to Lenin’s willingness
to compromise in order to gain his ends. Seemingly inconsistent with a
professed revolutionary regime and with its need and commitment to
destabilize Western imperialism, Lenin’s policy of coexistence
ostensibly stopped the insurrectionist clock, or at least slowed it
down.6
A precise analysis of this complex policy must await the opening of
Soviet archives. In the meantime, one can at least assert the following:
coexistence was aimed at winning breathing space and possible
econom ic benefits for the still-precarious Soviet regime. It was a means
of promoting trade, credits, diplomatic agreements and the cause of
general disarmament. In addition, it served as a valuable propaganda
weapon to impress Western liberals and pacifists and to silence right-
wing enemies. Indeed, it was an effective tool for balancing Soviet
foreign policy between the moderates in the Narkomindel and the
12
NEP IN FOREIGN POLICY
ideologues of the Third International.7

Peaceful coexistence also had political significance for Lenin in
1922. It seems likely that the selective pursuit of friendly contacts with
the West was aimed as much at cementing his personal leadership as
preserving the Soviet state. Still attempting to hold the reins of power,
the ailing Soviet leader applied the diplomacy of coexistence as a
brake against his political rivals. His goal was apparently to dismantle
war communism and restructure the military forces, as well as to
promote administrative and economic reform.8
The West responded to Lenin’s overtures with a predictable mixture
of fear and political pragmatism. The opponents of the revolution
insisted on drawing a clear distinction between the Russian people
and the Bolshevik regime; between humanitarian assistance and direct
political contacts. The United States, the first to provide massive aid
through Herbert Hoover’s American Relief Administration, managed its
resources independently of Moscow and its former European allies.
France, representing over a million dispossessed Russian bondholders,
urged a united front of Western capitalists to impose stiff conditions in
return for renewed economic ties with Moscow. Lloyd George was the
spokesman for the capitalists, workers, and moderate leftist opinion,
advocating a complete detente with Lenin’s Russia, including political
ties. Thus the Western camp lined up behind three positions. The
proponents of pre-revolutionary Russia, who viewed the Soviet state
as a ruined land pitted with menace for all but the most ruthless or
witless entrepreneurs, supported Washington. Those governments
obliged by their electorate to demonstrate a modicum of interest in the
fate of a former pillar of the European system — without jeopardizing
basic capitalist principles — adhered to France. Those states per
suaded of the necessity of compromise and conciliation backed Great
Britain.9
Chicherin took the platform on 28 October 1921 to propose the
convocation of an international conference which would discuss
“opening an opportunity for private initiative and capital to cooperate
with the power of the workers in the exploitation of Russia’s natural
resources”.10 Moscow offered to assume the tsarist debts in return for
Allied credits and d e ju r e recognition. It stressed its readiness to rejoin
the international community, “not as a supplicant, but as an equal”.
The Allied response came in January 1922 when the Supreme
Council convoked an “urgent” economic and financial conference to
meet in Genoa in April. The heads of government of every major state,
including Soviet Russia and Germany, were invited. Lloyd George
prevailed on the Council to adopt a series of resolutions. The first was
a ringing formula for coexistence: “Nations can claim no right to
13
dictate to each other regarding the principles on which they are to

regulate their systems of ownership, international economy and
government.” The sixth resolution proposed a European non
aggression pact. However, resolutions two through five stated the
exact price that Russia must pay for Western credits and recognition:
full acknowledgement of its debts, complete property restitution,
reform of its police, legal system and currency, and repudiation of the
propaganda and political activities directed by the Third International
against the capitalist world. Four days later the Supreme Council voted
to establish a consortium of Western capitalists to coordinate and
supervise private investments in Russia.11
Lloyd George’s daring design, aimed at aiding Britain’s ailing export
industries and stabilizing his position at home by producing a quick
agreement with Moscow, confused and irritated his allies as well as his
opponents. France balked at making concessions to Soviet Russia, the
United States remained aloof, and Germany, chafing under the Allies’
reparation demands, vacillated between following Britain’s lead and
asserting an independent, pro-Moscow policy; meanwhile, the rest of
Europe watched uneasily as the Entente bickered over how to deal
with Soviet Russia.12
In Moscow, the elaborate preparations for the Genoa Conference
and the three-month delay until its opening, proved equally stressful.
Unclear whether it would face a united or divided capitalist front, the
Soviet government strove to widen its opponents’ divisions by making
private and public approaches to individual governments while at the
same time emitting signals of accommodation. This policy reflected the
deep internal split between those hardliners like Trotsky who,
expecting nothing from the hostile, feeble capitalists, preached
econom ic autarky, and those pragmatists like Grigorii Sokol’nikov,
who favoured the re-establishment of ties with the West. Lenin trod a
narrow line, advocating coexistence but also vowing to the metal
workers on 6 March 1922 that there would be no ideological retreats.
During the waiting months, there is evidence that “Genoa fever”
infected the ordinary Russian as much as the average Briton, German
and Swiss: the conference unleashed a combination of hope at the
prospect, and fear over the cost, of reconciliation between the
capitalist and communist worlds.13
The public side of the Genoa Conference, which opened on 9 April
1922, produced a glittering spectacle for the assembled horde of
journalists and spectators.14 But when the two sides finally confronted
each other, there was an almost immediate stalemate. Bound by his
allies and by the restrictions of his conservative cabinet, Lloyd George
presented harsh terms to the Soviet delegation: acknowledgement of
14
all debts and full compensation to dispossessed property owners

without reciprocal concessions on loans or recognition. The Soviet
negotiators responded by presenting a gigantic bill for the Allied
intervention and stalled for time.15
Faced by a unified West, Chicherin was apparently persuaded to
play his German card. On Easter Sunday the two pariahs, Germany
and Russia, signed a treaty at Rapallo, based on a mutual repudiation
of debts and claims, the granting of unconditional recognition, the
promise of expanded economic relations and continuation of their
surreptitious military ties. The Rapallo treaty was a thunderbolt whose
reverberations at Genoa and throughout Europe have lasted until
today. It threatened the new Poland and the entire East European
settlement. A model of bilateralism and reciprocity, it broke the power
of the Allies’ demands and appeared to represent a striking Soviet
victory.1^
However, having temporarily gained the upper hand, the Russians
still needed the West’s aid and recognition; but what price were they
willing to pay? Testing the waters, Chicherin sent an accommodating
signal that he was prepared to continue negotiations.17 But the
division between the pragmatists behind the People’s Commissar who
were committed to working towards a comprehensive agreement with
the West, and the doctrinaires like Adol’f Ioffe and Khristian Rakovsky
who were determined to break off relations, had been intensified by
Rapallo. Far off in Moscow, a very ill Lenin favoured the Rapallo model
and chastised Chicherin’s new efforts at rapprochem ent .18
To David Lloyd George, fighting the last great struggle of his
political career, fell the burden of salvaging an agreement. Like Pitt
facing his French opponents in 1797, he was trying to bridge the great
gap between ideological enemies and meet Chicherin halfway. All else
had failed: the armed intervention had left a legacy of bitterness, ruin
and huge Soviet counterclaims; the American policy of hostility and
ostracism, and the French and neutrals’ policies of indifference and
passivity, would be perpetually threatened by another Rapallo. For
imperial Britain, Russia’s weakness as much as its military might,
threatened Europe and the world.19
Lloyd George wanted to offer a combination of private and
government capital to rehabilitate Russia. Without having any illusions
about its crimes and repressiveness, he wanted to recognize Lenin’s
regime and deal with it directly. The alternatives — a continuing hot or
cold war or maintenance of the status quo — were worse. Like Lenin,
he recognized the inefficiency of the Bolshevik government, but he
preferred it to a regime led by White Army generals or by more
doctrinaire radicals. Lloyd George’s road to coexistence meant
15
ignoring Rakovsky’s taunts and paying serious attention to Chicherin’s

bargaining. He had a considerable amount of support. Numerous
bankers and businessmen were interested in gaining access to their
former enterprises in Russia, or exploring new ventures. Western
liberal opinion welcomed peace and trade. The European Left ap
plauded aid for Russia and the prospect of increased employment.20
Not surprisingly, the post-Rapallo negotiations proved fruitless.
Weary and churlish, Lloyd George failed to cajole or bully the Russians
or his allies into making any concessions; neither Germany, protecting
its own interests, nor the United States, which remained aloof and
hostile, helped his flagging crusade. Moreover, the rumours of a Soviet
oil concession to British capitalists marred the proceedings.21 Facing
an impending crisis over German reparations, the Allies were forced to
close ranks against the Soviets. In fact they had nothing to offer them
save vague promises. On orders from Moscow, Chicherin haughtily
rejected these, and for good measure condemned capitalist greed,
hypocrisy and imperialism. The closing session of the Genoa Con
ference on 19 May 1922 was the climax of six weeks of dashed hopes;
the follow-up meeting at the Hague also ended in failure; and with
Lloyd George’s fall and Lenin’s decline, the “spirit of G enoa”
expired.22
Western scholars have strongly disagreed over the meaning of the
Genoa Conference and the causes of its failure. One view is that the
search for conciliation in 1922 represented a temporary, expedient,
and ultimately destructive policy by both sides. According to this
opinion, the aim of Lenin’s policy of coexistence was simply to
w eaken and divide the Western powers in order to achieve immediate
gains. Moscow received its reward at Rapallo, but Germany’s pockets
were empty and its forms of aid less advantageous than those offered
by London or Paris. Due to its shortsightedness and internal divisions,
Russia failed to achieve its larger goals of obtaining substantial funds
and recognition, ending its diplomatic isolation and attaining
disarmament; thereafter, Leninist pliancy gave way to Stalinist
inflexibility and to Soviet isolation.
Similarly, Lloyd George, another astute and pragmatic actor with a
penchant for ringing phrases, has been accused of shortsightedness. It
is claimed that he gambled unsuccessfully with his Genoa policy at
hoodwinking France, the United States and the smaller Western
powers, keeping the Germans in tow and luring Soviet Russia into a
new world order — all for the purpose of securing his own position in
power. His failure resulted not only in his own political demise but
also in the halt of his chimerical European appeasement policy. For
conservative historians, the Genoa Conference has always represented
16
a negative model of the history of East-West relations, a crass and

misguided sacrifice of principle; and Rapallo has embodied the
potential menace of an aggressive Soviet-German alliance.23
The more positive interpretation of Genoa is as a predecessor to
Helsinki, and as representing a missed opportunity for long-term
stable relations between Soviet Russia and the West on the basis of
coexistence.24 Notwithstanding its revolutionary origins and structure,
Soviet Russia had appeared to offer solid concessions and economic,
commercial and political accords which were intended to lead to its
reintegration into the European system in a stable, if competitive East-
West relationship. Behind Lenin stood skilled and articulate prag
matists, such as Leonid Krasin, Nikolai Bukharin, and Sokol’nikov,
who were willing to gamble on coexistence.
In the West — despite the adherence to capitalist principles —
there was considerable inclination to explore the possibility of long
term rapprochem ent with a former adversary. The growing rightist
menace, the mounting rebelliousness in the colonial world, and the
increasing power of the United States and Japan, made Lloyd George’s
conciliatory policy toward Soviet Russia a viable method of preserving
and enlarging Europe’s influence. Indeed, had Lloyd George’s left-
centre government survived, it would have led the continent on a
different course than that of Baldwin, Chamberlain and Churchill.25
Between these two interpretations lies the truth behind the
disastrous failure of the first major encounter between Soviet Russia
and the West. An unprecedentedly long, acrimonious meeting, Genoa
was plagued by technical details, a cumbersome structure, excessive
publicity, and stereotyped imagery of friends as well as opponents.2^
The deeper reality in 1922 was the impact of World War I and the
Russian Revolution, with their immense damage to life and property,
trade and prosperity. In the Great War, Europe had lost 10 per cent of
its population to combat, famine and disease, as well as a considerable
amount of its foreign investments. Prices and debts had soared, public
reserves and confidence had declined. The general feeling was that the
entire region was a “wasteland”, with masses of unemployed workers
in Britain and Scandinavia, ravaged farmlands in France and Belgium,
Poland and Serbia, almost worthless paper currencies in central
Europe and acute capital and land hunger in Czechoslovakia and
Romania. Although there is no precise way to measure Russia’s
suffering, Herbert Hoover’s relief workers estimated that one half of
the country was starving and that it would take half of America’s wheat
crop for four consecutive years plus one billion dollars to restore
normal conditions of production and consumption. Russia’s currency
base was ruined, its transport system chaotic, many of its industrial
17
workers idle. To be sure, throughout the European continent and

within particular countries the scars of war and revolution were evenly
distributed among the winners and the losers. In sum, the longing for a
return to the world of 1914 was as unrealistic as the hope for quick,
comprehensive revision.27
There were personal as well as material considerations at the
Genoa Conference. The Bolshevik and Allied negotiators of 1922 were
temperamentally ill-suited to deal with each other in a conciliatory
manner. Moreover, they were forced to mediate among members of
their own delegations, communicate with their capitals and assume
heroic postures before the world press. The statesmen of the smaller
powers, demanding to take part, played a minor, but distracting role.28
Before and after Rapallo, the Germans pursued a dangerous policy of
their own.
An unwieldy summit conference, located in an ailing, politically-
charged port city and deliberately placed at a great distance from the
major capitals, was an unpromising arena for a reconciliation between
the capitalist and communist worlds. G enoa’s overloaded cable
facilities prevented prompt responses. Only the German delegation
went pluckily to Rapallo without checking with Berlin. In addition, the
constant surveillance of rival communications and their misinter
pretation, poisoned every element of the negotiations. Remote, but
excited public opinion, worked against calm and measured delibera
tion. As the weeks went by and expenses piled up, the home fronts
grew more frightened of the costs of an agreement than of the price of
breaking off negotiations.
Both sides, while talking of “appeasem ent” and “coexistence”, still
heard the sound of the other’s gunfire and referred continually to their
recent military and ideological battles. Large segments of the Western
world were frightened of bolshevism, and the Russians were still
scarred by the wars of intervention. Neither Lloyd George’s “shop
keeper talk” nor Chicherin’s suaveness could conceal the rift that had
opened up at Brest-Litovsk. If coexistence demanded renouncing the
right to dictate to others on e’s form of government and system of
property ownership, neither side had really given up its faith in
ultimate victory.
The faint hopes of the internationalists were also to be sacrificed at
Genoa. The League of Nations was excluded except to provide some
technical assistance. This blow to the new world organization was
understandable, given its unpopularity in London and Moscow as well
as in Washington and Berlin. But the negotiators at Genoa were unable
to produce a real alternative to the infant organization, only the
prospect of more impromptu, inconclusive summits.29 Indeed, like so
18
many Great Power conferences of the 1920s and 1930s — and, in fact,
all the way to Helsinki — the Genoa Conference not only damaged the
prestige of a world institution but also ignored the voices of smaller,
non-aligned countries.
Finally, the genesis of Soviet-Western diplomacy in the 1920s was
firmly embedded in a complex global framework that transcended the
rivalry between capitalism and communism. The emerging capitalist
powers, Japan and the United States, were each pursuing narrow
minded, nationalistic policies;30 Europe was divided into victors and
vanquished and troubled by reparations and minority questions; the
Near East, North Africa and Asia were erupting with nationalism and
anti-colonialism. Indeed, Lenin and Chicherin, along with the hard
liners in Moscow, not only recognized the West’s troubles and
distractions but were all too tempted to exploit them.31
Lenin and Lloyd George each tried to use the Genoa Conference to
bolster his domestic position by convincing the other to risk peace and
cooperation. This episode illustrates the eternal link of domestic
politics to the history of Cold War diplomacy. A daring, improvisational
and flawed enterprise, the Genoa Conference represented an attempt
at negotiation and compromise, an underlying acceptance of
ideological differences and the search for areas of accommodation.
The Soviet Union subsequently employed the Rapallo model to
conclude bilateral agreements with individual Western governments.
But, from a multinational perspective Genoa also becam e a model of
failure, because neither side in 1922 was willing or able to desist from
exploiting the other’s weakness.
NOTES
1. Carole Fink, Axel Frohn and Jurgen Heideking (eds.), Genoa, Rapallo, a n d the
Reconstruction o f Europe in 1922 (Cambridge, 1991) presents the most recent
research findings as well as a thorough bibliography of primary and secondary
sources.
2. Richard Ullman, The Anglo-Soviet A ccord (Princeton, 1972).
3. On Lloyd George, see Kenneth O. Morgan, Consensus a n d Disunity: The Lloyd
Georgian Coalition Government, 1918-1922 , (Oxford, 1979) and Christoph Stamm,
Lloyd George zwischen Innen- und Aussenpolitik: Die britische D eutschlandpolitik
1921-1922 (Cologne, 1977); and on Lenin, E. H. Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution, Vol. 3
(Baltimore, 1966) and A. O. Chubarian, V. I. Lenin i form irovan ie sovetskoi vneshnei
politiki (Moscow, 1972).
4. Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution , Vol. 3, Ch. 27; I. Linder, “Lenin’s Foreign Policy
Activity”, International Affairs 12 (1969), pp. 46-51.
5. See, for example, E. M. Chossudovsky, “Genoa Revisited: Russia and Coexistence”,
Foreign Affairs 50, 3 (April 1972), pp. 554-77; Franklyn Griffiths, G enoa Plus 51:
Changing Soviet Objectives in Europe (Toronto, 1973).
6. “Two nineteenth century patterns blended in Lenin’s mentality: balance of power
politics and the primacy of economics in politics”, in Louis Fischer, The Life o f Lenin
(New York, 1965), p. 557.
19
7. Richard K. Debo, “George Chicherin: Soviet Russia’s Second Foreign Commissar”,
Ph.D. diss., University of Nebraska, 1964, p. 213. Cf. E. M. Chossudovsky, “Lenin and
Chicherin: The Beginnings of Soviet Foreign Policy and Diplomacy”, M illennium 3
(Spring 1974), pp. 7-9.
8. A. O. Chubarian, “V. I. Lenin i Genuia”, Istoriia SSSR2 (1970), pp. 39-30; also Richard
B. Day, Leon Trotsky a n d the Politics o f E conom ic Isolation (Cambridge, 1973).
9. For a review of the contrasting, even contradictory, Western attitudes towards Soviet
Russia, see Fink et al., Genoa, Rapallo, a n d Reconstruction.
10. Text in Great Britain, Cmd. 1546; also P ravda , 29 Oct. 1921.
11. Documents on British Foreign Policy , Vol. 19 (London: HMSO, 1974), pp. 19-34; also
documents nos. 8, 13, 16, 19 and 25.
12. Carole Fink, The G enoa Conference: European Diplomacy, 1921-1922 (Chapel Hill,
1984), pp. 44ff.
13. V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 33, pp. 143-83; Vol. 45, pp. 409-13, 434, 446-48; also
Quarton Report, “Interpretation of Recent Political Developments in Soviet Russia”,
Viborg, Finland, 27 Jan. 1922; US Department of State, 550 E l/40, and V. Buryakov,
“Lenin’s Diplomacy in Action”, International Affairs 5 (1972), pp. 93, and Richard B.
Day, “Trotsky and Preobrazhensky, The Troubled Unity of the Left Opposition”,
Studies in Comparative Communism 10, 1-2 (Spring-Summer 1977), pp. 69-86.
14. Memorably described in Harry Graf Kessler, Tagebucher, 1918-193 7 (Frankfurt-am-
Main, 1961), p. 288.
15. The negotiations can be followed in Documents on British Foreign Policy , Vol. 19.
16. There is an immense literature on Rapallo; recent views in Hartmut Pogge von
Strandmann, “Rapallo-Strategy in Preventive Diplomacy: New Sources and Inter
pretations”, in Volker Berghahn and Martin Kitchen (eds.), Germ any in the Age o f
Total War (London, 1981), and the essay by Peter Kruger in Fink et al., Genoa,
Rapallo, a n d Reconstruction.
17. Fink, Genoa Conference, p. 187.
18. Ibid., pp. 225-31, 262-64.
19- Ibid., pp. 210—13.
20. See the essay by Andrew Williams in Fink et al., Genoa, Rapallo, a n d Reconstruction.
21. On the oil question, see the essay by A. A. Fursenko in Fink et al., Genoa, Rapallo,
a n d Reconstruction.
22. Fink, G enoa Conference, pp. 258-302.
23. See the essay by Stephen Schuker in Fink et al., Genoa, Rapallo, a n d Reconstruction,
for a strongly negative interpretation.
24. See, for example, George Kennan, Russia a n d tbe West under Lenin a n d Stalin (New
York, 1961); La con feren za di Genova e il Trattato di Rapallo (1922) Atti del
convegno italo-sovietico (Rome, 1974); Stephen White, The Origins o f Detente
(Cambridge, 1985).
25. Stephen E. Fritz, “Lloyd George and Peacemaking, 1918-1922”, Ph.D. dissertation,
University of Kentucky, 1972; Morgan, Consensus a n d Disunity.
26. Carole Fink, “Methods and Results of 20th Century Conference Diplomacy”, in Jacques
Bariety and Antoine Fleury (eds.), M ouvements et Initiatives d e P aix dan s la Politique
Internationale, 1867-1928 { Berne, 1987), pp. 245-58.
27. See the recently opened document by Jacques Seydoux, Director of Political and
Commercial Affairs of the French Foreign Ministry, 21 June 1922, Archives of the
French Foreign Ministry (Paris), PA-AP Seydoux, Vol. 25.
28. See the essays by Hadler and Adam on the Little Entente, and Fleury on the neutrals, in
Fink et al., Genoa, Rapallo, a n d Reconstruction.
29. See the records of meetings of the League’s officials who were present at Genoa:
League of Nations Archives 40A 20136/20136-84 and “Genoa and the League”, 24 May
1922, ibid., Special Circular #184.
30. On the US and Japan, see the essays by Schuker and Ueta in Fink et al., Genoa,
Rapallo, a n d Reconstruction.
31. According to a British intelligence report, Chicherin met with Arab and Indian
revolutionaries at Genoa: Foreign Office 371 N 7227/6003/38; and Lenin recommended
that the Third International support insurgents in South Africa: Collected Works, Vol.
45, p. 531.
20
2
G.V. Chicherin:
A Historical Perspective
RICHARD K. DEBO
Western historians have generally viewed Georgii Vasil’evich Chicherin

in a positive light. Both those who have examined his life and career
as a whole and those who have studied narrower portions of it tend to
agree that the second Soviet Foreign Commissar was a very able states
man of wit, intelligence and originality.1 Soviet studies focusing on
Chicherin have reached similar conclusions.2 Many of his con
temporaries were not as complimentary, but then, they had to contend
with his industry, intelligence and skill.3 Chicherin had not been made
Foreign Commissar to win accolades from his counterparts abroad or,
for that matter, the praise of colleagues and political rivals at home.
Even adversaries, such as Richard Child, who represented the United
States at the Lausanne Conference and certainly had no affection for
Soviet Russia or reason to view Chicherin favourably, were forced to
acknowledge Chicherin’s talents:
All Chicherin’s weapons are polished. His thrusts flash in the sun. He
throws words like javelins. He is ironic, argumentative...He bids for the
world’s ear and furnishes it with entertainment, brilliant, clever, adroit. He
attacks the citadels of his opponents.4
This testimony highlights Chicherin’s combativeness, but it must be

remembered that the 1920s was a tumultuous decade and virtually
everyone who held power at the time reflected that turmoil. The Great
War traumatized all who passed through it and left its mark, even on
our own time.
Chicherin excelled because of an unusual education and
superlative linguistic ability. At a time when many Foreign Ministers
had little preparation for their office, Chicherin had served two sub
stantially different apprenticeships. The first had been in the tsarist
21
Foreign Ministry where as a young man, following his graduation from

the University of St. Petersburg, he had spent several years reading
volumes of documents in the Foreign Ministry archives. As a result, he
acquired a deep and lasting knowledge of the policies of Alexander
Gorchakov, who had been the Foreign Minister of Alexander II in the
years following Russia’s defeat in the Crimean War. Gorchakov had
had to deal with an international situation in which Russian power was
on the decline and hence his ability to influence other powers was
limited. He had coped resolutely with the problem, consistently
advising the tsar to avoid unnecessary entanglements in Europe, not to
antagonize stronger powers, and to seek partial relief from British
pressure regarding the Eastern Question by augmenting Russian
influence in Central Asia. This would threaten the British in India and,
Gorchakov hoped, render them more malleable in Europe. Chicherin
would argue successfully for the pursuit of a similar policy in 1919,
threatening the newly enlarged British Empire in Asia in order to
compel London to end intervention in the Russian Civil War and
extend political recognition to the Soviet government in Moscow.5 The
policy actually worked better for Chicherin than for his posthumous
mentor. The first appearance of Soviet troops in northern Iran in May
1920 and the opening of negotiations with the Emir of Afghanistan
alarmed the British Foreign Office and caused British officials in India
to urge Whitehall to negotiate a political settlement with Moscow. This
contributed greatly to the conclusion of the Anglo-Soviet trade
agreement of 1921.
Chicherin served his second apprenticeship after he left the tsarist
Foreign Ministry at the beginning of the twentieth century. This was in
the international revolutionary movement among Russian political
emigres in western and central Europe. In exile, Chicherin becam e a
Menshevik and remained so until his return to Russia in early 1918.
With the outbreak of the Great War, he adhered to the internationalist
faction of the Mensheviks, and from 1916 he followed a line very
similar to that of Lenin. During those years he read virtually everything
written by the major European Marxists and by 1918 was a prominent,
if still secondary figure among proletarian internationalists on the
continent. Therefore he possessed the intellectual framework, con
cepts and vocabulary necessary to be understood in the new Russia
which emerged from the revolutions of 1917.
This combination of a knowledge of classical great power politics,
together with the ability to express this understanding in the Marxist
idiom of his era, made Chicherin unique in revolutionary Russia.
Moreover, while multilingualism was not uncommon among Russian
revolutionaries, Chicherin stood out even among the great linguists of
22
G.V. CHICHERIN
the early Soviet government. Chicherin could converse in all the major
languages of Europe and several of Asia. He routinely dictated his
memos to foreign governments in their own languages and then
corrected the text before it was transmitted. At both the Genoa and
Lausanne conferences he addressed the delegates first in English then
provided his own translation into French. In fact, he seems to have
been the only major foreign minister of his decade who did not use
translators. Robert Hodgson, the keenly observant British agent in
Moscow, wrote in 1923 that Chicherin’s “knowledge and gifts” were
“unique in Soviet Russia and his devotion to the cause and his
personal honesty are unquestioned”.6
Chicherin was not without his idiosyncrasies. He was a per
fectionist and what we would call today a “workaholic”. Few could
keep pace with him, and he required long hours from everyone who
worked for him. As he was without family he actually lived in the
Foreign Commissariat, and was always available to receive incoming
telegrams and radio messages. It is no wonder that Lenin, another
workaholic, valued him so much.7 This industry, however, had a less
positive side, because Chicherin was neither efficient nor well
organized. His disorganization, in fact, was legendary, and he thought
nothing of turning night into day, summoning foreign representatives
to late night meetings in the Foreign Commissariat. This was not a
problem with Count Ulrich von Brockdorff-Rantzau, the German
Ambassador, who had similar work habits, but other foreign
representatives did not find Chicherin’s conduct of business nearly as
satisfactory.
It should be kept in mind, however, that Chicherin had had no
training as an administrator. Nothing in his life as a scholar and
itinerant revolutionary had equipped him for taking charge o f an
emergent but rapidly growing bureaucracy. No professional staff of
civil servants had greeted him on his arrival at the Foreign
Commissariat.8 Virtually all of the tsarist officials had refused to serve
the Soviet government, and Leon Trotsky, the first Foreign Commissar,
had not assigned a high priority to the recruitment of new staff before
resigning his office in early March 1918. As a result, Chicherin had to
build his new commissariat from scratch and it is hardly surprising that
efficient organization was not immediately apparent at the
Narkomindel.
Chicherin will always be associated in history with his foreign
adversaries of the decade from 1918 to 1928. First among these was
Lord Curzon, the British Foreign Secretary from 1919 to 1923. The
rivalry which developed between these two talented and skillful
ministers was extreme. Both used every diplomatic means available to
23
promote the sharply conflicting policies of their governments. Neither

yielded anything to the other. The two actually had a great deal in
common, as both were great aristocrats in the service of multinational
states. The structure of the states was quite different, but the problems
presented to those who defended them were quite similar. Had
Curzon and Chicherin ever had the opportunity to sit down and
dispassionately discuss their common affairs they would quickly have
found that they had similar attitudes to the military commanders,
econom ic ministers and proconsuls of their respective regimes. They
would also have discovered that they had a similar relationship to their
heads of government, Curzon to Lloyd George, and Chicherin to
Lenin. Neither Lloyd George nor Lenin was prepared to give his
Foreign Secretary/Commissar the latitude each would have wished.
Both Lenin and Lloyd George set different priorities from those
recommended by their Foreign Ministers.
These similarities would have emerged very quickly from a frank
discussion between the two. But, a dialogue of this nature was
unthinkable at the time. The two, therefore, engaged in long-distance
hostilities. At one point near the end of the negotiation of the Anglo-
Soviet Trade Agreement of 1921 Curzon, having just received a
particularly venomous communication from Chicherin, declared in a
confidential memorandum circulated to the British cabinet:
With so colossal and finished a liar it is useless to cope. Nor, after my last
reply, which I said would be the last of the series, would I propose to do
so. The fusillade might go on til the dark-haired among us become grey,
the grey-haired white, and white bald.9
Curzon in this instance was also venting his frustration with his own
colleagues, in particular with Prime Minister Lloyd George who, in
opposition to the Foreign Secretary, insisted on pressing ahead with
the completion of the trade agreement.
Curzon and the office which he administered, were not particularly
devoted to the pursuit of truth in their relations with Chicherin and the
Foreign Commissariat. On one occasion in 1920, the Foreign Office,
without consulting Curzon, had threatened Soviet Russia with naval
reprisals for an allegedly serious incident which Chicherin was easily
able to prove had never happened. Taken aback by this revelation,
Curzon demanded an explanation from his officials. It proved so
unsatisfactory that he commented acidly: “...I think that the Order of
Jesuits would derive much pleasure from our explanations”.10
There was open personal animus in the Curzon-Chicherin relation
ship. Each genuinely loathed the other. Nor did matters improve when
they met briefly at Genoa in April 1922 and then for a longer period at
Lausanne later in the year. Chicherin long felt that Curzon had treated
24
G.V. CHICHERIN
him disrespectfully and in Lausanne, when the British Foreign

Secretary received him and conducted the entire interview while
stretched out on a chaise longue , the Foreign Commissar was in
censed. Curzon genuinely had a bad back, but a man of his breeding
would certainly not have received, say, the French Foreign Minister in
this manner. When Chicherin left the meeting he told a reporter that
Curzon was mistaken if he believed that his family was of nobler and
more ancient lineage than his own. The Chicherin family (originally
Cicerini) could trace its roots to the nobility of imperial Rome. Thus,
claimed the Soviet Foreign Commissar, his ancestors had sat in the
Roman Senate at a time when Curzon’s wandered the barren shores of
Britain clad only in blue paint.11
Behind this personal animosity, however, lay conflicting views of
Soviet Russia’s place in the post Great War world order. When it
became clear in mid-1919 that Soviet Russia would probably not only
survive the Civil War but emerge with most of the former empire
intact, Chicherin, with the sanction of Lenin and the Politburo, began
striving for the restoration of Russia, if not as a great power, at least as
a major one and certainly the pre-eminent force in eastern Europe.
This was one of the primary causes of the Soviet-Polish War of
1920. Marshal Pilsudski of Poland had refused to yield hegemony in
eastern Europe to Soviet Russia without a struggle. The British would
not support Pilsudski’s pretensions, but neither would they recognize
the claim, made by Chicherin, to Soviet primacy in eastern Europe. As
usual, the British supported the emergence of a balance of power in
which they reserved for themselves the favourable role of terens
gaudens. Thus Whitehall, and above all Curzon, expected Soviet
Russia to assume the role of a secondary state: stronger than Poland to
be sure, but not strong enough to threaten the many British interests in
Asia. The failure of the Allied intervention in the Civil War had shown
that this objective could not be achieved militarily, but Curzon and the
Foreign Office felt that much could be achieved by political means.
Soviet Russia, they believed, should be kept at arm’s length, relations
reduced to a bare minimum, while other states should be encouraged
to take a similar course.12 This infuriated Chicherin, and he sought
every possible escape from the isolation which Britain attempted to
impose on Moscow. In this he was only partly successful, and during
Chicherin’s incumbency Soviet Russia never succeeded in achieving
the status to which he aspired.
O f course, British hostility was not grounded in Curzon’s personal
animosity to Chicherin or his policies. Successive foreign secretaries
would likewise seek to marginalize Soviet influence in Europe and
Asia. In this they were aided initially by the counterproductive policies
25
of the Comintern and, in the NEP period, by the poor performance of

the Soviet economy. Ironically, when the Comintern was tamed and
rapid industrialization begun, the ferocity of Stalin’s dictatorship
rendered the Soviet Union even less attractive to London than before.
In short, the tragedy of the failure of collective security in the thirties
had roots extending back to the inability of the Soviet and Western
governments to find more than a m odus vivendi as a basis for their
relationship after the conclusion of the Great War.13
In contrast to his hostile relations with Curzon, Chicherin devel
oped a close personal friendship with Count Ulrich von Brockdorff-
Rantzau, who served as German Ambassador in Moscow from 1922
until his death in 1928. Both were aristocratic statesmen with similar
intellectual interests. They were able to speak frankly with one another
on almost any subject. They both represented states which had been
defeated in the Great War and, in their view, treated badly by the
victorious Allies. They thought in terms of realpolitik and ways in
which to maximize the reduced power of the states they represented.
Both opposed the international system established for Europe by the
Versailles treaty. Rantzau had been German Foreign Minister at the
time of the Paris Peace Conference and had been summoned to
Versailles to receive the document which Wilson, Lloyd George and
Clemenceau had formulated. He chose to resign rather than sign the
treaty.
Chicherin, for his part, had becom e fixed in the public mind as a
leading opponent of Versailles and the League of Nations. He had
missed no opportunity to attack the treaty and mock the League.
During Chicherin’s stewardship, Soviet Russia would have nothing to
do with what he referred to as the “League of Victors”. Rantzau deeply
appreciated the full-blooded support the Foreign Commissar provided
Germany in opposing the Versailles treaty. On one occasion he
referred to Chicherin as “nicht nur ein Staatsmann, sondern auch ein
Herr” (not only a statesman, but a gentleman, as w ell).14
It should be noted, however, that the basis for substantial political
agreement between the two men and their governments, the so-called
Schicksalgem einschaft (community of fate), emerged only after the
Allied forces had imposed the Versailles treaty on Germany. Although
Rantzau, as German Ambassador in Copenhagen during World War I,
had long been acquainted with Russian social democrats, he had not
always been favourably disposed to them. In his six-month term as
German Foreign Minister (until 28 June 1919), he had pursued his
government’s policy of seeking a more lenient peace from the
victorious Allies in return for assisting the Western powers to crush
bolshevism in Russia.
26
G.V. CHICHERIN
It was only after the failure of this approach that Rantzau resigned
as Foreign Minister and began promoting closer ties with the
revolutionary government in Moscow. Needless to say, Chicherin had
scorned Rantzau’s policy of seeking accommodation with the Western
powers. After the conclusion of the Rapallo treaty in April 1922, the
two worked together to further both political and economic coopera
tion between Russia and Germany in order to increase their govern
ments’ freedom to manoeuvre in broader questions of international
relations.
These concerns, however, were not the only ones on the agenda.
Rantzau’s Eastern orientation had to compete with a rapidly develop
ing Western one advocated by the German Foreign Minister Gustav
Stresemann after 1923.15 Furthermore the German army had been
conducting its own policy in Russia, frequently at odds with that of
Rantzau, who feared the generals would compromise his political
objectives through ill-considered agreements with the Red Army. Much
of this is known through German documents uncovered after the end
of World War II, but the Soviet side now requires detailed study.16 Just
as there was more than one German perspective on the development
of Soviet-German relations, there were numerous Soviet ones as well.
The intrusive Comintern and the Red Army had their own objectives
and these must be studied in the future, together with other influences
on Soviet-German relations which have not yet come to light.
A number of other questions need to be studied more closely.
Uppermost, is the process by which Soviet foreign policy was
formulated in the 1920s. Until he fell ill, Lenin appears to have
supervised Chicherin’s day-to-day conduct of foreign relations. Who, if
anyone, assumed this role in the immediate aftermath of Lenin’s
illness? How did this change with time, and especially after Lenin’s
death? To whom did Chicherin report and in what manner? What other
agencies and/or individuals were heard at the same time? Western
historians have long assumed that the power struggle following Lenin’s
illness had a negative impact on Soviet foreign policy. Do Soviet
sources confirm this? If so, what was the effect of this struggle on
Soviet policy, for example, in the Ruhr crisis of early 1923, and the
near revolutionary circumstances in Germany later that year? Similarly
we need to look more closely at the evolution of Soviet reaction to the
stabilization of Germany following the end of the great inflation and
the adoption of the Dawes Plan. There must have been several views
on this process as well as on Stresemann’s move toward rap
proch em en t with the Western powers and the application for German
membership in the League of Nations.
Another area requiring further study is the emergent influence of
27
Joseph Stalin on Soviet foreign policy.17 As a leading member of the

Bolshevik Central Committee and Politburo, Stalin had long had an
interest in certain areas of foreign policy and, after 1919 at any rate, did
not hesitate to express his views on those which concerned him. In the
last eighteen months of the Civil War he intervened time and again to
promote policies which he considered necessary or desirable. But
there must have been a qualitative change in his ability to influence
foreign policy, first after assuming the post of General Secretary and
then following Lenin’s serious illness. At what point did the
Narkomindel begin to respond directly to Stalin’s initiatives and what
form did this response take? Chicherin and Stalin did not get along
particularly well prior to 1923- Did relations simply continue to
deteriorate or was there some period between 1923 and 1926 when the
two worked better together than before? By 1926 we know that
Chicherin was complaining bitterly of Stalin’s interference in the
conduct of foreign policy, but this knowledge is based only on very
limited sources. Are there Narkomindel documents which provide a
full exposition of Chicherin’s views and how they developed over
time? Do they, or other sources, show how Chicherin was eased out of
office after 1928? When Chicherin finally resigned in 1930 Litvinov, not
surprisingly, declared that this would not result in any significant
change of policy. At what point did a change of policy take place and
h o w in fact w as Litvinov installed as the actual h ead of the F oreign
Commissariat? All these and many other questions require urgent
attention in the years to come.
NOTES
1. Louis Fischer, The Soviets in World Affairs: A History o f the Relations between the
Soviet Union a n d the Rest o f the World, 1917-1929 , 2 Vols. (New York, 1930); E. H.
Carr, A History o f Soviet Russia , 10 Vols. (New York, 1931-1979); George Kennan,
Russia a n d the West un der Lenin a n d Stalin (Boston, 1961), are classic works in the
field. More recent interpretations are offered by Teddy J. Uldricks, D iplom acy a n d
Ideology. The Origins o f Soviet Foreign Relations 191 7 - 1930 (London, 1979); Timothy
Edward O ’Connor, D iplomacy a n d Revolution. G. V. Chicherin a n d Soviet Foreign
Affairs, 1918-1930 (Iowa, 1988); Richard K. Debo, Survival a n d Consolidation: The
Foreign Policy o f Soviet Russia, 1918-1921 (Montreal/Kingston, 1992).
2. A. O. Chubarian, Brestskii m ir (Moscow, 1964); A. O. Chubarian, V. I. Lenin i
form irovan ie sovetskoi vneshei politiki (Moscow, 1972); I. L. Gorokhov, I. Zamiatin, I.
Zemskov, G. V. Chicherin: D iplomat leninskoi shkoly (Moscow, 1966); S. V. Zarnitskii
and A. N. Sergeev, Chicherin (Moscow, 1980); Yelena Belevich and Vladimir Sokolov,
“Foreign Affairs Commissar Georgy Chicherin”, International Affairs 3 (1991), pp.
90-99.
3. See for example David R. Francis, Russia fro m the A m erican Embassy (New York,
1921); Karl Helfferich, D er Weltkrieg, 3 Vols. (Berlin, 1922); R. H. Bruce Lockhart,
British Agent (London, 1933); Joseph Noulens, Mon am bassade en Russie sovietique
1917-1919 (Paris, 1933); W. J. Oudendyk, Ways a n d Byways in D iplomacy { London,
1939).
28
G.V. CHICHERIN
4. Richard W. Child, A Diplomat Looks at Europe (New York, 1925).
5. G. V. Chicherin, Stat’i i re ch ip o voprosam m ezhdu n arodn oipolitiki (Moscow, 1961),
pp. 86-98.
6. Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939 , First series, XXV, p. 45.
7. V. I. Lenin, Leninskii shorn ik XXXVI, pp. 54-55.
8. See Debo, Revolution a n d Survival: The Foreign Policy o f Soviet Russia, 1917-1918
(Toronto, 1979), pp. 19-20, 88-89-
9. Public Record Office, Foreign Office (FO) 371/6853/N . 1997/5/38.
10. FO 371/3981/1089/193046.
11. New York Times, 8 July 1936, p. 19.
12. See Debo, Survival a n d Consolidation-, Richard H. Ullman, The Anglo-Soviet Accord
(Princeton, 1972); and Stephen White, Britain a n d the Bolshevik Revolution: A Study
in the Politics o f Diplomacy 192 0 -1 9 2 4 (New York, 1980).
13. On Anglo-Soviet relations in the twenties, see Gabriel Gorodetsky, The Precarious
Truce: Anglo-Soviet Relations, 1924-1927 (Cambridge, 1977) and White, Britain a n d
the Bolshevik Revolution.
14. Papers of Brockdorff-Rantzau, German Foreign Office documents, microfilm copy
9101/225129.
15. See Kurt Rosenbaum, Community o f Fate. German-Soviet D iplomatic Relations
7922-1 9 2 8 (Syracuse, 1965).
16. A start has already been made. See Sergei Gorlov, “Soviet-German Military Coop
eration, 1920-1933”, International Affairs 1 (1990), pp. 95-113.
17. For an earlier study, see Robert C. Tucker, “The Emergence of Stalin’s Foreign Policy”,
Slavic Review 36 (Dec. 1977), pp. 563-89.
29
3
The Formulation
of Soviet Foreign Policy:
Ideology and Realpolitik
GABRIEL GORODETSKY
At first glance, the initial decade of Soviet diplomacy appears rather

impressive. In spite of the limited arsenal at its disposal, the revo
lutionary regime was able to exploit the rivalry amongst the major
European powers and repel attempts to suppress the revolution by
military, diplomatic and econom ic means. By the beginning of 1924,
the Soviet government had gained d e ju r e recognition from the major
European countries and had even succeeded in attracting foreign
capital on a small scale. However, these accomplishments were
marred by persisting fears of renewed intervention, as well as by
frustration at the revolution’s failure to extend beyond the borders of
Russia.
The first decade of the Russian Revolution was characterized by a
dynamic re-evaluation of foreign policy. The Bolsheviks faced a
tremendous challenge in their attempts to reconcile two contradictory
factors: the axiomatic need to spread the revolution and the prosaic
need to guarantee survival within recognized borders. The difficulties
were overcome initially through the adoption of Trotsky’s theory of
permanent revolution. The concept rested on the assumption that
revolution in Russia, the weak link in the chain of capitalism, would
not be secured until the threat of imperialist intervention was removed
by a revolution in the industrialized countries of the West. The
establishment of socialism in economically backward Russia depend
ed, therefore, on technical and econom ic support from successful
revolutions in such countries.1
As long as the belief in an imminent revolution persisted, the
Bolsheviks refrained from formulating principles of foreign policy.
30
IDEOLOGY AND REALPOLITIK
Trotsky viewed his position as Commissar for Foreign Affairs with

contempt. He saw little significance in establishing diplomatic relations
with capitalist regimes whose fate, he believed, had already been
determined. “The victorious revolution,” he claimed, “would not
bother seeking recognition from the representatives of capitalist
diplomacy.” In a fiery speech to the astounded employees of the
newly formed Foreign Commissariat, he announced his intention to
publish the secret treaties with the imperialist governments, print
revolutionary pamphlets, and then “close shop” and dismiss them.2 In
1926, British Foreign Office officials noted with satisfaction the rise of
the “strong, stern, silent” Stalin as the unchallenged leader of the Party.
“It is not surprising,” they commented, “that the defeat of the fanatic
Bolshevik opposition indicates a foreign policy which utilizes ‘national
tools’.”3
The gap between Trotsky’s pronouncements and the impression of
the British Foreign Office reflects the change which Soviet foreign
policy had undergone during the first decade of the revolution. The
initial supposition that foreign relations and official recognition would
be superfluous in a world shattered by revolution, was replaced,
particularly from 1924 onwards, by a sober-minded evaluation of the
need to reach a m odus vivendi with the outside world. And yet, even
after the setback to the world revolution and the failure of the capitalist
regimes to crush the Bolshevik regime by force, class antagonism
remained a principal element in the formulation of Soviet foreign
policy. Throughout the 1920s it was assumed that reconciliation
between the two political systems was virtually unattainable as long as
the capitalist world was determined to mount a crusade against the
Soviet Union.4
Indeed normalization was rarely presented as an ultimate goal, but
rather as “breathing space” tactics.5 These tactics were endorsed by
Lenin and employed successfully in the drawing up of the Peace
Decree, the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk and the Treaty of Rapallo. The
continuity between Lenin’s tenets and their incremental realization by
Stalin is all too obvious. The Soviet leadership was gradually drifting
towards a more traditional image in its foreign policy.
The Bolshevik leadership was generally in agreement with the idea
that appropriate conditions had been created for economic integration
with Western Europe. It may well be argued that the mutual suspicion,
which led to the collapse of the symbiosis of the 1920s, was a major
factor in the gradual but steady decline towards the Cold War in the
international arena, as well as in the search for alternate economic
solutions such as collectivization. On the domestic scene, Aleksei
Rykov, chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars, Lev
31
Kamenev, member of the ruling triumvirate from 1924, and Grigorii

Sokol’nikov, the Treasury Commissar, persisted in their efforts to
expand trade with the Western European countries. Georgii Chicherin,
Trotsky’s successor as Commissar for Foreign Affairs, declared:
There may be differences of opinion as to the duration of the capitalist
system, but at present the capitalist system exists, so that a modus vivendi
must be found in order that our socialist states and the capitalist states
may coexist peacefully and in normal relations with one another. This is a
necessity in the interest of all.6
Stalin, whose statements on foreign policy were few prior to the death
of Lenin, took a similar position:
Some comrades who participated in the October Revolution were con
vinced that the socialist revolution in Russia would only be successful if it
sparked a massive revolutionary uprising in the West. The course of
events contradicts this assumption. It is a fact that the Russian Revolution,
which did not win the support of the Western proletariat and which has
remained surrounded by hostile capitalist regimes, continues to exist.7
The leadership had by no means abandoned its belief in a

proletarian revolution. On the contrary, world revolution continued to
be regarded as inevitable. The NEP and the new diplomacy were con
ceived as temporary measures. Indeed, throughout the 1920s even the
moderate Bolsheviks reverted to radical positions when revolutionary
opportunities presented themselves. The militant stance taken during
the political upheavals in Germany in 1921 and 1923 stands out in
particular. In 1921, in what becam e known as Red March, Grigorii
Zinov’ev, the president of the Comintern and subsequently a member
of the ruling triumvirate, openly incited the German communists to
participate in the struggle. There is considerable evidence of Lenin’s
support for this effort, which was at variance with the tenets of the
new moderate policy which he himself had recently initiated. The
revival of revolutionary opportunities in Germany in 1923 created a
strong wave of expectations. Trotsky preached direct support for the
German Communist party. Bukharin reverted to the concept of
revolutionary war in Pravda. Revolutionary momentum reached its
peak with overt Soviet support for the rebellion in Hamburg in
O ctober 1923. However, the complete collapse of the uprising
seriously undermined the assumption that the security of the Soviet
Union depended exclusively upon a proletarian revolution in Europe.8
Frustration over the failure of the revolutions in central and eastern
Europe, and the unanticipated d e ju r e recognition by Italy, Great
Britain and France, persuaded the Bolshevik leadership that the
intermediate “breathing space” tactics would have to be extended.
However, the tacit admission of even partial and temporary political
32
stability posed a contradiction in a regime which presented itself as

dynamic and internationalist. Desperate attempts were made by the
Bolsheviks in the first decade to adhere to their revolutionary
principles through the adoption of a dual foreign policy. This dualism
was manifested in the attempt to achieve national security by fostering
diplomatic relations with the West, while simultaneously encouraging
subversion and revolutionary activities when conditions seemed
propitious.
The overwhelming tendency in both Western and Soviet his
toriography has been to overlook the dualism of Soviet foreign policy
by avoiding the examination of revolution and realpolitik under the
same spotlight. This chapter will outline briefly the interplay between
the two components and identify the circumstances in which an
internal hierarchy, establishing clear priorities, was constituted.
In the 1920s, relations with Britain tested the dual concept under
lying Soviet policy making: the need to preserve the Soviet
leadership’s status as the vanguard of world revolution without
sacrificing national interests. The point of convergence between the
Comintern’s policy and Soviet diplomacy occurred in Britain shortly
after the hesitant d e ju r e recognition of the Soviet Union by the first
Labour government in 1924. However, MacDonald’s dislike of
communism and his political weakness hampered any genuine
improvement in relations.
The pressing econom ic exigencies and fear of renewed
intervention resulted in a search for alternative methods for realizing
foreign policy goals. This was especially true after the fall of the
Labour government in November 1924, when the issue of Labour’s
association with communism, exemplified by the Anglo-Soviet treaties
and the “Zinov’ev letter”, had dominated the election campaign.9
Extraordinary efforts were directed towards gaining diplomatic
advantages from the fraternal ties established with various British
workers’ movements, particularly with the Trades Union Congress
(TUC). These steps were taken despite the clear realization that such
opportunism weakened the revolutionary drive in Britain and
undermined the position of the Communist party there.
The ineffectiveness of this unconventional diplomacy was striking.
With hindsight, it is difficult to grasp the extraordinary Soviet
expectation that the trade unions would succeed in forcing the
Conservative government to adopt a benign policy towards the Soviet
Union. The clue to understanding these expectations lies in Russia’s
experiences between 1918 and 1920. It should be borne in mind that
in 1924 the Soviet leadership tended to draw on the recent Leninist
heritage, rather than either the Tsarist doctrines of foreign policy (as is
33
often suggested) or Marxist theory which had never established a

m odus operan di for foreign affairs.
While the British government had led the intervention in the Civil
War, the British Left had consistently opposed the dispatch of troops
and munitions to Poland in 1920. In 1918, workers’ action councils had
begun to appear spontaneously in various places in Britain. Under the
slogan “Hands off Russia”, they engaged in propaganda to end British
military intervention in Russia.
In mid-1919, the movement’s centre of gravity shifted to a national
level, following cooperation between the Labour party and the TUC.
The government was pressed to “immediately take appropriate steps
to return British forces from Russia”. With the advance of the Red
Army towards Warsaw in August 1920, the British government
weighed the possibility of intervention and prepared to arm Poland.
An action council was instantly set up aimed at forestalling the
government. The adoption of the Russian revolutionary concept of
cou n cil (soviet) attracted undue attention in Moscow. In a memorable
episode British longshoremen refused to load the Jolly George with
weapons bound for Danzig.10
At this stage the ambivalent Russian position on “revolution and
diplomacy” had already emerged. Kamenev was present in Britain
during the time of creation of the action council and held discussions
with Lloyd George in an attempt to bring about d e facto recognition of
the Soviet Union. While Kamenev was the strongest ideological critic
of its organization, he was also aware of the council’s great diplomatic
potential. In his messages to Lenin and Chicherin (which the British
intercepted and deciphered), he noted his frequent contacts with the
council and “the importance of the British labour organizations, which
prevent war against the Soviet Union by confronting their govern
ment”. In another message, Kamenev expressed amazement at the fact
“that the workers stand by us, support Russian interests at all costs,
under all circumstances, regardless of the issue at hand”.11
Researchers are still divided over whether the council’s pressure
was the decisive factor in the government’s decision not to renew the
intervention, or whether the labour movement would have, in fact,
resorted to “direct political action”. The Russians, however, attributed
the removal of the threat of military intervention to the efforts of the
trade unions.
The theoretical foundations for tighter collaboration with trade
unions abroad was introduced at the Eleventh Party Congress and at
the Fourth Comintern Congress in 1922 through the adoption of
“united front” tactics. These tactics permitted the establishment of
alliances with non-communist organizations but limited them strictly to
34
cooperation with the rank-and-file; political agreements with the

higher echelons were ruled out.12
The deviation from the orthodox ideological position was ac
celerated in 1924 when a united front was created from above with the
leaders of the TUC. Marxist acrobatics were employed to justify the
front on the grounds that the prominent leaders of the trade unions,
now serving as ministers in MacDonald's government, were replaced
by militant leaders in the TUC who were even aligned to the
Communist party. The tactics were approved by the Fifth Congress of
the Comintern and the Third of the Profintern (the International
Congress of Trade Unions) in early 1924. Zinov’ev now reluctantly
admitted the ascendancy of an “era of stabilization of capitalism”
which was characterized by a regrouping of the European capitalist
states; he advocated a reorientation in the activities of the communist
parties and the front organizations in defence of Russia, which
represented the peak of world rev o lu tio n .13
The encounter between the representatives of the trade unions of
both countries took place during the Anglo-Soviet conference, which
was convened in London in the spring and summer of 1924 to iron out
outstanding econom ic issues. The Soviet delegation to the conference
was led by Mikhail Tomskii, the president of the All-Union Central
Council of Trade Unions (AUCCTU) and a member of the Politburo. A
reception held by the TUC in honour of the Soviet delegates turned
into a miniature conference in which “a very cordial and frank
exchange of opinions occurred”; all present realized “the necessity of
direct contact between the two movements” but no concrete proposals
were made in that direction.14 The fraternal feelings of solidarity
acquired particular significance when it was realized during the
arduous negotiations that the Labour government was reluctant to
proceed beyond d e ju r e recognition.15
The collaboration took on a more institutionalized and organized
form as a result of the fall of the Labour government in November
1924. The Conservative government returned to power determined to
bring an end to Labour’s flirtation with Russia.16
In November 1924 a TUC delegation paid a reciprocal visit to
Moscow. From the moment the delegation set foot in the Soviet Union
it becam e apparent that the Russians were seeking an effective
alternative to their deteriorating diplomatic status in Britain. This was
clearly reflected in Zinov’ev’s survey of the international scene to the
Sixth Trade Union Congress at which the British delegates were
present. Zinov’ev foresaw an improvement in the situation not through
the “art of the Red diplomats” or the “strength o f the Red Army”, but
through the mobilization of support of the world proletariat based on
35
the very general terms of “struggle against reaction and capitalism”.17

Zinov’ev was not uttering empty slogans; his speech accurately
reflected the views of the Politburo, which had adopted the “unity”
policy as a means of thwarting the belligerent designs of the British
government.18 Indeed, the visit was concluded with an agreement in
principle between the trade union movements of both countries to
form a permanent joint com m ittee.19 In order to conceal Soviet
opportunist tendencies, the future alliance was cloaked in revo
lutionary phraseology. It was often argued that under certain circum
stances the collaboration might have becom e a turning-point in the
history of the international labour movement.20
The ambiguity of the Russian position resulted in the creation in
April 1925 of an amorphous Anglo-Russian Joint Advisory Committee
(ARJAC), with the ill-defined intention to “weld closer the friendly
relations” between the trade union movements of the two countries
through the promotion of cooperation “as advisable”, the initiation of
discussions as “necessary...from time to time”, and the extension of
joint contacts and development of mutual aid “as opportunities were
provided”.21
The Russians undoubtedly hoped that this ambiguity would allow
them to present the committee as a revolutionary organization, while
at the same time enabling them to use it for diplomatic purposes. The
latter aspirations were kept alive by Tomskii, the Trade Union Council
president, while the revolutionary ones, relegated to second place,
were pursued by Lozovskii, the General Secretary of the Profintern.
By the autumn of 1925 the conservative wing of the TUC, headed
by Ernest Bevin and Walter Citrine, had resumed leadership of the
TUC. Their motives for cooperation were now strictly economic: to
ease unemployment by opening Russian markets for British goods.
Some representatives, such as Walter Thomas, Minister for the
Colonies, expressed their determination “to fight M oscow’s un
satisfactory methods to the bitter end”.22
It soon dawned on the Russians that their expectations from the still
incipient committee had been set too high. The vague nature of the
cooperation had a serious disadvantage: it allowed the British partners
to abstain from either militant or diplomatic activity during a crisis. The
Soviet approach was fundamentally anachronistic. Just as they had
exaggerated the threat of renewed British military intervention, so too
they tended to overestimate the assistance they would receive from the
workers’ organizations. The latent tensions in the dual policy, and the
pressing need to establish priorities, becam e the focus of a bitter
debate launched by the Trotskyite opposition, which demanded the
dismantling of the partnership at the Fourteenth Congress of the
36
Communist Party in Decem ber 1925.23

