Tag Archives: Allen Dulles

Often Our Neighbors, Too Often Our Friends

 AmericanNazis

Eric Lichtblau, The Nazis Next Door:

How America Became a Safe Haven for Hitler’s Men  

      Among those who served in Hitler’s killing machines and committed war crimes during the Second World War, a countless number escaped any punishment for their crimes after the war ended in 1945. Many were deemed critical to the rebuilding of Germany, both in the Soviet and Western zones, and were welcomed into the post-war structures and institutions needed for Germany’s rebuilding. Others escaped to foreign destinations, often with the assistance of the Vatican and Red Cross, with Latin America in particular a favored destination. Adolf Eichmann was one spectacular example, and one of the few who did not live out his life in Latin America in relative tranquility (see Deborah’s Lipset’s account of the Israeli capture and trial of Eichmann, reviewed here in October 2013).

     But, to a surprising extent, the United States was also a prominent and even welcoming destination for former Nazi war criminals, both Germans and collaborators from Nazi-occupied Eastern European countries. They ranged from camp guards to Nazi policymakers. They settled in all regions of the United States. Most lived unobjectionable lives in their adopted country as factory workers, businessmen, scientists, and even prominent religious leaders. In The Nazis Next Door: How America Became a Safe Haven for Hitler’s Men, Eric Lichtblau, an investigative reporter for The New York Times, weaves together several cases of suspected Nazi war criminals living in the United States. Lichtblau spotlights how the cases came to the attention of U.S. authorities, how they were handled, and the personalities on each side, those seeking to remove ex-Nazi war criminals from the United States and those opposing their removal.

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     The Cold War between the Soviet Union and the Western powers that erupted almost simultaneously with the defeat of Nazi Germany was “always at the center of American’s calculations over what to do about the Nazis” (p.31), Lichtblau writes. By the early 1950s, Allen Dulles at the CIA, J. Edgar Hoover at the FBI, and a handful of other senior intelligence officials had in place around the globe a “formidable network of their own of loosely linked and far-flung ex-SS men and Nazi operatives. They were the spy agencies’ foot soldiers in the Cold War” (p.29). “Nobody hates the Commies more than the Nazis” seemed to be the justification U.S. agencies invoked, often shielding their sources from other US agencies interested in tracking down Nazi criminals and holding them accountable.

      Within the United States, the network of former Nazis grew by its own momentum.

One ex-Nazi agent recruited to work for the United States would lead to the next, and the next; one anti-Communist spy ring made up of scores of ex-SS men would produce another, and another. . . [H]undreds of Nazi officers who were the nation’s sworn enemies just years earlier were now ostensibly on America’s side as spies, informants, and intelligence “assets”; fed and housed; paid and protected; dispatched and debriefed; code-named; cleansed, and coddled by their American handlers. That they had once worked for Hitler’s Third Reich was of little concern (p.30).

     Many of the ex-Nazis whisked into the United States were scientists, operating under a top-secret project named “Project Paperclip.” Although officially closed to “ardent” Nazis who took part in wartime atrocities, this exclusion was what Lichtblau terms a “fig leaf, a bureaucratic cover that was routinely ignored, as the U.S. government brought in professionals with direct links to Nazi atrocities and helped them ‘cleanse’ their war record’” (p.10). American officials were “determined to claim the Nazi brain trust for themselves,” regarding recruitment of top Nazi scientists as a “matter of survival in the postwar world” (p.24).

      The project included not just rocket scientists like Werner von Braun but also “doctors and biologists; engineers and metallurgists; even a nutritionist, a printing pressman, and a curator of insects from the Berlin Museum” (p.25). The Soviet Union, the new enemy, was also enticing German scientists to its side with “all sorts of promises” and there were reports that Moscow was “kidnapping unwilling scientists and bringing them to the Russian occupation zone. The Americans wanted their share. For both Washington and Moscow, Hitler’s scientists had become the spoils of war” (p.24).

          Lichtblau estimates that over 10,000 immigrants with clear ties to the Nazi regime found refuge in the United States, although the precise number will never be known because the United States had made it “so easy for them to fade seamlessly into the fabric of the country” (p.228). America’s disinterest in identifying suspected Nazi war criminals after the war was “so prolonged, its obsession with the Cold War so acute, its immigration policies so porous, that Hitler’s minions had little reason to fear they would be discovered” (p.228). Yet, beginning in the 1970s, many were discovered, thanks to the work of a handful of individuals both within and outside the United States government.

