American foreign policy in these mid-century years, as pursued by the National Security Council, is a policy of power. It has been so characterized by the Secretary of State. Primarily, this means the deployment of economic power in many parts of the world to aid and strengthen various nations, and the deployment of military power in sundry forms at various places to underscore and validate diplomatic policy. And of course it means likewise the maintenance of reserves of military strength for the conduct of actual hostilities, if that should become necessary.
Power, in this sense, includes military forces in readiness, military manpower in reserve, industrial capacity, natural resources, and such human resources as the skills of workers. Added to these are industrial and military technology and scientific achievement, without which mere industrial production is not enough to support a great war effort. Power by this definition is something the United States has in great abundance. This country is better equipped than any other nation in history to conduct a policy of power. But there still are limits on the use of power in world affairs. And in a time of global responsibilities and commitments, it is well to keep this steadily in mind.
There are areas in which American power can be used effectively and efficiently. There also are areas in which our power cannot be deployed advantageously. Drawing the line between those areas is the key to the intelligent use of power, and to the avoidance of an overextension of our commitments. And it is plain from history that one of the gravest blunders of statesmanship all through the ages has been the making of political and military commitments beyond a nation’s capacity to make them good. That this might be a real danger for present- day America is abundantly clear. For while the United States enjoys such an extraordinary preeminence in power, both military and economic, it is under continuous pressure from all parts of the world to give greater aid and to make broader pledges of alliance.
There is a danger, of course, in granting economic assistance to distant or inaccessible peoples, or to peoples who cannot be counted on politically, in a showdown. But at worst this is only the dissipation of some economic resources. The far greater danger is in making political and military commitments to such peoples; for that actually leads us to spread our power too thinly and so invite military adventures for which we are not truly prepared.
Ironically, this is a danger to which democratic and peace-loving peoples are peculiarly liable. In America we have a trusting faith in pacts and treaties which history does not justify. We lean easily to the comforting belief that wars can be averted if only enough governments will commit themselves to certain policies and courses of action in given emergencies. With this somewhat naive trust in the sanctity of contracts, at the international level, we are prone to rely on the fact of alliance, instead of the augmented military power which an alliance should produce and which is the sanction of the alliance.
It would be well now to see just what commitments the United States has made already. By treaty with Canada, we are pledged to consider her safety our own and to defend her territory entire. By the Pact of Rio de Janeiro, we have made a similar pledge to help defend all the other American republics. In these two acts the United States has assumed responsibility (but not exclusive responsibility) for the entire western hemisphere. And there is nothing novel about this, for it is merely a formalization of the old Monroe Doctrine and its extension northward.
In the Far East, we are committed to protect the Philippines, our own islands and those we hold in trust, and the areas we hold under military occupation, notably the islands of Japan. In Europe, we have undertaken the military assistance of Greece and Turkey, in conditions which seem to imply a willingness to go to their aid if they should be directly attacked. By the terms of the North Atlantic Pact, we are pledged unequivocally to join forces with ten European signatory nations to deal with an attack on any one of them. This does not, however, cover possible attacks on their non-European territories, excepting a small segment of North Africa which is in fact a part of metropolitan France. In Europe also we have military commitments flowing from our status as an occupation power. These embrace western Germany, a part of Austria, and a fragment of what was Yugoslavia.
Such are the far-flung military commitments of the United States. Plotted on a world map, they cover the entire land area of one hemisphere, the two primary oceans, the flanking shore of Europe, and the island chain which parallels the shore of eastern Asia. It is a big order. There is no more dramatic proof of the end of isolationism than a global map showing America’s military commitments.
For the protection of those areas, as well as for our own security in the narrower sense, we maintain a large and costly military establishment. Our economic power is deployed over a still larger segment of the globe. Overseas economic aid, through the Marshall Plan or on some other basis, is extended to most of the European and Asiatic countries that enjoy our military protection and, in addition, to such areas as Sweden, Switzerland and Yugoslavia, in Europe; various colonial areas in Africa and Asia and Oceania; and South Korea and the new United States of Indonesia. Economic assistance given to Viet Nam, and may someday be given to still others, such as Burma, Thailand, and India.
