SMSS extends special thanks to:

Their generous sponsorship made these proceedings possible.

2

Table of Contents Editorial Comment Stephanie Cousineau

5

Conference Proceedings Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice Robert Addinall, Royal Military College

6

A Critical Examination Of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome Lindsey Aufricht, University of Calgary

24

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War Robert S. Barrett, University of Calgary

42

Threat, Legislation, Action Canadian National Security in the 1930s Joshua Bennett, Royal Military College

63

Cardonville: One Man’s Success Mackenzie Brooks Hein, University of Regina

87

The Law of the Sea and the First World War Stephanie Cousineau, University of Calgary

95

Mapping the North Korean News Space, an Introduction Zachary Devereaux & Wenran Jiang, University of Alberta

117

Are Our Airports Safer? Tiffany Farion, University of Calgary

126

The Changing Face of Canadian Peacekeeping Nicole Kimble, University of Calgary

147

The Independent Communist Takeover of Yugoslavia Jeffrey Krekoski, University of Calgary

169

3

Evolution of High Command: The Competence of Canadian Army Generals in the Second World War Christine Leppard, University of Calgary

179

The Global War on Terrorism: Threat and Response Nelson MacPherson, Centre for Military and Strategic Studies

190

Obstacles on the Road to Reform: The State of the Royal Navy, 1815-1853 Graeme Miller, University of Calgary

197

Political Myopia and Military Intransigence: Civil-Military Relations in Canada 1919-1939 LCdr I.C.D. Moffat, Royal Military College

206

Sovereignty Suicide: Canada’s March Into the American Empire P. Richard Moller & Mark W.S. Shepherd, Royal Military College

228

An Analysis of the “Rogue State” Concept Dalia Nagati, University of Calgary

244

The Republic of Vietnam Army in 1972 Triet Minh Nguyen, University of Calgary

259

Pan-Turanism and the Royal Hungarian Army Richard Raffai, University of Calgary

279

Britain and the Vilayet of Mosul: An Empire’s Quest for Oil? John K. Seddon, McGill University

294

The Maxim Gun Factor: The Pattern of Western Military Supremacy Keith Shustov, University of Calgary

313

Peacekeeping since 1992: How the mission has changed and how Canada’s role has changed along with it Ian Smedley, University of Calgary

323

The Canadian Corps in the First World War and the Militia Myth Dana Sorensen, University of Calgary

337

The Phoenix Program and Vietnam: Successes and Failures Andrew Sullivan, University of Calgary

346

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Human Security, Soft Power and the Voyage into the Future Brad Verhulst, University of Calgary

362

Why Instability in the Former Soviet Republics is No Accident: How Russia’s Foreign Policy is Negatively Effecting the Other NIS Cameron Way, University of Calgary

375

Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II Erin Weir, University of Calgary

387

A Vehicle for Peace Andrea Wilson, University of Calgary

402

Seeking Alternatives to the American Orbit: Diefenbaker’s Attempts to Strengthen Canadian-Mexican Relations Jason Zorbas, University of Saskatchewan

409

NATO’s Special Forces and its Implications for Canada in an Evolving European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) Ben Zyla, Royal Military College

419

The Last Word

442

5

Editorial Comment The following is the written record of the Sixth Annual Society for Military and Strategic Studies Student Conference, held February 27-8, 2004 in Calgary, Alberta. As this volume attests to, the conference upheld its mandate as a forum for undergraduate and graduate students to come together to share knowledge about security and conflict, past and present. The papers represented in these proceedings range from the didactic, suggesting new avenues for Canadian foreign policy, sovereignty and diplomacy, to the examination of issues of note, including leadership and social considerations of military affairs, as well as reconsiderations of traditional historical interpretations. The Conference was a great success thanks to the tireless efforts of Stephen Wheatley and Katharine Mascardelli, the conference co-chairs. The smooth execution of this year’s event owes an untold debt to their hard work and perseverance in a sometimes thankless task. They were assisted by Jillian Dowding who prepared the program, Josh Flumerfelt who organized the volunteers, Christine Leppard who, as SMSS President hosted “Armed Forces Day” prior to the conference, Pam Stewart who organized the conference dinner, and Ray Szeto who provided the stellar graphic design appearing on our cover, and on all conference posters. Thanks also go to the staff of the Centre for Military and Strategic Studies, Shelley Wind, Nancy Pearson Mackie, Cristina Argento, and Tracy Derksen, as well as the director, acting director and grad chair. Drs. Bercuson, Huebert and Herwig provided support and resources without which the conference would not have been the same. Conferences are made great by the calibre of their participants, and this was no exception. Thanks to all those who presented, and even more so to those who submitted the papers in these proceedings. This catalogue of their work was made possible by the very generous donation of CDFAI, who has believed in SMSS and its abilities for several years; the entire society is extremely grateful. Further thanks must be extended to Stephen Wheatley for his advice and assistance on these proceedings, and to Ray Szeto and Cristina Argento for technical support. Ultimately, the conference exists as an extension of the CMSS graduate program and SMSS executive and membership. Thanks to all those who helped to make this year’s conference everything it was. The following papers are reprinted in their original format, save for copy editing in the interest of length, and formatting. Stephanie Cousineau

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Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice ROBERT ADDINALL Royal Military College, Kingston INTRODUCTION During the 1990's military analysts, primarily in the United States, began to consider whether what was termed a “Revolution in Military Affairs” (RMA) was taking place. At its base, the argument for the RMA suggested that the emergence of new technologies was necessitating drastic changes in the tactics, doctrine and organization of military forces. Commentators differed widely in their approaches to this topic. Some linked the RMA to other concepts, such as information warfare, while others argued that it was a relatively limited set of new high-technology approaches best suited for high-intensity conflict (HIC) which would have no relevance for most countries. On occasion it was suggested that the RMA was part of a greater confluence of events which might bring about the end of modern political structures, such as the Westphalian state. There were those who argued that the RMA was a fundamentally new event, something which had never been seen before—although most theorists who contributed to the idea came to argue that there had been many RMAs in history. Finally, there was, and is, a revolution versus evolution debate—is the RMA a revolution or an evolution in military affairs? Canadian discussion of the RMA took place within the military and at various academic conferences in the late 1990s and after. In these forums, some suggested that the RMA was a concept that was not of particular relevance to Canada, while others who discussed the idea did not attempt to draw definite conclusions concerning it. However, since the end of the 1990s the RMA (and the follow-on term now often being used in the U.S. to describe its practical application to military organizations, transformation) have taken on much more direct importance to Canada. First, the importance of RMA concepts to fighting in Low Intensity Conflict (LIC) and asymmetric warfare situations has to be considered. This is because the main threats to Canadian national security, as well as to Canadian soldiers on peacekeeping or peace enforcement missions, are likely to require these

7

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

approaches for the foreseeable future. Secondly, the aspect of the RMA as a learning process developed through experimentation and innovation, rather than as a race to acquire new technological platforms, is important to maintaining the effectiveness of the CF in the future. THE RMA: A HISTORY UP TO THE 1990s Events during the Cold War and earlier helped to frame the 1990s RMA debate. The realization in the 1960s by both NATO and the Warsaw Pact that tactical use of nuclear weapons would likely escalate into strategic nuclear exchange caused nuclear land battle concepts to become a conceptual stalemate. In an attempt to find a way around this impasse, the Soviets and NATO both looked back to World War II and pre-World War II theorists of “deep war” and what in the West has come to be called “manoeuvre” theory. These methods were intended to cause an enemy army to disintegrate by disrupting its command and control systems. In addition, NATO developed “offset” theory. Offset theory was designed to balance superior numerical Soviet superiority by improving the quality of NATO forces. It focused not just on better equipment, but on using Western advances in technologies such as microelectronics to change how military forces would be used.1 In 1982 the new approaches of manoeuvre warfare and offset theory were tested in NATO’s “AirLand” battle exercise. Soviet analysts reacted to the developments in NATO during the late 1970s and 1980s by predicting that a new type of warfare was emerging which would capitalize on advanced technologies to the point of eventually giving “conventional” forces the same level of effectiveness as nuclear ones. In a series of papers, Marshall Nikolai Ogarkov, then Chief of the Soviet General Staff, gave these developments the name “military technical revolution”.2 The concept articulated by the Soviets was taken up by Andrew Marshall of the Office of Net Assessment of the U.S. Department of Defense. By 1993 Marshall’s office declared the term “military technical revolution” to be too narrow and argued for the term “Revolution in Military Affairs” instead.3 Thus the introduction of RMA ideas has in practice been taking place in an evolutionary pattern over a number of decades. Many official pronouncements concerning the RMA are taken almost verbatim from the definition produced by Marshall’s office. This definition states that an RMA is “a major change in the nature of warfare brought about by the innovative application of technologies which, combined with dramatic changes in military doctrine, and organizational concepts, alters the

8

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

character and conduct of operations.”4 It appears almost identically in the Department of National Defence (DND) Concept Paper Canadian Defence Beyond 20105, as well as in statements made by Canadian analysts.6 Beyond official statements, however, some attempts at a more detailed definition of the RMA have been produced by Canadians. In her 2002 book, The Revolution in Military Affairs, Elinor Sloan states that definitions of an RMA are as “wide and varied and perhaps numerous as its analysts”.7 Interpretations range from overall analyses of “sweeping simplicity” to those that focus on specific details.8 In his paper “The Revolution in Military Affairs: A Canadian Perspective”, Major J. Craig Stone of the Canadian Forces Command and Staff College also examines the theoretical writing on the RMA, finding that: “Military innovation is generally discussed in the context of types of innovation-peacetime versus wartime, technological versus doctrinal and evolutionary versus revolutionary.”9 Sloan identifies a number of theorists who postulate a series of RMAs throughout history. Especially significant among these are Williamson Murray and Clifford Rogers. Murray argues that at their first appearance new developments amount to no more than “military revolutions” with a tactical or operational advantage. According to him, it is only in the longer-term process in which societal, political and organizational changes are linked to tactical and technological developments that a new “conceptual approach” to war is born. The change in conceptual approach, which can render a oncepowerful organization irrelevant (as for instance the nation-state rendered earlier forms of feudal organization irrelevant) is the true RMA.10 Rogers reverses Murray’s order of precedence; RMAs precede, rather than follow, major military organizational change. New technologies emerge in society which turn out to have military applications that change fundamental balances, such as that between offence and defence. For Rogers, recent developments in airpower and the speed and mobility of land forces appear to be shifting the advantage further to that of the offence over that of the defence. Rogers also argues that, since the manpower requirements of offensively-minded, mobile forces are small, even small states may be capable of fielding powerful armies.11 In the broader context of the RMA pointed out by Murray and Rogers, some strategic analysts believe that the impact of Information Technology (IT) is reorganizing entire societies in a radical manner, eliminating the traditional nation-state. Seen in this light, the RMA appears as only one part of the Information Revolution affecting all of society. The implications of

9

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

this broader strategic context are extensive. Canadian historian Ronald Haycock has noted that the Information Revolution technologies appeared alongside other major changes in the world’s political and economic structure. These included increased globalization, especially in economics, as well as a proliferation of non-governmental organizations. Such events were compounded by the loss of a superficially bi-polar world in which states knew who the enemy was supposed to be and what type of conflict their armed forces were likely to have to fight. He observes that as a result it appeared to some as if the old Westphalian state system might be collapsing and “the dichotomy of a new uni-polar world and chaos had replaced it.”12 Thus the RMA and the Information Revolution are part of an even larger confluence of events which could be labeled a revolution in strategic affairs. In terms of this broader discussion, John Arquilla and David Ronfeldt, who have worked with RAND and the U.S. Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense while developing their ideas, are significant in that they attempt to do two things. The first is that they emphasize the role of Information Warfare in the RMA, and the second is that they make a distinction between two concepts of the RMA – one essentially applicable to HIC and one to LIC. In Athena’s Camp, they describe an approach called “Cyberwar” which is based on applying the RMA to HIC. It focuses on the concept that a modern military must blind its opponent in order to win. This approach differs from earlier warfare concepts in that blinding of the enemy by disrupting his communications is supposed to be immediate. Arquilla and Ronfeldt assume that the military forces of modern states are already so reliant on technology that disruption of their technologically advanced C4ISR (Command, Control, Communications, Computing, Intelligence, Surveillance, Reconnaissance) systems will render them blind and incapable of operating in any meaningful sense.13 In Networks and Netwars, Arquilla and Ronfeldt discuss their approach to RMA for LIC, which they term “Netwar”. They argue that the emergence of networked communications capabilities will bring with it a change in the organizational mindset of many rogue organizations. Computers allow people to form geographically dispersed groups which discuss and develop ideas often without a central hierarchical command. Such groups may form on the Internet and continue to use it as a prime medium of communication, but they will also transfer this type of organization to the “real world”. Such groups will be difficult to deal with, since it is usually not possible to eliminate them by terminating a leader or leadership. However, “network”

10

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

warfare can also be used to advantage, since activists and NGOs, such as the New York-based Committee to Protect Journalists (CPI), can have liberalizing effects.14 Thus the Internet may become a battleground for, among other things, hearts-and-minds campaigns. However, it is not clear where the dividing line between policing and military action may run. The tendency in the literature is to treat Information Warfare and Netwar as “asymmetric” threats for new types of policing forces to deal with, while regular military forces will focus more on fighting “real world” asymmetric threats, such as use of Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) by terrorists. However, a perceived need for closer coordination between military and civilian agencies is discussed extensively in both RMA and Information Warfare literature.15 Michael Erbschloe, an IT consultant, develops a number of these ideas in his book Information Warfare. He points out that the proliferation of information-age technology which enables the RMA has also leveled the playing field between not only small and large powers, but between states, criminal and terrorist organizations, and private individuals.16 Even if military forces adequately protect their own IT systems, they are still susceptible to attack via civilian IT systems, since they rely in part on such activities as financial accounts moving around through the networked IT systems of the financial world. In the future, Erbschloe argues, it could be difficult for a state to discern whether it is only private corporations or the state itself that is under attack, and such confusion could lead to long delays in military response time.17 In these types of threats a blurring of the traditional borders of the Westphalian state system can be clearly seen. THE RMA AND LIC: 2001-2003 Of all the theorists, it is currently Caleb Carr who has taken furthest the approach that the RMA is applicable to LIC and Operations Other Than War (OOTW). In his opinion, Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs) and Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicles (UCAVs) provide for the greatest improvements in these areas. Vehicles such as the Predator drone, a longendurance, medium-altitude UAV used extensively in the Afghanistan and 2003 Gulf War campaigns, were originally intended for reconnaissance and surveillance, but can now also be fitted with munitions payloads: When so modified, the Predator can become a modern army’s answer to suicide bombers; the Predator is remote-controlled and thus governed by human intelligence rather than strictly by a computer, as is the case with cruise missiles... It is also highly effective against the kind of tactical, 11

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

handheld (or, as military vocabulary now has it, “man-held”) weapons that terrorists use heavily, such as shoulder-launched missiles, because it is pilotless and its loss involves no casualties. The Predator aircraft will be one of the salient weapons of the postmodern military...18

In addition to UCAVs, weapons systems which were originally designed for strategic operations in the Cold War can effectively find new roles in LIC situations. Stealth bombers and B-52s can, for instance, fly strategic missions from secure bases and remain above 10,000 feet while firing their precision-guided munitions (PGMs), thus avoiding smaller, cheaper weapons such as shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles. In the long run such platforms may be replaced by cheaper, long-range, high altitude UCAVs, but the point is that adaptability is available with current technology provided that doctrinal changes can be carried out. Neither are automated systems mere futuristic dreams. As noted from the comments of the theorists mentioned above, a primary driving force of the RMA is considered to be technological dynamism in the civilian sector. This is often explained in terms of Common-Off-the-Shelf-Technology, or COTS. COTS technology today includes many commoditized and widely available types of microelectronics, including many of the computer systems needed to pilot a UAV. Had the U.S. military attempted to design all the systems required for a UAV such as the Predator in the 1970s, it would likely have been highly expensive, but by waiting until COTS technology was available it is able to integrate a much less expensive system. Thus, continued advances in technology allow the complexity and expense of advanced systems to shrink, even as weapons systems that can be used against them do so.19 Thus established states can turn the reduced delta between cheap and small and expensive and large weapons to their advantage, since they can mass produce cheaper systems like UCAVs, which are more expendable than complex, manned systems. However, no matter the improvements in air power, only ground forces can occupy territory—but in some cases this role can be fulfilled by a local ally (sometimes called a “proxy”), as it was by the Northern Alliance in Afghanistan in 2001. In such cases Western ground forces will be small while being capable of directing the maximum possible firepower. Special operations forces (SOF) are key in this role, a situation which is summed up succinctly in this comment: In Afghanistan, these forces were central. They could be parachuted into the country in small numbers, set up airfields, and develop contacts with rebel leaders. The information about Taliban targets, which the Predator

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Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

drones transmitted back to headquarters, usually came from a special-ops officer riding on horseback with a laptop.20

“Usually” is a question of context; as soon as regular troops reached the ground, they normally called in many of the strikes. Nonetheless, SOF operating together with indigenous allies can command respectable firepower while moving much like LIC forces themselves. Modern information technology also allows geographically dispersed forces to be more aware of where they are in relation to each other, and along with fire support and resupply from the air, enables them to move about in “swarms” rather than along traditional fronts. Such “RMA for LIC” forces are not invulnerable— against a determined enemy, SOF troops could be ambushed or simply overwhelmed, and large numbers of UCAVs shot down. However, by applying RMA concepts in the way described above, a modern military force can operate effectively in a LIC environment. CANADA AND THE RMA In the above discussion the evolutionary aspects of the RMA have been pointed out, along with the relevance of the concept to LIC and peacekeeping, the broad implications for the traditional nation-state system, and the maturing of the information revolution, with the possible relevance of these factors to the direction of the RMA. Canada’s evolution as a military power and its readiness for RMA concepts since the middle years of the Cold War can now be considered. With various strands of development to be considered, this section is arranged thematically rather than simply chronologically. The cancellation of the Avro Arrow project in 1959, although a logical decision (the increasing importance of ballistic missiles reduced the importance of bomber interceptors), turned national policy effectively away from self-sufficiency in military provisioning. By putting fourteen thousand aerospace workers out of a job, the Avro Arrow cancellation was instrumental in causing a large component of experienced workers to seek work outside Canada, thereby ensuring that a once vibrant aerospace industry could not soon recover. Prime Minister Diefenbaker had taken “one hard look at the costs of technological independence, quailed, and fled.”21 In order to help Canada with its military procurement problems, the United States developed a formal Defence Production Sharing Program with Canada. From 1959 to 1969 Canadian defence industries became branch plants for advanced American technology, while Canada imported its major defence systems from that country.22 Canada has remained the only country 13

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

with such a formal agreement up to the present.23 Similar developments in the civilian sector occurred, such as the auto pact and, more significantly, in the “high tech” sector which grew as a whole throughout North America in the last decades of the 20th century. As a result of the above developments, Canada’s technological base became closely tied to that of the U.S. If Canada chose to pursue the RMA, it would inevitably be tightly linked to the American one. This directly impacts the RMA options available to Canada today. In his paper on Canada and the RMA, Andrew Richter argues that this “branchplant” nature weakens Canada’s ability to pursue new developments, since Canadian technology companies are either subsidiaries or niche players. Such businesses, he argues, do not generate technological “spin off” effects—technologies of use in other areas than those that they were originally developed for.24 He goes on to note that Canadian research and development (R&D) spending as a percentage of GDP repeatedly fell short of that in other Western countries during the 1990s, and comments on a lack of IT professionals at even this reduced level. However, since the end of the “tech boom” during which he wrote his paper, the worldwide demand for IT professionals has generally slackened. Additionally, Richter’s assertion that divisions of international companies in Canada which he describes as “branch plants” do not produce genuinely innovative research is arguable. DND has not ignored the importance of technology R&D; when the Defence Research Board was disbanded in 1974, the Defence R&D Branch was created in its place. In the late 1990's the branch employed around 1200 people with an annual budget of $200 million.25 However, the R&D branch spending priorities are spread between a number of areas, only some of which have a direct impact on development of RMA-related technologies.26 What are the implications of this situation? According to Richter: Canada’s mixed technology record is of particular concern considering that the Defence R&D Branch increasingly relies on the private sector for technologies that have defence applications. For example, over half of all defence research in Canada is now undertaken outside the department... While DND’s model of successful private sector-military cooperation is undoubtedly the US, the relationship is unlikely to be recreated here.27

This situation is, however, only a problem if Canada’s high-tech defence needs were to differ significantly from those of the United States. This in turn requires assessment of recent developments in the structure of the Canadian military. Although the Canadian forces shrank numerically

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Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

during the 1960s, the major commitment to NATO that had been in place since the treaty’s inception in 1949, continued until the end of the decade. In 1969 the new Liberal government under Pierre Trudeau began major cuts to the military, arguing that the surveillance of the country’s territory and coastline and the defence of North America were the most important priorities, with fulfillment of NATO commitments and international “peacekeeping” roles taking a secondary place. The armed forces shrank by one fifth in numbers of personnel and many bases were closed, while in the interests of national unity perceptions social policies such as bilingualism were instituted in the armed forces as well as elsewhere.28 During the 1970s and early 1980s important acquisitions, such as the Leopard I main battle tank and CF-18 Hornet fighters, were made, but nonetheless the emphasis appeared to be more on social policy than on fighting capability. In the 1980s, with apparent resurgence of the Cold War, and the Progressive Conservatives elected into power at the federal level, there was a reversal of the policy of downgrading the military and its technological requirements. Under Perrin Beatty as Minister of Defence a new White Paper, the first since 1971, was produced, and expansion of the Canadian army to a full three mechanized divisions with expanded reserves and a strengthened air force and navy were proposed.29 However, once again domestic priorities were in practice given precedence over external commitments; after the 1989 election, deficit-cutting became an overall priority, and health care and education were regarded as priority areas for spending. In addition, with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War in the early 1990's politicians expected a “peace dividend”, and so the military was targeted for further major cuts. Newer acquisitions were mostly scrapped and further base closures and personnel cuts took place.30 Under the federal Liberal government elected in 1993, the country’s social programs were elevated still further. The 1994 White Paper on Defence stated: Defence policy must respond not only to an uncertain and unstable world abroad, but also to challenging circumstances at home. In designing a new defence policy, the Government has sought to remain attentive to the very important domestic influences on Canada’s defence posture and, in particular, to current fiscal circumstances. Most areas of defence will be cut...31

The paper did, however, recognize the importance of international stability:

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Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

...increasingly, armed forces are being called upon to ensure safe environments for the protection of refugees, the delivery of food and medical supplies, and the provision of essential services... Among the most difficult and immediate challenges to national security are civil wars fuelled by ethnic, religious and political extremism.32

As a result of these concerns, the paper did highlight requirements for new acquisitions, including new armoured personnel carriers and the acquisition of a small number of precision-guided munitions for the CF-18. In national space strategy Canada’s reticence to develop capabilities during the 1970s and 1980s is especially noticeable. Developments in this arena took a similar course to those in the industrial and high technology areas. Between 1957 and 1967, Canada participated in a variety of defence space projects and, by the late 1960's, would have been ready to create a formal civil-military space organization to direct the country’s space strategy.33 However, in the late 1960's this leading role dropped off dramatically. Andrew B. Godefroy of RMC finds that Canada’s endorsement of the 1963 United Nations ban on nuclear weapons tests in space and the 1967 United Nations Outer Space Treaty (UNOST) “were interpreted almost verbatim by Ottawa... The first Trudeau government saw no distinction between the militarization of space (placing military space assets in orbit) and the ‘weaponization’ of space (placing weapons in orbit).”34 The Trudeau government’s attempt to instead concentrate resources on the development of a domestic satellite communications system could not be supported by the country’s industrial capability at the time, and so the national space strategy fell into disarray.35 By 1986, a basic defensive space program was re-established in Canada, and in 1987 the Department of National Defence issued a new space policy.36 The Canadian Space Agency was created in 1991, and when the effectiveness of satellite communications for military purposes was demonstrated by the 1991 Gulf War, realization of the need for a military space program grew.37 In 1997 the Directorate of Space Development (D Space D) was formed under the Deputy Chief of the Defence Staff (DCDS).38 The increase in Canadian troop deployments after the late 1980s, as well as the desire to implement components of the RMA such as PGMs, drove this need.39 Considering the condition of the military space program since the creation of D Space D, Godefroy finds that despite improvements the country’s defence space policy “still requires a great deal of definition and elaboration.”40 Cooperation between civilian and defence space policies is still lacking. This situation has led to confusion and problems over the 16

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

acquisition of new satellite systems, as well as missed opportunities for the civilian and military sectors to benefit from the technological spin-off effects of each other’s programs.41 In terms of doctrine and the RMA, Canada appears superficially to be ahead of its allies in developing “jointness”. Unification of the Canadian armed forces was carried out under Defence Minister Paul Hellyer in the 1960’s.42 However, the salient point has been, as noted in 2000 by RearAdmiral D. Morse, commander of Standing Naval Force Atlantic, that until recently “unification was, for various reasons, institutional and bureaucratic, but not operational.”43 While the steps taken in the 1960's largely achieved joint support and training, operations continued to be carried out along traditional service lines. Because of the nature of their tasks in the Cold War, the Canadian Air Force and Navy worked more extensively with their U.S. and other allied counterparts than with the Canadian army, meaning that to some extent different branches of Canadian service are more interoperable with related branches of other services than they are with each other.44 Another impediment to joint operations in the Canadian forces is the lack of equipment possessed by the Air Force and Navy to support ground operations. While the CF-18s do possess precision-guided munitions, no aircraft carriers are available for them as launch bases, and Canadian strategic aerial refueling capability was compromised in 1996 with the retirement of the Boeing 707. Modifications to two Polaris aircraft to add refueling capability to them are proposed for completion in 2004, but in the meantime refueling capabilities have been rented from the United States Air Force.45 Neither does the Canadian Navy possess warships with the ability to fire multiple cruise missiles inland. Finally, both the navy and air force do not possess the transport vehicles necessary to move Canadian troops and their equipment effectively. In terms of ground force doctrine, the Canadian army enthusiastically adopted the manoeuvre warfare doctrine of its NATO allies during the 1980s and 1990s. However, without the effective development of joint operations the ground forces alone will be unable to supplement manoeuvre warfare with stand-off distance weapons, such as PGMs, and will thus be unable to further implement the RMA. An example of the problem of trying to pursue the RMA as an abstract goal without possession of the necessary technological and doctrinal components of it can be seen in questions surrounding replacement of Canada’s Leopard main battle tanks. The 1994 White Paper’s requirement

17

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

for new armoured personnel carriers was carried through with the purchase of the LAV III, built in Canada by General Motors Defense of Canada and General Dynamics Land Systems of the U.S. In 2001 the LAV III was also adopted by the American army as a main component of its Interim Brigade Combat Teams—“interim” because they are seen as partway to the full “RMA-ized” forces of the 2010 to 2020 period. The LAV III was seen by the U.S. Army as possessing the correct combination of protection and firepower with light weight to allow for much faster deployment than conventional armoured vehicles. As a result, the LAV has come to be touted as the armoured vehicle of the future, and main battle tanks have been criticized as oversized, resource-wasting dinosaurs. Direct fire support is instead to come from a “mobile gun system”—a LAV with a turret mounting the 105mm cannon, the predecessor to the 120mm gun used on current M1A1 Abrams tanks. Focusing on the idea that the MBT is redundant, Canada’s military in the fall of 2003 stated its intention to phase out the Leopards. The problem with the above decision is that it is made in the absence of solid experimental evidence. In the real world, events often take a different course than theorists expect them to. This was so in the case of the Abrams MBTs in the war in Iraq in 2003: The Abrams’ unexpected success again proves the military adage that there is no substitute for the battlefield for finding out what works and what doesn’t. “A lot of people are going to be looking at what really happened here, instead of what was supposed to happen,” says David Bercuson, director of the Centre for Military and Strategic Studies at the University of Calgary.46

The Abrams proved its worth in combat situations in urban areas. “The Abrams was fantastic,” a U.S. military officer said. “It wasn't new, and it wasn't sexy, but it did the job, and it kept its crews safe.”47 By contrast, the LAV-based mobile gun system does not have armour heavy enough to withstand attack by many lighter weapons such as RPGs. An RMA advocate might argue that direct fire support systems are unnecessary, as ground forces should always be able to call in PGMs to destroy opposition from a stand-off distance. However, in considering the urban warfare aspects of LIC, the possibility remains that troops may not always be able to identify the enemy in time to launch a strike from a stand-off distance. In such circumstances, heavily armoured vehicles can provide cover for lighter vehicles and infantry, laying down and drawing fire while lighter units move into safer positions. 18

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

As noted above, SOF groups are important for operations such as the recent actions in Afghanistan. Canada’s Joint Task Force 2 (JTF2) provides the country with well-respected basic SOF ability, although it does not currently possess Predator-type UAVs to give these soldiers the type of heavy firepower that their U.S. counterparts have. However, respect for military intelligence and interaction between intelligence and infantry and SOF within the Canadian army need to be improved in order to fully implement a vision of the RMA effective in LIC and peacekeeping situations. In order to keep up with the need for fast intelligence gathering and target acquisition, Canadian ground forces have implemented new command and control information systems, GPS receivers, TacOps type computer training simulations, and the Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition and Reconnaissance (ISTAR) system.48 The DND has also since 1999 released a number of strategy papers which discuss the RMA and the need for Canada to adopt RMA ideas in the future.49 Many younger Canadian officers in the field are also reasonably well aware of the RMA, and have adapted their thinking to it to the extent that some of them are looking to the future for resolution of the organizational problems that the new capabilities will create.50 Thus Canadian ground forces have available to them both similar heavy equipment and the digital systems to enable use much as their RMA-focused allies do. However, as Colonel Pierre Forgues of 1 Canadian Air Division notes in his article “Command in a Network-Centric War”, such systems run the risk of overloading the commander with data if they are not properly designed.51 Despite new technology, the human brain remains the limiting factor in command and control. As a result, “commanders will still need to rely on their creativity and intuition to make sound decisions in a NCW (Network Centric War) environment”.52 This point reflects the general argument given throughout this paper: despite the introduction of fundamentally new capabilities, many underlying aspects of military endeavour remain constant through each RMA that takes place. Commanders will need creativity both in order to make sound decisions on the battlefield, as well as to innovate and experiment53 with new technologies and organizational systems in training exercises, planning operations, and theoretical discussions. At this point then, commentators such as Canadian historian Ron Haycock, who has concluded that open-minded officer training and education are more important than the immediate acquisition of new equipment, use experience with both current and previous RMAs for their analyses.

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Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

Although some aspects of military education may be improving in Canada,54 training exercises suffer because many items of CF equipment are reaching the end of their serviceable lives. In addition, the CF has too few personnel to support the number of overseas operations to which it is committed while simultaneously dealing with equipment maintenance and training exercises.55 Finally, fewer exercises are being held because of a simple lack of funding. The result is that organization suffered after 1995, with captains, majors and lieutenant-colonels in positions such as operations officer or company or battalion commander rarely obtaining experience in collective all-arms training or joint headquarters command and control.56 Under these conditions the Canadian Forces have inadequate opportunities to experiment with new technologies in the field. This situation may be changing for the better, as a brigade level exercise (Exercise Resolute Warrior) was held in 2003 and plans exist for additional exercises in future years—but the federal government’s spending priorities remain uncertain. WHERE TO NOW? With the current state of the Canadian Forces thus considered, it is necessary to return to the broader implications of the RMA for national security. The belief by some analysts that the RMA is narrowly focused on HIC capabilities has led some commentators to conclude that the RMA is not particularly relevant to Canada: ...the RMA is less relevant in precisely those missions that the CF is most likely to be called upon to perform—peacekeeping, humanitarian intervention, and other LIC missions. The technological requirements of advanced technology, combined with the emphasis on sensing equipment, simply does not translate well into conflicts at the low end of the spectrum, and may even be counterproductive in some cases.57

However, considering the developments outlined in the section RMA and LIC above, the RMA is precisely relevant in these areas. Technology such as UAVs could not only give Canadian ground forces a significant boost in firepower (which is psychologically important even in peacekeeping operations and more valuable in peacemaking ones), but also could be used to quickly observe and document reported scenes of treaty violation or war crimes. The question of whether the “branch-plant” nature of Canada’s economy cripples its ability to develop the RMA is also pertinent. As seen above, some observers presume that Canadian defence needs are significantly different to those of the U.S., and that Canadian forces would therefore 20

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

suffer using the same COTS technology as is available to the Americans. However, as has been demonstrated, the argument that Canada’s technological requirements are widely different from those of the U.S. is not valid; U.S. technologies inspired by RMA theory could easily be used to enhance “typical” Canadian operations such as peacekeeping and peacemaking. Also, using the same COTS technology as the Americans do will help to maintain interoperability with them and other close allies. Canada’s military must be familiar at all levels with RMA concepts or it risks being left behind by the technological advances and practices of its allies and losing both independent and interoperable capabilities. The questions surrounding the future of the Westphalian state concept, which arise in part from the circumstances which have also given rise to the RMA, provide warning that future types of warfare are likely to change perception of what is “conventional”. Such forms may blur the line between the military and the civilian spheres. Preparations for the future should include experimentation at various levels to ascertain what is feasibly operational and what is unlikely to be so. This must be done not only with new technologies at the laboratory stage but in a broad spectrum of exercises, ranging from testing capabilities of UAVs, LAVs and other systems in traditional training and testing environments to exercises emphasizing interaction and cooperation between the military, civilian security and intelligence agencies such as CSIS, and police forces in urban environments. To be able to conduct such preparations for the future, the country must give priority to rebuilding its military, including emphasizing aspects of military education which help officers to innovate and adapt. Ideally, more civilians should be exposed to military history and strategic studies, including as invited participants in military classes and exercises, so as to strengthen the ties between the armed forces and the population as a whole.58 It is only through such approaches that educated military and civilian leaderships can ultimately consider national security problems strategically rather than tactically. Because of the confluence of ideas concerning the RMA and LIC at the turn of the 21st century, we are faced with multifaceted problems, both political and military. This paper has attempted to consider these problems from a historical viewpoint to facilitate understanding of the RMA. Canadian strategists and military thinkers should consider organization and practice (including particularly the RMA) as a whole, rather in disconnected, smaller parts.

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1

Elinor C. Sloan, The Revolution in Military Affairs, (Montreal & Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2002), 25-26. 2 Andrew Richter, “The Revolution in Military Affairs and its Impact on Canada: The Challenge and the Consequences”. (Vancouver, B.C.: Institute of International Relations, University of British Columbia, March 1999), 2. See also Elinor Sloan, op.cit., 26. 3 Sloan, op.cit., 26-27. 4 Quoted in Scott Robertson, “Experimentation and Innovation in the Canadian Forces”, Canadian Military Journal, 1:2, (Kingston: Royal Military College of Canada, 2000). Printed by Canadian Forces Training Materiel Production Centre, 66. 5 Canadian Defence Beyond 2010. Accessed April 11, 2003: http://www.vcds.dnd.ca/dgsp/dda/rma/wayahead/intro_e.asp 6 As an example, a similar statement also appears in: Elinor Sloan, “DCI: Responding to the USled Revolution in Military Affairs,” NATO Review, Web Edition, 48:1, Spring-Summer 2000, 4-7. http://www.dnd.ca/admpol/eng/doc/521_e.htm 7 Sloan, The Revolution in Military Affairs, op.cit., 3. 8 Ibid., 3. 9 Major J. Craig Stone, “The Revolution in Military Affairs: A Canadian Perspective,” in First Annual Graduate Student Symposium, (Ottawa: Conference of Defence Associations Institute, 13-14 November, 1998). 10 See Williamson Murray, “Thinking about Revolutions in Military Affairs”. Joint Forces Quarterly, summer 1997. See Sloan, The Revolution in Military Affairs, op.cit., 22-23 for overview. 11 Rogers’ contributions are summarized by Sloan, The Revolution in Military Affairs, op.cit., 23-24. 12 Ronald Haycock, “The Labours of Athena and the Muses: Historical and Contemporary Aspects of Canadian Military Education”, Canadian Military Journal, 2: 2. (Kingston: Royal Military College of Canada, 2001). Printed by Canadian Forces Training Materiel Production Centre.; 6-7. 13 See John Arquilla; David Ronfeldt, In Athena’s Camp: Preparing for Conflict in the Information Age, (Santa Monica: RAND, 1997). 14 John Arquila; David Ronfeldt, Networks and Netwars, (Santa Monica: RAND, 2001), 6-7. 15 See Sloan, The Revolution in Military Affairs, op.cit., 108-122. 16 Michael Erbschloe, Information Warfare, (Berkeley: Osborne/McGraw-Hill, 2001), xv-xx. 17 Ibid., 267-282. 18 Caleb Carr, The Lessons of Terror, (New York; Toronto: Random House, 2003), 252 - 255 19 For an additional excellent, though journalistic, commentary on UAV operations, demonstrating their accomplishment of typical RMA objectives, see Matthew Brezinski, “The Unmanned Army”, New York Times, April 20, 2003. 20 Fred Kaplan, “Force Majeure: What Lies Behind the Military’s Victory in Iraq”. Slate.msn.com, Tuesday April 15: http://slate.msn.com/id/2081388. Similar comments are made by Ralph Peters, Beyond Terror, (Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 2002), 13, and other sources. 21 Desmond Morton, A Military History of Canada, (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1999), 243. 22 Ibid., 243. 23 Joel J. Sokolsky, “A Seat at the table: Canada and its alliances”. B.D. Hunt and R.G. Haycock eds., Canada’s Defence: Perspectives on Policy in the Twentieth Century, (Mississauga: Copp Clark Pitman Ltd.), 146. 24 Richter, op.cit., 15-16. 25 Ibid., 13.

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Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

26

See ibid., 13-14 for a discussion of this. Ibid., 17. 28 See Morton, op.cit., 254-263 for discussion of these events. 29 See ibid., 267. 30 See ibid., 268. 31 DND, 1994 White Paper on Defence, 10. Accessed at: http://www.dnd.ca/admpol/eng/doc/white_e.htm 32 Ibid., 1. 33 Andrew B. Godefroy, “Is the Sky Falling? Canada’s Defence Space Programme at the Crossroads”. Canadian Military Journal, 1:2. (Kingston: Royal Military College of Canada, 2000). Printed by Canadian Forces Training Materiel Production Centre, 54. 34 Ibid. 35 Ibid., 54-55. 36 Ibid., 55. 37 See: Andrew B. Godefroy, “Space and National Security: Canada’s Sporadic Strategy, 19851999”. Conference of Defence Associations Institute, http://www.cdacdai.ca/symposia/1998/98godefroy.htm. 38 Godefroy, “Is the Sky Falling?”, op.cit., 56. 39 Ibid., 56-57. 40 Ibid., 57. 41 See ibid., 59, for a more detailed description of these problems. 42 Sloan, The Revolution in Military Affairs, op.cit., 131. 43 Quoted in ibid. 44 These points are commonly made in Canadian military circles, but Sloan has, once again, articulated them—ibid., 131-132. 45 A Nation at Risk: The Decline of the Canadian Forces, (Ottawa: Conference of Defence Associations Institute, 2002), 24-25. 46 Peter Cheney, “Battlefield Final Arbiter of Weapons,” The Globe and Mail, Monday, April 21, 2003: http://www.globeandmail.com/servlet/ArticleNews/TPStory/LAC/20030421/UWEAPM//?q uery=abrams+tank 47 Ibid. 48 See, for instance: Paul A. Roman and Bruce Chapman, “Using Simulation to Estimate the Performance of the Situational Awareness System”, Army Doctrine and Training Bulletin, 5:3, (Fall 2002); “From the Directorate of Army Training: Learning through desktop simulation: the rationale for acquiring a Canadian version of TacOps”, Army Doctrine and Training Bulletin, 2: 3, (August 1999); and “From the Directorate of Army Doctrine – Firepower: A Primer for the New Manual”, Army Doctrine and Training Bulletin, 2:3, (August 1999). 49 See, for instance, Defence Strategy 2020: Formulating the DND/CF Statement of Strategy, at: www.vcds.forces.gc.ca/dgsp/cosstrat/2020/dwnld/ Defence%20Strategy%202020%20Ver4.doc and Shaping the Future of the Canadian Forces: A Strategy for 2020, June 1999, at: http://www.cds.forces.gc.ca/pubs/strategy2k/intro_e.asp 50 This is, of course, an informal observation, but as a researcher I have questioned some serving officers, including Captain Andrew Duncan of the PPCLI who served in 1993 on Rotation 12 of a Peacekeeping mission around Bihac, in the former Yugoslavia. His comments included the following: “I do believe we are beginning to experience an era of unprecedented situational 27

23

Perspectives on the RMA and the Effects on Canada of Changing Concepts of Military Organization and Practice

awareness even for section and individual tank commanders. There's only one problem - info overload at both the bottom and top. This may require organizational changes to the staff systems and even the chain of command as they exist right now. That in my opinion is where the real RMA will occur. The development of GPS, new radios, use of computers etc. are not "revolutionary", but just a progression of technological advances. What may be "revolutionary" about this age is the way we have to reorganize the military thought process to balance this info overload with the need to keep the chain of command a chain.” Correspondence dated April 18, 2003. 51 Pierre Forgues, “Command in a Network-Centric War,” Canadian Military Journal, 2:2, (Kingston: Royal Military College of Canada, 2001). Printed by Canadian Forces Training Materiel Production Centre, 28. 52 Ibid., 27. 53 A number of Canadian analysts have argued that innovation and experimentation are central to dealing with a RMA. See, for instance, Scott Robertson’s paper “Experimentation and Innovation in the Canadian Forces”, op.cit. 54 As, for instance, is argued by Haycock, op.cit., 5-22. 55 See, for instance, Scott Taylor, “Back to Afghanistan”, Esprit de Corps, 10:10. (Ottawa: Esprit de Corps), 4-5; and Bill Twatio, “On the Beach”, Esprit de Corps, 10: 9. (Ottawa: Esprit de Corps), 5 and 29. 56 A Nation at Risk, Conference of Defence Associations, op.cit., 17. 57 Richter, op.cit., 21. 58 For example, a program exists for Members of Parliament to hold honourary rank for months at a time while serving with military units.

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

A Critical Examination Of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome LINDSEY AUFRICHT University of Calgary, Calgary In February 2003, the Chinese government contacted the World Health Organization to report an outbreak of an unknown respiratory illness. The atypical pneumonia had already killed five people, and another 305 people were suspected of having the disease.1 The disease was named Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome, or SARS. When SARS spread out of southern China, four new hotspots quickly developed: Hanoi, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Toronto. From February to August 2003, Canadians were focused on the potentially fatal disease that spread quickly through the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). In just four months, Canada had a total of 438 cases of SARS, and 44 deaths—more cases outside of Asia than any other country in the world.2 Thankfully, Canadian health officials were able to successfully contain the illness, but the containment process was costly and difficult. While the outbreak was both serious and terrifying, it provided an opportunity for Canadian health officials to identify problem areas in Canada’s public health system. This paper examines the Canadian Public Health system’s capacity to deal with an infectious disease outbreak. Specifically, it examines the circumstances surrounding the SARS outbreak, and identifies what can be learned from the SARS outbreak that will improve Canada’s ability to respond to another infectious disease outbreak, or a possible biological attack. In order to do this, this paper is divided into three parts. The first, entitled “The SARS Outbreak”, provides a chronological outline of how SARS spread throughout the world. It also examines the ramifications of the SARS outbreak on Canada’s health care system. The second section is called “Why Study SARS?”. This section outlines the possible health threats to Canada—both in the form of a naturally occurring infectious disease outbreak, or a possible biological attack . This includes a brief analysis of the

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

proliferation of biological weapons. It will also attempt to assess the threat of biological attacks within Canada. Third, it examines the possible ramifications of a biological attack with the use of smallpox—a disease with similar modes of transmission and incubation time to SARS. The final section of this report is entitled: “Necessary changes to the Canada’s public health system”. This section identifies the deficiencies in the Canadian public health system that were identified during the SARS outbreak. PART I: THE SARS OUTBREAK Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS) is believed to have originated in the Guangzhou Province of the People’s Republic of China. This is a primarily rural region in the southeastern sector of the country (see Fig. 1 on page 26). In November 2002, dozens of cases of a mysterious pneumonia-like disease were discovered there. Unfortunately, provincial authorities in Guangzhou delayed reporting the outbreak. Finally, on February 11, 2003, they reported the outbreak to federal officials. On March 26, 2003, the People’s Republic of China contacted the World Health Organization and asked for help in identifying, treating, and controlling the unknown disease.3 But how did SARS spread from the Chinese province of Guangzhou to Hong Kong, Hanoi, Singapore and Canada? When tracing infectious diseases to their source, health officials seek out an “index case”. The index case is the individual who carried the disease out of its point of origin. Health officials then trace primary, secondary and tertiary cases from the index case.4 In the case of SARS, the index case was a 64 year-old doctor from Guangzhou Province who had treated patients with SARS.5 In midFebruary, the doctor traveled to Hong Kong, where he stayed at the Metropole Hotel in Mong Kok on February 21, 2003. The doctor fell ill during his visit, and was admitted to hospital on February 22. He succumbed to the disease on March 4. However, during his stay at the Metropole Hotel, he came into contact with several individuals on his floor. Among them were three female tourists from Singapore, and two Canadians. Health officials suspect that at some point these six individuals must have come into close contact with one another, such as being in an elevator together.6 From that point, outbreaks developed in the Hong Kong hospital where the man was treated. Further outbreaks occurred in Canada, Vietnam, the United States, Singapore, Ireland and Bangkok.7 Figure 1 shows the progression of the outbreak from the index case to others (see below).

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome was brought to Canada by one of the women infected at the Metropole Hotel.8 Members of her immediate family became ill, and subsequently spread the infection to their doctor. After these individuals were hospitalized, SARS cases began occurring in hospital staff who had treated the patients during their hospital visit. The hospital staff was unaware of SARS and how contagious it was, and they did not wear adequate protective gear to prevent the disease from spreading. As 27

A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

a result, several members of the health care workers’ families were also diagnosed with SARS. It is believed that there were four generations of transmission within Canada.9 In total, Canada experienced 251 probable cases of SARS, 187 suspected cases, and 44 deaths.10 The Canadian health care system did an admirable job of containing Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome. They worked closely with the World Health Organization to link the cases in the GTA and Vancouver to the cases found in Hong Kong and China. Nearly 30,000 people were quarantined in the GTA.11 Thanks to the efforts of health care workers in Canada, Hong Kong, Vietnam, and China, the disease was stopped in just four months. “On July 5, 2003, the World Health Organization announced that the last person-to-person chain of transmission had been broken.”12 Many people felt that the Canadian public health system and media overreacted to the SARS outbreak. However, there were a number of alarming characteristics about Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome that left the medical community much more nervous than with previous infectious diseases. Drs. Leung Ping Chung and Ooi Eeg Eong are experts in Asian disease outbreaks. In their book, The SARS War: Combating the Disease, they identify three characteristics of SARS that made it very difficult to deal with. The first is that patients with SARS display symptoms that are similar to the flu. These are: a high fever (over 38°C), headache, sore throat, shortness of breath, and a dry cough. As a result of this, many primary, secondary, and tertiary cases of SARS were sent home with simple antibiotics.13 This led to infection of family members and close friends. The second alarming characteristic of SARS is that it spreads relatively easily from person to person. SARS is a droplet spread viral disease, meaning droplets of body fluid that are coughed or sneezed out of the patient’s nose or mouth carry the disease. This means that someone can contract the disease if someone coughs near their face, and also that the virus can survive on a object touched by this droplet. In a hospital scenario, this means that if a patient coughs onto a plastic plate, and a droplet of body fluid remains there, then they could infect hospital workers if those workers touched the plate and then touched their own faces.14 As is common with droplet carried viruses, those most likely to become infected are family members and health care workers who come into close contact with patients. The third characteristic of SARS which makes it hard to deal with is that it has a relatively short incubation period—about 10 days.15 It attacks the body quickly, and patients often succumb quickly. Granted, all of the

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

fatalities that occurred in SARS patients were middle aged and older, and already had compromised health. However, many younger patients had to be placed on ventilators in order to recover from the disease. Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome can quickly debilitate a young, healthy individual. There are a few other worrisome characteristics of SARS. For example, this outbreak marked the “most significant outbreak that spread through air travel in history.”16 This made unprecedented policy changes in air travel necessary—from screening patients before they got on an airplane, to allowing airline staff to wear protective masks while on board. Another example is that unlike many other Asian flu outbreaks, such as the “bird flu” and the Nipah virus disease, the source was not an animal that could be slaughtered. Therefore, it was impossible to eradicate the source of the disease.17 All of these characteristics made SARS a great worry to health professionals, and caused them to react strongly. PART II: WHY STUDY SARS? The SARS outbreak provided Canada with a unique opportunity to test its public health system. It is vital that Canada take the risk of another infectious disease outbreak or a biological attack seriously. Prior to the anthrax attacks in the fall of 2001, most high ranking officials felt that the threat of a biological attack on North America was very low. However, the intentional release of Bacillus anthracis through the United States Postal System raised awareness that the threat of a biological attack is real. In the anthrax attacks, the most highly virulent strain of anthrax was processed into a fine, dry powder. In that form, it can aerosolize readily—making it easier for victims to inhale the powder deep into their lungs.18 This inhalation can cause the most serious form of the disease. Twenty-two people contracted anthrax from that attack, eleven patients suffered from inhalation anthrax, and eleven from cutaneous anthrax (which causes a rash on the skin). Five people died as a result of the anthrax attacks.19 Although the attack was relatively small, it raised awareness for the need to prepare the country for a biological attack. Weapons proliferation is a serious worldwide problem. It is often difficult to track which countries have weapons, and where they are being transported. The Canadian Security and Intelligence Service (CSIS) released a report in June 2000 updating the Canadian public about the proliferation of biological weapons (BW) around the world. It warned that BW are cheaper and easier to produce than nuclear or chemical weapons, and that the

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

equipment needed to produce biological weapons is easily attainable. In short, “any nation with a modestly sophisticated pharmaceutical industry is capable of producing biological agents.”20 In 1975, Canada and many other countries became party to the Biological and Chemical Weapons Convention, which attempted to stem the proliferation of biological and chemical weapons.21 Despite this effort to ban biological weapons, CSIS provided a list of eight countries who are believed to have undeclared biological weapons programs. These include Egypt, India, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Libya, North Korea, Pakistan, Syria, and Taiwan.22 It should be noted that political situations in some of these countries have changed since this report was released. While a biological attack on Canadian soil is unlikely, the same is not true for Canadian troops overseas. Canada currently has more than 2,000 troops serving in Operation Athena in Afghanistan.23 Canada also has more than 1,500 troops deployed to other peacekeeping and stabilization operations.24 Those troops, especially those serving in the Middle East, could be vulnerable to attack with biological weapons. Even more worrisome is that an attack of this kind is virtually indefensible:25 Defence against BW agents may be quite problematic, given current difficulties in detecting their presence or identifying them; the requirements of vaccination (advance knowledge of the type of agent, the availability of effective vaccines, and sufficient time to develop immunity); and the fact that sufficiently high concentrations of agent may overcome the immunity even of vaccinated personnel.26

Although Canadians are unlikely to face biological weapons at home, the same is not true for troops serving overseas or on peacekeeping missions. Also, our geographical proximity and high rate of trade with the United States means that if they were attacked with biological weapons, the disease would almost certainly spread into Canada. In order to grasp the effect a biological attack would have on a civilian population, it is beneficial to run through a scenario of a potential infectious disease. This helps in understanding why preparedness for a biological attack is so vital. There are several diseases which could be used in a biological attack, such as Hemorrhagic Fever Viruses, Tularemia, the Plague, and several others. For this mental exercise, smallpox will be the virus of choice. Smallpox has a long history of being used as a biological weapon. It was first used by the British against American Indian populations between 1754 and 1767. Military personnel distributed blankets which had been used

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

by smallpox patients to the natives.27 The British managed to kill fifty per cent of targeted tribes. Nearly two hundred years later, a vaccination for smallpox was developed. Subsequently, the World Health Organization sought to eradicate the disease through widespread immunization programs. It launched a campaign in 1967, and by 1977, they had succeeded in eradicating smallpox and the immunization programs were discontinued.28 The World Health Organization (WHO) then requested that all countries with stockpiles of the disease hand them over to WHO labs in Moscow and the United States. The WHO stated that “all countries had reported compliance”, however many people believe that stockpiles of smallpox still exist. It is known that Russia developed a form of the disease which could be put into bombs, and there is a fear that with lack of funding for the programs in Russia, the stockpiles could find their way into the hands of terrorist groups.29 Another reason why smallpox was chosen for this particular paper is that smallpox displays some similar characteristics to Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome. For example, it is also a droplet-carried virus30. Therefore, the methods of transmission discussed earlier in reference to SARS would also apply to smallpox. Secondly, smallpox also has a short incubation period—12 to 14 days. This means that patients are sick with smallpox and contagious for approximately the same amount of time as SARS patients. The most notable difference between the two diseases is the fatality rate. Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome has a fatality rate of approximately four per cent, whereas smallpox has a fatality rate close to thirty per cent.31 Even more ominous is the fact that the smallpox vaccination programs ended more than 25 years ago, making the North American population extremely vulnerable. In this theoretical biological attack, an aerosol release of smallpox is carried out in a facility containing 50 to 100 people. The attack is carried out during the winter or spring, since the transmission rate is much higher at that time of year.32 The time lapse between the release of smallpox and the diagnosis of the first patients would be at least two weeks. This is based on the 12 to 14 day incubation period, the time required for patients to develop a rash distinct to smallpox, and the time required for a laboratory confirmation of the disease. Within that two to three week time, close contacts to those in the initial wave of cases have been infected. Once the first diagnosis is made, everyone that the patient had been in close contact with, meaning living in the same house, or having face-to-face contact with,

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

would have to be vaccinated and put under surveillance.33 An emergency vaccination program would have to be put into place, which would be difficult because specialized training is required to administer the smallpox vaccine.34 Also, forcible quarantine may be required to control the panicked population.35 From the 50 to 100 people infected initially, smallpox would spread by a factor of ten times or more for every generation of cases.36 This scenario, as well as the research on biological weapons proliferation, helps conceptualize the importance of being prepared for a possible biological attack. It illustrates the need for Canada to improve the public health system’s ability to respond to such an outbreak. Even if a biological attack on Canadian soil is unlikely, there are still important reasons to evaluate the effectiveness of Canada’s public health system in dealing with a disease outbreak. Most notably is the threat of a naturally occurring infectious disease outbreak. In the past 100 years, three flu pandemics have swept through Canada. The first was the Spanish Flu pandemic in 1918-1919, which killed 20-50 million people worldwide, with half a million of those in the United States.37 The next flu pandemic occurred between 1957 and 1958, called the Asian Flu. This flu spread from China to the United States in only four months, and killed over one million people worldwide.38 The latest flu pandemic was the Hong Kong Flu, which occurred between 1968 and 1969, and killed about 700,000 people worldwide. Viruses which mutated from the original Hong Kong Flu are still circulating around the world today.39 There have been several other serious flu outbreaks since 1969, such as the Swine Flu in 1976, the Avian Flu in 1997, and the outbreak of Influenza Type A Virus in 1999. Luckily, none of these flu outbreaks have progressed into pandemics.40 Most worrying is that the historical pattern shows that a flu pandemic occurs approximately every 30 years. Since it has been over 30 years since the Hong Kong Flu pandemic, many medical researchers believe that another flu pandemic will occur within the next five to ten years.41 Canada has begun to prepare itself for the strain on the health care system. For example, the Alberta Government recently released a plan to prepare the province’s health care system to deal with the next global epidemic. To do so, they will be accepting guidelines from the Canadian Pandemic Influenza Contingency Plan.42 Implementation of similar plans is vital if Canada is to prepare for another infectious disease outbreak.

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

PART III: NECESSARY CHANGES TO CANADA’S PUBLIC HEALTH SYSTEM Although the SARS outbreak was relatively small and short-lived, it made clear that the Canadian public health system is in need of a drastic overhaul. The outbreak of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome illustrated the problems within the public health system’s infrastructure. These problems are outlined in the report “Learning From SARS: Renewal of Public Health in Canada”, written by the National Advisory Committee on SARS in October 2003. They include: a lack of surge capacity in the health care system, problems accessing laboratory testing and results, an absence of protocols for data and information sharing between levels of government, inadequate capacity for epidemiological investigation, inadequacies in outbreak protocols including isolation and quarantine.43 These problems, and proposed solutions, are outlined below. The first problem encountered in Canada during the SARS outbreak was the lack of surge capacity. Surge capacity is the ability of a health care system to function at “business as usual” levels during a crisis.44 During the SARS outbreak, Toronto hospitals were overwhelmed with the task of identifying and treating SARS. As a result, normal functions at the hospitals, such as surgeries, were delayed. In order to build surge capacity, additional medical personnel have to be trained for emergency situations. These personnel must be deployable in the time of an emergency in order for clinics and hospitals to continue functioning at normal levels (or close to). At the very least, maternity and critical care wards must remain operational. To create surge capacity within the Canadian public health system, the Canadian government must commit funds to the National Office of Health Emergency Response Teams (NOHERT). This office develops HERT teams, groups specifically trained to respond to health crises. They are ready for deployment anywhere in the country within twenty-four hours.45 HERT teams are designed with versatility in mind: NOHERT’s all hazards approach encompasses emergency medical response to natural disasters, explosions, or to major chemical, biological or radio-nuclear incidents. Each NOHERT team will have expertise in emergency medical care (triage, stabilization, evacuation, and patient management), mental health care and public health disaster risk identification, assessment and management.46

The creation of numerous HERT teams would greatly benefit the Canadian public health system, because it would remove some of the burden from hospitals and local clinics. This allows these facilities to operate at near 33

A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

normal levels, and the rest of the health care system would not be crippled by an infectious disease outbreak. Another problem with Canada’s public health system that was identified during the SARS outbreak was lack of access to laboratories, both for testing and for receiving results. In order to understand the confusion in the lab, it is it first crucial to understand the hierarchical structure of the laboratories in Canada’s public health system. There are four levels of labs in Canada: the private level, local and hospital labs, provincial public health labs, and national labs connected to international lab networks. While the hierarchy of these labs is clear, there is no reporting procedures or data sharing between these levels.47 This caused several problems during the SARS outbreak. The discovery phase of SARS in Canada happened relatively quickly. Using the Canadian Public Health Laboratory Network (CPHLN) to rule out other possible contagions sped up the process of identifying SARS. Within two weeks the National Microbiology Lab (NML) had identified SARS, and had begun developing a diagnostic test.48 However, the system broke down when testing methods became too dependent on the diagnostic test at the NML. Lab specimens were moved from local or hospital labs to provincial ones, and then on to the NML. As a result, specimens sometimes reached the NML between two and four weeks after they had been obtained.49 These time lapses caused local labs to begin developing their own diagnostic tests, which resulted in wasteful duplication: The plan of the CPHLN was to rapidly devolve testing capacity to provincial laboratories. However, at the same time, provincial, hospital and academic laboratories began developing their own testing based on published sequences of the coronavirus and material obtained from ill patients. This resulted in some chaos and duplication as individual scientists and laboratories went their own way.50

This type of confusion and duplication needs to be avoided in order to create an economically efficient public health system. Another major problem in the laboratory system was that of data sharing. There is no common software system to link all of the provincial/territorial public health labs. As a result, an ad hoc system had to be developed in the midst of the chaos during the SARS outbreak. In order to address the problems found in the public health laboratory system, a new data sharing and communication systems must be put in place. Strong regional and provincial public health labs must be ready to assist the front-line laboratories.51 Also, “common or related testing procedures, 34

A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

shared or interoperable information systems and common programming”52 is vital. These systems encourage the cooperation of labs at the local, provincial, and national levels. As well, increasing the capabilities of provincial labs will allow diagnostic testing to be carried out at the lowest level possible within the laboratory network. By bringing diagnostic tests closer to the patient, the pubic health system will expedite access to lab testing, as well as access to test results.53 These improvements to the Canadian Public Health Laboratory Network will allow for faster diagnosis, and better tracking of infectious diseases in Canada. Another problem identified with the public health care system in Canada was that there was a lack of clear chain of command, and as a result an absence of protocols for data and information sharing between levels of government. In their assessment, the National Advisory Committee (NAC) on SARS outlined systems used by other countries who have been successful in containing infectious disease outbreaks. Among them were the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia. In all of these countries, a clear chain of command and policy has been developed. Among the NAC’s recommendations was to structure the Canadian Agency for Public Health as a legislative service agency. This structure is already being used by the Canadian Food Inspection Agency, the Canadian Institute of Health Research, and Statistics Canada.54 This structural change would create the position of Chief Public Health Officer of Canada, an individual in charge of overseeing the effectiveness of the public health system. As well, the new Officer would produce an annual report on the status of the public health system. Most importantly, the Canadian Agency for Public Health would be charged with developing a national strategy for public health.55 This would allow for more consistency and cooperation between the provincial/territorial jurisdictions. It is vital to have consistent policy goals in all levels of government. This will allow for greater cooperation during a crisis. Yet another concern brought up during the post-SARS period was a lack of human resources in the public health system. For example, there is a chronic shortage of nurses and public health physicians in rural areas, Atlantic Canada, the Northwest Territories and in Nunavut.56 There is a shortage of medically and PhD trained microbiologists as well as Infection Control Practitioners.57 As a result, Canada lacks the capacity for epidemiological investigation, data collection, and information gathering.

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

There are two types of Infection Control Practitioners (ICP): one type consists of nurses, the other of lab technicians. ICPs are vital in an infectious disease outbreak, because they can provide additional support to hospital and laboratory staff.58 Without these specialists, Canada will be unable to identify an infectious disease quickly enough to curb its spread. In order to address this serious problem, the public health system needs to provide additional funding for training programs. These programs would allow nurses, lab technicians, and doctors to increase their level of expertise in the area of infectious diseases. For example, the Field Epidemiology Training Program, which trains medical professionals to trace infectious diseases, takes only five or six trainees per year.59 Additional support for these types of programs must be provided, as current funding levels are insufficient. Isolation and quarantine are other issues that need to be addressed in the wake of SARS. It is important to understand the differences between isolation and quarantine. Isolation is the separation of an individual who is ill from others, in order to control the spread of the disease. People can be isolated in their homes, or in hospital wards. Isolation is generally voluntary, though most public health officials have the authority to forcibly isolate a sick patient.60 Quarantine targets people who have been exposed to the disease but who are not yet ill. This measure helps curb the spread of the disease into the general population.61 Most importantly, isolation and quarantine have been proven by the Centre for Disease Control (in Atlanta, GA) to be effective methods to control infectious disease outbreaks.62 In Canada, the public health legislation includes the Quarantine Act, which allows Canadian officials to monitor people entering and exiting the country. If an individual is suspected of having a disease which is listed in the Quarantine Act, the quarantine officer can force the individual to have a medical examination, and to remain in custody if necessary.63 As it stands, there are only four diseases listed in the Quarantine Act: smallpox, plague, yellow fever, and cholera. Recently, Health Canada recommended several amendments to the Quarantine Act related to the SARS outbreak. First, it recommends that Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome be added to the list of diseases in the Act.64 Secondly, Health Canada wants to grant quarantine officers the right to detain individuals who are ill, or who have been exposed to the disease. It also allows a quarantine officer to force people who may have been exposed to SARS to remain isolated. Another amendment allows quarantine officers

36

A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

to compel airlines to distribute information about SARS. These amendments are clearly important. They eliminate confusion over jurisdiction during an outbreak, and help stop local transmission of infectious diseases. In order for Canada’s public health system to be capable of handling an infectious disease outbreak or a biological attack, the proposed changes outlined above must be implemented. The building of surge capacity is vital, and creating specialized teams such as the HERT teams is a cost effective way of doing so. Once these teams are trained, they can be deployed anywhere in the country with twenty-four hours to offer support to local health authorities. Greater coordination between the four levels of laboratories in Canada would greatly increase Canada’s ability to identify, treat, and contain infectious diseases. It would also do so without duplication and the wasting of government resources. This coordination can be achieved with compatible software systems and information databases accessible to medical personnel at all levels. The creation of a clear chain of command would allow all levels of Canada’s public health system to work together. The Canadian Agency for Public Health would devise clear and consistent policies and protocols for all levels of government. During an outbreak, there would no longer be disputes over issues like data ownership and jurisdiction. This coordination would also allow programs like Health Canada’s Centre for Emergency Preparedness Response to function more effectively, because guidelines for provinces, territories, hospitals and clinics would already be established. Amending the Quarantine Act is another important step for Health Canada. It would allow greater power to quarantine officers in an emergency, and would allow officials to compel airlines to inform their passengers of potential risks. Training programs for nurses and lab technicians are needed desperately. Also, incentives to keep microbiology specialists in Canada must be put in place to address the shortage of infectious disease specialists in Canada. Canada may also want to consider running a simulation exercise of an infectious disease outbreak. The Center for Biosecurity at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center ran a simulation in June of 2001 called “Dark Winter”. In their article for Clinical Infectious Diseases, researchers Tara O’Toole, Michael Mair and Thomas Inglesby explained the operation and its ramifications. The exercise was carried out June 22 and 23, and was designed

37

A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

to test how high-level policy makers would react to a smallpox outbreak in Oklahoma.65 The tabletop exercise began with simultaneous attacks in the Middle East and a biological attack on shopping malls in Oklahoma City, Philadelphia and Atlanta. The simulation was carried out in three stages, representing three National Security Council meetings over a two week time span. During the simulation, many problems were identified within the American emergency response apparatus. Among them were: a lack of understanding of biological attacks by high-ranking policy makers; problems attaining clear data as to the original outbreak sites; lack of sufficient drugs or vaccine to treat the disease and curb its spread; and a lack of surge capacity.66 The purpose of simulations is to find holes in the system, and attempt to patch them up before an actual outbreak occurs. As the Honorable Sam Nunn so aptly expressed in his debriefing of the exercise to the House Government Reform Committee, “you often don't know what you don't know until you've been tested.”67 Canada would benefit greatly from a simulation exercise of this type to assess its ability to respond to a medical emergency. CLOSING REMARKS The recent outbreak of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome provided Canada with an important opportunity. For the first time in many years, Canada’s public health system’s ability to identify, treat, and control an infectious disease was tested. Canada needs to seize this opportunity and learn what it can from the SARS outbreak to improve the public health system. On August 14, over one month after the last person-to-person chain of transmission had been broken, the World Health Organization warned countries of the possibility of a re-emergence of SARS. The bulletin explained that knowledge about the conavirus that causes SARS (SARS-CoV) is still very limited.68 The WHO urged all countries to watch vigilantly for another SARS outbreak. Thankfully, the Canadian government has taken the threat a reemergence of SARS very seriously, and has released a report on November 13 called “Health Canada’s Preparedness for and Response to Respiratory Infections Season and the Possible Re-emergency of SARS”. The report outlines changes that have been made to the public health system since the SARS outbreak.

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A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

Fortunately, the changes address many of the issues brought forward by “Learning from SARS”. For example, Health Canada developed more detailed guidelines for hospitals to help them identify SARS. Also, it modified an existing notification tool called the Canadian Integrated Outbreak Surveillance Centre (CIOSC) Respiratory Alerts Program.69 CIOSC previously tracked cases of gastrointestinal outbreaks, such as food or water poisoning. Recently, outbreaks of respiratory infections have been added to the system. There are many benefits to adding respiratory illnesses to the system: More than 95% of all health units in Canada, all provincial/territorial chief medical officers of health and provincial health laboratories have access to the system…allowing the public health community, including Health Canada, to identify outbreaks or case clusters and respond.70

The addition of respiratory illnesses to CIOSC addresses some of the issues surrounding public health surveillance and data sharing. Another internetbase database has also been created: the Public Health Information System (iPHIS), which allows public health officers to enter data about their specific cases. This system helps integrate case histories with laboratory data and quarantine case reports.71 It is hoped that these systems will increase cooperation between levels of government and allow outbreaks to be identified and controlled quickly. Another example of positive change in the public health system is the creation of the Respiratory Illness Outbreak Response Protocol. This set of protocol addresses the confusion of roles and responsibilities between levels of government. They will help to coordinate investigation and containment efforts around the country.72 Fortunately, Health Canada has also had the foresight to create a number of response teams which can be deployed as soon as an outbreak is identified. These Epidemiological Teams can be on site within hours, and are composed of two groups. The first works directly with local health authorities, while the other collects and analyses data from the cases. This team, along with a mobile lab from the National Microbiology Lab, can respond to an outbreak on site and keep it from spreading.73 This addresses the issue of removing some of the clinical and laboratory burden placed on local hospitals during an outbreak. This additional support will allow hospitals to function at near-normal levels during an infectious disease outbreak. These changes and others demonstrate that Health Canada has taken the problems identified during the SARS outbreak seriously. It also 39

A Critical Examination of Canada’s Public Health System in the Wake of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

demonstrates the willingness of the government to act quickly when necessary. Between March and November of 2003, major investigations into the “health” of Canada public health system have been carried out. Although initial reports were dismal, Health Canada has acted expediently to improve Canada’s ability to react to an emerging infectious disease or a biological attack. “The name of the game is that you have to overreact” -Dr. James Young Toronto’s commissioner of public safety 1

World Health Organization: Communicable Disease Surveillance and Response, “SARS: Status of the Outbreak and Lessons for the Immediate Future”, World Health Organization, May 2003. 2 Health Canada, “Learning from SARS: Renewal of Public Health in Canada”, Health Canada, 11 October 2003, http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/english/protection/warnings/sars/learning.html, (October 10, 2003). 3 Drs P. C. Leung and E. E. Ooi, ed., SARS War: Combating the Disease, (Singapore: World Scientific Publishing, 2003), 17. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid., 18. 8 Population and Public Health Branch, “Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS): Preliminary Epidemiological Findings as of April 4, 2003”, Health Canada, website: http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/pphb-dgspsp/sars-sras/pef-dep/sars-pef20030404_e.html, updated 4 June 2003, (December 7 2003), 1. 9 Ibid. 10 Population and Public Health Branch, “Canadian SARS numbers”, Health Canada, 3 September 2003, http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/pphb-dgspsp/sars-sras/cn-cc/numbers.html (October 12, 2003). 11 Population and Public Health Branch, “Learning from SARS: Renewing Public Health in Canada”, Health Canada, 11 October 2003, http://www.hcsc.gc.ca/english/protection/warnings/sars/learning.html, (October 10, 2003), Chapter 2E1. 12 Population and Public Health Branch, “SARS Situation Update and Continuing National Surveillance”, Health Canada, 5 September 2003, http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/pphb-dgspsp/sarssras/cn-cc/numbers.html], (November 28, 2003), 1. 13 Leung and Ooi, 16. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid, 31. 17 Ibid, 15. 18 Arthur P. Rogers, ed., Bioterrorism Reader, (New York: Nova Science Publishers, Inc., 2002), 83. 19 Ibid.

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20

Canadian Security Intelligence Service, “Biological Weapons Proliferation”, CSIS, 9 June 2000, http://www.csis-scrs.gc.ca/eng/miscdocs/200005_e.html, (October 10, 2003). 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid. 23 Canadian Forces Operations, “Current Operations”, Department of National Defence, updated 2 December 2003, website: http://www.forces.gc.ca/site/operations/current_ops_e.asp, (Dec 7, 2003). 24 Ibid. 25 Canadian Security Intelligence Service. 26 Ibid. 27 Donald A. Henderson, Thomas V. Inglesby, Tara O’Toole, Bioterrorism: Guidelines for Medical and Public Health Management, (Chicago: American Medical Association, 2002), 100. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid., 101. 31 Ibid., 99. 32 Ibid., 109. 33 Ibid. 34 Ibid., 111. 35 Ibid., 109. 36 Ibid. 37 Leung and Ooi, 30. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid., 31. 40 Ibid. 41 Alberta Health and Wellness, “New plan prepares Alberta for potential global influenza epidemic”, Government of Alberta, 25 November 2003, website: http://www.gov.ab.ca/acn/200311/15532.html, (Debember 8, 2003). 42 Ibid. 43 Health Canada, “Learning from SARS: Renewal of Public Health in Canada”, Health Canada, 11 October 2003, http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/english/protection/warnings/sars/learning.html, (October 10, 2003), 1. 44 Ibid, Chapter 5.5. 45 Population and Public Health Branch, “National Office of Health Emergency Response Teams”, Health Canada, 8 October 2002, website: http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/pphb-dgspsp/ceprcmiu/ophs-bssp/nohert_e.html, (December 6, 2003), 1. 46 Ibid., 1. 47 Population and Public Health Branch, “Learning from SARS: Renewing Public Health in Canada”, Health Canada, 11 October 2003, http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/english/protection /warnings/sars/learning.html, (October 10, 2003), Chapter 6B. 48 Ibid., Chapter 6C. 49 Ibid. 50 Ibid. 51 Ibid., Chapter 6D. 52 Ibid. 53 Ibid. 54 Ibid., 4 of Executive Summary.

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55

Ibid. Ibid., 8 of E.S. 57 Ibid. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid/, Chapter 7D. 60 Centre for Disease Control, “Isolation and Quarantine”, CDC, 18 August 2003, website: http://www.cdc.gov/ncidod/sars/isolationquarantine.htm, November 28, 2003. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid. 63 Health Canada, “Quarantine Act and Regulations: SARS amendment”, Health Canada, 12 June 2003, http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/english/protection/warnings/sars/fact_sheet.html, (October 13, 2003). 64 Ibid. 65 O’Toole, Mair, and Inglesby, “Shining Light on Dark Winter”, in Clinical Infectious Diseases, 34, 972. 66 Ibid. 67 Centre for Biosecurity, “Dark Winter Overview”, University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, website: http://www.upmc-biosecurity.org/pages/events/dark_winter/dark_winter.html, December 6, 2003. 68 World Health Organization, “Alert, verification and public health management of SARS in the post-outbreak period”, WHO, 14 August 2003, website: http://www.who.int/csr/sars/postoutbreak/en/, (December 6, 2003), 1. 69 Population and Public Health Branch, “Health Canada’s Preparedness for and Response to Respiratory Infections Season and the Possible Re-emergency of SARS”, Health Canada, 19 November 2003, website: http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/pphb-dgspsp/sars-sras/ris-sir/index.html, (November 28, 2003), 6. 70 Ibid. 71 Ibid., 11. 72 Ibid., 8 73 Ibid., 11. 56

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Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War ROBERT S. BARRETT University of Calgary, Calgary THE EMERGING CRISIS OF INTRASTATE WAR World conflict has begun a marked transformation since the end of the Cold War. Great power politics based on the bifurcated struggle between East and West have given way to smaller and more protracted regional disputes around the globe. This is evidenced by a decline in the relative frequency of interstate wars as compared to intrastate wars, starting in the early 1990s. A snapshot of this trend in 1997 shows that there were no conventional interstate wars that year, although there were 24 ongoing intrastate conflicts—and by the year 2000, the number had grown to 35—a global phenomenon, which currently shows no sign of abatement.1 One possible theory to explain the rise in intrastate war is the demise of the former Soviet Union in 1991, which has challenged the fundamental social and political identities of groups that can no longer find ideological sanctuary under the umbrellas of democracy or communism.2 Instead, these individuals have been left searching for kinship associations—collective histories and experiences that can solidify group cohesion and ensure identity survival amidst global uncertainty. Adding to this, Levy suggests that state collapse leaves ethnic groups in a world of “emerging anarchy”, a world rife with uncertainty and fear about their ethnic future, and one that promotes a defensive reaction against other ethnic groups in the ensuing struggle for power, political, and social space.3 In particular, nations transiting from autocratic rule to democratic rule are especially susceptible to intrastate conflict. By its very nature, liberal democracy welcomes political discourse and constitutional freedoms—yet these are concepts that despite their well-intentioned natures may be difficult to implement in weak state structures. Hence, many fledgling democracies, or anocracies, the world over now experience continuous low-level intrastate In fact, states undergoing conflict between competing groups.4 democratization are forty per cent more likely to experience intrastate fighting and hostilities than non-democratizing states.5

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Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

In addition to political democratic reform, evidence supports the hypothesis that globalization is also contributing to a rise in intrastate conflict by promoting a generally perceived identity threat—experienced especially by, but not limited to, ethnic minorities who fear being acculturated into a homogeneous world. Guehenno suggests that globalization is creating “communities of choice” in which groups entrench in newly defined communal associations—often fueling nationalist or ethnic movements.6 THE EMERGENCE OF NEW ACTORS A study in 1995, produced by Wallensteen and Sollenberg, observed that while the total number of armed conflicts in the world has been decreasing throughout the post-Cold War era, the changing conflict arena has produced a new breed of modern soldier—the citizen combatant.7 As a result of this new non-state actor, conflict has taken on new dimensions. Territory and resources, once the coveted spoils of traditional war, are not always the motivating end-goals for citizen combatants. Ethnic-based, religious-based, or communal-based war have created wars whose spoils are not black and white, but shades of grey—new actors and motives which present a formidable challenge for would-be interventionists. Although there is no one theory that can entirely explain the role of citizen-soldiers in intrastate war, recent international events offer some clues. In many instances, modern ethnopolitical intrastate wars have been linked to politically turbulent transitional periods during the formation of new states or failed states. In the Balkans, the nationalist struggles within the formerYugoslav territories instigated ethnic diasporas—an ethnic particularist society, which when formed, promulgated horrific and sanguinary intergroup violence. The reasons for these ethnic-based wars have often been explained through the lenses of primordialist or instrumentalist models. Primordialist perspectives seek explanations that are rooted in suppressed ancient hatreds—hostile antagonisms kept subdued and simmering below the surface of authoritarian regimes. Once granted freedom of expression through political reform these subsurface hatreds are able to re-emerge as interethnic or inter-group fighting. However plausible this sounds, the primordialist model has been mostly supplanted by the instrumentalist model, which suggests that opportunistic and charismatic leaders are able to convert political uncertainty into fear and apprehension of “the Other” in order to achieve strategic 44

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

political ends. Thus the fundamental difference between the instrumentalist and the primordialist view is that the former suggests that identity is fluid and easily manipulated by propaganda-savvy leaders, while the latter presupposes group and ethnic identities to be historically rigid and un-malleable. Most academics have recognized that the complexity of ethnopolitical warfare cannot merely be attributed to an innate tendency to hate based on differing ethnic origins or phenotype, and as such, the primordialist model has been the target of substantial recent criticism. However, whether primordialist, instrumentalist, or a combination thereof, societal-level fighting between neighbours is rapidly becoming the status quo for modern war. Two modern intrastate wars highlight the prominent role that citizens play in modern warfare. In 1986, Slobodan Milosevic began his quest for a Serbian national agenda, one that would pit not only soldier against soldier, but also soldier against civilian, and civilian against civilian. Such ethnic divisions, ostensibly promulgated by nationalist agendas, deepened the chasm between ethnic-identity groups, leading to a vicious fight for political and social superiority within new territorial borders. Orchestrated nationalist fervor reinforced the barricaded identities and plight of the various groups, meaning that survival of not only oneself and one’s family, but also survival of ethnicity, religion, heritage, and culture became the fuel for street-level bloodshed between former friends and neighbours. In 1994 Rwanda, the Hutu people led a genocide that resulted in the deaths of 800,000 Tutsi and Hutu moderates in only 100 days—now labeled as the most efficient killing of humans in recorded history. Indeed, Rwanda is a devastating example of the extremely ferocious nature of intrastate war and the recruitment of citizen combatants. It is also an example of how such war can escalate into a situation that can no longer represents any rational political end, other than the complete annihilation of a people—proven by the preferential slaughtering of women and children in Rwanda. Hence, not only is the actor in conflict changing, but also the motivations informing their actions. The combination of these factors has created an extremely difficult and hostile environment for intervention. THE EMERGENCE OF NEW MOTIVATING FORCES Although territory, resource, power, and wealth are factors in nearly all conflicts, these easily identifiable spoils are creating, in many instances, a fog blanketing the real underlying issues. McDonald describes the concept of “non-negotiable issues”, in which he states that in the wake of the Cold War 45

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

and warring empires, modern human conflict is a product of efforts to preserve certain fundamental, non-negotiable human identities—namely religion, language, and culture.8 Backing this statement, Rasmussen points out that “nearly two-thirds of the ongoing conflicts in 1993 could be defined as ‘identity-based’, reflecting a fundamental shift in the motivating forces promoting modern-day conflict.”9 Rothman identifies less tangible group processes as informed by the “primary group identities of the participants”.10 The most common non-negotiable group identities are tied to group structure, as they relate to communal, tribal, religious, or ethnic membership. These labels act as categorical indices of underlying core issues that must be acknowledged for ethnopolitical conflict to be disentangled. Over time, as a conflict intensifies these social and psychological underpinnings found in grassroots conflict can cement group membership and grant further acquittal of malicious behaviour directed at opposing citizen groups. Indeed, as was evidenced by the Rwandan genocide, citizens are very capable of killing fellow citizens, and they can do so with unprecedented speed and efficiency. The apparent lack of reflection or perceived culpability for their actions is a testament to the strength of group processes. Indeed, it is apparent that individual consciousness is capable of capitulating in the face of stronger group attitudes, collective fears or behaviours. In other words, in situations of strongly framed group identities where alternative or individual attitudes and beliefs are shunned, and during times of crisis, collective group attitudes are likely to prevail. According to Jowitt, increased groupthink, especially at the expense of individualism is a dangerous combination—“where individualism is absent, violence is more likely to be present”.11 This notion of groupthink would certainly assist in explaining the horrific, yet seemingly committed acts of civilians or militias who willingly murder their previous neighbours. The real crux of this phenomenon is that it introduces social and psychological variables into the calculus of traditional political or military intervention. To ignore this reality is to operate on a fictional understanding of the conflict with the hope that the deep social and psychological wounds at the grassroots might simply heal themselves with the signing of a peace deal. However, it may be naïve to think that simply altering the political dynamic and stopping the fighting will cure the conceptual baggage felt at the grassroots. Indeed, the regular reoccurrence of violence in the wake of formal peace processes provides valid empirical evidence that stopping the immediate violence is only part of the interventionist’s task—and that 46

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

addressing the underlying motivating issues which gave rise to the conflict in the first place, must also be considered a priority. Although citizen combatants have an essential role in modern intrastate war, government structures are also prominent in navigating the course of these conflicts. In many cases, intrastate conflicts are characterized by citizen groups or militias that openly oppose government military forces. Indeed, the Ivory Coast, Chechnya, Northern Ireland, and recently Sierra Leone, are all conflicts in which at least one government force and at minimum one non-state, citizen-based group have been engaged in violent confrontation. This is a key point for the interventionist. As a result of the variation in actors, intervention strategies must incorporate a process that can speak to both the citizenry and the formal body politic. This ability to engage both the formal and informal strata of society remains an essential component of effective intrastate intervention—albeit, a component which has unfortunately been largely ignored. THE UNSUSTAINABLE PEACE AGREEMENT For most of recent history, wars and conflicts have been fought or settled with strong-handed power coercive tactics. Defining the victor and the vanquished was less complex, given the clearer definitions of the combatant as well as the underlying motivation of soldier and state. However, in intrastate conflict, the employing of power-coercive techniques as a strategy for attaining formal ceasefire agreements has become increasingly mired in complex sociopolitical dynamics. The ceasefires of traditional inter-state war, in which uniformed soldiers rather “cleanly” terminated their hostilities toward one another, are radically different from the complex webbings of current intrastate ceasefire agreements between non-uniformed combatants. Societal-level fighting is becoming a modern reality, and those engaged in peace initiatives are facing increasing challenges in their efforts to ameliorate these disputes. Indeed, “Only one-third of negotiated settlements of identity civil wars that last for more than five years ‘stick’”.12 As we are witnessing, street-level violence between citizens and non-state actors is often not amenable to traditional statecraft intervention techniques or diplomatic agreements. As Janice Stein suggests, “Conflict that focuses primarily on identity—as distinct from conflict over the distribution or redistribution of material goods—appears to be especially difficult to manage and resolve”.13

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Researchers, diplomats and practitioners alike have toiled with the current rate of ceasefire failure, but as former U.S. Ambassador John McDonald argues, The world is not designed or structured today to cope with the kind of violence it is facing … Governments have refused to acknowledge this [paradigm] shift and so have not changed their historical approach to conflict … No institutional changes are taking place, nationally, or internationally, because the problem is not officially recognized.14

This presents the unpredictable challenge of noncompliance toward formal agreements, including ceasefires. As non-state actors, the combatants do not necessarily feel obliged to adhere to state-organized, or state-mandated agreements, particularly true in circumstances where formal ceasefire agreements do not reflect the sentiment of their constituency or reduce the perceived threat, posed by the “Other”. This is especially evident if the group feels that their identity or needs are not being acknowledged or understood. Hence, there is a need to reassess the new underlying core issues of intrastate war and societal violence in order to better formulate responses and solutions that can speak to these new challenges. One positive product of societal-level fighting has been the global community’s increased attention toward human rights abuses on foreign soils. As a result, a great deal of debate has ensued over what conditions, if any, third-party intervention should be carried out on sovereign soil, should human rights abuses be discovered. Indeed, societal fighting, with its new actors, new motives, and lack of military structure, makes it easily susceptible to crimes against humanity and human rights abuses. Indeed, in Articles 51, 52 and 53, the United Nations grants authority to coordinate individual nation-state intervention efforts in situations where normal diplomatic means have failed in avoiding humanitarian disaster. Although such measures are in place, given the increase in non-state actors and the complexity of underlying social and psychological issues, traditional military or diplomatic processes aimed at obtaining ceasefire resolution have become less sustainable, if not completely mute. Additionally, Rasmussen argues that a novel challenge for the modern strategist, as the architect of formal ceasefire agreements, is that “National and other identity groups typically define their actions as consistent with their own interpretation of legal conventions. [Combatants] may argue that since the conflict is internal, their actions fall outside the realm of international law … and domestic law”.15 Hence, the charting of intrastate ceasefire agreements will require that peace-builders look beyond divisible issues of 48

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

territory and access to resources, and focus on the characteristics of both the new breed of combatant and the less tangible issues that underscore their motivation for force. GETTING ON THE RIGHT “TRACK” Conducting official diplomatic processes at the government level is typically referred to as Track I diplomacy, and it refers to all diplomatic efforts of an official and legally binding nature. Those traditionally engaged in Track I processes are governments or official representatives of a state, in formal processes of negotiation, encompassing most conventional forms of peacemaking, including signed declarations at the elite level. As Track I deals with formal government institutions, it is a top-down approach to solving conflict. It assumes that state-centered solutions between governments will foster acceptance and adherence from the citizenry, and that members of that society will respect the legal structure of formal ceasefire or peace agreements. In many instances, Track I is undoubtedly the best strategy for conflict resolution, if not the only strategy. Unfortunately, outside of the traditional sphere of Track I influence are the new and modern ethnopolitical wars of an intrastate nature, which are not so easily ameliorated through elite-level praxis. Track II diplomacy, which was first introduced by Joseph Montville in 1982, is a term describing citizen-to-citizen diplomacy—which used today, usually refers to professional conflict resolution.16 Track II works outside of formal government diplomatic channels and is non-official and informal in nature. Proponents of Track II technologies suggest that it provides a “diplomatic” alternative to the top-down philosophy of Track I, and as a result is better equipped to reach the grassroots citizen. With these attributes, Track II seems especially suited toward peace processes that deal with citizen combatants. Indeed, many Track II qualities seem to address the various shortcomings of Track I diplomacy. Where Track I is heavily bureaucratic, Track II is unencumbered by bureaucracy. Where Track I must follow formal legal channels, Track II is flexible and integrative. Where Track I involves elite-level politicians, Track II deals directly with the combatants. Where Track I is official, Track II is informal. However, the relationship between the two tracks is not simply diametric in nature, as these approaches can also be quite complementary.

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The uses of Track II vary from preventative measures that seek to stabilize a situation in order to prevent an outbreak of conflict to postconflict scenarios that support peace operations after a settlement has been reached. Track II technologies, (as non-power coercive strategies) are best employed either before or after the height of actual war, when the parties to the conflict may be receptive to diplomacy. In order for Track II to be most effective, the stakeholders must recognize that the risk of violence or continued violence will be more costly than the non-violent processes—what William Zartman calls the “point of ripeness”.17 This is the moment at which the parties may concede to a process that is not dependent on exercising military action—when both parties realize that they can no longer win through continued force or the cost of a drawn-out military campaign becomes too costly. Although Track II processes have stand-alone merit, they are often best used as support operations for other Track I processes. Hal Saunders emphasizes the importance of relationships, when he suggests that “[p]eace requires a process of building constructive relationships in a civil society— not just negotiating, signing, and ratifying a formal agreement”.18 This “reframing” allows the combatants to move from a state of “confrontation to negotiation” and readies them for effective dialogue at the negotiating table, a process that is essential for both sustainability of negotiated settlements and the implementation of civil society. As Daniel Druckman suggests, “changes in the way parties interact may lay the foundation for constructive negotiation … [and] effective use of [Track II] prenegotiation preparations may spell the difference between successful and unsuccessful outcomes”.19 When Montville first introduced the term Track II diplomacy in 1982, it was to highlight the usefulness and function of citizen diplomacy. Diamond and McDonald expanded on this theme and developed what is now known as “Multi-Track Diplomacy”. At its most simple level, MultiTrack Diplomacy attempts to discover the various avenues from which conflict can be influenced. By integrating a variety of approaches, disputes can be addressed on a multitude of fronts, using different diplomatic technologies, which can be designed specifically to match the core issues of the conflict. In this sense, war fighting can be addressed at the elite diplomatic level as well as at the level of the citizen-combatant. This is what Diamond and McDonald refer to when they speak of addressing the conflict through a systems approach to peace, whereby all levels of society are 50

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

recognized, as well as the significant social and psychological dynamics of the conflict.20 The most obvious arena for Multi-Track Diplomacy is in situations of intrastate war, in which non-state actors harbour non-negotiable interests and are fighting as citizen recruits at the societal level. As a result of the actors and motives associated with this form of conflict, Multi-Track Diplomacy is able to utilize certain track II processes in order to address core issues at the correct level of citizenry. Indeed, it is the increasing complexity of modern conflict that really supports the use of multi-track initiatives. BARRIERS TO TRACK COORDINATION If Multi-Track Diplomacy is so promising, why is it not being used? A United Nations report in 2000 stated, “In sum, there is a pattern of poor coordination and integration that characterizes global, regional, and national efforts to advance recovery from conflict”.21 Hence, Track I and Track II bring differing technologies that can be used at different times throughout the conflict lifecycle, depending on the receptivity of the disputants and the level of violence. In addition, practitioners of Tracks I and Track II often view their strategies as being informed by two disparate schools of thought, and as such, operate them independently, but with the same relative aim in mind. This perceived incompatibility has resulted in poor inter-track coordination, which in many instances has led to a disjointed collection of organizations descending upon the conflict theatre, all with the hope of performing independent miracles. The second barrier to coordination is that even if agencies and institutions do share the same operational philosophy, there may be a problem of resource competition between them, and of a struggle for leverage within the conflict—which is an obvious hindrance for cooperation. Track II competition over funds, in particular, by NGOs and other Track II actors can encumber cooperation, creating a lack of shared pursuit. On a positive note, many NGOs are beginning to realize this problem and have initiated a more balanced and coordinated approach to sharing expertise and funding through umbrella organizations, improving intra-track potential and Track II performance. Third, the general lack of knowledge or even willingness to engage in cooperative measures with other tracks, exhibited by both Track I and Track II practitioners is often the result of suspicions directed at the other’s process, methodology, or motive. Although it is not always the case, many 51

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

Track II practitioners do not wish to be hinged to Track I processes because of the formality these processes represent, and would rather proceed unencumbered by what they perceive to be a contamination of open, integrative and informal design. A fourth impediment to coordination pertains to the length of time that a given agency is willing to spend on the conflict. Many Track I efforts seek the coveted ceasefire agreement with handshakes and signatures, and then, once they have left for home, witness subsequent violent uprisings. On the other hand, many Track II agencies are limited by the length of the grants they receive—funds that are most often allocated for on-site projects of less than three years. Although a great deal of actual infrastructure can be rebuilt in a relatively short period of time, in a post-conflict society, the social and psychological reparations needed to preserve formal agreements may demand long-term commitment. This presents a very difficult problem for the coordination of efforts, as different agencies have different timelines, differing paces, and as such, differing agendas. Lastly, most Track II practitioners are wary of aligning with formal processes that are backed by particular governments because these practitioners risk losing their hard-won impartiality and neutrality in the eyes of the participants in the process. Legitimacy and trust are essential components for non-official and quasi-official processes so that Track II practitioners can facilitate open and unhindered dialogue. AN INTRODUCTION TO COMPOSITE DIPLOMACY The theoretical potential of Multi-Track Diplomacy is viable but it is simply not being practiced to the full degree. To accomplish the necessary track cohesion would involve a governing body, responsible for directing tasks and allocating funds—and which would be capable of comprehending and facilitating the integration of best practices from both Track I and Track II. This governing body would need to act as a coordinating agency, with knowledge of entry point calculation, power dynamics, and an appreciation of the value that each form of diplomacy brings to the table. Externally, this governing body would have to be very well respected globally and have access to funds, resources, partnering nations and agencies in order to accomplish complex intrastate interventions. Supporting this idea, the Deputy Secretary General of the United Nations, Louise Frechette (a Canadian), in a speech on June 21, 2001 described the state of modern war. She called on multidimensional approaches, and innovative measures, 52

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not only from the United Nations but from the member states as well. She called upon these nations to form new mechanisms, using comprehensive systems, to assist in the prevention of societal conflict. To this end, I propose a new diplomatic alternative, “Composite Diplomacy”. Composite diplomacy is based on the recognition that if modern intrastate conflict is to be managed effectively, be it before, during, or after the height of crisis, there must be greater cooperation between the official and non-official processes. At the core of this concept is the tenet that neither Track I nor Track II can promise sustainable peace processes when used in isolation, as each track is limited by its scope of intervention. As modern intrastate war continues to redefine conflict dynamics with new social and psychological dimension, the strategies of early warning, conflict intervention, and post-settlement peacebuilding must evolve, in order to keep pace. Coordinating these processes into one strategic effort is the next logical step. Multi-track diplomacy has promised just that, but for the many reasons discussed, has been unable to achieve this synthesis. Bridging these system gaps is the focus of composite diplomacy. Composite diplomacy goes further than prenegotiation, circumnegotiation, or supradisciplinary processes, which denote various avenues for “attaching” Track II processes to Track I efforts. Alternatively, Composite Diplomacy combines the merits and benefits of both formal and non-formal processes, essentially bringing the Track II world directly into the formal diplomatic fold, granting them a seat at the strategy table. The logistics of such an approach are daunting, but not impossible, and arguably essential, in order to address the complexity of new conflict dynamics. As a system, Composite Diplomacy would begin to address many fundamental operational cracks that have been identified in the business of peace brokering. Composite Diplomacy would recognize the psychosocial imperative within intrastate war, it would allow for coordinated efforts, reduce secondary and tertiary harm, add legitimacy to deserving Track II agencies, harness and maximize the greatest cross section of diplomatic expertise and intellectual capital, reduce questionable agendas, and increase credibility through its multilateral partnerships. The merits of the multi-track system are numerous, but a track system still suggests a collection of approaches. Composite Diplomacy brings these subsystems together into one strategy, one approach, with pertinent actors sharing ideas and concepts as an organized force.

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The following is a summary of the logical progression of concepts, used in support of Composite Diplomacy: 1. No one diplomatic track used in isolation can solve conflict. 2. Composite Diplomacy will be founded on the need for greater coordination of resources and intellectual capital, using both state and nonstate agencies. 3. Composite Diplomacy moves beyond the track approach and combines these processes through innovative cooperation. 4. Composite Diplomacy presumes that nearly all conflicts contain a fundamental social and psychological dimension, often including non-state actors who do not always respond to, or respect, formal diplomatic agreements. 5. Composite Diplomacy seeks an end-state goal of positive peace and not merely the absence of fighting. This is accomplished through the transformation of relationships. 6. The composite Diplomacy system should remain highly flexible, in order to adapt to differing conflict scenarios and to differing roles, depending on the type of conflict, the actors, the core issues, and the entry point. 7. Composite Diplomacy recognizes that there needs to be a governing body for its coordination and operation, but that this governing body cannot be perceived as fulfilling self-aggrandizement. IS THERE A ROLE FOR CANADA? There are several reasons why Canada should pay very close attention to the current trend toward intrastate war and of the possibility of using Composite Diplomacy as a vehicle for rekindling its foreign policy mandate. Canada is in search of its new place on the world stage. Over recent decades, Canada has let slip its once well-founded diplomatic and military initiative— the consequences of which directly impact its reputation as a contributing nation. Although Canada continues to contribute to numerous foreign mandates, it does so with a distinct lack of focus, witnessed in many ways. First, Canadians still think of Canada as a leader in Peacekeeping. Around the world too, this may be the perception, but it certainly no longer grounded in reality. It is a phenomenon Jan Morris calls “aggressive selfdenial”. “While Canada once supplied 10 percent of the world’s peacekeepers, it now contributes less than 1 percent” sustaining one of Canada’s greatest myths.22 54

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

Second, Canada has a history of moderation. As a result, decisionmaking can become an arduous task of contemplation, reducing Canada to a nation of fence sitters. Cohen writes, “Our foreign policy need not be one of hand-wringing, head-scratching, and throat clearing; it need not remain in the shadows”.23 Third, Canada has reduced expenditures to its budget for intervention, limiting its ability to assist in conflicts when needed. With the fastest growing economy in the G8, Canada still only spends 1.1% of its gross domestic product on its military, ranking it 153rd in the world. Compare this with Canada’s heyday of internationalism, when Canada spent 6.6 % of its GDP on the military. “With a gross domestic product of $1.1 trillion, … a budgetary surplus of $8.9 billion in 2001-2002 and a projected surplus of $70 billion over the next five years, Canada is one of the richest countries in the world”.24 Fourth, Canada relies heavily on the United States as its protectorate. Indeed, much of Canada’s foreign policy hinges on the Canada-U.S. bond. Until very recently, the relationship with the United States had been excellent, with the world’s largest undefended border separating the two nations. The Monroe Doctrine, of 1824 declared that the defence of the United States would equate to the defence of North America (Military and Government Collection, 1995), and in 1938, Franklin D. Roosevelt stated, “the United States would not stand idly by”, should Canadian soil be threatened by foreign entities. Canada has, and continues to take advantage of this protection. With the guarantee that the United States will act as its protectorate, Canada has never had to rely on a culture of militarization. Although Canada contributed 500,000 troops to the First World War, and sent a large contingent to World War II in 1939, it has never maintained a large military force during peace times. Lastly, Canada loves to belong to clubs and to multilateral institutions. Currently, Canada is a member of the G8, the United Nations, the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, the World Trade Organization, the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, the Organization of American States, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, the Commonwealth of Nations, and la Francophonie, the AsiaPacific Economic Cooperation, the G20, the World Meteorological Association, and the International Criminal Court, to name a few. Although it is admirable for Canada to take interest in this degree of involvement, it comes at a price. Due to numerous memberships, Canada’s thin distribution 55

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

of resources means that it has little influence in any one sphere, culminating in a serious lack of leverage—and as a wary nation, Canada is comforted by the company and co-authority found within multilateral institutions. However, this scenario is a far cry from only a few decades ago, when Canada was accused of “punching above its weight” on the international stage, and in doing so, winning the respect of the world for its innovation and contribution.25 A RETURN TO CANADIAN INNOVATIVE POLICY In 2002, Anne Golden, the President and Chief Executive Officer of the Conference Board of Canada presented grave concerns over Canada’s future, in particular the lack of productivity, the general apathy of Canadians, and the lack of Canadian-bred innovation.26 However, this innovation first takes vision, and a vision that many practitioners fear Canada is currently lacking. Canadians are just beginning to appreciate the decline of Canadian internationalism and with a new change in government, will likely begin to push harder for clarity within Canadian foreign policy. Responsive leadership will put in place a process that can call upon Canadian intellectuals and practitioners, to facilitate a new system of diplomatic intervention, designed for the unique demands of modern conflict. Certainly, Canada’s multicultural mosaic, professional diplomats, and intellectual capital should provide the essential ingredients to become a leader in formulating Composite Diplomacy. Indeed, there are two paramount themes supporting the use of Composite Diplomacy as a viable foreign policy initiative for Canada: The first is the global need to readdress and recalculate the intervention strategies used in dealing with a new form of global conflict at the intrastate level. The second is the dire need for Canada to remedy its foreign policy void and refocus its contributions toward international interventions in a more focused manner that supports Canadian values. Composite Diplomacy will seek to match the needs of both these problems by injecting much-needed Track II technology, directly into Track I efforts, with Canada as the governing agency. What this ultimately means is that Canada would become an innovative leader in brokering (and sustaining) third-party intervention in complex intrastate conflicts. The following section outlines a series of measures for the integration of Composite Diplomacy into Canadian foreign policy:

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PHASE 1 – CREATING A COMPOSITE DIPLOMACY TASK FORCE The first step is to gain an appreciation for the utility of composite diplomacy, within the ranks of influential Canadian diplomats, academics, and practitioners. Creating a common front of Canadian intelligentsia, from various political backgrounds would clearly set the reformation wheels in motion. It is important that the task force has access to current leadership, and as such, it would be essential that the committee be non-partisan. Difficult as this might be to envision, it is not impossible. There are a suitable number of Canadian experts who are both concerned about the state of Canada’s foreign policy and the state of world conflict that recruitment for such an effort is feasible. PHASE 2 – DEFINING COMPOSITE DIPLOMACY IN THE CANADIAN CONTEXT The next step is to use the recruited experts to clearly define the principles and structure of Canadian composite diplomacy, including an assessment of where we are today, what our resources are, and what our capabilities will be with a new composite diplomacy model. Drawing upon military, government, non-government, and academic, the ability to generate a pragmatic model of composite diplomacy will effectively include all stakeholders. This initial meeting of the minds does not have to reflect the final players in composite diplomacy. For instance, various external experts may be called upon to submit their insight into a particular field of inquiry, or differing NGOs may be called upon to assist in the mission planning if they harbour special knowledge or skill. PHASE 3 – MATCHING THE COMPOSITE DIPLOMACY VISION TO CANADIAN VALUES Although current peacekeeping contributions are relatively dismal as compared to previous generations, average Canadians are quite proud of the international contribution, and it would not be unrealistic to think that this momentum could continue if advertised in another form. Who exactly will create this vision is another issue. Given the current and relative contentment of Canadians, it is unlikely that a “people power” grassroots movement will alter the course of the current government, unless the media were to capitalize on Canada’s lack of internationalism—making it a national issue. Lateral Opposition pressure aside, it is likely that the most effective way to instigate change is by capitalizing on our new Liberal 57

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government’s agenda for policy review. Once a need for change and the merits of composite diplomacy are realized, the current government can begin a process of creating the necessary vision and buy-in on the domestic political scene. PHASE 4 – ESTABLISHING A FUNDING POLICY Funding is absolutely essential for composite diplomacy to work. If Canada is to introduce composite diplomacy to the world’s intractable conflicts, it cannot do so with haphazard budgeting. Canada must be prepared to redirect significant funds to the effort, in order to maximize capacity and minimize the risk of having to withdraw early from conflict zones. Currently, there are funds budgeted for the DND, international investment through CIDA, and through various alternate government agencies that make funds available for NGO activities. However, all of these sources of funding have been cut back. The previous Chrétien government had promised to double funding for development projects by the year 2010.27 The Martin government is currently reviewing these mandates. PHASE 5 – RESTRUCTURING THE MILITARY Many Canadians are appalled at the current state of disrepair of our military, what Cohen humourously refers to as “the antique road show”.28 The military is at a crossroads, with the essential question being one of function and capacity. Does Canada wish to keep a military that cannot be dispatched overseas because of lack of quality equipment, or means of transport? Should Canada’s goal be the preservation of a traditional military force, or are there other solutions that better match the resources and philosophy within Canada? If Composite Diplomacy is to redefine Canada’s use of intervention, it must also redefine the military and its use. As a nation with coastlines, bordered by the Atlantic, Pacific and Arctic Oceans, defence is surely a paramount concern. However, with the world’s strongest military to the south in the United States, and with an understanding of protection, a North American cooperative effort is one possible solution. This is not to suggest that Canada be a free rider, but that Canada consider exactly what the capabilities of its military are and by increasing funding and capacity, be precise in focusing on exactly how and where the military is to be used.

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PHASE 6 – FOCUSING ON SPECIFIC CONFLICTS AND SELECTION OF PARTNERS Phase six is concerned with where Canada should direct its Composite Diplomacy efforts and with whom it should partner. Lack of focus would be disastrous if using Composite Diplomacy, as intractable intrastate conflicts require a long-term sustained effort at all levels of society. Using the resources of Composite Diplomacy, Canada will have to focus its efforts on bringing about significant change in specific conflict zones, rather than spreading its resources too thin. Canada should concentrate on conflicts of an intrastate nature, with societal elements that are not easily amenable through traditional formal diplomatic negotiations. The partners in the process would be selected after considering the specific requirements of the conflict. It would not be Canada’s role to provide all of the manpower or intellectual capital for a given conflict, only to be a leader in directing the efforts using the principles of Composite Diplomacy. Partnering can be done using other governments and domestic or foreign NGOs. Currently, most of the large NGOs in Canada, some of whom are affiliated with US, UN, or global agencies, already bid on a grant system. The bidding system for composite diplomacy would be similar. However, instead of winning a bid and receiving funds for a budgeted project, the organization would win funding and a seat at the mission table where it would be expected to assist in formulating a plan and process of intervention. Once a viable list of partners is established, it could be maintained in a similar fashion to that of CANADEM, which is a DFAIT program currently retaining the names of 3,000 skilled Canadian civilian experts, on stand-by for crisis situations.29 PHASE 7 – TRAINING Composite Diplomacy training would be in effect throughout Phases 1 and 2 as well as ongoing once a specific conflict is selected. It deals particularly with the training of officials and diplomats, to supply them with common skills and common behaviours, for working at the societal level in conflict zones. This is important, as these individuals may have to conduct on-site training for mid-level and grassroots citizens in order to facilitate incountry programs. In this case, the training for such tasks may come from NGOs or other agencies that have direct expertise in conducting non-official diplomatic strategies. Composite Diplomacy is a system that seeks to 59

Composite Diplomacy: Canadian Foreign Policy for Modern Intrastate War

consolidate the best from various tracks, to reduce overlap, and to legitimize and coordinate Track II efforts. For this reason, a system of training, in both theory and practice should be provided for all members of the diplomatic team so that there can be a common understanding of process and end-state goals. PHASE 8 – POLICING NGOs? There is distinct concern about how to keep NGOs, which are not part of the Composite Diplomacy effort, out of the conflict zone. Realistically, it is highly unlikely that Canada would want to waste energy and time trying to keep other well-intentioned NGOs off Canadian “intervention turf”. Other NGOs could certainly play traditional roles of circum-negotiation at their own level and speed, but if Canada was leading an intervention effort that housed a composite and comprehensive plan for peace, incorporating all levels of society, it seems logical to presume that the local disputants would favour participation in projects that were sanctioned by the Canadian team. PHASE 9 – ACHIEVING INTERVENTION READINESS With the selected partners, the funding, and the training complete, it will be time for Canada to go to work. Putting words into practice is always more difficult than it first seems, but the first interventions will be an initial chance for Canada to “earn its spurs”, as the former Canadian Ambassador to Japan, Don Campbell quipped.30 Indeed, as Campbell and others suggest, regained reputation does not come overnight. It will take time for Canadian diplomatic innovation to become recognized as a world leader. If one looks at Norway’s current success as a third-party intervener, it has built up a hard-won reputation as a provider of good offices, facilitated by its substantial monies and manpower to peacebuilding efforts over the years. Canada can earn this level of reputation too, but it will take time and continuous effort in proving that the ingenuity and innovation of Composite Diplomacy can be an effective technology, for dealing with complex intrastate crises. PHASE 10 – MONITORING AND FLEXIBILITY As an antidote to status quo politics, Canadian Composite Diplomacy will involve a continuous feedback loop. As with any professional vocation in which lives are put in the hands of others, it is extremely important to catalogue and identify areas for improvement. This monitoring and 60

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restructuring function is also designed to keep ingenuity and innovation alive within the system while maintaining a structure that can be altered quickly in response to current conflict demands. CONCLUSION Composite Diplomacy speaks to the needs of two overarching themes: the global need to consider sustainable intervention strategies for the new challenges of modern intrastate, conflict, and the dire need for Canada to reaffirm its focus on the international stage. The underlying principles that composite diplomacy satisfies are: it supports Canadian values by intervening in violent citizen-level conflict, it satisfies its multilateral approach by granting Canada the authority to partner with various agencies, it addresses root causes of conflict by concentrating on positive peace rather than the ceasefire, and it bridges practitioner antagonisms by creating cohesive partnerships. Complacency and apathy are the enemies of innovative process. In considering its potential, Canada must look at further recruitment from within its wealth of intellectual capital, and address the domestic issues of why some of the best minds venture elsewhere. It must bring these academics and practitioners into the fold of decision-making, and not be afraid to listen to the debates and ideas that can launch Canada in the right direction. Finally, Canada must acknowledge that global contribution comes in many forms, and traditional top-down, power-coercive approaches are not managing modern forms of conflict. Canada must realize that such realities also offer opportunity, to fill the current void in Canadian foreign policy, by creating an intervention system that can begin to address the dynamics of modern conflict. Combining resources, and partnering is the Canadian way. Canada still has a chance to be a world leader in peacebuilding with the use of Composite Diplomacy. What it must realize is that combining resources to address the multi-dimensional qualities of modern ethnopolitical conflict is indeed the face of the future. Canada can either choose to become increasingly marginalized by not addressing the realities and trends before it, or it can take a chance, grab the reins of innovation and proceed forward, once again, as a global leader in peacebuilding.