      Within the government, Congresswoman Elizabeth Holtzman almost singlehandedly focused the attention of her legislative colleagues and American authorities on Nazi war criminals living in the United States. When Holtzman arrived in Congress, the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) had primary responsibility for the exclusion of Nazi war criminals, usually on the basis of having provided misleading or incomplete information for entry into the country (exclusion was the strongest sanction available to American authorities; no legislation criminalized Nazi atrocities committed during World War II, and the ex post facto clause of the U.S. Constitution would have barred post-war prosecutions of such acts).

       In 1978, Holtzman spearheaded a major change to American immigration legislation – termed the “Holtzman Amendment” – making participation in wartime persecution of civilians an independent basis for denaturalization and deportation. The following year, Holtzman engineered the creation of the Office of Special Investigations (OSI) as a unit within the Criminal Division of the United States Department of Justice. From that point, OSI led the government’s efforts to identify Nazis war criminals living n the United States and seek their removal from the country.

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        Lichtblau’s case studies skillfully portray the personalities involved on all sides of the hunt for Nazi war criminals. Lichtblau begins with ex-Nazi SS recruit Tscherim “Tom” Soobzokov, and returns to Soobzokov’s improbable story at several subsequent points. From the North Caucuses (the area of today’s Russia between the Black and Caspian Seas, north of Georgia and Azerbaijan), Soobzokov was accused having been “Hitler’s henchman” who “turned on his own people” and “led roaming Third Reich ‘execution squads’ that gunned down Jews and Communists” (p.xiii). Some called Soobzokov the Führer of the North Caucuses.

        After the war, the CIA recruited Soobzokov. He served for a while as an agency source in Jordan and, with CIA assistance in cleansing his wartime record, came to the United States in 1955. He settled in Patterson, New Jersey where he became a mid-level county official and influential member of the local Democratic political machine. With his passionate anti-communism, Soobzokov was also recruited by the FBI and charged with keeping track of other North Caucuses immigrants with potential communist leanings. In the late 1950s, however, the CIA concluded that Soobzokov was an “incorrigible fabricator” (p.64) and cut its ties with him.

     But Soobzokov remained an informant for the FBI and his immigrant success story in Patterson continued unabated for another two decades, until 1977. That year, a best selling book, Wanted: The Search for Nazis in America, written by Howard Blum, a young investigative reporter for The Village Voice, identified Soobzokov as one of the leading ex-Nazis living in the United States. Written in a “suspenseful style and an outraged tone” (p.117, a description that could also be applied to Lichtblau’s work), Wanted was another crucial factor in focusing Americans’ attention on the Nazi war criminals living in their midst.

     The Justice Department opened a case against Soobzokov, seeking to strip him of his American citizenship and remove him from the country on the ground that, when first admitted into the United States he had “willfully concealed from the authorities his membership in the German SS during the war” (p.121). Soobzokov’s lawyers countered that Soobzkov had fully informed American authorities of the full extent of his SS involvement. To the dismay of the Justice lawyers, they were able to produce two State Department documents in CIA possession – after the State Department told Justice it maintained no records on Soobzokov — showing precisely what Soobzokov claimed, that prior to his admission into the country he had indeed fully informed American authorities of his role as an SS Nazi collaborator. Once the two documents had been authenticated, the Justice Department had no choice but to drop its suit against Soobzokov.

     Soobzokov also brought what seemed like an audacious libel suit against multiple individuals and entities, including the publisher of Wanted, an affiliate of The New York Times. Soobzokov’s libel suit turned out to be one of few that the newspaper agreed to settle. But before he could enjoy his apparent vindication, Soobzokov died of injuries suffered when a bomb went off in his New Jersey home. His case was never solved, even though all indicia pointed to the militant Jewish Defense League as responsible for the crime.

      Among the scientists included in Project Paperclip, the most famous by far was Werner von Braun, an admired figure in the United States despite having been what Lichtblau terms a “committed Nazi” who used “slave laborers in a mountain factory to build the V-2 rockets that bombed London” (p.10). Two decades later, with help from Walt Disney, von Braun became a “celebrated televangelist for space exploration” (p.93) in the United States and went on to play a prominent role with the National Aeronautics and Space Agency (NASA) in the 1969 Apollo moon-landing project. Von Braun was quite simply “too powerful and too revered to attack directly” (p.95) and his Nazi past never seemed to interest American authorities. This was not the case for the lesser known Dr. Hubertus Strughold, who rose to prominence at NASA as America’s leading expert on “space medicine,” the effects upon the human body of space travel.