On what principle can we set limits to the use of national power? Once that is clarified, we can go further and define the limits to which military commitments may properly be made. Our best clues will be found in our successes and failures to date. Probably the most notable success of the United States in the conduct of “cold war” has been in western Europe. There, economic paralysis was overcome, political disintegration reversed, Communist strength cut back, and even the danger of outside attack reduced. Western Europe in 1946 seemed at the point of being lost to the western democratic world. But western Europe in 1950 is a reliable and integral segment of the free world of the West. Our greatest cold-war defeat, of course, has been in China, where 450,000,000 people were brought under Communist domination in the post-war period.
Why should we have achieved spectacular success in one area, and dismal failure in the other? We spent billions of dollars in both areas. We made no hard-and-fast military pledge to either, until after success in Europe was a fact. To answer this question concretely is to take a long step towards finding the limits of a power policy.
There are no doubt a great many contributory reasons. Here are some of the fundamental ones. First, the western European countries here involved are democratic. Their peoples live under the rule of governments chosen by themselves. And because they are democratic, those peoples know what is at stake in the cold war. Knowing that, knowing the value of freedom, they are prepared to fight and to sacrifice to keep it. Having chosen their own governments, they are loyal to those governments.
Also, the living standard of western Europe is relatively high, although not perhaps by comparison with the United States. Once the shortages, dislocations, unemployment, and hardship of 1946-47 were overcome—partly with Marshall Plan assistance —Communism lost its best allies in that part of the world. For adversity is always the strongest ally of the Communist movement.
Yet another reason for our successful intervention in western Europe is geographic. Europe is a peninsula, jutting into the Atlantic from the main body of Eurasia. Western Europe in particular is very accessible to the United States by sea and by air. Its shore lies only 3000 miles from our Atlantic ports. It is bounded on three sides by navigable waters. The Mediterranean penetrates 2000 miles along the southern flank of Europe, providing a sea corridor into the heart of the Eurasian-African land mass. Northern Europe likewise is open to the sea. And the United Kingdom, one of the most important elements of democratic western Europe, is an insular state, singularly well suited to support from overseas and to defense against attack by ground forces from the east.
But when China is examined in the same terms, none of these factors is present. China was not a democracy. Its people did not have a government of their own choosing and did not feel the loyalty towards their leaders that is so vital to stability against Communist pressure. The Chinese did not have a high standard of life, but on the contrary had one so low that no conceivable subsidy from America could bring it up to a level at which it would be a real bulwark against new, revolutionary political ideas.
In respect to geographic factors, China is twice as far from our shores and is not a peninsula exposed to the oceans as Europe is. There is no east Asian equivalent of the Mediterranean Sea to offer a maritime corridor deep into the continent. We simply had no good means of deploying our power, either economic or military, so as to exercise decisive influence on the course of events in China.
It is only proper to recognize at this point that the United States did not make as great an effort in China as in Europe. The higher priority was given to Europe for the simple reason that the industrial capacity of western Europe was the most vital stake of the cold war. But this does not change the fact that we had great success in one effort and costly failure in the other.
It seems a fair conclusion from these contrasting examples that American power can be exercised safely and effectively only when three factors are initially favorable. These three are political, economic, and strategic. The political factor relates to the democratic character of the people and their loyalty to their government. The economic factor relates to the living standard of the nation, as a buttress against hostile, revolutionary ideologies. The strategic factor is a matter of distance from our shores and accessibility to our maritime forces.
When any of these factors is clearly unfavorable, it must be supposed that there is some hazard in making any far-reaching commitment for that particular area. There are many possible illustrations of this. Sweden is a genuine democracy, with a high living standard. And we have given Sweden substantial economic aid. But on the strategic side, Sweden faces into the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Bothnia, not outward on the Atlantic. And the entrances to the Baltic are both shallow and constricted. Consequently, Sweden is not a member of the North Atlantic Pact. In this instance, the geographic factor is decisive. We could not support Sweden from the sea as we can Norway; so while both are beneficiaries of the Marshall Plan, only Norway is covered in the area we have guaranteed, in military terms.