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1

John McDonald, The Need for Multi-Track Diplomacy, (Washington: Institute for Multi-Track Diplomacy, 2000). 2 For a graphical illustration of conflict changes occurring at the end of the Cold War, See Monty G. Marshall, and Robert Gurr, Peace and Conflict 2003: A Global Survey of Armed Conflicts, SelfDetermination Movements, and Democracy. (College Park: Center for International Development & Conflict Management, 2003). 3 J.S. Levy, “Theories of Intrastate War: A Levels-of-Analysis Approach”, in Turbulent Peace: The Challenges of Managing International Conflict, C.A. Crocker, F.O. Hampson, and P. Aall, eds. (Washington: United States Institute of Peace Press, 2001), 9. 4 For more on “anocracies” See Marshall and Gurr, Peace and Conflict 2003. 5 E.D. Mansfield, and J. Snyder, “Democratic Transitions in War”, in Turbulent Peace: The Challenges of Managing International Conflict, 115. 6 J. Guehenno, “The Impact of Globalization on Strategy”, in Turbulent Peace: The Challenges of Managing International Conflict, 86. 7 See J.L. Rasmussen, “Peacemaking in the Twenty-First Century”, in Peacemaking in International Conflict: Methods & Techniques, I.W. Zartman, and J.L. Rasmussen, eds. (Washington, The United States Institute of Peace Press, 1999), 23-50. 8 McDonald, 3-5. 9 Rasmussen, 23-50. 10 J. Rothman, “Resolving Identity-Based Conflict”, The ARIA Framework, (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass Publishers, 1997). 11 K. Jowitt, “Ethnicity: Nice, Nasty, and Nihilistic”, in Ethnopolitical Warfare: Causes, Consequences, and Possible Solutions, D. Chirot, and M.E.P. Seligman, eds. (Washington: American Psychological Association, 2002), 27-48. 12 F.O. Hampson, “Why Orphaned Peace Settlements Are More Prone to Failure”, in Managing Global Chaos: Sources and Responses to International Conflict, C.A. Crocker, F.O. Hampson, and P. Aall, eds. (Washington: The United States Institute of Peace Press, 1996), 533-550. 13 Janice Stein, “Problem Solving as Metaphor: Negotiation and Identity Conflict”, in Peace and Conflict, 5: 3 (1999), 225-238. 14 See McDonald, 3-5. 15 See Rasmussen, 30. 16 J.V. Montville, Conflict and Peacemaking in Multi-Ethnic Societies, (Lexington: Lexington Books, 1989). 17 I.W. Zartman, Ripe for Resolution: Conflict and Intervention in Africa, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). 18 H. Saunders, “Pre-Negotiation and Circum-negotiation: Arenas of the Multi-Level Peace Process”, in Turbulent Peace: The Challenges of Managing International Conflict, 483-496. 19 D. Druckman, “Negotiating in the International Context”, in Peacemaking in International Conflict: Methods and Techniques, 81-124. 20 See McDonald. Also see the website for the Institute for Multi-Track Diplomacy, http://www.imtd.org for a synopsis of current applications. 21 N. Ball, “The Challenge of Rebuilding War-Torn Societies”, in Turbulent Peace: The Challenges of Managing International Conflict, 719-736. 22 See Andrew Cohen, While Canada Slept: How We Lost Our Place In The World, (Toronto: McLellan & Stewart Ltd, 2003), 224. 23 Ibid., 200.

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24

Ibid., 115. Joseph Nye, “The Challenge of Soft Power”, in Time Magazine, 5 June 2003, http://www.time.com/time/magazine/intl/article/0,9171,1107990222-21163,00.html (5 June 2003). 26 Anne Golden, “Imperatives for Change – Canada in 2010”, The Conference Board of Canada, 2002, https://secure.conferenceboard.ca/press/documents/a.golden.21.05.02.pdf (21 July, 2003). 27 Cohen, 224. 28 Ibid., 161. 29 See Website for “Peace Support Operations”, Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, 2003, http://www.humansecurity.gc.ca/pso-en.asp (26 July, 2003). 30 Personal communication, 7 May 2003. 25

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Threat, Legislation, Action Canadian National Security in the 1930s

Threat, Legislation, Action Canadian National Security in the 1930s JOSHUA BENNETT Royal Military College, Kingston Canadian national security in the 1930s is a peculiar topic. The 1930s is better known for economic studies of the Great Depression than for studies in national security. The 1930s is also commonly known as a time when governments focused on solving the problems of unemployment, neglecting the military build up of Hitler’s Germany, and subsequently being caught flat-footed and off-guard on the eve of the Second World War. What were the threats to Canada in the 1930s? Did Canada possess policies concerning national security in the 1930s? If she did, then how did she implement these policies, if at all? Did Canadian national security measures prepare Canada for the Second World War? To gain a more complete understanding of national security of the 1930s, this paper will examine the threats, legislation, and action that were associated with Canadian national security. The threats posed to national sovereignty both real and perceived1 were: general strikes leading to riots; Communism; Fascism; and espionage from foreign powers. Following this will be a look at the legislations enacted by the government to counter these threats. This paper will examine the War Measures Act of 1914, the changes to the Criminal Code and Immigration Act during the Winnipeg General Strike in 1919, the RCMP Act of 1920, and the Official Secrets Act of 1938. After a complete analysis of the issues surrounding threats to national sovereignty, a detailed look at the Government’s actions to counter and suppress these threats will be completed. The main area of government responsible for defending national security in the 1930s was the security service branch of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP). This paper will compare the threats with the legislation, and evaluate the effectiveness of the RCMP in taking action against the outlined threats. Upon completion of this study conclusions will be reached which demonstrate that the RCMP, under the watchful eye of the cabinet, effectively defended Canada against all known threats in the 1930s. In the decade that preceded the Second World War, the RCMP acted only on what was directed to them by the government. Although the government did not 64

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debate issues of national security in parliament, nor issues policy statements publicly, sources indicate that they were fully informed of the activities of the RCMP. This essay will also reveal that the RCMP and the government were very well organized and prepared for the onset of the Second World War on a domestic level. THREATS The threats to Canadian sovereignty in the 1930s all fit into four main categories: Strikes and riots; Communism; Fascism; and international espionage. That strikes and riots were considered threats to national security is a very contentious issue. The fear of strikes as portrayed by the government, however, had many roots. One root stemmed from the possibility of strikes leading to nation-wide general strikes. A theoretical “one big union” could have, in effect, applied pressure on parliament with the threat of nation-wide general strikes, thereby overruling constitutional authority. There was also the fact that strikes often led to riots, which in turn corroded the fabric of society. Mass disorder also could have played into the hands of communist revolutionaries, who could have manipulated the disorder into full scale revolution. Communism and Fascism both had subversive elements that were closely monitored by the RCMP. While these two groups were primarily ideological in nature, they both possessed elements which advocated for the violent overthrow of the existing order. More importantly, they also had close ties to international espionage and intelligence. As for international espionage, there were two main threats in the 1930s: Communist Russia, and Fascist Germany. The most imminent threat to national security in the 1930s was that of strikes and riots. As mentioned above, there were three main concerns that were associated with strikes: nationwide collective bargaining, the break down of social order from riots, and society’s vulnerability the society to the influences of a foreign force during mass chaos. Collective bargaining was the main issue of the Winnipeg General Strike in 1919. Prime Minister Borden told the House of Commons that, “if collective bargaining is to be granted as a principle …then there must be some unit to which the principle …is to apply and beyond which it cannot go.” If this trend of unions merging to form larger unions was not stopped, according to Borden, the country would soon be at the mercy of theoretical “one big union” which could hold the threat of nationwide general strikes over society’s head. That

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would be the “perfection of Bolshevism”, and such a strike would mean the “paralysis of the activities of the entire Dominion.”2 The second danger from general strikes was the breakdown of social order. A society must have essential services such as the delivery of milk, electricity, water, fire fighters, and police. During the Winnipeg General Strike, the Central Strike Committee (CSC) recognized this problem, and effectively organized the distribution of essential services themselves. Workers who maintained the electric turbines and generators, milk delivery men who delivered milk, and firefighters who were on duty during the strike all carrying special cards that read “BY PERMISSION OF THE CENTRAL STRIKE COMMITTEE.”3 Indeed there were many employers who came directly to the CSC asking for permission to stay open.4 They also insisted that the Winnipeg Police union not join the strike, knowing that “the absence of police in the city’s streets would undoubtedly lead to disorders and a breakdown of the social fabric,” and they wanted to avoid troops being sent in from Ottawa.5 The police union, however, voted overwhelmingly in support of the strike, and was therefore at the behest of the CSC. The question thus begs: who was in charge? The CSC had taken over the distribution of all essential services, and seemingly controlled the police. This new committee took power away from the legal authority in the city of Winnipeg, and therefore constituted a threat to the sovereignty of Canada. As historian David Bercuson describes it, Once the workers began to assume a partial administrative responsibility for the maintenance of water, heat, light, power, and food distribution, their position in society was radically altered and their power greatly enhanced. … By carrying on in the manner that they did, labour appeared to be assuming governmental authority and was not equipped or prepared to cope with the political or military implications of this new situation.6

By assuming power in a general strike, the strike committee appeared to be the beginning of a revolution. Such a situation leads to anarchy and chaos, which can then be easily manipulated into something that the strikers never intended to happen: an actual revolution. The third and perhaps greatest fear that the government had of strikes and riots was its susceptibility to outside influence and manipulation. Although the CSC of the Winnipeg General Strike were not Communists, and were not supported by Moscow, there was a legitimate fear in government officials that Communist agitators could manipulate the public once mass chaos was in full swing. After the famous Calgary Western 66

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Labour Conference which spawned the birth of the One Big Union (OBU), Commissioner Perry (head of the Royal North West Mounted Police at the time) held an extraordinary meeting with three of the leaders of the OBU: Midgely, Pritchard, and Kavanagh. After this meeting Perry reported the following: I am not prepared to say that [the leaders of the OBU] are aiming at a revolution …[but they are] influencing a section of labour in the west, and unchaining forces which, even if they so desire, some day they would be unable to control.7

Although labour historians blame the government of the 1920s and 30s for inappropriate handlings of labour movements, the fact remained that labour organizations were associated with a desire for change of the existing system, which itself was associated with Communism. If strikes and riots were the most imminent threat to Canadian sovereignty, the greatest threat to Canada in the 1930s was Communism. As Communism called for a total overthrow of the existing system, and the replacement of Capitalism, it constituted a direct threat the constitutional authority in Canada. The Bolshevik revolution was still fresh in the minds of Canadians, as was the Winnipeg General Strike. After Lenin’s forces swept aside the last remnants of the Kerensky government in November 1917, in the eyes of the world, the Bolshevik revolution was just beginning.8 Communism was an organized force on a national level in Canada since 1921. With the aid of a Russian agent sent from the Comintern, Caleb Harrison (also known as Atwood), the first convention of the Communist Party of Canada (CPC) was established in a barn near Guelph, Ontario.9 Atwood brought with him “at least $3,000” from Russia to help start up the Canadian party.10 The CPC was a national organization throughout the 1920s and 30s, distributing literature, collecting membership dues, electing national secretaries, and sending delegates to the Communist International Congresses in Moscow. In 1924 the CPC emerged from the underground, and became an open party, and began to run candidates in various municipal and provincial elections.11 In the 1920s, however, the CPC underwent many organizational difficulties. The party had great difficulty in attracting members due in part to the economic boom of the 1920s. The CPC also had difficulty in partnering up with other labour groups who vigorously opposed Communism. Perhaps the greatest difficulties to the CPC, however, came from Stalin himself.

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When Lenin passed away in 1924, Stalin rose to lead not only the Communist Party in Russia, but eventually the Communist International itself. When Trotsky and all his followers were purged, so too were two prominent Canadian CPC leaders, Jack MacDonald and Maurice Spector.12 Stalin loyalist Tim Buck was made Canada’s national secretary in 1929. The Communist International ceased to be an ideological forum of discussion, and slowly became a despotic order, providing Stalin a venue. One of the orders given to all Communist Parties was to emulate the Bolshevik structure of the Russian party, industrial cell units, or factory floor units. While this structure worked wonders for the party in Russia, it did not work in for the Canadian party.13 Yet despite major set backs in the 1920s the decade of the Great Depression proved to be a time of rebound for Communism. The 1930s witnessed a large increase in the popularity of the Communist party in Canada. The Great Depression caused many unemployed workers to question the efficiency of Capitalism, and to give a second look at Communism. Although Tim Buck and most of the national leadership of the CPC were all arrested in 1931, the trial gave the CPC great publicity.14 Upon the release from prison of Tim Buck in November 1934, Buck was greeted by roughly 4,000 cheering people at Union Station in Toronto. A few weeks later he spoke to over 17,000 at a standing room only performance at Maple Leaf Gardens.15 Buck returned to a much stronger CPC after his prison term, when their membership was an estimated 6,000 strong.16 The party immediately sent Buck on a national speaking tour, in order to exploit the wave of his personal popularity. The RCMP estimated that Buck spoke to over 100,000 in total in the span of six months.17 While Communism was on the rise in Canada, so too was a backlash to it in the form of Fascism. Fascism had a later start than Communism in Canada, and never aspired to become a national force. Centered mostly in Quebec and Ontario, Fascism in Canada had two main sources: anti-communism (based on the Italian fascist experience) and anti-semitism (based on the Fascist experience in Germany).18 In 1929, publisher Joseph Ménard and editor Adrian Arcand established the Ordre Patriotique des Goglus in Montreal. The Order was based on racial nationalism and aimed at the “purification of society, cleansing of politics, and promotion of the achat chez nous [buy only domestic products] movement.”19 Through his writings, Arcand denounced Jewish minority rights, Jewish schools, Jewish equality, and the patronizing of Jewish owned businesses. Arcand followed Hitler’s rise to power very carefully, and 68

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admired both the man and his policies. After 1933, Arcand established formal links with the Nazi party in Germany, and oversaw his movement’s growth in Quebec. In 1934 he established Le Parti National Social Chrétien (National Social Christian Party) featuring a flag of a swastika wreathed in maple leaves, surmounted by a beaver.20 In the early days of this Quebec Fascist movement, they also received support from the Catholic Church, which admired Mussolini, and denounced Communism. In Western Canada a group of ex-soldiers formed a fascist party called the Canadian Nationalist Party in Winnipeg in 1933. This group was fed with propaganda distributed from the German consuls, and gained support from Mennonites with its anti-Communist stance. The party was led by William Whittaker, maintained a plank of abolition of provincial legislatures, and kept loose contact with Arcand in Quebec.21 In Ontario various Swastika youth clubs were forming, attracting mostly unemployed single men, and an English version of Arcand’s Quebec party was formed. In 1937 when Arcand’s party was at the height of its success, he made a move to Toronto in hopes of forming a national party. At this time he even grew a small Hitler style mustache, and imitated the dictator’s oratorical style at mass rallies.22 In 1938 Arcand planned to merge the Ontario and Quebec party, and held a national convention at which he became leader. Their plan was to contest seats in the upcoming federal election, with a hope of emulating Hitler’s success in Germany.23 No sooner was the convention held, however, when public opinion swung against Arcand’s movement. At this time Hitler began invading countries in Europe, and Nazism began to be seen as a movement of world domination. The Pope officially denounced Hitler, and many French Canadians turned away from Arcand’s party. When war was declared in September, 1939, Arcand and his followers were arrested and placed in internment camps, being charged with conspiring with and aiding a foreign power, namely Germany. As mentioned above, Communism and Fascism had close ties with the final threat to national security, international espionage. While other countries were actively practicing espionage in Canada, the two most important were Russia and Germany. As the Russian Communist Party began to lead the Communist International, the Comintern began using the CPC to supply them with Canadian Passports.24 Communist officials from Moscow also seized all Canadian passports from the Louis-Papineau Battalion in the Spanish Civil War. The Royal Commission on Espionage in 1946 reported that, “as early as 1924, there was an organization at work in 69

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Canada directed from Russia and operating with Communist sympathizers in Canada.”25 Two of the CPC’s most prominent leaders, Fred Rose and Sam Carr, were also working directly for the Russian government as “agents conspirators.”26 Carr attended the Lenin Instituted in Moscow, where he learned, “organization of political movements, fomentation or extension of prolongation of strikes for ulterior purposes, sabotage methods, espionage, and barricade fighting.”27 By 1946, Carr and Rose had helped establish a complex set of spy rings in Canada, reaching into the highest levels of a few government departments. Germany did not have the sophistication level of spy rings in Canada that the Soviet Union possessed, but did nonetheless employ members of Arcand’s party as informers and agents. When German spies reached Canadian shores during the Second World War, they had instructions to locate Arcand. While there were certainly other threats to national security, the threats described above constituted the main threats to Canada in the 1930s. The next section will look at the legislation that the government of Canada introduced to help combat these threats. LEGISLATION The main legislation conceived from national security issues were the following: The War Measures Act in 1914, the changes to the Criminal Code and Immigration Act during the Winnipeg General Strike in 1919, the RCMP Act of 1920, and the Official Secrets Act of 1938. While there are other laws that deal with or involve national security elements, the ones listed above are paramount, if not exclusive, to national security issues. It is significant to note that all of this legislation was conceived from perceived threats to national security. The War Measures Act was written at the outbreak of hostilities in 1914. That summer, when Britain declared war, parliament’s immediate necessity was to create an act to grant emergency war time powers to the federal government, such that by orders in council the government could mobilize Canada’s full war time potential, and ensure the protection of national security. W.F. O’Connor was Prime Minister Borden’s legal advisor, and was given the task of drafting the emergency legislation. O’Connor took his lead from similar legislation passed by the British House of Commons, known as the Defence of the Realm Act (DORA).28 The Canadian version became known as the War Measures Act.

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The act stated that in the event of “war, invasion, or insurrection, real or apprehended,”29 the Governor in Council had the right to deploy military forces, enforce censorship, arrest and detain suspected subversives and aliens, ban subversive organizations, expropriate property, and exert government control over all aspects of transportation and trade. The Governor in Council (or the cabinet) could “authorize such acts and things, and make from time to time any orders and regulations as he may reason …[or] deem necessary or advisable for the security, defence, peace, order, and welfare of Canada.”30 Prime Minister Borden justified these measures because “no man could foresee what it would need to contain to be effective and …the only effective Act would be one of a ‘blanket’ character, whereunder the Government could act free of question between Parliaments.”31 It is important to note that a simple declaration of a war, or apprehended insurrection by the government was sufficient proof that a war was indeed at hand. It is also important to note that while the state held seemingly unchecked power, this act was only in effect while Canada was officially at war. This act only became a vital part of national security on September 9, 1939. Because this act was null and void during peace times, it was important for the government to come up with other forms of legislation to protect national security. During the Winnipeg General Strike there were two key changes to legislation that the government brought forth for the sake of national security: An Act to Amend the Immigration Act, and An Act to Amend the Criminal Code of Canada, also known as the contentious Section 98. These two acts enabled authorities to essentially rid themselves of subversive groups and individuals. On June 6, 1919, the government of Canada passed perhaps the quickest bill in Canadian history. In just forty-five minutes, the Act to Amend the Immigration Act was given three readings in the House of Commons, three readings in the Senate, and the approval of the Governor General.32 The amendment gave the government the power to deport any person, including British subjects, who “by word or act” sought the violent overthrow of the constituted authority in Canada. This new law was then promptly used to deport members of the strike. Ten days after the bill became law, all of the strike leaders were arrested, and the CSC headquarters at the Labour Temple was raided by police to search for evidence of sedition and revolution.33 This bill would be one of the RCMP’s greatest tools in deporting subversive 71

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individuals throughout the 1920s and 30s. The second change to legislation during the Winnipeg General Strike came in the form of changes to the Criminal Code, with a broadening of the definition of sedition. Section 98 of the Criminal Code made the following illegal: Being a member of an unlawful society, being officers of that society, and being parties to a seditious conspiracy. The most famous use of this bill was for the trial of Tim Buck and his followers in 1931. While these bills made arresting and deporting seditious individuals easier, there still lacked a legislation which provided for an agency to oversee all matters of national security. After the Winnipeg General Strike, the Prime Minister realized that the Dominion lacked an organized structure and force to head up the countries security services. The general strike demonstrated not only how inefficient Canadian security forces were, but how all of the various security forces from different departments had overlapped, and often contradicted each other.34 There was a congestion of information at the cabinet level, with each minister reporting different intelligence.35 One particular branch of intelligence, however, had experienced some noticeable success: the old Royal North West Mounted Police (RNWMP). In 1918 the RNWMP was uncertain about its own future.36 As the frontier was now civilized, and new provinces began employing their own police forces, many government officials in Ottawa questioned the logic behind maintaining the almost fifty-year old force. In 1914, the force was roughly 1,233 men strong, and had performed border duties along the Canada-US border to monitor any US-German activities. In 1918, however, the US entered the war on the Entente side, and the Mounties’ border patrol was no longer needed. When cavalry units were needed in France, Borden agreed to send 738 Mounties to join the Canadian Corps. Later on that year another 174 Mounties were sent to Siberia, totalling almost seventy-five per cent of the force being sent overseas. This left the force with a mere 321 men, almost exactly the number they had when the force was first formed in 1873. By September of 1918, over 87 detachments had been closed.37 However, as RCMP Historian Stan Horrall writes, “just when it looked as if the Mounted Police was about to disappear into the pages of history an important intelligence-gathering role was suddenly thrust upon it.”38 As Thomas Morris Longstreth put it, labour unrest in western Canada allowed the Mounties to rise “phoenix-like” from the ashes.39 In August of 1919, RNWMP Commissioner Perry gave Borden a report outlining what he believed was the main problems with Canada’s 72

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security system.40 In his report, Perry explained that the problem lay in the fact that Canada was divided into two sections for intelligence gathering, east and west, performed by two separate entities who each reported to two different cabinet ministers. He also highlighted the major differences between the RNWMP and the Dominion Police (DP). The Mounties were subject to military training and discipline, and were armed. The DP was small, civilian in nature, and depended too much on civilian cooperation, local police cooperation (who where almost all unionized) and American private detectives. The RNWMP on the other hand was not and could not be unionized (by orders in council41), and due to its military nature was much more able to assist in riots without having to call upon the local militia.42 This report became the outline for the new security system in Canada. Borden took almost all of Perry’s suggestions, and in 1920 set about to merge the Royal North-West Mounted Police with the Dominion Police, and create the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP). This new body was in charge of policing nationwide, and the country’s intelligence agency. It is interesting to note that although the main purpose of the creation of the RCMP was for a more efficient security service, there was no mention of this at all in the House of Commons during the debate over the new Force.43 The vast majority of the debate surrounded the intrusion of provincial jurisdiction of policing by a federal police force.44 Just as there was no mention of the security service aspect of the RCMP in the House of Commons, there was also no mention in the legislation. Section 17 of the Act made the RCMP responsible for the “preservation of peace.” Section 18(d) of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Act permitted the Cabinet to stipulate that the force “perform such other duties and functions as are prescribed by the Governor in Council or the Commissioner.”45 While the RCMP Act spoke nothing of the security service, an act passed into law in 1939 that spoke more to the RCMP Security Service than any other act in Canadian legislation: the Official Secrets Act. The Official Secrets Act was originally passed by the British Parliament in 1889, and enacted in Canada (almost verbatim) in 1890. In 1911 and 1920 Britain updated the laws governing important information with the English Acts. These acts were also legally applicable to the Dominions. In 1939 Canada brought both the 1911 and the 1920 English Acts into one Act and renamed it The Official Secrets Act. There are basically two separate but related aspects of the Official Secrets Act into one of which all sections apply: Espionage (Section 3) and leakage (Section 4).46 Section 3 outlines the illegal 73

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behavior of espionage, and generally encompasses any information collection of almost any kind that is deemed a breach of state security.47 This section also provides for the communicating, or attempting to communicate, with other agents either within or outside of Canada.48 Section 4 deals with leakage, or the improper disclosure of government information. Any person who either leaks important information to a foreign power,49 or retains documents or information (or allows other to do the same) for no apparent reason can be charged under the Act. The Act also grants special powers to the RCMP. Under the Act the RCMP can arrest without warrant any person who, is found committing an offence under this Act, or who is reasonably suspected of having committed, or having attempted to commit, or being about to commit, such an offence, may be arrested without a warrant and detained by any constable or police officer.50

Any search warrants can be granted so long as a justice of the peace is “satisfied by information on oath that there is reasonable ground …that an offence …has been or is about to be committed.”51 Section 11 (2) of the Act comes closest to mentioning the RCMP Security Service. This section states that if an RCMP officer at or above the rank of Superintendent deems it essential, he can authorize a search using force if necessary.52 It is interesting to note that in 1939, the Director of the Criminal Investigation Branch (which encompassed the Security Service) at headquarters in Ottawa was a Superintendent.53 Although the Official Secrets Act was only in effect very late in the 1930s, it effectively cleared up the inconsistencies and confusions that rested with the British Laws. The act also put a Canadian stamp on Canadian national security, and would prove to be a vital piece of legislation after the Gouzenko defection in September, 1945. The Official Secrets Act rounded out the legislation that peace officers were forced to work under in the 1930s. Thus far this paper has outlined the major threats to national security in Canada, as well as the legislation that guided security services in Canada. This legislation, however, is not very telling of its efficiency in meeting the threats. The War Measures Act is broadly defined, and allows the cabinet to essentially do whatever it deems necessary. It is catch-all legislation, but only in effect during war. The RCMP Act does not mention national security, secret service, or secret agents, but like the War Measures Act, has a blanket phrase which can be argued to encompass national security details (along with almost anything else). The changes to the Criminal Code’s Section 98 were very

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controversial. After Prime Minister R.B. Bennett invoked its usage in 1931, W.L. Mackenzie King vowed to repeal it if elected in the next election, which he promptly did in 1936. The other two laws, the Immigration Act and the Official Secrets Act, proved the most useful. Both Bennett and King used the powers under the revised Immigration Act to deport hundreds of labour agitators, and unwanted Communists between both world wars. The Official Secrets Act proved its worth during the trials of the Soviet Spy rings in 1946, although, as mentioned above, its lateness in the 1930s makes this bill almost arbitrary for the purpose of this paper. The next undertaking to establish Canada’s full effectiveness in meeting the threats to national security is clear: The questions must be answered, what did the government do in the 1930s to counter threats to national security? How did the legislation manifest itself into action? These questions will be answered in the next section. ACTION What exactly did the government do to defend national security? As many of the issues, threats, and legislation arise from before the 1930s, so too does the structure of the RCMP. In order to understand fully what the RCMP was doing in the 1930s, a look back at its origins in the early 1920s is important. This section of the essay will explore the structure of the RCMP, and exactly what it did to defend national security through the 1930s. All of the practices and policies that guided RCMP detectives, plain clothed officers, secret agents, and filing system during the Great Depression can be traced back to those turbulent few years in Canadian labour history, 19171919. As Stan Horrall wrote, “One lasting result of this period of confrontation and crisis was the profound reorganization of the country’s security service.”54 As mentioned above, this explosive period in labour history breathed new life into the RNWMP. As the situation in western Canada worsened,55 Borden demanded better intelligence. At the time there were a number of organizations charged with collecting intelligence in Canada: The Dominion Police (DP), the RNWMP, the Chief Censor’s office, the Directorate of Public Safety (whose task it was to coordinate all intelligence in the country—the office was disbanded in 1919 due to ineffectiveness), and finally the Canadian Militia. With all of these intelligence sources, there was little co-ordination in their operations, and their reports were often contradictory.56 75

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The Dominion Police had been the federal government’s main agency for intelligence collection since Confederation. It was small in size, roughly 140 men in 1919.57 The DP was organized similar to most local police forces, and due to its size, it relied heavily on the public, from assistance of municipal police forces, and hired agents from private detective firms in both Canada and the US.58 The Canadian Militia was in a good position to collect intelligence as it was responsible for interment camps and the enforcement of the Military Service Act. In March of 1918, the Intelligence Branch of the Department of Militia and Defence began collecting intelligence on the size and support of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) operating in Canada.59 Although there was some communication between the Militia and the DP,60 that was generally the exception and not the rule. In western Canada, the DP relied almost exclusively on the RNWMP for its intelligence collection. In January 1919, the RNWMP officially became responsible for all intelligence collection from the Lakehead west.61 The Minister responsible for the RNWMP was the President of the Privy Council, who at the time was Newton Wesley Rowell. A onetime leader of the Liberal party in Ontario, Rowell left his party to join Borden’s Union Government in 1917. Once given the order from Borden, Rowell “quickly set about organizing an effective secret service and laying down guidelines for its operations.”62 Rowell informed his deputy minister, the comptroller and administrative head of the force, A.A. Maclean, of the priorities of the secret service duties of the RNWMP: it is most important that this branch of the service should receive most careful consideration and that an efficient service should be maintained so that the government would be kept thoroughly advised of what is going on in the principle centers where I.W.W. or other revolutionary agitators might be at work.63

It is at this time as well where records of expenditures on secret service activities arise. Before 1918 all secret service activities were funded by the DP. After 1918 the RNWMP sectioned off part of its own budget for the security service. In 1918 the total expenses for the secret service was $87,500.00, including salaries for 20 secret agents ($125 each per month), $30,000 for their expenses, and $25,000 to pay informants.64 On January 6, 1919, Commissioner Perry forwarded two circular memorandums containing instructions for secret service agents. In the first memorandum he outlined the threats to the nation’s security, as well as the legal action which would be brought to bear upon individuals responsible. “The object of security investigations … were those individuals and 76

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organizations that espouse the pernicious doctrines of Bolshevism,” especially in Winnipeg, Edmonton, and Vancouver. “All of those suspected of revolutionary activities … [are] to be watched and a careful record kept of all their public utterances.” In addition, each detachment was to keep accurate records of subversive publications, and that each commanding officer forward a report on secret service activities to Headquarters each month.65 The second memorandum dealt with the selection of men who would perform as secret agents. Perry stressed that these men must be carefully selected from those who could operate without drawing suspicion on themselves. Their main objective was to penetrate all labour organization in their districts, identifying which groups, and which individual leaders tended towards revolution; those identified were to be kept under surveillance. This second memorandum also outlined the importance of an accurate record keeping system. He concluded the memorandum with a final word of caution: It must be borne in mind that the only information which is of any value in connection with Bolshevism is the valuable and first hand information of what is going to happen before it occurs in sufficient time to permit arrangements being made to offset any intended disturbance.66

These memoranda marked the beginning of how the RCMP would run its security service for the next thirty years. Secret Service agents were selected from within the ranks of the Mounted Police. Usually men of Slavic descent who could speak Slavic languages, and who did not fit the typical protocol of a Mountie were chosen. These men were given no training. They were simply instructed to take an alias, and attempt to join a union or political organization. Those who were not successful were removed and sent back to regular duties elsewhere in the Force. Those who were successful, were so largely because of their own initiative.67 As these new duties brought a great deal more paper work, more staff was required to collect, read, analyze, and file the incoming reports. At the Regina Headquarters a new Criminal Investigation Branch (CIB) office was opened to oversee all criminal and secret service investigation. Once all of the reports were processed at CIB headquarters, reports were given to Rowell and the rest of the cabinet. Horrall writes that by April of 1919, the RNWMP had infiltrated all labour groups in western Canada, and their agents had established the trust of most of the leaders.68

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These practices would continue right through the 1930s, and into the Second World War. The RCMP security service collected intelligence from detectives, plain clothed officers (mostly used to record verbatim speeches at public rallies), informants, and secret service agents. A divisional CIB was found in every district, in charge of detectives and secret agents. The detectives were not only responsible for investigating matters relating to national security, but also for investigating matters of regular police work. A detective could be investigating a speakeasy one day, prostitution the next, and Soviet espionage the following.69 Agents were rotated in and out as they were required. If a Mountie’s secret identity was discovered by a union or Communist organization, he was quickly removed from the operation and returned to regular police work elsewhere in the country. If a Mountie was successful at his secret agent role, he was often kept undercover for years at a time. Another very successful aspect of the Force’s security service function was its filing system. The Force had two categories: Subversive Groups, and Subversive Individuals. The files came from reports from the field agents, and supplemented by intelligence analysis by their superior officers. Secret Agents reported directly to either detectives in the CIB branch of their division, or to the Divisional Officer Commanding, who in turn reported to Ottawa once a month with Confidential Monthly Reports. By the 1930s, the RCMP had a file on virtually every communist in Canada.70 All of these activities were run through the CIB at RCMP Headquarters in Ottawa.71 Horrall writes that the RCMP was “very successful in this period at gathering reliable information on the communist threat.”72 One particularly successful RCMP agent was John Leopold, who went by the name of Jack Esselwien. Standing at 5’4’’ (shorter than the RCMP minimum height requirement), a native of Bohemia, he posed as a house painter, and joined the local trade union and the OBU in Regina in 1919. He taught himself Marxist philosophy, and slowly but surely worked his way up through the ranks of the leading labour organizations in Regina. In 1921 he was elected secretary of the local branch of the Worker’s Unity Party, and in that same year represented Regina at the founding meeting of the Communist Party of Canada in a barn near Guelph, Ontario. He remained very active in the Communist Party until 1927 when the party suspected him of being a government agent. The RCMP quickly removed him, and kept him safely hidden away performing regular police duties in the Yukon.73 In 1931 he was the crown’s star witness at the trial of Tim Buck, Sam Carr, 78

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Malcolm Bruce, and John Boychuck, who were shocked at the sight of their friend Esselwien donning the scarlet uniform of a Mountie. Horrall writes that “there was little that the RCMP Intelligence Section did not know about the Communist movement in Canada, its activities, policies, memberships and international connections.”74 The RCMP not only countered the threat of Communism, but also primarily functioned as riot police. “In the dual character of the RNWMP the government saw a more suitable and economical way to aid the civil authorities than the use of troops. The Mounted Police was trained just like a military unit, it had a military capability, yet its members were at the same time peace officers.”75 Former RCMP Commissioner Cliff Harvison described his experience when he was a young Mountie at the age of 17, in his autobiography, The Horsemen. In 1920 the vast majority of training consisted of riot control, and the handling of unlawful assemblies.76 In the 1920s the RCMP units were “set up across Canada as reserves of strength to be used by the government to control such civil disturbances as might occur.”77 As the 1920s roared on, labour agitations became more and more infrequent. The 1920s witnessed rapid employment, and the rise of wages to match inflation. Union membership lowered, and many labour organizations folded. As a result the RCMP shrank from a membership of 1,532 in 1920 to 876 in 1926.78 The King government saw little use in paying to have reserves of Mounties staying in barracks waiting for riots that never came. As the force shrank, most of its duties focused on drug enforcement, and following the Communist Party of Canada. Before 1935, the main target of the security service was almost exclusively the Communist Party of Canada.79 While the government was wrong about a Bolshevik conspiracy during the Winnipeg General Strike, there was no doubt of a Communist organization, organized, inspired, and supported by Moscow from 1921 on, which sought the overthrow of the existing institutions of power, to be replaced by a proletarian dictatorship based on the Soviet model. The biggest contention, however, was whether or not this group intended to use violence to achieve their ultimate goals. In 1926 Commissioner Starnes (who took over from Perry) sought approval from the Prime Minister for a plan that he believed would weaken the CPC considerably. Starnes indicated to the cabinet that the CPC was largely driven by its Ukrainian and Finnish supporters for funding. To collect its funding, the CPC made use of various cultural activities, such as 79

Threat, Legislation, Action Canadian National Security in the 1930s

language schools, choirs, art classes, and drama clubs, where communist teachings were taking place. The vast majority of the teachers were aliens. Starnes recommended using the provisions of the Immigration Act to deport these teachers, thereby ending the means of the CPC to collect its funds. This would be an “irreparable blow” to the CPC. He then cautioned against arresting the leaders of the CPC themselves, as the only means of trying them would fall under the contentious Section 98 of the Criminal Code. Such a move would also give welcome advertisement and publicity to the party.80 King did not heed Starnes’ warnings, and authorized no action. As a result, the RCMP simply continued its activities of surveillance, but did not act without authority from the Cabinet. Cabinet authority for action against the Communist Party of Canada came from the Prime Minister in 1931. When R. B. Bennett came to power in 1930, he proclaimed that the Communists would be stamped out with the “iron heel of ruthlessness.”81 When Starnes retired from the RCMP, Bennett chose staunch anti-communist Major General James H. MacBrien to replace him. Bennett’s government decided upon the course of action that Starnes had advised King against: to prosecute the Communist Party leaders. The federal minister of justice, Hugh Guthrie, wrote to the Attorney General of Ontario to solicit his support in apprehending Tim Buck and his followers.82 On August 11th, members of the RCMP, Ontario Provincial Police (OPP), and the Toronto City Police raided the homes, and arrested Tim Buck, Sam Carr, Malcolm Bruce, and John Boychuck. All of them were charged under the provisions of Section 98 of the Criminal Code: Being a member of an unlawful society, the CPC; being officers of that society; and being parties to a seditious conspiracy.83 As Starnes had predicted, the trial gave much welcomed publicity to the CPC. The prosecution had an easy time proving the first two offences under section 98, as Tim Buck and his followers readily admitted to being members of the Communist Party, and being officers of that party. The third charge, however, was much more difficult to prove, as the CPC leaders vehemently denied that they were plotting a revolution to overthrow the state. The main witness was Sergeant John Leopold, whose testimony brought about their conviction.84 The Ontario Court of Appeal, however, overruled the conviction of the third charge, and their sentences were reduced to six years. Although Bennett proclaimed that the Communists would serve “every last five minutes of their sentences,”85 they were all

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released in 1934. Tim Buck enjoyed a huge wave of popularity thereafter, until the onset of the Second World War. Despite this major setback in the fight against Communism, the RCMP continued its mandate to spy on every Communist friendly organization in Canada. Even after Buck’s release, the Mounties watched his every move, and recorded his every word.86 Although Buck had crisscrossed the entire country giving speeches, and enjoyed popular support from many thousands of citizens, he was still largely unsuccessful at the ballot box, losing time and time again in Toronto municipal elections.87 The RCMP also kept a close watch on the developments of a labour dispute in a B.C. relief camp. Workers at a relief camp in B.C. were disgruntled about working and living conditions in their camp, and planned a march onto Ottawa to protest. The March on Ottawa (also known as the On to Ottawa Trek) began in BC, and moved west via the railroads, picking up supporters along the way. The CPC did not support the march at first,88 but came to support it once it became popular.89 The RCMP had an agent named Constable L.H. Graham who followed the strike from the camp to Vancouver.90 Although not mentioned in Betke and Horrall’s Canada’s Security Service, for some reason Graham did not continue on with the march past Vancouver, and was not on the train. In the preliminary hearings of the seven strike leaders arrested on July 1, Graham testified that he had not attempted to join the strikers.91 The march was halted in Regina, at which point Bennett entertained a delegation from the strikers in Ottawa. Bennett rejected all of their demands, promptly arrested the strike leaders, and had the RCMP break up the riot which ensued in Regina. When King returned to power in 1935 he repealed the contentious Section 98 of the Criminal Code. His official policy became one of beating Communism at the ballot box, rather than in the courts.92 Although this was King’s “official” policy, he nonetheless did not curtail the surveillance activities of the RCMP of the Communists. Perhaps King was confident in beating the Communists at the ballot box, but kept an ace in his back pocket just in case. After 1935, however, Communism was not Canada’s only enemy. Around 1936 the RCMP began collecting information on fascist groups in Canada. As Hitler and Mussolini expanded their territory in Europe, many Canadians began to be concerned about the fascist groups in the Dominion. In 1938, rumours were circulating that the Fascists had smuggled arms into the country, and had over 75,000 supporters drilling.93 81

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When asked about this in the House of Commons, Lapointe informed the house that there were only 15 to 25 unarmed Fascists who gathered in black shirts, performing military exercises. He assured parliament that “the secret service of the R.C.M.P. have the situation well in hand.”94 On September 10, 1939, Canada officially declared war on Germany. Within hours of the declaration of war, over two hundred identified Nazi agents and sympathizers were arrested under the provisions of the War Measures Act.95 It was not, however, until after the war that the RCMP realized how thorough a job they had done in rounding up potential German spies. According to Harvison, the RCMP had obtained captured German records after the war, in which it was learned that in the initial round up on September 10, the RCMP had demolished plans of the German High Command for espionage and sabotage in Canada.96 During the round-up, many of the Fascists defiantly gave the Nazi salute and shouted “Heil Hitler” when arrested.97 While there is no other proof of the RCMP’s taking out all of Germany’s High Command agents in the initial roundup, other than Harvison’s account, there are a few clues which can also lead to the same conclusion. One clue rests with the accounts of German spies in Canada during WWII. On both accounts these spies were horribly underbriefed with accurate intelligence on Canada. Both spies had outdated currency notes (some noticeably too large), and used inaccurate documents that gave them away to Canadian officials.98 Betke and Horrall wrote that in 1942, “an apprehended German spy in Canada, Captain Werner A.W. von Janowski, it immediately became evident that the Germans had no current Canadian resources to aid in equipping their agents, nor did they have the name of a single Canadian individual to assist him.”99 The other large indication that the RCMP did in fact round up all of Germany’s spies lay in the fact that there were no acts of sabotage, and only two accounts of espionage throughout the war. CONCLUSION The main threats to Canada during the 1930s were Strikes, Communism, Fascism, and Espionage. To counter these threats the Canadian government came up with a few key pieces of legislation including the War Measures Act, the Immigration Act, the Criminal Code, the RCMP Act, and the Official Secrets Act. None of the laws, however, made mention or reference directly to the security service of the RCMP. Security matters were also rarely spoken of in the House of Commons. While the cabinet was 82

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always fully informed of RCMP activities, they kept the security matters of the RCMP at arm’s length, and allowed the Mounties to come up with their own policies and actions. Despite this lack of clear guidelines, the RCMP provided excellent intelligence services in the 1930s. Little did the Canadian authorities realize at the time, Soviet, not German espionage presented a much greater risk to national security during WWII. Although the RCMP also rounded up known Communist near the beginning of the war (in accordance with the German-Soviet non-aggression pact), many of them were released once the Soviet Union entered the war on the Allied side. Mike Pearson, a government civil servant at the time, pushed for the usage of the Communist to help gain support for the war. Although the Communist leaders in Canada did prove to be useful in drumming up support for the war, the RCMP and Atlantic triangle security leaders were skeptical of their assistance. They were all very concerned about what the Russians were going to do with the thousands of Canadian passports they acquired during the Spanish Civil War.100 In 1946 cipher clerk Igor Gouzenko walked out of the Russian Embassy with documents detailing the Soviet Spy rings that had been operating in Canada throughout the war. The man who started the Cold War set the RCMP and Canada into a new era of security services with an old enemy. 1

It is important to note that in the eyes of the law, there is no distinction between a “real” or “perceived” threat. In section 2 of the War Measures Act, “the issue of a proclamation by … the Governor in Council shall be conclusive evidence that war, invasion, insurrection, real or apprehended, exists”. Threats that are real or perceived affect legislation in the same manor. A classic example of a perceived threat to national security was the Winnipeg General Strike. Although historians agree that there was no threat to the sovereignty of Canada during the strike, and that Moscow was not that organizational force behind it, the strike nonetheless had major affects on not only Canadian legislation, but on Canada’s security service for years to come. 2 Hansard, June 2, 1919, 3035-3043; David Jay Bercuson, Confrontation at Winnipeg, (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1974), 137. 3 Bercuson, 121. 4 Ibid; Russell wrote that “it is a fine spectacle to see employers coming to the Labour Temple, asking for permission to operate their various industries.” Russell Papers, Russell to Midgley, May 19, 1919. 5 Bercuson, 117; DND Papers, File 5678, Ketchen to Ottawa, May 19, 1919 6 Bercuson, 179. 7 Borden Papers, 56825-8, Perry to Maclean, 2 April 1919; Carl Betke and Stan Horrall, Canada’s Security Service: An Historical Outline 1864 – 1966, (Ottawa: RCMP Historical Section, 1978), 332, 83

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acquired through Access to Information Act; Stan Horrall, “The Royal North-West Mounted Police and Labour Unrest in Western Canada, 1919” Canadian Historical Review, LXI: 2, (1980), 181-182. 8 John Reed, Ten Days that Shook the World, (New York, The Modern Library, 1935), 69. 9 William Rodney, Soldiers of the International A History of the Communist Party of Canada 1919-1929, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1968), 36; Rex v. Buck et al.: Transcript of Evidence Heard Before the Supreme Court of Ontario 2-12 November 1931 (Toronto, 1931), 384. 10 This number is according to the RCMP secret agent Jack Esselwein’s statement at the trial of Tim Buck in 1931. Rex v. Buck: Transcript, 384; Rodney, 36. 11 Although the party emerged from the underground, Communist candidates never ran under the banner of the “Communist Party of Canada.” Rather they chose other parties, or other titles, such as “Labour Party,” “Workers Party,” “Labour Representation Political Association,” “Canadian Labour Party,” “Socialist Democratic Party” …etc. These names, however, should not be confused with J. S. Woodsworth’s Independent Labour Party, which vigorously opposed Communism. 12 Rodney, 144, 158. 13 See Rodney’s chapter on the Bolshevization of the Canadian party in Soldiers of the International. He explains that the Bolshevik structure could not work in Canada due to Canada’s agrarian nature – there was very little heavy industry in Canada in the 1920s and 30s. Another reason this structure could not work in Canada was that 90% of the CPC membership came from three groups: Ukrainian, Finnish, and Jewish, and were therefore organized on language rather than region. Moscow refused to entertain any criticism of its system, and forced the CPC into compliance. 14 John Manley, “’Audacity, audacity, still more audacity’: Tim Buck, the Party, and the People, 1932-1939” Labour / Le Travail, no. 49, Spring 2002, 2. 15 Greg Kealey and Reg Whitaker (eds.) R.C.M.P. Security Bulletins The Depression Years, Part I, 1933 - 1934, (St. John’s: Canadian Committee on Labour History, 1995) (hereinafter RCMP SB), 242; RCMP SB Depression Years Part II, 24-6. #739, 9 January 1935. 16 John Manley, 10. 17 RCMP SB #745, 20 Feb 1935, 112. 18 See Lita-Rose Betcherman, The Swastika and the Maple Leaf: Fascist Movements in Canada in the Thirties, (Toronto: Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 1975), chapter 1. 19 Ibid., page 7. 20 Ibid., 21-38. 21 Ibid., 66. 22 Ibid., 108. 23 Ibid., 116. 24 Rodney, 57. 25 Canada, The Report of the Royal Commission to Investigate the Fact Relating to and the Circumstances Surrounding the Communication, by Public Officials and Other Persons in Positions of Trust of Secret and Confidential Information to Agents of a Foreign Power, (Ottawa, June 27th, 1946) (hereinafter Report on Espionage), 14. 26 Ibid., 14-5. 27 Ibid. 28 Although based on legislation from Westminster, there are some very notable differences between Canada’s War Measures Act, and Britain’s Defence of the Realm Act. The Canadian

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legislation was more “all-embracing” than the U.K. legislation. The War Measures Act was also more stringent than its UK counterpart. Where DORA legislated three months imprisonment for breach of regulations, the War Measures Act extended this term for up to five years. M.L. Friedland, National Security, 110. 29 Canada, War Measures Act, 1914, s. 6 30 Ibid, s. 3. 31 H. Borden, (ed), R.L. Borden, Robert Laird Borden: His Memoirs, (Toronto: Macmillan, 1938), 458. 32 Bercuson, 164. 33 Ibid., 164-5. 34 Andrew Ross McCormack, Reformers, Rebels and Revolutionaries (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1977), 441-2. 35 Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 300, 301. 36 Ibid., 308. 37 Canada, Sessional Papers, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the R.N.W.M.P., 1918, 8; Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 308. 38 Horrall, “The Royal North-West Mounted Police,” 171. 39 Thomas Morris Longstreth, The Silent Force: Scenes from the Life of the Mounted Police in Canada, (New York: The Century, 1927), 293. 40 Borden Papers, 50763, Perry to Borden, 7 Aug. 1919. 41 Privy Council Order 2213, October 7, 1918. This Order was repealed in 1974. 42 Borden Papers, 50763, Perry to Borden, 7 Aug. 1919. 43 Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 354. 44 Hansard, March 9th, 1920. 45 Canada, The Royal Canadian Mounted Police Act, 1920, section 18 (d). The interesting part of this section is the phrase “or the Commissioner.” This section of the act was the ‘get out of jail free’ card for members of the cabinet. 46 Friedman, National Security, 31. 47 Canada, Official Secrets Act, 1939. Section 3 (1). This could include taking pictures, drawing sketches or models, acquiring documents, passwords, etc. 48 Canada, Official Secrets Act, 1939. Section 3 (3) and (4). Under the Act, any person who visits an address of a known enemy agent is guilty until proven otherwise. 49 Canada, Official Secrets Act, 1939. Section 4 (1) 50 Canada, Official Secrets Act, 1939. Section 10 51 Canada, Official Secrets Act, 1939. Section 11 (1) 52 Canada, Official Secrets Act, 1939. Section 11 (2) 53 Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 378. 54 Betke and Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 283. 55 The “situation” was the rise of labour agitation in Western Canada, along with the rise of Bolshevism in Russia. To many in cabinet, they were one in the same. With militant groups such as the Industrial Workers of the World infiltrating Canada, Borden and the cabinet became paranoid with the “Red Scare.” 56 McCormack, 178. 57 Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 350. 58 Borden Papers, 50763, Perry to Borden, 7 Aug. 1919. 59 Bercuson, 83.

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60

DND Papers, File 2102, Chief Commissioner of Dominion Police to General Gwatkin, August 27, 1918. In this letter the Chief of the DP exclaimed that police at all levels of government were working to eradicate the roots and branches of the IWW. Cited in Bercuson Confrontation, p. 83 61 Gregory S. Kealey, “The Early Years of State Surveillance of Labour and the Left in Canada: The Institutional Framework of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Security and Intelligence Apparatus, 1918-26” in Wesley K. Wark, ed. Espionage Past, Present, Future? (Ilford, Essex UK: Frank Cass & Co., 1994), 130. 62 Horrall, “The Royal North-West Mounted Police,” 173. 63 RCMP Records, G-2-6, Rowell to Maclean, 4 Jan. 1919; cited in Horrall, “Royal North-West Mounted Police,” 173; and Betke and Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 311. 64 RCMP Records, A-1, 592, Maclean to Deputy Minister Finance, February 11, 1919. Cited in Betke and Horrall, 325. 65 Betke and Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 316-17; RCMP Records B-1, 95B, Circular memorandum 807, January 6, 1919. 66 Ibid., Circular memorandum 807A, January 6, 1919. 67 Horrall, “The Royal North-West Mounted Police,” 175. 68 Betke and Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 329-30. 69 Ibid., 380. 70 Ibid. 71 In 1920 when the RNWMP and the DP were merged to form the RCMP, the headquarters was moved from Regina to Ottawa. It was not an equal merger, as the old DP officers were given Mounty uniforms and ranks, and the first Commissioner of the RCMP was non other than Commissioner Perry of the RNWMP. 72 Stan Horrall, “Canada’s Security Service A Brief History,” RCMP Quarterly, Summer 1985, 45. 73 Betke and Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 392. 74 Ibid., 453. 75 Ibid., 310; RCMP Records G. 11-1, N. W. Rowell to Attorney General, Manitoba, January 4, 1919. 76 Cliff Harvison, The Horsemen, (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1967), 19. 77 Ibid., 27. 78 Canada, Report of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police for the Year ended September 30, 1926, (Ottawa, 1927), 5. 79 Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 409. 80 Ibid., 429-31. 81 Hansard, Feb 1, 1933. Read by J. S. Woodsworth quoting a speech given by Bennett, taken from an article in the Toronto Mail and Empire, Nov. 10, 1932. Also cited in Larry Glassford, Reaction and Reform the Politics of the Conservative Party under R. B. Bennett 1927-1938, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992), 121. 82 Betke and Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 437-8; Public Archives of Ontario, Records of the Attorney General Department, Vol. 30, L0638 Guthrie to Price March 19, 1931. 83 Canada, Sessional Papers, Report of the Commissioner of the R.C.M.P., 1932, 69. 84 Rex vs. Buck et al.: Transcript of Evidence Heard Before the Supreme Court of Ontario 2-12 November 1931 (Toronto, 1931), testimony of John Leopold, 384. 85 Cited in John Manley, “Audacity”, 2. 86 RCMP SB #745, 20 Feb 1935, 112; # 753, 18 April 1935, 235.

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87

RCMP SB #878, 10 December 1937, 478. The Worker, 1 June, 1935. Cited in Michael Lonardo, “Under a Watchful Eye: A Case Study of Police Surveillance During the 1930s” Labour / Le Travail, 35 (Spring 1995), 22. 89 It was around this time that the Communist International began issuing orders to ease off on labour agitation, and focus on the united fight against fascism. 90 Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service , 448. 91 RRIC Records, Rex v. Bell et al. Preliminary Hearing, July-August 1935, 394. Cited in Lonardo, 23. 92 Hansard, 1937, 2295. Minister of Justice Ernest Lapointe speaking. 93 Hansard, June 29, 1938. 94 Ibid. 95 Ibid., 478. 96 Harvison, 101. This claim by Harvison is also cited in Betke and Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 479. 97 Horrall, “Canada’s Security Service,”46. 98 See Harvison, 104-13. 99 Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service , 505; Intelligence Section Reports, 1940-41 and 1944-45. 100 During the Spanish Civil War, Canadian Communists organized Canadian volunteers to fight for the Communists. The Soviet Government directed the organization from Moscow, and once in Spain, seized all of their passports. The RCMP had no agents in the battalion. Betke, Horrall, Canada’s Security Service, 410-23, 544; Pearson, Mike, Vol. 1, 198; Harvison, The Horsemen, 149. 88

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Cardonville: One Man’s Success

Cardonville: One Man’s Success MACKENZIE BROOKS HEIN University of Regina, Regina War is a catalyst. War creates and war destroys. The Second World War brought significant changes to the world and all people who experienced it. This paper will examine how war was a catalyst in the creation of one exceptional leader with a very successful command style. This paper is about one man and one company of soldiers. This paper is about one man’s success. Douglas Gordon Brown was born July 27, 1918 in the small town of Manor, Saskatchewan. To everyone he was known simply as Gordon. He was a sporting fellow who, like all young Saskatchewan boys, particularly enjoyed hockey. Gordon grew up and attended the local high school in Manor. It was in Manor that Gordon Brown met his wife while they were both just children. The two wed on May 24, 1941 when Gordon was 22 years old. By 1941 the Browns were in Ontario when Gordon decided to join the Regina Rifle Regiment, a battalion of soldiers from his home province of Saskatchewan.1 Brown was eventually sent overseas with the Regiment after rigorous training in Nova Scotia and in England. It was this training that would create an exceptional leader out of what was already an exceptional man. Major Gordon Brown landed with the Regina Rifle Regiment on 6 June, 1944 at Courseulles-sur-Mer, France. Courseulles was considered the strongpoint of the Canadian sector because of the location of the port in the town, which sat astride the mouth of the river Seulles which empties into the Channel. Courseulles was heavily guarded. Machine guns and fortified bunkers menaced the Regina Rifles all along the beach as they landed that morning.2 Able, Baker, Charlie and Dog Companies of the Regina Rifles landed between the times of 0815 and 0855hrs. H-Hour for NAN GREEN sector where the Rifles landed had been planned for 0745hrs and since that time the tide continued to rise considerably, to the point where by 0855hrs when Dog Company was making its way to the beach, the tide was high enough to 88

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cover the mined “hedgehogs,” or beach obstacles. By 0855hrs, their landing crafts were dangerously susceptible to the now hidden beach obstacles. Two of Dog Company’s landing craft were blown up on the approach approximately 250 yards from the beach leaving many casualties including the Company Commander, Major Jack Love and the Company Sergeant Major, Master Warrant Officer Danny Yeo.3 Captain Hec Jones was now in charge of Dog Company. Gordon Brown landed with the Headquarters group at 0900hrs as the Battalion Transport Officer. He was engaged the rest of the morning in landing the Regiment’s vehicles on the beach and directing them to their positions in support of the infantry.4 Fighting continued along the road from Courseulles, through Revier, Fontaine Henry and on to Bretteville l’Orgeuilleuse where the Reginas would take up position near midnight on 6 June. Promotions were rapidly taking place inside the Regiment because of the loss of so many of the Battalion’s officers. On 8 June, Brown was promoted by the Commanding Officer of the Reginas, Lieutenant Colonel Foster Matheson. Capt Hec Jones who had been in command of Dog Company had suffered a leg wound at Carpiquet the day previous. Thus, Brown was shuffled from Battalion Transport Officer to Company Commander of Dog Company, and was sent to Cardonville with the sound advice from his Commanding Officer to “just ignore the tanks”. Brown says of his own admission “I’d never been in combat before and I had been away from Rifles Company training for a year while serving as Transport Officer. Having been thrust suddenly into the role of company commander due to the heavy losses among company commanders on June 6, I was uncertain and very apprehensive.”5 By the evening of June 7th, the Reginas were firmly set up in the towns of Bretteville l’Orgeuilleuse, Norrey-en-Bessin and the farm in between them, Cardonville. Charlie Company held Norrey-en-Bessin under the command of Maj Stu Tubbs who was a very close friend of Gordon Brown. Able and Baker Companies held Bretteville with the Headquarters group set up inside the walls of the Mairie of the town. This push inland by the Reginas was the farthest penetration of any of the Allied Forces on D-Day and this ground was held firmly for the two weeks that the Reginas were there.6 However, word often came down from Brigade Staff to LCol Matheson suggesting that he should withdraw Charlie Company from Norrey and Dog Company from Cardonville to better protect Bretteville. Matheson 89

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countered that if Norrey and Cardonville were relinquished, they would only have to be retaken later for the cost of more lives and more supplies. It was LCol Matheson’s faith in his Company Commanders that helped to make Cardonville, Norrey and Bretteville each a success for the Regina Rifle Regiment.7 Cardonville Farm was located about one kilometre from Bretteville and several hundred meters from Norrey-en-Bessin. The defensive position was small in comparison with the two towns that the other companies held and it had its own advantages and disadvantages. The farm of Cardonville was and remains a walled farm. This was useful in its defence, but also a hindrance in that it did not allow for a full view of the battlefield from inside the walls. When Brown and Dog Company arrived at Cardonville they found the carrier group of the Royal Winnipeg Rifles (the Regiment’s sister unit) was already holding the farm. The Winnipegs left Cardonville in the hands of Dog Company and went on to rejoin their own unit west in the village of Putot-en-Bessin. Brown and the soldiers at Cardonville would have “ring side seats” for the Winnipegs’ awful battle in Putot. The defence of Cardonville was set up inside the farm and in the orchard to the east beyond the walls. Directly in front of the position was the Caen-Bayeux railroad on which supplies were often moved, and which was raised almost a meter above ground. This railroad provided a substantial obstacle for any advancing tanks. Inside the walls of the farm, the soldiers were knocking holes near the base to provide observation of the enemy and were digging slit trenches against incoming shells. The soldiers also set about sandbagging windows in the second floor of the home. The tall farmhouse provided views and machine gun fire capabilities in all directions except straight east. Anti-tank guns were sighted in the orchard on the west side of the house to cover the mile of open ground on the right, and signalers strung phone wire into position to establish communications with Battalion Headquarters and with Charlie Company in Norrey. Cardonville was at last prepared and Brown and the rest of Dog Coy waited inside the walls for the impending battle. Putot had been attacked by Col Wilhelm Mohnke’s 26th Panzer Grenadier Regiment of the 12th SS Panzer Division, and had forced the Winnipegs from the town. The 7th Brigade reserve battalion, the Canadian Scottish, had been sent in to retake the village and effectively use their infantry with tank and artillery support to successfully re-establish Canadian ownership of the town.8 Given that the Winnipegs battle took place only 90

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one kilometre from Cardonville, the general consensus among Dog Company officers was that any battle spilling over from the Putot area would be an armoured counterattack intimately supported by panzer grenadier infantry. This was, after all, what all soldiers had been trained to recognize as “the correct procedure”, according to “the book.” As midnight approached, the soldiers of Dog Company had settled in for what they knew was inevitable. Brown relates that near midnight he thought to check on the east side of the farm, and found several enemy tanks headed in the direction of Battalion Headquarters in Bretteville, to the rear. He remarks in his memoirs, “I wondered what the Germans were doing, breaking into our Battalion position when according to the book, they should have been exploiting the open ground between us and our neighbours, Tthe Canadian Scottish. That was where we had out anti-tank guns sited (so much for the book).”9 What he saw was the tanks using the rail crossing to move in the direction of Bretteville and apparently unaware of Dog Company’s presence inside Cardonville’s walls. Brown goes on to further relate “the unusual and unexpected thing about the attack, at least at this stage, was that the tanks were not accompanied by Infantry (Panzer Grenadiers) and therefore represented good targets for anti-tank gunners and for infantry armed with anti-tank projectiles and grenades.” In short, the tanks were unable to hold ground that they might take if they were not accompanied by infantry, and Brown recognized that this would work to his advantage if he could get in touch with the Artillery attached to Battalion Headquarters in Bretteville.10 One platoon of Dog Company had been put in the orchard on the east side of the farm, and outside of the walls. Brown and his Forward Observation Officer (FOO), attached from the 13th Field Regiment, met in this orchard to discuss what could be done from their position. Brown arrived to find his FOO asleep in his Bren carrier. When awakened with an unceremonious admonishing “For God’s sake stay awake! We’re being attacked by tanks!”, Dog Company’s FOO was unable to get through on the wireless to his unit to the rear.11 After briefly talking with his solders in their trenches in the orchard, the consensus was to try to move the anti-tank guns to the opposite side of the orchard in order to fire more effectively in the direction of those tanks in the Battalion Headquarters area. Communications were eventually established with Charlie Company in Norrey, and Brown was relieved to hear from Tubbs who reminded him that he was doing his best to

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“ignore the tanks” and “guessed that Battalion Headquarters was busy for a change”.12 It is interesting to note that Brown, while following all the “correct” procedures according to the book, still felt that he was not at the same level as Stu Tubbs, Dick Roberts (a platoon commander with Dog Company) and Jimmy Jacobs (the new CSM), personnel that Brown felt were more effective leaders than himself. What is even more interesting is that in spite of the fact that he had been away from rifle company training for a year prior to the invasion, he was still able to successfully command his new company. Brown did this by relying on his soldiers and by consulting with them to determine the best avenues to success, and by adapting to the situation as it unfolded. Brown was able to recognize that tanks without infantry could not hold ground. He was flexible in re-sighting his anti-tank guns and was able to predict in which direction the battle would flow, even though he felt that he lacked the dedication and courage that, in his mind, his other officers shared. After consulting with Charlie Company, Brown followed up on his request to have the anti-tank guns moved to the opposite side of the orchard. While doing this he encountered one of his soldiers who asked of him “what Sir, are we going to do about the six tanks that now surround this orchard?” relaying to Brown that they had been there for several minutes.13 The soldiers mused that the tanks seemed to be waiting for something and were possibly unaware of the platoon’s presence in the orchard. Brown said to pass the word to keep quiet and not reveal their position. As he stepped back through the wall into the farmyard, the sound of a sten gun being fired was heard in the orchard. The position was now revealed and quite vulnerable. It became obvious to Brown that the tanks had been waiting for their infantry to arrive. Instantly the tanks set to task clearing out Brown’s platoon in the orchard, and in the chaos the barn where all the company’s ammunition was stored was set on fire. Quite luckily, most was removed before the fire consumed the building. At this point, Dog Company was down to nearly 50 men, having just lost an entire platoon to the tanks in the orchard. Inside the walls the rest of Dog Company were helpless to come to the aid of their friends and knew that with their position now revealed, the attack on the walled house and yard would be inevitable. One German tank attempted to batter down the large wooden gate to the farmyard. Brown surmised that the driver must have known that he would be indefensible once inside the walls and without 92

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any supporting infantry soldiers to accompany him. This tank and the others eventually left as 0300hrs approached and the sky began to lighten. Amid whispers that the Typhoons from England would surely have to arrive soon, and small reassurances between them, the remnants of Dog Company set to work improving their trenches and gun positions while they waited for the impending infantry attack. By this time, all ranks had been awake for nearly four days and were exhausted. There was still no contact with Battalion Headquarters in Bretteville, to the rear, and many Dog Company soldiers were likely thinking that Able and Baker Companies along with Battalion Headquarters had surely suffered the same fate as their friends in the orchard. Among the dead in the orchard was the FOO, without whom there was no hope of contact with the supporting artillery regiment. Dog Company’s assets were fast depleting. An entire platoon was lost in the orchard, the FOO was dead, and little ammunition remained, there were no remaining anti-tank guns, no communications were available and one mortar was inoperable. It was while checking on his few remaining men that the long awaited counterattack came. Brown relates “while I had been expecting the attack, its suddenness surprised me, and down deep I had still hoped that it wouldn’t come. It made no sense. If the infantry had not supported their tanks under cover of darkness, who would launch an attack in broad daylight… without artillery or tank support?”14 It was in these moments, when all ranks must have sensed that they would be Dog Company’s last, that the signaler was finally able to reach Battalion Headquarters in Bretteville. LCol Matheson asked to speak to Brown, who explained the situation. Matheson then passed the earphones to LCol Clifford of the 13th Field Regiment, attached as support to the Reginas. LCol Clifford inquired as to his FOO. Brown informed him that he was in the orchard with the fallen platoon. Clifford then asked Brown to supply him with the co-ordinates for any shoot that Brown wanted. Brown responded with a request for a heavy shoot on the buildings between them and the rail line. Realizing that this was virtually on top of Dog Company’s position, Clifford was hesitant. Brown assured him that it was now a situation of either “us or them”. Clifford’s gunners responded within one minute of Brown’s request, and with devastating accuracy. The German Panzer grenadiers were caught out in the open and were forced to retreat to their own lines. The 40

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remaining members of Dog Company and Major Brown cheered their amazing turn of events and the impressive shoot of 13th Field. It is obvious that many events transpired at Cardonville. That said, what is so important about the Cardonville case? What can Cardonville teach us? Cardonville is an important case study because we are able to see the factors that made up what became an eventual success for the company. Major Brown proved himself a successful leader who was able to adapt to his changing circumstances and address problems as they arose. His foresight to plan “according to the book”, and then to have the ability to fall back on infantry training and quickly surmise the greatest critical factor in creating a new plan best suiting his company’s new situation, was paramount to the Reginas success at Cardonville. Brown’s adaptability was the principal factor in their survival and success. Good leaders also know that there can be no leaders unless there are followers. A good leader will also know that there can be little chance of success in any task, whether in war or in peace time, if the leader does not rely on the talents of his followers. Brown singles out many people in his recollection of Cardonville who he felt were braver, more dedicated and more experienced than he. However, Brown was able to recognize the abilities and talents of his men, and to allow those men to develop as leaders within the unit. The cohesive team fighting at Cardonville came from within the company in a seemingly dire situation when the only thing left was the faith and trust of the men working together. Brown saw this and brought it forth. Brown’s ability to motivate soldiers as a team was another factor in their success. Further in this thread, Cardonville and Norrey could never have been held and defended successfully if it were not for the trust of LCol Matheson in his junior officers and his companies of well-trained soldiers. In spite of repeated requests from Divisional staff, Matheson repeatedly appealed to them to allow the forward companies to remain beyond Bretteville. Without the Defence of Cardonville, Norrey and Bretteville, the German counterattack may very well have been successful in outflanking the Reginas and in pushing the invasion force back to the beaches in the rear. Matheson’s trust was also a key factor in Dog Company’s success. What is perhaps most incredible about Brown’s recollections of Cardonville is that luck appeared to be with the Major. No person is able to account for the German tanks attacking without infantry or the infantry attacking without tanks or artillery. No person can account for the signaler 94

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suddenly being able to reach Battalion Headquarters at the last possible moment; these events are beyond explanation. What is clear is that Cardonville, in spite of its high cost in casualties and equipment, is an exceptional moment for the formation of Major Brown’s successful command style. Cardonville was Major Brown’s baptism of fire, and it proved that his mettle was something exceptional. For his heroic leadership Major Brown was later awarded the DSO, and his citation reads “in all the time that Major Brown commanded “D” Company it never failed to take an objective and never retired from any position”. It goes on to say: “through the entire period of his service Major Brown displayed very great personal valour and extreme devotion to duty, and a constant cheerfulness under the most adverse conditions. The magnificent record of this company is a tribute to his powers of leadership”.15 And it is this that Cardonville has taught us. 1

Mrs. Brown. Personal Interviews. July 2003 and February 2004. Terry Copp, A Canadian’s Guide to the Battlefields of Normandy (Waterloo: LCMSDS Wilfred Laurier University, 1994), 52. 3 Stewart A.G. Mein, Up The Johns! The Story of The Royal Regina Rifles (Regina: The Senate of The Royal Regina Rifles, 1992) 109-11. 4 Terry Copp, Fields of Fire: The Canadians in Normandy (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003), 56-7. 5 Gordon Brown, “The Defence of Cardonville”, in Terry Copp and Gordon Brown, Look To Your Front… Regina Rifles: A Regiment at War1944 – 45 (Waterloo: LCMSDS Wilfred Laurier University, 2001), 79. 6 Copp and Brown, in Look To Your Front, 74. 7 Copp, Fields of Fire, 69. 8 Ibid., 71. 9 Brown, “The Defence of Cardonville”, 80. 10 Copp, Fields of Fire, 73. 11 Brown, “The Defence of Cardonville”, 81. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid., 82. 14 Ibid., 84. 15 Gordon Brown’s Distinguished Service Order citation quoted in Copp and Brown, Look To Your Front, 230. 2

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The Law of the Sea and the First World War STEPHANIE COUSINEAU University of Calgary, Calgary “International Law,” wrote the jurist W.E. Hall in 1880, “has no alternative but to accept war, independently of the justice of its origin, as a relation which the parties to it may set up, if they choose, and to busy itself only in regulating the effects of the relation.”1 These words could not have better expressed the state of warfare in the first half of the twentieth century if they were written in hindsight. Hall added “Hence both parties to every war are regarded as being in an identical legal position, and consequently as being possessed of equal rights.”2 What these rights were was often difficult to say, for laws live and breathe, and change to reflect the needs of their makers. As increasing technological developments occurred in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, warriors were afforded new and horrific ways of inflicting damage on the enemy until statesmen and lawyers began wondering, where were the limits? Creating international laws to regulate the use of force appeared to be the only recourse available, building upon centuries of theories and laws codified by thinkers like Vattel, Bynkershoek, and Grotius. One of the first areas of interest for these theorists was the Law of the Sea, though it remained tenuously regulated for hundreds of years. By the eve of the twentieth century, laws existed for naval warfare, sea borne trade, and neutral states’ rights during times of hostility. However, the submarine’s perfecting and employment as a weapon of war would cause problems for each of these categories, and probe the nexus of the use of force and humanitarianism. This paper examines the laws in place prior to the Great War, using that conflict as a case study to establish the state of the Law of the Sea and submarine warfare at the end of the 1914-18 war. Charting the developments in international law and submarine strategy in total war shows that legality and strategy cannot always be reconciled; the intersection of these points can only be found when one sees laws to protect humanity and laws on the use of force as inextricably linked. International law has two principal methods of establishing binding laws: treaties and custom. These have shared the ability to impose obligations only on the states that desired to be bound by them, though treaties are 96

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applicable especially to their signatories and custom to a community. Given the era in question, establishing whether one was dealing with treaty or custom is a necessary point of departure. Whereas treaties are contrived, custom is arrived at by consent, not signatures, and binds whole communities by “tacit agreement.”3 Customary law is suggested by general practices accepted as law, which gives rise to potentially unending discussions about the subjectivity of what “accepted as law,” or opinio juris, really means, for, as Peter Malanczuk writes, “how can something be accepted as law before it has actually developed into law?”4 While there is no hierarchy between these two methods of lawmaking, each having equal rank and status, they are governed by the same three general principles that regulate all legal orders deriving from the same source. These principles are that “a later law repeals an earlier one; a later law, general in character, does not derogate from an earlier one, which is special in character; [and] a special law prevails over a general law.”5 Therefore, no state is bound by obligations it does not wish to be bound by, which means that mutual agreements could undo a treaty or custom in favour of a new pact when the previous laws are no longer to a state’s advantage. Accordingly, following the Declaration of Paris (1856), the First and Second Hague Conventions (1899 and 1907), and the Declaration of London (1909), the submarine was in legal limbo by the outbreak of the First World War. As the conduct of the war showed, existing laws were insufficient to limit submarine warfare, a conclusion reinforced by the charges laid at the 1921 Leipzig war crimes trials; however, as history proves, the international community was not yet ready to deal with the reality of the submarine threat.6 TREATIES AND CODIFICATION ATTEMPTS PRE-WORLD WAR I At the very base of all legal consideration is the principle of freedom of the seas. This freedom affords belligerents and neutrals alike the right of passage on ocean lanes, drawing a sharp distinction between the actions man is permitted to take freely on land compared to at sea. As Hugo Grotius suggested in the seventeenth century, freedom of the seas was based on the physical inability of navies to control it, and on the natural law postulate that all share everything that is in inexhaustible supply and can inoffensively be used by everyone.7 Territory was considered exhaustible, but the sea was still a force of nature, uncontrollable and free. Therefore, every ship afloat flew its national flag, and was under the sovereign power of its state of origin. 97

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This concept did not develop from idealism or supranational power, but from agreements between states that each would control their subjects at sea. As historian John Hattendorf explained, “law at sea grew from treaty agreements, and practice, with their acceptance as custom.”8 Keeping the basic freedom of the seas intact, the fundamental requirements for law of war at sea lie in two general principles: the right of neutrals to pursue their commerce and national interests (without violating rules of war), and humane treatment of belligerents, equally as far as rules of war apply.9 These rules of war developed out of practice in war, and sought to regulate belligerence and neutrality equally, especially from the latter half of the nineteenth century onward. The Declaration of Paris (1856) was the first relevant treaty that both sought to uphold the rights of neutrals and belligerents to trade in times of war, but also to develop a humane code of maritime law—which submarines would later challenge. This declaration was legislation designed to regulate shipping and maintain freedom of the seas. This evolved from the Anglo-French modus vivendi of 1854, where Britain and France, under legal pressures by their Crimean War alliance, chose to adjust maritime commerce standpoints to avoid joint capture issues in their neighbouring waters.10 Essentially, the alliance forced the two states to come to terms with conflicts in shipping, which became the compromise embodied by the principle “free ships free goods,” though without the corollary “enemy ships enemy goods.”11 The four provisions of this declaration were: privateering remain abolished; the neutral flag was cover to protect noncontraband goods from capture; non-contraband neutral goods under enemy flag were immune from capture; and that blockade must be effective in order to be legal—which meant that it must be maintained by enough force to truly prevent access to the coast by the enemy.12 Issues of privateering are beyond the scope of this paper, but suffice to say that that point prevented the United States from signing the treaty—continuing the American tradition of staying out of European affairs.13 In fact, the Declaration of Paris was uniformly unratified, though practiced customarily by France and Britain. Following the increasing tendency towards humanizing warfare in the nineteenth century, (and, some speculate, a financial inability to keep up with the industrialization of warfare) Tsar Nicholas II initiated the First Hague Conference in 1899.14 The Red Cross (Red Crescent) was formed at Geneva by Henry Dunant in 1864, following Dunant’s walk about the grounds of the recent Battle of Solferino, after which casualties were left out on the battlefield to die gradually of their wounds. Accordingly, Dunant’s earliest 98

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vision extended only as far as covering land warfare and its participants, though in 1869 an extension to include war at sea was developed, but went unratified. At The Hague in 1899, three conventions based on the 1869 ideas were adopted: first, on the peaceful settlement of disputes, establishing the Permanent Court of Arbitration; second, a convention codifying the laws and customs of war; and third, a maritime adaptation to the treatment of wounded on land from the 1864 Geneva Convention.15 Aside from traderelated Prize Law, and rights of visit, search and seizure of merchantmen, this was the first attempt to codify laws for war at sea, small as it was, though in the final act of the conference, the intention to develop more legislation was adopted unanimously. The Conference adopted the following resolutions: that the questions of the rights and duties of neutrals may be inserted in the program of a Conference in the near future… that the questions with regard to rifles and naval guns as considered by it, may be studied by the Governments with the object of coming to an agreement respecting the employment of new types and calibers… [that the Governments] examine the possibility of an agreement as to the limitation of armed forces by land and sea… that the proposal which contemplates the declaration of the inviolability of private property in naval warfare may be referred to a subsequent Conference for consideration… and the wish that the proposal to settle the question of the bombardment of ports, towns, and villages by a naval force may be referred to a subsequent Conference for consideration.16

Although naval affairs were not afforded an abundance of attention at the First Hague Conference, it is clear from the Final Act that there were many questions about the use of maritime force to be addressed in the near future. As far as submarine warfare was concerned, the proposition to fully prohibit the use of “submarine torpedo boats,” or “plungers,” met with so much opposition that it was abandoned.17 Submarines were still such a novelty that no power was willing to commit to their abolition until they were better understood. Theodore Roosevelt initiated the Second Hague Conference in 1907, which convened to continue the work begun eight years earlier. In between, the Boer and Russo-Japanese Wars had given statesmen more fodder for discussions about limiting new weaponry and humane treatment for combatants. The Boer War was primarily a land war, foreshadowing some of the issues the Great War would amplify, but the Russo-Japanese War was revolutionary in several ways—not only did the tiny Japanese archipelago defeat the Russian Goliath, but the war at sea incorporated submarines, though shock appeared to be their best weapon. On April 13, 1904, two first99

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class Russian battleships struck Japanese mines, one ship was sunk and the other was extremely damaged. At first, the Russians did not realize it was due to a mine, and battleship crews began panicking and firing wildly around their ships out of fear of submarine attacks.18 Three years later, at the Second Hague Conference in 1907, most states knew what had happened in the Russo-Japanese War, and most had submarines in their navies, so their abolition was no longer a tenable proposition—not that it ever really had been.19 The idea of abolition was appealing, but the reality was not. The Hague Conference granted “lawful combatant” status to surface torpedo boats, surface torpedo boat destroyers and submarines out of necessity, for these ships had become important weapons in offensive maritime war and therefore required consideration. The most significant effect of this was that it earned submarine crews the rights afforded by the Geneva Convention for prisoners of war. However, no limitations were put on submarines for their use—yet—though their torpedoes were required to become harmless if they missed their marks. Of the seven conventions on naval warfare adopted at The Hague in 1907, none definitively dealt with the submarine issue, and all shaped naval war more generally than specifically. Humanity seemed to be the order of the day, yet it was unclear how best to codify it. On the eve of the Great War, submarines remained in a state of legal and strategic limbo. The Declaration of London (1909) was the last great pre-war attempt to codify maritime laws of war regarding trade. It drew largely from the Declaration of Paris 1856, while reflecting changes in the world order and technological advance. The declaration concerned itself primarily with issues of blockade and neutrality, all of which would become critical in the Great War. This declaration brought the issue of treaties and customs back to the fore, because while not even Great Britain signed its own declaration, it was agreed that this would be the standard followed by the great powers going into the war. The United States, still neutral in 1914, was in favour of the care taken to preserve neutral rights while Germany and Great Britain agreed that each would adhere to the laws set out if the other did. How well this would work will be discussed further below, in the section on blockade.20 ISSUES AFFECTED BY TREATIES AND CUSTOMS: PRIZE: Even prior to the Declaration of Paris in 1856, English law regarding war at sea was supremely concerned with commerce and trade. It was largely 100

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considered that a state’s rights included trading for its own benefit and, within limits, preventing its enemy from doing the same. Therefore, the destruction of merchant ships, prize law, and rights of visit, search and seizure were of primary importance at Paris, but even more so later when submarine warfare became more active. Further reflecting the significance of trade and prize laws, in 1864, the Naval Prize Act was passed in Britain, remaining active in 1914 when the Great War broke out. By the act of 1864, a Prize Court was established, having jurisdiction over all matters of prize. “Prize” was defined as “a ship or goods captured jure belli by the maritime force of a belligerent at sea or seized in port.”21 A belligerent power had the right to visit any non-war vessel flying other than an enemy flag or emblem on the high seas or in marginal waters that were not neutral, “for the purpose of examining the vessel’s papers and credentials with the view to determine… whether the vessel or its cargo should be searched.”22 Search would occur when the visiting vessel deemed it necessary to decide “whether or not the vessel or its cargo is liable to seizure and condemnation for unneutral conduct or is subject to capture as an enemy.”23 Finally, seizure saw the visiting vessel take possession of cargo for court proceedings, though if the search yielded results suggesting that the vessel or its property was the enemy’s, rather than seizing cargo the entire vessel would be captured.24 Belligerent war vessels alone kept the right of visit, search, and seizure, though they must follow certain laws so as not to abuse these rights.25 The Second Hague Conference in 1907 established Convention XII, designed to set up the International Prize Court to ensure that all states had the option of an unbiased final court of appeal.26 However, there was a great deal of uncertainty about the law it would administer, and in an effort to clarify the situation, the Declaration of London (1909) was developed, with the objective of codifying the laws. There was some pressure behind Great Britain’s call for this conference, for the naval arms race between it and Germany had been going on for over a decade, and naval war was almost certainly looming. For all its motivation, issues of contraband prevented Britain from ratifying its own declaration, and prize law continued to be customary.27 The appropriation and destruction of enemy merchantmen remained a critical issue up to and into the war, and while there was no formal treaty, rivers of ink were spilled to establish the general law. In essence, certain points held true: to exercise the right of visit, search and seizure, a state of war must exist; beyond that, a belligerent is entitled to seize and condemn as 101

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prize any enemy ship or goods taken at sea, while neutrals are the middlemen in the war, having the right to trade with both belligerents, “provided such trade does not help either belligerent in the direct conduct of the war, for to help either would be to depart from strict impartiality.”28 Belligerence and neutrality designate how a ship is to be treated, for the obligations belligerents have regarding the enemy is taken several steps further when applied to a neutral. We will begin with enemy vessels. Legitimate visit, search and seizure must take into account a vessel’s relationship to the enemy state. Thus, a vessel that belongs to the enemy state, such as a warship, may be attacked, captured, or destroyed at any time without notice, on the high seas or in territorial waters of the contending belligerents. Vessels belonging to the subjects of the enemy state (not including those commissioned for service in the war), should not be dealt with so drastically. Enemy merchantmen must be treated as non-combatants, a status granted in the Hague Convention 1907, while coastal fisheries, public or private vessels engaged in scientific, religious, philanthropic, or humanitarian expeditions are immune from capture.29 Equally absolved from search and seizure are cartel ships licensed to engage in the exchange of prisoners of war or other specifically agreed upon official services, and hospital ships, as long as they are exclusively devoted to caring for the sick and wounded.30 In the case of an enemy merchantman, the result of the search determines how they will fare. When enemies are carrying neutral persons or cargoes, certain exemptions apply. In keeping with their rights, neutrals can sail as passengers or crew on belligerent ships, and merchants have the right to ship neutral (non-contraband) goods in enemy bottoms—which render the cargo not liable to capture according to custom, and the Declaration of Paris (1856).31 Is search a foregone conclusion for belligerent vessels at the hands of enemy men-of-war? Certainly not, for a ship has every right to act defensively, ignoring the hostile vessel’s demand that it heave to, and can attempt to escape. By choosing an active response to the request to visit, however, the enemy vessel earns the right to be attacked, and its crew becomes combatants, subject upon capture to the rights of prisoners of war. Choosing to act offensively, as opposed to the defensive strategy explained above, can result in a ship’s crew being taken as war criminals. Between 1877 and 1900, three separate states codified the rights of enemy merchantmen to resist visit, search and seizure, and as Barrister Frederick Smith remarked, “to offer resistance to a warship may, in the case of an enemy merchantman, perhaps be contrary to prudence; it is not contrary to law.”32 102

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Even once the Great War had been in progress for several years, the submarine remained an object of great speculation. The Deutschland, a German commercial submarine visited American shores in 1916, raising questions as to its usage as a blockade-runner, and whether or not it ought to be dealt with as an ordinary merchantman.33 While the matter of the commercial submarine would go unresolved for the war’s duration, it was considered that armed submarines fell under the same jurisdiction as surface war vessels, with one major exception: whereas a merchantman that engaged an enemy surface vessel offensively lost its non-combatant status, it was declared legitimate for an enemy vessel pursued by a hostile submarine to act offensively, forcing the submarine to defend itself by charging it (causing it to submerge), or even by ramming it, should the merchantman be able.34 Smith explains that this is justified if the merchantman has legitimate ground for fearing that the submarine will not adopt a proceeding according to established law—though no qualification of what “legitimate ground for fear” may be.35 Smith wrote in 1917, surely reflecting the emerging status of the submarine as a questionably legal commerce raider. Quoting A. Pearce Higgins, Smith notes that “it necessarily follows… that a submarine attack on an enemy merchantman is unlawful, if proper provision be not first made for the safety of the crew, passengers, and ship’s papers.”36 Were enemy merchantmen permitted to arm themselves in the name of resistance? Again, the distinction must be made between arming offensively and defensively, and in the latter case, Smith declared that bearing arms for self-defence in no way differed from being an unarmed merchantman. Self-defence was the merchantman’s right, given that his vessel could be destroyed—and the laws concerning such destruction were unclear. Captured private enemy vessels are transferred to the capturing state only after the Prize Court has ruled on the issues; after transfer, it becomes legal for the belligerent to destroy the craft and its cargo at its discretion.37 What about destroying the vessel prior to the Prize Court ruling? While this practice was considered inhumane to some, there were times when it was legal for a hostile vessel to destroy the prize. In circumstances of force majeure, under British law, the captor had the right to scuttle a ship if he was “threatened with pursuit by the enemy, unable to put a prize crew on board, engaged on an urgent mission, or [it was] necessary to conceal his position and course from his adversary’s cruisers.”38 Americans have been traditionally pragmatic, when, for example, during the Civil War, Southern Confederated States’ cruisers destroyed all enemy prizes because there was 103

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no port open for them to bring prizes to.39 These are examples of the school of thought that espouses that destruction is lawful only in cases of imperative necessity, though others allow for it in nearly every case of convenience.40 The destruction of twenty-one captured Japanese merchantmen in the Russo-Japanese War is an example of the latter case, for a ship could only successfully capture a few prizes, but by destroying vessels, could continue hunting and effectively diminish the enemy merchant fleet.41 In comparison, neutral merchant ships were not considered prize worthy unless acting unneutrally, which would include activities like blockade running or contraband trading. Attacks made in error against neutral ships were excusable by law, though it was the assailant’s task to prove that prior to attacking, he made every attempt to establish the ship’s character.42 The customary rules as regards neutral shipping are that suspicion is not enough to warrant attacking the vessel, and that it ought to be afforded the utmost in care and consideration—if it is impossible to bring a questionable neutral ship to adjudication, the vessel must be released.43 Ultimately, custom recognized that neutral ships ought to be afforded the right of nondestruction, and the duty of adjudication prior to taking decisive action against them. This was based on the Declaration of London, and was the general consensus on the eve of the Great War. BLOCKADE: Blockade takes the economic measures of search and seizure to the next level by using belligerent sea craft to “prevent ingress and egress of vessels [or their cargoes] of all nations to and from the coast of an enemy, or a part thereof.”44 Blockading is susceptible to rules and regulations, but done properly, it is a legitimate naval operation serving to intercept “all intercourse, and especially commercial intercourse, by sea between the coast and the world at large.”45 Neutral vessels suffer blockade more seriously than search and seizure, for while laws of war safeguard their rights to trade (provided it not be in contraband goods), these rights are suspended by blockading. Unlike “pacific blockade” or “policing of territorial waters,” the former being a blockade in a time of peace through intervention or reprisal, and the latter being a self-imposed blockade, the traditional “close blockade” is enforced by a belligerent in a time of war, and the “long distance blockade” is a retaliatory measure in similar situations.46 Beginning with the “close blockade,” the legal essentials are simply stated but applied with difficulty; they are: “impartial application; a certain range of proscription,

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directional or geographical; due authorization of its establishment; and a certain degree of physical effectiveness.”47 Though never ratified, Justice Julius Stone writes that a the outbreak of the war, the Declaration of London “accurately represent[ed] the preexisting customary law.”48 Thus, its terms were customary law. As far as this pertains to blockade, Lassa Oppenheim stipulates that the blockade must be universal, which means “it must be applied impartially to the vessels of all nations.”49 Thus, even neutral nations are kept out of the blockaded zone—though special licences can be provided to neutral men-of-war for particular purposes. Conversely, Julius Stone states that “impartial application” does not mean “universal application,” just that the blockading nation cannot discriminate seriously in favour of particular neutral or allied shipping.50 Originally, naval blockade was thought of as an extension of a land fortress, and so legally it could not be applied to unfortified ports, let alone whole stretches of coast.51 Furthermore, it had a range of 300 metres from the shore, because it was thought that shore batteries could not fire to that distance, hence the “closeness” of the blockade. However, when the Dutch blockaded the entire Spanish Netherlands in the Thirty Years War, and Grotius gave his support to the practice, legality was transferred from locality to effectiveness (the fourth criterion of legal blockade stated above), and associated with knowledge. Thus, a blockade had to be declared, conform to requirements of form and content, be notified, and it must “really prevent” access.52 This last point has drawn controversy, for “really preventing” does not suggest total effectiveness, such that rendering ingress and egress dangerous is now the mark of a legal blockade.53 At the outset of the Great War, Britain had not fought a naval war in over one hundred years. It had no general staff to revise its “traditional war policy,” described by Winston Churchill as consisting “in establishing immediately on the outbreak of war a close blockade of the enemy’s ports and naval bases by means of flotillas of strong small craft supported by cruisers with superior battle fleets in reserve.”54 However, it quickly became clear that close blockade was no longer feasible, for measures like steampower, mines, submarines, and aircraft rendered the distance issue irrelevant in the early twentieth century. Thus, the long distance blockade grew in favour in Great Britain, a large part of why that nation did not ratify the Declaration of London.55 To recapitulate, the laws in place prior to the Great War were largely customary, as different states participated in conferences and meetings to 105

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establish treaties, though their governments would not always wholly agree with the outcomes. Such was the case with the Declaration of Paris (1856), when the United States failed to ratify because it did not agree with the outlawing of privateering. Often, when such a case arose, the state in question would agree to accept certain points, but not all, which often made proposed treaties the bases for customs to be adopted. Similarly, Great Britain did not ratify the Declaration of London (1909), though it issued an Order in Council on October 29, 1914, adopting the provisions of the declaration with “the exclusion of the lists of contraband and noncontraband,” and modified the articles relating to destination and the onus of the proof as to innocent destination.56 As stated above, certain points of the Declaration of London were agreed upon by several states, and they formally stated that they would follow those points in times of war. While they did not ratify the Declaration in Toto, and it was therefore not a formal treaty, it was still binding by customary law. WORLD WAR I Culminating from a naval arms race of over a decade, a perilous system of alliances, German fear of encirclement, and the “shot heard around the world,” on August 3, 1914 the Great War broke out in Europe. Germany marched on neutral Belgium, by-passing the Netherlands, and into France, attempting a sweeping envelopment of Paris in a strategy known as “the Schlieffen Plan.” The stalemate on land of static trench warfare had been previewed on a lesser scale in both the Boer War (1899-1902) and the RussoJapanese War (1904-5), quickly showing statesmen that the illusion of a short war was exactly that. With millions of shells being expended weekly, reserves of men and money virtually drowning in the mud of France and Flanders, attrition warfare pushed the major Entente and Central Powers into mobilizing on the cusp of “total war”. This was a new kind of war, as would be reflected in laws on the use of force both during and after the war. There are two aspects of the Great War especially relevant to this study: Great Britain’s blockade of Germany; and the German U-boat campaign and subsequent unrestricted warfare. Regarding the naval war, Britain issued an Order-in-Council on 20 August 1914, suggesting it would follow the Declaration of London, save the amendments mentioned above. However, adherence to this general code eroded quickly under the strains of the blockade enacted against Germany. Perhaps it was overly generous of Britain to suggest that it was upholding the Declaration of London’s rules in 106

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that Order-in-Council, for in the next breath, the Order committed to what is inhumane but tenuously legal by international codes when defining its contraband list. Though this was not yet a “total war” as the Second World War would be, the war effort was controlled at nearly every level, with the German state taking control of food distribution.57 This followed precedents established by the Courts of the United States in the Civil War, France in the war with China (1885), and Russia in the war against Japan, (1904-5). In the latter cases, rice was made contraband, following the letter of law decreed by the American administration’s ruling that “articles of food… goods and commodities which might be useful to the enemy in war” were contraband.58 Similarly, in the Great War, foodstuffs went from “conditional contraband” to absolute; the order was never rescinded, beginning a sort of “starvation” policy against Germany. One legal writer observed, “it cannot be inferred that because food is to be under the control of a government department, therefore it is necessarily destined for naval or military use. That the Declaration of London asserts that it can be so inferred, only demonstrates the fatuity of that instrument.”59 From that point onward, many of the questionably legal policy changes regarding naval warfare were undertaken in reprisal to the last Order-in-Council or strategy enacted by the enemy. This war crime “one-upmanship” began with the British blockade of all of Germany from the war’s outset in 1914. Britain’s long distance blockade was to stop vessels, not from approaching a port or a coastline, but from approaching a whole state. As Lord Devlin pointed out, “to call this a blockade was for an international lawyer a misuse of the term.”60 Julius Stone terms the long distance blockade a “retaliatory” measure, by which the Royal Navy blockaded North Sea ports with a cruiser squadron between the Hebrides and Iceland, one thousand kilometres from German ports in Europe.61 This made Britain able to intercept traffic going to and from neutral ports contiguous to Germany, which was one method of ensuring that no cases of shipping neutral goods to Rotterdam, and then by land to Germany by continuous voyage, were possible. As Holger Herwig has recently pointed out, German high commanders had modified the Schlieffen plan from its original format, in which the sweeping envelopment crossed into the Netherlands prior to Belgium and France, to a plan leaving neutral Holland untouched. This would have permitted Germany to abuse the port in Rotterdam as a “wind pipe,” in contravention of continuous voyage customs.62 Only if this plan 107

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had been allowed to reach fruition could Britain justifiably claim that its blockade was retaliatory, though. Ultimately, while the long distance blockade prevented neutral shipping from reaching Germany from the Atlantic, it could not stop traffic within the cordoned area, leaving vessels from Norway and the Baltic ports to cross unfettered to German territory.63 The long distance blockade put a barrier to commercial traffic for all vessels coming from the Atlantic Ocean and beyond, but could not stop Germany from trading with Baltic and Scandinavian neighbours. As such, it was not an effective blockade, rendering it illegal by the Declarations of Paris and London.64 Though not legally effective, it was certainly effective in throttling the enemy’s trade—in fact, Britain had undertaken classic economic warfare strategy. Yet it remained that this was in contravention of the law—though issues including the changed nature of defences requiring a new definition of “close blockade,” the uncertainty of the clause permitting “small leakage” in effective blockade, and the need to retaliate against illegal German naval warfare obfuscated the affair sufficiently to nullify custom, turning international law upside down.65 By the Order-in-Council of 11 March, 1915, Great Britain fully repudiated the Declaration of London and absolved itself of following any conventions. While retaliation had been no excuse for the blockade when it was established at the war’s outbreak, the decree of March 1915 recognized that Germany had engaged in its own illegal naval warfare, and retaliation for self-defence was now justifiable.66 Ironically, Germany’s action was taken in retaliation of the Allies’ failure to carry out the rules of the Declaration of London.67 Germany’s illegal naval warfare took place in two parts, the first of which occurred in 1915 when it declared all the waters surrounding Great Britain to be a war zone.68 This was a precursor of the second part, by which in 1917 the high command decided to undertake unrestricted submarine warfare.69 Beginning with the war zone, however, and continuing with the war crime “one-upmanship”, the war zone was the culmination of the October, 2 1914 Order-in-Council, when Britain claimed that Germany was breaking the Eighth Hague Convention by laying a minefield, and retaliated by laying one of its own.70 In his country’s defence, Sir Edward Grey denied that British retaliatory methods were illegal, for “each belligerent is entitled to insist on being allowed to meet his enemy on terms of equal liberty of action.”71 However, the trading of retaliatory measures likely became illegal when the war zone was declared, for reprisals that put neutrals in danger or subject them to hardships are not sanctioned.72 Also, retaliatory measures 108

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may only be enacted after a request for proportional redress has been issued and denied. Historically, war zones or barred zones were defensive areas of up to ten miles in depth of waters around their naval ports, but in modern usage, it is meant to reduce the belligerent’s surface ships’ commitment in economic warfare.73 The way that Germany employed the zone broke the spirit of the law quite thoroughly, though, for while Britain’s “military area” was declared for self-defence against mines and submarines, Germany’s was an excuse to attack all vessels, regardless of nationality, on sight.74 Even before discussing the submarine’s role in World War I in depth, it is clear that in spite of the enormous efforts taken before the conflict to establish treaties and customs on the use of force at sea, none of the existing laws were adequate to limit naval warfare. It is confusing to unravel who was first at fault, and therefore establish who was justified in exacting retaliatory measures, though it is worth remembering that France, Russia, Britain and Germany all agreed on August 4 1915 that they would direct naval operations according to the Declaration of London. However, in the end, according to George Grafton Wilson, “the Declaration of London… did not stand the strain imposed by the test of rapidly changing conditions and tendencies which could not have been foreseen.”75 Submarine warfare became a serious issue between the German declaration of the North Sea as a war zone on February 5 1915, and the British Order-in-Council of March 11 1915 repudiating the Declaration of London. German submarines had sunk seventeen British merchantmen since the New Year, acting in contravention of the customs of visit, search and seizure, as well as the Declaration of London, which Germany purported to be following.76 British Prime Minister Asquith stated that German submarines [enjoy] no local command of the waters in which she operates. She does not take her captures within the jurisdiction of a Prize court: she carries no prize crew which she can put on board the prize she seizes. She uses no effective means of discriminating between a neutral and an enemy vessel; she does not place on board, for safety, the crew of the vessel she sinks. Her methods of warfare are therefore entirely outside the scope of any of the international instruments regulating operations against commerce in time of war. The German declaration substitutes indiscriminate destruction for regulated capture… Her opponents are therefore driven to frame retaliatory measures…with strict observance of the dictates of humanity.77

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Furthermore, just over two months after the war zone was declared, one of the most famous victims of submarine warfare was attacked; on May 7 1915, the Lusitania was torpedoed off the coast of Ireland, and sunk with a loss of 1,198 lives, including 124 American citizens. Some facts of this sinking include that this was an unarmed, enemy merchant ship, carrying a cargo including some absolute contraband, but also over one thousand noncombatants, many of whom were citizens of neutral states, and ultimately, the Lusitania was sunk without warning, without provision for the safety of its passengers, and as part of the “war zone” policy enacted by Germany.78 The Lusitania’s sinking is historically considered an act of war against neutral states, and one that elicited a strong response from the American president, Woodrow Wilson. However, from the legal perspective, the case is not so simple. The first question is whether or not Germany was acting within its legal rights by enforcing a war zone in the contiguous waters of Great Britain. As mentioned above, this involves tracing backwards to figure out which state was justified in first taking retaliatory measures against the other. If one agrees that the British blockade was illegal, then it is conceivable that Germany’s unrestricted submarine warfare was legally retaliatory against British ships—should Germany have issued a request for redress; however, this cannot be conclusively determined at this stage of this author’s research. The next question is, did the German submarine attacking the Lusitania abide by prize laws? While it was established after the fact that the ship was carrying absolute contraband, the submarine captain had no knowledge of this because no attempts to board a prize crew was made—the Lusitania was sunk without warning. Thus, regardless of the point of legality of the German war zone, the Second Reich has traditionally been seen as culpable in the sinking of this liner, breaking customary prize laws established based on the Declaration of Paris in 1856. As one legal writer commented, “the cause of the sinking of the Lusitania was the illegal act of the Imperial German government, acting through its instrument, the submarine commander, and violating a cherished and humane rule observed, until this war, by even the bitterest antagonist.”79 While the submarine was being condemned as an inhumane weapon of war, this was without taking into consideration the fact that the submarine was required to keep to the laws of surface vessels when engaging in a guerre de course, though the two types of ship have very different capacities. Submarines acted independently of local command when at sea, they had no facilities to bring captures before prize courts, and, in the Great War, were 110

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too fragile for visiting and searching merchant vessels properly, preventing them from discriminating between enemy and neutral ships. Is it reasonable to hold a ship up to a code of behaviour it has no ability to adhere to? One of the biggest reasons the submarine had not been abolished at The Hague in 1899 was because it was an inexpensive ship, largely thought of as defensive, and lesser naval powers including Italy and Russia were not willing to forego their chances of protecting their shores out of hand. Few states could build on the same lines as Britain and Germany did during the naval arms race, and as the paltry capital ship engagements of the Great War proved, not even Germany had gained the ability to rule the waves from above.80 Perhaps Germany felt it had little recourse left when the “war zone” did not turn the tides of naval warfare in its favour, or perhaps its high command simply ignored the open threat to neutral powers, especially the United States, by going to the next level, but at the end of January 1917, Germany avenged the death of its trade rights with unrestricted submarine warfare. This strategy essentially extended the war zone from around Great Britain to forcible prevention of navigation on the high seas, which meant that any ship on the Atlantic Ocean was fair game for attack. While this policy nearly brought Britain to the brink of defeat, Germany’s gamble did not pay off, for unrestricted submarine warfare lured the neutral giant into the war, and as the United States became belligerent, the balance tipped in favour of the Entente.81 German submarines’ wanton destruction of merchant vessels was a crime of war, but at the conflict’s end, this was primarily reflected by the fact that all Central Powers were forced to abolish submarines, signing a treaty at the Pact of Paris stating that “the construction or acquisition of any submarine, even for commercial purposes, shall be forbidden in --------,” to which Germany, Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria or Turkey was to enter its name.82 Was the answer to illegal warfare banning the weapons as was attempted at Versailles, or ought the powers to have reexamined policy, in order to ban illegal practices? So much energy had been devoted to codifying and humanizing warfare prior to the Great War’s outbreak, and successive reprisals between two belligerent powers had reduced the laws of war at sea to words on paper. One legal writer commented that: the history of war law is a record of unsuccessful protests against the use of new and unusual instruments of destruction. Can the international society, as at present constituted, hope to outlaw submarine warfare any

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more effectually than it has outlawed the cross-bow, the machine gun, the high explosive shell, war in the air, or a hundred other devices for the more efficient and economical extermination of mankind?83

One must subscribe to the belief that the Great War was the seminal catastrophe of the twenty-first century to understand how questions about mankind, the future of laws of war, and the submarine would be considered in the interwar era. Such devastating brutality had been brought to bear by otherwise civilized nations as belligerents, and as far as the war at sea was concerned, the most horrific of the war crimes were committed in the name of economics. Some of the greatest shocks were the sinkings of no fewer than four Allied hospital ships by German submarines. On July 19 1916, the Russian hospital ship Portugal was sunk with 90 lives lost by U-33, which also torpedoed a second Russian sick bay, the Vperyed, though the latter was not marked according to the “Manual of the Laws of Naval Warfare, Oxford (1913).”84 On November 21 1916, HMHS Britannic, the sister ship of Titanic, was torpedoed or mined off Kea Island, Greece; also in the Mediterranean, the hospital ship Dover Castle was sunk the following May by U-67. The best known of these tragedies was HMHS Llandovery Castle, in use by the Canadian Army Medical Corps, and torpedoed without warning in June 1918 by U-86. The latter two were the only ones of these sinkings tried as war crimes.85 Before acknowledging the overt war crimes committed against hospital ships, protected under The Hague and Oxford Conventions, it is clear that naval warfare in the Great War simply went too far, and was against many international customs, treaties and laws. Lip service had been paid to protecting mankind in warfare, but the cost of twelve million tons of shipping sunk, and losses of life numbering 20,000 non-combatant men, women and children highlighted that the crudeness of modern naval warfare had not been changed by The Hague and Geneva Conventions.86 Not only had innocent lives been lost, but of 375 submarines employed in that war, 203 were sunk, most with all hands. Commerce raiding and all that went with it—from blockade to prize court, search and seizure to unrestricted submarine warfare—was sure to be repeated in the next war, in spite of the illegality and apparent lack of humanitarian concerns.87 Submarines were partially abolished in the Paris Peace Treaty, as mentioned above, though the trend in the decade following the war was not to outlaw tools of war, but instead war itself. This raises the questions of whether warfare should adapt itself to the law, or if laws should be created to prevent such rampant illegality as in the Great War? It appears that in the interwar period, the hope 112

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was to limit or even abolish war and war-making ability so that these questions would be irrelevant, for war could only be limited in keeping with peacetime treaties. The 1921 Leipzig war crimes trials failed to begin the process of changing the laws of the sea in the interwar. As John Horne and Alan Kramer explained, it was a failure “both as a war crimes tribunal and as a means of resolving opposed national views of the events of 1914”; Leipzig represented victors’ justice on the terms of the vanquished.88 Of the 853 cases originally outlined by the victorious powers, only 45 ultimately went forward.89 The four British cases alone concerned themselves with the Uboat war. The German lieutenant who torpedoed the Dover Castle was found innocent based on the belief that he had just obeyed German naval orders to sink ships within the war zone—the legality of the orders was not questioned. The Llandovery Castle’s attacker was not tried, for the commander of that U-boat was in exile. However, his subordinate officers were found guilty of not stopping him from ordering his men to open fire on the hospital ship’s lifeboats.90 What is especially of note is that the fact that the ship went down was of no consequence—in spite of the U-boat captain’s blatant ignoring of the rights of visit, search and seizure—only the fate of the survivors was an issue. Visit, search and seizure were plainly codified prior to the war. They were violated throughout the war. Afterwards, steps were not taken to punish the offenders. The future of the law of the sea was clouded by the difficulty of accepting that pernicious strategies yielded desired results. Such was the state of international law concerning submarines and their usage following the First World War. For all the shock and dismay over the blatantly illegal use of submarines in that conflict, no great strides would be made to prevent another round of unrestricted submarine warfare in future conflicts. The interwar period was characterized by attempts to come to terms with the international community’s inability to create workable, lasting laws of war, a strong drive to preserve humanity and re-infuse global faith in international laws, which had failed in the Great War. The world was not yet ready to admit that unsavoury methods of warfare met the required ends. In only one more generation, however, military efficacy would dictate international law.