        “Struggie,” as he was called in America, had been a colonel in the German Luftwaffe and director of a Berlin research institute. He was tied to grisly experiments on human reaction to extreme conditions, both at his research institute and at the infamous Dachau prison camp. One at Dachau locked prisoners in an airtight ball and subjected them to sudden changes in pressure to simulate rapid drops from high altitudes, with many dying. Another utilized what Nazi documentation termed “asocial gyspsy half-breeds” (p.103) to test the effects of drinking seawater on airmen shot down over water. Strughold’s name was mentioned 61 times during the Nuremberg trials, where 23 medical doctors were tried, with seven sentenced to death. Somehow, Strughold was not among those placed on trial at Nuremberg. Rather, he mysteriously showed up in the United States to launch a second career in his adopted country.

       When the INS began to focus on Strughold’s background in the early 1970s, Texas Congressman Henry Gonzalez came to his defense. The Congressman argued that Strughold was a “distinguished scientist of international reputation.” For the INS to subject him to public suspicion was “no better than the oppressors we abhor” (p.105). With the support of Gonzalez, the case against Strughold went away for about ten years until the Justice Department began to refocus upon him. But Sturghold died while the investigation was unfolding. In 2010, the Institute for Space Medicine finally ceased to label its yearly prize the “Strughold Award.”

     The most wrenching case Lichtblau presents involved Jacob Tennebaum, Jewish and a Holocaust survivor who lost most of his family to the Nazis, including his wife, infant daughter, and five siblings. Imprisoned by the Nazis, Tennenbam became a kapo, a camp overseer who, other prisoners recounted, brought unusual cruelty to the task. Tennenbaum seemed to “thrive on the power the Nazis had given him,” routinely beating Jewish prisoners “even when the SS officers were not watching” (p.195-96). The case which the Justice Department’s OSI brought against Tennenbaum “proved polarizing from the start” (p.197). The previous head of OSI, then in private practice, told his former colleagues that he considered the case “dubious as a matter of law” and “improper if not outrageous, as a matter of policy” (p.197).

       Although OSI nonetheless proceeded with the case, it allowed Tennebaum to stay in the United States because of his poor health. In exchange, Tennebaum gave up his American citizenship and admitted to “brutalizing and physically abusing prisoners outside the presence of German SS personnel” (p.197). The judge hearing the case, a war veteran who had been at Dachau after its liberation, was torn by its ethical complexities. “I have often wondered how much moral and physical courage we have a right to demand or expect of somebody in the position of Mr. Tannenbaum. . . I sometimes wonder whether I might have passed that test” (p.197).

       The most spectacular case — the most spectacular failure for OSI — involved John Demjanjuk, a retired Ukranian-American autoworker who changed his name from Ivan to John when he settled in Cleveland after World War II. In 1977, 18 survivors of the notorious Treblinka camp in Poland identified Demjanjuk as “Ivan the Terrible,” a guard at Treblinka trained by the Germans to operate gas chambers. Ivan was a man of “monstrous savagery . . . the barbaric executioner, a sadist who corralled women and children in the gas chamber, beating and torturing them as they went” (p.202-03).

      Largely on the basis of the Treblinka survivors’ identification, a court in Cleveland stripped Demjanjuk of his United States citizenship and extradited him to Israel, where he was the first ex-Nazi to be tried since Eichmann. After a lengthy trial, Demjanjuk was convicted of war crimes and sentenced to death. But five years later, the Israeli Supreme Court overturned the conviction when new evidence, made available by the Soviet Union, indicated that Demjanjuk had been a less prominent guard at Sobibor, another prison camp in Poland, not Treblinka.

     The Demjanjuk case marked a low point for OSI. The federal appeals court in Cincinnati severely criticized the unit, suggesting that Jewish advocacy groups had unduly influenced its pursuit of the wrong man. OSI nonetheless proceeded with a second case against Demjanjuk for his role in the killing of 27,900 Jews at Sobibor. Demjanjuk was extradited a second time, to Germany in 2009, to face charges in a Munich court. In May 2011, the Munich court found Demjanjuk guilty and sentenced him to five years imprisonment. Demjanjuk died not long after being sentenced.