The disenchantment with the TUC as a revolutionary body was
demonstrated during the sixth plenum of the Executive Committee of
the Comintern (IKKI) and the fourth session of the Profintern in early
1926. The resolutions, though lauding the rapprochem ent between the
trade unions of the two countries, nonetheless expressed strong
scepticism about the success of such a policy, given the “state of
insufficient development” of the left wing in England.24 Consequently,
the Russians retained only those functions of the joint committee
which promised to facilitate trade between the two countries. They
lowered their expectations further after the arrest of the entire
leadership of the lilliputian British Communist party in October 1925.25
The diminishing interest in ARJAC was matched by intensive moves
to improve Anglo-Soviet relations through the conventional diplomatic
channels. These approaches evoked some response at the beginning
of 1926, when considerable pressure was exerted on the Foreign
Office by economic circles in Britain, to create the proper conditions
for the opening of the Russian market to British goods. “A hint of the
glad eye towards Russia,” Austen Chamberlain, the Secretary of State
for Foreign Affairs, informed the cabinet, “might be useful at home
and abroad.” He promptly declared in Parliament that the Franco-
Soviet negotiations, then in progress, might “facilitate the renewal of
negotiations with Britain”.26 Germany’s determination not to sacrifice
its ally in the East for the sake of gaining a new one in the West also
contributed to the thaw in Anglo-Soviet relations.27
It was, however, the Russian involvement in the British General
Strike of May 1926, an inevitable outcome of the dual policy, that
halted the rapprochem ent. The Russians tended to belittle the im
portance of the approaching dispute in the British mining industry.
Zinov’ev’s eagerness to instil hope in the British proletariat by em
phasizing the uneven stabilization and overall deterioration of world
capitalism was checked by his own cautious estimate that even if the
revolution followed the quickest route, it was expected only within
“3 -4 -5 years”. This guarded optimism, however, was dampened by
Bukharin, who stated that the situation appeared to be unre
volutionary. Even the militant Lozovskii proposed restrained slogans
calling for “a more practical, concrete approach to the masses, and the
implementation of united front tactics”. Rather than intervene more
actively in the dispute, the Russians allowed this hopeless outlook to
dictate a fatalist policy of “letting the events show the results”.28 The
unequivocal verdict in Moscow was that strikes of solidarity with the
miners, let alone a general strike in Britain, were unlikely.29 Indeed,
the prospects of a prolonged struggle there seemed so unreal that in
37
Russia itself there were no consultations with trade union leaders, even
with leaders of the miners, to plan assistance to their British
brethren.30
As relations deteriorated, the Russians could not afford to abandon
the joint committee at that time since this would have been tantamount
to accepting the criticism aired by the Leningrad and left opposition
during the Fourteenth Congress. A more substantial reason was
recognition of the diplomatic potential of the cooperation, the im
portance of which had increased as a result of the dramatic decline in
the diplomatic position of the Soviet Union during that period. The
powerful die-hards among the conservatives demanded the severance
of relations. The Locarno treaty, inspired by Britain, weakened the
Rapallo treaty and threatened to further isolate the Soviet Union. It also
paved the way for the entry of Germany into the League of Nations,
which the Russians regarded as the spearhead of the crusade against
the Soviet Union. “The so-called League of Nations,” declared
Chicherin, “is, in fact, a convenient disguise for offensives against the
country of workers-peasants, whenever capitalist policy does not wish,
or more correctly, is not able, to renew intervention.” However, the
expedient views of Tomskii, who held the balance of power in the
Politburo, prevailed. He continued to advocate maintaining the col
laboration, even if it involved “hanging to the devil’s horns or
approaching the Pope in Rome”.
The Russian assessment concerning the situation in Britain was to
be completely discredited by subsequent events. On 1 May, as a result
of the termination of the agreement with the government and the
refusal of the owners and the miners to withdraw their demands, the
miners found themselves locked out. A special conference of trade
union executives which was already in session placed the authority for
conducting a national stoppage in the hands of the General Council of
the TUC. The date was set for 3 May, to allow for hasty preparations,
but also to enable the General Council, which was averse to taking
such a course, to reach a negotiated settlement with the government.
This, however, proved to be unexpectedly difficult because of the
cabinet’s confidence in its ability to handle the situation with the help
of the strike-breaking machinery meticulously prepared by W.
joynson-Hicks, the Home Secretary.31
The danger inherent in the double-edged united front tactics was
revealed with the TUC’s decision to launch a general strike on 1 May
1926. This threw the Russians into a state of perplexity. No com
mentary was issued, while the unprecedented step was taken of
withholding publication of all major daily newspapers so long as
negotiations were still in progress. In the meantime, there was feverish
38
activity behind the scenes in an attempt to establish a concerted

attitude towards the strike. This was particularly difficult as the
Russians could neither “unreservedly approve” the policy of the
General Council, which had been the target for continuous abuse, nor
remain “mere onlookers, mere observers of the greatest historical
events”.32 Yet by the time the strike entered its first day hardly any
signs of hesitancy could be detected. The Soviet regime, which
purported to lead world revolution, could only wholeheartedly
support it. A special meeting of the executive bureau of the Profintern,
which was convened on 4 May, spent minimal time on self
incrimination. Crude attempts were made to conceal the Russians’
embarrassment and create the impression that the revolutionary events
were inevitable. This campaign was so successfully executed that only
a month later Stalin, turning a blind eye to his own failing, made an
uncontested accusation that the strike had taken the General Council
by “complete surprise”.33
The demonstration of a united facade and the support for the
miners led observers to dramatize the spontaneous enthusiasm of the
Russians, who “hung on the telegraph wire waiting with tense im
patience for every tiny item of new s”.34 However, it was not until 6
May that all the executive committees of the soviets passed resolutions
in support of the strike, following the lead given by the government.35
Heartfelt jubilation was manifested mostly in lower echelons, where
Party members were not acquainted with the animosity which had
penetrated the relations of the Russian trade unions with their British
counterparts.3^ Thus, despite their conversion, the Russians remained
highly doubtful about the outcome of the strike so long as the General
Council remained in control. Even Zinov’ev’s exhilaration about the
arrival of a “new era in the English and world workers’ movement”
was diluted by awareness of the “acute danger from the right-wing
leaders of both the trade union movement and Labour”. He expressed
doubts about the ability of such leaders to transfer the strike to the
“political realm”.37 It was clear that the Russians did not expect the
strike to develop into a full-scale revolution. And yet they could not
possibly turn their backs on a class struggle of such magnitude even if
their expectations of it were limited. On the other hand, utmost
precautions were taken to disclaim direct interference by the Soviet
government in the conflict; this would be more than likely to strain
Anglo-Soviet relations. Support of the strike was therefore initially
explained as discharging the debt of the Russian proletariat to the
British workers for their help during the intervention. The organization
of assistance was assigned to the Profintern, a non-governmental
institution.38
39
The TUC’s rejection of the “red gold” from Moscow, shook the
foundations of the collaboration with the British trade unionists. Once
the news of the unconditional surrender of the TUC reached Moscow,
the General Council was criticized for its “disastrous and treacherous”
conduct of the strike, as contrasted with the masses, who provided “an
example of how to lead such a gigantic strike”.39 With Lozovskii in full
control, and the Trotskyite opposition launching its major onslaught
on Stalin, the diplomatic considerations behind the collaboration
policy seem to have fallen into temporary neglect. Stalin, who had
anticipated the opposition’s censure of the opportunist motives behind
the collaboration, now gave official cachet to Lozovskii’s prolific
criticisms of the TUC.40 In the Politburo the opposition was forestalled
by the majority’s declaration that the left wing of the General Council
was “as much responsible” as the right wing for the “shameful
collapse of the strike”.41
Once the opposition was defeated Stalin gave his seal of approval
to the continued cultivation of solidarity with the TUC, with the clear
intent to take advantage of it as an instrument of diplomacy. As if
oblivious to the criticism of the leadership of the TUC, the Executive
Committee of the Comintern openly stated that ARJAC could be
counted upon to play a “momentous role in the struggle against all
attempts at intervention directed against the USSR”.42 At the same time,
the Comintern and the Profintern reserved the right to engage in an
unbridled, penetrating criticism of their partners. This criticism in turn
embittered relations with the TUC at a time when its support was vital
in preventing the severance of relations.
The duality could no longer be maintained. Soviet involvement in
the strike and maintenance of a revolutionary stance undermined
M oscow’s diplomatic standing. This intolerable state of affairs led to
the first reappraisal of the dual policy. The change was reflected in
feverish diplomatic efforts to improve relations with Britain. In the
autumn of 1926, the seriously ill Leonid Krasin, who enjoyed a
reputation as a seasoned diplomat, was rushed to London in a last-
ditch attempt to avert a crisis. However, these emergency measures
were taken too late and were insufficient to prevent a chain of
diplomatic defeats during 1927. In Germany, the Western orientation
was revived. In April of that year, the Chinese police, acting on British
initiative, raided the offices of the Soviet delegation to Peking, and
Chiang Kai-Shek’s Kuomintang forces slaughtered communists. In
May, the British government raided Arcos, the offices of the Soviet
trade delegation in London. Claiming to have found incriminating
documents proving Soviet subversion, it broke off diplomatic ties with
the Soviet Union. Simultaneously, the door slammed shut on the
40
policy of solidarity when the TUC abandoned the Anglo-Russian Joint

Committee. In June, the Soviet Ambassador to Poland was murdered
and a month later, the leftist Kuomintang regime in Hankow broke off
relations with the Chinese Communist party. In September, economic
talks between France and the Soviet Union reached an impasse and
Khristian Rakovsky, the Soviet Ambassador to France, was declared
person a non grata .43
This gloomy year produced an atmosphere of pessimism and
suspicion in Moscow, which at times bordered on paranoia, and
produced fears that a new intervention against the Soviet Union was
imminent. Even if one accepts the claim of some scholars that Stalin
was merely utilizing the “war scare” to curb internal opposition and to
prepare the population for the sacrifices demanded by collectivization
and industrialization, its invocation was essentially an admission of the
failure of the dual policy.44
The series of diplomatic and ideological setbacks at the end of the
first decade dictated an urgent reassessment of priorities. The illusion
of unconditional support from the world proletariat had been
shattered beyond repair. On the face of it the Comintern had adopted
a militant line, proclaiming the end of the stabilization of capitalism
and discerning the revival of revolutionary opportunities in the West.
United front tactics were abandoned and replaced by militant slogans
on class struggle. However, after thoroughly sovietizing the shaky
communist movement in Europe, the Comintern of the 1930s no
longer resembled the Comintern of the first decade. Militancy was no
more than a form of lip-service paid to ideology. The decision to carry
out collectivization and industrialization through the exploitation of
internal resources was finally taken in the wake of the severance of
relations with Britain, and the failure to obtain foreign investments.
What becam e known as the “third revolution”, necessitated adoption
of a diplomatic approach. Given the reality of capitalist encirclement
and fears of renewed intervention, the removal of the external threat
was a sine qu a non for the achievement of “socialism in one country”.
Soviet diplomacy gradually came to resemble that of its Western
counterparts and even enjoyed the prestige reserved for diplomacy in
other regimes. Wide-scale purges were conducted in the Narkomindel
hierarchy. Chicherin was recognized as pursuing a double-edged
policy. For a decade he had dictated a policy whose hallmark was the
attempt to bring about the stabilization of the Soviet Union by forging
links with Germany while driving a wedge between Germany and
Britain (toward the latter, he had developed a personal rancour). This
policy seemed to him to be the only possible way to renew revo
lutionary opportunities. Opposite him stood Maxim Litvinov, his
41
deputy, who consistently preached conventional policy and

integration within the European system. His frequent appearances at
sessions of the League of Nations after 1927 symbolized the sharp turn
in Soviet foreign policy.
The lessons drawn in the Soviet hierarchy from the abandonment
of the “dual policy” had serious consequences for policy in the 1930s.
Thus, for example, the sectarianism and isolation of the communist
movement during the years 1928 to 1934 partly explain the position
taken by the German Communist party in the elections which saw
Hitler’s rise to power. Soviet fears and disappointments in foreign
relations at the end of the first decade stemmed from the utter failure
of its attempt to conduct a revolutionary policy and realpolitik simul
taneously. The decision in favour of survival and security, and the
sacrifice of the international revolutionary movement was a severe
defeat for the remnant of the Bolshevik left, which had consistently
stood for doctrinaire positions.
From its incipience, Soviet foreign policy was characterized by a
gradual but consistent retreat from unbending hostility to the capitalist
regimes and by a concomitant advance towards peaceful coexistence
based on mutual expediency. This at first appeared to be tactical, and
thus temporary. However, the NEP, which forms the subject of this
chapter, turned out to be the first in a series of “breathing spaces”
which have been clad in a variety of ideological guises: socialism in
one country, the Popular Front, the Grand Alliance, the Thaw, detente,
and most recently, glasnost. The prolongation of these “transitional”
periods has represented a steady and consistent erosion of the
ideological dimension of Soviet foreign policy.
NOTES
1. Isaac Deutscher, The Prophet Armed: Trotsky: 1879-1921 (Oxford, 1979), Chs. 8
and 9.
2. L. Trotsky, Moia zhizn ’, Vol. II (Berlin, 1930), pp. 62-63-
3. Minutes, Public Record Office (PRO), Foreign Office (FO) 371/11779 N319 and
N 560/53/38, 27 Jan. and 11 Feb. 1926.
4. The best overall survey of Soviet foreign policy in the 1920s is still Teddy J. Uldricks,
“Russia and Europe: Diplomacy, Revolution, and Economic Development in the
1920s ’, lloe International History Review 1, 1 (1979).
5. Although Lenin did ocassionally refer to a possible lasting truce with the capitalist
world he was usually careful to use the tactical term peredyshka (breathing space) and
very rarely used m im o e sosushchestvovanie (peaceful coexistence) which has a long
term connotation. Historians now writing about Genoa tend to use these terms
interchangeably.
6. Quoted in E. H. Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution 1917-1923 , Vol. 3 (London, 1966), p.
166 .
7. Iosif Stalin, Sochineniia , Vol. 8 (Moscow, 1948), pp. 118-20.
42
8. An adequate treatment of these episodes can be found in E. H. Carr, The Bolshevik
Revolution, 1917-1923 , Vol. 3, (London, 1953) and W. T. Angress, Stillborn
Revolution: The Communist B id f o r Pow er in Germany, 1921-1923 (Princeton, 1963).
9. G. Gorodetsky, “The Other ‘Zinoviev Letters’: New Light on the xMismanagement of the
Affair”, Slavic a n d Soviet Series 1, 3 (1976).
10. L. J. Macfarlane, “’Hands off Russia’ — British Labour and the Russo-Polish War 1920”,
Past a n d Present 38 (1968).
11. R. H. Ullman, Anglo-Soviet Relations, 1917-1921, Vol. 3 (Princeton, 1961) and 'The
Anglo-Soviet A ccord ( Princeton, 1972), Chs. 4-6.
12. See J. Degras, “United Front Tactics in the Comintern, 1921-1928”, in D. Footman
(ed.), International Communism, St. Antony's Papers 9 (London, I960).
13. Piatyi vsemim yi kongress Komm unisticheskogo Internatsionala, stenograficheskii
otchet, Vol. II (Moscow, 1925), pp. 33-34 and 66.
14. Report o f Proceedings at the 56th A nnual Trades Union Congress (London, 1924 ), p.
244.
15. The first suggestions to that effect were made in Trud, 20 April 1924. They were also
incorporated in the resolutions of the seventh congress of Soviet railwaymen and
miners: Trud, 22 April 1924.
16. On the formulation of the Conservative party’s policy, see PRO, Cabinet Papers 23/49
60(24)9, 19 Nov. 1924. The Soviet reaction is best expressed by Chicherin, writing
under the pseudonym of Sharonov, in Izvestiia, 30 Dec. 1924.
17. \l-oi sezd p ro fessio n a l nykh soiuzov, 1924, stenograficheskii otchet ( Moscow, 1924),
pp. 17-37. On the Soviet expectations from the delegation, see also Pravda, Izvestiia
and Trud, 11 Nov. 1924.
18. Reported in Pravda, 19 Nov. 1924.
19. Vl-oi sezd, pp. 386-89. See also Report o f 57th A nnual Trades Union Congress
(London, 1925), pp. 295-96.
20. See, for instance, D. Manuil’skii, General Secretary of the Comintern, in International
Press Correspondence (INPRECOR), 4 Dec. 1924.
21. TUC Archives, typed record of inaugural meeting of ARJAC, 6 -8 April 1925, B 114
9/8/7.
22. TUC Archives, Minutes o f the General Council, 1924-25, 23 June 1925, p. 118.
23. X IV sezd Vsesoiuznoi kom m unisticbeskoipartii (b), stenograficbeskii otchet (Moscow.
1926), pp. 987-88.
24. Vl-oi rasshirennyi plenum ispolkom a Kominterna, stenograficheskii otchet (Moscow-
Leningrad, 1927), pp. 42-43 and “Rezoliutsii”, pp. 21-22 and 44-45. Chetvertaia sessiia
tsentral’nogo soveta Krasnogo internatsionala p r o f soiuzov, otchet (Moscow/
Leningrad, 1927), p. 31.
25. CPGB’s report to Orgburo of IKKI in INPRECORR, 13 Jan. 1926. See also the
proceedings of the meeting of IKKI on 20 Jan. 1926 in Otchet ispolkom a Kominterna
(a p r e l 1 9 2 5 -ian v ar’ 1926), Vol. 6, pp. 141-43.
26. Minutes by Chamberlain, 6 Feb. 1926, FO 371/11786 N 644/387/38, and Parliam entary
Debates. House o f Commons, Vol. 191, col. 1017, 10 Feb. 1926.
27. British Ambassador in Berlin on conversations with Stresemann, 1,6 and 9 April 1926,
FO 371/11791 N 1498/1555, 1593/718/38.
28. A. Ioffe in Mirovoe khoziaistvo i m irovaiapolitika 3 (1926), pp. 121-22.
29. Vl-oi rasshirennyi plenum IKKI, pp. 201-2; Vl-aia sessiia Profinterna, Vol. 3, p. 33.
On the changing outlook, see leader in Pravda, 29 Jan. 1926 and Petrovskii, the
Comintern’s representative in Britain, in Pravda, 1 Feb. 1926.
30. A. Lozovskii admitted this in sharp exchanges with Akulov, leader of the Ukrainian
miners, in VH-oi sezd p ro fessio n a l nykh soiuzov SSSR. Stenograficheskii otchet
(Moscow, 1927), p. 324.
31. Accounts of the events in the Miners Federation of Great Britain, A n nu al Volume o f
Proceedings f o r the Year 1 9 2 6 ( London, 1927), pp. 204-6.
32. A. Andreev, Anglo-russkii kom /^(M oscow /Leningrad, 1927), p. 21.
33. M ezhdunarodnoe rabochee dvizhenie, (1926), pp. 18-19: meeting of executive bureau
of Profintern, 13 May 1926 and leaders in Trud and Pravda, 5 May 1926. Stalin in
Sochineniia , Vol. 8 (Moscow, 1948), p. 160. L. Trotsky, in My Life (London, 1930), p.
450, was enraged by the “cynical distortion of fact” in the press.
43
34. L. Fischer, The Soviets in World Affairs, 1917-1929 , Vol. II (Princeton, 1951), p. 626.
35. Krasnyi internatsional p r o f soiuzov, 7 (1926), p. 19.
36. For instance, the Leningrad trade union organization still praised the General Council
for its “high level organization and leadership” after the Russian aid had been rejected,
see TUC Archives, letter to Citrine, 11 May 1926, B 132 13/7/23.
37. G. Zinov’ev, “Velikie sobytiia v Anglii”, Pravda, 5 May 1926.
38. See leaders in Ekonom icheskaia z h iz n ’ and Pravda, 5 May 1926, and Lozovskii in
Trud and Izvestiia, 6 and 8 May 1926, respectively.
39- M ezhdunarodnoe rabochee dvizhenie, 20 (1926): meeting of the executive bureau of
Profintern on 13 May 1926; see also a savage attack on the General Council by Radek,
“Tragediia mass i fars pravykh vozhdei”, Pravda, 13 May 1926.
40. Trotsky Archives, declaration to Politburo meeting, 3 and 6 June 1926, T-2986, and
“Vseobshchaia stachka, general’nyi sovet i nasha politika”, 18 May 1926, T-2985.
41. An account of the meeting in Bukharin’s speech to party activists in Moscow, on 8
June 1926, reported in P ravda and Izvestiia, 26 June 1926.
42. Puti mirovoi revoliutsii. VH-oi rasshirennyi plenum ispolnitel’nogo kom iteta
Komm unisticheskogo Internatsionala Vol. II (Moscow/Leningrad, 1927), p. 182 and
Molotov in XV-aia konferentsiia VKP(b), (Moscow/Leningrad, 1927), p. 669.
43. See Uldricks, “Russia and Europe”, pp. 72-75.
44. J. P. Sontag, “The Soviet War Scare of 1926-27”, The Russian Review 1 (1975).
44
4
The Foreign Policy

of the Soviet Ukraine
and Its Domestic Implications,
1919-1923
FRANCIS CONTE
In his unpublished notes “Rakovsky in the Ukraine”, Trotsky admitted

that in its early years, the Bolshevik regime was not certain about how
Ukrainian diplomacy should be incorporated in Soviet diplomacy. “We
did not hurry to accomplish this,” he commented, “because no one
knew what shape international relations would take, and no one could
say whether it would be beneficial for the Ukraine to link its fate with
that of Russia.”1
It was Lenin who made the decision to grant the new Ukraine a
certain level of independence in its foreign policy in order to gain
international recognition for the Ukrainian government. It was thus
necessary for the Ukraine to have at least the appearance of an
independent entity. Lenin further hoped that such a move would serve
to counteract efforts of Ukrainian governments-in-exile, which still
claimed to be the sole legal representatives of the Ukraine. Lenin
appointed Khristian Rakovsky as the Commissar for Foreign Affairs of
the Soviet Ukraine — a post which he occupied from January 1919 to
August 1923, simultaneously with that of Chairman of the Soviet of
People’s Commissars of the Ukraine and member of the Politburo of
the Ukrainian Central Committee. In the hands of Rakovsky, the
“myth” of independent Ukrainian diplomacy became a reality.
Prior to 1917 Rakovsky was known in the European socialist
movement as a militant internationalist, undisputed leader of the
Socialist party of Romania and secretary of the Federation of Socialist
Parties in the Balkans. When the victorious uprising of October 1917 in
43
Petrograd ignited powerful revolutionary activity on the entire territory

of the former tsarist empire, Rakovsky anticipated that it would have
inevitable reverberations in Romania, as had been the case after the
Revolution of 1905. It was then that he decided to link his fate with
that of the Bolshevik Revolution, and to join forces with its leaders, al
though he shared neither Lenin’s theoretical views, nor his operational
principles.
Lenin was primarily concerned with promoting the international
revolution. He understood very well that the fate of the Russian
Revolution depended to a large extent on the support of the European
proletariat. Rakovsky’s transition to bolshevism was thus highly valued
by Lenin.
Throughout the Civil War, Rakovsky’s main task was to fortify
Soviet authority in the Ukraine, and to impose his own government
and administration. Hence, he created the Ukrainian Army as a
vanguard and “conscience” of the proletariat in the struggle for
freedom on revolutionary fronts — both domestic and foreign.2 In
March 1919, at the Second Congress of the Ukrainian Soviets, the
constitution of the Ukrainian SSR was ratified: it established officially,
for the first time, close econom ic and military union between the
Soviet Ukraine and Soviet Russia (RSFSR) “in order to pursue the
struggle until the triumph of the world communist revolution”.3
Relations between the Ukraine and Russia becam e more clearly
defined after the signing of the important Treaty on Economic and
Military Cooperation in Decem ber 1920. The RSFSR was represented
by Lenin and the Commissar for Foreign Affairs, Georgii Chicherin,
and the Ukraine by Rakovsky. The primary objective of this agreement
was to ensure that the future development of the two republics would
be determined by the mutual interests of workers and peasants.4 The
emphasis laid on the deep community of revolutionary interests of the
Ukrainian and Russian peoples undermined Ukrainian independence.
However, Lenin did include one phrase on the right of the Soviet
Ukraine to self-determination, in order to counter any accusations of
Russian imperialism. “The Soviet Ukrainian Republic does not bear a
single obligation in relation to anyone as a result of the fact that the
territory of the Soviet Ukraine belonged at one time to the Russian
Empire,” he declared.3
In accordance with the terms of this treaty, the two governments
agreed to unite their Commissariats of Military and Naval Affairs,
Foreign Trade, Finance, Information, Posts and Telegraph.6 Lenin
carried out this union under the banner of “proletarian solidarity”, but
he consented to the establishment of a Ukrainian Commissariat of
Foreign Affairs. This was duly executed by a decree of the Ukrainian
46
FOREIGN POLICY OF THE UKRAINE
Central Committee on 16 March 1920.

The Bolsheviks exploited the “independence” of Ukrainian
diplomacy in ending the Soviet-Polish war in the summer of 1920. At
the outset of the negotiations, the Russian delegation asked the Polish
government to empower its representatives to negotiate with the
Soviet Ukraine as well. In an attempt to gain time, Chicherin sent a
telegram to the head of the Soviet delegation, Danishevskii, on 16
August — when Soviet troops were still advancing toward Warsaw, He
introduced the Ukrainian representatives as the “delegation of the
independent Ukrainian Soviet Republic, which is not part of the
Russian Republic”.7 Indeed, before entering into negotiations with the
Russian and Ukrainian delegations, the Poles had to produce a special
mandate signed by their government empowering them to participate.
This was a diplomatic success in itself, since it was tantamount to the
acknowledgement of an independent Soviet Ukraine, and officially
distanced them from their erstwhile ally Simon Petlyura. Indeed, the
representatives o f the Soviet Ukrainian government, Emmanuil Kviring
and Iurii Kotsiubinskii, signed the Treaty of Riga on 18 March 1921,
together with the Russian representative, Adol’f Ioffe.
In the following years, Rakovsky tried to assert the independence
of his government’s diplomacy and to exercise international influence.
Between 1920 and 1923, the Ukrainian Republic signed several official
treaties with Germany, Austria, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Italy and
Lithuania.8 However, these primarily reflected Soviet Russia’s relations
with Western Europe, as well as the beginning of political, diplomatic
and econom ic confrontation between the two blocs.
The official line of Ukrainian diplomacy was described by V. I.
Yakovlev, Deputy Commissar for Foreign Affairs of the Ukrainian
Republic, in an interview with Izvestiia in August 1922:
As regards foreign policy, the Ukraine must have the same concerns as
Russia, since it is, like the Ukraine, a proletarian state. The Ukraine has an
independent foreign policy, where her specific interests are concerned.
But in matters of political and economic interests, common to all other
republics, the Russian and Ukrainian commissariats for foreign affairs
work as a joint federal body.9
The two commissariats were run by very different personalities. Al

though both Chicherin and Rakovsky had joined the Bolshevik party
only after its victory in Russia in October 1917, they acquired different
degrees of political influence. Unlike Chicherin, Rakovsky sought to
enhance his power; he was a member of the Central Committee, the
Central Executive Committee and its Presidium, as well as leader of the
Ukrainian Communist party. In contrast, Chicherin was never made a
member of the RSP(b) Central Committee and did not share any
47
political responsibilities. Although Rakovsky greatly valued Chicherin’s

diplomatic gifts, he scorned his lack of political courage. “Every time
Georgii Vasil’evich pulls his handkerchief out of his pocket,” he
commented, “he has to send a report to the Politburo.”10
Toward the end of 1921, Rakovsky expressed his deep-seated
conviction of the need for the Ukraine to be granted real autonomy. In
a report to the Sixth Conference of the Ukrainian Communist party on
10 October 1921, the anniversary of the Russian Revolution, he
declared: “we must give more independence to Ukrainian organiza
tions, especially those which are already united, for the simple reason
that the other organizations are [already] independent”.11 Lenin under
stood clearly the meaning of Rakovsky’s words and the new direction
he was going to impart to relations between Kharkov and Moscow, as
he admitted wryly a few months later:
The Ukraine is an independent republic, we all agree on that.
But...sometimes...let me see, how could I phrase it? Sometimes she tries to
get around us, and we shall have to put this right. Over there, the people
in charge are cunning, and, I would not go so far as to say their Central
Committee deceives us, but somehow it keeps itself at a distance.12
Lenin’s reproach was precipitated by a decision of the Ukrainian

government concerning foreign trade. It was also, however, a direct
response to Rakovsky’s efforts to appoint Ukrainian diplomatic repre
sentatives abroad.
Early in January 1922, Rakovsky persuaded the Ukrainian Eco
nomic Council to pass a motion which would invalidate in the Ukraine
trade agreements entered into by the RSFSR.13 Two months later, the
head of a British trade delegation to the Ukraine, reported to the
Foreign Office that “the Ukrainian government seems set on gaining
full control over its commissariats, as in the case of the Commissariat
for Trade, which is no longer a branch of the Moscow on e”.14
In his report to the Sixth Conference of the Ukrainian Communist
party, Rakovsky stated his intention of demarcating Russian and
Ukrainian spheres of influence. Poland, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria, Tur
key, and Austria were to be under Ukrainian influence, while every
thing else would go to Russia. This attempt was recognized by an
agreement signed early in 1922 by Rakovsky and Leonid Krasin, the
Russian Commissar for Foreign Trade. Thus, the representative for
Ukrainian foreign trade in Turkey was appointed as chairman of the
Joint Ukraine-RSFSR Mission. There is little doubt that between early
1922 and July 1923, when the constitution of the Soviet Union came
into effect and Rakovsky was dismissed as head of the Ukrainian
Republic, the Kharkov government assumed increasing responsibili
ties.
48
The relationship between the Kharkov regime and representatives

of the American Relief Organization during the difficult period of the
1921 famine, illustrates the degree of Ukrainian autonomy achieved
under Rakovsky. In 1921, famine hit the whole of southern Russia,
along the Volga Valley. Toward the end of 1921, governments in
several West European countries and in the United States had becom e
concerned about the situation and had decided to offer their help to
the starving population.
The largest volume of aid came from the American Relief
Administration (ARA), run by Herbert Hoover. This organization alone
fed 1,132,660 people in 1922. Yet, in spite of the grim circumstances,
Rakovsky showed his determination to defend his principle of national
independence. Late in 1921, representatives of the American Relief
Administration arrived in Kharkov. They had just signed an agreement
in Riga with the Soviet Russian government and wanted it endorsed by
the Ukrainian government. Rakovsky categorically refused to do so on
the grounds that the Russian government’s deeds and treaties were not
binding on the Ukraine. In spite of the Americans’ insistence that “they
came to the Ukraine, not for politics, but to feed the starving”,
Rakovsky demanded the inclusion of a statement that “the Ukrainian
Soviet Republic has no connection with the Treaty of Riga and its
conditions are not binding on it...”.15
Moscow could do little and Rakovsky’s obstinacy frequently
overcame foreign reluctance to recognize the independent status of
the Ukraine. He would show the same determination when it came to
the question of establishing separate Ukrainian embassies and
legations abroad. In April 1920, Rakovsky dispatched his first
diplomatic representative, M. Levitskii, to Prague. Although Levitskii
established himself there, the Czechoslovak Republic had recognized
neither Soviet Russia nor the Ukraine, and he was able to present his
credentials only two years later when the two countries signed an
interim treaty.16 Early in 1921, Vladimir Aussem was appointed
Ukrainian envoy in Berlin, while his brother, Otto Aussem, was
appointed as representative of the Ukrainian Commissariat for National
Education, first in Berlin, and later in Prague. In the autumn of 1921, a
third Ukrainian diplomat, A. Shumskii, was appointed as permanent
representative to Poland.
The Ukrainian diplomats were very active. The first treaties signed
independently by the Soviet Ukrainian Republic were with Lithuania
on 14 February 1921, with Latvia on 3 August 1921, and with Estonia
on 25 November of the same year. Separate negotiations were
conducted with Poland, Czechoslovakia, Turkey, Italy, France,
Germany and Great Britain.
49
In an interview given to Izvestiia on 13 August 1922, Deputy

Foreign Minister Yakovlev declared that one of the most pressing
problems facing the Ukrainian Commissariat for Foreign Affairs was
that of the Ukrainian emigre community. The government’s objective
was to reduce the influence enjoyed by nationalist groups claiming to
represent the Ukrainian national government:
These improvised Ukrainian national republics which, for the last two
years, have not controlled a single square meter of Ukrainian territory,
were until recently represented in many European countries. To put an
end to the claims of these adventurers was no mean task, but because
both sides, especially the Western European countries, had to re-establish
economic relations with the Ukrainian Soviet Republic, they concluded
treaties with us. This is how Petlyura’s illegal government and his
representatives ceased to be recognized.17
Naturally, both the Russian and the Ukrainian governments were

very concerned about counter-revolutionary agitation. By 1922,
however, the emigre groups were in a sorry financial state — a fact
Rakovsky used to his benefit.18 He decided to weaken the power of
these movements by coming to terms with some of them and gaining
their support. He selected the two most influential groups: one based
in Vienna, under the leadership of lu. Kotsiubiskii, head of the
Ukrainian Soviet Mission in Vienna; the other run from Paris by
Markotun, the chairman of the Ukrainian National Committee. Rakov
sky’s greatest success was with Markotun, who agreed to act as liaison
betw een Kharkov and the French and German governments. In return
for Markotun’s services, and in view of its acceptance of the Soviet
regime as the only power to represent the Ukraine, the Ukrainian
National Committee “was allowed to becom e an officially recognized
party and an ally of the Soviets”.19
In London, the Times uneasily remarked that a close look at some
parts of the letters exchanged between Markotun and Rakovsky
revealed that the French government had made no objection to this
new development, and that, even if it were realized only in part, the
French were likely to becom e involved in the activities of the Soviet
Ukrainian Republic.20 Markotun, apparently on Rakovsky’s instruc
tions, opened talks with both the French and the German govern
ments. Rakovsky believed that competition between the two great
European powers could only “lower the rate of interest” they would
ask in exchange for econom ic aid. According to a report of the British
SIS on Markotun’s negotiations in the summer of 1922:
The Germans want to use the “White” Ukrainians who are well disposed
towards them to bring about an understanding between the Ukraine and
Germany. This would make it possible for anti-Bolshevik Ukrainians to
take an active part in German plans for rebuilding the Ukraine under a
Soviet regime.21
50
In Decem ber 1922, France and the Ukraine began negotiations on

setting up a joint French-Polish-Ukrainian trade company. However,
major obstacles to the development of trade between French and
Ukrainian commercial firms remained. France was short of capital and
could not provide the Ukraine with a long-term loan. Moreover, the
high exchange rate of the franc in relation to German, Czechoslovak
and Austrian currencies, made competition very difficult on the
Ukrainian market.22
From 1920 to 1924, the Ukraine and France discussed the
possibility of allowing French industrialists to regain the role they had
played in Ukrainian industry before 1917. In the meantime, the
Ukrainians had established diplomatic and economic ties with other
European countries, especially with Britain and Germany. Close
relations developed between Germany and the Ukraine on the basis of
a common desire to cooperate in military affairs. The Ukraine had
reached agreements similar to those signed by Moscow' with Germany.
In order to circumvent the ban on German armament stipulated in the
Treaty of Versailles, the Russians had permitted German pilots to train
on Russian soil in exchange for the supply of German military
equipment. German engineers would also reorganize production in
Soviet weapons factories. As the British consul to Chernovitz observed:
Many German officers are employed by the army, the air force, and some
technical departments in Kiev. Most of them stayed on after German
troops left the country, but there is a steady trickle of Germans coming in
and they always find employment.25
Rakovsky also decided to draw up a separate economic agreement

with Germany, as he later tried to do wdth Britain.24 The draft treaty
bore some similarities to the Rapallo treaty signed by Germany and
Soviet Russia on 16 April 1922. A zealous promoter of a German-Soviet
rapprochem ent, Rakovsky was nonetheless determined to adapt it to
the Ukraine’s specific needs.25
The reason for the failure to reach a final agreement lay in
differences between Litvinov, the Russian delegate, and representa
tives of the independent republics. Litvinov regarded the separate
negotiations as a mere device for an extension of the privileges of the
Rapallo treaty to the independent republics, while the delegates from
these republics, the Ukrainian representative in particular, sought a
genuine accord.
Rakovsky’s attempts to assert economic and political independence
from the Russians were an unexpected source of embarrassment for
Litvinov. The Ukrainians insisted on receiving the 400 million marks
which they had claimed from Germany after the occupation, in spite of
51
a clause in the Rapallo treaty stipulating that the dispute between them
had ended.26. In a telegram to Moscow, Litvinov denounced the move
as a “plot”, and Chicherin was rushed to Berlin. The Ukrainian repre
sentative was formally warned by the Russians that he was in no way
entitled to conclude a separate treaty with Germany, and that the
Russian delegate was sole spokesman in those negotiations.27 If it had
not been for this intervention, Rakovsky had intended to exploit the
reparations demanded for the German occupation of the Ukraine and
its requisitions in 1918, as a basis for future economic transactions
betw een the two countries.
The shortage of credit also led Rakovsky to seek a trade agreement
with Britain similar to the one signed by the Russians in March 1921.
Diplomatic and econom ic negotiations between the two countries
began in January 1922, when a British trade mission under Major
Dunlop arrived in Kharkov, and lasted for nearly two months. Dunlop
formed the following impression of Rakovsky:
I am told that when Lenin and Trotsky disagreed last year, Rakovsky
chose to side with the latter. Nowadays, he seems to carry out Moscow’s
instructions quite faithfully, although he is ultimately supposed to seek his
own benefit.28
Dunlop, however, stressed that “the Ukrainian government seems

determined to exercise full control over its Comissariats”,29 and that
the leader o f the Soviet Ukraine asserted his independence on foreign
policy issues.
In order to remedy the ailing economy, Rakovsky advocated
seeking external help through trade concessions to foreign firms.30
Major Dunlop subsequently wrote:
In answer to my question whether the previous owners had any chances
of re-opening their factories, [Rakovsky] said it was merely a matter of
agreeing on terms. He added that any such agreement had to be
negotiated with the Ukraine, because the authorities of this country regard
themselves in no way bound by decisions made in Moscow. He gave me
his permission to quote his words officially.31
The Kharkov authorities and the British delegation also examined the
question of credits and undertook to remedy the shortage of capital by
setting up an Anglo-Ukrainian merchant bank.
The development of these econom ic relations further highlighted
Rakovsky’s autonomy from Moscow in the area of foreign affairs.
Thus, in May 1923, when Lord Curzon threatened to cancel the trade
treaty concluded two years earlier by Great Britain and Soviet Russia,
Rakovsky sent a conciliatory telegram to London. While noting the
“sense of anxiety” that had filled the Ukrainian masses when they
heard of the harsh British plans against the RSFSR, “an ally of the
32
Ukrainian Soviet Republic”, and warning that the British stand

endangered the strong economic relations that had developed
between the Ukraine and Britain, he nonetheless expressed his hope
that a speedy solution could be found to the misunderstandings
between Britain and Russia.32
Relations between the Ukraine and the outside world continued to
improve until July 1923. Commercial ties with Poland, Italy and Britain,
in particular, were expanded. Already, in August 1922, the Deputy
Commissar for Foreign Affairs declared that the Ukrainian government
had received a large response to its policy of granting concessions to
foreign firms — especially from German settlers and large Czecho
slovak enterprises.33 In June 1923, the Central Committee of the
Ukrainian Communist party put an official seal on this policy: a decree
was issued requiring foreign companies to obtain permission to open
offices or branches in the Ukraine from the Concessions Committee
run by the Ukrainian Economic Council. Any prior agreement signed
in Moscow was declared invalid and the various firms and trusts
concerned had to reapply to the Ukrainian Economic Council for
ratification. This was the last independent Ukrainian measure. A month
later Stalin suddenly forced Rakovsky to step down.
Rakovsky’s resignation was a direct consequence of his long
opposition to Stalin, dating back to the time when the latter had been
Commissar for Nationalities and head of the Bolshevik bureaucracy. In
July 1923, Rakovsky was condemned to “diplomatic exile”, where he
would prove his skill throughout the 1920s. His departure ended
Ukrainian attempts to pursue an independent foreign policy.
NOTES
1. L. Trotsky, Rakovsky in the Ukraine , dossier bMS. Russ. 13, Trotsky Archives,
Houghton Library, Harvard University.
2. Khristian Rakovsky, “The Soul of Victory”, Communist International {English edition),
1921, pp. 60-64.
3. Istoriia sovetskoi konstitutsii v dokum entakh, 1 9 1 7 -1 9 5 6 (Moscow, 1957), pp. 207-8.
4. See E. H. Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution, 1917-1923 , Vol. 1 (London, 1964), p. 386
and Iu. Borys, The Russian Communist Party a n d the Sovietisation o f the Ukraine
(Stockholm, I960), pp. 285-86.
5. Sbom ik deistvuiushchikh dogovorov, soglashenii i konventsii, zakliu chenn ykh RSFSR s
inostrannymi gosudarstvam i (Petrograd, 1921) I, 8, pp. 15-16.
6. Khristian Rakovskii, Novyi etap v sovetskom soiuznom stroitesVstve (Kharkov, 1923), p.
17.
7. The full text of this telegram appeared in the Ukrainian emigre periodical published in
Vienna, Vpered , 5 Sept. 1920.
8. The history of these treaties, which are the external evidence of a profound change,
has been covered at length; see, for instance, V. Markus, L’Ukraine sovietique dans les
relations in te r n a tio n a l, 1917-1923 (Paris, 1959).
9. Izvestiia, 13 Aug. 1922; Russian Inform ation a n d Review, 15 Sept. 1922.
53
10. Louis Fischer, Notes on his conversations with Rakovsky, Saratov, April 1929.
11. B iu lleten’ V seukrainskoiKonferentsii KP(b)U (Kharkov, 1921), p. 12.
12. V. I. Lenin, Speech delivered at the Eleventh Congress of the KPR(b), 27 March 1922,
Works (English edition), Vol. 33, p. 298.
13- Kom m unist(Kharkov), 29 Jan. 1922.
14. “Ukrainian-British Trade Collaboration”: Conversation with Major Dunlop of the
Foreign Office, 8 March 1922, Foreign Office (FO) 371/8165.
15. H. H. Fisher, The Fam in e in Soviet Russia { New York, 1927), pp. 248-50.
16. Rakovsky signed the new agreement on 19 Jan. 1922.
17. Izvestiia , 13 Aug. 1922.
18. Communication of SIS, No. 775, “Ukrainian Groups Abroad”, 13 July 1922, FO
371/8165.
19. Communication of SIS, Section 1, “Agreement between Ukrainian National Committee
in Paris and Ukrainian Soviet of People’s Commissars”, 24 June 1922, FO 371/8165.
20. The Times (London), 5 June 1922.
21. Communication of SIS, Section 1, 24 June 1922, FO 371/8165.
22. “Les Concessions en URSS”, Europe Nouvelle, 19 June 1926.
23. “Military and Economic Cooperation between Germany and the Ukraine”, 7 Sept.
1922, FO 371/8165.
25. Louis Fischer, op. cit.
26. Rote Fahne, No. 249, 31 March 1922.
27. Chicherin to Berlin, Lokal Anzeiger, No. 254, 1 June 1922.
28. Dunlop to Foreign Office, 8 March 1922, FO 371/8165.
29. Ibid.
30. See Dokumenty vneshneipolitiki, Vol. VII, p. 700.
31. “Ukrainian-British Trade Collaboration”, FO 371/8165.
32. D okumenty vneshnei p olitiki Vol. VI, p. 312.
54
5
Litvinov, Stalin
and the Road Not Taken
JONATHAN HASLAM
Two facts about Litvinov taken together have always seemed

something of a paradox. First, he was the most pro-Western of all
Soviet statesmen and consistently so, through the best and worst of
times, both in and out of power. Second, he survived the two phases
of Stalin’s xenophobic terror (1937-39 and 1948), and died of natural
causes in 1951 after receiving the finest medical treatment at the
Kremlin’s disposal. Symbolic of his values was the photo he kept on
his desk. In contrast to his close friend and fellow pro-Westerner Boris
Shtein, who had a photograph of Stalin (for insurance), Litvinov kept
one of Roosevelt.1 Yet he doubted his chances of survival during the
height of the terror to the extent that he slept with a loaded pistol
under his pillow and stayed up fully dressed until three in the morning
playing incessant rounds of bridge with his family, for fear of being
taken in his pyjamas.2 There was in him at one and the same time a
cool self-assurance about his value to Stalin, side by side with an acute
awareness of the precariousness of his own position, and not least that
of his family, under such a fickle dictator. Indeed, according to his
widow Ivy, “One day [after his dismissal in 1939] he called up
Beria...to ask why the number of security cars prowling around our
green fence had lately been doubled. ‘You don’t know your own
worth, Maxim Maximovich’, said Beria. ‘I do,’ quipped Maxim, ‘but I’m
not sure if others do’.”5
Behind these contradictions lies the half-hidden and as yet untold
story of the curious personal relationship between Stalin and Litvinov.
But, beyond that, there also emerge Stalin’s own ambivalence and
deep-seated doubts in matters of foreign policy: the need always “to
keep a stone up on e’s sleeve”.4 Hence the entire Litvinov story offers a
55
fascinating view of Stalin’s conduct of foreign relations and opens up

many key questions in the history of those relations during his
dictatorship.
After the October Revolution, Litvinov and Stalin found themselves
on common ground. In stark contrast to their comrades in the
leadership, neither held out much hope for the prospects of revolution
elsewhere in Europe. During the fierce debate on peace with Germany
early in 1918 (when Litvinov was still in London) Stalin alone stood to
the right of Lenin, arguing that “there is no revolutionary movement in
the West, there are no facts but only a potential, and we cannot count
on a potential”.^ Stalin was no more optimistic about prospects in
Germany in 19236 or even during the Great Depression.7 Litvinov was
equally pessimistic. “The prospect of world revolution disappeared on
November 11, 1918,” he told journalist Louis Fischer.8 And while his
superior, Commissar for Foreign Affairs Chicherin — along with the
bulk of the leadership — favoured supporting wars of national libera
tion against British imperialism during the 1920s, Litvinov preferred a
deal with Britain.9 His essentially statist and conservative orientation in
international relations was shared with Stalin, as was the bleak realism
that contrasted sharply with the ultimate romanticism of men like
Trotsky, Chicherin or even, unlikely as it may seem, the dull
bureaucrat Molotov.
In these circumstances, the ascents of Litvinov and Stalin were
closely intertwined. For all the differences in temperament and
outlook that separated them, both men were to varying degrees
authoritarian; both pragmatists rather than visionaries; both plain and
devoid of the self-conscious flamboyancy evident in the manner of the
middle and upper class revolutionaries. Differences existed none the
less. Litvinov was pre-eminently formed by the educative, bitter-sweet
experience of “emigration” in Britain, where his future wife met and
married him — “a Pickwickian figure in goldrimmed pincenez, always
trailing a walking stick behind him in his two clasped hands and
looking wistfully into the window of Swanziger’s Viennese bakery”.10
In contrast, the brutal and ruthless Stalin was formed largely by the
uniformly bitter and confining experience of “internal exile”, which
had narrowed his vision and furthered his ignorance, not to say deep
suspicion, of the outside world.
Inevitably, therefore, there remained a tension in the relationship.
The collaboration which grew from the time of Litvinov’s d e facto
supremacy at the Commissariat of Foreign Affairs in 1928 (formalized
two years later) and which reached its peak when Stalin accepted
Litvinov’s trenchant logic in favour of the collective containment of
Nazi Germany, turned out to be only conditional — a meeting of
56
LITVINOV AND STALIN
interests that converged and ultimately diverged as a result of

conflicting dynamics.11
Litvinov’s influence rested in part on the fact that Stalin — at least
until 1939 and intermittently thereafter — was content to take advice
on the conduct of foreign policy and delegate operational control to
others: a wise precaution considering his ignorance of such matters
and his overriding and unsettling preoccupation with economic
reconstruction at home and with the “enemy within”. The trouble was
that Litvinov was not the only, and at times not even the dominant,
influence in such matters. Stalin tended to diffuse responsibility and
power among subordinates who mistrusted one another; this was one
means of retaining exclusive and ultimate control. Litvinov’s chief rival
and opponent (once Chicherin was safely out of the way and Deputy
Commissar Karakhan had been sent off as p olp red to Turkey) was the
Chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars, Molotov. Litvinov
and Molotov hated one another. Just as Litvinov had fought his case
against Chicherin in the Politburo in the 1920s,12 so too he fought
against Molotov (and later Zhdanov) in the 1930s. Litvinov was not a
member of the Politburo, but this did not deter him from attending
sessions or from openly expressing his disagreement with or even
contempt for Molotov, who was a full voting member. On more than
one occasion he could be heard yelling “d u r a k \” (fool) down the
phone at Molotov.13
Litvinov had an unusual rapport with Stalin, but this understanding
was more than once jeopardized by Stalin’s irresistible urge to bet on
more than one horse in each race. Moreover, although Stalin shared
much with Litvinov, he had a good deal more in common with
Molotov who, since Lenin’s last days, had thrown in his lot with Stalin.
Like Stalin, Molotov had suffered internal exile; like Stalin he had an
enormous capacity for hard and dreary work which, in his case, partly
compensated for a lack of intellectual ability. He was brusque, if not
brutal, with subordinates. Where he differed from Stalin (and
especially Litvinov) was in his Bolshevik fundamentalism, his belief in
world revolution, and his genuine commitment to the future of
socialism, though not a socialism of a kind that we would recognize in
the West.
Until recently it was assumed that Molotov was merely his master’s
voice. But this is now known to be untrue. Gromyko reveals that not
only did “much depend upon Molotov” in “the resolution of concrete
questions of relations with other countries”, but that “Molotov exerted
a noticeable influence upon Stalin”.14 “I would say,” Khrushchev
recalled, “that he was the only person in the Politburo who opposed
Stalin on this or that question for a second time.” And in Zhukov’s
57
opinion, Molotov “exerted serious influence over Stalin, particularly in

questions of foreign policy in which Stalin, until the war, considered
him competent”. When attacked by Stalin, “Molotov by no means
always remained silent”. Indeed, “at times it reached the point where
Stalin raised his voice and even lost all self-control, and Molotov,
smiling, rose from behind the table and held firm to his point of
view”.15
It is in light of this evidence that one ought to view the secret
overtures made to Nazi Germany in 1933, 1935 and 1937.16 It was
primarily from Molotov that Stalin received the arguments in favour of
a rapprochem ent with Germany. It is striking and entirely consistent
with this fact that the circular sent out to embassies abroad on
Litvinov’s dismissal on 3 May 1939, should refer explicitly to “the
serious conflict between the Chairman of the People’s Council of
Commissars, Comrade Molotov, and the People’s Commissar for
Foreign Affairs, Comrade Litvinov”.17 It was Molotov who returned
from Berlin in November 1940 convinced that Hitler was not about to
attack the Soviet Union.18 And it was Molotov who, some years later,
had a major row with Litvinov in the back of a car (which the hapless
Gromyko was driving), after he had asserted that Britain and France
had pushed Hitler into attacking the Soviet Union in 1941.19
Although it did not take much to convince Stalin that potential and
actual allies were plotting against him, Molotov (and Zhdanov) did
play a significant role in the dismissal of Litvinov from the Foreign
Commissariat at a critical moment in the country’s fortunes. Litvinov’s
ouster meant the rejection of collaboration with the Western
democracies on any terms other than those that explicitly sanctioned
the expansion of Soviet influence, and with it military power, into
Eastern Europe. Stalin rejected the multilateral and collective security
approach to international relations in favour of spheres of influence (a
euphemism for military and ideological domination).
Molotov’s reinforcement of Stalin’s worst suspicions continued to
be effective even after the blunders of 1939-41; he remained Foreign
Commissar and becam e First Deputy Chairman to Stalin’s chairman
ship of the Council of Ministers. Thus, even after the Soviet Union
entered into alliance with Britain following the German invasion of 22
June 1941, Stalin continued to suspect collusion between London and
Berlin. In the late autumn of 1942, prior to the establishment of a
second front in Europe, Stalin sent a telegram to Ambassador Ivan
Maiskii indicating that he believed Churchill was heading not only for
a peace settlement but for an alliance with Germany against the
USSR.20 The situation caused Litvinov, now p olp red in Washington, to
seriously debate with his wife the option of defecting to the United
58
LITVINOV AND STALIN
States.21 After being instructed to return to Moscow and having made

the decision to do so (his children and grandchild were still there),
Litvinov complained to Under Secretary of State Sumner Welles on 7
May 1943:
...that the very confidential and apparently influential relationship which
he had enjoyed with Stalin until 1939 was non-existent today. He said that
his successor as Foreign Commissar had removed from the Foreign
Commissariat every important official who had any experience with the
outside world and any personal knowledge of the United States or of the
Western democracies.
He would attempt to persuade Stalin of his point of view, favouring
multilateral postwar collaboration, on his return to Moscow.22
Litvinov had drawn the correct conclusion that the option of
genuine postwar inter-Allied collaboration had been dashed against
the rocks of Kremlin paranoia. The only cooperation Stalin and
Molotov envisaged was that which permitted the Soviet Union to grab
all the territory that it sought and which did not rule out continued
directives for the conduct of class war by fraternal communist parties
in Allied countries (now Zhdanov’s rather than Molotov’s sphere of
operations). This much becam e clear to Litvinov on his return to
Moscow, and Stalin refused to be persuaded by him. Litvinov was
given the post of Deputy Commissar for Foreign Affairs, but in practice
his influence on policy was negligible. As the Red Army advanced into
Central Europe, communist-dominated regimes were established in its
wake and political freedoms that had sprouted were crushed under its
heel. The option of a multilateral and interdependent approach to
world order was brusquely cast aside in favour of a unilateral solution
to the Soviet Union’s security problems; and side by side with this, the
ideological arm — epitomized in the condemnation of US Communist
party leader Earl Browder in April 1945 for moving towards dissolving
the party — was clumsily reactivated precisely two years after the
dissolution of the Comintern.
Litvinov was approached by the Western correspondent C.
Sulzberger at the May Day parade on Red Square, while standing in
the crowd rather than sitting with the diplomats. Asked why he had
not been given a seat, he said he had been, “But I prefer it down here
with the masses”. According to Sulzberger:
His pale, ugly face looked thoughtful and sad; none of the exuberation of
a magnificent triumph. He never once looked up at Stalin and his
lieutenants standing atop Lenin’s tomb. He just stared out at the long rows
of cannon and marching troops.23
East-West relations were already drifting towards conflict and there

was little Litvinov could do about it, except perhaps speak out. On 23
59
May 1946, he told US Ambassador Bedell Smith:

...toward the end of the War and directly afterwards I had hoped for real
international cooperation, but wrong decisions have been made and of
the two paths which might have been taken, the wrong one has been
chosen. I now feel that the best that can be hoped for is a prolonged
truce.24
Increasingly frustrated, Litvinov finally threw caution to the winds.

With the Cold War under way and Litvinov now almost seventy years
of age, he agreed, on 18 June 1946, to see CBS correspondent Richard
Hottelet. Hottelet was startled by his outspoken remarks: “There has
been a return in Russia to the outmoded concept of security in terms
of territory — the more you’ve got the safer you are.” What would
happen if the West conceded positions to Moscow? “It would lead to
the West being faced, after a more or less short time, with the next
series of demands.” What lay behind this policy? “As far as I am
concerned, the root cause is the ideological conception prevailing
here, that conflict between the communist and capitalist worlds is
inevitable.”25 Precisely one month later Litvinov was dismissed from
his post.26 The Sunday Times correspondent Alexander Werth saw him
at a reception on 23 February 1947. Litvinov told Werth:
...he was extremely unhappy about the way the Cold War was getting
worse and worse every day. By the end of the war, he said, Russia had
had the choice of two policies: one was to “cash in on the goodwill she
had accumulated during the war in Britain and the United States”. But
they [Stalin and Molotov] had, unfortunately, chosen the other policy. Not
believing that “goodwill” could constitute the lasting basis for any kind of
policy, they had decided that “security” was what mattered most of all,
and they had therefore grabbed all they could while the going was good
— meaning the whole of Eastern Europe and parts of Central Europe.27
He spoke equally frankly to the British diplomat Frank Roberts,

warning him of a fundamental decision taken in the Kremlin that
“precluded the development of friendly relations on the basis of our
joint war effort”, and asserting “that this decision made increasing
suspicion and friction inevitable”. Roberts subsequently reported:
“When I have suggested to him that the Soviet rulers in the Kremlin
could not want war, Litvinov has agreed but has usually added:
‘Neither did Hitler, but events becam e too strong for those who should
control them, if they have set a wrong course’.”28 In private, Litvinov
insisted that Russia had won the war but lost the peace. As to what the
West — “w e” — should do about it, his constant refrain was “you’ve
got to bully the bully”.29
Stalin had these exchanges recorded — evidently through
microphones hidden in Litvinov’s office and doubtless also his home
and dacha.50 “Complete treachery”, was Molotov’s description of these
60
LITVINOV AND STALIN
co n v ersatio n s.3 1 Litvinov was dismissed from his post, yet Stalin still
kept him alive. Indeed, he continued to dine in the Kremlin with his
former colleagues. And before he died in December 1951 he had,
according to his widow Ivy, “round-the-clock nurses...weekly con
sultations by the first [best] heart specialists in the country...
antibiotics...sedatives...at last the oxygen tent”.32 The ever-cautious
gambler Stalin evidently wished to retain the one figure who could
speedily strike a deal for true coexistence with the West, even as he
moved the country ever more certainly into a collision with the United
States and the NATO alliance now formed against it. This is what
Litvinov believed to be the explanation of his own survival.33
Throughout his long career Litvinov’s approach epitomized one
option in Soviet foreign policy: rapprochem ent with the capitalist
world and normalization of the revolution in its external aspects. This
required the explicit abandonment of the goal of world revolution and
the Leninist heritage. Stalin, although never a true ideologue in the
manner of Lenin, Trotsky, or even Molotov and Zhdanov, found
common cause with this Westernizer only to the extent that Moscow’s
security dilemma from 1933-39 and 1941-45 required someone of
Litvinov’s talents and inclination to open the road to limited
collaboration. Stalin was ideological only in the negative sense: his
rejection of Western values and of the Western path of development.
For all Stalin’s native sense of caution — which ultimately kept
Litvinov alive — the strains of paranoia in his personality blended with
the rejectionist elements in Bolshevik ideology, prompting him to
block the road not taken to the West.
NOTES
1. Interview with Litvinov’s daughter, Tat’iana.