1

Quoted in J.L. Brierly, The Law of Nations: An Introduction to the International Law of Peace, 6th Edition, Sir Humphrey Waldock, editor, (London: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1963), 398. 113

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2

Ibid. Antonio Cassese, International Law, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 117. 4 Peter Malanczuk, Akehurst’s Modern Introduction to International Law, 7th Edition. (New York: Routledge, 1997), 39. 5 Cassese, 117. 6 Please see below for discussion on the Leipzig trials. 7 Quoted in John B. Hattendorf, “Maritime Conflict” in The Laws of War, Michael Howard et al, eds., (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 98. 8 Ibid., 99. 9 D.P. O’Connell, The International Law of the Sea, volume II, I.A. Shearer, ed., (Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1984), 1101. 10 Julius Stone, Legal Controls of International Conflict, (New York: Rinehart & Company Inc., 1959), 458. 11 Frederick Smith, The Destruction of Merchant Ships under International Law, (London: J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1917), 55. 12 Stone, 459. Analyses of blockade are covered further in this paper. 13 Hattendorf, 109. D.P. O’Connell further explains that the United States wanted a guarantee that private property would be immune from seizure at sea. This was half of the Monroe Doctrine’s conditions—the other being that Europe stay out of American affairs—as well as a position the United States would take frequently in the twentieth century, especially regarding the League of Nations. 14 W.T. Mallison, Jr., Studies in the Law of Naval Warfare: Submarines in General and Limited Wars, Naval War College International Law Studies, vol. 58, (Washington, D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1968), 31. 15 George H. Aldrich and Christine M. Chinkin, “Introduction to the Symposium on the Hague Peace Conferences,” in The American Society of International Law online, January 2000. Please see http://www.asil.org/ajil/aldrich.htm. Last accessed, March 8, 2003. 16 Final Act of the International Peace Conference, 26 Martens Nouveau Recueil (ser. 2) 258 – The Hague, 29 July 1899. Please see http://www1.umn/edu/humanrts/instree/auoy.htm. Last accessed March 4, 2003. 17 William I. Hull, The Two Hague Conferences and their Contributions to International Law, (Boston: Ginn & Company, 1908), 451. 18 Mallison, 34. 19 Ibid. 20 The issue of contraband would do well to be discussed here, however in the interest of length, suffice it to say that it is a critical issue to the Law of the Sea and humanitarianism during this era but falls outside the scope of importance vis à vis unrestricted submarine warfare. 21 Viscount Tiverton, The Principles and Practice of Prize Law, (London: Butterworth & Co., 1914), 2. 22 Joseph Lohengrin Frasconà, Visit, Search, and Seizure on the High Seas: A Proposed Convention of International Law on the Regulation of this Belligerent Right, (New York: Private publisher, 1938), 2. “High Seas” is defined as all that area of, and all that space above and below, the surface of all waters lying outside the marginal waters of any State; “waters” are that area of and all the space above and below the maritime surface, see page 3. 23 Ibid., 2. 24 Ibid. 3

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25

Belligerent war vessels have the right of visit, search and seizure “alone,” because belligerent merchant ships or non-war vessels do not. Furthermore, this is only permitted to warships on the high seas, or in the territorial waters of either of the belligerent states. Beyond these requirements, there are also extensive laws about what is subject to visit, search and seizure protocol. 26 Lord Devlin, The House of Lords and the Naval Prize Bill, 1911, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), 5. 27 Tiverton, 6; and Lassa Oppenheim, International Law: A Treatise, H. Lauterpacht, ed, 7th Edition, (London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1952), II:483. Hereafter, Oppenheim-Lauterpacht. The position of a Prize Court in relation to Municipal and International Law was considered by the Privy Council during the First World War regarding the Zamora, 1916. The effect of this decision was that a British Prize Court was bound by parliament even if it conflicted with International Law, but not bound by an Order in Council that is conflicting with International Law, except where the Order directs a mitigation of the belligerent rights of the British Crown. See Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, ff 485. 28 Tiverton, 7. 29 Smith, 15, 65-67. See The Hague Convention (1907), No. IV, articles 1, 2. 30 Smith, 67. 31 Ibid., 16. Cargo that is liable for seizure must be processed in Prize Court, dealt with cursorily above. The rules and regulations about this procedure vary by state according to municipal law, and with its great complexity, falls outside of this paper. 32 Ibid., 17-19. The three states include Italy (1877), Russia (1895) and the United States (1900), though the American code was revoked in 1904. 33 George Grafton Wilson, “The Deutschland,” in The American Journal of International Law, vol. 10 (1916), 852. 34 Smith, 19. 35 Ibid. 36 Ibid., 52. 37 Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 487. 38 L. Gessner, quoted in Smith, 28. 39 Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 487. 40 Ibid. 41 Ibid. 42 Smith, 74. 43 Ibid., 79. 44 Stone, 492. 45 Devlin, 3; Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 768. 46 On Pacific Blockade, please see Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 144-9. 47 Stone, 493. 48 Ibid. John B. Hattendorf suggests that it also represents today’s customary law, as well. See Hattendorf, 111. 49 Declaration of London, cited in Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 770. 50 Stone, 493. 51 O’Connell, 1150. As early as 1916, Alexander Holzoff declared that “it is, however, a principle now unanimously accepted by writers on international law that a blockade may extend to an

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entire coast line.” Please see “Some Phases of the Law of Blockade,” in The American Journal of International Law, vol. 10 (1916), 53. 52 O’Connell, 1151. 53 Ibid.; Holzoff, 55. 54 Winston Churchill, The World Crisis, volume I, (London: Thornton Butterworth, 1923), 142. 55 See the discussion on British blockading practice in the Great War below for further analysis of the long distance blockade, and see Holzoff, 57, for discussion of a blockade’s distance from shore. 56 George Grafton Wilson, “The Withdrawal of the Declaration of London Orders-in-Council,” in The American Journal of International Law, vol. 10 (1916), 843. The issue of innocent destination hinges on the “continuous voyage” theory in search and seizure. This theory suggests that if neutral vessel A is laden with contraband goods for neutral port B as well as non-contraband goods for a belligerent C, the entire cargo can be seized as contraband. The notion is that while vessel A is making more than one stop, and will not be carrying the contraband goods by the time it reaches the belligerent port, the port calls it makes occur on one “continuous voyage,” and if the goods are seizable at any of the stops, it renders the ship prize-worthy in Toto. Furthermore, if cargo left at a neutral port was continuing over land to a final destination, this was also considered part of a “continuous voyage,” rendering it illegal. Essentially, Britain was eschewing continuous voyage theory when it refused to sign the Declaration. Please see Holzoff, 61. 57 Bellot, 65; T. Baty, “Naval Warfare: Law and License,” in The American Journal of International Law, vol. 10 (1916), 49. 58 Bellot, 60. 59 Baty, 49. 60 Devlin, 3. Oppenheim-Lauterpacht concurs with Devlin, entitling the section dealing with that issue “The So-Called Long-Distance Blockade.” See page 791. 61 Stone, 500. 62 Holger H. Herwig, “Germany and the “Short-War” Illusion: Toward a New Interpretation?” in Journal of Military History, vol. 66 (July 2002), 689. 63 Stone, 500. 64 Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 779. 65 O’Connell, 1153. 66 See Oppenheim-Lauterpacht for explanation of reprisal, 561-5. 67 Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 678. 68 Devlin, 17. 69 Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 679. 70 Devlin, 16; Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 680. 71 Quoted in Bellot, 62-3. 72 Stone, 572; Oppenheim-Lauterpacht, 681. It was not illegal during the competing mine-fields because Germany’s minefield did not threaten unduly neutral shipping, and Britain indicated safe lanes for neutral passage. 73 Stone, 572. 74 Bellot, 62. 75 Wilson, “The withdrawal of the Declaration of London…”, 844. 76 Bellot, 62. 77 Quoted in Bellot, 62-3.

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78

E.D.D. “The Lusitania—Destruction of Enemy Merchant Ships Without Warning,” in Michigan Law Review., vol. 17, (1918-19) 168. 79 Ibid., 169. 80 The Battle of Jutland comes to mind especially in this case, for while it was indecisive at the time (Germany sinking more British ships, but Britain surviving to continue as the dominant naval power), the fact that German ships were never again able to sortie illustrates the necessity of developing submarine warfare—if only out of sheer desperation. 81 Mallison, 35. 82 Ibid., 36. 83 E.D.D., 169. 84 “Manual of the Laws of Naval Warfare, Oxford, Adopted by the International Institute of International Law, August 9, 1913.” From the University of Minnesota Human Rites Website— please see http://www1.umn/humanrts/instree/1913a.htm. Last accessed, March 6, 2003. 85 Hattendorf explains that the Entente powers committed war crimes at sea equally, but escaped punishment and were even rewarded for their atrocities, 113. Furthermore, the British Q-Ship Baralong seized and murdered eleven survivors of U-27 from the steamer Nicosian in August 1915. Apart from this mention, thus far no research about Q-ships in the Great War has been uncovered, though one source regarding these armed merchantmen in the Second World War credits their creation to Winston Churchill in the First World War, as a way of retaliating for unrestricted submarine warfare. Please see Beyer, Kenneth M. Q-ships versus U-boats. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999, xix. 86 Mallison, 36. 87 Furthermore, while taking into account the number of sufferers due to the naval war, the Germans that perished or otherwise suffered adverse affects of the British “starvation policy” were not considered in legal terms following the war. It is also worth noting that their plight is finally being considered now, given that observers of the Gulf Wars and Western-imposed sanctions are asking questions as to how humane “non-violent” solutions really are, when prolonged suffering of civilians is the result. 88 John Horne and Alan Kramer, German Atrocities, 1914: A History of Denial, (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 351. 89 Ibid., 345, 347. 90 Ibid., 347.

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Mapping the North Korean News Space, an Introduction

Mapping the North Korean News Space, an Introduction ZACHARY DEVEREAUX & WENRAN JIANG University of Alberta, Edmonton

INTRODUCTION In one day, a journalist, government communications expert, or social science researcher can encounter, monitor and comprehend at most a few hundred news stories. Indeed, everyday in newsrooms over the newswire, in government agencies and universities via the Internet and libraries researchers do exactly that. The numbers amongst us that do not avail themselves of the aid communications technology offers in such work can certainly be said to be dwindling. This says nothing of the everyday practice of youth in the universities and otherwise. Indeed, students and the media talk of ‘crisis’ in the music industry relating to copyright, for example. There can be little doubt that intellectual property rights are facing new challenges; currently, in Canada, Internet service providers (ISPs) are divided regarding the privacy of their customers when it comes to copyright infringement. Other developments of import are clear, as the technology of profiling makes advances in our daily lives, both in the business sector and at the border. However, communications technology does not only produce crisis, or assure that big brother is watching. Look at what it has done for library systems, or consider the import of widely available on demand publishing. In countries such as Switzerland, Internet voting is a reality for certain cantons. These positive trends have been much theorized about within the dedicated discipline of media and communications studies, but increasingly the social sciences as a whole are faced with the task of confronting the implications of a rapidly changing communications environment. This is certainly the case for political science, and this article is an introduction to a project that aims to employ new technologies to areas of study that have proven problematic for political science in the past. To briefly explain the technology we are applying, it is predominantly concerned with cartography. We are making maps and telling stories about the maps we make. But our maps do not show the political boundaries of 118

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nations or geographic contours upon a landmass. Rather we are mapping the contours of Issue Networks. An Issue Network involves communication, actors, and the topics that associate them. Our practical everyday understanding of networks is quite clear; we all have a network of family, friends and colleagues. However, beyond these ego-centred-networks society is criss-crossed and constituted by networks large and small, simple and complex, and, importantly, diverse and evolutionary. The Issue Network our project is concerned with is related to the importance of the Korean peninsula in international relations. The opportunity to study the prevalence of news coverage, within new media, related to Korea is a direct result of the ever–expanding Internet. This opportunity, produced by the Internet and its potential as an object of study, is compelling new theoretical and methodological developments within international relations. States, NGOs, individuals and new social movements are rushing to the Internet, and instead of a roll-back we witness a land rush. In a reflection of what Baudrillard has called the ‘information blizzard’ the Internet is vast in novel ways. So vast as to seem, in certain aspects, beyond the analytical scope of conventional methods. But in reality, this is not the case as information and communication technologies (ICTs) are giving us the capacity to measure, monitor and visualize huge amounts of data. Our ability to perceive and analyze networks is rapidly expanding along with the networks themselves. Civil society as a concept offers an instructive example. Conventional theorizing points us in the right direction, alerting us to the issue, but civil society eludes quantification or measurements of depth despite our recognition of its importance. However, we can add depth to our conception of civil society via the study of its existence on the Internet. And the same principle can be applied to our understanding of the complicated relationship between government, policy, public diplomacy, civil society and the media. Thus we took terms related to, among others, U.S. diplomacy towards the North Korean nuclear armament issue and examined the issue network on the internet which they are part of. To begin with, we looked only at the English language news space as it related to our queries focused on issues considered critical to the North Korean situation regarding nuclear armament, the ‘Axis of Evil’ and regime change. WEB AND SOFTWARE TOOLS

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Let me explain the form of a few web and software tools that are at the centre of our project. These tools, developed mainly in Europe, are part of an evolving toolbox at the disposal of the social science researcher. The first tool I shall explain is our map making software, ReseauLu (www.aguidel.com). The software is a data analysis solution, one that consists of several layers. ReseauLu renders clear significant relations in heterogeneous data sets, through analytical algorithms and visualization tools combined with database technology. ReseauLu allows, through a single analytical framework, the exploration of data through three main dimensions: relational, time dependent and textual. Relational mapping has been our first step, analyzing more than 2700 individual news stories, in maps covering English, Japanese, and Chinese news spaces. The IssueCrawler is the second tool I shall explain. It is a server side tool which ‘crawls’ the web from a set of starting points chosen by the researcher and returns a network. The method for returning a network is colink analysis, which locates the most densely interlinked set of sites outwards from the starting points—in a standard sampling method. Often the networks are made up principally of .gov’s, .com’s and .org’s. Hence the name of the NGO: Govcom.org (www.govcom.org) that has developed the software and hosts the service. These results, using visualization software, produce maps that demonstrate the organizations, as well as the linkages between all organizations of the data subset. The combination of these web tools makes our inquiry unique, by offering the reader comprehensible representations of complex networks, such as the news space and Issue Network related to Korea. In addition to this, the integration of network theory, communications studies (Web Epistemology) and political science is compelling and rewarding. Realistically, dynamic and evolving web tools will be a necessary part of the political scientist's tool box in the future as international relations becomes understood as it exists within new media. For example the ability to track and understand network architecture via the web is intuitively appealing both in terms of progressive “snapshots” and, eventually, as dynamic modeling that can reflect the ebb and flow of diplomacy, public policy, media coverage and global governance.1 METHODOLOGY

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Our methodology is based upon methods developed by Dr. Andrei Mogoutov and applied previously in the Asian context to press coverage related to the detention of Aung San Suu Kyi in Myanmar. The methodology is based upon the availability of news content from over 3,000 news outlets on the Internet portal Google. On Google News, one can ask the portal for news stories related to any topic. The topics we chose were themed around portent issues portent to the Korean peninsula, and the importance of North Korea internationally. Thus we established the following introductory queries of a simple and direct manner, using seven in total: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

“North Korea + Human Rights” “North Korea + Axis of Evil” “North Korea + Regime Change” “North Korea + War” “North Korea + Nuclear” “North Korea + Reunification” “North Korea + Famine”

Google News then searches the over 3,000 news providers within its service for any mention of these terms in relation to one another.2 The list of providers is extremely extensive, and ranges from the largest network entities to local providers, which is reflected in our maps. The number of stories related to each query varies, and while analyzing the total amount of queries would be possible, it is currently beyond the scope of our project.3 Instead, we analyze the top 100 stories related to each query as a representative sample of the issue network. The raw returns are taken from Google News in their original form, and then converted to a database format. From the database format, the data is input into the visualization software. The software, ReseauLu, uses algorithms to visually represent statistically significant relations between the elements of heterogeneous data sets. In this case our data set is the top 100 returns related to each query broken down into: -Query –Headline –News Provider –Location of provider –Date of Story –Story synopsis paragraph. The resulting map demonstrates the most significant providers in relation to the seven queries as square nodes. It also shows the seven queries as circular nodes, with their size indicating importance. The lines between the entities on the map indicate a topical relation. In addition ReseaLu searches 121

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for symmetry in the arrangement of the network in space, and when the data fails to be symmetrical the nodes and links are distributed according to significance (a ‘fuzzy logic’ algorithm does this work) which gives us a visual interpretation of the relationship between stories, queries and providers. Our initial mapping project focused on two types of maps. The topical map which demonstrates the relations between the providers and the query topics. We also produced a map which demonstrates the sharing or re-use of identical content between providers, in other words a news content network map. After the first few maps were produced, we made an additional type of map, an issue network map that uses the content as the basis for demonstrating the statistically significant relation between the presences of the queries in the dataset. These maps as a group provide the opportunity for several levels of analysis. It is important to mention that the scale of the project related to North Korea is extremely small. ReseauLu can handle the visualization of much larger data sets. For example, we had seven queries, but it is possible to produce maps with more than forty. Also, we took only the top 100 inquiries, mainly for purposes of clarity. But maps can be produced which include thousands of stories. FIRST MAP(S) AND INITIAL FINDINGS Findings: 1. Whitehouse.gov (press release) couches North Korea in terms of regime change and human rights. This framing strategy is only followed by one other news outlet, Frontpagemag.com. On Frontpagemag.com at the time of constructing this map we found an ‘epetition’ which demonstrates the political nature of the site. (The text of the epetition: “Tell John Ashcroft NOT to give in to the radical left… Help expose the Left’s anti-American agenda… Help continue to expose Terrorists in our midst… Sign the new e-petition today”) 2. Connecting regime change to war done by Fox News, Newsweek, and Asia Times online. 3. Regime Change and Reunification are, basically, disconnected. Thus there is little talk of a German model achievement of Regime Change in this sample. This also shows that efforts originating from the two Koreas under the heading of the ‘Sunshine Policy’ are not circulating ‘at par’ with Regime Change, Axis of Evil, and Famine issues. Indeed, the issue of Reunification is largely delegated in this sample to Asian

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news outlets. Thus, Reunification is a more important issue regionally versus globally. 4. Pay-Per Regime Change. A (Financial Times) subscription is required to read about North Korea only in terms of regime change (and not in terms of human rights, reunification, famine and other issues). 5. Only CNN is able to connect famine and reunification, one of the more practical and meaningful associations between the issues of import in the peninsula. This is an important finding in that it shows an American based media outlet covering the issue in a balanced manner. At the outset of our research one of the questions we posed regarded whether or not American media outlets are uniform in their coverage approach, but here CNN gives an example to the contrary.

Guardian Rocky Mount Telegram San Francisco Chronicle Newsday Radio Free Asia

Daily Times Wired News

Channel News Asia

Tech Central Station

GoAsiaPacific.com

North Korea + Famine Toronto Star

Atlanta Journal Constitution

American Daily CNN Reuters

Voice of America

New Zealand Herald New York Times

North Korea + Human Rights

International Herald Tribune

eTaiwan News Telegraph.co.uk

North Korea + Axis of Evil

Washington Times North Korea + Nuclear

IranMania News Frontpagemag.com

Korea Times

Donga

ABC Online

CNN International

MSNBC Minneapolis Star Tribune (subscription) North Korea + Regime Change

Straits Times

Whitehouse.gov (press release)

North Korea + Reunification

Newsweek The Militant Financial Times (subscription)

Reuters AlertNet

Arms Control Today

Korea Herald Taipei Times

Stuff.co.nz

Japan Times Chosun Ilbo

Aljazeerah.info North Korea + War FOX News

Louisville Courier Journal

CNN Asia

SpaceDaily

Asia Times Online

Washington Post Japan Today

MAP 1 : The English Language News Space Related to North Korea. As available on Googlenews service from October 15th, 2003 to November 15th, 2003. (Our first map of this news space). 123

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IMPLICATIONS 1. There is a relation between policy and media, which is complex. Mapping tools can help us to measure this relationship. 2. The traditional democratic argument about the informed citizen still applies, but now it applies to Baudrillard’s information blizzard. The scale of information and breadth of networks has implications for policy formation, as well as the engagement of civil society with policy. 3. The issues present in the media space relate to one another, and represent issue networks. These issue networks also represent a community brought into being by the issues, constituted by governments, organizations, media outlets and individuals. 4. The multicultural and multilingual aspect of the global news space is an increasingly important dimension that policy makers must engage and maneuver in relation to. This project will allow for a level of complexity and analysis, based on automation, which is impossible through conventional methods. 5. Conventional wisdom is refuted or reinforced by the visualizations, but importantly this methodology can lend statistical leverage to conventionally derived claims. As well, the accuracy, breadth and speed of the automated analysis represent an evolution in quantitative methods that was hoped for by earlier theorists. It is possible that such quantitative depth can add rigour to the ‘science’ in ‘political science.’ 6. Mapping over time will allow for the visualization of the systemic features of the network and their evolution. This is important for understanding society as a communication in a continuous process of re-creation. 7. The application of such visualizations is not limited to one field of the social (or natural) sciences. This is to say that the object of study can change from one area to the next, but the worth of the visualization techniques can be demonstrated by this project in the discipline of political science. As the Internet is a politicized domain, the discipline must address the object of study that, increasingly, is also a domain of service delivery, and a means by which the citizen understands governance. Indeed, governance is also enacted in the virtual landscape. 8. In terms of human security: policy related to discourse such as this is especially suited to visualization techniques which afford the 124

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opportunity to measure the distribution of discourse and permutations over time, within the realm of the internet. Our project has not yet applied semantic or lexical analysis, but the tools we are using have a strong capacity to do so. FUTURE DIRECTIONS To give the project scope, our future direction has much to do with the passage of time. Turning a snapshot into a chronology of an issue network is a goal, and may be a rewarding enterprise. It is clear that consistently mapping over time provides a new insight into the evolutionary aspect of the issue network related to North Korea. In addition to extending the project over a larger time frame, the mapping of news spaces in languages other than English has been begun, and will be continued. As far as the maps are concerned, the evolutionary trajectory is headed towards more interactivity; the utility of maps wherein one could choose a node and surf directly to the site mapped is obvious. As mentioned above, another aspect of the study that can and should be expanded is mapping of the issues in relation to one another. The analysis tools we are using are robust enough to handle much larger query lists, in order to give us a better understanding of how issues relate to one another. This avenue should be explored. The final, and quite important, angle that needs to be expanded in our inquiry is the definition and mapping of Internet linkages between key actors. This co-link analysis has yet to begin, and promises to produce rewarding visualizations and network data for analysis. Recently the political dimension of news coverage as it relates to North Korea has been brought home to citizens in Canada through the Song Dae Ri case. As the War on Terror continues, parallel developments of concepts such as the ‘Responsibility to Protect’ and ‘human security’ add poignancy to our study of the North Korean new media news space. It is hoped that availing ourselves of new media methodologies can contribute to a better understanding of the ways in which we come to know about the DPRK. Specifically, when it comes to new media, we hope to elucidate understanding of how the West covers the situation on the Korean peninsula, fraught as it is with far reaching consequences. NOTES: For an overview of new media issues, see:

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R.Rogers, Preferred Placement. 2000, Jan Van Eyck. And: Information Politics (Ibid.) forthcoming, MIT Press. For a discussion of profiling, see: Greg Elmer. Profiling Machines: Mapping the Personal Information Economy. 2004. MIT Press. For publications related to other applications of ReseauLu, see: http://www.aguidel.com/english/admin/index.php?count=10 The original presentation of the North Korea news space project are online at: http://www.issuenetwork.org/node.php?id=46#2h (Note, there is an error on this version of the map regarding Fox News which is in the process of being corrected) To see examples of web cartography undertaken by the Govcom.org Foundation and a list of related publications, see: http://www.govcom.org/

1

For an example of such mapping and a deeper understanding of the topics I have broached here, see R.Rogers, Preferred Placement, 2000, Jan Van Eyck. And: Information Politics (Ibid.) forthcoming, MIT Press. 2 The searching technique employed by Google is algorithmic, and therefore similar to the mathematical backbone of any search engine, or the visualization software ReseauLu that we use to produce news maps. 3 For an idea of the scope, our most recent query on “North Korea + Nuclear” in English returned 7020 stories, while “North Korea + Axis of Evil” returned 1970 stories and “North Korea + Famine” returned 78.

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Are Our Airports Safer?

Are Our Airports Safer? TIFFANY FARION University of Calgary, Calgary The current international setting is entirely different from the setting of a few decades ago. Throughout the first half of the twentieth century, states protected themselves from other states endangering their civilization and their very existence. Now, in the twenty-first century, we face a new type of threat known as terrorism. The Canadian Security Intelligence Services Act defines terrorism as “activities…directed toward or in support of the threat or use of [serious violence] against persons or property for the purpose of achieving a [political objective] within Canada or a foreign state”.1 The Senate report further details the causes of terrorism to “include political or ideological objectives, religion, nationalism, [or] ethnic separation”.2 Similarly, the United States defines terrorism as “premeditated, politically motivated violence perpetrated against noncombatant targets by subnational groups or clandestine agents, usually intended to influence an audience”, with an added emphasis on international terrorism.3 International terrorism “involves the territory or the citizens of more than one country.”4 Instead of obvious threats from other states upon a nation’s sovereignty, the new threat comes from extremist groups that use terror tactics to intimidate and coerce a state’s citizens. Most instances of terrorist activities occurred in the Middle East, far removed from the North American continent. The terrorist activities in the Middle East were a continual part of current event news reports that North Americans were unable to relate to. Indeed, it felt as if these events were taking place in a location far removed from our ever-prosperous democratic societies. Events changed dramatically when North America became the new target of extremist Islamic fundamentalist groups. On September 11, 2001, Canadians and Americans awakened to the horrifying pictures of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Since its occurrence, the tragedy of September 11th has ignited security concerns in both the United States and Canada in hopes of preventing another catastrophe due to insufficient security. This is especially evident in the area of airport security. The airplane hijackers were easily able to clear security and successfully carry out 127

Are Our Airports Safer?

their objective. New regulations have been instated in both the United States and Canada to deter another airplane catastrophe in our skies, but have the governments of Canada and the United States made acceptable changes in airport security? Before the terrorist attack of September 11th, many North Americans held an attitude of “considerable complacency.”5 However, contrary to this common perception, there were many terrorist attacks launched against the United States. During 1997, “over one-third of all terrorist attacks were against United States targets.”6 Canada has become a target of terrorist groups because of its close proximity to the United States. This proximity goes far beyond sharing the largest international border in the world. It includes close economic, military, and civilian relationships, which have bound the two countries closer than many other international partnerships. This relationship between Canada and the United States makes us increasingly vulnerable to terrorist activities. In a 1999 report, the Canadian Senate Special Committee on Terrorism and Public Safety emphasized that “the government’s counter-terrorism capability must include not only the government’s ability to respond effectively to a terrorist incident and the current situation, but […] also include sufficient forward thinking to be able to identify and counter future situations.” Because terrorist groups aim to inflict fear upon a nation, they “tend to seek out other […] targets that remain relatively [undefended].”7 Both Canadian and American intelligence were considered to be susceptible in many areas. In a 1999 report, the Special Senate Committee on Security and Intelligence “[recognized] that increased security often slows passenger flows and increases inconvenience.”8 Further, the Committee hesitantly accepted the argument from Transport officials that added safety features would not be “cost-effective.”9 A similar 1999 review conducted by the Special Senate Committee on Transportation Safety and Security noted that there was a “lack of daily screening of employees and […] ease of access to the airside through catering facilities by those who may not have been security checked.”10 This was an alarming reality that should have been corrected to prevent terrorist attacks on aircraft. This Committee also noted that security screeners did not have efficient security knowledge. Canadian security and intelligence agencies ascribed to the misconception of “it can’t happen here.” This is a false statement because Canada was the victim of a terrorist attack in June 1985. Air India Flight 182 travelling from Montreal to London exploded and crashed into the North Atlantic on June 23.11 All of the 329 128

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people on board the airplane were killed, and approximately 280 of the 329 were Canadians. The Globe and Mail deemed this to be “the worst aviation Transport Minister Donald disaster ever involving Canadians.”12 Mazankowski proclaimed that Canada must increase security checks at airports.13 However, the increase in security checks was specified solely to all departing international flights without any consideration to domestic flights. He also requested “other nations strengthen security measures on flights bound for Canada.”14 After this incident, the issue of security at Canadian airports was virtually forgotten because the investigation of the crash lasted approximately seventeen years.15 During sixteen of those seventeen years, airport security was not an issue to the Canadian public because there were no other significant incidents of terrorism aboard commercial aircraft. According to Dr. Bruce Hoffman, Vice President of External Affairs and Director of the RAND Washington Office, the United States security and intelligence agencies made three false assumptions. He suggests that the United States “overestimated the significance of [their] past successes.”16 In the years leading up to September 11th, the United States intelligence community had undermined numerous terrorist attacks against American targets. The prevention of these attacks led to the assumption that terrorist groups were inefficient and prone to mistakes. Also, “attention was […] focused too exclusively either on the low-end threat posed by car or truck bombs against buildings or the more exotic high-end threats, against entire societies, involving biological or chemical weapons or cyber-attacks.”17 The security and intelligence communities prepared responses to the “worst case scenarios” involving massive numbers of people and incredible devastation and destruction. They assumed that, if prepared for these events, they would be able to incorporate solutions for less significant incidents. The third false assumption was that terrorists are more concerned about publicity for their cause than in killing numerous innocent people.18 Based on this information, it was believed that terrorist groups preferred to have the international community aware of their cause with the lowest possible mortality rate. September 11th certainly proved this supposition inaccurate. In a book entitled Air Travel-How Safe Is It?, Laurie Taylor describes the internationally accepted security devices used at airports prior to 1988. These measures were brought in to deter the increasing numbers of terrorist attacks on aircraft internationally. These security devices included x-ray luggage screening, metal detector gateways, body searches, explosives detectors, sniffer dogs and gerbils, psychological screening, separation of air and 129

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ground sides, separation of passengers, identification of airport employees, security patrols, screening of cargo, and screening of duty free goods and unaccompanied and interline passenger baggage. X-ray luggage screening is able to create a three dimensional image of the contents of luggage. It is capable of identifying copper wire hidden behind steel plates.19 X-ray machines with the capabilities of operating at two different frequencies and varying intensities are able to detect plastic explosives and bombs.20 A problem with x-ray machines is that the operators cannot be stationed for long periods of time because their sharpness deteriorates after a certain amount of time. This was emphasized in a study conducted in 1987 at random American airports. The average “miss rate” was twenty percent, and many of the missed objects “were weapons concealed in carry-on baggage.”21 This is an alarming statistic and demonstrates how easily the hijackers were able to maneuver through x-ray security stations. Metal detector gateways are able to detect concentrations of metals on a person. If the concentrations are abnormally high, the alarm will sound and the person will be subjected to a manual scanning and/or body search to determine where the concentration of metal is. Body searches are used only on passengers who have set off a metal detector. These people are treated with a certain amount of suspicion and are therefore searched more thoroughly to ensure that they are not carrying any dangerous items aboard the aircraft. The one drawback is that body searches are a lengthy process and considerably impede the inspection of passengers. Explosive detectors are capable of “detect[ing] explosives that are tightly wrapped in metal foil or cling film.”22 In addition, these machines are able to identify plastic explosives and recognize small amounts of gas that are emitted by explosives. This greatly increases the ability to identify conventional bombs, but terrorist groups are ever-evolving their techniques to accomplish their goal. A less expensive alternative to explosive detectors is sniffer dogs and gerbils. They are able to recognize explosives and drugs efficiently. However, as with any other living creature, they are prone to make mistakes. Psychological screening is part of airline personnel training, but it is inaccurate at best. This technique bases itself on the psychological profile of a “typical hijacker.”23 Dedicated terrorists, however, alter their appearances and demeanors to blend in with another group so they are less noticeable. 130

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This allows them to gain easier access to the aircraft and regroup with their partners. It was recognized that the travelling public must be kept separate from the rest of the population after clearing security. This was to ensure that dangerous items were not passed through security from a person that was not travelling. This is accomplished “by controlling the flow of passengers down ‘sterile’ corridors and into lounges that are closed to the public.”24 Another problem is with passengers transferring from one flight to another. Often, transfers are sent to other terminals, allowing them to simply board their next flight without clearing security again. Because this was a great security threat, transferring passengers were subjected to security screenings again before they could board their connecting flight. This virtually eliminated the possibility of transporting dangerous items onto an airplane. Identification of airline personnel is crucial to maintaining a secure airport, especially for those employees who cross from the ground to the air side. Identification badges are effective if proper background screenings have been performed on all employees. Without proper checks, terrorist groups can place an operative in personnel, which would aid the hijackers in gaining access to the aircraft with dangerous items. At the time Laurie Taylor’s book was written, there was optimism about a new technology for electronic identification cards that would be more secure while allowing the identical amount of traffic through security points.25 However, these cards do not necessarily increase security because terrorist groups can easily create false identification cards to allow easier access through secure locations. The use of security patrols was a flawed security system. These had greater psychological benefits for employees and the general public because they observed security guards patrolling the airport. However, they were not capable of covering every area of the grounds at one time, allowing for great opportunities to outwit set security systems. In response to “terrorists […] switching from hijacking to sabotage by bombs,” stricter screening processes on cargo were implemented.26 Cargo is exposed to similar levels of pressure, which would be experienced in the airplane, detonating bombs that are pressure sensitive. However, this system does not further examine cargo, leaving the aircraft considerably vulnerable if the bomb is reliant upon a timer or other method of detonation. Similarly, a screening process for duty free goods was implemented to deter hijackers from carrying on dangerous items to influence the passengers and crew onboard the aircraft. 131

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Lastly, airports were developing a system to “[check unaccompanied baggage] and reconciling passengers and bags in order to prevent terrorists from placing bombs on board while they themselves are safe.”27 This is necessary to ensure the safety of passengers and crew aboard all flights. The tragedy on September 11th began to unfold at 7:58 in the morning, Eastern Standard Time (EST). United Airlines Flight 175, which would crash into the south tower of the World Trade Center, took off and was hijacked shortly after takeoff.28 At 7:59 am EST American Airlines Flight 11 took off, was hijacked shortly after takeoff as well, and crashed into the north tower forty-seven minutes later.29 United Airlines Flight 93 was hijacked shortly after 8:01 am EST and crashed into a field two hours later when the passengers opposed the hijackers.30 The last airplane to be hijacked, American Airlines Flight 77, crashed into the Pentagon at 9:45 am EST, an hour and thirty-five minutes after take off.31 These four hijackings were successfully achieved within twelve minutes and accounted for the loss of over three thousand lives. Airport security was easily cleared for these terrorists. With all of the security initiatives listed by Taylor, one has to question which of these devices were ineffectual and allowed the hijackers to obtain control of the airplanes. Responses by Canada and the United States were virtually instantaneous and considerable. The Federal Aviation Authority (FAA) in the United States shut down all New York City airports by 9:17 am.32 Twenty-three minutes later the FAA ceased all flight operations at American airports.33 Similarly, Canada’s Transport Minister David Collenette “declared that no commercial or private aircraft were allowed to depart Canadian airports until further notice.”34 Also, Collenette ordered all flights destined for the United States incapable of returning to their cities of departure due to insufficient amounts of fuel to land at airports across Canada. Increased security measures were instituted at all Canadian airports. By September 12th, domestic flights were allowed to resume in Canada with heightened security measures strictly enforced.35 These enhanced security measures included elevated police presence at major airports, extensive passenger screening, and enhanced security measures such as more hand searches of luggage.36 With approval by the FAA, some flights were allowed to continue into the United States. Many airports in the United States remained closed as a precautionary measure. The next day all Canadian restrictions on commercial flights were lifted, however many American airports remained closed to trans-border flights.37 September 14 of saw the restrictions lifted off of cargo flights in 132

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Canada, and by September 16 the final American flight that had been diverted to a Canadian airport was allowed to fly to its final destination. Many American airports remained closed to trans-border flights for precautionary measures. Tourism was greatly affected immediately following September 11th. In Canada “passenger traffic [was] down more than 40% from pre-attack levels[.]”38 Even though Canada was not directly attacked, many Canadians refused to fly. Many visitors to Canada also chose not to fly into Canada for fear of another attack. International tourist travel to North America dropped by approximately twenty-seven percent on average in the months of September to December of 2001.39 Because Canada relies fairly heavily on tourism for government revenues, this was a tremendous blow to the economy. Canadian M.P. Susan Whelan explained that the reason people were not flying was that “many people fear[ed] the prospect of flying. Lingering psychological impacts of the attacks […] reduced the number of people choosing air travel as a mode of transportation.”40 This psychological impact of the terrorist attacks forced declarations of bankruptcy by Canadian airlines and the eventual closure of some of these same airlines. In the United States the situation was nearly as grim in the tourism industry. The World Tourism Organization recorded that in the year 2000, the United States received approximately fifty-one million international tourists.41 However, the growth rate for international tourism in the United States fell by 12.6 percent for the year 2001.42 This was equivalent to a decline of 6.4 million tourists. The main reason for this sharp decrease was the tragic events that occurred on September 11th. From September to December of 2001, the WTO justified that “due to [the] fact that passenger aeroplanes were actually used as weapons on September 11th and due to the massive visual impact of the attacks, repeated thousands of times on TV, public perception [had] changed, and far more people [were] afraid to fly, especially in the USA.”43 September 11th had tremendous sweeping effects for the entire American population, causing psychological fears of flying to many people. For example, American business people altered their routine dramatically. Following September 11th “[communication] that was previously conducted personally on business trips is now frequently replaced by telecommunications.”44 This attitude did change relatively quickly in the United States. By March 8, 2002 USA Today maintained that “the main reason daily passengers in the US post September 11th are down … is ‘hassle, not fear’ due to the ‘interminable delays and indignities many passengers 133

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suffer because of some senseless searches.’”45 Again, American business people “[found] that tightened security and longer waiting and check-in periods [made] travel more cumbersome.”46 However, when it was necessary to fly, many companies enforced their policies that board members were required to travel in separate airplanes.47 American sentiment became one of annoyance with the new security measures, replacing the previous sentiment of fear. The Canadian government implemented new policies and initiatives in response to the September 11th attacks. Transport Canada released a list of new initiatives on October 11, 2001. These new initiatives included the purchase of advanced explosive detection systems, increasing the number of airport security inspectors, analyzing advanced security practices, acquiring better information systems for customs officials, increasing the number of customs officials, new equipment for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP), the purchase of new fingerprint card conversion technology, and an increase in the ability of the RCMP Emergency Response Team. These new initiatives will cost the Government of Canada over ninety million dollars. In total, the Canadian government budgeted over two billion dollars to be spent over a five-year period.48 Transport Canada committed itself to spending 55.7 million dollars on advanced Explosives Detection Systems (EDS) at all major Canadian airports.49 New EDS machines would include x-ray machines to identify baggage contents and trace detection that “detects residues of explosive material.”50 These new screening techniques would examine not only checked luggage, but carry-on luggage as well. These new systems are able to also test luggage monitors to ensure that they are continually attentive in their duties. Three million dollars has been allocated to the hiring of additional airport security inspectors and to “strengthen [their] regulatory capacity for responding to new and emerging security threats.”51 This includes additional training programs for cargo and luggage handlers so that they are fully aware of possible terrorist capabilities. Extra training programs to acquaint airport and airline staff with possible terrorist techniques that will enhance their knowledge and force them to consider possible resolutions to these threats if they should encounter them. Also included in this $3 million is the training of airport and airline personnel in the new technologies being employed by the airports. This training will be necessary to support the new systems in

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place in airports so that they will be used in the most effective manner possible. 750 thousand dollars will be spent on a report that analyzes advanced and evolving security practices within the airport security sector. The purpose of this study is to analyze “requirements, availability, applicability and implementation of security technologies and systems at airports.”52 The efficiency of current security systems in other countries will be evaluated, as well as their expected advantages in Canadian airports. Some of these new technologies under examination are facial recognition systems, iris scans, and automated thumb printing.53 Transport Canada has also emphasized the need to acquire the latest technology and information systems to be used by customs officers. $12 million have been set aside for two enhanced security measures. The first of these measures is the Advance Passenger Information/Passenger Name Record (API/PNR). This technology would link the customs officials to a data bank to dispense relevant information concerning incoming passengers in advance of their arrival. This will allow customs officials time to examine their backgrounds and isolate any suspicious or high-risk individuals. This information “would be the same information currently obtained through interviews with the traveler and the inspection of their travel documents at the time of arrival in Canada.”54 The second security measure is called Custom Controlled Areas. These would be placed in airports that charter international flights. “Customs officers would address the growing problems of internal conspiracies where some airline and airport staff misuse their position to engage in criminal activity.”55 Passenger screening would be much more efficient with these new security measures adopted by customs officials. A further six million dollars would be placed towards strengthening existing technology to be more effective. The obvious machines to be upgraded would be x-ray machines, however there are two other upgrades in technologies that are under consideration. The first of these is the Integrated Primary Inspection Line. This database connects customs officials to Customs and Citizenship and Immigration databases and warns officials “whether the traveler is flagged for either customs or immigration, or has previous infractions that would warrant secondary inspection.”56 As well, there would be a Customs Intelligence Management System. This system is connected to a national database responsible for intelligence information.57 This aids officials in analyzing potential risks entering Canada. Both of these 135

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technologies would ensure that our customs officials are increasingly efficient in their tasks. Transport Canada has allotted twelve million dollars for additional customs and security inspectors. This money will “be invested in hiring 130 customs inspectors and 27 security inspectors across Canada to strengthen regulatory capacity for responding to new and emerging security threats.”58 Finally, $10.27 million will be distributed for additional security measures provided by the RCMP. $8 million will be spent on new equipment, mainly real time identification-live scan systems. These would link to an RCMP database to transmit fingerprints, palm prints, and photographs to and from international airports for added security information on arriving passengers.59 The RCMP will also acquire new fingerprint card technology. The purpose of this system is to update the Canadian Criminal Records System.60 Finally, $770,000 will be added to the budget of the RCMP Emergency Response Team to enable them to increase their “tactical response capabilities.”61 On October 11, 2001 the Solicitor General of Canada, Lawrence Macaulay, placed special emphasis on the upgrading of the RCMP capabilities. To him, these investments “demonstrate that the Government of Canada is serious about the safety and security of Canadians.”62 These, according to the government of Canada, are the top priority of the government and will be arranged first. The United States, which released their Aviation Security Act on November 19, 2001, applied new airport initiatives in a different manner than Canada. The unique American initiative was the creation of a new position in the Transportation Security Administration. Other new policies include improved flight deck integrity measures, the deployment of federal air marshals, improved airport perimeter access security, additional crew training, a security screening opt-out program, additional screening techniques, in-depth passenger manifests, additional aviation security funding, and possible weaponry for flight deck crews.63 The Government of the United States created a new position to head the Transportation Security Administration, which is part of the Department of Transportation. The head of the Administration is the Under Secretary. The term of the position is five years.64 The Under Secretary is responsible for, among other things, all matters relating to civil aviation security. Some of these matters include the handling of all intelligence information related to transportation security, assessment of threats to transportation, developing 136

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responses to threats to transportation, proper maintenance of test security facilities, and supervising security measures at airports, among other responsibilities.65 Most importantly, in the event of an emergency, “if the Under Secretary determines that a regulation or security directive must be issued immediately in order to protect transportation security, the Under Secretary shall issue the regulation or security directive without providing notice”.66 The Under Secretary has incredible power and control over the American airline industry. This position was fully established no later than February 19, 2002 and continued to maintain the integrity of American airport security. Improved flight deck integrity measures involve the safety and protection of the flight deck. This includes “prohibiting access to the flight deck … requiring the strengthening of the flight deck door and locks … light deck doors remain locked while any aircraft is in flight except when necessary … [and] prohibiting the possession of a key to any flight deck door”.67 The only people allowed access to the flight deck are authorized crewmembers and only when conditions require. This policy ensures that the flight deck has the highest security measures possible to prevent any terrorist attacks on the cockpit. As an added precautionary measure, the Transport Security Administration has the ability to carry Federal air marshals “on every passenger flight of air carriers in air transportation”.68 The air marshals are placed on any flights that the Under Secretary deems to be a high security risk. These air marshals are armed and provide extra security in the event of a terrorist incident. In the area of improved airport perimeter access security, the Under Secretary is responsible for the “screening or inspection of all individuals, goods, property, vehicles, and other equipment before entry into a secured area of an airport in the United States”.69 This includes the inspection of all catering services and other services performed on a passenger aircraft. In this manner the American government is making it easier to detect any tampering of aircraft parts and services, which heightens security for all passengers and crewmembers. Once this Act is executed, the training programs for crewmembers are to be enhanced with added security knowledge. These added training exercises include crewmember defensive maneuvers, live situational training exercises involving numerous threats, defensive aircraft maneuvers, and analyzing the common behavior of hijackers and terrorists.70 Having aircraft 137

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personnel who are more effectively trained in matters of airplane security ensures an increased security environment on the aircraft. Whereas Canada employs the RCMP to carry out much of its security measures, the United States requires all screening personnel at airports to be federal authorities for a minimum of three years. These federal authorities will be trained through federal training programs in new security measures; many of these coming from security firms already employed by airport security companies.71 Once the three year restriction period is concluded, “airports will have the option of returning security screening functions to private control” with government approval.72 To receive government approval, a private screening company must be capable of attaining a level “equal to or greater than the level that would be provided at the airport by Federal government personnel”.73 Background checks of all employees are mandatory in this program and any individual who presents a “national security risk” will be discharged.74 Lastly, there will be annual proficiency reviews to ensure “that the individual continues to meet all qualifications and standards required to perform a screening function”.75 The review ensures that all personnel are capable of performing security-screening duties at the most effective level. This establishes an increased effectiveness of security to ensure that terrorist attacks in airports are minimized. The screening of all luggage and personnel by Federal security authorities is emphasized by the Act in order to detect any dangerous weapons or suspicious individuals. This measure was to be implemented no later than sixty days after the American government ratified the Act. In terms of Explosive Detection Systems, all United States airports must “have sufficient explosive detection systems to screen all checked baggage no later than December 31, 2002 and … all checked baggage at the airport is screened by those systems”.76 Until this policy is in full effect, all checked luggage is placed aboard an aircraft only if the passenger is aboard the aircraft. Manual searches and searches by canine explosive detection units are also used to screen checked luggage. As in Canada, the Transport Security Administration has ordered that all foreign aircrafts are to provide electronic transmission of their passenger and crew manifests. The information would include the full name of each person, date of birth, citizenship, sex, passport number, country of issuance for the passport, a valid United States visa number or resident alien card number, and “other information as the Under Secretary, in consultation with the Commissioner of Customs, determines is reasonably necessary to ensure 138

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aviation safety.”77 This policy is to provide customs officials with all relevant information to acquire the most effective judgments on possible security risks. American aviation security funding is much higher than the $90 million allotted to Canadian airport security by the Government of Canada. For the year 2002 alone the Secretary of Transportation is credited with an additional $500 million to: ƒ fortify cockpit doors to deny access from the cabin to the pilots in the cockpit; ƒ provide for the use of video monitors or other devices to alert the cockpit crew to activity in the passenger cabin; ƒ ensure continuous operation of the airport transponder in the event the crew faces an emergency; and ƒ provide for the use of other innovative technologies to enhance aircraft security.78 These measures are supplementary to the aforementioned policies to be adopted within sixty days of the ratification of this Act to enhance airport security. In February 2002 the Standing Senate Committee on National Security and Defense conducted a review of airport security techniques to gauge the effectiveness of the initiatives that Transport Canada introduced in October of 2001. The three areas under reexamination were the pass system, passenger and baggage screening, and the use of private security companies. The advanced screening techniques of airport personnel have not been stressed. Identification cards still range from simple photo identification cards to electronic cards programmed for use in only certain areas. This is a large discrepancy that calls into question the integrity of airport personnel. While the Committee recognized that employing a system based on the electronic card system would significantly eliminate security threats in highrisk areas, this is not the reality. In fact, “[of] the tens of thousands of passes that are currently in circulation, the committee was advised that thousands cannot be accounted for[.]”79 Many of these cards have been lost, stolen, or kept by employees who did not work for the airport any longer. This poses a great security risk because these passes are still in circulation and can still be used to gain access to restricted areas of an airport. In relation to passenger and baggage screening practices, the Committee discovered that there were no extensive screening procedures for explosives. In fact, checked luggage “[received] significantly less screening 139

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than baggage carried.”80 There has been an increased amount of vigilance to ensure that all luggage on a flight is matched with a corresponding passenger on the same flight. However, since terrorists are prepared to sacrifice a great deal for their cause, greater screening of all luggage, checked as well as carryon, must be done to ensure the safety of everyone aboard an aircraft. An alarming trend that the Committee noticed while inspecting different airports was that “inspection standards [varied] from airport to airport.”81 A contributor to the fluctuating inspection standards is the high turnover of security company employees. The security wages for airports are incredibly low for the amount of responsibility this occupation entails. This makes it difficult to hire and maintain qualified and experienced individuals. The other disturbing occurrence is that security positions are “routinely subcontracted to the lowest bidder.”82 This demonstrates the lack of efficiency in airport security because the least expensive contracted workers will not maintain the high security expectations of the airport authorities. In a report presented in January 2003, the Standing Committee on National Security and Defense addressed some concerns about the level of security at Canada’s airports. Of particular concern to the Committee were the increased measures of security in airports, the training of aircraft personnel, and the security of cockpit doors. The Committee observed “the federal government and Canada’s air industry have focused on introducing measures to toughen security that are highly visible to the traveling public.”83 These measures include heightened attention to baggage screening and more extensive questioning of passengers regarding the contents of their luggage. However, many security measures that occur “behind the scenes” have seen little or no progress. Some of the security measures that have not drastically improved include: ƒ A lack of scanning of potentially dangerous cargo on passenger flights, such as baggage, packages and mail; ƒ Inadequate background security checks of airport workers accessing aircraft; ƒ Inadequate searches of airport or outside workers accessing aircraft; ƒ Outmoded and insecure pass systems for workers entering restricted areas at airports; ƒ Haphazard examination of passes when workers enter secure areas; ƒ A lack of almost any kind of security requirements for private aircraft and their passengers;

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ƒ A lack of security background checks on workers in buildings abutting to airports with access to vulnerable areas at airports; ƒ Inadequate security boundaries between airport tarmacs and buildings adjacent to airport property; ƒ A lack of any plan to train maintenance workers in the recognition of potentially dangerous persons, objects or substances ƒ Inadequate briefing of flight crew personnel when armed aircraft protection officers are aboard flights[.]84 All of these problems are principal security concerns because, if not corrected, they pose an enormous risk to airport security in Canada. A startling revelation in the Committee report was that more “than a full year after the September 11 attacks … Air Canada’s flight crew security training [had] not changed in ten years”.85 In light of the hijackings of September 11th, cabin security training should be a primary concern. However, Transport Canada is part of this problem because they have not regulated any new training requirements for airline personnel. “The airlines … are unwilling to go ahead with new training on their own lest their new training not measure up to any new Transport Canada requirements in the works.”86 Richard Balnis, the Senior Research Officer for the CUPE, remarked that the procedures still in use by all crewmembers are “based on the hijacking scenarios of the 1970s.”87 Nor are they trained to deal with dangerous items or substances, although flight attendants have gained the responsibility of checking for suspicious items. The training programs have not been upgraded since the September 11th attacks, leaving all passengers and crewmembers vulnerable in the event of a terrorist attack in an aircraft. The security of cockpit doors was a final concern of this Committee, who noted that this would be a necessary measure to hinder another attack similar to September 11th. The Committee reported an estimate “that cockpit doors are typically opened eight times on an average flight.”88 The vulnerability of the cockpit when the cockpit doors are open needs to be addressed. The suggested modifications of cockpit doors included reinforced doors and double cockpit doors, and refortified lockable cockpit doors.89 Transport Canada set a deadline of April 9, 2003 to implement modifications on all cockpit doors. However, this has not occurred. This leaves the cockpit in a vulnerable position to any terrorist attacks. A Canadian Broadcasting Corporation in-depth review done on October 27, 2003 revealed that many initiatives planned to occur closely following the release of the Transport Canada report still have not been 141

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implemented. Measures such as pre-board screening, additional armed undercover police officers, and state-of-the-art detection systems have been successfully implemented into Canadian airports.90 However, the issues concerning the security of cockpit doors, new customs and security inspectors, additional training of airline and airport security workers, heightened screening of passengers, and more extensive luggage searches have not been updated.91 In contrast, the United States has closely followed its Aviation and Transportation Security Act since its implementation on November 19, 2003. However, the Transportation Security Administration announced in August 2003 that it would reduce two security measures.92 The first decreased security measure is the admission of carry-on drinks through airport security. This is only accepted if the drink is in a paper or foam polystyrene cup because the “metal detectors can detect objects inside paper or foam cups.”93 Beverages in plastic, glass, metal, or ceramic containers must still pass through the x-ray machine. “TSA officials are also considering eliminating … two well-known questions.”94 The two questions concerned ask whether an individual is carrying any foreign objects handed to them by unknown individuals and whether an individual’s luggage has been left unattended at any time. TSA Chief Admiral James M. Loy declared that there is no concrete evidence to suggest that these questions prevent an attempted or actual hijacking or bombing. Therefore the validity of these questions is being re-examined. While these efforts appear harmless to implement, critics argue “they could lead to the easing of more critical security measures in the name of customer service.”95 However, no other security measures are being reduced at this time within the American airport security program. “The fundamental nature and character of terrorism changed with 9/11 and moreover has continued to change and evolve since then.”96 Bruce Hoffman recognizes that our security policies must continue to evolve so that they can successfully protect citizens from terrorist actions. The terrorist attacks on September 11th brought the vulnerability of North America to the attention of all Canadians and Americans. As a result of this new threat to North American security, both Canada and the United States implemented new airport security initiatives to upgrade the status of security at their respective airports. The Government of Canada produced a list of initiatives that Transport Canada would implement in order to create a more effective security environment in Canadian airports. Approximately two years later, many of these new initiatives have not been successfully executed. 142

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Canada ascribes to the concept that “[better] technology can minimize risks to equality, privacy, and liberty while providing better security” but has not implemented the security policies necessary to turn this concept into a reality.97 The Government of Canada is adopting an attitude that the Special Senate Committee on Security and Intelligence adhered to in its 1999 report. This attitude applies the rationale that “in the absence of examples of the system breaking down, [the Government of Canada] is prepared to accept that [these initiatives] will work.”98 Using this argument, the initiatives that have been implemented appear to be sufficient in protecting against terrorist actions against Canadian airplanes and airports. The United States has adopted a more hard-nosed approach to airport security. Following the argument that “the metric of success in the war on terrorism is defined as the ability of intelligence agencies and law enforcement officials to prevent, preempt and deter attacks”, the Government of the Untied States has enacted the Aviation and Transportation Security Act.99 This Act creates many new policies in order to ensure the increased protection of American travelers from terrorist attacks. These policies are explicit in their instructions and are heavily enforced at airports across the United States. Terrorists exploited the vulnerabilities in American aviation security and the United States government was determined not to allow this type of tragedy to occur again. “For [the Americans] to succeed against terrorism, [their] efforts must be as tireless, innovative, and dynamic as [their] opponents.”100 This is why the Aviation and Transportation Security Act is as adamant as it is. American airports produced and sustained a much higher level of airport security in the aftermath of September 11th. The Government of Canada, on the other hand, has held back on many of its original initiatives aimed at increasing security at Canadian airports. This leaves Canadian travelers in a vulnerable position because the initiatives that have been implemented are not sufficient to successfully deter a terrorist attack in an airplane or in an airport. The question still remains whether the new security initiatives have significantly changed airport security in Canada and the United States. Based on all of the information provided, it is clear that the United States has implemented many new initiatives that have significantly reduced the terrorist threat occurring at American airports. The new policies are very strict and are able to prevent many attacks on previously weak areas of airport security. The United States is willing to spend the money necessary to ensure that the policies implemented in the Aviation Security Act remain effective. The current standards are superior to the former standards in place prior to 143

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September 11th and these new high standards are being maintained for the safety of the American people. In Canada the situation is very different. Airport security has not changed significantly in response to the tragedy of September 11th. As laid out in the new airport initiatives announced by Transport Canada in October 2001, the government of Canada has allocated a substantial amount of money to implement the new programs. This shows that the government is willing to pay the price for the enhanced security measures at Canadian airports. Therefore the problem of improving security standards is not about the cost of the new security measures themselves. So how has Canada responded to the security threat? Once the new security programs began being implemented, the public became satisfied that the government was acting accordingly to the threat. The public began to observe modest changes in airport security and assumed that the enhanced safety measures offered much more protection. With these visible limited increases in security, the public assumed that they were more protected against the terrorist threat and therefore were not demanding further immediate action from the government. If the public demand is non-existent, then the government has no pressure from the public to act further. It assumes that the slightly better standards are sufficient and the government does not need to implement further components of Transport Canada’s 2001 plan. In the end, if the public appears to feel safe enough with the current regulations and security measures, there is no need for the government to spend more money to complete the remainder of the plan. What the Canadian public is unaware of is how great the threat remains and how inadequate the current security policies are.

1

The Senate Special Committee on Terrorism and Public Safety. “The Current Security and Intelligence Environment and a Current Assessment of Risks to Canada’s Security.” January 1999. http://www.parl.gc.ca/36/1/parlbus/commbus/senate/com-e/secu-e/repe/repsecintjan99part1-e.htm (July 30, 2003). 2 Ibid. 3 Ivan R. Dee, America Confronts Terrorism: Understanding the Danger and How to Think About It, John Prados, ed. (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2002), 29. 4 Ibid. 5 “The Current Security and Intelligence Environment…” 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid.

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8

Senate Special Committee on Terrorism and Public Safety. “Response to Recommendation of the Senate Special Committees on Terrorism and Public Safety.” The Report of the Special Senate Committee on Security and Intelligence. January 1999. http://www.parl.gc.ca/36/1/parlbus/ commbus/senate/com-e/secu-e/rep-e/repsecintjan99part2-e/html (September 20, 2003), 14. 9 Ibid. 10 Special Senate Committee on Transportation Safety and Security, “Air Safety and Security.” January 1999. http://www.parl.gc.ca/36/1/parlbus/commbus/senate/com-e/saf2-e/repe/repintjan99part4-e.html (September 20, 2003). 11 Ministry of Attorney General, Government of British Columbia, “Air India: Brief Summary of Events of the Air India Prosecution.” Criminal Justice. September 5, 2003. http://www.ag.gov.bc.ca/airindia/index.htm (October 12, 2003). 12 Zuhair Kashmeri, “Sabotage feared as 329 die in jet.” The Globe and Mail. August 4, 1986. http://www.globeandmail.com/backgrounder/airindia/pages/s_Indirect.html (October 12,2003). 13 Ibid. 14 Ibid. 15 “Air India: Brief Summary of Events of the Air India Prosecution.” 16 Bruce Hoffman. Lessons of 9/11. (Santa Monica: RAND, 2002), 17. 17 Ibid. 18 Ibid. 19 Laurie Taylor, Air Travel-How Safe Is It? (Oxford: BSP Professional Books, 1988), 208. 20 Ibid. 21 Ibid., 209. 22 Ibid. 23 Ibid., 210. 24 Ibid. 25 Ibid. 26 Ibid., 211. 27 Ibid. 28 September 11 News.com. “Timeline & Images on the Morning of September 11, 2001.” September 11 New.com. http://www.september11news.com/AttackImages.htm (October 12, 2003). 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid. 31 CNN. “September 11: Chronology of terror.” September 12, 2001, http://www.cnn.com/2001/US/09/11/chronology.attack (October 12, 2003). 32 Ibid. 33 Ibid. 34 Sixth Report of the Standing Committee on Industry, Science and Technology: Getting Back to Business, chaired by Susan Whelan, M.P., (Ottawa: November, 2001) 34. 35 Ibid. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid. 38 Ibid., 19.

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39

Tourism Recovery Committee, The impact of the September 11th attacks on tourism: The light at the end of the tunnel. (Madrid: Market Intelligence and Promotion Section, Division of World Tourism Organization, 2002), 15. 40 Sixth Report of the Standing Committee on Industry, Science and Technology: Getting Back to Business, 19. 41 Tourism Recovery Committee, 15. 42 Ibid. 43 Ibid., 24. 44 Simon. “Terrorism Hurts World Trade.” Vol. 3, Internationale Politik: Transatlantic Edition. (March 2002), 59. 45 Tourism Recovery Committee, 24. 46 Simon, 59. 47 Ibid. 48 Kent Roach, September 11: Consequences for Canada, (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2003), 190. 49 Transport Canada. “New Initiatives to Enhance Airport Security.” Government of Canada. October 11, 2001. http://www.tc.gc.ca/mediaroom/releases/nat/2001/01_h126e.htm (November 23, 2003). 50 Ibid. 51 Ibid. 52 Ibid. 53 Ibid. 54 Ibid. 55 Ibid. 56 Ibid. 57 Ibid. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid. 60 Ibid. 61 Ibid. 62 Solicitor General of Canada. “New Airport Security Initiatives.” Department of the Solicitor General of Canada. April 10, 2002. http://www.sgc.gc.ca/publications/Speeches/20011011-e.asp (November 23, 2003). 63 Senate and House of Representatives in the United States of America in Congress. “Aviation and Transportation Security Act.” November 19, 2001. http://usgovinfo.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?site=http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi%2Dbin/ bdquery/z%3Fd107:s.01447: (October 8, 2003). 64 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 597. 65 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 598. 66 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 600. 67 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 606. 68 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 607. 69 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 608. 70 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 610. 71 Robert Longley, “New Airport Security Measures: What does the new Airport Security Act mean to travelers?” US Gov Info/Resources. November 18, 2001, http://usgovinfo.about.com/library/weekly/aa111801a.htm (October 8, 2003).

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72

Ibid. Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 613. 74 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 617. 75 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 618. 76 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 615. 77 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 623. 78 Senate and House of Reps., “Aviation and Transportation Security Act,” 115 stat 628. 79 Standing Senate Committee on National Security and Defense, “Canadian Security and Military Preparedness,” February 2002, http://www.parl.gc.ca/37/1/parlbus/commbus/senate /com-e/defe-e/rep-e/rep05feb02-e.htm (September 20, 2003). 80 Ibid. 81 Ibid. 82 Ibid. 83 Standing Senate Committee on National Security and Defense, “The Myth of Security at Canada’s Airports,” January 2003, http://www.parl.gc.ca/37/2/parlbus/commbus/senate /com-e/defe-e/rep-e/rep05jan03-e/htm (September 20, 2003). 83 Ibid. 85 Ibid. 86 Ibid. 87 Ibid. 88 Ibid. 89 Ibid. 90 Canadian Broadcasting Corporation News, “Security measures at Canadian airports,” CBC News In-depth: Airport Security, October 27, 2003, http://www.cbc.ca/news/background/airportsecurity/ (November 23, 2003). 91 Ibid. 92 Robert Longley, “At Issue, Already Reducing Airport Security?” U.S. Gov Info/Resources. August 26, 2002. http://usgovinfo.about.com/library/weekly/aa082602a.htm (October 8, 2003). 93 Ibid. 94 Ibid. 95 Ibid. 96 Bruce Hoffman. Al Qaeda, Trends in Terrorism and Future Potentialities: An Assessment. (Santa Monica: RAND, 2003), 17. 97 Roach, 179. 98 Special Senate Committee, “Air Safety and Security,” January 1999. 99 Hoffman, 16. 100 Ibid. 73

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The Changing Face of Canadian Peacekeeping NICOLE KIMBLE University of Calgary, Calgary INTRODUCTION In Canada, participation in peacekeeping has not been something that has sparked a lot of debate. It has traditionally been a source of pride, something that has helped to separate Canada from its southern neighbour, that people all over the world appreciate. However, recently much debate has emerged over Canada’s continued participation in peacekeeping. This debate has been centered on the fact that the type of missions Canada has involved itself in has changed in nature, a change that has led to increasing danger for the troops, and increasing costs for Canada. This change has been part of the larger evolution of Canadian peacekeeping that has occurred over the past 50 years. The purpose of this paper is to examine these changes that Canadian peacekeeping has experienced, changes that can largely be attributed to the changes that occurred in the international system, as a result of the Cold War and its conclusion. This paper will then argue that there will continue to be valid reasons for Canada to participate in the new, evolved peacekeeping, referred to as peace support operations. Some of these reasons are pragmatically based, and others that are based in Canadian values. DEFINING THE TERMS In order to more closely examining the changing nature of Canada’s role in peace operations, one must first define the terms used. The following section will define the terms that will be most often referred to in the paper, though there are several other forms of peace operations that have been identified. Furthermore, it should be noted that these terms are constantly changing and may be used interchangeably in some literature to explain a particular type of operation. For the purposes of this paper, the definition given will carry throughout the paper. A “peace support operation” is the all-encompassing term used to explain a peace operation. Often it is used due to the fact that a mission may include one or more different types of peace operations, such as the use of 148

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sanctions and troops on the ground. Therefore, peace support operations include: peacekeeping, peace enforcement, sanctions enforcement and intervention.1 In this paper, the term “peace support operation” will be used when referring to a variety of operations, as opposed to one type in particular. The second term that must be defined is “peacekeeping”. Peacekeeping, in its traditional sense, has many identifying factors. The first is that the belligerents have agreed to a truce, and the peacekeepers are there simply to monitor this truce. Second, the peacekeepers are strictly neutral in the conflict; they have taken no steps to support one side in comparison to the other. Furthermore, they do not engage in force, except in cases of selfdefence. Therefore, they are lightly armed. Finally, the troops are often there to create a physical barrier between the two sides, along a line of decided division.2 The United Nations defines “peacemaking” as the use of diplomatic means to persuade parties in conflict to cease hostilities and to negotiate a peaceful settlement of their dispute. This does not include the use of force.3 This definition is widely accepted in academia and will be accepted as the definition for the purpose of this paper. The final term that should be explained fully is “peace enforcement,” or “armed intervention”. In peace enforcement operations, there is no peace to keep, meaning that the belligerents are still at war and the mission is to dissolve the conflict. In a peace enforcement operation, it is necessary that the troops involved are properly armed and are prepared to engage in firefights with the belligerents parties involved. The mission may also clearly see one party as more directly responsible for the continuation of the conflict or the humanitarian crisis that follows.4 THE CHANGING NATURE OF PEACEKEEPING The end of the Cold War brought about many changes in the world system. It moved from a system in which two superpowers with opposing goals fought for influence and power on the world stage, to a system in which one power, the United States, held all of the cards and had no opposing power left to check it. If fact, it was not only a system in which there were no longer two superpowers, but to a system under which the Soviet Union, the other superpower, had essentially imploded, leaving it with virtually no ability to control even those areas that had once been firmly under its grasp. Therefore, this system created a period of destabilization in 149

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the developing world, as states either gained their independence for the first time, or were abandoned by either the United States or the Soviet Union, who no longer required their service as a client state. This period of destabilization led to an evolution in the types of conflicts that the international community was left to face. This evolution led to the natural evolution of the tools the international community had put in place to deal with such a thing. This section will examine more closely the changes that occurred in the international system as a result of the end of the Cold War, and what these changes meant for the future of peacekeeping. The changes in the external world had a very important impact on the ability of the United Nations to deal with conflicts the world over. United Nations' hands were no longer tied by conflicting interests of the United States and the Soviet Union, as they had been since its creation. Since the UN was formed in 1945 until the end of the Cold War, there were over one hundred major conflicts and over twenty million people died. However, the UN could not deal with these conflicts due to the common practice of the feuding powers to veto any resolution that did not favour their interests. In total, 279 vetoes were cast by the Security Council between 1945 and 1991.5 However, following the end of the Cold War, the interests of members of the Security Council who held veto power appeared to be more in line with each other. Therefore, the UN was free to commit itself to several conflicts. In the 1992 An Agenda for Peace, Boutros-Boutros Ghali noted that In these past months a conviction has grown…that an opportunity has been regained to achieve the great objectives of the Charter–A UN capable of maintaining international peace and security, of securing justice and human rights and of promoting, in the words of the Charter, “Social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom.”6

Thus, the United Nations had theoretical approval to intervene and the reason to do so. Members of the United Nations had participated in the drafting and signing of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, a declaration that recognized that the equal and inalienable rights of all humans was the foundation of peace, justice and freedom in the world. Furthermore, the declaration stated that past offences against human rights had resulted in, “barbarous acts which have outraged the conscience of mankind, and the advent of a world in which human beings shall enjoy freedom of speech and belief and freedom from fear and want has been proclaimed as the highest aspiration of the common people.”7 Many members of the international community had also participated in the creation and signing of the Geneva 150

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Conventions, both on the prevention of genocide, and the treatment of civilians during a period of war. These conventions very explicitly outlined behaviour that the international community deemed acceptable, and indeed necessary if one was to respect the rights of all human beings.8 By signing this declaration the international community committed itself to the protection of human rights the world over. The opening up of the Security Council following the Cold War, along with the willingness of the international community to engage in the creation of a new world order left the door wide open for peace support operations that could engage the values set forth in these various conventions. The protection of human rights was something that became very important following the Cold War, as the nature of conflicts became increasingly bloody in nature. Instead of the traditional cross border conflicts, in the parties disputing could be held accountable for their actions, the post Cold War era saw a swelling of internal conflicts that were created by ethnic or religious tensions, long suppressed by the superpowers in the name of stability. These internal conflicts were especially violent in nature and violated human rights.9 In order to end these violations and uphold the values put forth by the international community in their various conventions and rhetoric, increasingly interventionist action was seen as necessary. Intervention in the affairs of another sovereign state has long been a contentious issue in international relations. However, as the Cold War came to a close, an evolution in the term “intervention” caused the world to look at it in a new light; the evolution was qualified as humanitarian intervention. The international community had turned its head away from Cold War conflict and towards others that were involved quite heavily in human rights violations, some so violent in nature they were classified as acts of genocide. As the international community became aware of these violations, the idea of letting the parties effectively wipe out their opponents before allowing peacekeeping troops to come in seemed ludicrous. Thus the idea of humanitarian intervention was brought into main international circles.10 Humanitarian intervention was then added to the growing number of ways in which the international community felt that it could create peace and stability in the world, and marked one of the biggest changes in peace support policy since its creation. Overall, the end of the Cold War left a power vacuum in which ethnic groups/states tried to assert their independence. This often led to violent conflict. Coupled with this was the revived effort of the international 151

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community to engage the ideals set forth following the end of the Cold War. The joining of these two factors meant that peacekeeping had to evolve and become more aggressive in its nature. THE ROLE OF CANADA AND THE EVOLUTION OF PEACEKEEPING Canada has been a proponent of peacekeeping since its conception. In fact, though similar missions existed to a very small extent prior to the 1950s, peacekeeping as it is widely understood today was the brainchild of the then Canadian Minister of External Affairs Lester B. Pearson, who created a peacekeeping mission in response to the Suez Canal crisis in 1956. This mission paved the way for increased Canadian involvement in missions all over the world, some sanctioned by the United Nations and some by other regional organizations. This section will examine the ways in which Canada participated in peacekeeping during the Cold War, as well as its reasons for doing so. COLD WAR PEACEKEEPING An examination of Canadian involvement in peace support operations during the era of the Cold War reveals these missions were quite homogeneous, with approximately 76 per cent falling into the same category.11 This overwhelming majority was either committed to ensuring that a ceasefire was maintained or to the supervision of the withdrawal of troops from one or both sides of the conflict, in accordance with the agreement made by the parties privy to the conflict.12 Only a handful of the peace missions undertaken by Canada were removed from the main goals of peace missions during this time period, and involved either the supervision of elections or the maintenance of law and order, such as the mission to Cyprus or the Congo, (though there was a strong peacekeeping presence in the Cyprus mission). Canada’s participation in peacekeeping during the Cold War is seen as very moral in nature. However, unlike the surge of missions created after the Cold War, Canada did not participate in these missions primarily out of good will. There were firm Realpolitik reasons for doing so. Lester Pearson demonstrated this quite clearly when he stated: The main and very real threat during the first years of the Cold War was the armed might, the aggressive ideology, and the totalitarian despotism of the communist empire of the USSR and its satellite states under the iron hand of one of the most ruthless tyrants of all time. To ignore this danger, or to refuse to accept any commitments for collective action to 152

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meet it, while playing our part in positive action in the Untied Nations or elsewhere to bring about a better state of affairs, would have been demonstrably wrong and perilously short-sighted.13

Such a strong statement by the man who is crowned by Canadians as the father of peacekeeping, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts, leave little doubt as to the motivation of Canada in its participation. Canada understood that the Cold War was potentially very dangerous for its security, and if it did not ensure its security in some form, the Soviet threat would become more and more real. Peacekeeping was a natural solution as it allowed the government to contain regional conflicts in a way that was advantageous to the West while ensuring that the two major powers did not become involved.14 CANADA AND UNEF The peacekeeping mission created in response to the 1956 Suez Canal crisis is the best example that one could use to explain Canada’s role in Cold War peacekeeping, as it was the mission that largely defined the nature of peacekeeping in this context. In the early 1950s, Gamal Abdul Nasser began a process of modernization in Egypt. Of particular importance to him was the construction of the Aswan Dam on the Nile, a project that would increase the irrigation possibilities on the surrounding lands. Thus, he began courting the two superpowers in a bid to find the funding necessary. He began by testing the receptiveness of the United States to such an idea. To his delight, the Americans were interested. However, they would not agree to sell him the arms he was also looking to purchase. Therefore, Nasser went to the Soviets, who were more than willing to do business with him. When the Americans learned of this deal they removed the funding for the dam and cut relations with Egypt. This left Nasser in a difficult situation, as he still needed funding, a problem he solved by nationalizing the Suez Canal. This brought France and Britain into the emerging tensions, as shipping companies based in these two countries pressured their governments to take action against Nasser. France and Britain began to conspire with Israel, devising a plan they felt would meet the interests of all three parties to the alliance. Israel would invade the Sinai, declaring war with Egypt. France and Britain would then enter to restore order, and in the process, regain control of the Suez Canal. The plan went off without a hitch until the French and the British entered. Their mission was a disaster from the start. They were unable to gain access to the Canal and became bogged down in the conflict. 153

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The Americans were enraged by the actions of the three members of the alliance and the future of the western alliance, necessary to their security in the Cold War, began to look uncertain.15 Canada, among other nations privy to the alliances, realized that it was paramount that this conflict be solved by a western party before the Soviets realized the gravity of the situation and took advantage of it, thereby turning the regional conflict into a world war. Canada further realized that it was imperative that the party look impartial, otherwise, Nasser would never agree to it. This was the scenario in which Lester B. Pearson created the idea of a United Nations peacekeeping mission. This idea was widely approved, especially by the Americans who understood the potential crisis this conflict could have created. In a conversation between Eisenhower and Eden, the leaders of the United States and Britain respectively, Eisenhower noted that the presence of countries such as Canada and other middle power nations was imperative. He further noted that the United Nations presence meant that if the Soviets did decide to attack, they would be attacking the United Nations, a move that would involve the world, not just Britain and France.16 The idea that the United Nations could provide a level of impartiality to the mission was paramount in the decision to create a peacekeeping mission under the United Nations flag. Canada went so far as to suggest uniform alterations to distinguish the peacekeeping troops as neutral from the belligerents, an idea that grew largely out of Nasser’s apprehension over the similarity of the Canadian and British uniforms. The troops were eventually given a white helmet and the United Nations flag to distinguish them.17 In terms of the layout of the actual mission, General Burns, a Canadian General was a key player in its creation. The final UNEF mission was based on five major points. UNEF would operate in Egyptian territory with Egyptian approval. Furthermore, they would seek Egyptian agreement on any staging areas that UNEF would need in Egypt. UNEF would have no role in the Canal after the withdrawal of British and French forces, the area of territory on UNEF command would be based on Israeli withdrawal and would be subject to an UN-Egyptian agreement, and finally, any change in force structure would be cleared with Nasser prior to the UN doing so.18 It is important to understand the points arrived at by Nasser and the Canadian representatives, as these five points laid out the ground rules for most of the subsequent peacekeeping missions taken on during the Cold War.

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While the role of Canada in the organization of the UNEF peacekeeping mission was quite large, their role in the actual mission was somewhat limited. This was largely due to the fact that Nasser saw Canada as too closely linked to Britain. However, Canada did contribute the General in charge of the mission, and was able to eventually contribute 1,000 personnel, as Nasser became less uneasy with the idea. Canada participated in the mission until Nasser ordered the withdrawal of all United Nations troops leading up to the 1967 Six Day War. Canada then participated in the subsequent mission created after the end of the conflict. POST COLD WAR PEACE SUPPORT OPERATIONS Following 1991 and the end of the Cold War threat, the missions that Canada involved itself in drastically changed in scope. Certainly, Canada still participated in missions with the goal of monitoring a ceasefire, or the withdrawal of troops. However, it also became heavily involved with missions of a different focus. Human rights became a player in mission creation. Missions also sought to disarm feuding parties, and even to inspect and destroy any arms found, such as in Iraq. Furthermore, more than one of these objectives was often found within one mission. A detailed study of the missions that Canada has involved themselves in since 1991 clearly demonstrates this fact. In terms of traditional peacekeeping roles, in which the troops were there to monitor a ceasefire or the withdrawal of troops, there were still a significant amount of missions. However, these missions were overpowered by others whose mandates fell under a variety of categories such as monitoring human rights, support for nations recently out of a conflict in terms of advisory status, the protection of UN troops on other missions, the monitoring of weapons of mass destruction, and intervention in the actions of a sovereign state.19 The array of mandates present in these missions lay to rest any argument that Canada has remained a strictly peacekeeping nation. Its participation can be defined as nothing less than participation in peace support operations, and all that that implies. Canadian participation in the Balkans is an excellent example of how this change has played out in terms of actual participation. CANADA AND YUGOSLAVIA The Canadian peacekeeping mission to the former Yugoslavia can be cited as one of the best examples of the shift in the focus of Canadian missions following the end of the Cold War.

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The international community had long worried about what would occur politically to Yugoslavia in the event of a change in power. The West knew that the heavy hand of Tito and the party hardliners would not be successful at containing the population forever. At the end of the Cold War, the predictions of the international community came true. Ethnic conflicts, long sitting below the surface, broke out. Several provinces in Yugoslavia tried to gain their independence from the state, and those of an origin other than that of the dominant ethnicity of each province found themselves forced out. These tensions were especially strong in the newly formed states of Croatia and Serbia, but nowhere were they stronger than in Bosnia. These tensions led to war between the Croats, the Serbs and the Bosnian Muslims.20 In January 1992, the Yugoslavian government and breakaway states agreed to a ceasefire. It was uneasy at best. Therefore, pressure came on the United Nations almost immediately to provide a peacekeeping force to monitor and, therefore, encourage its maintenance. Security Council Resolution 743 was created to do just such a thing. UNPROFOR, the mission created as a result of this resolution, was a peacekeeping mission in the traditional sense. It consisted of a force of more than 13,000, with Canada’s contribution consisting of 1,200 peacekeepers and 40 RCMP monitors.21 The ceasefire, however, had already been broken. Even as the troops prepared for their departure, the fighting was increasing, especially in Croatia. Almost immediately Prime Minister Brian Mulroney began pressuring the United Nations to increase the mandate of the mission.22 His demands were met and the mission began to broaden as resolutions such as Resolution 761 were passed. Resolution 761 was passed on June 29, 1992, the purpose of which was to address the mission to retake the Sarajevo airport. The main function was to secure troops to help maintain UN control over the airport. This was a move that indicated an increasingly militarized role for the forces. Furthermore, the resolution called on all parties concerned to cooperate with UNPROFOR and other international humanitarian organizations, to ensure the safety of their personnel. If the parties involved in the conflict did not comply, it stated that, “The Security Council does not exclude other measures to deliver humanitarian assistance to Sarajevo and its environs.”23 Security Council Resolution 770, passed just two months later, in August, built on this veiled threat. The resolution invoked Chapter XII of the UN Charter, stating that UN peacekeeping troops were to take whatever measures were necessary in order to ensure that humanitarian assistance was 156

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able to reach the places that it was intended for.24 Mission creep was becoming increasingly evident as the mandate of the mission moved further and further from a peacekeeping mission, beginning to include more operations that have been defined as part of the broader peace support operations. Canada was involved both in the demand for an increase in the mandate, as was shown by Mulroney’s demands, and in the action on the ground. Canadian troops led the mission to retake the Sarajevo airport and engaged the belligerent forces in firefights and even in pre-emptive attacks in the form of anti-sniper techniques.25 Canadian actions in the Bosnian Muslim town of Srebrenica are another theatre in which Canada's mission creep was clearly demonstrated. By late 1992, despite the efforts of the United Nations to ensure that humanitarian aid was reaching those who needed it, the situation in Bosnia had deteriorated greatly. The Serb offensive had many towns, including the eastern town of Srebrenica under siege. UN Commander LieutenantGeneral Philippe Morillon decided to take matters into his own hands and led a convoy into Srebrenica, establishing a de facto UN presence there. Though Lieutenant-General Morillon was eventually ordered back to headquarters, a small UN contingent remained, including seven Canadian peacekeepers. These peacekeepers were repeatedly under fire from surrounding Serb forces, and engaged in firefights regularly. The mission to Srebrenica was then expanded, to include 139 Canadian troops and 22 armoured personnel carriers. These troops were under UN orders to protect not only themselves, but also the town.26 These orders and the inclusion of a greater number of troops indicate the increasing role of Canadian troops in the enforcement of peace. Canadian soldiers were actively engaging with the Serbian forces in order to protect one side of the population. Neutrality was lost in this context, and still, the mandate expanded. On September 15, 1993 Canadians in the found themselves under heavy shelling as the Croatians began an assault on a Serbian dominated area of Croatia. A ceasefire was finally reached, but Canadian peacekeepers in the area did not believe that it would be upheld. Thus, they ordered soldiers to occupy the area in order to provide a shield. Almost immediately they found themselves under fire, which they returned. Operation Medak Pocket had begun.27 Operation Medak Pocket was the largest firefight that Canadians had been involved in since the Korean War. In the end, 875 Canadian soldiers, along with 300 French Soldiers held the line in the 15 hour battle.

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Four Canadians were wounded, none killed, while the Croatians were left with an estimated 30 dead.28 Bosnia can be labeled as a classic example of the new challenges faced by peacekeeping missions, challenges that have made it necessary for Canada to change the definition of their activities from peacekeeping to peace support operations. Unlike UNEF, where there was a relatively clear objective and a somewhat stable border to patrol, Bosnia was a situation in which no real lull in the conflict had occurred, making the purpose of the mission somewhat unclear. Furthermore, when tensions rose once again between Egypt and Israel, the mission dissolved, unlike Bosnia, where the forces simply increased their mandate and engaged in active combat. Finally, while UNEF went in with one main objective, the mandate for Bosnia included everything from the separation of the belligerents, to the provision of aid, to war. Overall, it can be said that Canada has been influenced by the same factors that influenced the international system and that these factors have led to very important and very real changes in the ways in which Canada participates in the maintenance of peace the world over. In its youth, peacekeeping missions were of low involvement and mutually accepted participation. Peacekeepers did not enter into a situation where a ceasefire had not already been established. Canada did not have to send its peacekeepers into extremely dangerous situations. All of this changed with the end of the Cold War. Canadian troops are now at an increased risk, and Canada is involved in activities that are more aggressive in nature. However, this does not mean that Canada should end its participation; there are many reasons for it to stay as an active member of the community that is oriented towards the maintenance of peace. A CONTINUED INTEREST IN PEACE SUPPORT OPERATIONS The last section of this paper will examine the reasons why Canada should continue to participate in peace support operations, much as it has been doing for the last ten years or so, despite the increased cost that will be incurred. This section is not referring so much to peacekeeping missions, as there is already widespread support for involvement in these activities, but is aimed more towards those aspects of peace support operations that are more controversial, such as peacemaking and peace enforcement/ armed intervention.

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Peacekeeping has traditionally meant much more to Canadians than simply a form of furthering its foreign policy agenda. As Andrew Cooper pointed out, “Peacekeeping has been central to the definition of Canada’s However, national identity, role and influence in the world.”29 “peacekeeping” has been overrun by the term “Peace Support Operations,” which implies that operations could be more dangerous in nature, and that the risk that Canadian soldiers will see combat on a peace operation has increased. Why then, should Canada continue to contribute to peace support operations abroad? This question has been put forth by many people involved in Canadian foreign policy, including politicians, the media, and even the military. The answer is that there is no single reason, but instead there are several reasons that support the continued participation of Canada, some pragmatic and others altruistic. NATIONAL INTERESTS As mentioned in the previous section, Canada's involvement in peace operations prior to the late 1980s/early 1990s was driven in large part by its desire to contain regional conflicts in order to ensure that the two superpowers did not enter into a global war. The end of the Cold War removed this motivation. The removal of one threat to Canadian security, however, does not mean that Canada has nothing left to gain from its participation in more broadly defined peace support operations. First, Canada must ensure that it maintains a level of importance in the international system by ensuring that it maintains a continuous presence. Continued participation in multilateral actions is the best way Canada can serve this need. The reason for this was best demonstrated by Alistair Edgar, who noted that multilateral or international institutions have long been recognized as the best vehicle by which Canada could pursue its foreign policy goals outside of the highly asymmetric North American context.30 The need for a third party forum from which Canada can pursue goals separate from American imposition has not decreased with the end of the Cold War, but has actually increased. There is no doubt that the two nations are still strong allies, and many of their foreign policy goals are similar. However, the sheer economic and hard power dominance of the United States, coupled with the fact that Canadian support is not seen as essential to many American foreign policy goals, means that Canada often gets either towed along without any real control, or left behind altogether. However, in multilateral participation, Canada does not have to sit in the shadow of

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America; it can pursue its goals more readily, especially since it most often has the support of other middle powers in the organization. The next logical question then, is why is Canadian participation in peace support operations the best way in which Canada can contribute to multilateral actions and ensure a status of some importance? The reason is that Canada has traditionally been seen as more of a leader in this type of multilateral actions than any other kind. When the United Nations is forming a new mission, Canada is almost certainly on the list of nations they contact looking for support, whether it be in terms of financial support or in personnel contribution and when asked, Canada almost always contributes in some way. Furthermore, Canada has set up educational infrastructure, in order to help other nations learn how to run a peace support operation, (mainly for either peacekeeping or peace building operations). Finally, Canadian support has been paramount in the attempts by the United Nations to understand the new international system in which it finds itself and how peacekeeping can be adapted to meet the new challenges this system poses. A large Canadian presence was been behind the creation of the 1992 Agenda for Peace and the Brahimi Report. The Agenda for Peace was explained in some detail previously. The Brahimi Report was also a study of peacekeeping in the UN, created in the wake of the peacekeeping disasters in Rwanda and Srebrenica. Very briefly, the report stated that if peacekeeping was to be improved than the UN had to make fundamental changes in, among other things, the way it approached and conceptualized peace operations.31 It is often argued by those who do not support continued Canadian commitment to peace support operations, that as the nature of peace support operations become more dangerous and the mandate resembles that of a traditional military intervention rather than that of a peacekeeping mission, strong military powers will have to be involved. Thus, it extends that these powers will dilute the influence countries such as Canada will have over the process. To some extent this is true. However, this does not mean that Canada will not be able to maintain its importance. In many cases, strong military powers may only be needed because they are more able to contribute logistic support or supplies. In the East Timor mission, the United States simply supplied the Australians with the communications system needed, they did not land any troops. In Rwanda, Romeo Dallaire often argued that had the United States provided the peace support mission he had proposed with air lift capabilities, he would have been able to supply the manpower necessary to stop the genocide that occurred in 1994, without direct 160

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American involvement. In each case, the middle power involved had or would have had, in the case of Rwanda, real power due to the fact that they were supplying the leadership and the manpower, giving legitimacy to their claims. This is in spite of the fact that American support was necessary. Related to the continuation of Canadian participation in multilateral actions is the argument that Canada must continue to make a valuable contribution to her allies. The fact is that Canada is not powerful enough to act unilaterally in the international system and is not strong enough to defend against aggressors. Canadian governments have traditionally felt that small military contributions to her allies are a valuable way to ensure that Canada has the support of her allies as it demonstrates Canadian solidarity in the pursuit of common goals and gives the country a certain amount of clout in international forums. NATO is a solid example of how Canada was able to use this technique. By committing a Canadian air and land force in Germany, Canada was able to show Europe that it was a staunch ally. This allowed Canada a say in negotiations well as created economic relationships.32 However, Canada's ability to rely on NATO in the traditional sense has been limited by the fact that Mulroney closed Canadian bases in the early 1990s.33 Therefore, Canada has had to find a new way in which it can demonstrate its continued support of its allies in the form of hard contributions, in other words, in the form of a physical presence. Participation in peace support operations is one way that Canada could do so. In connection with the withdrawal of forces from Germany following the end of the Cold War, Mulroney contributed 1,200 troops to UNPROFOR. By doing so, Mulroney demonstrated that Canada was still interested in participating in the security of Europe, and he did so without having to keep bases open in Europe.34 The other ally that Canada must continue to support is the United States. This has become difficult for Canadian policy makers following the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. Foreign policy of the two countries seems to be on a somewhat divergent path, as the United States demonstrates its willingness to act unilaterally, while Canada remains an avid supporter of action only with the support of the international community, (for reasons that have been explained above). Canadian leadership in peace support operations potentially could bridge this gap and facilitate a good working relationship between the two nations. As the United States moves about the world fighting its war against terrorism, Canada could potentially act in turn with the United States and provide the peace building support needed after the war, allowing the United States to withdraw the bulk of its 161

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forces in order to defend U.S. interests elsewhere. Canada has done this very thing in the past in order to avoid involvement in a conflict, but continue their relationship with the United States. Canadian contribution to the Vietnam War following American withdrawal is an excellent example of this.35 Finally, there is the fact that continued participation in peace support operations, regardless of their increased costs, work to improve the security of Canada. As has been mentioned throughout this paper, Canada is not a great power. Therefore, it is very vulnerable to fluctuations in the stability of the world as a whole. Canada may be brought into conflicts because of the need to address Canadian security, or the security of its allies. Canadians recognize this vulnerability and have often made the link between their own security and the prosperity and security of others due to the fact that if the world is stable, Canada will be less likely to meet an aggressor state and be pulled into a large-scale war.36 Peace support operations are a valuable way that Canada can contribute to its own security. This is primarily as a result of the reasons discussed above. By supporting its allies, and remaining part of an international or regional organization, Canada is providing itself with national security because it is ensuring that it will not be on its own in the event of an attack of some sort. Furthermore, if states are not falling apart internally and are under the guidance of a stable government created in a fair and democratic way, they will be less likely to fall under the spell of a rogue actor who may have ideas of making a small conflict more global in its orientation. Canada has recognized the potential of peace support operations to fill this purpose by including it in the official defence policy of the government. In the 1994 White Paper on Defence, the government identifies several international security concerns, most of which became especially prominent after the fall of the Soviet Union. The paper identifies failed states, global pressures, tensions based on ethnic/religious divisions and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction as the biggest threats to the security of Canada. In order to effectively respond to these threats, the Canadian government maintains that multinational action is necessary. It goes on to acknowledge the fact that Canada will no longer be able to contribute to these types of missions in a manner limited to peacekeeping, but instead will have to adopt a broader involvement in peace support operations, with all of the different types of missions that this implies, in order to best serve the security interests of Canada.37 162

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Associated with security and peace support operations is the idea of human security, an idea coined by Lloyd Axworthy. Human security is a non-traditional, people-centered approach to security that takes into account the fact that security will never be reached until people are protected from violent threats to their rights, safety or lives.38 Active participation in peace support operations is a central part of human security, as it is a way in which Canada can foster an environment in which the universal rights of human beings are not threatened. This leads directly to security in a more general context, as it provides the stable environment seen as necessary for security. The government of Canada has noted this, and has recognized that the fact that peace support operations are so diverse in nature is the very thing that lends them to creating a forum from which Canada can practice its policy of human security. NATIONAL IDENTITY Canada is the neighbour of the greatest power in the international system. This has been both a blessing and a burden. Like any good neighbours, the two countries share many things with each other, such as their economies and their defence. This is done to the benefit of both countries. However, this sharing has also led to a loss of Canadian identity, as American culture filters north of the border. Outside of Canada, the world sees little difference between the two nations, and the overpowering nature of the American presence means that Canadians can only identify themselves as “Not American”, but have nothing to fill the void where their identity, unique from the United State, should be. Furthermore, the fact that Canada covers a huge expanse of territory means that various regions have problems and issues that are unique to them. Therefore, the government cannot seem to address the problems of the nation on an equal level, leading to a feeling of marginalization in many areas of the country. Peacekeeping is something that all Canadians have been able to identify with, regardless of language or region. Furthermore, Canadians identify with it in both the political arena and popular culture. Peacekeeping is something that Canadians regard as a distinctly Canadian activity, separate from the United States, and the “International antidote to too much continentalism.”39 In popular culture, even beer companies have picked up peacekeeping as a ‘Canadian Activity’. The popular “I Am Canadian” beer campaign, ran by Molson Canada, used the line, “I believe in peacekeeping, not policing. I am Joe and I am Canadian.”40 This identity has increased with the increasing amount of missions, and Canadians are increasingly able 163

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to watch their soldiers helping people in other countries, proudly sporting the blue beret. Politicians have picked up on this identifying factor and have used it to their political advantage. Major General Lewis MacKenzie was courted by both the Liberals and the Progressive Conservatives to run for Parliament. A national peacekeeping monument was created in 2002, and Canada has been the only country to proudly place the image of a peacekeeper on its currency.41 Some may argue that Canadians only support peacekeeping and embrace it as their national image because they do not understand the true scope of missions that Canadian forces participate in for the sake of peace. To a certain extent this is true. However, this does not mean that Canadians have demonstrated that they do not support Canada’s involvement in these types of missions or that they have no comprehension that differences in types of peace missions exist. A study revealed that most Canadians understood the difference between peacekeeping per se and the larger task of promoting international peace. Furthermore, this study noted that many Canadians actually preferred the latter, indicating that they are open to alternative ways of maintaining peace.42 In fact, Canadians have shown their willingness to accept participation in these alternative mission, (referred to in this paper as peace support missions), in regards to actual missions engaged in by Canada. A Gallup poll in September 1992 revealed that 64 per cent of Canadians thought that the Canadian Forces should use their weapons to maintain the peace. In 1995, after the involvement of NATO and the subsequent bombing campaign, Canadians continued to demonstrate an increasing willingness to accept the risk involved with the peace enforcement mission.43 Certainly Canadians are cautious about their involvement in certain peace support operations, particularly those that require a strong military presence, but as their response to the Bosnian crisis in the early 1990s shows, they are not entirely opposed to a continued Canadian presence. Overall, it can be said that Canadians see peacekeeping as an important aspect of their national identity. Furthermore, they accept, however cautiously, that like anything, peacekeeping should evolve to fit more readily with the international system. This is important to the national interests of Canada, and more importantly, the government of Canada, as they would be ill-advised to discontinue a strong presence from something that brings an often divided country together. A common link must be maintained if

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Canada is to pull together and become a strong nation with a strong identity that it can put forth to the world. It is often argued that Canadians live in a fictitious world, one where they understand their opinion as counting for much more than is the reality. As a country with a small population and a very small armed forces Canada certainly is limited in the amount of influence it is allowed. Coupled with this is the fact that we live north of the lone superpower in the world, making whatever power we may hold seem even smaller in comparison. Thus, there is some validity to this statement. However, it can be argued that if Canada were to discontinue participation in one of the only theatres that its opinion is held in some esteem, its influence would plunge even further, ensuring that Canada would lose its seat at the international table, losing its ability to push forward its broader agenda of the creation and maintenance of peace and stability. CANADIAN VALUES The national interests of Canada are certainly important to consider when Canada forms its foreign policy, including policy regarding participation in peace support operations. Indeed, a strong case has been made that Canada is often accounting for its national interests when it agrees to participate in the missions put forth. However, more than national interest, Canadians have often prided themselves in the claim that they act not only when it is in their best interest, but when it is morally necessary to do so. Recent Canadian participation in the International Criminal Court, the Kyoto Accords and the Landmine Treaty are all examples of action that has a strong moral content. Participation in peace support operations, such as peacemaking or peace enforcement is no exception to this behaviour. Certainly the government of Canada has committed to participation in peace support operations in regions that were of no particular strategic importance, to it or its allies, most specifically shown in its involvement in Africa. However, according to Canadian values, this does not mean that there was no reason whatsoever for Canada’s participation. Canadians have widely accepted the idea that the ultimate goal of peacekeeping is in the saving of lives and the alleviation of suffering.44 If Canadians allow their government to back away from participation in peace support operations because of the increased risk that is involved, both in terms of finances and in terms of human lives, than Canadians were never acting with their hearts, and were always acting with their own national interests in mind. As an individual, one

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learns that often times the hardest thing to do is to stand up for what one feels is right. This is no different for a nation. The most important thing to note when making a value based argument for Canadian participation in the broader scope of peace support operations, an act that increases the risk to Canada, is that these missions are a more accurate reflection of Canadian values that just peacekeeping. In peacekeeping missions, the parties to the conflict have, to a certain degree, agreed to discontinue the physical aspect of their conflict, meaning, they have agreed to stop killing each other and uphold the spirit of the agreement reached. This means that a certain amount of recognition for human rights has already occurred. It is in the conflicts that are still raw, where belligerents are still actively engaging in combat, where there is genocide, mass dispersion of the people, or forced starvation, that the real tragedy of human life is occurring. It is towards these conflicts that many aspects of peace support operations are aimed and it is towards these atrocities that Canadians aim their values. This is evident in the many conventions and treaties that Canada is a part of such as the Geneva Conventions, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights or the International Criminal Court. Canadian participation in peace support operations should simply be another way in which Canada expresses its commitment to these values. CONCLUSION Peacekeeping as Canadians have traditionally understood it has undergone great changes in the last ten years. This paper has demonstrated that the changes that have been occurring simultaneously in the international system have played a huge role in this fact. The international system has dictated that Canadians play an increasingly active and diverse role in the maintenance of peace around the world. This has forced Canada to adopt the more inclusive term peace support operations, as the definition of their activities. This has in turn meant an increase in danger and cost to Canada and its troops. Despite this fact there continues to be several valid arguments for Canadian participation in peace support operations. Canadian security concerns did not dissolve along with the Cold War. The world is still torn by internal conflicts and large-scale abuse of human rights, all of which have proven themselves a threat to Canada and its values. If Canada continues to play an active role in the creation and operation of peace support operations, Canada will be provided with a voice in how to deal with international issues that pertain to security, both in the traditional and non166

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traditional senses, and will be assured that they have provided enough support to its allies that they will in turn come to the defence of Canada should it become necessary for them to do so. Furthermore, Canada has an obligation to continue their participation both in respect of Canadian values and their alliances. In a CanadianJapanese forum on modern peacekeeping, Alex Morrison noted that, “Peacekeeping is a long-term investment. There are no easy or quick solutions to the crises with which we are faced. When a light is seen at the end of the tunnel, it must be remembered that the tunnel is a very long one.”45 Canada cannot back away from their moral and strategic obligations simply because they demand real sacrifice. This is particularly true of their moral obligations, as alliance membership will always require a certain amount of participation. Morally, however, Canada is only really constrained by the limits it imposes on itself. As a nation, it has put much stock into its value inspired policies, such as human security. Now is the time when Canada must demonstrate that it is a nation based on values and not just another victim of its own rhetoric. By no means does the continued participation proposed in this paper mean that Canada should commit to blanket participation. This is simply not feasible for Canada, neither in terms of manpower nor budget. To properly analysis this topic, however, would increase the scope of this paper greatly. Therefore, it is mentioned briefly in the conclusion in order to acknowledge the fact that there are other factors that will have to be considered in the final decision of the Canadian government. The Canadian military has clearly demonstrated that it cannot handle the demands placed on it by a ‘Blank Cheque’ type of commitment. Therefore, the government will have to deal with this problem in a way which allows it to still commit to peace support operations, as this is very important to Canadian foreign policy, without completely exhausting its forces. Alternative types of contributions and/or a strengthening of Canadian forces are possible solutions that could be examined. Furthermore, the government could also examine how Canada can help to change the operation of peace support operations in order to make them more cost efficient and to remove a certain level of risk that is involved, (by the provision of proper equipment, etc). Armed with both the reasons for continued participation in peace support operations, as outlined in this paper and a better understanding of the factors that are affecting the capabilities of the Canadian military, the Canadian government should be

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able to ensure that Canada continues its long celebrated participation towards the ultimate goal of peace and stability of the world.

1

Allen Sens, “From Peacekeeping to Intervention: Expeditionary Capabilities and the Canadian Force Structure Debate”, (Council for Canadian Security in the 21st Century, 2001), http://www.ccs21.org.ccspapers/papers/Sens-peacekeeping_intervention.htm (22 October, 2003). 2 Joseph Jockel, “Canada, Peacekeeping, and the End of the Cold War”, Canada and International Peacekeeping, (Toronto: CISS, 1999), 4-5. 3 United Nations, “Preventive Diplomacy”, http://www.un.org/Depts/dpa/prev_dip/fst_prev_dip.htm (December 3, 2003). 4 Sens, 4-6. 5 Boutros-Boutros Gali, An Agenda For Peace: Preventive Diplomacy, Peacemaking and Peacekeeping, United Nations, (January 1992), http://www.un.org/Docs/SG/agpeace.html (November 28, 2003). 6 Ibid. 7 United Nations, Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 1948, http://www.un.org/Overview/rights.html (December 3, 2003). 8 Office for the High Commissioner of Human Rights, Geneva Convention Relative to the Protection of Civilians During a Time of War, http://www.unhchr.ch/html/menu3/b/92.htm (December 3, 2003). 9 Albrecht Schnabel, Neil Macfarlane & Hans-Georg Ehrhart eds, “Humanitarian Intervention: A Conceptual Analysis”, in Peacekeeping at a Crossroads, (Canadian Peacekeeping Press, 1997), 19. 10 Schnabel, 20-1. 11 Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, “Peacekeeping over the Years and Canada’s Contribution”, (July 6, 2003), http://www.dfait-maeci.gc.ca/peacekeeping/missions-en.asp (November 24, 2003). 12 Ibid. 13 Lester B. Pearson quoted in Sean M. Maloney, Canada and UN Peacekeeping: Cold War by Other Means, (Vanwell Publishing Ltd: St. Catharines, 2002), 16. 14 Charles White, “From Peacekeeping to Peacemaking”, Canada and the World, Issue 6 (February 1993), 1. 15 Edward Judge and John Langdon, A Hard and Bitter Peace: A Global History of the Cold War, (Prentice Hall: New Jersey, 1996), 129-33. 16 Maloney, 66. 17 Maloney, 63. 18 Maloney, 70-1. 19 Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, www.dfaitmaeci.gc.ca/peacekeeping/missions-en.asp (November 24, 2003). 20 Jockel, 81-95. 21 Nicholas Gammer, From Peacekeeping to Peacemaking: Canada’s Reponses to the Yugoslav Crisis, (McGill-Queen’s University Press: Montreal & Kingston, 2001), 151. 22 Ibid., 98.

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23

Security Council, Resolution 761, United Nations, (June, 1992),http://ods-ddsny.un.org/doc/RESOLUTION/GEN/NR0/011/20/IMG/NR001120.pdf?OpenElement (November 18, 2003). 24 Security Council, Resolution 770, United Nations, (August, 1992) < http://ods-ddsny.un.org/doc/UNDOC/GEN/N92/379/66/IMG/N9237966.pdf?OpenElement> (November 18, 2003) 25 Gammer, 152-3. 26 Ibid., 160-2. 27 Michael Snider and Sean Maloney, “Firefight at the Medak Pocket”, Macleans, 115: 35. 28 Kevin Michael Grace, “Better Late Than Never”, Report/Newsmagazine (National Edition), 30: 2 (January 1, 2003). 29 Andrew Cooper in Alistair Edgar, “Canada’s Changing Participation in International Peacekeeping and Peace Enforcement: What, if Anything, Does it Mean?” Canadian Foreign Policy, 10: 1 (Fall 2002), 109. 30 Edgar, 110. 31 Ambassador Colin Granderson in David Rudd, Jim Hanson, Adam Stinson eds, “The Brahimi Report and the Future of Peacekeeping”, Future Peacekeeping: a Canadian Perspective, (The Canadian Institute of Strategic Studies, 2001), 6. 32 Jockel, 15. 33 Edgar, 113. 34 This is not to argue that the two forms of contributions are equal in their nature. It simply seeks to demonstrate that the presence of military bases in Germany is not the only way in which Canada could demonstrate its willingness to contribute to European security. 35 Canadian International Development Agency, Vietnam Country Development Programming Framework, (2003), http://www.acdicida.gc.ca/CIDAWEB/webcountry.nsf/VLUDocEn/Vietnam-Consultations (December 8,2003) 36 Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, Canada and the World: Canadian Foreign Policy Review, 1995, http://www.dfait-maeci.gc.ca/foreign_policy/cnd-world/chap4-en.asp (September 22, 2003) 37 Department of National Defense, 1994 White Paper on Defense, http://www.forces.gc.ca.site.Minister/eng/94wpaper/white_paper_94_e.html (September 22, 2003) 38 Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, Human Security, 2003, http://www.humansecurity.gc.ca/menu-en.asp (December 3, 2003) 39 Jockel, 18. 40 Molson beer advertisement, circa 2000, quoted in Maloney, xi. 41 Jockel, 18. 42 Pierre Martin and Michael Fortman, “Support for International Involvement in Canadian Public Opinion After the Cold War”, Canadian Military Journal, (Autumn 2001), 48. http://www.journal.forces.gc.ca/engraph/Vol2/no3/pdf/ November 30, 2003. 43 Martin and Fortman, 47. 44 Alex Morrison, in Alex Morrison, Ken Eyre, Roger Chiasson, “The Changing Face of Peacekeeping”, Facing the Future: Proceedings of the 1996 Canada-Japan Conference on Modern Peacekeeping, (Canadian Peacekeeping Press, 1997), 1. 45 Morrison, 2.