       In addition to the usual array of family members defending Demjanjuk, he also had on his side Patrick Buchanan. An advisor to presidents Nixon and Reagan and a writer and television commentator, the fiercely anti-communist Buchanan opposed the deportation of numerous individuals targeted by U.S. authorities for having participated in  Nazi war crimes. Over and over, Buchanan argued that the U.S. Nazi hunters were going after wrongly accused elderly men, who were defenseless and presumed guilty. Testimony from witnesses who survived the Nazis was deeply suspect, Buchanan contended, with a “Holocaust survivor syndrome” leading to “group fantasies of martyrdom and heroics” (p.194). Lichtblau does not delve into Buchanan’s psyche, but quotes Buchanan as having written that for all his faults, Hitler himself was an “individual of great courage” (p.194).

      Buchanan’s opposite was investigative journalist Chuck Allen. Before public attention turned in the 1970s to the issue of Nazi war criminals living in the United States, Allen more than any other individual kept the issue alive. A Swarthmore graduate with a Quaker background, the brash Allen was a “modern Don Quixote, armed with a poison pen instead of a lance. . . [who] tilted not at windmills, but at swastikas” (p.78). If Americans were blind to the Holocaust and its aftermath, Allen figured he would “strong-arm them into remembering” (p.78). Well ahead of other journalists and the United States government, Allen gained access to the Soviet Union’s treasure trove of documents and eyewitness accounts of Nazi atrocities. The Russians had “long accused the United States of going easy on Nazi collaborators, and so they were eager to help Allen in his research” (p.119). Although Allen’s journalistic pieces failed to gain much national traction, he paved the way for other journalists and U.S. government agencies to begin to shine a spotlight on “Nazi war criminals in our midst” (p.77), as Allen framed the issue.

      Among these agencies, the Department of Justice’s OSI, created in 1979 to energize the effort to identify and take legal action against ex-Nazis found in the United States, receives most of Lichtblau’s attention. Given its failed cases against Soobzokov and Demjanjuk, as well as the controversy surrounding the Tennenbaum case, readers might conclude that OSI fell far short of the objectives Congress had in mind when it created the unit. But OSI won most of the cases it brought, despite the difficulty in marshaling decades-old evidence and relying on traumatized and elderly witnesses to make cases against defendants who were themselves elderly and often in poor health. One small criticism to Lichtbau’s otherwise superb account is that he could have given greater emphasis to the extent of OSI’s successes in excluding former Nazi operatives from the United States.

      Today, the OSI mission of identifying and proceeding against former Nazi operatives is about at its end. Any putative Nazi war criminals still alive are almost certainly well into their 90s — a person 90 years old this year would have been only 20 when World War II ended in 1945 — and likely to die before protracted legal proceedings against them could be completed. OSI itself has become part of a unit termed Human Rights and Special Prosecutions, which has a broader mandate to seek sanctions against any human rights violators with connections to the United States.

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      Lichtblau’s readers are likely to be surprised to learn that in the years following World War II, key agencies such as the CIA and FBI, driven by Cold War imperatives, were entirely indifferent to notions of accountability for individuals living in the United States who had participated in wartime atrocities on behalf of Hitler’s Third Reich. It was not until the 1970s that the American government began to take such notions seriously. With few if any legal proceedings against Nazi operatives likely to unfold in the future, Lichtblau’s disquieting story serves as a timely summation of the United States’ uneven record in dealing with former Nazis living comfortably within its borders.

 

Thomas H. Peebles

La Châtaigneraie, France

October 3, 2015

 

6 Comments

Filed under American Politics, European History, German History, History, Politics, United States History

Nobel Crime

Dr

BorisP

Peter Finn and Petra Couvée, The Zhivago Affair:

The Kremlin, the CIA, and the Battle Over a Forbidden Book  

       Boris Pasternak, although one of Russia’s greatest 20th century poets, is best known for his only novel, Doctor Zhivago, initially published in Italian in 1957. One year later, after becoming an international best seller which was banned in the Soviet Union, Doctor Zhivago was nominated for the Nobel Prize for literature. Under pressure from Soviet authorities, Pasternak renounced the prize, “triggering one of the great cultural storms of the Cold War” (p.13), Peter Finn and Petra Couvée write in The Zhivago Affair: The Kremlin, the CIA, and the Battle Over a Forbidden Book. Finn is national security editor for the Washington Post. Couvée is an affiliated researcher at Leiden University in the Netherlands who also teaches at Saint Petersburg University in Russia.

        In a work that reads at times like a novel itself, Finn and Couvée address the Cold War machinations surrounding the publication of Doctor Zhivago.  The authors notably lay out for the first time the role which the CIA played in the novel’s publication. Rumors implicating the CIA existed almost from the time Doctor Zhivago first appeared, although many surmised that the agency had been only marginally involved. To the contrary, the authors demonstrate, the CIA was “in fact deeply involved” (p.17) in the publication of Pasternak’s novel. But its involvement is less central to the authors’ story than its prominent place in their sub-tittle indicates.