2. Ibid.
3. Ivy Litvinov Papers (Hoover Institution, Stanford), Box 9.
4. A phrase used by Stalin and conveyed verbatim by Krestinskii (then Deputy
Commissar for Foreign Affairs) to Boris Shtein (polpred in Finland in the early thirties).
Shtein in turn passed this on to Z. Sheinis, Litvinov’s biographer: Sheinis, “Srazheniia u
golubogo ozera”, O ktiahr’S (1967).
5. Minutes of a session of the Central Committee, 11[24] January 1918: The Bolsheviks a n d
the October Revolution: Central Committee Minutes o f the Russian Social Dem ocratic
Labour Party (Bolsheviks) August 1917-Fehruary 1918 (London, 1974), p. 177.
6. E. H. Carr, The Interregnum 1923-1924 (London, 1965), pp. 202-3.
7. Carr, Twilight o f Comintern 1930-35 (London, 1982), Chs. 1-5.
8. L. Fischer, Men a n d Politics: An Autobiography (London, 1941), pp. 124.
9. Ibid., p. 125.
10. Ivy Litvinov Papers, Box 7.
11. See Haslam, The Soviet Union a n d the Struggle f o r Collective Security in Europe,
793.3-39 (London/New York, 1985).
61
12. See Mikoian’s recollections in 1968: “Diplomat Leninskoi shkoly” preface to Z. Sheinis,
Maksim M aksimovich Litvinov: revoliutsioner, diplomat, chelovek (Moscow, 1989) p.
3. For Litvinov’s later battles within the Politburo: Sheinis, p. 257.
13. Interview with Tat’iana Litvinov.
14. A. Gromyko, Pam iatnoe, Vol. 2, 2nd ed. (Moscow, 1990), p. 427.
15. Quoted in Haslam, The Soviet Union a n d the Threat fro m the East, 1933-41: Moscow,
Tokyo a n d the Prelude to the P acific War (London, 1992), p. 17. Also, see V. Erofeev,
“Desyat’ let v sekretariate Narkomindela”, M ezhdunarodnaia zhizn' (Sept. 1991), p.
114.
16. See Haslam, The Soviet Union a n d the Struggle, pp. 22, 86 and 127, respectively. For
recent information on the approaches which, to the author’s mind remains
inconclusive, see N. Abramov and L. Bezymenskii, “Osobaia missiia Davida
Kandelaki”, Voprosy istorii4-5 (1991), pp. 144-56.
17. Quoted from the archives in V. Sokolov, “Narkomindel Maksim Litvinov”,
M ezhdunarodnaia z h iz n ’CApril 1991), p. 119.
18. D. Volkogonov, Trium f i tragediia: Politicheskii portret I. V. Stalina, Vol. 2, part 1
(Moscow, 1989), pp. 64, 67. For some of the documentation on the visit see
“Nakanune: Peregovory V. M. Molotova v Berline v noiabre 1940 goda”,
M ezhdunarodnaia z h iz n ’ (Aug. 1991), pp. 104-19. Also, we have Zhukov’s testimony
in K. Simonov, “K biografii G. Zhukova”, M arshal Zhukov: Kakim my ego pom n im
(Moscow, 1988) p. 97.
19. Gromyko, Pam iatnoe, p. 423.
20. “All of us in Moscow have gained the impression that Churchill is holding to a course
leading to the defeat of the USSR in order then to come to terms with the Germany of
Hitler or Bruning at the expense of our country”, Stalin (Moscow) to Maiskii (London),
19 October 1942, in Sovetsko-angliiskie otnosheniia vo vremia velikoi otechestvennoi
voiny 1941-1945, Vol. 1, doc. 147 (Moscow, 1983).
21. From Ivy Litvinov’s papers. See also J. Carswell, The Exile: A Life o f Ivy Litvinov
(London, 1983), p. 155.
22. Memorandum to Under Secretary of State Welles, 7 May 1943, in Foreign Relations o f
the United States, 1943, Vol. Ill (Washington, 1963), p. 522.
23. Diary entry for 1 May 1945, C. Sulzberger, A Long Row o f Candles: Memoirs a n d
Diaries (1934-1954) (New York, 1969) p. 258.
24. Smith (Moscow) to Secretary of State (Washington), 24 May 1946, National Archives,
US Department of State, 761.00/5-2446.
25. Washington Post, 21 Jan. 1952.
26. Sheinis, Maksim M aksimovich Litvinov, p. 422.
27. Alexander Werth, Russia at War 1 9 4 1 -4 5 (London, 1964), pp. 838-39-
28. Roberts (Moscow) to Bevin (London), 6 Sept. 1946, Public Record Office, Foreign
Office 371/56731- This information was coded “green” (top secret) when it arrived, in
order not to damage Litvinov.
29. Lhid., p. 97.
30. Testimony of Molotov in Sto sorok hesed s Molotovym — Iz dnevnika F. Chueva
(Moscow, 1991), p. 96.
31. Ibid., p. 97.
32. Ivy Litvinov Papers, Box 3.
33- Interview with Tat’iana Litvinov.
62
Part Two
THE SECOND WORLD WAR

AND THE GRAND ALLIANCE
6
Soviet Security Policy in the 1930s
TEDDY J. ULDRICKS
The nature and objectives of Soviet foreign policy from December

1933 to August 1939 have been the subject of sustained controversy.
During the 1930s the USSR presented itself publicly as the champion of
collective security against aggression. The broad contours of this
policy are well known — Soviet membership in the League of Nations,
Foreign Commissar Litvinov’s eloquent pleas at Geneva for joint
resistance to aggression, security pacts with France and Czecho
slovakia, and the anti-fascist, Popular Front line in the Comintern.
Subsequently, officially sanctioned Soviet scholars have been unani
mous, at least until 1987, in characterizing the Collective Security
policy as a sincere attempt to cooperate with Great Britain, France and
other powers to deter or, if necessary, defeat German aggression.
Collective Security, they contend, was pursued with determination and
without deviation, not merely as a stratagem in pursuit of Russian
national interests, but as a matter of high moral principle.1 In contrast
to this image of Soviet sincerity and high-mindedness, the traditional
Soviet view condemns Britain, France and the United States for their
unprincipled failure to ally with the USSR against the menace of fascist
aggression. The Western democracies are accused of facilitating
Hitler’s rise to power and the construction of the Nazi war machine, as
well as seeking deliberately to foment a Russo-German war.2
This picture of the Soviet Union as the leader of a moral crusade
against fascism and war was rejected by some Western political leaders
at the time and it has since been attacked by a number of non-Soviet
historians. Many officials of the British Foreign Office and of the
Conservative party, as well as Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain
himself, saw Soviet Collective Security policy as a duplicitous attempt
to divide Britain and France from Germany, provoke war and
revolution and pave the way for Soviet expansion. More recently, one
school of Western historians has argued that an alliance with the
Western democracies against Nazi Germany was never the real aim of
65
SECOND WORLD WAR AND THE GRAND ALLIANCE
Soviet policy in the 1930s. The whole Collective Security campaign,

together with the Popular Front line, they contend, was no more than
an elaborate courtship ritual directed at Hitler. In their view, the real
foreign policy of the USSR is not to be found in the impassioned
speeches of Litvinov at Geneva, but rather in the covert contacts with
Berlin by Karl Radek, David Kandelaki, Sergei Bessonov and others. In
this light, the Nazi-Soviet Pact is seen not as a regrettable alternative
necessitated by the failure of the Collective Security campaign, but as
the ultimate achievement of the real aim of that campaign.3
Neither of these views — the Soviet Union as champion of an anti
fascist moral crusade or the USSR as Hitler’s secret suitor — adequately
deal with the full range of available evidence concerning Soviet policy
in the 1930s. The interpretation espoused by, or imposed on, all
official Soviet historians before the advent of perestroika has a number
of weaknesses. The alleged moral and ideological bases of the
Collective Security policy are suspect. That policy did not manifest
consistent opposition, either to aggression and fascism in general, or
to Nazism and the Third Reich specifically. In regard to aggression, the
policy of the USSR toward Japanese expansionism in the Far East was
ambivalent at best. Soviet policy in that arena contained both measures
of resistance to Japanese aggression and elements of appeasement of
Tokyo. The USSR shipped considerable military aid to Nationalist
China, but refused to sign a mutual assistance pact with Nanking; it
massively reinforced the Sino-Soviet border, but also sold the Chinese
Eastern Railway to Japan.4 Similarly, the positive relationship between
the USSR and Mussolini’s Italy belies the notion of consistent anti-
fascism on the part of the Kremlin. Moscow responded slowly to the
Italian invasion of Ethiopia, hoping to avoid a confrontation with
Rome which would wreck the prospect of uniting the European
powers against German aggression. The USSR did eventually support a
comprehensive econom ic boycott against the Italian war effort, but
when that measure failed to materialize, the Soviet Union actually
increased its oil shipments to Italy.3 The most recent detailed study of
Italo-Soviet relations in this period suggests that Moscow labored hard
to preserve its cooperative association with Rome and abandoned that
relationship only when it felt constrained to make a choice between
Britain and Italy as potential collaborators against the menace of
Germany and Japan.6
Furthermore, the behaviour of the Soviet Union toward Germany
did not evidence an entirely principled and consistent anti-fascism.
Many Western scholars and, more recently, a number of Soviet
historians as well, have contended that Stalin and his closest
associates, at first, badly misunderstood the significance of German
66
SOVIET SECURITY POLICY IN THE 1930s
fascism. The sectarian course pursued by Soviet diplomacy and

Comintern policy from 1928 to 1933, therefore, contributed materially
to the rise of Hitler. Moreover, the USSR initially sought to continue the
Rapallo tradition of Russo-German cooperation, even with the Nazi
regime. For example, a month after Hitler assumed the Chancellorship,
Deputy Foreign Commissar Nikolai Krestinskii wrote to his Ambas
sador in Berlin, Lev Khinchuk:
We want the present government to keep to a friendly position in
relations with us. We are counting on this — that the Hitler government is
dictated by the necessity of not breaking with us and, at least, maintaining
previous relations...In order that Hitler and his entourage appreciate the
necessity of an appropriate public declaration on relations with us it is
necessary that they see the restraint on our part in waiting for such a
declaration.7
It was not a morally or ideologically based aversion to fascism, but

the rejection of Soviet overtures by Berlin, which caused the Soviet
Union to abandon the Rapallo orientation and launch the anti-German
Collective Security campaign. The Politburo did not authorize the new
Collective Security strategy until 20 December 1933-8 Once begun, that
campaign was subject to a number of deviations and ambiguities.
Publicly, the USSR expended a great deal of effort in attempts to
reinvigorate the collective anti-aggression mechanism of the League of
Nations, to construct a regional security pact in Eastern Europe, to
negotiate anti-German bilateral defence pacts with the non-fascist
powers and to encourage, through the Comintern, the election of
governments in the Western democracies committed to opposing Nazi
expansionism. Even at the height of the Collective Security campaign,
howrever, Moscow was anxious not to alienate Berlin. At a meeting
with Anthony Eden on 29 March 1935, Stalin told the British Foreign
Secretary that he preferred an East European security agreement which
included Germany. “We do not wish to encircle anyone,” Stalin
added.9
Moreover, there is evidence of another, seemingly contradictory
policy operating secretly beneath the highly visible initiatives of the
Collective Security campaign. Most importantly, on several occasions
Stalin may have used non-diplomatic personnel, as well as some of his
regularly accredited representatives, to transmit covert overtures for a
rapprochem ent with the Third Reich. As early as October of 1933 an
operative who claimed to represent Stalin and Molotov, and who may
have been Karl Radek, contacted the German embassy in Moscow on
several occasions to reassure the Germans that the USSR was not
implacably hostile to the Third Reich.10 Radek further assured the
Germans in January of 1934 that “nothing will happen that will
67
permanently block our way to a common policy with Germany”.11

According to the German documents, David Kandelaki, the Soviet
trade representative in Berlin, introduced the possibility of a political
rapprochem ent into trade negotiations between June and November
1935, and again between Decem ber 1936 and February 1937.12
Similarly, the German documents depict the Soviet embassy counsellor
in Berlin, Sergei Bessonov, attempting to restore a Rapallo-style
political accord in Russo-German relations, in talks which took place
in Decem ber 1935 and May-July 1937.13 These approaches constitute
an extremely sensitive subject which historians in Russia have only
recently begun to discuss.14 For all of these reasons, it seems that the
traditional image in Soviet historiography of a USSR committed un
equivocally and as a matter of principle to an anti-fascist, anti
aggression Collective Security policy must be rejected.
At the same time, the radically different interpretation advanced by
Gerhard Weinberg, Robert C. Tucker, Jiri Hochman and others — that
Collective Security was only a mask for Stalin’s alleged preference for
alliance with Hitler — is not adequately supported by the available
evidence, either. They contend that the Radek, Kandelaki and
Bessonov missions demonstrate a pro-German orientation at the core
of Soviet foreign policy. The problem with this contention is that three
unofficial and tentative feelers can scarcely tip the scales against the
weight of the Collective Security campaign pursued with vigour from
late 1933 to 1939- This interpretation suggests that the USSR expended
virtually all of its vast political and diplomatic efforts during the 1930s
in pursuit of objectives which, in reality, it did not actually seek to
achieve, while it devoted only negligible resources to obtaining Stalin’s
supposedly real goal — a pact with Hitler. Despite this imbalance,
Weinberg has suggested that whenever a regime simultaneously
pursues two opposite policies, one in public and the other in secret,
the latter must invariably be the “real” policy while the former can be
nothing but an attempt to gain leverage in pursuit of the latter. The
problem with this line of argument is that, in the absence of definitive
documentary evidence, a number of other equally plausible ex
planations of this dual policy phenomenon can be advanced. One
such alternative hypothesis will be developed below. Moreover,
the German scholar, Ingeborg Fleischhauer, has argued recently
that the Radek-Kandelaki-Bessonov contacts cannot even be con
sidered serious attempts by Moscow to pursue an alliance with
Germany.15 Instead, she claims that the Nazi-Soviet Pact had its origins
in the persistent efforts of German diplomats who urged a Russo-
German entente upon both Stalin and Hitler. Similarly, the British
scholar Geoffrey Roberts suggests that the Radek-Kandelaki-Bessonov
68
contacts were aimed at cultivating ties with non-Nazi elements in the

German elite, rather than at reaching agreement with Hitler.16
Those who see the Collective Security policy as a ruse also lean
heavily on the testimony of a few defectors and dissidents. For
example, Leon Helfand, who defected from the Soviet embassy in
Rome in the summer of 1940, told the British diplomat Neville Butler
that “Stalin had been nibbling for an agreement with Hitler since
1933”. According to Helfand, only Hitler’s continued rejection of
Soviet feelers caused Moscow to negotiate seriously with the Western
powers.17 The problem with this account and similar assertions by
Walter Krivitskii, Vladimir Petrov and Evgenii Gnedin, is that they
constitute speculative interpretations by lower level functionaries who
had no direct access to the Kremlin policy-making process and who
too often relied on the gossip of other functionaries. Moreover, as
defectors or dissidents, these men had entirely rejected the Stalinist
system. They were, therefore, ready to believe the worst about every
aspect o f it. They knew that Stalin was a consummately evil man, so
they assumed that he must have conducted an unstintingly evil foreign
policy — that is, an attempt to collaborate with Hitler.
Some of the critics of the Collective Security strategy have
suggested that the Great Purges of the 1930s provide further evidence
for their view that Stalin always preferred a deal with Hitler over an
agreement with the Western democracies. As they see it, the Purges
were, at least in part, motivated by the need to destroy the
ideologically principled, militantly anti-fascist Old Bolshevik cadres as
a prerequisite to concluding a cynical alliance with Hitler.18 This
approach fails to take into account the paradox that, if Stalin intended
the Purges to prepare the way for the Nazi-Soviet Pact, he killed the
wrong people. In the Narkomindel, for example, many of the strongest
proponents of the traditional Rapallo orientation fell victim, while
numerous supporters of cooperation with the Western democracies
survived. In fact, since the main result of the terror was to decimate the
Soviet elite and thereby weaken the USSR, the Purges made the USSR a
less desirable potential ally for either Hitler or the West. Thus, the
Purges make no sense in terms of any foreign policy.19
Another problem with the Weinberg-Tucker-Hochman thesis is that
it is based almost entirely on German documents. That, of course, is
the fault of the former Soviet government which did not publish many
of the most important Narkomindel and Kremlin papers, and which
issued others in a tendentious form.20 The recent publication of the far
from adequate two volume document collection, God krizisa (The
Year of Crisis), demonstrates the danger of interpreting Soviet policy
entirely through the prism of Auswartiges Amt records.
69
A comparison of the strikingly different Soviet and German

versions of the famous Merekalov-Weizsacker conversation of 17 April
1939 is a case in point. Weizsacker’s much quoted memorandum
pictured the Soviet Ambassador as arguing boldly for a broad political
rapprochem ent between Soviet Russia and the Third Reich. In contrast,
Merekalov’s report characterized his remarks to Weizsacker as focused
strictly on the problem of securing the fulfillment of previously
negotiated Soviet orders from firms in German-occupied Czecho
slovakia. Hitler had reassured Moscow that its contracts with Czech
businesses would be honoured, but, Merekalov protested, General
Franz Barckhausen of the German occupation force was preventing
deliveries of Czech goods to the USSR. Merekalov insisted that these
barriers be removed at once and that Czech shipments, particularly
from the Skoda arms works, be permitted to reach the Soviet Union
without further hindrance. Contrary to Weizsacker’s version, there is
no indication in the Soviet Ambassador’s telegram that he launched a
sweeping initiative, or even dropped a subtle hint, for a rapproche
m ent with Germany. In fact, according to Merekalov, it was
Weizsacker who broached political topics by referring to the harmful
effect of purported military negotiations between Britain, France and
the Soviet Union, and by stating his government’s desire to further
develop relations with the USSR despite the political differences
between Moscow and Berlin.
Ingeborg Fleischhauer’s hypothesis, that a cadre of pro-Rapallo
German diplomats was attempting to persuade both Moscow and its
own government to restore amicable Russo-German relations, may
also explain some of the discrepancies between Merekalov’s and
Weizsacker’s versions of their conversation of 17 April. Perhaps, in
preparing their memoranda, Rapallo-oriented German diplomats on
occasion may have put words into the mouths of their Soviet
colleagues, just as they may also have failed to record their own
unauthorized initiatives for a Russo-German entente. Given this
enormous discrepancy between the two versions of the Merekalov-
Weizsacker conversation, it is scarcely prudent to base sweeping
conclusions about the character of Soviet foreign policy on either
document.21
In order to construct a clearer and more balanced assessment of
Soviet foreign policy in the 1930s, it is necessary to review the
underlying goal of that policy. Stalin was motivated neither by a
comprehensive anti-fascist impulse, nor by a pacifistic aversion to war;
neither by admiration or loathing of Hitler, nor by any really operative
desire to foment foreign revolutions. While he was not averse to
territorial acquisitions, gaining additional lands was not his central
70
objective, either. Rather, perceiving that the Soviet Union existed in an

extremely hostile environment, Stalin’s principal objective was to
preserve the country’s national security. He had explained the security
thrust of Soviet foreign policy in this era in his speech to the 17th Party
Congress in 1934:
We never had any orientation towards Germany, nor have we any
orientation towards Poland and France. Our orientation in the past and
our orientation at the present time is towards the USSR and towards the
USSR alone.22
Stalin shared the view of Lenin and the other old Bolsheviks who had
ruled the Soviet state in the 1920s that the USSR existed precariously
amid an ever-threatening imperialist encirclement. The rise of Hitler
and the rearmament of Germany, combined with the emergence of
Japanese expansionism in the Far East, only made a bad situation
worse. The siege mentality which created the war scare of 1927 now
had a much more serious threat on which to feed.
From the time of the Bolshevik Revolution and continuing through
out the 1920s, the Soviet leadership had feared most of all the
formation of a mighty coalition of imperialist powers linking London,
Paris, Berlin, Washington, and perhaps also Tokyo, in a great crusade
to crush the communist experiment in Russia. Even though Allied
intervention in the Russian Civil War had been quite limited in scope
and ultimately aborted, the fear of a renewed, and this time more
powerful, anti-Bolshevik crusade continued to plague the Kremlin.23
In the absence of world revolution, Lenin suggested, only a skillful
strategy of keeping the imperialist states divided against themselves
could prevent a renewed anti-Soviet onslaught. It was further assumed
in Moscow that Great Britain, the apparent linchpin of the capitalist
system, was the centre of all efforts to renew military intervention
against the USSR. Germany replaced England as the presumptive main
enemy only after Hitler had made unmistakably clear his implacable
hostility to the Soviet Union. Even then, the fear of an imperialist
coalition remained strong in Moscow.
These considerations help to account for the ambiguities of the
Collective Security campaign. In the first place, the initiation of that
campaign did not signify a lack of Soviet interest in re-establishing an
amicable relationship with Berlin, nor did it indicate a fixed intent to
oppose the Nazi regime because of its ideological repulsiveness or evil
nature. No less an apostle of Collective Security than Litvinov himself
publicly proclaimed that Soviet estrangement from the Third Reich had
nothing to do with ideology and that Russo-German relations could be
rebuilt if the security interests of the USSR were respected by the
Reich.
71
We certainly have our own opinion about the German regime. We
certainly are sympathetic toward the suffering of our comrades [in the
KPD]; but you can reproach us Marxists least of all for permitting our
sympathies to rule our policy. All the world knows that we can and do
maintain good relations with capitalist governments of any regime
including Fascist. We do not interfere in the internal affairs of Germany or
of any other countries, and our relations with her are determined not by
her domestic but by her foreign policy.24
It seems significant in this context that in his impassioned speeches at

Geneva for peace and against international lawlessness, Litvinov
seldom attacked Germany by name, preferring instead to condemn
“aggression” in general.
Secondly, the Soviet Union was not quite as bold a champion of
Collective Security as is sometimes alleged. O f course, the policy of
appeasement followed by Britain and France, and the policy of relative
isolation pursued by the United States, left the leadership of the anti-
Nazi struggle to the USSR by default. Yet, the Soviet leaders were
anxious not to outstrip the Western democracies in the struggle against
German (or Japanese) aggression. They feared isolation or, worse still,
the awful prospect of being manoeuvred into a war with Germany
and/or Japan, while the Western powers sat on the sidelines. Even
Litvinov, the strongest proponent of East-West cooperation, feared
“...that England and France would like to prod Germany to take action
against the East...that they would like to direct aggression exclusively
against us...”.25 Stalin’s strong suspicions in this regard help to account
for the escalation of Soviet demands for greater specificity and higher
levels of military commitment from the West just when, in the months
after Munich, London and Paris had begun to abandon the policy of
appeasem ent.26 Calls for measures against indirect aggression and for
troop transit rights in East Europe need not be seen as deliberate
roadblocks to East-West cooperation against Hitler, but rather as a
prudent military safeguard and a test of Western sincerity.
Thirdly, the existence of disagreement within the Soviet elite over
foreign policy and its implementation does not, in itself, cast doubt on
the genuineness of Collective Security. Several scholars, including
Jonathan Haslam and Vitalii Kulish, have cited evidence that some of
Stalin’s entourage, especially Molotov and Malenkov, had substantial
doubts about the possibility of cooperating with the Western
democracies against Hitler.27 Some commentators, such as Evgenii
Gnedin and Abdurakhman Avtorkhanov, have concluded that such
doubts, or even opposition to the Collective Security line, must mean
that it was never really accepted by Stalin at all and was therefore
never the real policy of the USSR.28 However, the existence of policy
debates seems entirely unexceptional. Only those still holding to the
72
largely discredited theory of totalitarianism would expect to find lock

step unanimity throughout the Soviet elite on such a complex and
dangerous issue. Yet, it also seems impossible, given what we know of
Stalin’s style of governing, that Litvinov and Molotov could have
operated two entirely contradictory foreign policy lines at the same
time. Even if, on further investigation, the Radek-Kandelaki-Bessonov
contacts do turn out to have been serious attempts at Russo-German
rapprochem ent (and that is still a debatable question), it is highly
unlikely that these gambits were elements of a foreign policy separate
from and antithetical to the Collective Security line. Nikolai Abramov
and Lev Bezymensky, broaching the subject of the Kandelaki
initiatives for the first time in any Soviet publication, argue (based on
unpublished diplomatic and Politburo documents) that the Soviet
trade representative’s gambits in Berlin represented part of a coherent,
overall security policy based on the hope that pro-Rapallo elements of
the German elite might be able to soften the strongly anti-Soviet policy
pursued by Hitler and Ribbentrop.29
There was only one foreign policy line, both before and after 1933
and, for that matter, after August 1939- That line included the assump
tion of hostility from all of the imperialist powers and, therefore, the
need to keep them divided. It mandated a balance of power policy
which motivated the USSR to make common cause with Germany
against a perceived British threat before the rise of Hitler, and
thereafter to seek Anglo-French cooperation against an even more
menacing Third Reich. Throughout the decade, suspicion of all
imperialist powers and a desperate search for security remained
constant. Stalin may be faulted for a great many mistakes in attempting
to carry out the Collective Security line, but the line itself seems
indisputably genuine.
NOTES
1. For example, Istoriia vneshnei politiki SSSR, Vol. II, 1917-1945gg. (Moscow, 1986),
Chs. X and XI.
2. This line of analysis was established in 1949 in the pamphlet Falsificators o f History
(An Historical Note) (Moscow, 1949), and followed rigorously by all subsequent Soviet
commentators until the late 1980s. For further discussion of this subject, see Teddy J.
Uldricks, “Evolving Soviet Views of the Nazi-Soviet Pact”, in Richard Frucht (ed.),
Labyrinth o f Nationalism/Complexities o f D iplomacy (Columbus, 1992), pp. 331-60.
3. Important examples of this view include Gerhard Weinberg, The Foreign Policy o f
Hitler’s Germ any , Vol. I, Diplomatic Revolution in Europe, 1933-1936 and Vol. II,
Starting World War II, 193 7-1939 (Chicago, 1980); Robert C. Tucker, Stalin in Power:
The Revolution fro m Above, 1928-1941 (New York, 1990), Chs. 10-21; and Jiri
Hochman, The Soviet Union a n d the Failure o f Collective Security (Ithaca, 1984).
4. See Jonathan Haslam, “Soviet Aid to China and Japan’s Place in Moscow’s Foreign
Policy, 1937-1939”, in Ian Nish (ed.), Some Aspects o f Sino-Japanese Relations in the
1930s (London, 1982) and A. M. Dubinskii, Sovetsko-kitaiskie otnosheniia v period
Iapono-kitaiskoi voiny, 1 9 3 7 -1 9 3 9 (M oscow, 1980), Ch. II.
73
5. See Michael Seidman, “Maksim Litvinov: Commissar of Contradiction”, Jo u rn al o f
Contemporary History 23, 2 (April 1988), pp. 233-37 and Jonathan Haslam, The Soviet
Union a n d the Struggle f o r Collective Security, 1 9 3 3 -3 9 (New York, 1984), Ch. V.
6. j. Calvitt Clarke, III, Russia a n d Italy against Hitler: The Bolshevik-Fascist R approche
m ent o f the 1930s (New York, 1991), p. 193.
7. Krestinskii to Khinchuk, 23 Feb. 1933, quoted in I. F. Maksimychev, D iplom atiia m ira
protiv diplom atii voiny: Ocherk Sovetsko-germanskikh diplom aticheskikh otnoshenii v
1933-1939 (Moscow, 1981), p. 28.
8. V. Ia. Sipols, Vneshniaia politika Sovetskogo Soiuza 1933-1935 (Moscow, 1980), p.
130.
9. Dokumenty vneshneipolitiki SSSR, Vol. XVIII, doc. 148.
10. See D ocuments on Germ an Foreign Policy (DGFP), Series C, Vol. I, No. 477, and Vol.
II, No. 24. Evgenii Gnedin, Iz istorii otnoshenii m ezhdu SSSR i fashistskoi Germ aniei:
Dokumenty i sovremennye kom m entarii (New York, 1977), pp. 22-23, identifies this
anonymous operative as Radek.
11. DGFP, Series C, Vol. II, doc. 173.
12. DGFP, Series C, Vol. IV, docs. 211, 383, 386-87, 439 and 453, and Vol. VI, docs. 183
and 195.
13. DGFP, Series C, Vol. IV, docs. 453 and 472, and Vol. V, doc. 312. Also see J. W. Briigel
(ed.), Stalin und Hitler: Pakt gegen Europa (Vienna, 1973), p. 38.
14. Lev Bezymenskii and Nikolai Abramov, “Osobaia missiia Davida Kandelaki”, Voprosy
istorii 4 -5 (1991) pp. 144-56.
15. Ingeborg Fleischhauer, D er Pakt: Hitler, Stalin und die Initiative d er deutschen
Diplomatie, 1938-1939 (Frankfurt, 1990), pp. 10-19.
16. Geoffrey Roberts, The Unholy Alliance: Stalin’s Pact with Hitler (London, 1989), Ch. V.
17. Helfand-Butler talk of 13 Sept. 1940, Public Record Office, N 6758/30/38.
18. For example, Vernon V. Aspaturian, Process a n d Power in Soviet Foreign Policy
(Boston, 1971), pp. 628-30 and Robert C. Tucker, “Stalin, Bukharin and History as
Conspiracy”, in Tucker and Stephen Cohen, The Great Purge Trial (New York, 1956),
p. xxxvi.
19- See Teddy J. Uldricks, D iplomacy a n d Ideology: The Origins o f Soviet Foreign
Relations (London, 1979), pp. 181-84.
20. Aleksandr Nekrich, Otreshis’ ot strakha: vospom inaniia istorika (London, 1979), pp.
139-40.
21. Compare God krizisa, 1938-1939: D okum enty i m aterial}’, 29 sentiahria 1938g.-31
m aia 1939g., Vol. I (Moscow, 1990), p. 389, with the German version in Raymond J.
Sontag and James S. Beddie (eds.), Nazi-Soviet Relations: D ocuments fro m the
Archives o f the Germ an Foreign Office As Released by the Department o f State
(Washington, 1948), pp. 1-2. This discrepancy is analyzed in Geoffrey Roberts’
forthcoming article, “Infamous Encounter? The Merekalov-Weizsacker Meeting of 17
April 1939”, in The H istorical Jo u rn al (Dec. 1992).
22. I. V. Stalin, Works (Moscow, 1955), Vol. XIII, pp. 308-9.
23. See Teddy J. Uldricks, “Russia and Europe: Diplomacy, Revolution and Economic
Development in the 1920s”, International History Review I, 1 (Jan. 1979), pp. 55-83.
24. M. M. Litvinov, Vneshniaia politika SSSR (Moscow, 1935), p. 70.
25. Soviet P eace Efforts on the Eve o f World War I I ( Moscow, 1976), Part I, doc. 7.
26. See, for example, the demand published in the 11 May 1939 issue of Izvestiia for a
mutual defence pact — the terms of which were equal and reciprocal.
27. Jonathan Haslam has argued that, “the struggle for collective security had to be fought
at home as well as abroad”: Haslam, The Soviet Unioti a n d the Struggle f o r Collective
Security, p. 5. Also see V. M. Kulish, “U poroga voiny”, Komsom ol'skaia pravda, 24
Aug. 1988, p. 3, and Paul D. Raymond, “Conflict and Consensus in Soviet Foreign
Policy, 1933-1939”, Ph.D. diss. (Pennsylvania State University, 1979).
28. E. Gnedin, Iz istorii otnoshenii m ezhdu SSSR i fashistskoi Germ aniei: D okum enty i
sovrem ennye kom m entarii (New York, 1977), pp. 7 -8 and Abdurakhman Avtorkhanov,
“Behind the Scenes of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact”, in Kontinent 2 (Garden City,
1977), pp. 85-102.
29. Bezymenskii and Abramov, “Osobaia missiia Davida Kandelaki”, pp. 144-56.
74
7
The Secret Protocols of 1939 as a

Problem of Soviet Historiography
LEV BEZYMENSKY
The well-known dictum according to which mankind bids farewell to

its past with a smile, is not universally applicable. In fact, the process
of burying the past often stirs up contrary emotions. Such was the case
following the acknowledgement by the Soviet Union of the existence
of Secret Protocols, supplementary to the Soviet-German Pact. In these
secret agreements, signed on 23 August and 28 September 1939:
Germany and Russia partitioned Poland between them and delineated
spheres of influence in Eastern Europe.
Paradoxically, these so-called Secret Protocols were never secret.
Shortly after their signature, the Americans were notified of their exist
ence through a German source.1 This information was later relayed to
the British government.2 Even in Berlin where officials of the Foreign
Ministry had pledged to keep the matter confidential,3 it took only a
few weeks for the content of the Protocols to becom e known to
German representatives in the Baltics. However, they never became
common knowledge. After 22 June 1941 the German government had
little interest in exposing its agreement with the “Jewish-Bolshevik”
USSR, while Britain and the USA were reluctant to harm the fragile
coalition.
When these considerations lost their relevance, events began taking
a different course. The Soviet historians Iu. N. Zoria and N. S.
Lebedeva revealed in 1989 that their government had anticipated such
a change immediately following the war.4 While preparing for the
Nuremberg trials, Soviet officials included the Pact of 1939 in a list of
topics which they did not want raised. This list, officially endorsed by
Molotov (undoubtedly in consultation with Stalin), was submitted to
the Allies and agreed upon, together with the Allies’ own list of “for
bidden topics”. All the same, discussion of the Pact and Protocols at
Nuremberg could not be averted.
The events which unfolded in March 1946 at Nuremberg could
75
justifiably be viewed as one of the first signals of the Cold War. While
officially Western representatives adhered to the list and supported
demands by the head of the Soviet prosecution that testimony
regarding the Protocols be dismissed, Rudolf Hess’s attorney, Alfred
Seidel, certified that he had received pertinent documents from
American sources. In 1948 the US Department of State published the
text of the Protocols in a collection entitled Nazi-Soviet Relations
1939-1941. The Soviets dismissed the documents as forgeries in a
pamphlet entitled Falsificators o f History (An H istorical Note) 3
It was at this point that the official Soviet position, and conse
quently that of Soviet historiography towards the Protocols was
formulated. The refusal to acknowledge the existence of these
documents was a logical corollary of Stalinist diplomacy. The Protocols
undermined the socialist foundations of Soviet foreign policy: first,
because the agreements between the USSR and Germany exemplified
a classic case of imperialist division of spheres of interest; and second,
because they represented an imperialist means of resolving territorial
disputes at the expense of a third, smaller, country. It was precisely for
these reasons that no reference to them was made in fundamental
Soviet works such as A History o f D iplom acy , A History o f Soviet
Foreign Policy , The History o f the CPSU, The History o f the G reat
Patriotic War o f the Soviet People 194 1 -1 9 4 5 or The History o f the
Second World War 1 939-1945 . Andrei Gromyko, who supervised the
publication of Foreign Policy D ocum ents o f the USSR, chose to cancel
the entire series in order to avoid publishing the volume dealing with
1939.6 Subsequent volumes, such as The Struggle o f the USSRf o r P eace
on the Eve o f World War II (1971) and D ocum ents a n d M aterials
Relating to the Eve o f World War II (1981), were organized topically
rather than chronologically and all material relating to Soviet-German
relations during that period was omitted from these works.
It becam e so habitual to deny the existence of the Protocols that
Molotov insisted, even in private conversations after his retirement,
that there had been no secret agreements, or at least that “he had no
recollection of them”.7 Gromyko, held firmly to this view in an
interview with D er Spiegel as late as April 1989.8
For the Soviet establishment, the issue of the Protocols becam e a
matter of principle. The non-existence of the Protocols confirmed the
infallibility of Soviet foreign policy and its consistent anti-fascist
character, as well as the reputation of Western historiographers as
“falsifiers”.
Soviet historians, however, found themselves in a very difficult
position: adhering to the official line on the documents obliged them
to compromise themselves in the eyes of the entire international
76
SECRET PROTOCOLS OF 1939
community of historians. They were prepared to accept the arguments

of their Western colleagues in private but unwilling do so in print until
the era of glasnost.
The revision of Soviet society’s attitude towards its own past has
proceeded in accordance with specific domestic priorities. Having
begun with a reassessment of Stalin’s repression and his personality
p e r se, this process tended to embrace a constantly expanding range of
questions, mostly relating to foreign policy. The Protocols would have
been low on the priority list had it not been for two factors. The first
was connected with the necessity to resolve certain issues in Soviet-
Polish relations. The events of 1939 remained an open wound for the
Polish public as long as the Poles could not obtain from their Soviet
partner convincing, or at least well-documented, responses to ques
tions concerning the Soviet role in the early stages of World War II and
in the wake of its invasion of Poland. At a meeting with Jaruzielski in
1987, Gorbachev yielded to Polish pressure to create a joint Soviet-
Polish commission made up of historians, which was to submit to the
leaders of both countries its conclusions concerning the so-called
“blank pages” of history. These included the Polish-Soviet war of 1920,
the fate of the leadership of the Polish Communist party during the
repressions of the 1930s, the events of 1939, the Warsaw uprising, and
finally, the Katyn massacre. The issue of the Protocols, although not
high on the agenda, did emerge during the commission’s delibera
tions. For the Soviet side, it was much more difficult to comply with
the legitimate claims of the Polish representatives concerning some of
the other points, especially Katyn, because the KGB, the Prosecutor’s
Office and the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs refused point blank to
provide any information.
The second catalyst for bringing the Protocols to the forefront of
the revision process was the transformation that was taking place in
the Soviet Baltic republics. The upsurge of national self-awareness and
unequivocal demands for secession from the USSR affected a broad
spectrum of the public in Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, including
historians, who turned out to be much more open in their inter
pretation of the facts than their colleagues in Moscow. The popular
fronts which emerged in these republics demanded in their political
programs that the secret agreements of 1939 be repealed.
It should be pointed out that, whereas the considerations regarding
Poland played a positive role in urging the Soviet leadership to revise
its attitude towards the Protocols, pressure from the Baltics created
exactly the opposite effect. The Politburo of the CPSU Central
Committee at that time obstinately believed that any move toward
recognizing the existence of these Protocols would serve the interests
77
of secessionists, and so it was not inclined to revise its stand. Thus the
Protocols becam e a domestic affair — a bone of contention between
reformers and conservatives in the CPSU.
The years 1985-1988 were therefore marked by an unprecedented
gap between the work of historians and the official line of the CPSU.
In academic discussions many Soviet historians found ways to refer to
the Protocols within the context of the events of 1939, albeit as one
variant. At the very least they attempted to reject the charge of
falsification. Demands to continue and intensify archival research in
connection with the Protocols were increasingly voiced at various
conferences devoted to the approaching 50th anniversary of the
beginning of World War II. The official position, however, was little
affected. The pronouncements made in Pravda on 1 September 1988
by the head of the Historical and Diplomatic Directorate of the Soviet
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Feliks Kovalev, and the leading Soviet
historian of the period, Prof. Oleg Rzheshevskii, were highly
indicative: “Western historians and political scientists used to insist that
in addition to the Pact, ‘secret protocols’ had been ostensibly
signed ...”. The authors went on to repeat the well-known argument
that the original texts of the Protocols had never been found — only
“extremely contradictory” versions of the copies. At the same time,
articles had appeared in the journal Voprosy istorii, as well as in the
Soviet press (by Mikhail Semiriaga, Iurii Afanas’ev and Vyacheslav
Dashichev), which made direct references to the Protocols.9
However, the attitude of the Soviet Party and State leadership
towards the Protocols underwent considerable change in the postwar
years, as indicated by official documents and unofficial information. A
long and thorny path was trod — from outright denial of their
existence to recognition and solemn denunciation.
The first effort to revise the traditional position occurred during the
“thaw” of the late 1950s. Il’ia Zemskov, initially chief of the Diplomatic
History Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and later Deputy
Minister, can be considered the initiator of this attempt. He was well
acquainted with international publications on the subject and
cautiously pointed out to Gromyko that the official position on the
Protocols contradicted irrefutable facts. Gromyko remained un
moved.10 Until the end of the 1980s the question was never discussed
openly.
The onset of the Gorbachev era brought a turnabout in the
approach to the Protocols. The necessity of formulating a definite
position becam e apparent to Gorbachev during one of his meetings
with Jaruzielski in 1987. The Soviet leader decided to delegate
responsibility for re-examining the official position on the Protocols to
78
various departments of the Central Committee and the Foreign

Ministry: the Historical and Diplomatic Directorate of the Foreign
Ministry, headed by Kovalev, and the Ideological Department, which
was under the general supervision of Politburo member and Central
Committee Secretary Aleksandr Yakovlev, the International Depart
ment, headed by Anatolii Dobrynin, and the Department for Relations
with Socialist Countries of the Central Committee under Vadim
Medvedev.11
Progress was very slow. A draft of the commission’s recom
mendations was ready only in Decem ber 1987. It contained a historical
survey of the issue and discussed the range of possible positions:
maintaining the status quo, partial admittance of the existence of the
documents, and outright acknowledgement. A special memorandum
containing the recommendations and signed by Eduard Shevardnadze
and the members of the commission was forwarded to the Central
Committee of the Communist party.12 However, it came up for
discussion only on 3 May 1988, the eve of Gorbachev’s visit to Poland.
During the session, the official speaker for the Foreign Ministry,
Deputy Foreign Minister Leonid Il’ichev, and G. L. Smirnov, Director of
the Institute of Marxism-Leninism, reminded their colleagues that there
was exhaustive evidence that the Protocols did exist. Nonetheless,
Gromyko, then Politburo member and Chairman of the USSR Supreme
Soviet, evaded the topic with a vague observation that “one must have
a point of view” on the matter. He added that “from the historical
perspective, it is necessary to tell the truth”, but did not elaborate any
further. There is now documented evidence that on at least two
occasions (in 1975 and 1979), Gromyko was shown originals of the
Protocols which were preserved in the special archival 6th Section of
the General Department. Viktor Chebrikov (then head of the KGB and
a Politburo member) categorically opposed revealing the existence of
the Protocols, because “it would serve no purpose” and because there
were no legal grounds for it. Gorbachev was sceptical too, reasserting
that the originals had not been found. No resolution was reached.13
Thus Gorbachev’s behaviour in Poland was predictable. During his
visit in June 1988 he disappointed the Poles by adhering to the official
line on the Protocols. In fact, a hardening of this position was evident
in the writing of one of the advocates of the “new thinking”, Valentin
Falin. In August 1988 he reverted to using the term “falsification” in his
discussion of the Protocols.
The creation of new supreme bodies of power, primarily, the
Congress of People’s Deputies and the first elections in March 1989,
provided a new outlet for the expression of public opinion. This time
the “Baltic factor” came into play. As early as the first Congress in June
79
1989, the Baltic deputies raised the question of Soviet-German

agreements and the Secret Protocols. In accordance with a proposal by
the Estonian delegate E. Lippmaa, a commission for political and legal
assessment of the Soviet-German Pact of 23 August 1939 was created
on 2 June. It was headed by Aleksandr Yakovlev.14
The commission consisted of 26 members — ten were from the
Baltic Republics; three were professional historians. Iurii Afanas’ev,
Rector of the Historical Archives Institute, Valentin Falin, Chief of the
International Department, and Estonian People’s Deputy Edgar
Savisaar, were appointed as Yakovlev’s assistants. The commission
held six plenary sessions and four seminars of experts over a period of
seven months; 172 unpublished documents from the Foreign Ministry
and expert reports of historians and legal advisers were sent to the
commission at its request. Information was also received from the
German Foreign Ministry.15
A major difficulty arose already at the first session. The delegates of
the three Baltic republics were pursuing an urgent political objective,
prompted by the upcoming 50th anniversary of the Ribbentrop-
Molotov Pact. This rendered their arguments (as well as those of
Afanas’ev, who took their side) mostly political and highly emotional.
The opposing wing was represented by Ukrainian Foreign Minister
Kravets, who firmly adhered to the “Gromyko line”. Yakovlev, Falin
and Georgii Arbatov, Director of the Institute of the USA and Canada,
took a different approach: they deemed it necessary to make a detailed
analysis of the historical context of those years and of the causes that
led to the signing of the Pact. However, their opponents viewed this as
an attempt to “rehabilitate” the Stalinist leadership.
The impasse proved impossible to resolve even after experts had
been called in. Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia sent their own specialists
who took a radical position. The Moscow team (of which the author
was a member) split into “traditionalists” who adhered to previous
official interpretations, and “radicals” who demanded a revision of
those interpretations. However, none of the experts — not even those
who were most conservative in interpreting the causes which had led
to the signing of the Pact — questioned the existence of the Secret
Protocols and/or the authenticity of the German copies.
In August 1989 a crisis emerged in the work of the commission.
The radical group led by Afanas’ev demanded publication of at least
interim results by 23 August, but no authorization was obtained from
Gorbachev or the chairman of the commission. The idea was opposed
outright by conservative Politburo members Egor Ligachev, Vladimir
Kryuchkov and Mikhail Solomentsev.1^ Subsequently, several
members of the commission leaked the preliminary text of the draft
80
resolution to the international press (the text contained acknowl

edgement of the existence of the Protocols), thus subjecting their
chairman to criticism at a press conference. The commission now
faced real danger of disintegration. However, Yakovlev managed to
keep the commission intact. It was decided that he would make a
“personal statement” which would not demand approval of the
commission or the Politburo; the only requirement was that a draft
resolution be prepared and presented to the Congress, with a brief
explanatory note. These documents were ready by 4 November; the
report was presented on 23 Decem ber.17
Yakovlev had no illusions about the situation. He warned the
members of the commission that they should not expect support for
the radical ideas of Afanas’ev and his Baltic colleagues in the Congress.
In fact, even his own cautious and balanced address incensed the
legislators. On 23 Decem ber the conservative majority of the Congress
firmly rejected the proposal to denounce the Pact of 1939 and annul
the Protocols. However, the following day Yakovlev persuaded the
delegates to reconsider by producing for them a document confirming
the existence of the originals.
The document consisted primarily of a statement compiled in April
1946 by two employees of Molotov’s secretariat, D. V. Smirnov and B.
F. Podtserob, which confirmed the existence of eight original agree
ments, including the Secret Protocols of August 23 and September 28,
1939:
We, the undersigned, Deputy Head of Comrade V. M. Molotov’s
Secretariat, D. V. Smirnov, and Senior Assistant to the USSR Minister of
Foreign Affairs, B. F. Podtserob, on this day, the former handed over and
the latter received the following documents of the Special Archives of the
USSR Ministry for Foreign Affairs:
1. Documents on Germany
1. The original of the Secret Additional Protocol of August 23, 1939 (in
Russian and German), plus three copies of the said protocol.
2. The original of the official commentary on the Secret Additional
Protocol of August 23, 1939 (in Russian and German), plus two copies
of the said commentary.
3. The original of the Confidential Protocol of September 28, 1939 (in
Russian and German), plus two copies of the said protocol.
4. The original of the Secret Additional Protocol of September 28, 1939
( “On Polish Propaganda”) (in Russian and German), plus two copies
of the said protocol.
3. The original of the Secret Additional Protocol of September 28, 1939
( “On Lithuania”) (in Russian and German), plus two copies of the said
protocol.
6. The original of the Secret Protocol of January 10, 1939 concerning a
part of Lithuania’s territory (in Russian and German).
81
7. The original of the additional Protocol between the USSR and
Germany of October 4, 1939 (concerning the border) (in Russian and
German).
8. The original of the Protocol — description of the location of the USSR
state border and the state border of Germany (two volumes in Russian
and German) .1^
The pages which followed contained a description of additional

documents unrelated to the Protocols. The last page bore their sig
natures and was dated “April 1946”.
The Smirnov-Podtserob document requires some explanation. First,
how should one interpret the fact that the documents listed were
handed over from one Molotov functionary7 to another? The answer is
that after 1939, Molotov had two offices. He retained the post of
Chairman of the Soviet of People’s Commissars after he becam e the
People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs. Hence, he preserved his office
and secretariat in the Kremlin. His other office was in the building of
the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs. This situation did not
change after Stalin took over the post of Chairman of the Soviet of
People’s Commissars in 1941, on the eve of the war. Thus, one of
Molotov’s secretariats was located in the Kremlin and headed by I.
Lapshev. Smirnov becam e Lapshev’s assistant after the war. The other
secretariat was in the buiiding of the People’s Commissariat of Foreign
Affairs (later the Ministry of Foreign Affairs) and was headed by
Podtserob, a career diplomat who subsequently occupied a number of
ambassadorial posts.
The act was signed, therefore, by the representatives of two
secretariats — Smirnov removed the documents from the “special
archive” of one office and handed them over to Podtserob of the other
office, which indicates that Molotov wanted to have the originals
under his personal control. The copies of the Secret Protocols con
tained in the above file had been certified by one V. Panin, whose
position was not stated.19 A comparison of these copies with those
from Ribbentrop’s archives provide, perhaps, the most important
revelations:
1. The copies from the German and the Soviet archives were not
carbon copies: the layout of the text differs, but the content is
absolutely identical.
2. Panin’s text and the German one were typed on the same
typewriter which evidently belonged to Molotov’s secretariat and
was used for typing the most important documents.
3. Suspicions (raised also by Gorbachev) of the authenticity of the
Pact and Protocols based on the argument that Molotov’s signature
had been written in Latin script in the German version proved to be
82
unfounded, Molotov signed the Russian original in Cyrillic script,

but presumably when it came to signing the German text (of both
the Pact and the Protocols), he decided to demonstrate his
university education. Ribbentrop signed both versions in Latin
script.
4. The author has been able to have Panin’s signature authenticated
by the official’s family.
It should be added that all these conclusions apply not only to the
Secret Additional Protocol of 23 August 1939, but also to other secret
protocols signed during Ribbentrop’s second visit to Moscow on 27-29
September and dated 28 September of the same year.
Thus ended the most important and, so it was believed, final
chapter in the history of the Protocols. Their existence was officially
acknowledged and their content condemned by the highest legislative
body — the Congress of People’s Deputies of the USSR. However,
events which occurred in October 1992 (already following the
disintegration of the USSR) were even more dramatic.
As has been noted, the main argument of those who questioned the
existence of the Protocols was the fact that the originals had not been
produced. This argument was repeatedly used by Gorbachev, even
after initiating the policy of perestroika (including at sessions of the
Politburo in 1988 and 1989, and in his public appearances). Yakovlev’s
commission also resigned itself to the absence of the originals because
it managed to deal with the problem on the basis of persuasive
circumstantial evidence alone.
However history is subject to frequent and unexpected turns —
one of which occurred at the end of 1992. During the sorting of certain
documents of the “Kremlin” (also known as the “President’s”) archive,
which were to be transferred and made available to researchers, two
sealed envelopes containing the original versions of the Secret
Protocols were discovered.20 This find, which was made public on 29
October 1992 compels us to view all the events described above in a
different light.21 While, in the final analysis, it does not contribute
anything new, it exemplifies one of the deeply-rooted features of
Soviet conduct: the formulation of policy based on conscious lies. This
harsh judgement derives from an examination of the contents of the
two envelopes, numbered 34 and 33, which leads to the following
conclusions:
1. The originals of the additional Protocols of 23 August and 28
September 1939, were at Molotov’s disposal from 1939 to 1952.
2. In Decem ber 1952, they were transferred to the General
Department o f the Central Committee of the CPSU, more precisely,
to its 6th Sector, where the most secret documents of the Politburo
83
were kept, including those preserved in special files stamped

osobaia p a p k a (special file) and zakrytyi konvert (sealed
envelope). It was the latter, the most secret classification, which
was given to the Protocols (file 34) and maps accompanying the
Protocols with the signatures of Stalin and Ribbentrop (file 35).
3- Copies were made from these originals twice — in 1975 and 1979
— and sent to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the name of
Zemskov for forwarding to Gromyko.
4. The last time the envelopes were opened was on 10 April 1987 in
accordance with a directive of Valerii Boldin, Chief of the General
Department of the Central Committee. Boldin later resealed the
envelopes and ordered that they be kept under close watch in the
6th Sector. If Boldin ever showed the contents of the envelopes to
anyone, it was never registered in the files.
It is thus apparent that the upper echelons of the Soviet leadership
which succeeded Stalin — at least from 1975 onwards — knew that
the originals did exist. The question of whether Gorbachev had
personal knowledge about the originals still remains open. He himself
denies it, but the claims of some that it is inconceivable that Boldin did
not discuss such an important issue as the contents of envelopes nos.
34 and 35 with the General Secretary are equally credible.
The diplomatic aspects of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact are not
within the scope of this chapter, although it is a topic which has con
stituted a focus of debate in Soviet historical literature over recent
years and one which requires special study. These discussions can and
must continue. However, at least one question has finally been res
olved conclusively: The long-standing “accursed problem” of Soviet
historiography concerning the existence of secret agreements has been
removed from the agenda. Now Soviet historians can unashamedly
look their colleagues in the eyes — and continue their common work
on documentary studies in this extremely important chapter of
European history — Soviet foreign policy in the pre-war period.
84
NOTES
1. Hans v. Herwarth, Zwischen Hitler und Stalin (Berlin, 1985), p. 193 and Charles
Bohlen, Witness to History (New York, 1973), pp. 70-83.
2. Public Record Office, Foreign Office 371/23686.
3. Politisches Archiv Bonn, Buro RAM, F 11/9939.
4. Iu. N. Zoria and N. S. Lebedeva, M ezhdunarodnaia z h iz n ’9 (1989).
5. Falsificators o f History (An Historical Note) (Moscow, 1949).
6. The volume was finally prepared and published by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs
(.M ezhdunardonaia otnosheniia) in 1992.
7. Sto sorok besed s Molotovym — Iz dnevnika F. Chueva (Moscow, 1991), p. 20.
8. D er Spiegel 17(1989).
9. Voprosy istorii 6 (1 9 8 9 ).
10. Gromyko reportedly told Zemskov: “Anyway, nobody will be able to expose us.”
11. Based on information from the personal archive of Vadim Medvedev.
12. From discussions with V. Medvedev in October 1992. Such was the established
practice at that time. A departmental note was submitted to the Central Committee and
discussed by the Secretariat or the Politburo.
13. From discussions with Medvedev and Alexandrov.
14. Second Congress o f People's Deputies o f the USSR, Moscow 1990, Vol. IV, p. 255.
15. Information from the personal archives of V. A. Alexandrov and the author.
16. According to Yakovlev, he was supported in the Politburo only by Shevardnadze.
Only after Yakovlev threatened to resign from the post of chairman of the commission
did Gorbachev consent to his making a speech before the Congress (from a
conversation with Yakovlev, Feb. 1992). As for Gorbachev, he realized the necessity of
rejecting the traditional position only after the demonstrations which took place in
Aug. 1989 (from discussions with Gorbachev’s personal assistant, Anatolii Cherniaev).
17. Second Congress o f P eople’s Deputies o f the USSR, Moscow 1990, Vol. IV, p. 255.
18. Published in Vestnik MID SSSR 4 (1990) without the stamp of the USSR Foreign
Ministry Archives. Attached to the file were the TASS messages on the discussion of the
question of the Protocols at the Nuremberg Trials. The original document is located in
the Arkhiv vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii, delo 600/700, list 17.
19- V. I. Panin was Deputy Head of Molotov’s secretariat in the Council of Ministers until
1941. He was succeeded after his death in 1941 by Smirnov.
20. General Department, Sector VI, Central Committee of the CPSU, fond 3, opis’ 64, delo
675-a.
21. Press conference with Rudolf Pekhoia, Dmitrii Volkogonov and Aleksandr Yakovlev.
83
8
Poland Between East and West -

The Politics of a Government-in-Exile
ANITA J. PRAZMQWSKA
It is ironic that the very man whom present day Poles consider to have
been the em in en ce gris in the British Foreign Office and a malign
influence on all decisions concerning Polish matters, foresaw one of
the key areas of weakness of the government-in-exile. Commenting
upon the establishment of the Polish government in France, Lewis
Namier wrote in November 1939:
Emigre governments are essentially weak because they depend on
strangers, are therefore amenable to foreign influence and can be made
into instruments of a foreign policy. In the best interest of Poland and of
her future, even the appearance of such developments should be
avoided...such exploitation comes to an emigre government in a most
seductive form: by their being treated as fully and exclusively
representative of their country.1
By November 1943 the Polish government-in-exile had done

everything against which Lewis Namier had cautioned. It had com e to
depend exclusively on British and American support, and had placed
all its resources, primarily manpower, at the disposal of the British,
who were either using or proposing to use them on fronts which were
of little direct relevance to Poland. Finally, the exile government had
endeavoured to convince itself that the future of Poland depended
entirely on its own cooperation with those very Allies. In reality, its
policies for the restoration of Poland had been reduced to one option
only: dependence on Britain to place it in power in liberated Poland
and to defend its new, and also hopefully enlarged, borders.
The result was that by 1943, the British viewed Polish aspirations
and territorial demands as a mere obstacle to obtaining full Soviet
cooperation. The symbolic turning point when the government-in-
exile seems to have lost its political independence and influence (for
there was no specific crisis or incident which tipped the scales),
86
POLAND BETWEEN EAST AND WEST
occurred at the Tehran Conference. In Tehran, Churchill repeatedly

sought to neutralize Poland as a potential impediment to British-Soviet
relations, demonstrating not only that Polish territorial demands were
not going to be defended, but also that he would use his influence to
induce the exile government to accommodate Soviet needs.
During discussions on 28 November, Churchill proposed that future
frontiers be defined. It was left to Stalin to enquire whether “it would
be without Polish participation”. Churchill assured him that “they
could go to the Poles later”.2 Both men were referring to the Polish
government-in-exile which had taken up residence in London. These
exchanges suggest an agreement to sidestep that government when
making decisions relating to Poland. At the same meeting the principle
of redrawing Polish boundaries further west was accepted. During the
session between Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt on 30 November,
Stalin made a distinction between the aspirations of the Polish public
and those of the government-in-exile. Roosevelt and Churchill eagerly
sought a compromise acceptable to Stalin. They therefore accepted
Molotov’s assertion that the September 1939 line corresponded to the
Curzon line and that Lvov should be included in the territory of the
Soviet Union. According to the minutes of the proceedings, Churchill
stated:
...that the Poles would be wise to take our advice. They were getting a
country 300 miles square and [he said] that he was not prepared to make a
great squawk about Lvov and (turning to Marshal Stalin) he added that he
did not think that we were very far off in principle.3
In spite of growing doubts as to whether their efforts would be

rewarded, the Poles henceforth sought to increase their role in the
Allied military effort. By December 1943 the Polish government-in-
exile had approximately 100,000 men in the three services, fighting or
undergoing training in the West. These numbers were to increase
during the remaining years of the war. Nevertheless, the government’s
political influence was to remain negligible. It could be argued that the
influence of the Polish government was to decrease irreversibly after
Stalin and Churchill’s Tehran Conference agreement on the Polish
question.
As victory appeared certain, following the Soviet summer offen
sives against Germany, Poland was reduced to a mere object in Allied
negotiations; and with Soviet victories in the east, the Allies distanced
themselves increasingly from the Polish-Soviet impasse. This chapter
argues that, for the Poles, the political advantages of military
cooperation with the Allies were dubious from the outset. The
following issues will be addressed: What were the political objectives
87
of the Polish government-in-exile? What were the implications of

Poland’s military contribution during the period prior to the Tehran
Conference? How did the above two issues affect the course of Polish-
British and Polish-Soviet relations?
The establishment of an exile government in Paris at the end of
September 1939 implied not merely a transfer of power from the
previous government trapped in Romania, but more importantly, a
change in its composition and leadership. During the early days of the
war, General Wtadyslaw Sikorski was identified by some French
military and diplomatic personalities as a preferred leader of any
Polish legions which might be raised in France, and possibly even of
an exile administration. He and like minded pro-French Poles were
assisted in leaving Poland and making their way to France by the then
French Ambassador Leon Noel.4 It is unclear whether the French aim
from the outset had been to aid in the creation of an exile government
in Paris.5 Nevertheless, when the Poles, under the leadership of Juliusz
Lukasiewicz, made arrangements for the nomination of a new
government, the French did interfere in order to influence its com po
sition. They vetoed the appointment of Wieniawa Dlugoszowski, a
leading Pilsudskiite, to the Presidency,6 insisting instead on the weak
and indecisive Wladyslaw Raczkiewicz. Inevitably, Sikorski becam e
the Prime Minister and the opposition was temporarily routed. In
addition, Sikorski assumed control over the Ministry of War and
Ministry of Justice.7
The most important decision made by the Poles even before the
outbreak of the war was that Poland should continue to be seen fight
ing even if its territory was occupied. Thus the departure of political
and military leaders in the wake of defeat in September was not a
disorganized exodus but a move to Allied territories, where a
government-in-exile could continue to coordinate fighting and
participate in all negotiations concerning postwar settlements.8 This
decision constrained the exile government’s manoeuvrability. From
the start it was dependent upon the Allied war effort. Although the
government-in-exile would have preferred to have had its own
autonomous sphere of military action, one which would have
highlighted the Polish contribution to the war and confirmed the
Allies’ need of Poland, such an opportunity did not arise. The
dependence on Allied strategic planning also imposed severe
restrictions on Polish political freedom.
The government therefore faced several serious problems. First, it
was wholly dependent on the Allies in all military matters and unable
to assert its independence politically. At the same time, the visibility of
its military contribution was a critical factor in securing it a place at the
negotiating table, and ultimately restoring Poland to its pre-September

1939 borders. The second problem was how and when to try to
resume the direct military struggle to liberate Polish territory. After the
fall of Poland, the country’s troops were deployed in remote war
zones. This would hamper their ability to return to Poland in time for
the crucial battle for territorial liberation. Leaders of the government-
in-exile were aware that allies could easily becom e former allies once
hostilities ended.
From the outset the Polish government was limited in its choice of
partners. After the implementation of the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact the
Soviet Union becam e an arch-enemy. Although Sikorski was able to
impose upon the exile government cooperation with the Soviet Union,
after the German attack on Russia he continued to encounter strong
opposition to this policy. At the same time, neither Britain nor the
United States was willing to support the Poles in their anti-Soviet
policy.
On 30 Decem ber 1939, Sikorski wrote that the government’s
primary objective was to establish and then increase its influence upon
the Allies in order that a compromise peace not be signed with the
enemy at Poland’s expense.9 This influence and commitment could
only be secured if Poland was an active military partner. The creation
of an army therefore becam e a means of gaining Allied commitment to
the Polish cause. This explains Polish demands for inclusion in the
Supreme War Council and the Executive War Council, both of which
were rejected. It also explains why the government sought to deploy
Polish units in a variety of battle zones. On 21 February 1940, the Chief
of Staff argued the case for sending Polish units to fight in Finland:
Polish units in Finland will be real proof of the fact that Poland exists and
continues to fight with the Allies. I stress that in my understanding this is
not a case of prestige but one that is very important and fundamental to
Poland.10
From within the ranks of the military (which were highly politicized
in the Polish tradition), Sikorski faced opposition to his determination
that the newly formed army in France should go into battle on the
Western front. He rejected the proposal of his own Chief of Staff,
General Alexander K^dzior, made public in April 1940, that the army’s
strength be preserved for the vital battle on Polish territories. Sikorski
insisted that only joint military participation in the Allied war effort
could guarantee the Allies’ commitment to Poland.11 In response to
this wave of dissent among Polish officers, Sikorski ordered a
wholesale purge of agitators and their incarceration in a penal cam p.12
The collapse of France in June 1940 dashed hopes that the war
might end quickly. Moreover, it shattered any illusion that Polish
89
participation could be confined to the European front. Dependence on

military cooperation with Britain meant that the war had to be seen
from the British perspective, as a global conflict. Reluctantly, the Poles
joined in the fight against Italy, which they had considered, until that
time, to be a friend.13
With an eye to future involvement in the Balkan area, the Sikorski
government had been trying to maintain a neutral position in relation
to Italy after the German attack on France. On several occasions the
Polish government-in-exile had discussed the problem of Italy. Most
ministers believed that the Polish and Italian nation were united in
friendship and that Italy could thus be treated as a weak link of the
Axis.14 The dilemma came to a head when in October 1940 the British
proposed to use the Polish Carpathian Brigade in the defence of Egypt.
The Italian declaration of war in June 1940 meant that there was a
possibility of military conflict between Allied troops in the Suez region
and Italian troops from Ethiopia and Eritreia. Not until Sikorski
qualified his earlier statement on the subject to mean that Polish troops
could be used against Italian ones, was the Carpathian Brigade re
equipped by the British in Decem ber 1940.15
The Poles also tried to resolve the dilemma concerning France,
which they shared with the British, by maintaining diplomatic relations
with the Vichy government16 while, at the same time, according
De Gaulle limited recognition.17 On 30 June 1940 the government’s
ministerial committee approved basic principles of its future foreign
policy. It defined the restoration of France to its position as a European
power as one of its main aims. Good relations were thus to be
maintained with the present French government so that “in the event
of the defeat of Germany, France would have a say in matters relating
to political issues concerning postwar Europe”.18
Undoubtedly Sikorski’s most difficult and controversial decision
concerned the re-establishment of diplomatic relations with the Soviet
Union. His reasons for taking this politically risky move were complex.
Sikorski had earlier becom e aware of limits on the expansion of Polish
units following the disappointing response to the recruiting effort in
Canada and the United States. Moreover, only some 30,000 men were
evacuated to Britain after the defeat of France. While still in France,
Sikorski had contended with opponents of his policy of direct and
unqualified military support for the Allied war effort. He was therefore
irreversibly committed now to making a maximum contribution to the
war. His thinking inevitably moved in the direction of gaining access to
Poles imprisoned and trapped on Soviet territory. It has been
estimated that the Soviet authorities had deported 1,250,000 Poles into
the Soviet interior after the occupation of the Polish eastern regions.
90
O f these, 180,000 were prisoners of war and were incarcerated in

military and penal camps, and in prisons.19
Earlier discreet efforts to obtain access to Polish soldiers
imprisoned in the Soviet Union had not been successful. One such
attempt was made in Decem ber 1939, with the Turkish government
acting as intermediary.20 Subsequently, a governmental crisis was
sparked by Sikorski’s communication to the British Foreign Secretary
of 19 June 1940 which included, among signs of his willingness to
consider establishing relations with the Soviet Union, a suggestion that
a Polish “semi-official counsellor” be attached to the staff of Sir
Stafford Cripps, the British Ambassador in Moscow.21 The object of
this exercise was clearly to re-establish contact with Poles in the Soviet
Union. The so-called June crisis caused by this communication forced
Sikorski to withdraw his proposal and abandon his efforts to pursue
communication with the Soviet authorities.
In the summer of 1941, Sikorski was convinced that in spite of the
fact that the USSR had refused to renounce the territorial adjustments
made in September 1939, there was no choice but to sign an
agreement with the Soviets. Since the British government was
determined to forge ahead in its cooperation with the Soviet Union,
reaching an accommodation with the Soviets would, Sikorski
reckoned, allow the government-in-exile to remain in the Allied camp
and to have a say in matters concerning its future.22 As Sikorski
explained in a message to the underground leadership in Poland on 26
June 1941, British and American support for the Polish cause could
only be maintained if the Poles aligned themselves with the policy of
drawing the Soviet Union into the anti-German bloc.23 The earlier
crisis had weakened the opposition and he was now able to get the
decision approved by the government.
Mistrust of Britain did play a role in Sikorski’s considerations. His
chief of counter-intelligence, Colonel Leon Mitkiewicz, on several
occasions cautioned against excessive reliance on British goodwill.24
He was not alone in his concerns. Sikorski’s Minister for Foreign
Affairs, August Zaleski, believed that Britain should participate in
guaranteeing Poland’s territorial agreements with the Soviet Union.25
While Sikorski rejected these arguments, he was not entirely free from
anxiety about British policies towards Eastern Europe. He therefore
maintained that by being associated with Britain’s policy of
rapprochem ent towards the Soviet Union, Poland would deter
discussions and compromises at its own expense. The formation of
Polish units in the Soviet Union would open up new opportunities for
direct military involvement in the liberation of Poland. This point was
frequently and forcefully made by Sikorski to the Commander-in-Chief
91
of the Polish army in Russia, General Wladyslaw Anders.