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The Independent Communist Takeover of Yugoslavia

The Independent Communist Takeover of Yugoslavia JEFFREY KREKOSKI University of Calgary, Calgary A successful communist take-over followed World War II in Yugoslavia, yet this government was not occupied, controlled or influenced by the Soviet Union to the degree that the other eastern European countries were following the war. I will argue that the ideology, leadership and experience possessed by the Yugoslav Communist Party during the time of the Axis occupation enabled them to seize the opportunity created by the occupation to gain control of the country, an action that would have been impossible under the previous administration. Yet what factors allowed this fairly independent Yugoslav Communist party to gain control of the country? Why was the Serbian monarchy that previously governed Yugoslavia unable to re-assert itself following the war? For that matter, why were the other factions struggling for power in the country unable to assert themselves following the war? Two of the main factions, the Croatian and Serbian nationalists were both larger and stronger than the Communist party prior to the war.1 Both of these groups were legal, and had sizeable followings in both the army and general population. These were advantages that the illegal communist party lacked because of the fact that it was forced underground in 1921 and remained there till the outbreak of the war. The Yugoslav Communist party had been actively pursued and hunted by the police. Thus, it had to keep its membership small, activities limited and headquarters underground and outside the country.2 Despite this, the communist party possessed advantages neither the Croats nor Serbs had. While in an initially disadvantageous position, their organization, experience, ideology and leadership were ideally suited to seize the opportunity created by the Axis occupation and partition of the country. The civil war precipitated by the Axis occupation and partition gave the Communist party an opportunity to bring about a social revolution that would have been impossible had the occupation not occurred in the way it did. When the Axis powers occupied Yugoslavia, they created an allied regime in Croatia under their influence. This government was created out of the Ustasa, a fascist organization that had been under Italian/German control 170

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and tutelage prior to the outbreak of World War II.3 This was an exceptional blow to the Serbs, and a particularly devious strategy on Hitler’s part. Hitler wished for revenge on the Serbs who he blamed for certain aspects of World War I, and the coup.4 This coup de-railed Yugoslavia’s participation in the Tri-partite pact by overthrowing the Monarchy, which had just signed the pact. In order to understand how the creation of an independent Croatia affected Yugoslavia, one must turn to its pre-World War II history. In the Yugoslavia created after World War I, the Croatians were the unsatisfied minority of the Serb-dominated Yugoslav monarchy. Under various political parties in the inter-war years they were constantly agitating for more rights, regional autonomy, and even separation.5 Thus, the Axis decision to put the separatist Croatian Ustasa terrorist organization in power over an enlarged Croatia, including some two million ethnically Serb and religiously Christian Orthodox people, caused a civil war. This new Croatia included many lands that had previously been Serbian. Once empowered, this regime went about a program of ethnic cleansing to remove the two million odd Serbs from its territory.6 This policy, while initially approved of, caused the Axis much grief because of the way in which it was carried out; people were enraged but not controlled.7 The way the Ustasa conducted this program annoyed the Germans, even despite the fact that the Ustasa was put in power largely to spite the Serbs they were murdering. A similar policy of ethnic cleansing was carried out to a lesser extent in the areas of Yugoslavia annexed to Bulgaria and Hungary; these regimes also removed the Serbian population from within their new borders.8 Such policies created a large number of displaced people who had few material possessions, and had often witnessed family members being killed. Many simply had nothing to lose. These people, Serbs for the most part, were enraged, without any possessions and with little control, lack of control being the cause of German annoyance. This population became a fertile recruiting ground for resistance groups and was the primary catalyst for civil war in the country. The huge amounts of displaced Serbs forced the Serbian nationalists, the Chetniks, into action. The Chetniks, however, were not a unified group, and often did not provide an adequate vehicle for Serb resistance against the Axis powers who had displaced them. The Chetniks were mostly composed of the 300,000 odd Serbian troops and officers who had evaded capture after the initial surrender of their army.9 It would seem that given the ethnic composition of the large amount of displaced (Serbian) people, the Chetniks would have an advantage 171

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among them. They had training, weapons, and a sympathetic population, yet despite this, they lacked unified leadership and a strategy that would maximize their support among their abused compatriots. The high level leadership in the Chetnik movement, as it existed, did not wish to begin the fight against the Axis immediately. The official ‘minister of war’ appointed by the Yugoslav government in exile was Draza Mihailovic, a former army officer involved in the coup. As the official arm of the government in exile, Mihailovic represented a sizeable faction of the Chetniks, and his was the faction that the British initially recognized as the official resistance.10 Mihailovic wished to unite the various Chetnik forces, gather strength and carry out little or limited activities against the occupiers in preparation for the opportune moment to rise up and seize control of the country.11 They wished to conserve and expand their strength while at the same time avoiding reprisals from the Axis. The moment he was waiting for would come when the Axis were defeated, or when the Allies landed in the Balkans. Yet his was not a good strategy. It may have been, had the occupation been milder and fewer people been displaced; yet this was not the case. Many people wished to fight, and the organization they turned to was that of Tito’s Partisans. The Partisans began large-scale, violent resistance immediately following the invasion of the Soviet Union. The Partisans fighting put the Chetniks into a bad situation. They had to either fight or risk losing the support of the abused, displaced elements of the Serbian population to the Partisans. When Mihailovic did fight, it was against the Croatians and the Partisans. He did not fight the Italians, who he wanted to deal with to get weapons from, or the Germans, who he did not wish to provoke into reprisal massacres. Even by late 1941, the Partisans and Chetniks had already begun to fight amongst themselves. Mihailovic never wished to co-operate with the Partisans, and when co-operation did occur it was between groups out of his control. The primary reason for the breakdown of co-operation between these two groups seems to have occurred over the issue of leadership and administration. After liberating towns or villages, partisan forces wished to depose the already existing local authorities, such as parishes, courts and town ‘n’ country administrations and in their place install ‘Peoples Liberation Committees’.12 This was because the communists rightfully claimed that the Axis authorities had used the existing administrative machinery to control the countryside, and wished to preclude this possibility, should the Axis regain 172

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control of the countryside in the ever-changing tides of war. Indeed the Partisans directed much of their operations against police forces and other government machinery allegedly ‘collaborating’ with the Axis occupiers. Fighting also occurred between the Partisans and Chetniks over the spoils of war. This occurred over the village of Uzice. In 1941, Partisans and Chetniks fell to fighting over the village with its arms factory and substantial monetary deposits.13 While important in themselves, the fighting over these spoils was simply a manifestation of the larger ideological conflict, for whoever gained control of the spoils would be better equipped to further their own aims. Thus, the primary difference between the Chetniks and Partisans, which prevented their co-operation in a common struggle against the Axis on an allied basis, were their differences in how the often temporarily liberated territories would be governed.14 The Partisans wished to remove existing administrative machinery, install their own administrations in liberated areas, and use them as bases of operations, recruiting grounds, and logistical support. Most high-level Chetniks were opposed to this social revolution. The newly created Croatia became the hotbed for insurgency, and the dominant area of Partisan operations and thus civil war.15 Essentially, most of the fighting occurred in Italian zones, which included most of Croatia by 1942. This did not change till the later years of the war when the Partisans became well supplied and the Germans weakened. The Germans had driven both the Partisan and Chetnik headquarters out of Serbia in the summer of 1941. This is not surprising considering what was going on there. Serbs and Chetniks who became Ustasa’s victims fought back, and when not under some kind of control, committed reprisal massacres against Croatian and Muslim populations in areas they liberated. Such policies simply played into the hands of the multi-ethnic, Communist led National Liberation movement.16 With the Chetniks divided, lacking a unified leadership, and the Partisans putting increasing pressure on Ustasa Croatia, 1942 saw interesting developments between the Italian occupiers and some Chetnik factions. The Italians, to whom the western half of Croatia was assigned as an area of influence, were becoming increasingly annoyed with the disorder the Ustasa government was creating, and increasingly reluctant to entrust them with the administration of Serb-populated areas. Such disorder simply played into the hands of the Communists, who, lacking any ethnic loyalties, were able to recruit from both sides in the fight between Serb and Croat. Since they were unwilling to let the Croats administer certain areas, and since the Germans 173

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were withdrawing troops to the Eastern Front, the Italians were forced to take on increasing administrative responsibilities in Western Croatia from early 1942 onwards. This divided their forces, and when faced with increasing pressure from the Partisans, they were forced to withdraw their military presence to the main centres and lines of communication. Yet they did not wish to totally abandon the countryside. In an attempt to regain control over the countryside, they turned to the Chetnik groups willing to cooperate with them in the fight against the Partisans. This policy appealed to many Chetniks; in some cases it even led to co-operation between Chetniks and Croatians against the Partisans. By the end of 1942, the Chetnik’s official leader, Mihailovic, had lost control over most Chetnik bands operating in Croatia. This comes as no real surprise, for Mihailovic seems to have lacked an accurate perception of the situation. He was a Serbian nationalist, who had long-term goals for an ethnically pure Greater Serbia, and did not wish to co-operate with the Croatians.17 He was willing to co-operate with the Italians against the Partisans and for weapons, however this did not suit the Italians and they turned to bands out of his control. By the end of 1942, the Germans, Italians and Croatians had made deals with Chetnik bands in western Croatia to cease fighting the Croatians and devote their energy to combined operations against the Partisans. Thus, the middle ground was taken away; those Serbs who wished to fight the Croats were unwilling to co-operate with those who had recently been trying to kill them, and were forced to join the Partisans. It was similar with the Croats and Muslims who had become victim to Serb bands in southwestern Croatia. Thus the Chetniks were further divided, and the faction that did not wish for open collaboration with either the Axis or Partisans was weakened. This created confusion among those who wished to fight; the Communists rightly saw this as the opportunity to harness the discontent to bring about a social revolution. This was the core objective of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia. Rhetoric meant to gain support of the peasants, such as the slogan ‘National Liberation Movement’18 aside, the Communist movement was fighting for a social revolution from day one. The party was recently unified under Tito, had underground cells across the country and had the experience and leadership ideally suited to wage an active, revolutionary, guerrilla resistance against the Axis occupiers. Its leader Josip Broz, Tito, had been a prisoner of war in Russia in World War I, captured as he fought for the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He was set free by 174

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the Bolshevik Revolution and joined it, albeit as a rather passive member. Nonetheless, he witnessed the Soviet take-over, remained a communist after returning and was admitted to the secret underground of the party in 1934. After spending some time in jail, Tito rose to the rank of secretary general in 1938. Tito then surrounded himself with new members who were loyal to him, and less likely to spy on him for Moscow. Under his leadership, the communist party claims to have risen to 12,000 members, plus about 17,000 more in its youth groups by 1940. This was up from 3,000 in 1938, with the increase attributed to the political climate of the times.19 Coincidentally, one of Tito’s activities as a Communist organizer in Yugoslavia during the Spanish Civil War was to recruit volunteers to fight against the fascists. Tito was successful in recruiting and sending some 560 communists and 740 other volunteers to fight in the International Brigade. About 500 of these volunteers made it back to Yugoslavia, having gained valuable guerrilla fighting experience in Spain. When the war broke out, they made up the elite core of Tito’s guerrilla army. The combined experience and leadership of Tito and the Yugoslav communist party was invaluable to the revolutionary struggle. Furthermore, the fact that the Yugoslav communist party remained illegal yet active from the early 1920’s onward gave it valuable experience operating underground. This enabled it to successfully carry out pro-communist agitation, small-scale sabotage and resistance in the yet-to-be liberated (or conquered by the Partisans, depending on the viewpoint) areas of Yugoslavia.20 Furthermore, the communist insurrection maintained a multi-ethnic, national character. The ethnic hatreds and agendas of racial purity that characterized the Serbian Chetnik movement and the Croatian Ustasa government where absent from the Communist movement. This was due to its ideology of a united workers movement, free from religious, class and ethnic mystifications that would only divide them to the advantage of the fascist invaders. Thus the Communist strategy, as put forward in Tito’s own words was as follows: 1- In order to whip up the uprising, it is necessary in the first place to destroy the apparatus of the old Yugoslavia which the occupying forces succeeded in placing at their service. The Partisans task was to destroy the police, local government and archives, land books, etc. in addition to attacking the enemy, and this was highly effective, because the enemy lost his support in the villages and small towns. Wherever the partisans

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destroyed the old authorities, the enemy was prevented from robbing the people. 2- To prevent by means of propaganda and personal intervention by Party members and partisans – the internecine slaughter of the peoples of Yugoslavia for chauvinistic reasons. The partisans were educated in the spirit of brotherhood and unity, and fought throughout the war for their realization. 3- To intensify the uprising and multiply diversionary actions as much as possible so as to immobilize as many occupational forces as possible in our country and thus aid the heroic struggle of the Red Army…21

The Chetniks were Serbian Nationalists, and ethnically motivated. They did not carry out as active a policy of resistance as did the Partisans. This enabled the Partisans to win a large amount of local support by recruiting from both sides in the racially motivated conflict between Serbs and Croats. The Partisans prevented their troops from carrying out ethnically motivated, reprisal atrocities against whatever party had wronged them. This enabled them to focus international attention on them as the leading resistance group in 1943. Prior to 1943, with the surrender of Italy, both groups were operating without any substantial support from the Allies. Neither the Soviets nor British provided the Partisans with any material aid before this. Beginning in 1940, the British maintained contact almost exclusively with Serb groups opposed to co-operation with the Axis.22 Thus in 1941 the British recognized Mihailovic’s Chetniks as the official arm of the Yugoslav resistance and provided him with monetary and limited material assistance.23 British commanders in the Mediterranean were instructed to make whatever supply deliveries possible to aerodromes under Chetnik control.24 However, due to technical difficulties at this time they lacked the capacity to provide this group with any large-scale material support.25 The material support provided to the Partisans in 1943 far eclipsed the total aid provided to Mihailovic prior to this time.26 Yet after 1943, when the British acquired the ability to provide large-scale aid, they were becoming increasingly disillusioned with the activities of Mihailovic. This was because of Mihailovic’s reluctance to conduct resistance activities against the Axis, and his pre-occupation with fighting the Partisans, who were conducting such resistance.27 Furthermore, Soviet pressure on the British to recognize the Partisan movement, the increased collaboration of Chetniks with the Axis in suppressing the Partisans, and the success that the Partisans were having in tying down Axis military resources in the Balkans were also significant in the British abandonment of 176

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Mihailovic. By the time the British were in a position to give any substantial aid to any resistance movements in Yugoslavia, Mihailovic’s faction was too weak to be of any use to them. This was because of Mihailovic’s lack of success against the Partisans, the divided nature of the movement, and his reluctance to fight the Axis. On the Soviet side, (outside of helping the Communist party to organize prior to the war) the only real help they were able to give the Partisans prior to 1944 came in the form of pressure on the British to open their eyes to the situation in Yugoslavia. They did not even have a military mission with the Partisans in Yugoslavia till February 1944.28 The British on the other hand (due to Soviet pressure) sent military missions to the Partisans in 1943 to see first hand their activities.29 They were impressed by the insurrection, (more so than they were by Mihailovic) and consequently, after the western Allies acquired ports and air bases in Italy in 1943, substantial assistance was given to the Partisans. This came in the form of weapons, evacuation of the wounded, air support and other material aid. By initiating and continuing the struggle from 1941 onwards rather than waiting, the Partisans pre-empted the Chetniks from receiving British support when the British were in a position to give it. By the time the Soviets came into the picture the Partisans were sufficiently strong because of their own activities, and the British support this gained them. By the time of the joint Soviet/Yugoslav attack on Belgrade, the Partisans had succeeded in liberating two thirds of the country on their own. Following this joint liberation, the Partisans even participated in the invasion of Hungary.30 Tito had succeeded in becoming sufficiently strong without being forced into a dependent relationship with either the Soviets or the British. Thus he was able to retain his independence following the conclusion of the Second World War.31 To conclude, it was the way in which the Communist Party responded, and was able to respond, to the two main catalysts for civil war that occurred in Yugoslavia following the Axis occupation. These catalysts were the displacement of people and the invasion of the Soviet Union by Germany, which drove both the Chetniks and Partisans into action. The displacement of people created a large, angry population with nothing to lose, creating a fertile recruiting ground for resistance movements. The invasion of the Soviet Union shortly thereafter pushed the Partisans into an active resistance that was to last throughout the war. This policy of active resistance, coupled with non-racist, communist ideology and an experienced, organized and wellled communist party gave those who had been done wrong by the 177

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occupation an outlet to fight. Communist ideology was crucial in allowing the Partisans to step above the ethnic strife in the region and recruit fighters from both sides of the Serb/Croat conflict in a common cause against the Axis. This was in contrast to the divided Chetniks, some of who ended up fighting for the Axis, and some who kept waiting for the opportune moment to fight the Axis—which never came. In any event, the main enemy of the Chetniks moved from the Croatians to the increasingly strong Partisans. Regardless of whether or not they cooperated with the Axis, the Chetniks fought the Partisans, and the Partisans fought the Chetniks. This undoubtedly confused many Chetnik supporters who wished to fight their Axis tormentors, giving further support to the Communist movement. The experienced and nation-wide Communist party was an organization ideally suited to fight the occupiers, even in the absence of outside support. The Communists were able to fight and avoid destruction by the Axis. By the time outside support came, the Communists were in a position not to have to depend on it; furthermore the majority of material support given came from the Western allies, not the Soviets. To a large extent, Yugoslavia liberated itself, and ended the war not under foreign occupation, but under the control of a native communist movement.

1

J.B. Hoptner, Yugoslavia in Crisis 1934-1941, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962), 24592. 2 Phyllis Auty, Tito, (New York: Ballantine Books, 1972), 41-3. 3 Ahmet Donlagic, Zarko Atanackovic, and Dusan Plenca, Yugoslavia in the Second World War, (Belgrade: Interpress, 1967), 34-5. 4 Hoptner, 245-92. 5 Ibid. 6 Aleksa Djilas, The Contested Country, Yugoslav Unity and Communist Revolution, 1919-1953, (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1991), 103-28. 7 Paul N. Hehn, The German struggle against Yugoslav Guerrillas in World War II, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1979), 7. 8 Jozo Tomasevich, War and Revolution in Yugoslavia, 1941-1945, Occupation and Collaboration, (Stanford, CA.: Stanford University Press, 2001), 130-75. 9 Matteo J. Milazzo, The Chetnik Movement and the Yugoslav Resistance, (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1975), 5. 10 Mark C. Wheeler, Britain and the War for Yugoslavia, 1940-1943, (New York: Boulder East European Monographs, 1980), 66. 11 Milazzo, 13-5. 12 Donlagic, Atanackovic and Plenca, 34-5.

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13

Fitzroy Maclean, Disputed Barricade, The Life and Times of Josip Broz-Tito, Marshal of Jugoslavia, (Oxford: Alden Press, 1957), 150-3. 14 Ibid. 15 Donlagic, Atanackovic, and Plenca. Foldout maps consistently display most of the ‘liberated areas’ to be in Croatia, thus while the obviously pro-communist source claims these as liberated, they may not have been so, but were nonetheless being fought over. However, this claim supports the fact that much of the fighting was going on here 16 Lucien Karchmar, Draza Mihailovic and the rise of the Chetnik Movement, 1941-1942, (New York: Garland, 1973), 700-20. 17 Milazzo, 92. 18 Milovan Djilas, Wartime, (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1977), 220-55. 19 Auty, 42. 20 Ibid 21 Josip Broz Tito, The Yugoslav Road, (Belgrade: Socialist Thought and Practice, 1983), 93. 22 F.W.D. Deakin, The Embattled Mountain, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 124. 23 Wheeler, 66. 24 M. Deroc, “Most Secret Message” in British Special Operations Explored, Yugoslavia in Turmoil, 1941-1943 and the British Response, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 242. 25 Simon Trew, Britain, Mihailovic and the Chetniks, 1941-1942, (New York: St. Martins Press, 1998), 160-1. 26 Karchmar, 700-720. 27 Ibid. 28 Auty. 29 Deakin, 2-9. 30 Maclean, 284-7. 31 Ibid., 301-40.

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Evolution of High Command: The Competence of Canadian Army Generals in the Second World War CHRISTINE LEPPARD University of Calgary, Calgary

Rather depressed at the standard of training and efficiency of Canadian Divisional and Brigade Commanders. A great pity to see such excellent material as the Canadian men controlled by such indifferent commanders. -Sir Alan Brooke, Chief of the Imperial Staff (CIGS)

In 1939 Canada went to war with Nazi Germany. However, for the next four years (1939–43) the most harmful enemy was not the 12th SS Panzer Division but the Canadian Army officers. Canadian High Command was plagued by the inadequacies of the interwar period that was characterized by semi-isolationism and belief in the militia myth, which in the 1930’s undermined military professionalism. This 1939 officer “cover crop” was the best that Canada had, but their best would not be good enough.1 Canadian Officers spent their first few years of training in Britain preparing for trench warfare, not Hitler’s mechanized Blitzkreig. After the fall of France (1940) it became painfully apparent that Canadian training tactics were not directed toward the realities of WWII; as a result the Canadians adopted the British doctrine of battle drill developed from the North African Campaign. Unfortunately they relied almost solely on battle drill, and this prevented a wider range of training for combined campaigns. The extensive training time in Britain brought the inadequacies of Canadian Commanders to the fore, and slowly the “cover crop” of officers established by General Andrew McNaughton in 1939, including McNaughton, Victor Odlum, George Pearkes, and others, was removed. When the Canadians saw action in Italy (1943) and in Normandy (1944) the removal of the “cover crop” was completed: talent emerged out of the ranks. As in World War I (WWI), the brigadiers and lieutenants learned modern warfare through the tried and true method of doing and dying. This group included notables Harry Crerar, Guy Simonds, and Bert Hoffmeister. These men learned how to wage war by waging it. Once in action the Canadian Army developed competent

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commanders, creating a professional Canadian Army that won battles from Falaise to the Rhineland. Repulsed by the loss of 60,000 Canadians in WWI, the desire to avoid future war was the underlying force in shaping the Canadian military in the 1920’s and 30’s. Military funding was slashed and the size of Permanent Forces (PF) dwindled. Moreover, the desire to avoid war led Canada to support the appeasement of Hitler’s Germany and Mussolini’s Italy. At the outbreak of WWII, Canada’s PF numbered only 4,169, a mere shadow of the vaunted shock army of 1918.2 Two important differences distinguished Post-War Canada from Europe: the birth of nationalism, and the solidification of the militia myth. Firstly, a paradox between the social development of nationhood and deep division between the English and French Canadians spurred by the conscription crisis of 1917 emerged. On the bloodied slopes of Vimy Ridge Canada had been born into nationhood. Although the majority of soldiers deployed in 1914 under the Canadian flag were British born, they returned home in 1918 as Canadians.3 Canadians felt the first stirrings of nationalism at the heavy cost of 60,000 dead. The cost of the war led Prime Minister Robert Borden to insist that Britain treat Canada as an ally and demanded a separate seat at the Paris Peace Conference of 1919.4 Senator Raoul Dandurand was speaking for most Canadians when he asserted in the 1920’s that, “Canadians live in a fireproof house, far from inflammable material.”5 Victory in WWI had come at too great a cost, and Canadians reserved the right to avoid future European conflict. However, the wounds of the 1917 Conscription Crisis overshadowed this newfound nationalism. Two solitudes, English and French Canada were divided. Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King believed war was the cause of division, and reasoned that by avoiding future war Canada would avoid a reprise of the 1917 disaster and thus the threat to Canadian unity.6 To make matters worse, the Great Depression in 1929 made military spending impossible: guns were not as important as bread and butter. Military expenditures were slashed until the eve of the war in 1939 when King told Canadians that ‘parliament would decide’ if war would be waged. King’s subtle strategy was successful. 10 September 1939 parliament unanimously declared war on Germany: Canadians entered the war united.7 The second important result of WWI was that the militia myth became a covenant of Canadian military philosophy. Canadians believed that WWI had proven the fundamental truth that Canada’s sons were natural born soldiers, rendering a large PF pointless. In 1939 the Non-Permanent Active 181

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Militia (NPAM) numbered 51,400 troops.8 The militia myth, the wish to avoid future war, King’s fear of destroying Canadian unity and the budget constraint of the depression underscored military professionalism in the interwar years. How did the loss of military professionalism occur? In 1929, General Andrew “Andy” McNaughton was appointed as Chief of the General Staff (CGS). An engineer from McGill University, McNaughton earned his reputation as Counter Battery Staff Commanding Officer during WWI.9 McNaughton’s post was not enviable. To survive he developed a theoretical system where the militia would act as the body of expansion and a small but technical and well trained PF would in turn train the militia.10 However this plan failed to materialize. McNaughton was continually engaged in a bureaucratic battle for funding. During the Great Depression, the already low military budget (defence expenditures in 1924 was only $1.46 per capita) all but disappeared.11 Tight budgets slowed promotion to a standstill and the militia reverted to its pre-WWI practice of patronage.12 Also, McNaughton, a scientist, believed the glory-days of infantry supremacy had ended and that artillery was the new queen of the battlefield.13 Technology was the key to battle success and the next war would not be one of attrition. Thus, rather than focusing officer training on the command of large formations, McNaughton advocated individual officer education in the use of military technology.14 Although some officers, including McNaughton and Harry Crerar attended the Imperial Defence College (IDC) to learn battle strategy, their education was not geared toward the handling of large formations in Combined with the financial restraints on the military, combat.15 McNaughton produced a PF and NPAM that did not rehearse joint arm attacks in the 1930’s. Because new methods of leading large armies in battle were not practiced, officers relied on the lessons of WWI for battle doctrine. According to John English “Given the studied way in which McNaughton ignored infantry and cavalry officers, there were few eligible for senior commands in 1939.”16 Officer professionalism at the lower ranks was left to individual initiative. This produced many PF and NPAM officers who neglected their role to prepare units for battle. But a handful of individuals tried to learn their trade. Every year a few select Royal Military College (RMC) graduates went to British Staff College at Quetta or Camberley. They brought back British doctrine that molded their units.17 This was acceptable because the

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Canadian Army would fight as part of the British Army in any new major war. Some forward thinking did occur; most notably, Lieutenant–Colonels Guy Simonds and E.L.M. Burns engaged in a debate in Canadian Defence Quarterly over the use of tanks. Burns article “A Division that Can Attack” advocated that a standard infantry division should include two infantry brigades with one armoured brigade. The division could focus on penetration tactics using tanks with infantry providing fire support, preventing the high casualties of infantry as in the Great War. 18 Simonds’ rebuttal in “An Army that Can Attack—A Division that can Defend” argued that tanks should be commanded by the Army General Officer Commanding (GOC): the General, rather than Major-General would ensure all–arms cooperation, allocating tanks where best needed.19 The debate should have been nothing more than a footnote in Canadian inter-war history, but it is one of the few examples of forward thinking that occurred during the interwar period. In 1939, Major-General McNaughton became GOC 1st Canadian Division and was charged with expanding the militia and deploying a Canadian force to Britain. McNaughton’s officer “cover crop”, of which he was a member, was important because “competent officers could not be created simply by ‘putting up the red tabs…on young captains and majors.’”20 This took experience. In England the Canadians replaced the cover crop with officers that learned modern warfare through training and action. From 1939 to 1943 the 1st Canadian Division expanded into I Canadian Army formed of two corps with McNaughton at the helm. Until 1943, the Canadians saw no action except for the massacre at Hong Kong in December 1941, and the Dieppe debacle of August 1942. In England the Canadians trained, but the value of such training became the focus of acute criticism and the instrument by which the Canadians rid themselves of incompetent commanders.21 A prime example was Victor Odlum. With a distinguished WWI record as a Brigadier who captured Hill 145 on Vimy Ridge, the 60-year old Odlum was past his prime when war broke out. Without a wisp of understanding of modern warfare, Odlum trained his troops to fight WWI; he was relieved of his command in 1941.22 Eventually, British doctrine spawned from the North African Campaign began to replace Canadian WWI doctrine. In North Africa, 183

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British Commander Bernard “Monty” Montgomery insisted that an important training method was the conduct of battle drills with an emphasis on platoon tactics.23 The Canadians latched on. The problem was that battle drills prevented Canadian Senior Officers from learning how to carry out different types of operations of war, notably defending against counterattacks, reorganization and fighting contact battles, all vital to success in WWII.24 In short, by focusing on platoon warfare, the Canadians neglected larger unit tactics. Monty criticized the Canadian commanders for this, for “the training of the senior commanders had not progressed in the same way as had the training on lower levels.” If that could be managed, then the corps “would be unbeatable.”25 After assiduously examining Canadian training practices, Montgomery advocated to Major-General Harry Crerar (acting Corps GOC) the removal of Major-General G.R. Pearkes (a PF officer and Victoria Cross winner during WWI), Major-General Basil Price, and Brigadiers Potts and Ganong.26 By August 1942 all four men were replaced. A main obstacle to developing a competent High Command was McNaughton himself. In 1940, McNaughton said that “development of new tactics which differ radically from old requires that Division Commanders be selected from men having current experience”27 With this statement McNaughton foreshadowed his own demise. As a national commander, McNaughton viewed his job as educating his officers, ensuring troops were properly equipped, rallying morale, and aggressively representing his formation.28 McNaughton’s problem was that he neglected the most important role of any commander: to prepare to lead in battle.29 McNaughton lacked the current experience he deemed necessary for successful division commanders, and thus could not successfully train them for battle. Significant complaints about McNaughton came to the fore during Exercise “Spartan” in March 1943. McNaughton was given command of ten divisions to capture the “German” position. Two days before the planned attack, McNaughton received intelligence that the Germans had moved (a test of his flexibility). Ordered to attack as soon as possible, McNaughton launched his forces a day early. As the battle developed, McNaughton hesistated in issuing orders. In response to German movement, it became essential that McNaughton establish a bridgehead over the Thames, however in a quick effort to do this McNaughton advanced II Canadian Corps over the communication lines of I Canadian Corps at night. The result was a 184

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chaotic traffic jam.30 Although the German positions were eventually taken, McNaughton’s overall conduct of the exercise was confusing and lacked proper planning. For example, “Some 60 bridges were constructed by McNaughton’s army during “Spartan” of which only half were used.”31 Not only had McNaughton proven his inability to train his commanders, he had proven himself inept. Shortly after the conclusion of exercise “Spartan”, McNaughton was relieved of his command.32 Exercise Spartan provided an important insight into the problems of the “cover crop”. Because they were not able to adapt to the demands of mechanized warfare, they were unable to operate in the fluid, dynamic command environment of mobile warfare. The Canadian officers that would develop into successful commanders learned the ability to be flexible and innovative during battles. Men like Chris Vokes and Bruce Matthews learned their trade, but three individuals stand above the rest as a demonstration of Canadian Leadership at its best by 1945: Harry Crerar, Guy Simonds and Bert Hoffmeister. Lieutenant–General Harry Crerar was promoted to GOC-in-C of I Canadian Army to replace McNaughton in 1944. In the rare works that focus any attention on Crerar, the conclusions have been conflicting. This is not without reason. Ambitious and spiteful, Crerar continually manipulated his way into promotions, and conspired to end the career of Andy McNaughton through various damaging letters to the Minister of Defense, John Ralston. Although his assessments of McNaughton’s fundamental flaws were correct, Crerar’s ever-present willingness to sell others out to promote his own career would later damage his own image, especially with Monty.33 However, despite such character defects, Jack Granatstein argues in The Generals and Dean Oliver suggests in his article “In the Shadow of the Corps: Historiography, Generalship, and Harry Crerar” that Crerar was the best man for the job. A WWI veteran and trained at the IDC during the interwar, Crerar was named CGS in 1940, and instrumented the growth of the Canadian Division into an Army.34 Thus Crerar had an acute understanding of the role of a national Commander, far beyond the limits of McNaughton, who held a pseudo Sam Hughes policy of Canadianization.35 Unlike McNaughton, Crerar advocated putting the Canadians into action as soon as possible. Crerar was one of the few Canadian Commanders who recognized the importance of battle-born doctrine. During his initial post as GOC 1st Division, Crerar took the advice of CIGS Alan Brooke and observed Monty’s brigade in England and tried to adopt his tactics. 185

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Furthermore, during his brief stint as GOC II Corps in Italy before his promotion to Army Commander, Crerar again worked with Monty to ensure Canadian tactics molded to the demands of battle.36 Lastly, Crerar cannot be denied credit for the Canadian Success in Operation ‘Veritable’ launched on 8 February 1945. The attack saw the largest commanded Canadian force ever (although not an exclusive Canadian force). Crerar was at his best. He organized the battle logistics, including the use of air support, and let corps and division commanders (who had seen sustained action and thus understood the capabilities of their troops) to run their own battles. On 8 March, the Canadians emptied the ground between the Meuse and Rhine Rivers, clearing a path into Germany. 37 Crerar was a success because he had the ability to balance the bureaucratic and battlefield components of his command. Undoubtedly the most successful Canadian Commander in WWII was Guy Simonds. Born in 1903, Simonds was too young to see action in WWI. He studied at the Royal Military College, joined the Permanent Force and had obvious talent. At the outbreak of WWII Simonds was appointed General Staff Officer 2 and by April 1943 had been promoted to majorgeneral, 1st Canadian Infantry Division.38 Without the constraints of WWI to dictate his tactical doctrine, Simonds exhibited the most important aspects of Canadian Command: the ability to adapt based on the experience of war. Furthermore, Simonds had a brilliant tactical mind and understood the necessity of proper preparation. Simonds became a disciple of Montgomery, who praised him as the only Canadian general “fit to hold high command in war.”39 Simonds led the 1st Canadian Infantry Division up the Italian boot until his promotion to GOC II Canadian Corps in 1943, which slated him to lead the Canadians in Normandy. D-Day and the months ensuing was the first period of extended battle experience for II Corps. Both Simonds’ strengths and weaknesses were revealed. The war in Normandy was fundamentally different than the war in Italy: terrain was conducive to armoured warfare, and the Germans had their best troops on the throes beyond the beaches, notably the infamous 12th SS Panzer Division (Hitlerjugend). Simonds’ most scathing criticisms stem from his failure to close the Falaise Gap. His plans were too complex; he demanded his troops to run motion patterns when they could not run set pieces. For example, in Operation “Totalize” (9 August) Simonds orchestrated a complex pattern where the Canadians would attack in depth over a small front. However, the 186

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complex three-phase plan caused pauses that allowed the Germans to launch a successful counter-attack and push the Canadians back.40 12th SS Commander Kurt Meyer reflected that Totalize failed because Canadians were slow after the initial breakthrough, thus speed, “the most powerful weapon of armoured warfare” was squandered and the Germans successfully counter-attacked.41 Immediately after, the Canadians were ordered to launch another attack. Simonds looked to the mistakes of Totalize to formulate his new attack and thus begat “Tractable”. A wider front was adopted but again the Canadians failed, and again much blame can be laid on Simonds. As 7th Brigade Command Brigadier Tony Foster said, Tractable was “certainly one of the strangest attack formations anyone ever dreamed up, and without hope… of succeeding as planned.”42 Of the many failures, the Canadians had difficulties in moving artillery forward.43 What to Simonds’ engineering mind looked good on paper, in reality could not materialize. After the failures of Totalize and Tractible, Simonds led the Canadians in a third effort to close the gap, and this time succeeded. Simonds used the previous failures to design a plan that the Canadians had the ability to carry out. After Falaise was closed, the Canadian Army was united and moved north into Holland, to attack Antwerp. The Germans knew that if the port of Antwerp opened, their chances of holding the Allies back would be lost.44 Crerar went on sick leave, leaving Simonds in command. The attack on Antwerp witnessed the culmination of all the lessons Simonds learned. His initial plan was simple: 3rd Division would clear the Scheldt Estuary, then 2nd Division would free South Beveland and Walcheren Island, which controlled the sea entrance to the estuary. After being initially repulsed by the Germans at Walcheren Island, the innovative Simonds developed a new plan. Royal Air Force bombers bombed the dykes, flooding the island that was mainly polder land.45 The Germans were forced to the high ground where, “British commandos and soldiers, serving under the First Canadian Army, finished them off in two seaborne assaults by November 8.”46 The Scheldt was an Allied success, and Simonds had proven his ability to learn, adapt and train according to the demands of battle. Bert Hoffmeister was a militia success story, not unlike Sir Arthur Currie of WWI. Born in 1907 Hoffmeister, like Simonds was too young for the Great War. However unlike Simonds, Hoffmeister was a militiaman. In 1939 he sailed as a Major with the Seaforths under Pearkes’ First Division. Repulsed by Pearkes’ preparation for trench warfare, in March of 1942 Hoffmeister took the Canadian Junior War Staff Course in Ottawa, and 187

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returned as Commander of the Seaforths. His time in Ottawa had taught him how to train, and Hoffmeister ensured that the Seaforths were battle ready when they sailed for Italy.47 According to Granatstein, Hoffmeister was a classic leader who inspired the respect and love of his battalion and fostered morale because he continually strove to minimize casualties.48 In the attack on the Salso River the Seaforths proved Hoffmeister had trained them well. Hoffmeister was promoted to Brigadier 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade and was ordered to launch an attack on Ortona. Although his brigade suffered huge casualties, Ortona was an Allied victory, and Hoffmeister was promoted to major-general of 5th Canadian Armoured Division in March 1944.49 He had won his position based on hard-earned merit. On 23 May the 5th Armoured Division punched through the Hitler Line at the Liri Valley. Although reserve forces were too slow to use the advantage, the success of the 5th Armoured Division solidified Hoffmeister’s reputation as one of Canada’s best.50 He epitomized the tried and tested Canadian practice of breeding competent commanders in war. A militiaman at war’s outset, Hoffmeister perfected flexibility. His battle plans lacked the innovation and complexity of Simonds’ but they were never beyond the ability of the troops—a result of the fact that only a few years prior Hoffmeister himself had been a mere brigadier. By 1945 the Canadian Army was led by competent commanders. McNaughton’s 1939 “cover crop” was gone. Four years training in Britain had been both a blessing and a curse to the Canadians. During that time, it became apparent that training conducted by officers molded by WWI doctrine was not sufficient. Junior officers, like Bert Hoffmeister, who proved themselves under fire were promoted. However, the long years of inaction meant that the removal of the “cover crop” was slow. When sustained action was seen, Canadians such as Crerar, Simonds and Hoffmeister, who were able to adapt to the demands of battle were promoted. As in WWI, by war’s end the Canadians were led by highly professional officers. 1

J.L. Granatstein, The Generals: The Canadian Army’s Senior Commanders In The Second World War, (Toronto: Stoddart, 1993), 52. 2 Ibid., 9. 3 J.L. Granatstein, Canada’s Army: Waging War and Keeping the Peace, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002), 57.

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4

R. Douglas Francis, Richard Jones, et al., Destinies: Canadian History Since Confederation, (Toronto: Harcourt Canada, 2000), 248. 5 Ibid., 264. 6 William Lyon Mackenzie King was Prime Minister from 1921–30, and again from 1935-48. 7 Francis, et al., 317. 8 Granatstein, The Generals, 9. 9 Granatstein, Canada’s Army, 113. 10 John English, The Canadian Army and the Normandy Campaign: A Study of Failure in High Command, (New York: Praeger, 1991), 44. 11 Ibid., 40. 12 Ibid., 46. 13 John Swettenham, McNaughton, vol.2. (Toronto: Ryerson, 1969), 4. 14 Bill Rawling, “The Generalship of Andrew McNaughton: A Study in Failure”, in Warrior Chiefs: Perspectives on Senior Canadian Military Leaders, Lieutenant-Colonel Bernd Horn and Stephen Harris, eds. (Toronto: Dundurn, 2001), 76. 15 John English, 96. 16 Ibid., 47. 17 Ibid., 50. 18 Granatastein, The Generals, 25. 19 Dominick Graham, The Price of Command: A Biography of General Guy Simonds, (Toronto: Stoddart, 1993), 35. 20 Granatstein, The Generals, 33. 21 English, 116. 22 Granatstein, The Generals, 34–9. 23 English, 108. 24 Ibid., 116. 25 Granatstein, The Generals, 31. 26 Ibid., 31. 27 Rawling, 79. 28 Ibid. 29 English, A Study of Failure in High Command, 85. 30 John Nelson Rickard, “The Test of Command: McNaughton and Exercise “Spartan,” 4 – 12 March 1943” in Canadian Military History, 8: 3, (Summer 1999), 23–32. 31 Ibid., 35. 32 Ibid., 23. 33 Granatstein, The Generals, 91. 34 Ibid., 94. 35 Dean F. Oliver, “In the Shadow of the Corps: Historiography, Generalship, and Harry Crerar” in Warrior Chiefs: Perspectives on Senior Canadian Military Leaders, Lieutenant-Colonel Bernd Horn and Stephen Harris, eds., (Toronto: Dundurn, 2001), 94. 36 Granatstein, The Generals, 101. 37 Ibid., 114. 38 Ibid., 155. 39 Ibid., 146. 40 English, 289 – 290. 41 Ibid., 290–291.

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42

Ibid., 298. Ibid., 299. 44 Granatstein, Canada’s Army, 289. 45 Graham, 188. 46 Granatstein, Canada’s Army, 290. 47 Granatstein, The Generals, 191. 48 Ibid., 194. 49 E.L. M. Burns, General Mud, (Toronto: Clarke, Irwin and Company, 1970), 134. 50 Granatstein, The Generals, 199. 43

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The Global War on Terrorism: Threat and Response

The Global War on Terrorism: Threat and Response Nelson MacPherson Centre for Military and Strategic Studies, Calgary The Global War on Terrorism (GWOT) was triggered by the September 11, 2001 suicide strikes launched against New York City and Washington, DC by Usama bin Laden’s (UBL) Al-Qaida terrorist network. This unprecedented mass-casualty attack initiated a decisive American resolve to prosecute a relentless campaign to annihilate UBL’s global entity, commencing with the rapid defeat of Afghanistan’s Al-Qaida-sponsoring Taliban regime. The nature of the conflict is shaped to a large extent by Al-Qaida’s ideology. Suicide terrorism is an established tactic utilized by conventional terrorist groups with a track record of serving recognizable, rational political objectives through coercing concessions from victimized governments.1 The Al-Qaida network, however, departs from the “rational suicide-bomber” model since it exploits the tactic on behalf of what one scholar has termed a “fantasy ideology,” a set of beliefs detached from any attempt to change American minds or modify American behaviour and focused instead on fulfilling a specific personal or collective fantasy. In Al-Qaida’s case, this fantasy embodies a “transformative belief” that the world will be reconfigured according to extremist Islamic tenants by destroying “The Great Satan’s” power. Its adherents believe that they themselves also undergo a transformation through martyrdom in the process of executing a ritualized demonstration of Allah’s power.2 The prospect of such an entity obtaining and using weapons of mass destruction (WMD) within the United States in furtherance of this belief system is clearly viewed as a profound threat by the US Government.3 This conclusion has accordingly shaped the American approach to the conflict as President Bush’s administration has sought to prevent any WMD-driven scenario from unfolding by pursuing a “forward defence” against Al-Qaida and WMD sources overseas. By so doing, the US has scored tangible early successes by attriting Al-Qaida’s leadership cadre, toppling UBL’s Taliban allies in Afghanistan and nullifying Iraq through regime change as a leading potential source of WMD.4 191

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With the conclusion of the conflict’s opening act, it is now worth assessing two major related issues. First, how is Al-Qaida expected to adapt in the wake of its reverses to date, and second, what kind of strategy does the US appear to be pursuing as the GWOT enters its next phase? AL-QAIDA ADAPTS Al-Qaida has been judged “a protean enemy” in light of its demonstrated ability to evolve and adapt to changing fortunes over the years. As an example, UBL serially reconfigured the network’s mission from its original anti-Soviet orientation to a broadly anti-Western one in 1996, to specifically targeting American civilians in 1998 and thence to killing on behalf of Palestinian grievances and targeting America and cooperating countries (including Canada) during 2001-02. He has dealt with allies as necessary, working at one time or another with a variety of extremist Muslim figures in Egypt, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Southeast Asia, and the Philippines. He has profited from an Al-Qaida-state nexus with regimes in Afghanistan, Sudan and possibly secular Baathist Iraq. Over time, Al-Qaida has also adopted a global network structure to frustrate counter-terrorism efforts and it continues to seek innovative sophisticated weaponry, most notably surfaceto-air missiles for use against aircraft and nuclear, chemical or biological weapons.5 This established “capacity for change” strongly suggests that Al-Qaida will actively adapt as required in the face of recent setbacks. This capacity currently appears to be manifesting itself along several lines: In response to the attrition achieved against its leadership cadre, Al-Qaida is relying more on a loosely coordinated network of regional extremists than on centralized control. The counter-terrorist efforts of the US and its allies generally preclude opportunities for close command and control by the remnants of Al-Qaida’s leadership, necessitating decentralized coordination among locally recruited and organized regional “franchises” headed by trusted directors making local operational decisions with occasional higher-level input. This “franchise” model can leave specific operational planning to the local level to advance the “corporate brand name’s” larger objectives.6 Al-Qaida as (Fantasy) Ideology can prove stronger than Al-Qaida as an Organization-especially if UBL is already dead. The radical transformative ideas embodied by Al-Qaida will continue to attract adherents to the various franchise groups, making the decentralized coordination approach workable even as Al-Qaida as a cohesive corporate entity is less tangible. The powerful, resilient ideological framework also makes

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pursuit of “spectacular” symbolic attacks on the scale of 9/11 a persistent goal.7 Flexibility, innovation. The franchises will likely prove adept at exploiting permissive environments wherever they can be found, be they due to assistance from cooperative regimes associated with the Al-Qaida-state nexus (eg., Sudan, Saudi Arabia before the Riyadh attacks of May 2003), or due to ineffective security postures (“soft targets”). Innovation will be required and likely practiced in attempting to thwart known homeland security measures, especially in pursuit of a “spectacular” event, including any attack victimizing the international airline industry as a key element of the West’s global economic infrastructure.8 Pursuing WMD. The emphasis on “spectaculars” drives Al-Qaida’s persistent interest in developing or obtaining such weaponry, particularly since it would permit potentially catastrophic blows against US/Western infrastructure, and thus US/Western economic power, in accordance with the “fantasy ideology.”9

Al-Qaida’s strategic posture as it enters the next phase of the conflict can therefore be characterized as resilient and adaptive, sustained by powerful precepts that drive a commitment to reinforcing the movement’s ideological credibility despite the lack of a “spectacular” for over two years. They will most likely strive to derail Afghan and Iraqi reconstruction, regularly target US allies, and continuously seek the “silver bullet” of disrupting and perhaps crippling the US economy. The network’s ensuing operational posture will result in the franchises regularly striking a variety of soft targets and patiently plotting “spectaculars” with potentially profound economic impacts, using WMD if available. The collateral, potentially mass, casualties resulting from such attacks in Western countries are not the operational goal per se, merely an additional dividend in Al-Qaida’s view. PROACTIVE AMERICAN STRATEGY As outlined by US Under Secretary of Defense for Policy Douglas Feith, the Bush administration’s strategy to defeat Al-Qaida in the GWOT can be described as having three recognizable and inter-related components: a. Disrupting and destroying the Al-Qaida network and its infrastructure b. Protecting the US homeland, and c. An intellectual component of creating a global antiterrorist environment, a “Battle of Ideas”.10

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The strategy’s defining characteristics are that the conflict is indeed a war, not law enforcement, geared toward defeating a global network. In the administration’s view, achieving this victory requires decapitating, fragmenting and annihilating the network, which itself is facilitated by isolating Al-Qaida from overt or prospective accomplices (including state sponsors or state sources of WMD). The strategy clearly conceives that attriting and isolating Al-Qaida is achieved through a variety of complementary means. Most obvious is the reliance on decisive, direct military action aimed at stripping the network of its access to state sanctuaries (Afghanistan) and state-produced assets (Iraqi WMD) while eliminating the network’s leaders and rank-and-file. It is also increasingly evident that the US appears committed to facilitating the strategy’s military capacity by readjusting the US global basing footprint and redeploying its overseas installations to areas more relevant to the GWOT (eg., moving units from Germany to eastern Europe and Central Asia).11 Counter-proliferation is projected by the US as another element of the strategy, manifest in the still-evolving Proliferation Security Initiative (PSI) based on maritime and aerial interdiction of illegal missile and WMD technologies originating from regimes that are actively violating international norms.12 However, the most noteworthy component of the US strategy, and perhaps the element with the greatest significance in the GWOT’s next phase, is the emphasis on the “Battle of Ideas.” The intent of this deliberate effort to conduct “philosophical warfare” is to change the way people think about terrorism, putting it in the same moral category as slavery, piracy and genocide and thus rendering it beyond the pale among all societies. The stated goal of US policy is to create a global consensus that perpetrators and their state sponsors must be stigmatized and isolated.13 Concordant with this approach is not simply the notion that terrorists must be denied any gains in response to their exploitation of asymmetric tactics like suicide bombing, but more radically the idea that the cultures and states spawning Al-Qaida and its fantasy ideology must perforce be markedly modernized. This liberalizing, indeed culturally transformative, imperative is offered as the de facto ideological alternative to Al-Qaida’s perverse belief system. Offering a competitive alternative vision to the enemy’s ideology, it conforms to the classic “hearts and minds” component in any successful counter-terrorist campaign that complements the application of military Its initial test-beds are power and security-intelligence measures.14 194

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Afghanistan and post-Saddam Iraq in what National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice has termed “a generational commitment.”15 The next phase in the GWOT will accordingly be framed by this philosophical competition throughout a likely pause in major US military operations during the 2004 election cycle. Both the Afghan and Iraqi reconstruction processes, however challenging, will proceed as models for Arab/Muslim liberalization and as distinct alternatives to the existing regional governing systems—and by definition as an emerging alternative to AlQaida’s fantasy ideology. Al-Qaida operatives and sympathizers seeking to defeat this process in Iraq will largely be confined to the Sunni Triangle and will probably be increasingly isolated and attrited as the alternative political culture begins evolving. Taliban and Al-Qaida remnants in the AfghanPakistan hinterland will likely share their fate.16 Even before this process has begun in earnest, Saddam Hussein’s removal from power has encouraged various regimes in the region to profit from his example, thereby advancing the liberalizing agenda. Muamar Khadafi’s renunciation of Libyan WMD has compromised a Pakistancontrolled proliferation network, validated the PSI monitoring-interdiction model, and set the stage for further liberalization, or at least moderation, from that quarter.17 Pakistan, and conceivably Iran over the longer term, may also be aligning their policies more closely with civilized norms regarding terrorist sponsorship and WMD proliferation, although the outcome of the US presidential election may determine how long that trend lasts. Furthering the course of the liberalizing agenda in 2004 will in any event be the main “battleground” in the GWOT combined with PSI efforts to contain North Korea’s potential nuclear leakage. All of these measures will contribute to isolating Al-Qaida further as both an idea and as a physical threat. NEAR-TERM TRENDS The US led agenda will probably continue to emphasize bilateral arrangements and “coalitions of the willing” for the foreseeable future. The Bush administration is committed to pursuing its ambitious liberalizing agenda, and this commitment will continue to determine the coalitions crafted in pursuit of it.18 It is generally recognized that the GWOT in many ways relies heavily on intelligence capacities for its prosecution. This will remain so in the next phase of the conflict with an emphasis on intelligence in support of 195

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homeland security, maritime security, the PSI, and Afghan/Iraqi reconstruction. Security and intelligence agencies will continue attempting to configure themselves more effectively as the GWOT progresses so that the US and its allies retain an information edge sufficient to preclude victimization by surprise attack, particularly an attack of the “spectacular” variety. An important trend is that linear, “industrial era” intelligence processes are giving way to more collaborative interagency approaches, with intelligence becoming an increasingly holistic enterprise that supports innovation leading to interoperability through “dynamic sharing relationships.” “Fusion analysis” centres like the US Terrorist Threat Integration Center are one mechanism being applied to achieve these objectives.19 Overall, the threat is real and adaptive, but the US and its allies have shown so far that they are winning. The combination of a proactive strategy, philosophical warfare, and properly mobilized intelligence capabilities will likely continue to give the edge to Al-Qaida's foes. Note: All content is UNCLASSIFIED and derived exclusively from open sources. All views expressed are strictly those of the author and are not to be construed as representing those of the Government of Canada

1

Robert Pape, “Dying to Kill: The Strategic Logic of Suicide Bombers,” The New York Times, 23 September 2003. 2 See Lee Harris, “Al Qaeda’s Fantasy Ideology,” Policy Review No. 114 (August-September 2002), available online at http://www.policyreview.orgAUG02/harris.html. 3 See Gabriel Schoenfeld, “The Terror Ahead,” 21 October 2003, available online at http://www.opinionjournal.com/extra/?id=110004197. 4 “ ‘The Central Front’,” 9 September 2003, available online at http://www.casi.org.uk/discuss/2003/msg04271.html. 5 Jessica Stern, “The Protean Enemy,” Foreign Affairs, 82: 4 (July/August 2003), 27-40; on AlQaida and Iraq, see Stephen F. Hayes, “Case Closed,” The Weekly Standard, 24 November 2003, available online at http://www.weeklystandard.com/Content/Public/Articles/000/000/003/378fmxyz.asp. 6 “Experts See Major Shift in Al Qaeda’s Strategy,” The Los Angeles Times, 19 November 2003, available online at http://middleeastinfo.org/article3649.html. 7 Ibid.

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8

“Moving Targets,” Newsweek, 1 December 2003, available online at http://msnbc.msn.com/id/3540595/; “Airline industry on frontline in al-Qaeda's war on the west,” The Observer, 4 January 2004, available online at http://observer.guardian.co.uk/waronterrorism/story/0,1373,1115705,00.html. 9 See “Moving Targets;” Peter Bergen, “Al Qaeda’s New Tactics,” The New York Times, 15 November 2002, available online at http://www.newamerica.net/index.cfm?pg=article&pubID=1041. 10 Under Secretary of Defense for Policy Douglas J. Feith, “Strategy and the Idea of Freedom,” Heritage Foundation, Washington, D.C., Monday, November 24, 2003, available online at http://www.defenselink.mil/speeches/2003/sp20031124-0703.html. 11 “Patrolling the world,” The Economist Global Agenda,” available online at http://economist.com/agenda/PrinterFriendly.cfm?Story_ID=1919390; Thomas Donnelly and Vance Serchuk, “Toward a Global Cavalry: Overseas Basing and Defense Transformation,” National Security Outlook, American Enterprise Institute Online, 1 July 2003, available online at http://www.aei.org/include/pub_print.asp?pubID=17783. 12 See “US Pushes Initiative to Block Shipments of WMDs, Missiles,” Arms Control Today, July/Qugust 2003, available online at http://www.armscontrol.org/act/2003_0708/securityinitiative_julaug03.asp. 13 Feith. 14 This is implicit in Charles Krauthammer, “Democratic Realism: An American Foreign Policy for a Unipolar World,” the 2004 Irving Kristol Lecture, American Enterprise Institute Annual Dinner, 10 February 2004, available online at http://www.aei.org/include/news_print.asp?newsID=19912; see also “The economist versus the terrorist,” The Economist, 1 February 2003, 58. 15 “U.S. Shifts Rhetoric On Its Goals in Iraq,” Washington Post, 1 August 2003, A14. 16 See David Brooks, “The Zarqawi Rules,” The New York Times, 14 February 2004, Amir Taheri, “Afghanistan Leaps Across Centuries,” National Post, 10 November 2003, A12; Amir Taheri, “The Crackup of the Arab Tyrannies?”, The Weekly Standard, 7 July 2003, available online at http://www.weeklystandard.com/Content/Public/Articles/000/000/002/853fjapb.asp; Paul Wolfewitz, “Live From Baghdad,” The American Spectator, August-September 2003, pp. 32-33; Victor Davis Hanson, “Iraq’s Future—and Ours,” Commentary, January 2004, available online at http://www.geocities.com/emorseraf/iraqs_future_and_ours.htm. 17 See “Libyan Nuclear Weapons,” http://www.globalsecurity.org/wmd/world/libya/nuclear.htm 18 See Robert Kagan, “Multilateralism, American Style,” Washington Post, 13 September 2003, A39. 19 See Kevin O’Connell and Robert R. Tomes, “Keeping the Information Edge,” Policy Review No. 122 (December 2003-January 2004), available online at http://www.policyreview.org/dec03/oconnell.html.

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Obstacles on the Road to Reform: The State of the Royal Navy from 1815-1853

Obstacles on the Road to Reform: The State of the Royal Navy from 1815-1853 GRAEME MILLER University of Calgary, Calgary The period immediately following the close of the Napoleonic wars has traditionally been regarded as the era of the “Pax Britannica”, and the British Royal Navy was the indomitable guardian of this peace. A closer inspection of this period, however, will reveal that the future course of British foreign policy was anything but assured, as was the extent of Britain’s capabilities at sea. While Britain had managed to gain virtual naval ascendancy by the close of the late war, this had been achieved at a great cost, especially in terms of the nation’s human and financial resources. During the initial years of peace, the British government under Lord Liverpool faced a myriad of challenges. Not only did Liverpool have to contend with Britain’s staggering war debt, but he also had to appease the politically-influential members of the nation’s landed and wealthy elites, who, in the wake of peace, were calling for an immediate reduction in taxation. Facing the need to make prompt and significant cutbacks, the focus of Liverpool and his ministry necessarily shifted to the realm of defense. Consequently, policy makers throughout the period were faced with the not altogether enviable task of formulating a foreign policy, on a much-restricted budget, that could both safeguard the security of Britain against would be belligerent European powers, as well as bolster Britain’s interests abroad. In one sense, Britain’s naval policy throughout this period remained much as it had during the later years of the Napoleonic war. Britain would still rely predominantly on its battle fleet to ensure the security of the nation as well as the preservation of the status quo amongst European powers. Nevertheless, as the century wore on, a greater reliance was placed on the smaller and more agile vessels in the service of the navy to protect Britain’s burgeoning commercial and political interests abroad, as well as to “throw a bit of shot about” when required, in the name of empire. While this two-fold approach to naval policy obviously sounded ideal to cabinet ministers and other politicos, the reality of the situation for the navy was quite different. The Admiralty simply did not have the financial means at its disposal to 198

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cover every possible naval contingency, especially in terms of a rapid and large-scale mobilization. Moreover, as ambitious as this policy was in principle, the navy still lacked the means to effectively fulfill its manpower requirements in times of emergency. Furthermore, it was also staggering under the burden of an overstaffed and increasingly aged officer corps, while the younger and more capable officers in its employ lacked the opportunities to gain vital experience at sea. If Britain had actually found itself embroiled in another prolonged European conflict in the early nineteenth century, which was exactly the contingency for which policy makers planned, it is not a question of whether or not the navy would have fallen short of the expectations placed upon it. Rather, it is a question of just how short of these expectations the navy would have fallen. From 1810 to 1814, the Royal Navy had over 140,000 seamen in its employ on a yearly basis, as well as a minimum of 685 ships in commission each year.1 By 1820, however, naval estimates reflected a much-reduced force of only 23,000 seamen, while only 134 ships were in commission.2 Such a stringent reduction indicates firstly the awesome extent to which the navy had expanded during the war years, as well as the rapidity in which it had downsized during the initial years of peace. From the government’s point of view, however, such a substantial reduction in the naval establishment was largely unavoidable, if not essential to the effective administration of the nation. It is estimated that by war’s end, Britain’s accumulated debt was approximately £1,600 million.3 It hardly seems surprising that the costs of servicing this massive debt literally threatened to consume the nation’s entire ordinary revenue in the immediate postwar years.3 In addition, taxation had been increased to the point were it literally constituted one-fifth of the nations entire revenue.4 As a popularly elected government, facing both this staggering debt and increasing pressure to reduce taxation, Lord Liverpool and his ministry had little choice but to somehow find a way to alleviate the situation. On the one hand, he had to appease the self-professed overtaxed, yet politically influential portions of the population. On the other, he had to find a way to reduce government spending to more sustainable levels. Although Liverpool hoped to impose such changes with moderation, his government’s the defeat in the House of Commons over the income tax issue clearly demonstrated that he did not have much room in which to maneuver. This clearly explains why the immediate naval reductions were so significant. Even so, policy makers at this time were still left with the 199

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responsibility of ensuring that the security of Great Britain would be safeguarded well into the future, a factor which hinged specifically upon the fortunes of the Royal Navy. In the decades preceding the Crimean War, the policies of both Tory and Whig foreign ministers were essentially the same in this respect. They pivoted on Britain being able to put to sea a fleet, which, through size and firepower alone, could decisively sway the balance of power in Britain’s favor. This policy revolved around the “Two-Power” standard: a general rule of thumb which dictated that Britain should be able to put to sea a force as large as that of its next two principal rivals combined, which, throughout this period, were France and Russia.5 The rationale behind this concept was quite straightforward, as Andrew Lambert states: “here the policy of the Liverpool ministry was to prepare for the worst case, another twenty-year war of endurance, relying on economic mobilization and naval power.”6 It was thought that a fleet of imposing size, supported by a global network of dockyard facilities and other naval infrastructure, would act as a deterrent to would-be belligerent powers. In this sense, the peace and security of the nation, and in many ways of Europe itself, largely revolved around Britain’s preparedness for war. Yet, this was a policy that the other powers, for the most part, were willing to respect. As Peter Padfield writes in his work Rule Britannia: The Royal Navy was living to a large extent on the fat of the war years, the legend of invulnerability; it was only possible because the other powers accepted it. They accepted it not only from war weariness and because they had pressing internal problems, but also- and here was the masterstroke of British policy- because Britain did not use the power as it would have been used in the colonizing days before the Free Trade economists.7

This quotation also points to another key aspect of Britain’s foreign policy: the navy, now more than ever before, was seen as the most effective means by which Britain could advance its commercial and colonial interests abroad. In fact, it was in this capacity that the Royal Navy played its most active role throughout the period. This diversification of policy was brought about for a number of reasons. Firstly, the repeal of the Navigation Laws in Britain helped to bring about a new era of free trade and commercial prosperity. This prosperity, however, relied implicitly on trading routes at sea being free from piracy and other potential threats to shipping. Little did the advocates of free trade, as epitomized by Adam Smith, David Ricardo and James Mill, perhaps realize the leviathan that would be unleashed upon the world. By mid-century, it is estimated that Britain was producing more than 200

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forty percent of the world’s salable manufactured goods, while as the same time, the tonnage of merchant shipping entering British ports rose from the three million ton mark in 1820, to over fourteen million tons by the latterhalf of the century.8 Spurred on by this commercial growth, and the subsequent revenue that this brought to Britain, the Royal Navy played an increasingly significant role in safeguarding the flow of commerce around the world. The fact that this policy often worked to the advantage of other European nations did much to ease the tension surrounding the ambitiousness of Britain’s naval aspirations. As David French states: “the Royal Navy, which had been much criticized by continental nations in the eighteenth century for the high handed way in which it enforced Britain’s belligerent rights, won acceptance after 1815 by its role in policing the sealanes of the world.”9 Yet the extent of the interrelationship between the Royal Navy and Britain’s foreign policy did not end here. It was also actively employed as a tool for political and imperial interests abroad. As naval historian Christopher Lloyd writes: Empires maintained by the sword need visible signs of power…[such as] ships riding at anchor in outlying harbors, parties of seamen under the command of a lieutenant landing on some distant shore, the presence of a small gunboat at a troubled spot, or a cruiser ‘showing the flag’ and dispensing hospitality aboard.10

This increasingly proactive stance on foreign policy issues was typified under the Whig administration of the late 1830’s and early 1840’s, and particularly under the auspices of what one historian refers to as “that combative, liberal, slavery-hating, commonsensical John Bull of a statesman, Lord Palmerston.”11 At this time, the navy was actively employed, though in much reduced capacity, in as many, if not more, areas of the world than ever before. Intervention in the Syrian crisis, the war in Burma, the bombardment of Canton during the first Opium War, the engagement of the TurkoEgyptian fleet at Navarino, and the anti-piracy campaigns in Borneo are but a few examples of this. The waging of the anti-slavery campaign was also a great responsibility bestowed upon the navy. Nevertheless, it was also indicative of the navy’s much-reduced capacity and potential shortcomings. For example, due to the limited resources available at the time, the antislavery squadrons could only liberate an estimated five percent of the approximately 150,000 Africans being transported yearly into slavery.12 Although this was a truly noble role to fill, it was also an extremely costly one in terms of naval personnel. Between 1837 and 1843 alone, close to five 201

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thousand seamen were being employed annually in this capacity. Yet, from this same group, over 62,000 cases of injury and sickness were reported, in addition to the deaths of close to 1,400 sailors.13 It is clear from this that the expectations placed upon the Royal Navy certainly did not diminish with the close of the wars with France. Nevertheless, due to the severe reduction in funding during the initial decades of this period, it is questionable whether the navy could have possibly fulfilled the many responsibilities placed upon it. Simply put, it is not likely that it could have, or at least not in the short term. Under the Liverpool ministry, priority was placed on maintaining and augmenting the battlefleet. The First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Melville, actively pursued this policy and allocated resources for the construction of brand-new and state of the art, ships-of-the-line. This reflected the belief that Britain should, in anticipation of another prolonged European conflict, be able to put to sea a fleet that was both superior in size, as well as in durability, firepower, and longevity, to that of its main rivals. Fortunately, technological improvements in ship design and construction, as well as the existence of more costeffective materials aided in this scheme. For example, it is estimated that a 120-gun first-rate ship-of-the-line cost as much to build in 1820 as a 74-gun vessel did during the wars with France.14 Nevertheless, the costs of manufacturing these vessels were still astronomical. For example, the construction of a single first-rate consumed as much as thirty percent of the navy’s annual budget allotted for building and maintenance, in addition to a material requirement of 3500 matured trees, 50,000 square feet of canvas, and over 35 miles of cordage.15 These figures alone, however, do not tell the whole story. It must be remembered that the Royal Navy at this time was essentially operating at a nominal level. Although by 1837 the navy was successfully maintaining both its main battlefleet in the Mediterranean as well as several smaller squadrons at various stations round the world, it was operating on a budget of less than £5 million.16 By allocating such a large portion of this limited funding to the construction and maintenance of the battlefleet, little was left to bolster the navy’s other squadrons. Ironically, it was the smaller vessels of these very same squadrons which played the most active role throughout the period. While this situation can largely be regarded as a mismanagement of the navy’s resources, it was certainly not the most grievous oversight to surface during the period.

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The single greatest, and perhaps most commonly disregarded, obstacle facing the navy at this time, was the Admiralty’s severe mismanagement of manpower. Much of this stemmed from the fact that, throughout this period, the Royal Navy did not have a permanent establishment of seamen at its disposal. Moreover, it was only in 1853 that a serious effort was made by the Admiralty to establish a full-time and career-orientated body of sailors. Traditionally, seamen signed on with a ship for the extent of its commission; typically being two to four years, after which they were simply paid-off and left to their own devices. A large part of the reason why the navy was able to downsize so quickly after 1815, was due to the fact that it simply paid and dismissed the vast majority of the seamen in its employ. Only commissioned and warrant officers enjoyed any sort of guaranteed position within the service. Furthermore, the navy and merchant sectors had to essentially compete over the same limited pool of sailors. As one can imagine, generating and maintaining a force of over 100,000 seamen would not be an easy task, and Melville’s policy hinged on the assumption that the navy could assemble a force of this size within the span of a year.17 Of course, without any other effective system of recruitment in place, the navy would have to rely on the time-honored, though universally detested practice of impressment. Moreover, as during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, the merchant service would likely suffer the brunt of this, particularly as the crews of merchant vessels were regarded by the Impress as a prime source of experienced seamen. This situation would also compound the existing problems of competition between both services, particularly as the merchant sector was now expanding at such a rapid pace. In essence, a reliance on impressment would force the navy to act against the very institution which it had been entrusted to protect. In addition, the abuses that were notorious throughout the navy, such as the harsh discipline, lack of personal liberty and leave, and as well as the untimely and sporadic fashion in which wages were paid would all likely persist. Moreover, these abuses risked becoming discernibly worse, as these measures were instituted with the express intent of preventing dissention and desertion amongst seamen, and particularly amongst those who were coerced into service. Although impressment had served its purpose by ensuring that the Royal Navy was adequately manned during the previous wars with France, by the 1830’s, the political and social climate in Britain had changed to the point where such an abusive practice would have no longer been as widely 203

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tolerated, if tolerated at all. As Captain John Griffiths of the Royal Navy wrote in 1826, while he hoped that the changes sweeping the nation would result in “increased happiness and comfort among the working classes of all callings”, he also made the following forewarning: “but if such evils, among which the Impress stands singularly preeminent, be allowed to continue, it is too palpable to entitle us to the claim of prophecy to say, it may be resisted.”18 Simply put, the reliance on impressment, stemming largely from the lack of any other effectual means of recruitment, was one of the single greatest factors barring the way for positive social reform in the navy. The problems associated with manpower and personnel were not restricted simply to the seamen, however. This era also bore witness to problems further up the chain of command, namely, massive unemployment amongst the navy’s officer corps. Because the navy had expanded to such an unprecedented level during the war, it had, out of necessity, taken on a prodigious surplus of commissioned officers. Nevertheless, at war’s end, the Admiralty could not take the same course of action with its officers as it had done with its seamen, namely to pay them their wages and then dismiss them. This was due to the fact that, by the nineteenth century, an executive commission in the navy held with it the entitlement of employment, even if no actual positions at sea were to be found. Traditionally speaking, rather than institute a formal system of retirement, the Admiralty had found it far more beneficial to grant half pay to unemployed officers. This was done as a means of providing officers with some guaranteed form of support, in addition to ensuring that the services of such individuals could be retained in anticipation of further need down the road.19 This era is commonly referred to as the “Great Slump” by naval historians, and it is not hard to see why. By 1832, 77 per cent of the lieutenants in the navy’s service were still unemployed, while 90 per cent of the navy’s commanders, captains, and flagofficers were in a similar position.20 Furthermore, promotion had literally ground to a halt, as virtually the only positions to become available were those created through death or infirmity. As late as 1845, the navy had 714 captains in its employ. Of these captains, however, 376 were above the age of fifty-five, while 205 were sixty and over, and 50 captains were above the age of seventy.21 It is perhaps no wonder then that younger officers often took advantage of any means available to them to advance their own careers. For example, as Brian Vale describes, two rather industrious (and wealthy) young officers at the top of the promotion list, literally offered the sum of £5000 to 204

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one elderly Captain, who, in turn, rapidly contracted a baffling illness and had to return to England, only to live out the rest of his days in comfortable retirement.22 Although such cases of manipulation were uncommon, they spoke of the greater problems inherent within the system itself. It was only during the 1840’s that a successful effort was made by the Admiralty to constructively address the problems of retirement and promotion. However, the lack of attention paid to this matter in the early decades of this period did much to damage the service. It essentially left a body of experienced yet increasingly ineffectual veterans in positions of command, while younger officers upon whom the future of the navy rested desperately sought any opportunities to gain command experience of their own. If the navy had been called upon to fight in a large-scale and prolonged conflict, this disparity in experience and authority would have certainly compounded the already abundant problems existing within the navy. Yet, in retrospect, a possible solution seemed at hand. Granted, the navy needed a battlefleet to act as a deterrent, but it was actually the smaller naval vessels that played the most active role during the period. If the Admiralty had allocated more funding to the building or commissioning of such ships, the employment opportunities for junior officers and commanders might well have likewise increased significantly, and Britain could have had a much more experienced group of officers at its call should any great crisis arise. It is a matter of fortune, however, that a great crisis did not arise during this period. Because the navy did not have to enter into such a conflict, by 1853, with the introduction of continuous service, and with the institution of many other significant reforms, the navy was finally on its way to becoming a modern and professional military institution. These changes, when they did come, did not come easily. It must be remembered that the Admiralty mainly functioned as a bureaucratic and political body. Similarly, it was also largely under the control of the party in power, particularly in terms of appointed membership, finance and policy. Before reform could even be considered, no matter how necessary and beneficial it might have been, the Admiralty needed the backing of the nation’s policy makers. The fact of the matter was that without further support from the government, the navy had only enough resources to cover what were deemed “the essentials”. As Christopher Lloyd writes: “It was a remarkably small navy, which, in the nineteenth century, wielded greater influence on world affairs than any other maritime power has ever achieved.”23 Whether the Royal Navy’s maritime dominance can be attributed to myth or reality, and in truth it probably came 205

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down to a bit of both, the undeniable fact was that Britain did rule the waves throughout this period, and it did so by the single grace that its limits were never fully tested.

1

Michael Lewis, The Navy in Transition 1814-1864: A Social History, (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1965), 64, 66. 2 Ibid. 3 David French, The British Way in Warfare 1688-2000, (London: Unwin Hyman Ltd., 1990), 119. 4 Glyn Williams and John Ramsden, Ruling Britannia: A Political History of Britain 1688-1988, (London: Longman Group UK Ltd., 1990), 169. 5 Peter Padfield, Rule Britannia: the Victorian and Edwardian Navy, (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd., 1981), 17. 6 Andrew Lambert, “Preparing for the Long Peace: the Reconstruction of the Royal Navy 18151830” in The Mariner’s Mirror, 82: 1 (February 1996), 42. 7 Padfield, 85. 8 Williams and Ramsden, 233-4. 9 French, 122. 10 Christopher Lloyd, The Nation and the Navy: A History of Naval Life and Policy, (London: The Cresset Press, 1954), 224. 11 Padfield, 87. 12 Ibid., 113. 13 Sir James Watt, “The Health of Seamen in Anti-Slavery Squadrons,” in The Mariner’s Mirror, 88: 1 (February 2002), 70. 14 Lambert, “Preparing for the Long Peace,” 48. 15 Padfield, 8. 16 Ibid., 85. 17 Andrew D. Lambert, Trincomalee : the last of Nelson's frigates, (London: Chatham, 2002), 160. 18 Capt. Anselm John Griffiths, Impressment Fully Considered with a View to Its Gradual Abolition, (London: J.W. Norie and Co., 1826), 30. 19 Lewis, 56. 20 Ibid., 72. 21 “Cases: Naval Retirement 1845-1846: Supplemental Estimate of Her Majesty’s Service for the Year 1845-46”, Great Britain, Public Record Office, ADM 7/610. 22 Brian Vale, “Appointment, Promotion and ‘Interest’ in the British South America Squadron, 1821-30”, in The Mariner’s Mirror, 88: 1 (February 2002), 67. 23 Lloyd, 202.

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Political Myopia and Military Intransigence: Civil-Military Relations in Canada 1919-1939 LCDR I.C.D. MOFFAT Royal Military College, Kingston Civil–Military relations in Canada have seldom been civil and often appear dysfunctional. However, between World War I and World War II, this characteristic became institutionalized during the long tenure of William Lyon Mackenzie King as Prime Minister and Minister of External Affairs. The interaction between the civilian government and the military establishment during the interwar years was underlined by deceit and misunderstanding, which, for the military, was done for survival. In a democracy, especially a western democracy such as Canada’s, Civil-Military relations can be defined as the relationship or interaction of the officer corps of the military with the civilian government democratically elected by the populace together with the civil service administering the bureaucracy for that government.1 Underpinning the government are those forces in society emanating from ideologies, dominant institutions and social norms. As Huntington points out, the officer corps is responsible for the military security of society, while the elected government is responsible for allocating resources among competing important values of that society, including military security.2 Civil-Military Relations is the balance of control that the civilian government and its bureaucracy maintain over the actions of the military. This civilian control is achieved by the increase of the power of the civilian government at the expense of the military leadership.3 In Canada, the Civil-Military relationship is influenced by the Constitution, by local conditions, by politics, and, probably most importantly, by the personalities involved. By law, the military is controlled by Parliament through Cabinet in the person of the Minister of National Defence. The military, and its civilian partners in the defence bureaucracy, give advice to the government and receive direction from that government.4 However, the push and pull within this relationship has often left an imbalance, which has occasionally endangered the security of the nation. The imbalance is not only between the military and the civil government but also between the military and the civil service administering the wishes of the government. 207

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This particular part of the imbalance occurs simply because the civil service interprets and executes government policy. The history of the Civil-Military Relations in Canada has sign-posts in every decade indicating misunderstanding, distrust and outright deceit on both the military and the political side. These human failings were superimposed on the problems produced by the bureaucratic process, the machinery of government, both political and military, naïveté on the part of the players as well as ignorance of the needs of both sides. To this day, the political leadership, in general, has little knowledge of the Canadian military and for the most part exhibits a perverse inclination to remain ignorant of the duties and tasks required for the defence of this vast nation. However, the significance of politics can never be ignored or over-stated when considering Civil-Military relations in Canada.5 As Douglas Bland points out, “…one fact of national life seems immutable: military concepts and doctrine cannot substantially change political ideas and attitudes concerning national defence.”6 Civil-Military misunderstanding in Canada has always had a basis with the military wanting more than the government was willing to give. This phenomenon started with Sir John A. Macdonald’s first post-Confederation government. The first Adjutant General, a British officer, Colonel Patrick MacDougal, requested reassignment after three years because the Canadian government would not spend the money needed to improve the overall planning and administration of the militia. These types of incidents continued to the outbreak of World War I, regardless of the political party in power. One of the most controversial was when the General Officer Commanding (GOC), Major-General Sir Edward T. Hutton lowered the Civil-Military relationship within Canada by his attempts to coerce the Laurier government to participate in the Boer War through conspiracy with the Governor General, Lord Minto, and the Colonial Office. Hutton won a tactical victory with the government's decision to send troops to South Africa. However, he was forced to leave Canada over this and other disagreements with the Militia Minister, Frederick Borden, and never returned.7 As can be seen, the conflict in Civil-Military relations began before Confederation and continued into the early twentieth century. It was fed by misunderstandings, distrust and ignorance on both sides and, for the GOCs, divided loyalties between an Imperial Army centred on Great Britain and the defence of a nation by which they were employed. The GOCs did not set 208

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out to deliberately sabotage Civil-Military relations nor were the politicians against the military by design. There were no clear rules established constitutionally and each “power” grew incrementally by “doing”. This happened, in part, because there was no professional machinery nor was there a need to have such a thing until a crisis became imminent. The general officers were professionals and, in the absence of clear direction, they attempted to institute what they thought was necessary for the defence of the Dominion based on their experience and expertise. These military ideas and actions then came into conflict with political reality and the priorities of the governments of the day. The inevitable result was conflict between the civil and military entities and a deterioration of Civil-Military Relations, based upon the myopia of the politician in not recognizing the need for defence in advance of a crisis, and the intransigence of the military in demanding everything it thought was required regardless of cost or the ability of the Dominion to provide. Civil-Military Relations improved by necessity during World War I, although the Militia Minister at the beginning of the War, Sam Hughes, eventually had to be sacked before good Civil-Military relations could be established. Nevertheless, the situation reverted back to one of misunderstanding soon after 1919 and became almost unworkable after the advent of the Mackenzie King Liberal government. From 1922 to 1948, with only a short hiatus between 1930 and 1935, the Liberal Party of Canada formed the federal government and, as the leader of the Liberal Party, Mackenzie King was Prime Minister.8 During this time, he reserved the External Affairs portfolio for himself, aided and supported in both his work and his attitudes by his Deputy Under Secretary of State, Dr. Oscar Douglas Skelton. Skelton was very much an anti-imperialist and feared that the close association of the Canadian Army with the British would draw Canada into a conflict that was of no concern to the nation. Throughout the interwar years, the two Departments distrusted each other completely and External Affairs often stalled many of the Defence Department’s initiatives to maintain contact with the British and, in later years, with the Americans. As Prime Minister and Minister of External Affairs, Mackenzie King should have had a closer association with the military to develop a national security policy. Unfortunately, this was not the case. C.P. Stacey notes that Mackenzie King had never had any connection with the military and was not only unmilitary but anti-military.9 This attitude appears to have occurred 209

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after he was rebuffed in Great Britain in his attempt to enter the House of Commons as a Member of Parliament and his subsequent return to Canada in 1912.10 In December of that year, Mackenzie King attacked the Conservative government’s policy of contributing money but not men to Imperial defence. In March of the following year he was preaching unreserved pacifism and neutrality.11 In August 1914, he decided to work as a labour advisor for John D. Rockefeller, Jr. and the Rockefeller foundation, thus ensuring his unavailability for war service in Canada.12 He further demonstrated his neutral and pacifist attitude in a letter he wrote in September 1914 to William Jennings Bryan, the American Secretary of State and the only member of the American cabinet who expounded strict neutrality. In the letter Mackenzie King urged Bryan to stick to strict neutrality towards all belligerents.13 He only changed his views when the United States entered the war in 1917, having spent the previous war years working for the Rockefellers.14 Jonathan Vance notes that Mackenzie King was dogged by critics for his absence from the military and from Canada during World War I.15 He answered the criticism in Parliament by a long and, what Bruce Hutchison calls, an embarrassing performance in reciting a litany of his personal suffering and the good work done for industry during the war.16 Nevertheless, this criticism may have added further to King’s dislike of the military, and his antipathy was of long standing. The evidence is found in his own words. In 1920, the newly elected and, as yet, untried leader of the post war Liberal Party visited HMC Dockyard and the Naval College. Mackenzie King noted in his diary that “the whole institution with the “Rainbow” at the Wharf seemed a great waste of public money. Idle officers, 15 mounted police etc. It is shameful the waste of these military & naval fads.”17 This attitude did not bode well for Civil-Military relations during his tenure in government. This was soon clear before he became Prime Minister during the budgetary debates of 1920. As then opposition leader, King said in Parliament: The Minister seems to think that at the present time we ought to vote an amount at least equal to amounts that were being voted prior to the War. That is where I take direct issue with him. Conditions are wholly different to-day; there is no world menace. Where does the Minister expect invasion from? The Minister says that this expenditure is needed for the defence of Canada—defence against whom?18

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This attitude was not unique among Canadian politicians or the Canadian populace. J.L. Granatstein points out that despite the good will and intentions of the Canadian senior officers returning home after World War I to build a large professional military, “Canadian governments … whatever their political coloration, showed no such good will.”19 In theory, a country’s defence policy should mirror its external policies. But, in 1918 Canada was uncertain as to what its external position was and there was little interest in finding out. This situation “militated against the formation of a coherent military policy” and so mirrored its Foreign Policy, which was a decision not to have one, that is not to have a Foreign Policy.20 The Conservative-Unionist government immediately after World War I was no more inclined to have an effective professional army than the Liberals who would follow them, despite having one ready made and despite the wishes of the professional officers remaining in the Canadian Army. Brigadier James H. MacBrien, the future CGS, produced a paper recommending the retention of conscription and a standing army of thirty thousand men.21 MacBrien was also aware that military relations with the government of the day would be critical in advancing the aims of the military. He understood that even the most supportive Militia Minister was only one among many in the Cabinet and could be ignored if he had no support from other colleagues. To overcome this, and to enhance Civil-Military relations, MacBrien recommended the formation of an interdepartmental committee similar to Britain’s Committee of Imperial Defence (CID) to keep abreast of Canada’s strategic needs and a second committee to oversee the nation’s war needs. Both these committees would have Ministers and bureaucrats from other departments to share the decision making process and prevent defence remaining an unwanted orphan among competing domestic needs.22 Although MacBrien was looking for a tool to keep the Canadian army healthy and effective, he was politically naïve and unaware of the public attitude in light of the sacrifices made during the Great War. Battle fatigue in the Canadian populace coupled with the near dismembering of the country over the conscription crisis of 1917, made any permanent method of compulsory military service politically untenable.23 An army of the size proposed by MacBrien needed an enemy and there was no enemy on the immediate horizon. The only enemy, as stated by the Minister of Militia, Major-General S.C. Mewburn, during parliamentary debate on the increase of the Permanent Force was the very citizens to be defended. Mewburn argued that the increase was needed “in the aid to civil power”.24 This attitude was 211

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imbedded in the philosophy of the Conservative government and was cemented in the minds of Ministers by the Winnipeg General Strike of 1919. In 1920, the government’s attitude towards defence discouraged Sir Arthur Currie and he resigned his position as head of the militia. The government replaced Currie with General MacBrien. British trained and having served the majority of his career with the British army rather than with Canadians, MacBrien's personality was unsuited to convincing the government of the necessity for larger forces. He became frustrated when the government did not adopt his ideas completely.25 His proposal for a Canadian version of the Committee of Imperial Defence (CID) was not accepted. The government did not wish generals to have any authority that could contest the civilian ministers’ power.26 This was a bad omen for Canadian Civil-Military relations in the future. With the military divorced from the attitude of the political will, the civil side of the Civil-Military continuum was able to ignore the expensive desires of the returning professionals from Europe, knowing the public would support the politicians in demobilization and disarmament. As Jonathan Vance points out, in 1919 Canadians were sick of war. “Most people had simply had enough of tragedy, death, and misery.” He continues by saying that this sentiment seemed to remain constant through the twenties and thirties.27 In addition, the government had a massive debt to pay down while trying to meet the aspirations of a society wishing for a better life after the privations of the war years. When he finally won the election in December 1921, Mackenzie King was determined to cut the defence budget even further than the Conservatives had. This determination came from Mackenzie King’s “instinctive parsimony and exaggerated safeguarding of public funds” which combined naturally with his dislike of the military.28 The 1922 budget required the navy to trim its estimates from $2.5 million to $1.5 million, which in turn forced the navy to dispose of most of its ships and establish the Naval Reserve to maintain visibility and interest across the country. In 1923, Mackenzie King’s government directed the amalgamation of the Militia, Naval and Air Ministries into the Ministry of National Defence. This was one of Currie’s ideas which was accepted by the government, albeit the Liberal government of Mackenzie King.29 Currie had seen amalgamation of the service ministries as a way to improve efficiency with such small armed forces as Canada had, as a measure to save money and as a way to force the services to work together.30 He had suggested it as part of the restructuring 212

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of the forces after the war but it was not accepted then. In 1921, Currie wrote to Mackenzie King a week after his election on the subject of amalgamation noting it would save money.31 This undoubtedly is what captured the Prime Minister's interest. By 1924-25, the defence budget was reduced to $13.5 million down from the $31 million of the last Conservative government only three years previous. 32 Defence budgets were not Mackenzie King’s only defence concern on taking office. Barely in the chair as Prime Minister nine months, Mackenzie King faced a request from the British government for help to British forces at Chanak in the neutral zone of Turkey against the Mustapha Kemal Pasha who was striving for recovery of Turkish territory.33 Sir Winston Churchill, the Colonial Secretary, prepared a telegram to the Dominions for Prime Minister Lloyd George to send to his fellow Prime Ministers asking for aid in the form of troops.34 Soon after sending the telegram, Churchill, on the PM's orders, gave a press release that said essentially what the secret telegram had said.35 The British news crossed the Atlantic by wire and was in Canadian newspapers before the Canadian government was officially made aware of the contents of the secret telegram. To Mackenzie King, the publication of the request for troops was viewed as an attempt at forcing Imperial Defence requirements onto the Dominions and a test of Canada’s sovereignty.36 His decision was that no contingent would go without Parliament‘s consent and the Cabinet’s attitude was against any contingent being sent at all. Mackenzie King had consulted no one on the crisis and had discussed it only with Cabinet colleagues who supported his decisions. He had sought neither military nor professional civil service advice before electing not to send troops without the consent of Parliament.37 Yet, the decision not to send troops and to so inform Lloyd George that the Canadian Parliament would decide whether or not to commit forces indicated “… that the automatic commitment to fight at Britain’s side anywhere, any time, was now finished for good.”38 He reserved his public opinion on Imperial Defence for the Imperial Conference, where he would reinforce his position. This stance was possibly the result of Mackenzie King’s over riding concern to prevent a division in the nation. John MacFarlane indicates that Mackenzie King had a somewhat divided cabinet with Anglophones, for the most part, leaning towards support for Britain in any military crisis and Francophones, with Ernest Lapointe as their strongest advocate, being against any participation at any time.39 Mackenzie King considered the cabinet view to 213

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reflect the view of the Canadian population and preferred not to make any decision until absolutely necessary. But he and Lapointe were in basic agreement that Canadian policy should be one of no-commitment while war was only a possibility and not a reality.40 At the 1923 Imperial Conference, Mackenzie King took with him only the Minister of Justice, Sir Lomer Gouin, and the Minister of Railways and Canals (and past Minister of National Defence), Mr. G. P. Graham, besides his staff from External Affairs headed by O.D. Skelton. Skelton drafted many of Mackenzie King’s memorandums. Neither the Minister of Defence nor any of the Defence Staff were available for opinions or advice on either defence or foreign policy issues. The only person the Prime Minister consulted was Dr. Skelton and he was as new to Imperial conferences as was Mackenzie King. In fact, Skelton was adamant in his opposition to a common foreign policy within the Empire as he saw this as a loss of sovereignty for the Dominions that had been so hard won over the years.41 He conveyed his views to Mackenzie King intimating that a common foreign policy was entirely the invention of the British Foreign Office. Either by design or neglect, Skelton failed to advise the Prime Minister that it had been long standing Canadian policy under Sir Robert Borden to seek “a voice for Canada in the formation of Imperial policy” nor did he tell Mackenzie King of Borden’s Resolution IX of the 1917 Imperial War Conference that proclaimed the right of Dominions “to an adequate voice in the foreign policy … [desirability for] effective arrangements for continuous consultation in all important matters of common Imperial Concern.”42 Thus, Skelton’s advice undermined the longstanding efforts of previous Canadian politicians to maintain a voice and influence in Imperial foreign policy and, collaterally, Imperial defence policy. With this, Canadian foreign policy started to diverge from Canadian defence policy as planned and understood by the military in the Department of National Defence. Mackenzie King accepted Skelton’s advice without question and without seeking other views especially the views of Canadian military leaders.43 Acting on this advice, the Prime Minister proceeded to undo Borden’s work immediately, at his first Imperial Conference. And he did this with the firm belief that Canada should only be involved in Imperial defence when Canadian interests were at stake. The Chanak incident had soured Mackenzie King’s view of Imperial consultations prior to any action being

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taken collectively. For Mackenzie King and O. D. Skelton, Chanak was not in Canada’s interest whether Canadian military men thought so or not. During the discussions with the Secretary of State for War, Lord Derby, Mackenzie King made it clear that Canada would not automatically aid the Empire with troops if it were attacked.44 He cited the Chanak crisis as one where Canada’s involvement was discretionary. This took the Secretary of War by surprise and signalled to Britain unequivocally that Canada’s participation in minor Imperial wars was not automatic (nor had it ever been). This attitude was conveyed without reference to any Canadian military advisors. It was unfortunate since the Canadian defence forces and especially the Canadian militia were mirror images of the British forces in both look and training. Nevertheless, Mackenzie King was consistent in his attitude and thus, the Canadian government’s attitude towards foreign wars. Whether it was involvement in Imperial wars or in wars of punishment resulting from the League of Nations’ Articles X and XVI on collective defence, in either case, Canada would not commit itself without the Canadian Parliament first deciding on Canada’s involvement.45 Despite Mackenzie King’s and Skelton’s desire for a purely Canadian policy of defence and security, it was undermined by the methods used to train senior Canadian officers. The Canadian military continued to be educated at British institutions, especially for higher staff training. Due to a lack of similar institutions in Canada, senior Canadian staff officers attended British and Indian Staff Colleges throughout the interwar period.46 At these Imperial training schools, officers were exposed to the British attitude to defence for the Empire and were inculcated in the view that one defence policy for all of the Empire was in the best interest of the Dominions, colonies and the Mother Country. The Canadian military’s belief in Imperial defence, contrary to External Affairs’ view as well as the Prime Minister’s, was illustrated by the memorandum written by General MacBrien, the CGS, as background information for the 1926 Imperial Conference. The memorandum said in part: 1. Policy in order to be carried through to its logical conclusion must have behind it Force. To obtain the best results it is desirable to have a truly Imperial service. It does not appear that the autonomy of any Dominion would be in any way affected by making complete arrangements for the organization, the training and the equipping of a truly Imperial army. Thus it would be preferable that Quotas to be 215

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supplied by each part of the Empire should be laid down for the different hypothetical situations and that each Government in the Empire should then pursue its policy of organizing and training the forces. Whether the forces are to be committed to War would depend entirely upon the Government concerned, so there would be no surrender of autonomy by any of the self-governing Dominions. 2. The policy of mutual assistance throughout the Empire has been recognised for many years. The fighting organization has been made uniform throughout the Empire.47

This information was the diametric opposite of what Mackenzie King wished to convey to Britain, and illustrated a “schism of concept” between the civil and military institutions. This may be one reason Mackenzie King was loathe to have the proceedings concerning defence discussions of the 1926 Imperial Conference published because “… misunderstanding is apt to be created in the Dominions if they get the idea that the purpose of the Conference is to work out some Imperial scheme… to which all are committed.”48 However, this is exactly what Canadian military officers like MacBrien wished to have happen. The training in British military attitudes helped solidify the antipathy of the Canadian External Affairs leaders towards the Canadian military’s senior officers. Budget reductions decreased training, even more so during the Depression. However, training and instruction were not entirely forsaken. The British model was used and helped maintain the Canadian military at Imperial standards, at least within fiscal restraints. But it was a double-edged sword. Canada used British Staff Colleges because it was too small to have the expertise required and could not afford to establish its own Officer Professional Development system. This British Staff Training, though, reinforced the Canadian military’s close ties with the Imperial army and maintained Canadian senior officers’ views for closer integration with British forces. This view was in conflict with the views of the governments of the day and of the senior bureaucrats responsible for Canadian foreign policy. But it could not be otherwise when Canadian officers were employed at the British War Office after graduation from Staff College and were lectured by British senior policy makers, both military and civilian, at the Imperial Defence College.49 Although senior staff training was undertaken for some officers between the wars, no opportunity was given to practice what was learned at the staff colleges of the British Army. This lack of practical collective field training was a serious deficiency for both officers and NCOs. This 216

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deficiency was one shared overall with the British Army as well, but in Canada it was compounded by the shortage of funds and the geographic isolation of units, both regular and militia.50 Any attempt to develop a meaningful training plan was hampered by lack of government direction as to the role of the Canadian Army. If it was to act alone in repelling incursions from the United States it would need a different organization than if it were to be part of a larger Imperial force overseas. Acting as coastal defenders of Canada’s neutrality required different training and equipment than an expeditionary force. Without political direction the army was unable to conduct proper realistic training and by the middle of the 1930s, the army was basically without modern equipment to conduct what training was allowed. While the training for Canada’s militia languished, the planning that had been carried out in isolation from government direction became the basis for the pre-war preparations in the 1930s. Between 1919 and 1939 the Canadian Army produced four plans for the employment of the army. The plans were numbered consecutively and known by their number. Defence Scheme No.1 was a plan for the defence of Canada from an attack by the United States and was the brainchild of Colonel James Sutherland (Buster) Brown, the Director of Military Operations and Intelligence in the 1920s. Defence Scheme No.2 was a plan to maintain Canada’s neutrality if conflict broke out between the United States and Japan. Defence Scheme No.3 was a plan for an expeditionary force for use in an overseas war, and Defence Scheme No.4 was a plan for a smaller force to be employed in minor crises overseas in conjunction with other British Empire forces. The latter plan never got beyond the draft stage. All these plans were in line with the views and directions of Generals Gwatkin, MacBrien and Currie, who believed in the importance of drafting comprehensive plans in peacetime for all possible contingencies.51 But, these defence plans were developed in a policy vacuum. Strategic defence direction from the government was lacking throughout the period, and as a result the military took it upon itself to develop plans for what it thought its employment would be. Despite this, many people outside of the military disliked and actually feared the idea of military planning. Skelton and Loring Christie, his assistant at External Affairs, feared that hypothetical plans would become political commitments by default, something they and Mackenzie King abhorred.52 This dichotomy illustrated the two-way street that Civil-Military Relations must maintain even when one side is subordinate 217

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to the other. In the interwar years the lack of direction from the civil side and its naïve faith in “collective security” forced the military side to prepare for what they thought was the worst case to be ready to defend the nation. Nonetheless, the military still recognized how paramount the civil side of the equation was, by preparing contingency plans but not presenting them to the civilian leaders for fear of having them vetoed and leaving the military with no direction. Left without higher direction, military planners had only experience and history to guide them in their formation of plans. Nevertheless, in the words of James Eayrs, “the primary task of military planning is to identify the nation’s enemy”53 and, in the absence of higher government direction, from 1920 to almost the end of the decade, the planners identified the United States as Canada’s enemy to be guarded against. To this end Colonel Brown developed Defence Scheme No.1. Many deride Scheme No. 1, and Eayrs in particular sees it as evidence of ‘strategists cramp’ or the inability of the military to recognize changes in political, technological or strategic development. However, for the CGS, the central reason for this Plan was as a means to equip the fifteen authorized divisions to undertake the duty of defending Canada in any circumstance.54 Unfortunately, even with Scheme No.1, the government could not be convinced to fund the army in its quest for new equipment. The plan itself was never shown to any Minister. The army assessed that the politicians were intuitively hostile to the premise of Scheme No.1 and MacBrien, being embroiled in his continuing battle with the Navy, never had the energy to convince the government of the value and necessity of the Plan. As a result, no argument could convince the government to equip all fifteen divisions and by the mid-1920s the militia budget was smaller than in 1921. The Army was in worse shape than it had been when Scheme No. 1 was born.55 In 1929, when McNaughton became CGS he realized that Scheme No.1 was impossible to undertake, and that there was no political will to equip the army to the scale necessary. However, Scheme No.3 was a plan for an expeditionary force to be sent overseas. It was approved in principle by the Minister, and McNaughton hinted that one cavalry division and six infantry divisions would suffice for all contingencies. The CGS tied this reduction to the Canadian force reduction proposals for the 1932 League of Nations Disarmament Conference where he was the sole Canadian military Using the Peace Conference as a political expedient, advisor.56 McNaughton’s proposal made Canada appear to be fully supportive of disarmament while reducing the militia from a large unsustainable force to 218

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one that the nation could nominally afford and would be useful both for national defence and as an expeditionary force. Based on this reasoning, the fifteen division army authorized at the end of the First World War now became the seven division army in 1932. In this way, McNaughton removed the United States from Canadian plans as a potential enemy and the smaller force could be fully equipped “for overseas employment…” achieving an expeditionary force for Canada.57 McNaughton used the civilian government’s wish to reduce arms as part of world disarmament to consolidate and improve Canada’s army for use in future overseas conflicts. The plan was the basis for the reorganization of the militia. However, pre-occupied with the Depression, Bennett’s Conservatives delayed the decision and eventually left office without instigating the changes. This, despite having been informed by the CGS officially in early 1935 in a memorandum entitled The Defence of Canada that all Canada’s defence equipment was inadequate. In the memo, McNaughton told Bennett that reserves of ammunition and equipment were non-existent, there were no modern anti-aircraft guns in the country, only ninety minutes of field gun ammunition existed for the obsolescent guns in inventory and only twentyfive aircraft were available and all these were obsolescent.58 But, Bennett’s government was on its last legs and the Conservatives lost the 1935 fall election to the Liberals before changes to the military could be instituted. The Liberals, led by Mackenzie King swept back to power in October 1935 with the largest majority ever seen in Canada.59 It was a good thing for the army then that McNaughton’s successor was Major-General E.C. Ashton, a man whose approach to the politicians was quiet and persuasive. He could read the mood of the government and did not pick fights he would obviously lose. Ashton saw the need for good Civil-Military relations to achieve a proper defence establishment for the country. He cultivated good relations with the other heads of services and had direct access to the Defence Minister, Ian Mackenzie. At the same time he maintained a strong connection with McNaughton, soliciting his ideas and views on critical defence issues such as how to acquire modern aircraft for the RCAF.60 The new CGS urged the Defence Minister to order the necessary changes to the Militia that McNaughton had originated under the Bennett government. Reorganization was approved but no mention was made of where the seven division army would be employed. Moreover, there was no

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commitment by the Liberals to re-equip the army with modern weapons, despite the evidence of growing problems in Europe as well as in Asia. Ashton had quickly recognized that Mackenzie King’s Liberals, and the Prime Minister in particular, had different priorities than the army. Mackenzie King understood that events in Europe could affect Canada and could even cause the country to be involved in another war. His political instincts told him that any decision to involve Canada in a European war as an ally of Britain could divide the country and for that reason he strove to avoid any situation which might force the government to make that decision.61 The Prime Minister was adverse to a service that could incur large numbers of casualties and therefore require large additions of manpower. This could require conscription, which was anathema to Mackenzie King. The CGS understood this but recognized that the government had to be informed of the state of the military. In February 1937, he sent the PM a note based on McNaughton’s 1935 memorandum. This persuaded Mackenzie King to slowly start feeding the military some of what it needed, although for his own political purposes.62 The PM intended that by satisfying home defence requirements he could avoid being entangled in Imperial defence policies.63 Mackenzie King saw the implementation of a definite Canadian home defence policy as a way to avoid Canadian participation in British operations overseas and he emphasized home defence in Parliament.64 Understanding that the risk of war was increasing, Mackenzie King realized that the Defence budget would have to be increased. Home defence became the public reason for doing so. John MacFarlane notes that, although Mackenzie King, at heart, was pro-British, Ernest Lapointe, his Quebec deputy, was against any commitment to Britain. By emphasizing that increased defence spending was for the protection of Canada at home, the Prime Minister was able to keep a united Cabinet and prevent Lapointe’s resignation.65 On the other hand, General Ashton and his planners, with the conspiratorial support of the Minister of Defence, reversed the same equations to prepare for an expeditionary force. Ashton’s methods allowed him to work with the navy and ensure that army staff was not restricted to planning for home defence. The services were now working together and were able to put a united front to both the Minister and to other departments. The ability to work together paid dividends during the Czech crisis in 1938. It became obvious that the requirement for the military heads to pass all submissions to the Minister through the deputy minister was preventing the speedy flow of information. 220

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The three service chiefs together petitioned Ian Mackenzie and were then told to report directly to the Minister, only keeping the deputy minister informed as a courtesy.66 Ashton’s ability to work with the other service chiefs allowed this to happen and to bypass the deputy minister, establishing the principal that military advice would come directly from the military without first being filtered by a civilian bureaucrat.67 Thus, a possible problem for Civil-Military relations at the level of the Minister was avoided by removing from the chain of command a civil irritant at a lower level, the deputy minister. This was particularly useful since the Department of External Affairs had been at odds with the Department of Defence almost from the latter’s inception. Neither trusted the other, and as General Ashton observed “the Department of National Defence has, for the greater part of its existence, been obliged to act as best it could without the guidance of a clear-cut statement of ministerial policy.”68 M.A. Hooker noted that Canada’s declared foreign policy virtually dictated that the nation’s best defence policy was to have no policy at all.69 This echoed the attitude immediately following World War I. All the political infighting, among the services, with the other government departments and with the politicians, also prevented the army from concentrating on the need for proper large-scale training of formations larger than brigades. This was exacerbated by lack of funds for modern equipment and little opportunity to test the military plans developed at this time. Ashton urged Ian Mackenzie to re-equip the army by a stream of memoranda, which the Defence Minister passed directly to the Prime Minister. Mackenzie King then asked for the cost estimates, which he received based on the assumption that seven divisions would be equipped for overseas service. A decision was deferred but the Defence Minister told the CGS to continue planning in accordance with Scheme No. 3. Ashton was shocked when the budget was presented to Parliament and the Minister and Prime Minister stated that the increases had nothing to do with an expeditionary force and no plans for such a force were even being considered.70 The staff was forced to rewrite Scheme No.3 to mask any reference to an Expeditionary Force. The term used was field force which would have two divisions equipped for a war abroad, but the plan would stress the defence of Canada with deployment at home.71 The Defence Minister gave his blessing 221

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to the re-written plan while at the same time not telling cabinet of the ability for the army to deploy overseas. The scheme underwent another change in 1937 when the field force was designated as a ‘Mobile Force’ with prime responsibility of dealing with enemy attacks or landings in Canada. However, the plan retained the expeditionary force as a secondary commitment. This was the military’s method of ensuring the required security organization would be available for the nation when political desire and necessity prevented public knowledge of the same. In February 1939, when General T.V. Anderson replaced General Ashton, the new CGS ordered the army to plan for an expeditionary force. The changes to the plans were instigated by the CGS without the Minister's knowledge. These new military plans were not in keeping with government priorities. In April 1939, the government explicitly established its own priorities for defence: first the air force, then the navy and finally the army.72 The government continued to plan for a limited liability war and in late August, O. D. Skelton was advising the Prime Minister to commit only the air force overseas in the event of war. A Cabinet meeting on 24 August 1939 gave Mackenzie King support for Canada to participate on Britain's side, but only in so far as the defence of Canada required. Parliament would decide the details.73 On 29 August 1939, the three service chiefs submitted a joint memorandum in which the Defence Minister had had a guiding hand, stating that the expeditionary force was secondary to home defence. However, the public ‘...overwhelmingly demand[ed] ... active intervention in the direct aid of Great Britain ...[who] had recognized the inherent unsoundness of the theory of limited war”.74 The day following the Cabinet’s receipt of the memorandum, the ‘Mobile Force’ was placed on active service, although Mackenzie King was still determined to limit liabilities. Cabinet approved one division to be sent overseas in mid-September 1939, but only in January 1940 was the second division given permission to proceed to England. All the planning for war in the interwar years had been an exercise in maintaining some form of army in Canada. Without direction from the politicians and without money, the planning made do with what was available. It was not always realistic as with Defence Scheme No.1, but it was the best that the Staff could do with the means given. In the end, the framework of Scheme No.3 along with the determination of the CGSs (Ashton and Anderson) to do what they believed was best for the country allowed some preparation for the advancing war; however, it was definitely 222

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too little and it was almost too late. Yet, it was done in the face of political stonewalling for money and the misplaced belief of politicians and the public at large that Canada was immune to the troubles in other parts of the world. The Civil-Military relationship was dysfunctional through most of the interwar years. Like a teenager going behind his parents' back, the military worked on what it thought was best for the country in the absence of clear direction from the government of the day. Lack of money and lack of political will prevented the enlargement of the Canadian Army in the interwar years to a size that would have allowed senior officers to train in the positions they would have to fill in the next war. The Canadian military’s view that they would be part of a larger Imperial Force also added to the belief that higher operational and strategic planning would be done by others (much the same thought that prevails in Canada today). As a result of the incomplete and inadequate training, the inadequate equipment, the preponderance of technically competent but not necessarily battle trained senior officers, and in particular the absence of political direction, the Canadian Army started World War II ill prepared to fight a modern war. The civil sector's misunderstanding and lack of knowledge about the military coupled with a blind faith that war had been abolished prevented the civilian leadership from recognizing the necessity of establishing a national defence policy and of maintaining a modern defence force. This, combined with a policy of no external commitments, prevented the governments of the day from seeing danger and thus providing the military with the tools and training required to defend the country. When civilian side finally recognized the danger, it required massive increases in military budgets that the country could little afford at the time. This forced the civilian leadership to try to limit its commitments externally and rely on allies for the bulk of defence contrary to the plans and desires of the military establishment. Thus the Civil-Military Relationship continued to be strained for the first year of World War II. This pattern continues at the beginning of the twenty-first century, with the civil side of the continuum maintaining, for the most part, an ignorance of things military and keeping the defence establishment short of money and people. At the same time the government has failed to articulate a national security policy and leaves the military to plan for the worst case without civil direction. 223

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Plus ça change, plus c’est la mème chose.

1

Samuel P.Huntington, The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Politics of Civil-Military Relations, (Cambridge, Mass: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1967), 3. 2 Ibid. 3 Ibid., 80. 4 Department of National Defence, Report to the Prime Minister: Authority, Responsibility and Accountability, Guidance for Members of the Canadian Forces and Employees of the Department of National Defence – The Honourable M .Douglas Young, Minister of National Defence, Minister of Veterans Affairs, (Ottawa: 25 March 1997), 4 and 6. 5 R. J. Walker, Poles Apart: Civil-Military Relations in the Pursuit of a Canadian National Army, (Kingston, Ont: unpublished Masters Thesis, Royal Military College of Canada, 1991), 57. 6 Douglas Bland, Parliament, Defence Policy and the Canadian Armed Forces, (Kingston, Ont: The Claxton Papers, School of Policy Studies, Queen’s University and Université Laval, 1999), 15. 7 Stephen John Harris, Canadian Brass: The Growth of the Canadian Military Profession 1860-1939, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1988), 34. 8 Bruce Hutchison, The Incredible Canadian: A Candid Portarait of Mackenzie King, his Works, His Times and His Nation, (Toronto: Longmans, Green and Company, 1953), 151. Hutchinson points out that more than being Prime Minister, Mackenzie King “… jealously guarded the prerogatives of Party Leader, the appointment of Senators, deputy ministers, and judges, the promotions within the secret hierarchy, the demotions and punishments, the correspondence with remote Party managers, the organization of constituencies, the arrangement of by-elections and all the laborious minutiae which might disgust him as a statesman but delighted him as a born politician.” 9 C.P. Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict A History of Canadian External Policies Volume 2: 1921 – 1948 The Mackenzie King Era, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1981). 17. 10 H.S. Ferns and Bernard Ostry. “Mackenzie King and the First World War,” The Canadian Historical Review Vol XXXVI No. 2 (June 1955): 101. Mackenzie King had gone to Britain in the hope of following a friend and classmate, Hamar Greenwood, into the British House of Commons, as many Canadians had done before him. He made inquiries into nominations but was turned down and returned to the Dominion bitter and thoroughly disappointed. 11 Ibid. “Mackenzie King and the First World War.” In a speech to the Canadian Club in Toronto in March 1913, Mackenzie King said, “. . . let us begin in a modest way, not seek to surpass the nations of Europe, Germany, France, Britain and all the other nations on earth in our paraphernalia of War. I say we should have a higher ideal than that! There are other ways of helping Empire! My mind does not run on the lines of war; my mind runs rather along the lines of peace.” 12 R. MacGregor Dawson, William Lyon Mackenzie King: A Political Biography 1874-1923, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1958), 230. 13 Ferns and Ostry. “Mackenzie King and the First World War”, 106-107. 14 Ibid., 110. “Mackenzie King and the First World War.” 15 Jonathan F. Vance, Death So Noble: Memory, Meaning and the First World War, (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1997), 123-124. 16 Hutchison, The Incredible Canadian:, 52.

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17

William Lyon Mackenzie King, “King Diary” 27 September 1920 as quoted in C.P. Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict. . . Vol 2. 17. 18 Parliament of Canada, Official Report of the Debates of the House of Commons of the Dominion of Canada, Fourth Session – Thirteenth Parliament 10-11 George V 1920 Volume CXLIV, Volume 4, (Ottawa: Thomas Mulvey, King’s Printer, 1920), 3646 – 3647. Mackenzie-King continued in this debate to say that the Minister had said he required the money for training but King said Canada had the best trained soldiers in the world and thus training was not required. King therefore displayed his ignorance of what was needed to maintain a professional military, training being one factor that is continuous to retain skills at the level required to meet any situation when called upon. (Note: Stanley uses the same quote without a footnote and says in his text it was during budget debates in 1921. This is misleading as the debates took place in 1920, thus looking for the quote in Hansard based on Stanley’s information would have one combing 1921 Hansard to no avail.) 19 J. L. Granatstein, The Generals: The Canadian Army’s Senior Commanders in the Second World Wa,. (Toronto: Stoddart Publishing Co, 1993). 14. 20 C. P. Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict: A History of Canadian External Policies, Volume I- 18671921, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1977). 321. 21 Harris, Canadian Brass, 144. 22 Ibid., 145. 23 George F.G. Stanley, Canada’s Soldiers 1604-1954: The Military History of an Unmilitary People, (Toronto: The Macmillan Company of Canada, 1954), 327. Stanley quotes from a 1920 newspaper The Farmers’ Sun, the official newspaper of the United Farmers of Ontario that was part of the coalition government of Ontario in 1919. “The Ottawa authorities may as well realize, first and last, that Canada is not going to stand for the wholesale expenditure of large sums of money for military and naval purposes. The people of this country do not propose to submit to the god of militarism. We have just fought a five years war in order to make wars cease. 24 James Eayrs, In Defence of Canada : From the Great War to the Great Depression Volume 1 . (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1964), 65. 25 Harris, Canadian Brass, 151 – 152. MacBrien had served as the Canadian representative on the post war commission studying and recommending the British Army of the future after WW I. He and the other members of the committee believed the problems of control of the army found during the war could be traced back to the absence of a single military authority in charge of the military. They considered the collegial attitude of the Army Council to be detrimental in military decision-making and did not present a common front to the politicians. With these ideas firmly entrenched in his psyche, MacBrien wished to import them into the Canadian defence establishment and the Army in particular. 26 Ibid., 152. 27 Vance, Death So Noble, 74. 28 Walker, Poles Apart:. . ., 61. 29 C.P. Stacey, Arms, Men and Government: The War Policies of Canada 1939-1945, (Ottawa, Ont: The Queen’s Printer, 1970), 67; Harris, Canadian Brass, 153. 30 Harris, Canadian Brass, 153. 31 Daniel G. Dancocks, Sir Arthur Currie: A Biography, (Toronto: Methuen, 1985), 225. 32 Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict. . . Vol II, 17.

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33

Robin Denniston, “Diplomatic Intercepts in Peace and War: Chanak 1922,” Diplomacy and Statecraft, 11 no. 1 (March 2000): 251-252. Kemal Pasha had defeated the Greeks and sacked Smyrna in Asia Minor. He was now threatening the few British battalions stationed around Constantinople (now Istanbul) maintaining the neutrality of the Dardanelles. The danger was most acute for the troops stationed at Chanak on the Asian side of the Straits. The British, not having faith in, and being abandoned by, their French and Italian Allies, called for help from the Empire. 34 Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict. . . Vol II, 20. The British Cabinet had decided earlier that a request for help would go to Australia and New Zealand with information copies to the other Dominions. The Cabinet felt that only Dominions with a stake in the threatened region from World War I should be asked to send forces. Unfortunately the telegram drafted by Churchill and sent by Lloyd George made no distinction among Dominions. The telegram was sent out at midnight, London time 15 September 1922, a Friday, as secret correspondence. As Stacey says, so far no harm done, but the telegram did ask for Dominions’ aid of troops. As it was a weekend in Ottawa, the information was not immediately decoded but waited to Saturday morning and was sent to Mackenzie King’s residence late in the afternoon. Unfortunately, he was away in Toronto, not returning until the Sunday.As it was a weekend in Ottawa, the information was not immediately decoded but waited to Saturday morning and was sent to Mackenzie King’s residence late in the afternoon. Unfortunately, he was away in Toronto, not returning until the Sunday. 35 Ibid. The information was duly published and stated that, “His Majesty’s Government have also communicated with the Dominions, placing them in possession of the facts and inviting them to be represented by contingents in the defence of interests for which they have already made enormous sacrifices and of soil that is hallowed by immortal memories of the Anzacs.” 36 Mackenzie King wrote in his diary “I confess it annoyed me. It is drafted designedly to play the imperial game, to test out centralization vs autonomy as regards european wars” King Diary 17 September 1922 as quoted in Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict. . . Vol II, 23; Hutchison, The Incredible Canadian, 89. 37 Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict. . . Vol II, 27. 38 Hutchison, The Incredible Canadian:, 92. 39 John MacFarlane, Ernest Lapointe and Quebec’s Influence on Canadian Foreign Policy, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999), 50. 40 Ibid., 51. 41 Stacey, Canada and the Age of Conflict. . . Vol II, 66-67. Stacey quotes Skelton who wrote: “It is claimed that that this course of action, this endeavour to change the trend of the past development and to set up a common foreign policy for the whole Empire means an extension of influence and power for the Dominions. Exactly contrary is the case. It offers a maximum of responsibility and minimum of control. It commits a Dominion in advance to an endorsement of courses of action of which it knows little and of which it may not approve, or in which it may have little direct concern.” 42 Ibid., 67. 43 MacFarlane, Ernest Lapointe . . . ,56. According to MacFarlane, Skelton was less influential on Mackenzie King as the PM became more comfortable in his position as Secretary of State for External Affairs as well as PM. By the 1926 Imperial Conference, Ernest Lapointe was listened to more often for political reasons than was Skelton.