       Finn and Couvée create a vivid if bleak picture of the literary environment in post-World War II Soviet Union and they delve deeply into Pasternak, his enigmatic character and his tumultuous personal life. During the period in which he was writing Doctor Zhivago, Pasternak split his time between his wife Zinaida and his mistress Olga Ivinskya. Ivinskya became Pasternak’s literary alter ego and was imprisoned twice by Soviet authorities as a result of her association with Pasternak, the second time after Pasternak’s death in 1960.

       The other lead character in the drama is Italian publisher Giangiacomo Feltrinelli, an Italian Communist yet a man of means from a leading Milan industrial family. Feltrinelli arranged for the final manuscript of Pasternak’s novel to be smuggled out of the USSR in a suitcase in 1956 and published in Milan in 1957. Although Feltrinelli and Pasternak never met, they forged what the authors term “one of the greatest partnerships in the history of publishing.” Their secret correspondence, carried in and out of the Soviet Union by appointed messengers, serves today as a “manifesto on artistic freedom” (p.13).

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       The authors describe Pasternak’s Dr. Zhivago as “[b]oth epic and autobiographical” (p.10), recounting the life, loves and losses of a fictional  Russian physician Yuri Zhivago during the turmoil and chaos which the 1917 Russian Revolution wrought (“zhivago” means “the living” in Russian). Serving in a field hospital during World War I, the married Zhivago met and fell in love with nurse Lara Antipova. The two witnessed first hand the atrocities of the Russian Civil War that followed the revolution, committed both by the Bolsheviks and the anti-Bolshevik forces known as the White Russians. With the consolidation of Bolshevik power, Yuri and Lara parted, never to see one another again. When Zhivago returned to Moscow after the revolution, he found a city “wracked by chaos,” with his familiar world of art, leisure and intellectual contemplation “erased” (p.11).

        The power of Pasternak’s novel, the authors contend, lies in in its “individual spirit, Pasternak’s wish to find some communion with the earth, some truth in life, some love. Like Dostoevsky, he wanted to settle with the past and express this period of Russia’s history through ‘fidelity to poetic truth’” (p.16). Zhivago, they write, was like Pasternak himself, “from a lost past” of the Moscow intelligentsia, a “world to be disdained” (p.10) in the new Soviet order. Millions who never read the novel became familiar with the story from the 1965 David Lean film, in which Omar Sharif played Zhivago and Julie Christie was Lara.

        Pasternak disavowed any anti-Bolshevik agenda in his book but, with pages of disdain for the “deadening and merciless” Bolshevik ideology (p. 16), it is difficult to read Doctor Zhivago as anything but a harsh indictment of the revolutionary changes that the Bolsheviks sought to effectuate throughout Russian society. Doctor Zhivago appeared after Soviet leader Joseph Stalin died in 1953, a time when the Soviet Union sought to distance itself from the harshest manifestations of Stalinist rule and defuse tensions with the West, while staying loyal to core Bolshevik principles. Yet Stalin’s ghost most assuredly haunted Communist Party General Secretary Nikita Khrushchev and the Kremlin authorities under him as they tried to figure out how to handle the potentially subversive novel.

 

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       Pasternak was born in 1895, and was thus 22 years old when the Russian Revolution broke out in 1917, 62 when Doctor Zhivago was first published in 1957. His father was a renowned artist and illustrator whose father, Pasternak’s grandfather, was a Jewish innkeeper in the Black Sea town of Odessa. Pasternak’s mother was an accomplished musician. The authors describe the Pasternaks at the time of the Revolution as a “prominent family within Moscow’s intelligentsia, who looked to the West, and were disposed to support the political reform of an autocratic, sclerotic system” (p.22).

       In the land of Dostoevsky, Turgenev and Tolstoy, writers in pre-revolutionary Russia enjoyed revered status. The post-World War II Soviet Union was still a society where novels, poems and plays were not only “hugely significant forms of communication and entertainment” but also the “subjects of fierce ideological disputes” (p.14). Because of his accomplishments as a poet, Pasternak was entitled to live in Peredelkino, an exclusive “writer’s colony” outside Moscow, with perks unimaginable for average Soviet citizens.  Within the Soviet literary establishment, however, recognition of Pasternak’s talent was tempered by “doubts about his political commitment, and for long periods original work by the poet was not published” (p.5). In 1946, Pasternak was removed from the Board of Union of Soviet Writers, which considered Pasternak “lacking in ideology and remote from Soviet reality” (p.56). By 1949, when at work at Dr. Zhivago, Pasternak had been “banished to the edges of literary life in Moscow” (p.66). Throughout the post-war period, he earned a living as a translator of foreign literature, becoming one of the premier Russian interpreters of Shakespeare’s’ plays and Goethe’s Faust.