A military agreement was concluded between the USSR and the
Polish government-in-exile in London on 14 August. Polish citizens
released by the Soviet authorities from prison and from labour and
resettlement camps in accordance with the agreement, were now
being enlisted into Polish units being formed on Russian territory.
These were to be used on the Eastern front, but also to bolster the
continuing build-up of forces already fighting under British command
in North Africa, and with the British Air Force. Nevertheless, even
during this early period of successful cooperation between the Poles
and the Soviet authorities, serious disquiet was caused by the failure to
ascertain the whereabouts of some officers. During the first meeting
which took place between Anders and General Zhukov on 1 O ctober
1941, the Soviet authorities admitted to holding only 1,658 Polish
officers.26 This number was suspiciously low. Henceforth, Polish
military and political representatives in the Soviet Union and the
government-in-exile in London would endeavour to ascertain the
whereabouts of approximately 40,000 missing men.
Cooperation with Britain remained, nevertheless, the main plank of
Sikorski’s policy. He thus informed General Anders, on 1 September
1941:
...I intend [the army] to be used, on the one hand, in such a way that it can
play an independent and crucial role in relation to the whole of the war,
and, on the other hand, so that it can cooperate closely with our British
ally.27
Sikorski, however, was reluctant to deploy the Polish army on the

Eastern front, as he feared that its presence would not be felt there.
Therefore, he designated the Caucasus and the area bordering Iran as
possible operational zones for Polish troops.
The success of the Polish effort to form an army in Russia led
immediately to a dilemma. Neither Sikorski nor Anders wanted to see
the Polish units put into action in just any military battle. They were an
asset and a very valuable one at a time when the Poles’ negotiating
position was very weak indeed. But if the Poles’ military contribution
was to have a commensurate political influence, the army had to be
seen in action.
Ultimately, it was outside forces that solved the dilemma of how
and when to deploy Polish military units raised in Russia, as had often
been the case in other crises of the Polish political and military
leadership. On 26 September 1941 Sikorski instructed the head of the
Polish Military Mission in Moscow, General Szyszko-Bohusz, to contact
Churchill’s military adviser, General Sir Hastings Ismay, who was
accompanying Beaverbrook to the Moscow conference. It was to be
92
suggested to Ismay that he should ask the Soviet authorities to use

Polish troops in the defence of the Caucasian oil fields.28 By contrast,
on 2 October he forbade Anders to release any units for use by the
Russians, who claimed that they were in need of reinforcements on the
Western front. He argued in the message that the units had not
completed their training and equipping and, moreover, in an
underlined passage, he informed Anders that he considered him
personally responsible for ensuring that the troops not be wasted by
being sent prematurely to the front:29
The Polish Army in the USSR is of enormous propaganda importance in
the whole world but particularly the USA. If this army is to realize its
propaganda role it has to be put into battle as a whole army.30
By October, however, the Soviet authorities appear to have decided

to limit the size of the Polish army; recruitment was made more
difficult and rations were cut. At the same time the British authorities
sought to strengthen the Polish units in the Middle East. In March 1942
Anders was informed that from 1 April the Soviet authorities were
cutting down Polish army rations to 44,000 — meaning that the
Russians would only provide for an army of that size and would not
allow the Poles to recruit beyond that number.31 This decision marked
the final chapter of Polish involvement in the east. Between 24 March
and 3 April, 33,000 Polish servicemen and 10,000 civilians were
evacuated from Krasnovodsk to Pahlevi in Iran. Between 9 August and
1 September of the same year, the remaining 40,000 servicemen were
evacuated through the same route. After that, the Soviet authorities
closed down all recruiting centres. The failure of the Poles to assist the
Red Army in its fight against the German invasion, and the
commanders’ determination to go to the British military zone, spelled
the conclusive end of the Polish government-in-exile’s influence in the
Soviet Union.32
Sikorski’s attempts to maintain his government’s standing in the
east while enhancing it in the west were being thwarted not merely by
the Soviet authorities but also by his own commanders. Anders, in
particular, supported the view that the Polish army in Russia should be
withdrawn and that Poland should associate itself unequivocally with
the Western military and political effort. After Sikorski’s death, Anders
cautiously, but openly, concurred with calls for a war against the
Soviet Union to follow the defeat of Germany.
In May 1942 Sikorski was still trying to reason with Anders,
pointing out that it was not yet clear what the shortest route to Poland
would be. He emphasized that the military situation remained
unresolved and that this meant that the Poles could not risk
concentrating their army on one front since a military defeat there
93
could result in the destruction of the one valuable asset the exile
government possessed.33
In the autumn of 1942, as the bulk of Polish armed forces were
concentrated in the Middle East, Sikorski tried to plan possible zones
of deployment for his troops. The Balkans appeared to offer both an
opportunity for cooperation with the Western Allies as well as an
opening to a region which could becom e a future Polish sphere of
political influence. As early as 1941, hopes had been aroused that the
Carpathian Brigade under the command of General Stanislaw
Kopahski, which had left Syria and crossed into British controlled
Palestine in June 1940, would be deployed on the Balkan front.34
Sikorski was delighted by this possibility and telegraphed Kopahski:
“...the purpose is — to take part in projected battles in the Balkans, the
objective is — to march to Poland through the Carpathians...”.35 These
aspirations, however, never materialized as British defeats in Greece
led to a decision to re-route and retrain the Carpathian Brigade for
desert battle. Kopahski was concerned about this change of strategy;
in particular he felt that this would bring about a confrontation with
Italy and abandonment of the direct route to liberating Poland.
Sikorski instructed him accordingly:
Every enemy of Britain is simultaneously our enemy. Basing oneself on
this principle, the direction in which the Brigade is used is a matter of
indifference to me. You have to disseminate propaganda among the
soldiers that Italy, being Germany’s ally, is also our enemy.36
The opening of a Balkan front becam e a possibility once more. If

Polish troops were to be instrumental in the liberation of southern
Europe, that is, the Balkans and Italy, their action would have to
coincide with Sikorski’s political initiatives aimed at creating a Central
European federation. It was also hoped that Polish units, then fighting
with the British in North Africa, would enter France. Sikorski stated
that if the Allies opened the West European front by landing troops
from North Africa in Italy and southern France, he would move his
headquarters to the Middle East to supervise developments there.
These plans were discouraged by the British authorities.
Polish military and political independence was a luxury which the
British believed they could not afford to grant in wartime. Hence, they
consistently suppressed Polish initiatives aimed at furthering the cause
of their own independence, including Sikorski’s efforts to create a
Central European federation, his attempts to arrange periodic meetings
with the heads of the other exile authorities, and the Polish
approaches to the Yugoslavian monarchist Mihailovic units in 1943.37
Neither the Balkan front nor the second European front
materialized in 1942. In April 1943, following the withdrawal of the last
94
of the Polish troops from the Soviet Union and the discovery of the
Katyn graves, the Poles broke off diplomatic relations with the Soviet
Union. By then Polish standing among the Allies had changed. From
being Britain’s sole East European ally in 1940, Poland had been
reduced to a partner of little significance and had becom e a thorn in
Soviet-British relations. The army, which was to have been the
instrument of Polish political power, could not, by itself, gain influence
for the Poles. Whereas in 1939 and 1940 it was believed that the British
needed the Polish army and would therefore make political
concessions in return for its cooperation, in 1942 the positions were
reversed and it was the Poles who sought opportunities to be needed.
By that time, little hope remained of obtaining genuine commitments
from the Allies.
In 1939 Sikorski’s government and military planners had thought in
terms of a war which would result in the liberation of Poland by the
Polish army and the establishment of a democratic and pro-Western
government. But the conclusion of the Tehran Conference only served
to confirm what had already becom e apparent: the failure to open a
Western front early on increased the possibility that Poland would be
liberated by Soviet troops. In 1943 Polish units were preparing to go
into battle in Italy, no longer thinking in terms of fighting their way
back to Poland.
The Poles were the victims of military developments, but also
prisoners of their own conviction that the establishment of a Polish
state in its pre-1939 boundaries was essential to the stability and
reconstruction of Europe. This tragedy is curiously reminiscent of
Napoleon’s use of the Polish Legion to suppress the slave uprising in
Haiti in 1802. Similarly, it was hoped that the Legion would earn
Napoleon’s gratitude and therefore commitment to the revival of a
Polish state. During the Second World War, as all avenues for
independent action turned out to be illusory, the Poles nonetheless
continued to fight on, convinced that Britain and the United States
would reverse the territorial consequences of the Soviet victory over
Germany.
95
NOTES
1. Memorandum by Lewis Namier, The Polish Government a n d Its Task, 29 Nov. 1939,
Public Record Office (PRO), Foreign Office (FO) 371/23153 C19384/8526/55.
2. Record of conversation between the Prime Minister and Marshal Stalin at Tehran, 28
Nov. 1943, PRO, Prime Minister’s Office (PREM) 3 136/8.
3. Record of a conversation at lunch at the Soviet Embassy, Tehran, 1 Dec. 1943, PRO,
PREM 3 136/8.
4. Yves Beauvois, Stosunki polsko-francuskie w czasie ‘dziw nej w ojny’ (Cracow, 1991),
pp. 16-17.
5. Olgierd Terlecki, G eneral Sikorski (Cracow, 1981), p. 141.
6. Yves Beauvois, Stosunki polsko-francuskie, pp. 26-27.
7. Maria Pestkowska, Uchodzcze Pasje (Paris, 1991), pp. 28-30.
8. Waclaw Jydrzejewicz (ed.), Diplomat in Paris 1936-1939. Memoirs o f Juliusz
Lukasiewicz, A m bassador o f Poland, (New York, 1970), pp. 338-42.
9. Sikorski’s instructions to the Minister for Foreign Affairs, 30 Dec. 1939, Archiwum Akt
Nowych Warsaw 3087.
10. Memorandum by the Chief of Staff, A Note on Assistance to Finland, 21 Feb. 1940,
Polish Institute and Sikorski Museum, London (PISM) PRM 16/8.
11. Letter from Sikorski to Colonel Kydzior, 26 April 1940, PISM PRM 13/18.
12. Sikorski’s personal instructions, 10 May 1940, PISM PRM 13/21.
13. Stanislaw Sierpowski, Stosunki polsko-w loskie w latach 1918-1940, (Warsaw, 1975),
pp. 611-12.
14. Polskie Sily Zbrojne w drugiej wojnie swiatowej, Vol. II, part 1 (London, 1959), pp.
257-60.
15. Stanislaw Kopanski, W spomnienia W ojenne 1 9 3 9 -1 9 4 6 { London, 1972), p. 109.
16. Memorandum by Minister Stronski defining the principles of Polish foreign policy.
Approved by the Council of Ministers, 30 June 1940, Archives of the Zjednoczone
Stronnictwo Ludowe (ZSL), Warsaw.
17. Memorandum on Raczynski’s information on the Polish government-in-exile’s political
talks with De Gaulle, 28 Oct. 1941, FO 371/26779.
18. Proposal f o r Future Polish Foreign Policy. Memorandum prepared by the Political
Committee and approved by the Council of Ministers, June/July 1940, PISM KGA2.
19. Polskie Sily Zbrojne, Vol. II. part 2, p. 226.
20. Michal Sokolnicki, D ziennik A nkarski 1939-1943 , (London, 1965), pp. 57-58.
21. Memorandum by Halifax on meeting with General Sikorski, 19 June 1940, FO
371/24482 C7880/7177/55.
22. Michal Sokolnicki, D ziennik Ankarski, pp. 292-99. Sokolnicki recorded these
explanations given to him by Sikorski during his visit to the Middle East in autumn
1941.
23. Sikorski’s message to Polish legations and to Poland, 26 June 1941, PISM PRM 59A/4.
24. Leon Mitkiewicz, Z G eneralem Sikorskin na obczyznie. (Fragmenty W spomnien)
(Paris, 1968), pp. 68-69.
25. John Coutouvidis & Jaime Reynolds, P olan d 1 9 3 9 -1 9 4 7 (Leicester, 1986), pp. 75-76.
26. Polskie Sily Zbrojne, Vol. II, part 2, p. 227.
27. Message from Sikorski to Anders, 1 Sept. 1941, PISM AXII 1/56.
28. Message from Sikorski to General Szyszko-Bohusz, Head of the Polish Military Mission
in Russia, to be conveyed to General Sir Hastings Ismay, 26 Sept. 1941, PISM KGA/9a.
29. Message from Sikorski to Anders, 2 Oct. 1941, PISM KGA 18a.
30. Ibid.
31. Message from Anders in Moscow to Sikorski, 20 March 1942, PISM KGA 9a.
32. Piotr Zarnowski, K ierunek w schodni w strategii wojskowo-politycznej Gen.
W ladyslaw a Sikorskiego 1940-1943 (Warsaw, 1988), p. 172.
33. Message from Sikorski to Anders, 1 May 1942, PISM PRM 79/1/21.
34. Stanislaw Kopanski, W spomnienia Wojenne, pp. 136-41.
35. Ibid., p. 141.
36. Ibid., pp. 147-48.
37. Message to Eden from British Ambassador to Yugoslav government in Cairo, 19 Nov.
1943, FO 371 34594 C14145/335/G 55.
96
9
The Soviet Union

and the Grand Alliance:
The Internal Dimension
of Foreign Policy
ALEKSEI FILITOV
Any examination of the Grand Alliance in the Second World War

should devote equal attention to relations among the Big Three
powers and the decision-making process of each. Tendencies toward
cooperation or conflict reflected a very close and com plex interplay
within the domestic scene. The dynamics of this interaction have
already been dealt with in the West.1 However, the conceptual
framework most frequently used (for example, of the State Department
and the Treasury in the US, or the Foreign Office and the Chiefs of
Staff in Great Britain) is inadequate. By identifying specific attitudes
and approaches with certain official bodies, Western studies have
overlooked the undercurrents within each institution as well as its
changing influence over time.
The mechanism of Soviet decision making remains largely un
explored. There are two reasons for this. First, it is generally assumed
that totalitarian rule combined with terror prevented the consideration
of competing political options in foreign policy. Second, hardly any
historical evidence on the subject was available. If official publications
typically omitted Soviet diplomats’ references to dissent in Western
policy making, it goes without saying that there could be no mention
of debate within the Soviet leadership.2 The gradual opening of the
archives, however, has enabled the author to unearth certain facts in
the Foreign Ministry files which shed light on this “non-topic”. A
tentative analysis of this new evidence is presented below.
One episode which demonstrates the existence of division in the
Soviet leadership was the debate between Maxim Litvinov and
97
Viacheslav Molotov over possible Soviet responses to the outbreak of

the war in the Pacific. Litvinov, who arrived in Washington as the new
Soviet Ambassador on the very day of the Japanese attack on Pearl
Harbor, urged the government, in one of his first cables to Moscow, to
publicly condemn Japan’s aggression and declare its solidarity with the
Anglo-American war effort in the Pacific. At the same time, he advised
that the Russians refrain from taking any military action. His
recommendations were summarily rejected by the Foreign Minister.3
Litvinov encountered a similar response from Molotov when he
suggested that the Soviet Union respond favourably to Roosevelt’s
invitation to join the proposed Anglo-American Supreme War Council.
Although he shared Molotov’s concern that the Americans might drag
the Soviet LJnion into the war in the Far East, Litvinov argued that
Soviet participation in such a council could be reconciled if it were to
be divided into a Far Eastern committee (which the USSR would not
join), and a European one. Nonetheless, Molotov remained adamant in
his belief that the joint council was merely a device to get the USSR
involved in the Pacific war. Nor was he swayed by Litvinov’s
contention that Soviet participation in the council would pressure the
United States into increasing supplies to Russia and hasten the opening
of a second front. Molotov ultimately prevailed, concluding in his
usual harsh manner that the creation of the joint Allied machinery
would mean “the subordination of Soviet military planning to the
whims of Washington”.4
Between May and June 1942, Molotov visited Great Britain and the
United States. The history of the difficult negotiations leading up to the
signing of the Soviet-British treaty during his visit to London is well-
known and need not be recounted here. A compromise solution was
achieved: the Soviet side dropped its demands for recognition of
Russia’s western frontiers and for the conclusion of a postwar
settlement in exchange for an Allied promise to open a second front. It
is a lesser known fact that Molotov did not favour this deal. He was
overruled by Stalin, who dismissed his reservations about the treaty
and advised him to accept the British version of the text because it
gave, as Stalin put it in his cable to Molotov, “a free hand to us”.5
Likewise, Stalin disregarded Molotov’s initial misgivings about a
proposal made by Roosevelt to Molotov on 29 May, calling for the four
Big Powers to act as “policem en” in their respective spheres of interest
while joining forces to combat major global threats. The American
transcript of the meeting testifies to the less than enthusiastic response
by Molotov to the idea of the total disarmament of enemies and allies
alike by the Big Powers. The absence of corresponding remarks by
Molotov in the Soviet transcript indicates an attempt to retreat from the
98
INTERNAL DIMENSION OF FOREIGN POLICY
“incorrect” (Molotov’s) line after the “correct” one (Stalin’s) had been
imposed.6
Thus, we may speak not only of clashes between Molotov and
Litvinov, but even between Molotov and Stalin. These disagreements
were admittedly minor and short-lived, but they are not without
historical significance. They demonstrate the existence within the
Soviet leadership of two differing approaches to relations with the
Allies. The first may be termed the cooperative option — characterized
by a trend towards narrowing the scope of unilateral actions and
decisions in postwar politics. The second was the unilateral approach,
expressed by the “free hand” formula. Only Litvinov consistently
advocated the cooperative option. Molotov, in his dispute with
Litvinov, showed a clear preference for unilateralism. With respect to
the Soviet-British treaty, Stalin turned out to be even more of a
unilateralist than Molotov, for whom the “free hand” did not seem to
have been of overriding importance. In response to Roosevelt’s “four
policem en” proposal, the roles were reversed. Stalin approved of the
project even though it clearly contradicted the free-hand principle by
providing for a combined force of four powers.7
The above facts would seem to indicate that the West missed
opportunities to influence Soviet policy in more positive directions by
not taking a more consistently cooperative approach. One is tempted
to speculate whether greater British flexibility on problems of Soviet
frontiers and security in Eastern Europe and a more vigorous pursuit of
Roosevelt’s Grand Design might have altered the course of history.8 It
is reasonable to assume that under such circumstances the advantages
of a cooperative course would have carried greater weight in the
Soviet leadership’s judgement and possibly won out against the trend
towards unilateralism which came to dominate Soviet behaviour after
the war.
Similar assessments were made at the time by British statesmen.
The Ambassador to Moscow, Sir Stafford Cripps, led the criticism of
Western reluctance (including that of his own government) to initiate a
serious discussion in the coalition on postwar issues. The extent of the
controversy was first revealed by Professor Gabriel Gorodetsky.9 He
depicts it as a confrontation between the ultra-conservative, Churchill,
who was unwilling to accept the Soviet Union as a true ally and the
progressive, independent and far-sighted Cripps. While harbouring no
illusions about the Stalinist system, Cripps still advocated a policy of
sincere collaboration with the Soviet Union, with due regard for his
country’s legitimate strategic and state interests. The evidence from the
Soviet archives corroborates this point, as well as Gorodetsky’s
assertion that while Cripps’ basic approach was realistic and sober, the
99
tactics he employed to implement them undermined his case.

Between 1942 and 1943, a peculiar alliance was formed between
Cripps and the Soviet Ambassadors to the USA and Great Britain,
Litvinov and Ivan Maiskii. All three would send messages to Stalin
(Cripps via Maiskii), aimed at convincing him of the necessity to
accelerate the pace of discussion on the peace settlement and to reach
a binding agreement. Their common argument was predicated on the
view that America was toughening its position toward the USSR. The
defeat of Roosevelt in the elections of 1944 was seen as a foregone
conclusion. “Hurry, before it is too late” — was their basic m essage.10
On the other hand, if Roosevelt were indeed doomed, Stalin might just
as well have assumed that there was no reason to begin deliberations
on postwar issues with him. Moreover, what would be the value of
such a settlement, if negotiated? Would it not make more sense to wait
and see and/or practise unilateralism? The unilateralist option, which
Stalin ultimately adopted, did prove in the long run to be quite
rewarding from his point of view.
It is not certain that a different Western tactic would have
succeeded in allaying Stalin’s mistrust and suspicion and led him to
join the proponents of the cooperative option instead of taking the
course of unilateralism, or bilateralism based on a division of spheres
of influence. The Soviet dictator later miscalculated badly when he
violated democratic principles agreed upon at Yalta. He did so with
brazen irreverence for Western sensibilities, counting on eventual
Western compliance with a f a it accom pli. The roots of this
miscalculation run deep, however. In 1942 Stalin came to the possibly
erroneous conclusion that the West was giving him a free hand. One
may argue that a more straightforward, consistent and tactical
approach from the West, especially at the earlier stage of inter-Allied
relations, might perhaps have bolstered conciliatory trends in Soviet
foreign relations, even though the policies were those of a totalitarian
state.
NOTES
1. See, for example, P. Hammond, “Directives for the Occupation of Germany: The
Washington Controversy”, in H. Stein (ed.), A m erican Civil-Military D ecisions
(Alabama, 1963); Martin Kitchen, British Policy tow ard the Soviet Union during the
Second World War (London, 1986).
2. The author, while working on a paper on Soviet-Japanese relations prior to the
outbreak of the Pacific war, had the opportunity to compare two sets of documents:
one published in the official two volume collection Soviet-American Relations during
the Great Patriotic War (Moscow, 1984), and the second contained in the
mimeographed edition prepared by Soviet Foreign Ministry officials for “service use”,
100
INTERNAL DIMENSION OF FOREIGN POLICY
Arkhiv vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii (AVP RF), fond (f.) 048“z”, opis’ (op.) 24,
delo (d.) 2-3, papka (p.) 23, 35. The latter features very interesting accounts by the
Soviet Ambassador to the US, Konstantin Umanskii, on his contacts with politicians
like Henry Morgenthau, who expressed views quite different from those of, say,
Sumner Welles. No trace of these accounts could be found in the published version.
3. Litvinov to Molotov, 9 Dec., 1941, AVP RF, f. 048“z”, op. 24, d. 2, p. 23, listy (1.) 320,
312-13.
4. Litvinov to Molotov, 23 Dec. 1941, Molotov to Litvinov, 24 Dec., 1941, Litvinov to
Molotov, 25 Dec. 1941, AVP RF, f. 048“z”, op. 24, d. 2, p. 23, 1. 322-25. A. A. Gromyko
recalls a sharp dispute that took place between Molotov and Litvinov in a car during
the former’s visit to the USA in 1942. Gromyko displayed a clear preference for
Molotov’s position: Pam iatnoe, Vol. 2 (Moscow, 1988), pp. 321-22.
5. The cable was not included in the official publications of the Foreign Ministry. Stalin to
Molotov, 24 May 1942, AVP RF, f. 048“z”, op. 1 “k”, d. 10, p. 71,1. 78-79.
6. Foreign Relations of the United States, 1942, Vol. 3, p. 569; Sovetsko-am erikanskie
otnosheniia vo vremia Velikoi Otecbestvennoi voiny, 1941-1945 , Vol. 1 (Moscow,
1984), p. 176.
7. Ibid., p. 189.
8. Sometimes Roosevelt’s Grand Design is portrayed as purely a division of spheres of
influence. This seems to be a one-sided approach. Cf. J. L. Gaddis, The Long Peace.
The Inquiries into the History o f the Cold War (New York, 1987), pp. 27-28.
9. Gabriel Gorodetsky, Stafford Cripps’ Mission to Moscow, 1940-1942 (Cambridge,
1984), p. 284 and passim. The discovery of sharp dissent within the British
establishment corrects the picture drawn by J. Wheeler-Bennett and A. Nicholls, op.
cit., p. 49. While conceding the existence of controversy in the US (Winant-Hopkins
versus the “fantastic and infelicitous alignment” of Hull, Welles and Bullitt) the authors
implied the existence of a monolithic British position when they spoke of a “British
assault on American policy” over the non-recognition of the USSR’s western frontiers.
10. Maiskii’s report on his talk with Cripps on 30 Dec. 1942, AVP RF, f. 048“z”, op. l “o ”, d.
2, 1. 2-3. Litvinov to Molotov, 19 Feb. 1943, 5 March 1943, AVP RF, f. 048“z”, op. 24“1”,
d. 2, p. 46,1. 116-17.
101
Part Three
THE COLD WAR

10
Soviet Foreign Policy

and the Origins of the Cold War
MIKHAIL NARINSKY
It was perhaps inevitable that with the defeat of the Axis powers and
the loss of a common cause, the Grand Alliance would collapse. The
realignment of forces resulting from profound changes in roles
assumed by the Great Powers in the postwar international arena, as
well as fundamental differences in socio-political structures, ideology
and values, played a major part in dividing the Allies and in ushering
in an era of East-West confrontation.
While one may argue that these developments were inevitable, the
question remains as to whether acute military and political confronta
tion was the sole form the Cold War could have assumed. If one
considers the mentality of the leaders o f the victorious powers, the
answer to this question appears to be in the affirmative. Neither the
USSR nor the Western powers (in particular the United States) seems to
have shown any desire to comprehend or accept postwar realities and
adjust its foreign policy accordingly.
Stalin and the Soviet leadership were well aware of the con
tradictory situation which emerged on the international scene: on the
one hand, the USSR had made an immense contribution to the defeat
of Germany, and its prestige in the world had been greatly enhanced;
on the other, the country was in dire straits at the war’s end, its
economy ravaged and its living standards at an unprecedented low. In
this weakened state, the USSR had to take into account the increased
might of “imperialism”, in particular that of the United States. One
response to this predicament was a broad campaign launched in the
USSR against “kowtowing to the West”. In foreign policy this was
manifested in the stiff controls imposed on a number of countries of
Central and South-Eastern Europe in the postwar Soviet sphere of
influence, including the Soviet zone of occupation in Germany.
105
THE COLD WAR
Moscow’s reaction to the US draft treaty on German disarmament,

proposed in September 1945, was characteristic of the campaign. After
studying it, the Soviets concluded that the sole aim of the document
was to achieve the earliest possible end to the military occupation of
Germany. They complained that it was limited exclusively to issues of
military disarmament and the demilitarization of Germany. Marshals
Zhukov and Sokolovskii, together with V. Semenov, political adviser of
the Soviet Military Administration in Germany, wrote in their report to
the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs:
...in its proposed form the American draft is unacceptable and...at the
present time it is not in our best interests to acquiesce to any extent to
possible attempts of the Americans to end the occupation of Germany any
sooner, for we cannot, after such a war, allow the matter of genuine
disarmament and democratization of Germany to stop half-way.1
The experience of World War II had instilled in the Allied leaders a

common tendency: excessive reliance on military force in policy
making as a universal instrument in the resolution of socio-political,
territorial and other international issues. Characteristic in this respect
was Stalin’s irritable remark: “The Pope...the Pope?! And how many
divisions does he have?”
For its part even the US leadership gave ample evidence that it
aspired to pursue its policies from a position of strength and
consequently rejected the effort to seek mutually acceptable solutions
through negotiations. In this context the objective correlation of forces
in the initial postwar years clearly favoured the United States, for at the
close of the war it was the world’s leading industrial power (the US
accounted for about half of the world’s industrial output) and had a
monopoly in nuclear weapons. The United States government was
well aware of the weakness of the large Soviet army. On 21 August
1945, the French Foreign Minister Georges Bidault was informed from
Washington:
In spite of everything, Russia emerged from this war exhausted. The
contacts which the American authorities had in Germany with the Soviet
troops convinced them of the undeniable superiority of the United States
Army. All the officials who went to Potsdam, returned with the same
impression. The Russians have men, but their technology is inadequate.2
Despite the imbalance of forces, Stalin and his advisers believed

that in time the situation was bound to change in favour of the USSR.
They believed that a new econom ic crisis in the West, which would
result in an upsurge in the development of the worker and communist
movements, was inevitable. For this reason, they sought to tighten
their grip on Central and South-Eastern Europe and pursued a hard
line policy, which included delaying the settlement of controversial
106
ORIGINS OF THE COLD WAR
issues such as the German question. However, the possibility of future

negotiations was not ruled out. Thus, Stalin emerged optimistic from a
meeting with George Marshall, the US Secretary of State, on 15 April
1947 (during the Moscow session of the Council of Foreign Ministers).
He described the session as:
...something like combat reconnaissance. When the partners have
exhausted one another, the moment for a possible compromise arrives.
The result may be attained at the next session rather than at the current
one, but on all important issues, such as democratization, political
organizations, economic unity and reparations, compromise is within
reach.3
The Americans decided to use their econom ic and military might in

order to stabilize the econom ic and socio-political situation in Western
and South-Eastern Europe. “I think,” said Dean Acheson at the
executive hearings of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee on 1
April 1947, “that it is a mistake to believe that you can, at any time, sit
down with the Russians and solve problem s,” and he continued:
I do not think that is the way that our problems are going to be worked
out with the Russians. I think they will have to be worked out over a long
period of time and by always indicating to the Russians that we are quite
firm about them and quite prepared to take necessary actions. Then I
think solutions will become possible.4
The Truman Doctrine was proclaimed in March 1947. The Soviet

Ambassador in the US, Nikolai Novikov, reported to Moscow that the
official aim of the doctrine, according to its advocates, was to check
“communist expansion”.5
On 5 June 1947, Secretary of State Marshall made his programmatic
speech at Harvard University; this speech became a point of departure
for the implementation of a set of economic and political measures
that becam e widely known as the Marshall Plan. The Marshall Plan
was aimed primarily at stabilizing the socio-political situation in
Western Europe, incorporating West Germany into the Western bloc
and reducing the level of Soviet influence in Eastern Europe.6 At a
meeting held by the US Secretary of State on 28 May, US officials
decided that countries of that region could take part in the program of
European rehabilitation, only if they rejected the virtually exclusive
orientation of their economies toward the Soviet Union in favour of
broad European integration.7
Marshall’s speech was initially received with interest in Moscow. It
was regarded as an opportunity to obtain US credits for the postwar
rehabilitation of Europe. Years later, in a conversation with journalist
Feliks Chuev, Molotov recalled his reaction to the invitation to discuss
the Marshall Plan: “At first I agreed and, by the way, submitted a
107
THE COLD WAR
proposal to the Central Committee to include not only us, but also the
Czechs and Poles in the Paris meeting.”8 Molotov gave instructions to
begin to prepare in earnest for the discussion of Marshall’s proposal.
The seriousness of Soviet intentions was confirmed by a cable, sent
on 22 June 1947 to the Soviet ambassadors in Warsaw, Prague and
Belgrade. The ambassadors were instructed to personally relay to
Bierut, Gottwald and Tito the following message:
We consider it desirable for friendly allied countries [Poland,
Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia], on their part, to take the initiative to
secure their participation in working out the economic measures in
question, and that they lodge their claims, keeping in mind that certain
European countries (Holland, Belgium) have already done so.9
Moreover, the Soviet Union intended to demand that priority in

granting US credits to Europe should be given to those countries
which had suffered most from Nazi aggression.
It would appear, however, that the Soviets were unwilling to have
Western conditions placed on the receipt of aid. They resolutely
rejected any form of US control over their own econom y or on the
econom ies of Eastern Europe.
The archival material which has recently becom e available does not
permit a complete reconstruction of the Soviet delegation’s
preparations for the meeting of the Foreign Ministers of France, the
United Kingdom and the USSR in Paris. It does, however, reveal that
erroneous notions regarding the impending collapse of capitalism
hampered Moscow’s ability to assess objectively the global econom ic
and political situation.
In a memorandum to Molotov dated 24 June 1947, a leading
economist, Evgenii Varga, stated:
The economic position of the US was of decisive importance in proposing
the Marshall Plan. The Marshall Plan was supposed, first and foremost, to
have served as a weapon for mitigating the imminent economic crisis,
whose approach was not denied by anyone even in the United States.
Varga further argued that the United States needed the Marshall Plan,
above all, in order to dispose of surplus goods and take the edge off
the anticipated crisis of overproduction. He concluded:
The meaning of the Marshall Plan in this context is the following. If it is in
the best interests of the US to offer, on credit, billions of dollars worth of
American goods to debtors that are barely solvent, then one should try to
derive the maximum political benefit from it.
The main political gain for the US would be the establishment of “a

bloc of bourgeois countries under US domination...”10
Varga’s memorandum was sent by Molotov to members of the
Politburo: Stalin, Beria, Zhdanov, Mikoian, Malenkov, Voznesenskii
108
ORIGINS OF THE COLD WAR
and to Deputy Foreign Ministers Vyshinskii and Malik. That

memorandum undoubtedly played a significant role in determining
the Soviet stand on the Marshall Plan.
The Soviet Ambassador to the United States, Nikolai Novikov, also
emphasized the “anti-Soviet” aspects of Marshall’s program. In his
reply to an inquiry from Moscow, Novikov informed the Soviet
leadership on 24 June that, in the final analysis, “the Marshall Plan
amounts to the establishment of a West European bloc as a tool of US
policy”. It can be assumed, he wrote, that when the Marshall plan was
announced, the US did not foresee Soviet participation in the program.
Hence, he viewed Marshall’s assertion that any government which
undertook to impede the rehabilitation of other countries could not
expect to receive US assistance, as clearly directed against the USSR.11
The Kremlin’s hard-line stance on the Marshall Plan can be
explained primarily by its desire to prevent the West from holding
sway over Eastern Europe, which it regarded as part of its own sphere
of influence. This was evident from the directives received by the
Soviet delegation at the Paris meeting of the French, British and Soviet
Foreign Ministers which began on 27 June 1947:
...the delegation should not allow the meeting of ministers to be diverted
into clarifying and examining the European countries’ resources, and
should reject such an approach to the question by pointing out that the
meeting was intended to study the European countries’ demands and
explore opportunities for the US to meet them, rather than to draw up
economic plans for European countries...In discussion of any specific
proposals on US aid to Europe, the Soviet delegation should object to any
terms of aid that might involve infringement on the European countries’
sovereignty or encroachment on their economic independence.12
This approach, however, was totally unacceptable to the West. The

Paris meeting was a complete failure due to the Soviet Union’s refusal
to take part in the Marshall Plan. It is the author’s belief that this was a
gross miscalculation of Soviet foreign policy, which only made things
easier for the Marshall Plan’s sponsors who did not foresee Soviet
participation. This is indicated in pronouncements made by the French
Foreign Minister Georges Bidault and former US Secretary of State
Jam es Byrnes during their conversation of 23 September 1947.
Byrnes: Sometimes the communists do strange things. You know that
only the Congress can take decisions in questions of money. If Molotov
had stayed in Paris, he would have referred to the Potsdam accords in
order to demand 50% of all available financial assets. This would have
embarrassed the United States as much as yourselves. Then Molotov
would have demanded aid for Yugoslavia, Poland, etc... and the total sum
would have been quite different from 20 billion. It is difficult to believe
that this would have been acceptable to the Congress. In deciding to act
otherwise, it has greatly aided the United States.
109
THE COLD WAR
Bidault: I admit to not being able to comprehend why he behaved that
way. If he had reaped his part of the profits, or if the enterprise had failed,
he could still have gained something by the fact that nobody would have
gotten anything. By sticking with us, he could not lose, and he chose the
only means of losing for certain.13
The refusal of the Soviet Union to participate in the Marshall Plan

essentially dictated the negative stand taken by the pro-Soviet
governments of the countries of Central and South-Eastern Europe.
Moscow exerted strong pressure on them in this respect14 and, as a
result, Albania, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, Romania,
Yugoslavia, as well as Finland, rejected assistance under the program.
Thus a major step was taken towards dividing Europe and towards
creating greater international tension. The consultations of
representatives of nine communist parties held in Poland in late
September 1947, only increased the level of confrontation in Europe,
for their resolutions emphasized the division of the world into two
opposing blocs.
The events of 1947 were a turning-point in the Cold War and led to
a deterioration in the international climate. The prevailing atmosphere
of mutual suspicion and mistrust, exacerbated by the legacy of past
relations and by new divisions, led to a situation in which military
force becam e the predominant element in the policy of containment.
NOTES
1. Arkhiv vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii (AVP RF), fond (f.) 489, opis’ (op.) 24“g ”,
delo (d.) 1, papka (p.) 19, list (1.) 51.
2. Archives Nationales, Section contemporaine, papiers privees de M. Georges Bidault,
AP-80 735-1/A, pp. 2-3.
3. AVP RF, f. 489, op. 24“g ”, d. 1, p. 19, 1.172.
4. Quoted in D. Yergin, The Shattered Peace. The Origins o f the Cold War a n d the
N ational Security State (Harmondsworth, 1980), p. 296.
5. AVP RF, f. 489, op. 24“g ”, d. 1, p. 19,1. 150.
6. See M. P. Leffler, “The United States andtheStrategicDimensionsoftheMarshall
Plan”, D iplomatic History 12, 3 (1988), p. 283.
7. M. J. Hogan, One World into Two: A m erican Econom ic D iplomacy fro m Bretton
Woods to the M arshall Plan (Ohio, 1987), p. 28.
8. Sto sorok besed s Molotovym — Iz dnevnika F. Chueva (Moscow, 1991), p. 88.
9. AVP RF, f. 6, op. 9, p.18, d. 214,1. 19.
10. AVP RF, f. 6, op. 9, p. 18, d. 213, 1. 2-5.
11. AVP RF, f. 489, op. 24“g”, p. 19, d. 1,1. 182.
12. AVP RF, f. 6, op. 9, p. 18, d. 214, 1. 4-6.
13- Archives Nationales, Section contemporaine, papiers privees de M. Georges Bidault,
AP-80, 735-4, p. 5-6.
14. See M. Narinsky, “Polska e plan Marshala”, Polityka (1990) 1, XII; L. Kornilov, “A
Moscow Ultimatum”, Izvestiia , 9 Jan. 1992.
110
11
British Policy Towards the Soviet Union

1945-1948
MARTIN KITCHEN
British Prime Minister Clement Attlee and Foreign Secretary Ernest

Bevin arrived in Potsdam on the afternoon of 28 July 1945, replacing
Churchill and Eden who had left three days before for the general
election, which had resulted in a resounding victory for the Labour
party. The task facing Bevin was difficult in the extreme. He had
virtually no experience in foreign affairs and the laconic Prime Minister
left him to do most of the talking. But Bevin, who knew that he had a
very weak hand to play, was in a fighting mood, telling General Sir
Hastings Ismay, who met the new team at the airport, “I’m not going to
have Britain barged about.”1 British power and influence had
diminished dramatically during the war and the econom y was in ruins.
The Labour party had no coherent policy to guide the Foreign
Secretary and there was nothing specifically socialist about his views in
this area. He was a pragmatist and a fierce patriot, determined to
defend what he considered to be Britain’s vital interests.
Both Truman and Stalin were somewhat taken aback by Bevin’s
truculent opening shots at the conference. Bevin expressed the
strongest disapproval of Molotov’s demand that the western Neisse
should form Germany’s eastern boundary, and it seemed as if a speedy
conclusion of the conference would be prevented by the intransigence
of this expert and tough negotiator. Secretary of State Jam es F. Byrnes
decided to frustrate the troublemaker by agreeing to Molotov’s claim
concerning the western Neisse, and he also offered the Russians
additional reparations from the western zones of occupation. This
infuriated Bevin, the more so since these increased reparations would
come largely from the British zone which included the Ruhr. The
Soviets, certain of American support, decided to go on the offensive
against Bevin and suggested that the Ruhr should be internationalized.
Bevin fought off this attack, but he had to give way over the frontier
111
THE COLD WAR
and reparations, the result of a deal which had been made behind his
back.
Bevin returned to London resentful that Byrnes had refused to
accept the British as equal partners and fearful that the Soviets would
exploit the differences between the British and Americans to win
further concessions. His views were fully endorsed by the staff of the
Foreign Office, who were becoming extremely enthusiastic about their
new boss. But it was very difficult to know how best to serve Britain's
interests. Britain was in no position to stand alone against the Soviets
and it was feared that a Western European bloc, which might include
western Germany, would only serve further to irritate the Russians.2 In
August 1945 Attlee wrote to South African Prime Minister Jan Smuts:
The growth of Anglo-Russian antagonism on the Continent and the
creation of spheres of influence, would be disastrous to Europe and
would stultify all the ideals for which we have fought. But I think we must
at all costs avoid trying to seek a cure by building up Germany or by
forming blocs aimed at Russia.3
This view was strongly endorsed by Bevin.

In August the Americans delivered a devastating blow to Britain
when President Truman announced that Lend Lease would cease
immediately. Britain could only survive what economist John Maynard
Keynes described as a “financial Dunkirk” by going cap in hand to the
Americans for a loan. The State Department regarded the British as
“cry babies” and had no desire to subsidize a government which
seemed to be socialist at home and imperialist abroad and thus doubly
evil. They demanded that the British ratify the Bretton Woods
Agreement on free trade, lift restrictions on American imports and
agree to the convertibility of sterling. The British government had no
alternative but to accept. They got the loan, but it seemed that the
much vaunted “special relationship” was now in ruins.
The British were thus in an unenviable position when the Council
of Foreign Ministers met at Lancaster House in London on 11 Septem
ber. Both the Chiefs of Staff and the Foreign Office were very
concerned that the Soviets would exploit British weakness to extend
their influence in the Mediterranean. It was agreed that the British had
to resist any Soviet attempts to secure Cyrenaica as a military base and
that they should claim it for themselves as essential for the defence of
Britain’s vital interests in the Middle East.4 In return the Soviets should
be granted a revision of the 1936 Straits Convention, which limited the
passage of Russian warships from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean.5
Otherwise it was feared that the Soviets would start meddling in the
internal affairs of Turkey and Greece. Bevin believed that the pre
servation of Britain’s position in the Middle East was a top strategic
112
BRITISH POLICY TOWARDS THE USSR
priority and he was fully aware that this was an area which was
extremely vulnerable to Soviet pressure. The question was whether
Britain had the power, the resources and the tenacity to hang on to the
Middle East. Attlee believed that the country could not afford such a
policy; the left criticized it as blatantly imperialistic; the right praised it
for the same reason; and Bevin’s pro-Arab policy exacerbated the
Palestine question, thus endangering the whole enterprise.
Many British officials were still uncertain about the desirability of
forming a Western European bloc. Some, like Frank Roberts at the
Moscow embassy, favoured a series of bilateral agreements beginning
with an Anglo-French alliance which, because it was ostensibly aimed
against Germany, would be unlikely to arouse Soviet suspicions. This
proposal met with a cold reception as the French were proving most
uncooperative over Germany and the Levant. Others could not see
what all the fuss was about. In July, Deputy Under-Secretary of State
Bruce Lockhart wrote in all seriousness that “Anglo-American military
strength is at its peak; Russia’s has long since passed.” Gladwyn Jebb,
head of the Reconstruction Department of the Foreign Office, argued
that the Russians were “very apprehensive of the Anglo-American lead
in technique and modern methods of warfare”.6 Britain was in the
enviable position of being strong enough to stand up to the Soviet
Union “even to the point of risking a showdown”. Permanent Under
secretary of State Sir Orme Sargent felt that all this talk about blocs was
a “council of despair” and suggested that Britain still had enormous
influence since, unlike the Soviet Union or the United States, “we are
not regarded either as gangsters or go-getters”.7
At Lancaster House it was clear from the outset that Molotov was
singularly unimpressed by Britain’s military might and diplomatic
prestige. Far from being apprehensive, he once again exploited the
obvious differences between the British and Americans and came up
with the shocking proposal that the Soviets should take Tripolitania
into trusteeship for at least ten years. No resolution to this problem
was found, somewhat to the relief of the British who had troops
stationed in Tripolitania and thus preferred to leave things as they
were, rather than have as Bevin phrased it, the Soviet Union “across
the throat of the British Commonwealth”.8
Molotov’s attitude was so aggressive that it served to bring the
Americans and British closer together and they counter-attacked by
refusing to recognize the governments of Bulgaria and Romania until
they were satisfied that they were genuinely representative. Molotov
complained of the undemocratic nature of the regime in Greece and
denounced the Western powers’ support of fascist regimes in Spain
and Argentina. For the British this was merely bluff. They had long
113
THE COLD WAR
since accepted that Eastern Europe was firmly in the Soviet Union’s
grasp and had simply complained about the undemocratic nature of its
client states in order to ward off the Soviet claim to Tripolitania. Bevin,
with his obsession over the Middle East, seriously misjudged Molotov’s
intentions. The latter had come to London to secure recognition of
Soviet domination of Eastern Europe, not to establish a colony in
North Africa. In a private meeting with Bevin at the Soviet Embassy on
1 October, he made this perfectly clear.9
The conference dragged on for three more days. Bevin, in
exasperation, accused Molotov of acting like a Nazi and later
apologized in a vain attempt to save the conference. Molotov, who
had shown no inclination to reach a settlement, left London having
refused to sign the protocol.
The conference was doubly frustrating for the British: the Soviets
had refused to compromise and the Americans had proved very
reluctant to consult their ally.10 They felt that Byrnes had been feeble
in the face of Soviet attacks and “slippery" in his dealings with them;
but they greatly admired his adviser Joh n Foster Dulles who had stood
up valiantly to Molotov’s assaults. They simply could not fathom why
Molotov had been so needlessly intransigent, although Bevin was still
convinced that it had something to do with the Soviet determination to
secure a base in the Mediterranean.11 He was careful, however, to
keep this to himself for fear that the Soviets might take this concern as
a sign of weakness, and he did not even mention it in his report to the
cabinet. But he warned that the government should not over-react to
the failure of the conference:
We should keep our eye on the ball and not be distracted into making
special treaty arrangements with small states which might produce
dissension in the ranks of the big five.12
Dulles echoed these sentiments in a widely publicized radio speech in

which he said '‘there will be no bloc of Western Powers if the US can
avoid it”.15 The failure of the Lancaster House conference was thus in
no sense a turning point in the history of the Cold War.
The Foreign Office now braced itself for a Soviet ideological
offensive. In an influential memorandum, written at the end of
October 1945, Thomas Brimelow suggested:
The Russians are being slow and cautious in all questions of international
collaboration, but they have not decided to be uniformly obstructive.
They show no signs of departing from old animosities or their established
habits, and they place their short term selfish interests above the less
certain long term advantages of collaboration. But they are quite willing
to collaborate when it pays.14
On the other hand, Frank Roberts in Moscow speculated that the
114
Soviets would withdraw “the Red Army occupation troops as soon as

their presence is no longer required to consolidate Soviet political
influence”.15 The British hosted a highly successful party for their
NKVD contacts in Moscow, showing that some of the wartime
camaraderie still re m a in e d . 1(^ E. H. Carr continued to write pro-Soviet
leaders in The Times, much to the fury of the Foreign Office and of the
Prime Minister who complained to the editor Barrington-Ward.17
The British realized that there was precious little they could do to
stop the Soviet Union from dominating Eastern Europe and that the
most they could hope for was the wringing of a few concessions from
the Soviets. Brimelow summarized the frustrations of the Foreign
Office:
There seems to be no way out; so long as the outside world is stronger
than the Russians they will be full of suspicion and fear; and if the outside
world is weaker than they are, it is bound to live in fear and suspicion of
the Russians, for they are now showing a determination to live up to the
limits of their power.18
Clearly the British were in no position to stand up to the Soviets alone;

they needed a close alliance with the United States and relations
between the two countries were highly strained. This was a matter of
the greatest concern to Bevin who told his private secretary, Pierson
Dixon, “if we are not careful our victory in the war may lead to us
being plucked by our allies”.19 It was therefore decided to try to scare
the Americans into a more cooperative mood. The Foreign Office
prepared a memorandum for the Secretary of State, which was
forwarded to the Ambassador in Washington, Lord Halifax. It stated:
... my guess is that [the Soviets] have no intention of confining themselves
to Europe, and that they intend to embark on a general campaign to
establish Russian influence in every quarter of the globe.20
The British government announced that it was prepared to give the

Americans a number of bases in the Atlantic and the Pacific to meet
this threat. In addition, the British followed the Americans in refusing
to recognize the governments of Romania and Bulgaria, even though
they had at first been prepared to do so for reasons of expediency.
They knew that the elections had been rigged, but felt that nothing
could be done about it. Also in line with the Americans, they did
recognize the Hungarian government, even though they believed that
the majority of the ruling Smallholders party were communist stooges.
They accepted the Soviet sponsored governments in Austria and
Czechoslovakia, although they were increasingly impatient with Benes
and Masaryk for continuing to make concessions to the communists.
In Poland Bevin was prepared to accept Mikolajczyk’s glowing
reassurances and said of his government: “I like to see the plant
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growing, and I am not going to pull it up every moment to make sure

it is growing.”21
The Americans did not respond to these advances and continued to
ignore the British. Secretary of State Byrnes proposed to Molotov that
there should be another meeting of foreign ministers in Moscow as
soon as possible. He did this without consulting the British and Bevin
was understandably incensed. He felt it was absurd to go running after
the Russians in light of their outrageous behaviour at Lancaster House
and Byrnes had allowed no time for discussions with the British before
the planned meeting.22 His inclination was to refuse to attend, but he
was persuaded otherwise by Ambassadors Clark Kerr in Moscow and
Halifax in Washington, both of whom agreed that Byrnes’ diplomacy
was singularly inept but who warned that if Bevin did not go to
Moscow the Soviets would do everything possible to split the already
badly strained “atomic b loc”.23 Bevin eventually gave way, heeding
Clark Kerr’s advice to bring plenty of cigarettes and whiskey for their
mutual enjoyment and plenty of “bumf” and plum puddings in case
the conference lasted until Christmas.
Bevin’s worst fears were confirmed in Moscow. Byrnes treated him
so badly, constantly harping on the British mania for spheres of in
fluence, that US State Department adviser Charles Bohlen and US Am
bassador to Moscow, Averill Harriman, felt obliged to apologize for his
behaviour to the Foreign O ffice’s Assistant Legal Adviser, Patrick
Dean.24 Molotov was delighted to see the feathers flying in the rival
camp and exploited the situation for all it was worth. He negotiated
directly with the Americans, offering a few minor concessions, while
he continually attacked Bevin. The British were unable to initiate a
discussion of the problems of Iran and Turkey, matters of the utmost
importance to them, and they got no support at all from Byrnes. They
felt patronized by the Americans and insulted by the Russians.
Nonetheless, Bevin was somewhat encouraged by two talks that he
had with Stalin, which he found helpful; and at least, unlike the
previous conference, this one did not end in a total fiasco, in spite of
Molotov’s heavy-handed attempt to alter the text of the final
communique. Bevin also got a certain satisfaction from the report that
President Truman had accused Byrnes of appeasing the Soviets during
the conference and it seemed that the days of this unfortunate
diplomatist were numbered.25
Many British officials, among them the increasingly influential
Frank Roberts and Clark Kerr, felt that the Soviet Union was concerned
principally with its own security and the possibility of a revival of
German power, but Bevin disagreed.26 At an unofficial meeting with
diplomatic correspondents on New Year’s Day, he condemned the
116
Soviet Union as an imperialist power and argued that its repeated

insistence on the need for security was not to be taken seriously.
When asked by the correspondent from the D aily Telegraph whether
Britain was prepared to go to war with the Soviet Union he was
horrified and hastily replied, “Good God, n o”. In the course of further
discussions he let it be known that he blamed the Americans for not
giving him the support he needed to counter the Russians by
diplomatic pressure. It was clear that he was as much concerned by
the Americans as he was by the Russians, for he felt that unless the
Americans toughened their stance, the Soviets would probably extend
their influence to Turkey and the Balkans, as well as to China and
much of the Far East.
The next round of Big Power diplomacy was at the first meeting of
the United Nations General Assembly held in London in January 1946.
Deputy Foreign Minister Andrei Vyshinskii, who led the Soviet
delegation, launched a massive attack on British policy in Greece, in
order to counter Bevin’s suggestion that a commission of inquiry be
established to investigate Iranian complaints of Soviet meddling in its
internal affairs. Bevin parried Vyshinskii’s endless jibes and, in the
opinion of many observers, won most of the debating points. Public
opinion, which was still largely pro-Russian, began to shift as a result
of the coverage given in the press to Vyshinskii’s outbursts. Even the
left-wing press becam e much less critical of the Foreign Secretary.
Bevin was convinced that he was right to stand up to the Russians for
in private talks Vyshinskii was remarkably reasonable and moderate.27
Both the Soviet Union and the United States agreed that Greece lay
within Britain’s sphere of influence and Bevin was determined that
Britain’s position in the area should be strengthened. For supporters of
the left this was an unpopular policy. They argued that Britain was
propping up a corrupt and incompetent populist government while
the pro-communist National Liberation Front (EAM) enjoyed
widespread support in the country. In a fresh round of fighting the
Greek army proved useless and was only saved from defeat by the
intervention of British troops. Bevin believed that in a free election
Greece would go the same way as Yugoslavia, a brutally repressive
dictatorship at that time, solidly in the Stalinist camp. Attlee strongly
disagreed with his Foreign Secretary. He felt that they were “backing a
lame horse” in Greece and that Britain simply could not afford to
maintain a military force there in order to prop up an unpopular and
inept government.28 He believed that the Soviet Union was too shrewd
to becom e involved in the appallingly tangled internal affairs of
Greece and that a neutral Greece would have a fair chance of survival.
The cabinet agreed with the Prime Minister and it was thus decided to
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THE COLD WAR
withdraw from Greece, leaving the entire problem to the Americans

who alone were able to offer the economic assistance the country so
badly needed. The Americans eagerly accepted the challenge and
support for Greece becam e a key element of the Truman Doctrine.
The Soviets constantly attacked British policy towards Greece, the
Middle East and Iran, and denounced the idea of a Western bloc as a
hostile move; but the Foreign Office did not take these outbursts too
seriously. This sober view of Soviet intentions was due in large part to
the balanced reports for the Foreign Office written by Frank Roberts in
Moscow. He argued that comparisons between Nazi Germany and
Stalinist Russia were wide of the mark. The Soviets had no need for
living space, the leadership was more flexible and pragmatic than the
Nazis, they did not subscribe to any fanciful notions of racial super
iority, their economy was hopelessly wreak and the Red Army ace had
been trumped by the atomic bomb. The Soviet Union was worried by
the sheer strength of the Anglo-American alliance which it had hoped
to weaken by attacking the junior partner. Roberts cautioned against
any hint of panic or extremism and counseled a policy of “distant
realism”.29
The Joint Intelligence Committee did not share the Foreign O ffice’s
relatively optimistic assessment of Soviet policy. In March 1946 the
Committee reported:
It is agreed that the long term aim of the Russian leaders is to consolidate
around her boundaries a belt of states subservient to Russia so that she
may build up strength without fear of attack. It is considered, however,
that such an aim implies the gradual but continual broadening of the
belt.30
In a further report written a few days later, the Committee suggested