Switzerland, to take another example, is unmistakably a democracy and enjoys a high standard of living, by virtue of the industry and enterprise of its people and in spite of its scanty natural resources. But Switzerland cannot be supported from the sea. It has developed, in consequence, a rigorous tradition of neutrality, aided by its formidable terrain. The Swiss enjoy the benefits of our economic aid, because they are an important element in the economic life of western Europe; but they are outside the framework of the North Atlantic Pact. Again, it is the geographic factor that is decisive.
To take a different sort of case, Italy conforms to the criterion of democracy. It has a government chosen by its people. On the score of its living standard, it barely makes the grade, for great numbers of its rural population have a meager livelihood indeed. But Italy is not only open to the sea, it is almost completely surrounded by the sea and is protected on the land side by considerable mountain barriers. Italy lies athwart one of the most vital sea communication lines in the world. So Italy, despite its substantial Communist factions and its rather low living standard, is covered into the North Atlantic Pact as an ally of the United States.
Greece and Turkey are far distant from us. Neither is as fully democratic as we might wish. And Greece in particular has a grave problem of poverty. Both are quite exposed to pressure from the Soviet Union, and both have felt it. In consequence, neither has a flat guarantee of its security from the United States. But those two countries are accessible to any Power that commands the Mediterranean. They serve together as a valuable shield for the eastern Mediterranean area. One covers the northern approaches to the Dardanelles, and the eastern flank of the southern approaches. The other commands the western and northern flank of the Aegean Sea, the southern approach to the Straits. Because of their unique strategic position, both enjoy extensive military and economic assistance from the United States, and what might be called an implied assurance of outright military help in case of attack.
In the Far East, the same considerations apply. Japan, although recently an enemy and still technically an enemy, is under a government chosen by its people. Superficially, at least, it is a democracy. It once had and probably again will have the highest living standard in the Orient, aside from the Philippines (which are a special case with their access to a protected American market). In strategic terms, Japan is an island nation easily supported from the sea and fairly easy to defend from any continental Power on the Asiatic mainland which relies chiefly on ground forces. Japan is a defense commitment of the United States because American military forces occupy it. But ‘even if this were not the case, the political, economic, and strategic factors would indicate that we should assist in its defense.
Southern Korea was a marginal case that might plausibly have been decided either way, once our occupation forces were withdrawn in July of 1949. We took on a moral obligation by our effort to implant democracy there, by our extensive economic aid, by our training of the Korean army. But the living standard was low. And although Korea forms a peninsula open to the sea, it is directly open to the ground forces of any continental enemy. On the whole, there was not a strong case for a direct commitment to defend the Korean Republic, except for our moral obligation and our duties as a member of the United Nations. And in fact Korea was not covered by any formal guarantee of ours. The momentous decision to intervene with military forces was dictated by political considerations of foreign policy, not by reasons of military strategy. And our initial reverses in Korea reflected the paradox of undertaking operations, on a political decision, in an area where purely strategic factors did not justify in advance our making a stand.
Formosa was another marginal case. In strategic terms, it is a logical position for the United States to defend, or help defend. But Formosa is certainly not a democracy, nor is it certain its people are loyal to the government-in-exile which has planted itself on the island. Nor on the economic side does it meet the tests set out above. Formosa was not covered by the American umbrella of power, because the political factor was unfavorable. It had inherited a government which had failed to hold the confidence and support of the main body of the Chinese people. But when military action in Korea was determined upon, it was common sense, on military grounds alone, to cover in Formosa and so strengthen our over-all position in the Far East.
On the other hand, the Philippines meet all the requirements here suggested, despite their distance from America, and in addition they have a strong moral claim on our protection. Indonesia, on to the southward, is very new to political independence. But the Indonesians are well started on the road to democratic self-government. They have natural resources that should make possible a fair living standard in the more important islands, once full recovery is made from the political disorder and economic paralysis of recent years. And since they are an island people, susceptible of defense with sea and air forces, the Indonesians may some day be logical candidates for the formal military protection of the United States. This is doubly true since the possession of their islands by a hostile Power would be a threat to Australia and the Philippines, and also a grave handicap to us through denial of access to important strategic raw materials.