       Pasternak wrote Dr. Zhivago in fits and starts after the termination of World War II hostilities. As was customary in Russia, Pasternak shared early drafts of Dr. Zhivago with fellow writers. While working on these drafts, Pasternak met Olga Ivinskaya, 20 years his junior, twice married – her first husband committed suicide, her second died during the war — and an editor of the literary magazine Novy Mir, then the official organ of the powerful Union of Soviet Writers. “Pretty, voluptuous and sexually self-confident despite the prudish mores of Soviet society” (p.62), Ivinskya was commonly thought to be the model for Lara Antipova in Pasternak’s novel. Although Pasternak never left his wife Zinaida, his extramarital relationship with Ivinskaya lasted up to his death in 1960.

       Within the Russian literary world, Ivinskya’s affair with Pasternak set off “chattering about the deliciously scandalous liaison” (p.65). But the affair also attracted the attention of Soviet authorities who, on Stalin’s orders, had begun to crackdown on ideologically suspect writers. As a means of building a case against Pasternak, authorities interrogated Ivinskaya. Suspected of spying for Western powers and planning to escape the USSR, Ivinskaya was charged with having “close contact with persons suspected of espionage” (p.73) and, in July 1950, sentenced to five months imprisonment. She was released shortly after Stalin’s death in 1953.

       Although Pasternak had submitted his work to local publishers, he realized that Dr. Zhivago could not be published in the Soviet Union because it failed to conform to what he termed the Soviet Union’s “official cultural guidelines” (p.7). Pasternak knew also that he assumed a huge risk if he sought to have his novel published outside the Soviet Union. Hovering over all Soviet writers was the fate of Boris Polnyak, who was shot on Stalin’s orders in 1937 after being accused of seeking foreign publication for a novel. But Pasternak was willing to assume this risk. He was determined that his “final happiness and madness” (p.10), as he termed Dr. Zhivago, see the light of day.

       In 1956, Feltrinelli, the “unlikely Communist” (p.85), arranged through an emissary for the manuscript to be smuggled out of the Soviet Union. This was the period of Khrushchev’s not-so-secret February 1956 speech to the 20th Congress of the Soviet Union, in which he denounced Stalin’s crimes as a perversion of Bolshevik ideals. The thaw that followed the speech was “short lived; it would die with the Soviet invasion of Hungary” in October 1956 (p.89). But during this brief clearing when Feltrinelli received Doctor Zhivago, “[c]ooperation with Soviet writers and publishers seemed particularly opportune now that reform was gusting through the Kremlin” (p.89). Feltrenelli, who did not read Russian, sent the work to an Italian specialist in Russian literature.   Having read the manuscript in Russian, the specialist concluded that failure to publish the novel would constitute a “crime against culture” (p.89).

       Ivinskaya, already imprisoned because of her association with Pasternak, feared for her own safety if Dr. Zhivago was published abroad. Pasternak’s wife also firmly opposed Pasternak’s foreign publication plans and numerous Western friends urged him not to have the novel published abroad. But Pasternak held firm, signing a secret contract with Feltrinelli’s firm, sent to him by courier. Despite desperate efforts by the Soviet Union to prevent publication, the first edition of Doctor Zhivago, translated into Italian, was printed in Milan on November 15, 1957. A second run of three thousand copies followed five days later. The book was an immediate international best seller, but was officially banned within the Soviet Union.

        The editorial board of the official Soviet literary magazine Novy Mir scolded Pasternak for his “non-acceptance of the socialist revolution. The general tenor of your novel is that the October Revolution, the Civil War and the social transformation involved did not give the people anything but suffering, and destroyed the Russian intelligentsia, either physically or morally” (p.99) — a conclusion which many historians today would characterize as accurate. But one of Pasternak’s biographers noted that the Novy Mir board missed the novel’s “most heretical insinuation: by artistically conflating the Stalinist period with early revolutionary history,” Pasternak implied that the “tyranny of the last twenty-five year was a direct outcome of Bolshevism” (p.100). For Pasternak, Stalinism and the purges were not, as Khrushchev was then contending, a terrible aberration but rather a “natural outgrowth of the system created by Lenin” (p.100).