that the Soviet Union was determined to challenge Britain’s position in
the Middle East.31 The Committee argued that the Soviets would not be
ready for a major war for at least another five years but that they were
in an excellent position to extend their influence in the Middle East.
Within the Foreign Office, Thomas Brimelow, an enthusiastic social
democrat, argued that the Soviets could exploit the backwardness,
corruption and mistreatment of minorities in the Middle East while the
British continued to support unpopular, venal and incompetent elites.
He felt that social democracy was an attractive philosophy that could
be used to strengthen Britain’s standing in the world, but he realized
that the United States would never support such an ideological
crusade even though it was designed to counter the attractions of
communism.32
The British government was thus uncertain as to whether there
really was a Soviet threat, and if there was one, what could be done
118
about it. The economy was in such a parlous state that it was agreed
there had to be drastic cuts in defence spending.33 The Chiefs of Staff
argued that the Middle East was not vital to the strategic defence of
Britain. Attlee believed that the region should be abandoned. Bevin
was vehemently opposed to these views and insisted that the Middle
East was politically, economically and strategically vital to Britain. He
did not share Frank Roberts’ cautiously optimistic assessment of Soviet
policy. In April 1946 he wrote to the Prime Minister of his concerns
about the Soviet Union’s “aggressive policy based upon militant
communism and Russian chauvinism” and later told Attlee of his fears
that the internal dynamics of Soviet society were such that war might
well result and that even Stalin would be unable to control this
aggressive and expansionist system.34
Bevin’s panic-stricken outburst has to be seen against the back
ground of the Iranian crisis of March 1946. British and American forces
had been withdrawn from Iran by the 2 March deadline but Soviet
troops not only remained, but were reinforced. On 9 February Stalin
had delivered a speech in which he insisted on the inevitability of
conflict between capitalism and communism. Shortly afterwards it was
reported in the New York H erald Tribune that a Soviet spy ring had
been uncovered in North America: Igor Gouzenko, a cipher clerk in
the Soviet Embassy in Ottawa had defected with evidence that Soviet
agents had penetrated the Manhattan Project and had passed on
atomic secrets. This made public an affair which had been kept secret
since Gouzenko’s defection on 5 September 1945. The Canadian
government had not wished to strain relations with the Soviet Union
and had wanted to conduct a full investigation of Gouzenko’s
allegations without the distractions of a public outcry, such as that
which followed the publication of this spectacular news. Then, at the
end of February, the US Charge d’Affaires, George Kennan, sent his
enormously influential “long telegram” from Moscow arguing the case
for containment.
On 5 March, at the height of the Iranian crisis, Churchill, with
consummate timing, delivered his famous address at Fulton, Missouri.
He issued a dire warning against Soviet aggressive ambitions, and the
dangers of appeasement, and called for the closest cooperation
between Britain and the United States. The term “Iron Curtain” now
became part of the standard vocabulary of international affairs.
Churchill had shown the text of his speech to Halifax in Washington
who treated it as a purely private matter. It was also given to the
Ministry of Information, which did not see fit to pass it on to the
cabinet.35 Attlee did not mind that he had not been consulted, but he
was very concerned about the effect the speech might have on
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THE COLD WAR
American public opinion. His fears were unfounded. Both Truman and
Byrnes had seen the text prior to the speech and found it excellent.
The American public also reacted favourably, and only the left-wing
press complained of its strident tone.36 Attlee told Churchill that he
was sure that the speech would “do good”.37 This was glowing praise
from a man of so few words. Bevin, who shared most of Churchill’s
sentiments, did nothing to distance himself from the speech when the
Soviets began an endless litany of complaints. He preferred to remain
silent when Stalin compared Churchill to Hitler in an interview
published in Pravda. There was also some criticism from the left of the
Labour party about the unfortunate consequences of an Anglo-
American alliance and the usual ritual denunciations of Bevin’s policy
in Greece. At a meeting of three hundred Labour MPs, Bevin demand
ed a vote of confidence for his foreign policy. Only six members voted
against him and thirty abstained.38
The lesson of the Iranian crisis, Attlee believed, was that in the
event of war it would be impossible to keep the Mediterranean open
or stop a determined Soviet thrust into Iran, Iraq or Turkey, and that
therefore all British forces should be withdrawn from the Middle East,
Egypt and Greece. With India soon to becom e independent, the Suez
Canal would lose its significance for Britain, and the Cape of Good
Hope route would becom e the vital link to Australia and New Zealand.
Bevin continued to stress the crucial importance of the Middle East
and insisted that without a strong British presence in the
Mediterranean, Turkey, Greece, Italy and France were likely to fall
prey to totalitarian communism. He was given powerful support by the
Chiefs of Staff who argued that if the Soviet Union was considered to
be Britain’s most serious potential enemy, the best way to defend
Britain was for it to maintain a strong presence in the east. No
decisions were made on these important issues in the spring and
summer of 1946 and the government remained uncertain of how to
assess the Soviet threat or how best to meet it.
The hardening of attitudes towards the Soviet Union in early 1946
was also noticeable in the Foreign Office. Christopher Warner, the
head of the Northern Department, wrote a lengthy assessment of
Soviet policy in April, in which he argued that the country had
returned to the pure gospel of Marxism-Leninism-Stalinism and was
strengthening its industrial and military power in order to pursue an
aggressive policy.39 The Soviets refused to cooperate in international
efforts at reconstruction and rehabilitation and were despoiling those
countries unfortunate enough to be within their sphere of influence.
Warner discounted the belief, previously held by many in the Foreign
Office, that Soviet policy was dictated by security interests, and
120
complained that the Soviet Union “is practicing the most vicious
power politics, in the political, economic, and propaganda spheres
and seems determined to stick at nothing, short of war, to obtain her
objectives”. He concluded, therefore, that Britain should avoid
appeasement and make no concessions, and be prepared resolutely to
defend its interests.
Although accepting the service chiefs’ assessment that the Soviet
Union would not be ready for war for at least five years, Warner
suggested that the Soviets might stumble into war by miscalculation as
Hitler had done over Poland. Britain had therefore to be constantly
vigilant, making certain that no countries where its vital national
interests were involved became communist. A massive anti-communist
campaign should be mounted, and full support given to progressive
anti-communist forces abroad. One result of this campaign was the
commissioning of Carew-Hunt’s widely disseminated and influential
study of communism.40
Warner insisted that the Soviet Union had a master plan to subvert
and undermine the capitalist states and that it intended to conduct a
full scale ideological, economic, political and ultimately military
campaign against the capitalist-imperialist world. It was thus far more
gloomy and outspoken than Kennan’s memorandum and clearly
foreshadowed the Truman Doctrine.
The next meeting of the Council of Foreign Ministers was sched
uled to begin on 25 April 1946. The British were in a reasonably con
fident mood after the Soviets had been forced to back down in Iran
and they observed that the Russians were now concentrating their fire
on the Americans, possibly because they were impressed by Bevin’s
firmness at the negotiating table and by Churchill’s Fulton speech
which they felt had been sanctioned by the British government. They
were also delighted to find Byrnes in a tougher mood after the success
in Iran. He was now no longer prepared to allow the conference to
drag on, and after nearly three weeks of absurd wrangling with
Molotov, he called for a one-month recess.
Germany, predictably, was by far the greatest problem. The French
wanted to separate the Rhineland and Ruhr from the rest of Germany;
the British argued that this would cripple the German economy and
that they could not afford to continue propping it up. The British
Chiefs of Staff wanted western Germany to becom e part of a Western
defensive bloc, although they knew the French would protest vigor
ously. The Foreign Office objected to the western Neisse as the final
frontier with Poland but realized that precious little could be done
about it. British officials agreed that a divided Germany was desirable.
Only a divided Germany would make it possible for the three western
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THE COLD WAR
zones to be integrated fully into a Western bloc. In addition, demo

cratic, hopefully social democratic, institutions were to be encouraged
so that communism would hold no attraction for the Germans. It was
feared that a united Germany would be likely to play the East off
against the West and might even be tempted to make a common cause
with the Soviet Union. The major problem for Bevin was to ensure that
the Russians appeared to the world to be solely responsible for the
division of Germany, and that the British seemed to be in full support
of the unity of the country.
The British were unsure whether this policy would prove success
ful. It was doubtful whether the Americans and the French would go
along with the proposal to form an anti-Soviet bloc which would
include western Germany. The British did not relish the idea of having
the Germans as their allies against the Soviet Union — a curious
outcome after six years of war. Bevin, especially, shuddered at the
thought. As he said to General Robertson, the British Military Governor
in Germany, “I tries ’ard Brian but I ’ates ’em .”41 There were also
considerable risks involved. The division of Germany would make it
virtually impossible to com e to an understanding with the Soviets. For
the rest of the year the pros and cons of this policy were debated, but
a final decision was not taken until the following year.
As the Soviets argued endlessly about the problems of inter-zonal
inspection and complained of violations of previous agreements on
occupation policy, General Clay’s proposal that the British and
American zones be united was given a sympathetic hearing by both
American and British officials.42 Clay’s suggestion, which amounted to
a rejection of the Potsdam agreement, was all the more remarkable in
that only a few days previously he had informed the State Department
that the Soviets were adhering scrupulously to the Potsdam agreement
in the Allied Control Commission and that they were genuinely trying
to be friendly to the United States. Clay had emphatically distanced
himself from the Kennan doctrine and was convinced that the Soviets
harboured no aggressive intentions 43 These views were shared by
Clay’s political adviser Robert Murphy.
Bevin was concerned about Clay’s proposal because he wanted to
make sure that the blame for the division of Germany was placed on
the Soviets. The Americans were also hesitant. There was considerable
opposition in Congress to the loan to Britain; there was widespread
reluctance to becom e locked into a Western bloc; American Jew s were
strongly critical of British policy towards Palestine, making un
favourable comparisons between Ernest Bevin and Adolf Hitler; and
there were lingering hopes that an agreement might still be reached
with the Soviet Union. It was therefore decided to postpone the whole
122
issue until the second round of the Paris talks. When the conference
resumed, discussions concentrated on the main issue of the peace
treaties. Agreement was soon reached on the drafting of treaties with
Italy and the four satellites (Romania, Bulgaria, Hungary and Finland),
but there was no agreement over Austria or Germany.
In May 1946 the new British Ambassador, Sir Maurice Peterson,
arrived in the Soviet Union. His appointment was seen by some as a
calculated insult to the Soviets as he was not particularly highly
regarded and had been Ambassador to Franco’s Spain. In his first
interview with Stalin he launched into a massive attack on Soviet
policy, on the hostility of the Soviet press towards Britain, on
Molotov’s refusal to consider free trade throughout the Danubian
basin, and on the behaviour of the Soviet delegation at the Paris
conference. On the Middle East, an area which he defined in
exceedingly generous terms, he asked:
Could not the Russians realize that this was our area, that we had done
and were doing great works in it and that frankly, as regards the Arab
countries, we know a great deal about them while the Russians know
nothing at all?
Stalin was hardly the man to sit silently through such an outburst. He
accused the British of having destroyed the wartime alliance — by
refusing to allow the Soviets bases in the Mediterranean, by objecting
to a revision of the Montreux Convention and thus attempting to deny
the Soviet fleet access to the Mediterranean, and by the government’s
refusal to distance itself from Churchill’s Fulton speech. Having thus let
off steam, Stalin thanked the Ambassador for a most helpful chat.44
Bevin had finally agreed to accept General Clay’s proposal to unite
the American and British zones of occupation in Germany. On 25 July
1946 the cabinet agreed to push ahead, although Bevin still had some
misgivings. He hoped that the Soviets would also be willing to drop
their zonal barriers in return for access to the Ruhr, but he realized that
this was an outside chance. His main motive for accepting the propo
sal was that without firm American support, conditions in the British
zone would deteriorate rapidly. Meanwhile the British and American
serv ice chiefs began to discuss means of defending Greece and Turkey
and the British were delighted to hear that the Joint Chiefs were con
vinced that the defence of Middle Eastern oil supplies was a strategic
necessity.
As the Paris conference dragged on towards its unsatisfactory
conclusion, the British becam e increasingly pessimistic about relations
with the Soviet Union. Bevin told Attlee that the British and Americans
could make no further concessions and that they now faced “a war of
nerves all over the world”. Stalin gave a conciliatory interview to
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THE COLD WAR
Alexander Werth of the Sunday Times and Molotov attempted,

unsuccessfully, to make a few jokes at the Paris conference, but none
of this did anything to relieve the gloom.
In September Thomas Brimelow wrote another lengthy assessment
of Soviet policy.45 He did not concur with Frank Roberts that it might
still be possible to reach limited agreements with the Soviets. The
Soviets were building up their armed forces and strengthening their
hold over bordering states. Any attempt by the Western powers to
resist this would confirm the Soviet belief in the inevitability of conflict
between the capitalist and the communist worlds and would thus
strengthen their determination to build up their armed forces and
avoid any concessions. On the other hand, if the West made con
cessions this would convince them that their confrontational policy
was paying off. Brimelow was thus convinced that nothing would
com e of “diplomatic courtesies or tactical manoeuvres” and that all
Britain could do was to strengthen those countries which seemed to be
susceptible to communism. This could best be done by an ideological
offensive stressing anti-communism and the virtues of social dem oc
racy. Britain would set the example by establishing a national health
service, ensuring full employment and equal educational opportuni
ties, promoting technological progress, and determinedly opposing
any signs of oppression or violence. Although some officials thought
this paper was unduly pessimistic, it was given a warm reception at
the Foreign Office.
The Prime Minister did not share these views and found them
unduly alarmist. He continued to insist that Turkey, Greece, Iraq and
Iran could never be strengthened sufficiently to meet a determined
Soviet attack. He suggested that possible Soviet fears o f Britain and
America could be assuaged by establishing a ring of neutral states
around the Soviet Union. Bevin, who was attending yet another un
satisfactory round of the Council of Foreign Ministers in New York,
was highly alarmed at this suggestion, which came at a time when the
Americans seemed at last to have understood the strategic importance
of the Mediterranean and were taking a tougher line with the Soviets.
Attlee believed that Bevin’s foreign policy aims would place far too
great a strain on Britain’s econom ic resources; he was fully supported
in this view by the Chancellor of the Exchequer. The Prime Minister
had told the Chiefs of Staff that he had serious misgivings about their
Middle Eastern strategy, which he thought far too costly and
unnecessarily provocative towards the Soviet Union. He believed that
only if there was incontrovertible evidence that the Soviets were
prepared to run any risks to achieve world domination should such a
policy be pursued.
124
Bevin replied that were the British to withdraw from the Middle
East the Soviets would simply move in and such an obvious sign of
weakness would encourage them to continue with their policy of
bluffing and bullying. The Americans, who had gradually come round
to the British point of view, would write off the British government.
Bevin urged Attlee not to despair, to wait until the economy recovered
and to remember that the British would soon have their own atomic
bomb, of which he had said: “We’ve got to have the bloody Union
Jack flying on top of it!”46 Attlee reluctantly accepted these arguments
and was prepared to wait before taking any drastic measures.
In October, much to the alarm of the Foreign Office, Field Marshal
Montgomery, now Chief of the Imperial General Staff (CIGS), accepted
an invitation, first made at Potsdam, to visit Moscow.47 Montgomery
announced that he was on the best possible terms with Stalin, Molotov
and Vyshinskii and could not see why the diplomats should have any
objection to his visit. The Foreign Office decided that the best they
could do was to give Montgomery a detailed brief which hopefully
would stop him from making one of his horrendous fa u x pas.
Montgomery was asked to deny that there was any attempt to create a
“Black Reichswehr” in the British zone of Germany and was told to
invite the Russians to send an inspection team, provided that the
British were granted similar rights to visit the Soviet zone. He was
further told to explain to the Russians that the so-called area of Bizonia
had been created out of the British and American zones because the
Soviet Union had refused to treat Germany as a whole and had been
shipping goods and equipment from its zone back home instead of
distributing them as agreed upon at Potsdam. Montgomery was asked
to stress the vital importance of the Middle East to Britain both
economically and strategically, should the question arise, and to insist
that this posed no threat whatsoever to the Soviet Union. He was
asked to head off suggestions that the Russians should have any
strategic bases abroad, particularly in the Mediterranean.
Montgomery left for Moscow on 4 January and put on a
characteristically abrasive performance. He deeply offended his official
host Marshal Vasil’evskii. The British Ambassador politely remarked of
Montgomery: “I should not judge him to be among the most tactful of
m en.”48 US Ambassador Gen. Walter Bedell Smith noted, with
complete understanding, that even Gen. Omar Bradley, a remarkably
tolerant man, hated Monty’s guts. The Imperial Chief of Staff refused to
attend the festivities in his honour and went to bed demonstratively
early. He had one meeting with Stalin on 10 January at the unusually
early hour of five o ’clock in the afternoon.49 He presented Stalin with
copies of his two books and a case of whiskey and further attempted
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THE COLD WAR
to flatter him by talking of “we fighting m en”. Stalin rejected

Montgomery’s proposal for an exchange of officers and mutual visits
to military schools. Then Montgomery made the absurd proposal that
there should be a military alliance betw een their two countries. Stalin
replied: “That is what I would like, and I think it is essential.”
Montgomery returned to Britain convinced that there was nothing
to fear from the Soviets for years to come and that they would not
even be able to “thump the table” for the next fifteen to twenty years.
He felt that the army officers were uneducated and lacked
professionalism. He described Molotov as “not a very nice character”
and reported, much to the surprise of those who had seen the Soviet
dictator in action, that Stalin drank very little. His conclusion was that
Britain should take some initiative to break down the suspicions which
existed between the two countries.50 The Foreign Office did not know
quite what to make of all this. One official, Robin Hankey, reflected
the feelings of many when he minuted that he found Montgomery’s
proposal for a military alliance “embarrassing”; but at least CIGS had
not caused quite the havoc in Moscow many had feared.51
Bevin was convinced that Stalin’s acceptance of the proposal for a
military alliance was part of an effort to divide the British and the
Americans at a time when they were reaching a joint solution to the
German problem and when an agreement was near on the
standardization of military equipment and the exchange of military
information. On the other hand, the Council of Foreign Ministers was
due to meet in March and the British could not afford to risk being
condemned for refusing Stalin’s offer of friendship. Bevin tried to
wriggle out of this difficulty by assuring Stalin that as far as the British
government was concerned the 1942 treaty between the two countries
was still in effect. He also urged that the Soviets be kept fully informed
of the Anglo-American military talks, otherwise they would becom e
even more suspicious.
None of this implied that Bevin was more favourably disposed
towards the Russians. In January he addressed a number of heads of
missions in terms which showed that he had studied the Brimelow
memorandum carefully. He said:
Our general objective should be to hold the position against the spread of
communism in order that Western concepts of social democracy may if
possible in the course of time be adopted in as many Eastern European
countries as possible.52
The aim, therefore, was not so much to attack the Soviets as to extol
the virtues of British social democracy by means of the BBC, the
British Council, the Inter-Parliamentary Union, and by encouraging
cultural exchanges. Given the parlous economic conditions in the
126
Eastern European states and the fact that only the Yugoslavian
government enjoyed a reasonable degree of popular support, Bevin
believed this program had a reasonable chance of success. A few days
later, on 18 January 1947, Bevin submitted a paper to the cabinet
suggesting a Western European customs union which would include
the western zones of Germany. This proposal was enthusiastically
endorsed by Duff Cooper, then British Ambassador in Paris, and the
cabinet suggested further serious study of its implications.55 Bevin’s
containment policy now had its military, ideological and econom ic
components.
The Council of Foreign Ministers met again on 10 March in Moscow
and the talks soon got bogged down in endless wrangles about Ger
many. The British, probably knowing full well that the Russians would
never agree, demanded unification and freedom of movement; the
Soviets called for four-power control over the Ruhr and the dismantl
ing of Bizonia. They further demanded massive reparations from west
ern Germany, but the British and Americans argued that this would
result in Germany continuing to be an economic liability for the Allies.
The conference had only just begun when the American President
proclaimed the “Truman Doctrine” in a speech to Congress. It was
such an ambiguous statement that the Foreign Office was at a loss to
know what to make of it.54 The Soviet press virtually ignored the
speech and the comment in Izvestiia was moderate by Soviet
standards. The talks dragged on with no agreement reached on either
Germany or Austria. After a total of forty-three meetings the delegates
reached one decision — to meet again in London in November.
Bevin fended off an attack from the Labour party left wing accusing
him of reducing the country to a dependency of the United States, but
this only served to remind him of the severe financial crisis facing the
country. The news of Marshall’s speech, given at Harvard on 5 June,
came to Bevin, as he later said, “like a life-line to a sinking man”.55 He
reacted speedily and vigorously to Marshall’s proposal for a European
recovery scheme. While he was anxious to make it appear that he
wished to include the Soviet Union in the scheme, he hoped that the
Soviets would refuse to have anything to do with it. He knew from his
Minister of State, Hector MacNeil, that the Americans did not want to
have the Soviets involved, or even socialist economists such as Gunnar
Myrdal.
The British assumed that the Soviets had no interest in seeing the
economic recovery of Europe, since they stood to profit politically
from Europe’s econom ic miseries. Nor would the Soviets look
favourably on an American-sponsored scheme for European recovery.
It came therefore as no surprise when the Soviets raised an endless
127
THE COLD WAR
series of objections at the Paris talks which began on 27 June. The

British and French agreed that the European states should work out a
common program, which they would then forward to the Americans
for approval. The Soviets insisted that each state should send its own
shopping list, and complained that the Anglo-French proposals were a
violation of national sovereignty. Supported by the French and certain
of his Prime Minister’s backing, Bevin announced that the Western
European states would go ahead with their program even if the Soviets
continued with their obstructionist tactics.56
The Conference on European Reconstruction was scheduled to
begin on 12 July in Paris. Eight of the twenty-two nations invited were
in the Soviet orbit and therefore refused to attend. The conference
established the Organization for European Economic Cooperation
(OEEC) which, in I960, was renamed the Organization for Economic
Cooperation and Development (OECD). This marked a significant step
towards the division of Europe. The Soviets responded by creating the
Cominform at a conference held in Wiliza Gora in Poland at which it
was proclaimed that the world was now divided into two hostile blocs.
It was solemnly announced that Attlee and Bevin “are facilitating by
their grovelling and servility the task of American capital, provoking it
to extortion and pushing their own countries on the road of vassal
dependence on the United States”.57
Frank Roberts, the Foreign O ffice’s most respected commentator on
Soviet affairs, was not particularly perturbed by these outbursts from
the Soviets which he interpreted as responses to the Truman Doctrine
and the Marshall Plan. In his view the Soviets accepted the fact that the
world was divided and were acting accordingly.58 Even less sanguine
diplomats agreed that there was no likelihood of war. The French were
not so confident and, on their initiative, strongly supported by Duff
Cooper, Anglo-French talks began in October 1947 on a possible
military alliance with the United States to protect a European frontier
running through the middle of Germany. The talks were held secretly
in order to avoid alarming public opinion and Bevin, who en
thusiastically encouraged the talks, minuted: “What we have to get
into the heads of our people is western security regionally and less
anti-attitude.”59
The main impetus behind the military talks was the breakdown of
the deliberations of the Council of Foreign Ministers which met in
London on 25 November 1947. The French were concerned that
should the talks break down the Soviets would establish a puppet
government in East Germany.60 The Western powers would then have
to sponsor a government in West Germany. The French, however,
were anxious not to fuse their occupation zone with Bizonia before
128
they had military guarantees against the Soviet Union from Britain and
the United States. The Americans were hesitant to go so far, proposing
currency reform in Bizonia and political reform short of actually
forming a separate West German state. The British supported the
American proposals, hoping that such economic and political re
structuring of the western zones would serve to expose the short
comings of the Soviet zone.
The conference had opened with Bevin delivering a lecture to
Molotov in which he pointed out that negotiations implied con
cessions, not unanimous approval of Soviet proposals. Molotov replied
by calling for a united Germany, but the Western powers pointed out
that without four-power agreement this was nothing but a propaganda
sham. Molotov replied that the Western powers were deliberately
trying to divide Germany. Bevin and Bidault agreed that Molotov was
simply keeping the talks going in order to have a forum for his
propagandistic outbursts. Marshall felt that since the Russians had no
intention of relinquishing control over their satellite states, including
their occupation zone in Germany, they had no interest in the talks
succeeding. After several more days of fruitless talk the Western
powers decided to end the conference. On 15 Decem ber the Council
broke up and no date was fixed for a further meeting.
The talks having failed, Marshall and Bevin agreed that Trizonia
would have to be formed as soon as possible.61 The French were still
hesitant and Bevin’s unfortunate remark that the Soviet Union was less
of a danger than a resurgent Germany, encouraged the French to
demand that the Ruhr be separated from Germany.62 The British and
Americans were now determined to go ahead regardless of French
objections and Soviet denunciations. Yet even at this point the break
between East and West was far from final. While Molotov denounced
the British imperialists in London, the final touches were put on an
Anglo-Soviet trade agreement in Moscow. The negotiations, which had
been conducted with considerable skill by the young Harold Wilson
(at that time Overseas Trade Secretary), resulted in a substantial
exchange of goods, machinery and grain, and was denounced by the
Americans as far too favourable to the Soviets 63 The British felt that
they had to continue to attempt to reach limited agreements with the
Soviets since they were uncertain as to how Congress would react to
the Marshall Plan.
In early January Bevin prepared a number of papers on Soviet
policy which were presented to the cabinet on 8 January 1948. He
warned of the Soviet hopes that the Marshall Plan would fail and that
the Western allies would fall out. He predicted a communist coup in
Czechoslovakia which actually took place the following month. He did
129
THE COLD WAR
not agree with the Americans that reparations payments from the
western zones to the Soviet Union should stop, arguing that this would
only make the Soviets even less cooperative in other areas.64 At the
same time he strongly supported the idea of currency reform and the
creation of a political authority in the western zones which would stop
just short of a provisional government. Plans for a Western European
union should also go ahead, but it should not appear to be too overtly
anti-Soviet nor too right wing in order not to alienate socialist opinion.
On 22 January Bevin made a major speech on foreign policy in the
House of Commons in which he repeated these ideas. He denounced
the dictatorial Soviet methods in Eastern Europe and called for a
Western union to contain Soviet expansionism. The speech was well
received by all but the extreme left, and Churchill impishly remarked
that it “signalled the final conversion of the Labour Government to the
principles of the Fulton speech”.65
British strategic thinking reflected this conviction that balance of
power politics had to replace the futile attempt to reach an under
standing with the Soviets. At the end of January 1948 Montgomery
produced a remarkable paper entitled “The Problem of Future War”,66
in which he argued that the Soviet Union was seeking to capture the
German “soul” as a first step towards world domination. The West had
therefore to ensure that a united Germany was firmly in its camp.
Montgomery argued that the Germans would never accept the division
of their country and that the Eastern satellite states would revolt
against the Soviet Union for having refused to accept the Marshall
Plan. He suggested that the Soviets might go to war so that they could
offer their client states the fruits of victory, but he believed this would
not happen before 1957 and possibly not until I960.
Montgomery insisted that, in the long run, the British Empire would
be unable to fight this war alone and would have to have the full sup
port of the United States. Nonetheless, in the initial stages of the war
Britain would have to secure, unaided, strategically vital areas, such as
the United Kingdom, the Middle East and the lines of communication
to the United States. An air offensive would be mounted against the
Soviet Union from bases in Britain, the Middle East and northwest
India using atomic bombs against selected strategic targets. The Soviets
would have to be held as far east as possible, the Rhine providing the
most suitable defence. Montgomery pointed out that were Western
Europe to fall, the defence of the United Kingdom would be exceed
ingly difficult, and that it might also prove impossible to hold on to the
Middle East and the Mediterranean. He proposed that a major base
should therefore be built in East Africa to secure communications
across the African continent.
130
The Chairman of the Chiefs of Staff, Lord Tedder, objected vigor

ously to Montgomery’s proposal to commit a large British force to a
continental war from the outset, and argued that it was foolish to work
out a detailed strategy until the Americans had been fully consulted,
and until the results of a study of the effects of an atomic war were
known. Sir John Cunningham of the Royal Navy supported Tedder,
saying that such a commitment was beyond the financial resources of
the country and that it would probably end in another Mons or
Dunkirk. He was also appalled at the prospect of a rearmed Germany
which he felt might be tempted to pursue its ow n selfish aims.
Furthermore, he did not share Montgomery’s belief that the Soviets
were seeking world domination, suggesting that they had more limited
objectives. Montgomery’s only support came from Sir Henry Tizard,
the government’s scientific adviser, who felt that it was essential to
hold the Rhine frontier and suggested that a pre-emptive atomic strike
against the Soviet Union should be seriously considered as soon as it:
was known that the Russians had the bomb. He insisted that war with
the Soviet Union was inevitable within the next fifteen years unless
there was a radical change in Soviet policy.67
It was agreed that Montgomery’s controversial paper should be
discussed at a conference attended by the Chiefs of Staff, the Prime
Minister, the Foreign Secretary and the Minister of Defence. Attlee
supported Tedder’s view and had serious reservations about bringing
the Germans into the Western union. Bevin also had misgivings about
the Germans and feared another Dunkirk, but insisted that the Rhine
had to be held, proposing that the armed forces of the Western union
be integrated. He wrote:
The past actions of the Soviet government, culminating in the recent
events in Czechoslovakia and Finland, showed beyond any doubt that
there was no hope of reaching a satisfactory settlement either by
agreement among the four Great Powers or through the United Nations
Organization, and that resolute action must be taken to counter the Soviet
threat to Western civilization.
He suggested a five-power treaty for the defence of the non-Soviet

world which would act, in the words of his new Private Secretary
Frank Roberts, as “a UNO as it would have been had the Soviets
cooperated”.68
The Soviet-backed coup in Czechoslovakia made it imperative to
press on with the formation of the Western union. Bevin wrote to
Pierson Dixon, whom he had sent to Prague as Ambassador, in a fit of
anger and frustration:
Living through a Communist revolution as you have done, is unequalled
as an education in the utter ruthlessness and perfidy of Communism,
131
THE COLD WAR
which is difficult, if not impossible, to grasp fully until one has seen it at
work.69
On 17 March, Britain, France and Benelux signed the Brussels Pact in

which the signatories agreed to mutual military assistance in the event
of an attack and to the highest possible degree of economic
cooperation. At the beginning of April the President signed the
Marshall Plan legislation. On 28 June the Soviets imposed the Berlin
blockade. At the Labour party conference Bevin said:
We cannot change the communism of Russia, and I am not going to try.
We cannot pursue, and we have no intention of pursuing, a policy in
Eastern Europe of trying to change by force many of the things done in
those states with which we do not agree. Those things will have to be
worked out in the process of time. But equally we are not prepared to sit
idly by and see a similar process of communization carried on over a
weakened, distracted and disunited Europe.70
This is an admirably concise statement of British policy towards the

Soviet Union which was to remain essentially unchanged until the
collapse of the Soviet empire proved the wisdom of Bevin’s words.
NOTES
1. Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary 1945-1951 (London, 1983), p. 25. For
the British papers on the Potsdam Conference see Public Record Office, Cabinet
Papers (CAB) 99/38, CAB 99/39 and 99/40 and the relevant Foreign Office files in FO
371.
2. See FO 371/50826 for extensive discussion of the pros and cons of a Western bloc.
3. Bullock, Bevin , p. 117.
4. The Soviet ambitions for a base in Cyrenaica had been discussed at a meeting of the
Chiefs of Staff, 23 Aug. 1945: CAB 79/38.
5. See CAB 80/97 for Foreign Office memorandum on the Montreux Convention in which
it was argued that it would be better to amend the Convention than to run the risk of
direct Soviet intervention in Turkey and Greece.
6. Gladwyn Jebb, 20 July 1945, FO 371/50912.
7. Sir Orme Sargent, 11 July 1945, FO 371/50912.
8. Bevin to Molotov, 1 Oct. 1945, FO 371/50919.
9. FO 371/47857.
10. Bevin reported to cabinet on the failure of the CFM conference on 25 Sept. 1945: CAB
128 CM (45) 35th Conclusions Minute 1.
11. FO 371/50917 contains a number of minutes asking why the Soviets were being so
difficult. Halifax reported from Washington on 25 Sept. 1945 that President Truman
was also at a loss to know what the Soviets were up to.
12. Bevin minute, 6 Oct. 1945, FO 371/50826.
13. FO 371/50826. Dulles’ speech was broadcast on 6 Oct. 1945.
14. Brimelow memorandum, 29 Oct. 1945, FO 371/47857.
15. Roberts to Foreign Office, 22 Oct. 1945, FO 800/501.
16. FO 371/47857.
17. The Foreign Office felt that Carr’s support in his Times leader of 3 Oct. 1945 for
Molotov’s view that three powers were better than five was “sabotage”: FO 371/50921.
Bevin complained that the Times had a “jellyfish” attitude on foreign affairs and by
always demanding “useless compromise” could hardly be considered a national
newspaper: FO 800/498.
132
18. Brimelow memorandum, 12 Oct. 1945, FO 371/47856.
19. Bevin to Pierson Dixon, 16 Oct. 1945, FO 371/50921.
20. FO 371/50921.
21. In a statement to the House of Commons, 23 Nov. 1945. Bullock, Bevin , p. 141.
22. In a letter to Byrnes, Bevin said he disliked three-power diplomacy and wanted the
UN, or at least the French, involved in any further talks: FO 800/446.
23. Clark Kerr to Bevin, 29 Nov. 1945 and 3 Dec. 1945, FO 800/47.
24. Ibid.
25. For an assessment of the conference, see FO 800/447. Bevin was angry with the
Americans for adopting a piecemeal rather than a comprehensive approach to the
German question and felt that Truman’s statement on Greece and Turkey made the
situation even more difficult. However he noted: “My impression from the Moscow
meeting is that Mr. Molotov was beginning to come to a better understanding of the
attitude of His Majesty’s Government and thus to show some sympathy for it.”
26. Roberts to Bevin, 16 Jan. 1946, FO 371/52327. Geoffrey Warner was less optimistic,
minuting, “I wish I could believe this was the whole story.”
27. For record of Vyshinskii-Bevin talks on 26 Jan. 1946, see FO 371/56780.
28. Attlee to Bevin, 1 Dec. 1946, FO 800/475.
29. Roberts to Bevin, 28 March 1946, FO 371/56763.
30. Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC) report, 23 March 1946, FO 371/56831.
31. JIC report, 29 March 1946, FO 371/56831.
32. Brimelow memorandum, 24 March 1946, FO 371/56831. Brimelow agreed with
Roberts that strong ties with the United States were needed to stop the “artichoke
effect” of Soviet policy in their sphere of influence. Much of this confusion over British
policy towards the Middle East is reflected in the briefing of Sir Maurice Peterson given
on 18 March 1946, prior to his departure to Moscow.
33. Cabinet meeting, 18 Feb. 1946, CABt 128/16 (46), where the need for economy was
stressed.
34. FO 8 0 0 /5 0 l/S U /4 6 /1 5.
35. CAB 23 (46) 11 March 1946; also Bevin to Attlee, 7 March 1946, FO 800/498.
36. For the Foreign Office’s comments on the favourable reception given to the speech in
the United States, see FO/51624.
37. Attlee to Churchill (who was still in the United States), 25 Feb. 1946, Prime Minister’s
Office (PREM) 8/197.
38. FO 800/492.
39. Warner memorandum, 2 April 1946, FO 371/55581.
40. R. N. Carew Hunt, The Theory a n d Practice o f Communism (New York, 1962).
41. Bullock, Bevin, p. 90.
42. Lucius D. Clay, Decision in Germany (London, 1950), p. 165.
43. Wilfried Loth, D ie Teilung d er Welt 1941-1955 (Munich, 1989), p. 147. Jean Edward
Smith, “The View from UFSET: General Clay’s and Washington’s Interpretation of
Soviet Intentions in Germany, 1945-1948”, in Hans A. Schmitt (ed.), US Occupation in
Europe after World War I I (Lawrence, 1978), pp. 64-85.
44. Peterson met Stalin on 27 May 1946: PREM 8/349.
45. Brimelow memorandum, 9 Sept. 1946, FO 371/56835.
46. Bullock, Bevin, p. 352.
47. Roberts was not at all keen on the idea of allowing Montgomery to go to Moscow. He
pointed out that the Soviets refused to be represented at the British victory parade. He
did not want it to seem as if they were running after the Russians. The formal
invitation, however, made it difficult for the Foreign Office to find an adequate excuse
not to accept: FO 371/56904.
48. FO 371/66279.
49. See FO 800/502 for a full record of this astonishing conversation. The Foreign Office
reacted to the proposal for a military alliance by suggesting that the Anglo-Soviet treaty
could be brought up to date. In a letter to Bevin of 8 Nov. 1947, Montgomery had
blamed the whole mess in Europe on Eisenhower’s refusal to accept his strategy after
the break-out from Normandy: FO 800/451.
50. See FO 371/66279 for Montgomery’s report on his visit to Moscow.
51. Hankey minute, 17 Jan. 1947, FO 371/66279.
52. The meeting was held on 14 Jan. 1947: FO 953/4E.
133
THE COLD WAR
53. The memorandum from Duff Cooper is dated 10 Jan. 1947: FO 371/62398.
54. See FO 371/67582A for comments by Gladwyn Jebb, Wilson Young and Sir John
Balfour from Washington.
55. Bullock, Bevin , p. 405. At the time no one had any idea what the “Marshall Plan”
involved. As one American official wrote, it was like a flying saucer: “nobody knows
what it looks like, how big it is, in what direction it is moving, or whether it really
exists”. The important thing was that Bevin took up Marshall’s phrase, “the initiative, I
think, must come from Europe”, and did everything he could to make sure that the
opportunity was taken. Bullock is surely right in claiming that this was Bevin’s greatest
achievement as Foreign Secretary.
56. For the debate on European reconstruction, see Bullock, Bevin , pp. 405-27; M. J.
Hogan, The M arshall Plan (London, 1987); A. S. Milward, The Reconstruction o f
Western Europe 1945-51 (London, 1984).
57. FO 371/66475.
58. Roberts to Bevin, 7 Oct. 1947, FO 371/66475. Roberts urged Bevin not to take the
foundation of the Cominform too seriously, saying that the Comintern had never been
properly dissolved and that “The Kremlin thus seem to have taken up the original
American challenge inherent in the Truman Doctrine, and have accepted the division
of the world into two camps.”
59- General Revers, the French Chief of Staff, favoured an “anti-Soviet bloc”, a phrase
which Bevin found “most unfortunate”: FO 371/67674.
60. FO 371/64633.
61. Bevin’s conversation with Marshall, 17 Dec. 1947, FO 371/64250. Bevin favoured an
informal understanding among the Western powers and added: “If such a powerful
consolidation of the West could be achieved it would then be clear to the Soviet Union
that having gone so far they could not advance any further.” Several proddings from
Duff Cooper can also be found in this file.
63. Roberts to Foreign Office, 17 Dec. 1947, FO 371/64250, reporting that the American
Ambassador in Moscow, Bedell Smith, had complained about the trade agreement and
urged the British to take a tougher line with the Soviets over reparations from
Germany. Details of the trade negotiations, in which Wilson’s formidable opponent
was Mikoian can be found in FO 371/66323 to 66339. Wilson’s delegation was accused
by the Soviet authorities of “rowdy behaviour”. It appears that they played cricket and
gave sandwiches to a group of children: FO 371/66332.
64. CAB 128/2(48).
65. The Soviets were deeply suspicious about the Western union. Lord Duncannon was
treated to lunch by Starikov at the Soviet Embassy, plied with claret (Mouton
Rothschild 1922), cognac (Clos des Dues) and quizzed about the proposal. He
detected Bogomolov of the NKVD listening in at the door; when discovered,
Bogomolov “looked sheepish”: FO 371/66332.
66. FO 800/452.
67. Ibid.
68. FO 800/460. Bevin’s ideas are contained in the Cabinet Papers (48)71 of 3 March 1948
and CP(48)72. They were discussed in cabinet on 5 March 1948: CAB 128/19(48).
69. Bevin to Pierson Dixon (Prague), 22 April 1948, FO 800/450. Although British officials
were appalled by the Prague coup there was a certain feeling that it served the Czechs
right. Pierson Dixon wrote of Masaryk on 10 March 1948: “Lacking moral and physical
courage, he joined the communists and then found it intolerable to sing for his
supper.” Robin Hankey wrote on 16 March 1948: “The Czechs are professional serfs”:
FO 371/71286.
134
12
The Origins of the Cold War

in the Near East
BRUCE R. KUNIHOLM
Recent developments in the Commonwealth of Independent States

(CIS) will have a profound impact in general on the history of our
time, and in particular on interpretations of the origins of the Cold War.
John Gaddis, perhaps the pre-eminent American diplomatic historian
of the Cold War, has observed that the difficulty of assessing differing
interpretations of the Cold War has been due to the impossibility of
verifying one or another argument without access to Soviet sources. As
he has put it: “one cannot credibly assess responsibility when one can
confirm the motives of only one side”.1 In short, without evidence,
historical arguments remain just that.
We now have good reason to anticipate a change in this situation
because of the new climate in the CIS. In August 1990 the Soviet
Foreign Ministry allowed access to documents over 30 years old, ex
cept for those containing especially important state secrets — a
category that will no doubt deserve careful scrutiny. The Communist
party’s archives were opened to scholars after the attempted coup in
August 1991. By October 1992 a number of documents had been
released — most notably on the Katyn Forest massacres and the
shooting down of the Korean airliner, KAL-007 — engendering lively
discussion. As Russia struggles toward democracy, it is grappling with
the same problem that all democracies confront: public accountability.
A touchstone of democracy, public accountability is an ongoing and
never-ending process that has been especially difficult in the era of
secret and covert operations from which we are emerging.2
While contending with the evidenciary obstacles to reconstructing
the past — and it is explaining the past that is the task of historians —
US diplomatic historians have disagreed over methodological
approaches. What frequently separates them are conflicting opinions
not only about what constitutes sufficient evidence, but also about
what needs to be explained. And even if they can agree on that, and
can identify a set of causes that contribute to an explanation, they may
135
THE COLD WAR
differ over which causes deserve priority.

American diplomatic historians writing about the origins of the
Cold War reflect these differences in the many debates among the Cold
War traditionalists, revisionists, post-revisionists, neo-revisionists and
corporatists.5 Suffice it to observe that whatever the cause of such
divisions, they also reflect different methodological assumptions about
the need for and value of systemic explanations (as advocated by what
one might loosely call the open d oo r and the corporatist schools).
Those advocating systemic interpretations, criticize traditional,
diplomatic historical interpretations as begging fundamental questions
that are answered only by what they see as their own rigorous
systemic analyses. Such interpretations have the potential for system
atizing not only econom ic assumptions, but ideological, political,
cultural, social, strategic, perceptual and other often inextricably
intertwined ones as well. At best they can sweep away familiar frames
of reference which, because they are taken for granted, present us
with credible though distorted images, whose deviance from the true
picture would otherwise go unperceived. They address the fact that
how things happen is not synonymous with why they happen, and in
attempting to infer the real reasons behind the actions they seek to
explain, they are doing what historians must always do.
Systemic interpretations have made important contributions to
explaining the origins of the Cold War. In the eyes of critics such as
A.J.P. Taylor, however, general explanations such as those provided
by systemic points of view often explain everything and nothing.4 This
is because they allow almost anything to be rationalized on their
behalf and, on occasion, in the words of one historian, “reduce diplo
matic history to a branch of sociology”.5 Many critics of systemic inter
pretations believe that multi-causal interpretations, however untidy,
better reflect the manner in which human history unfolds, and that to
impose a comprehensive order on political behaviour often does
violence to those individual actions of which it is comprised. Their
judgment, ultimately, is that more elaborate explanatory frameworks,
while useful from an heuristic point of view, do not necessarily result
in better or more accurate explanations of the past. From their point of
view, one should rein in a desire to make exorbitant claims about the
explanatory power of systemic frameworks and new techniques, and
apply them carefully to problems posed by international history in
order not to diminish their nonetheless important contributions to the
illumination of human behaviour. The cautionary lesson in the
American experience is that Soviet historians, in “preparing tools of
analysis” for the “new thinking” that they see as necessary,6 should be
clear about these differences among us, should stick as closely as they
136
COLD WAR IN THE NEAR EAST
can — at least initially — to the evidence that they begin to uncover,

and should think carefully as they sally forth with their own
revisionism.
The most fundamental questions that arise in debates among
American historians on the origins of the Cold War are neither
evidenciary nor methodological; rather, they involve the norms that
one should apply to the difficult judgments that historians must make.7
While judgments are involved in every step of the process of acquiring
evidence, sifting through it and developing an interpretation of the
past, the key questions are often raised at a level of abstraction where
even historians who can agree on much of the evidence and a
common methodology, nonetheless have serious differences. For
example, in assessing great power differences during the Cold War,
how do we define “legitimate” security concerns and to what extent
can dominant perceptions and policies (whether in the United States,
Britain or the Soviet Union) be seen as “legitimate” in the context of
the 1940s? Given “legitimate” security concerns, the question then
becom es the extent to which the policies pursued by particular leaders
were appropriate to their countries’ legitimate security concerns? How,
in short, do we get beyond the chauvinistic assumptions implicit in
various nationalistic perspectives and assess the methods used by
various leaders to achieve their ends, given their different political
systems and the strengths and weaknesses of their respective
countries? Where, to ask the question in a different way, does justi
fiably defensive behaviour stop and unjustifiably aggressive behaviour
begin?
There is an insurmountable difficulty in differentiating between
aggressive and defensive actions, just as there is in distinguishing
between nationalistic and ideological elements of a nation’s policies,
or between ideals and self-interest in the foreign policy of one or
another country. This was particularly true when perceptions of the
world held by American and Soviet policy makers were grounded in a
fundamental belief that their interests were compatible with those of
other nations, and an even more profound conviction that the system
of government they represented could best serve mankind. The
question of the relative merit of each system is essentially a moral one,
which continues the debate between Wilsonianism and Leninism
dating back to the First World War.
The problem of assessing the relative merits of different systems of
government raises an important question: Which principles should we
invoke as a basis for judging the arrangements that leaders believe will
best serve national interests as well as international security? Given the
profound differences such as those that separated Soviets and
137
THE COLD WAR
Americans, and the fact that their leaders preferred an international

security system that was compatible with their political systems and
ideologies, such a task begs the question of a common standard and
risks dissolving into moral relativism. If we exclude the two main
principals in this debate, judgements about the relative merits of
international security arrangements are subject to a host of con
siderations, including a country’s historical experience, and, occasion
ally, the dictates of propinquity. The closer a country is to a great
power, we might generalize, the more it is vulnerable to and tends to
resent the great pow er’s imperial sway; the further away a country is,
the less vulnerable it is, the less it has to fear, and the more it can call
on that power to assist it.
When it comes to the early years of the Cold War, for example, the
vast majority of people in countries that bordered the Soviet Union,
such as Poland, Turkey and Iran, resisted a close alignment with the
Soviets and, needless to say, preferred the US emphasis on self-
determination to the Soviet desire for a sphere of influence over them.
Clearly, in the eyes of those whose territorial integrity was in question,
the United States was seen as a counterweight to the Soviet Union,
whose influence was resented and feared and whose territorial
aspirations were seen as illegitimate. Only principles such as those
espoused by the United States could provide for the future inde
pendence of small countries which otherwise feared absorption into a
Soviet sphere of influence.
Although geography can have a profound influence on the
orientation of a country’s national security policies, so too can history.
However American historians might question the primacy of security
as a motive for Soviet control of Eastern Europe in the early years of
the Cold War, the fact that the Soviet Union suffered more than 60
times as many casualties as the United States in World War II obviously
had a profound effect on Soviet priorities. One does not have to deny
Stalin’s cynicism, excuse his ruthlessness or make the case that his
motives were based solely on security concerns, to see how the notion
of a Soviet sphere of influence in Eastern Europe followed logically
from the Soviets’ view of their own history.
The point here is that critical historical questions depend to a great
extent on the norms that one applies as a standard of judgement, and
that norms are not so easy to agree upon. The complicating factor is
that they may well dictate the questions that one asks, the evidence
through which one sifts, the methodologies one uses and the
explanations one arrives at. Who we are and what we believe has a lot
to do with the results we com e up with. It is important to keep this in
mind and to try to be as honest as we can as we look at the past,
138
because what we write will shape our understanding of the past and
inform our relationships in the future.
The origins of the Cold War in the Near East have been dealt with
extensively by this author.8 Some of the contentious issues that
Western historians have debated among themselves will be outlined
below. Hopefully, Russian historians examining Soviet archives, will
take some of our differences as a point of departure and help shed
light on these debates.
US-Soviet rivalry in the Near East during the Cold War appears to
have evolved from, and eventually superseded, earlier Anglo-Soviet
rivalry there. This can be seen as a response to the vacuum created by
the declining influence of the British Empire in the region after World
War II. American and British sources point to the fact that in the period
1944-46 Stalin was willing to risk diplomatic conflict in order to
expand his sphere of influence in the Near East, but was prepared to
stop short when there was a risk of war. They also show that he
counted on wearing down the resistance of the more democratic and
less easily-managed governments of his former allies.
In Iran, the Soviet government violated Allied understandings and
exploited the opportunities that occupation afforded in an apparent
effort to control the government in Tehran. Oil concessions, which the
Soviets demanded, and Kurdish and Azerbaijani separatist movements,
which the Soviets supported in occupied northwest Iran, were means
to the same end. So were over 200 tanks that the Soviets moved into
Tabriz in March 1946. The Soviets also sought, through a war of nerves
and constant diplomatic pressure, to annex Kars and Ardahan in
eastern Turkey and gain control of the Turkish Straits. A number of
Soviet moves, including media attacks against “hostile” governments,
attempts to effect the ouster o f various government leaders, and
irredentist Armenian and Georgian claims coupled with troop
movements, suggested the need for a more forceful policy by the
United States if it were to oppose Soviet ambitions in the Near East.
If the United States had not stood firm in Iran and had not
confronted Soviet pressures on Turkey in 1946, it is likely that Stalin
would have been tempted to expand the Soviet sphere of influence in
the Near East as he did in Eastern Europe and the Far East at the end of
World War II. That is why, despite its shortcomings, a British stand
similar to the Truman Doctrine may have been necessary when they
started withdrawing from the region. Subsequent to the Truman
Doctrine and the articulation of the policy of containment, the Cold
War was well underway, positions had begun to rigidify and the
actions and reactions of the United States and the Soviet Union toward
each other becam e much more difficult to disentangle. Events leading
139
THE COLD WAR
up to the enunciation of the Truman Doctrine have been the subject of

considerable debate. This stems from the fact that the Truman Doctrine
was a benchmark in the evolution of the Cold War. Moreover, the
commitment to maintaining the balance of power in the New East
served as a precedent for the Administration’s policy in Europe.
Where do American scholars disagree? Melvyn Leffler has argued
that the American conception of national security during the Cold War
was a consequence not so much of Soviet actions as of America’s
perceived vulnerabilities and of the resulting strategic and econom ic
imperatives. Central to his argument is the belief that implementation
of this conception was unnecessarily provocative and, hence, primarily
responsible for many of the Cold War’s most enduring characteristics.
To support this systemic argument, Leffler plays down the significance
of serious Soviet pressures on Iran and Turkey, placing such actions,
whose importance is central to the debate on the origins (as opposed
to the evolution) of the Cold War, in the context of contradictory
evidence of Soviet intentions. Leffler has argued that Soviet initiatives
in Iran and Turkey were for the most part “tentative and circumspect”,
that Soviet behaviour, “while worrisome, did not constitute relentless
pressure or systematic intimidation”, and that in Iran, Stalin may have
been concerned about the vulnerability of Russian oil fields and
petroleum refineries, prompted by strategic and defensive calculations
rather than by offensive. While Leffler concedes in his most recent
publication that Soviet intervention in Iran was neither legal nor moral
and that the Soviets were probing in Iran, he equates Soviet actions
with those of the Americans, arguing that both governments were
acting defensively, triggering a spiraling crisis of misperception and
trust.9 He dismisses as contrived the allusions to Soviet threats of force
against Turkey in President Truman’s decision of August 1946 to take a
tough line against the Soviet Union, arguing that the Soviets had “done
little more than send a diplomatic note”, that Turkey only
“supposedly” was subject to pressure from the Soviet Union, and that
“it is questionable whether there was a crisis in Turkey except in the
minds of American officials”. In his recent book he suggests that the
real problem was a vacuum of power in the region as well as other
problems associated with the aftermath of World War II.10
Leffler also asserts that there is “reason to assign as much of the
responsibility for the origins of the Cold War to the United States as to
the Soviet Union”.11 But if he is more persuasive in characterizing
Soviet actions in the period following the Truman Doctrine as
reactions to Western initiatives, he is less so in arguing that, in the
period prior to the Truman Doctrine, Soviet actions were either as
reactive or as benign as he would have us believe, or that United
140
States’ interpretations of and responses to those actions were not

reasonable under the circumstances. Nor is he any more convincing
than he was in his earlier writings12 in his assertion that the United
States had a conception of its security interests in the region that
caused it to interpret Soviet behaviour in an alarmist way, or that the
United States deserves as much of the responsibility for the origins of
the Cold War.
This is not to say that the United States does not deserve harsh
criticism for many of its polices during the Cold War, or that it does not
share substantial responsibility for the manner in which the Cold War
evolved. The overthrow of Mossadeq in Iran would be a prime
exam ple.13 But that is not the question we are addressing here. The
question concerns the origins of the Cold War in the Near East. In a
debate on the relative legitimacy of Soviet and American security
concerns in the Near East in the early Cold War period (1944-1947), it
could be argued that even if the Soviets had legitimate security
interests in Eurasia, their policies toward the countries on their
southern flank (the northern tier of the Middle East), were unac
ceptable to the majority of the international community, especially in
light of Soviet expansion into Eastern Europe and the Far East.
In the case of the Near East, the problem for US officials was hardly
ever (as it was in Iran) whether or not a Soviet attack was imminent,
but whether Soviet intimidation, unopposed by the United States,
would force the countries on its southern flank to accommodate Soviet
interests; the extent to which those countries might have to do so; and
whether the United States, the only country that could oppose Soviet
pressures, should reject requests for assistance by the governments in
question and acquiesce in such developments. As Molotov’s memoirs
suggest, this is exactly what Stalin would have liked.14 From the point
of view of US officials the issue, ultimately, was how to respond to
repeated Soviet pressures — before rather than after they becam e a
problem. Policy had to be formulated on the basis of rational analysis
of Soviet activity. It had to deter Soviet initiatives and at the same time
appeal to a public confused by wartime rhetoric. Recent history indi
cated to US and other foreign officials that the Soviet government
would not act in a manner appropriate to reasonable standards of
international behaviour and that something had to be done about it.
The driving fact in the region was inauspicious Soviet conduct that
provided a context within which developing (but not yet formally
accepted) strategic conceptions gained currency. Not to have
anticipated such Soviet behaviour, particularly after the long and
drawn-out crisis in Iran in 1945-46, and in view of previous pressures
on Turkey, would have constituted a dereliction of responsibility.
141
THE COLD WAR
The resulting US commitment to maintain the balance of power in

the Near East and Europe appears to have made good sense, even if
the rhetoric associated with that commitment was misleading. Vojtech
Mastny has argued convincingly that the primary source of conflict
betw een East and West — at least in the initial years of the Cold War —
was the Soviet Union’s striving for power and influence far in excess of
its reasonable security requirements. Mastny suggested that Stalin,
premising success on his ability to rule his empire without arousing
alarm about his intentions, could have taken a more enlightened and
less exaggerated view of what security meant only if he had not been
Stalin.15
Clearly, in order to debate the question in any real depth, one
would have to get into great detail, checking footnotes, looking at the
manner in which conclusions have been drawn, judging whether or
not on e’s selection of evidence has been reasonable and repre
sentative. In the final analysis, whatever the differences, Western
inferences about Soviet motives are precisely that. There is little
consensus now about Soviet motives, and there was little consensus at
the time the Cold War was beginning in either the United States or
Britain.16 It is the absence of any documentary evidence about Soviet
motives and internal debates that makes normative judgments so
difficult. Historians who are able to gain access to the Soviet archives
may be able to tell us about Soviet strategic and defensive concerns
(and whether, in their judgment, defensive concerns becam e aggres
sive), the vulnerability Stalin actually felt about Soviet oil fields in
Baku, and the extent to which Soviet policies in the region were
formed by perceived threats from the United States or were a response
to US initiatives. It would also be interesting to know how far Stalin
was prepared to go as he probed in the region — Molotov’s memoirs
suggest that he knew when to stop — and what his fundamental
attitudes were toward Turkey and Iran. We do know, for example, that
he negotiated the Soviet Union’s borders with Turkey and Iran in 1921,
that in opposition to Lenin’s wishes he reinforced Soviet troops in the
Soviet Republic of Gilan in 1921, and that he installed the Minister of
the Interior of that republic in the puppet government that was set up
in Iranian Azerbaijan in 1945-46.
Most historians would probably accept the notion of a power
vacuum and other problems associated with the aftermath of World
War II as causes of the Cold War. It could be asked whether such an
explanation clarifies everything or nothing. Is it sufficient to explain
the origins of the Cold War as one would a road accident, in terms of
general causes,17 or is there some utility in more particular
explanations? The difficulty, however, with this line of analysis is that
142
in elaborating on general explanations, it divests national leaders of

their responsibilities as leaders of nations and therefore their accounta
bility to their people as well. Was the Cold War just another road
accident, to be explained by general causes and covered by no-fault
insurance? If that is the case, the Russian people and those who were
absorbed by the Soviet empire had to pay a disproportionately high
premium.
In this era, Mikhail Gorbachev is highly esteemed in the United
States because it was he who had the courage to take the initiatives
that brought an end to the Cold War. When his leadership was
challenged, he was not willing to risk the lives and well-being of his
countrymen to maintain his position in power. Rather, he facilitated
(with some prodding from Boris Yeltsin and others) the transition
through which his country was moving. For these and other reasons,
he deserves credit. Stalin, on the other hand, who could have done the
same, pursued policies which risked the lives of his countrymen not
for the purpose of bettering their lot, but to maintain his position in
power. Millions of people died for the sake of this goal before World
War II, and millions suffered during the Cold War under his oppressive
rule for the same reason. If the Cold War played into his hands by
providing him with a rationale to clamp down on the territories he
controlled, as Leffler asserts that Soviet scholars have argued,18 is it not
fair to ask what role he (and the system he created) played in initiating
the conflict? Should the West have acquiesced to him and allowed him
to oppress people in other countries (such as Iran and Turkey) as well?
To absolve him of responsibility for his actions by merely addressing
the question “what happened”, to circumvent the moral issues that are
at stake, and to characterize his actions as little more than part of an
action-reaction syndrome, is to do a disservice to leaders such as
Mikhail Gorbachev who have been less self-serving, more willing to be
accountable for what they do and ready to confront their responsi
bilities as national leaders. It has already been mentioned at the
beginning of this paper that one of the touchstones of democracy is
public accountability. In Stalin’s time there was no accountability. It
can only be hoped that findings in the Soviet archives will make it
possible for Russian scholars to gain new insights into the history of
the origins of the Cold War, and thus provide an instructive example to
future leaders of Russia and the CIS that they are answerable — to
their own people and to history.
143
THE COLD WAR
NOTES
1. John Gaddis, The Long P eace: Inquiries into the History o f the Cold War (New York,
1987), p. 44.
2. For an illustration of this difficulty in the United States, see Bruce R. Kuniholm
“Foreign Relations, Public Relations, Accountability, and Understanding”, Perspectives
28, 5 (May/June 1990), pp. 1-12.
3. See John Gaddis, “The Emerging Post-Revisionist Synthesis on the Origins of the Cold
War”, D iplomatic History 7, 3 (Summer 1983), pp. 171-90, as well as the subsequent
responses by Lloyd Gardner, Lawrence Kaplan, Warren Kimball and Bruce Kuniholm;
Bruce Kuniholm, “The Origins of the First Cold War”, in Richard Crockatt and Steve
Smith (eds.), The Cold War Past a n d Present (London, 1987), pp. 37-57 and Geir
Lundestad, The A m erican “E m pire” a n d Other Studies o f US Foreign Policy in a
Comparative Perspective (Oslo, 1990), and the sources cited therein.
4. See A. J. P. Taylor, The Origins o f the Second World War (Greenwich, Conn., 1969),
pp. 102-3, who points out that wars are like road accidents in that they have general
and particular causes. “Every road accident is caused, in the last resort, by the
invention of the combustion engine and by men’s desire to get from one place to
another.” The police and the courts do not weigh general causes because general
explanations explain everything and nothing. The “cure” for the problem —
forbidding cars — is of little help and leads the court to address specific causes.
5. See Kuniholm, “The Origins of the First Cold War”; and Frank Ninkovich, “The End of
Diplomatic History?” D iplomatic History 15, 3 (Summer 1991), pp. 439-48.
6. See Samuel Lewis’ discussion in Kenneth J. Jensen (ed.), Origins o f the Cold War. The
Novikov, Kennan, a n d Roberts ‘L ong Telegram s’ o f 1946 (Washington, DC, 1991), p.
xiv.
7. Some of the material discussed here is elaborated in much greater detail in Kuniholm,
The Origins o f the Cold War in the N ear East: Great Pow er Conflict a n d D iplom acy in
Iran, Turkey a n d Greece (Princeton, 1980); Bruce Kuniholm, “Comments”, A m erican
Historical Review 89, 2, pp. 385-90; and Kuniholm “The Origins of the First Cold War”.
8. See Kuniholm, The Origins o f the Cold War in the N ear East-, Bruce Kuniholm, “Loy
Henderson, Dean Acheson, and the Origins of the Truman Doctrine”, in Douglas
Brinkley (ed.), D ean Acheson a n d the M aking o f US Foreign Policy (London, 1992);
Bruce Kuniholm “US Policy in the Near East: The Triumphs and Tribulations of the
Truman Administration”, in Michael J. Lacy (ed.), The Truman Presidency ( Cambridge,
1989), pp. 299-338; and Bruce Kuniholm, “Rings and Flanks: The Defense of the
Middle East in the Early Cold War”, in Keith Neilson and Ronald Haycock (eds.), The
Cold War a n d Defense, pp. 111-35.
9. Melvyn Leffler, A P reponderance o f Power: N ational Security, the Truman
Administration a n d the Cold War ( Stanford, 1992), pp. 80-81. See also “From Cold
War to Cold War in the Near East”, Reviews in A m erican History 9, 1 (March 1981), pp.
124-30; “From the Truman Doctrine to the Carter Doctrine: Lessons and Dilemmas of
the Cold War”, Diplomatic History 7, 4 (Fall 1983), pp. 245-66; “Strategy, Diplomacy
and the Cold War: The United States, Turkey and NATO, 1945-1952”, The Jo u rn a l o f
A m erican History 71, 4 (March 1985), pp. 807-25; “The American Conception of
National Security and the Beginnings of the Cold War, 1945-1948”, The A m erican
Historical Review 89, 2, pp. 346-81, as well as subsequent comments by John Gaddis,
pp. 382-85, and Bruce Kuniholm, pp. 385-90, and Leffler’s reply, pp. 391-99. On Iran,
see also Mark Lytle, The Origins o f the Iranian-A m erican Alliance, 1941-1953 (New
York, 1987), pp. xvi, xx, 150-51, who sides with Leffler in the debate (p. xx), and who
appears to accept not only that the American stake in Iran was driven primarily by
internal priorities but that Stalin’s attitudes toward Iran may have been justified: “Azeri
nationalism could easily have spread along ethnic lines into the Baku region...” and
“Stalin may have had other more genuine security concerns in the Caucasus region.”
Louise Fawcett, Iran a n d the Cold War: The A zerbaijan Crisis o f 1946 (Cambridge,
1992), pp. 1-4, 107-8, 125, 150-42, 174, 178-79, 181, while emphasizing Stalin’s
continuing anxieties over the security of his country’s vast borders, also emphasizes
Stalin’s policies in the region as explanations for subsequent US policies. For further
insight into the Azeri question, see also David Nissam, The Soviet Union a n d Iran ian
144
A zerbaijan: The Use o f Nationalism f o r Political Penetration (Boulder, 1987).
10. Leffler, A Preponderance o f Power, pp. 124-25, 515.
11. Ibid., p. 515.
12. See “The American Conception of National Security and the Beginnings of the Cold
War”, cited in footnote 9, and Lawrence Kaplan’s review of Leffler’s recent book,
“Cold Warriors: Wise: Prudent, and Foolish”, Reviews in A m erican History 20 (1992),
pp. 411-15.
13. See footnote 2.
14. See Sto sorok besed s Molotovym — Iz dnevnika F. Cbueva (Moscow, 1991) and the
discussion of it by Woodford McClellan, “Molotov Remembers”, Cold War
International History Project Bulletin 1 (Spring 1991), pp. 17-20.
15. Vojtech Mastny, Russia’s R oad to the Cold War: Diplomacy, Warfare, a n d the Politics
o f Communism, 1941-1945 (New York, 1979), pp. 35, 283, 292, 306.
16. See Wm. Roger Louis, The British Empire in the Middle East, 1945-1951: Arab
Nationalism, the United States, a n d Postwar Imperialism (Oxford, 1984), p. 54, who
mentions, among others: oil, a desire to make Iran a satellite, disrupting the British
economy, a desire to gain access to the Indian Ocean (inherited from the tsars), an
ideologically driven impulse and earth hunger.
17. See Footnote 4.
18. See Melvyn Leffler, “Was the Cold War Necessary?” D iplomatic History 15, 2 (Spring
1991), pp. 265-76.
145
13
The Problematics
of the Soviet-Israeli Relationship
YAACOV RO’I
Soviet-Israeli relations were from the outset abnormal. However, this