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44

Department of External Affairs, Documents of Canadian External Relations, Volume 3, 1919-1925, ed. Lovell C. Clark, (Ottawa: Information Canada, 1970), 259-260. Lord Derby said at the Imperial conference that he made two assumptions: “First of all, that, if any part of the Empire, wherever it is, is attacked, the whole Empire will rally to the support of the part so attacked. Secondly, that it will rally to the fullest extent of its powers.” Mackenzie King interrupted at this point and said, “We should know exactly what we mean. So much depends on what is meant by saying that – if the Empire is attacked at any particular part. My mind goes back to the situation as it was a year ago at the time when there was a certain difficulty with the Turks [Chanak]. If that had resulted in actual hostilities, I cannot say at the moment what the Canadian Parliament would or would not have ultimately done; but I would say this, I think there is very grave doubt whether the Parliament of Canada would at that particular time, with the information it had on the question, have undertaken to supply troops, at any rate at the beginning of the War. . . . I cite this because I think similar cases may arise, and I think it would only convey a sense of false security if one were to assume that in any situation which came about the merits of the emergency would not be looked into and examined from the point of view of the direct interest and responsibility of the Dominion, and the extent of its participation, if any, determined thereby.” Lord Derby then asked “If the actual invasion of any portion of the British Empire was threatened by a foreign nation, all parts of the Empire would wish to come to the rescue . . . such part of the Empire as was threatened by invasion.” Mackenzie King then said, “Unwarranted invasion certainly, but having regard to existing circumstances.” 45 James Eayrs, “A Low and Dishonest Decade” in Hugh L. Keenleyside et al, The Growth of Canadian Policies in External Affairs, Durham, (N.C.: Duke University Press, 1960): 65. 46 Harris, Canadian Brass, 194. 47 James H. MacBrien, “General Organization for War” 4 Oct 1926, Army Records (S. 5076), as quoted in Eayrs, In Defence of Canada : Vol 1, 81 48 Department of External Affairs, Documents of Canadian External Relations, Volume 4, 1926-1930, ed. Alex I. Inglis, (Ottawa: Information Canada, 1971), 162. 49 Maurice A. Pope, Soldiers and Politicians, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962), 75-76 and 98. 50 J. A. English, Failure in High Command: The Canadian Army and the Normandy Campaign, (Ottawa: The Golden Dog Press, 1995), 51. 51 Harris, Canadian Brass, 169. 52 Ibid., 168. 53 Eayrs, In Defence of Canada: . . . Vol I, 70. 54 Harris, Canadian Brass, 171. 55 Ibid., 172. It must be noted that when the budget was being prepared in 1926, a question was asked whether equipment requirements should be based on all 15 divisions. McNaughton gave his opinion that 1 division was enough as there would be ample time to expand in the future. 56 English, Failure in High Command, 45. 57 Harris, Canadian Brass, 178. 58 C. P. Stacey, Six Years of War: The Army in Canada, Britain and the Pacific Volume 1, (Ottawa: Queen’s Printer, 1966), 6. 59 H. Blair Neatby, William Lyon Mackenzie King 1932-1937: The Prism of Unity, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1976), 122. 60 John Swettenham, McNaughton Volume 1 1887-1939, (Toronto: The Ryerson Press, 1968), 333. 61 Neatby, William Lyon Mackenzie King 1932-1937. . . , 170.

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62

M.A. Hooker, “Serving Two Masters: Ian Mackenzie and Civil Military Relations in Canada, 1935-1939” in The Journal of Canadian Studies 21 no. 1 (Spring 1986), 42. Mackenzie King recorded in his diary after reading McNaughton’s assessment of Canada’s military preparedness, “ The impression left on my mind was one of the complete inadequacy of everything in the way of defence. It is going to be extremely difficult to do anything effective without a cost which this country cannot bear . . . I would deserve to be shot, did I not press for immediate action and should war come on with nothing accomplished meanwhile and this were revealed.” 63 Ibid., 42-43. 64 Pope, Soldiers and Politicians, 125. Pope quotes the PM’s Parliamentary speech of 19 Feb 1937 from Hansard . “In the course of this debate it has been necessary at different times from this side of the house to repeat that what we are doing we are doing for Canada and for Canada alone. That has been necessary for the reason that an impression had been created that what we are doing had relation to some expeditionary force which would be sent overseas. When we say that what we are doing we are doing for Canada alone, we mean that what we are doing is for the defence of our country within the territorial waters of the coasts of our country, and within Canada itself for the defence of Canada. But I hope it will not be thought that because we have laid emphasis on the fact that what we are doing we are doing for Canada, we are not thereby making some contribution towards the defence of the British Commonwealth of nations as a whole, or that we are not making some contribution towards the defence of all English-speaking communities, that we are not making some contribution to the defence of all democracies, that we are not making some contribution towards the defence of all those countries that may some day necessarily associate themselves together for the purpose of preserving their liberties and freedom against an aggressor, come from wherever he may. I say that while we are doing what we are doing for Canada we believe that in this way we can make the most effective contribution towards the security of all countries that may have like institutions, like ideals, and principles similar to our own.” 65 MacFarlane, Ernest Lapointe . . . , 110-111. 66 Stephen Harris, “The Canadian General Staff” in Canada’s Defence: Perspectives on Policy in the Twentieth Century, eds B. D. Hunt and R. G. Haycock (Toronto: Copp Clark Pitman Ltd, 1993), 75. 67 Harris, Canadian Brass . . . , 159. 68 Hooker, “Serving Two Masters . . ", 40. 69 Ibid., 39. 70 Harris, Canadian Brass, 182. 71 Ibid., 183. 72 Stacey, Arms, Men and Government, 4; English. Failure in High Command, 29. 73 Stacey, Arms, Men and Government, 7-8. 74 Harris, Canadian Brass, 188-189.

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Sovereignty Suicide: Canada’s March Into the American Empire P. RICHARD MOLLER & MARK W.S. SHEPHERD Royal Military College, Kingston Growth in the disparity between how Canadians view themselves and the way in which other countries view them will soon reach such dramatic proportions that it will be undeniable to all but the most obtuse observer. The disparity has its genesis in Canada's long history as a morally superior, exceptionally virtuous peacekeeper with very limited military needs. This utopian vision does not square with the current reality or the historic record any more than Jean Chrétien’s October 2003 statement that “we treat the military very well. They are very well equipped.”1 Canadian Political leaders subscribe to a special set of “Canadian values”, and have continuously repeated those values to the public. These professed values are the underpinning of the portrayed view of Canada abroad. Canadian citizens have heard these values and the resultant world image repeated so many times that they now understand them as truth. This is not a new political tactic. One savvy politician once claimed: that in a big lie there is always a certain force of credibility; because the broad masses of a nation are always more easily corrupted in the deeper strata of their emotional nature than consciously or voluntarily, and thus in the primitive simplicity of their minds they more readily fall victims to the big lie than the small lie, since they themselves often tell small lies in little matters but would be ashamed to resort to large-scale falsehoods.2

Our elected leaders seem to acknowledge this political perspicacity even though they are not following the national strategy of Adolf Hitler. As Dennis Stairs so aptly states: “there is increasing evidence that the government’s comforting rhetoric is in danger of becoming far too successful, so that Canadians are internalizing it and taking it seriously at face value. In short they are coming to believe what they are told, and in the process losing their grip.”3 Indeed, Canadians can believe what they wish, however, these beliefs become problematic when they become integral to decision-making process during the creation of Canada’s foreign policy and defence structure.

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Comment:

Sovereignty Suicide: Canada’s March Into the American Empire

In the past the Canadian government participated internationally (during World Wars I and II, Korea, Cuban Missile Crisis and UN Peacekeeping operations) in order to ensure that Canada’s cultural, intellectual and academic activities and accomplishments were viewed on the world’s stage, and, hence, to project Canadian values and culture internationally. It is only recently that we have deviated from these traditional Canadian diplomatic protocols. No matter what beliefs the Canadian public may hold, the facts remain the same, and no amount of wishing otherwise will prevent the collision of their beliefs with reality. Since the First World War, Canada has bought its presence on the world stage with the commitments of the men and women of its military forces. Throughout the country’s history, some Canadian governments have recognized this, others have not; with the ebb and flow of interest in our place in the world came the rise and fall of our economy, so strongly linked is it to foreign trade and the ability to nourish and protect our culture. There have been many recent comments on the state of the Canadian Forces (CF), all of which have failed to explain the ramifications to our sovereignty and our relationship with the United States (U.S.). Adequate security and defence are not ends in themselves, but rather the requirement for a state to remain sovereign. Many in Canada and the U.S. have seen the Canadian Government chest pounding on cultural issues, and distancing itself from the U.S. over the “war in Iraq” or the “war on terror”—depending on one’s perspective—and take this as proof that Canadians and Americans are diverging both culturally and politically. While there are indeed differences—as Chris Ragan put it: “you can be a social conservative in the U.S. without being a wacko: Not in Canada.”4— Canadians do not as readily see in the media Canadian and U.S. military officers and government officials sitting down to discuss integrated continental defence. The questions this paper will examine revolve around the introduction of the modern sovereign state and the implications to Canada’s status as a “middle” or “soft” power if it fails to maintain viable and credible defence forces. It will further discuss what implications declining defence capabilities might have on our sovereignty, our defence relationship with the U.S. and our position in the new world order relative to the apparently rising American empire. THE STATE, SOVEREIGNTY AND CANADA According to Gianfranco Poggi, the state: 230

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is perhaps best seen as a complex set of institutional arrangements for rule operating through the continuous and regulated activities of individuals acting as occupants of offices. The state, as the sum total of such offices, reserves to itself the business of rule over territorially bounded society; it monopolizes in law and as far as possible in fact, all faculties and facilities pertaining to that business.5

As for the function of the state perhaps the most pragmatic characterization is that of Max Weber who believed that the state “monopolizes legitimate violence”.6 It is agreed upon by most scholars that the state is a set of institutions, manned by state personnel with the most important institution being that which provides the means of violence and coercion, usually embodied by the military and police forces. Secondly, these institutions are geographically bound and are referred to as society.7 The belief is that the state looks inward, concerning itself with its national society and outward to larger societies with which it must interact. Finally, the state will have a monopoly on the rule within its territory.8 In this sense the state becomes synonymous with government and a defined territory. The territorial definition of society meant a close association with the social order within the boundaries of the state. Territorial defence has been a primary obligation of the state; an attack on territory meant a challenge to the state’s authority and order.9 This societal association with the state is revealed through history as being an effect of the way that people live and act within its boundaries.10 It provides the people within a state with a sense of state identity, which is a key component in the maintenance of the states’ sovereignty. A state’s sovereignty, as defined by Cynthia Weber and Thomas Biersteker, is a political entity’s externally recognized right to exercise final authority over its affairs.11 They argue that in order for a state to have its sovereignty recognized by other states there are a number of specific actions that it must carry out. These actions are designated to the state by sovereignty and include the maintenance of independence, national identity and internal supremacy.12 In addition, if the state wants to remain a sovereign entity then it must demonstrate not only domestic political supremacy, but also actual independence of outside authority in foreign affairs.13 The sovereign state’s existence is defined, in part, by its external independence, and its geographical borders. This theory of state sovereignty is based on the idea that all sovereign states are equal, independent units in the world system, able to make their own choices based on their own self231

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interest. This independence leads to what realists term the anarchy of the world system.14 The concept of the nation state has become increasingly vitiated since the start of the twentieth century. There is no question that the traditional Waltzian logic of competing national interests continues to drive the interstate system.15 However the muted power struggles of the post Cold War and bipolar world seem to be overshadowed by the private logic of the global economy. The image of states as the pre-eminent actors at the global level becomes harder to sustain as power and wealth are increasingly generated by transactions that take place across the borders of states rather than within them.16 There are two groups of theories about the state that make antipodal predictions about the effect of the changing international security environment on various aspects of state structure. The “State persistence” theories maintain that despite the end of the Cold War and the significant changes in the international security environment, states will remain for the most part unchanged in scope and cohesion. “The nation-state,” according to Michael Mann, is “not in any general decline, anywhere.”17 Some accounts of this argument assert that states facilitate internal economic or other nonmilitary tasks such as mobilizing for collective action or dealing with market failures that continuously justifying their existence despite international changes.18 Other accounts hold that states are constantly shaped by both internal and external factors such as transaction costs or ideas that could also continue to justify the state. Also, there are some that argue that the state is primarily a response to continuing external economic vulnerability.19 “State deformation” theories, on the other hand, maintain that the changed international security environment makes the continued broad scope, and in a few cases even the viability, of certain states extremely doubtful. According to this argument, threats are critical for bringing groups of individuals together and keeping them together. That is, insecure environments make for secure states. This argument is based on two assumptions: (1) expansion in state scope is justified primarily by war; and (2) some states are so deeply divided that without external threats to hold them together they would collapse. In short, the state deformation theorists would predict that the changed external military threat environment at the end of the Cold War should have very dramatic effects on the scope and cohesion of a variety of different types of states. Some of these views of sovereignty and states are being eroded by other external and internal factors. 232

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The conventional norms of sovereignty are being challenged by the Internet, CNN, monetary unions, non-governmental organizations and the degree to which economic gain can be pursued on an independent basis. Not long ago sovereignty was taken for granted in world politics, as J.D.P. Miller so eloquently expressed it: “just as we know a camel or a chair when we see one, so we know a sovereign state. It is a political entity, which is treated as a sovereign state by other sovereign states”.20 This simple summation stresses the importance of recognition. The weakening of norms relating to borders and secessions is creating new tensions in the broadening interpretation of threats to international peace and security. Challenges to traditional interpretations of state sovereignty have arisen because of the incapacity of certain states to effectively exercise authority over their territories and populations. In some cases, sovereignty is a legal fiction not matched by an actual political capacity. Forty years ago, John Herz, in The Rise and Demise of the Territorial State argued that: for centuries the characteristics of the basic political unit, the nation-state, had been its “territoriality” that its being identified with an area which, surrounded by a “wall of defensibility,” was relatively impermeable to outside penetration and thus capable of satisfying one fundamental urge of humans-protection. However, ... territoriality was bound to vanish, chiefly under the impact of developments in the means of destruction which render defense nugatory by making even the most powerful “permeable”.21

The paradox of the contemporary world is that the form of the nationstate is becoming increasingly universal, concomitant with its traditional substance being radically transformed. The debate of the ‘new interventionists’ has changed from one that argued between morality, human rights, liberty, and state sovereignty, to one that determines the security threat to the western world, particularly our southern neighbour. U.S. security is directly dependant on Canada, as stated by Anthony Lake in 2000, an American nightmare has begun: “but in a world grown closer, the weakness of other nations can harm the lives of our citizens as much as, or more than, the military strength of potential foes.”22 North America and especially Canada must understand the importance of wielding power to protect its sovereignty, thus: The U.S. and its allies, the states with the greatest interest in peace and the greatest power to preserve it, appear to be faltering in their willingness to pay the price in money and the risk of lives. Nothing could

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be more natural in a liberal republic, yet nothing could be more threatening to the peace they have recently achieved.23

The concept of sovereignty is becoming understood more in terms of conferring responsibilities on government to assist and protect all persons residing in their territories, so much so that if governments fail to meet their obligations, they risk international scrutiny, admonition, and possibly condemnation and reprisals. According to Francis Deng, instead of being perceived as a means of insulating the state against external involvement or scrutiny, sovereignty is increasingly being postulated as a “normative concept of responsibility”.24 National sovereignty thus now requires a system of governance that is based on democratic popular citizen participation, constructive management of social diversities, respect for fundamental human rights, and equitable distribution of national wealth and opportunities for development. For a state to claim sovereignty, it must establish legitimacy by meeting minimum standards of good governance or responsibility for the security and general welfare of its citizens, and indeed, all those under its jurisdiction. In the article “What Ought to be done about the Condition of States?” Mervyn Frost raises the question of recognition. He argues that sovereign states in an international society “reciprocally constitute one another,” by mutual recognition and by subjecting themselves to a common norm of state sovereignty and non-intervention.25 “In order to be recognized as an autonomous state, the state must meet certain specific requirements… An autonomous state is one in which the citizens experience the well-being of the state as fundamental to their own well-being.”26 Any truly sovereign state, for Frost, is a state whose citizens are substantially free and are not merely juridically independent in its external affairs, while remaining more or less in servitude domestically, meaning that state laws are followed and there is societal order. In short, the reality is that security and sovereignty are not incompatible; they are symbiotic. For Canada this means that the government must acknowledge and act upon the realization that a sovereign state must maintain an effective and credible military force. Canada is in dire need of having an improved capacity to deploy and sustain meaningful military assets overseas, even more so if it wishes to encourage multilateralism and continue to be an active player on the international scene. If a country demands multilateral action in a given situation, it will have minimal credibility, and hence influence, if it is unable to join the demanded multilateral action in a meaningful way. A Canadian 234

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initiated International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty reported in December of 2001 that: “a sovereign state has the responsibility to protect its own citizens from avoidable catastrophe.”27 The report further states that “any operation to protect in response to large scale humanitarian threat or emergency requires that the countries…involved be prepared to sustain the operation with the resources required. The level of resources committed sends a clear signal of resolve and intent to all concerned.”28 When measured against our own criteria, Canada falls short and sends different signals to our citizens than those sent to our international allies. We may not yet be at the point where the emperor has no clothes, but we are certainly more than a little threadbare. There is a need to honour our Defence relationship with the U.S., the cornerstone of which is the 1938 meeting where President Roosevelt promised to come to Canada’s aid if it were threatened, and to which Prime Minister Mackenzie King responded by stating that “enemy forces should not be able to pursue their way either by land, sea or air to the United States across Canadian territory.”29 Shortly after this exchange came the signing of the Ogdensburg Agreement of 1940, which represented Canada’s commitment to the idea that the defence of North America must be regarded as a single concern. This “good neighbour” policy is the foundation of the existing defence relationship between Canada and the U.S.,30 and acted as the catalyst for the establishment of the Permanent Joint Board on Defence (PJBD), the Military Cooperation Committee (MCC) and most importantly, the creation of the North American Air (later Aerospace) Defence command (NORAD). The second element in the Canada-U.S. defence relationship dealt with the defence of Western Europe and the creation of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). NATO indirectly served North American defence interests by allowing a standing military force in the European theatre that could prevent any hostile powers from gaining hegemony over Europe. By nature, NATO is a military-oriented organization, and from its formation allowed Canada not only to pursue a fundamental security interest, but also to be recognized as a significant player in international diplomacy.31 As Joel Sokolsky stated, Canada’s “roles in North American Defence and NATO became the raisons d’etre of the Canadian Forces and the essence of their military professionalism.”32 Essentially, Canada’s international recognition and prestige was once again gained through the use of its military forces, and it was also done on the cheap. When compared to other NATO countries, 235

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Canada was always below average for the percentage of GDP spent on defence and presently outranks only Luxembourg and Iceland whose defence expenditure is zero. 33 These international organizations have served a useful purpose for Canada; all have played a large role in the mutual defence of Canada and the U.S. and have allowed Canada to “punch above its weight” on the international stage, and continue to be active in the defence preparation for North America.34 Half a century ago, the threat was from Soviet bombers, submarines and Inter Continental Ballistic Missiles (ICBMs). The Soviet conventional and nuclear threat has now been replaced with the asymmetrical threat of terrorism. Similarly the North American and NATO elements of the Canada-U.S. defence relationship have been replaced with the concerns of Canadian and American continental security arrangements, coalitions and U.N. operations. When fortress North America was stormed for the first time in over 300 years on September 11, 2001 we found that there were gaps and deficiencies in our collective security arrangements.35 It was clear that improvements in the defence of North America were needed, and that Canada ought to participate with a renewed vigour; to date this has not happened. The U.S. welcomed Canada’s NATO participation from its beginnings, but would often fret about Canadian reductions in their standing NATO air and ground forces in Europe during the Cold War. Now that the security focus has shifted to that of homeland defence and operational support in the on-going war against terrorism, it stands to reason that the U.S. will continue to fret about Canadian reductions in defence spending, and the decreasing capabilities and effectiveness of the CF. It was hard enough to focus Canadian public attention on defence spending during the Cold War. After the fall of the Berlin wall and the disappearance of the once large and menacing threat of the Soviet Bear, the maintenance of that focus became increasingly difficult. Even after the terrorist attacks on the U.S., Canadians have insisted on maintaining their misguided belief of their “divine right of invulnerability.”36 The problem for politicians, military planners and defence advocates is that the tactical military threat to Canada is indeed low—especially when compared to that of our closest neighbour- but as Michael Ignatieff has warned, it is still there: We are a secular, liberal, democratic state in the North Atlantic region and we stand for everything that Al-Qaeda doesn’t like. We are part of a particular civilization and tradition, which is in the gun sights of a small

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and determined group of people who, self-evidently, don’t speak for Islam, but speak for a lot of angry people.37

In response to the continued budget cuts, the CF, as a cost saving measure, made interoperability with the U.S. a high priority, with the Chief of Defence Staff stating “maintaining interoperability remains the key to the future relevance of the CF”.38 The transition was clear: interoperability with the U.S. went from being a convenient bonus that could help the CF complete its missions, to an absolutely essential component for the CF attempting any mission.39 The lack of Government policy continues to force the CF to integrate with the U.S. military, mainly with regards to transport. Canadian politicians are correct when they say that the CF continues to demonstrate that it is a highly effective force but more and more only when working with the U.S.40 Recent examples are numerous: the difficulty of deploying a small group of CF members to East Timor; the necessity of having the U.S. provide the airlift requirements to and within Afghanistan; the Government’s decision to withdraw the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry from Afghanistan due to insufficient equipment and troops; and the sobering reality of having to depend on American equipment and personnel for evacuating Canadian wounded.41 Canada has prospered domestically at the expense of our national defence; the money saved by cutting defence expenditures by close to 30 per cent during the 1990s went elsewhere to pay for other, presumably higher, priorities. To cope, each branch of the CF made cost cutting decisions within their own organizations; the air force, for example, has cut its number of aircraft, to a current operational number of 350 down from 725 in 199142 (not including the recent purchase of two executive class bombardier jets). When criticized, the government made claims that it was following the “soft power” theory of Joseph Nye that had dominated the Foreign Affairs office of Lloyd Axworthy. Unfortunately, our allies and others on the international stage are starting to see more “soft” than “power.” On the international scene, Canada’s foreign policy is based upon “hard power” capabilities, with the embarrassing reality being that we have no “hard powers.” The Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade constantly reminds us of the “three pillars” that are central to the conduct of foreign policy: security, prosperity, and values and culture.43 It is a foreign policy that reflects the values of any liberal democratic government: individual freedoms; human rights; the rule of law; democracy; and respect 237

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for minorities. This is a sermon that comes easily from the mouths of Canadians, because Canada is safe, rich and has a very strong big brother. Of course, Canadians care to some degree about helping those that are less fortunate. Canadian foreign assistance programs make Canadians “feel good inside” but the simple truth is obvious; Canadians like to help the impoverished, the diseased and the oppressed but not at the expense of our more cherished public services at home.44 Canadian’s have seen American military power do so much that now they have come to rely on it. The American military has become the solution to world problems; other nations are constantly asking the U.S. to do more than it is capable of doing. Part of the problem lies in the American attitude towards military power, that they are truly a global military empire; the U.S. presides over an armed planetary force of a magnitude never before seen in history. The U.S. Army is 1.1 million soldiers, between all four military branches they have half a million troops stationed in over 395 bases worldwide, with hundreds of smaller installations in 35 foreign nations. Their nuclear forces include 8,000 strategic weapons and close to 22,000 tactical ones, the U.S. Navy has more tonnage and firepower than all other world navies combined, and as a country, their military spending is greater than that of all the other major powers combined.45 It is easy to feel helpless and/or useless in the shadow of such enormous military might, but the task for Canada is to find its place and a role in the Project for a New American Century. There are realities in Canadian capabilities, and those realities are well understood by the U.S. The strategic challenge is leveraging those realities while satisfying the minimum U.S. requirements. Militarily, the U.S. understands that even if Canada were to arm every citizen and send them on patrol, it would still be impossible to survey and protect our entire land mass and claimed sea territories. The U.S. knows that our two political democracies have more common themes than differences, they know that Canada is indeed their largest economical trader and exporter and finally they know that American culture is omnipresent throughout Canada, though it certainly takes on a Canadian twist. The Canada-U.S. relationship is highly valued by both sides and could prosper if Canadian policies began to be based on concrete realities rather than myths. Older Canadians can remember how over the last 50 years the Americans have tried to force the “American way of life” on others. Dennis Stairs accurately describes how Canadians perceived this element of U.S. foreign policy as “arrogant, myopic, condescending of others and 238

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presumptuous; in short, imperialistic.46 Canadians felt that this was the very reason why Americans found themselves resented by other countries and cultures. Telling others how they ought to live their lives was not a part of the “Canadian way”.47 Once again Dennis Stairs does a wonderful job of explaining how the tables have turned. On the whole, Ottawa was inclined to eschew the temptation to sermonize abroad. Now, however, it seems to have become the most tiresome and irritating of preachers, and it wants to meddle in everyone else’s business. This might not be so bad if the government had the resources to make the meddling work. But if there is anything worse (from a diplomatic point of view) than the value imperialism of the strong, it is the value imperialism of the weak. It lacks political clout. Hence it is short on credibility. And that makes it undignified. The result, among other things, is that it can make Canadians seem too precious by half to their counter parts abroad. They are forever riding white horses in support of causes for whose effective prosecution they do not have to pay. And when such perceptions set in, Ottawa’s store of diplomatic credit runs swiftly down, not up.48

Canadians may feel that Americans are ignorant when it comes to Canada, its people and its culture, but U.S. policy makers are incredibly cunning, and intellectually astute. Canadians should not fool themselves by thinking that they can complacently stand aside and listen to the rhetoric that comes from Ottawa without feeling the consequences elsewhere. American political analysts know all to well that “people may profess all sorts of intentions, but they are also capable of outrageous deception, including selfdeception.”49 Hugh Segal’s sagacious piece A Grand Strategy For a Small Country rightly observes that “our capacity to have leverage with countries important to Canada—in Europe, Asia or the Americas—is seriously diminished when we lack the ability to deploy meaningful forces—air and sea logistics—in support of allied goals and missions and tactical forces to ensure strategic linkage and inter-operational capacity going forward.”50 He further stresses his point by insisting that the CF should be able to deploy quickly, at calibrated variable strengths and be able to deploy independently or in “close lock step” with Canadian allies.51 Even with a directed and concerted effort, a capability of this magnitude is only a small possibility in a very distant future. As stated by Martin Shadwick: “Canadians and their government aspire to a global role but, unfortunately, are unwilling to pay for it.” As well, they do not seem to realize the speed with which Canadian military 239

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capabilities are atrophying or the time that will be required to regenerate them once they are lost, or severely degraded.52 After the fall of the Berlin Wall, comments about military spending always seemed to include the buzzwords “peace dividend,” and how it was time to cut military budgets so we could realize this dividend. After the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks on the U.S., Americans seemed to have realized it was time to start reinvesting their peace dividend. In Canada, the same realization was not, and maybe still has not been, arrived at. What Canadians must be told is that if you overspend your peace divided, there are limited ways to regain the lost capital. You will either pay it back with a loss of sovereignty, or the lost lives of your soldiers, sailors, and aviators in the battle space; or, in the worst case, both. As Canada’s military loses its ability to act alone in operations, Canada will lose its ability to speak alone on the world stage. Once this happens, the Canadian ability to positively affect and leverage its trading relations will diminish. Since the Canadian economy is so highly reliant on trade, a diminution of these relationships will have a dramatic negative impact on the economy. With a declining economy comes declining tax revenues, and a loss of ability to pay for social programs like health care and education that the public cherishes so highly as part of Canadian identity. Freedom allows western democracies to carry a heavy burden for great distances, because the burden is of our choosing. Imposition makes even a light burden seem heavy. Canadians may see their defence force as a burden because they feel it has been imposed—either by previous generations through international treaties and agreements, or, more recently, by the U.S. That perception has developed because Canada has failed to educate its citizens. The Canadian public fails to understand that a viable defence force allows participation in humanitarian missions, directly and indirectly, both foreign and domestic. The value of the CF in this regard has been consistently underrated during the last few decades. Canadians must let no one underrate the energies, the potentialities, and the abiding power for good that issues forth from the fountainhead of each individual member of the Canadian Forces, and hence the abiding power for good that the CF provides to the country and the world. Only by leveraging this abiding strategic power on the international stage will we continue to have the tactical economic power domestically to maintain our health care, education, and cultural agencies in the medium and long term.

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While Canada does seem to have a tactical divine right of invulnerability on the security front, the same does not apply in the strategic context. As a nation, Canadians must reject the idea that, as proposed by some, the CF should be relegated to a tame and minor role in the life of the country. Nature—uncaring, in an uncaring universe—is certainly not concerned with the survival of Canada, let alone our culture or even the Canadian Forces. Canada’s destiny, therefore, remains in Canadian hands. With a suitable and well-supported defence structure, Canada can remain a country and a sovereign state; without a viable defence structure we will be committing sovereignty suicide that has the very real potential of leaving Canada as only a memory. Facing firmly towards the future, Canadians cannot distance themselves from the realities of their past, for in the past is the key to unlocking the future of the Canadian nation. As former speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, Tip O’Neil is famous for saying “all politics are local.” If this is so, talking about amorphous global threats to Canadians preoccupied with health care, education, and crumbling municipal infrastructure, will not likely capture public imagination, or interest. Even the feel good role of peacekeeping has lost the lustre it had in the early days—likely due to the shift to peacemaking operations, and recent deaths of Canadian soldiers in theatre. The challenge is to find a rational way to capture the attention of Canadians, and link the very real strategic threats to the things that occupy their minds daily, or at least weekly. The haemorrhaging of Canada’s military capabilities will lead directly to the bleeding out of our health care, education, and cultural support systems. This is the message that must be communicated to Canadians from sea to sea to sea. In a letter to John Taylor on 15 April 1812, John Adams wrote, “Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.”53 To prevent Canada’s sovereignty suicide, Canadians must understand that without a vibrant, credible and viable defence capability, Canada will not have a vibrant, viable and admired culture or society. To preserve Canadian culture, Canadians must recognize that it is time to support our sovereignty by reinvesting our peace dividend.

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1

Jean Chrétien, Canada Without Armed Forces? Douglas Bland, ed. (Kingston, Ont: Queen’s University, 2003), 105. 2 Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf, James Murphy, translator, (London, New York, Melbourne: Hurst and Blackett Ltd, 1942), 134. 3 Dennis Stairs, “Myths, Morlas, and Reality in Canadian Foreign Policy” in International Journal Volume LVIII: 2 (Spring 2003), Canadian Institute of International Affairs, 251. 4 Chris Ragan, “Canada’s View on Social Issues Is Opening Rifts With the U.S.” in The New York Times http://www.nytimes.com, (December 2, 2003, accessed 2 December 2003). 5 Gianfranco Poggi, The development of the modern state: A Sociological Introduction, (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 1978), 1. 6 Max Weber, Economy and society, Vol. 2, Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich, ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 904-5. 7 John A. Hall and John G. Ikenberry, The State, (Milton Keynes, UK: Open University Press, 1989), 1-2. 8 Ibid., 2. 9 Robert D. Sack, Conceptions of Space in Social Thought: A Geographic Perspective, (London: MacMillan Press, 1980), 181. 10 Timothy Mitchell, “The Limits of the State: Beyond Statist Approaches,” in American Political Science Review, 85: 1, 1991, 77–96. 11 Cynthia Weber and Thomas Biersteker, ed. State Sovereignty as Social Construct, (London, England: Cambridge Press, 1996), 12. 12 Ibid., 14. 13 Michael Fowler and Julie Bunck, Law, Power and the Sovereign State, (University Park, Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State Press, 1996), 48. 14 Hans J. Morganthau, "A Realist Theory of International Politics" in Politics Among Nations, Sixth ed. (New York, NY: McGraw Hill, 1985), 3-17. 15 Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics, Addison-Wesley, 1979, 1-17. 16 Peter Evans, “The Eclipse of the State? Reflections on Stateness in an Era of Globalization” in World Politics no. 50, (October, 1997), 65. 17 Michael Mann, “Nation-states in Europe and Other Continents: Diversifying, Developing, Not Dying” in Daedalus, 122: 3, (Summer 1993), 118. 18 Paul Hirst, and Grahame Thompson, “Globalization and the Future of the Nation-State”, in Economy and Society, 24: 3, (August, 1995), 408-442. 19 Eric Helleiner, “Explaining the Globalization of Financial Markets: Bringing States Back In”, in Review of International Political Economy, 2: 2, (Spring 1995), 315-41. 20 J.D.B. Miller, The World of States: Connected Essays, (New York, St. Martin’s Press), 16. 21 John Herz, “The Territorial State Revisited- Reflections on the Future of the Nation-State” in The Nation State and the Crises of World Politics, (McCay: New York, 1976), 226-7. 22 Anthony Lake, 6 Nightmares: Real Threats in a Dangerous World and How America Can Meet Them, (Boston: Little Brown 2000), X. 23 Donald Kagan, On the Origins of War and the Preservation of Peace, (New York, Doubleday, 1995), 572. 24 Francis Deng, "Reconciling Sovereignty with Responsibility: A Basis for International Humanitarian Action," in Africa in World Politic , J. Harbeson and D. Rothschild eds. (New York: Westview Press, 2000), 353.

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25

Mervyn Frost, “What Ought to be Done about the Condition of States?” in The Condition of States, C. Navari ed. (Philadelphia, PA: Open University Press, 1991), 183-96. 26 Mervyn Frost, Towards a Normative Theory of International Relations, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 179. 27 International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty The Responsibility to Protect Ottawa, (International Development Research Centre, 2001), VIII. 28 Ibid., 60. 29 James Eayes, In Defence of Canada, Vol. II, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1965), 183. 30 Stephane Roussel, “Fortress North America,” in Fortress north America? What Continental Security Means for Canada, David Rudd ed., (Toronto: The Canadian Institute of Strategic Studies, 2002), 13-4. 31 Joel Sokolsky and Joseph Jockel, “The End of the Canada-U.S. Defense Relationship” in Policy Papers on the Americas, Volume VII Study 2, (The Center for Strategic and International Studies, May, 1996), 5. 32 Ibid. 33 The U.S. Department of Defense calculates that Defense spending relative to GDP combines the most comprehensive indicator of defence effort (defence spending) with the most comprehensive indicator of ability to contribute (GDP). 34 Sean Maloney, “Our Defended Borders: A Short History of the Permanent Joint Board on Defence and the Military Cooperation Committee, 1940 to Present” The 200th Meeting of the Canada-United States Permanent Joint Board on Defence, (Ottawa: Canadian Section. PJBD, 1997), 5. 35 Lt. Gen. George Macdonald, Vice Chief of Defence Staff, “Canada-U.S. Defence Relations, Asymmetric Threats and the U.S. Unified Command Plan,” Statement to the Senate Standing Committee on National Security and Defence, 6 May, 2002, 4-5. 36 Danford W. Middlemiss, Proceedings of the Standing Senate Committee on National Security and Defence, Issue 17, Evidence, (Ottawa: H.M. the Queen, 12 May 2003), 39. 37 Michael Ignatieff, “Canada in the Age of Terror-Multilateralism Meets a Moment of Truth” in Policy Options (February 2003), 15. 38 R.R. Henault, At a Crossroads: Annual Report of the Chief of the Defence Staff 2001-2002, (Ottawa: Department of National Defence, July 2002), 26. 39 Dwight N. Mason “The Future of Canadian-U.S. Defense Relations” in The American Review of Canadian Studies 33: 1, (Spring 2003), (The Association for Canadian Studies in the United States: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars), 70. 40 Ibid. 41 David Pugliese, “Canada Scaled Back War Effort`” Ottawa Citizen (10 August, 2002). 42 On the Cheap, 43 Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, Canada in the World: Government Statement (Ottawa: Canada Communications Group, Publishing, Public Works and Government Services Canada, 1995), 10-1. 44 Stairs, 251. 45 Michael Parenti, “The Logic of U.S. Intervention” in Masters of War: Militarism and Blowback in the Era of American Empire, Carl Boggs ed., (New York: Routledge, 2003), 19. 46 Stairs, 252. 47 Ibid. 48 Ibid. 49 Parenti, 19.

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50

Hugh Segal, “A Grand Strategy For a Small Country” Canadian Military Journal, 4: 3, (Autumn, 2003), 4. 51 Ibid., 5. 52 Sharon Hobson, “Readiness at a Price” in Jane’s Defence Weekly, 40:11, (17 September 2003), 22. 53 John Adams, Letter to John Taylor, (April 15, 1814), The Works of John Adams, Charles Francis Adams, ed. Vol 6, 1851, 484.

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An Analysis of the “Rogue State” Concept DALIA NAGATI University of Calgary, Calgary “Objective reality” is dependent upon the observer.1 This is the underlying premise of this paper, which will be based upon an analysis of threat perception. The paper will argue that since threat perception creates an image of reality, the notion of a ‘rogue state’ is purely subjective. The goal is not to destabilize notions of truth and power but rather to demonstrate that it is difficult to determine what constitutes a threat to peace. Yet ‘rogue states’ have been identified as one of the major threats to peace in the twenty-first century. Is such a bold belief based on the observation of the state of international affairs? Would such observations be reliable in the slightest degree? The paper focuses on ‘rogue states’ to illustrate that threat perception can produce misperceptions. This partly stems from the observation that the notion of a ‘rogue state’ is highly controversial. Therefore, it is important to begin by analyzing the criteria used in an effort to define what constitutes a ‘rogue state.’ This shall in turn illustrate that the underlying logic dominating the theory that certain states can be classified as ‘rogue’, demonstrating to what extent pre-formulated concepts can influence perceptions of the “objective reality” that the criteria used assumes. Consequently, the second section of the paper will dive into the realm of social-psychology theory that is often overlooked when thinking about foreign policy-making. Firstly, as mentioned, the concept of a ‘rogue state’ warrants detailed examination as it reveals the basic assumptions made by the policy-makers employing such a term. This is particularly apparent when analyzing proposals that highlight how such ‘rogue states’ should be dealt with. Analyzing the strategy developed in response to ‘rogue states’ also serves as an appropriate starting-point for attempts to decipher the factors that shape the particular perception of the threat posed by such regimes. The notion of a ‘rogue state’ largely refers to states that act outside of the confines of the international community. They “exhibit a chronic inability” to interact with the international community “constructively.”2 This definition suggests that ‘rogue states’ essentially seek to overturn the 245

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status quo. These regimes could be motivated by a variety of reasons, spanning from a desire to pursue greater gains, such as expansionist goals, to ideological convictions, as illustrated by the Marxist-Leninist goal of exporting Communism worldwide.3 That this definition is premised on the assumption that a clearly identifiable ‘international community’ and world order exists, taken with the implications inherent within such concepts, is indicative of a major definitional problem. What constitutes an ‘international community’? In an anarchic world, who is authorized to define the ‘international community’, and why? Is it possible to forge almost universal agreement to such questions? The twenty-first century has witnessed the refusal of the world’s superpower to sign the ‘Kyoto Protocol’ which has been widely approved by other major actors. The norm of non-intervention in the internal affairs of other states was challenged with the emergence of the humanitarian outcry against genocide within developing states.4 It has been widely cited by scholars, policy-makers and concerned citizens, amongst others, that the delay in intervening in Rwanda and Yugoslavia, for example, was extremely regrettable.5 The norm of non-intervention has thus undergone substantial re-consideration. The world economy is largely subjected to the will of 49 nation-states and 51 multinational corporations.6 The post September 11th, 2001 international arena has witnessed the emergence of yet another category of influential non-state actors. Consequently, the state-centric paradigm appears to have decreased in significance, relative to the system envisioned post-Westphalia, at the very least. Therefore, the basic premise the ‘rogue state’ notion depends upon, whereby the ‘rogue state’ is perceived as seeking to challenge the universal norms and values held within a “family [of nations]” with an identifiable ‘order’ to it, is vulnerable to serious qualifications.7 The notion of a ‘rogue state’ was coined during the Clinton Administration.8 Partly inspired by the 1994 Foreign Affairs article published by Anthony Lake, Clinton’s national security adviser, Secretary of State Madeline Albright made the case that it is important to deal with such nations in September 1997.9 Albright mainly defended her case by reiterating the belief that ‘rogue states’ are driven by the “sole purpose of destroying the system.”10 The Soviet Union satisfied this criterion post World War II and it was later applied to Qaddafi’s Libya in the 1980s, by Reagan, who branded the regime as ‘outlaw.’11 Therefore, the notion is clearly American-

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manufactured and has received criticism on this basis, an issue that will be expanded upon later. Four principal factors determine whether a state qualifies as ‘rogue’– attempts to pursue weapons of mass destruction (WMD), a direct threat to U.S. interests (captured as a threat to the concept of a “New World Order”), state support for ‘international terrorism’ and brutal treatment of the citizens of the state or ‘state terrorism.’12 Each criterion can be treated as highly disputable. For example, that the state may terrorize its own population should not automatically be treated as reflective of a different value system.13 It should not be interpreted as testimony to the generalized belief that ‘rogue states’ are irrational and that it is thus difficult to engage with these regimes let alone trust them. Washington perceives the main ‘rogue states’ as Libya, Iraq, Iran and North Korea. Cuba, Yugoslavia, Afghanistan, Syria, and Sudan have also been categorized as ‘rogue state.’14 The varying nature of the list indicates that it is unclear whether all four categories must be satisfied for a state to earn itself the title of a ‘rogue.’ There are also no further clarifications provided as to what constitutes behaviour that challenges the so-called “New World Order.” More troublesome is the lack of universal consensus. The ‘rogue state’ concept has no standing in international law and is disputed within Congress and amongst European, Canadian and Japanese governments, for instance.15 That these governments have differing perceptions as to what constitutes ‘rogue’ behaviour is often treated as indicative of differing value systems. However, this argument can be challenged by analyzing the influence of a combination of “context-induced predispositions” and role theory. These are intertwined in practice. The former refers to threat assessment based on an extrapolation from the past and how this influences the perception of future behaviour from the state that acted upon the threat it posed in the past.16 For example, France traditionally perceived Algeria as a ‘state of concern’ because of the possibility that Algerian terrorism (that has been rife throughout the civil war years) may be exported to French soil. Indeed Algerian terrorists have emerged from within France. The US, however, is not pre-disposed to perceive Algeria as a ‘state of concern’ because the context is different—Algeria’s actions would not pose a direct threat to the US and never have. Role theorists offer further insight as they attempt to explain the perceived threats in terms of the policy-makers’ conceptions of the roles that 247

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their states are capable of playing. The US, as the world’s undisputed superpower, has displayed great vocal interest in shaping the world order. Thus as it seeks to preserve world peace and takes on great responsibilities, in turn it demands that it be relatively more sensitive to the emergence of potential threats. If these potential threats materialize, the world’s superpower would have failed to satisfy its responsibility to preserve world peace, for example. Therefore, the differences in threat perception shared amongst Americans and their European counterparts, for instance, may be a product of pre-dispositions and role theory. Aside from apparent different perceptions as to what constitutes a ‘rogue state’, the notion has mainly been criticized for being a ‘pejorative The Clinton designation’ with absolutely no analytical value.17 administration, in its later years, realized that the ‘rogue state’ concept, on a prima facie basis, calls for the isolation of the states in question. This is based on the logic that if they act beyond the confines of the international system, they should not be treated as a member of the ‘international community.’ It consequently becomes difficult to justify engagement with North Korea and the emerging moderate elements within Iran.18 This is demonstrative of the phenomena known as “strategic inflexibility” which limits the number of policy options at a state’s disposal. This is partly why the Clinton administration began to adopt the less confrontational label of “states of concern.”19 However, the use of a value-laden term can be defended in the sense that it may produce political mobilization that may be deemed beneficial. The argument used to support the use of the concept of an ‘axis of evil’ is applicable to the ‘rogue state’ concept. This is the belief that strong rhetoric will compel the branded states to change their behaviour.20 However, this of course assumes that decision-making within the state in question is based on rationality, or that it is within their interest to be perceived as a morally ‘good’ actor.21 To support the theory that the term in itself can induce a change of behaviour, Saddam Hussein’s attempt to initiate discussions with the United Nations in March 2002 regarding the continuation of the inspections process is cited as supporting evidence. Similarly, North Korea decided to resume diplomatic relations with the Bush administration in April 2002.22 However, such gestures have not withstood the passage of time and thus it is difficult to determine with certainty whether they were initiated in direct response to the tough rhetoric or for other reasons.

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Although the ‘rogue state’ concept is generic and, theoretically speaking, seems to imply a “one-size-fits-all” strategy in addition to strategic inflexibility, various strategies have been employed for different countries. For example, the United States has generally pursued the following: limited engagement in the North Korean case; isolation and economic sanctions for Cuba and Iran; and containment of Iraq.23 That the proposals addressing how ‘rogue states’ should be dealt with may be indicative of the level of threat perceived (great or minimal threat) is an assumption that can be subjected to numerous reservations. The difference in capabilities is widely cited by the Left as an explanation for the different current treatment of Iraq and North Korea. The Left argues that North Korea, by virtue of being in possession of nuclear weapons, leaves engagement as the only rational option available to the state that attempts to deal with the North Korean regime. On the other hand, the world’s superpower can afford to adopt more aggressive measures towards Iraq, as it does not appear to have nuclear capabilities. Nuclear brinkmanship will not become an issue. However, such reasoning fails to consider the ‘impact of uncertainty’ upon decisionmaking.24 It can be argued that it is not necessarily the case that if Iraq indeed had nuclear capabilities, it would expose such capabilities in an effort to acquire the deterrent value. The strategy of “opaque” proliferation may be deemed preferable as it offers numerous benefits such as reductions in political costs and the opportunity to conceal the size and location of facilities, making them less vulnerable to destruction by enemy attack.25 That the motives fuelling the development of differing strategies are unclear is further complicated by the continuation of thinking in generic terms. This mentality clearly prevails amongst certain policy-making circles within the US. In April 1996, Secretary of Defense William Perry made yet another generalization about the nature of a ‘rogue’ regime when he claimed that they are by their very nature “undeterrable.”26 Therefore, they are inclined towards what would be perceived in the West as irrational behaviour. This basic belief has also been enshrined in the National Security Strategy of the United States (NSS).27 This government document has been heralded as the boldest declaration of US foreign policy in the post-Cold War era. What is striking is the “inherent bad faith” concept that forms the basis of the NSS.28 It is illustrative of a grave cognitive bias, as it implies that perceptions of rogue states are virtually immune to change. This leads to the

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realm of social-psychology theory that has formed the essence of the study of threat perception. Firstly, what does “threat perception” mean? It is neatly captured in the following formula: Threat Perception = Estimated capabilities x Estimated intent.29 The operative word here is “estimated.” The reasoning implicit in this capabilities-intent relationship can be best demonstrated by an analysis of certain military-psychological patterns.30 For example, the Arabs successfully executed strategic surprise in the October 1973 war because the Israelis miscalculated one element of the equation, thus throwing the equation off balance and contributing to misperception. Israel had no doubts that the Arabs harboured extremely hostile intentions. However, they perceived their capabilities as being inferior and thus the threat was reduced in their minds.31 Recognizing that two intertwined elements represent a broader picture of what constitutes threat perception also helps the analyst recognize that it is generally easier to estimate the capabilities of a state rather than its intentions. This often leads the strategists into fooling themselves into thinking that the capabilities reflect the intentions. Consequently, when nation A’s capability appears to be growing relative to that of nation B’s, nation B will easily perceive nation A as a real threat.32 Thucydides captured this “security dilemma” and its effects upon perception in The Peloponnesian Wars.33 In addition, as illustrated earlier, an estimation of differing capabilities amongst different states leads to the formulation of varying strategies. They are not wholly actor-specific though, as containment of a ‘rogue state’ has been based on the containment theory developed to tackle the Soviet threat. Nevertheless, the differing strategies imply differences in threat perception. These strategies in turn affect the way the threat will be perceived in the future because they influence cognitive biases. For example, a state that is being engaged will be perceived as less aggressive than one that is being isolated. The lack of communication that isolation entails will then allow for greater misunderstandings.34 Therefore, the room for misperceptions multiplies. When analyzing the effects of perception and misperception in politics, the “rational policy model” has dominated most Western strategists' conceptual framework.35 This model treats rationality as the underlying basis that explains the decision-making process adopted within decision-making circles. The “rational policy model” is interdependent with the “actionreaction” model that is based on the observance of the phenomenon 250

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whereby reactions are treated as a mechanical response to external stimuli.36 When applied to international relations theory, the model essentially likens a nation’s response to an “action” to the response that would be exhibited by a Pavlovian dog. Once it has been established that an enemy exists, is it worth diverting energies to learn more about the enemy? Is it not worth diverting energies to the execution of a reaction first, and then considering the nature of the enemy? Although an understanding of the nature of an enemy is essential to formulating an adequate reaction to the threat the enemy poses, this understanding is not complete as it is influenced by the need to develop a strategy for a response, first and foremost.37 The problem, however, is that a deeper analysis often does not take place (after the “reaction”) because once the strategy has been formed, the image of the enemy is susceptible to the tendency to mould the enemy image to fit the strategy.38 The tendency to mould the enemy image to fit the strategy is overwhelming as it provides immense psychological comfort. Efforts to accomplish this task mean that incoming information that would suggest that this may not be sound practice is often disregarded. This is known as the process of “cognitive consistency.”39 It is desirable to keep the enemy image compatible with the strategy, otherwise new strategies would have to be developed, leading to what appears to be inconsistency of thought. The perception of the enemy is thus adjusted to “bring probabilities into line with possibilities.”40 Such behaviour has been widely recognized within social-psychology theory as a reflection of “dissonance reduction.”41 It is based on the premise that the strategy that the enemy image is being molded into reflects the most probable state of affairs. For example, the strategy may provide a guideline for the actions that should be taken in response to the enemy’s attempt to attack the subject’s interest. If incoming information indicates that the enemy miscalculated when planning to attack the subject’s interest and thus seeks to change its course, the subject is likely to disregard this as unreliable intelligence or treat it as indicative of a bluff, for instance. This can be further exacerbated by the influence of “group think” which refers to the notion that membership in a group reinforces the stability of the belief system.42 Groupthink also leads challenges to collective preconceptions to induce a hardening of the group’s perceptions.43 The great danger is that perceiving incoming information in such a manner that would allow it to fit neatly into the strategy may lead to a “selffulfilling prophecy.”44 For example, historians have argued that John Foster 251

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Dulles, although arguably amongst the most intelligent top government officials in American history, triggered Soviet hostility during the period after Stalin’s death.45 It appears as though the Soviets genuinely sought to negotiate on arms control measures at the time. However, Dulles resisted the apparent need to change his beliefs. The rigidity of Dulles’ belief system was revealed when, in 1950, he wrote “Soviet Communism starts with an atheistic, Godless premise. Everything else flows from that premise.”46 This reflects a belief in the “inherent bad faith” of the Communists.47 Thus Dulles developed a very generalized belief system that can be labeled an “operative code” construct, a concept refined by Alexander George.48 The “operative code” is part of a larger picture known as the “cognitive map.”49 This embodies values that would suggest, for instance, that atheism is immoral. The “cognitive map” also includes a perception of the viable policy options and alternatives available as well as the dominant ideology that indicates how the subject perceives the world.50 Therefore, as mentioned earlier, that rogue states are “undeterrable by their very nature” is an “operative code” parallel to that of Dulles’ belief that “everything” originates from Communism’s atheism. An individual’s perceptions are essentially filtered through this cluster of beliefs. Thus Dulles’ perception was influenced by his “operative code” and further influenced by his “cognitive map.” He thus perceived the Soviets’ withdrawal from Austria, for example, as an indication of growing Soviet weakness rather than a gesture that indicates a willingness to engage in friendly dialogue.51 Dulles had become pre-disposed to perceive it as the former rather than the latter. Therefore, it appeared as though the Soviets became hostile after they realized that attempts to produce cordial relations were futile. The notion of a “self-fulfilling prophecy” is also applicable to the strategy of pre-emption. The Left in particular has argued that pre-empting ‘rogue states’, in an effort to prevent them from acquiring WMD, would actually give them an incentive to begin to acquire WMD. The ‘rogue state’ would intensify or even begin to attempt to acquire WMD to prepare itself for the attack that is about to be launched upon the ‘rogue’ regime. The concept of pre-empting the pre-emptor is also a possibility.52 Why an enemy may pursue aggressive actions is another area that merits examination as strategies are being formulated to provide a response to the enemy’s behaviour. Such a study may, for example, reveal that aggressive behaviour is driven by the need to establish a sense of security.53 252

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This appears to motivate Israeli aggression within the Arab occupied territories, as the Israeli government is well aware that the existence of the Israeli state has historically been perceived as illegitimate within the Arab world. Kennan attributed insecurity to Soviet behaviour as he felt that Soviet expansionism was fuelled by “the age-old sense of insecurity of a sedentary people reared on an exposed plain in the neighbourhood of fierce nomadic peoples.”54 It is important to determine whether insecurity may be motivating a state to act aggressively because it would suggest that an increase in the state’s capabilities should not be an issue for concern. Thus the acquisition of WMD could make a seemingly “rogue” state less dangerous.55 The problem, though, is that this cannot be determined with certainty. Thus is it a risk worth taking? As John F. Kennedy highlighted in 1962, nuclear weapons are so destructive that “any substantially increased possibility of their use…definite threat to peace.”56 By the same token, though, the tendency to misperceive the nature of an enemy may also be driven by the subject’s own insecurity. In this respect, the revisionist argument of historian William Chafe gained currency when he claimed that the “Cold War at home loomed even larger than the Cold War abroad.”57 Internal insecurity thus becomes a greater force to contend with. It is evident, for example that September 11th, 2001, gave birth to a renewed sense of American vulnerability. The launch of the “war on terrorism”, tightening immigration, the passage of the USA Patriot Act and the emergence of a ‘Homeland Security’ Department reflect this new sense of American insecurity.58 These measures may be in response to public opinion and thus it is important to bear in mind the influence of public opinion upon policy-making in general. Alternatively, these measures may be an attempt to manufacture public opinion (deliberately instill fear within the public). It would help to reinforce the need to maintain the enemy image and prevent further analysis of the enemy. However, it is certainly difficult to determine. Regardless of whether the fear was manufactured, observed or a combination of both, the protective measures suggest that information that may necessitate a change of the enemy image is likely to be dismissed on the grounds that it would leave the protective measures to appear as unnecessary. Abandoning counter-terrorism measures, for example, become associated with re-instilling the underlying sense of insecurity. Consequently, although the enemy image may appear frightening, “dropping one’s guard” may appear more so.59 Therefore, the sense that the subject must always be on guard 253

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would suggest that the enemy can never be trusted, and hence sustain worstcase scenario thinking which will keep the enemy image intact. Aside from the enemy image remaining intact, fear contributes to an over-estimation of “evil” intent.60 This can apply to fear of the unknown. This type of fear is further exacerbated by the absence of a clearly identifiable enemy, a phenomena that is undoubtedly characteristic of the post-Cold War era. As mentioned earlier, determining the actors that constitute a clear and present danger in the international arena is a difficult and new task. Uncertainty dominates when undertaking such a new task. It was not an issue of concern during the twentieth century. Critics of this theory often refer to the era of relative stability which Europe witnessed after the Concert of Europe and lasting until the outbreak of World War I. However, the absence of a major threat during this era did not provide for psychological comfort. European statesmen, for instance, felt there was a high danger of war around 1900.61 The notion that a state cannot feel entirely secure even in times of peace is a natural by-product of the very international system in which each state is militarily sovereign. Military sovereignty reflects the desire of the state to preserve its national security first and foremost because its survival depends upon this security. This is known as the systemic threat.62 Hobbes referred to the systemic threat when he argued that the state of nature is a “state of war against all.”63 The existence of an enemy thus can be treated as preferable to the absence of an enemy. The latter scenario allows for greater uncertainty. Therefore, the subject may like to think that an enemy exists because they derive comfort from such a clear structure. This does not necessarily mean that the subject may prefer an enemy equivalent in size to the Soviet threat. Strategists recognize that strategy is dependent upon the existence of an enemy. A cynical argument that can be posed is that strategists must literally “invent” their enemy in the absence of one. Otherwise their professional raison d’être is wholly undermined.64 This line of reasoning should not be quickly dismissed, as it is worth studying the make-up of foreign-policy making circles—they are comprised of strategists! Foreign policy-making demands strategic thinking. It is difficult to accept that strategy is atheoretical. Thus it is fair to interpret the passage of the US “Defense Planning Guidance” strategy of 1992 as a reflection of the theory that the existence of minor enemies can be desirable.65 It asserts that the US should prevent a rival of comparable power 254

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emerging onto the international scene. This was re-emphasized in the NSS that calls for US forces to be prepared to “dissuade potential adversaries from pursuing a military build-up in hopes of surpassing or equalizing the power of the US.”66 Bi-polar rivalry provides psychological comfort; however, it is too costly, whereas the existence of smaller threats provides for the former without the disadvantage posed by the latter. The belief that a clear structure exists in international relations may also help the subject to re-assert its identity. This is possible because the subject is given the opportunity to distinguish itself from the ‘Other.’67 This theory finds further support from the theory that foreign policy-making can be viewed as a “specific sort of boundary producing political performance.”68 This type of activity is almost inevitable as foreign policy-making by its very nature calls for observations of the outside world, which is naturally foreign. It is unlikely that another actor will observe the outside world and conclude that there exists another actor that is identical to it. This act thus provides a direct sense of purpose. In addition, it helps foster the “us and them” mentality that may later serve as a pre-formulated concept, forming part of the “cognitive map” that influences one’s ability to determine what it is he or she is perceiving. The problem arises when the observance of the outside world is treated as a reliable self-identification process. This becomes prone to the tendency to exalt the actor that constitutes “us” and demonize “them.” This is the essence of ethnocentric thinking, that induces further stereotyping behaviour.69 It is partly driven by the unwillingness to invest energies to better understand what is foreign. This is known as a predisposition to inertia - a preference for assuming the easier role by escaping the rigors that continual observation entails. In plain terms, the “easy and lazy thing is to predict today what you predicted yesterday.”70 This is further intensified by the tendency to simplify perceptions of a complex world. The development of the enemy image may also be highly influenced by the tendency to opt for simplifications. This is the simplest way the human mind organizes its observations of a complex and constantly changing world. The philosopher Joseph Jastrow explained this tendency aptly when he claimed that the mind “is a belief-seeking rather than a factseeking apparatus.”71 That the mind operates in such a manner produces further misunderstandings, and there is the possibility that when it appears as though a gulf exists between “us and them”, they are perceived as even lesser 255

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animals. Strategist Anatol Rapoport highlights that the language we use to explain the differences between “us and them” is of symbolic value. Consequently, fear, which arises from the use of value-laden language, would lead to the development of the enemy image. Therefore, the enemy image may not be a product of actual experience but rather “our enemies are those who have been defined as our enemies, not those who have actually done us any harm.”72 Ethnocentric thinking, which contributes to the tendency to perceive the “Other” in inferior terms (at least symbolically), can also contribute to misperception by leading to the miscalculation of “estimated capabilities.” This was illustrated in the example of the 1973 war mentioned earlier. It has been witnessed on numerous occasions throughout history. For example, the Germans launched Operation Barbarrossa in 1941, convinced that they would confront minimal Soviet resistance because they perceived the Soviets as an inferior race. This type of thinking became apparent when the West perceived Japan’s victory in the Russo-Japanese war (1904-1905) as incomprehensible. However, ethnocentric thought prevails despite the testimony from history that it can contribute to grave misperceptions with great repercussions. To what extent, then, is the perception that determines what constitutes a ‘rogue state’ influenced by the numerous ways in which a threat can be misperceived? Pre-formulated concepts will inevitably influence threat perception. The mind will never be a “clean slate”.73 Therefore, strictly speaking, it is impossible to fully “know the enemy”, which is what Sun Tzu believed was a prerequisite to success on the battlefield.74 It is inevitable that predispositions are always in operation because perception is fundamentally selective. The selection process is shaped by the beliefs about the outside world.75 Therefore, the notion of a “rogue state” should be treated as a purely cognitive construction. The impact of cognitive factors allows for the ‘rogue state’ notion to become self-perpetuating and thus the notion appears to be gaining wider currency relative to when it first emerged. This is also an issue of concern because, as mentioned earlier, rogue states are identified as the new major threat to peace and the NSS’ linkage of rogue states with the ‘war on terrorism’ is particularly alarming. The belief that ‘rogue states’ are irrational and thus undeterrable may have become so deeply ingrained that moves towards conciliation would be interpreted as deception and whatever appears unclear could be automatically treated as irrational. Therefore, the notion of 256

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a ‘rogue state’ is built on extremely shaky grounds as “man, it seems, not only tends to be a prisoner of his perceptions, his perceptions also are slaves to his predispositions.”76 This highlights the pressing need for a degree of social-psychology theory to be integrated into strategic thinking. 1

Klaus Knorr, “Threat Perception”, In Historical Dimensions of National Security Problems, Klaus Knorr, ed. (New York: National Security Education Program of New York University, 1976), 112. 2 Anthony Lake, “Confronting Backlash States”, Foreign Affairs, 73:2, (Mar/Apr 1994), 46. 3 Stephen M. Walt, “Containing Rogues and Renegades: Coalition Strategies and Counterproliferation”, in The Coming Crisis: Nuclear Proliferation, U.S. Interests, and World Order, Victor A. Utgoff, ed. (Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2000), 197; Meghan L. O’ Sullivan, “The Dilemmas of US Policy Toward ‘Rogue’ States”, Foreign Policy Studies, Spring 2000, http://www.brook.edu/dybdocroot/views/articles/osullivan/2000springIFRI.htm (February 5, 2003); Noam Chomsky, Rogue States. The Rule of Force in World Affairs, (Massachusetts: South End Press, 2000), 12. 4 O’ Sullivan. 5 Ibid. 6 Robert A. Pastor, A Century’s Journey: How the Great Powers Shape the World, (New York: Basic Books, 1999), 12. 7 Robert Litwak, Rogue States amd U.S. Foreign Policy: Containment After the Cold War, (Washington: Woodrow Wilson Press Center, 2000), 1; O’ Sullivan. 8 Litwak, Rogue States3. 9 O’ Sullivan. 10 Litwak, Rogue States, 3. 11 O’ Sullivan. 12 Litwak, Rogue States 2; O’ Sullivan. 13 Walt, 194. 14 “Analysis: The new bogeymen”, BBC World, http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/1376425.stm (March 20, 2003) 15 Litwak, Rogue States, 3. 16 Myers, David J., Regional hegemons : threat perception and strategic response, (Colorado: Westview Press, 1991), 3. 17 O’ Sullivan. 18 “Analysis: The new bogeymen”. 19 Ibid. 20 Robert Litwak, “The New Calculus of Pre-emption”, in Survival, 44:4, (Fall 2002), 59. 21 “Dealing with the ‘axis of evil’”, Strategic Comments, 8:5, July 2002, http://www.mafhoum.com/press3/105P5.htm (February 6, 2003) 22 Ibid. 23 Chomsky, 8. 24 Walt, 219. 25 Ibid. 26 Litwak, Rogue States, 7.

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27

White House, The National Security Strategy of the United States of America, September 17, 2002, http://whitehouse.gov/nsc/nss.pdf (December 9, 2002). 28 Joseph H. DeRivera, The Psychological Dimension of Foreign Policy, (Ohio: Charles E. Merill Publishing Company, 1968), 26. 29 David Singer, “Threat-Perception and the Armament-Tension Dilemma”, in The Journal of Conflict Resolution, 2:1, (Mar., 1958), 94. 30 Ibid, 97. Threats are sometimes classified as either potential or actual. Although somewhat sound in theory, there is often no such clear dividing line in practice. Under all circumstances, a threat is essentially potential. Speaking of an actual threat denies the existence of conditionality. An analysis of semantics is irrelevant to an extent as the importance is that a threat is, above all else, a cognitive construct. 31 Singer, 94. 32 Knorr, 99. 33 Ibid. 34 Litwak, Rogue States, 28. 35 Ken Booth, Strategy and Ethnocentrism, (London: Croon Helm, 1979), 23. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid. 38 Ibid, 27. 39 Robert Jervis, Perception and Misperception in International Politics, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), 117. 40 DeRivera, 39. 41 Knorr, 85. 42 Ibid, 84. 43 Ibid. 44 DeRivera, 40. 45 DeRivera, 26. 46 Ibid, 24. 47 Jerome D. Frank, Sanity and Survival: Psychological Aspects of War and Peace, (New York: Random House, 1967), 128; Booth, 102. 48 Alexander George, “The ‘Operational Code’: A Neglected Approach to the Study of Political Leaders and Decision-Making”, in International Studies Quarterly, 13:2, (June 1969), 190. 49 Richard K. Herrmann and Michael P. Fischerkeller, “Beyond the Enemy Image and Spiral Model: Cognitive-Strategic Research After the Cold War”, International Organization, 49:3, (Summer, 1995), 425. 50 Ibid. 51 DeRivera, 26. 52 Litwak, “The New Calculus of Pre-emption”, 59. 53 Walt, 197. 54 Jervis, 64. 55 Walt, 197. 56 Joshua Muravchik, “The Bush Manifesto”, in Commentary, December 2002, 112:5, 6. 57 Regina U. Gramer, “On postrustruralisms, revisionisms and cold wars”, in Diplomatic History, 19:3, (Summer 1995), 522. 58 Litwak, “The New Calculus of Pre-emption”, 58. 59 Frank, 124.

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60

Litwak, Rogue States, 32. Knorr, 98. 62 Ibid, 79. 63 Ibid, 80. 64 Booth, 25. 65 John Lewis Gaddis, “A Grand Strategy of Transformation”, in Foreign Policy, 133, (Nov/Oct 2002), 52. 66 White House, The National Security Strategy of the United States of America. Critics may argue that the NSS and similar strategies reflect the desires of proponents of the military-industrial complex. This however does not undermine the plausibility that the aforementioned theory may also be driving the strategists who formulate such strategies because it still subscribes to the premise that the threat may be deliberately engineered. 67 Booth, 101. 68 Gramer, 523. 69 Booth, 100. 70 Knorr, 113. 71 Ole R. Holsti, “Foreign Policy Decision-Makers Viewed Psychologically: ‘Cognitive Process’ Approaches”, in Thought and Action in Foreign Policy, Michael J. Shapiro and Matthew Bonham, eds. (California: Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences, 1973), 12. 72 Booth, 102. 73 Knorr, 114. 74 Ibid, 139. 75 Jervis, 117. 76 Booth, 130. 61

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The Republic of Vietnam Army in 1972

The Republic of Vietnam Army in 1972 TRIET MINH NGUYEN University of Calgary, Calgary

I The low clouds and damp climate of what was nevertheless a calm, peaceful, morning on March 30, 1972, in Military Region One (MR I) of the Republic of Vietnam or Non-Communist South Vietnam (RVN), was shattered by the deafening sound of the NVA (North Vietnamese Army) artillery at 1100 hours. On April 1, MR III came under enemy fire; almost a week and a half later MR IV was ablaze, and by April 24, the long-awaited and anticipated communist attack on the central highland of MR II had finally happened—The Democratic Republic of Vietnam or Communist North Vietnam (DRV) strategic offensive of 1972 had begun. The survival— the fate—of the Republic of Vietnam was in the hands of the junior officers, the non-commissioned officers and soldiers of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN). These young men were to prove to Communist North Vietnam their willingness to fight and die for the freedom and independence of the South Vietnamese people. They also sought to prove that they could fight just as well and as courageously as their enemy if properly led by their own leaders, especially to their American “friends,” who, then as now, never fully judged ARVN's fighting prowess fairly, with or without American firepower. In their safe-havens of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) located north of the 17th parallel, in Laos and in Cambodia, political cadres indoctrinated their men of the importance of the days to come in relation to the overall plan. The Central Committee of the Party in Hanoi had issued the following message to be addressed to the soldiers by its political officers: The historic 1972 Campaign has begun. All comrades must increase their level of revolutionary courage, their determination to fight, and their determination to win. We must actively, aggressively, resolutely, and flexibly attack the enemy and carry out our combat duties in an outstanding manner. We must resolve ourselves to secure great victories for the cause of resistance to the Americans, of national salvation, and to carry out the sacred Last Will and Testament of our beloved Chairman 260

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Ho. In this decisive struggle between ourselves and the enemy our military victory on the battlefield will have a decisive strategic significance. At this time, more than at any other time, the duties for the armed forces are very heavy and very glorious.1

These words only reflect what communist leaders in Hanoi and their cadres in the South wanted their soldiers to believe in. What the North Vietnamese soldiers thought of Hanoi’s grand scheme, or their knowledge about the reality of the war in South Vietnam went unrecorded. One thing is certain: these young men could not have possibly known exactly why they were compelled to partake in the offensive, for the Party's Central Committee spouted these rhetorical words only to strengthen their spirits for the tough fights that lay ahead. The DRV Strategic Offensive of 1972, code name Nguyen Hue,2 aimed to eject foreign influence and unite Vietnam under Hanoi’s communist tenet.3 However, the communists had deeper ulterior motives in launching the Spring Offensive of 1972. In the international arena, the United States sought a détente with the Soviet Union and concurrently opened up to Red China in an attempt to manipulate and exploit the rivalry between these two superpowers for hegemony in the communist world, while at the same time curtailing their influences in the Third World.4 Although the prospect of success in this triangle diplomacy was not yet apparent, it was clear to Hanoi that Washington wanted to undermine its war making capacity in South Vietnam through its two most important allies. Their political and military support was not only vital in the coming offensive but also to its own survival. Robert Mann wrote: In a geopolitical sense, Nixon’s visit to China and the Soviet Union would also undoubtedly aggravate tensions between Hanoi’s two major benefactors and put pressure on both to reduce their support for the war. Although Hanoi had complained bitterly to Chinese officials about Nixon’s trip, they could do nothing to prevent it. In fact, even before Nixon arrived, Chairman Mao Tse-tung urged Hanoi to find a compromise solution to the war. The North Vietnamese watched bitterly as their Chinese allies warmly toasted Nixon while American bombs continued raining on them.5

President Nixon’s and Secretary of State/Defense Henry Kissinger's diplomatic initiative was logical and sound. However, neither one of them expected Hanoi to carry out the exact same diplomatic maneuver, but for a different end. As Russia and China were competing for hegemony in the Third World, Hanoi took measures to gain political support and increase its 261

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military backing from both the communist powers whose prestige and influence elsewhere in the world were on the line, pending the outcome in Vietnam. Their prestige and influence also depended on whether or not they would live up to their promises to Communist North Vietnam. In this regard, Moscow came through for Hanoi with the latest Surface-to-Air Missile (SAM) system, Anti-Air-Artillery (AAA) batteries, T-34 and T-54 tanks, scores of 130mm artillery pieces,6 advanced anti-tank missiles and shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles,7 not to mention thousands of tons of spare parts, ammunition, oil and gasoline.8 On the diplomatic front, the Paris Conference on Vietnam has been underway with Hanoi and the National Liberation Front (NLF), or more appropriately the Viet Cong (VC), on one side, and Washington and Saigon on the other, engaging in diplomatic talks that would seal the fate of the RVN and its people. Contemporary international relations had initiated and shaped the talks the subsequent dramas that soon unfold in South Vietnam would also be decisive on the negotiating table. In the South, “Vietnamization”—the turning over of the conduct of the war from Americans to South Vietnamese before the American withdrawal began9— was gaining new, progressive, momentum. The 1968 Tet Offensive, which turned the DRV military failure into a political defeat for the United States, exposed the VC in the open to be crushed by American and South Vietnamese firepower and fighting skill. A VC colonel recalled that, “the Tet objectives were beyond our strength…. Our losses were large, in material and manpower, and we were not able to retain the gains we had already made. Instead we had to overcome myriad of difficulties in 1969 and 1970.”10 Nevertheless, Historian Robert D. Schulzinger concluded that, a “more important loss was suffered, however, at home, where televised scenes of the grisly fighting turned public opinion against continuing the war in the same direction.”11 The One War tactics of General Creighton Abrams, who replaced General William C. Westmoreland after Tet 68, reduced American casualties and tamed anti-war public passion at home, while protecting American and South Vietnamese counterinsurgency forces and pacification agencies from NVA/VC’s attacks.12 Meanwhile, the CIA sponsored Phoenix Program and Phuong Hoang of the RVN effectively gathered, coordinated, assessed, exploited and distributed intelligence to the “Birds of Prey,” the armed wings of the programs. These armed wings—the Provincial Reconnaissance Unit (PRU), the Regional Force (RF), the Popular Force (PF), which were led by 262

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the US Navy SEALs, Army Green Beret, South Vietnamese commandos— leveled the Viet Cong Infrastructure (VCI) and cadres, which collected tax, carried out intelligence and counterintelligence ploys, conducting political warfare, and directed the arm struggles in urban and, especially, rural South Vietnam. Arthur J. Dommen wrote: By 1969, the war for the support of the South Vietnamese had basically been won by the Saigon government and its allies. Roads and canals had been reopened and were full of traffic, and the economy was reviving. The Phuong Hoang (Phoenix) program, a resurrection of Diem’s 1956 denunciation of Communist campaign, supported by the CIA, was tearing out the guts of the Viet Cong’s Mafia-like shadow administration at the village level that preyed on the ordinary people for taxes and recruits. Defections from the communist ranks had reached an all-time high.13

In 1988 and again in 1994, the Military History Institute of Vietnam in Hanoi publicly acknowledged its concerns for “Vietnamization” and the impact it had on the communist’s overall strategy in the South but in different wording and rhetoric: [In] May 1971 the Politburo decided to “develop our strategic offensive posture in South Vietnam to defeat the American ‘Vietnamization’ policy, gain a decisive victory in 1972, and force the U.S. imperialists to negotiate an end to the war from a position of defeat.” The immediate objective was to launch large offensive campaigns using our main force units in the important strategic theaters. We would simultaneously mount wideranging military attacks coordinated with mass popular uprisings aimed at destroying the enemy’s “pacification” program in the rural lowlands. These actions would totally change the character of the war in South Vietnam.14

In a more accurate, un-propagandic, tone, historian Dale Andradé laid out the rationality behind the NVA Spring Offensive of 1972 in the following words: Planning for some sort of offensive began during the Nineteenth Plenum of the Central Committee held in late 1970 and early 1971, brought on by dramatic changes in Hanoi’s situation. Several factors had converged to create a bleak military, economic, and political picture for North Vietnam in the coming year. The joint U.S.-South Vietnamese invasion of Cambodia in the spring of 1970, though not decisive, had seriously damaged the North Vietnamese logistical system that supported communist troops in the southern section of South Vietnam. Pacification was steadily dismantling Viet Cong control in the countryside, and North Vietnam’s economy was in a shambles. Yet there were positive signs as well. The United States was withdrawing from Vietnam, leaving the 263

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South Vietnamese Army over-extended. A serious blow by Hanoi could humiliate President Nixon on the eve of his election campaign and unbalance U.S. negotiations in Paris.15

Historian Mark Moyar concluded rightly that, by 1972 and even afterward, “the survival of South Vietnam depended mainly on the ability of the ARVN [Army of the Republic of Vietnam] to defend South Vietnam’s towns and cities from the North Vietnamese main force units, not on the village war.”16 The first part of this work has addressed the question: why did the 1972 Easter Offensive take place? The remainder of the paper answers the question: Was the NVA offensive stopped by the United States Air Force (USAF) and United States Navy and Marine Corps (USN/USMC) or by the ARVN?17 This question will be looked at in two phases: the ARVN’s early retreats and its concluding counterattack in MR I, II and III of South Vietnam, where the fierce clashes between the ARVN and NVA took place.18 II In MR I, the initial route of the ARVN and the capture of Quang Tri by the NVA resulted more from shortcomings of the ARVN senior commanders than un-materialized American firepower. NVA tanks with infantrymen sliced unexpectedly through the ARVN’s northernmost positions in the DMZ, and from the Laos-Vietnam border, hitting firebases Fuller, Nui Ba Ho, and Sarge while heading for Quang Tri, the initial shock and speed of the NVA together with the bad weather deprived the ARVN line-soldiers and elite troops (rangers, paratroopers and marines) of any air and naval support from the Americans. The ARVN’s own fire-support and counter-artillery bases, on the other hand, proved ineffective because, compared to the NVA guns, theirs were short in range and number. Lieutenant General Lam Quang Thi, I Corps Deputy Commander, observed: [Bad] weather in the two northern provinces of Quang Tri and Thua Thien denied the ARVN forces crucial close air support. To compound the problem of fire support, our counter-artillery fire had been ineffective because the enemy’s 130-mm artillery guns could reach a distance exceeding 27,000 meters, while the ARVN’s two 175-mm batteries stationed at Dong Ha and Camp Carroll had been neutralized during the first days of fighting. Furthermore, the enemy had in their arsenal the highly mobile 122-mm missiles. Consequently, on the battlefield, with regard to artillery fire power, ARVN units were outgunned both in quantity and quality.19

How these disadvantages affected the ARVN’s performance varied from battlefield circumstances, units and leaders. What was certain was that the 264

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ARVN elites performed spectacularly under pressure and were able to boost the morale of regular infantrymen, as well as the RF/PF who held their positions unflinchingly under intense enemy artillery, tank, mortar and machine gun fire, without any effective fire support from the USAF or USN/USMC. And when the weather did clear up, USN cannons and USAF B-52 strikes targeted the NVA’s avenues of approach (i.e. its logistical routes) were only effective in bounding and breaking the enemy’s concentrated attack formations. Therefore, ARVN captains, lieutenants, NCOs and their men had to deal with the enemy’s infiltrations by nightfall when B-52s were no longer allowed to operate, while artillery and tactical air supports were available but would endanger both enemy and friendly forces engaging in close-quarter skirmishes. The poor weather continued to prevent USAF and USN/USMC supports but the ARVN defensive perimeter held out for the moment, after its initial drawback.20 As Saigon sent forth reinforcements for I Corps Commander General Hoang Xuan Lam instead of consolidating his stable, but by no means strong, lines of defense, the general launched a disastrous, widespread, and unconcentrated counterattack, code named Quang Trung 729, on prepared NVA forward positions. The result was a rout of the ARVN all the way back to Hue, leaving Quang Tri open as the NVA pushed the ARVN’s now untenable defense further south. The NVA indiscriminately shelled civilians and soldiers during the mass retreat on “the street without joy”, asis documented by ARVN Ranger Lieutenant First Class Tran Thy Van in Nguyen Duc Phuong’s Chien Tranh Vietnam Toan Tam (The Comprehensive History of the Vietnam War): A forest of humans as long as two kilometers struggled in a sea of fire, bodies and limbs were torn apart by enemy’s bombardments, more others were wounded…. The most horrendous was the hundreds of patient of Quang Tri’s hospital evacuated by cars, if they did not die there and then they would have died of suffocation after having been left behind on the other side of Ben Da’s bridge.21

The fall of Quang Tri had absolutely nothing to do with the lack or sufficiency of USAF and USN/USMC firepower, but, rather, was the consequence of the incompetence of General Lam, who, throughout the heavy fighting, never once visited the exhausted ARVN officers and soldiers who battered the heavily armed NVA in the rain and cold for weeks on end. The senior American advisor in I Corps, Colonel G. H. Turley’s thoughts testified to the limitation of naval and aerial bombardments and the fact that the ground battles still depended on ARVN officers’ ability to lead their men. 265

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Despite American fire support, the NVA would overrun them still if they did not fight. Colonel Turley wrote: The battle was not over. Next came the human-wave attack by NVA infantrymen which assaulted across the open piedmont. Hundred died as the U.S. aircraft and naval gunfire supplemented the Marine artillery and soon gave the battle area the appearance of a cratered moonscape. The enemy’s attack ground to a halt…. Later, the North Vietnamese would fail in bloody battles, often hand-to-hand, at the My Chanh. However, Colonel Chung’s early prophesy that “The VC will not cross this river” held true. The river itself would flow red with the blood of NVA soldiers but while the My Chanh line bent, it never broke. Rather, it became the line of departure for the South Vietnamese Marine division and the ARVN airborne division who just two weeks later would launch their counteroffensive which eventually led to the recapture of Quang Tri City.22

Obviously, American naval and air strikes broke off the NVA human-wave formations, but the fighting between them and the ARVN did not end there as they infiltrated and engaged South Vietnamese marines and paratroopers in classic close quarter infantry battles. Meanwhile the failure of Brigadier General Vu Van Gai’s 3rd ARVN Division (which had improved greatly since the offensive began because of Brigadier General Giai) reflected the absence of sharp assessment of the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses in friendly positions, on the part of General Lam and his Staff. ARVN Lieutenant Second Class Pham Phong Dinh wrote: Brigadier General Gai had to face with many great difficulties that subsequently led to the complete destruction of friendly forces and chaos at the beginning of May 1972. First, although morale of the 3rd Division was high, but the stress and exhaustion, the lack of sleep days and nights because of unexpected enemy’s attacks, took a heavy toll. Secondly, the logistical circumstance of MR I deteriorated and functioned without results because of the General Head Quarter inability to reinforce arms, supply, ammunition, while oil and gas were in critical shortages.23

General Lam’s ignorance of the intensity of the NVA onslaughts and the serious psychological and physical ramifications these assaults had on exhausted ARVN troops reflected his ineptitude as a commander. Lieutenant General Ngo Quang Truong’s judgment of the man he about to replace illustrated this point: I had served in I Corps under General Lam and the disaster that occurred there was no surprise to me. Neither General Lam nor his staff was competent to maneuver and support large force in heavy combat. Now

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this fact was apparent to President Thieu and, because my Corps area was in a stable condition and enjoyed the President’s confidence, he selected me to replace General Lam.24

The return and presence of General Truong to MR I calmed panic-stricken, fearful civilians, restored combatants’ morale,25 saved Hue, permanently checked the NVA advancement, and prepared the ARVN to recapture lost grounds, especially Quang Tri. Guenter Lewy wrote, known “as South Vietnam’s best general officer, Truong quickly proved his reputation. Orders were issued for the execution of deserters and looters and within two days a new defensive line had been established some 25 miles north of Hue.”26 On April 1, 1972, the NVA launched the attacks on the ARVN defensive perimeter of Binh Long, Ohuoc Long, and Tay Ninh provinces in MR III, from its sanctuary at the Cambodian-Vietnamese border. The NVA's main objective was An Loc, 100 kilometers north of Saigon, where Hanoi hoped to erect the Provisional Revolutionary Government of the VC (PRG) in order to have a favorable breakthrough in the deadlocked Paris peace talks.27 Hanoi and Saigon invested heavily on this small, rubber plantation city, which was no more than 1800 to 2800-meters in length and 1000-2000meters in width at the start of the siege, shrinking to an even smaller area during the fighting. An Loc received sixty thousands NVA artillery shells in its one hundred days siege28 and became the site of some of the fiercest close-quarter engagements ARVN infantrymen, rangers, paratroopers and the RF/PF had with the NVA. An Loc, under Brigadier General Le Van Hung, was to be held at all costs, for if the NVA overran and established a PRG capital, the psychological and political consequences would be devastating for the RVN.29 The USAF executed aerial interdiction campaigns of NVA supply lines, slowed the enemy down and broke off their human-wave attack formations. However, like the fighting in MR I and later on in MR II, B-52s were not authorized for night bombardment. Hence, the fight against the enemy’s infiltration through the lines was left to the resolute ARVN defenders with only their own tactical air and artillery supports. As the city was surrounded and cut off and as the NVA probed and infiltrated An Loc, ARVN defenders needed “all possible support from the air, both for firepower and resupply.”30 Therefore, the USAF would hit enemy targets outside An Loc, but the ARVN had to deal with infiltrators day and night in street-to-street, house-to-house, and when ammunition ran out, knife-toknife, hand-to-hand, fighting. The limitation of the USAF was reflected in 267

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the fact that, although heavily under aerial bombardment, NVA soviet-made T-54 tanks did manage to join their infantry in the attack on An Loc; had the ARVN refused to fight, the siege would have been over. However, ARVN infantrymen, rangers, paratroopers, RF/PF, equipped with M-72 anti-tankmissiles, stood their ground. ARVN Lieutenant Second Class Pham Phong Dinh wrote: In the north [of the city], the first T-54s emerged only to be completely destroyed by [the] 8th ARVN Regiment inside the city of An Loc. The M72 anti-tank-missiles had accomplished a great task and in addition they helped boost the morale of our forces throughout the fronts. The sense of fear for T-54 of the defenders vanished quickly, our forces regrouped in well-hidden positions within the city readied to counter enemy’s tanks.31

As the siege was intense for three months, the morale of the line-soldiers and the RF/PF stood firm as a result of the leadership and gallantry of units like the ARVN Ranger and 81st Airborne Ranger Special Force who respectively stood on the NVA northern and southern approaches toward An Loc. The heroism and sacrifice of officers and men of the ARVN 81st Airborne Ranger Special Force was reflected in an emotional poem composed by either a village elderly or a female school teacher, whic would forever stay in the conscience and collective memory of the South Vietnamese people: An Loc Xa Vang Danh Chien Dia Biet Cach Du Vi Quoc Vong Thanh (“Here On The Sacred Soil Of An Loc Special Force Paratroopers Have Sacrificed Their Lives For The Nation”).32 An Loc was released by an ARVN column after almost three months of endless fighting. The battle was won by a combination of ARVN fighting ability and American air support. Retired U.S. Army Lieutenant General, now historian, Philip B. Davidson concluded that the “battle was won by the valor of the ARVN troops, the professionalism of the American advisors, the attacks of the United States and VNAF [South Vietnamese Air Force] fighter-bombers, but above all by the “big birds,” the B-52 bombers of the Strategic Air Command.”33 In the Central Highland of Vietnam, MR II, the NVA, under Major General Hoang Minh Thao, launched their long awaited attacks on the thinly spread ARVN defensive perimeters, and overran Tan Canh/Dak To. ARVN Airborne commanders and their troops, who manned the strategic hills east of Route Nationale 14 (Yankee, Yen The, Charlie, Delta, Hotel, Metro), were charged with the responsibility of keeping this road clear and open,34 and knew that the moment the NVA launched their attacks they would not be 268

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able to hold their position while still preventing the enemy from shelling the road.35 Although they might have occupied the high grounds with batteries in place, the NVA occupied even higher hills, surrounding them with more guns of longer ranges. ARVN Paratrooper Lieutenant Colonel Nguyen Dinh Bao, whose was to die with his men fighting the NVA over these heights, recalled to another Paratrooper Captain Phan Nhat Nam before his death: We hold this… height here but to the south I know for sure that there are a lot of them [the NVA] there, this was the order and we have to hold Charlie. In this dire of circumstance, sooner or later they would have overwhelmed us here, but for now all we have to do is to try to hold and defend it.36

NVA batteries and human-waves overtook Colonel Bao and his men, who resisted as long as possible but were eventually dislodged from Charlie and cut to pieces during their withdrawal by the enemy, who outnumbered the paratroopers in men, guns and tanks. This was a terrible waste of fine officers and specialized troops in overstretched and untenable defensive positions. Colonel Ly Tong Ba, who was promoted to Brigadier General after his heroic and brilliant defense of Kontum, reassessed the flaw in the defensive strategy of MR II as he wrote: How could our divisions tightly locked and closed down gaps in time especially when confronted with the VC [and NVA] insurgents who appeared and disappeared like ghosts, who avoid all surprises to return and fight, how could we help our troops in time. We kept clinging on to the land, the people… sometime even clinging on to jungle and mountain only to defend absolutely nothing in the end as our forces scattered and overran…. [like] Dakto Tan Canh of ARVN 22nd Division (1972).37

Colonel Ba’s prophetic words on the ill-conceived protection of the Central Highland of South Vietnam had already sealed the fate of the ARVN paratroopers and, now, the ARVN 22nd Division. The fall of Tan Canh/Dak To led to the rout of the ARVN all the way south to Kontum.38 Here was a clear indication that no matter how powerful the USAF was in devastating NVA human-wave formations, if the ARVN broke its rank and fled, it would render available air support useless. Major A.J.C. Lavalle concluded: Despite the efforts of Spectre 11 and the fighter-bombers, together destroying half the attacking tank force, Dak To and the airfield fell to the enemy on 24th April. The defenders [ARVN] had apparently been demoralized by the number of tanks present and the weight of the infantry attacks. A flood of refugees moved southward down Highway 14 toward Kontum.39

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More than ever, ARVN troops at Tan Canh/Dak To needed a strong, competent, commander to facilitate an orderly retreat but he did not materialize.40 The commander put in charge of defending Kontum fell to the experienced Colonel Ba, who would prove that with the right leadership and firepower, South Vietnamese troops could fight just as well as their North Vietnamese counterparts. Colonel Ba first proved himself on the Route National 14 linking Ban Me Thout to Plieku on his way to release, reinforce and halt on-coming NVA tanks supported by infantry on Kontum. Captain Le Quang Vinh, an ARVN armour officer handpicked by Colonel Ba, carefully maneuvered the armour column on the road and through the hills where the French Expeditionary Force was previously cut to pieces by the Viet Minh in the First Indochina War.41 For this reason, Captain Vinh ordered the column to rely on its speed and mobility while two South Vietnamese Air Force (VNAF) reconnaissance helicopters flying overhead served to forewarn the on-coming ARVN armours of NVA activities ahead.42 The armour column did and clash with the well-entrenched NVA soldiers and batteries from atop of hill-mountain Chu Pao, harassing Route National 14 from the west. The column came to a halt and was faced with the tactical disadvantage of having to attack upward at well-positioned enemy artillery and machine guns firing down on the attackers. For seven days and seven nights, ARVN infantry with armour, artillery and aerial support could not take the NVA emplacement on Chu Pao. The limit of air and ground power showed through, for against well-prepared stands on higher ground, air strikes were ineffective while infantry attacks without proper firepower were suicidal, especially, if having to attack uphill.43 The more the delay, the greater the risk that the armour task force would not arrive in time to deny the NVA of Kontum. Colonel Ba acted immediately ordering Captain Vinh to utilize some of his tanks and personnel carriers to attack the enemy from the rear using the existing but unused back trail leading up to the enemy’s positions while a full frontal assault supported by artillery to dislodge fanatic NVA defenders constituted a secondary attack.44 Captain Vinh and his small handful of volunteers executed Colonel Ba’s ingenuous idea brilliantly without any air support. NVA soldiers and artillerymen were caught completely off guard, surprised and killed. However, the initial reactions of the men under Captain Vinh’s command

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were anything but optimistic. Captain Vinh recalled the mood of himself and his troops after Colonel Ba ordered them to carry out this risky task: After receiving the order, I arched my back and stretched out my chest, my mind spun in a circle because of logically unsound ideas. The first time in my military career with the armour corps, I heard of and received a very strange order for tanks to climb mountain to attack the enemy. This practice has not been taught in book, military doctrine has not mentioned. If the Colonel, the Division Commander, was not Colonel Ly Tong Ba, a senior officer in the Armour Corps, who had studied armour warfare abroad at the Armour Warfare School, Saumur, France and FortKnox, United States, perhaps I would have refused this bizarre order…. Captain Hao, second in command destroyed a suffocating atmosphere [when he asked me]: Why did Alpha [Captain Vinh’s code name] not reject this appalling order?…. I [Captain Vinh] asked you all to remember that the Colonel of the Division is a reputable armour commander, with experiences since his days as a junior officer, he must have had some ideas when ordering them. We have no rights to disobey this order, even though I believed, in front of our eyes we only have about 20 percent [chance] of success in achieving the objective! Do you have any other comments?45

The loyalty and trust Colonel Ba earned from his subordinates led the ARVN 23rd Division to overcome the determined NVA at Chu Pao Height while the USAF firepower played a negligible role. Once arrived in Kontum, Captain Vinh confidently carried out Colonel Ba’s order to retake the city’s cemetery then airport from the enemy. The NVA, after its human-wave formations were shattered by B-52s during the day, had successfully infiltrated through the ARVN defense, at sunset. The night was when the ARVN and the NVA contested over every city’s bloc, street, house, in old fashion grenades, knife-to-knife, hand-to-hand combat.46 The successful defense of Kontum by the ARVN 23rd Division against the NVA resulted from a combination of factors, one of them had to do with luck as well. Colonel Ba candidly admitted: the Viet Cong [NVA] had cast aside a golden opportunity, if they kept exploiting the attack after the obliteration of the 22nd Division, who knew they could have controlled the Central Highland when the 23rd Division had not dispatched the 44th Regiment. With units with neither an head nor a tail from Tan Canh Dakto routed in chaos how could I have firmly held Kontum if under attack. Luckily, after reaching Dakto the VC [NVA] of General Hoang Minh Thao had stopped to celebrate his victory… and because of that, 23rd Division had time to reshuffle the units, internal organizations, completed the mission as mentioned.47

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Neil Sheehan who observed the Easter Offensive of 1972 in MR II as a journalist came to the same conclusion as Colonel Ba but over-exaggerated the extent to which the NVA could have gained had General Thao given the order to pursuit. Sheehan wrote: Had the NVA possessed a tradition of pursuit, the course of the war would have been different. The collapse at Tan Canh created the classic moment for pursuit, the moment when one’s enemy is so demoralized he will keep running from anything, and while the might-have-been’s of war can never be more than speculation, the special circumstances of Vietnam posed a unique opportunity. If the NVA commanders had refueled their tanks that night of April 24, 1972, loaded a couple of battalions of infantry into captured jeeps and trucks and armored personnel carriers (they had plenty from which to choose; the ARVN abandoned everything in Tan Canh area, including more than 200 vehicles), and shot their way down the twenty-five miles of Route 14 to Kontum, the town would have been theirs by morning. If they had not wished to risk a dash, they could have pursued at leisure, pushing down from Tan Canh and Rocket Bridge in a few days, or in a week, or even in ten days, and Kontum “would have fallen apart,” Vann [the senior American advisor for MR II) acknowledged later.48

Whether or not the NVA could put “a couple of battalions of infantry” into captured ARVN vehicles and “shot their way down the twenty-five miles of Route 14 to Kontum” was questionable. First, elements of the NVA attacked and, unexpectedly, overran ARVN positions all day long with neither food nor rest. Therefore, how long NVA soldiers could have continued and how effective they would have been once they arrived at Kontum were pure speculations. Although Hanoi attached communist commissars to each unit, the cadres would have recognized that these young boys were tired after a long day of fighting, for they were only human. Sheehan’s estimation was that, “[the NVA] could have pursued at leisure, pushing down from Tan Canh and Rocket Ridge in a few days, or in a week, or even in ten days,” and Kontum would have fallen. However, the USAF mission for April 25, 1972, was precisely to prevent what Sheehan had hypothesized. “Told to destroy the fire base the next morning,” Major Lavalle recollected, “the USAF FAC’s found the North Vietnamese preparing to haul away the captured 105-mm. Guns, hooking them to trucks. The FAC’s brought in a flight of F-4’s, just arrived on the scene from Ubon and armed with laser-guided bombs. Three perfectly placed laser-guided 2,000-pounders took out three guns and five trucks in short order.”49 In a recent publication of the official history of its army, Hanoi explained the 272

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logistical as well as geographical difficulties hindering its exploit after the fall of Tan Canh/Dak To, completely dismissing Sheehan’s overestimation of the enemy capability. The government record indicated: “Because road travel was difficulty and because our units had no pre-positioned supplies and had not brought additional heavy technical equipment forward, the attack had to be temporarily postponed.”50 Although the assessment does not designate clearly what “pre-positioned supplies” were, there is a good possibility that there might have been oil, gasoline, ammunition and food, for any tanks would need to be refueled, any armies would have to be rearmed to fight, and fed to survive. Once the NVA resumed its attack on Kontum on May 14 and 15 after a long halt, Colonel Ba and the 23rd Division not only had time to prepare the defense of the city, but also to counterattack the enemy once its assaults were repelled. This is confirmed in the official history of the NVA: “Taking advantage of this respite, the enemy moved in the 23rd Division to strengthen the city’s defenses. On 14 and 25 May, we launched two assaults into Kontum city, but our forces were unsuccessful and suffered losses. Our units were ordered to pull back to regroup and prepare for a new assault.”51 The USAF concluded that, “South Vietnamese ground forces in the highlands, heavily supported by U.S. and VNAF airpower, had unmistakably defeated the invasion.”52 However, officers of the USAF also recognized that in the engagements between the ARVN 22nd Division and the NVA, in the critical moments of April 1972, where the outcome of each battle was decided by competent leadership of both sides, “over 3,400 USAF, Navy, Marine, and VNAF attack sorties had pounded targets in the II Corps area; the heavy application of airpower had blunted, but not halted, the enemy advance.”53 The disintegration of the ARVN 22nd Division demonstrated this point: the USAF was only effective in halting the NVA from the air only if the ARVN was willing to stand and fight on the ground. The victory in MR II, especially in Kontum, resulted from a combination of the USAF, Colonel Ba’s and Captain Vinh’s leadership, the fighting spirit of their men in the ARVN 23rd Division, and luck. Therefore, by giving all credit to American B-52 bombers for preventing the fall of Kontum, Sheehan has arrived at a very flawed and misleading conclusion, that does not take into consideration how the NVA nighttime infiltrations were foiled by vigilant ARVN commanders and troops almost in the absence of superior aerial support. The B-52s were effective against the enemy only when he was outside the friendly defensive perimeter, or when he attacked in 273

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human-wave formations.54 Furthermore, there were strict rules of engagement for the heavy bombers, which prohibited them from dropping their ordnance over areas where there were Montagnards’ (indigenous of the central highland) houses, or villages, routes, or bridges that were possibly used by civilians.55 This rule of engagement came not as a surprise given the fact that Washington was confronted with a strong anti-war movement. As well, it took the B-52s twenty-four hours to be prepared and flown, and when they arrived over the targets the enemy needed to be 5 to 8 miles from friendly positions.56 The NVA commanders knew the timing and rules of engagement of the B-52s well (especially after being caught out in the open by surprise in previous assaults) and rarely did they wait to be overwhelmed from the air by the USAF and from the ground by the ARVN. Nevertheless, Sheehan concluded: the “Vietnamese Communist soldiery attacked with an ardor undiminished by the years, but what they faced by the time they assaulted was more than human will could overcome… the NVA vulnerable to B-52s at a moment in the war when experience and technology had perfected the employment of the bombers.”57 From Sheehan’s writing, one gets the impression that the ARVN did nothing while the B-52s did everything to defend Kontum. The truth was that no quantity of B-52s could have possibly rescued Kontum had it not been for the leadership of Colonel Ba, whose troops fought tenaciously to deny the NVA of the last, critical, bastion in the Central Highland of South Vietnam. Historian Philip B. Davidson described the fighting in Kontum as the following: The enemy made his final and decisive effort to take Kontum on 25 May…. The NVA attack began at midnight and by dawn had made serious penetrations on the southeastern and northern perimeters of Kontum…. The next day (26 May) the attack continued with renewed intensity. That night another NVA penetration was barely beaten off with the help of a B-52 strike. An NVA assault launched at daylight on 27 May got well into the town, where the enemy troops dug in and repulsed all of Ba’s efforts to eject them. By the night of 28 May, the situation was critical for both sides. Hourly B-52 strikes were attriting both NVA manpower and supplies, and the ARVN troops were weary and undersupplied. The tide of battle had shifted, however. The 23rd Division, urged on by Ba, began the house-to-house fighting to clear the town, and by 30 May the defense was assured.58

Davidson’s detailed observation turned Sheehan’s argument on its head, challenging his wrongful assessment that the NVA’s failed attack on Kontum was entirely due to the B-52s and not with the critical fighting on the ground 274

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by the ARVN 23rd Division. Furthermore, this is also a testament to the RVN enemies and allies who have not yet carefully studied or fairly judged the ARVN’s performance. Had they done so, they would have realized that when properly led and with the right fire and logistical backing, the ARVN performed just as well if not better than the NVA. III As all the Military Regions of South Vietnam were stabilized and as the NVA logistical routes running from the north to South Vietnam took a heavy beating from the USAF Strategic Command, which also took the war to North Vietnam, President Nguyen Van Thieu dispatched paratroopers and marines at the disposal of General Ngo Quang Truong. Truong conducted a two-pronged land and amphibious counterattack operation, pushing the NVA back into Laos and North Vietnam and recapturing Quang Tri, which marked the end of the 1972 Easter Offensive. The USAF and USN/USMC could not have effectively imposed their power upon the NVA without the ARVN’s determination to hold its ground and push back the enemy. “Unless the ARVN forces hold on the ground and generate lucrative targets,” wrote General Abrams, “US and VNAF air power cannot achieve their full effectiveness.”59 The ARVN performance in the Easter Offensive of 1972 was varied. There could be no doubt that ARVN rangers, paratroopers and marines fought outstandingly and that their presence raised the morale and confidence of line-soldiers as well as the RF/PF (Regional Force/Popular Force). However, the performance of ARVN regular units varied and depended heavily on the leadership of their officers. Guenter Lewy assessed: As was to be expected, the performance of ARVN varied greatly. Some divisions like the Twenty-third defending Kontum and elements of the Fifth holding An Loc against superior forces acquitted themselves well. Elite units like the Rangers and marines also generally fought tenaciously. Other divisions, like the Third and Twenty-second, on the other hand revealed glaring weaknesses in discipline and effectiveness…. In most cases and not surprisingly, the effectiveness of RVNAF [Republic of Vietnam Armed Forces] units seemed to depend on the caliber of their officers. Some well-led troops, like the defenders of An Loc and Kontum, performed admirably, others, abandoned by their commanders, fell apart.60

Taking into consideration the fact that there were a lot of day and night close-quarter engagements between the ARVN and the NVA

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throughout the offensive, it was certain that these were small battles of the captains, lieutenants and NCOs. The fact that many times the ARVN prevailed shows that the ARVN junior officers and non-commissioned officers fought just as well and as heroic as their enemy; what they needed was better leadership, better senior commanding officers to lead them— something which the ARVN unfortunately lacked. NVA Colonel Bui Tin, who on April 30, 1975, led his men into the Independence Palace of Saigon ending the war, recognized this sad tragedy that led to the demise of the ARVN. Colonel Tin wrote: “In my opinion, ARVN and PAVN [People Army of Vietnam or NVA] soldiers were on the same level when it comes to fighting capability…. However, if we talk about different units, then some were somewhat better than others, especially such shock troop units as the ARVN Marines and Paratroopers.”61 Colonel Tin continued, despite: its fundamental flaws, ARVN did have deserving leaders: generals who were outstanding battlefield commanders such as Do Cao Tri and Ngo Quang Truong; who were highly educated such as Nguyen Duc Thang and Nguyen Bao Tri; who… [sacrificed] their own lives and accepted responsibility for defeat such as Nguyen Khoa Nam, Pham Van Phu, Le Van Hung, and Le Nguyen Vy…. The mid-level and lower-level officers of ARVN were, generally speaking, better trained in standard formation than those of PAVN and, of course, far better than those belonging to the NLF forces [National Liberation Front or the Viet Cong].62

Hence what was needed most by the ARVN was better—much better—leadership, but regrettably the right commanders were not in the right place or the right time for the ARVN and the South Vietnamese people. The RVNAF and RVN leadership crises was one of the many factors that contributed to the fall of South Vietnam in April 30, 1975, even though in the spring of 1972, the ARVN prevailed in the face of the NVA onslaught through a combination of American air support, capable ARVN leadership, fighting spirit of ordinary soldiers and luck. 1

Merle L. Pribbenov, trans., Victory in Vietnam: The Official History of the People’s Army of Vietnam, 1954-1975, (Lawrence, Kansas: University Press of Kansas, 2002), 290. 2 This was the birth name of Emperor Quang Trung who in 1789 skillfully maneuvered his forces undetected through the jungles and mountains of central Vietnam to surprise the Chinese occupational forces on the outskirts of Hanoi, defeated them, united Vietnam and eventually ended more than a thousand years of Chinese rule. 3 Dale Andradé, Trial by Fire: The 1972 Easter Offensive America’s Last Vietnam Battle, (New York: Hippocrene Books, 1995), 45 .

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4

John Lewis Gaddis, Strategies of Containment: A Critical Appraisal of Postwar American National Security Policy, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 274-344. 5 Robert Mann, A Grand Delusion: America’s Descent Into Vietnam, (New York: Basic Books, 2001), 695. 6 Philip B. Davidson, Vietnam At War: The History, 1946-1975, (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 675. 7 Pribbenow, 284. 8 Davidson, 675. 9 The term “Americanization” to “Vietnamization” of the war in Southeast Asia showed the lack of sympathy and appreciation the American government and people had for the sacrifice the Vietnamese people had made since their resistance to the French—and now to the North Vietnamese Communists. Although the Americans paid a heavy price in bloods and tears in Vietnam, it was nothing compared to the death tolls of South Vietnamese soldiers and civilians. 58,000 Americans died in Vietnam out of half a million lived to return to their homes in America. 400,000 South Vietnamese perished for their motherland, and thousands more would died at the hand of communists after the fall of Saigon in 1975. Even more would risk death at sea and at the hands of pirates for uncertain futures in foreign lands rather then live under the totalitarian regime. 10 Robert D. Schulzinger, A Time For War: The United States and Vietnam, 1941-1975, (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 261. 11 Ibid., 261 12 Lewis Sorley, A Better War: The Unexamined Victories And Final Tragedy Of America’s Last Years In Vietnam, (New York: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1999), 17-30. 13 Arthur J. Dommen, The Indochinese Experience of the French and the Americans: Nationalism and Communism in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2001), 709. 14 Pribbenow, 283. 15 Andradé, 37-38; Davidson also shared and expressed this view in his Vietnam At War on pages 673-674. 16 Mark Moyar, Phoenix and the Birds of Prey: The CIA’s Secret Campaign to Destroy the Viet Cong, (Annapolis, Marylnad: Naval Institute Press, 1997), 325. 17 Originally I wanted to address two additional questions: How did the politics of the GVN (Government of Vietnam, South Vietnam) influence the ARVN military reactions from initial retreat to eventual counterattack that reversed the NVA onslaught? What roles did the remaining American advisors play and how critical their presences were toward the ARVN performances? However, the complexity and depth that each of the questions would require, I could only produce a paper covering a range of important issues but without any insight into any one of the problems the ARVN faced. Therefore, I narrowed my focus down to answering why did the 1972 Easter Offensive take place and whether or not the NVA offensive stop by the USAF (United States Air Force) and USN/USMC (United States Navy/United States Marine Corps) or by the ARVN. I recommend Lt. Gen. US Army (Retired) Philip B. Davidson’s Vietnam At War: The History, 1946-1975, Mark Moyar’s Phoenix and the Birds of Prey: The CIA’s Secret Campaign to Destroy the Viet Cong, Col. G.H. Turley USMCR (Ret.)’s The Easter Offensive Vietnam 1972, Lewis Sorley’s A Better War: The Unexamined Victories and Final Tragedy of America’s Last Year In Vietnam and Dale Andradé’s Trial By Fire: The 1972 Easter Offensive America’s Last Vietnam Battle and his more updated edition of the Easter Offensive called America’s Last Vietnam Battle: Halting Hanoi’s

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1972 Easter Offensive. Furthermore, the history of the Vietnam War, argued Political Scientist Robert Divine, has been written with “a strong distaste for American intervention and a fervent belief that U.S. policy was seriously mistaken.” (Robert A. Divine, “Historiography: Vietnam Reconsidered”, Diplomatic History, 12: 1 (winter 1998), 81). Aside from military specialists, these journalists who became historians have interpreted the conflict “from the perspective of the procommunist or anti-anti-communist left.” (Michael Lind, Vietnam The Necessary War: A Reinterpretation of America’s Most Disastrous Conflict, (New York: The Free Press, 1999), 176). Moreover, what has been written on Vietnam has focused solely on the French, American and Communist North Vietnamese perspectives. The non-communist South Vietnamese point of view consequently has largely been ignored and has only recently, that is to say almost thirty years after the war ended, been reexamined—even then only in bits and pieces. Therefore, this presentation is drawn from newly released written documents in French, English and mostly in Vietnamese of ARVN officers, who I have read about, met, and talked with many time about their experiences and perspectives on the war, especially of the Easter Offensive of 1972—their most tested and finest hours. And the question of whether the NVA was pushed back by the USAF and USN/USMC or the ARVN allows the stories of the South Vietnamese to be told and to see whether or not they or the American firepower that stopped the invaders from the North or both. 18 Military Region IV of South Vietnam will not be examined due to the scope of this paper, for the fighting there was minor and of low intensity compared to the other three Military Regions. Furthermore, the NVA intended to tie down the ARVN in MR IV to prevent its from reinforcing other three besieged Corps, but its failed because of the successful political and military pacification since 1968. 19 Lam Quang Thi, The Twenty-Five Year Century: A South Vietnamese General Remembers The Indochina War to the Fall of Saigon, (Denton, TX: University of North Texas Press, 2001), 266-267. 20 Lieutenant General Ngo Quang Truong, ARVN, The Easter Offensive of the 1972, (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Army Center of Military History, 1980), 31. 21 Nguyen Duc Phuong, Chien Tranh Vietnam Toan Tap: Tu Tran Dau (Ap Bac – 1963) Den Tran Cuoi (Saigon – 1975) [The Comprehensive History of the Vietnam War: From the first battle (Ap Bac – 1963) to the last battle (Saigon – 1975)] (Toronto: Lang Van, 2001), 556. 22 Col. G.H. Turley USMCR (Ret.), The Easter Offensive Vietnam, 1972, (Novato, CA: Presidio, 1985), 300-1. 23 Pham Phong Dinh, Chien Su Quan Luc Vietnam Cong Hoa [History of the Armed Forces of the Republic of Vietnam], (Winnipeg, MB: Tu Sach Vinh Danh, 2001), 115; Truong, 40. 24 Truong, 50-1. 25 Phan Nhat Nam, Nhung Cot Tru Chong Giu Que Huong [The Pillars that Defended the Country] (Garden Grove, CA: Nang Moi Mien Nam, 2003), 64-5. 26 Guenter Lewy, America In Vietnam, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978), 197. 27 Davidson, 696. 28 Phan Nhat Nam, Mua He Do Lua [The Fiery Summer] (Garden Groves, CA: Nang Moi Mien Nam, 2003), 83; in Airpower and the 1972 Spring Invasion published in Volume II Monograph 3 in the USAF Southeast Asia Monograph Series, it is estimated that five ARVN regiments “at An Loc would remain under almost continuous heavy shelling and periodic ground attack for well over two months,” (page 80). 29 Truong, 117.