 

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        Frustrated by its inability to “roll back” communism in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, the CIA realized that Doctor Zhivago presented an opportunity to embarrass the Soviet government by placing the spotlight on Soviet suppression of a work of great literature in the tradition of Turgenev, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. CIA involvement in the publication of Doctor Zhivago was one of the agency’s first efforts to leverage books as “instruments of political warfare” (p. 264), part of a broader agency effort to fund cultural activities and publications across Europe which would “manifest diversity and difference of view” between Soviet and American approaches (p.118), and thereby slowly undermine Soviet authority.

       President Eisenhower thus authorized a secret operation to publish Doctor Zhivago in Russian, with exclusive CIA control over the novel’s exploitation. Instead of having the State Department or the United States Information Agency trumpet the novel publicly, secrecy was employed, the agency contended, to prevent the “possibility of personal reprisal against Pasternak or his family” (p.116-117). The agency’s director, Allen Dulles, whose role in many far more nefarious plots is the subject of Stephen Kinzer’s book, The Brothers, reviewed here in October 2014, oversaw the operation. In some senses, the authors contend, the CIA was perfect for the Doctor Zhivago operation. Its budget was itself a secret and the agency “believed with genuine fervor that the Cold War was also cultural” (p.118).

       The 1958 Brussels World’s Fair, an event which a large number of Soviet citizens and Eastern European nationals were slated to attend, was the CIA’s target for distribution of the Russian version. The agency decided to use a New York publisher to prepare a Russian-language edition in the United States, but take the proofs to Europe for printing so no American paper stock would be used. If the Europeans printers obtained the copyrights from Feltrinelli “all the better.” If not the CIA decided, “we’ll do it black’’ (p.130). In the first week of September 1958, the Russian language edition of Doctor Zhivago rolled off the printing presses, bound in a blue-linen cover. The title page acknowledged the copyright of Feltrinelli, but botched the translation of his name in the Cyrillic alphabet. The copyright acknowledgment was a last minute addition “after a small number off early copies were printed without any acknowledgement of the Italian publisher”   (p.138). The book was handed out to Soviet and Eastern European visitors to the Brussels World’s Fair at the Vatican Pavilion.

 

* * *

            The Soviet Union’s widely reported hostility to Doctor Zhivago “ensured that a novel that might otherwise have had a small elite readership became an international best seller” and made Pasternak an “almost inevitable choice” for the Swedish Academy’s 1958 Nobel Prize in Literature (p.13-14). Pasternak had previously been under consideration for a Nobel Prize and yearned for the recognition that such an honor would bring.  In the aftermath of the decision to award Pasternak the Nobel prize, however, the Soviet Union “orchestrated a relentless internal campaign to vilify the writer as a traitor” (p.14).  Pasternak was frequently described as a “Judas” who had betrayed his homeland for “thirty pieces of silver” (p.166).   At Khrushchev’s urging, a speech to the Komosol, the youth wing of the Soviet Communist Party, referred to Pasternak as the “mangy sheep” of Soviet society who as a writer had “fouled the spot where he ate and cast filth on those by whose labor he lives and breathes” (p.180).

     Most ominously for Pasternak, Soviet authorities threatened him with expulsion from the Soviet Union. Ivinskya drafted a letter to Khrushchev, which Pasternak signed, pleading not to expel him from the Soviet Union. “I am tied to Russia by birth, by life and by work,” the letter read. “I cannot conceive of my destiny separate from Russia, or outside it” (p.182). In a telegram to Nobel authorities in Sweden, Pasternak renounced the prize, to the great disappointment of his fellow artists, both in the Soviet Union and worldwide, many of whom regarded his renunciation as an act of betrayal. A then- obscure schoolteacher named Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn “writhed with shame” that Pasternak would “demean himself by pleading with the government” (p.201).

       Editorialists around the world weighed in on the “startling virulence of the assault on a solitary writer” (p.186). A French newspaper described the Pasternak affair and its effect upon Soviet global standing as Khrushchev’s “intellectual Budapest” (p.186). American political cartoonist Bill Maudlin won a 1958 Pulitzer prize for his depiction of a scruffy Pasternak in a Soviet prison camp wearing a ball and chain and chopping wood in the snow with a fellow prisoner. The caption read: “I won the Nobel Prize for Literature. What was your crime?” (p.186).