only becam e fully apparent to the world at large with the severance of
diplomatic relations by the Soviet Union and the Eastern bloc countries
in June 1967 and the persistent Soviet refusal to renew these relations.
Indeed, it is ironic that one of the last diplomatic acts of the USSR as a
major power was to renew full ties with Israel, an attempt, as it were,
to correct one of the aberrations of its international conduct.1
It is commonly assumed by Western commentators that Soviet
foreign policy was motivated mainly by considerations of great power
politics. While this component was certainly not absent from M oscow’s
policy toward Israel, its role does not seem to have been paramount at
most times. At least three other factors deserve particular attention:
ideology, anti-Semitism and Soviet Jewry. The objective of this paper is
to assess the significance of these factors in determining Soviet policy
towards the State of Israel.
The Soviet Union is said to have supported the establishment of the
State of Israel partly because it estimated that this would exacerbate
the conflict between Arabs and Jews. The Arabs would never accept
the existence of a Jewish state, and in this way circumstances would
com e into being that would enable the USSR to gain a foothold in the
area.2 Unquestionably, the USSR did consider the conflict a permanent
factor on the Middle Eastern scene,5 took every advantage of the 1948
war and, when it began contemplating potential venues for ingressions
into the ex-colonial world in Asia and Africa in the early mid-fifties,
was quick to realize the possibilities latent in the conflict.4 Although
the actual coincidence of interests that brought the USSR together with
Egypt and Syria was the creation of the Baghdad Pact,5 Moscow’s
arming of these two countries, over a period of two decades in the
case of Egypt6 and until the present with Syria,7 was in fact tantamount
146
SOVIET-ISRAELI RELATIONSHIP
to Soviet involvement in the Arab-Israeli conflict. By the early mid

sixties, the USSR was contemplating an Arab unity centred on the
conflict,8 which would hopefully bring the entire Arab world into line
with the Soviet Union. This alignment would appear as a natural
reaction to the American commitment to the existence, territorial
integrity and security of Israel. The Soviet Union was at no stage
prepared to accept the Arab slogan of destroying Israel — Moscow
always recognized not only the fact of Israel’s existence but also its
legitimacy, even when it severed diplomatic relation s.9 Nonetheless, it
could invariably go further than Washington in supporting the Arab
cause.
Eventually, it was the Arab-Israeli conflict, notably President
Johnson’s meeting with Kosygin at Glasboro, New Jersey, in the wake
of the Six Day War, that brought the Soviet Union American
recognition as a Middle Eastern power.10 Soviet leaders originally saw
their support for the Arab cause as a mandate to represent the Arabs in
any Great Power settlement talks in which Israel would be represented
by the LIS.11 The three “nos” of the Khartoum conference made direct
Arab-Israeli negotiations unthinkable.12 However, Moscow ultimately
acknowledged that severing relations with Israel was a mistake from
the point of view of its global and regional status.13 Here, too, the
events of the recent period, particularly Arab willingness to enter into
talks with the Israelis, compelled Moscow to renew relations with
Israel,14 even if it was not able to use this step to gain points for itself
and/or its Arab clients as it had initially contemplated.15
In addition to the regional factor, the Soviet-Israeli relationship had
a manifest global aspect. Israel maintained close ties throughout with
American Jew ry,10 and since the mid-sixties at least, also with the US
government.17 Since the Soviet Union as a superpower related to the
various regions of the world with an eye to its standing vis-a-vis the
West, and particularly the US, it sought alternately, and sometimes
simultaneously, to vie with the West in the Middle East and to
cooperate with it there. Any gain or achievement of the Soviet Union
in or regarding a Middle Eastern country thus had an importance not
only on the bilateral but also — and usually for the USSR more
significantly — on the regional and global level. Apart from its tactical
use of the American commitment to Israel to bring under its aegis the
entire Arab world, or, as of the late 1970s, those states and groupings
within it that adopted more radical anti-Israeli positions,18 Moscow
was able to dangle promises or insinuations of improved behaviour
toward Israel in order to win for itself greater consideration from
Washington. It sought, for instance, to guarantee its place at the
settlement negotiating table by telling the Americans that once the
147
THE COLD WAR
Israelis agreed to an international conference, relations would be re

established. The Americans had persistently urged the Soviets to take
this step ever since detente had been renewed in 1985.19
On the level of international diplomacy, the Arab-Israeli conflict
with both its regional and global ramifications, appeared to determine
Soviet policy toward Israel. This factor, however, fails to explain the
special nature of the Soviet-Israeli relationship. Not a few states were
involved in ongoing conflicts with Soviet allies or clients. Yet the USSR
not only refrained from severing ties with these states but in many
cases maintained relatively good relations with them. In other words,
developments connected with the conflict served as a pretext for the
Soviets to take measures vis-a-vis Israel which were actually dictated
by other components of the relationship, and which were singular to
it. These elements were, as already pointed out, ideology, anti-
Semitism and Soviet Jewry.
The Bolshevik party from its very inception had been extremely
critical of Jewish nationalism in any of its forms,20 for it contradicted
Lenin’s basic understanding that the Jew s as a highly educated group
would be among the first to assimilate in the dominant culture and
implement the anticipated disappearance of nationalism and national
differences. Zionism was not only the epitome of Jewish nationalism; it
also becam e linked with Western imperialism following the 1917
Balfour Declaration which committed the British government to
promoting a Jew ish national home in Palestine. True, the support
offered by the Soviet Union for the establishment of a Jewish state in
part of Palestine in 1947-1948 seemed to demonstrate a change of
heart. However, the short period in which Moscow both preached and
practised friendship toward the Jewish state was an interlude in what
was otherwise an unusually consistent policy of hostility — from 1903
through 1947, and from 1949 until very recently. This interlude,
moreover, was unquestionably the result of Great Power consider
ations on both the global and regional (Middle Eastern) levels, and
entailed no inkling of support for Zionism as such. The term Zionism,
which had an unmitigatedly pejorative connotation, was simply
removed from the lexicon of propaganda and the media for a brief
while. Once the convergence of interests between the Soviet Union
and Israel no longer existed, when Israel becam e a viable state and an
official member of the international community of nations, and,
indeed, even before that, the Soviets were once again condemning
Zionism as a tool of imperialism.21
Nor was it possible or tenable to differentiate between Zionism and
the State of Israel. The Jewish state not only saw itself as the realization
of the Zionist dream, but was universally perceived as such, especially
148
insofar as it claimed the right and obligation to protect Jewish

minorities wherever they might be persecuted, and offered refuge to
Jew s the world over. The protracted, unequivocal Soviet denunciation
of Zionism could only be interpreted as a campaign against Israel. Very
often, too, the Soviet propaganda machine made the connection
explicitly, dubbing the Israeli government and leaders as “Zionistic”,
with all that this epithet signified.22 In this way, the commitment of the
Soviet propaganda machine to anti-Zionism, which was an integral
part of its entire philosophy, necessitated an anti-Israel position. It was
only Gorbachev’s de-ideologization of Soviet foreign policy,
announced by him at the UN in December 1988,25 that made a
rapprochem ent with Israel at all possible.24
The second component that complicated the Soviet-Israeli relation
ship was anti-Semitism. Although officially outlawed — the Soviet
constitution specifically denouncing discrimination against any Soviet
citizen on grounds of race, nation or religion25 — anti-Semitism was an
ingredient in the Russian historical and cultural tradition, as it was in
that of certain other national groups that comprised the Soviet
Union.26 A great deal has been written on both official and popular
anti-Semitism in the USSR, and there can be no question that many of
the Soviet leaders, including Stalin,27 Khrushchev,28 and Suslov,29 to
name some of the more blatant examples, manifested anti-Semitic
prejudices. Israel as a Jewish state could not but be the object of
antagonism and aversion for such people. Certainly, much of the anti-
Israel propaganda that was generated orally and in writing in
quantities that were far beyond what could have been warranted by
Israel’s importance for Soviet foreign policy, had anti-Semitic
connotations.50 Some of the Sturmer -like cartoons,51 for example,
were openly anti-Semitic. People, not only from Israel, but also from
Western countries, were struck by the lack of rationale in statements
made about Israel by Soviet public figures. Part of the campaign
conducted against Zionism, which, as already noted, was condoned by
Marxist-Leninist ideology, was also permeated with anti-Semitism, and
Soviet Jew s and non-Jews alike interpreted the vitriolic attacks upon
Zionism as manifest anti-Semitism.52
Even the exceptional importance attached to Israel on the
propaganda level reflected a perception of the Jewish state as the
fulcrum of a world-wide conspiracy against the Soviet Union and the
“forces of progress”. This standpoint was part and parcel of the belief
that Israel together with, and sometimes apart from, American Jewry
had exceptional influence with the American administration, in the
Western press and in the field of international finance.55 This
perception was not limited to periods of “stagnation”, but was
149
THE COLD WAR
prevalent even as the Gorbachev administration sought ways to renew

contacts with Israel.34 It emanated from an irrational conviction that is
basically inseparable from anti-Semitism. This socio-psychological
aspect of the Soviet attitude to Israel permeated the ranks of the
establishment, the media and various strata of society.
The third major problem that accompanied the Soviet-Israeli
relationship from the very earliest days was Soviet Jewry. The presence
in the USSR of a considerable Jewish minority35 and that minority’s
partial identification with the Jewish state, made patent as early as
1948 when the first Israeli Minister to the USSR, Golda Meir, attended
the Moscow synagogue on the Jew ish High Holy Days,36 meant that
the Soviet relationship with Israel had clear implications for Soviet
domestic policy. The discrimination practised by the Soviet regime
against its Jew s,37 and their despair at ever attaining rectification of the
wrongs done them within the framework of the Soviet body politic,
made them turn to the representatives of the Jew ish state as potential
saviours.38 In the same way, indications of goodwill toward Israel on
the part of the Soviet authorities were seen by the Jew s as promising
improved behaviour towards them, while signs of animosity were
interpreted as boding evil.39
The bond that Soviet Jew s felt for Israel was demonstrated every
time an Israeli sports team participated in a tournament or an Israeli
artist performed in the U SSR40 These demonstrations of sympathy
were felt by the Soviet establishment to be so significant for the Jew s
that it continuously changed the venue and time of the performances
of the Israeli delegation to the 1957 Youth Festival in Moscow in order
to prevent Jew s from attending.41 Similarly, when Israeli diplomats
attended synagogue in Moscow or elsewhere, the synagogue officials
were forewarned that neither they nor their congregants might
converse with the guests.42 And if a Soviet Jew was so presumptuous
as to receive an Israeli newspaper or a Hebrew dictionary or primer, or
other such “anti-Soviet“ materials from an Israeli, he would be
arrested, interrogated and often given a long prison term.43
As early as the winter of 1948-49, rumour had it (and rumour
frequently originated with the Soviet security police),44 that the Israeli
diplomatic mission was trying to win concessions from the Soviet
leadership concerning Jew ish emigration.45 While this is not borne out
by the evidence — except apparently for one short list of relatives of
Israeli citizens46 — by 1950, Israeli statesmen were openly calling for
Soviet Jewish emigration.47 From approximately this time, the Israeli
government made periodic attempts to raise the question of Soviet
Jewish emigration with the Soviet Foreign Ministry, but these
approaches were con sisten tly rebutted.48 The Soviet powers-that-be
150
were at no time prepared to admit that Soviet Jewry or any aspect of

the Soviet Jewish question was in any way connected with Israel.49
Their official position continued to view Soviet Jewry as a national
group that stood in its own right, and to insist that its well-being was a
matter that concerned only the Soviet authorities.50
If this applied, for instance, to cultural rights or individual
discrimination, it was all the more true when it came to actual
emigration, for Moscow did not sanction emigration of any sort.51
Even when the Iron Curtain was lifted somewhat after Stalin’s death,52
emigration becam e possible only within the dual framework of
repatriation and family reunification, that is, for individuals whose
recognized motherland was not the Soviet Union and who had close
relatives in that other land. Since the first condition did not apply to
the Jews, whose official mother country was the Soviet Union, there
was in fact no basis for discussion.
If, from the very beginning, the Soviet Jewish question was an
obstacle to good relations between the two countries, once the Israeli
government took upon itself the task of facilitating Jewish emigra
tion,55 and in the early 1960s began to do so openly at the United
Nations,54 there was little chance that relations would normalize.
Indeed, when Israeli leaders asked Soviet representatives why rela
tions were so problematic, the standard explanation was Israel’s inter
ference in the affairs of Soviet Jew ry.55 Although only circumstantial
evidence is available, it is the author’s firm belief that the real reason
the Soviet Union severed diplomatic relations with Israel in June 1967,
was to cut the ties of Soviet Jew s with the Israeli Embassy in Moscow
and to create conditions in which there would be no permanent or
temporary Israeli presence.50 The Six Day War served as a pretext; it
provided an excellent excuse — Moscow could never openly state that
it was cutting ties because of Israel’s interference in its domestic affairs
— and it was, moreover, a gesture toward the Arabs, at a time when
Soviet prestige in the Arab world was extremely low.57
Under Gorbachev the gates were finally opened to Soviet Jewish
emigration,58 Jew s were granted cultural rights,59 and all religions
were given the possibility to enjoy their constitutional privileges.00 The
rationale for the prolonged severance of relations was thus eliminated,
and ties between the two countries improved.01 Even then, several
years passed before full diplomatic relations were renewed, partly
perhaps because a number of individuals in the bureaucracy —
though not Gorbachev or Shevardnadze — were anti-Semitic, and
partly due to the influence of confirmed Arabists on decision-making
regarding the Middle East, in particular Gorbachev’s leading adviser on
Middle Eastern affairs, Evgenii Primakov 02
151
THE COLD WAR
If these, then, were the considerations that guided Soviet policy

toward Israel, the relationship between the two countries was also
compounded, to an extent, by trends and forces on the Israeli side. For
although Israel ostensibly sought a normal relationship with the USSR,
while the Soviets opposed this for the reasons discussed above — and
their stand was undoubtedly decisive in that the relationship was
anything but normal — Israel’s position on certain issues precluded
the fulfilment of its own declared aims.
In the first place, just as the Soviet ruling party adopted an
ideological stance that in effect operated against the very existence of
Israel (although this was never the official viewpoint of the Soviet
government), so the attitude to the Soviet experiment in socialism was
a major bone of contention among some of Israel’s political parties,
especially between the two leading Zionist socialist parties, Mapai and
Mapam. The latter saw in the Soviet Union “the world of tomorrow”,
the embodiment of the socialist society it sought to establish in Israel.
On the other hand, Israel’s leaders, most of whom came from Mapai,
entertained serious reservations regarding the possibility of too close a
link with Moscow, for fear of its repercussions on Israel’s domestic
political arena.65
Secondly, no Zionist party, including Mapam, could ever forego the
aspiration of “ingathering the exiles”, namely, of working for the
eventual immigration of Soviet Jew s to Israel.64 As long as the Soviet
authorities persisted in obstructing or curtailing Jewish emigration, and
indeed, refusing to acknowledge either the Jew s’ right to leave or the
Israeli government’s right to intercede on their behalf, no Israeli
government or political party, except the small, non-Zionist
Communist party,65 could contemplate a normal working relationship
with the USSR.
These were matters of principle and concerned the very essence of
Israel’s existence and political structure. They were, therefore, seen in
Jerusalem as constituting even more of an obstacle to an ongoing
relationship than the Soviet supply of weaponry to the Arabs, although
this weaponry was designated for use against Israel and thus, in effect,
the Soviets were cooperating with the Arabs toward Israel’s eventual
destruction. It made little difference that the Soviet Union insisted that
these arms supplies were a matter of its own bilateral relationships
with individual Arab states and were intended primarily to serve its
own superpower status and interests.66
In conclusion, the Soviet-Israeli relationship was a priori destined
to run aground. The temporary coincidence of interests that existed at
the time of Israel’s creation was posited on the desire of the two sides
to terminate the British presence in Palestine and ensure the viability
152
of the new Jewish state. Once these goals had been achieved, not only
was there no longer a common objective, but the fundamental
incompatibility of the two systems’ raison d ’etre ruled out the
possibility even of a constructive dialogue between Moscow and
Jerusalem. It was not anything that Israel did or did not do, either
before or after the June 1967 War, that prevented the establishment of
a working relationship between the two countries. It was what Israel
was — a Zionist state, predicated on a persistent striving for Jewish
immigration, especially from diaspora communities suffering
discrimination and persecution; a society seeking to implement its
own brand of socialism, and a state surrounded by an overwhelming
number of hostile countries - that sealed the fate of its relationship
with the Soviet Union. The latter was a communist superpower with a
significant Jewish minority to whose assimilation it was ideologically
and politically committed. It had a negative predisposition toward
Zionism, Judaism and Jew s that it projected onto Israel, and strategic
objectives in the Middle East that, in its view, could be achieved only
through radical, fundamentally anti-Western nations. As long as these
perceptions predominated, and Moscow, for all its usual foreign policy
pragmatism, was incapable of seeing the practical advantages to be
accrued from ties with I s r a e l , a n d as long as relations were the
domain of the CPSU Central Committee secretariat and/or the KGB
and MVD,68 there was no chance of achieving a normal bilateral
relationship typical of ties between a global superpower and a small
regional power.
NOTES
1. Agreement to renew diplomatic relations was reached on 18 Oct. 1991. The Soviet
Ambassador elect, Aleksandr Bovin, presented his credentials in Jerusalem on 30 Dec.
1991.
2. For example, W. Bedell Smith (American Ambassador to Moscow) to Secretary of State
E. Marshall, 14 Nov. 1947, Foreign Relations o f the United States, D iplomatic Papers
(FRUS), 1947, Vol. 5 (Washington, DC, 1971), pp. 1263-64, and Report by the Central
Intelligence Agency, 27 July 1948, FRUS, 1948, Vol. 5, part 2 (Washington, DC, 1976),
pp. 1246-47.
3. This was so much so that the USSR sought for many years to base its alliance with the
Arabs on the common Arab anti-Israel position and to stress this factor as the optimal
foundation for Arab unity (see below).
4. The first major economic agreement with the new Free Officers’ regime in Egypt was
signed on 29 March 1954, the same day that the Soviet Union initiated its right of veto
in connection with Egypt’s relations with Israel, specifically on the passage of cargoes
and shipping to and from Israel through the Suez Canal. (Two months previously, the
Soviet UN delegation had used its veto for the first time in connection with the Arab-
Israeli conflict, to prevent the passing of a draft resolution condemning Syria for
obstructing regional development projects connected with the diversion of the Jordan
waters in the Syrian-Israeli demilitarized zone.)
5. The inclusion of Iraq in a Western oriented military pact changed the military balance
153
THE COLD WAR
between the two traditional rivals for hegemony in the Arab world and made it
essential for Egypt to turn for military assistance to the only power that had no
connection whatever with the pact, indeed felt itself similarly threatened by its
formation.
6. The last arms were supplied by Moscow to Egypt in early 1975 before the Sinai II
agreement in Sept. and Sadat’s unilateral abrogation of the Soviet-Egyptian Treaty of
Friendship and Cooperation in March 1976.
7. Arms sales were being concluded between Moscow and Damascus even as Gorbachev
wras basing his ties with the US on decreasing involvement in local conflicts, including,
specifically, the termination of arms supplies. In the years 1985-1989 the USSR
retained its position as the world’s largest arms exporter, the lion’s share going to its
traditional Arab clients. While there do not seem to have been new agreements since
the end of 1989, and arms sales were cut to an extent by Gorbachev, it is generally
thought that as of early 1992, they were still being implemented. As late as Sept. 1991,
RSFSR Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev made clear that “the arms trade cannot be
stopped technologically or economically”, although he agreed that “it should acquire a
more civilized character, so that the weapons trade is not carried [on] for ideological
reasons”: TASS, 19 Sept., 1991.
8. In this way Moscow endorsed the program laid down by the first Arab summit
conference in Jan. 1964 which created the PLO and its military arm, the Palestine
Liberation Army, a united Arab command and the Jordan Diversion Authority to
negate the imminent inauguration of Israel’s National Water Carrier. See, for example,
the joint communique issued upon the conclusion of Algerian President Ahmed Ben
Bella’s visit to the USSR in May 1964: Ro’i, From Encroachm ent to Involvement. A
Documentary Study o f Soviet Policy in the M iddle East, 1945-1973 (Jerusalem, 1974),
p. 374.
9. See Ro’i, “The Soviet Attitude to the Existence of Israel”, in Y. Ro’i (ed.), The Limits to
Pow er (London/New York, 1979), pp. 232-53.
10. For the talks between Johnson and Kosygin on 23 and 24 June 1967, see Department
o f State Bulletin, 10 July 1967.
11. This was the basic supposition underlying the Two and Four Power talks, initiated by
Moscow, and held between the US and USSR and the US, Britain, France and the USSR
in 1969.
12. The Khartoum conference based its affirmation of Arab unity “to eliminate the effects
of the aggression” on “no peace with Israel, no recognition of Israel [and] no
negotiations with it”: M iddle East Record, 1 9 6 7 (Jerusalem, 1971), p. 264.
13. As early as April 1987, on the occasion of a visit to Moscow by Syrian President Hafiz
al-Asad, Gorbachev publicly stated that the absence of diplomatic relations with Israel
was an abnormality: Pravda, 25 April 1987.
14. Late in Nov. 1989, Italian Prime Minister Gulio Andriotti was reported to have been
told by Gorbachev that the USSR would be prepared to renew relations with Israel if it
announced its readiness for an international conference or took measures toward a
dialogue with the PLO: Yediot Aharonot, 1 Dec. 1989.
15. This seems to have been a major consideration behind Soviet policy since Moscow
began dangling the bait of the renewal of relations before American and Israeli eyes
beginning in the latter half of the 1970s.
16. Support for the establishment of Israel had been motivated, among others, by a desire
to reach out to US Jewry. Moscow was well aware of the Jewish Yishuv’s ties with
American Jewry before it decided to give its support.
17. The first practical commitment of the US Administration to Israel’s security came with
the decision in 1963 to supply it with Hawk ground-to-air missiles.
18. After the Egyptian-Israeli rapprochem ent at Camp David and the subsequent peace
treaty between the two countries, the Soviet Union lent its support to the Rejectionist
Front.
19. Secretary Shultz’s original demands of the Kremlin were published in Literatum aia
gazeta, 1 July 1985; Bush and Baker, too, persistently raised the issue with their Soviet
counterparts: New York Times, 5 Dec. 1989; Yediot Aharonot, 12 Jan. 1990.
20. See, for example, J. V. Stalin, On the N ational a n d Colonial Question (Moscow, 1913),
Ch. 5.
154
21. For a study of Soviet policy toward Israel at the time of the establishment of the Jewish
state, see Yaacov Ro’i, Soviet Decision Making in Practice: The USSR a n d Israel,
1947-1954 (New Brunswick, 1980).
22. As early as Dec. 1948, I. A. Genin in his pamphlet P alestinskaia p roblem a (Moscow,
1948), pointed out that Israel’s provisional government, as it then was, represented
those parties that belonged to the Zionist movement and had a national-bourgeois
ideology. This motif is to be found in virtually all subsequent works on Israel that
appeared in the USSR.
23. At his speech to the General Assembly, 7 Dec. 1988, Pravda , 8 Dec. 1988.
24. True, indications of such a tendency toward Israel had been noted prior to his UN
speech, but so too had his inclination to de-ideologize his foreign policy; see, for
example, Mikhail Gorbachev, Perestroika (London, 1987).
25. See Article 123 of the 1936 ( “Stalin”) Constitution and Articles 34, 36 and 52 of the
1977 Constitution.
26. The Ukrainians and Lithuanians, for example, both had traditions of anti-Semitism
about which a great deal has been written.
27. See, for example, Svetlana Alliluyeva, 20 Letters to a F riend (London, 1967), p. 139 and
Only One Y ear( London, 1970), pp. 148-49-
28. Thus, Khrushchev refrained from mentioning the Jewish aspect of the “Doctors’ plot”
when he denounced it at the 20th Party Congress in 1956. Similarly, he explained to a
visiting French socialist delegation in the same year how, although the Jews had
played a role beyond their proportionate weight in the population in the first years
after the revolution, giving them key posts at the present would arouse justified
protests from other nationalities: “Khrushchev’s Views on Jews and Israel”, Am erican
Zionist (Sept. 1957).
29. Suslov told a British Communist party delegation in 1956 that while no one would
utter a word if Moscow massacred a million Armenians, a hue and cry was set up at
once whenever a hair on the head of a single Jew was hurt: Hyman Levy, Jew s a n d the
National Question (London, 1958). and my interview with Hyman Levy.
30. For a study of this propaganda, see, for example, Baruch Hazan, Soviet Propaganda: A
Case Study o f the M iddle East Conflict (Jeaisalem, 1976).
31. Cf., ibid., p. 153.
32. For some of the more extreme examples of patently Judaeophobic propaganda, see
the many books and articles published in the Soviet Union in the 1970s and early
1980s, e.g., Lev Korneev, Klassovaia sushchnost’sio n iz m a ( Kiev, 1982).
33- These were all part of the standard accusations brought against Israel in Soviet publi
cations, so much so that they have come to be widely believed among the Soviet
public.
34. In addition to the undisguised American pressure on Moscow to renew relations with
Jerusalem, many people in the Soviet establishment clearly believed that the road to
Washington that they needed to take went through Israel. This was also without doubt
one of the reasons that some, at least of the East European countries, initiated contacts
with Israel in the second half of the 1980s.
35. According to the official census statistics, there were 2.268 million Jews in the USSR in
1959, just over 2 million in 1970, 1.8 million in 1979 and less than 1.5 million in 1989.
The numbers themselves may not seem very significant, but it must be remembered:
first, that they are probably not totally reliable — it is widely thought that some fifty
percent can be safely added to the official statistics — and second, that the Jews are
concentrated mostly in the country’s large cities, which makes their importance
disproportionately greater than their absolute numbers.
36. For a description and analysis of this demonstration of sympathy for and identification
with Israel, see Ro’i, Soviet Decision Making, pp. 193-96.
37. This discrimination became official policy toward the end of World War II and has
been described in virtually every book on Soviet Jewry in the postwar period. It was
manifest both on the individual level, Jews being excluded from certain sensitive
professions and some institutions of higher learning or faculties within them, or limited
from entry to them by a quota system, and on the collective level, where Jewish
culture was banned as of 1948-1949, see Ro’i, Soviet Decision Making, Ch. 7.
155
THE COLD WAR
38. See, for example, Barukh Vaisman, Yoman m ahteret ivri (Ramat Gan, 1973), pp.
170-72.
39- See, for instance, the reaction of Soviet Jews to the severance of diplomatic relations
between the Soviet Union and Israel in Feb. 1953 and their renewal in July of that
same year, ibid., p. 216, and unpublished memoirs of Shmerl Goberman, “Epilog”, p.
10 .
40. See Vaisman, Yoman, pp. 247-49; Ro’i, The Struggle f o r Soviet Jew ish Emigration,
1 9 4 7 -1 9 6 7 (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 63, 70-71, 269, 321-26.
41. Ro’i, The Struggle f o r Soviet Jew ish Emigration, pp. 262, 264.
42. See, for example, Vaisman, Yoman, p. 256; Ro’i, The Struggle f o r Soviet Jew ish
Emigration, pp. 311-15.
43. One such person was Natan Tsirul’nikov of Leningrad who was arrested in I960 for
having received Israeli newspapers from Israeli diplomats in the Moscow Choral
Synagogue.
44. For rumour and its role in the Soviet regime, see Thomas Remington, “The Mass Media
and Public Communication in the USSR”, The Jo u rn al o f Politics XLIII (1981), pp.
803-17.
45. Ro’i, The Struggle f o r Soviet Jew ish Emigration, pp. 34-35.
46. Ibid., p. 35.
47. The first public call for Soviet Jewish emigration was made by Prime Minister David
Ben Gurion in May 1950: Aryeh Ofir (ed.), Afikim (Kibbutz Afikim, 1951), pp. 411-12;
New York Times, 24 May 1950.
48. For example, the approaches by Israeli Foreign Minister Moshe Sharett to his Soviet
counterpart Andrei Vyshinskii in late 1950 and again in late 1951 and by Israeli
Minister in Moscow Shmuel Eliashiv to both Vyshinskii and his deputy, Andrei
Gromyko in July and Sept. 1951, and to Gromyko again following the resumption of
diplomatic relations in Dec. 1953: Ro’i, The Struggle f o r Soviet Jew ish Emigration, pp.
9 1 , 102 .
49. See, for example, Ambassador Dmitrii Chuvakhin’s extrapolation from Israeli Prime
Minister Levi Eshkol’s reference to Soviet Jewry in his policy declaration to the Knesset
in Jan. 1966, in Avigdor Dagan, Moscow a n d Jerusalem (London, 1970), pp. 168-71.
50. The 2nd edition of the B o l’s h aia sovetskaia entsiklopediia, the relevant volume of
which appeared in 1952, said that the Jews comprised several nationalities
( narodnostei ) which had, however, a common origin: the ancient Jews, a people who
had lived in Palestine from the middle of the second millennium BCE until the 1st or
2nd century CE. The modern Jews were not a nation, according to this source, because
they did not constitute a “stable community of people formed historically on the basis
of a communality of language and territory, a common economic existence and
general culture”. The 1989 population census, the last to be held in the USSR, actually
denied that even the Soviet Jews were a single nationality; classifying the country’s
population according to nationality and language, it divided the Jews into no less than
four categories: Jews, Mountain Jews (i.e. the Jews of Dagestan), Georgian Jews and
Central Asian Jews.
51. In the first place, the Soviet Union was by definition a closed society which, moreover,
restricted freedom of movement even within the country. Secondly, emigration was
perceived as indication of a shortcoming in the new socialist society that was being
constructed in the USSR, and could obviously not be admitted.
52. Movement became possible in both directions, that is to and from the Soviet Union,
yet the process of loosening the reins was gradual and carefully restricted.
Nonetheless, delegations did visit the Soviet Union and there was even some tourism,
while Soviet delegations went abroad.
53. See Ro’i, The Struggle f o r Soviet Jew ish Emigration, Chs. 3, 4.
54. Ibid., pp. 168-77.
55. See Dagan, Moscow a n d Jerusalem , pp. 162-64 and 182.
56. This was the clear feeling of the Israeli diplomats who were serving at the time in
Moscow. Ambassador Katriel Katz had been told in so many words over half a year
earlier that the Israelis should prepare for a severance of relations.
57. This was the result of the Soviet Union’s failure to come to the aid of its Arab allies
during the war. The dismal defeat was largely laid at Moscow’s door, for Moscow was
156
virtually the Arabs’ sole arms supplier, with all that that entailed.
58. From under 1,000 per annum in 1985 and 1986, the numbers soared to well over
200,000 in 1990, 185,000 reaching Israel. This growth was not the result of a shift in
policy toward Jews specifically. Other emigrating populations, notably the Soviet
Germans, also benefited from the change. The first indication of this change came with
the amendment to the existing Statute on Entering and Leaving the USSR that came
into force on 1 Jan. 1987 (see F. J. M. Feldbrugge, “The New Soviet Law on
Emigration”, and Donna E. Arzt, “The New Soviet Emigration Law Revisited:
Implementation and Compliance with Other Laws”, Soviet Jew ish Affairs 17, 1 (Spring
1987), pp. 9 -24, and 18, 1 (Spring 1988), pp. 17-28, respectively. The new 1991 law,
which came into force on 1 July of that year, finally allowed Soviet citizens freedom of
travel, in effect, without restriction.
59. As of 1989, numerous Jewish cultural associations came into being throughout the
country and although many of them were not officially registered, certainly not at first,
they were tolerated d e fa c to and allowed to conduct courses for the study of Hebrew
— formerly prohibited — and Yiddish, as well as Jewish history and culture.
60. The new law entitled “Freedom of Conscience and Religious Organizations” was
passed in Oct. 1990; see BBC/Summary o f World Broadcasts, Special Supplement, 23
Oct. 1990. In effect the law actually exceeded in a number of fields the freedom of
conscience and religious worship and guarantees against the incitement of hatred or
hostility on grounds of religion, which were the basic rights as expounded in the
constitution.
61. Following the talks in Summer 1985 between the two countries’ ambassadors in Paris,
Iurii Vorontsov and Ovadia Sofer, discussions between leading officials of the two
governments became regular events. Eduard Shevardnadze met several times with his
Israeli counterpart and even with the Israeli Prime Minister. In 1987 it was agreed to
establish consular missions, and this move was followed by commercial, scientific and
cultural ties.
62. Primakov’s special position and influence as Gorbachev’s leading Middle East expert,
as well as his unequivocal commitment to the traditional Soviet-Arab alliance, were
underscored by his three missions to Baghdad as the Iraqi-Kuwaiti crisis deteriorated
between late 1990 and early 1991. While Primakov does not seem to have gone
officially on record as being opposed to the renewal of relations with Israel, he was
reported to have been against this step.
63. For a detailed discussion of the interaction between Israeli domestic politics and
Israel’s relations with the Soviet Union, see Uri Bialer, Between East a n d West: Israel’s
Foreign Policy Orientation, 1 9 4 8 -1 9 5 6 (Cambridge, 1990).
64. Mapam was consistent in its belief in the right of Jews the world over, including the
Soviet Union, to emigrate to Israel, see for example, Divrei haknesset, Vol. 1, pp.
860-61, 29 June 1949, and Yaacov Riftin’s programmatic article in Al-Hamishmar, 30
April 1950.
65. The Israeli communist party, Maki until 1965 and Rakah until that party was absorbed
into Hadash, at no time had more than five seats in the Knesset (out of 120).
66. Almost certainly the Soviets, who saw war as an extension of diplomacy, in the best
Clausewitz tradition, never intended arms supplies to lead to war, and least of all a war
in which they might become involved. From Moscow’s point of view, arms enabled
one to threaten war, which in turn enhanced political influence and leverage.
67. It was only in 1989-1990 that the USSR began to think in terms of commercial and
technological ties and agreements with Israel, only to find that there were, indeed, not
a few fields in which it could benefit from Israeli knowhow and experience.
68. The CPSU Central Committee secretariat was responsible for ideology and the MVD
and KGB for internal security. With the opening of relevant archives, we hope to be
able to ascertain how, indeed, policy making toward Israel in its different aspects was
apportioned.
157
14
Gorbachev and the Reunification of

Germany: Personal Recollections
ANATOLII CHERNIAEV
When Gorbachev becam e General Secretary of the Central Committee,

and the d e fa c t o Head of State of the USSR, he immediately took up
the German question. From the outset he sought to redefine the Soviet
role in the socialist camp, the Warsaw Pact and Comecon in the
context of relations with the German Democratic Republic (GDR).
Gorbachev had not intended, however, to impose perestroika on the
entire socialist world. He had hoped that the East European leaders
would follow suit and reform their own countries.
At his first meeting with leaders of the Warsaw Pact nations during
Chernenko’s funeral in March 1985, Gorbachev declared that the
principle of equality would henceforth govern relations between
Russia and the East European states, and that outside interference in
their affairs would not be tolerated. The Brezhnev Doctrine had
received its death blow.
At the 27th Party Congress in February 1986, the General Secretary
of the West German Communist party, Herbert Mies, reproached
Gorbachev:
Your [party] congress poses very serious problems for the socialist
countries...I have spoken with Honecker. He is paying close attention to
everything that is being said. But I feel that he has a certain secret fear: all
the citizens of the GDR will read Gorbachev’s speech; then they will hear
Honecker’s speech at the German Socialist Union party conference.
Naturally, they will compare them. And [he] apparently feels there are
certain dangers in such a comparison...After the April plenum of the
Central Committee of your party I was in the GDR. At that time the CC of
the SED received quite a few letters asking: “Shouldn’t our approach to
the problems be similar to that of the CPSU?” The leadership gave the
answer in closed sessions of high level party activists: “No, it shouldn’t be,
although on several questions we will have to find a new approach.” I
noted that in the meantime, such questions had yet to arise. I spoke with
the others — Zhivkov in particular. It won’t be easy for them, Mikhail
Sergeevich.
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GORBACHEV AND GERMANY
In the Politburo, the departments of the Central Committee and the

Ministry of Foreign Affairs, there was concern over the improvement of
relations between the two Germanies. Gorbachev, however, was not
really affected by it. I remember how pleased I was about his positive
reaction to my first intervention in the German question. In a telegram
of 31 March 1986, the Russian Ambassador to East Germany,
Viacheslav Kochemasov, had expressed his views on how to deal with
Honecker. I commented that in my opinion the Ambassador was
“fomenting suspicion” — exaggerating the dangers of relations
between the two Germanies, while offering no concrete suggestions
about how to formulate our policy.
Gorbachev viewed the German problem in the wider framework of
his European policy. His initial concern had been with relations
between the USSR and the USA, and he had devoted the utmost
attention and effort to cultivating ties with Washington. Gorbachev’s
assumption was that a nuclear war could only be averted by bringing
an end to the arms race. It was only after the Reykjavik summit that he
understood that without Europe, he could not achieve his goals.
The transformation in Gorbachev’s thinking regarding Europe
followed a discussion he held with Margaret Thatcher in April 1987. It
was reflected in a speech to the Politburo when he stated:
We must carefully plan our work in Europe. We must regroup our
scientific forces...perhaps, create a centre of European research. And we
must remember that Western Europe is our major partner. We will not
make a move on any matter of importance without Europe.
It should be noted that henceforth Gorbachev pursued this line on

Europe actively and consistently. The majority of his meetings from
1987-1988 were with West European leaders.
Gorbachev’s personal acquaintance with Europe and his under
standing of its significance for the success of perestroika and the
foreign policy of the “new thinking”, as well as the bond of mutual
trust he had established with many influential European politicians,
ultimately made it easier for him to make the historic decision to
support German unification.
In June 1987, he met in Moscow with Richard von Weiszacker, the
President of the Federal Republic. When von Weizsacker raised the
German question, Gorbachev affirmed:
Contributing to the cause of global security is the duty of any state,
particularly a European one. This is also true for the two German states.
Their fate in 100 years ivill be decided by history. No other approach is
acceptable. The consequences of taking a different path would be
serious. This should be absolutely clear...Today, the existence of two
German states is a reality, and one must accept this fact. The Moscow
Agreement, your agreements with Poland and Czechoslovakia, the GDR
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THE COLD WAR
and other states, are a reality. These agreements enable the effective
development of political, economic, cultural and human contacts. The
Soviet Union respects the postwar realities, respects the German people
in the FRG and the Germans in the GDR. On the basis of these realities,
we intend to build our relations in the future. History will judge us in due
course.
As it turned out, history judged much sooner. But it should be

noted that Gorbachev had not excluded the possibility of German
unification in his statement, and this fact did not go unnoticed. My
close acquaintance with Gorbachev leads me to believe that by then,
deep in his heart, he was already convinced that without a resolution
of the German question and without the establishment of normal
relations between these two great nations, no reconciliation would
occur in Europe or the world. Nevertheless, despite von Weizsacker’s
repeated attempts to draw Gorbachev out on German unity,
Gorbachev carefully avoided the issue. He neither demonstrated
solidarity with Honecker regarding the two German nations, nor did
he compromise him.
A revealing episode occurred during von Weizsacker’s visit which
sheds light on the prevailing mood in the Soviet leadership at that
time. Gromyko, as Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of
the USSR, held an official dinner in honour of the President. Von
Weizsacker’s speech turned out to be twice as long as the others. Prior
to its publication in the press, Gromyko ordered Iu. Kvintsinskii (then
Ambassador to the Federal Republic) to shorten it to an appropriate
length at the expense of passages which, in Gromyko’s words, “the
Soviet people would not like”. These included references to the
singularity of German consciousness, and (alluding to the Berlin Wall)
to freedom of travel — in other words, to those passages which were
probably most important to von Weizsacker.
When the speech was eventually printed in Izvestiia , the Germans
used every available channel to express their indignation: “You
supposedly have glasnost; Thatcher and Chirac were printed without
cuts,” they argued. I was inundated with telephone calls from both
local and foreign journalists. They wanted to know what was going on
and why we were making fools of ourselves. If we were claiming that
there was glasnost then glasnost had to be evident.
I called Kvintsinskii on the phone and accused him, subtly, of
being “unused to glasnost, having lost touch...” He replied: “What can
I do, a Minister just gave me the order...” I then telephoned Gorbachev
and complained that we were acting stupidly. He responded, rather
maliciously, “Leave it. This is the way to deal with Germans. They like
o rd er— ordnung .”
160
Later I discovered that the question of how to publish the speech

had been discussed among members of the Politburo immediately
after the ceremonial dinner. Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze,
Party ideologist Aleksandr Yakovlev, and particularly Prime Minister
Nikolai Ryzhkov, had been adamantly opposed to making any cuts.
Gromyko had sulked and left the room. It turned out that he had gone
to call Gorbachev, who had not been present at the dinner, and had
convinced him to edit the speech.
On the following day, Shevardnadze, Kvintsinskii and I were in
Gorbachev’s office. He had just returned from a discussion with von
Weizsacker and was sharing his impressions with us. He clearly had
taken a liking to von Weizsacker, and the discussion had been rich in
content and perspective. Our conversation turned to the publication of
von Weizsacker’s speech. Shevardnadze staunchly supported me. But
Gorbachev, having already agreed to let Gromyko publish the
censored version, refused to change his mind. Nonetheless, I came to
an agreement with Yakovlev that the full text of von Weizsacker’s
address would be published in the weekly N edelia and in Moscow
News. This turnabout focused the attention of the Western press on the
speech.
After that, Gorbachev met twice with Foreign Minister Hans-
Dietrich Genscher, and with other West German figures — Willy
Brandt, Johannes Rau, and Hans-Johann Vogel — and gave an
interview to D er Spiegel But in fact, there was no progress on the
German question for more than half a year after von Weizsacker’s visit.
Relations with West Germany lagged behind relations with other
large and influential Western states. Gorbachev sensed and acknowl
edged the abnormality of this situation. On more than one occasion he
stressed, in closed circles and in the Politburo, that we could not have
any kind of real European policy without Germany. But he was
restrained by an insulting comparison between himself and Goebbels
which West German Chancellor Helmut Kohl had made almost two
years earlier. By accelerating the development of ties with Britain, Italy
and the USA, he had, in his words, hoped to “teach the Germans a
lesson”.
However, time took its course. The politics of the “new thinking”
demanded improved relations with Germany. Kohl, for his part, set off
several trial balloons. Gorbachev responded in writing, and for the first
time spoke of a new chapter in relations. Finally, they reached
agreement on a visit by Kohl to Moscow in October 1988.
On the eve of the visit, Gorbachev and I were occupied with
preparations for the talks. I said, “The situation, it seems, is such that
the country [West Germany] is ready to go all the way with us, but the
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THE COLD WAR
Chancellor is not.” Gorbachev responded: “And in our case it is the

opposite — the leadership is ready and the country is not.”
We were both mistaken. On 28 October, in the Ekaterininskii Hall, a
fateful tete-a-tete took place between Gorbachev and Helmut Kohl —
with Kohl’s aide Horst Teltschik and myself also present. I sat,
exchanging glances with Teltschik — an exceptional, witty man, who
played a major role in German politics at that time, in particular in the
West German-Soviet rapprochem ent.
Teltschik and I witnessed a surprising metamorphosis on that day.
The two leaders had an open, straightforward conversation. While
each bore the burden of past history, the talks were marred neither by
ideological onslaughts nor by shades of hostility or suspicion. Once
again I was able to appreciate Gorbachev’s boldness and sagacity, as
well as his courage in making the break with Marxism-Leninism in
favour of pragmatism and common sense.
Speaking at an official dinner on 24 October, Kohl naturally
brought up the question of German unification and the problem of
Berlin. The next morning Gorbachev consulted Valentin Falin, the
head of the International Department and former Soviet Ambassador
to West Germany, and me on whether he should confront Kohl on
these points at the second meeting. He even instructed Falin to
prepare some notes for the meeting , “so he would not forget...”
However, during the discussion he never referred to any of Falin’s
notes. And later he explained to us that Kohl had felt obliged to raise
these issues in order to defend himself against his “allies” and the
“extremists at hom e”.
It turned out that Gorbachev had not been far off the mark.
Subsequently, I found out from members of Kohl’s immediate circle
that he was very concerned about the reaction of the NATO allies and
was wary that he “could get into trouble” when he returned. Two
French papers, Q uotidien d e Paris and Le Figaro , which paid close
attention to his speech, charged that the character of the visit cast
doubt on Kohl’s loyalty to the alliance. During an official press
conference other Frenchmen posed pointed questions, such as:
...you gave so much to the Russians, and what did you receive in return? A
few liberated prisoners of conscience? And what will happen now with
the Franco-German alliance and other promises to the French? Isn’t Kohl
now veering towards the East?
Kohl also noted veiled accusations of a similar nature in the American

press. Unexpectedly, it was the British who reacted calmly.
In any event, the talks between Gorbachev and Kohl produced a
mutual trust, which quickly developed into a genuine friendship. This
relationship played a singular role in accomplishing the unification of
162
Germany without '‘blood and iron”. It is symbolic that the meeting

which brought them closer took place around the time of Gorbachev’s
Decem ber 1988 address to the UN. There, with the whole world
watching, he proclaimed that the Soviet Union’s transition to a
fundamentally new international policy was irreversible.
It was agreed between the two leaders that Gorbachev would pay
an official visit to West Germany in the summer of 1989, and that with
regard to the process of rapprochem ent between the two states, both
visits would be viewed together as a single step towards the emer
gence of a new level of relations.
One of Gorbachev’s main objectives during the visit was to get
advice from Kohl on how to conduct himself in the international
arena, and in particular with the newly elected American President,
George Bush, and his Secretary of State, Jam es Baker. The Ad
ministration had got off to a slow start after taking office at the
beginning of 1989, and Gorbachev had becom e suspicious that the
new President might shelve everything that had been achieved under
Reagan.
In response to suspicions voiced by Gorbachev regarding the
Americans, Kohl asserted:
Yes, Bush is entirely different from Reagan. But one should not forget that
he inherited a formidable legacy, particularly in the economic
sphere...However, in a short time both Bush and Baker have demon
strated their political distinction. They are forceful — both the President
and his Secretary of State. This should not be underestimated. It should be
exploited...I can assure you: Bush personally can and wants to do
business with you. And his close circle is also inclined towards doing
business. One example is the Arab-Israeli conflict, and the change in the
style of the White House in relation to the states involved in the conflict.
You can, in terms of your orientation, begin to adjust yourselves to
partnership with the United States.
For the Germans, Gorbachev’s visit had direct and significant

results. The ecstatic and sincere welcome which the Germans gave
Gorbachev, the unusual nature and obvious message of the Joint
Agreement signed in Bonn, which recognized the right of the Germans
to self-determination, marked the beginning of the process of German
unification.
Gorbachev told Kohl that the Americans, the French, the Belgians
and the Italians, but most significantly the East Germans, already
understood the importance of Soviet-West German relations, and that
it was West Germany which would be the USSR’s main partner in the
building of a new Europe. The obvious conclusion for the East
Germans was that the Soviet Union would no longer constitute an
obstacle to reunification.
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THE COLD WAR
In autumn 1989, events unfolded in the communist countries of

Europe which swiftly brought about a fundamental change on the
entire European scene, but which, at the same time, threatened to
undermine all that had been achieved toward ending the Cold War. It
was precisely then, following the collapse o f the communist regimes in
Hungary and Poland, that the Berlin Wall was toppled, and Honecker
and Zhivkov fell from power. Developments in East Germany showed
clearly that the process which had been unleashed would bring to an
end not only an entire stage in the history of socialism, as we tended
to think at the time, but also to “Yalta” and the Stalinist legacy in
Europe, and would lead to a reassessment of the consequences of Nazi
Germany’s defeat.
The situation was coming to a head. Intensive exchanges took
place between Gorbachev and the leaders of many of the Western
states. Intuitively, Gorbachev felt that the unification of Germany was
inevitable. He had abandoned ideological concerns about the
disappearance of the socialist spearhead in Central Europe. Judging by
his discussions with the SED General Secretary Egon Krenz, and by
diplomatic statements, he was still counting on the emergence of a
transitional period in East Germany which would facilitate the
introduction of perestroika after H onecker’s dismissal. Even Kohl had
seemed to share these views. Gorbachev’s main fear was that the tide
of reunification would sweep away the achievements of the pan-
European process, and would lead to bloodshed. Therefore, he
insisted that Kohl not give in to emotions, use reunification as an
election issue or take any steps which might lead to a breakdown of
the process.
This is well reflected in the conversation that took place between
Gorbachev and Kohl on 11 November 1989:
Gorbachev: All shifts entail instability. Therefore, when I speak of
preserving stability, I mean that we, from all perspectives, must carefully
calculate our steps in regard to one another...It seems, Mr. Chancellor,
that at the present time an historic transition towards other relations and
another world is occurring. And we must not, through our own
clumsiness, allow this shift to be endangered — let alone prod
developments towards an unanticipated path, towards chaos, by rushing
them. This would be undesirable from all points of view...And I hope you
will use your authority and political weight and influence to ensure that
all the others act within bounds appropriate to the time and its demands.
Kohl: Mr. General Secretary, a session of the FRG government has just
ended. If you had been present, you might have been surprised at how
our assessments coincide. This historic hour demands appropriate
responses, historic decisions. In German, there is a very important
concept of “judging by one’s eye”. It means having a sense of proportion,
the ability, in planning actions, to allow for their possible consequences,
164
and possessing a sense of personal responsibility. I would like to assure
you that I am acutely aware of our responsibility...! consider it a great
success that relations between the USSR and the FRG have reached the
high level where they stand at present. And I particularly value the good
personal contacts which have developed between us. In my view, our
relations have transcended a strictly official level...I expect that they will
continue to develop in the future. I am prepared for this to happen. I
understand that personal relationships do not alter the essence of
problems, but they can ease their resolution.
Gorbachev: I think that the solidity, which is characteristic of the Germans

in both countries, will aid in decisively resolving all questions which arise
and in dealing with the long-term processes and changes.
West Germany’s allies in NATO objected to the rapid reunification

of Germany. This was apparent from Gorbachev’s various meetings
with Western leaders. Their position was presented by George Bush,
as recorded in the following excerpts from his talks with Gorbachev
on 2 Decem ber 1989 in Malta.
Bush: Kohl knows that several Western allies who publicly support
reunification — providing that is what the German people want — are
worried about the prospect.
Gorbachev: Yes, I know. And this point of view was explained to the
Chancellor. But contrary to your allies and to you, I say openly: there are
two German states, that is what history has willed. So let history deal with
how the process develops and what it brings in the context of a new
Europe and new world. Kohl has repeatedly asserted that he recognizes
his responsibility, and that he will observe the agreements that we
reached in Bonn. In sum, this is the issue to which we must pay utmost
attention in order to avoid a setback in the changes which are now
underway.
Bush: Agreed. We will not undertake any premature actions, or attempts

to hasten a solution of the reunification question...However strange it may
seem, on this question you, Mr. Gorbachev, are in the same boat as our
NATO allies. The most conservative of them welcome your approach.
And at the same time, they are forced to think about a stage, when the
concept of the FRG and GDR will become history. I will act cautiously on
this question. And our Democrats can go ahead and accuse me of being
timid. I have no intention of jumping over the Wall, because too much is
at stake on this issue.
Gorbachev: Yes, jumping over walls is not a good occupation for a

President (laughter).
Bush: If Bush and Gorbachev can be satisfied with the changes in

progress, it will be a good thing. But I will not be tempted into taking
actions which look appealing but which might have dangerous
consequences.
It should be pointed out that the identification of Gorbachev’s
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THE COLD WAR
position with that of West Germany’s European allies in NATO was

inappropriate. The allies apparently wanted to use Gorbachev to delay
the process of unification. Their assumption was that the USSR had a
great interest — both practical and ideological — in such a delay.
However, they underestimated Gorbachev’s pragmatism. He realized
that resistance to the inevitable, particularly violent resistance, was
bound to cause that very chaos which he wished to prevent.
In January 1990, Gorbachev held a closed discussion on the
German question in his office at the Central Committee. He summoned
his aide Georgii Shakhnazarov, Yakovlev and myself. Upon arriving,
we found Ryzhkov, Shevardnadze, KGB chief Vladimir Kryuchkov,
Chief of Staff Sergei Akhromeev, and Falin and his deputy Rafael
Fedorov. The discussion, at times acrimonious, lasted four hours.
I spoke first and urged that we firmly orient ourselves towards the
Federal Republic, since we no longer had political leverage in East
Germany. To put it more bluntly, we had to seek a “mutual
understanding” with Kohl and not with the SED. I opposed the
invitation of Prime Minister Hans Modrow to Moscow, and even more
firmly rejected the idea of Gorbachev meeting with SED Party
Chairman Gregor Gysi. On the latter point, no one supported me.
Falin and Fedorov remained fervently committed to the SED. They
were supported by Yakovlev and Shakhnazarov. To everyone’s
surprise, Fedorov, an expert on Germany, argued that “in West
Germany no one was interested in reunification”. Shevardnadze
supported me, as did Ryzhkov, although with the proviso that “not
everything should be given away to Kohl”. Kryuchkov was ready to
join whichever side prevailed, noting by the way that the SED “as
such” no longer existed and that the state structure of the GDR was
falling apart.
But there was unanimous support for my proposal to take the
initiative in forming a group of “the Six”: the four victors in World War
II (the USSR, USA, England, France) and the two Germanies (the FRG
and GDR) for discussing problems connected with the process of
reunification.
It was finally agreed, as summed up by Gorbachev, that we would
promote the formation of a Group of Six. Our orientation would be
towards West Germany, but the SED would not be ignored altogether.
Modrow and Gysi would be invited for an official visit. There would
be closer coordination with London and Paris, perhaps facilitated by
Gorbachev making a short trip to both capitals. Lastly, Akhromeev
would prepare a troop withdrawal from the GDR, despite the fact that
this would create a domestic problem of housing some 100,000
officers with their families.
166
On 11 February, a dramatic telephone conversation occurred

between Kohl and Gorbachev in which they acknowledged the fact
that Gorbachev had taken yet another giant step on the road towards
the peaceful unification of Germany.
Gorbachev: On the point of departure there is an agreement that the
Germans should make their own choice. And they should be made aware
that this is our position.
Kohl: You mean to say that the question of unity is for the Germans
themselves to decide?
Gorbachev: Yes...Given the present situation.
But the concept, on which they apparently agreed, and which

presumed the inevitability of German reunification, was not so easy to
implement. At the beginning of May, when Shevardnadze was
expected to attend the first “four-plus-two” meeting (as the Group of
Six came to be called), a heated discussion took place in the Politburo.
Gorbachev made a statement strongly opposing the entry of a united
Germany into NATO. He would let the talks in Vienna and START
treaty negotiations break down rather than allow it. A more moderate
memorandum was presented by Shevardnadze, Yakovlev, Kryuchkov
and Defence Minister Dmitrii Yazov. But at the meeting, aside from
Shevardnadze, the others kept quiet. And they did not consult me.
On the morning of the next day, I wrote Gorbachev a memo
randum in which I protested that members of the Politburo were dis
cussing whatever issues they pleased and making decisions on them,
despite the fact that they were not specialists and did not possess all
the facts. As a result, a new position on the German question was
taking shape, influenced by ultra-conservative Politburo member Egor
Ligachev and his warnings that “NATO [was] approaching the borders
of the [Soviet] Union!” This argument was reminiscent of those used in
1945. It was obvious that Germany would join NATO in any case and
once again we would “miss the boat”. Instead of concretely and firmly
establishing the terms for our compliance, we clearly chose the path of
failure. The results were indeed in keeping with this decision.
From the encoded telegrams of Shevardnadze and from the reports
he made upon returning from the “four-plus-two” meeting, it became
clear that we had lost out because the Politburo had refused to ratify
the agreement. Kohl and Baker declared the meeting to be “historic”,
and announced that obstacles to unification no longer existed. The
press wrongly depicted Shevardnadze’s position as sabotaging the
European process and the reunification of Germany.
Gorbachev tried to recoup his losses during his visit to Washington
at the end of May 1990. The German question was discussed
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THE COLD WAR
repeatedly and not without considerable stridence. Gorbachev insisted

that Germany enter simultaneously into NATO and the Warsaw Pact.
Bush did not bother to hide the fact that a fundamental difference of
opinion existed betw een the two sides. A compromise formula was
finally devised in the following fashion:
Gorbachev: So, let’s formulate it this way: The United States and the
Soviet Union are in favour of a unified Germany, of achieving a final
settlement which takes into account the outcome of the Second World
War and of [Germany] deciding for itself which alliance it will join.
Bush: I would propose a slightly different version: The USA unequivocally

favours the membership of a united Germany in NATO, however, if she
chooses otherwise, we will respect and not dispute it.
Gorbachev: Agreed. I accept your formulation.
Helmut Kohl arrived in Moscow in July 1990, in order to finalize the

agenda for the reunification of Germany. He was articulate and
energetic, playing a fair but tough match. He was prepared to make
major concessions, but in the end achieved his main objective — a
unified Germany with membership in NATO. Gorbachev did not even
object this time — nor did he propose diluted variants regarding
NATO. These were the very “realities” which he almost always took
into consideration in foreign affairs.
Here is how he characterized his resolve regarding the German
question a month after Helsinki, in a highly confidential discussion
with Bush:
You will probably agree that events in Eastern Europe, and mainly
German affairs, were much more difficult for us than for the USA. I will
tell you openly that colossal efforts, enormous pressure, and political will
were called upon, in order to overcome, in spite of ourselves, outdated
approaches which appeared unshakeable, and to keep up with the
demands of changing realities. To this day, I am forced to clarify this
position in our country, to prove the need for new thinking, for new
approaches to what is happening in the world, and to justify these steps.
This is not always easy, all the more since there are people in the West,
who make analyses based on the old thinking, and this complicates my
position.
Kohl handed over to Gorbachev a draft (subsequently accepted in

full), which, in his words, was intended to seal the past and open a
period of rapprochem ent and friendship between the two peoples.
Kohl asked Gorbachev to wait before involving the Foreign Ministry,
and to let Teltschik and myself continue working on the text. We were
less concerned with secrecy, however, and I broke my silence,
confiding in Shevardnadze and Ambassador Kvintsinskii, but only in
them.
168
In order to reinforce what had been achieved, Mikhail Sergeevich

brought his friend Helmut (henceforth they were on a first name basis)
to his native region — Stavropol. They secluded themselves in Arkhyz
— a small pastoral resort for VIPs. There they spent almost the entire
night at dinner and further negotiations. The discussion covered the
nature of the future friendship agreement, partnership and coopera
tion, the temporary presence of Soviet troops, transitional measures,
and the final settlement. The agreements, which were finally signed on
9 -1 0 November 1990 during Gorbachev’s visit to an already united
Germany, laid the legal, political and moral foundations for normal
relations between the German and the Soviet peoples.
169
15
On The Road To German Reunification:

The View From Moscow
VYACHESLAV DASHICHEV
From the end of World War II, the German question becam e a
cornerstone in the expansionist policy of the Stalinist regime. This
policy led to the creation of a postwar status quo based on Soviet
domination of Central and Eastern Europe and the division of
Germany and the Continent. The blockade of Berlin, the Berlin Wall,
the treaties of the Warsaw Pact countries with the Federal Republic
between 1970 and 1973 and even the signing of the 1975 Helsinki Act
by Brezhnev were congruent with this Stalinist and later neo-Stalinist
line pursued by Krushchev, Brezhnev, Andropov and Chernenko. This
policy was motivated throughout by socialist messianism mingled with
superpower arrogance, and imposed by repressive, totalitarian
regimes which prevented any substantive debate.
When Gorbachev rose to power, he adhered to this dogmatic
stance. In his book Perestroika , published in 1987, Gorbachev restated
that in the wake of World War II:
...the European states, in accordance with the concrete conditions and
opportunities, made their choice: Some of them remained capitalist while
others moved toward socialism. A truly European policy and a truly
European process can only be promoted on the basis of recognition of
and respect for that reality.1
The policy towards Germany remained intact.