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30

Major A.J.C. Lavalle, ed., Airpower and the 1972 Spring Invasion, Volume II, Monograph 3 of the USAF Southeast Asia Monograph Series, (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1976), 80. 31 Dinh, 142. 32 Truong, 136. 33 Davidson, 699. 34 Nam, The Fiery Summer, 30. 35 Ibid., 35-44. 36 Ibid., 36. 37 Ly Tong Ba, Hoi Ky 25 Nam Khoi Lua: Cam Nghi Cua Mot Tuong Cam Quan Tai Mat Tran [A Memoir of 25 Years of Smoldering Fire: Moving Thoughts of One Commanding General on the Frontline], (San Marcos, CA: Published by Ly Tong Ba, 1997), 160. 38 John Paul Vann, A Bright Shining Lie: John Paul Vann and America in Vietnam, (New York: Vintage Book,1988), 775. 39 Lavalle, 65-6. 40 Sheehan, 766. 41 Le Khac Anh Hoa, ed., Nhung Tran Danh Khong Ten Trong Quan Su [The Unnamed Battles In History] (Vancouver: Nguyet San Viet Nam, 2003), 172. 42 Ibid., 173. 43 Ibid., 176. 44 Ibid., 177. 45 Ibid., 177-8. 46 Ba, 180. 47 Ba, 164. 48 Sheehan, 776. 49 Lavalle, 66. 50 Pribbenow, 294. 51 Ibid. 52 Lavalle, 76. 53 Ibid., 67. 54 Phan Vu, The Vietnam War: A Free Vietnamese’s Viewpoint, page 12. This almost finished, but unpublished, monograph has been written by Phan Vu with the help of Brigadier General Ly Tong Ba after his release from the communist’s reeducation camp in Vietnam and now living in exile in the United States. 55 Ibid. 56 Ibid. 57 Sheehan, 781; in his Trial by Fire: The 1972 Easter Offensive America’s Last Vietnam Battle, historian Dale Andrade also shared this correct but incompletely view of Neil Sheehan as he wrote: “Clearly, the singlemost important factor in the North Vietnamese defeat was U.S. air power.” (page 536) 58 Davidson, 692-3. 59 Sorley, 329-30. 60 Lewy, 198-9. 61 Bui Tin, From Enemy To Friend: A North Vietnamese Perspective On The War, (Annapolis, Maryland: Naval Institute Press, 2002), 95. 62 Ibid., 95.

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Pan-Turanism and the Royal Hungarian Army RICHARD RAFFAI University of Calgary, Calgary Hungary emerged from the First World War a defeated and broken nation. Following defeat, internal political, social and economic disorder gripped the country. Out of this post-war chaos arose the Communist government of Bela Kun, who, in a bid to bring renewal and salvation to the country, attempted to create the first Soviet state outside of the Soviet Union. He failed. In the place of renewal came internal persecution in the guise of a Red Terror. In the place of salvation came a quixotic attempt at reconquering lost territories, resulting in foreign occupation. In response to these developments, a conservative and Radical Right counter-revolution began in the cities of Vienna and Szeged. Based on the pillars of nationalism and anti-Bolshevism, the counter-revolutionaries eventually prevailed over Kun’s already crumbling government. In their victory, the counterrevolutionaries launched their own White Terror. Internal debates and quarrels followed, resulting in the submission of the Radical Right to the will of conservatives. Consequently, an aristocratic-based authoritarian government was created, with Admiral Miklós Horthy elected as Regent.1 After five years of war and four years of post-war chaos, the country finally stabilized in 1922. Led by Count István Bethlen, the conservatives enjoyed a decade-long monopoly of political and social power. In 1932, with the Depression crippling the country, the Szeged Radicals gained a political voice within the country. As such, Gyula Gömbös—an ex-captain of the Royal Hungarian Army and the most notable leader of the Radical camp— was appointed Prime Minister. The government he established, initially influenced by Fascism and later National Socialism, aimed to “awaken” the national consciousness of Hungarians, thereby bringing about renewal and salvation. Central to Gömbös’ vision of Hungary was the notion of Magyar racial superiority. One institution that extensively adopted this belief of racial superiority was the Royal Hungarian Army. Through the channel of racialism, the theory of Pan-Turanism penetrated the army. It presented the most grandiose, elaborate and romantic view of Hungarians and their place

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in the past, present and future. Ironically, the sheer scale and scope of its romanticised vision also proved to be its greatest weakness. Pan-Turanism had its roots in the Ural-Altaic Linguistic Hypothesis, which was advanced and developed from the 1830s to the 1890s and argued the existence of genetic similarities between Finno-Ugric-, Turkic-, Mongolian- and Tungustic-speaking peoples.2 Pan-Turanism itself was sparked by an expedition of ethnographers and Turcologists to the ruins of Karakoram—the ancient capital of the Mongolian Empire—between 1889 and 1891. The result of this expedition was the discovery of the OrkhonYenissei stone monuments, which bore a Turkic runic record of an ancient eighth-century nomadic empire. More importantly for Hungarian academics, the stones provided the oldest examples of Turkic writing and pointed to a “civilized” medieval nomadic society.3 Beyond the scientific community, Pan-Turanism, as a movement and a concept, also had roots in nineteenth-century politics. It was a reactionary movement against Pan-Slavism/Orthodoxy and Pan-Germanism, two movements that were identified by members of the Hungarian nobility and intellectuals as a potential threat to Hungary’s future. In the minds of these individuals, the historical Kingdom of Hungary faced a two-pronged assault. On the one hand were the Austrians, who represented a hostile force, bent on breaking and subjugating Hungarians in the name of Pan-Germanism. On the other hand were the Slavs, the largest minority of the multiple ethnic groups within the kingdom. Much to the consternation of Hungarians, the growing strength of the Pan-Slavic movement gave this minority an increasingly powerful political voice that threatened the integrity of the state. Consequently, Hungarian intellectuals and nobles searched desperately for a way to stave off these two forces. With the discovery of the Orkhon-Yenissei stone monuments, they found what they were looking for. Turanists made their immediate aim the reawakening of the “dormant energies of the Turanian peoples.” This was to be accomplished by reclaiming the ethnic self-consciousness and historical pride of Turanians. Once achieved, the ultimate objective of Pan-Turanism was to be “the social, economic, and cultural reconstruction of the UralAltaic peoples along modern lines, and their consolidation into a great political federation.” To stabilize this new federation, Turanists envisioned “a transverse axis that ran from Kazan to Istanbul and from Budapest to Tokyo.”4

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Turanists also sought to legitimise their doctrine by developing a prehistorical theory. In pre-history, the Turanians lived in the “Land of Turan” (or “Turanian Plain”), located in the region of modern day northern Iran/Afghanistan and Kazakhstan, from which they began a migration that started in approximately 3,000 B.C.E. The migrations to such far off locations as modern day Japan, Finland, Hungary and Turkey favoured a nomadic lifestyle, which in turn led to an era of conquests. The high-water mark of the conquest era was seen to have lasted roughly a millennium, from 400 C.E. (Huns) to 1400 C.E. (Mongol Empire). Born out of this pre-history was the Turanian historical mission, which called for “the unification of the parochially-minded sedentary civilizations of the Eastern hemisphere by transmitting their faiths, cultures, and inventions from one to the other, eventually merging them all into a single civilized oecumene under a Pax Turanica.”5 Hungarian Turanists naturally identified the Russian Romanov Empire as having cost Turanians their “historical right” and, as such, the Turanian reawakening was to be accomplished at the expense of the Russian Empire and, more importantly, Pan-Slavism. It was then assumed that with the weight of the Turanian peoples behind Hungary, Pan-Germanism would also be successfully resisted. Theoretically, this would then culminate in Hungary’s survival and rebirth as a great power within the European world. Defeat in the First World War resulted in the dismemberment of historic Hungary. This severely weakened the country’s international influence and position. Turanists saw Hungary’s dismemberment as confirmation of their worst fears, as the country was now surrounded by several equally powerful and hostile nation-states. In light of these developments, Turanism’s function had to be redefined. As such, Turanism became a political tool that was exploited to build nationalism. This new role, however, was almost immediately hampered by the power-struggle between the two factions, with the conservatives controlling “official” Turanism and Right Radicals adopting a form of underground “racial Turanism.” This racial Turanism was preserved throughout the 1920s through a series of secret societies. However, in order to truly understand this new function of Turanism within interwar Hungary, we must examine the conservative and Radical factions more closely. Aristocrats, business/financial interests and senior members of the former Austro-Hungarian K.u.K. (Kaiser und Königlich) Imperial Army constituted the conservatives of the counterrevolution. Organized in Vienna and led by Count Bethlen, the ultimate goal of this group was the defeat of 282

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Kun’s Communist government and the restoration of the pre-WWI political system. More specifically, Bethlen envisioned a pseudo-modern Hungarian nation-state led by nobles who controlled and directed industry and finance, thus insuring their own survival and power. Along side them stood the “Men of Szeged,” representing the middle-to-lower classes of Hungary (mainly former administrators), active officers of the K.u.K. Army and refugees, primarily public servants and their families, who had fled the territories succeeded from Hungary.6 Led by Captain Gyula Gömbös, the Radicals called for a free and progressive Christian state that supported the agrarian sector.7 More clearly put, Gömbös envisaged a modern nation-state built on the foundations of classless nationalism, agrarianism, anti-parliamentarianism and racialism. These values convinced Gömbös of the need for a national reawakening, fuelled by a new national consciousness that was “truly” Hungarian.8 Gömbös termed this goal the “Szeged Idea.” Undoubtedly, the only force keeping these two factions united was Bela Kun’s Communist government.9 Gömbös Gyula personally organized the counterrevolutionaries in Szeged. To accomplish this, he, and other higher-ranking officers organized several secret associations that emerged following defeat in 1918. These associations, mainly aimed at and made up of military personnel, were antidemocratic, racialist and nationalistic.10 Their official function was to maintain order and enforce the will of the state during the chaos of 19191920. The largest of these associations were the Ébredõ Magyarok Egyesülete, or É.M.E. (the Association of Awakening Hungarians), and the Magyar Országos Véderõ Egyesület, or M.O.V.E. (the Association of Hungarian National Defence).11 The M.O.V.E. elected Gömbös Gyula as its Vezér, or leader, on January 19, 1920.12 Gömbös then created the two most important associations within the shadow world of the secret societies. First was the Magyar Tudományos Fajvédö Egyesület (Hungarian Scientific Race-Protection Association), and second was the secret Etelközi Szövetség, or E.K.Sz. (the Etelköz Association) or simply “X.”13 These two respective associations acted as the civilian and military inner ring of M.O.V.E. The latter was organized on the pattern of pre-Christian Magyar nomadic society,14 with seven Vezér (leaders) set at the head of seven törzs (tribes). Each of the tribes were comprised of nemzetiségek (clans), which were in turn made up of smaller “families,” each of which had a Fö (head) and a jegyzö (a clerk), who directed a company of “brothers.” Membership was achieved through an unknown “fearful ceremony,” followed by an oath of absolute allegiance to the 283

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supreme leader. There were also multiple rituals (the strangest involving a white horse) and the worshipping of Hadúr, or the God of War. In addition, the association had its own private disciplinary courts, which had the power to condemn a member to death.15 Within this hierarchy, Gömbös occupied the position of Supreme Leader.16 E.K.Sz.’s common aim was to promote the defence of “the Hungarian cause” and treaty revisionism. This vague aim was most directly practiced through anti-Semitism. The membership of the E.K.Sz. worked to have Hungarian nationals placed into positions of power within the higher echelons of the state in a bid to remove “internationalist Jewish” influence.17 In short, the E.K.Sz. acted as “a sort of selection committee for Ministerial and … high administrative posts.”18 Stated another way, the “Hungarian cause” of the E.K.Sz. was the creation of a “pure Hungarian Hungary.” Not to be outdone, and in a bid to balance out the influence of the M.O.V.E., the conservatives also created their own secret societies. The Kettös-Kereszt Szövetség (The Society of the Double Cross) was created to counterbalance the E.K.Sz. In addition, the Christian National League was also established, which had at its core a secret body called “Feltámadás” (Resurrection). This body was organized along the cell system. It was led by fifty Vezérharcosok (Battle Leaders), who in turn lead ten Tisztiharcosok (Officer Leaders), who were then placed in charge of ten harcosok (warriors). Unlike the Szeged associations, the conservative societies never achieved major followings; however, the powerful individuals who constituted its “Battle Leaders” balanced this out. Chief among them were Count Bethlen himself and Count Pál Teleki.19 As already stated, the former would become Prime minister of Hungary for a decade from 1922 to 1932. The latter, in addition to being appointed prime minister on two different occasions, was also the first President of the Magyar Turanian Society, established in 1910.20 Throughout the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s, the Turanian Society represented the mainstream, traditional and overt activities of mainly conservative Turanists. The Társadalmi Egyesületek Szövetsége, or T.E.Sz. (the Federation of Social Associations) was created as an umbrella organization to encompass all these societies and associations. Created in the chaos of the post-war years, at its height T.E.Sz. contained approximately 10,000 associations within its framework.21 Although relatively weak at the time of its creation, the role of T.E.Sz. would increase by the early 1930s and the Premiership of Gyula Gömbös. Simultaneously, the M.O.V.E. and E.K.Sz. ensured the survival of 284

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the Szeged Idea within the army throughout the 1920s. As Hungary became increasingly stable, however, the importance of these societies decreased and official policy replaced this shadowy world of secret societies. Interwar Hungarian policy was founded on two-pillars: treaty revision and anti-Bolshevism. The strategy to fulfil this policy was two-fold: to form an alliance system to break the encirclement of the “Little Entente” (Romania, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia) and rearmament (forbidden by the Treaty of Trianon).22 As Hungary lacked the necessary industry to accomplish rearmament, the would-be ally had to be capable of both diplomatic and military support. As such, Hungary initially sought the aid of Fascist Italy (1920s) and later Nazi Germany (mid-1930s). Operating simultaneously to these external aims were internal debates within the Royal Hungarian Army, which aimed to modernize and reform throughout the period. The army concluded that Hungary had lost the First World War due to inadequate co-ordination between the military and the civil government.23 In addition, it concluded that the next war would again be a Total War that would demand the full effort of the nation and a modern army. Although easy enough to argue, these issues and the changes that they demanded proved more difficult to put into practice and it was not until 1928 that real progress began. The first major example of “reform” was actually presented in 1926 when an article entitle “The Practical Value of the Turanian Concept” was published in the Hungarian Military Bulletin.24 The article called for a “Turanian program” within the army that would create a “Turanized” officer corps.25 The purpose of this “Turanian army” would be no less than the defence and preservation of Hungarian culture and civilization, which was being “assimilated” and “stagnated” by the twin-pronged assault of German and the Slavic forces. To accomplish this goal, the article argued, “[Hungarians] must throw aside everything foreign” (i.e. “socialism, pacifisms [and] humanism”) and “develop out of [themselves] the dormant and overpowering national and racial values” that would ensure the creation of an independent Hungarian culture “cleansed of Slavism, Germanism and Judaism.”26 Larger geopolitical arguments were also expressed along side this racism. More specifically, an East-West geographical “natural law” was proposed, which argued that displacement always came from the East at the expense of the West; historically, Germans had displaced Romans so it followed that Slavs would certainly displace Germans. Logically, it was 285

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argued, the Turanians would displace the Slavs and, in so doing, defeat Bolshevism and the Soviet Union. In the most arrogant argument of the entire article, it was declared that the duty of Hungarians would be to direct and organize this “inevitable” Eastern push, accomplished by teaching western values and concepts to Eastern Turanians, thus not only ensuring the rise of Hungary but preserving “the entire white culture” of Europe.27 This open declaration of Racial Turanism within the Hungarian army was followed by an equally significant development the following year. It was then that Gyula Gömbös officially returned to the army, having spent most of the 1920s in parliamentary politics as head of the ostracized “Hungarian National Independence Party” (also known simply as the “Party of Racial Defence”).28 Although maintaining indirect influence throughout the decade within the army through the above-mentioned societies and associations, Gömbös officially returned to military duty in 1927 when he was appointed Deputy Minister of Defence/Secretary of State. In October of 1928, he was appointed Minister of Defence (Honvéd Miniszter), a position he maintained until 1936.29 His appointment and subsequent policies would, in the end, seal the fate of the Royal Hungarian Army and indeed Hungary as a whole. Gömbös immediately set to work and introduced a three-stage expansion program in 1928. This led to the introduction of an Air Force program, the purchase of modern equipment (most specifically armoured vehicles) and the secret expansion of the army’s reserves.30 To accomplish the latter, Gömbös turned to the Levente Youth Organization, which was created in 1924 to strengthen the “spiritual and physical” strengths of Hungary’s youth.31 The organizations initial purpose was to maintain and train reserve officers and NCOs; however, after 1932, it was increasingly employed to build up conscript reserves in secret.32 The culmination of these reorganizations was the “Elöd Plan” of 1932, which called for an increase in the number of infantry divisions, the quantity of mobile units and the modernization of all equipment.33 In addition to these material developments, this initial period also saw reform in the area of military theory. The Royal Hungarian Army’s senior commanders concluded that the new theories of mobile warfare, emanating mainly from Germany, were both valid and crucial for any successful future war. The new officer training and instruction manual of 1930, prepared for the Ludovika Military Academy, best exemplified this shift. In particular, the manual declared that the armed forces had to be organized and trained with 286

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“moral and material” factors in mind, as only the two working in conjunction could lead to success.34 This meant the incorporation of air power, mobile armoured forces and chemical weapons into the Hungarian army.35 The central argument born out of this reasoning was that in the future, smaller, modernized armies would make large, traditional and poorly armed ones obsolete. Conclusively, it was proclaimed: “the era of “rage du nombre” is over.”36 Alongside these new conclusions, however, were also fairly traditional ones. While the supremacy of modern equipment and technology was not denied, “military virtues” were still deemed to be the chief factor in war. The foundations of these virtues were pronounced to be “patriotism, conviction and zeal.”37 Along with this re-affirmation of the importance of martial values, two major national reforms were proposed: first, the economy, particularly heavy industry, had to be subjugated to the needs of the army.38 Second, a united, national population had to be created, which, in times of war, was to be headed by either a single individual or a military council.39 Most of these proposals attained substance between 1932 and 1936. In 1932, with the depression gripping most of the world’s economies, the conservative government of Count Bethlen collapsed. In his place, Admiral Horthy appointed Gyula Gömbös as prime minister, who, it was hoped, would be able to save the country from a potential resurgence of communism through a more heavy-handed form of government. Gömbös’ government put forward a 95-point government program upon entry into office, in which he declared his ultimate objective to be the creation of an independent, strong, united and modern Hungarian nation-state.40 More specifically, Gömbös called for “an independent and strong nation” that was “free of denominational, class or party divisions.”41 All this, however, ran counter to the wishes of the conservative aristocracy, which had ensured its dominant position within Hungary at the expense of the masses. As such, the conservatives, who were becoming increasingly attractive to Admiral Horthy (who was, after all, a member of the previous generation and an ex-officer in the old imperial K.u.K. navy), ensured that several restrictions and obligations were placed on Gömbös prior to his appointment.42 These included the presence of pro-aristocratic members within his cabinet and a parliament that was, until 1935, heavily influenced by Bethlen from behind the scenes. Added to this were the financial restrictions that the Depression brought, best reflected by the unending need for credit from London, New York or Geneva. Lastly, Gömbös was required to renounce his anti-Semitic 287

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views, which he carried out in a speech on October 10, 1932.43 In addition, in response to repeated accusations and charges from political opponents, Gömbös was forced to declare, “I don’t want to become a dictator, nor shall I ever be one.”44 There were two major consequences to these restrictions: first, they delayed any major reforms by Gömbös until late 1934 and second, any attempts at reform had to be done with the approval of conservative political forces. To many, these compromises seemed to indicate that Gömbös had renounced his Radical heritage. The sincerity of this “submission,” however, was debatable. Throughout his time in office, Gömbös worked to erode the restrictions placed on him. Although he only successfully overcame these restrictions in 1934, he was able to express extensive influence on his most trusted institution, the Royal Hungarian Army, from the very beginning of his premiership. As such, he began consolidating his position within the Hungarian army in 1932. This was achieved through a systematic rotation of older, pro-aristocratic officers out of the army in favour of younger, proSzeged ones.45 This process, initially aimed at the second and third echelon of the Officers Corps, was extended to the highest ranks within the army starting in January 1935.46 By March of 1934, Gömbös also began the process of consolidating the various open and secret societies and associations that were operating within Hungary under the leadership of T.E.Sz.47 Predictably, this period also witnessed the proliferation of racial theory within the army. Building on the call for a “Turanian Program,” the army increasingly turned to its “Turanian heritage” for inspiration. As such, the importance of the racial and martial values of Hungarians was emphasized to the point where Hungarian nomadic warfare was adapted to modern tactical level combat. The result of this union was to be a unique style of Hungarian warfare, built on the “1000 year old Turanian heritage of Hungarians.”48 Turanism was also spread to the Levente Youth Organization in 1931, when a series of Turanian articles were published in the Levente journal.49 In addition to the armed forces, Turanism also enjoyed newfound life and vigour in the general public. By the early 1930s, Turanism had divided into three major groups: the aforementioned Magyar Turanian Society, the Turanian Union and a newly emerged group that advocated “Radical Turanism.” The Turanian Society, the oldest of these three groups, managed to extend honorary memberships to prominent politicians within the country, Gyula Gömbös included.50 In addition, the Society declared its four major themes in 1935: first, the 288

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Turanian mission was declared to be nothing less than the preservation of all human civilization from Bolshevism. Second, Turanism proclaimed to be the political and cultural heir of the Oriental and Occidental world. Third, the “Turanian Sun Theory of history,” which argued the cultural primacy of the Turanian peoples, was reaffirmed. And fourth, the Society called for the creation of a “Turanian Cultural Bloc” that would unite and concentrate the economic and political influence of the Turanian peoples.51 The weakest of the three groups, the Turanian Union, also began to extensively publish Turanian literature in this period. Declaring the rise of Turanism an unstoppable certainty, the Union proclaimed that Turanism was “the new historic calling” of Hungary.52 By far the most interesting of the three groups, however, were the individuals representing Radical Turanism.53 Branded as extremist and pagan by both the Turanian Society and Union, Radical Turanism was anti-Bolshevist, anti-German, anti-West and anti-Christian. In addition to calling for the “re-Turanization” of Eurasia and Hungary, Radical Turanism declared that it was “refounding” the monotheistic Shamanism of ancient Turanians. Announcing that “the God of the Turanians [was] reborn” Radical Turanism declared that Turanians were the “Chosen People of history.” Furthermore, it was declared that all believers had to participate in open-air services led by a Shamanistic priest (taltos), in which natural forces (water, fire, sun and moon), sacred animals (the eagle and the wolf), clan ancestors and above all the Lord of War (Hadúr) were worshipped. The highpoint of this service was the “sacrifice of a white horse and the partaking in its blood as a symbolic renewal of the Blood-Covenant practiced among ancient warriors of Turan.”54 Undoubtedly, these claims and proposals bear a striking resemblance to those found in the E.K.Sz. Despite all these fantastic ideas, grandiose declarations and mysterious forces that were Turanism, it ultimately failed. Ironically, the primary reason for this can be found in the “The Practical Value of the Turanian Concept” article examined earlier. In the article, the author declared that the Hungarian army was made up two types of officers—“Realists” and “Idealists.” Calling the former short-sighted and lacking vision, the author declared that the new age that was the post-war world demanded a new type of officer, one grounded in idealism. This officer, it was concluded, would overcome the realists and lead Hungary down the Turanian path55 Despite the prediction, history proved the realists right. Although undoubtedly a nationalist and a believer in Turanism, Gömbös was also a realist and, as such, saw the world in a Realpolitik light.56 289

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Consequently, he concluded that the only way Hungary could carry out its chief policy of treaty revision was with the help of a powerful ally, namely Nazi Germany.57 To this end, Gömbös and Hermann Göring signed a topsecret agreement in September 1935. The agreement guaranteed that within two years Hungary would adopt the German National Socialist political system and support Nazi Germany in any political endeavours. In return, Nazi Germany would support Hungary in any treaty revisions vis-à-vis Austria and Czechoslovakia.58 Simultaneously, the shift towards Nazi Germany was also reflected in the army itself, which increasingly became dependent on and interconnected with the Wehrmacht. These developments resulted in a Hungarian Officer Corp that was, by 1936, thoroughly Fascist and pro-German in orientation.59 Simply stated, “Fascism [became] the esprit de corps of the army.”60 Despite all these political manoeuvrings, Gömbös never saw the materialization of his “independent and strong” Hungary. On October 6, 1936, Gyula Gömbös finally succumbed to kidney infection and died in the Nymphenburg Krankenhaus (Infirmary) near Munich. His passing was marked by a resurgence of the conservative aristocrats, who, by 1936, had grown increasingly uncomfortable with Gömbös’ internal manoeuvres. Although this resurgence included a reorganization of the Hungarian Royal Army, Gömbös’ influence on it proved too deep and extensive. As such, over the course of the next eight years, the civil government and the army grew increasingly distant, as the former argued the need for Hungarian neutrality while the latter contended that only Nazi Germany could ensure the nation’s future. This internal disagreement only ensured the continued inadequacy of Hungary’s armed forces, which, instead of being properly modernized, fell back on the rhetoric of “Hungarian martial superiority.”61 The final break between the army and the government came in October 1944, when Hungary faced the prospect of occupation by the German Wehrmacht. Remarkably, instead of defending the nation, the Royal Hungarian Army chose to side with the occupiers. The subsequent horror that was unleashed by the army and the restoration of Gömbös’ Right Radicals claimed the lives of over 500,000 Hungarian Jews. In a twist of supreme irony, the Royal Hungarian Army, an institution that was born in the counterrevolution and pillared on the foundation of Hungarian nationalism, betrayed the nation it had sworn to defend. As such, the actual direct effects of Pan-Turanism within this framework are debatable. The movement failed within Hungary for two major reasons: it 290

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failed to attain any position of political prominence, and it failed to generate a large enough base of support. A mass indoctrination campaign launched between January and March 1936 proved to be a complete failure.62 Nationalism, built around the concept of the supremacy of the nation, ran counter to Pan-Turanism, which was internationalist in nature. While espousing the “superiority” of Hungary and Hungarians, the majority of Hungarian nationalists did so from a European perspective. In addition, this nationalism hinged on Realpolitik, which recognized that Hungary was a small nation that was dependent on the of support larger and more powerful neighbours. Paradoxically, in the name of this realist nationalism, the nationalists in the Hungarian army eventually chose the neighbour over the “homeland.” In the end, the Turanists within the Hungarian army were proven right on one point—the Realist did not have the “vision” to turn Pan-Turanism into a reality. A more accurate statement, however, would be that Hungary did not have the means to make Pan-Turanism a reality. As such, it can be argued that Hungarian Pan-Turanism had no significant, direct effect on world history. Its indirect effect, however, proved to be tremendous, as the movement became the foundation of the “international political engine” of the twentieth century. In 1904, H. J. Mackinder, a little known British geographer, published an essay entitle “The Geographical Pivot of History.” Mackinder’s argument, based on the simple premise that “he who controls the Heartland [i.e. Eurasia], controls the world” became the very foundation of Geopolitics in the last century. Whether expressed as “Lebensraum,” Soviet expansion, the “Domino Theory,” or any other label, the presence of PanTuranism is easily detected. 1

The political system of inter-war Hungary had Admiral Horthy at its head as Regent (in place of a monarch), with the position of Prime minister rotating based on either an appointment from Horthy or by election. Surprisingly, Admiral Horthy never attempted to assume dictatorial powers and, beyond asserting his position of supreme commander of the armed forces, he never actively sought to encroach on the powers of the Prime minister or parliament. Furthermore, he initially acted as a liaison between the Radicals and conservatives, though he eventually settled in the latter’s’ camp. 2 Joseph A. Kessler, “Turanism and Pan-Turanism in Hungary: 1890-1945” (Ph. D. diss., University of California, Berkley, 1967), xxxii. 3 Kessler, “Turanism,” 2-3. The Hungarian pre-Christian Rovás alphabet shares several similar characteristics with Turkic alphabets and was still in use in the province of Transylvania in the late nineteenth century. 4 Ibid, xiii-xiv. 291

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5

Ibid, xxxiv-xxxvi. Nicholas M. Nagy-Talavera, The Green Shirts and Others A History of Fascism in Hungary and Rumania, (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 50-51. 7 Gyula Gömbös, “Egy Magyar Vezérkari Tiszt Bíráló Feljegyzései A Forradalomról És Ellenforradalomról” (A Hungarian Officers Critical Account of the Revolution and CounterRevolution), (Budapest: 1920), in Gömbös Gyula A Fajvédõ Vezér, (Gyula Gömbös The Leader of Racial-Defence) ed. Tudós-Takács János (Budapest: Gede Testvérek Bt., 2002). 8 Gömbös, “Egy Magyar Vezérkari Tiszt” in Gömbös Gyula A Fajvédõ Vezér, 98. 9 Ibid., 94-5. 10 This requirement for members to be military personnel was later dropped and anyone deemed a “patriot” could join most of the associations. 11 Nagy-Talavera, 50. 12 Gömbös, “Egy Magyar Vezérkari Tiszt” in Gömbös Gyula A Fajvédõ Vezér, 74-75. As head of the M.O.V.E., Gömbös adopted the rallying cry of ‘becsület a hazáért’ or ‘honour for the nation.’ 13 The Etelköz was the name given to the mouth of the Don region in modern day Russia that was occupied by Hungarians prior to their settlement in the Europe. 14 It should be noted that the organization of the pre-Christian Magyar nomads is in constant dispute. 15 C. .A. Macartney, October Fifteenth A History of Modern Hungary 1929-1945, (Edinburgh: The Edinburgh University Press, 1961), 31. 16 This model grafted the supposed nomadic social order of seven chieftains (Hétumoger), who swore an allegiance to Árpád, onto the E.K.Sz. Árpád was the chieftain who, according to history, united the Magyars and led them across the Carpathian Mountains into modern day Hungary. 17 Since Kun and several other members of his government were Jewish, the Radicals merged the ideological threat of Bolshevism with the “racial threat” of Jews. 18 Macartney, 31-2. It is estimated that at its height, the E.K.Sz. had approximately 4,000-5,000 members. 19 Ibid., 32. 20 Kessler, 29. 21 Nagy-Talavera, 50. 22 Leo W.G. Niehorster, The Royal Hungarian Army 1920 – 1945, (New York: Axis Europa Books, 1998), 21. The Treaty of Trianon abolished general military service and limited the size and strength of the Hungarian army to 35,000 volunteers and 105 light cannons and 140 trench mortars. In addition, Hungary’s armaments industry was dismantled and the maintenance of either a tank force or air force strictly forbidden. A 52 member Allied Commission was established to enforce these conditions and direct monitoring of Hungary’s military capabilities were carried out until 1926/27. 23 Dombrády Lóránd and Tóth Sándor, A Magyar Királyi Honvédség 1919-1945, (The Royal Hungarian Army 1919-1945) (Budapest: Zrínyi Katonai Kiadó, 1987), 54. 24 Lieutenant Simsay Lajos, “A Turáni Eszme Gyakorlati Értéke” (The Practical Value of the Turanian Concept), Magyar Katonai Közlöny, (Hungarian Military Bulletin) Books 7-8 (1926), 530. The Hungarian Military Bulletin was the official journal of the Royal Hungarian Army. 25 Lajos, 541. 26 Ibid., 539. 6

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27

Ibid., 536. As already mentioned, the fallout between the Radicals and conservatives was a forgone conclusion. The split occurred in the early 1920s, with the Radicals arguing that the conservatives had betrayed the “spirit” of the counter-revolution. As such, Gömbös and other top “Szeged men” left the government in 1923, eventually forming the above-mentioned oppositional party (1924-1928). His appointments within the Department of Defence were a result of a reconciliation between himself and Bethlen. 29 Niehorster, 190. 30 Lóránd, 58-63. 31 Irányelvek A Kerületi “Levente Egyesületek” Megalakítására, Irányítására és Működésére, (Guidelines for the Regional Organization, Command and Function of the “Levente Association”) (Budapest, 1937), 3. 32 Niehorster, 28. All boys between the ages of 12 and 18 were enrolled in the Levente Youth Organization. Once 18 years of age, male members were placed into a three-week military exercise program, followed by mandatory membership until the age of 35 (membership was officially made compulsory in 1938). The Ministry of Defence directed training within the Levente, which was set at four hours a week for ten months a year. Training itself constituted basic infantry training, including the handling of arms, close-order drilling, marksmanship, customs and courtesies of military service and combat tactics for small units. According to history, Levente was the son of Árpád. 33 Ibid., 21. Elöd was one of the seven chieftains who swore allegiance to Árpád. 34 Werth Henrik, A Hadvezetés Elmélete, (The Theory of Command) (Budapest, 1930), 12. 35 Ibid., 12-14. 36 Ibid., 15. 37 Ibid., 12. 38 Ibid., 17-18. Thus ensuring the nation was prepped for a war economy footing in any upcoming conflict. 39 Ibid., 189-190. This proposal was realized with the creation of the Legfelsöbb Honvédelmi Tanács, or the LHT (the Supreme National Defence Council), in 1928. 40 “A Gömbös Kormány Nemzeti Munkaterve” (The National Program of the Gömbös Government) (Budapest: Stádium Sajtóvállalat Rt., 1932) in Gömbös Pártja A Nemzeti Egység Pártja dokumenumai (The Party of Gömbös The Documents of the Party of National Unity) ed. József Vonyó (Budapest: Dialóg Campus Kiadó, 1998), 39-40. 41 A Nemzeti Öncélúságért! Gömbös Gyula Miniszterelnök Tizenkét Beszéde, (For the Sake of the Nation! The Twelve Speeches of Prime Minister Gyula Gömbös) (Budapest: Stádium Sajtóvállalat Rt., 1932), 8-9. 42 Macartney, 114. Admiral Horthy was a member of the previous generation (Bethlen’s generation) and was an ex-officer in the old imperial K.u.K. navy. Consequently, he had considerable sympathy for the nobility and firmly believed in “enlightened aristocratic” rule. 43 A Nemzeti Öncélúságért!, 41. 44 Ibid., 12. Gömbös made this declaration on several occasions throughout his term in office. 45 Macartney, 120. This policy caused continuous friction between Admiral Horthy, who was officially the Supreme Commander of the army, and Gömbös. 46 Nagy-Talavera, 96. 47 Document 23. “Az Országos Központ körlevele a NEP szervezetei részére” (The National Centre’s Circular Letter to the NEP’s (National Unity Party) Organizational Divisions”) in 28

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Gömbös Pártja A Nemzeti Egység Pártja dokumenumai, (The Party of Gömbös The Documents of the Party of National Unity) ed. József Vonyó (Budapest: Dialóg Campus Kiadó, 1998), 143. 48 Major István Sándor, “Faji harcászat” (Racial Tactics) Magyar Katonai Közlöny, (Hungarian Military Bulletin) Book 2 (1936), 37-38. The 1928-1936 period of the Hungarian Military Bulletin contains an extensive number of articles dealing with racial theory and its value to the army. 49 Kessler, 197. 50 Ibid., 193-4. 51 Ibid., 213-4. 52 László Túrmezei, A Turániság Alapváza, (The Principle Framework of Turanism) (Budapest: Szalay Sándor Könyvnyomdája, 1933). 53 Radical Turanism surfaced as a series of mysterious pamphlets first published in 1933. 54 Kessler, 221-6. A new alphabet was also proposed, based on the old Runic Rovás writing of pre-Christian Hungarians, along with a new calendar. 55 Lieutenant Simsay Lajos, 530. 56 A Nemzeti Öncélúságért!, 5, 65. 57 Lóránd, 58-63. Over the course of Gömbös’ premiership, Fascist Italy was increasingly seen as an unreliable and weak ally. Consequently, Gömbös turned to Nazi Germany. 58 Document 39. A Wilhemstrasse És Magyarorászag Német Diplomáciai Iratok Magyarországról 19331944, (The Wilhelmstrasse and Hungary German Diplomatic Papers on Hungary 1933-1944) ed. György Ránki et al. (Budapest: Kossuth Könyvkiadó, 1968), 106-9. 59 Lóránd, 95-6. 60 Nagy-Talavera, 133. 61 Hungary lost over 200,000 soldiers in the Second World War. 62 Kessler, 231-2.

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Britain and the Vilayet of Mosul: An Empire’s Quest for Oil?

Britain and the Vilayet of Mosul: An Empire's Quest for Oil? JOHN K. SEDDON McGill University, Montreal At the close of World War One, the former provinces of the Ottoman Empire became the subject of much contention between the main Ottoman successor state, Turkey, and the members of the wartime Alliance. The Allies had sought to make provisions for the eventual dismemberment of the Ottoman Empire while the war raged, but realities on the ground and changing priorities forced the players to revisit their previous decision. Among the most contentions disputes was the one surrounding the vilayet of Mosul. Debate arose surrounding border demarcation with Iraq, her mandatory power Britain, as well as both Turkey and France, the latter of which was seeking an advantageous settlement for her Syrian mandate. The United States too sought to secure rights over resources in the region— namely oil—but was repeatedly stonewalled in the decade following the war. The importance of Britain’s strategic view of the region is evident in the way it sought to secure the region, which was done at a risk of antagonizing two of its key war-time allies, France and the United States, and in the way it dealt with the nascent Turkish Republic. This paper will explore and explain some of the fundamental aims of British diplomacy of the era on the question of securing and maintaining control over Mosul. Of primary focus is the effect of oil on British actions and decision-making thought the war leading to final demarcation in 1926. While oil forms the basis of a significant part of contemporary discourse on the region due to its broad geopolitical importance, British motivations during wartime were based largely on other factors. In addition, ahead of the final border demarcation in 1926, oil was of limited import when drafting policy, with more traditional strategic concerns largely taking precedence. The introductory section puts the discussion in context with a discussion of the Sykes-Picot agreement of 1916 where the governments of France and Britain determined future sovereignty over the Ottoman provinces. Today oil is of paramount concern in most discourse on the region, and as such, the second section will deal with oil as a strategic objective both pre- and post-war, with a discussion on the broader 295

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ramifications of the petro-politics of the day. The third section will establish how Britain built its claim to the vilayet of Mosul, with a discussion of the French renouncement of claims to the area, and how the spoils of the region were divided. In the fourth section, the British administration of the region in the years immediately following the war is examined with emphasis on the strategy and policy objectives. The fifth and final section is devoted to Anglo-Turkish relations of the era, with emphasis on the diplomatic discussions of border demarcation including the aims of each side during these deliberations. CONTEXT In early 1916, French negotiator Georges Picot and his British counterpart, Sir Mark Sykes, concluded a secret agreement that would divide the territorial spoils of the Ottoman Empire. Constantinople and the Dardanelles had already been promised to Russia, who sought the strategically significant entrance to the Black Sea. The agreement split all of Syria and Iraq as well as a good part of what is now southern Turkey between them into respective areas of interest.1 Under Sykes-Picot, Britain and France were to recognize the creation of an independent Arab state composed of two spheres of influence, British and French, but notably did not grant sovereignty. Palestine was to be internationalised and France was given free reign over territory north of there, including some of Anatolia itself.2 France gained the territories that now form Syria and Lebanon, while Britain secured control over Iraq and Transjordan. The powers agreed to exercise direct control principally in the coastal areas, but direct British control in Mesopotamia extended as far north as the vilayet of Baghdad. In other areas, a system of indirect rule was envisaged, and an Arab state or confederation would be recognized by the powers upon its establishment.3 While Arab leadership was suspicious of the allies, Sykes was able to diffuse these fears without revealing the true aim of the agreement.4 But, the agreement all but collapsed before the end of the war due to the signing of the Balfour Declaration and the collapse of Tsarist Russia. In addition, the United States was vocal in its disdain for secret agreements, and clashes in policy between Sykes-Picot and what was promised to the Arabs during the war revealed themselves.5 However, an accord between the Allies in September 1918 salvaged parts of the SykesPicot: Palestine would now fall under British administration and the coastal area to the north under the French. Arab control would be granted over the 296

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Syrian interior. By December, control over Mosul shifted to the British, and the border of Palestine extended north in exchange for formal British recognition of Syria being within the French sphere of influence. 6 THE STRATEGIC VALUE OF OIL By the end of World War One, the realization that oil was a new strategic asset was best recognized by Britain, given that her navy was now powered by this fuel. Moreover, it was clear that civilian demand would rise during peacetime; an increase would persist to some degree during any future conflict and this made the need for Britain to extend its hold over the oil resources of the former Ottoman provinces acute. While oil was at the top of Britain’s objectives by war’s end, driving a significant part of its Middle-Eastern policy, claims that oil was a strategic objective of the British war effort since the outbreak of war are erroneous. In 1915, Capitan Hall of the British Admiralty Intelligence pointed to Baghdad on the map and said that “the ultimate success of the war depended on what we did there”.7 But, at that time, Capitan Hall was part of the smallest of minorities; the overwhelming feeling within the British government was on other aims, namely securing peace on the European continent. But, Hall’s stance is understandable, given that the Royal Navy had elected to switch its fleet from burning coal to oil in 1912.8 The British decision in 1912 was followed quickly by the United States as both sought the supremacy of oil-powered vessels. However, the U.S. Navy was more conservative in its conversion program, thereby reducing the need to ensure long-term access to oil.9 Pressure on the United States to secure greater oil resources was also lessened by significant supply from domestic and Mexican fields.10 Despite this, the US Navy suggested in 1913 that the government enter the oil business as Britain had already done, in order to secure future supplies for its soon-to-be oil powered fleet. When America entered the war in 1917, the United States did not recognize the connection between far-off petroleum resources and security, a costly miscalculation also made by the British.11 Rather, US aims in joining the war effort were to come to the aid of Britain. Similarly, the official stance of the government in both London and India during the war years was not based around ensuring energy security, but on ensuring that pro-German regimes were not established in Europe and the Middle East. While there were rumblings of using the war to guarantee oil security, particularly on the Admiralty’s part, oil did not become a key objective of British Middle-East 297

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policy until the closing months of the war.12 Any civilian aims to establish British control of the area at the beginning of the 1914 war were based around ensuring diplomatic and political power in the region rather than due to a full realization of the strategic value of petroleum.13 For its part, the British government in India was interested in maintaining the vilayet of Basra in order to ensure strategic control over the Persian Gulf; there was no interest by the British Indian government in northern Mesopotamian oil.14 The Admiralty made numerous efforts throughout the war years to push securing strategic oil assets to the top of the list of wartime objectives. Hall’s 1915 statement was reiterated by First Sea Lord Sir Henry Jackson and Vice Admiral Sir Edmond Slade to committees in 1916, arguing that Mosul should be brought into the British sphere of influence due in part to the strategic value of the region’s oil.15 In addition, The Secretary of the War Cabinet is said to have been heavily influenced by a paper endorsed by the First Sea Lord Wemyss wherein he outlined the strong need for the British Empire to control the Middle East, particularly its oil assets.16 It had already been established that there were considerable oil resources scattered around Mesopotamia, but that nothing had been done to exploit them.17 Their keen recognition that the Navy’s oil consumption represented the vast majority of Britain’s overall consumption was key to the Admiralty’s insistence that oil become a primary aim of the war effort.18 While the Admiralty’s efforts proved to be successful with a tacit recognition of oil as a strategic objective of the war in 1916, it would not be until close to the end of the war in 1918 that efforts on both the diplomatic and military fronts were retooled to reflect this change in policy and objective.19 In the last months of the war, Britain sought to secure its future in oil not only militarily and diplomatically, but also, after the armistice, by way of overt support for British companies. Standard Oil of New York was kept from investigating its Palestinian claims made in 1914, and not long thereafter ensured that American geologists were denied access to do their work in Mesopotamia.20 The British-Dutch company Royal Dutch Shell launched a challenge to the global supremacy of Standard Oil soon after the war, while the Anglo-Persian oil company received preferential treatment from the British government. Support was given with the clear aim of ensuring adequate oil supply for the Royal Navy,21 and policy tools were enacted to limit oil extraction in the region to the Anglo-Persian Oil Company and Royal Dutch Shell.22

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In December 1918 the Petroleum Executive reminded the government that British commercial strength was being put in jeopardy by the advent of new technology. British commerce had been aided significantly by its large coal reserves at home, but with the increased use of new technology, the primary means of extracting energy for shipping and other purposes had switched from coal to oil, and therefore British commercial strength was being put in jeopardy. To this end, it said that “It is no exaggeration to say that our existence as an Empire is very largely dependent on our ability to maintain control of bunker fuels”.23 Balfour made Mesopotamia the exception to his belief that the war should not be used to expand the British Empire; his main reason behind making this exception was to secure what the empire lacked: oil.24 To this end, Lloyd George altered the Middle East war aims in 1918 and began advocating the military advance into Mesopotamia before the end of the conflict. He believed that the only possible competitor amongst the war’s victors who could assume control of the country at the end of hostilities— the United States—could be bought off by allowing it to take control of one of Germany’s African colonies and Palestine.25 In 1918 the Imperial War Cabinet recommended that Britain should seek to occupy all territories with oil before the end of hostilities, provided that it could be done without any additional costs incurred by the military.26 With this, the Petroleum Executive’s aims, the Admiralty, and the Government all had put forth policies that sought to expand British influence over territories with oilfields.27 Following the war, Arnold Toynbee, who was responsible for most of the memoranda coming out of the Middle East Section of the Foreign Office, advocated independence for Mesopotamia with British administrative assistance, but did not want this assistance limited in the length or scope of its mandate.28 A corresponding view was held by Sir Percy Cox, the civil commissioner in Baghdad, who had said that the Mesopotamian administration should be under British guidance and that “the more complete the British Control can be, the better for the country.”29 At war’s end, the American public saw the British as ungrateful for ensuring the allied victory. This helped spawn the brewing conflict over access to oil resources in the years to come, as the British grew increasingly weary of American naval power. The possibility of rising U.S. naval power was in part cause for Britain denying any Middle Eastern mandates to the United States at the close of the war; Britain saw the introduction of a new 299

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power the Mediterranean region as encouraging America to build its naval power and therefore early discussions of granting the United States a mandate in Palestine were eventually rejected.30 The Royal Navy remained larger, and generally more technologically advanced—particularly due to the aggressive conversion to oil program—but the U.S. Navy was nonetheless a looming threat to British supremacy on the high seas.31 British strategists grew concerned at the prospects of pre-war isolationist America could now possibly emerge as a real threat to British naval supremacy, a concern that translated into an American view that Britain was deliberately trying to put the United States in a poor situation with respect to its oil access. A great effort was put forth to disprove these claims, but the impression in America remained that its wartime ally was actively preventing it from access to Middle Eastern oil resources.32 The United States recognized its folly in failing to secure access to oil during the war but sought to act proactively afterwards to correct its error, singling out Britain as the chief offender acting in contravention of its interests, with acting US Consul General Stanley Hollis in London saying that the British would act “vigorously” to ensure that foreigners were kept out of oil-producing properties, not only in its dominions, but also in neutral territories.33 The inclusion of ‘neutral territories’ underlines the view that Britain would actively seek to bar foreigners from securing access to oil in any territories, regardless of whether they were firmly within the realm of the British Empire. While tepid at first, Britain in particular sought to ensure that she secured vital oil interests at the close of the war, making exceptions to their stated preference to not see the Empire expand in order to achieve it. Britain succeeded in placing her forces where they could command a position of control over regional oil interests end while the United States failed to identify the underlining domestic trend in oil consumption. Driven at least in part by an aversion to empire, the United States risked its security for the coming decades by failing in this regard; it was only after concerted State Department effort through the 1920s that the United States was able to grab a foothold in the valuable resources in Mesopotamia. BRITISH CONTROL OF MOSUL French President Georges Clemenceau’s concession of Mosul and environs to the British can be explained by his primary concern being the security of Europe; he saw it as advantageous to gain the good will from his 300

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ally Britain who had helped secure the Rhine frontier; he wished to pre-empt a wholesale revision of the Sykes-Picot agreement by working within its broader framework; and, it is said that he was offered up to 50% of whatever oil would be discovered in British-controlled Mosul.34 Moreover, the territory of Mosul is said to have been of only cursory interest to the central aims of the French government.35 Initial dispatches between wartime allies Britain and France indicate that northern Mesopotamia, and Mosul more specifically, were not key French aims.36 French Ambassador to London, Paul Cambon, said that the British were looking for a paramount role in the region, but not specifically physical possession of it, reasoning that the British Empire was strained and questioned its ability to take on the additional responsibility of territorial expansion. Rather, Britain’s goals were to maintain access to her existing territories and to expand commercially by establishing new markets for British goods.37 French claims to the territory in question resulted from their acquiescence to British aims during the war by promoting the creation of an Arab state. While France initially opposed this plan, their support was secured when during these discussions Britain agreed to give control of Mosul to France following the war. Both the British and French Foreign Ministries’ outlook was limited during the war and did not anticipate the strategic value of the petroleum reserves, short- or long-term.38 During the war, while it remained outside of the explicit realm of the Sykes-Picot agreement, London had agreed to French control of Mosul to maintain a buffer with the Russians. Prior to the Bolshevik Revolution, it was anticipated that Russia’s sphere of influence would descend into Anatolia; the oil fields that at the time were expected to yield good returns were actually drawn to be outside the borders drawn by Sykes-Picot. The French granted recognition to the Turkish Petroleum Company’s legitimate role to extract resources from all of the former Ottoman provinces, even those to be put under French control.39 Some territorial concessions were made to the French, but resource extraction was clearly of tertiary concern; Kitchener and Balfour, under Sykes-Picot, while aware of the possibility that significant oil field law in northern Mesopotamia saw Mosul’s significance as a buffer territory between the domains of the British Empire and that of the Russians. Their concern for resource extraction was clearly secondary.40 However, there have been claims that there was never a British intention to let the French control the territory.41 Claims that Clemenceau gave up a significant prize by ceding ultimate control of Mosul to the British are misguided, as the 301

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French government did not control the resources, and even if they had, there were no French companies possessing the technical expertise or the marketing network to profit from extraction.42 Realization was had that the region’s resources were quickly “becoming every day more vital to our national life”,43 but this did not stop two deals designed to allocate resources from falling apart in 1919. It was not until the all encompassing San Remo agreement of 24 April 1920 that a lasting deal was struck, allowing for both private and state-led ventures in the territory. Lloyd George’s preference for maintaining government control of the oil resources was triggered by his hope to avoid criticism in parliament for so easily conceding an asset won at high military and financial cost.44 The agreement drew heavy criticism from the Italians and the Americans, both of whom decried the monopolistic nature of the agreement.45 The British government subsequently used its duumvirate of oil giants in order to implement policy. Policy changes concerning private firm participation in Mesopotamian oil fields, while lessening control somewhat, ensured Britain maintained ultimate control over the strategic asset.46 Concurrent with the San Remo negotiations were strong efforts to scour the world for new petroleum-supply areas in order to complement the MiddleEastern reserve base.47 Had economic concerns trumped those of security, British companies would have undoubtedly been free to exploit the area’s oil riches for profit, free from state-control. Britain’s worldwide effort to secure additional oil resources is evidence of Britain’s recognition that the need for oil security was of paramount concern. This notwithstanding, the United States’ High Commissioner to Turkey from 1921-1927, Rear Admiral Mark L Bristol, saw the situation differently, claiming that Britain’s aim was to build a massive business empire in the Middle East.48 However, Bristol seemingly ignored the high costs incurred in maintaining the territory, evidenced by the British offer to France of 25 per cent of oil revenues less the cost of the entire administration in Mesopotamia.49 The British capitalized on a lack of French interest in Mosul, transforming an area under tepid French influence to one with direct ties to the Empire, thus ensuring its inclusion in the new state of Iraq. France never controlled resource extraction—and did not hold the areas believed to be most lucrative to exploit—but it is noteworthy that the British were able to secure complete control of the area’s resources with relative ease. While a concession of 25 per cent was made to the French, this was only after tying it to the costs of administering the entire territory. The result was Britain aiding 302

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commercial interests and long-term security objectives by allowing for private- and public sector resource development, facilitating continued British control of the area at lower cost. Moreover, with the public becoming keenly aware of the high cost of Britain’s Mesopotamian interests, it was beneficial to have France offset some of the costs incurred there in the effort to guarantee security and profits for British companies. REGIONAL POLICY AND OBJECTIVES Interdepartmental disputes that hamstrung oil policy before the war persisted postwar, a conflict that was particularly acute in the Middle East.50 In 1919, Anglo-Indian forces were in place across most of the Arab territories as removing Turkish sovereignty there became of paramount importance. However, the political structure of the region over the long term remained uncertain as confusion had been bred in the variety of agencies and committees had drafted Middle East war policy.51 The 1919 Paris Peace Conference solved little with respect to establishing a long-term approach to Empire. British negotiators can be grouped into three camps, each with varying objectives with respect to settling the lingering territorial issues outside of Europe. Traditional imperialists were willing to take virtually any piece of land on offer; a second grouping was formed by those who sought to only gain territory that would add to the empire at its frontiers, thus ensuring the security of the territories Britain valued. There were those who saw it necessary to see the empire shrink in size as well, as they believed it to be too large to maintain. The eclectic group shared a fear of all other Great Powers, be they wartime enemies or allies.52 It is this last point that can explain the overt policies against allowing the United States to gain a foothold in British Middle Eastern oil concerns. The lack of clear policy was detrimental to the situation in Mesopotamia, and by default, Mosul. Various proposals included that of Arnold Wilson in Baghdad who saw the entire vilayet as an integral part of any state based on Baghdad. The British Foreign Office favoured the creation of an independent or autonomous state, which would allow for the removal of British troops stationed there. And, the India Office advocated only the retention of a series of enclaves so as to allow for a link to be maintained with India.53 While the wrangling continued, direct administration by the British remained, but was faced with serious revolts in the Arab regions of Mesopotamia, pushing British forces to be reinforced. Britain sought to 303

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prevent a Turkish return to the Arab Ottoman lands, and there were suggestions that southern Kurdistan (the vilayet of Mosul) be cut off from the rest of Mesopotamia sometime in the future to achieve this end.54 At home, however, the objectives of a presence in Mesopotamia were called into question. The Times asked in August 1921: “what is the total number of casualties our forces have suffered in Mesopotamia during the single month of July, in our efforts to ‘emancipate’ the Arabs, to fulfil our mandate and to make smooth the way for the seekers after oil?”55 British policy to ensure oil security postwar was effective for soon after the armistice British companies controlled 50 per cent of world reserves.56 Britain positioned herself to ensure not only that her civilian and military energy needs were met, but also that she could use these reserves as political and diplomatic tools. The coup was spurred by the realization that, prior to the war, the United States controlled 65 per cent of total world production capacity, and it had been supplying the United Kingdom with more than 60 per cent of its total imports. The fear was that the United States could “place us [Britain] in a position of great difficulty if her own oil requirements or trade interests should dictate.”57 British gains led to a heightened American fear of being forced into becoming a client of British oil.58 Naturally, the possibility of Britain emerging as the world’s oil hegemon drew criticism from the oil-thirsty United States, particularly with its new anxiety over a comparative lack of oil resources. British protectionism was assailed by the president of the Standard Oil Company New Jersey, saying that “American companies or citizens operating, or desiring to operate, in foreign countries, should receive the same privileges similar to those enjoyed in the United States by companies or citizens of such foreign countries, and that effective steps to that end should be taken through diplomatic channels”.59 American companies found it difficult to operate in British lands, which by no coincidence controlled the most promising Middle Eastern lands.60 British protectionist oil policy was fought on two fronts. First, they pushed their stance that the British policy was clearly a violation of the generally accepted open door policies and of international agreements such as the Treaty of Sèvres as well as the Charter of the League of Nations. This tack undertaken was seemingly oblivious both to concerted US efforts to maintain a firm closed-door investment policy on oil in the Americas, and the fact that the US was not a member of the League of Nations. Secondly,

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the US government began to refuse oil leases to those governments who did reciprocate and welcome US oil concerns.61 Later, US efforts to be included in Mesopotamian oil exploitation would pay dividends, but ultimately the ‘open-door’ policy on investment advocated by the United States would remain in force for only a few years.62 In this time five American companies were permitted to join the international group controlling the Turkish Petroleum Company.63 Following the war the British were woefully unprepared to secure the peace for the empire with a concrete vision and clear objectives. British officials, and therefore British policy, were indecisive with respect to Mosul, and the consequences were never clearer than during the 1921 revolts. Despite impotent British policy formulation and administration, made painfully clear by the revolts, Britain was able to secure the strategic resources in the area for exploitation in the future by the British government and British companies. ANGLO-TURKISH RELATIONS Ahead of Lausanne, Cabinet disagreed with Curzon on the importance of ensuring Britain maintained control over Iraq—as such he was mandated to not commit the British to any further responsibility in Mesopotamia, but was permitted to refuse any proposal to include Mosul within Turkish borders.64 The importance of maintaining Mesopotamia’s borders was ignored by Cabinet, as it saw the establishment of a lasting peace with Turkey as more favourable. To this end, Curzon was warned that “We cannot go to war for Mosul.”65 His weak hand with respect to Mosul faced up against strong Turkish resolve to gain control over the territory. Turkey was ready to meet Britain on every point of the all encompassing treaty and break with the Soviets, provided they were granted Mosul. Turkey placed high priority on including Mosul in Turkey for several reasons, including: ethnic and historical ties with Turkey; a perceived economic need to maintain Mosul for the future of Turkey in Asia; and domestic implications if Mosul was not secured. Angora (Ankara) was said to be completely unwilling to conclude any treaty that did not include the vilayet.66 With such intractability between them, it did not take long before the conference’s usefulness was called into question, with Curzon writing less than a week later that “unless (the) Turks descend from pedestal and show a disposition to conclude an early agreement on essential points, there will be no use in going on.”67

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Curzon was able to ensure that the integrity of Mesopotamia was retained by acting with diplomatic care: he launched an assault against the Turks at Lausanne and was ultimately able to get them to agree to settle the Mosul question outside of the Treaty of Lausanne. Subsequently, Curzon sought to have border demarcation resolved by the League of Nations on the basis that “the area in dispute is a portion of mandated territory, over which we exercise mandatory powers in response to an invitation from the League of Nations in October 1921, and that we could not surrender or modify that obligation without reference to the League”.68 The Turks responded by calling for a plebiscite of the region’s inhabitants and rejected deferring to the League of Nations outright. This suggestion was responded to with hostility, as Curzon questioned how a plebiscite could be conducted in an area with a largely nomadic population who were largely illiterate.69 Despite the postponement of the discussion on Mosul for one year to allow for bilateral discussions outside of the framework of Lausanne, the treaty discussions collapsed due to economic and judicial clauses.70 In the final Treaty, drawn in May 1923 when the conference reconvened, Turkey agreed to a nine-month negotiating period over the question of the Iraqi Frontier, brought about largely by the disastrous state of the economy and other pressures.71 Curzon fulfilled the mandate given to him by Cabinet of not compromising an agreement for the sake of maintaining Mosul, while not sacrificing what he saw to be the vital security interests of British-held Baghdad and Basra. In turn, this maintained strategic position in the Middle East vis-à-vis its jewel, India, with oil apparently playing no part in his motivations.72 Despite the League of Nations, long before granting the mandate for Iraq to Britain, it was not until 19 July 1924 when British troops entered the Sulaimaniya district of Mosul that they were to have their presence felt that far north in the vilayet.73 The collective hand of Europe was, as a result, forced to ensure a lasting peace in the region. While most of the AngloTurkish issues in dispute were settled by the end of the conference at Lausanne, one of the most contentious remained: the demarcation of the border between Turkey and the Iraqi mandate.74 British officials decried the Turkish position, noting that “Turks are never tired of saying that Mosul is the only stumbling block in the path towards Anglo-Turkish friendship”75, but there were real Turkish concerns behind their apprehension in making a deal. 306

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Turkish considerations can be separated into four categories: internal and external politics, and military and financial concerns. Internally, Turkey would face public displeasure over signing away Mosul. Also, the stated aim of promoting Kurdish autonomy in Iraq worried the Turks, for they feared that such feeling would spread to their territories as well. Externally, the new Turkish republic was striving to soon become a member of the League of Nations, particularly as its Covenant would act as a sort of insurance policy against Russian encroachment on its territory. However, without a timely solution to the border question, Turkey would remain a pariah state and be prevented entry to the League. Militarily, the reality for Turkey was that even if they succeeded in taking Mosul, its grip there would be tenuous at best. In addition, the fractious nature of the Turkish state at that time, particularly with regard to its ethnic groups, would pose a problem for the Turkish army, especially for what would be long supply lines to Mosul. Financially, Turkey lacked credit on the international market, and to openly flaunt the League by launching a military offensive on Iraq would surely remove any possibility that Turkey receive any loans from League members. Also, the campaign itself could only be waged at high cost. But, securing Mosul for Turkey would undoubtedly shore up its financial situation in the long-term, given the wealth in the oil reserves there.76 The Council of the League of Nations elected to fix the border in December 1925 along the Brussels line—the line that formed the provisional boundary since 1924, tracing almost perfectly the northern boundary of the vilayet of Mosul—contingent upon Great Britain and Iraq agreeing within six months to have Britain’s mandate extended for twenty-five years.77 Both parties’ formal acceptance was enshrined by way of the AngloTurkish Treaty of 5 June 1926, with only a minor change from the Brussels line.78 Initially it seemed to the main British negotiator that they would not be able to secure an agreement that was favourable to Britain, but hoped to improve upon it later as domestic situation in Turkey developed.79 Instead, the situation in Turkey forced the Turkish negotiators’ hand, and they arrived at a deal favourable to Britain. The agreement settling the border demarcation issue was supplemented by a treaty that granted Turkey compensation for the oil found in the vilayet. Ten per cent of oil royalties for twenty-five years were promised to Turkey, including royalties from the Turkish Petroleum Company, as well as all other companies and their subsidiaries.80 Austen Chamberlain, the Foreign Secretary, had previously made clear that it would 307

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be impossible for Turkey to be a part of initiatives to extract Mosul oil, but in lieu of extraction rights, a royalty could be paid, but only for the length of time the mandate was slated to be in place. This royalty could have been as high as 25 per cent, but their impatience and domestic concerns forced them to settle for only 10 per cent,81 and it was requested that this sum paid at once in order to shore up Turkish reserves.82 While Britain did not exploit the Kurdish populations to its advantage by using them to weaken Mustafa Kemal’s Turkey and thereby consolidate its victory, its actions were largely motivated by self-interest, to maintain its presence in northern Mesopotamia, and not to humanitarian concerns, as some would suggest. The British perseverance and wise decision to not overtly antagonize the nationalist government paid dividends for diplomatic efforts later. At Lausanne, Curzon was able to maintain his personal ambition to sustain what would prove to be valuable territory in Mosul, without sacrificing what the Cabinet had allowed him to offer in return for a lasting and comprehensive peace. As the Anglo-Turkish Treaty of 5 June 1926 demonstrated, Britain had been positioned well to secure its vital interests; its security concerns were met in the most tangible form that day—by a most favourable outcome on the allocation of territory. While it is unclear if the Turks were fully aware of the region’s resources, or that its decision to accept the single payout in lieu of the royalty was motivated by domestic economic concerns, but either way it suggests that Turkish interest in the region’s resources were of only minor concern. CONCLUSION This paper has sought to both explore and explain the fundamental aims of British diplomacy of the era on the question of the vilayet of Mosul. It discussed how control of the territory was secured and then kept in the hands of the British. Also, rationale for British actions of the time period has been examined. As was mentioned in first pages of this paper, oil is of paramount concern in most contemporary discourse on the Middle East. It is for this reason that a significant part of this paper dealt with oil as a strategic goal of the British, with particular emphasis on the vilayet of Mosul. While much of the dialogue on Middle East policy today can be said to be based in good part on the oil resources found in the region, today’s reality cannot be directly transcribed to the period in question here. While there is evidence that oil was a major concern amongst some within the British government 308

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and military during the war years, it is clear that there was no more than tacit recognition of oil as a key objective of the war effort for much—if not all— of the war, despite the Admiralty’s urging. While some recognition of oil as an aim was made during the war in some quarters, little was done to achieve this aim until close to the end of hostilities. Postwar, a realization was made that oil was of paramount concern for the British Empire, particularly with the state goal of maintaining naval superiority. But, while oil was indeed a concern that drove British policy in the postwar years, it was far from the only issue that was taken into consideration. Other strategic aims were of equal if not greater concern—the jewel of the empire, India, had to be protected, and communication and shipping channels secured. Mosul factored into this issue as most planners considered the viability of maintaining British control of Baghdad and Basra and creating an entity that was both sustainable and governable highly contingent upon securing control over its northern approach. It was this reason that should be considered the impetus behind Britain’s seeking control of the vilayet from France. However, British policymaking was often ill-defined and frequently without clear objective. The lack of clear vision displayed makes it inherently difficult to address specific British aims. Concerns over oil were also addressed in the context of maintaining the ‘closed door’ policy to foreign investment in Mesopotamian oil. This protectionist policy could suggest that British policy was driven by oil, not other strategic aims. However, had the concern been only, U.S. and other investors and their capital would have been invited in to build up this potentially important area. Simply, a region with oil resources at the time of war can only be considered a strategic asset if there is proven exploitable resources. Mosul had few proven resources at the time, and exploitation on any significant scale did not take place until the late 1920’s, interestingly, after the closed door policy had been abandoned. The chief British concern in keeping US interests out was to keep another major power out of the Middle East, and by default, the Mediterranean. While British policy makers were largely disjointed, they shared the common objective of ensuring Britain’s interests were not threatened by another major power. With respect to Turkey, Britain’s core strategic interest in Mosul was to ensure the southern vilayets were safe from the threat of nationalist attack. It was wise to reject suggestions that the British turn the Kurds on the Turks. Curzon’s stated view, as noted, was that oil was not of concern to his work on securing the region. Had oil been of significant import to British policy, it 309

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is presumable that the proposal to create a British mandate in Kurdistan would have been followed through on—as this mandate would have secured British interests there. Instead, though, Britain sought only what was needed to ensure that its southern holdings in Mesopotamia were kept secure. The same motive prompted the maximum offer of compensation in lieu of royalty to be offered to Turkey at the outset of negotiations; it was in Britain’s interests to befriend Mesopotamia’s northern neighbour in such a manner after winning such a diplomatic coup on the Anglo-Turkish agreement. While oil can be considered a significant factor that influenced British policy on the vilayet of Mosul, it can by no means be said to be the only motivator. Traditional security concerns were of great significance, and while oil receives a good deal of attention as a motivator in foreign policy, in this case, it was traditional security concerns as outlined were that proved to be of greater influence towards British policy on the vilayet of Mosul.

1

Peter Mansfield, A History of the Middle East, Second Edition, (Toronto: Penguin Books, 2003), 157. 2 G.H. Bennett, British Foreign Policy during the Curzon Period, 1919-1924, (London: St Martin’s Press, 1995), 96. 3 Mansfield, 157. 4 Ibid. 5 Bennett, 96. 6 Ibid., 101. 7 V.H. Rothwell, “Mesopotamia in British War Aims, 1914-1918” in The Historical Journal, 13: 2, (Jun., 1970), 287. 8 G. Gareth Jones, “The British Government and the Oil Companies 1912-1924: The Search for an Oil Policy,” in The Historical Journal, 20: 3 (Sep., 1977), 651. 9 John A. DeNovo, “The Movement for an Aggressive American Oil Policy Abroad, 1918-1920” in The American Historical Review, 61: 4. (Jul., 1956), 855. 10 Ibid. 11 Ibid., 854. 12 Rothwell, 294. 13 In 1914, the British government is said to have wanted to maintain control over oil resources in Persia and Mesopotamia for political and diplomatic reasons, rather than out of a realization of the strategic value of petroleum. See Jones, 651. Other plans were made by the civilian authorities during the war, perhaps one of the most curious was for it to become a granary for India, or to use it as a place to resettle Indian immigrants. See Rothwell, 288. 14 Edward Peter Fitzgerald, “France's Middle Eastern Ambitions, the Sykes-Picot Negotiations, and the Oil Fields of Mosul, 1915-1918” in The Journal of Modern History, 66: 4, (Dec., 1994), 705. 15 First Sea Lord Sir Henry Jackson testified at an interdepartmental committee chaired by Sir Maurice de Bunsen, which looked at Britain’s position in the Ottoman near east, that oil had 310

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previously never been put on the table, but this committee did this for the first time and subsequently put Mesopotamian oil into British war aims. The committee met thirteen times from April to June, reporting traditional security concerns but also river navigation, irrigation channels and the production of oil. The Committee accepted the view that Mosul and its northern approaches be put under British control. Vice Admiral Sir Edmond Slade furthered these arguments later the same year. See Fitzgerald, 705-6 and Rothwell, 287-8. 16 Jones, 667. 17 Rothwell, 288. 18 9.1 million of the 10 million tons of oil imported to Britain during the war were used by the Royal Navy. See Rothwell, 287. 19 Fitzgerald, 707. 20 DeNovo, 861. 21 Ibid., 865. 22 Jeffry A. Frieden, “The Economics of Intervention: American Overseas Investments and Relations with Underdeveloped Areas, 1890-1950 (in The United States in the International Economy)” in Comparative Studies in Society and History, 31: 1, (Jan., 1989), 66. 23 ‘Bunker fuels’ refers to oil and coal. See also Erik Goldstein, Winning the Peace: British Diplomatic Strategy, Peace Planning, and the Paris Peace Conference, 1916-1920, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 204-5, and Rothwell, 287. 24 Rothwell, 290. 25 Ibid. 26 Ibid., 291. 27 The Admiralty had made reports that advocated Britain adopt a policy very similar to that of the Petroleum Executive. See Goldstein, 205. 28 Ibid., 153-4. 29 Ibid., 165. 30 Goldstein, 189. 31 DeNovo, 858. 32 DeNovo, 859. 33 Ibid., 860. 34 Fitzgerald, 698. 35 Stephen Joseph Stillwell, Jr. Anglo-Turkish Relations in the Interwar Era, Studies in British History, Volume 73. (Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2003), 70. 36 Fitzgerald, 703. 37 Ibid., 704. 38 Ibid., 722. 39 Ibid., 723. 40 Rothwell, 288. 41 Ibid., 292. 42 Fitzgerald, 723-5. 43 R.W. Ferrier, The History of The British Petroleum Company: Volume 1, The Developing Years 19011932, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 357. 44 Conversation between British and French Prime Ministers, 9:30am ICP 94A 18 April 1920, in “Proceedings of the Conference of San Remo”, Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939. First Series, Volume VIII, 1920, Rohan Butler and JPT Bury, eds. (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1958), 9.

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45

Ferrier, 358. The January 1920 decision by the British Cabinet stated that it would be the British government that would directly work the oilfields in Mesopotamia, not a British company. See Jones, 670. 47 DeNovo, 865. 48 Thomas A. Bryson, “Admiral Mark L. Bristol, an Open-Door Diplomat in Turkey,” in International Journal of Middle East Studies, 5: 4 (Sept 1974), 459. 49 Conversation between British and French Prime Ministers, 10. 50 Jones, 669. 51 Bennett, 95. 52 Goldstein, 230. 53 Briton Cooper Busch, Mudros to Lausanne: Britain’s Frontier in West Asia 1918-1923, (New York: State University of New York Press, 1976), 370. 54 Ibid., 371. 55 Bennett, 106. 56 Notably, British consumption was only 5 per cent of the world total. Figures from 1919. See DeNovo, 865. 57 Goldstein, 205. 58 DeNovo, 857. 59 Ibid., 867. 60 Frieden, 66. 61 Ibid., 67. 62 In July 1928 the Red Line agreement gave an American group a share of the Anglo-DutchFrench-Gulbenkian oil monopoly in the former Ottoman Empire. This new ‘Open Door’ policy was used only long enough to allow entry into the market for a few American firms before the policy reverted to being ‘Closed Door’ just as it had been previously (and as it continued to be in the Americas, where non-American investors were prohibited). See Frieden, 67 and 75 63 The five companies joined the group in 1928. Six years later oil was piped to the Mediterranean, part of a successful strategy that entrenched American companies in the region, a development that would have a significant impact in the future. See DeNovo, 875-6. 64 Bennett, 118. 65 Ibid., 119. 66 The Marquess Curzon of Kendelston (Lausanne) to Sir E. Crowe (Received December 6, 8.30am), No 80 Telegraphic. [E13695/13003/44], Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939, First Series, Volume XVII, 1922-1923, W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert, eds., (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1972), 370-1. 67 Ibid., 386-7. 68 The Marquess Curzon of Kendelston (Lausanne) to Mr. Lindsay (Received January 21, 8.30am), No 215 Telegraphic. [E830/1/44], Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939, First Series, Volume XVII, 1922-1923, W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert, eds., (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1972), 456. 69 Ibid., 463-5. 70 The Marquess Curzon of Kendelston (Lausanne) to Mr. Lindsay (Received February 7), Unnumbered Telegraphic. [E1509/1/44], Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939, First Series, Volume XVII, 1922-1923, W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert, eds., (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1972), 504-5. 46

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71

See Article 3 (2), Iraq Frontier, in: Sir H Rumbold (Lausanne) to the Marquess Curzon of Kendelston (Received June 28, 8.30am), No 635 Telegraphic. [E6666/1/44], Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939. First Series, Volume XVII, 1922-1923. Edited by W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert. (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1972), 899; and Mr Henderson (Constantinople) to the Marquess Curzon of Kendelston (Received May 6, 11:10pm). No 273 Telegraphic. [E4593/199/44]. Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939. First Series, Volume XVII, 1922-1923. Edited by W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert. (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1972), 725-6. 72 The Marquess Curzon of Kendelston (Lausanne) to Mr. Lindsay (Received January 25, 8.30am). No 224 Telegraphic. [E959/1/44]. Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939. First Series, Volume XVII, 1922-1923. Edited by W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert. (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1972), 464. 73 Stillwell, 72. 74 Ibid., 73. 75 Sir R Lindsay (HM Ambassador to Turkey, resident at Constantinople) to Mr A Chamberlain. (Received October 26 1925). No 531 [E6527/175/44]. Documents on British Foreign Policy, 19191939. Series 1A, Volume I. Edited by W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert. (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1966), 760. 76 Memoranda respecting the Iraq Frontier Dispute. [E6635/32/65]. Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939. Series 1A, Volume I. Edited by W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. (Lambert. London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1966), 765. 77 Mr London (Geneva) to Sir W. Tyrell (Received December 15). No 430 Telegraphic [Turkey 127/4]. Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939. Series 1A, Volume I. Edited by W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert. (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1966). 790; for a description of the Brussels line see the Annex of “Treaty Between the United Kingdom and Iraq and Turkey Regarding the Settlement of the Frontier between Turkey and Iraq together with Notes exchanged.” Angora, June 5, 1926. (London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926 and Stillwell), 115-116. 78 See Bennett, 119; and Articles 2 and 3 of “Treaty Between the United Kingdom and Iraq and Turkey Regarding the Settlement of the Frontier between Turkey and Iraq together with Notes exchanged.” Angora, June 5, 1926. (London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926) 79 Stillwell, 116. 80 See Article 14 of “Treaty Between the United Kingdom and Iraq and Turkey Regarding the Settlement of the Frontier between Turkey and Iraq together with Notes exchanged.” Angora, June 5, 1926. (London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926). 81 Curzon had been mandated to offer between ₤300,000 and ₤500,000, but offered the maximum at the outset. The Turkish negotiator, Ismet Pasha, realized this quickly and accepted without further discussion. See Sir R Lindsay (Angora) to Sir A Chamberlain (Received April 23, 2.3 p.m.). No 3 Telegraphic [E2575/62/65]. Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939. Series 1A, Volume I. Edited by W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert. (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1966), 835. 82 Evans, Stephen F. The Slow Rapprochement: Britain and Turkey in the age of Ataturk. Hull (UK): University of Hull, 1982. p. 96 and Sir R Lindsay (Angora) to Sir A Chamberlain (Received April 23, 2.30 p.m.). No 3 Telegraphic [E2575/62/65]. Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919-1939. Series 1A, Volume I. Edited by W.N Medlicott, Douglas Dakin and M.E. Lambert. London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1966. p835.

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The Maxim Gun Factor: The Pattern of Western Military Supremacy KEITH SHUSTOV University of Calgary, Calgary INTRODUCTION The current global military balance is not a unique, new situation. The one remaining superpower, the United States, is now a position vis-à-vis nation states of the Third World that closely parallels that held by Great Powers in relation to the various native states in the nineteenth century. The overwhelming superiority of western military technology allowed the Great Powers to quite literally conquer the world.1 Proliferation of this military technology during the next fifty years did much to equalize the technological imbalance, while public opinion in regards to casualties placed enough political restrictions on most Western armies to make large-scale conventional warfare in the Third World prohibitive. In the post Cold War period, however, Western, and more specifically American, military technology gained several generations of advantage over that of the developing world, and once again made imperial style campaigns viable. There are three stages of this swing: Western supremacy, balance, and the return of Western supremacy. These are neatly showcased by three campaigns: the Sudan campaign of 1898 waged by the British Empire forces and Egyptian allies against the Mahdist state; the siege of the French garrison at Dien-Bien-Phu in 1954 by the Viet-Minh; and the fighting between American forces against the Iraqi Army during Operation Desert Storm. The parallels between the battles the British army fought on the Nile and the American experience in Desert Storm are obvious. OMDURMAN The battle of Omdurman was the culminating point of the Sudan campaign. The campaign was fought to secure the source of the Nile, to eliminate the threat of the fundamentalist Mahdist regime to Egypt, and to avenge the great Victorian hero General Gordon killed by the Mahdists in 1884.2 The Anglo-Egyptian Army under the command of General Kitchener crossed into the Sudan in 1896 and gradually advanced, stockpiling supplies and building a railroad. British troops carried the Lee-Metford with a ten 314

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round magazine. Egyptians and Sudanese were armed with the Martini Henry, an older but still highly capable single shot breechloader weapon. Machineguns and breech loading artillery completed the arsenal. Heavily armed gun-boats operated on the Nile. While the Mahdists had some modern rifles, most were armed with spears and swords.3 By September of 1898 Kitchener had pushed his 23,000 men to the Mahdist capital of Omdurman and issued a sort of a challenge to the Sudanese ruler and commander- in- chief, the Khalifa, by shelling the tomb of the Mahdi.4 2 September found the Anglo-Egyptian army encamped in a semicircular position with its back to the river. The army spent an uneasy night in the entrenchments, with searchlights from the gun boats on the river scanning the desert. Many expected a night attack but this never materialized. At five in the morning the cavalry moved to scout. The army waited, ready to either defend in place or move out. An hour later they reported that the Dervish army was on the move. The Camel Corps, Mounted Infantry and some artillery took position detached from the main body, tasked with guarding the right flank. Soon the entire 52,000 men of the Khalifa’s army stretched on the hills in front of the British position for two miles. Drums and war cries became audible as some 14,000 moved towards the Allied camp. At quarter to seven, at the range of 2,800 yards, artillery opened fire. The maxim-guns joined in at 1,800 yards, and the infantry began to volley fire at 1,500 yards. Masses of lead were poured into the advancing Dervishes with terrific effect. The attack was broken up completely, only a few riflearmed Dervishes reached folds in the ground 500 yards from the British positions and some scrub bushes 100 yards from the Sudanese, who shot less well. These took shots at the Allied lines until cleared away by artillery and machine-gun fire. The casualties they inflicted: four dead and ninety wounded. These were the only losses suffered by the Allies during this phase of the battle, against several thousand Dervishes who now lay dead on the field. On the right the Camel Corps and the Mounted Infantry were attacked by an overwhelming Mahdist force moving with surprising speed. The retreating cavalry was hard pressed and lost two guns. Only machine-gun and artillery fire from the gun-boats, reaching across the desert, saved them from heavy casualties. Decimated, the Mahdists broke off pursuit.5 The attack was repulsed completely by nine in the morning, and Kitchener sent out the 21st Lancers to report on any activity beyond the hills. The 21st had never fought in a battle and a British army joke ran that the regimental motto was “Thou shalt not kill”;6 its commander, Colonel Martin, 315

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felt this as something of a blemish on his reputation. So when he spotted some dervishes along the edge of a shallow trench, he at once ordered a charge. It was a trap. The trench was filled with 3,000 Mahdists. In a furious three minutes the regiment rode through the trench losing over one hundred horses and seventy men dead and wounded. It was completely exhausted and incapable of any further action. It had failed to conduct any reconnaissance but won two Victoria Crosses.7 Despite the absence of information on what lay beyond the hills, Kitchener ordered a general advance. Soon the brigades were strung out and the failure of the 21st bore fruit. The Sudanese Brigade under Macdonald’s command was suddenly charged by 12,000 fresh dervishes from two directions. Smartly charging the front, the Sudanese poured volleys into their greatly superior attackers until the 3rd Lincolns arrived to help with machineguns. The Sudanese were down to three rounds a man but the attack was literally shot flat. By eleven it was all over. 10,000 Dervishes lay dead and 16,000 more were wounded. Mahdism was finished. British and Egyptian losses were forty-eight killed, and 382 wounded; it was an exchange rate of sixty to one.8 Without detracting from Macdonald’s skill and the bravery of his Sudanese troops, their triumph must in a large part be credited to the Martini and Lee-Enfield rifles, and the machine-gun. The tactical errors made by British command, both in positioning the Camel Corps and more seriously by advancing without reconnaissance, were nullified by the fire power the army could bring to bear on the Mahdists. Omdurman is the high point of imperial warfare, but imperialism was not always a triumphant march. 1,800 British soldiers were killed by the spear-armed Zulus at Isandlawana in 1878, and an army of 18,000 Italians and allies was broken and lost half of its numbers at Aduwa against the Abyssinians in 1896. These, however, are exceptions that prove the rule, both battles being showcases of military incompetence by Western commanders. Additionally, at Aduwa the Abyssinians had a substantial part of their force equipped with and well-trained in the use of modern firearms.9 The proliferation of modern weapons picked up speed and by the Second World War all states armed their forces with at least a bolt-action rifle. The coming of the Cold War intensified this process, and assured that anyone fighting against the West could call on a supply of modern Soviet weaponry.10

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DIEN-BIEN-PHU The French effort to recapture their colonial possessions in Indochina had been going on with varying success since 1945. By 1953 the number of Chinese trained and well equipped Viet-Minh formations was increasing at an alarming rate. These new troops exhibited a high level of fighting power, and threatened the French position in North Vietnam.11 In 1952 the French experienced several successes with the practice of air-land base; strategically positioned, air supplied strong points that caused the Viet-Minh serious casualties. In 1953 French command in Hanoi decided to attempt the same on a large scale. Elite forces of paratroops and foreign legion were assembled, and air transport was gathered throughout Indochina. More than ten thousand troops were to be used. The target point for the new air-land base would be the valley of Dien-Bien-Phu in North Vietnam, situated close to a Viet-Minh supply line. The Viet-Minh would either have to accept the threat to their supplies from raiding parties, or throw their forces against elite French forces in fortifications supported by artillery, light armor and aircraft, including attack planes operating from the Dien-Bien-Phu airfield itself. French high command was optimistic about the chances of Operation Castor, hoping to batter the best formations of the Viet-Minh both on the battlefield and with airpower as they assembled and re-supplied by narrow roads.12 French forces under the command of Colonel de Castries parachuted into the valley on November 20, 1953. After a short, sharp period of action, the Viet-Minh battalion stationed in the area withdrew.13 Viet-Minh commander General Giap was now faced with the option of letting his supply lines come under threat, or moving in force against the French. He chose the latter. The French immediately began flying in more troops and artillery, and fortifying their position. 13,000 French troops held the fortress by March. The Viet-Minh likewise began their concentration. 50,000 troops with heavy artillery support were converging on Dien-Bien-Phu. Soon French raiding forces began to run into heavy opposition and were forced to confine their activity to the valley.14 The Viet-Minh bombardment began on March 13. Sixty French guns in open positions faced 200 camouflaged Viet-Minh pieces. Large amounts of ammunition were amassed for this arsenal. The French were not unaware that the Viet-Minh possessed artillery, but they seriously underestimated its strength and incorrectly assumed that counter-battery fire from Dien-BienPhu would easily destroy the few guns the Viet-Minh could get through the broken terrain of the area.15 That assumption was the first to go once the 317

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bombardment started. French artillery proved entirely inadequate for antibattery work. By the end of the day, one of the more remote French strong points, Béatrice, was overrun after an intense pounding that wrecked its fortifications and dazed the garrison. Only 192 men out of the garrison of 750 reached the French lines.16 French artillery could not save Béatrice. Nor could it destroy the Viet-Minh guns. The bombardment hit the airfield and destroyed several Bearcat fighter-bombers there. Next day the strong points Gabrielle and Anne-Marie fell. Gabrielle cost the Vietminh 2,500 casualties. The French garrison of 500 was almost completely destroyed, with ninety dead and the rest prisoners.17 By the end of March the airfield had become completely unusable due to Viet-Minh artillery. The last French plane took off on March 27th loaded with wounded.18 From that point on supply was maintained through airdrops, in face of ever increasing Viet-Min flak threat. The drops were inefficient, large amounts of supplies fell into the besiegers hands. To support their artillery barrage the Viet-Minh concentrated thousands of coolies for their supply effort.19 French airpower was originally tasked with interdicting the Viet-Minh supply lines. Soon after the artillery duel began, they were called on to attack Viet-Minh artillery. The forces were inadequate for either job, much less to perform them both. The French could launch a maximum of 75 sorties each day, and this after concentrating three quarters of all combat aircraft they possessed in Indochina. Through the bravery of French pilots, the Viet-Minh carriers took heavy losses from strafing and bombing attacks, but it was never enough.20 The rest of Dien-Bien-Phu story is that of painful asphyxiation of the French garrison. Constant blood transfusions of Para-drops kept the defenders strength at a bare minimum.21 On May 7, the remnants of the garrison surrendered. 6,500 men became prisoners. The best half of all French elite fighting forces in Indochina was lost. French losses totaled some 20,000 men including 6,500 prisoners. The Viet-Minh suffered more casualties, somewhere around 23,000 but because the French garrison was captured the actual loss ratio nearly one to one.22 The French had challenged the Viet-Minh to a battle of firepower, the traditional purview of Western armies. The Viet-Minh rose to the challenge. Soviet supplied heavy artillery, recoil-less rifles and mortars were as good as the American pieces the French owned.23 Viet-Minh management of their equipment, both in regards to spotting and camouflage, was highly competent. Viet-Minh assault troops were armed with Soviet submachine 318

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guns, rifles and machineguns.24 The French did not realize just how much the balance of combat power had shifted. The mistake cost them the war. Within months the French had set up a sympathetic regime in the South and withdrew.25 In some areas of military technology, Western superiority remained. Airpower proved too complex for any third world state to attain meaningful capability. Viet-Minh possessed no aircraft with which it could bomb DienBien-Phu. During the war in Korea, even while North Korean forces pushed forward, the North Korean force of pistol-engine fighters and attack planes was combed out of the air by American jet fighters.26 When the United States entered the conflict between the two Vietnams in the late sixties, North Vietnam’s aircraft made only sporadic appearances over the battlefield.27 Third World states could, at best, practice air denial through anti-aircraft weaponry, and this with varying degrees of success. Much the same applies to naval warfare. The Viet-Minh had no ports. American and British naval forces in Korea conducted bombardments, amphibious landings and evacuations with impunity all along the coast of the peninsula.28 American aircraft carriers operated against North Vietnam and accidents were the chief danger.29 In fact, the overall military power of an industrial state remained overwhelmingly superior to any potential third world opponent. France in 1954 had an industrial potential far superior to any production facilities the Viet-Minh possessed and could, with the right incentive, out-produce the amount of Soviet materiel aid the Viet-Minh received. France also had a much larger pool of man power potentially available. But French laws forbade conscripts from serving in Indochina, and France was not willing to devote its entire military industrial complex to the war.30 Public tolerance for casualties fell dramatically as well. Total French losses in Dien-Bien-Phu were less than the casualties French armies often took in one day of fighting at Verdun in the First World War.31 Industrial nations could still defeat a third world opponent, but only if they were willing to mobilize their military potential and accept thousands of losses. The political price of this would be too high to pay for a conflict where no direct threat to the homeland existed. The proliferation of nuclear arms among the industrialized world did not alter the balance. Political restraints would not allow nuclear weapons, weapons of total war, to be used in limited conflicts. In Korea, General Macarthur was sacked from his command for suggesting as much.32

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DESERT STORM The collapse of the Soviet Union, in addition to removing a number of political obstacles to military action in the developing world, had a more direct effect on third world armies: the tap of modern weaponry at low costs dried up.33 At the same time a generational gap in technology became nearly impossible to bridge for those left behind. The Iraqi army invaded Kuwait in August of 1990. When it became obvious that negotiations would not succeed in getting the Iraqi president, Saddam Hussein, to withdraw his forces, it was decided to use armed force to remove them. A coalition army was set up, with the United States providing the most powerful and numerous components.34 After a long air campaign, on G-Day, February 24, 1991, Coalition troops took to the offensive along the length of the Iraqi border. Aside from the heli-borne forces on the extreme left flank, they had to make their way through the extensive Iraqi fortifications. These consisted of two belts of company and battalion strong points, positioned behind berms and anti-tank ditches, and fire pits with artillery zeroed in. The Iraqi plan was to trap the attackers between the two belts, batter them with artillery fire and counterattack any breakthroughs with closely stationed armored forces. Though admittedly poorly constructed in some sectors and not uniformly manned, the lines presented a serious obstacle.35 The 1st Infantry division (Mechanized) of the US VIIth Corps broke through the twenty kilometers of fortifications in forty minutes with the loss of two men. An armored fist of more than 241 M1A1 Abrams tanks and 100 Bradley fighting vehicles on a front of six kilometers sliced through the defenders, taking several hundreds of stunned prisoners in the process.36 The Coalition forces’ chief challenge was the Republican Guard units. The most highly motivated units of the Iraqi Armed Forces, armed with the best equipment, these five armored divisions were a special target of the US VII corps. In the morning of February 1, the American armored division came into contact with the Medina division of the Republican Guard. The Medina division was deployed in two successive lines of well camouflaged T72s, the most modern tank in the Iraqi arsenal, and armored fighting vehicles. It had a large number of anti-aircraft guns and extensive artillery support. The tanks were dug in on top of the ridge so only their turrets were showing. The Iraqis planned to turn the depression in front of the ridge into a killing zone.37 However, against American thermal sights they had no chance. The 350 M1A1s of 1st Armored spotted the Iraqi tanks at 3,000 meters and 320

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opened fire at 2,800 meters.38 Iraqi tank crews could hardly observe their opponents, much the less hit them at this range. For fifteen minutes, American tanks fired as fast as they could while Bradleys engaged with guided anti-tank missiles and chain gun fire. Apache helicopters armed with hellfire missiles added their weight while multiple rocket launchers smashed Iraqi artillery. A-10 attack aircraft came in for strafing runs. After two hours of firing, the American force rolled over the remnants of the Medina division. For the cost of one A-10 downed by anti-aircraft fire and one casualty to enemy fire on the ground, the 1st Armored Division destroyed 300 armored vehicles and 72 guns.39 In most places Coalition forces moved too fast for Iraqi high command to react. The operational pace was too fast for the Tawalkana division that launched piece-meal brigade size counter attacks, being unable to co-ordinate anything larger. These counterattacks ended much the same way the battle for Medina Ridge did: Iraqi tanks shot to pieces at ranges far in excess of their engagement capability.40 The one-sided battles against the Republican Guard were the toughest the Coalition troops had to fight. The British 1st Armored division, with equipment equivalent in quality to the Americans, annihilated several units of obsolete T-55 tanks.41 American marines advancing through Kuwait used the superior sighting equipment of their older M-60s to destroy large numbers of T-55s and T-62s to negligible losses.42 For all the effectiveness Iraq’s most modern battle tank had against American forces, it might have been a Dervish spear against an Enfield rifle. The two generations of weapon development that separated the T-72 and the M1A1 proved to be a gulf Iraq could not bridge. T-72s could only rarely hit the M1s at common engagement ranges and on these few instances M1A1 frontal armor proved impenetrable.43 The Gulf War cost the Coalition 246 dead in combat. Iraqi casualties, never really properly counted might have been as high as 25,000 dead. Over 80,000 had been taken prisoners for a total of 100,000.44 This 1:400 casualty ratio was much less in battles like Medina ridge. The effectiveness of American forces in Desert Storm must have been one of the factors in the decision of the current American administration to invade Iraq in 2003. CONCLUSIONS The superiority, and sometime the supremacy, that allowed the West to conquer to world in the nineteenth century ebbed to a low point in the mid321

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twentieth century, and has now returned. To make wide, sweeping predictions with any degree of accuracy is near impossible. However, it is impossible to deny that enough similarities exist to draw some valid parallels. In a lot of meaningful ways, Desert Storm mirrors Omdurman. This is not to say that a new age of Imperial invasions is about to begin. However, Western, and specifically American, policymakers now have an additional option to consider when dealing with much of the world. When defining the military balance, they can turn to a century old poem by Hilaire Belloc that has regained much relevance of late. Whatever happens, we have got The Maxim Gun and they have not 1

Norman Rich, Great Power Diplomacy: 1814-1914, (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1992), 266. Ibid., 275. 3 David Gates, Warfare in the Nineteenth Century, (New York: Palgrave, 2001), 178. 4 Robin Neillands, The Dervish Wars, (London: John Murray Publishers Ltd., 1996), 202. 5 Ibid., 207. 6 Byron Farwell, Mr. Kipling’s Army, (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1981), 31. 7 Neillands, 208. 8 Ibid., 211. 9 Gates, 185. 10 Christon I. Archer et all., World History of Warfare, ( Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2002), 549. 11 Ibid., 581. 12 Ibid. 13 Bernard B. Fall, Hell in a Very Small Place: The Siege of Dien-Bien-Phu, (New York: Vintage Books, 1968), 20. 14 Ibid., 85. 15 Ibid., 101. 16 Saul David, The How and Why of Military Failure, (London: Robinson Publishing Ltd., 1997), 283. 17 Ibid., 284. 18 Fall, 185. 19 Ibid., 133. 20 Ibid., 130. 21 Ibid., 218. 22 David, 287. 23 Fall, 127. 24 Ibid., 15. 25 David, Failure, 287. 26 Max Hastings, The Korean War, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987), 255. 27 Peter Harclerode, Fighting Dirty: The Inside Story of Covert Operations from Ho Chi Minh to Osama Bin Laden, (London: Cassell, 2001), 474. 2

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28

Ronald H. Spencer, At War At Sea: Sailors and Naval Combat in the Twentieth Century, (Toronto: Penguin Books, 2001), 322. 29 Ibid., 356. 30 Fall, 2. 31 Archer et al., 583. 32 Hastings, Korean War, 203. 33 Anthony H. Cordesman and Abraham R. Wagner, The Lessons of Modern War; Volume IV: the Gulf War, (Colorado: Westview Press. Inc., 1996), 137. 34 Lt.Col. Jeffrey McCausland, The Gulf Conflict: A Military Analysis. (UK: Brassey’s Ltd, 1993) 21. 35 Cordesman and Wagner, 577 36 Ibid., 598. 37 Ibid., 638. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid., 639. 40 Frank N. Schubert and Theresa L. Kraus, ed. The Whirlwind War:The United States Army in Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm, available from http://www.army.mil/CMHPG/books/www/Wwindx.htm 41 Ibid. 42 Ibid. 43 Ibid. 44 Cordesman and Wagner, 399.

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Peacekeeping since 1992: How the mission has changed and how Canada’s role has changed along with it IAN SMEDLEY University of Calgary, Calgary Since the inception of international peacekeeping, Canada has played a strong role. Canada participated in the first mission in the Suez, netting Lester B. Pearson a Nobel Peace Prize. More recently Canada was recognized along with 79 other countries for its contribution to peacekeeping operation, and more specifically to giving recognition to the lives lost in those operations. At that ceremony it was noted that Canada had contributed approximately 10 per cent of all United Nations (UN) peacekeeping personnel since 1945. It is important to recognize that much has changed since the first peacekeeping mission all those years ago, and since the end of the Cold War, it seems that the pace of change has only intensified. Since the early 1990’s, high profile missions have caused the international community to begin an intensive review of peacekeeping operations. Sometimes dubbed second or third generation peacekeeping, these new types of operations have generated much debate about the future of peacekeeping and the UN’s role in it. This paper will address the following questions: has the nature of peacekeeping changed? If so, has Canada understood that change and moved along with it? Finally, will the United Nations continue to be the best forum for performing next generation peacekeeping? THE COLD WAR Though the creation of peacekeeping did win a Canadian a Nobel Peace prize, it cannot be argued that the UN mission to the Suez created any lasting peace between Egypt and Israel. In truth, the two nations would fight more wars, in 1967 and 1973. What the operation did do was prevent a spill over of conflict from a small regional conflict into a larger global conflict that would include the two competing superpowers. It is unwise to characterize Canada’s role in international affairs as that of the peacemaker. Canada was heavily involved in both World War I and II. Indeed, between 1940 and the entry of the United States at the end of 1942, Canada was Great Britain’s largest ally. During the Cold War, Canada was in no way 324

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a neutral country. Canada had aligned itself with the western powers and considered the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) to be the linchpin of Canadian security against the new totalitarian threat of the Soviet Union. Canada participated in the creation of NATO and was in full accord with Article 5, which held that aggression against one member was aggression against all members.1 For Canada, peacekeeping fit nicely into its mandate to prevent the expansion of Soviet influence. Exploring the peacekeeping troop commitments made by Canada through the 1950’s and 1960’s, most were made to missions where there was a national interest to prevent Communist expansion. As was stated earlier, the use of a “neutral” force in the Suez crisis helped to prevent an escalation in east-west tension. Other notable deployments can be seen to follow similar lines. When many European nations began to de-colonize Africa, it was feared that the Soviet Union would use the resulting unrest to influence the region. The newly independent Congo requested UN military assistance in the face of possible mutiny by the armed forces, Belgian military intervention and increasing disorder. Canada contributed 421 troops to the operation, but more importantly, it helped to prevent Soviet intervention in the Third World. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the UN mission to Cyprus helped to prevent a crisis within NATO allies that could have been exploited by Soviets to their own advantage. It is not surprising then that this mission, due to its Cold War implications, involved one of Canada’s largest troop contributions. On closer inspection one can determine that of all the troop commitments made between 1947 and 1970, for the 2,980 personnel deployed, 2,554 were for these three missions. Clearly these were a priority for Canada’s national interest. Missions undertaken from 1970 to 1990 can be seen as further extending Canada’s belief in the use of peacekeeping to promote the security and economic interests of itself and of its allies. The missions to the Middle East were again to provide stability in an area that threatened to overflow into a greater global conflict. This is especially apparent with the potential use of nuclear weapons by Israeli forces in the Yom Kippur War of 1973. Pre-1990 missions also had some different characteristics that can be used to highlight problems in recent missions. Using Cyprus as the “typical” peacekeeping operation we can create a picture of a normal peacekeeping operation. Traditional peacekeeping was based on the following set of established criteria:

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ƒ Peacekeepers enter an area only with the full support of the UN Security Council ƒ Peacekeepers enter a country only with that nation’s full confidence and consent ƒ The force falls under the command of the UN through the Secretary General ƒ The force enjoys complete freedom of movement ƒ The force is international in its composition and national contingents are acceptable to the host country ƒ The force is impartial ƒ The force can only use weapons in self-defence, or in defence of their mandate ƒ The force shall be supplied and administered under UN arrangements2 The close adherence to these criteria was often necessary to permit any type of mandate to emerge from the Security Council, which reflected the bipolar nature of the Cold War. Also important in most pre-1990 peacekeeping missions, was the deployment of troops between two distinct warring armies, along a buffer zone. They were there to facilitate and observe a pre-arranged cease-fire arrangement so as to promote the stability needed to negotiate a permanent peace agreement. One of the criticisms of such missions is that while they may prevent further conflict, they also cause belligerents to stall negotiations. The argument presented is that because the situation is frozen by UN peacekeepers, each side can wait it out until a more advantageous settlement can be reached. Another criticism is that due to the long time it takes to negotiate a settlement, peacekeepers are deployed for exorbitant amounts of time. While both these criticisms use the mission in Cyprus as an example, many fail to tackle the issues central to the conflict in the first place. Cyprus can be seen not only as a conflict between nations, but between two groups protecting ethnic nationalism within one state. The mission in Cyprus can bring some needed context to current operations in areas of ethnic conflict. First, while the mission in Cyprus is still ongoing, many important achievements have occurred, the most important being the re-opening of the border between the two sides. This shows that while little can be done to hasten the removal of peacekeepers, their mere presence does contribute to a gradual easing of ethnic hostility. Though a generation was needed, the outcome appears to be favourable. If 326

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this is the case, then missions in other areas of ethnic conflict can seek equally favourable outcomes. A final note about pre-1990 peacekeeping missions: while the larger missions had been conducted predominantly for reasons of national selfinterest, a culture had emerged in Canada and its people centred on the altruistic nature of peacekeeping and Canada’s role within that context. In the 1980s more people mentioned peacekeeping as their preferred priority for the military than any other role.3 Domestic pressure for Canadian involvement may be one of the main factors that led to Canada’s involvement in more peacekeeping operations. The Canadian Government may have been forced to live up to its own unrealistic image. THE END OF THE COLD WAR Since the end of the Cold War, many of the reasons for earlier participation in peacekeeping missions have disappeared. As a result of the end of the Cold War, Canada embarked on a peace-dividend military cutback, which accelerated the already declining funding for the military. Citizens wanted to see more money spent on healthcare and education, and even these institutions were the subject of government cutbacks. However, this reduction of military spending took place in a time of increased global conflict. From 1948 to 1988, a period of forty years, thirteen missions were undertaken. In the next four years, another fourteen were launched.4 With the collapse of the Soviet Union, an impasse in the Security Council at the UN was no longer a forgone conclusion. The UN Security Council’s ability to take a positive role in the 1991 Gulf war also increased Western powers’ expectations that international institutions could be proactive in resolving disputes. Since the global powers were no longer keeping a lid on their respective regions of influence, long simmering intrastate conflict began to boil over. Such conflicts often were based on ethnic differences, and such types of conflict cause additional problems unique to each situation. Most notably, conflicting parties have little to no formal legitimacy in the eyes of the international community since they are often comprised of rebel groups or guerrilla bands. This makes securing all antagonists’ support for the entry of peacekeepers difficult, if not impossible. This fragmentation also makes it impossible to guarantee complete freedom of movement. Finally, this adds to the difficulty in creating an international force whose national contingents are acceptable to all the belligerent parties. All these aspects were important 327

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to traditional peacekeeping operations. Another tension created by ethnic conflict is the inevitable attacks on civilians or non-combatants. This reality, coupled with the ability of news networks to show the suffering and cruelty of ethnic conflict created an atmosphere where domestic pressure for international intervention increased. SOMALIA In the atmosphere of post-Cold War exuberance (the new world order) and increased public pressure, the UN launched the United Nations Operation in Somalia (UNOSOM1). UNOSOM1 was established in April 1992 by Security Council resolution 751 to monitor a ceasefire in Mogadishu, the capital of Somalia. The mission was also to provide protection and security for United Nations personnel, equipment and supplies at the seaports and airports in Mogadishu. Finally UNOSOM1 was given the task of escorting deliveries of humanitarian supplies to distribution centres in Mogadishu and its immediate environs. All of this was in response to a civil war that had been ongoing since 1991. The war had created nearly one million refugees and almost 5 million people threatened by hunger and disease.5 Despite its noble mandate, the relief effort was under constant harassment by opposing sides in the conflict. In August 1992, UNOSOM1’s mandate and strength were expanded by Security Council resolution 775, to enable it to protect humanitarian convoys and distribution centres throughout Somalia. This still did not adequately protect humanitarian efforts. In November 1992, the United States offered to lead a task force to further secure the relief operations. The Security Council adopted this plan and while the Task Force (UNITAF) was not a UN mission, it did act with UN support. In March the Security Council further refined the mission in Somalia by Creating UNOSOM2, which would continue UNOSOM1’s mandate, but also take over for UNITAF. During the next couple of months both the US and other members of UNOSOM2 lost troops in Somalia. Countries began withdrawing support for the mission, including the United States. At the same time the Somali leaders were not complying with the 1993 and 1994 agreements. Ultimately, the Security Council withdrew UNOSOM2 in March 1995.

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CANADIAN INVOLVEMENT IN SOMALIA To understand the issues related to Canada’s involvement in Somalia, we must explore not only the mission, but also how Canada decided to support the mission. Since March of 1992, Canada’s ambassador to the UN expressed support for UN humanitarian aid in Somalia, and stated that Canada would participate in such a mission once the UN was in a position to ensure the security of such aid.6 Canada was approached in April, after the UN Security council created UNOSOM, to participate in the operation. After reviewing the situation, officials within National Defence Headquarters (NDHQ) and the Department of External Affairs (now the Department of Foreign Affairs) expressed concerns about the mission. Specifically, there was no clear mandate, there was a lack of agreement from rival leaders in Somalia, and finally concerns were expressed about ensuring the safety of members of the mission. Until things changed, Canada would not be involved, though staff at NDHQ did begin a feasibility study to explore deployment options for Canadian troops should they be called upon. It was clear, however, that no mission would be undertaken without a security battalion. Canada did participate in the airlift of humanitarian supplies, but the crisis in Somalia continued to get worse. Finally in late August 1992, the Security Council approved the creation of 750-troop security units, to provide protection to humanitarian convoys and their distribution centres. Also, this new UN force was authorized to fire effectively in self-defence should deterrence not prove sufficient.7 This change still did not satisfy some members of the Canadian forces, though Canada did agree to send troops. It was believed that the UN estimates for troops were barely adequate to handle the anticipated mission tasks. Based on the nominal nature of the mission, it was apparent that disaster was waiting to strike. The possibility of disaster was further augmented by the decision to deploy the Canadian Airborne Regiment (CAR). The regiment had just reverted to standby status after gearing up to be deployed for a mission in the Western Sahara. It was assumed that the unit was trained, disciplined, and fit for deployment. In truth, the airborne regiment was none of those things. Without delving into details, severe criticism had arisen over the discipline of the troops assigned to the regiment. Several incidences of violence in the late 1980’s had sparked a study to review discipline infractions within the Airborne, though nothing came of the report. Of greater importance should have been several serious infractions that occurred while the regiment was 329

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training for the Somalia deployment. Given the difficult nature of the mission, the concern with the size of the mission requested by the UN, and finally the discipline breakdown while the unit was preparing for Somalia, it is of little surprise that the mission did not unfold as it should have. Another wrinkle in the situation was the United States proposal in November to lead a peace enforcement operation in Somalia. The security situation had been growing steadily worse, and it became apparent that the mission would need to change from a chapter VI mission (peaceful resolution) to a chapter VII mission (authorized use of force). The original peacekeeping mission was scrapped and it was decided that the CAR would participate in the more high profile mission. The CAR was ready for deployment, and it now appeared that the original mission would be delayed, so it seemed logical to participate in the new mission. There had been a formal request by US President George Bush to then Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, which would have added sound political reasons for the change. Finally it was seen that by participating in a US-led mission, rather than waiting for the resumption of the UN mission, Canada could make up for its unglamorous performance in the first Gulf War. Due to the rapid change in deployment, little was done to define the mission of Canadian forces, and the task was given to the commander in the field. The situation has been best described as: Operation Deliverance (the new US led Mission) involved a deployment of Canadian Forces on an uncertain mission, in a different region of Somalia, under new command arrangements, with a change in force structure and with new rules of engagement. Moreover, … the CAR was still attempting to deal with leadership, unit cohesion, and discipline problems.8

In spite of all the problems associated with the planning of the Somalia mission, the Canadian contingent performed well. It was able to secure its area of responsibilities, the only group to do so. Even though there was some marginal success, the tragic torture and death of a Somali youth, Shidane Arone, at the hands of several members of the Canadian Airborne Regiment resulted in the mission being declared a failure by the Canadian public. In the end, what came of the mission in Somalia was the need for reform in Canada’s armed forces. Specifically the military in Canada needed to deal with shortcomings in leadership, both abroad and at home. There needed to be a solution for the inadequate procedures for determining missions and subsequently the training and preparation for those missions.