On this reckoning, it would seem that the United States should have two well-defined categories of friends and partners overseas— those for which it assumes a measure of direct military responsibility, and those it undertakes to assist in various ways but without an express or implied military commitment. In deciding to grant or deny economic assistance to any particular area overseas, we may well give great emphasis to the political and economic factors. Country X is a democracy and has a fairly good living standard but is handicapped by wartime destruction and currency difficulties. It may thus be a logical candidate for economic aid. But it is not open to the sea. We cannot munition or reinforce it in a crisis. We cannot put troops or air bases of our own there, without undue risk. Country X, therefore, cannot properly be included in the area for which we accept a direct military responsibility.
Country Y, on the other hand, not only has a government to which its people are loyal and a tolerable standard of life, but it also fronts on the sea. It has ports at which we can land supplies and equipment. In a pinch, we could land ground forces there to aid in defense of the country, and with the knowledge that we could take them out by sea if the position became untenable. Country Y, therefore, may be a proper candidate for military alliance.
But we are still ignoring one further qualification. If the United States were to pledge its military help to every country that met these tests, it would have a great many commitments around the world to no clear purpose. We would find ourselves a global policeman. Rich and strong as we are, we cannot take over the function of the United Nations and undertake to protect every people found worthy of defense. So there is one additional factor—the relationship to our own security. If Country Y, above, stands between us and a possible major enemy, it is to our interest, as well as hers, that we pledge our military assistance. If Country Y chances to be in a position where we might advantageously base ships or aircraft, it is to our interest to create a pact of alliance.
It seems clear that the broad result of a consistent adherence to this policy will be to limit our military commitments rigorously. Holding to this rule of thumb, we probably will have no binding commitments except in the western hemisphere, the western shore of Europe and the Mediterranean lands, and the islands off the eastern .shore of Asia. This forms an orderly and logical pattern, for it makes the maximum use of our power to command the two oceanic spaces of greatest strategic value. It gives us strong positions at the outer margins of those oceans—positions that should enable us to deploy our own military forces overseas against any continental enemy of Europe or Asia. This gives us the means of using our mobile forces, if necessary, to help defend a good many democratic peoples. And it also enables us to make full use of their military resources, notably their ground forces, in what is ultimately the defense of our own land.
Always, the overriding consideration seems to be geography, whenever military commitments are projected. Our protection can be given only to those peoples to whose lands we have sure and ready access. And since that may mean the moving of great quantities of munitions or supplies, or even troops and their gear, “access” has to be interpreted as access by sea. In every succeeding war, the tonnage of equipment, ammunition, and supplies per soldier has mounted. We must suppose the same rule of thumb will hold for any future conflict. So we are all the more obliged to limit our commitments to nations fronting on those waters we expect to control in a future conflict.
Our dependence on sea imports of strategic materials is probably- increasing, in spite of the remarkable development of synthetic substitutes for some imported materials such as rubber. Conceivably, this might be so important in some cases as to justify our giving military commitments to countries which otherwise would not be in any way essential to our own security. Country Z, for example, might have valuable uranium ore deposits. Its security is not essential to our own, in any other respect. But if that source of supply were at all likely to be decisive, we might find it wise to broaden our commitments and our strategic plans to cover that nation.
Such are a few of the considerations that help to determine the limits of a policy of power. There can be exceptional situations, of course, which do not fit the generalized principles here suggested. Berlin was such. It was remote. And it was not only inaccessible by water but for a time was inaccessible by truck and train. Yet it had such an extraordinary and pivotal importance in our entire European policy, it was necessary to organize the airlift to supply the city for most of a year. And that was possible only because the airlift was a very short run, at the end of a high-capacity, low-cost sea transport route. There doubtless will be other exceptions in the future—cases, perhaps, where an adverse political factor must be overlooked because of high strategic stakes. In the main, however, as we face the temptation to spread the umbrella of American power over steadily greater areas where people are searching for security, we must accept the sobering dictates of geography. These, above all else enable us to gauge the limits to which our power may be deployed with advantage to our national security.