There are two German states with different social and political systems.
Each of them has values of its own. Both of them have drawn lessons
from history and each of them can contribute to the affairs of Europe and
the world. And what will be in a hundred years is for history to decide.
For the time being, one should proceed from the existing realities and not
engage in incendiary speculations.2
This was also the prevailing view in the Central Committee apparat
and in the Foreign and Defence Ministries. For most of the party
functionaries and diplomats, who were blinded by ideological
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ROAD TO REUNIFICATION
prejudices and isolated from reality, the status quo appeared to be the
best guarantee for Soviet security interests and for stability in Europe.
They believed that the United States, France and England had basically
come to terms with the situation on the Continent and would not be
willing to accept a change in the German question.
The expansion of the Soviet sphere of influence to East and Central
Europe engendered a powerful anti-Soviet coalition of all Western
powers and their allies, and hurled the Soviet Union with its limited
resources into a dangerous confrontation with the entire West. This
clash led to excessive militarization of the country and to the
debilitation of its economy. It strengthened the totalitarian regime and
prevented any fundamental reform of the political and economic
system. In short, it sentenced the Soviet Union to isolation from the
Western community and to political, economic and intellectual
backwardness.
When Eduard Shevardnadze becam e Foreign Minister, he de
manded and promoted close cooperation between academics and
diplomats in order to stimulate “new thinking” in the foreign policy
apparatus, where it had been stifled under Gromyko. It was extremely
difficult to convince the dedicated guardians of the postwar order that
the expansionist foreign policy of Stalin and his successors was
ruinous for the nation’s interests and welfare and that it held great
dangers for peace. “But it was useless to point out,” as Shevardnadze
later wrote in his memoirs, “that even though we had lived 45 years
without a war, a war was actually going on — precisely because of the
order established in Europe after 1945. ”3
Change hinged on removal of the political and ideological causes
of the East-West confrontation. The increasing indications of crisis in
the economic and political spheres in Eastern Europe from 1986 until
1988 convinced me that these countries were on the verge of great
political upheavals which could fundamentally alter the entire postwar
structure of Europe. The situation was particularly dangerous in the
German Democratic Republic, because of its strategic position adjacent
to the NATO countries.
Therefore, when the Foreign Ministry’s Academic Consultative
Council, which I headed, was due to meet in June 1987, I placed a
discussion of the German question on the agenda. I was unaware at
the time that by 1986 Shevardnadze had already understood that it
would becom e the crucial issue for Russia’s relations with the West.
However, he found it impossible to even broach the subject. When I
raised the German question in the International Department of the
Central Committee, I was told bluntly that it had been settled and that
there was nothing to discuss. Nevertheless, I decided to start spreading
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THE COLD WAR
my ideas. I wrote a 26-page analysis entitled “Some Aspects of the

German Problem” and presented it to the members o f the Academic
Consultative Council as well as leading officials in the Foreign Ministry
and the International Department of the Central Committee. As a
result, the June Council meeting was postponed several times and took
place only on 27 November 1987.
In the course of the Council’s deliberations, I challenged the pre
vailing assumption that the postwar order in Europe, based on military
parity and nuclear deterrence, would remain stable and reliable in the
long run. I warned that the trend toward national self-determination
and toward national unification had been increasing markedly not
only in West Germany but also in the German Democratic Republic
(GDR). As a consequence of the systemic crisis in the countries of East
and Central Europe as well as in the Soviet Union,
...the model of socialism as established and developed in the GDR, has
been unable to prove its advantages to the common people in the two
German states. For most of them, the interests of socialism are taking a
backseat to national interests. This erosion of socialist values will
continue...
I argued that the continued existence of two German states was

very negative for the Soviet Union. It was bound to further consolidate
Western Europe as a nucleus of power in which the Federal Republic
would be able to play a leading political and econom ic role, and
would lead to a West European military alliance based on the Bundes-
w ehr and Anglo-French nuclear forces. From the econom ic and
technological point of view, it would widen the gap between the
Federal Republic and the GDR. Finally, it was likely to inflame national
feeling in the Federal Republic and the GDR and strengthen the efforts
by citizens of both countries to find a solution to the German question.
Consequently, the Soviet Union would have to face numerous
complicated problems. It would have to counteract the attraction pre
sented by the Federal Republic to the population of the GDR, diminish
the destabilizing impact of the German question in Europe, and
determine the limits to rapprochem ent and cooperation between the
two German states. Just as complicated were the repercussions of the
reduction of US troops in Europe on the emergence of Germany as the
leading West European power. Thus, the German question would
continue to threaten peace and stability in Europe.
The time had come, therefore, to consider and discuss the option of
reunification. If this option should prove to be inevitable, Moscow
should at least take the initiative while it was still able, without waiting
until the course of events forced it to act.
Under the circumstances prevailing at that time, the only
172
conceivable and acceptable basis for German reunification seemed to

be the neutrality of Germany. But it turned out that even Stalin’s 1952
concept of a neutral Germany was entirely rejected. Distinguished
diplomats and other senior officials at the Council meeting, with the
single exception of Iurii Davydov from the USA and Canada Institute,
criticized me sharply and rejected my ideas and recommendations. I
was even accused of political transgressions. Such was the atmosphere
in the Foreign Ministry at that time, decisively influenced by figures
like Politburo member Egor Ligachev and International Department
head Valentin Falin. Gorbachev, too, remained mired in traditional
stereotypes of foreign policy thinking on the German question. In fact,
there was little change in Soviet policy on the issue of German
reunification until 1990. The Soviet leadership was taken by complete
surprise when the Berlin Wall was toppled on 9 November 1989- Two
weeks later, Gorbachev still did not consider German reunification an
urgent issue. His inaction was not, as some claimed, an effort to pacify
the conservatives, but stemmed from his illusion that the GDR
leadership under Egon Krenz, the new head of the Communist party,
would be able to carry out the political and economic reforms needed
to save the socialist GDR.
The subsequent radical change in policy towards Germany was
forced upon the Soviet leadership primarily by the course of events
and by the broad mass movement for national self-determination in
the countries of East and Central Europe. A second contributing factor
was the fresh approach which Shevardnadze introduced into Soviet
foreign policy on key questions, such as the relationship of the Soviet
Union with the countries of East and Central Europe and with the
West. The chief problem in this regard was the arduous and long pro
cess of abandoning the heritage of Stalinist foreign policy, as reflected
in the Brezhnev Doctrine, and recognizing the right of national self-
determination. It was important at that point to convince the political
leadership of the damage being inflicted on our national interests. On
18 May 1988, an edited version of my article entitled “East-West: In
Search of New Relationships”, was published in Literaturnaia gazeta.
This was the first sharp public criticism of our previous foreign policy.
While explaining the erroneous principles upon which our German
policy had been based, I blamed Stalin and his successors for the
global confrontation, the division of Europe and the Cold War.
One week later, the American Ambassador, Jack Matlock, invited
me to his residence and told me that he had sent my article to
President Ronald Reagan and to Secretary of State George Schultz prior
to their visit to Moscow. The Ambassador said that the American
President had welcomed the ideas presented in my article, since they
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THE COLD WAR
would help him reach a better understanding of the problems which

needed to be solved at his summit meeting with Gorbachev. I was very
pleased.
An article published in Pravda on 29 August 1988 soon dampened
my enthusiasm. There, Falin, and the journalist Lev Bezymensky,
presented an apologetic view of Stalinist policy in Europe from the
end of World War II and a defence of the European postwar order.
They contended that the United States and the other Western powers
alone were responsible for the confrontation between East and West.4
On 8 June 1988, another collision occurred between those advocat
ing the traditional approach and myself, this time over the issue of the
Berlin Wall. In reply to a journalist’s question at a press conference at
our Embassy in Bonn, I declared that the Berlin Wall was a relic of the
Cold War and would disappear in time under changed political and
econom ic circumstances. On 10 June, Neues D eutschland , the East
German Communist party daily, carried a piece about my statement
which ended with the following words: “The dogs may bark but the
caravan moves on .” Later, I learned that this piece was written by
Honecker himself.
On 19 April 1989, I presented our leadership with a memorandum
advocating reunification, and also sent a copy to the International
Department of the Central Committee. From the latter I received a
written reply saying that such a proposal was neither in the interests of
the Soviet Union nor of the West, and that my analysis of the situation
was dubious.
My efforts to enlighten our Ambassador in East Berlin, Viacheslav
Kochemasov, in the autumn of 1988 and in the spring of 1989, also
proved futile. The staff of our Embassy there, however, was more
attentive.
Nevertheless, despite the attempts by Falin, Ligachev and others to
hinder them, Shevardnadze and Gorbachev were gradually succeeding
in forging a realistic foreign policy, free of the dogmas and burdens of
the Stalinist era. At the 19th Conference of the Communist party in
June-Ju ly 1988, Gorbachev renounced the principle of paternalistic
relations between the Soviet Union and the countries of East and
Central Europe. Shortly afterwards, the Warsaw Pact countries ac
cepted international law as the basis for their mutual relations. On 3
March 1989, Gorbachev consented to the introduction of a multi-party
system in Hungary. Three months later, the Soviet leadership recog
nized the non-communist Polish government of Tadeusz Mazowiecki.
Then, in a joint statement in Bonn on 13 June 1989, Gorbachev and
Kohl proclaimed their commitment to the “self-determination o f all
peoples and states”. Gorbachev followed this up with a speech to the
174
European Council in Strasbourg in July, proclaiming himself to be in

favour of a “voluntary, democratic community of European peoples”.
In August, the Soviet Defence Council instructed Soviet troops in East
and Central Europe not to intervene in domestic conflicts. One month
later, the Soviet leadership did not react when the Austrian-Hungarian
border was opened to East Germans seeking to escape to the West. On
9 October 1989, during mass demonstrations in the streets of Leipzig,
Soviet troops were ordered to remain in their barracks.
On 26-27 October 1989, when the revolutionary processes in East
and Central Europe were in full swing, the Council of Foreign
Ministers of the Warsaw Pact confirmed the right “of all peoples to self-
determination and free choice of its social, political and economic
development without interference from outside”. This was the death
blow to the Brezhnev Doctrine.
On 9 November 1989, the Soviet leadership reluctantly accepted
the destruction of the Berlin Wall, despite conservative demands “to
deploy special strike and defence divisions on the frontiers in order to
save the GDR and to prevent reunification”.
Did this chain of decisions by Gorbachev and Shevardnadze reflect
a premeditated withdrawal from the position of Soviet dominance in
East and Central Europe? Had the new architects of Soviet foreign
policy finally understood that the Soviet Union had becom e the
policeman and oppressor of East and Central Europe and that this role
was a senseless, unnecessary burden on their country? Or, had they
realized that the position of dominance could not be maintained and
that they had to yield to new exigencies and realities? The West Berlin
commentator Peter Bender expressed one view when he stated,
“Gorbachev did not give up anything that had not already been lost,
ideologically, politically and econom ically...”5 But neither did
Brezhnev possess anything in East and Central Europe; nonetheless,
he ordered tanks into Czechoslovakia in 1968 in an effort to nip reform
there in the bud. Gorbachev could have reacted similarly, but he chose
not to. Shevardnadze was of the opinion that the use of military force
in the GDR could result in a third world war. This was a responsible,
reasoned judgment. Moreover, the use of force in the GDR could have
meant the end of perestroika, a return of neo-Stalinism, and the fall of
Gorbachev. It is to Gorbachev and Shevardnadze’s credit that they
were well aware of the worst consequences of using force on German
soil and chose to avoid it.
When, in October 1989, Gorbachev made his well-known comment
in East Berlin that “life punishes latecomers”, he was alluding not to
the reunification of Germany but rather to Honecker’s refusal to
introduce reforms in the GDR. Moscow’s faith that Krenz, and later his
175
THE COLD WAR
successor Hans Modrow, were capable of carrying out such reforms

was misplaced. The GDR regime collapsed under the onslaught of the
national movement of the German people.
Not until 10 January 1990 did Gorbachev openly state in a meeting
with Modrow in Moscow that “in principle” the Soviet Union was not
opposed to the unification of Germany. During his discussions with
Chancellor Helmut Kohl on 10 February, Gorbachev took the decisive
step toward recognizing the German people’s right to self-determina
tion, stating that it was up to the Germans to determine “in what kind
of a state, within which time frame, at what speed, and under what
conditions this unity can be realized”.6
Gorbachev went on to state that reunification was predicated on
ensuring the “security and interests of Germany’s neighbours and of
the other states in Europe and the world”, as well as the inviolability of
their borders. In this way, the domestic and international aspects of
reunification becam e closely linked for the first time. Gorbachev and
Shevardnadze had compelling reasons for stressing this connection.
The Foreign Minister later wrote in his memoirs:
The conviction that the existence of two German states was a reliable
guarantee for the security of our country and the whole continent had
become too deeply rooted in the minds of our people. They were
convinced that an enormous price had been paid for it and that it would
be inadmissible simply to forget it. The memories of the War and the
victory were stronger than the new concepts of the limitation on security,
and we could not help but take this conviction into account.7
Shevardnadze was not referring to the ordinary citizen, who had no

objections to German unification, but to the political and military
n om enklatura whose existence, power and privileges depended on
the preservation of the old order. Gorbachev and Shevardnadze also
had to face the Party apparatus, which intimidated the public by in
voking images of an alleged enemy. In introducing their “new
thinking” about Germany, Gorbachev and Shevardnadze had to take
all these factors into account. This explains the often contradictory and
inconsistent actions of Soviet diplomats. For example, the Soviet
leadership unanimously rejected Chancellor Kohl’s Ten-Point Plan of
29 November 1989, which foresaw the creation of confederate
structures in Germany. At one point, the leadership demanded the
neutralization of Germany, at another dual membership in both NATO
and the Warsaw Pact for a united Germany. Subsequently, it proposed
membership for the Federal Republic in NATO and associate status in
NATO for the Eastern part, then German membership in the Alliance
but not in its integrated military command — a status similar to that of
France.
176
All of this not only demonstrated the absence of a clear Soviet

policy toward Germany after 9 November 1989, but also the desire of
the conservatives in the Party apparatus to delay, if not halt the process
of German unification. There were even demands in the press that the
“sovereign rights” and “social structures” of the GDR be maintained.8
The decisions made by NATO at a July meeting in London were
conducive to the reduction of conservative influence on our policy
toward Germany and to achieving a compromise solution on security
questions related to that country. They indicated a change in the
doctrine and strategy of the Alliance through the reduction of NATO
forces and constituted a declaration that the Alliance no longer re
garded the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact countries as enemies.
The stormy progress towards reunification threatened to derail all
plans of the Soviet Union and the Western powers, and put their
leaders under intense pressure. The “four-plus-two” negotiations were
a direct outcome of this pressure. At the first meeting of the Six in
Bonn on 5 May, Shevardnadze suggested separating the internal and
external aspects of German reunification. However, the idea of
preserving Four Power rights even after Germany was unified was
both unrealistic and counterproductive. In June, Gorbachev met with
Bush in Washington and the Soviet leader retracted this proposal.
Just as puzzling was the Soviet proposal made at the “four-plus-
two” meeting in Berlin on 22 June, prescribing a five-year transition
period for German reunification. The Russians suggested that the
international obligations of both German states (such as membership
in NATO and the Warsaw Pact, and Four Power rights) should remain
in force after unification. The Western side rejected this proposition.
Again it seems that Shevardnadze was forced to adopt these tactics
because of the pressure exerted by the conservatives, who protested
strongly against the Western demand to integrate a unified Germany
into NATO. High-ranking members of the Soviet military and political
establishment could not accept this idea. They were capable of
looking at the German reunification issue only from the perspective of
the outdated theory and practice of European power politics. As a
result, the problem of Germany’s membership in NATO threatened to
becom e the main obstacle on the road to German reunification.
In February 1990, I discarded the concept of German neutrality
which I had presented in my talk at the Academic Consultative Council
in November 1987. At the Foreign Policy Forum of the German Free
Democratic party in early March 1990 in Hannover, I presented new
terms which would take into account Soviet security interests and
make Germany’s membership in NATO acceptable to the Soviet
government. The proposed conditions for a unified Germany to join
177
THE COLD WAR
NATO were the following:

- The territory of the former GDR would remain outside the NATO
area.
- The Bundesw ehr would be drastically reduced.
- Nuclear weapons would be withdrawn from German territory and
Germany would renounce the production and stockpiling of
nuclear, biological and chemical (ABC) weapons.
- NATO strategy would be reassessed.
On 20 March, in a telephone interview from Moscow to the
German daily Die Welt, I again insisted that “one cannot look at the
security interests of the Soviet Union from the viewpoint of the 1950s
and 1960s”. I suggested that on our side, old stereotypes still existed,
for example as far as the military and political status of a united
Germany was concerned. Such ideas stemmed from the assumption
that it was necessary to maintain the principle of the balance of power
in Europe. While the principle of parity was essential during the period
of confrontation and the Cold War, this balance of power no longer
existed. The demand for a united Germany to remain outside NATO
was, in essence a call to dissolve the Alliance. It was clear that NATO
could not exist without the Federal Republic and that the Western
powers were not prepared to break up NATO. Therefore, this demand
was unrealistic.
A few days later the Foreign Ministry spokesman stated at a press
conference that my views were unofficial and that the decision not to
allow a united Germany into NATO was final.
US diplomacy in general, and Secretary o f State Baker, in particular,
contributed a great deal toward overcoming the stalemate over
German membership in NATO. The Western powers presented the
Soviet leadership with an extensive program of security guarantees.
Noteworthy was Baker’s 9-point plan, which fixed the borders of a
united Germany, restricted Germany’s production and stockpiling of
chemical weapons, proposed that NATO reassess its force size and
prohibited NATO expansion into the territory of the GDR. The plan
further called for German econom ic assistance to Moscow.
After the introduction of monetary union on 1 July, German
reunification could no longer be delayed. Poland, Hungary and
Czechoslovakia also came out in favour of German membership in
NATO. The Soviet leadership was threatened with isolation and a f a it
accom p li Rather than continue its opposition, it was more in its
interests to have a say in laying down the security status of a united
Germany in treaties.
Gorbachev’s political victory at the 28th Party Congress created
uniquely favourable circumstances for accepting German entry into
178
NATO. The compromise reached by Kohl and Gorbachev at their

meeting in Moscow and then in the Caucasus from 15-16 July,
recognized the full sovereignty of a unified Germany in NATO. The
B undesw ehr would be reduced by 42-45 per cent, and Soviet troops
would withdraw from the former GDR within three to four years.
Finally, it was agreed that no NATO facilities, foreign troops or nuclear
weapons would be allowed on the territory of the former GDR.
The road to German reunification lay open. The results of the
negotiations between Kohl and Gorbachev were approved by the
other “four-plus-two” members on 17 July in Paris. On 12 September,
at the last “four-plus-two” meeting in Moscow, the final settlement was
signed by the six Foreign Ministers. The next day Shevardnadze and
Genscher signed the Soviet-German Treaty on Good Neighbourliness,
Partnership and Cooperation.
NOTES
1. Mikhail Gorbachev, Perestroika , English edition (London, 1987), p. 193-

2. Ibid.
3. Eduard Shevardnadze, The Future Belongs to Freedom (New York, 1991) p. 234.
4. Valentin Falin and Lev Bezymenskii, “Kto razviazal kholodnuiu voinu?” P ravda , 28
Aug. 1988.
5. Peter Bender, “Im Osten ein Neues Zwischeneuropa”, Tagesspiegel, 5 May 1991, p. 6.
6. Pravda , 2 Feb. 1990.
7. Shevardnadze, op. cit., p. 234.
8. See, for example, Kom som ol’s kaia pravda, 10 May 1990: “Since we have proclaimed
the principle of free choice, then we must be consistent to the end and grant the
Germans the right to decide themselves about their domestic affairs. Why should we
put ourselves in the position of being the guardians of the old order and thereby
uselessly evoke unfriendly feelings by the Germans in both Germanies toward Soviet
policy? In any case, Stalinism and its embodiment in the GDR regime has already
lowered the reputation of the Soviet Union with the Germans. Would it not be better
to start laying the foundations for relations with the future Germany on the principles
of honest good-neighbourliness, by ceasing to depict it as an enemy, and by taking
into account the enormous change in the Germans’ psychology and their way of life
since they learned the lessons from their national catastrophe of 1945, and turned
toward democracy and peace?”
179
Part Four
CHANGING PERCEPTIONS
OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY
16
Politics and Morality

in Soviet Foreign Policy
ALEXANDER TCHOUBARIAN
The emergence of a new era in the development of the Russian state

has created opportunities to carry out an extensive study of the genesis
and consequences of Soviet foreign policy. In the past few years
considerable resources have been invested in the re-examination of
Soviet history. From the outset Soviet historians posed as unreserved
apologists for their country’s foreign policy, which they regarded as
the only correct model. The trend has now shifted towards utter
negation of even the positive elements of Soviet foreign policy. If we
examine the entire Soviet experience as historians, not as political
scientists, we should succeed in producing an unbiased analysis of
Soviet foreign policy which might be beneficial.
The situation in Russia during this transition period is far from
simple. Obviously, the immediate aim of historians at the Russian
Academy of Sciences is to make a contribution to the country’s
development, in particular in the sphere of diplomacy. However, our
efforts as historians must be geared more broadly to the entire
academic and political community.
The present generation, which has not yet joined actively and
wholeheartedly in reviewing the past, will gain relatively little from the
research being carried out at present. It is the future generations that
will profit the most. Russian historians must strive to create a con
ducive environment and to formulate a new theoretical framework.
Examining the com plex subject of politics and morality in international
affairs is an essential component of this process.
Many historians in Russia and abroad are sceptical about the
possibility of applying moral values to foreign policy, whose main goal
is the promotion of national and state interests. On the other hand, a
number of world forums and congresses have addressed the problems
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CHANGING PERCEPTIONS OF FOREIGN POLICY
of international affairs and foreign policy from a moral and ethical

point of view. This is primarily a result of the situation that has
emerged in the late twentieth century, when we are faced, probably
for the first time ever, with the problem of establishing a new wgrld
order. It is with great difficulty that Russians are transcending the
ideology of hostility and confrontation. Yet, within the last year we
have begun to speak about partnership, even alliance, with the United
States and West European countries. But, what is the aim of such
relations? In World War II, alliances were forged for the sake of the
struggle against fascism. Today, however, alliances should reflect a
higher purpose — namely, human values, which inevitably embrace
ethical and moral principles.
How are moral principles manifested in the formulation of foreign
policy? First, they are found in joint action taken to foster human
rights, and the freedom and independence o f individuals and nations;
second, through the promotion of issues such as world peace and
security and environmental protection. One might say that all this can
hardly be relevant while the former USSR is being rent by sharp
conflicts, and while similar conflicts are now raging in various parts of
Europe, the Middle East, America and Asia. Historians, however, must
be farsighted and attempt to discern not only present-day realities but
also the main trends o f the future.
Soviet historians were working in a stagnant environment, basing
their research on postulates, dogmas and principles that were accepted
in the USSR. Any analysis of Soviet foreign policy should take into
account aspects of its past, such as over-ideologization, over
politicization, irreproachability and alleged superiority — all of which
eroded the moral principles of that policy.
The whole process started back in 1917, when Soviet policy was
being formulated. From its incipience, Lenin’s concept of foreign
policy did not include a moral perspective, for this policy was to be
based on objective principles of class struggle and class interests.
However, it should be stressed that just before 1921, especially in
connection with the Genoa Conference, certain changes could be
discerned in Soviet foreign policy, in particular, the attitude toward
pacifism. In 1921-1922, the Soviet authorities publicly recognized
pacifist circles in the West. As a result, a desire for cooperation in the
econom ic and political sphere immediately becam e evident. However,
in the 1920s and 1930s this trend was abandoned by Stalin in favour of
totalitarianism, which denied pacifism and humanism.
The notorious Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact was probably a classic
example of this violation of moral and ethical principles. The Pact was
not only an illegal document, but an amoral one as well, since it
184
POLITICS AND MORALITY
ignored the interests and rights of other countries and peoples and
provided for a division of the world into spheres of influence. It
should be noted that on the eve of the Second World War, the
prevailing mood among the Soviet Union’s Western partners, primarily
Britain and France, was similarly ruthless. Human values in general,
and a perception of fascism as a threat to the whole of humanity were
conspicuously absent from the thinking of all future members of the
coalition. This was the reason behind their failure to unite prior to
World War II.
An analysis of the postwar realities and of Soviet policy in
particular, shows that even after the defeat of fascism (following a brief
period of cooperation and accord), the USSR reverted to a confronta
tional model in its foreign policy. This policy was likewise adopted by
the US and its Western partners. Ethics and morality were totally absent
in the making of foreign policy and conflict took the most acute forms.
Had anyone in the Soviet Union dared to assert then that moral and
ethical behaviour could be dictated by politicians, he would have been
not only mocked and denounced by the public, but severely punished.
In the 1980s, new patterns of thought emerged in the Soviet Union.
The World Congress of Historians, held in Budapest in 1980,
precipitated the first study groups on the idea of peace in the history of
the USSR, and these began examining the subjects of pacifism and
humanism. A volume entitled An Anthology o f P eace , prepared in
cooperation with an American team, focused on the moral and ethical
pacifist tradition in history — including the Russian pacifist heritage
which, until then, had been studied little by Western historians.
Such studies in the context of the history of the twentieth century
are of immense importance for present and future generations.
Hopefully, they will arouse the interest of young people in the
concepts of pacifism and humanism, as well as in those individuals
who sacrificed their lives for their beliefs, and in those who were bold
enough to take to the streets in order to uphold common human
interests.
Russia is now undergoing a transformation in which the national
idea is filling the vacuum formed due to the collapse of communism.
National awareness and national development represent, in principle,
progressive forces — especially in the period of transition from
totalitarianism to democracy. However, the national idea should also
cherish individualism, democracy and universalism.
There were two major attempts in the twentieth century at setting
up institutions based on universal principles: the League of Nations,
which eventually proved a failure, and the United Nations. In the
future, the United Nations is likely to pursue a pragmatic policy of
185
promoting human rights on a worldwide scale. One of the major

achievements and assets of Russia in the past few years is that it has
becom e a part of that global process; it is learning to think in terms of
those traditions in history which further human and civil rights,
independence and freedom. These are the principles that should
prevail in foreign policy.
In this context, it is of immense importance today to reveal the
essence of national and state interests. Assuming that foreign policy is
geared towards advancing state interests and ensuring the country’s
security, we must introduce significant changes in our approach to
these issues. One country’s national interests should not be realized at
the expense of others. Ideally, national interests should correspond to
the interests o f humanity. Then foreign policy would be moral,
humane and ethically just. Historians must trace humanism back to its
origins in world history and examine its evolution, as well as its
manifestations, in the twentieth century.
Morality in foreign policy is only part of the greater issue of
morality in history. In the past, this subject was totally ignored in
Soviet historiography, having been regarded as a deviation from the
Marxist-Leninist concept of history. It is not very popular in Western
historiography, either. Studies of ethical and moral aspects o f history
make it possible to extend the scope of historical research and to
bridge the gap between science and politics. While touching on those
subjects, the historian examines, as it were, his own moral position
and feels more keenly his responsibility to society and humanity.
186
17
International Affairs at the End of the

Cold War
Igor Lebedev
The radically new situation in world affairs resulting from the break-up
o f the USSR and the emergence of the Commonwealth of Independent
States, calls for a thorough examination of the responsibilities inherited
by the “new Russia”. The course of history is irreversible. But the
question remains: Will Russia assume the role of successor?
In the legal sphere, the Russian Federation has expressed its will
ingness to fulfill commitments undertaken by the USSR in the most im
portant of 16,000 treaties it concluded. It has reconfirmed its readiness
to ratify and implement all agreements on arms control, especially
those relating to strategic weapons cuts and the reduction of troops
and weapons in Europe, as well as other agreements, including those
passed in the UN, on global and pan-European issues. A few of the
less important agreements will probably be declared invalid, should
they prove inapplicable under current circumstances.
With regard to Russia’s historical legacy, the issues are far more
complex. Despite the plurality of views on current developments, the
dynamics and inner logic of events remain unchanged. Even today we
find ourselves hostages of the past. Rarely do we experience sudden
breaks in historical continuity or can we claim that a particular epoch
belongs to the past. Yet, it seems that we are now witnessing just such
an historic opening, when the end of the Cold War between the two
Great Powers offers an opportunity to inaugurate a new era of
partnership.
It has been said that history is the most doctrinaire and politicized
scholarly field in Russia. This has broad implications for diplomacy,
since current policy is being formulated largely on the basis of past
experience. It also affects the question of Russia’s historical
accountability. The appearance of a Russian state which, on the one
hand, has emerged quite recently and, on the other, has age-long
187
experience in foreign policy activity to rely upon, presents other states

with two alternatives: to accept Russia unconditionally into the
community of nations as an ally, or to put obstacles in the way of its
attempts to join this community by holding Russia responsible for
mistakes made by the Soviet regime.
Fortunately, the former approach seems to predominate. For
instance, when George Bush received Boris Yeltsin during his first visit
to the United States as Head of State, the American President empha
sized that the two leaders were meeting as friends, not foes. According
to Bush, that historic encounter was further proof that the Cold War
had ended and a new era had begun. President Yeltsin’s reply was in
the same vein: “From this moment on we shall no longer regard each
other as potential enemies, as it was previously in our military
doctrine.”1 Russians are impressed by the fact that American scholars
have compared Yeltsin’s visit to the United States and his meetings
with world leaders to the Yalta and Potsdam conferences. Such
assessments constitute a major departure from the Cold War mentality.
The onset of the Cold War, shortly after the end of World War II,
redefined relations between the former members of the Grand
Alliance. The Cold War was a complicated global phenom enon which
permeated virtually all aspects of international affairs, including the
military and political spheres, bilateral relations, and international
trade and econom ic policy. It was also manifest in manoeuvres and
conflicts on regional issues — not only in Europe and the Far East but
also in the Middle East, Africa, the Caribbean and South Asia.
It is difficult to say what the key factor in that confrontation was:
adherence to ideological principles, or the pursuit by both sides of
great power politics and the use of pressure tactics to gain influence.
What is clear is that together, these two factors generated a policy of
brinkmanship.
An objective, in-depth study by diplomats and scholars of the
origins and conduct of the Cold War, would be of immense importance
in filling in some of the “blank pages” of history, and drawing
conclusions for the future. Knowledge and comprehension of history
are a substantial guarantee for avoiding miscalculations and mistakes
in our current efforts to improve the international climate.
Following is a brief look at Russia’s current stand on problems
emanating from its confrontation with the United States from the
second half of the 1940s to 1980. The two main features of the Cold
War era, the subordination of international relations to ideology and
imposition of policies from a position of strength, have been rejected.
Russia’s leaders have attempted to alleviate mutual distrust by
renouncing the use of psychological warfare, as well as Russian
188
END OF THE COLD WAR
involvement in the arms race and ideologically-based conflicts. Inter

national relations, grounded in sober econom ic policies and common
sense, are naturally more stable than a balance of fear and suspicion.
The more farsighted experts have long been aware of this. American
political analyst Theodore Sorensen declared back in 1990 that “the
touchstone of our nation’s security concept — the containment of
Soviet military and ideological power — is gone”.2
The direct threat of a global nuclear conflict has passed. New
realities are now being created in international politics and the current
disposition of Russian-American relations is the moving force behind
these changes. The continued improvement of relations will, no doubt,
contribute positively to resolving major international issues.
It is extremely significant that the United States and the entire world
community now recognize the special responsibility vested in Russia
by virtue of its status as a nuclear power. There is a real opportunity to
radically cut strategic offensive and tactical nuclear weapons and
resolutely pursue a policy of halting nuclear tests and eventually
stopping them altogether. The short-term goal of Russian diplomacy is
to achieve radical cuts in nuclear weapons, put an end to the arms race
and find a way to achieve minimal nuclear sufficiency; the ultimate
aim is liquidation of nuclear arsenals and the creation of a modern
security system.
In the post-Cold War era guiding principles for Russian-American
relations have been established. They include:
- refusal to regard one another as potential enemies, transition to a
system o f relations based on friendship and partnership, mutual
trust, respect and commitment to the principles of democracy and
econom ic freedom;
- an end to the arms race and reduction of strategic arsenals;
- active joint efforts to prevent the proliferation of weapons o f mass
destruction and related military technology;
- limitations on the proliferation of state-of-the-art conventional
weapons systems;
- establishment of a new system of international relations, based on
rejection of aggression and political diktat, peaceful settlement of
regional conflicts, an enhanced role for the UN and peaceful
changes in the world;
- prevention of relapses into confrontation and force on the
international scene;
- a readiness to strive for the promotion of common values and
ideals of democracy, the supremacy of law, morals, respect for
human rights, including the rights of national minorities;
- expansion of Russian-American bilateral relations, cultural contacts,
189
exchanges with state and public organizations, promotion of

tourism;
- promotion of free trade and investment, and econom ic, scientific
and technical cooperation betw een the two countries;
- pursuit of a joint struggle against terrorism and drug trafficking, and
in support of trade and environmental protection measures.
Both sides welcome the end of the Cold War and share respon
sibility for formulating a new approach to the framework of coopera
tion, and even alliance, that will accord with the spirit of the times. It is
widely believed in Russia that in the near future the traditional concept
of “alliance” will have to be reassessed. Until recently, alliances were
established by countries exclusively to contain other countries. They
divided regions rather than united them. This phenomenon reached its
peak during the Cold War era. A new approach to forming alliances is
required, which will be based on the alignment of countries in
response to radically different but very real threats. Russia and the
United States must cooperate for the sake of their common goals of
reducing stockpiles of nuclear arms, banning and eventually eliminat
ing chemical weapons, and providing living conditions and an
environment fit for human beings.
Both sides should liberate themselves from the mutual distrust
which has affected their relations. A calculated, responsible and
considerate approach will decisively and resolutely advance the cause
of peace, while disregard for the “balance of interests” could lead to
destabilization.
Currently, plans for material support to the Commonwealth of
Independent States (CIS) are being drawn up by the world community.
In order to avoid past mistakes, Russia needs to call upon historical
precedent. Thus it is showing great interest in the experience of the
Marshall Plan, introduced in 1947.
It should be pointed out, for example, that on the issue of historical
responsibility, Russia has openly condemned past mistakes. Russia has
reassessed the 1956 events in Hungary and the 1968 events in
Czechoslovakia, which, it should be remembered, occurred in an
atmosphere of confrontation between the two hostile blocs, when
international relations were distorted by ideological considerations. It
is now felt that the former members of the socialist bloc should not
becom e its enemies. On the contrary, it is only natural that there be
cooperation between them and the Russian Federation.
This process of reassessment has led to the declassification of
documents. Crucial information about the 1968 events in
Czechoslovakia, for example, may be found in Vestnik No. 24, 1991 (a
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END OF THE COLD WAR
publication of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian

Federation), which includes cable correspondence between Prague
and Moscow during that period. Moreover, the Ministry o f Foreign
Affairs of the Russian Federation reached an agreement with the US
Department of State, on releasing confidential correspondence
between Nikita Khrushchev and John F. Kennedy between 22 October
and 14 Decem ber 1962 during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The collection
constitutes exceptionally valuable historical material for diplomats and
researchers.5
A dispassionate approach to the legacy of Soviet foreign policy,
which will assist in establishing Russia’s identity and responsibilities, is
essential for the stability of the entire world. To quote from a
somewhat unexpected source — the article “To the Stalin
Mausoleum”, which was heavily criticized in Russia and published in
the United States by an author using the pseudonym “Z”: “Even
though after seventy years the road to the putative ‘radiant future’ of
mankind no longer leads through Moscow, the road to world peace
still does.”4
NOTES
1. D iplomaticheskii vestnik4-5 (1992), p. 13.

2. Theodore C. Sorensen, “Rethinking National Security”, Foreign Affairs (Summer 1990),
p. 1.
3. These documents were published jointly by the Foreign Ministry of the Russian
Federation and the US Department of State in special May 1992 issues of
M ezhdunarodnaia z h iz n ’ and Problems o f Communism.
4. Z., “To the Stalin Mausoleum”, D aedalus (Dec. 1989), p. 296. The American historian
Martin Malia later admitted authorship of the article.
191
18
From Cold War To New World Order
VIKTOR KUVALDIN
The end of the Cold War, like its genesis, cannot be pinpointed pre
cisely in time. Rather, the transition was gradual, reflecting circum
stantial changes in the international arena. Since it is generally agreed
that the Cold War is now a thing o f the past, the time has com e to
reflect on the nature of the conflict.
In the first place it is essential to establish the primacy of either
politics or ideology as the motivating factor in the Cold War, for this
determines our whole perception of it, including its periodization, its
causes and results, and the forces driving its leading figures. Moreover,
it enables us to understand the characteristics of the postwar world
order. If the basis for the Cold War was entirely ideological, one might
assume that it began in October 1917 and ended in August 1991, with
the downfall of the communist regime. In fact, the ideological conflict
created only the preconditions required for global confrontation b e
tween the two superpowers. The specific circumstances that brought
about the confrontation itself arose in the early years following World
War II and prevailed for the next four decades. Throughout this era,
political considerations took precedence over ideological ones —
although the two were often intertwined. The actions of both powers
were motivated by real or imagined national interests, not by
ideological differences, however deep these may have been.
The Cold War was a com plex phenomenon which should be
divided into several distinct phases. It can be classified as a war in the
narrowest sense only when referring to the period from 1947 to 1962.
At that time, there was a real possibility o f deliberate escalation leading
to a military clash. The Cuban Missile Crisis revealed the danger of
pursuing this type of policy and led to a degree of caution which
essentially removed the threat of global conflict from the agenda.
The well-known characterization of the years 1962-1985 as a
192
COLD WAR TO NEW ORDER
period of “neither war nor peace” is extremely fitting. A desire seems

to have existed, not so much to expand, as to fortify existing spheres
of influence. Both the United States and the Soviet Union sought to
avoid direct confrontation. The antagonism between them was guided
more by the course of events than by will. For example, the super
powers did not initiate, but rather were drawn into the two most
dangerous military conflicts of that period — the wars in Vietnam and
Afghanistan.
In the second half of the 1980s, the Cold War was gradually
superseded in world politics by a new model of relations between the
superpowers: the transition from enmity and confrontation to mutual
understanding and cooperation.
It is highly significant that the Cold War ended a year and a half
prior to the collapse of the Bolshevik system. Events during that period
demonstrate that the USSR could have taken an active part in the
establishment of the new world order, even without renouncing the
primacy of socialism. The successful development of relations be
tween China and the West during the 1970s and 1980s confirms that
there is nothing preposterous about such a proposition.
The initiative for bringing about an end to the Cold War was taken
by the Soviet Union. A sober assessment of both the domestic and
international situation led the new Soviet leadership to seek
normalization of relations with the West. Towards the middle of the
1980s the arms race had becom e an unbearable burden for the
faltering Soviet economy. Gorbachev’s radical reforms could only be
carried out if drastic cuts were made in the military-industrial complex
to which all econom ic activity was subordinate. No less important was
the demilitarization of all public life: eliminating the “besieged
fortress” mentality, renouncing force as the sole means of resolving
conflicts, transforming both the army and KGB into normal state
institutions, and channeling the nation’s enormous creative potential
into productive activity.
Domestic exigencies had becom e more acute because of the
demands of foreign policy. Towards the middle of the 1980s it becam e
clear that the Soviet Union could no longer claim superpower status.
Its allies were primarily underdeveloped countries in the Third World
whose interests were purely mercenary. The deadlocked war in
Afghanistan had revealed the incompetence of the huge Soviet military
machine. Moreover, the West had reached a level of technological
superiority that the USSR could not feasibly attain. Thus, the idea of
achieving strategic parity was totally unrealistic. This pointless and
dangerous game had to be terminated with minimal losses to the
USSR.
193
The shift in foreign policy was made possible by a revolution in the

consciousness of certain elements of the Soviet elite. This fact has been
underestimated by both Western and Soviet researchers, although
studies carried out by Moscow’s “think tanks” had detected a sense of
discontent among the intelligentsia, high government officials, leading
economists and even members of the party apparatus. O f course, none
of these people went beyond the bounds of the system in seeking
remedies for the chronic illnesses of socialist society, but they clearly
understood that things could not continue as they were. The sphere of
foreign policy presented a range of opportunities for bold reform, in
particular because there the conservative opposition was weaker. The
appointment in summer of 1985 of Eduard Shevardnadze to the post of
Foreign Minister in place of the veteran diplomat Andrei Gromyko,
reflected the desire to take a fresh look at the outside world.
Gorbachev’s “new political thinking” was neither a tactical ploy,
nor a means of camouflaging devious schemes. He might sooner be
accused of a certain degree of naivite, o f not fully comprehending the
harsh realities o f international politics, or of underestimating the
significance of national and state interests in global politics.
Impressing a new map of the world on the minds of a large
segment of the Soviet political elite was just part of the fundamental
process of reassessing communist dogma, which took place in the
USSR towards the end of the 1980s. Even those who remained true to
socialist ideals to the end tried to reinterpret them along Western lines.
The priority given to democratic principles in the official inter
pretation of socialism paved the way for the reintegration of the Soviet
Union into Europe and brought about the irreversible collapse of the
Manichaean world view. In contrast to the eras of detente under both
Khrushchev and Brezhnev, the issue was now one of total revision of
the fundamentals of foreign policy. O f course the process was far from
simple or straightforward. Gorbachev’s foreign policy met with very
strong opposition from the party apparatus, the military-industrial
complex, the army and conservatives. This opposition increased
considerably in the late 1980s, when it becam e clear that the end of the
Cold War would leave the Soviet Union markedly weaker and stripped
of its superpower status.
The loss of Soviet supremacy in Eastern Europe substantially
undermined Gorbachev’s domestic policy. Among the population,
especially the older generation, there was noticeably increased
concern over a foreign threat. In addition, the memory of World War II
with its enormous losses and sacrifices was an unfavourable
background for the politics of the “new thinking”.
Anti-communist revolutions in the so-called socialist countries of
194
Eastern and Central Europe served as a threatening m em ento m ori for

the Soviet n om enklatu ra . A considerable segment of the privileged
elite lined up in open opposition to Gorbachev and began attacking
his foreign policy. The Soviet President had to manoeuvre more
skillfully than ever to fight off these conservatives and reactionaries.
The process o f formulating a position on the Persian Gulf, between
Iraq’s annexation of Kuwait and the actual outbreak of war, provides
substance for assessing the direction in which Soviet foreign policy
evolved during the final period of the country’s existence. Liberated
from the Cold War legacy, the former superpower sought possibilities
to create a more humane and just world order.
The annexation of Kuwait by Iraq came as a total surprise to
Gorbachev, who immediately adopted a firm stance against the Iraqi
invasion. This was not an easy decision. The Soviet Union was tied to
Iraq by a Treaty o f Friendship and Cooperation. Thousands o f Soviet
specialists, whose lives could have been in danger, were employed in
Iraq. Substantial Soviet economic and political interests were at stake.
In addition, the broader context of relations in the Middle East, and in
the Arab world, where the Soviet Union had significant influence, had
to be taken into consideration.
The task was not made any easier by domestic political concerns. It
was during this period that the conservatives launched a counter
attack, in an effort to regain their lost status. A broad-based process of
democratization opened the government to criticism from all sides. Six
Muslim republics with a population totalling 60 million demanded that
special attention be paid to the fate of Iraqi civilians.
Under these com plex circumstances, the Soviet leadership pursued
a policy aimed at restraining Iraq and re-establishing the inde
pendence and territorial integrity o f Kuwait. Throughout, Gorbachev
sought to resolve the conflict by diplomatic means, in an effort to
avoid unnecessary victims and future complications. With these goals
in mind, Moscow tried to influence the Iraqi regime using whatever
connections were still intact. An agreement in principle on this course
of action was achieved at a meeting between Gorbachev and Bush in
Helsinki on 9 September 1990.
It appears that the United States, not fully trusting its former rival,
did not keep the Soviet Union informed of its military plans.
Confronted by unilateral action on the part of its new ally, the
Gorbachev regime was forced to consider independent diplomatic
steps which would allow it to defend the legitimate interests of the
USSR in the Persian Gulf. However, these steps did not infringe on the
USSR’s agreements with the United States or violate the united front in
the struggle against Saddam Hussein.
195
This conflict struck a harsh blow at Gorbachev’s vision of the new,

post-Cold War world order. The tireless efforts of the Soviet leader to
achieve a peaceful solution did not succeed in preventing a massive
use of force or heavy human losses. All the parties involved in the
conflict were given an object-lesson in world politics: force remains
the most decisive and intelligible argument. Mikhail Gorbachev, the
“prophet” of the “new political thinking”, was weakened as a direct
result of the war.
The process of parting from the Cold War was no less difficult for
the Americans than for the Russians — although it was less dramatic. A
willingness in principle to renounce the ideology of global confronta
tion was evident at the Geneva and Reykjavik summits in 1985 and
1986. However, United States’ foreign policy activity was complicated
by the anti-communist beliefs of the President and his advisers and,
moreover, was implemented with excessive caution during 1987-88,
the final years o f the progressively paralysed Reagan Administration.
Nor can it be said that the Administration of George Bush got off to
a quick start in foreign policy, particularly in US-Soviet relations. The
President’s highly professional staff was in no hurry to redefine the
American position in the face of new realities. The process o f policy
reformulation dragged on until the summer of 1989, and even longer
in regard to the Soviet-American dialogue — until the Shevardnadze-
Baker talks at the end of September.
In Malta, the two Presidents reached a mutual understanding on the
major issues, which opened the way to peaceful transformation of the
postwar order in Europe, liquidation of the East European communist
regimes, unification of Germany and an intensification o f the Helsinki
process.
The dismantling of Cold War political structures has offered new
opportunities, but has posed serious new problems, as well. The
disintegration of the Soviet Union has created a political vacuum in
many regions. The rapidly changing “rules of the game”, have con
tributed to the atmosphere of uncertainty and instability. Numerous
zones of strife have emerged in the centre of Eurasia and major
international conflicts have already erupted (for example, in the
Persian Gulf and Yugoslavia).
A political vacuum cannot exist for long. The end of the Cold War
has generated an urgent need for the major powers to reassess their
positions. This is all the more pressing in light of the destructive
potential of modern weaponry. The Gulf War, which was the first
international crisis in the post-Cold War era, forced the United States
and Europe, the Muslim states, the Soviet Union, the countries o f Asia
and the UN, to take a stand in a changing world. The anti-Iraq
196
coalition which was formed, and behind which lay a wide range of
national interests, may to a great extent be viewed as an embryonic
prototype for the new world order.
At present, the contours o f this new order are still vague. We
cannot even say for certain whether the system of relations will have
single or multiple centres. Without question, the United States has
emerged as an unrivalled superpower — unlikely to face any military
challenge in the foreseeable future. On the other hand, doubts persist
over America’s ability to maintain its status as world leader. The
country’s econom y is unstable, in particular as a result of huge military
expenditures. America has also been drained by the exhausting super
power confrontation, and is in need of a respite to put its somewhat
neglected house in order.
O f course, not everything is in the hands of the United States. It is
difficult to determine the extent to which other leading powers such as
Japan, Germany, Russia, China and India will tolerate American
supremacy. It is doubtful that they will be satisfied with a subordinate
role. In the long term they will probably aspire to having a voice in
establishing the future of the vital Eurasian region. Perhaps these
powers will join forces in order to strengthen their position vis-a-vis
the USA.
In contrast to the United States, Russia must rebuild its foreign
policy from the bottom up. While Russia is the recognized legal heir to
the Soviet Union in the international arena, it is, in fact, a different state
and is unable to follow the course set by Gorbachev. Russia faces a
long and difficult period of domestic transformation, of defining the
contours o f national and state interests, and of searching for its place
in the global constellation o f power. At present, the only thing which
can be stated with a reasonable degree of certainty is that in the
foreseeable future its role will be significantly more modest than that
of the USSR in its day, and that its sphere of interests will be limited to
Eurasia. The fundamental priorities of Russian foreign policy will be
determined by a harsh domestic struggle, whose outcome will depend
largely on the new social forces which emerge.
197
19
Moscow and the Gulf War:

The Policies of a Collapsing
Superpower
CAROL R. SAIVETZ
The “new political thinking” of former President Mikhail Gorbachev

revolutionized Soviet domestic politics and led to a reassessment of
Moscow’s role in the international political system. The obvious
econom ic decline of the Soviet Union was probably the major factor in
its decisions to sign arms control agreements, cut the cords with
Eastern Europe, and end its costly involvement in regional conflicts.
For both domestic and foreign observers, the “new thinking” and its
policies signified the diminishing superpower status of the Soviet
Union. Gorbachev’s critics on the right argued that Moscow should
remain committed to the old ways and retain an independent foreign
policy; “new thinkers” on the left questioned whether being a
superpower was worth the cost.
On 2 August 1990, Iraq invaded and occupied neighbouring
Kuwait. Over the years, the USSR had enjoyed a long-standing political
and military relationship with this Middle Eastern state. Moscow had
helped to develop the Iraqi oil industry, had signed a Treaty of
Friendship and Cooperation (1972) and sold an estimated $14 billion
worth of arms to Baghdad. Nonetheless, in the context of the
tremendous international changes then taking place, including the US-
Soviet rapprochem ent and efforts to end regional conflicts, the attack
on Kuwait becam e a test of both the “new political thinking” and the
Kremlin’s superpower status.
This chapter will explore Moscow’s policies in the Gulf in light of
the decline in the former USSR’s power and status in world affairs. The
first section will examine the policies pursued by Moscow as the crisis
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MOSCOW AND THE GULF WAR
unfolded,1 and the second will look at the debates surrounding the
decline of the Soviet Union and moves to salvage its prestige and
position after the war. The final section will analyze the impact of the
war on Soviet and post-Soviet Middle East policies.
When a crisis which had been brewing for several months erupted
on 2 August 1990 with the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, US Secretary of
State Jam es Baker and Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze
were meeting in Irkutsk. The next day, Baker and Shevardnadze
returned to Moscow, where they issued a joint statement condemning
the invasion and demanding the withdrawal of Iraqi forces. Earlier, an
official Soviet spokesman had called for the “urgent and unconditional
withdrawal of Iraqi troops from Kuwaiti territory”.2 The Soviet Union
also announced that it had suspended arms shipments to Baghdad.
Despite Moscow’s condemnation of the invasion and support for
US initiatives at the United Nations, Kremlin leaders were under
pressure to act differently for two reasons. First, there was apparently
heated debate within decision-making circles about whether voting for
an international econom ic embargo against Iraq, and for the use of
force to uphold this embargo, would jeopardize the lives of those
Soviet civilian and military personnel still in Iraq. Second, voices were
heard among the conservatives urging the USSR not to abandon its
commitment to Iraq. Indeed, from the outset, Gorbachev indicated that
Moscow would maintain ties with Saddam Hussein.
A month later, on 9 September, Gorbachev and President George
Bush met in Helsinki to discuss events in Europe and the Gulf crisis.
Despite growing cooperation between the two superpowers, differ
ences in their approaches to the Gulf had surfaced by the time of the
summit. Moscow had only reluctantly gone along with the UN Security
Council Resolution authorizing the use of force to police the embargo
on Iraq, and Gorbachev himself also seemed somewhat sympathetic to
Baghdad’s attempts to link the Kuwait crisis with Palestinian is s u e s .3
Nonetheless, in their joint statement, the two leaders reaffirmed their
support for the resolutions of the Security Council and intimated that if
those were not sufficient, then further action would be necessary. Yet,
when pressed at a news conference about the use of force and Soviet
participation in military action, Gorbachev reiterated his preference for
a peaceful resolution to the conflict.4
The question of Soviet participation in the military coalition formed
by President Bush, haunted Soviet politicians throughout the crisis. In
a major address at the UN in late September 1990, Shevardnadze
soundly condemned Iraq for violating international law and pointed
out that the UN could “suppress acts of aggression”. He called for the
revitalization of the Security Council’s Military Staff Committee to deal
199
with the unfolding crisis and, most significantly, offered to contribute

Soviet troops.5 It should be noted that this was not the first call for the
empowerment of the Military Staff Committee. In the later stages of the
Iran-Iraq War, the USSR had also urged the Committee into action so as
to replace the then growing US naval presence with international
troops under a United Nations flag.6
Shevardnadze’s comments elicited strong condemnation from
several quarters within the Soviet Union. When the issue was debated
in the Supreme Soviet, some delegates criticized the mere suggestion
that the USSR should send troops abroad. Given the high Soviet
casualty rate in Afghanistan, the reluctance to becom e involved in yet
another Third World conflict was understandable.7 Others argued
against Soviet participation on wholly conservative grounds. They did
not want to see Soviet troops arrayed against long-time ally Iraq.
As events in the Gulf developed, Soviet policy toward the crisis
exhibited these conflicting pressures. Rhetorically, the Gorbachev
regime continued to support the United Nations and the US effort to
compel the eviction of Iraqi troops from Kuwait. This policy was
conducted under the direction of the Foreign Ministry and those “new
thinkers” who saw Iraq’s attack on Kuwait as immoral. Simultaneously,
Gorbachev seemed to respond to a group composed of the so-called
Arabists and those who could be labelled neo-conservatives.
This second group was represented by Evgenii Primakov, an old
Middle East hand and former director of both the Institute of Oriental
Studies and the Institute of World Economics and International
Relations. Primakov, paradoxically, was also a “new thinker” who had
penned one of the early seminal pieces on new political thinking and
foreign policy.8 Moreover, he had vast experience in the Middle East
and a long-standing personal relationship with Saddam Hussein.
Primakov argued forcefully that the USSR should pursue an
independent foreign policy. In a television interview he asserted, for
example, that “the Soviet flag has been shown, and it is being per
ceived very positively. We are a superpower and we have our own
line, our own policies, we are demonstrating this point.”9
Unable to choose betw een these two approaches and policies,
Gorbachev pursued both simultaneously. As noted above, while
supporting the Security Council resolutions, the USSR kept com
munications with Baghdad open, thus providing Moscow with
manoeuverability as the crisis dragged on. The Soviet Ambassador to
the UN, Iulii Vorontsov, continued to work with the US and the
Security Council, while at three different times, Primakov was dis
patched to Baghdad to see if face-saving measures for Saddam
Hussein could be devised and war could be averted.
200
Primakov traveled to Baghdad on 4 -5 October, and again on 28-30

October. His ostensible assignment was to work out details for the
evacuation of Soviet citizens stranded in Iraq because of the crisis; his
main task was to try to convince Saddam to withdraw. In a series of
articles in Pravda, Primakov described his negotiations.10 During that
first trip, Saddam tried to convince the Soviet envoy that Kuwait was
an integral part of Iraq; but he also allegedly acknowledged that under
certain circumstances withdrawal from Kuwait could be effected.
According to Primakov, Saddam Hussein did agree to the repatriation
of Soviet citizens, but at a relatively slow pace. During the second
Baghdad trip, Saddam supposedly sought assurances that if he
withdrew from Kuwait, US troops would be removed from the region.
However, for all practical purposes, Primakov left Baghdad empty-
handed.
By late November, Gorbachev was apparently convinced that
Saddam could not be induced to leave Kuwait voluntarily, and the
USSR — albeit reluctantly — voted for Security Council Resolution 678,
authorizing the use of all necessary means to liberate the country.
Soviet verbal support for the UN resolutions earned Moscow a $1
billion credit line from Kuwait, a $4 billion loan from Saudi Arabia, and
a $175 million investment in a joint Soviet-Saudi bank located in Alma
Ata. Nonetheless, Gorbachev, supported by the French, succeeded in
persuading the Security Council to build a delay until 15 January into
the resolution.
As war becam e inevitable, the diplomatic line pursued by
Shevardnadze came under increasing criticism and he ultimately
resigned in Decem ber 1990.11 The critics included supporters of
Saddam and radical proponents of the Arabist line, as well as those
who were concerned about the significant US presence so close to
Soviet borders. Finally, they were joined by observers who felt that
Moscow was losing its ability to determine its policy independently.
This conservative coalition was strengthened by domestic events.
Gorbachev’s shift to the right becam e apparent from October 1990
when he rejected Shatalin’s “500 Day Plan” for the transition to a
market economy, and was confirmed by the crackdowns in Lithuania
and Latvia in January 1991. The resulting ascent of the military and the
KGB virtually guaranteed that vociferous criticism of US policy and of
Soviet support for that policy would be heard. Once the Gulf War
began on 16/17 January, these denunciations reached a climax. The
United States was accused of wanting to destroy Iraq and Saddam
Hussein and of pushing the USSR to the sidelines. Moreover, the Soviet
military wanted to protect the Iraqi military establishment that it had
worked so hard to create. The Supreme Soviet, at the instigation of
201
these conservative groups, passed resolutions urging Gorbachev to

seek an end to the war as quickly as possible.
This set the stage for Primakov’s third mediatory trip to Baghdad.
Following a month of intensive coalition bombing designed to destroy
Iraqi command and control facilities, the Soviet envoy was sent to
Baghdad to devise a final plan to avoid the total destruction of Iraq.
Soviet efforts resulted in a vaguely worded agreement according to
which Iraq would withdraw from Kuwait in 21 days in return for the
annulment of the other Security Council resolutions.12 Even with
several modifications, the plan was rejected by President Bush, and the
ground offensive began on 24 February.
It is important to note why this last-ditch mediation effort was
launched. In the first place, it represented a continuation of the Arabist
line, that is, an attempt to save Iraq and Saddam Hussein. As a
corollary, we can presume that there was tremendous pressure from
the Soviet military to save the Iraqi military establishment and to avoid
the humiliating defeat of a force armed with Soviet weaponry. Over
the course of the war several articles appeared in both military and
civilian publications questioning Western claims of superiority. Some
even alleged that Soviet weapons would have performed better in
Soviet — rather than Iraqi — hands. It was further argued that if
Moscow’s efforts had led to a negotiated cease-fire and Iraqi with
drawal, then Gorbachev might have been able to placate the Arabists
and neo-conservatives and to pursue the “new political thinking”
simultaneously.
As noted at the outset, the Gulf War came at a time of unprece
dented international change. Additionally, glasnost at home facilitated
the open and far reaching debate about Gulf policies and, of course,
other foreign policies as well. In some respects, the debates may be
summarized as public discussion about whether or not the USSR was
to remain a superpower and, if so, the costs that this would entail.
Reluctantly, Soviet international affairs specialists concluded that
superpower status depended upon economic and political power as
well as on military might. Thus, the acknowledged econom ic failures
of the Soviet Union and the image of the Soviet leadership lurching
from one political crisis to another, all cast doubt on M oscow’s
international standing. In the words of Georgii Mirskii, an outspoken
critic of Soviet policy in the Middle East:
A nation’s international standing depends to a tremendous extent on the
state of its internal affairs, the authority and stability of the system that
exists within it and the capacity of its leadership for achieving recognition
of its domestic policy in the outside world. It is in this respect that our
affairs are currently far from dazzling.13
202
“New thinkers”, therefore, grappled with several interrelated

questions. Given the Soviet Union’s new domestic circumstances could
Moscow afford to be a superpower? Was there a cheaper way to
remain a superpower? Could the Kremlin retain its superpower status
through new policies? At issue was not only the fact that Soviet citizens
were immersed in their domestic problems, but also that the
oscillations in Soviet domestic politics held definite repercussions for
Middle East politics and foreign policy in general. In addition, there
was the question of what the USSR could offer its clients. As a New
Times correspondent wrote: “The role and weight of a state are
determined by its econom ic and diplomatic achievements. The Soviet
Union can be on a par with the United States only in arms transfers.”14
And, as several observers noted, military equipment which was
routinely transferred to Middle East clients in the past, could in fact
create a threat to the USSR itself.15
This line of thinking led Soviet commentators to conclude that the
changed circumstances necessitated a new approach to Moscow’s
global role and the adoption of new tools with which to pursue the
Kremlin’s foreign policy objectives. No consensus, however, existed
among the leadership on precisely those foreign policy objectives.
Some analysts argued that the Soviet Union was torn between
redefining its role in the world and following older doctrinaire
policies.16 A New Times columnist maintained that the Arabist/neo
conservative line represented a “misinterpreted vision of state
interests”.17 And Aleksandr Bovin, the outspoken Izvestiia political
observer, noted that future Middle East policies must be determined by
Soviet interests — in particular, establishing relations with Israel and
not giving in to the Arabs. This, however, did not exclude support for
Palestinian statehood.18
Primakov’s trip in February 1991 and Soviet proposals for postwar
security arrangements in the Gulf, reflected both the signs of weakness
and disarray noted above and the desire to seek an easier — and less
costly — way to remain a force in the Gulf and the Middle East. The
visit demonstrated a slightly differentiated foreign policy line and
constituted, in many respects, a declaration of independence. In the
words of Bovin: “The operation to rescue Iraq was meant to have one
more political effect — to stress the autonomy and independence of
the USSR’s Near East policy...”19 And in a longer analytical piece in
Moscow News, Andrei Kortunov argued that Washington and Moscow
have similar, but not identical interests in the Gulf region.20
In addition, Primakov’s mission and the Soviet mediation effort
were clearly designed to enhance Soviet prestige and perhaps guaran
tee the Soviet Union a future role in the region. If it had been
203
successful, the USSR would have won accolades and worldwide

gratitude. The Kremlin would have shown that it was a responsible
and trustworthy member of the international community. Moreover, if
those negotiations had led to regional security arrangements in which
the Soviet Union played a role, then Moscow’s stake in the Arab world
would have been secured.
With the cessation of hostilities at the end of February, calls for new
security arrangements becam e more pressing. Within hours of the
cease-fire, Aleksandr Bessmertnykh, Shevardnadze’s successor, held a
news conference in which he outlined steps to ensure that hostilities
were not renewed. These measures included: an urgent meeting of the
Security Council; international discussions of a security system; the
participation of Iraq in that security system; and a study o f arms
supplies to the region.21 In a detailed statement following Baker’s trip
to Moscow on 16 March, Foreign Ministry Spokesman Vitalii Churkin
outlined a six-point Soviet plan for peace in the region:
1. The states of the region should have the key role in defining the new
structures; however, “the arrangements must promote the interaction
of all countries connected to the region, as well as the interaction of
states that do not directly belong to it but make an important
contribution to sustaining peace and stability there”.
2. There should be a limitation on the sale of arms to the region.
Moreover, the area should be cleared of nuclear, biological and
chemical weapons.
3. The presence of foreign troops should not exceed the levels reached
on 1 August 1990.
4. Economic cooperation should be implemented so as to facilitate the
reconstruction of the region.
5. The United Nations should guarantee compliance with any formal
accords elaborated. To this end, the Security Council’s Military Staff
Committee should be reactivated.
6 . Finally, the causes of regional instability, including the Arab-Israeli
dispute, should be removed.22
A careful analysis of this scheme reveals several important points.