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Finally, a flawed system of military reporting and discipline needed to be removed.9 RWANDA The failure of the mission in Somalia in part contributed to the failure of the mission in Rwanda. “Once bit, twice shy” would be appropriate in describing the willingness of nations to contribute to a mission in Africa. The United Nations Assistance Mission for Rwanda (UNAMIR) was established in October 1993 by Security Council resolution 872 to help implement the Arusha Peace Agreement signed earlier by the Rwandan parties. Having a signed peace agreement made the mission in Rwanda different from the earlier escapade in Somalia. UNAMIR's mandate was to assist in ensuring the security of the capital city of Kigali. Furthermore, UNAMIR was to monitor the ceasefire agreement, which included another throwback to traditional peacekeeping missions: an expanded demilitarized zone. UNAMIR was to monitor the security situation during the final period of the transitional Government’s mandate leading up to elections. Finally UNAMIR was to assist in the coordination of humanitarian assistance activities and mine clearing operations.10 Within the next two years the Security Council changed the mandate of UNAMIR no less than five times, all without providing for additional personnel or funding. In April 1994, the president of Rwanda was killed in a plane crash. This incident sparked an outbreak of violence that had been building up under the surface, instigated by extremists within the government. These forces began a highly organized bout of ethnic and political murder. At the same time, the civil war also resumed as non-government forces began a push to take the capital and overthrow the government. After several of their soldiers were killed, both the Belgian and Bangladeshi governments withdrew their troops. Since these two groups made up the bulk of UNAMIR forces, the number of troops was reduced from 2,500 to 270. The UN called for additional troops to support the mission in May, but by the time any country committed the necessary troops, the rebel forces had won a military victory and had secured the country. In the interim, nearly eight hundred thousand people died or were killed and four million had become refugees. Due to the horrendous nature of the atrocities committed in Rwanda and the inability of the international community to stop them, an independent inquiry was launched. The findings of the inquiry were made 331

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public on 15 December 1999. The inquiry concluded that the overriding failure in the international community’s response was the lack of resources and political will, as well as errors of judgement as to the nature of the events in Rwanda.11 CANADIAN INVOLVEMENT IN RWANDA Canada, like many other western nations, contributed little to UNAMIR. However, one significant factor led to this event being important in Canadian military evolution. During 1993 and 1994, Canadian General Roméo Dallaire was the head of the UNAMIR. Canada also contributed several other officers to the headquarters after Belgium withdrew its support, and finally, Canadian air force personnel provided consistent relief flights into the capital’s airport, thus permitting what remained of the small force to stay and protect the civilians that had sought shelter with the UN troops. With the end of the genocide and civil war, many nations began to contribute forces to help rebuild Kigali and the repatriate the people who had fled. To this effort Canada also contributed military personnel. This commitment however amounted to a drop in the ocean of chaos. The question therefore must be, why did Canada contribute so little to the operation in Rwanda? Looking back at similarities to Cold War peacekeeping, we can draw a parallel to missions of low priority during that time period. Canada contributed a little to keep up appearances, but in truth, Canada had little national interest and therefore chose to deploy its forces elsewhere. One other factor was important in explaining Canada’s small commitment to Rwanda. The tragedy in Somalia had shifted Canada’s attention and caused the nation to doubt its commitment to peacekeeping. Both of the missions ended the optimism that the international community had felt with the end of the cold war. It was now apparent that things were not all coming up roses, and furthermore nations would continue to rely on military power to solve conflict. Canada also was forced to consider these new realities. Both UNAMIR and UNOSOM presented Canada with difficulties and crisis that would require several years to fully unravel. THE FORMER YUGOSLAVIA AND CANADA’S INVOLVEMENT At the same time that Canada and Canadians were suffering from UN failures in Somalia and Rwanda, a third crisis was also beginning. Some similarities to the missions in Africa are evident in the initial mission to the 332

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former Yugoslavia (UNPROFOR) especially the fact that this was not an interstate conflict but an intrastate conflict. The mission was in response to a civil war between different ethnic groups similar to the mission in Rwanda. There were also United Nations Protected Areas (UNPA’s), similar to the safe areas in Kigali, though on a much larger scale. There was a lack of free movement permitted to UN personnel outside the UNPAs’ much like the situation in Somalia. Finally the mission had no division between belligerents, no green line, no separation between two communities; instead forces were right in the middle of the two communities.12 Despite these similarities, one factor contributed to a difference in the mission for Canada. This mission was reminiscent of pre-1990 missions in that they can be seen to be contributing directly to Canada’s national interest. Conflict in the region is much more likely to affect Canadian economic issues. Also it was important to NATO, which has recently criticized Canada for not being able to live up to its commitments. The importance of the mission may have inadvertently helped to supply Canada with a positive contrast to the failures of both UNOSOM and UNAMIR. While both African missions were insufficiently supported, Canada took the opposite approach in Croatia. From the outset, Canadian planners ignored UN force generation parameters and constructed its force organization based on the real threat of attacks by armour and artillery. This foresight by Canadian planners provided Canadian forces with the proper tools for dealing with the different situations that presented themselves. Specifically, the Canadian force was the only one with the ability to patrol at night and it had the ability to repel any armoured or mechanized incursion into the UNPA’s. It is of no surprise then that the presence of the Canadian forces caused the sectors they were patrolling to calm down. As a heavy force, the Canadians were able to use deterrence to prevent the spill over of conflict into their areas of control. As was demonstrated, the experience of peacekeepers in the former Yugoslavia indicates that selectively demonstrating the capability and will to carry out aggressive action can produce results at the sector level and lower.13 That the Canadian forces stumbled onto this fact was more a matter of luck than foresight. As with other operation at the same time, the Canadian forces suffered from a lack of understanding and appreciation of the conflict as a whole. Also during the conflict Canada exercised no diplomatic pressure to develop peace initiatives. This again shows that Canadian military involvement was not guided by any clear position on how to end the conflict as a whole.14 333

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AFGHANISTAN In all, the peacekeeping operations from the 1990’s had very few positive outcomes and seemed to be plagued with problems. Since that time, Canada has embarked on one other large mission, that to Afghanistan. It is important to point out that Canada participated in two different missions in Afghanistan. The first, “Operation Enduring Freedom”, was a war-fighting exercise and was not related to peacekeeping in any way. The second mission however, the International Security Assistance Force,” (ISAF) was a UN mandated Chapter VII operation. What makes this operation different from past Chapter VII missions was the constitution of the forces and the mission that they had. The location of the mission was limited, specifically to areas in and around the capital. Unlike Somalia where there was an attempt to control the entire country from the outset, in Afghanistan the international community has not bitten off more than it can chew. Next the force was well armed and well equipped to take necessary action in volatile situations.15 It has been authorized to take all necessary measures to fulfil its mandate, thereby eliminating any misconception about its role. These two elements give the operation credibility and provide for the mechanism of deterrence. This situation is similar to that faced by the Canadian contingent in UNPROFOR. The difference is that in this case, all the forces in the mission are able to exert some measure of deterrence. There is a clear division between the UN mission and the war fighting operation still underway outside the capital region. Some have argued that in order to broaden the UN operation, there will need to be support from US forces, but this would only cause confusion similar to the situation seen in Somalia. Unlike the missions in the 1990s where the UN was responsible, the current ISAF force is commanded by NATO and the contributing countries are responsible for their own support. This has helped to ensure consistency along the chain of command as well as making contributing countries accountable for the military forces that they provide. It would seem that the international community has learned from past mistakes when deciding on the appropriate response to crisis abroad. While the UN is not in charge of the operation in Afghanistan, the fact that the Security Council was able to authorize such a mission shows the extent to which it has understood the need to respond to a wide variety of situations.

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The UN does not currently possess the means to conduct such operations on its own, but it can call upon different actors to take up these roles. Canada must also take this opportunity to evaluate its own peacekeeping operations. The mission to Afghanistan is being conducted by Canada for reasons of national interest rather than altruism. That being said, this mission could serve as a template for Canadian participation in other UN missions to areas outside our national interest scope. Specifically, a mission similar in nature to ISAF but much reduced in size could have been carried out effectively by Canadian forces in a place like Rwanda. CONCLUSIONS Some situations will continue to call for traditional peacekeeping. These tasks are low risk, and are not appropriate for large groups of highly trained professional peacekeepers. This does not mean that Canada should not participate in them, just that participation should be limited, and should not be the focus of the armed forces. On the other hand, second generation peacekeeping, also known as Chapter VII peacekeeping, may be the right area of participation for Canadian forces. In situations, similar to the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda, it can be shown that the use of proportional force in the circumstances is far more effective than minimum force at the last minute.16 More specifically the use of deterrence in these situations can go a long way to defusing the situation. To be effective though, the forces used must be credible at deterrence. It would seem that Canadian forces could be credible on a small scale, but much needs to be done if Canada wants to be able to conduct such operations outside of NATO operations. Assuming that a decision is made to make peacekeeping operations a key part of the Canadian military, it would then be important to ensure that the resources are available to carry out such missions. It seems obvious that Canada is unlikely to carry out independent operations without massive investment in the armed forces. Therefore, focus should be placed on making improvements in our ability to maintain the current level of operations. One key aspect would be to increase the number of active personnel available for deployment. Under current staffing numbers it is unlikely that Canada can continue to maintain a large presence in Afghanistan. Another area of special importance is the need for Canada to improve its heavy lift capability. In Afghanistan, during the initial deployment, 335

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Canadian forces were forced to scrounge for tools and hardware, as their supplies had not yet arrived.17 A greater heavy lift capability would also be important to ensure that forces could deploy rapidly since this is an important factor in establishing Chapter VII missions. One hint that Canada may be moving towards this rapid deployment capability was the announcement in October to buy 65 light-armoured vehicles to replace Canada’s Cold War Leopard Tanks. Though some criticize the vehicles for having insufficient armour,18 the new “Stryker” vehicles do have one bonus over the existing tanks: they can be transported by air assets that Canada currently posses. Other signs of change include the Canadian forces Joint Operations Group (CF JOG), whose role is to provide a rapidly deployable, operational-level command and control capability.19 Such a capability would have gone a long way in Rwanda and would be integral in Canada’s ability to conduct future UN Chapter VII missions. Such small gestures however do not create complete capable armed forces. As the recent Queen's University study “Canada Without Armed Forces?” states: Researchers found little indication that an appropriate range of capabilities can be produced or maintained in the future, mainly because funds are not available to allow for systematic force development, no matter the grandeur of plans on paper.20

Since the Cold War, the nature of peacekeeping has changed dramatically. The reliance on lightly armed forces to symbolically separate two distinct warring groups is no longer the norm. Instead, peacekeeping now involves highly capable and highly mobile armed forces, maintaining stability in regions prone to anarchy. Currently the United Nations seems unable to perform such a role, but it has shown the ability to understand its own weaknesses and to allow groups with better capabilities to perform the missions that it cannot. It is apparent that while Canada may have recognised the change in peacekeeping needs from the cold war period to current operations, much still needs to be done to adapt Canada’s armed forces to this new reality. Canada must also be prepared to commit credible forces to operations outside the zone of immediate national interest if it wants to maintain the public perception of an altruistic nation. This last objective may be the most difficult one to achieve. It is no longer enough to say we care; in the future Canada will need to prove it. 1

Sean M. Maloney, “Helpful fixer or hired gun? Why Canada goes Overseas”, (Policy Options 2001), 60.

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2

Sandra Cummer, The Challenges faced by the military in Adapting to PeacekeepingMissions, (Peacekeeping and International Relations, 1998), 13. 3 Pierre Martin and Michel Fortmann, “Public Opinion : Obstacle, Partner or Scapegoat?”, (Policy Options 2001), 68. 4 Albrecht Schnabel, A future for Peacekeeping?, (Peace Review, 1997), 564. 5 http://www.un.org/Depts/dpko/dpko/co_mission/unsom1backgr1.html 6 http://www.forces.gc.ca/site/reports/somalia/VOL1/V1C12_e.asp 7 Ibid. 8 http://www.dnd.ca/somalia/vol1/v1c12e.htm 9 Graeme Cheeseman, Canada’s Post-Cold War Millitary Blues and the Lessons for Australia, (Pacifica Review, 2001), 172. 10 http://www.un.org/Depts/dpko/dpko/co_mission/unamirM.htm 11 http://www.un.org/Depts/dpko/dpko/co_mission/unamirS.htm#1999 12 Cam Barry, “A Dangerous Place”, in Macleans, 112 : 27 (1999), 26. 13 Sean M. Maloney, “Insights into Canadian Peacekeeping Doctrine,” Military Review (April 1996), 22. 14 Stephane Roussel and Charles-Philippe David, “Middle power blues: Canadian policy and international security after the cold war,” in The American review of Canadian Studies, (1998) 38-9. 15 Kimberly Zisk Marten, “Defending against Anarchy: From War to Peace in Afghanistan,” in The Washington Quarterly, (2002), 36. 16 Christopher Doary, “Pax Civitas Maxima: Fighting the Good Fight,” in Canadian Military Journal, (2002), 30. 17 Russell D. Storring, “A Soldiers Story: Sleepless in Afghanistan,” CBC News Viewpoint (August 18 2003). 18 http://www.cbc.ca/stories/2003/10/29/tanks031020 19 http://www.forces.gc.ca/site/operations/CFJOG/index_e.asp 20 Douglas Bland, ed., Canada without Armed Forces? http://www.queensu.ca/sps/research/res-defence.shtml

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The Canadian Corps in the First World War and the Militia Myth

The Canadian Corps in the First World War and the Militia Myth DANA SORENSEN University of Calgary, Calgary Canada’s role in First World War is often used to substantiate the militia myth, that is, the idea that Canada does not need a standing army, as the people of Canada are born soldiers and a “citizen’s army”, or a “militia”, is more effective and efficient than a permanent army.1 This attitude was reflected in the state of Canada’s military upon entering the First World War. The exceptional performance of the Canadian Corps in that conflict seems to exemplify the militia myth. However, this interpretation ignores many key factors and changes that occurred throughout the war, especially during the Last Hundred Days campaign. The length of the Great War enabled the Canadian Corps to have enough time to gain vital experience for the inexperienced troops to become an elite fighting force.2 The following paper will examine what changes took place in the Canadian military during First World War that enabled them to be the “shock troops” of the British Expeditionary Force. These changes include the fact that, though the Canadian Expeditionary Force could rely on the British to fill gaps in their capabilities early in the war, they were a national contingent and, as they grew more experienced, they were able to have a level of independence not available to other British Corps. Through this, developments in tactics, technology, organization and leadership were possible. When the Canadians arrived in France in 1915, they were completely unprepared for war. In most respects, every attempt was made to make the Canadian Expeditionary Force as Canadian as possible, however, as this was not always realistic, the Canadians were fortunate to be able to rely on the British to fill gaps in their knowledge and allow them to mature in their leadership and equipment. In the early days of the war, the Canadian Corps was dependent on British officers due to the lack of experienced and qualified Canadians.3 The available junior officers from the Canadian militia rarely had military experience of any kind. Furthermore, most appointments were based on patronage and, as such, social and political connections mattered more than ability and merit.4

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Early in the war, the Canadian Corps was not a particularly effective force as the troops and officers were inexperienced, resulting in unclear orders, faulty intelligence and maps, as well as a lack of coordination. These problems can be seen during the second battle of Ypres when Brigade Commander Arthur Currie was ordered to take K5, an objective that he could not locate by the time of the attack.5 As the British had already engaged in fighting, some mistakes had already been discovered, such as the assumption that the war would be one of mobility. The Canadian Corps was able to learn from errors such as this, so that the Canadian Army was not as behind tactically as they would have been if they had begun fighting the war at the same time as the British.6 Although the Canadians had been equipped prior to arriving in France, by 1915, nearly all the Canadians’ equipment was identical to British equipment largely due to the poor quality of Canadian equipment. The primary piece of equipment that was not changed was the Ross Rifle, a rifle that was prone to jamming in combat. As this was unacceptable for trench warfare, individual soldiers would replace their weapon with the Lee-Enfield of a fallen British comrade when possible. Eventually the Canadian military organization followed suit and replaced the Ross Rifles with Lee-Enfields.7 The Canadian Corps’ success in World War I was clearly dependent on the British assistance in officers, experience and equipment. However, many aspects of the British military inhibited effective organization and implementation. For instance, the “Cult of the Offensive” permeated the British officer corps. This was due to the influence of increased firepower, suspicion of recruits, and perception of warfare as structured and orderly. This resulted in attacks based on the principle of attrition, large losses for little territorial gain, justified by the assumption that the enemy was losing even more men. This initial dedication to the offensive was common to most of the major European armies at this time. As Canada had only a small army before the war, the Canadian Corps was not subject to the “Cult of the Offensive”.8 The huge losses were seen as an indication of national resolve in Britain at the time, however, considering Canada’s small population, it could not afford to participate in such attrition style wars.9 The professional and highly structured nature of the British regular army inhibited the flexibility necessary for success in World War I.10 As the Canadians did not have this formalism, they were able to adapt to new innovations more quickly. However, the structure of the British regular army

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aided the Canadian forces by providing them with an organization to streamline command and information flow.11 The Canadian Corps was also able to avoid many of the undesirable aspects of the British organizational structure, as the Canadians were also a national contingent, enabling it more independence and flexibility compared to other British Corps. This allowed the development of a Canadian fighting style that included extensive planning and fire support.12 Canadian officers were more able to negotiate or even disagree with superiors’ orders because of their unique status. The Canadian divisions were not moved between different corps as the British Divisions were, which enabled a more flexible doctrine and a greater ease in adopting and disseminating new ideas and methods.13 Having a shorter history than European countries, less pride was lost in adopting and investigating successes of other allied armies. Major General Arthur Currie was sent to learn French tactics and discover what improvements might be made to the Canadian Corps’ base.14 Many of the differences between the Canadian Corps and the British Army came from this source, such as using fresh troops for attacks, infantry relying on themselves to handle problems rather than calling for artillery support, and a focus on the flexible, maneuverable platoon. 15 Although a group of British senior officers also attended, changes were more difficult to implement due to the more rigid structure of the British Army, as well as a resistance due to national pride. 16 The Canadian Corps had an additional advantage of being a national contingent, as they were able to have their own training schools, allowing them to implement new ideas more quickly, and find their own reinforcements. This was particularly important during the latter years of the war, as Canada was able to pull from new conscripts as well as the break up of the 5th Division in England to fill out their ranks as opposed to sharing the shrinking British pool. This enabled the Canadians to maintain their divisional strength when Britain could not.17 Historian Jonathan Bailey argued that indirect fire was the key innovation of World War I, and that the most successful forces were those that adapted quickest to this new style of combat. Furthermore, he suggested that the primary reason for the failure to develop indirect fire tactics was due to a stiffness of organization and imagination not present in Canadian formations.18 Many of the changes and advances made by the Canadian Corps were either tactical or technological. Raids, small hit-and-run missions designed to retrieve prisoners and documents for intelligence, were one practice the Canadians in particular employed, gaining them experience, 340

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improving morale, and enabling them to experiment with different techniques with less repercussions as compared to a full assault.19 For instance, the Douve River raid aided in developing tactics used in the Battle of Vimy Ridge. The large benefits of training, planning and rehearsal were clearly demonstrated, as was artillery’s ability to cut off the enemy from vital routes rather than attacking them directly, and the enhanced effect of specialists working together.20 The Canadian Corps also explored the use of new tactics and technology through other means. For instance, the attack at Vimy Ridge illustrated the importance of intelligence in improving an attack’s success and reducing its casualty rate, as the successful attack resulting in relatively low casualties proved that it was not necessary to be resigned to the war of attrition approach to war. Leapfrogging, or attacking in depth, was also effectively employed in the Vimy attack. In this method, groups attack in waves, each with slightly different tasks and equipment. Once the first wave has reached its destination the next arrives and either presses on, protects the newly conquered territory, or secures any gain to protect it from a counterattack. This method was a large improvement over the previous British method of having the entire group attacking at once, with little thought of tactics or specialization.21 The Canadians also gained proficiency in certain tactics such as mining, and the creeping artillery barrage. The concept of the creeping artillery barrage changed the objective of the artillery from direct attacks on the enemy to indirect attacks designed to keep enemy fire down. 22 The Canadian Corps was reportedly the most proficient at these tactics to the end of the war and was more willing to expend ammunition in an effort to reduce casualties.23 One of the biggest changes was the specialization of infantry. Initially, Canadians and British did not differentiate the infantry in any way. As the war progressed, platoons were split into specialist sections, each of which preformed a different function. Entrenching battalions were one important aspect of this differentiation; in 1917, these were created to dig trenches, dugouts and build roads, which had previously been the responsibility of front line infantry during their “rest” period. This enabled both training and actual rest of troops already exhausted from fighting.24 Along with this, the Canadians also ensured that infantrymen were cross-trained on many different weapons rather than assuming it was possible to learn only one proficiently. Canadians also focused more on combined operations than the British who focused more on the infantry, with the other arms treated as auxiliary.25 Bombs, hand grenades, and machine guns were favored more by 341

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the Canadian Corps than the British Army. The Canadian Corps preferred to use bombs to assault trenches, whereas the British Army still expected handto-hand combat to determine the outcome.26 The Canadians also replaced the Colt light machine gun with the Lewis light machine, which they began to use in attacks making them a much more powerful attacking force. 27 The numbers of these also increased as the war progressed, and by 1918, the number per battalion had doubled to sixteen as compared to eight in 1916. As Canadians took to a technology-based war readily, they were at an advantage by being able to reduce casualties through the use of heavy artillery fire. Although there had been hope that the tank would be the war-winning weapon in World War I, that title in many respects, would be more appropriate for artillery.28 The leadership of the Canadian Corps matured during the war. Initially, it was dependent upon the British to supply most of its officers. The officers from the Canadian militia were primarily appointed based on social and political connections. This changed, as the war made it necessary for experienced officers to be promoted based on merit. This change could be seen when Sam Hughes, Minister of Militia and Defence, directed that his son lead the 3rd Division, but instead the Canadian Corps Commander at the time, Julian Byng promoted the better qualified Brigadier-General Louis Lipsett.29 As the war progressed and Canadians gained experience, more were competent enough to be able to replace British officers. Arthur Currie rose to command of the Canadian Corps. This was the highest position held by a Canadian in the First World War, and put him in the position of national commander. This was very advantageous for the Canadian Corps, as Currie proved to be an exceptional officer. Currie would not let his men be killed arbitrarily, and as such he believed that the infantry would be supplied with as many munitions and weapons as possible. Currie would rather spend bullets than men.30 This was particularly important as Canada had a relatively small population and could not afford to fight a war of attrition. During the planning for the Vimy Ridge attack, Currie refused to authorize raids unless the benefits could be proven, and if it was impossible to get the information elsewhere.31 He was also willing to confront superiors when he believed orders were unwise, such as when ordered to attack Lens, he told his British superiors that Hill 70 would be a more appropriate objective.32 He also employed bite and hold tactics, demonstrating a change in attitude from prior years to settling for gains and switching objectives to consolidate a smaller victory.33 342

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Decentralization was also a significant change in the Canadian Corps leadership structure. The British method of command during an attack was very centralized. During the second battle of Ypres and the battle of the St. Eloi Craters, communication was very difficult and different levels of command rarely had a clear picture, if any information at all, as to what subordinates were doing. This made it very problematic for a centralized organizational structure based on waiting for commands that may or may not be well generated out of good information. Therefore, in order to be more effective during an attack, small units were given the ability to make decisions and assessments and the platoon became the focus of Canadian tactics providing a much more flexible attack structure.34 The last hundred days, the most dramatic period of the war, is also the period that militia myth proponents use to support their position. They reason that, if this myth was not true, how did the Canadians get to be the “shock troops” of the British Empire, spearheading attacks such as Amiens, along with the Australians?35 Many changes had occurred at and before 1918 to make the Canadian Corps very different from the force fielded in 1915. The organization of the Canadian Corps had changed dramatically especially when compared to the British Army. The Canadians, through implementing conscription, had maintained their divisional strength of 22,000 with three brigades of four battalions each, enabling them to continue to be at full strength of two battalions at the front and two at rest at all times. The British, on the other hand, had reduced the strength of their brigades by one battalion each, thus reducing their second attack by half. The Canadians also had more men per battalion than the British Army, with substantially more men allocated to engineering tasks.36 Currie stated that “much of the Canadian Corps in the final one hundred days was due to the fact that they had sufficient engineers to do the engineering work and that in those closing battles we did not employ the infantry in that kind of work. We trained the infantry for fighting and used them only for fighting.”37 The Canadians’ machine gun battalion was three times the size of a British division, and had an automatic weapon ratio of one weapon per thirteen soldiers as compared to the British ratio of one per sixty-one.38 It was suggested during the war, that Canada should create a small army from the Canadian Corps, but Currie rejected this idea as he believed that the overall fighting power would not be significantly increased, due to the much larger number of rear area troops that would be required to administer an Army.39

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The fear and duty that kept men in line early in the war was replaced by camaraderie, pride and trust in superior officers as the war progressed; this cannot be instilled in a newly-formed army but must be developed. Historians have also claimed that the Canadians’ success was partially due to formations remaining relatively intact throughout the war as opposed to the British method of shifting troops and officers. This is theorized to improve morale, as team spirit and cohesion were easier to develop, and it would also make it easier to disseminate lessons learned on the battlefield. Yet another advantage was that the Canadian Corps was freer to adapt and experiment to the changing style of war, without losing huge numbers, and fortunately, during the Last Hundred Days campaign, the Canadians did not feel the full brunt of an attack.40 During this time, the Canadians used two styles of warfare. The first, using heavy artillery to perform creeping barrages, was developed during earlier days of the war. The second, however, entailed rapid, mobile warfare that was in many respects dramatically different from battles of earlier wars, and proved the adaptability of the Canadian forces by 1918.41 They also proved that fire and movement tactics did not have to be reserved for specialists, but could instead be routine maneuvers.42 In fact, although the Canadian corps had become much more specialized as compared to 1915, they were also very proficient in ensuring that Canadian troops were trained on many different weapons. By 1918, the Canadian troops were no longer the green, inexperienced troops that were found in the Canadian militia prior to the war. The majority of the troops were now veterans who had participated in many successful battles.43 Although the Canadian Corps was a very effective fighting force by the end of the war, many other British formations achieved equivalent levels of success. The other British formations were also vital for applying pressure much more widely than could be performed by the Canadians, essential for winning the war. Using the First World War as support for the militia myth to prove that Canada does not need a military is intrinsically flawed. This suggests that any time Canada should need a military, one could be provided. This ignores all of the fundamental changes the Canadian Corps had to undergo in order to attain the level of expertise on the battlefield in addition to the most important element—time. Although the Canadian Corps achieved a high level of success in the First World War, many factors were responsible for this, including Canada’s close relationship with British, excellent corps commanders, as well as advancements in tactics and technology. By the last 344

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hundred days, the Canadian brigades were stronger than the British brigades both in manpower and firepower, and as historian Bill Rawling stated, “The Canadian Corps was less a glorious institution of soldiery than a gathering of technicians.”44 1

J. L. Granatsein, Canada’s Army: Waging War and Keeping the Peace, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002), 94. 2 Ibid., 145. 3 Bill Rawling, Surviving Trench Warfare: Technology and the Canadian Corps 1914-1918, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992), 45. 4 Granatstein, 59. 5 Desmond Morton, When Your Number’s Up: The Canadian Soldier in the First World War, (Toronto: Random House of Canada, 1993), 149. 6 Rawling, 23. 7 Ibid., 29. 8 Tim Travers, The Killing Ground: The British Army, the Western Front and the Emergence of Modern Warfare 1900-1918, (London: Allen & Unwin, 1987), 37-8. 9 Morton, 149. 10 Tim Travers, How the War was Won: Command and Technology in the British Army on the Western Front, 1917-1918, (London: Routledge, 1992), 175. 11 Rawling, 38. 12 Morton, 153. 13 Ibid., 152. 14 Rawling, 90-1. 15 Granatstein, 110. 16 Ibid., 111. 17 Ibid., 129. 18 Jonathan Bailey, “The First World War and the Birth of Modern Warfare,” in The Dynamics of Military Revolution 1300–2050, MacGregor Knox and Williamson Murray, eds., (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 135-7. 19 Rawling, 47. 20 Ibid., 50. 21 Hubert C. Johnson, Breakthrough! Tactics, Technology, and the Search for Victory on the Western Front in World War I, (Novato: Presidio, 1994), 191. 22 Rawling, 53. 23 John Swettenham, McNaughton Volume 1, 1887-1939, (Toronto: Ryerson Press, 1968), 130. 24 Morton, 145-6. 25 Travers, How the War was Won, 176. 26 Rawling, 72. 27 Johnson, 120. 28 Bailey, 146. 29 Granatstein, 92. 30 Ibid., 111. 31 Rawling, 101. 32 D. J. Goodspeed, The Road Past Vimy, (Toronto: Macmillan of Canada, 1969), 97.

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33

Morton, 175. Rawling, 51. 35 Johnson, 262. 36 Granatstein, 129 37 Sir Arthur Currie, cited in Rawling, 176 38 Morton, 129. 39 Ibid., 129-30. 40 Rawling, 167. 41 Travers, How the War was Won, 172. 42 Morton, 179. 43 Goodspeed, 92. 44 Rawling, 222. 34

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The Phoenix Program and Vietnam: Successes and Failures

The Phoenix Program and Vietnam: Successes and Failures ANDREW SULLIVAN University of Calgary, Calgary American involvement in the war in Vietnam has often been criticized for its failure. It was largely an attempt to defeat an insurgency through purely military means, and in this it did fail. However, it is an overgeneralization to claim that the war effort as a whole was a failure. There were successful aspects of the war that can provide models for application to modern conflicts. One particularly successful, and controversial, element of the war was the CIA’s Operation Phoenix. Wild and unsubstantiated claims have long been levelled against this program. The most prominent claims include the torture of suspects during interrogation and the assassination of non-military enemy agents, as standard operating procedure. This is not true. The Phoenix program was an intelligence coordination program, in an advisory capacity only. It had no direct authority over the military units that physically prosecuted the war. The program's goal was to obtain information on the insurgency from local sources. To accomplish this, advisors had to build trusting relationships with the villagers in their area. This is had by pacification, and cannot be achieved through force. The program faced various problems from its inception. These were caused by the way the program was initiated, the context it grew out of and how it was implemented. Operation Phoenix was a good concept, but was limited by internal and external factors. These include timing, lack of support from the South Vietnamese, American biases and misperceptions, cultural differences, and the sensationalist press. Despite these, the Phoenix program was “the single most effective program…used against [the North] in the entire war”.1 The program was successful because it did three things the Army could not, or would not, do. It acknowledged that an insurgency cannot be defeated through purely military means; it realized that civilian or military pacification efforts must be coordinated; and it understood that victory in an insurgency lay with popular rural support. From the beginning of the American involvement in Vietnam, several models of pacification were tried. Numerous agencies were created and 347

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operations launched in isolation, attempting to pacify the disputed areas and limit communist advances. They included programs by the State Department, U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), U.S. Information Agency, the Joint U.S. Public Affairs Office, the military (Military Assistance Command Vietnam or MACV), and the CIA.2 None of these were particularly effective until the formation of Civil Operations Rural Development Support, or CORDS, and Operation Phoenix. The Phoenix program and its Vietnamese counterpart “Phung Hoang” were the main bodies responsible for combating the insurgency’s proselytizing and political cadres, known as the Viet Cong Infrastructure, or VCI. The VCI “consisted of the Communist Party structure in south Vietnam that organized and directed the VC, as well as the leadership and administration of the National Liberation Front”, and were responsible for collecting taxes, conscripting peasants, organizing caches and disseminating propaganda.3 From the mid-1950’s until November 1963, the United States backed the South Vietnamese government of President Ngo Dinh Diem with increasing uneasiness. Diem was a devout anti-communist and strong totalitarian ruler. To combat the growing problem of the VC in South Vietnam, Diem instituted counter-terror units in April 1959, to attack the VC directly. These units targeted the members of the VCI who could not be brought to justice legally, for lack of evidence. The units used kidnapping, assassination and torture to extract wanted information. They “tortured every suspect (women were routinely raped before being otherwise tortured), and finally executed them. Torture led to more [suspects’] names; those named were picked up and tortured, and the gruesome cycle was repeated on a larger scale as the list of suspects grew geometrically”.4 These counter-terror units eliminated the known VCI in provinces such as Long An, southwest of Saigon, but created just as many new VC guerrillas and sympathizers. In recognition of their accomplishments, the counter-terror units were renamed the Special Police and made part of the National Police Force (NPF).5 The National Police Field Forces, the action units of the NPF, were later widely considered the worst and most corrupt anti-infrastructure units in Vietnam. As the Americans saw what was happening in South Vietnam, they threatened to withdraw their financial backing of Diem unless reforms were initiated immediately. Unfortunately, Diem understood the American position in Vietnam better than the Americans did. With the recent loss of China, the stalemate in Korea, and the massive amount of support already devoted to the Saigon government as well as Diem personally, an American 348

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withdrawal would have been an international embarrassment. Furthermore, it would have signalled American weakness and indetermination to Moscow. Calling their bluff left the United States “supporting policies believed to sustain the insurgency while committing American prestige to its defeat”.6 Emphasizing American powerlessness over Diem, he proceeded to “block all social and political reform measures proposed by the United States…to improve popular support”.7 Despite his many efforts to destroy the communists in South Vietnam, Diem did not eliminate them to the same extent or with the same brutality as the communists in the North did against their opponents. Diem only succeeded in repressing the people enough to increase the number of VC sympathizers around Saigon.8 With the build-up of American forces came several initial military and civilian attempts to create a pacification program for the countryside. The pacification efforts in Vietnam were designed with two primary functions: first, sustained protection of the peasants from the insurgents, thereby denying support; and second, generating rural support for the GVN. The secondary purpose was the physical elimination of insurgents. This was “a civil as well as military process”.9 The agencies responsible included the CIA, USAID, the U.S. State Department, the U.S. Information Agency, and the Joint U.S. Public Affairs Office. With the inevitable bureaucratization that occurs with so many different groups working with different leaders for the same goal, there were definite problems in coordination and communication. As Chief of the CIA’s Far East Division, William Colby illustrates: You’d find the U.S. civilians resettling villagers in one place, while the military was putting a defense force in a different place where there weren’t villagers. It didn’t make any sense. You needed to have the defense force, the self-defense force, the elections, the tin and cement to build houses, and the propaganda support as one program for a village.10

Corrective measures had to be taken, and these required that the pacification effort, or “other war” as it was becoming known as, receive a higher priority. By 1966, President Lyndon B. Johnson was beginning to recognize the potential value of the pacification programs. This was due partly to his belief in the need for social reforms for the people of rural Vietnam, and partly because of his fears of escalating the war. With the Korean conflict still fresh in mind, he feared Chinese intervention “should the United States employ a strategy of massive bombing and a widening of the war to Cambodia, Laos, and possibly North Vietnam”.11 With conventional forces requiring this expansion of the war, pacification became the way to maintain U.S. credibility in its commitment to confronting communism without escalation 349

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to a potential Third World War. Thus, at the Honolulu Conference in February 1966, plans were laid to unite the pacification efforts. All civilian agencies would be directed under the Office of Civil Operations (OCO) and all military groups would fall under the Revolutionary Development Support (RDS) agency. In May 1967, William Colby, Chief of the CIA’s Far East Division, and National Security Council Aide, Robert Komer, united both the OCO and RDS under CORDS. The CIA was the only agency involved in pacification that retained its full autonomy.12 Responsibility for CORDS was placed under the jurisdiction of MACV (Military Assistance Command-Vietnam), and not a civilian organization, for logistical reasons. When resources were needed, the Department of State might be able to provide a dozen men per month, but the military had 20,000 at its disposal. The military also had access to trucks, supplies and engineering expertise.13 While Komer and CORDS got under way, the CIA was developing its own umbrella organization to teach the Vietnamese intelligence community how to coordinate their information. To manage the attack on the VCI, the CIA turned to Robert “Bob” Wall. He had created the District Operational Intelligence Coordination Centres (DOICCs), based on the model by Malayan Special Branch deputy chief Claude Fenner.14 The DOICCs led to the creation of Intelligence Coordination and Exploitation (ICEX) which in turn led to the Phoenix program, and its Vietnamese counterpart Phung Hoang, in 1968. Each of these intermediary programs contributed something specific to the pacification effort. ICEX took the DOICC model and implemented it across all 239 districts and 44 provinces as Provincial/District Intelligence and Operations Coordination Centres (PIOCCs and DIOCCs). ICEX also created Vietnamese equivalents to the P/DIOCCs called Provincial/ District Intelligence Coordination Committees (PICCs and DICCs) that were not attached to the CIA. These would form the basis of the Phung Hoang branch.15 One common problem facing each incarnation from DOICC to Phoenix, was the reaction of the GVN. Most GVN officials resisted the formation of these new organizations. Vietnamese leaders, from the provincial level down to the hamlet, were often in place because of a long struggle for supremacy, backroom dealing, and the illusion of competence. If a new pacification initiative succeeded, it would underscore their failures and erode their authority. The result could be their dismissal from a comfortable position, or reassignment to a more dangerous mission.16 These were 350

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powerful incentives to maintain the status quo and were compounded by the adversarial relationship between the intelligence agencies of Diem’s government. Sharing intelligence and cooperating were concepts utterly foreign to the context that brought these leaders to power in the first place. An attempt was made in 1969 to overcome these problems when the GVN set new guidelines for the processing of captured VCI. Prior to this, any group could interrogate any prisoner in isolation, and keep the information gathered to act on at their discretion. The new guidelines corrected this, but are secondary to the prestige gained by this high level recognition of the pacification program. In a hierarchy-conscious society such as Vietnam, this type of acknowledgment carried more weight than any particular set of orders. Consequently, the Central Phung Hoang Permanent Office (CPHPO) got an experienced colonel as its head officer.17 The reason for this influx of prestige was the admission that it was more important to defeat the VCI than the NVA. The North Vietnamese Army could not survive in the South without the support structures devised by the Viet Cong Infrastructure, however, the shadow government was in no way dependent on the physical presence of the NVA.18 Despite the moderately increasing support for the American Phoenix program in the higher levels, there remained an “almost universal lack of enthusiasm for Phoenix on the part of most Vietnamese district chiefs.”19 This may not reflect a simple unwillingness to do the job, but rather an inability and a wish to keep that inadequacy a secret: “At the district level many GVN personnel could barely read and write and had only a basic understanding of the mission they were involved with”.20 This says nothing of the capacities, or lack of same, at the lower village and hamlet levels. Illiteracy would be a striking and fundamental obstacle to building dossiers, gathering, and sharing intelligence for coordination with other agencies. There was also a specific prejudice against the Americans that had to be overcome. Two communist defectors in Hau Nghia province told Capt. Herrington that “an ingrained dislike of foreigners was central to the Vietnamese outlook”, and that “You must assume that you are not wholly liked and trusted, and not to be deceived by the Asian smile”.21 Another major problem was preventing the assassination of the few effective district chiefs by VC death squads. Obviously the replacements were less than willing to resume the fight.22 Several other problems included peasants’ extortion by GVN personnel on threats of prosecution; selling VCI dossiers to prevent the legal prosecution of suspects; buying the release of captured VCI 351

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awaiting trial and the prevailing fear of angering any current VC who may hold a legitimate position of power after the war was over and the country reunified. This last concern increased during the Paris peace talks. Such issues of ethnocentrism, racism, conflicting views on the prosecution of the war, uncertainty of the future, and individual officials’ personal economic gains all contributed to the difficulties that inundated the Phoenix program, impeding its proper functioning. The Americans also committed several egregious errors of their own. First and foremost was their problem with ethnocentrism, preventing them from learning the language and customs of their hosts. This complicated interrogations, and prevented the development of a necessary factor: building a trusting rapport with the locals, who are the main source for current information on the enemy. With the VC propaganda at the village and hamlet levels centred around the belief that the Americans were just another occupying colonial power, like the French before them. To defeat this belief meant the Americans needed to rise above the people’s expectations. American resistance to this task lay in their relatively short tours.23 After arriving in theatre, being brought up to speed on how and why things were done in certain ways, and were ready to start working on their own, American G.I.’s tours were already more than half over. By the time the advisors could achieve a functional level in the Vietnamese language, they would have long since returned stateside. Finally, with the meteoric rise of the Phoenix program, from being established in 239 districts to complete withdrawal of all American advisors in only four years, there was a chronic shortage of advisors. The result was that to satisfy the need, available men from the U.S. were rushed through training with no time allowed for necessary language skills to be taught. Perhaps the greatest American failure however, was the failure to recognize early in the war that in this insurgency, the destruction of the VC infrastructure was a “precondition for victory”.24 Reflecting this failure, General William Westmoreland even removed the VCI from order of battle calculations, insisting they were unimportant.25 Phoenix was not given the priority status it required until so late in war that it risked being rendered all but meaningless. Even then, the needs of main force conventional units retained priority, “Whenever the Army had to choose between priorities…it unstintingly devoted a disproportionate amount of its resources to those activities that conformed most closely to its preferred method of waging war”.26 District and village level advisors had difficulty obtaining tactical 352

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intelligence from good sources for their operations because, “Every time a good source came along, a helicopter from so me higher headquarters would swoop out of the sky to spirit him away to the rear for interrogation—from whence neither source nor information ever seemed to return”.27 This frustrated most chances of acting on timely and accurate intelligence against the VCI. Finally, the VC worked to disrupt Phoenix’s mandate. They confused the specific targeting of VCI by employing VC guerrillas, VCI and VC sympathizers in interchangeable capacities. This allowed higher level VCI to escape notice by hiding in plain sight, among a group not being targeted by the program. To further complicate matters, members of the VCI adopted several aliases from the most common names, and held several different jobs. By purchasing legal I.D. cards from corrupt officials, they could slip through any “cordon and search” operation with ease. They also blended in with the large transient population of the time, moving from district to district. This transient group was made up of those fleeing the war and those avoiding the South Vietnamese draft, so its members were not likely to draw attention to themselves by turning someone over to the GVN authorities. All of this caused the Americans to have as many as ten to twelve dossiers on a single subject. Even if the subject was captured, resources were still being diverted to tracking down the aliases. Some of the Phoenix program’s own initiatives seemed to backfire. By not classifying the VCI as prisoners of war, the advisors could keep them held separately from the P.O.W. camps and interrogate them personally. This gave them more access to useful information than if the prisoners had disappeared into the bureaucracy of the GVN, but it also meant that the VCI were classified as criminals, and subject to Americanized Vietnamese laws. Having to gather dossiers for use in court was the most significant difference between Phoenix and Diem’s counter-terror units. The legal system subjected the VCI to lenient sentences and early releases; in fact, 75 to 90 per cent were released after only six to twelve months in jail. This practice forced the allies to divert their already stretched resources to building another dossier, tracking down, and catching VCI all over again. High and low level VC were put together with innocent civilians in the detention centres while awaiting processing and trial, allowing a perfect opportunity to proselytize.28 The propagandizing in these jails was made easier as the legal procedures being used “had no precedence in Vietnamese history and culture, which had relied on tradition and religion to solve its 353

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legal woes”.29 The peasants did not understand the system or its necessity. They did understand that the few laws they knew were not to be trusted, as they were created and enforced by colonial imperialists, be they Chinese, French, Japanese or American. The VC naturally capitalized on this perception. Legal procedures and evidence were not always an issue however. When VCI were captured, there invariably came pages and pages of documents found on or near the prisoners, in the aftermath of an ambush or at the site of a raid. One such raid on the headquarters of the N-10 sapper unit netted some 2000 pages, containing lists of operatives up to and including the chief operations officer in Saigon.30 Documents such as these were both rare and valuable, when analyzed professionally. Thus, since captured documents required professional examination, they were subject to the many possible errors of deduction when processed by amateurs. Errors were derived from personal biases and misperceptions, mirror imaging, and “group” or “boss” thinking. These problems can be limited internally by an experienced agent, however the presence of an outside confirmation could cause the conclusions of the analysis to be re-evaluated. A willing former enemy agent was potentially the most valuable source for this type of control. The GVN created, and the Phoenix program successfully exploited, this “Chieu Hoi” program. “Chieu Hoi”, meaning “open arms”, was the program by which defectors were accepted and debriefed by the allies. The ralliers who defected via the Chieu Hoi program were called “Hoi Chanhs”. They provided some of the most timely, accurate, and reliable intelligence of the war, but were still received with extremely mixed feelings. Lt. Bong, Stuart Herrington’s Vietnamese counterpart in Duc Hue district, Hau Nghia province, “told me bluntly that all ralliers were untrustworthy and a waste of time”. This was in reference to a defector named Hai Chua who was the Village Secretary Hiep Hoa for the VCI. He was the highest ranking defector in Duc Hue district “for some time”, and was operating in the village where the Phoenix advisors lived.31 Hai Chua was encouraged to cooperate and became an immensely valuable source of good intelligence. Hai Chua, and other Hoi Chanhs, provided information on caches of weapons, food and medical supplies, and how VCI and guerrillas communicated over distances without radios by using lanterns. This allowed some allied main force units to “read” the signals being sent, reducing the likelihood of their being ambushed. However, the most important information the Hoi Chanhs provided was the “family trees”. In such insular 354

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communities, virtually everyone is known to everyone else, and detailing familial ties allowed for easy identification of outsiders. This also enabled the Phoenix advisors to clean up some of the multiple dossiers they had on single suspects, as the suspects were often known to the ralliers. Arresting and interrogating the families of suspected VC or VCI could lead to more names if the parent or sibling could be convinced that they were fulfilling their familial duty to protect a child or sibling, or if they just wanted the family member to be returned unharmed. These additional names let the advisors cast a wider net of arrests and interrogations, garnering more names in a snowball effect.32 Hoi Chanhs could also be used directly in interrogation. By dressing them in their old VCI clothes and putting them in a holding cell with other suspects, they could often succeed in getting information from prisoners unwilling to betray their cause to the enemy. Thinking they were talking to one of their own, they would discuss current events and troop movements. The Hoi Chanh would then be removed for “interrogation,” and debriefed The numbers of ralliers trying to defect were also directly related to the feelings of “attentisme”. Attentisme is the peasants’ reaction to changes in their perceptions of who will win the war. Victory is given by the Gods, so attentisme is a reflection of who possesses this “will of heaven”. A rural Vietnamese’s primary concern is maintaining his piece of farmland for the next generation. Peace is a necessary factor in fulfilling this duty. As such, villagers were willing to support whichever side was likely to win sooner.33 As the allies engaged in more visible displays of strength in rural areas, many villagers and low- to mid-level VCI felt that the will of heaven was favouring the allies, and they should rally to that side.34 B-52 “Arc Light” strikes and night ambushes had the greatest effect. “The rise and fall of Chieu Hoi figures generally reflected the status of Viet Cong fortunes in the countryside”, and there were corresponding increases to the Chieu Hoi after major VC military losses. In 1970, while the VC were still trying to recover from the Tet offensive, ralliers increased by 60 per cent to 7745.35 In fact, “The Chieu Hoi program brought in almost one hundred sixty thousand deserters between 1963 and 1973, about thirty thousand of them VCI”.36 Allowing defectors to be the source of so much operational intelligence opened the possibility of the Viet Cong sending infiltrators through the program to provide false and damaging information. This potential problem was overcome with relative ease. First, new defectors were sent out with the operational elements, frequently as the point man, on the 355

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first mission built around the information they provided. If they were planning to lead the allies into an ambush, they were sure to be killed as well. This practice tended to discourage any purposefully false intelligence. Secondly, the VC “feared that false ralliers might decide to become true ralliers once they experienced the comfort of the provincial capital, and would never come back, or that the Allies would convince them to spy on the VC upon their return”.37 Finally, the Communists feared and distrusted any returning former captives, believing them to be spies, making it known they were rather unwelcome in the Communist ranks.38 Knowing that defectors could tell they were not welcome back in their old units, the Americans could fully unlock the potential of these defectors as sources of quality intelligence. Torturing these ralliers would prove the Communist propaganda about the Americans correct, and therefore benevolent treatment and rapport building could convince the Hoi Chanhs that they had made the right choice, persuading them to share intelligence willingly. To the Americans, this rendered torture unnecessary as a means of extracting information, and was actively discouraged. Torture accusations in the Phoenix program have been greatly exaggerated, probably due to equal parts confusion and sensationalist journalism. The neutralization of the enemy infrastructure was “well within the parameters of the Geneva Convention concerning treatment of prisoners, and torture and abuse were the exception, with steps taken to correct them”.39 “Countless American advisors had struggled over the years to convince the Vietnamese that brutality and successful interrogation did not go together”.40 “Torture was regarded by both the GVN and the communists as a time-honoured and valid method of gathering information and it was often a difficult habit to break”.41 Americans “never seemed to be able to overcome the Vietnamese conviction that an enemy prisoner somehow forfeits his right to life itself”.42 For the Vietnamese, whose culture is steeped in tradition, torture was simply a part of interrogation, as it had always been. There was no more reason to question or doubt it than to question the cycle of the seasons. The Americans recognized that “Tortured prisoners tended to cooperate only as much as was necessary”,43 and that any intelligence produced by this method was extremely unreliable. According to William Colby “intelligence extracted under torture was often worse than having no intelligence at all”.44 Torture also prevented the expression of more complicated or higher level intelligence that required lengthy explanations. This made torture especially ineffective against captured senior 356

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communists.45 As with the communists, the Americans realized that most defectors and prisoners had spent the last several months living in quite desperate circumstances. Using basic humane treatment and a shared appreciation that the communists would not view their return without suspicion, a trusting rapport could be built. Simple things like a shower and some clean clothes went a long way. The Americans understood that the prisoner or defector had been misled into believing that the South must be freed from the evils of American imperialism by propaganda in the North. This allowed the Americans to expose and refute the lie, physically showing the prisoners the southern people’s prosperity and the lies in the communist propaganda. The anger and betrayal often felt by former communists could be manipulated, making torture quite unnecessary. The state of mind of even willing ralliers can be summed up by a rallier named “Phich” from Hau Nghia, “When I rallied, I didn’t trust anyone, and I was not inclined to volunteer information”, however, “Colonel Weissinger has been good to me…and that is why I agreed to this project in the first place”.46 Examples such as this reinforced the American belief that “one of the keys to securing the cooperation of a source was to disarm him psychologically by decent treatment”.47 In spite of these successes and the principles behind them, the advisors still had a difficult time preventing the Vietnamese from torturing suspects, captives and ralliers. The Vietnamese often did not want American advice on this subject. They felt that they had been fighting this war longer and therefore knew how to fight it best. In an advisory capacity only, the Americans had no leverage to force changes in Vietnamese behaviour, so they resigned themselves to the fact that it was “their war”. Moreover, when the advisors felt the need to criticize their counterparts, they had to take special care to observe the cultural differences inherent to the Vietnamese. Violating a man’s honour by criticizing him in public could cause the Vietnamese to bear a grudge and impair future cooperation. Finally, a lone American on a mission with a group of Vietnamese who had been dishonoured or insulted had to face the very real concern of disappearing in the jungle. It was not uncommon while on a mission for Vietnamese units to kill suspected traitors in their ranks, or anyone else, and claim the enemy got him.48 With so many casualties in wartime, there could be no investigation. A few Americans did admit to using torture to a limited extent, and they have been careful to explain their actions. Though punching and 357

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slapping were not uncommon, no bones were ever broken. They knew that psychological threats were far more effective. Therefore, most “torture” involved threats of increased violence, public announcements that the suspect was a GVN agent and always had been, threats against family members or failure to protect family members from VC reprisals. They could even threaten to turn the prisoner over to the GVN, who would torture them in a very real way. The use of the “good cop/bad cop” routine was effective, but not as much as simple “carrot and stick” kindness. Offers of good food, clean new clothes and rewards such as medical treatment for friends and family in exchange for information yielded the most consistent, timely, reliable, and accurate information.49 However, stories of kindness and compassion of this sort did not sell newspapers or air time in the United States. The mood among average American citizens was not supportive of the war effort after the Tet Offensive of 1968. Printing a story that reflected the war in a positive light would not have been well received. Correspondingly, promoting the consensus, that the war was inhumane and must be stopped, would find a large readership. The news organizations’ desire to purchase sensational stories invariably led to people willing to sell them. A few people even invented fantastic stories about Phoenix and Vietnam. These tall tales were easily refuted, but too late to prevent the rumours from spreading. Even corrections, when printed, were seen as a government cover-up. This public relations failure was a matter of bias and misperception and was well beyond the control of Phoenix. In February 1969, Lt. Francis T. Reitemeyer claimed he was a member of Phoenix and was required to maintain a “kill quota of fifty bodies a month”.50 In fact there was a “quota” instituted for the Phoenix program in the early 1970’s, but it stipulated fifty VCI “neutralizations” per month. The difference between “kills” and “neutralizations” may seem semantic, but was wholly important. The Phoenix program was an intelligence gathering organization. As it is extremely difficult to interrogate a dead man, their emphasis was on capturing, not killing the targets. Lt. Reitemeyer failed to make this distinction, which is quite understandable as he had actually neither served in nor ever visited the country of Vietnam. Naturally, this point of fact was overlooked by the press,51 for “As with so much involving Vietnam, few critics have taken the time to study what they deplore”.52 Yoshia K. Chee claimed he was a member of the Special Forces and a Provincial Reconnaissance Units (PRU) advisor. The PRUs were known for 358

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their aggressive prosecution of the war against the VC. They were made up of all facets of Vietnam’s diverse social structure, including ethnic Cambodians who believed that by eating a defeated opponent’s liver, they would be protected from harm.53 A failure to understand these distinctive cultural idiosyncrasies allowed half-truths to be told as full truths. As a PRU advisor, Chee claimed first-hand knowledge of torture within the Phoenix program. “One of the favourite things was popping one of their eyeballs out with a spoon” during interrogation. Other preferred methods of extracting information apparently included skinning the bottoms of their feet, beating them with bamboo rods, using the serrated edge of a K-bar knife to saw through their limbs to the bone; furthermore, chopping off fingers “was very Vietnamese”. Each of these accusations would have made for splashy headlines. However, Chee has no record of ever having been a PRU advisor, not even a pay record. There is no evidence supporting his claim of receiving the Silver Star, nor would he produce the actual medal. Chee also told a story of a mission he was on where “a considerable number of U.S. Special Forces soldiers” were killed on 1 April and 25 December, 1969.54 There are no records of any Special Forces soldiers dying on those days, or any of the days preceding or following. “Chee’s claims are not supported by an substantial evidence, and they are contradicted by most of the evidence available”.55 With so many inconsistencies in his stories, one might question whether he was ever in Vietnam either. Despite the facts that refute these claims, the belief persists that the Phoenix program was a covert assassination program funded by the CIA. This is true only in so far as the Phoenix program was funded by the CIA. The Phoenix program was not an operational wing, it began and remained an intelligence and coordination centre only. As an advisor to the operational aspects, it had no direct control over the “birds of prey” that actually hunted the VC and VCI. Phoenix provided intelligence and funding only, tactics were the domain of the units.56 This does not mean that the Phoenix turned a “blind eye” to the actions of the PRU’s or other elements. Rather, with the increasing Vietnamization of the war and the limits of the advisory position, the Phoenix staff was restricted to verbal or written complaints. The emphasis in the program remained on capture, not assassination, and the statistics reflect this. In 1969, 19,534 VCI were neutralized. Of these, 4,832 rallied through the Chieu Hoi program, 8,515 were captured and 6,187 were killed. Expressed differently, for every one VCI killed, more than two more were neutralized alive. Considering the inherent dangers in capturing a 359

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target versus openly killing it, there was an obvious focus on the former. Furthermore, the 8,515 captured only reflect those VCI important enough to have received one or more years prison sentence. It excludes all those falsely accused and all low-level VCI not truly committed to the communist cause. Had these people been included, the total number captured for 1969 alone would exceed 34,000; this is a captured to killed ratio of almost 6:1.57 Even “Congressional investigators who went out to Vietnam to assess the program found that of some 15 000 VCI neutralized during 1968, 15 percent had been killed, 13 percent rallied to the government side, and 72 percent were captured”.58 Operation Phoenix was never an assassination program. Truong Nhu Tang was the highest ranking Viet Cong officer ever to break with the revolution. In his book A Vietcong Memoir, he addresses the success of the Phoenix program: “In some locations, Phoenix was dangerously effective. In Hau Nghia province, for example, not far from our old base area, the Front infrastructure was virtually eliminated”.59 Despite the overall failure of the Allied effort in South Vietnam, and the many problems involving GVN officials, Operation Phoenix was a successful program. It succeeded by recognizing its necessary and priority role in defeating the insurgency, by coordinating the fractured intelligence of the various South Vietnamese agencies, and by establishing a continuous presence in the countryside, characterized by building rapports with the local people. There were some problems within the program, which have been acknowledged and can be corrected. The concept of coordinating intelligence and building popular support by addressing local issues among the peasants as a priority in a conflict creates the fundamental framework necessary for establishing an effective counterinsurgency program in any nation’s foreign or domestic policy. These are successful lessons to be learned from the Phoenix program and the Vietnam War.

1

Lewis Sorley, A Better War: The Unexamined Victories and Final Tragedy of America's Last Years in Vietnam, (New York: Harcourt Brace and Co., 1999), 147. 2 Mark Moyar, Phoenix and the Birds of Prey: the CIA's Secret Campaign to Destroy the Viet Cong, (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1997), 48. 3 Ibid., 11 4 Dale Andrade, Ashes to Ashes: The Phoenix Program and the Vietnam War, (Lexington, Mass: Lexington Books, 1990), 38. 5 Ibid., 39.

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6

D. Michael Schafer, Deadly Paradigms: The Failure of US Counterinsurgency Policy, (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988), 252-3. 7 Ibid., 249. 8 Walter Laqueur, Guerrilla: A Historical and Critical Study, (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1977), 270. 9 Robert W. Komer, “Impact of Pacification on Insurgency in South Vietnam”, in Revolutionary War: Western Response, David S. Sullivan and Martin J. Sattler, eds., (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971), 50. 10 Moyar, 48. 11 Andrade, 52-3. 12 Moyar, 50. 13 Ibid., 48-9. 14 Ibid., 51-2. 15 Ibid., 52. 16 Andrade, 62. 17 Ibid., 125. 18 Ibid., 82. 19 Ibid., 194. 20 Ibid., 213. 21 Stuart Herrington, Stalking the Vietcong: Inside Operation Phoenix: A Personal Account, (Novato: Ca.: Presidio Press, 1982), 23. 22 Ibid., 195. 23 Andrew F. Krepinevich, The Army and Vietnam, (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 229. 24 Ibid. 25 Sorley, 67. 26 Krepinevich, 233. 27 Herrington, 73. 28 Andrade, 206. 29 Ibid., 201. 30 Herrington, 108-9. 31 Ibid., 18-9. 32 Ibid., 104-5. 33 Frances Fitzgerald, Fire in the Lake: The Vietnamese and the Americans in Vietnam, (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1972), 25-30. 34 Moyar, 110. 35 Andrade, 138. 36 Ibid., 4. 37 Moyar, 109. 38 Ibid. 39 Andrade, 201-2. 40 Herrington, 74. 41 Andrade, 210. 42 Herrington, 110. 43 Moyar, 106. 44 Andrade, 210.

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45

Moyar, 106. Herrington, 44-5. 47 Ibid., 102. 48 Moyar, 99-100. 49 Ibid., 102-5. 50 Ibid., 213-4. 51 Andrade, 211-2 52 Komer, 57-8. 53 Herrington, 163. 54 Moyar, 91-2. 55 Ibid. 56 Ibid., 54. 57 Andrade, 129. 58 Sorley, 145. 59 Herrington, 205. 46

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Human Security, Soft Power and the Voyage into the Future

Human Security, Soft Power and the Voyage into the Future BRAD VERHULST University of Calgary, Calgary With the dawn of a new administration in Canada there will naturally be an abundance of speculation regarding the development of a distinct foreign policy, enabling the new administration to distinguish itself from past administrations. The desire to do so does not necessarily make it an easy task. There are realistic constraints that prevent the Martin administration from abandoning prior conceptualizations of foreign policy and striking an entirely new course. This is due to the fact that the international environment is not sufficiently different from prior international environments to allow a complete reformulation of policy. Canada is still a middle power. Canada still exists next to the United States, and Canada, like all countries, must maximize its national interests by exploiting the resources that it possesses. While the Chrétien administration was highly criticized by its opponents for unrealistically attempting to implement a foreign policy based upon humanitarian intervention and soft power, the pragmatic vein of such ideas is likely to be the starting point for the Martin administration’s foreign policy. The fundamental change in foreign policy that the new government must implement is to narrow the way that security objectives are defined. The Martin administration will obviously be forced to make minor changes in the way that it conducts foreign policy; nevertheless, the constraints imposed upon prior administrations will likely prevent the new administration from implementing other radically different foreign policy options the in the near future. To understand the potential policy options of the incoming administration, it is necessary to examine the policy initiatives employed by the preceding administration. The basis of the Chrétien government’s foreign policy rested on the use of soft power to achieve the goals outlined by the human security agenda. In the first portion of this paper I will briefly outline the major components of the human security agenda. This will set the stage for an examination of the ideas of soft power within Canadian foreign policy. After examining the debate between the uses of soft or hard power, it will be possible to speculate on the potential course of action that 363

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the Canadian government will take under the Martin administration’s tenure. Regrettably, the human security agenda does not explicitly include the nature of Canada’s economic foreign policy. Because of this, economic theory is given less importance in this essay than it deserves. Expanding the topic beyond human security is beyond the scope of this paper. HUMAN SECURITY Human security has been one of the main issues at the forefront of the Canadian foreign policy agenda over the last decade. This concept is concerned with the transfer of basic security needs from the state to the individual. Human security is an incredibly broad concept. It is used to justify the invasion of sovereignty in purely domestic crises, based on validations that appeal to the morality of the international community. The concept is so broad that almost any intervention can be pulled under the human security umbrella. Human security, according to Lloyd Axworthy, is the idea that “security goals should be primarily formulated and achieved in terms of human, rather than state, needs.”1 This broad definition allows for the intervention of one state in another state’s domestic environment in order to protect the needs of the citizens in times of civil war, economic collapse, or various other negative circumstances, for the citizens’ sake. As broad as human security is, it is a useful concept in terms of organizing consistent foreign policy that can be applied to non-advanced industrialized states. The human security agenda relies on the use of four different techniques, which were not developed exclusively for the human security agenda but for foreign policy implementation more generally. The first technique is intense, behind-the-scenes negotiations, or quiet diplomacy. The second technique is the use of highly publicized media campaigns aimed at incorporating civil society in the political process, called public diplomacy. The third technique is the use of multilateralism. The last technique requires the actual use of military force. Behind-the-scenes negotiations often take the form of traditional diplomatic exchanges. In Canada’s case, the Canadian diplomats abroad use their connections in an attempt to advance Canadian interests, especially the interests of the human security agenda. The public style of diplomacy is moderately different. Public diplomacy seeks to mobilize civil society for political ends. If there is a demonstrated concern within domestic civil society, governments are likely to sit up and pay attention. Therefore, if 364

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Canadian politicians can convince members of Canadian civil society to engage transnational populations in the attempt to advance issues on the human security agenda, public diplomacy is successful. Multilateralism is one of the major foreign policy techniques traditionally used by the Canadian government. This consists of engaging several international powers in order to achieve policy objectives that advance Canada’s values without damaging the underlying ideals. This is an extremely difficult task. In order to make the world more conducive to Canadian interests, Canada must have a seat at the table. Canada is not strong enough on its own to force the world to stand up and take notice, therefore, the world must be convinced that Canada is an important international actor. This is accomplished by spearheading major international initiatives like the International Criminal Court negotiations or major peacekeeping missions. The cost of implementing human security ideals will ultimately have to be borne by others. Many of the issues were not really problems for Canada to start with, but rather issues that Canadians felt someone had to take charge of. For example, Canada was not a major producer or consumer of anti-personnel landmines, yet Canada was at the centre of the campaign to ban their use. This sort of argument does not do irreparable damage to the agenda as a whole. Just because Canada does not bear the brunt of the cost of implementing something that the world almost unanimously thinks is beneficial, does not mean that Canada should turn a blind eye. In essence, the human security agenda is an attempt to lead by example. Michael Tucker identified this tendency in 1980 when he wrote about Canada as a “mentor state.”2 This is the idea that, even though Canada is not the most powerful state, it can still cause international change by acting morally, thus as a model for other states to follow. There must be an ultimate good. Perhaps the altruistic action can be seen as aspiring to this ultimate good. The human security agenda gives Canada the opportunity to once again be the mentor for other states. SOFT POWER The way the human security agenda was pursued by Canadian diplomats relied heavily on the concept of soft power. Soft power, as defined by Joseph Nye Jr., is convincing others to “want what you want.”3 In this sense, modern Canadian foreign policy techniques are, in all actuality, a simple extension of prior techniques with a new name. The most 365

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comparable techniques to the soft power school of thought used by Canadian diplomats are the quiet diplomacy techniques developed by Lester Pearson. The twist on Pearson’s quiet diplomacy is, quite simply, the inclusion of high profile individuals extending the campaign to include their public influence in the media. Even this more aggressive style of negotiation could be associated with prior Canadian administrations. These techniques were used by Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau in his highly publicized whirlwind tours of the south and east in the early 1980’s. The modern style of public diplomacy is very similar to Pearson and Trudeau’s style of public diplomacy. Soft power was the major tool used to advance the human security agenda under Axworthy. The traditional techniques of multilateralism, quiet diplomacy and public diplomacy are able to be incorporated into the human security tool kit because they all rely on the principles of soft power. Soft power was originally developed in order to allow the Americans to maintain or increase their influence in the wake of the Cold War. Relations between major powers were uncertain; therefore, soft power was intended to provide the United States with an alternative to the idea that the it was no longer useful, or that it was declining in international importance. The main characteristics of soft power according to Nye are “cultural attraction, ideology, and international institutions.”4 The use of force has become increasingly costly.5 Because of this, soft power has become increasingly attractive. The international environment is very different from those of the past. There are many new social issues that affect the way states interact. Many prevalent issues are so diverse that they require the use of different techniques to resolve them. For example, issues dealing with the protection of the environment require different solutions than human rights issues, or the democratization of the international periphery. Even so, all of these issues are integral parts of the human security agenda. The solutions range from requiring economic assistance or foreign aid to international agreements that entrench environmental protection in international law. Thus, new ways of dealing with security threats must take these obstacles into consideration, and “realists who focus only on the balance of hard power will miss the power of transnational ideas.”6 These new security issues transcend traditional state boundaries, therefore they require multilateral solutions. According to Lloyd Axworthy, “Soft power is the art to disseminating information in such a way that desirable outcomes are achieved though 366

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persuasion rather than coercion.”7 As Axworthy argues, “the use of soft power—negotiation rather than coercion, powerful ideas rather than powerful weapons, public diplomacy rather than backroom bargaining—is an effective means to pursue the human security agenda.”8 The emphasis on soft power allows Canada to “use its military for other purposes, namely human security.”9 The military retains a prominent role in soft power politics, but becomes the instrument of last resort, as compared to the first response mechanism. In contrast to Nye’s definition, where actors are concerned with others accepting their views in an unconscious type of way, Axworthy places heavy emphasis on persuasion and coercion. For Axworthy, the use of soft power is independent of the use of hard power. An underlying assumption of this type of definition is that both hard and soft powers are equally effective in both situations. In Nye’s definition, hard power is not explicitly discussed, but it is implied that the two types of power are distinct and to be used for separate purposes. Axworthy believes public opinion severely limits governments’ abilities to use hard power, therefore forcing governments to use soft power. “In a world where CNN brings every war into our living rooms, what use is military power alone if public opinion sharply restricts the circumstances in which it can be used?”10 The most important difference between the two definitions is that one is based on theoretical assertions and the other is used as a starting point from which to make policy. HARD POWER The soft power/hard power continuum fits perfectly into Theodore Roosevelt’s maxim of speaking softly but carrying a big stick. Soft power is contingent on the effectiveness of hard power, yet hard power alone will not always allow for the successful attainment of one’s goals. At times, as Lester Pearson noted in his memoirs, “I have learned that quiet diplomacy … may have to be abandoned in exceptional circumstances and be replaced by political pressure together with complete publicity and frank disclosure.”11 There is a major problem associated with overconfidence in soft power methods. This arises when other actors resist or refuse to start wanting what you want. The most salient example of this is the events in the Balkans in 1999. The ideals of soft power proved toothless as a response to the problems. Therefore, soft power had to be abandoned in favour of a more aggressive approach using hard power. The principal difference between soft and hard power is the use of coercion in order to exercise power. While the 367

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techniques of negotiation and persuasion are central tenets of soft power, the threat of force is a central tenet of hard power. Robert Dahl argues that power is exercised when one actor is able to get another actor to do something that they would not otherwise do.12 Nye states that hard power is ordering other countries to do what is in your interests.13 Combining these definitions, hard power can be conceived of as the ability to order or coerce someone to do something that they would not other wise do. As limited in utility as it may be, hard power is not yet obsolete. “The increased cost of military force does not mean that it will be ruled out.”14 Conventional military action is and must still be used in order to pursue some policy objectives, but the use of hard power relies on the perceived legitimacy of not only the ends, but also of the means. Similarly, Dewitt argues that even in the case that the military is not the most important factor in the settlement of international disputes, it is likely to remain a crucial factor.15 Basically, if the use of soft power is able to rectify differences, hard power will be less necessary and soft power will become more effective. With each success of the use of soft power others will be less willing to resist, but such resistances will inevitably occur. This inevitably makes hard power an essential part of the soft power within the human security paradigm. While the techniques of multilateralism, quiet diplomacy and public diplomacy rely on the principles of soft power, military force is the sole technique that relies unmistakably on the principles of hard power. Still, the use of military force remains an important feature for the promotion of the human security agenda. CRITICISMS Major critics of this style of foreign policy claim that these polls are measuring the wrong things. They believe that it is great that Canadians are willing to place their morality on parade for the world, but they do not believe that others will internalize their values. For the critics, this internalization of Canadian values is the measure of a successful foreign policy. They argue that it is a giant leap from establishing a foreign policy based on moral righteousness to a “just and more equitable international order.”16 Human security focuses on individuals at the expense of the state. They argue that if a state collapses, even a bad state, everyone is worse off. The void that will be created by the collapse will be filled by chaos. Friendly democratic regimes are not simply born, they must be developed by grassroots movements. Thus, initiatives that seek to undermine state 368

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authority perpetuate negative human conditions. Helping the people without addressing the necessary antecedents “is to offer palliatives rather than cures.”17 Criticisms point to the recent difficulties in imposing top-down democratic reforms on unwilling nations, making people sceptical that it is even possible to export the democratic institutions that serve to protect freedoms in western democracies. What these critics do not mention is the realistic steps they would suggest in order for Canada to increase its role in the international community. For these critics, it is not Canada’s place to tell others how to live. The realist school of international relations, the school that many of the human security critics hail from, emphasizes the importance of the state in international affairs. It is the success of the state and state institutions that demonstrates the international community’s success for these people. There is no doubt that this type of emphasis would elicit defensive reactions when analyses are based on indicators that critics feel are not indicative of the international environment’s health. They cite that “badly timed poorly prepared or exclusively ethnically based elections can be counterproductive”18 to the health of the state, and subsequently the international community. Without indigenous support for the democratic ideals, there is little hope of any type of democratic longevity. The international environment is more complex than this school of thought alludes to. As Nye suggests, “When ideals are an important source of power, the classic distinction between realpolitik and liberalism becomes blurred.”19 Transnational actors, whether they are non-governmental organizations, high profile individuals or multinational corporations, wield a great deal of influence in policy formation in a variety of states. The changing international environment is allowing Canadians to expand their network of influence to include more than the narrow Atlantic alliance system established in the post-war era. It is painstakingly clear that national sovereignty no longer plays the decisive role in determining the foreign policies of advanced industrial states that it did in the past. The justification for international action must be based on a different set of international realities. Human security concerns have become more relevant since the demise of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. The humanitarian echo of the idealist camp is at the heart of the human security agenda. It is argued that “new norms are in effect, Wilsonian rather than Westphalian.”20 The new international reality emphasizes the ineffectiveness of policies based solely on military force and strict adherence to military alliances, while 369

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emphasizing the use of non-violent means of conflict resolution. This does not suggest that traditional military operations are obsolete, rather that they must be conditioned in order to ensure effectiveness. Critics also accuse this style of foreign policy as being “foreign policy on the cheap.”21 Kim Richard Nossal suggests that human security, and especially soft power, is a way of pretending to exercise Canadian interests abroad, but at the end of the day, is simply useless. He claims that the Canadian public is being fooled into believing that soft power can replace the tried, tested, and true methods of realist politics because the government is simply not willing to spend the money necessary to develop, maintain or increase Canada’s actual power. THE VOYAGE INTO THE FUTURE The pragmatic character of the human security agenda suggests that it will remain one of the mainstays of the incoming administration’s foreign policy. The attacks on the methods Axworthy employed to achieve policy objectives, although based on solid arguments, are less convincing than the pragmatic use of soft power to achieve human security goals. During Axworthy’s tenure as foreign minister, Canadian foreign policy reflected many core values of Canadian society. This morality was the foothold of the human security agenda. In fact, there was broad support for the initiatives with as many as 82 per cent of respondents saying that they believe that Canada has more influence in the world now, as compared to 30 years ago.22 In the more specific categories within the human security agenda the same poll found approval ratings ranging from 88-92 per cent. This suggests that overall, Canadians are conscious of the initiatives and willing to encourage the use of morality in foreign policy decision making. The incoming administration is unlikely to disregard public opinion, thus the human security agenda is likely to remain a central part of Canadian foreign policy. Canada is not a country that has an abundance of military power, nor is it likely to vastly increase its military capabilities in the near future. The immensely powerful neighbour to the south, although the source of much Canadian insecurity, serves a protective function that allows Canada to forego many of the security concerns other nations posses. This sense of security is also increased by the oceans surrounding Canada. Due in part to these reasons, Canadians do not have the stomach for a dramatic increase in their military influence abroad, nor does the Canadian government seem to be willing to increase the defence budget to allow for this to happen. Jockel 370

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and Sokolsky argue that Axworthy’s emphasis on “soft power” can be construed as tactical move, but also as “making the most of the limited cards he had been dealt.”23 In current Canadian politics, budget constraints are a vital issue. Canada must face the reality that it needs to focus on cheaper, non-traditional methods of international action to realize its policy goals. If the fiscal reality eliminates the option of vastly increasing Canada’s military industrial complex, then it is the government’s responsibility to find ways of retaining, if not increasing, Canada’s influence in the international system. It becomes evident quite quickly that Canada does not aspire to be a military superpower, but that does not mean that it does not wish to increase its influence internationally. Therefore, Canada is forced to use negotiation and compromise in order to achieve its policy objectives abroad. The criticisms of pulpit diplomacy and “foreign policy on the cheap” must be taken seriously, even if one subscribes to the soft power approach to Canadian foreign policy. It is hard to ignore the media hype regarding the less than adequate state of the Canadian military. Money must be invested, or reinvested, in military technologies to increase the viability of Canadian soft power assets. These developments will be slow, which makes the reliance on human security quite important in the meantime. Canadian foreign policy makers must constantly be cognisant of the “commitment-capability gap” as outlined by Rod Byers.24 The incoming administration must be willing to accept these restraints. Canada is a middlepower. There are relatively few people who would outright challenge this claim. Being a middle-power restrains Canada’s aspirations in certain aspects. Canada must recognise this, and aspirations or rhetoric must not exceed the possible,25 but testing the possible is still necessary. Unilateral action, which is a legitimate option for great powers, is not a viable option for middle powers like Canada. “Only the truly powerful can afford to thumb their noses at the global community’s painfully crafted network of international institutions, and Canada is hardly in that league.”26 Canada is therefore forced to engage in public diplomacy, quiet diplomacy and multilateralism in order to advance specific interests. In order to avoid overextending the reach that Canada can comfortably manage, it is necessary to focus on some issues at the expense of others. This focus allows Canada to let others deal with the issues that are marginally important, or cannot be affected by Canadian negotiators, while focusing on issues that Canada can impact and shape. This type of wisdom, to know the difference between what one can and cannot do will allow Canada to reduce the risk of overextension. It is not 371

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reasonable to expect Canada to be able to achieve more than other major powers with less actual resources. Therefore, Canada must concede that it is only possible for Canada to do so much, and work to achieve more realistic goals. Canada must continue to cultivate the perceived link that it has to peripheral actors. Dewitt argues that because Canada is an advanced industrialized state with strong connections to other advanced industrial states, without an “imperial or colonial legacy,” peripheral states are more likely to trust Canadians to a greater extent than other advanced industrial states with histories of imperialism and colonialism.27 Basically, in the eyes of third world states, Canadian legitimacy is derived from the fact that Canadians have seats at the major tables, creating inroads to major actors. The peripheral actors understand this; therefore, by acting as a bridge-builder between north and south, Canada can increase its predominance in the international system. This bridge-builder reputation will provide the basis for successful negotiations on future human security issues. Correspondingly, ad hoc arrangements also play an integral part in Canadian foreign policy. These arrangements rely on decision makers’ successful ability to deal with issues as they arise before they spiral out of control and require the use of more drastic measures, such as the prolonged use of force. The unpredictability of specific issues that may or may not become central to international negotiations forces Canadian diplomats to remain flexible and open-minded. This does not necessarily mean compliance with the interests of major players, but does require patience and the mindfulness of long term goals during negotiations. Small setbacks do not indicate failure, but at the same time, seemingly great achievements do not delineate success. For example, during the 1998 negotiations to create the International Criminal Court, the Canadians put forward a package deal that was widely accepted amongst lesser powers.28 The failure to convince the United States to sign the treaty severely weakened the mandate of the court. The subsequent capture of Saddam Hussein would have been the ultimate test of efficacy for the fledgling court, but since the Americans did not sign the agreement, the court was not able to be tested. This shows that even great steps toward developing international rule of law must be buttressed by the willingness of major actors to agree to primary objectives. As Joseph Nye points out, “sticking your finger in the eyes of the Americans may make you feel self-righteous … but you won’t have changed the world.29” 372

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Human security also allows for the use of humanitarian aid in order to advance the agenda. There are three basic categories to determine who receives aid: those who will succeed with help; those who will fail even with help; and those who will succeed without help.30 In every case of potential international aid this calculus must be done. Although this is a calloused approach to the conduct of humanitarian aid, it is necessary if a government is going to claim to be fiscally responsible. The first priority for aid must be given to those countries that need it the most, those who will succeed with help. Reciprocally, it would be assumed that these countries would fail without help. Second priority should be given to those who will succeed even without help. This is because small amounts of aid to those in moderate crisis will encourage their development in such a way that they are friendly and open towards you in return. This is not suggesting that aid should be used in order to create dependent relationships with third world nations, rather that helping a nation in need will plant the seeds of friendship on fertile soil, in order to allow the friendship to blossom into a healthy relationship. The last priority should be given to those states who will fail even with help. They are already a lost cause. Minimal aid should be given in order to create humane conditions for citizens, but these types of initiatives are extremely taxing on monetary resources with very little potential or actual return. If soft power proves to be an important factor in international politics, there is little doubt that Canada will be able to increase its influence in international affairs. On the other hand, if soft power is not the ideal type of power at the international level, Canadians will be no worse off in attempting to cultivate their skills in persuasion and diplomacy. If hard power reigns supreme, soft power will still have a distinct purpose. “Soft and hard power are thus two sides of the same coin.”31 Taken together they increase each other’s legitimacy, but taken separately they are still moderately effective. As Nye points out, soft power “makes a lot of sense as a strategy for Canada.”32 Soft power, and subsequently, the human security agenda, allows Canada to maximize the use of techniques in which they routinely demonstrate Canada’s diplomatic competence, while minimizing the emphasis that is placed on Canada’s relative shortcomings. Canada is already at the forefront of the human security agenda, an agenda that is undeniably linked to Canadian ideals and values. Canada has helped to shape the redefinition of the international community to ensure that “violent events are no longer viewed simply in terms of peace and 373

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war.”33 This will be maintained by the Martin administration. Canada is at the centre of the response to new security threats; these threats surface within the legal boundaries of states. This fundamentally changes the way security concerns are analyzed. In an increasingly interdependent world, the result of every action undertaken by an actor is felt globally. This forces states to attempt to justify intervening in disputes that are not international, but directly affect their security. Issues like genocide, civil war and the child warrior are outside the realm of traditional security threats. However, interdependency makes threats to an individual’s personal security a threat to the security of nations on the other side of the globe. On the issues that define the human security agenda, the response must be firmly based on some type of morality to even have the appearance of legitimacy. It is unlikely that the major tenets of the Martin administration’s foreign policy will differ vastly from the Chrétien administration’s foreign policy, especially the ideas of human security. The actual influence Canada wields is not likely to increase exponentially or at all, even, but if Canada can manage the way in which others view its influence in world politics, then Canada can appear to have increased its influence. In politics, to a large part, appearances are reality.

1

L. Axworthy & S. Taylor, “A Ban For All Seasons”, in International Journal, 53 (Spring 1998), 191. 2 Michael Tucker, Canadian Foreign Policy: Contemporary Issues and Themes, (Toronto: McGraw-Hill Ryerson Limited, 1980). 3 Joseph Nye Jr., “Soft Power”, in Foreign Policy, 80 (Fall 1990), 167. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid., 168. 6 Ibid., 171. 7 Lloyd Axworthy, “Canada and Human Security: The Need for Leadership”, in International Journal, 52 (Spring 1997), 183. 8 As quoted in R.J. Hay, “At Present Creation”, in Canada Among Nations 1999: A Big League Player? F.O. Hampson, M. Hart, & M. Rudner, eds., (Ottawa: Oxford University Press, 1999), 221. 9 J. Jockel & J. Sokolsky, “Lloyd Axworthy’s Legacy: Human Security and the rescue of Canadian Defense Policy”, International Journal, 56 (Winter 2000-2001), 18. 10 Axworthy and Taylor, 202. 11 Fen Osler Hampson & Dean F. Oliver, “Pulpit Diplomacy: A Critical Assessment of the Axworthy Doctrine”, International Journal, 53 (Summer 1998), 398.

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12

As cited in Joseph Nye Jr., “The Changing Nature of World Power”, Political Science Quarterly, 105:2, (1990), 177. 13 Nye, “Soft Power”, 167. 14 Nye “Changing Nature”, 180. 15 D.B. Dewitt, “Directions in Canada’s International Security Policy”, International Journal, 55 (Spring 2000), 180. 16 Hampson and Oliver, 381. 17 Ibid., 385. 18 Ibid., 387. 19 Nye “Soft Power”, 170. 20 Jockel & Sokolsky, 8. 21 Kim Richard Nossal, “Foreign Policy for Wimps”, in The Ottawa Citizen, April 23, 1998, A.19. 22 G. Gherson, “Canadians are activists at heart, new poll finds: Make waves internationally, but watch funding”, Ottawa Citizen, 24 April, 1998, A5. 23 Jockel & Sokolsky, 7. 24 Dewitt, 172. 25 Dennis Stairs, “Canada and the Security Problem: Implications as the millennium turns”, International Journal, 54:3, (1999) 382. 26 Hampson & Oliver (1998): 398 27 Dewitt, 177. 28 Lloyd Axworthy, Navigating a New World: Canada’ Global Future, (Toronto: Random House, 2003), 202. 29 Wallace Bruce, “Axworthy’s ‘Soft Power’,” Maclean’s (1998) 111 (28). 30 Dewitt, 187. 31 Hampson & Oliver, 391. 32 Wallace. 33 Dewitt, 178.

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Why Instability in the Former Soviet Republics is No Accident: How Russia’s Foreign Policy is Negatively Effecting the Other Newly Independent States CAMERON WAY University of Calgary, Calgary

INTRODUCTION The collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990’s ushered in a whole new era of international relations. The world is no longer divided into two opposing camps, capitalist and communist, led by two superpowers. More importantly one of the superpowers, the Soviet Union, is no more. The Soviet Union, once the mighty communist champion determined to spread the seeds of revolution across the globe, has disappeared from the international stage, replaced by fifteen newly independent states (NIS). These revolutionary changes have been accompanied by a period of uncertainty and instability in the NIS region as each of these new states attempt to define its national identity and carve out a place on the international stage. The Russian Federation has, by default, become the most important and influential of the fifteen NIS as it inherited most of the Soviet Union’s resources and obligations. As such, it is in a position to either help enhance the stability of the region, or, as this paper will argue, to be a major contributing factor to the instability in the NIS. To support this argument, Russia’s foreign policy will be analyzed. This analysis will consist of an examination of foreign policy inconsistency over time, and will look at some of the influencing factors and costs. It will then turn to the paternalistic nature of Russian foreign policy and attempt to outline the causes and consequences. This analysis will conclude with an examination of Russia’s foreign policy goals, and attempt to show why these goals are inconsistent with regional stability. The second part of the paper will expand on the foreign policy analysis by applying it to specific examples from the Caucasus region. The paper will conclude with recommendations for alternate foreign policy concepts that might improve stability in the region.

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FOREIGN POLICY ANALYSIS As the largest and most influential of the NIS, the Russian Federation holds a special place in the study of post-Soviet politics. Its policies, decisions and fortunes can have tremendous effects on the other NIS. No where is this more apparent than in the area of foreign policy. The individual components of Russian foreign policy, Russia’s relations with Western Europe and America, its economic policies, and its military doctrine have repercussions that reach across many other NIS. The failed ruble zone of 1992-93, and Russian peacekeeping efforts in the Caucasus are just two examples. In order to understand how Russia’s foreign policy has had such a negative effect on stability in the NIS it is necessary to examine three important characteristics of Russia’s foreign policy: inconsistency; paternalism; and self-interested goals. Policy inconsistency is not unusual in a nation undergoing a radical transformation of its political and economic system. The transition is often a period of trial and error where new policies are adopted without careful consideration, and later dropped when they prove unsatisfactory. In small countries with little international penetration this usually causes few problems for other nations. Unfortunately this is not the case with Russia, as its international penetration is extensive, especially in the NIS where, as mentioned, Russia’s economic and security policies, and relations with the west frequently have a direct impact. The result of this inconsistency is an inability on the part of other NIS and the international community to make successful long-term plans or affect progress. The case of the development of oil reserves in the Caspian Sea is a good example. Neil MacFarlane explains how Russia’s inconsistent foreign policy towards Azerbaijan’s attempts to develop these resources led to, “substantial delay of the project in question; this, in turn, interfered with economic recovery and political stabilization in Azerbaijan.”1 If one agrees that Russian foreign policy has been inconsistent, and that this inconsistency has caused or at least perpetuated the instability of other NIS, the question remains: what is causing this inconsistency? There are many possible explanations, but the most convincing, arguably, would be Russia’s national identity crisis. Much of the instability in the Russian Federation and indeed the rest of the NIS can be traced to the crisis of national identity. In Russia, this crisis has been caused by the loss of an empire, the failure of communism and the loss of its superpower status. What it means to be Russian is very different 377

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from what it meant to be a Soviet. As a result, the task of forming or defining a new national identity has fallen to today’s Russians and their leaders. In Russia there are currently three main, and to some extent mutually exclusive, concepts of national identity that are competing for dominance. These are the Zapadniki (Westernizers), the Vielikorossy (Great Russians), and the Yevaziytsy (Eurasianists).2 A detailed analysis of each of these could be the focus for an entire paper, but is not necessary for this discussion. What is important to note is that each of these concepts has a very different notion of Russia’s role in the international community, and the foreign policy necessary to achieve this role. The Westernizers advocate a strategic partnership with Western Europe and the U.S., and at least part of their foreign policy platform is oriented towards cooperation and engagement. The Great Russians, on the other hand, advocate policies designed to lay the foundations for what Piotrowski terms, “the rebirth of the great Russia.”3 They are often characterized as ultra-nationalists and imperialists whose focus is the reintegration of the Soviet Union. One of the most recognizable advocates of this school of thought is frequent Presidential hopeful Vladimir Zhirinovsky, leader of the Liberal Democratic Party and Deputy Chairman of the State Duma. The Eurasianists believe that Russians have more in common with other Eurasian countries than they do with the west. As such Russia’s focus should be on building partnerships with these countries in order to counter what they believe to be the expansionist tendencies of the U.S.. It is obvious that these three concepts of national identity would produce very different foreign policy goals and strategies. This is, in fact, exactly what has happened. As the differing concepts have gained and lost influence in the Kremlin, foreign policy has shifted to reflect the newly dominant concept. Jyotsna Bakshi argues that the transfer of power from Yeltsin to Putin was accompanied by a shift away from the Westernizers and the growing influence of the Great Russians. The result for foreign policy was a re-designation of threats to the Russian Federation. The 1997 National Security Concept stated that the main threats to the country were “not of a military character,” whereas the 2000 concept makes the lightly veiled claim that NATO is a major threat.4 These shifts in the direction and content of Russia’s foreign policy create the inconsistency which is a major cause of instability in the NIS. Paternalism is the second major characteristic of Russia’s foreign policy. Paternalism, in this case, is used to refer to the Russian government’s 378

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insistence in declaring the NIS a sphere of vital interest. This declaration has had a decidedly negative impact on progress and stability in the NIS. Reasons for this include negative sentiments in many of the NIS towards what they perceive as, renewed Russian imperialism. Arbatov and Hartelius highlight this sentiment when they state, “many of Russia’s neighbors are trying to limit perceived attempts by Moscow to regain strong influence, if not direct control, over their countries.”5 This negative sentiment has at times boiled over and resulted in political upheaval, as citizens of the NIS revolt against Russian forces and citizens in their territory, or what they argue are Russian puppet governments. The conflict in Tajikistan is representative of this situation. Dawisha and Parrott contend that the, Tajik fighters’ hatred of Russians made … Russian garrisons a particular target [and] the participation of Russian troops in joint peacekeeping operations that were perceived as supporting the Nabiyev government increased the vulnerability not only of the troops but of the Russian civilians they were increasingly called upon to protect.6

Another consequence of Russia’s declaration of a sphere of vital interest is the constraint it places on international actors to intervene politically, economically or militarily to assist the NIS. Russia makes its position very clear in its 2000 National Security Concept. It states that the main threats to Russian national security come from, “the weakening of the integration processes in the CIS” and “attempts of other states to hinder the strengthening of Russia as a center of influence in the multipolar world, prevent the implementation of its national interests and weaken its positions in Europe, the Middle East, the Transcaucasus, Central Asia and Asia Pacific.”7 This constraining influence leaves the NIS at the mercy of the Russian Federation; this is a situation that has not always been beneficial to stability in the region. If, as it appears, Russia’s assertion of a sphere of vital interest is inconsistent with advancing stability in the region, the question must be asked: why has Russia pursued this policy? There are many reasons behind Russia’s doggedness on this subject; the most prominent of these reasons are historical factors and Russia’s great power desires. Other factors of note are economic and security considerations, which will be discussed when examining the self-interested goals of Russia’s foreign policy. In order to fully understand the paternal nature of Russia’s foreign policy it is necessary to examine the historical factors underlying it. History is important for two reasons: it serves as the frame of reference by which 379

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policymakers evaluate the current environment, and it is the foundation of the current physical and social reality. This physical and social reality consists of approximately 25 million ethnic Russians living in the NIS and a domestic population that is grieving the loss of an empire. This very real sense of loss experienced by Russians is the result of over four centuries of Russian imperialism. From the beginnings of the Tsarist state to the height of the Soviet Union, Russia had followed a generally expansionist path. These facts transform into a paternalistic foreign policy because of the Russian Federation’s desire to protect ethnic Russians who now find themselves living abroad, and the corresponding reluctance to accept that, as Dr. Dmitri Trenin of the EastWest Institute (EWI) argues, Russia is indeed, “losing its hegemonic role and is unlikely to regain it in the future.”8 It is this divergence with reality which motivates the Kremlin to interfere in the affairs of the NIS and it is this interference which further destabilizes the region. Russia’s great power ambitions also have their roots in history, but their effect on Russia’s paternal foreign policy is somewhat different. The Cold War has left a lasting mark on the psyche of most of the world’s population. It has had particular impact on the social conscience of the two superpowers. For Russia, it has engendered a strong distrust of western (specifically American) intentions and a belief that the only way to insure Russian national interest is to oppose western influence at any cost, especially if this influence is directed at Russia’s own backyard. Aleksei Podberezkin’s highlights this sentiment when he says, “Without falling into “patriotic” hysterics, one is forced to state that the most terrible threat to the Slavic world in its history has now arisen: the menace of political, cultural, and spiritual assimilation into an alien civilization, that of the west.”9 Russian policymakers also appear to believe that one of the best ways to oppose American influence is to expand their own. This desire to form a counter balance to American hegemony is an integral part of Russia’s great power ambitions. The result of this belief is Russia’s insistence that they have majority influence in the NIS, and, in some cases, that American influence be completely excluded. As was discussed above this has left many NIS at the mercy of the Kremlin. Russia’s foreign policy goals will be the final characteristic examined. As with other countries Russia’s foreign policy goals are typically divided into economic and security considerations. What is unique about Russia is the almost exclusively self-interested nature of these goals. Self-interest is usually considered advantageous when it comes to a country’s foreign policy. 380

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Unfortunately in the case of Russian foreign policy, what is advantageous for Russia is at times detrimental to the other NIS. The Russian Federation has shown no hesitance in interfering in the domestic political issues of other NIS for the sole purpose of advancing its national interests. No single characteristic of Russian foreign policy has had a more negative impact on the stability of the NIS than the overt or covert involvement of Russia in the domestic politics of the other NIS. A good example of this is Neil MacFarlane’s description of Russia’s involvement in the instability in Tajikistan. He states that Russian military forces were used to sustain an unrepresentative ex-communist regime against democratic and Islamic opposition. The purpose of this intervention was to insure the continuation of a government sympathetic to Russian goals, and as an excuse to place Russian troops on the border with central Asia.10 The rationalization for this interference is usually drawn from the reasons discussed regarding the paternal nature of Russia’s foreign policy. What are interesting to look at, however, are the economic and security motivations. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union no single factor has had a greater impact on policy formulation in the Russian Federation than the economy. This is particularly true in the area of foreign policy. Under the Soviet Union, the economies of the region were linked in a complex, centrally planned system that saw the bulk of economic activity pass through Moscow and a handful of other important Russian centers. Under this system, infrastructure was designed to facilitate this pattern of commerce. With the collapse of the Soviet system Russia and the other NIS were left with economies that, for better or worse, were inextricably linked. In addition to the complications that these linkages have caused, Russia also finds itself in competition with the other NIS to attract foreign aid and capital, and find foreign markets for goods. Hopmann, Shenfield, and Arel highlight this competition in their study of Soviet integration and disintegration when they assert that many Russian policy elites are worried about the west’s shift away from a Russo-centric aid policy, and would like to see it stopped.11 An EWI report also notes that the development of energy resources, “risks creating further competition and tension among states in and around the CIS.”12 It is no wonder that, in this competitive environment, Russia would pursue a foreign policy that furthers its economic goals but gives little consideration to the effects on other NIS. Russia’s security goals have also had a negative impact on NIS stability. As mentioned earlier, there are many elements of Russian society that still 381

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feel insecure in the international environment. In fact, the perception of insecurity may have even increased since the Soviet period. With this in mind, there are four areas in which security concerns are promoting a selfinterested Russian foreign policy. The first, countering American influence, has already been discussed in some detail. The other three areas are: terrorist and criminal concerns; border issues; and military infrastructure and planning issues. Terrorism and criminal activity are serious concerns for any country. In Russia they are of significant importance. The conflict in Chechnya and the explosion in drug and black market activity in the Russian Federation have been well documented. The fact that Section 1 Article 4 of the CIS charter specifies that one of the spheres of joint activity will be combating organized crime speaks to the magnitude of the problem.13 The result of these concerns has been the desire of the Russian government to expand its defensive and retaliatory activities into other NIS. This is a problem for the NIS because as Neil Robinson argues, “Russia’s power enables it to take decisions without considering their effects on other [Commonwealth of Independent States], and to use the dependence of the other CIS states to force them to comply with its wishes.”14 Border control and migration concerns, which are closely linked to the concerns over crime and terrorism, are another factor prompting a selfinterested Russian foreign policy. Neil MacFarlane accurately notes that, “there were no effective borders within the territory of the former Soviet Union between Russia and the other republics. Such facilities existed on the former Soviet borders that fell for the most part under the jurisdiction of other former Soviet republics.”15 With the economic constraints facing Russia, rebuilding these facilities would have proven extremely difficult and costly. In response Russia has used its foreign policy to induce several other NIS to enter into border patrol and defense agreements that result in the stationing of Russian troops in the territory of the NIS. The Charter of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) is a perfect example of such an agreement. Sections I and III of the Charter specify that member states shall conduct “coordinated policy” in the areas of security and border defense.16 Coordinated policy is used as a euphemism for stationing Russian troops. These troops are often not wanted and have frequently been blamed for promoting unrest in the host state. Military infrastructure and planning issues include Russia’s desire for a buffer-zone between its territory and the territory of potential hostile 382

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governments, and the repatriation of a large amount of Soviet military hardware that was left in the NIS. The reasoning behind the desire for a buffer zone is that if there is going to be conventional conflict it is better to have it happen away from your territory, population and infrastructure. As was the case with border infrastructure, it is considerably cheaper for Russia to use foreign policy to coerce other NIS to comply with its requests than to rebuild this infrastructure. Russia’s manipulation of the Crimean dispute is a good example of this. Neil MacFarlane states that Russia used the dispute to, “elicit Ukrainian concessions on the Black Sea Fleet question and compliance with Ukrainian commitments to denuclearization, as well as a more compliant general direction in Ukrainian foreign policy.”17 The above analysis has shown that foreign policy in Russia is a complicated area. It has also shed some light on the reasons behind Russia’s inability or refusal to pursue a foreign policy that would enhance the stability of the NIS. These reasons included inconsistency, a paternalistic nature, and the self-interested goals of Russia’s foreign policy. The second part of this paper will take this analysis and apply it to the instability in Georgia and Armenia/Azerbaijan in an attempt to show the consequences of the foreign policy choices of the Russian Federation. CONFLICT IN THE CAUCASUS Since the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990’s one of the most unstable regions in the area has been the Caucasus. With armed conflicts involving Chechnya, Georgia, Azerbaijan, and to a more limited extent, Armenia, this region presented a very real danger of sparking an international war. Fortunately, this has not yet happened. It is important to keep in mind, however, that few of the issues that motivated these conflicts have been addressed, and tension continues just below the surface. This region is also a good example of how Russia’s foreign policy has had a destabilizing effect on other NIS. Of special interest are the secessionist conflicts in Georgia and Azerbaijan. Throughout the early 1990’s both Georgia and Azerbaijan were engaged in armed conflicts with secessionist regions. In Georgia there were conflicts in South Ossetia and Abkhazia; in Azerbaijan there was conflict in Nagorno-Karabakh which quickly involved neighboring Armenia. These conflicts have many similarities ranging from their Soviet origin to the fact that none, despite ceasefires, is adequately settled. However, for the purposes of this paper, it is the similarities in Russia’s involvement that are most 383

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relevant. These similarities include providing arms and support to both sides of the conflict, the failure of Russian peacekeeping efforts, the limiting of international assistance, and Russia’s use of the conflicts to exert pressure on the two NIS. All of these similarities stem from or are examples of the problems inherent in Russia’s foreign policy. Russia’s material support of these conflicts started early. In his analysis of the war in Georgia, David Darchiashvili states that, “before the war and in its initial stages there was evidence of Russian military aid to the Georgian Army. But in short time Russian weapons (combat aircraft included) appeared on the Abkhaz side.”18 Although it is difficult to argue that this support was the cause of the conflicts it is not difficult to assert that without this support the conflicts would have been much shorter and less destructive. It is also easy to see that the provision of these supplies is a clear example of Russian foreign policy designed to have a destabilizing effect on the NIS. In addition to the material support given by Russia, these conflicts were further exacerbated by Russian peacekeeping policies. Peacekeeping is a difficult task at the best of times; it requires well trained and equipped soldiers, the consent of both parties, and at least a semblance of impartiality. Given the fact that the Russian peacekeepers lacked all of these elements, it is not surprising that their presence was less than beneficial. In his analysis of the conflicts in Georgia, Neil Robinson argues that the, “one-sidedness of peacekeeping operations has led to the CIS being labeled a front for Russian security interests.”19 It is this perception that has made the Azeri so insistent that any peacekeeping force in Azerbaijan contains a large non-Russian element and it is Russia’s refusal that has prolonged the conflict. It is apparent from the above examples that Russia pursued selfinterested peacekeeping operations that differed considerably from the international norm. Given this fact it is no wonder MacFarlane, Minear, and Shenfield, in their study of the armed conflict in Georgia, stated that, “the question becomes not whether Georgia would have been better off had an organization other than the CIS taken on peacekeeping responsibilities but whether Georgia was better or worse off for Russian involvement.”20 It is not difficult to make the same assessment of the conflict in Azerbaijan. The mention of alternate peacekeeping options raises another problem with Russian foreign policy towards these two NIS: limited international involvement. Some of the blame for the lack of international involvement in Georgia and Azerbaijan can be placed on the existence of other international priorities; however, a good portion of the reluctance is due to Russia’s 384

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foreign policy. This was evident in the conflict in Azerbaijan where Germany was ready to commit peacekeeping forces, but as Vladislav Shorokhov explains, “Russia continued to insist on the recognizing of her prioritative role in the process of conflict regulation.”21 The result of this insistence was the prolongation of conflict and an increased loss of lives. This is a good example of Russia’s paternalistic foreign policy having a detrimental effect in the region. So far, the examination of Russia’s involvement in Georgia and Azerbaijan has concentrated on how Russia’s foreign policy has affected the stability in these two countries. The answer to why lies in the fact that both Georgia and Azerbaijan were resisting Russian pressures to comply with military, diplomatic or economic requests. Edward W. Walker describes this phenomena as it applies to the conflict in Georgia: “the Georgian government was forced to call upon Russian troops to repress the rebellion, in exchange for which Tbilisi promised to comply with Russian insistence that it join the CIS.”22 This is a clear case of Russia deliberately using preexisting tension to create instability, which it then used to its advantage. This blatant disregard for the national sovereignty of these countries is another example of the paternalistic and self-interested nature of Russia’s foreign policy. The conflicts in Georgia and Azerbaijan highlight the fact that Russia’s foreign policy not only fails to promote stability in the NIS but is, at times, designed to create instability. Indeed, Edward W. Walker characterized Russian policy in the Caucasus between 1993 and 1994 as, “clumsy divideand-rule tactics.”23 The price for Russia’s divide-and-rule tactics is high: 25,000 dead, 600,000 displaced persons in Azerbaijan24 and 1,000 dead, These conflicts also emphasize the 60,000 displaced in Georgia.25 inconsistent, paternal and self-interested nature of Russia’s foreign policy. RECOMMENDATIONS It is self-evident that diplomacy with Russia is a delicate task involving countless considerations. That being said, given the instability caused by Russia’s foreign policy and the damage that has resulted, it is surprising that more effort has not been made by the international community to pressure Russia to adopt a more neutral foreign policy. The following recommendations, though admittedly idealistic, could go a long way towards moderating Russia’s foreign policy and improving stability in the NIS.

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1.

2.

3.

Russia should adopt a more long term strategy for its foreign policy. Part of this strategy should be built on the realization that stability in the NIS is ultimately in Russia’s economic and security interests. By formulating and following a long term strategy Russia would remove much of the inconsistency that is currently inhibiting progress in the NIS. This, of course, is subject to Russia defining its national interest in a more concrete way. Russia should reevaluate its paternalistic foreign policy concept. To date, it has done little to benefit Russia, and is costly in terms of dollars and diplomatic capital, both of which are scarce commodities and could be put too much better use in other areas. Russia should re-examine its assessments of western, in particular American, intentions. The continued belief that the west poses a threat to Russia is the single largest obstacle to improving conditions in Russia and the other NIS. This recommendation is, of course, contingent on the west actively engaging with Russia and the other NIS to improve conditions.

CONCLUSION The collapse of the Soviet Union may have left Russia a smaller and weaker country, but it is still capable of exerting tremendous influence both regionally and around the globe. This influence can be either positive, or in this study’s case, negative. Given its influence and capabilities, it is important that Russia be a responsible member of the international community; equally important is the role of the international community in encouraging Russia to be responsible. Given Russia’s foreign policy contribution to the instability in the NIS, it is safe to say that room for improvement exists.

1

Neil MacFarlane, “Realism and Russian Strategy after the Collapse of the USSR,” in Unipolar Politics: Realism and State Strategies After the Cold War, Ethan B. Kapstein and Michael Mastanduno, eds., (CIAO net, February 1999), Chapter 7. 2 Marcin A. Piotrowski, “Russia’s Security Policy”, in Toward an Understanding of Russia, Janusz Bugajski and Marek Michalewski, eds., (CIAO net, October 2002), 60-61. 3 Ibid., 61. 4 Jyotsna Bakshi, “Russia’s National Security Concept and Military Doctrines: Continuity and Change,” in Strategic Analysis: A Monthly Journal of the IDSA, 24: 7 (October 2000). 5 Alexei G. Arbatov and Dag Hartelius, “Russia and the World: A New Deal” EastWest Institute (March 1999) Section 6.2

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6

Karen Dawisha and Bruce Parrott, Russia and the New States of Eurasia: The Politics of Upheaval, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 221. 7 National Security Concept of the Russian Federation, (January 10, 2000), http:www.fas.org/nuke/guide/Russia/doctrine/gazeta012400.htm (February 8, 2004). 8 Dr. Dmitri Trenin, “Building Subregional Cooperation in and Around the CIS Space,” EastWest Institute, (New York: Carnegie Corporation, 1999), 12. 9 Aleksei Podberezkin, “Russia’s New Path,” in Strengthening Democratic Institutions Project John F. Kennedy School of Government, Richard Weitz trans., (CIAO net November 1998). 10 MacFarlane, Chapter 7. 11 P. Terrence Hopmann, Stephen D. Shenfield and Dominique Arel, “Integration and Disintegration in the Former Soviet Union: Implications for Regional and Global Security,” Occasion Paper #30 (Providence: Thomas J. Watson Jr. Institute for International Studies, Brown University, 1997), 53. 12 Executive Summary, “Surveying Subregional Relations in and Around the CIS Space,” EastWest Institute, (New York: Carnegie Corporation, 1998), 3. 13 John Fowler, trans., “Charter of the Commonwealth of Independent States”, theRussiasite.org, http://www.therussiasite.org/legal/laws/CIScharter.html (February 8, 2004). 14 Neil Robinson, “The CIS as an International Institution,” in The CIS Handbook, Patrick Heenan and Monique Lamontagne eds., (London: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1999), 24. 15 MacFarlane, Chapter 7. 16 Fowler. 17 MacFarlane, Chapter 7. 18 David Darchiashvili, “The Russian Military Presence in Georgia: The Parties’ Attitudes and Prospects,” in Caucasian Regional Studies, 2:1, (1997). 19 Robinson, 25. 20 S. Neil MacFarlane and Larry Miner, “Armed conflict in Georgia: A Case Study in Humanitarian Action and Peacekeeping,” Occasion Paper #21 (Providence: Thomas J. Watson Jr. Institute for International Studies, 1997), 62. 21 Vladislav Shorokhov, “Energy Resources of Azerbaijan: Political Stability and Regional Relations,” in Caucasian Regional Studies, 1: 1, (1996). 22 Edward W. Walker, “No Peace, No War in the Caucasus: Secessionist Conflicts in Chechnya, Abkhazia and Nagorno-Karabakh,” Strengthening Democratic Institutions Project John F. Kennedy School of Government, (February 1998). 23 Ibid. 24 S. Neil MacFarlane and Larry Miner, “Humanitarian Action and Politics: The Case of Nogorno-Karabakh,” Occasion Paper #25 (Providence: Thomas J. Watson Jr. Institute for International Studies, 1997), 1. 25 MacFarlane and Miner, “Armed conflict in Georgia,” 8.