First, the plan responded to the very genuine Soviet security concern
about long-range missiles possibly targeted on the USSR, or about
some future use o f nuclear, chemical or biological weapons which
could, at the least, contaminate regions of the Soviet Union. Second,
the proposals were clearly responsive to Arab concerns. They
implicitly recognized “linkage” between a settlement of the Gulf crisis
and the Arab-Israeli dispute. Moreover, they prevented Iraq from
becoming a pariah nation. Third, the plan sought to eliminate the
massive US military build-up in the Gulf. Not only were all troop levels
to be reduced, but activation of the Military Staff Committee might
prevent future unilateral action by Washington. Last, as in
204
Bessmertnykh’s earlier proposals, the plan was designed to guarantee

the Soviet Union a major say in regional affairs.
Taken together, these proposals indicated that from the period
prior to the attempted coup in August until the ultimate collapse of the
Soviet Union in Decem ber 1991, Moscow was determined not to
abandon its role in this geopolitically important region. In fact, if
anything, the new rhetoric and policies were designed to maintain the
Soviet Union’s Middle East stature. The Kremlin’s status would be
enhanced by being the co-convenor of a Middle East peace conference
and the revitalization of the Military Staff Committee would assure
Moscow a regional role. Finally, the reduction of foreign troop levels
would also eliminate one of the Arabists’ and neo-conservatives’
consistent criticisms of Moscow’s past policies. Beyond the specifics of
a settlement for the Gulf crisis or even some sort of long-term security
arrangement, the USSR — until Decem ber — was apparently searching
for a transformed regional role. As a Soviet television commentator
noted:
It is not just growth in our customary links with our traditional partners in
the zone of the Middle East that is required. What is needed is a
qualitatively new level of relations with the Gulf countries, that is, Saudi
Arabia, Kuwait, Oman, Bahrain, and the UAE. Ties with Egypt, Syria, and
other Arab states need to be substantially expanded...I want to give a
special mention to the fact that in the light of this future work, the
absence of diplomatic relations between our country and Israel is a legacy
of the evil past...23
That Moscow saw its superpower status ensured by just such a

policy may be seen in Aleksandr Bessmertnykh’s trip to the Middle
East in May 1991. The Foreign Minister traveled to Syria, Jordan, Israel
and Egypt. The visit to Damascus was part of the continuing
relationship with Syria while those to Amman and Cairo represented
enhanced ties to moderate Arab states. The six hours in Israel
highlighted the transformation in Soviet policy: Bessmertnykh was the
highest ranking Soviet official ever to visit Israel.
The crisis precipitated by the failed hardline coup in Moscow in
August 1991 is beyond the scope of this chapter; nonetheless, several
preliminary points that relate to Soviet policy in the Gulf, and to the
Middle East more generally, need to be made. It would seem fair to
assume that military dissatisfaction with the conduct of Soviet foreign
policy, which was manifested during the fall of 1990, increased, and
may have been one of the factors contributing to the coup attempt. It
has been reported that three of the conspirators in the coup feared that
the USSR was becoming too dependent on the United States.24
In the autumn, movement toward a Middle East peace conference
205
accelerated. The Madrid meetings were an outgrowth of the defeat of

Iraq and the changed Middle East balances that resulted from the war,
as well as of the continuing weakness of the Soviet Union in the
aftermath of the attempted coup. Uncertainty over who was in charge
in Moscow enhanced the US role as broker and probably also
convinced the Syrians and the Palestinians to participate in the
meetings. Moreover, the USSR re-established diplomatic relations with
Israel as a quid pro quo for participation in the scheduled peace
conference.25
The collapse of the Soviet Union and the creation of the
Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) raise a series of new
questions about the participation of the CIS and/or individual
successor states in the Middle East. What will be the policies of Russia
and the Ukraine toward the Arab-Israeli conflict? Will the foreign
policies of the Central Asian republics be Islamic in content? Will the
Muslim successor states becom e significant actors in the Middle East?
Some of the most interesting questions revolve around the future
role of the Muslim successor states. Geography alone would dictate
that they becom e part of an enlarged Middle East state system. At issue
is whether or not these new nations will follow the secular and pro-
Western, Turkish model or the Iranian fundamentalist example. Saudi
Arabia and Egypt, both US allies and fearful of Iranian influence in
Central Asia, have provided money and religious teachers to explain
mainstream, non-radical Sunni Islam to the Central Asians. Israel, also
anxious to prevent the radicalization of the Central Asian states, has
provided much needed expertise in irrigation techniques and has
established diplomatic relations with several of the Muslim successor
states. Ultimately, the foreign policies of all fifteen of the former Soviet
republics will be determined in large measure by two factors: the
resolution of internal power struggles and econom ic exigencies. In the
Central Asian states and in Azerbaijan, power struggles are taking
place between factions that favour Islamization and those inclined
toward a more secular orientation. That is why the intense bidding war
betw een Turkey and Iran for influence there is so significant.
As for the second factor, all of the former republics have sought
links with those outside powers which can provide econom ic and
technical aid. They have reached out to Western institutions, and the
Central Asian states and Azerbaijan have turned as well to the Middle
East. Iranian officials have made several high profile trips to Central
Asia and Azerbaijan and have tried to mediate in the dispute over
Nagorno-Karabakh. Nonetheless, Tehran has little to offer econom ic
ally. Turkey has been more forthcoming, but its econom y too, is
troubled. Saudi Arabia could provide substantial economic help, while
206
Israel, as noted above, has provided agricultural expertise.

Currently, it is clear that post-Soviet policies toward the Gulf and
the Middle East are in a state of flux, if not suspension. For the non-
Muslim successor states, “classic” foreign policy concerns are
definitely secondary. This detachment was most evident when Boris
Yeltsin failed to attend the opening round of regional Middle East
peace negotiations convened in Moscow in February 1992. Although
foreign policy is of lesser importance for Azerbaijan and the Central
Asian states too, their involvement with the Middle East seems to be
assumed.
Ultimately, the collapse of the Soviet Union leaves a power vacuum
in the Middle East. Old clients, such as Iraq, have lost their patron, and
none of the successor states is in a position to fill the void left by the
USSR’s disintegration.
NOTES
1. An earlier version of the first section of this chapter was presented at a meeting of the
Canadian Professors for Peace in the Middle East, in Toronto, in June 1991. The author
wishes to thank Paul Marantz for his comments.
2. TASS, 2 Aug. 1990, in FBIS-Sov, 3 Aug. 1990, p. 3.
3. It seems that Shevardnadze hoped to delay the use of military force to police the
embargo, but urged united Arab action to settle the crisis. See for example, Izvestiia ,
10 Aug. 1990. Moreover, several Soviet statements — from Gorbachev, Shevardnadze
and others — all seemed to accept Saddam’s demand that the Kuwaiti crisis be settled
in the context of a larger Middle East settlement. See, for example, Gorbachev’s press
conference in Helsinki, Moscow TV, FBIS SOV, 10 Sept. 1990, p. 11.
4. Gorbachev press conference, op. cit.
5. Shevardnadze’s speech at the UN, TASS, 25 Sept. 1990, FBIS-Sov, 26 Sept. 1990, p. 4.
6. See the discussion in Carol R. Saivetz, The Soviet Union a n d the G u lf in the 1980s
(Boulder, 1989), p. 105.
7. For example, Vitalii Churkin, the Foreign Ministry spokesman said on 15 Jan.: “The
Soviet Union is not and cannot remain neutral in the conflict. However, it will not send
troops to the united forces mainly because of internal political reasons, the tragic
memory of the Afghan war.” Budapest Television, in FBIS-Sov, 16 Jan. 1991, p. 8.
8. Evgenii Primakov, “A New Philosophy of Foreign Policy”, P ravda , 10 July 1987.
9. See Primakov’s television interview, 31 Oct. 1990, in FBIS-Sov, 1 Nov. 1990, p. 9.
10. A good example is “The War Which Might Not Have Been”, P ravda , 27 Feb. 1991, pp.
1, 7.
11. See Shevardnadze’s resignation speech, Moscow Domestic Service, 20 Dec. 1990, in
FBIS-Sov, 20 Dec. 1990, pp. 11-12.
12. See TASS, 22 Feb. 1991, FBIS-Sov, 25 Feb. 1991, p. 10.
13- Georgii Mirskii, “After Desert Storm”, Literatum aia gazeta 6 (March 1991), p. 1.
14. Leonid Mlechin, “Is Moscow on the Wrong Side”, New Times 7 (Feb. 1991), p. 16.
15. See for example: Major-General Vadim Makarevsky, “The Threat from the South”, New
Times 34 (Aug. 1990), p. 12.
16. See for example, “The World Pays Saddam’s Bills”, New Times 9 (March 1991), p. 17:
“The Soviet Union is torn between its superpower status and the syndromes of
Afghanistan, Tbilisi, Vilnius, etc. We would like to start a new life, but the old sins drag
us back into the past.”
17. Leonid Mlechin, “Will Iraq Outlive Saddam Hussein”, New Times 9 (March 1991), p. 20.
18. Aleksandr Bovin, “Do No Harm”, Izvestiia , 19 March 1991, p. 6.
207
19. Izvestiia, 7 March 1991.
20. Andrei Kortunov, “USSR-USA: Tested by Crisis”, Moscow News 11 (March 1991), p. 3.
The author was on the staff of the Institute of the Study of the USA and Canada.
21. TASS, 28 Feb. 1991, FBIS-Sov, 28 Feb. 1991, pp. 7-8.
22. TASS, 16 March 1991, FBIS-Sov, 18 March 1991, pp. 14-16.
23. TASS, 23 March 1991, FBIS-Sov 25 March 1991, p. 2.
24. Stephen Kinzer, “Three in Coup Feared US Dependency”, New York Times, 7 Oct.
1991.
25. Historically, the USSR had claimed that it would re-establish diplomatic relations with
Israel only after it would be included in a peace conference. Israel, for its part, stated
repeatedly that it would agree to Soviet participation in an international conference
only after diplomatic relations were restored. Thus, each side received what it had
wanted from the other.
208
20
Domestic Aspects
of Soviet Foreign Policy
ALEXANDER DALLIN
As we study the characteristic traits of Soviet foreign policy — some

constant, some variable — we are drawn to an examination of its
sources. And we find that it is ultimately impossible to identify and
explain these traits without looking at the domestic roots of foreign
conduct.
By its very nature, this dimension of foreign policy has always been
more difficult to study, especially at a distance, from the outside. For
political reasons it has, until recently, constituted something of a taboo
for Soviet scholarship. While the linkage of internal and external
policy choices in the USSR was explicit and emphatic both at the
beginning and at the end of the Soviet era, during most of the
intervening period discussion of the politics of foreign policy was as
impermissible as that of domestic policy; and a diversity of foreign
policy outlooks was deemed even less legitimate than alternative
perspectives on policy choices at home. Orthodox Soviet analysts
were of course trained to see the foreign policy of any state as an
extension and extrapolation of its domestic base — the class structure
and correlation of forces — but they could scarcely suggest the
existence of any alternative to the “general line” pursued by the Soviet
leadership.
Fortunately such constraints have now been lifted. And as we begin
a new phase in the study of what has becom e a truly historical subject,
we can point to this dimension as a major gap in our understanding
that remains to be filled, and try to specify, at least in summary
fashion, some of the variety of domestic inputs that need to be
identified.
For Lenin, the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk was a prerequisite for
stabilization and recovery at home. It legitimized dealing with the
adversary; it affirmed faith in time as an ally; and it established the
209
priority of internal over external objectives: the survival of the Soviet

state came before the promotion of revolution abroad. Lenin was
candid and articulate on these points.1
Similarly, Gorbachev was explicit in linking the foreign policy
identified with the “new thinking” to the needs of Soviet perestroika.
This was not the only reason for the policy of normalizing
international relations, nor was it sufficient to assure the success of
domestic reforms. But reducing the strain in foreign affairs, as well as
cutting Soviet defence expenditures, was part of a strategy of keeping
the international equation constant at times of stressful transformations
at home. The domestic scene again took precedence over the foreign.2
Finally, there was the spurious linkage, notoriously evident in
Stalin’s claims to have uncovered evidence of an amalgam of domestic
and foreign enemies, tying would-be plotters at home to some variant
of Gestapo-CIA-Titoist-Zionist-Trotskyite agents. This practice requires
no comment.
On most occasions such linkages between domestic and foreign
policies were not so advertised. The same logic as in the earlier
examples prompted a policy of general appeasement (for example,
towards Japan and Germany) during the most difficult period of
forcible collectivization of agriculture and the first Five-Year Plan.
Especially since in the so-called Third Period it was accompanied by
the “ultra-left” Comintern effort to make trouble behind the potential
enem ies’ lines, such a policy was in no sense adventitious. It would be
important to establish in what terms it was discussed in advance.
Another instance of a tacit linkage relates to the years of the Nixon-
Brezhnev detente. The “liberalization” of Soviet emigration policy in
the 1970s was presumably part of Moscow’s side payment to the
United States — whether or not it was specifically labeled as such —
for a short-lived improvement of relations. No doubt, it was discussed
in high state and Party circles (and probably attacked for permitting
American interference in matters of domestic Soviet jurisdiction). If
there were memoranda submitted and Politburo discussions on this
trade-off, or others like it, it would be important to have knowledge of
them.
If we compare the pursuit of foreign economic ties in the Brezhnev
and in the Gorbachev years, a significant difference comes to mind:
while in the years after the 27th CPSU Congress the effort to make the
Soviet Union an active member of the international econom ic
community was an organic part of the program of reform, in the years
of so-called stagnation, the attempt to increase participation abroad for
the sake of econom ic and technological benefit was, it seems,
intended as a substitute for structural reform. Was it indeed conceived
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DOMESTIC ASPECTS OF FOREIGN POLICY
in this way by its sponsors, and how was the policy defended on the
inside?
While capabilities and intentions need not coincide, “objective”
indicators of internal strength or weakness typically influence
corresponding foreign policy postures (though of course other
variables also influence risk-taking, such as the perception of
opportunities abroad or the dread of nuclear war). In the early days of
the NEP, Lenin sent the Soviet delegates to Genoa as “businessmen,
not Bolsheviks”.3 When in the early months of the German invasion in
1941 the situation was close to desperate, Stalin was prepared to
welcome British troops on Soviet soil; when later in the war the Soviet
outlook improved remarkably, Stalin wanted no foreign forces to
threaten his monopoly of power. Khrushchev almost stumbled into
nuclear confrontation in Cuba, perhaps exaggerating Soviet
capabilities.
O f course, much still depended on the “subjective” perception of
“objective” data. Gorbachev’s predecessors and their advisers were
apparently prepared to ignore the implications of a serious slowdown
in econom ic growth and a budgetary deficit for the conduct of foreign
policy. For a while it was possible to deceive both oneself and on e’s
adversary. But by the mid-1980s it had becom e more costly and more
difficult for the Soviet Union to “keep up” with the United States,
especially in research and development of the most advanced
weapons technology — and the new leadership drew appropriate
lessons from this fact.
Other structural sources of foreign policy preferences include the
particular bureaucracy in which a given actor functions and his or her
role within it. In a famous Pravda cartoon of the 1920s, Foreign
Commissar Chicherin was shown tearing his hair out in despair as
Comintern head Zinov’ev made incendiary speeches.4 It is plausible
that a high official concerned with foreign trade — Anastas Mikoian,
for instance, or Leonid Krasin, who was dispatched to England in 1921
and 1926 to recover markets destroyed by the Comintern’s subversive
activities — should have been inclined toward a more moderate
foreign policy that would not be likely to jeopardize international
commerce. But position within the system at home is not a certain
indicator of foreign policy preferences: individual inclinations,
background and commitments can override the validity of the general
rule that “where you stand depends on where you sit”.
Analysts of Soviet foreign policy are divided between those who
perceive Soviet decision making as an essentially vertical, authoritarian
system, and those who view it in terms of a “conflict model”, in which
various figures — in this case, members of the Soviet elite — differed
211
over foreign and domestic policy orientations and priorities. The latter
approach is an important corrective to the traditional image. We know
of anecdotes about individuals — Maxim Litvinov, Marshal Budionnyi,
Academician Evgenii Varga — but here much remains to be learned.
Clearly, these were often not so much power struggles as contests of
rival orientations and policy preferences.5
A number of studies deal with the significance of esoteric disputes
in Soviet academic journals — for instance, the prospects in the Third
World (from national-liberation movements to economic development,
to alignment with the USSR);6 the place of competing images of the
United States;7 the importance o f arms control and the future of
nuclear weapons.8 Do such scholarly divergences reflect prior policy
differences at the top? Do they mirror the contents of Politburo
debates? Or, do they seek to influence potential policy makers? Case
studies would be of value here.
The whole process of foreign policy decision making deserves
close study. No doubt, there were substantial variations over time and
over different issues. Stalin might or might not have listened to some
comrades but the decisions were unmistakably his. This was not the
case with his successors. One of the best examples of a confrontation
over foreign (as well as domestic) policy is the Khrushchev-Molotov
duel at the Party Central Committee plenum in July 1955. As will be
discussed below, here were two widely differing sets of underlying
assumptions — essentially Stalinist and anti-Stalinist.9
Were there similar disputes over the Cuban Missile Crisis, the
invasion of Afghanistan, arms control agreements, the Sino-Soviet
conflict? We are not sure. Is it accurate to say that, in general, over
time, a widening circle of officials and consultants was involved in the
preparation for major foreign policy decisions? And what was that
process of preparation?
There is room for investigation of institutional rivalry over matters
o f foreign policy — most obviously, between the International
Department of the Party Central Committee and the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs. The role and outlook of the security services require study, as
does the input of the military establishment and of the academic
institutes.
Key personalities need to be examined — not only those who had
direct responsibility for foreign conduct — but also others, like Andrei
Zhdanov and Mikhail Suslov whose status seems to have given them
an inordinate influence on Soviet policy. Individual variations in world
view, in political styles and temperament and in policy advocacy are
among priority topics for research.
This is not the place to argue the role of ideology in Soviet
212
perceptions and policy making. But clearly there have been — to use
conventional language — left and right communists and left and right
policies competing which, at times, have reflected fundamental
differences in outlook, style and objectives. How much congruence
was there between domestic and foreign outlook here? Did the
Muscovite hawks and doves divide much like the “friends and foes of
reform '?10 Is it accurate to suggest that there was much fluidity in the
Khrushchev years, little congruence in the Brezhnev years, but more
than accidental coincidence in the Gorbachev era, between “friends
and foes of reform” and “friends and foes of d eten td l11 The difference
in outlook between Litvinov, and Molotov or Zhdanov, was dramatic.
But even between Khrushchev and Molotov the unstated underlying
assumptions in 1955 pointed to significantly different world views.12 In
recent years, the remarkable “new thinking” of Eduard Shevardnadze
in foreign policy quite naturally has invited bitter attacks, overtly and
covertly, from a whole battery of “hardliners”, be they Nina Andreeva,
Egor Ligachev or Colonel Victor Alksnis. Here too we must look for
constants and variables. While these foreign policy orientations may
seem to correlate with broader categories reminiscent of “Western
izing” or “Slavophile” movements, they would not seem to be con
gruent with views concerning the survival of the Soviet state,
federalism and the new Commonwealth.
There has been a good deal of ignorance and confusion in Western
accounts about the relation of the Communist party to Foreign Ministry
policy. For instance, it would be important to answer questions
concerning intentions in 1948-50 when, under the banner of the new
Cominform, communist parties from Europe to India and Japan were
advised to adopt a more militant stance. The same would apply to
more recent years and encompasses the whole question of how
Moscow looked upon the comrades abroad.
Finally, it is the “big issues” that of course await study: what were
the leading figures’ expectations of conflict and war, their assumptions
of the incompatibility of the capitalist and socialist world, their percep
tions of a hostile encirclement, their hopes and fears? Did they believe
what they were saying in public? Perhaps most critical, can any new
light be shed on the ostensibly “aggressive” intentions of the Soviet
leadership — not in terms of the morality or inevitability of an
expanding socialist universe (though that too deserves study and
documentary substantiation) but in terms of concrete plans and
policies?
An additional aspect that deserves mention concerns the extent to
which political figures in the Soviet Union unconsciously carried over
assumptions of how to deal with partners and adversaries, styles of
213
in-fighting and habits of asserting and exercising authority, from the

domestic scene to the international.13
In the post-Stalin years, there was an uneven trend in the direction
of broadening the circle of those concerned with foreign affairs.
However, the recent change in the relationship of Russian state and
society has ushered in a qualitatively novel situation in which public
opinion polls and a multiplicity of social movements and political
parties have begun to deal with questions of foreign policy.14 Their
impact, if any, remains to be studied; moreover, the problems of multi
ethnicity add a new complexity to conduct abroad and invite future
studies. So of course do the breakdown of the Communist party and
the disappearance of the International Department.
Clearly not every foreign policy issue is “linked” to a domestic
policy focus; nor does a clear set of domestic orientations and policy
preferences of a given individual always permit identification of a
congruent foreign policy choice. Large segments of the nom enklatu ra
have not been involved or interested in foreign policy, which has been
outside their universe of experience or competence.
Nonetheless, perhaps this sketch suffices to underscore the need
for research in each of the areas mentioned above and for access to all
possible — including previously inaccessible — sources. Only after we
have a better grasp of them can we attempt to assess the relative
importance of the international environment, the decision makers’
calculus and domestic politics in the formation of Soviet foreign policy.
In studying the history of Soviet foreign policy, it is useful to bring
together Soviet researchers and foreign scholars. Thus, one might try
to identify the causes of wrong or dangerous judgments — in the
Soviet establishment as well as abroad — by going back to the
participants and to the written record. The same is likely to be true in
regard to the big interpretive questions for which there are no
documents to provide definitive answers.
NOTES
1. See A. O. Chubarian, Brestskii m ir ( Moscow, 1964); and John W. Wheeler-Bennett,

Brest-Litovsk: The Forgotten P eace (London, 1956).
2. M. S. Gorbachev, Time, 9 Sept. 1985; also his Perestroika (New York, 1987).
3. Cf. Carole Fink, The G enoa Conference (Chapel Hill, 1984); George F. Kennan, Russia
a n d the West un der Lenin a n d Stalin (Boston, I960), Ch. 14. See also E. H. Carr, The
Bolshevik Revolution, Vol. Ill (New York, 1953).
4. Deni, in Pravda, 19 July 1924.
5. See, for example, Robert Darst, “Unitary and Conflictual Images in the Study of Soviet
Foreign Policy”, in George Breslauer (ed.), Analyzing the G orbachev Era (Berkeley,
1989).
6. See, for example, Jerry F. Hough, The Struggle f o r the Third World (Washington, DC,
214
1986); Elizabeth K. Valkenier, The Soviet Union a n d the Third World (New York,
1983); William Zimmerman, Soviet Perspectives on International Relations, 1956-1967
(Princeton, 1969); Gilbert Rozman, A Mirror f o r Socialism: Soviet Criticism o f China
(Princeton, 1985).
7. See Alexander Dallin, “The United States in the Soviet Perspective”, in Christoph
Bertram (ed.), Prospects o f Soviet Power (New York, 1980); Morton Schwartz, Soviet
Perceptions o f the United States (Berkeley, 1980); Franklyn Griffiths, “The Sources of
American Conduct: Soviet Perspectives and Their Policy Implications”, International
Security 9 (Fall 1984), pp. 3-50.
8. See Samuel B. Payne, Jr., The Soviet Union a n d SALT (Boston, 1980); Coit Blacker,
Under the Gun , The Portable Stanford (Stanford, 1986); and David Holloway, The
Soviet Union a n d the Arms R ace (New Haven, 1984).
9. See Alexander Dallin, “The Domestic Sources of Soviet Foreign Policy”, in Seweryn
Bialer (ed.), The Domestic Context o f Soviet Foreign Policy (Boulder, 1981), pp. 366-67
and fn. 86.
10. Stephen F. Cohen, “Friends and Foes of Change”, in Cohen et al., The Soviet Union
Since Stalin (Indiana, 1980), pp. 11-31.
11. See, for example, George G. Weickhardt, “Foreign Policy Disputes in the Gorbachev
Succession”, Soviet Union 16, 1 (1989), pp. 29-54.
12. Compare the three volumes of Khrushchev Rem em bers with Feliks Chuev’s Sto sorok
besed s Molotovym (Moscow, 1991).
13. James M. Goldgeier, “Soviet Leaders and International Crises: The Influence of
Domestic Political Experiences on Foreign Policy Strategies”, Ph.D. diss. (Berkeley,
1990). An additional subject that has recently attracted interest among Western
scholars is the extent and nature of “learning” by political figures — from experience,
from errors or failures, or from historical precedents. For both case studies and
generalizations applied to Soviet foreign policy, see in particular the volume, George
W. Breslauer and Philip E. Tetlock, (eds.), Learning in US a n d Soviet Foreign Policy
(Boulder, 1991), especially the chapters by George W. Breslauer, Franklyn Griffiths,
Jonathan Haslam and Robert Legvold. A variant approach argues that Soviet elite
competition did in fact take precedence over “learning” and served to inhibit learning
from failure and experience. See Richard D. Anderson, Jr., “Competitive Politics,
Learning, and Soviet Foreign Policy”, in Breslauer and Tetlock, op. cit. For other recent
formulations of domestic/foreign linkages, see Jack Snyder, “The Gorbachev
Revolution: A Waning of Soviet Expansionism?” International Security 12 (1987/88);
James Richter, “Action and Reaction in Soviet Foreign Policy: How Leadership Politics
Affect Soviet Responses to the International Environment”, Ph.D. diss. (Berkeley,
1988).
14. An early example of such an initiative is Anatoly Gromyko and Martin Heilman, (eds.),
Breakthrough/Proryv: Emerging New Thinking (New York, 1988).
215
Notes on Contributors
LEV BEZYMENSKY is the former editor of the journal Novoe vremia.

He has published numerous works on German-Soviet relations,
among them The B arbarossa F ile[ in Russian] (Moscow, 1972).
ANATOLII CHERNIAEV was the personal aide to Mikhail Gorbachev

and chief adviser on foreign policy from 1986 until Gorbachev’s
resignation. He is now a consultant at the Gorbachev Foundation.
FRANCIS CONTE is Professor of Russian and Soviet History at the

Sorbonne and at the Institute of Political Studies in Paris. His recent
publications include A Political Biography o f Christian Rakovskii
(New York, 1990) and Gli Slavi (Turin, 1991).
ALEXANDER DALLIN is Professor of History and Political Science at

Stanford University. Among his many publications are G erm an Rule in
Russia, 1 9 4 1-1945 (rev. ed. Boulder, 1981) and B lack Box: KAL 007
a n d the Superpowers (Berkeley, 1985).
VYACHESLAV DASHICHEV is a renowned expert on Germany at the
Institute of International Economic and Political Studies of the Russian
Academy of Sciences. He was personally involved in the process of
German unification.
RICHARD K. DEBO is Professor of History at Simon Fraser University

in Vancouver. His major publications are Revolution a n d Survival: The
Foreign Policy o f Soviet Russia, 1 917-1918 (Toronto, 1979) and
Survival a n d Consolidation: The Foreign Policy o f Soviet Russia,
1918-1921 (Montreal, 1992).
ALEKSEI FILITOV is a senior researcher at the Institute of General
History of the Russian Academy of Sciences. He has published several
works on the history of World War II and postwar international
relations, including the monograph The Cold War: Historiographic
D ebates in the West [in Russian] (Moscow, 1991).
CAROLE FINK is Professor of European International History at the
Ohio State University. She is the author of Marc Bloch: A Life in
History (Cambridge, 1989) and co-editor of Genoa, Rapallo, a n d the
Reconstruction o f Europe in 1922 (Washington, DC, 1991).
217
NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS
GABRIEL GORODETSKY is Director of the Cummings Center for

Russian and East European Studies and Academic Adviser to the Staff
College of the Israeli Defence Forces. He has published extensively on
Soviet foreign policy and the history of the Second World War. His
major publications include The P recarious Truce: Anglo-Soviet
Relations, 1 9 2 4 -1 9 2 7 (Cambridge, 1977) and Stafford Cripps’ Mission
to Moscow, 1940-1942 (Cambridge, 1984).
JONATHAN HASLAM is a Fellow and Director of Studies in History at
Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and Assistant Director of Studies in
International Relations at Cambridge University’s Centre of
International Studies. His most recent publication is The Soviet Union
a n d the Threat fro m the East, 1933-41 (London, 1992).
MARTIN KITCHEN is Professor of History at Simon Fraser University in
British Columbia, Canada. His recent publications include British
Policy Towards the Soviet Union, 1 9 3 9-1945 (London, 1986), Europe
Between the Wars (London, 1988) and A World in Flames: A Concise
History o f the Second World War in Europe a n d Asia (London, 1990).
BRUCE R. KUNIHOLM is Director of the Sanford Institute of Public
Policy and Chairman of the Department of Public Policy at Duke
University. His numerous publications include the book Origins o f the
Cold War in the N ear East: Conflict a n d D iplom acy in Iran, Turkey
a n d G reece (Princeton, 1980).
VIKTOR KUVALDIN is a leading researcher at the Gorbachev
Foundation. Between 1989 and 1991 he was a foreign policy
consultant to President Gorbachev.
IGOR LEBEDEV is a former diplomat who served at the Soviet

Embassy in Washington during the periods 1974-1980 and 1983-1986.
He is currently Director of the History and Records Department of the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation.
MIKHAIL NARINSKY is Deputy Director of the Institute of General

History at the Russian Academy of Sciences. His publications include
Great Britain a n d F ran ce in Post-War Europe, 1945-19491 in Russian]
(Moscow, 1972), Classes a n d Political Parties in France, 1944^1958
[In Russian] (Moscow, 1983), and the collective work Europe in the
Twentieth Century: Problem s o f P eace a n d Security [in Russian]
(Moscow, 1985).
218
ANITA J. PRAZMOWSKA is a Lecturer in Central European History at
the London School of Economics. Her recent publications include
Britain , P olan d a n d the Eastern Front, 1939 (Cambridge, 1987) and
The Warring Allies: Britain, P olan d a n d the Soviet Question,
1939-1943 . Forthcoming.
YAACOV RO’I is a Senior Fellow of the Cummings Center and a
Professor of History at Tel Aviv University. He is the author of
numerous studies, including From En croachm ent to Involvem ent
(New York, 1974) and The Struggle f o r Soviet Jew ish Emigration
1 9 4 8 -1 9 6 7 (Cambridge, 1991), editor of USSR a n d the Muslim World
(London, 1984) and co-editor of Soviet Jew ish Culture a n d Identity
(New York, 1991).
CAROL R. SAIVETZ is a Fellow at the Russian Research Center and a

Lecturer in Social Studies at Harvard University. She is the author of
The Soviet Union a n d the G u lf in the 1980s (Boulder, 1989) and co
author of Soviet-Third World Relations (Boulder, 1985). She also edits
the journal The Soviet Union in the Third World and is co-editor of the
book In Search o f Pluralism: Soviet a n d Post-Soviet Politics. Forth
coming.
ALEXANDER TCHOUBARIAN is Director of the Institute of General

History of the Russian Academy of Sciences. He has published
extensively on European history and the history of international
relations, including his work The Brest P eace [in Russian] (Moscow,
1964). He recently completed a book entitled The European Id ea in
History in the Nineteenth a n d Twentieth Centuries: A View fr o m
Moscow (London). Forthcoming.
TEDDY J. ULDRICKS is Professor of History at the University of North
Carolina, Asheville. He has written a number of works on the Russian
Revolution and on Soviet foreign relations, including the book
D iplomacy a n d Ideology: The Origins o f Soviet Foreign Relations
1 917-1930 (London, 1979).
219
Index
Abramov, Nikolai, 73 Bessmertnykh, Aleksandr, 204, 205

Afanas’ev, Iurii, 78, 80, 81 Bessonov, Sergei, 66, 68, 73
Akhromeev, Sergei, 166 Bevin, Ernest, 4, 36, 111-34, 132n,
American Relief Administration, 13, 133nn,134nn
49 Bezymensky, Lev, 3, 174
Anders, Wladyslaw, 92-93 Bidault, Georges, 106, 109-10, 129
Andropov, Iurii, 170 Bierut, Boleslaw, 108
Anglo-Russian Joint Advisory Bolshevik Revolution (see October
Committee (ARJAC), 36, 37, 40, Revolution)
41 Bovin, Aleksandr, 203, 153n
Anglo-Soviet conference (1924), 33 Brandt, Willy, 161
Anglo-Soviet trade agreement “breathing space” tactics, 4, 12, 31,
(1921), 12, 22, 24 32, 42, 42n
Anglo-Soviet trade agreement Brest-Litovsk, Treaty of, 12, 18, 31,
(1947), 129 209
anti-Semitism, 146, 148, 149-150, Brezhnev Doctrine, 158, 173, 175
155n Brezhnev, Leonid, 170, 175, 194,
Arab-Israeli conflict (see also Gulf 210, 213
War), 146-48, 151, 152, 153n, Brimelow, Thomas, 114, 115, 118,
154nn, 157n, 163, 184, 203, 204, 124, 126, 133n
205-6 Brockdorff-Rantzau, Count Ulrich
Arbatov, Georgii, 80 von, 6, 23, 26-27
arms control, 16, 98, 154n, 178, 179, Browder, Earl, 59
187, 189-190, 204, 212 Brussels Pact, 132
Attlee, Clement 111, 112, 113, 117, Bukharin, Nikolai, 32, 37, 70
119-20, 123, 124-25, 128, 131 Bulgaria, 48, 110, 113, 115, 123
Aussem, Otto, 49 Bundeswehr; 172, 178, 179
Aussem, Vladimir, 49 Bush, George, 154n, 163, 165, 168,
Austria, 47, 48, 50, 51, 115, 123, 175 177, 188, 195, 196, 199, 202
Avtorkhanov, Abdurakhman, 72 Butler, Neville, 69
Azerbaijan, 139, 142, l44n, 206 Byrnes, James F., 109, 111-12, 114,
116, 120, 121
Baker, James, 154n, 163, 167, 178,
196, 199, 204 Central Asia, 22, 206-7
Balkans (see also Bulgaria, Greece), Central Committee, of CPSU, 28, 77,
4 5 ,90, 94, 117 79, 83, 84, 85n, 108, 153, 157n,
Baltic States (see also Estonia, Latvia, 158, 159, 166, 170, 171, 172, 174,
Lithuania), 75, 77, 79-82 212; of Ukrainian Communist
Beaverbrook, William Maxwell party, 45, 47, 48, 53
Aitken, Lord, 92 Central Europe, 7, 59n, 60, 94, 164,
Bender, Peter, 175 171, 172, 173, 174-75, 194-95
Berlin blockade, 132, 170 Chebrikov, Viktor, 79
Berlin Wall, 160, 164, 170, 173, 174, Chernenko, Konstantin, 158, 170
175 Chicherin, Georgii Vasil’evich, 12,
221
13, 13-16, 18, 19, 20n, 21-29, 32, Conference on European
34, 38, 41 ,4 6 , 47, 32, 211; and Reconstruction, 128
Brockdorff-Rantzau, 6, 26-27; Congress of People’s Deputies, 79,
character of, 22-23; conflicts 83
with Litvinov, 56, 57; contrasted containment, policy of, 56, 110, 119,
with Rakovsky, 47, 48; early 127, 139, 189
career, 21-23; and Lord Curzon, Council of Mutual Economic
23-25; and Litvinov, 56, 57; Assistance (Comecon), 158
relations with Stalin, 27-28 coup attempt (August 1991), 135,
Child, Richard, 21 205-6
Churchill, Winston S., 1, 17, 58, 67, Cripps, Sir Stafford, 91, 99-100
87, 92, 99, 111, 119-20, 121, 123, Cuban missile crisis, 191, 192, 211,
130 212
Civil War, Russian (see Russian Civil Curzon, George N., Lord, 1, 23-26,
War) 52
Clay, Gen. Lucius D., 122-23 Curzon line, 1, 87
Cold War, 1, 4, 5, 19, 60, 105, 110, Czechoslovakia, 65, 70, 115, 129,
114, 173, 174, 192; end of, 164, 131, 134n, 159, 178; and
187-91, 193-97; ideological Marshall Plan, 108, 110; Soviet
basis of, 192, 193; origins of 31, invasion of, 175, 190-191
76, 135-39, 192; and security
issues, 140-43, 178 Davydov, Iurii, 173
Collective Security, policy of, 26, 58, detente, 13, 42, 148, 210, 213
65-73, 74n disarmament (see arms control)
Cominform (Communist Information Dunlop, Major, 52
Bureau), 128, 134n, 213
Comintern (Communist East Germany (see German
International), 12, 26, 27, 32, 33, Democratic Republic)
3 4 -3 5 ,3 7 ,4 1 ,5 9 , 65, 67, 134n, Eastern Europe (see also individual
210 , 211 countries and Great Britain,
Commonwealth of Independent policy toward) 15, 58, 60, 67, 72,
States (CIS), 135, 143, 187, 190, 75, 91, 99, 107-10; Gorbachev
206 policy toward, 158, 168, 170,
communism, 13, 19, 33, 118, 119, 171, 194, 196, 198
120-2 1 , 122, 124, 126, 131-32, Estonia, 49, 77, 80
185 European Recovery Program (see
Communist International, Third (see Marshall Plan)
Comintern)
Communist parties, American, 59; Falin, Valentin, 79, 80, 162, 166, 173,
British, 33, 35, 37, 39, 155n; 174
Chinese, 41; East German, 173; Federal Republic of Germany (FRG)
German, 32, 42; Polish, 77; (see also German unification),
Ukrainian, 45, 47, 48, 50, 53; 75, 107, 128-29, 158-79
West German, 158 Fedorov, Rafael, 166
Communist Party of the Soviet Fleischhauer, Ingeborg, 68, 70
Union (CPSU), 36-37, 71, 79, “four-plus-two” meetings, 166-67,
135, 152, 170-71, 174, 176-77, 177, 179
178, 194, 210, 212, 213, 2:14 France, 32, 41, 58, 65, 70, 71, 72, 73,
222
INDEX
86, 185, 201; and German relations with Allies), 4, 42, 70,
unification, 162, 163, 166, 171, 105, 185, 188; and Soviet
172, 176; interwar diplomacy of, domestic policy, 97-100
13, 14, 15, 16, 17; and Polish Great Britain (see also Grand
military presence in WWII, 88, Alliance, Trades Union
89-9 0 , 94; and postwar order, Congress), 22, 25, 37, 58, 60, 75,
108, 113, 120, 121, 122, 128-29, 97, 100, lOln, 133nn, 134nn,
132; relations with the Ukraine 137, 139, 142, 154n, 162, 211;
(see Ukraine, and France) and Poland, 8(3-87, 89-95;
relations (1920s) with the USSR,
Gaddis, John, 135 11-1 2 , 14, 24, 25, 33-42, 56;
Genoa Conference (1922), 4, 11-20, relations (postwar) with the
23, 24, 42n, 184, 211 USSR, 4 -5 , 109, 111-32, 152,
Genscher, Hans-Dietrich, 161, 179 l6 l; and Soviet policy of
German Democratic Republic Collective Security, 65, 66, 67,
(GDR) (see also German 69, 71-73; and the Ukraine,
unification), 128, 158-79 48-53
German unification, 6, 158-79, 179n, Greece, 94, 112, 113, 117-18
196; NATO and, 162, 165-68, Gromyko, Andrei, 120, 123, 124,
171, 177-79 133n, l44n
Germans, Soviet, 157n Group of Six (see “four-plus-two”
Germany (see also Brockdorff- meetings)
Rantzau, Genoa Conference, Gulf War, 6, 157n, 195-97, 198-208
Nazi-Soviet Pact), 32, 118, 197, Gysi, Gregor, 166
210; communist uprisings in, 32;
occupation and division of after Halifax, Lord, 115, 116, 119, 132n
WWII, 105-7, 111-12, 113, Harriman, Averill, 116
121-3 2 , 133n, 134n; relations Haslam, Jonathan, 72, 74n
with the Soviet Union, 27, 37, Helfand, Leon, 69
41-42, 56, 58; relations with the Hitler, Adolf, 42, 58, 60, 121, 122
Ukraine, 47, 49, 50, 51-52, 53; Hochman, Jiri, 68, 69
Soviet security policy and, Hodgson, Roger, 23
65-74; in WWII, 5, 62n, 87, 89, Honecker, Erich, 158, 159, 160, 164,
90, 9 1 ,9 3 ,9 4 , 95, 211 174, 175
Gnedin, Evgenii, 69, 72, 74n Hottelet, Richard, 60
Gorbachev, Mikhail, 143, 154n, 195, Hungary, 110, 123, 164, 174, 178,
196, 213; and arms race, 159, 190
193; and German unification, 6, Hussein, Saddam (see also Gulf
158-69, 173-79; and Gulf crisis, War), 195, 199, 200, 201, 202
199, 200, 201, 202, 207n; and
Jewish emigration, 151; and Ioffe, Adol’f, 5, 15, 47
“new thinking”, 194, 195, 198, Iran, 22, 92, 93, 138, 142, 200, 206;
210; relations with Israel, 149, Soviet intervention in 1946, 116,
154n; and Secret Protocols of 117, 118, 119-120, 121, 124, 139,
Nazi-Soviet Pact, 3, 77-84, 85n 140, 141, 142, 143, l44n, l45n
Gorchakov, Aleksandr, 22 Iraq (see also Gulf War), 120, 124,
Gorodetsky, Gabriel, 99, 101n 153n, 207
Grand Alliance (see also Poland, “Iron Curtain”, 1, 119, 151
223
Israel (see also Arab-Israeli conflict), Litvinov, Maxim, 5, 6, 28, 42, 51-52,
146-47, 203, 203; Soviet relations 65, 66, 71, 100, 212, 213; rivalry
with, 206, 208n with Molotov, 72-73, 97-99,
Italy, 32; and the Ukraine, 47, 49, 53; 101n; and Stalin, 55-62
in WWII, 90, 94, 95, 120, 123, Lloyd George, David, 12, 13-19
161 passim, 24, 26, 34
Izvestiia, 47, 50, 127, 160, 203 Locarno treaty, 38
Lozovskii, Solomon, 36, 37, 40, 43n
Jews, American, 126, 147, 149, 154n
Jews, Soviet, (see also anti- Maiskii, Ivan, 5, 58, 100
Semitism), 7, 7 5 ,1 4 6 ,1 4 8 , 149, Malenkov, Georgii M., 72, 108
155n, 156nn; emigration of Malta summit, 165, 196
150-51, 152 Markotun (Ukrainian emigre leader),
50
Kamenev, Lev, 32, 34
Marshall Plan, 107-10, 127-28, 129,
Kandelaki, David, 66, 68, 73
132, 134n, 190
Katyn massacre, 77, 95, 135
Marshall, George, 107, 129
Kennedy, John F., 191
Marxism-Leninism, 79, 120, 162
Kerr, Clark, 116
Mastny, Vojtech, 142
Keynes, John Maynard, 112
Matlock, Jack, 174
Kochemasov, Viacheslav, 159, 174
Meir, Golda, 150
Kohl, Helmut, 6, 161-69, 174, 176,
Merekalov-Weizsacker conversation,
179
70
Kotsiubinskii, Iurii, 47
Middle East (see also Arab-Israeli
Krasin, Leonid, 17, 40, 48, 211
Conflict, Gulf War), 7, 141, 147,
Krenz, Egon, 164, 173, 175
148, 184, 188, 195; British
Krivitskii, Walter, 69
postwar policy in, 112-13, 114,
Khrushchev, Nikita, 57, 149, 155n,
118-20, 123, 124-25, 130, 133n;
191, 194, 211, 212, 213
Polish military involvement in,
Kryuchkov, Vladimir, 80, 166, 167
93, 94, 96n
Kulish, Vitalii, 72
Mies, Herbert, 158
Kvintsinskii, Iu., 160, 161, 168
Mirskii, Georgii, 202
Kviring, Emmanuil, 47
Modrow, Hans, 166, 176
Latvia, 49, 77, 80, 201 Molotov, Viacheslav (see also Nazi-
League of Nations, 18, 26, 27, 38, 42, Soviet Pact) 5, 61, 67, 87, 111,
65, 67, 85 113-14, 116, 121, 123, 124, 125,
Lebedeva, N. S., 75 129, 132n, 133n, 141, 142, 212,
Leffler, Melvyn, 140, 143, l44n 213; character of, 56, 57, 126;
Lenin, Vladimir Il’ich, 6, 12-17, 19, relationship with Stalin, 6, 58,
19n, 20n, 22-28, 31, 32, 34, 42n, 99-100; rivalry with Litvinov
56, 57, 61, 71, 142, 184, 209, 211; (see Litvinov, rivalry with
and Jewish question, 148; and Molotov); and Western aid,
the Ukraine, 45, 46, 48, 52 107-8, 109
Levitskii, M., 49 Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact (see Nazi-
Ligachev, Egor, 80, 167, 173, 174, Soviet Pact)
213 Montgomery, Gen. George C.,
Lithuania, 47, 49, 77, 80, 81, 155n, 125-26, 130-31, 133nn
201 Morgenthau, Henry, lOln
224
INDEX
Nagorno-Karabakh, 206 Pravda, 32, 78, 120, 174, 201, 211
Narkomindel (People’s Primakov, Evgenii, 151, 157n,
Commissariat for Foreign 200-201, 202, 203
Affairs), 6, 12, 23-24, 28, 31, 42, Profintern (Red International of
56, 58, 59, 69, 82; and Ukrainian Labour Unions), 35, 36, 37, 39,
Commissariat for Foreign Affairs, 40
47-48
Nazi-Soviet Pact, 3, 66, 68-69, 89; Radek, Karl, 44n, 66, 67, 68, 73, 74n
Secret Protocols of 75-85 Rakovsky, Kristian, 5, 7, 15, 16, 41,
Near East (see also Iran, Turkey), 5, 45-54; early career, 45-46; and
19, 139-43, 203 emigre groups, 50; dismissal by
New Economic Policy (NEP), 12, 26, Stalin, 53
32 Rapallo, Treaty of, 11, 15-19, 27, 31,
“new thinking”, 6, 79, 136, 159, 161, 3 8 ,5 1 ,5 2 , 67, 68, 69, 70, 73
176, 194, 198, 210, 213 Rau, Johannes, l6 l
North Atlantic Treaty Organization realpolitik, 4, 26, 33, 42
(NATO) (see also German Reagan, Ronald, 163, 173, 196
unification, NATO and), 61 Red International of Labour Unions
Nuremberg trials, 75, 85n (see Profintern)
Red March, 32
October Revolution (see Russian Reykjavik summit, 159, 196
Revolution) Riga, Treaty of, 47, 49
Roberts, Frank, 60, 113-19 passim,
peaceful coexistence, policy of, 4, 124, 131, 133nn, 134n
12, 13, 42, 42n Roberts, Geoffrey, 68
perestroika, 66, 83, 158, 159, 164, Roosevelt, Franklin D., 6, 55, 87, 98,
175, 210 99, 100, lOln
Petlyura, Simon, 47, 50 Russia, Tsarist, 1, 22, 47, 149
Petrov, Vladimir, 69 Russia (post-Soviet), 1-2, 3, 183;
Pilsudski, Marshal Joseph, 25, 88 and arms race, 189-90, 196;
Poland, 5, 15, 17, 25, 34, 41; and foreign policy of, 158-79, 206,
collapse of communism, 149, 214; as successor to USSR,
164, 174, 178; and end of Cold 187-88; 190-91, 197
War; and Nazi-Soviet Pact, 75, Rykov, Aleksei, 31
77, 79, 81; in postwar period, 71, Ryzhkov, Nikolai, 161, 166
108, 109, 115, 121, 128, 138; and
the Ukraine, 47, 48, 49, 51, 53; in Saudi Arabia, 201, 205, 206
World War II, 86-96; Savisaar, Edgar, 80
Politburo of Central Committee of Schultz, George, 173
CPSU; 25, 28, 29n, 35, 36, 38, 40, Secret Protocols (see Nazi-Soviet
48, 57, 67, 73; debate over Pact)
German reunification, 159, 161, Security Council (see United
167; and Secret Protocols of Nations)
Nazi-Soviet Pact, 77, 81, 83, Shakhnazarov, Georgii, 166
85nn; of Ukrainian Central Shevardnadze, Eduard, 79, 85n, 151,
Committee, 45 157n, 199, 200, 201, 204, 207n;
Potsdam Agreement, 111, 122, 125, and German unification, 161,
188 166, 167, 168, 174-79 passim;
225
and “new thinking”, 171, 173, 206; in Soviet postwar policy,
194, 196, 213 112, 116, 117, 120, 123, 124,
Shtein, Boris, 33, 6ln 132n, 133n, 138-143 passim
Shumskii, A., 49
Sikorski, Wtadysfaw, 88, 89-95 Ukraine, (see also Communist
Smith, Gen. Walter Bedell, 60, 125, parties, Ukrainian), 7, 45-54, 47,
134n 206; and France, 49, 50, 51; and
Sokol’nikov, Grigorii, 14, 17, 32 Germany, 47, 49, 50, 51-52;
Solomentsev, Mikhail, 80 governments-in-exile and
Sorensen, Theodore, 189 emigre groups, 45, 50; and Great
Soviet-German Treaty on Good Britain, 51, 52-53; Lenin’s views
Neighbourliness, Partnership on autonomy of, 45 46, 48;
and Cooperation, 179 Ukrainian Economic Council, 48, 53
Soviet-Polish war (1920), 25, 47 Ukrainian National Committee, 50
Soviet Jewry (see Jews, Soviet) Umanskii, Konstantin, lOln
Soviet Union (see Union of Soviet Union of Soviet Socialist Republics,
Socialist Republics) 33, 68, 78-81, 186; Jews in (see
Stalin, Iosif (see also Litvinov, and Soviet Jewry); foreign policy (see
Molotov, relationship with), 6, individual countries and regions)
26, 28, 53, 77, 82, 143, 149, 151, United Nations (UN), 117, 131, 151,
184, 210, 211, 212; and 153n, 185; and Gulf War, 199,
Collective Security policy, 66-73 200, 201, 202, 204
passim; dual policy in 1920s, United States (see also Gulf War,
31-41 passim; and Nazi-Soviet detente, Jews, American), 12, 14,
Pact, 75, 84; Near East policy, 15, 16, 17, 19, 21, 58-59, 60, 65,
138-144 passim; and Polish 72; aid to USSR (see also
question, 87; and postwar world Marshall Plan, American Relief
order, 100-21 passim, 170, 171, Organization), 13, 17, 49, 98;
173 and Cold War, 5, 60, 6 l, 105-10,
Stresemann, Gustav, 27 147, 154n, 155n, 174, 193, 211,
Sulzberger, C., 59 212; and German unification,
Supreme Allied Council, 11 159-68 passim, 171, 173; Near
East policy (1944-1946), 135-45
Taylor, A .J. P., 136, l44n passim, 188-91 passim; and
Tehran Conference, 87, 88, 95 Poland in WWII, 5, 86, 89, 90,
Teltschik, Horst, 162, 168 93, 95; and postwar period, 75,
Thatcher, Margaret, 159, 160 76, 113-32 passim; and post-
Tomskii, Mikhail, 35, 38 Cold War order, 196, 197, 184,
Trades Union Congress (TUC), 33, 185; and USSR in WWII, 98, 100;
34, 35, 36-37, 38, 40-41
Trotsky, Leon, 14, 23, 30, 31, 32, 56, Varga, Evgenii, 108, 212
61; and the Ukraine, 45, 52 Versailles, Treaty of, 26, 51
Truman, Harry S., I l l , 112, 115, 120, Vogel, Hans-Johann, 161
132n, 134n, 135n, 140 Vyshinskii, Andrei, 109, 117, 125,
Truman Doctrine, 107, 118, 121, 127, 156n
128, 134n, 139-40
Tucker, Robert C., 68, 69 Warsaw Treaty Organization
Turkey, 48, 49, 57; and Central Asia, (Warsaw Pact), 158, 168, 170,
226
INDEX
174, 175, 176, 177
Weinberg, Gerhard, 68, 69
Weizsacker, Richard von, 159,
160-61
Welles, Sumner, 59, lOlnn
Werth, Alexander, 60, 124
West Germany (see Federal Republic
of Germany)
Western Europe, 31-32, 47, 50; and
Cold War, 107, 112, 113, 127,
128, 130; in Gorbachev era, 159,
172
World War I, 1, 17, 21, 22, 25, 26,
137
World War II, 27, 77, 78, 97, 138,
184, 185; aftermath of, 4, 6, 106,
139, 140, 142, 143, 155n, 168,
170, 174, 188, 192, 194; Anglo-
American Supreme War Council,
6 , 89, 98; opening of second
front in, 58, 98; Pacific theatre, 6,
98, 100n; Polish involvement in,
86-95
Yakovlev, Aleksandr, 79, 80, 81, 83,

85n, 161, 166, 167
Yakovlev, V.I., 47, 50
Yalta Conference, 100, 164, 188
Yazov, Dmitrii, 167
Yeltsin, Boris, 143, 188, 207
Yugoslavia, 108, 109, 110, 117, 127,
196
Zhivkov, Todor, 158, 164

Zhukov, Marshal Georgii K., 57, 92,
106
Zionism, 148-49, 152, 153, 155n
Zinov’ev, Grigorii, 32, 35-36, 37, 39,
211
Zinov’ev letter, 33
Zoria, Iu., N., 75
227,

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SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY, 1917-1991

T h e Cum m ings C enter for Russian and East European Studies

Soviet Foreign Policy, 1917-1991

Gabriel G orodetsky, Editor

THE CUMMINGS CENTER SERIES

Managing Editor - Deena Leventer

Published 2013 by Routledge

Routledge is an imprint o f the Taylor & Francis Group,

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

ISBN 13: 978-0-714-64506-3 (hbk)

All rights reserved. No part o f this publication may be reproduced

Typeset by University Publishing Projects, Tel Aviv, Israel

2. G. V. Chicherin: A Historical Perspective 21

3- The Formulation o f Soviet Foreign Policy —

4. The Foreign Policy of the Soviet Ukraine and Its

5. Litvinov, Stalin and the Road Not Taken 55

7. The Secret Protocols of 1939 as a Problem of Soviet

8. Poland between East and West — The Politics

9- The Soviet Union and the Grand Alliance: The Internal

11. British Policy towards the Soviet Union 1945-1948 111

13. The Problematics of the Soviet-Israeli Relationship 146

14. Gorbachev and the Reunification of Germany:

15. On the Road to German Reunification: The View

16. Politics and Morality in Soviet Foreign Policy 183

17. International Affairs at the End of the Cold War 187

18. From Cold War to New World Order 192

19. Moscow and the Gulf War: The Policies of a Collapsing

20. Domestic Aspects of Soviet Foreign Policy 209

Notes on Contributors 217

Since Russia’s emergence as a major power in the eighteenth century,

paradigms in view of the basic discrepancy in methodology and con­

Soviet foreign policy. The axiomatic recognition of the Soviet Union as

THE GENESIS OF SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY

The NEP in Foreign Policy:

One of the most significant events in the early history of Soviet-

political, and social problems. Convinced of the futility of further

ideologues of the Third International.7

dictate to each other regarding the principles on which they are to

all debts and full compensation to dispossessed property owners

ignoring Rakovsky’s taunts and paying serious attention to Chicherin’s

a negative model of the history of East-West relations, a crass and

workers idle. To be sure, throughout the European continent and

Western historians have generally viewed Georgii Vasil’evich Chicherin

This testimony highlights Chicherin’s combativeness, but it must be

Foreign Ministry where as a young man, following his graduation from

promote the sharply conflicting policies of their governments. Neither

him disrespectfully and in Lausanne, when the British Foreign

of the Comintern and, in the NEP period, by the poor performance of

Joseph Stalin on Soviet foreign policy.17 As a leading member of the

At first glance, the initial decade of Soviet diplomacy appears rather

Trotsky viewed his position as Commissar for Foreign Affairs with

Kamenev, member of the ruling triumvirate from 1924, and Grigorii

The leadership had by no means abandoned its belief in a

stability posed a contradiction in a regime which presented itself as

often suggested) or Marxist theory which had never established a

cooperation with the rank-and-file; political agreements with the

the very general terms of “struggle against reaction and capitalism”.17

Communist Party in Decem ber 1925.23

paradigms in view of the basic discrepancy in methodology and con

The two commissariats were run by very different personalities. Al

largely discredited theory of totalitarianism would expect to find lock

resolution to the international press (the text contained acknowl