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Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II

Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II ERIN WEIR University of Calgary, Calgary Throughout World War II, the “U-boat peril”1 loomed large in the minds of Anglo-American decision-makers. While the United States (USA) was still neutral, President Roosevelt suggested that the war “would be won in the Atlantic.”2 The Casablanca Conference, held in 1943 to set AngloAmerican strategy for the rest of the war, declared “the anti-U-boat war” to be the first Allied priority.3 After the conflict had ended, Prime Minister Churchill admitted, “The only thing that ever really frightened me during the war was the U-boat peril.”4 The western Allies clearly perceived German submarines to be a serious threat and were prepared to devote significant military resources to combating them. The existing literature on the Battle of the Atlantic tends to present the material impact of Germany’s submarine blockade in terms of its effect on Allied merchant shipping. However, the need to defend this shipping militarily imposed additional material costs on the Allies. By sinking, damaging, and delaying cargo ships, U-boats reduced the total productive capacity of the Allied war economies, and forced them to divert some of this capacity to producing more cargo ships, rather than munitions. Similarly, the production and maintenance of anti-submarine forces occupied a portion of the Allied capacity that was used to produce munitions. How much Allied military output was absorbed in countering German submarines? Although aerial forces were also involved, this question can mostly be answered by assessing the effect of the U-boat peril on the naval production programs of the United Kingdom (UK) and the United States (US). The threat posed by German submarines forced three main costs on Allied naval programs. First, it required the construction of warship classes designed to combat submarines. Second, by sinking other classes of naval vessels, U-boats required building replacements. Third, by forcing abrupt changes in naval priorities, they further disrupted Allied production. In a market economy, one would determine the economic cost of naval production using the prices paid to procure naval vessels. However, in the wartime context of planned economies and controlled prices, the 388

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monetary cost of naval vessels does not provide a meaningful measure of the productive resources used to build them. Instead, one must examine more tangible physical quantities. The UK built 2.37 million tons of naval vessels between 1940 and 1944, while the US built 5.85 million between 1942 and 1944.5 But is tonnage a reasonable measure of cost? Does a thirty-thousand-ton battleship cost as much as five six-thousand-ton cruisers or fifteen two-thousand-ton destroyers? Clearly, tonnage is not a precise measure of cost, but it is a reasonable one. On the one hand, one would expect a single battleship to cost less per ton than a single destroyer, due to economies of scale in constructing the larger vessel. On the other hand, many destroyers would be built for each battleship, so the economies of scale associated longer production lines would reduce the per-ton cost of the destroyer more than the battleship. There is no reason to assume that these opposing factors would perfectly balance each other, completely equalizing the costs per ton. But, since these factors would largely offset each other, it is reasonable to use tonnage as a measure of cost. Mark Harrison makes an essentially similar argument in developing an index of UK munitions production: In aircraft production smaller aircraft embodied more value added per ton, because they embodied relatively more motive power, instrumentation, and combat equipment. This was probably also true of the smaller warship classes. However, this must have been offset by major economies of scale in the production of small vessels and landing craft compared to the one-off character of battleships and aircraft carriers.6

A significant revision that should be made to this analysis is that landing-craft mounted very few armaments and were mass-produced in huge quantities. In this case, the economies of scale associated with long production lines vastly outweighed those associated with large size. To reflect this fact, one might assume, somewhat arbitrarily, that two tons of landing craft are worth one ton of other vessels. On this basis, the UK built 2.03 million “effective tons” of warships between 1940 and 1944, while the US built 4.63 million effective tons between 1942 and 1944.7 The classes of heavy ships (i.e. battleships and cruisers), destroyers, patrol craft, and landing craft each occupied about a sixth of the effective UK tonnage, with a combination of aircraft carriers, submarines, mine craft, and mosquito craft (or motor torpedo boats) accounting for the remaining third. Aircraft carriers, destroyers, and landing craft each occupied about a 389

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quarter of the effective US tonnage, with all the remaining classes accounting for the fourth quarter.8 The only class produced almost exclusively for anti-submarine warfare was patrol craft. Heavy ships, submarines, and landing craft had very little ability to counter submarines and were certainly not produced to do so. Every other class was partially, but not mainly, produced for anti-submarine purposes. The versatility of these classes creates uncertainty about what proportion of Allied naval production constituted anti-submarine vessels. For the UK, it seems reasonable to classify ninety percent of patrol craft and a third of destroyers, mosquito craft, and mine craft as antisubmarine vessels.9 Excluding ships converted to launch aircraft, the UK built two escort carriers in 1943 and two more in 1944. These vessels were intended to protect convoys from submarine attack. These assumptions categorize about 0.57 million tons of British naval production, or about twenty-eight percent of the 2.03 million effective tons produced, as having been built to counter the U-boat peril.10 Compared to the Royal Navy, the US Navy was relatively more engaged in the Pacific against the Japanese fleet, and less engaged in the Atlantic against German submarines. However, American naval output included substantial anti-submarine forces produced for British use. For example, except for the four escort carriers mentioned above, all of the “Attacker” and “Ruler” class carriers operated by the Royal Navy were American-built.11 However, the US Navy also built many escort carriers for itself. Indeed, just over half the carriers produced in the US were escort carriers, as opposed to light or fleet carriers.12 While the construction of these ships was initially motivated by the submarine threat, they were later used extensively to provide air support for other naval units and for amphibious assaults.13 One might therefore consider all the escort carriers produced in 1942, half of those produced in 1943, and a quarter of those produced in 1944 as anti-U-boat vessels. The “Royal Navy, desperately seeking to meet the submarine threat”14 also requested the construction of escort destroyers in the US. These ships accounted for just under half the tonnage of destroyers built in American yards.15 In practice, some of these ships were probably used for purposes other than anti-submarine warfare, while some regular American-built destroyers were deployed against U-boats. However, the production of escort destroyers was a response to the U-boat while the production of regular destroyers was attributable to other factors. 390

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As its defender and semi-official historian Samuel E. Morrison concedes, “the United States Navy had not anticipated the need of corvettes and other small, fast escort vessels.”16 The relatively small tonnage of American produced patrol craft were built almost exclusively in response to the submarine threat. Even taking account of the marginal extent to which they were deployed against non-German submarines or other forces, one can safely treat ninety-five percent of this limited tonnage as a response to the Uboat peril. American motor torpedo boats in World War II are most famous for the daring exploits of small PT boats in the Pacific, and for future President John F. Kennedy’s service aboard one in that theatre. In fact, submarine chasers accounted for most of the tonnage of motor torpedo boats produced by the US.17 Eighty-five per cent of these can be categorized as anti-U-boat. On the other hand, given the limited use of mines by or against U-boats on the American coast, only about a tenth of US mine craft can be so categorized. On the assumptions outlined above, the US built about one million tons of warships, or about twenty-two per cent of the total 4.63 million effective tons produced, in response to Germany’s submarine threat. By necessitating the construction of anti-submarine vessels, the U-boat peril occupied just over a quarter of Britain’s naval production program and just under a quarter of the much larger American program. By sinking ships that were not intended for anti-submarine warfare, German submarines imposed further costs on Allied naval programs. Most notably, they sank several inadequately protected British battleships, aircraft carriers, and cruisers early in the war. These exploits forced the Allies to divert productive resources to replacing lost vessels rather than using them to build new vessels. This is not to suggest that every naval vessel lost to Uboats was replaced with an equivalent ship. Rather, it is to propose that counting these losses against Allied production is the only appropriate way to quantify them. Two important cautionary notes must be sounded. As one would expect, patrol craft were the type of ship must commonly downed by submarines. Since virtually all patrol craft production—whether “new” or “replacement”—has already been attributed to the U-boat peril, it would be a case of double-counting to also attribute lost patrol craft to it. Instead, one must count only vessels from classes that were not, or were only partly, built for anti-submarine purposes. U-boats sank 0.22 million tons of British 391

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warships from such classes. Since the US Navy relied more heavily on purpose-built escort ships, and was responsible for relatively safe parts of the Atlantic, the equivalent figure for American warships was less than 0.01 million tons. Also, many of the British vessels lost to U-boats—particularly the largest ones—were obsolete and not nearly as valuable as an equivalent tonnage of new naval production. For example, the HMS Courageous, the Royal Navy’s first major casualty of World War II, was lost to a U-boat days after hostilities commenced. Although it displaced as many tons as Illustriousclass carriers completed during the war, it carried fewer planes, lacked an armoured flight deck, and did not mount dual-purpose guns for anti-aircraft defence.18 Similarly, U-boats sank several of the antiquated American destroyers that the Royal Navy obtained under the famous “destroyers for bases” deal. The lesser value of obsolete vessels can be taken into account by halving their tonnage. This measure is fundamentally consistent with the concept of “effective tonnage” developed above. On this basis, U-boats sank 0.16 million effective British tons. German submarines thereby downed a further eight per cent of the effective UK naval program but only a negligible fraction of the US naval program. Counting both the production of anti-submarine vessels and other warships’ sinking by U-boats, Germany’s submarine blockade occupied 0.73 million effective tons, or thirty-six per cent, of British naval production and 1.01 million effective tons, or twenty-two per cent, of American naval production. Tables A and B provide an annualized breakdown of the figures outlined above. TABLE A: UK NAVAL PRODUCTION AND THE “U-BOAT PERIL,” 1940-1944 (bracketed figures are percentages of “effective tons built”) Effective Tons Built to Effective Tons Total Effective Tons Year Total Tons Built Tons Built Counter U-boats Sunk by U-boats Occupied by U-boats 32,500 (13%) 98,200 (38%) 1940 263,100 258,150 65,700 (25%) 50,900 (12%) 169,300 (40%) 1941 437,200 419,750 118,400 (28%) 51,950 (12%) 151,450 (35%) 1942 481,400 427,250 99,500 (23%) 13,400 ( 3%) 163,300 (34%) 1943 609,600 478,850 149,900 (31%) 12,150 ( 3%) 149,750 (33%) 1944 583,400 447,950 137,600 (31%) Total 2,374,700 2,031,950 571,100 (28%) 160,900 ( 8%) 732,000 (36%)

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Source: Figures on construction are from Appendix A. Figures on losses to U-boats are from S. W. Roskill, The War at Sea, 1939-1945, Volume III: The Offensive, Part II (London: HMSO, 1961), 439-447 and www.uboat.net [February 2004].

TABLE B: US NAVAL PRODUCTION AND THE “U-BOAT PERIL,” 1942-1944 (bracketed figures are percentages of “effective tons built”) Est. Effective Tons Built to Effective Tons Total Effective Tons Year Total Tons Tons Built Counter U-boats Sunk by U-boats Occupied by U-boats Built 1942 491,800 + ? 881,050 76,000 ( 9%) 2,300 (0%) 78,300 ( 9%) 1,728,700 1943 1,364,400 + ? 448,300 (26%) 5,900 (0%) 454,200 (26%) 0 (0%) 1944 1,353,600 + ? 2,018,650 476,900 (24%) 476,900 (24%) 4,628,400 Total 5,851,400 1,001,200 (22%) 8,200 (0%) 1,009,400 (22%) Source: Figures on construction are from Appendix A. Figures on losses to U-boats are from www.uboat.net [February 2004].

The third main issue to be evaluated is the extent to which U-boats disrupted Allied programs by forcing abrupt changes in naval priorities. Although this factor cannot be quantified in the same manner as the production of anti-submarine vessels and the sinking of other vessels, it is worthy of serious consideration. Because of the economies associated with long production lines, “learning by doing,” and improved administration, the cost of producing almost anything with a given set of productive resources under a given set of circumstances tends to fall over time. Since these benefits are lost when productive resources are shifted from one purpose to another, such a shift implies an increase in cost, or a loss of output, at least in the short-term. This loss of output would be greatest in complex production processes where shorter production lines, lost productive knowledge, and administrative inefficiency would be most costly. The production of a major warship is undoubtedly more complex than the production of a gun, a tank, or even an airplane. As a result, warships generally took years to build in peacetime and months in wartime. Army and air force programs were continuously altered during the war in response to changing military priorities, and there was undoubtedly some cost associated with this. However, any such alteration of naval programs would be relatively more costly due to the complexity and rigidity of warship construction. To the extent that the production of anti-submarine vessels in response to Germany’s submarine blockade was unexpected and unplanned, 393

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it imposed additional costs on Allied naval programs. The sources shedding the most light on this aspect of the UK’s program are manuscripts on naval production that were written as part of the History of the Second World War, Civil Series, but never published.19 There is essentially unanimous agreement that British naval production during the war exhibited “a tendency to divert effort from large ships to minor vessels.”20 But was this “trend toward small ships”21 a disruptive consequence of Germany’s submarine blockade? The increased production of escort vessels was broadly anticipated by the UK’s long-term strategy of naval production. In response to any potential maritime threat, Britain would need a naval force consisting of both a generic core of capital ships and a complement of smaller ships tailored to the specific scenario. Unable to predict future threats in the 1930s, the Royal Navy concentrated its limited resources on building the standard capital ships and left the production of specialized small warships for the future. Since capital ships took much longer than small ships to construct, it made sense to begin building the former early knowing that the latter could be built more quickly later.22 However, the shift toward small warships did not fit into the original plan, but was carried out at the expense of it: “As soon as war broke out, the need for small ships became so great that it was necessary to defer the battleships of the 1938 and 1939 programmes.”23 The Civil Series describes British naval production during much of the war as “hand-to-mouth,”24 “short-term,”25 and a response to “a possibility of immediate calamity.”26 To what extent was the unexpected and unplanned increase in smallwarship production driven by the U-boat peril? Initially, more small ships had to be built simply because “Less than half of the auxiliary vessels which it had previously been hoped to convert were available, both by reason of obsolescence… and because of the objections of the fishing industry.”27 While the unavailability of these auxiliary vessels was not caused by the submarine campaign, the absence of this anticipated reserve made the demands of this campaign all the more costly. Also early in the war, the presence of German nautical mines (some of which were laid by U-boats), “the activities of German submarines round the coast,” and the need to defend merchant ships against U-boats in the Atlantic necessitated more small ships.28 Germany’s success on land, in particular causing the fall of France in 1940, reshaped the war at sea: “The capture by the enemy of advanced sea and air bases on almost the whole Atlantic seaboard of Europe had a 394

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profound effect on the quality and number of vessels required to give protection to British trade.”29 It also gave rise to various potential threats which had to be borne in mind as possibilities when requirements were estimated—such were the possibility of invasion, or the likelihood that Germany would use Dakar or Madagascar as U-boat bases, or obtain similar facilities from Japan in the Far East.30 In 1942, the “German submarine attack” continued to demand escorts, while “since the Japanese entry into the war, escorts had become necessary in what had hitherto been regarded as comparatively safe parts of the ocean.”31 In October 1942, “the extreme seriousness of the U-boat situation” prompted authorities to deviate from their system of annualized construction programs in order to build additional escorts.32 During 1943, “the menace of U-boat attack became less serious and escort vessel production on the highest scale ceased to be essential,”33 but newer classes of U-boats required the production of larger, faster frigates to supplement the existing fleet of small, slow corvettes.34 In terms of research and development, “The possibility of activity by a new type of U-boat and a new technique were seriously threatening the North Atlantic shipping lanes [in 1945]. Special measures to combat this threat… were needed.”35 From this evidence, one can conclude that the UK’s unexpected and unplanned increase in small-warship production was primarily a response to the U-boat peril. German submarines imposed this burden on British naval production through their actual achievements and the potential threats they created. Both actual and potential submarine threats were magnified by the acquisition of territory, and hence possible bases, by the Axis. However, a secondary portion of increased escort production was motivated by factors other than the U-boats, such as German aircraft and Japanese forces. Even after Allied victories at sea and on land deflated the quantitative pressure to build more escorts, Germany’s submarine campaign imposed qualitative pressure to build better escorts. The sudden shifts in naval programs to build more anti-submarine vessels cut across long-term plans and disrupted production. Accounts of the difficulties borne by “shipbuilders to cope with the exceptionally big escort vessel programme” corroborate this conclusion.36 There is little doubt that the “increase in requirements, especially of escort vessels, led to increased production difficulties.”37 Further to the construction of anti-submarine vessels, the sinking of other warships by U-boats disrupted British naval production. The loss of 395

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the carrier Courageous in 1939 prompted sudden demands for more fleet destroyers to protect capital ships.38 “[T]he shock sustained on the sinking of [the battleship] Royal Oak in Scapa Flow” (1939) prompted a crash construction program to fortify British naval bases. At a time when steel supply constrained naval building, substantially more steel was allocated to the Admiralty’s Department of Base Defence at the expense of its Department of New Construction.39 The loss of the carrier Ark Royal (1941) created a fear that ships of this type were too vulnerable and “resulted in a reversal” of a previous decision to build a carrier outstanding from the 1940 program.40 Instead, British carrier production was concentrated later in the war. In producing a given number of carriers, a program spread over the course of the conflict would almost certainly have been cheaper than a crash program in the latter part of the war. Clearly, the Nazi submarine blockade produced abrupt changes in British naval priorities. These disruptions undermined the overall efficiency of Britain’s naval program and thereby reduced the overall volume of naval production. The extent to which the U-boat peril reduced potential output must be considered in addition to the thirty-six percent share of actual output it took up. Since there is no way of knowing how much more could have been produced in the absence of the disruptions imposed by U-boats, this additional cost cannot be accurately quantified. However, based on the evidence presented above, it is not difficult to imagine that Germany’s submarine campaign effectively occupied between forty and fifty per cent of Britain’s naval production. A similar conclusion cannot be drawn with respect to American naval output. Since the United States entered the war well after Britain, the US Navy’s program was formulated much later than the Royal Navy’s. In fact, as is noted above, some elements of the American program, such as escort destroyers and carriers, were initially developed in response to British requirements. The demands of anti-submarine warfare were thus largely built into the US Navy’s program, and thus did not mandate abrupt changes in American priorities. In other areas, such as patrol craft, the US program did not anticipate these demands but also did not make abrupt changes to address them. Since U-boats sank so few American warships, the disruptive effect of any unexpected losses was insignificant. The construction of vessels to counter U-boats or to replace those sunk by U-boats occupied twenty-two per cent of the American program. It is difficult to imagine that

396

Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II

any further costs attributable to German submarines could have pushed this figure any higher than twenty-five per cent. The costs imposed on Allied naval programs by the U-boat peril would appear to have occupied up to half of Royal Navy production and up to a quarter of US Navy production. Taken at face value, these fractions seem quite significant. But to put them in proper perspective, one must ask whether they represent true opportunity costs. In other words, did the Allies devote large shares of their naval programs to countering the U-boat peril at the expense of other pressing demands, or because there were so few other demands on their extensive naval resources? The simplest and most significant response to this question is that, even if Allied naval resources exceeded naval requirements and could thus be used to counter the U-boat peril without difficult tradeoffs, much of the labour and material used for naval construction could have been employed in army and/or air force production. To a large extent, the cost of building anti-submarine vessels, replacing other warships sunk by U-boats and dealing with these disruptions was a drain on overall munitions production rather than simply on other naval production. There is no question that the Allied war economies could have employed more labour and materials productively, and that the use of these factors to counter the U-boat peril constituted a genuine opportunity cost. However, some productive factors employed in shipbuilding could not have been transferred to other areas of munitions production. In particular, shipyards and the specialized equipment in them (i.e. physical capital) could not be used to produce anything other than ships. Due to rigidities in the UK’s shipbuilding industry, skilled shipyard labour might also have been nontransferable in the British case. But there were alternative uses for these factors of production within the shipbuilding sector. Throughout the war, there was a tradeoff between the construction of naval vessels and of merchant ships, which were desperately needed. This tradeoff is frequently referred to in unpublished narratives from the Civil Series. For example, one recounts, “In January, 1943, at the cost of 220,000 tons of merchant shipping, arrangements had been made for 56 extra frigates and corvettes to be built…”41 In such cases, the production of anti-submarine escorts had an obvious opportunity cost. Even if warship production is examined alone, there were significant alternative demands on Allied resources. The US was, of course, engaged in a full-scale naval struggle with Japan. Even for the UK, building warships for 397

Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II

the Pacific theatre and “a Fleet Train” to supply them was a major priority.42 Although adding a few more major British warships to the vast American Pacific fleet would not have mattered quantitatively, British vessels could have made a qualitative contribution. For example, British carriers with armoured flight decks would have been more durable against Japanese kamikaze attacks than American carriers with unarmoured flight decks were. Britain’s inability to construct major warships for use in the Pacific also detracted from its post-war naval strength and from its imperial interests in Asia.43 Of course, these two factors relate to Britain’s post-war interests rather than to the Allied cause during the war. Perhaps most pressing of all was the production of landing ships and craft needed for amphibious operations in both Europe and the Pacific. As the US Army’s official historian K.R. Greenfield explains, the US was assigned to produce tank-landing ships for the Allies, which could be built only in shipyards capable of producing large vessels for the Navy [but] the first charge on Navy shipyard capacity had been the construction of escort carriers and destroyer escorts to quell the submarine menace. This was agreed to be right and proper when the Combined Chiefs of Staff at Casablanca in January [1943] had made antisubmarine warfare the first charge on all the resources of the Allies.44

Some of the productive factors tied down by Germany’s submarine blockade could otherwise have been used to produce almost any type of armament. Others could only have been alternatively employed to build merchant ships, warships for the Pacific, landing vessels, or other ships. The use of Allied resources to combat German submarines in World War II was a costly detraction from these important alternatives rather than a costless deployment of surplus naval power. By occupying up to half of the Royal Navy program and nearly a quarter of the US Navy program, the U-boat peril imposed a tangible burden on Allied war production that weakened other important elements of the Allied war effort. 1

Throughout this paper, “U-boats” refers only to German submarines. This term is not used to refer to Italian or Japanese submarines. 2 Richard Overy, Why the Allies Won, (New York: Norton, 1995), 26. 3 Alan Wilt, “The Significance of the Casablanca Decisions, January 1943,” in Journal of Military History, Vol. 55 (October 1991), 518-9. 4 Overy, Why the Allies Won, 119. 5 Calculated from Appendix A. 6 Mark Harrison, “A Volume Index of the Total Munitions Output of the United Kingdom, 1939-1944,” in Economic History Review, 43: 4 (Nov. 1990), 663, ff 21. 7 Calculated from Appendix A. 398

Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II

8

Ibid. Mine craft were used both to clear mines laid by U-boats and to lay mines obstructing U-boats. 10 Calculated from Appendix A. 11 John Ellis, World War II: A Statistical Survey, (New York: Facts on File, 1993), 294. 12 Calculated from Appendix B. 13 Chris Bishop, ed., The Complete Encyclopedia of Weapons of World War II, (Etobicoke, Ontario: Prospero Books, 1998), 476-7. 14 Ibid., 517. 15 Calculated from Appendix B. 16 S. E. Morison, Strategy and Compromise: A Reappraisal of the Crucial Decisions Confronting the Allies in the Hazardous Years, 1940-1945, (Boston: Little, Brown, and Co., 1958), 33. 17 Calculated from Appendix C. 18 J. N. Westwood, Fighting Ships of World War II, (Chicago: Follett, 1975), 60-1. 19 These manuscripts are referred to in footnotes below by their Public Record Office codes. 20 CAB 102/527, p. 177. 21 CAB 102/524, p. 3. 22 CAB 102/527, p. 22. 23 CAB 102/527, p. 301. 24 CAB 102/527, p. 145. 25 Ibid., p. 177; CAB 102/467, p. 11. 26 CAB 102/527, p. 301. 27 CAB 102/536, p. 6A. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid., 7A. 30 Ibid., 8. 31 CAB 102/527, p. 176. 32 Ibid., p. 304; CAB 102/467, p. 12. 33 CAB 102/527, p. 304. 34 “British War Production, 1939-1945: A Record”, in The Times, (London: The Times, 1945), 78. 35 CAB 102/466, paragraph 42. 36 CAB 102/527, p. 177. 37 CAB 102/467, p. 13-4. 38 CAB 102/536, p. 34. 39 CAB 102/524, p. 56. 40 CAB 102/527, p. 148. 41 CAB 102/467, p. 22. 42 CAB 102/527, p. 259, 288, and 304; CAB 102/467, p. 23. 43 CAB 102/527, p. 259 and 288. 44 K. R. Greenfield, American War Production in World War II: A Reconsideration, (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1963), 36-7. 9

399

73 ( 127.3) 33 ( 49.5) 373 ( 572.6) 56 ( 84.0) 256 ( 407.8) 80 (120.8) 702 (1,107.7) 169 (254.3)

United States, 1942-1944 1942 6 ( 66.1) 12 (208.0) 1943 40 (456.6) 13 (206.4) 1944 40 (454.3) 15 (237.1) Total 86 (977.0) 40 (651.5)

47 ( 27.3) 92 ( 63.0) 95 ( 58.1) 79 ( 56.4) 39 ( 28.8) 352 (233.6)

Mine Craft

24 ( 11.6)+? 57 ( 29.3) 13 ( 17.2)+? 38 ( 27.6) 55 ( 77.0)+? 90 ( 56.6) 191 (151.6) 185 (113.5)

49 ( 48.8) 74 ( 75.4) 30 ( 35.0) 57 ( 73.1) 73 ( 88.2) 283 (320.5)

Patrol Craft 158 ( 246 ( 521 ( 1,462 ( 1,306 ( 3,693 (

9.9) 34.9) 108.3) 261.5) 270.9) 685.5)

?( ?) ?( ?) ?( ?) ?( ?) ?( ?) ?( ?) 1,361 (149.8) 58,535 (2,446.0)

121 ( 6.9) 395 ( 37.7) 403 ( 46.1) 337 ( 44.4) 234 ( 24.5) 1,490 (159.6)

Mosquito Craft Landing Craft

400

Source (US figures): Calculated by the author from Appendices B and C.

Source (UK figures): Calculated by the author from Central Statistical Office, Statistical Digest of the War (London: H.M.S.O., 1951), 133 (Table 111) and 134 (Table 112).

27 ( 31.3) 15 ( 12.0) 39 ( 50.6) 20 ( 14.1) 73 ( 99.5) 33 ( 24.0) 37 ( 61.6) 39 ( 27.7) 31 ( 53.7) 39 ( 29.0) 207 ( 296.7) 146 (106.8)

8 ( 80.9) 9 (115.5) 8 (110.4) 8 ( 54.9) 2 ( 13.8) 35 (375.5)

Submarines

Britain, 1940-1944 1940 2 ( 46.0) 1941 2 ( 46.0) 1942 1943 2 ( 30.0) 1944 4 ( 74.5) Total 10 (196.5)

Destroyers

Heavy Ships

Aircraft Carriers

APPENDIX A: US AND UK NAVAL PRODUCTION IN WORLD WAR II

Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II

6 ( 46.8) 0 19 (148.2) 31 (241.8) 0 2 ( 22.8) 25 (195.0) 33 (264.6)

5 ( 39.0) 0 0 5 ( 39.0)

12 (16.8) 1 ( 0.4) 13 (17.2)

2 ( 2.8) 22 ( 8.8) 24 (11.6)

30 ( 48.0)

Fletcher (2,100 tons) 21 ( 44.1) Sumner (2,200 tons) 0 Gearing (2,400 tons) 0 Total 73 (127.3) Escort Destroyers (DE) Evarts (1,100 tons) 0 Rudderow (1,500 tons) 0 Butler (1,400 tons) 0 Buckley (1,400 tons) 0 Edsall (1,200 tons) 0 Cannon (1,200 tons) 0 Total 0 Mine Craft (CM, ACM, AM, AMc) Terror (5,900 tons) 1 ( 5.9) A. Layers (800 tons) 0 Raven (800 tons) 19 ( 15.2) Admirable (600 tons) 2 ( 1.2) Accentor (200 tons) 35 ( 7.0) Total 57 ( 29.3)

Gleaves (1,600 tons)

1942 Destroyers (DD) Benson (1,600 tons) 22 ( 35.2)

0 0 24 ( 19.2) 14 ( 8.4) 0 38 ( 27.6)

0 2( 11 ( 77 ( 0 90 (

56.6)

1.6) 8.8) 46.2)

11 ( 12.1) 21 ( 31.5) 74 (103.6) 41 ( 57.4) 9 ( 10.8) 25 ( 30.0) 181(245.4)

54 ( 59.4) 1 ( 1.5) 1 ( 1.4) 61 ( 85.4) 76 ( 91.2) 41 ( 49.2) 234 (288.1)

1944 30 ( 63.0) 43 ( 94.6) 2 ( 4.8) 75 (162.4)

0

0

123 (258.3) 1 ( 2.2) 0 139 (284.5)

13 ( 20.8)

1943 2 ( 3.2)

401

Source: Compiled by the author from S. E. Morison, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Volume 15: Supplement and General Index (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2002 (first published in 1962). This volume lists the ships of different classes produced by the US Navy in World War II. The author created this Appendix by tallying these lists.

55 ( 77.0) 0 55 ( 77.0)

32 ( 48.0) 4 ( 6.0) 24 ( 36.0) 68 (102.0) 0 8 ( 12.8) 56 ( 84.0) 80 (120.8)

33 (49.5) 0 0 33 (49.5)

4 ( 54.4) 1 ( 13.6) 2 ( 12.0) 1 ( 6.0) 5 ( 50.0) 10 (100.0) 11 (116.4) 12 (119.6)

0 3 ( 18.0) 5 ( 50.0) 8 ( 68.0)

0 2 ( 90.0) 1 ( 27.5) 3 (117.5)

0 2 ( 90.0) 0 2 ( 90.0)

4 (140.0) 0 0 4 (140.0)

7 (189.7)

0

1 ( 27.1)

9 ( 99.0)

15 (261.6)

0

Total Escort Carriers (CVE) Bogue (7,800 tons) Casablanca (7,800 tons) Comm. Bay (11,400 tons) Total Battleships (BB & CB) South Dakota (35,000 tons) Iowa (45,000 tons) Alaska (27,500 tons) Total Cruisers (CA & CL) Baltimore (13,600 tons) Atlanta (6,000 tons) Cleveland (10,000 tons) Total Submarines (SS) Gato (1,500 tons) Balao (1,500 tons) Tench (1,600 tons) Total Patrol Craft (PF & PYc) Frigates (1,400 tons) Coastal Yachts (400 tons) Total

1944 7 (189.7)

Independence (11,000 tons)

1943 6 (162.6)

1942 1 ( 27.1)

Carriers (CV & CVL) Essex (27,100 tons)

APPENDIX B: AMERICAN CONSTRUCTION OF MEDIUM AND LARGE NAVAL VESSELS, 1942-1944

Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II

49,698 1,180,080 163,889 386,977 665,335 2,445,979

402

Source: Compiled by the author from S. E. Morison, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Volume 15: Supplement and General Index (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2002 (first published in 1962). This volume lists the ships of different classes produced by the US Navy in World War II. The author created this Appendix by tallying these lists.

APPENDIX C(2): ESTIMATED AMERICAN CONSTRUCTION OF SMALL NAVAL VESSELS, 1942-1944 Additional Patrol Craft Landing Ships and Craft PCE and PCS - Escorts and Sweepers 99 45,750 LSD - Dock 11 Motor Torpedo Boats LST - Tank 792 PT - 20 33 1,155 LSM - Medium 317 PT - 71 183 6,405 LCI (L), LCS (L), LCT 2,468 PT - 95 18 612 Small Landing Craft 54,947 PT - 103 254 9,652 Total 58,535 PT - 368 90 2,970 PTC 40 1,040 PC - 461 and SC - 497 743 127,935 Total 1,361 149,769

APPENDIX C(1): AMERICAN CONSTRUCTION OF SMALL NAVAL VESSELS IN WORLD WAR II No. Built Displacement Class No. Built Displacement Class Additional Patrol Craft Landing Ships and Craft PCE - Patrol Craft, Escort [640 tons] 67 42,880 LSD - Dock [4,518 tons] 11 49,698 PCS - Patrol Craft, Sweepers [251 tons] 57 14,307 LST - Tank [1,490 tons] 990 1,475,100 Total 124 57,187 LSM - Medium [517 tons] 476 246,092 LCI (L) - Infantry [194 tons] 903 175,182 Motor Torpedo Boats LCS (L) - Support (Large) [123 tons] 130 15,990 PT - 20 [35 tons] 49 1,715 LCT - Tank [123 or 143 tons] 470; 965 195,805 PT - 71 “Higgins” [35 tons] 203 7,105 LCC - Control [40 tons] 99 3,960 PT - 95 “Huckins” [34 tons] 18 612 LCM - Mechanized [26 or 23 tons] 147; 11,349 264,849 PT - 103 “Elco” [38 tons] 317 12,046 LCP (L or R) - Personnel [6 tons] 4,824 28,944 PT - 368 “Vosper” [33 tons] 128 4,224 LCS (S) - Support (Small) [10 tons] 558 5,580 PTC - Motor Boat Sub. Chasers [26 tons] 42 1,092 LCV - Vehicle [7 tons or 9 tons] 2,366; 23,358 226,784 PC - 461 (Steel Sub. Chasers) [280 tons] 310 86,800 LVT - Tracked [8, 11, 13, 10 tons] 1,225; 2,962; 164,414 SC - 497 (Wooden Sub. Chasers) [95 tons] 433 41,135 2,964; 8,350 Total 1,500 154,729 LVT (A) - Arm. [15, 11, 17 tons] 510; 450; 1,890 44,730 Total 64,997 2,897,128

Allied Naval Production and “The U-Boat Peril” in World War II

A Vehicle for Peace

A Vehicle for Peace ANDREA WILSON University of Calgary, Calgary Sanctions, under Chapter VII of the United Nations’ (UN) Charter, according to article 41, are meant to be applied by UN member states on a target state when international peace and security are threatened or breeched.1 Prior to 1990, Chapter VII sanctions were applied to countries only twice by the U.N. Security Council. However, post-1990, economic sanctions have been applied more than ten times.2 The success of sanctions depends heavily on multilateral cooperation, clearly defined goals and conditions for lifting the sanctions, the type of government (or regime) holding power in the target state, and constant monitoring of the situation to minimize humanitarian suffering within the State. The truth about sanctions is that countries will cheat. A committed consensus of countries must be achieved for states to adhere to the stipulations of a specific sanctioning mission. Any inefficiency of sanctions, resulting in the profits of black market operations will benefit the elites in the society, not the poor.3 Secondly, sanctions, in combination with other methods of conflict resolution may lead to greater success. The combination of war and a comprehensive economic embargo, however, will lead to a devastating humanitarian situation in the target state. Finally, unless the sanctions target goods or services that a state’s leaders consider staples to their lifestyle, the sanctions will not be successful.4 In such a case, sanctions would only harm non-target citizens within a target nation. Considering the fact that it is very costly and difficult for the U.N. to coordinate violent or military interventions in volatile regions of the world where international peace and security are threatened, economic sanctions seem a viable alternative to violent intervention in international conflict.5 Also considering the increasing frequency of the use of sanctions in the past decade, sanctions seem to be the popular mode of conflict resolution at the international level. However, measures must be applied to sanctions to increase their efficiency and effectiveness to truly make them a viable option for preventing armed conflict at the international level. 403

A Vehicle for Peace

At the heart of the debate on sanctions is the controversy over their effectiveness. Also, sanctions increasingly seem to have a negative connotation attached. Many argue that sanctions have not been effective in the post-Cold War era, and the collateral damage (i.e. humanitarian suffering and the economic hardship of primary trading partners) incurred by third parties to the target incapacitate sanctions as a viable, non-violent alternative to war.6 The situation in Iraq represents an excellent case study to show the development and increasing effectiveness of Chapter VII sanctions in the post-Cold War era. This is due, in part, to the myriad of sanctions that have been applied to Iraq since 1990, from a comprehensive economic embargo to arms embargoes to targeted financial sanctions. Also, because the sanctions have been in place for more than a decade, lessons in minimizing humanitarian suffering and tailoring smart sanctions to ensure success must be learned and subsequently applied to future uses of sanctions. Prima facie sanctions on Iraq have lead to terrible poverty and denial of basic human rights (i.e. the right to work). Also, in 2000, estimates suggest that 80,000 more children under the age of five died than would have in the absence of sanctions.7 Further, in 1990, according to the UN Human Development index that compares nations’ overall development levels, Iraq was 50th of 130 nations compared to 126th of the 174 nations analyzed in 2002.8 Despite these staggering figures produced by generally reliable sources, the purpose of this paper is to present the argument that the sanctions on Iraq have achieved their ultimate goal. That is, preventing proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD) in Iraq. Also, the terrible suffering incurred by Iraqi civilians is due more to the destruction of industry and infrastructure brought about by the Iran-Iraq War (1980-88), the Gulf War (1990-91), and Operation Iraqi Freedom (ongoing from March 19, 2003) than would ever have been observed if sanctions alone had been applied to Iraq. As a case study, the sanctions targeting Iraq since 1990 can be divided into three discrete phases that will be analyzed with regards to their increasing effectiveness and overall success in preventing the proliferation of weapons in Iraq.9 The first phase commenced on August 6, 1990, when the UN Security Council passed Resolution 661. Resolution 661 imposed economic sanctions on Iraq; more specifically, it was a full trade embargo with the exception of 404

A Vehicle for Peace

certain medical supplies and other items of humanitarian importance. The goal of the comprehensive embargo imposed on Iraq was to condemn the state’s invasion of Kuwait, and to attempt to mitigate the damage to Kuwaiti assets (i.e. oil wells). A second goal was Iraqi containment. That is to prevent an invasion into Saudi Arabia, and to stimulate the rollback of Iraqi forces from Kuwait. It was assumed that the combination of the Gulf War and a full embargo on Iraq would elicit the regime’s cooperation with UN conditions for lifting the sanctions. The sanctions were mainly successful in disabling Iraq’s ground and air forces due to the import embargo of military paraphernalia. Further, the Iraqis humanitarian suffering was largely due to targeted bombing campaigns during the Gulf War, which destroyed medical facilities, water treatment plants and electrical generating plants. Had the civilian-targeted bombing not taken place, even the strict UN embargo may not have caused the same extent of devastation to Iraq’s general population because of the allowance of medical and humanitarian supplies.10 Essentially, the Gulf War, not the strict UN sanctions set Iraq’s midlevel economy back almost 75 years, measured in increasing infant mortality and unemployment rates and a drop in per capita GDP (among other factors). The second stage of the Iraq sanction experience (1991-1998) was characterized by a re-definition of effective economic sanctions to mitigate humanitarian suffering. The goal of the sanctions remained incapacitating Iraq’s ability to produce and use weapons. The concept of smart or targeted sanctions incorporated the inevitability of collateral damage resulting from any comprehensive economic embargo imposed on a state with the belief that sanctions as a diplomatic, non-violent method, can be successful in achieving specific goals.11 The United Nation Security Council’s (UNSC) Resolutions during the second stage of sanctions reflected the Council’s concerns about the bleak humanitarian situation in Iraq. The sanctions began to target only Iraq’s military industrial complex and Saddam Hussein’s government through maintenance of an arms embargo.12 Unfortunately, the infrastructural damage caused by the Gulf War furthered the humanitarian crisis. The crisis, in concert with an outcry from human rights Non-governmental Organizations (NGOs) led to the development of the oil-for-food program by the UN. The precursor to the 405

A Vehicle for Peace

aid program was approved in UNSC Resolution 712 on September 19, 1991. Resolution 712 called for a partial lifting of the embargo to enable Iraq to sell oil for humanitarian supplies.13 The move to ease the Iraqi citizens’ suffering by using smart sanctions was a crucial development that increased efficiency of sanctions in Iraq and future situations where sanctions may be used. This is because the comprehensive economic embargo had laid the groundwork for the development of a black market in Iraq. The market was directed by Iraqi elites, whereas the poorest in the society were left wanting. The market would not be needed once the general population gained access to essential goods. Unfortunately, Saddam Hussein’s indignation towards the conditions for lifting the UN sanctions delayed implementation of the oil-for-food program by more than four years. However, once in place, the allowable one billion dollars (from oil sales) every ninety days was funnelled through a UN-monitored bank account, to insure the funds were used to acquire humanitarian goods. This is why in the third stage of sanctions (1998present), United States (US) and British forces faced no air resistance, no mechanized military force and relatively limited artillery fire.14 War may even have been prevented in Iraq had it not been for the Hussein government’s veiled, often threatening actions towards weapons inspectors, resulting in their withdrawal in 1998, and subsequent re-entry four years later. It is now painfully clear that the decade long sanctions on Iraq had debilitated its military forces, ground and air, as well as paralyzing any potential WMD program. Still, Hussein’s total disregard for Iraqi citizens’ well-being contributed to his continued defiance of the sanctions.15 Hindsight has revealed not only that the sanctions were effective in preventing arms proliferation in Iraq, but also contributions to planning future successful sanctions may be gleaned from the situation in Iraq. The goal of deconstructing military capabilities in Iraq has been maintained by the UN; thus, it is clear that the sanctions have been successful, as no weapons of mass destruction or the capabilities to produce WMD have been found. However, to justify their pre-emptive strike on Iraq, the US and Britain shifted their focus in Iraq from WMD to regime change, and the liberalization of Iraqi citizens from a decade of suffering caused by the UN’s economic embargo.16 This shift in focus, however, ignores the fact that humanitarian suffering in Iraq was greatly increased by the devastation of the Gulf War. 406

A Vehicle for Peace

The prospects that another war would further erode the situation were great. Also overlooked by the war hawks (i.e. US and Britain) was the UN’s redefinition and changing application of sanctions, seen in the adoption of smart sanctions that increased the effectiveness of UN sanctions while minimizing their impact on Iraq’s humanitarian situation.17 Lack of coherence among UN members most likely furthered the humanitarian disaster in Iraq by the re-introduction of violence. Coherence among sanctioners is essential for success, but by itself, a clear definition of the goal(s) of sanctions is inadequate. Before sanctions are imposed on a nation, the UN must decide upon the combinations of methods that will be used to resolve a given situation and motivation for the target to change should be presented. It can be argued that in Iraq’s case, the conditions for lifting the sanctions far outweighed any benefits to the regime for cooperating. In other words, sanctions should not be punitive, but constructive. Also, with regards to Iraq, the combination of war (i.e. the Gulf War) and a comprehensive embargo was devastating.18 In the future, to minimize humanitarian suffering, the UN should not combine these two methods of international conflict resolution, as the target nation’s citizens will undoubtedly be affected with similar problems as the Iraqis, such as an increased infant and child mortality due to the destruction of and inability to rebuild water treatment plants. The former was caused by war, and the latter was due to sanctions. Perhaps, in the future, the increasing effectiveness of targeted sanctions will nullify the need for combinations of conflict resolution tactics. In the Iraq’s case, it is overly simplistic to attribute the humanitarian situation in Iraq only to the sanctions’ effects. With regards to predicting the efficacy of sanctions, the situation in Iraq shed light on circumstances that should be avoided with future uses of sanctions. Firstly, Saddam Hussein’s disregard for the welfare of citizens may have led to increased humanitarian suffering.19 As per capita GDP shrank and infant mortality and the incidents of starvation increased in the 1990s, the Hussein family, as well as other elites in Iraqi society, were able to curtail black market operation and amass large amounts of wealth. Although this problem has been addressed with the implementation of smart sanctions in Iraq, it definitely undermines the effectiveness of a comprehensive economic embargo on a vampire state. Secondly, unanimity of states in implementation of sanctions on another state is essential to their effectiveness. In the Iraqi case, Saddam 407

A Vehicle for Peace

Hussein’s government owed large amounts of money to two UN Security Council member states: France and Russia. Because of these outstanding debts, Hussein may have thought that France and Russia would use their veto power to stop the sanctions in order to be reimbursed. Essentially, Hussein may have tried to outlast the sanctions, thus prolonging and worsening the situation.20 In the future, the problem of the target state as a debtor should be addressed and resolved before sanctions are imposed. In conclusion, lessons learned from the situation in Iraq include: the importance of maintaining cohesive goals for the sanctions; and the danger of combining war with sanctions. In future, uses of sanctions, the target’s outstanding debts and the nature of the regime should be addressed and tailored smart sanctions used. However successful the UN sanctions on Iraq have been since 1990, to increase their effectiveness in the future as well as minimize the unavoidable collateral damage associated with sanctions, the restriction of resources from the regime should be the primary focus. Allowing consumer imports to alleviate the need for a black market, allowing foreign oil companies to invest in the state for employment and stability of the civilian population, and improvement of civilian infrastructure could increase the overall bite of sanctions.

1

Office of the Spokesman for the Secretary-General, “Use of Sanctions Under Chapter VII of the UN Charter”, United Nations, (1 Jan. 2004), 12 Jan. 2004 http://www.un.org/News/ossg/sanction.htm. 2 Ibid. 3 George A. Lopez, “Sanctions are smarter alternative to bombs,” The Progressive Media Project, (2 Apr. 2003), www.progressive.org/mediaproject03/mpla203.html 4 “Sharpening UN Sanctions Capabilities”, Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. (1 Dec. 2003) http://wwics.si.edu/subsites/ccpdc/pubs/sum/5.htm. 5 Lopez. 6 “Sanctions Against Iraq”, Global Policy Forum, (2002), 2 Feb. 2004 http://www.globalpolicy.org/security/sanction/indexone.htm. 7 Christophe Wilke, “Half a Million Child Deaths”, (1999), Global Policy Forum, 2004 http://www.globalpolicy.org/security/data/childdeaths.htm. 8 Sabya Farooq, “Continued Collateral Damage: The Health and Environmental Costs of War on Iraq, 2003”, (2003), MedAct: Challenging Barriers to Health. 2004. 9 “A Panel Discussion on Iraq Sanctions: What Have We Learned?” (17 July 2000), United States Institute of Peace. www.usip.org/events/pre2002/dsw_iraq-sanctions.html. 10 “Sanctions Against Iraq”.

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11

Lopez. United Nations. Office of the Spokesman for the Secretary-General, Iraq, (1 Jan. 2004), 17 Jan. 2004 http://www.un.org/News/ossg/iraq.htm. 13 Ibid. 14 “A Panel Discussion on Iraq Sanctions: What Have We Learned?” 15 Ibid. 16 Julian Borger, Sarah Hall, and Richard Norton-Taylor, “Blair admits weapons of mass destruction may never be found,” Guardian unlimited Politics (12 Jan. 2004), 8 Feb. 2004 http://politics.guardian.co.uk/iraq/story/0,12956,1120997,00.html. 17 Lopez. 18 “Sanctions Against Iraq”. 19 “A Panel Discussion on Iraq Sanctions: What Have We Learned?” 20 Ibid. 12

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Seeking Alternatives to the American Orbit: Diefenbaker’s Attempts to Strengthen Canadian-Mexican Relations JASON ZORBAS University of Saskatchewan, Saskatoon During his tenure as Prime Minister, John G. Diefenbaker attempted to strengthen Canadian-Mexican relations. He improved Canadian trade with Mexico and he cultivated a strong personal relationship with Mexican President Adolfo López Mateos. Through a number of visits to Mexico, by both himself and his cabinet ministers, Diefenbaker raised awareness of a Canadian-Mexican relationship in both countries. Diefenbaker’s Mexican policies form a useful microcosm for his view of Canada’s geo-political role. Diefenbaker’s foreign policies remained remarkably true to the underlying themes that existed under the Liberals both before and after him: that Canada join multi-lateral organizations; oppose communism; and remain close with the United States. The pivotal factor for Diefenbaker, however, was his powerful sense of Canadian nationalism. For Diefenbaker this public and popular ideal, as fluid and organic as it was, was also simplistic. Ultimately the question Diefenbaker asked himself most often regarding foreign policy was, did this help Canada? This idea and its accompanying sense of immediacy shaped Diefenbaker’s relationship with the United States and by extension, his policies towards Mexico. Diefenbaker’s conflicted relationship with the United States has been the subject of a great deal of scholarly attention and is not the focus of this paper. It must be noted, however, that one of the driving forces behind Diefenbaker’s vision of Canadian expansion into Latin America, from which his Mexican policies originated, was a desire to lessen Canadian dependence on the United States. Diefenbaker saw this dependence as unhealthy for Canada. He stated that it was not a case of being “anti-American,” but rather “pro-Canadian,” and that, “If we failed to diversify our trade, Canada would cease to belong to Canadians; we would have no destiny to fulfill.”1 It was Diefenbaker’s belief in Canada’s dependence on the United States that led him to make the ill-conceived statement early in his term that Canada would be shifting 15 per cent of its trade from the United States to Great Britain.2 It was a bold vision designed to increase Canada’s 410

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independence by decreasing its economic dependence on the United States. This was typical of Diefenbaker’s temperament: act first, and the results would follow. Although he would ultimately fail to significantly decrease the percentage of Canadian-American trade, the attempt was one of his guiding principles in international affairs. Diefenbaker’s foreign policy towards Latin America was demonstrative of this attempt. Though Latin America accounted for very little in terms of Canadian external trade and geo-political interests, Diefenbaker saw it as an area rife with opportunity and unexploited potential for Canadian expansion. Mexico, one of the largest and most influential nations in Latin America, was presented as an opportune place to fulfill this role shortly after Diefenbaker’s speech on July 1, 1957 when he stated that Canada would be seeking to substantially shift the course of its export economy. Douglas Seaman Cole, the Canadian ambassador to Mexico, sent Diefenbaker a long memo outlining the enormous possibility of Canadian-Mexican trade.3 Cole, the author of Mexico: An Economic Survey, had long been a proponent of expanding Canadian-Mexican trade.4 Now he saw an opportunity to push it forward under Diefenbaker’s new policy. Prior to the election of the Diefenbaker government, CanadianMexican relations had been limited. The two nations established diplomatic representation in 1944, and in 1947 they signed a trade agreement that gave each other most-favoured nation treatment.5 By 1950, Mexican purchases from Canada had doubled, and by 1955, Mexico was the largest Latin American importer of Canadian goods.6 King and a number of the Ottawa Mandarins, specifically C.D. Howe and O.D. Skeleton, took an interest in Latin American and increased Canadian-Mexican relations through the establishment of relations, treaties, and a Latin America goodwill mission.7 It was under Diefenbaker, however, that Mexican-Canadian relations were given a visible and personal boost. Diefenbaker had been to Mexico briefly in 1953 for his honeymoon, but his first official dealings with Mexico were shaped by Cole. Diefenbaker had met Cole at the Republican Convention in 1953 when the latter was serving as the Canadian Consul General in Chicago.8 Shortly after Cole sent his memo regarding Canadian-Mexican relations, the Canadian embassy was damaged in an earthquake. Cole once again wrote to Diefenbaker, this time in his capacity as Minister of External Affairs, requesting a new location.9 In his reply approving of the move, Diefenbaker recalled the excellent treatment he had received from Cole when he last visited Chicago.10 When 411

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Cole was to retire because of his age, in 1959, Diefenbaker wrote to him letting him know that “his service will not be forgotten.”11 In the same year, 1959, a number of events again placed Mexico in front of Diefenbaker. Foremost among them was the decision of Adolfo López Mateos, the President of Mexico, to make his first state visit to Canada. López brought his wife and daughter along with him. Though his visit did not garner much publicity in Canada,12 it was important nonetheless. Diefenbaker and López established an excellent rapport with each other. Diefenbaker’s personable approach and his openness, the traits that drove his political populism, also played well with the Mexican President. Upon his return to Mexico, López informed Lionel V. J. Roy, the Canadian Chargé d’Affaires in Mexico, that he enjoyed his visit because “the welcome came from the heart.”13 To express his thanks for the visit, López sent Diefenbaker a box of Mexican tequila and even though Diefenbaker did not drink, he sent his deepest thanks for the gift.14 Another show of the positive relationship between Canada and Mexico occurred when the crown corporation Dominion Steel and Coal wished to obtain government approval and insurance for the sale of approximately 150,000 tonnes of steel rail, worth approximately $25 million dollars, to the National Railways of Mexico.15 Donald Flemming, the Minister of Finance, recommended it be approved.16 However, in addition to a promise that Dominion Steel and Coal would not cut Canadian jobs, a deciding factor in the Cabinet’s decision to approve the bid was that no European firms had been invited by Mexico to bid on the contract.17 At roughly the same time, the ambassador to Mexico, Cole, was to retire, and his replacement needed to be found. Initially Diefenbaker favoured J. W. Murphy, a long time Conservative M.P. from Lampton County who had expressed an interest in the ambassadorship as a reward for his long-time contributions to the party.18 Murphy had the additional bonus of being from outside the Department of External Affairs and therefore could avoid Diefenbaker’s “Pearsonalty” label.19 Howard Green, the new Secretary of State for External Affairs, had another man in mind. He pushed for Arthur Irwin, a seasoned diplomat, arguing that the position of ambassador to Mexico was critical to Canada’s Latin-American relations.20 The Cabinet put the decision off twice before agreeing that the appointment would “be the subject of further conversations between the Secretary of State for External Affairs and the

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Prime Minister.”21 Green eventually got his wish and Arthur Irwin was given the post. Irwin was a good choice for a nation seeking to increase its relationship with Mexico. He had a varied and highly successful career both in and out of government. He was assistant and later editor of Maclean’s magazine from 1925 to 1950. He was high commissioner to Australia and later ambassador to Brazil. He had numerous Latin American contacts and a thorough knowledge of the region.22 Diefenbaker’s decision to go with Irwin was undoubtedly influenced by the knowledge that he was soon to travel to Mexico, repaying López’s visit with one of his own. The visit was to last four days, a fairly long period, and there was a lot of ground work to be accomplished before the Prime Minister arrived. Fortunately, Irwin arrived with enough time to ensure a proper reception for the Canadian delegation, and the mutual respect that existed between López and Diefenbaker helped to smooth over the “bump” that did occur early in the visit. The “bump” involved Diefenbaker’s speech upon his arrival in Mexico City. He was greeted by López and then he answered the latter’s greetings with a short speech that he delivered both in English and then in Spanish. Diefenbaker asked the president if he understood what he had said; López replied that he understood the English, but that Mexicans could understand Spanish but not Portuguese.23 This miscommunication proved not to set the trip’s tone. In a number of speeches, both men expressed their strong personal connection, their desire to strengthen Canadian-Mexican relations, and that both countries had a number of important commonalities.24 The next day, at a dinner given in his honour, Diefenbaker expressed the view that current geo-political realities, specifically the power of the United States and the threat of the Soviet Union, were pushing the countries closer together.25 While he was in Mexico, Diefenbaker also gave a speech to a joint meeting of the Mexican College of Law and the Mexican Bar Association. In the speech he discussed international law and the fact that both Canada and Mexico accepted it. He also pointed out that the United States was one of those countries that did not support an International Court because of concerns that the Court would interfere in their domestic authority. “The difference however between our two countries is this. We leave it to the Court to determine whether or not it is a matter of domestic jurisdiction.

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The United States determines the question itself and does not leave it to the court.”26 During his trip, Diefenbaker took the opportunity to visit the University of Mexico where he once again reiterated his belief that Canada and Mexico, though they had divergent backgrounds, were now travelling down the same road. He also praised universities in general and offered the school a gift of books dealing with Canadian history and geography, as well as a number of subscriptions to Canadian academic journals.27 The university created a “Canadian Book Exhibition” to display the gifts.28 Before he left Mexico, Diefenbaker took the opportunity to discuss a number of issues in private with both López and Mexico’s Foreign Minister, Manuel Tello. Accompanied by Irwin, Diefenbaker discussed Mexico’s stand on the Law of the Sea and Canadian membership in the Organization of American States with Tello. The first two United Nations’ Law of the Sea Conferences occurred during Diefenbaker’s years as Prime Minister (1958 and 1960) and he sought Mexican support for a joint Canadian/American resolution. Tello, however, was adamant that Mexico would not surrender any of its perceived historical rights.29 On the issue of the Organization of American States Tello expressed Mexico’s hope that Canada would join, and that it would be a “most welcome development” if Canada would send an observer to the next meeting.30 On the same day, Diefenbaker had an opportunity to speak privately with Mateos, and the focus of the meeting was economic rather than geopolitical. He mentioned the Law of the Sea, but in the context of his appreciation for Mexico’s position. Regarding economic relations, he raised the issue of the Dominion Steel and Coal Company’s application for the Mexican steel rails contract, stating that the, “Successful consummation of this transaction would much more than anything else at the present time strengthen the commercial relations between Canada and Mexico.” Finally, both he and López were pleased that a deal between the Canadian Pemex Polymer Company and the Mexican State Oil Monopoly had reached an agreement.31 Though there was very little accomplished in terms of treaties signed, the establishment of friendship was important. Perhaps the best example of their closeness occurred during a luncheon held in Diefenbaker’s honour. Both Diefenbaker and López threw away their prepared speeches and spoke about the mutual respect they shared and the “values and objectives held in common by the two peoples represented.”32 414

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Diefenbaker’s visit succeeded in raising public awareness of CanadianMexican relations in both countries, if only briefly. In Canada, local and national papers, such as the Globe and Mail, the Toronto Star, and the Leader Post, covered the trip.33 While in Mexico, no less than seven papers wrote editorials praising his visit.34 In the House of Commons Diefenbaker delivered a report to the praise of Conservatives and the opposition Liberals and C.C.F.ers.35 In his speech to the House Diefenbaker spoke of the closeness that was developing between the two countries, stating, “I can say there are no basic differences in our approach to world problems.”36 He also emphasized his belief that, “there remained both a place and a necessity for consultations at a high level with political leaders not only of countries associated with Canada by tradition and alliance, but those of all other states whose similarities in background, outlook and interests are bringing them closer to us.”37 Shortly after his return from Mexico Diefenbaker informed the Cabinet that he had spoken to Mateos about the Dominion Steel and Coal Company’s bid. He also informed them that during his stay he had an opportunity to speak with the French ambassador, and the latter had informed him that since the Second World War France’s exports to Mexico had more than tripled. Furthermore, this increase was in commodities that Canada could provide. He pointed out that Canada was not exploiting its opportunities and the cabinet agreed to look at what steps would be required to expand Canadian exports to Latin America.38 Diefenbaker’s visit to Mexico had a profound effect on the speed of Cabinet decisions regarding business dealings with Mexico. An application by the National Steel Car Corporation to sell 144 passenger coaches valued at $18 million to Mexico was approved in one sitting of cabinet.39 The application by Trans-Canada Air Lines to sell five North Star aircraft to the Mexican Airline LAUSA was similarly approved immediately by cabinet,40 as was the application by Montreal Locomotives Works Ltd. for the sale of 75 diesel electric locomotives to the National Railways of Mexico.41 Compare this with the six cabinet meetings it took before Cabinet gave the Dominion Steel and Coal Corporation its approval of sale, which occurred the next time it came up in a meeting following Diefenbaker’s visit to Mexico.42 Diefenbaker was not the only Cabinet member to travel to Mexico; at different times both Howard Green, the Secretary of State for External Affairs and Pierre Sévigny, Canada’s associate Minister of Defence, had the 415

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opportunity to visit. In 1960, a month after Diefenbaker returned, Green undertook a tour of Latin America. His official reason was to represent Canada at the celebrations of the 150th anniversary of Argentina’s independence, though he also visited Chile and Peru. It is noteworthy that his trip included a brief stop in Mexico City on his way back, where he met with Tullo and they once again discussed Canadian-Mexican relations.43 One of the commonalities between Canada and Mexico that Diefenbaker emphasized during that visit was the Aboriginal heritage that the two countries shared. Thus it was appropriate that for celebrations marking Mexico’s 150th year of independence and the 50th anniversary of the revolution, Canada offered a gift of a totem pole, carved in Victoria, B.C.44 Sévigny accompanied the pole as a special ambassador. He would later be sent as Canada’s representative to a special meeting of the Inter-American economic and social council. The connections that were established through the trips Diefenbaker and his cabinet ministers took to Mexico played an important role in raising the level of respect between the Canadian and Mexican governments. This was evident in 1960, when López sent Diefenbaker a personal letter asking for his assistance in resolving the growing American-Cuban conflict. López addressed the letter “My dear Prime Minister and distinguished friend” and began with the statement that, “The strained relations between the Governments of Cuba and the United States of American are the source of my deepest concern.”45 He hoped that Canada would consent to join with Brazil and Mexico to help negotiate an end to the crisis.46 Diefenbaker feared that the United States would respond negatively to such pressure and replied that he could not commit to it.47 In the end, however, neither Mexico nor Canada bowed to American pressure to cut its relations with Cuba or join the American embargo. Underlying his attempts to increase Mexican-Canadian relations and trade was Diefenbaker’s desire to strengthen the Canadian economy. Approval for the Dominion Steel and Coal Company’s Mexican bid was withheld in part because of fears that the company might close a mining operation in Newfoundland. Only when assured that the mine would remain open did the Cabinet agree to support the bid.48 A similar priority for Canadian interests was evident with the attempts to establish a bi-lateral air agreement between Canada and Mexico. Before a deal could be reached Diefenbaker wanted to know if, “Trans Canada’s operations would be adversely affected.”49 Only when the TCA had 416

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indicated that, “its revenues would not be affected in the immediate future by the agreement did the Cabinet gives its approval.50 Diefenbaker attempted, and largely succeeded, in improving Canadian-Mexican relations. His personal connection with Mexican President Adolfo López Mateos was fostered over the course of two state visits and a series of correspondence between the two men. They were of the same mind regarding many of the hemispheric questions both Canada and Mexico faced, as exemplified in their respective refusals to join the American embargo of Cuba. Although no new economic treaties were created thanks to this closeness, it should be noted that under Diefenbaker the government improved its speed of approval for Canadian companies hoping to do business in Mexico. Diefenbaker’s Mexican policy was not a radical departure from previous Canadian foreign policy, but the method in which it was implemented, with publicity, pomp and through the use of personal connections, were characteristics of Diefenbaker’s leadership and indicative of his foreign policies as a whole.

1

John G. Diefenbaker, One Canada, 73. Ibid. 3 Cole to Diefenbaker, July 25, 1957. DCCA Vol. 568 (P.M.O.), File #861, pp. 432281-7. 4 Newspaper Article, Mexico City News, November 28, 1954. DCCA Vol. 568 (P.M.O.), File #861, p. 432277. 5 G. A. Calkin, “The development of relations between Canada and Mexico”, in International Perspectives (1973), 55. 6 Stephen J. Randall, “Sharing a Continent: Canadian-Mexican Relations since 1945” in Beyond Mexico, Jean Daudelin and Edgar J. Dosman, eds., 20. 7 Ibid., 21-22. 8 Letter from Diefenbaker to Cole, August 12, 1957. DCCA Vol. 568 (P.M.O.), File #861, p. 432278. 9 Letter from Cole to Department of External Affairs, August 5, 1957. DCCA Vol. 568 (P.M.O.), File #861, p. 432279. 10 Letter from Diefenbaker to Cole, August 12, 1957, p. 432278. 11 Letter from Diefenbaker to Cole, February 3, 1959. DCCA Vol. 568 (P.M.O.), File #861, p. 432257. 12 Randall, 23. 13 Letter from Lionel V. J. Roy to Diefenbaker, October 20, 1959. DCCA Vol. 563 (P.M.O.), File 846, p. 428638. 14 Letter from Diefenbaker to Adolfo López Mateos, March 29, 1960. DCCA Vol. 553 (P.M.O.), File 840, p. 420757. 15 Cabinet Conclusions, April 23, 1959. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2744, pp. 12-13. 2

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16

Cabinet Conclusions, April 28, 1959. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2744, p. 3. Cabinet Conclusions, October 24, 1959. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2745, pp. 9-10. 18 Cole to Diefenbaker, April 21, 1958. DCCA Vol. 568 (P.M.O.), File #861, pp. 432264-6. 19 Cabinet Conclusions, December 1, 1959. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2745, p. 10. 20 Cabinet Conclusions, December 10, 1959. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2745, p. 3. 21 Cabinet Conclusions, December 10, 1959. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2745, p. 2 22 House of Commons Debates, February 9, 1960, p. 863. 23 Pierre Sévigny “Diefenbaker en français” in First Drafts: Eyewitness Accounts from Canada’s Pasts, J. L. Granatstein and Norman Hillmer, eds., pp. 348-9. 24 Text of Speeches by Diefenbaker and López, April 21, 1960. DCCA Vol. 258 (P.M.O.), File #313.45, pp. 210650-1. 25 Text of Speech given by Diefenbaker in Mexico City, April 22, 1960. DCCA Vol. 258 (P.M.O.), File # 313.45, pp. 210665-7. 26 Text of Speech delivered to a joint meeting of the Mexican College of Law and the Mexican Bar Association, April 22, 1960. DCCA Vol. 125 (XI), File #687, pp. 5-6. 27 Text of Speech delivered at the University of Mexico, April 22, 1960. DCCA Vol. 258 (P.M.O.), File #313.45, pp. 210652-3. 28 Dispatch from Irwin to Green, May 7, 1960. DCCA Vol. 73 (P.M.O.), File # 313.45, p. 64733. 29 Record of Conversation between Diefenbaker and Tello, April 22, 1960. DCCA Vol. 73 (P.M.O.), File # 313.45, p. 64738. 30 Record of Conversation between Diefenbaker and Tello, April 22, 1960. DCCA Vol. 73 (P.M.O.), File # 313.45, p. 64739. 31 Memorandum on Conversation between Diefenbaker and López at the National Palace, Mexico, April 22, 1960. DCCA Vol. 73 (P.M.O.), File # 313.45, pp. 64740-2. 32 Dispatch from Irwin to Green, May 7, 1960. DCCA Vol. 73 (P.M.O.), File # 313.45, p. 64734. 33 Globe and Mail April 23, 1960, p. 2. Toronto Star, April 23, 1960, p. 3. Leader Post, April 22, 1960, p. 18. 34 For a list of the papers and photocopies of the editorials see DCCA Vol. 73 (P.M.O.), file #313.45, pp. 64743-55. 35 House of Commons Debates, April 25, 1960, pp. 3223-4. 36 Ibid., 3223. 37 Ibid., 3224. 38 Cabinet Conclusions, April 26, 1960. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2746, p. 15. 39 Cabinet Conclusions, June 23, 1960. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2746, pp. 4 -5. 40 Cabinet Conclusions, July 15, 1961. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 6177, p. 4. 41 Ibid., 9. 42 Cabinet Conclusions, June 23, 1960, pp. 4 -5. 43 House of Commons Debates, May 30, 1960, p. 4337. 44 Cabinet Conclusions, September 15, 9160. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2747, pp. 5-6. 45 Letter from López to Diefenbaker, July 16, 1960. DCCA Vol. 9 (Personal and Confidential), File #292, p. 425019. 46 Ibid. 47 Letter from Diefenbaker to López, July 17, 1960. DCCA Vol. 56 (Personal and Confidential) File 845 Cuba, pp. 425016-7. 17

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48

Cabinet Conclusions, April 28, 1959. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 2744, p. 3. Cabinet Conclusions, October 10, 1961. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 6177, p. 8. 50 Cabinet Conclusions, November 11, 1961. NAC, RG 2, Series A-5-a, Vol. 6177, p. 9. 49

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NATO’s Special Forces and its Implications for Canada in an Evolving European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) BEN ZYLA Royal Military College, Kingston I. INTRODUCTION1 Canada’s relationship with the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) goes back to the foundation of the alliance in 1949. Canada, among other states, was one of the founding members in the Washington treaty. She was prominent during the time and, along with other countries, endorsed postwar Atlanticism. She was even able to convince the United States to join the Atlantic partnership.2 Prior to this date, Canada enjoyed great relations with leading European states, especially Britain and France, her historical partners. Politicians on both sides of the Atlantic celebrate NATO as the most successful alliance in history. Who can blame them? Over the years it brought peace and stability to a heavily fragmented continent on which two world wars were fought. There are at least three unifying forces that linked North America and Europe during the Cold War: The foremost was the threat of Communist expansion over Europe. Both had common security interests in keeping the Russians behind the Elbe; secondly, America’s economic stake in Europe, which reinforced its strategic interest in European prosperity; and finally, the generation of American and European elites, whose personal backgrounds and life experiences left them strongly committed to the idea of an Atlantic community. The picture of NATO changed suddenly, however. when the Soviet Empire collapsed in 1989 and with it the Communist threat, the previous glue in the transatlantic marriage, disappeared. Subsequently, NATO’s role became outdated. A few years later, Canada’s policymakers in Ottawa were more than surprised about NATO’s survival; they had expected the (now called) OECD to take over the coordination of Europe’s security. However, quite the opposite took place: NATO reinvented itself and searched for a fresh role entangling with former Eastern bloc countries through partnership for peace programs. Thus, NATO grew from a military forum to a forum of diplomacy. 420

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NATO special operations missions cannot be looked at without reference to the changing security environments of NATO itself and Europe in general. Since more than half of NATO’s members are European countries that have managed to harmonize policies, there is an obvious overlap of European and NATO assets and interests. Europe grew together more and more each day. It implemented its own command and control structure with the Treaty of Nice. Canada lacks an official response to the recent developments, partly because the U.S. is still actively involved in the alliance, and partly because Canada is placed beside the chairs of its European heritage and North American reality. This is a dangerous “free ride” that made Canada lose its influential role in the world. The paper “While Canada slept”3 shows that there might be a way to wake up policymakers in Ottawa. They will have to make a strategic choice based on Canada’s national interest as to whether or not the country should remain in or retreat from NATO. Special Operations Forces play a decisive role in this decision, because they might be the only remaining force Canada is able to deploy throughout the world without risking an international disgrace. The concept of NATO’s Special Operations doctrine and practice might just be useful for this policy. In the first section, this paper will outline the basic definitions of NATO Special Operation Forces. It will become clear in this section why these forces are so special. It will describe its unique capabilities, and NATO missions they have been deployed for. I will briefly describe the general force structure, even though that is heavily dependent on the nature of each mission. The second section will look at the “bible” of NATO doctrine, and will outline the practical difficulties Special Operation Forces are confronted with during operations. Of course, this list cannot be comprehensive and is divided in military and political struggles the Canadian Forces have to fight. However, it focuses on deficiencies in intelligence gathering, equipment as well as capability, concerns of interoperability with other NATO members and the diverse Special Operation Forces culture in NATO that have an impact on missions. The third section turns to the current limitations of NATO doctrine. It will not only list these restrictions, but will also analyze its implications for policy makers in Ottawa. Again, there will be two distinct analyses in terms of military and political imperatives. The four categories from section two will be copied in this analysis as well, to make a congruent argument. 421

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The last section will summarize the main arguments of this paper, and will list directions for future research about NATO’s Special Operations Forces. I. WHAT DOES NATO DOCTRINE SAY ABOUT SOFS? WHAT IS ESDI? – A DEFINITIONS APPROACH 1. Definitions of Special Operations under the NATO umbrella? What makes them so special? One of the major characteristics of Special Operation Forces (SOF) is their secrecy. They are most effective when deploying and operating in secrecy. There are many definitions of SOF depending on the country of origin. Most of the major NATO member countries have SOF at their disposal. However, each nation defines the tasks and objective of their SOFs itself. Due to the variety of national SOF definitions, NATO was obliged to define SOF concept, calling it the “Joint Special Operation Forces” defined in the Allied Joint Doctrine (AJP 01B) as well as in NATO Special Operation Policy (MC 437).4 Official NATO publications define Joint SOF as a military activity that is “specially designated, organised, trained and equipped”.5 Special Operation Forces make use of “operational techniques and modes of employment [that] are not standard to conventional forces”.6 NATO defines SOF as follows: Military activities conducted by specially designated, organized, trained and equipped forces using operational techniques and modes of employment not standard to conventional forces. These activities are conducted across the full range of military operations (peace, crisis and conflict) independently or in co-ordination with operations of conventional forces to achieve military, political, economic and psychological objectives or a combination thereof. Political-military considerations may require covert or discreet techniques and the acceptance of a degree of physical and political risk not associated with conventional operations.

Most likely, SOFs are directed at the accomplishment of high value missions with critical objectives. It is important to mention that SOFs can only operate in theatre for a limited time and “should not be substituted for other, more appropriate forces”.7 SOFs are most appropriate in peacetime as their missions require a long and thorough planning, or, as a Dutch Lieutenant Colonel at NATO headquarters explains, “we are not the fire department of NATO; our missions need timely planning ahead”.8 NATO doctrine mentions three principle tasks SOFs are able to accomplish: 422

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a. Special Surveillance and Reconnaissance In the NATO context, SOFs were traditionally deployed for special surveillance and reconnaissance missions. Today, however, their task ranges from promoting democracies in or outside NATO territory, “supporting peace operations, providing early identification and assessment of a crisis, training friendly forces and developing military liaison”.9 In more than eighty per cent or so of the cases10 where SOFs were deployed, their task was information gathering or “intelligence collection”.11 Under this category, Special Forces are able to collect crucial intelligence information. Their tasks in Bosnia, for example, were not only to locate war criminals, but also to collect more comprehensive information about location of war criminals, including their house numbers and number of escape doors. Further, these missions can confirm, refute or obtain information about enemy capabilities, intentions and activities. Reconnaissance is an integral part of any SOF mission. Initially, during the KFOR and SFOR operations in Bosnia and Kosovo, SOFs were deployed as special surveillance and reconnaissance forces. They were sent to talk to local police officers, mayors and local residents, trying to get the “local feeling” for the security environment and ground information for future operations.12 There are at least two ways to organize such forces: geographically, where each nation is assigned to a specific and well defined area of operation; into missions, where, for example, the German KSK helps refugees, the U.S. is responsible for direct action tasks and so on.13 However, the force structure is always dependent on the mission itself and the tasks given. In most of their cases, it is the overall aim to detect the enemy’s vulnerability and sometimes to eliminate the target. However, it is possible to say that there are two kinds of missions: first, pre-planned missions, where a theatre has been planned months in advance; and second, evolving missions, where ad hoc missions have to be fulfilled for an urgent task.14 Generally speaking, the environment in which SOFs operate, is “hostile, denied or politically sensitive”.15 SOFs might operate unilaterally or in support of conventional forces. b. Military Assistance SOFs may be deployed in order to provide military assistance to friendly or allied forces. Forces may be deployed in order to “protect a democratic society from subversion, lawlessness or insurgency”.16 In reality, this means that democratic governments, in Africa, for example, can be supported militarily to prevent insurgency. In other words, NATO SOFs may support friendly units with regards to “training and equipment”17 to bring down 423

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political, military and economic means in a hostile country. Military assistance also means providing support in peace operations where SOFs can promote regional stability. This support and assistance may also be of a technical nature. c. Direct Action Direct actions are usually limited in scope and duration. Their tasks are very precise and may include direct assault tactics or “stand-off attacks from maritime, ground or air platforms”.18 At all times, a plan for withdrawal from the hostile environment is attached to each mission to lower the risk for the soldiers, and to prevent any surprising situations. Here, SOFs are best considered as a form of special warfare, “characterized by a unique set of objectives, weapons and forces”.19 If, for example, a terrorist group hijacks hostages, Special Forces might be deployed to locate, capture and recover designated people and material of any kind.20 In other words, SOFs may use hard military power to achieve military or political objectives. Their advantage is that they are very flexible to any kind of situation. That is why SOFs do not have a fixed force structure, instead, only basic requirements. SOFs are not designed to engage opposing hostile forces with standard tactics, force-to-force so to speak. SOFs are designed only for “small-scale offensive actions”,21 such as sabotage. d. SOFs command centre and force structure Each SOF mission will be controlled and directed by a Special Operations component command (SOCC). The SOCC will call on a Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force (CJSOTF)22 and will have to find a framework nation. However, the ultimate authority for the deployment of Special Forces is the North Atlantic Council (NAC) and its sub-committee, the Military Committee (MC).23 The MC is the authority to maintain and approve an effective SOF policy.24 The tasks of the framework nation can be best described as follows: first, the framework nation is in charge of the overall the Special Operations plan; second, it will include a detailed plan of the SOF requirements for the particular mission; third, it will organize, coordinate and sustain the logistical support for the SOF mission; fourth, the framework nation will be an integral part in the target acquisition, and will finally establish and maintain contacts to other NATO and non-NATO headquarters through liaison officers, which is an “essential element in the coordination of SOFs and the communication flow among nations.”25 SOFs may employ specially trained snipers. They may use direct assault, raid or ambush techniques during their operation. To accomplish their specific and 424

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risky tasks, they may emplace any kind of munitions that are appropriate, which includes precision guided munitions or other stand-off attacks by fire from air, ground, or maritime platforms. This shows the range of work SOFs are able to accomplish without being bound to a specific environment.26 In other words, SOFs bring a great deal of civilian professional expertise to the force such as law, engineering, information technology and language training that conventional forces do not experience. SOFs are employed in very small units and therefore enjoy limited firepower. As a result, SOFs are not capable of engaging larger units. Their success largely depends on the synergy of high “speed, stealth, surprise while covered by darkness”.27 They perform a multitude of specialized and often unconventional combat skills beyond that of regular forces. SOFs are specialized in flexibility, improvisation, innovation and self-reliance, but are unable to act as a substitute for conventional forces. As a result, night vision capabilities are an essential part of a SOF equipment. Often times, direct action missions are conducted by a small group of individual soldiers, and mostly undertaken as a joint operation combining navy, army and air force SOF into one mission. The success of a mission lies with the individual soldier.28 SOFs conduct operations at a great distance from the established support bases, which makes modern communications assets, such as secure satellite phones, radio transmitters and other means of infiltration, exfiltration29 and support structures an essential element to quickly withdraw from the hostile territory if necessary. In this sense, SOFs are inclusive, because by the time extraction from a hostile territory is required, the element of surprise is lost. The size and selection of SOF personnel is the responsibility of the nation alone, and are mostly limited to ground or sea operations. The U.S. for example, puts twelve soldiers on a team, the British four and the Dutch eight.30 However, SOFs may use close combat tactics and techniques as well, especially when the target and the “mission require a precise application of force beyond the capability of other forces and weapon systems”.31 However, the basic ingredients in every team is a medical soldier who is responsible for first aid and all other medical complications during a mission; a weapons expert, who is most often a sniper; a demolitions expert, the “hammer” in the team; and a communications specialist who knows all the details about satellite communication, radio transmissions etc. It is quite obvious that the quality of such a team differs in a comparative perspective. 425

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The quality of a sniper, for example, depends largely on his training and, of course, experience. II. MILITARY COMPLICATIONS OF NATO DOCTRINE – OPEN SECRETS NATO AJP 01 is the standard doctrine applied to Joint Allied operations. This doctrine is, so to speak, the NATO “Bible”, and its intention is to guarantee a successful planning, execution and support of military operations. However, this doctrine uses rather diplomatic language to ensure that every nation’s national interest is either considered and/or not violated. Its paragraphs and annexes have passed various diplomatic proofreading desks. As a result, this doctrine camouflages various sensitive and partly problematic aspects that go along with doctrines. These troubleshooting issues are detected and highlighted in this chapter without any claim for completeness.32 a. Intelligence NATO forces rely on their home nations to pass on news about sudden troop movements or a change of tactics by the enemy, as do NATO SOFs. In theory, each nation state should forward crucial intelligence information immediately. National intelligence officers have to get through their chains of command to pass on this information. They have no order to call up the SOF commander in theatre. “Infos always go through the national intelligence headquarter before they get passed through the national command chain”, a Dutch Lieutenant Colonel explains. This might cause a delay of operations and might take away the comparative advantage of SOFs, for example, the surprising attack on an enemy. As a result, important specific information, such as blueprints of a house that should be attacked, might not get passed along to the framework nation and will leave the SOF with a gap. But, as the Dutch officer points out, “even if you don’t have the necessary intelligence information, the mission will continue”.33 This increases the natural risk of the operation drastically when the force itself needs to be much more flexible in its operational planning. AJP 01 doctrine says that “intelligence must be centrally controlled to avoid unwarranted duplication, provide mutual support and ensure the efficient, economic use of all resources”.34 In other words, NATO needs an intelligence headquarters, because late information is useless for a current operation; it is like “reading the newspaper from yesterday”, as an officer points out.

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Secondly, one of the biggest difficulties SOFs have to deal with in theatre is the classification of information. Most intelligence information is classified and restricted to individuals on a need to know basis. The reason for this is to protect the force when, for example, a Special Operator is taken hostage by the enemy and tortured to obtain operational information. However, this protective mechanism can be dangerous for the SOF itself. If, for instance, SOFs are deployed as an attachment to conventional forces, but the conventional force commander does not have any information about SOFs being deployed because this has not been shared with him, then the Special Forces operate in a vacuum. The risk of being shot at by friendly conventional forces increases, because the regular force commander could perceive those Special Forces as enemies. In other words, the conventional forces on site might get confused. Their confusion might put the lives of the SOF soldiers at risk. “It has happened to me in Bosnia. Such crucial intelligence information has to be shared with more people in key positions. That they know about the SOF being deployed does not necessarily mean that they gossip it around.”35 Thirdly, one of the biggest problems in the alliance right now is the lack of national capability. This is true for the intelligence sector as well. Small military nations such as the Dutch, the Germans, and the Canadians do not have access to their own satellite pictures. Germany, for example, has a very limited capacity of intelligence and relies heavily on its partners.36 These small countries rely mainly on intelligence from the two big nations in the alliance, the United States and the British. This intelligence structure within the alliance is a given. As a result, the United States and the British dominate the production and circulation of intelligence reports. This means for the smaller nations and their SOF commanders that they have to decide if the U.S. or the British “give you the full picture of information”37 or if they deliberately leave out some details. “You never know how much of this information is shared with other nations, not only in NATO”, says a German Colonel. Bigger nations exploit their mass of information, and knowledge thus becomes power. b. Equipment and Capability The principal concern regarding equipment is insertion assets. Again, only the big nations have a variety of them at their disposal, whereas small nations only have a few. “It is of course the nation that bring the most assets to the table who has the largest power in the alliance.”38 The most essential equipment for each mission is secure communication capabilities. Forces 427

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must be able to communicate with their supreme commanders on a secure basis. If the enemy can listen to conversations, the SOFs comparative advantage is compromised. These assets include satellite communication capabilities that not all nations have at their disposal. NATO doctrine recommends that transmission assets must be co-ordinated at all three levels: by domestic military, non-domestic military, and governmental agencies.39 One of the current problems of NATO operations is the limitation of frequencies. Most of the small nations have to rely on the British to provide channels of communication40. Most of the mistakes done in theatre occur under stressful situations in crisis or emergency situations. Clear ways of communicating are crucial for the time and scope to react. Another key piece of basic equipment is night vision capabilities, as SOFs are most effective at night when the enemy visibility is low. Again, smaller nations lack this capability, but these two major assets save you from being detected and getting into an overwhelming exchange of firepower by the enemy. Thirdly, the Alliance has to fight with an enormous logistical problem when SOFs are deployed for more than eight to ten days. Usually SOFs cannot be sustained for more than ten days without re-supply. “People cannot think about the amount of batteries that is needed”, a former Dutch SOF commander says. Most of the equipment that Special Forces carry around needs batteries. “There are thirty different batteries that need to be re-supplied after eight to ten days into the operation”, the Dutch Colonel lectures. The logistical problem increases when joint task forces operate in a combined operation. Each nation is likely to have its own series of batteries required for their forces and thus need to be re-supplied through their own national chain of command. A second option, which is more dangerous, is to have a stock of equipment in or close to the hostile territory. The disadvantage of this “stock option” is that the forces always have to come back to the stock, which automatically limits their flexibility. The way SOFs need to be re-supplied depends on the way the SOF gets inserted. If the SOF has been inserted by parachute, the amount of equipment the forces can bring is very limited. As a result the potential amount of re-supply is very small as well. The second way to be inserted is by helicopter, which is the standard way of operating today. In this case, the forces can carry more equipment, but will have to make a stock in order to sustain. This requires a broader re-supply line including more material, food, ammunitions etc. The CF struggles especially with the organization of its national logistical support 428

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elements.41 The best example of this is Canada’s emergency deployment to Zaire, where “Canada simply did not have the requisite assets to make this commitment effective in any sense”,42 judges Douglas Bland. By definition, logistics is the “science of planning and carrying out the movement and maintenance of forces. Sustaining a force to the necessary level and duration of operations to achieve its assigned objectives is the key objective of logistics.”43 Due to financial constraints, DND introduced the Canadian Contractor Augmentation Program that enables it to outsource certain logistical aspects and involve civilian contractors. The contractor ensures that he/she can be called up upon when and where needed in the field by the CF. However, this contractor program is only designed for stable and secure environments, and is out of place for high-risk environments. In other words, it is not able to relieve the logistical support chain of appropriate assistance in SOF missions. In conclusion, it can be said that military capability cannot be measured in the number of aircraft, weapons or tanks. Capability rather encompasses a combination of weapons, equipment, tactics and training. A capability must be measured as an inseparable combination of weapons and equipment; trained personnel; adequate supporting equipment and logistics, such as ammunition; command and support, that is, trained officers and commanders to bring the capability into operation; doctrine matching various capabilities; and sustained logistics and personnel reserves.44

It is therefore indispensable for policymakers in Ottawa to look carefully for a wide-ranging assessment of the capabilities of the CF prior to any deployment. c. Interoperability and NATO SOF culture Are Special Forces interoperable? The short answer is no, they are not. “We don’t integrate! So there is no problem of interoperability”.45 Generally speaking, the real issue in terms of interoperability is the standardization of communications and information systems (CIS). Here, nations lack commitment. NATO doctrine requires, in an ascending order, that standardisation includes compatibility, interchange ability and commonality.46 The doctrine continues, saying that the most practical level of interoperability is compatibility, meaning “the ability of systems to provide services and information to (or accept services and information from) other systems”.47 Each nation has four critical steps48 to implement into their national force structure in order to be interoperable with other nations: (1) development of joint force CIS concepts and definitions; (2) 429

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tendency towards harmonisation of information.49 The segments of information and orders could become a serious hindrance to success and could distort the unity of military command; (3) to achieve full interoperability among nations, national SOFs need to train and exercise more to reduce mistakes, especially in stressful situations. These three points can be seen as the basis for success in an NATO SOF operation. However, the Alliance struggles with the diversity of weapon systems that is being used. It is well understood that the United States is playing in a very different league in terms of size and capabilities of their forces. NATOmember European nations use the concept of the British Special Forces (SAS) as a model in terms of techniques, tactics, equipment and force culture. “SOF commitments in Europe are very close and international”, explains the former Dutch commander, and says that their cooperation is much closer among each other than to the United States. The reason for that is less the matter of a greater personal attitude and understanding of SOF, but instead that the U.S plays in a totally different league. The United States SOF have their own means, for example, they do not share their assets with the army, navy or air force, whereas in Europe SOFs have to call up other units to ask for a helicopter. In reality the Dutch, German and other European SOFs operate on a playground in Afghanistan under the protection of the United States military. “The European nations were able to test their systems and the compatibility among each other”, says the Dutch Lieutenant Colonel. The European forces tested their equipment, interoperability, and interchange of systems. In the case of something going wrong, the United States would come in as the “big brother” and take care of the situation. Generally speaking, the concept of the British SOF is widely accepted among European armies. Overall, SOFs in Europe work closely together to ensure interoperability and knowledge of the other Special Forces capabilities. Once a year, European SOFs get together for a joint exercise and training. During this exercise, the deviant standards in terms of psychological training, physical training and exercise become distinct. Commanders get a sense of whether or not their forces are completely interoperable, meaning able to work and sustain with SOFs from other nations, or if they are deficient and appropriate adjustments need to take place. The advantage of these training exercises is that the forces will familiarize themselves with the other nations’ assets and capabilities. In addition, they get an interpersonal feeling for each other and learn the 430

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different personal attitudes of other nation’s Special Forces. Joint training exercises also ensure that NATO doctrine will not be undercut; they ensure an interchange of different tactical, strategic and operational techniques, and familiarize forces with differing national mentalities. Most importantly, those joint exercises will create trust among national forces. “A mutual understanding of strengths and weaknesses provides the foundation of cooperation and trust, which is vital in the planning and successful execution of joint and multinational operations.”50 d. Military Culture and Personal Attitudes of NATO SOFs Interoperability among national military cultures is particularly important when it comes to SOFs. On the other side, it shows as well that each nation possesses a pool of military culture that is unique to that nation. People with experience in SOFs agree that the American SOF is always very mission-oriented, and totally dependent on its military means. Because the U.S. has all the assets necessary for a successful SOF deployment, it does not have to adjust or be as flexible as, for example, the British. The United Kingdom does not have all the capabilities the United States has, but they have learned over decades to adjust to this deficiency. As a result, their techniques and tactics are much more flexible and adjustable to the changing environment. Whenever the environment changes quickly, U.S. forces struggle far more to compensate for this change than the British forces do, due to their reliance on their military equipment. However, the British are able to finish a mission without American hardware. For them, for example, there is not only one way of getting there. They do not have to insert exclusively by helicopter. The U.S. has to “level” everything to the ground before they will send troops. “The hammer has to come first. This shows the diverse mentality of an operation and each nation has its own mentality.”51 The ability to adjust quickly to a changing local environment is the overall strength of the British Special Forces, “the U.S. does not have this advantage”, the Dutch officer agrees. “The British are not capabilities oriented, they are people oriented”.52 In contrast to the Americans, the British have more flexible, mature people. This point is not only a singular observation, and has been confirmed by at least two other military officers posted to NATO.53 It is difficult to detect a silent hierarchy of favourable SOFs in NATO, but there seems to be a common line among the Germans, Dutch and the Scandinavians. These Special Forces have a common approach, “they understand each other almost blindly and there is a lot of trust among 431

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those forces”, says the Dutch Lieutenant Colonel. The Italian and French forces are different from them; they have a more straightforward approach. In the eye of a German Colonel, it was the U.S. that created this hierarchy.54 The U.S. trusts the British SOF the most and the French the least. One example of diverse military cultures occurred in Sarajevo:55 the French Special Forces led a convoy, and suddenly, one of the vehicles was shot at out of the dark. The French, as the leading nation, assured the other SOFs that this problem would be taken care of by that night. The French SOF captured the sniper and killed him on the spot. This behaviour earned the French SOF great recognition in the French public, “it is accepted there, whereas this would be impossible in Holland or Germany”, the Dutch LCol reports. The concept of leadership seems to be rather robust in the French army and the tolerance to shooting or killing is greater than in Germany or Holland.56 The German forces are an exception in NATO anyhow, because they need a specific mandate of the Bundestag, the German parliament, prior to deployment for their mission, to guarantee parliamentary oversight and control over the Bundeswehr, the German forces. This is a structure that evolved because of historical reasons, and is applied to any Bundeswehr mission outside Germany. In other words, for Germany, the deployment is in the first place a political problem that will be discussed in the next paragraph. III. POLITICAL STRUGGLES WITH NATO DOCTRINE – OLD VS. NEW EUROPE? It is very tempting at this point to lament the rift in the transatlantic relationship, but so much has been written about this issue in the last six months that there would be no new arguments made. Every newspaper and talk show in this country has already measured the size of the transatlantic gap that widened especially after the war in Iraq. Retired diplomats and generals with their “expertise” and experience hardly produced any deeper analysis and understanding. This, however, is the wrong place to engage into speculative transatlantic analysis weighing the structural differences between North America and Europe. However, it is quite interesting that almost no one in the Canadian administration or media asked what impact the changing nature of NATO has for Canada’s relationship with Europe. Even Canadian officials on site in Brussels are very hesitant to impress their visitors with visions about Canada’s role in the alliance. Policy Options undertaken by the European 432

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Union to strengthen its foreign and defence policies in the form of a European Rapid Response force, with its own command and control structure, do not seem to impress Canada’s NATO representatives. This might be a mistake that will possibly reduce Canada’s influence in the NATO Alliance as the following analysis argues. a. Question of scale: Canada, its role in NATO and Europe’s ESDP Every nation that is a NATO member should understand why it joined the transatlantic partnership. Canada should be able to determine what its interests are in NATO, whether it is pure military or political or economic. What is Canada’s interest in NATO? This is a very broad question that Canadian NATO officials refuse to be bothered with. “You can read it in various documents on the internet”, is the standard fluffy response. Being asked what Canada is able to bring to the table in NATO, or phrased differently, what is Canada’s advantage in NATO, the prompt response is “talking”. No word about Canada’s historical achievement as a peacekeeper for more than fifty years, nor any word about Canada’s recent contributions in the war on terrorism. Canada apparently is, as the perception of chief Canadian diplomats in the temple of political diplomacy in Brussels goes, still the mediator between the dominant United States and the grown up EU, a role it enjoyed in the Cold War. Canada still seems to apply Cold War policies from more than ten years ago. What Canada is clearly missing is national answers to the changing environment within the European Union. Canada does not seem to have any policies towards the changing NATO or European Union other than that “we want to preserve NATO as it is”. Officially, it swims with the American foreign policy mainstream to protect its investments, and forces a need to stay within NATO. Canada does not want to see a division of money for duplicate resources that might challenge North American interests globally. Ottawa wants Europe to find capabilities complementary to already existing NATO assets. This observation is congruent with the American demand to observe the 3Ds.57 NATO should stay as it is, but, as Canada’s NATO officials remind us, “Canada’s strategic interests need to be preserved at the same time to meet the present security environment”. What this interest contends in particular remains undisclosed. “It is more an altruistic interest that Canada needs to be globally responsible”. Canada wants to see a maple leaf flag raised on the flagpole by the end of the day, no matter how deeply it is committed to a mission operationally and strategically, and no matter how much it brings to the

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table. Is this only a symbolic military act? “We want to keep the seat at the table regardless of how many forces we commit”.58 b. What would be Canada’s national interest in NATO? As mentioned earlier, it is indispensable for Ottawa to figure out Canada’s national interest in NATO. The new Paul Martin government should answer why Canada is still a member of NATO, and what stake it has in the Alliance. This response can be seen as the driving force behind Canada’s engagement in Brussels. In the last decade or so, Canada has failed to determine what is truly critical.59 Canada depends highly on the United States. It is its foremost trading partner and protects this country militarily through the vastness of the forces at its disposal.60 British trade and investment markets were important for Canada’s prosperity in the past, but that era has long passed. Canada’s economic centre of gravity is now on the North American continent. It is not a surprise, however, that Canada has difficulties in locating its national interest, because it assumed in the past that its national interests were identical with those of Britain and France.61 “Canadians even went into the world wars […] with scarcely anyone asking whether such actions served his country’s interest; it was enough that Britain was threatened.”62 Canadian policymakers state that they favour the promotion of democracy, human rights, the rule of law, civility and multiculturalism.63 However, historian Jack Granatstein points out that these core elements of Canadian foreign policy are values rather than interests. He lists four points that are Canada’s core national interests: (1) Canada must protect its territory, the security of its people, and its unity. (2) It must strive to protect and enhance its independence. (3) It must promote the economic growth of the nation to support the prosperity and welfare of its people. (4) It must work with like- minded states, in an outside international forums, for the protection and enhancement of democracy and freedom.64

These core national interests are enduring and do not change over time. They are embedded into foreign policy values and balanced off in this concert. “Our values will count for nothing if the nation does not survive and for very little if we fail to prosper.”65 These arguments should be kept in mind as the next paragraph discusses Canada’s involvement in NATO. c. Why should NATO and Europe still be important to Canada? NATO is not only a military alliance but also a forum for exchange of political views and policies. It has been like that for the fifty years of its history, and especially since the fall of the Berlin Wall, there has not been 434

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any necessity to prepare to counterattack a Russian invasion. Consequently, heavy equipment and massive amounts of forces on European soil were pointless. For Canada, NATO was and still is the only international organization where Canada congregates with its European partners on a regular basis. It is Canada’s gate to the European continent. In the last decade, NATO committees had the foremost purpose to ensure an exchange of views among its members and aspiring nation states. But it was more than just a gate, especially during the Cold War. Canada used NATO to counterbalance the power of its potent southern neighbour. Thus, NATO was a perfect international institution to accommodate and, at the same time, alleviate American interests. Indeed, it was the only international institution where Canada succeeded with this strategy of power balancing. There is a second important argument to be made that cannot be made without reference to the changing security environment after September 11th, 2001, and the new roles for NATO hereafter. NATO is most likely to take over the peace-enforcement operations in Afghanistan66. In fact, force planners at SHAPE in Mons are already drawing a suitable force structure. This indicates a complete shift in NATO policy that might have had its origin in the Kosovo War against the Slobodan Milosevitch regime. Kosovo was the first ‘out of area mission’ NATO undertook, and Afghanistan can be seen as a continuation of this policy. Therefore, it is most likely that ISAF will not be NATO’s last ‘out of area’ mission, there might be more in the near future. The argument here is that NATO will most likely be the ultimate international organization that runs peacekeeping operations, since the United Nations (UN) is quarrelling and usually acts insufficiently and tardy. NATO’s new role implicates three things for the Alliance. First, with peacekeeping or enforcing, NATO would have new glue that could renew the weakening transatlantic relationship. North American as well as European interests would be satisfied with this new policy. In this case, peacekeeping would replace the slipped disc of North American and European vertebrae. In other words, it would furnish NATO’s table with a new purpose of existence. Second, equally important, Canada could revive the historical values of its foreign policy in peacekeeping and peace enforcement. As many historians have argued recently, Canadian peacekeeping is a myth. It was never peacekeeping in the real sense; Canadians fought real wars67 in these UN missions. Nevertheless, Canada would be able to revive its image as the 435

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foremost peacekeeping country on this planet, regardless if whether or not it is true. In any case, it would send out symbolic signals to other nations and thus, would enhance the Canadian forces’ reputation and influence, securing Canada’s interest in Europe. It is, however, psychologically important to allow NATO a sense of achievement to gain strength for the future. A heavily overloaded agenda with giant projects bulleted on is not supportive in this process. Rather, small steps need to be undertaken to allow small events of success to regain strength and focus. Third, for more than two decades, in fact, since Trudeau left office, DND officials, journalists, special interest groups and conservative politicians have whined about the deterioration of funding for the Canadian forces. Sophisticated arguments have been brought forward about how to rescue the CF so that soldiers can fulfill their mission. However, the subject might be closer to a resolution than expected: Canada should specialize in the provision of Special Operations Forces in Peacekeeping Operations for NATO missions. If peacekeeping operations are the field where NATO’s future lies, then the alliance would need strong, capable, well-trained and fit Special Forces to execute surveillance and reconnaissance missions in hostile territory, so regular forces can enter the field. Canadian JTF2 personnel already enjoy a high reputation among its European counterforces, including Britain, Germany and France, as well as the U.S.. Trust among these forces, as mentioned in a previous section, is high, and Canada is well perceived in this league for its distinct capability, stealth and training. In other words, JTF2 forces would be a means to secure Canada’s interest in the alliance, in Europe, and in future conflicts, because, as Sean Maloney argues, Canadians always deploy their forces to accommodate Ottawa’s national interest. In addition, Special Forces have a nice side-effect for the ever-pessimistic finance critics: they are relatively cheap in contrast to regular forces. IV. CONCLUSION In general it can be said that Canadians have a much more pragmatic approach towards NATO68 than other nations do. Canadian military representatives at SHAPE care less about ideological or theoretical discussions; they prefer a pragmatic solution to the military situation that requires appropriate action. If Canadians get involved in operational planning, they “do it heavily and take their job seriously”.69 Canada consults with its military allies on a regular basis and enjoys a first-class reputation amongst its partners. However, its mandate is constrained through the lack 436

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of political will in Ottawa and at political meetings at NATO Headquarters. This lack of political will to foster pragmatic solutions that could include the deployment of military forces is well perceived among NATO allies. The point I wanted to make in this analysis is that the changing NATO environment and the increase of internal conflicts are less a result of different natures of the political elite than the result of the disappearance of the Soviet threat, which ultimately removed the vital transatlantic glue. I have argued in the previous sections that there is an option for Ottawa to foster the transatlantic relationship through NATO peacekeeping operations that are likely to occur in the new security environment. Stephen Walt makes an interesting point in suggesting that Ottawa should write down on the top of its memo-board: “[…] wartime alliances rarely survive the enemy’s defeat”.70 NATO continues to be an extraordinary organization in the sense that it remains committed to a collective defence even though its partner’s mutual interests have vanished. At the same time, tendencies of military duplication are rising to the surface with the implementation of a European military command structure and the union’s new security strategy. The implications for Canada are that it needs to develop clear policies towards these European endeavours in order to secure its purely national interests. The enhancement of European defences might be beneficial for Canada in the sense that it creates more security in Europe, and presumably defers the financial burden of the alliance more towards Europe. This development can only be in Canada’s interest in times when budgets are heavily constrained. On the field of intelligence gathering, Canada can make a difference in the NATO alliance. It is actually able to combine intelligence reports from its own military intelligence service, CSIS and the RCMP. If Canada would be able to provide this intelligence information to NATO, it would enhance its role and influence in crucial decisions on a second flank. However, Canada lacks force sustainability. This is Canada’s foremost military deficiency. This lack is not only seen by Canada’s officials at NATO, SHAPE and FNORTH, but also by its major allies such as the British, Germans and U.S.,71 and various organizations here in North America. One is the Centre for the Study of the Presidency in the United States, which concludes that Canadian army units only operate at a strength of about 50 per cent, and “[…] battle groups train together only every three years. […] Very simply, the Canadian forces have all but lost the capacity to undertake operations for a sustained period”.72 437

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But no matter what Canada decides, Special Operation Forces will play a crucial role in future military operations in a time of constrained government budgets. The Pentagon asked the American taxpayer for an increase of almost one third of its spending in 2003.73 At the same time, the Secretary of Defence outsourced SOF responsibilities to the regular forces74 as a result of their overall performance in the war on terrorism and in Iraq, where they were crucial to the success of the campaigns. This growing relevance of SOFs might be an indicator for the overall future development of Special Forces, and a warning signal for Canada to keep up with those investments to better meet the threats currently facing the North American continent and NATO. In the 1990s, Canada and NATO have deployed forces mostly to post-conflict environments and politically unstable regions. Force planners at NATO have highlighted the demand for highly trained and capable forces to lead the groundwork for an operation of regular forces.75 Entailed in this demand are exigencies for more aircraft and aircrews as some of SOF’s key assets, and other support personnel. It seems to be a never-ending story. In retrospect, and for the future of the alliance, Canada will have to make a critical decision for its special forces; the European nations are not only growing together economically but also militarily. Britain is closer to the European continent and that is one reason why most European nations have modeled their Special Forces after the British SAS. It is likely, that this military integration will continue in the near future and in future NATO missions. This raises the question for Canada whether it will orient itself more towards the British or American SOF in the near future. A closer orientation would ensure better interoperability and exchange in future operations. Canada is only a middle power with no overwhelming military capabilities. Thus, trying to compete with the U.S. Special Forces and adjusting to their system seems to be unreachable and out of place. Therefore, a closer orientation to the European SOF seems to be more appropriate. However, this does not mean that JTF2 forces should not engage in joint exercises with the Americans. Rather, it means that the Canadians might be more likely to work together with European forces in future operations that require a close relationship full of trust and common working standards. The CF does not have military assets like the Americans, thus, it has learned over the years to adjust itself and its operations to the shortages. This improvisational talent makes the CF more flexible and adjustable to changing environments, an advantage the U.S. SOF might not 438

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have to this extent. It is this pure advantage the British SAS forces have over the U.S.. However, to ensure full interoperability, SOFs from other countries, their strengths and weaknesses as well as harmonization of operational procedures, can be best realized during joint exercises. These common exercises several times a year can reduce the frequency of mistakes that mostly occur in stressful situations. As mentioned earlier, European SOFs have a very close relationship with each other. In a stressful situation this trust can decide the outcome of an operation. However, it is worth noting that equal training standards are not required since SOFs are only deployed in their national units and are not intermingled. 1

Special thanks goes to Sadaf Ghoreshy and Simon Baron for helping me to eliminate orthographical mistakes in earlier versions of this essay. However, all remaining errors should be my responsibility. 2 As David Haglund notes in his piece “What NATO for Canada?”, Martello Papers No.23, (Kingston: Queen’s Centre for International Relations. 2000), 2; the United States did not show any interest in such an alliance and had to be convinced by Canada and Britain to join. 3 As the title from Andrew Cohen’s newest book, While Canada slept – How we lost our place in the world,.( Toronto, 2003). 4 This document is classified, but the author had access to this document. Therefore I will not cite the MC 437 document, but align the information in it. 5 Allied Joint Doctrine (hereafter, AJP) 01B, 0803, p. 8-1. 6 Ibid. 7 AJP 01B, 0804, p. 8-1. 8 Interview the author conducted with the Dutch Lieutenant Colonel on Wednesday, Dec. 3, 2003, at the NATO HQ in Brussels 9 AJP 01B, 0804 d), p. 8-1. 10 Number gathered throughout interviews the author conducted at NATO HQ in Brussels between Nov. 25 and Dec. 5. 11 AJP 01B, 0806 a), p. 8-2. 12 The CJTF concept combines multi-national forces and organizes these forces in service components (land, air, sea). These forces are put under one commando (joint). Non NATO forces can be attached whenever deemed necessary or desired. The CJTF concept was introduced by NATO in 1994. 13 Interview with author. 14 Ibid. 15 AJP 01B, 0806, p. 8-2. 16 AJP 01B, 0808, p. 8-4. 17 Ibid. 18 AJP 01B, 0807, p. 8-3. 19 JP 3-05, Chapter two. 20 Interestingly, while reading through NATO doctrine AJP 01, section 0804 and comparing it to the U.S. Special Forces Operations FM 3-05.20, pp. 2-12, these two documents are identical in this point and in most other points as well. 439

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21

United States Special Forces Operations Doctrine FM 3-05.20, p. 2-12. AJP 01, line 0813, p. 8-6. The CJTF concept is the composition of multi-national forces (combined), organizes in service components (land, air, naval), put under one commander (joint) for the purpose of conducting a mission. 23 AJP 01B, line 0404, p. 4-1. 24 Interview the author conducted with a German Colonel at the NATO headquarter in Brussels on Wed. Dec. 5. 25 Ibid. 26 AJP 01, line 0810, p. 8-5. 27 This is quoted from the United States Special Forces Operations Doctrine FM 3-05.20, pp. 212, but approved by the Dutch LCol the author interviewed on Wed. Dec. 3 at NATO Headquarter in Brussels. 28 AJP 01, line 0810, p. 8-5. 29 AJP 01, line 0820, p. 8-8. 30 Numbers collected during an interview with the Dutch LCol the author interviewed on Wed. Dec. 3 at the NATO Headquarter in Brussels. 31 JP 3-05, Chapter two. 32 The research finding in this chapter have mostly been gathered during a research visit of the author at the NATO Headquarter between Nov. 24 and Dec. 5 and interviews conducted with people from the NATO Military Staff (MS), and Canadian, Dutch, German and British military representatives. 33 Interview the author; AJP 01 B, line 1315, p. 13-4. 34 AJP 01 B, line 1203, p. 12-1. 35 Interview the author. 36 Interview the author conducted with a German Colonel on Thursday, Dec. 4 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 37 Ibid., and confirmed in the interview with a German Colonel at NATO HQ in Brussels. 38 NATO itself does not have its own SOF, it is the nation states that provide them. Interview the author conducted with a Canadian LCol on Wednesday, Nov. 25 at the NATO HQ in Brussels, Belgium. 39 strategic, operational, and tactical 40 Interview the author conducted with a Dutch LCol on Wednesday, Dec. 3 at the NATO HQ in Brussels and AJP 01 B, line 1315, p. 13-4. 41 Interview with a Canadian on the NATO International staff conducted on Nov. 26 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 42 Douglas Bland, “Canada and Military Coalitions: Where, How and with Whom?” IRPP Policy Matters, 3: 3, (February 2002), 11. He argues that Canada’s commander, LGen Baril was deployed without proper communications support, transportation and other related staff to fulfill its mission properly. 43 Logistics in this sense is a wider term that includes all supportive services such as supply, transportation, food, maintenance and repairing as well as postal services. According to the Conference of Defence Associations Institute, “A Nation at risk: the decline of the Canadian Forces”, (Ottawa, 2002), 31. 44 Bland, 30. 45 Interview with a Canadian on the NATO International staff conducted on Nov. 26 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 22

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AJP 01, line 1307, 13-2. Ibid. 48 Following the list in AJP 01B, line 1307, p. 13-2. 49 see AJP 01B, line 1316, p. 13-4. 50 AJP 01B, line 0409, p. 4-3. 51 Interview the author conducted with a German Colonel on Thursday, Dec. 4 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 52 Interview the author conducted with a Dutch LCol on Wednesday, Dec. 3 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 53 by a German Colonel the author has interviewed on Wednesday, Dec. 3 and a Canadian Commander, interviewed on Nov. 25 at the NATO headquarters in Brussels. 54 Ibid. 55 This first hand experience was told the author during an interview with the former Dutch Special Forces commander in Bosnia who was a witness at this time. 56 Interview the author conducted with a German Colonel on Thursday, Dec. 4 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 57 Madeleine Albright introduced this concept as an American demand to an emerging ESDI: no duplication, no de-coupling, no discrimination. 58 Interview with a Canadian on the NATO International staff conducted on Nov. 26 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 59 Since the government itself has not published any official documents explaining its interests in NATO, the discussion of this subchapter will largely focus on secondary literature. 60 Jack Granatstein, “The Importance of Being less Earnest: Promoting Canada’s National Interest through tighter Ties with the U.S.” Benefactors Lecture, 2003. (C.D. Howe Institute: Toronto, 2003). 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid. 63 This list could be endless in describing Canada’s values rather than national interests. 64 Granatstein, 7. 65 Ibid., 8. 66 NATO currently is in command of the International Stabilization Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan that controls and patrols the capital Kabul and the surrounding areas. However, the rest of the country remains outside of the mission. 67 as Jack Granatstein argued recently in an editorial in the National Post, February 3, 2004. 68 Interview with a Canadian on the NATO International staff conducted on Nov. 26 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 69 Ibid. 70 Stephen M. Walt.“NATO’s fragile future”, in NATO for Canada? David G. Haglund, ed., Martello Papers No. 23. (Queen’s Centre for International Relations: Kingston, 2002), 79. 71 This is the impression the author gained during a research visit to NATO HQ, SHAPE and FNORTH between November and December 2003. 72 Stephen Cundari, et al. “The U.S.-Canada Strategic Partnership in the War on Terrorism” (Centre for the Study of the Presidency: Washington D.C., 2002), 16. 73 The total amount of US Special Forces is US$6.7 billion. See Michael Fritzsimmons, “The Importance of Being Special: Planning for the Future of US Special Operations Forces”, in Defence & Security Analysis, 19: 3, (September 2003), 204. 47

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Ibid. Interview with a Canadian on the NATO International staff conducted on Nov. 26 at the NATO HQ in Brussels. 75

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