Maudlin

* * *

       Amidst the worldwide controversy, the ever-enigmatic Pasternak died of lung cancer in May 1960. The Soviet Union did not report Pasternak’s death, although it was front-page news around the world. But the Pasternak controversy continued after his death, with Ivinskaya again paying a heavy price for her association with Pasternak. She was arrested for the second time, accused of being Pasternak’s link with Western publishers in dealing in hard currency for Doctor Zhivago. In the West, prosecution of Ivinskaya was seen as a “continuation of the Nobel campaign against Pasternak” (p.251). Ivinskaya was not released until 1964.  Feltrinelli drifted out of publishing and into the Italian anarchist left of the late 1960s and early 1970s. He was killed in 1972, when a bomb he and co-conspirators planned to use to cut off electrical power in a Milan suburb went off prematurely.

       Khrushchev, for his part, was driven from office in 1964. In forced retirement, he had time, finally, to read Doctor Zhivago. The former Communist Party General Secretary concluded that he should not have banned the novel. “I should have read it myself. There’s nothing anti-Soviet in it” (p.256), he reportedly told his son.   Khrushchev made the point explicitly in his own secret memoirs, dictated when he was a “virtual prisoner in his own home” (p.265). In an “irony that would surely have brought a small smile to Pasternak’s face,” Khrushchev allowed the tapes containing his memoirs to be “spirited out of the Soviet Union and published in the West’ (p.265).

 

 * * *

 

        The idea that a novel could change people’s minds and make a difference in the Cold War confrontations between the Soviet Union and their Western adversaries seems today quixotic, “almost quaint” (p.263), as the authors put it. Yet that was the idea that motivated the CIA to put its resources, human and financial, behind its efforts to shine a spotlight on Doctor Zhivago.  Uncovering the full extent of the agency’s disguised role in the dissemination of Pasternak’s novel constitutes a scoop for Finn and Couvée.  But that role is a secondary theme in their book,  overshadowed by  the authors’ detailed and engrossing depictions of Pasternak himself and the post-Stalin 1950s Soviet literary world in which he operated, and by their always-timely account of the world-wide debate over intellectual and artistic freedom which the publication of Dr. Zhivago precipitated.

 

Thomas H. Peebles

La Châtaigneraie, France

September 12, 2015

4 Comments

Filed under American Politics, European History, Intellectual History, Literature, Politics, Soviet Union, United States History

Ike’s Arms

Dulles

Stephen Kinzer, The Brothers:

John Foster Dulles, Allen Dulles, and Their Secret World War

          In “The Brothers: John Foster Dulles, Allen Dulles, and Their Secret World War,” Stephen Kinzer issues a trenchant critique of America foreign policy in the 1950s and early 1960s, when the United States deposed or sought to depose leaders in every corner of the world.   The architects of this policy were the brothers Dulles, John Foster (almost always called “Foster”), President Dwight Eisenhower’s Secretary of State from 1953 to his death in 1959; and brother Allen, Eisenhower’s CIA Director, who served the agency from the Truman Administration into the early Kennedy Administration.  Kinzer’s book is about one-third biography of the Dulles brothers, and two-thirds a scathing indictment of the foreign policy they helped fashion.

          Kinzer’s indictment focuses on six covert CIA operations which targeted leaders in Iran, Guatemala, Vietnam, Indonesia, Congo, and Cuba.  The Congo and Cuba interventions took place after Foster died in 1959.  Although President Eisenhower had given strong encouragement to the Cuban Bay of Pigs plot prior to his departure, the infamous intervention occurred after he left office.  The first four, by contrast, were the joint work of Foster and Allen, each with the backing of President Eisenhower.  “With the Dulles brothers as his right and left arms,” Eisenhower “led the United States into a secret global conflict that raged throughout his presidency” (p.114), Kinzer writes.

          The reasons for targeting the six leaders varied and were driven both by local considerations and the United States’ assessment of the extent of Soviet interest and influence in the particular country.  But, Kinzer argues, none of the subjects of the operations was clearly in the Soviet camp.  Looking for a common denominator to the interventions, it seems difficult to escape the conclusion that the targeted leaders’ offense was that they had the temerity to stake out positions that were not sufficiently on the side of the United States.

* * *

              The Dulles brothers were born into an extraordinary family, Foster in 1888, Allen in 1893.  The family also included Allen and Foster’s sister Eleanor, born in 1895, along with two other sisters only briefly mentioned here.  Eleanor, “as formidable a character” as her two brothers (p.14), also had a distinguished career in public service.  She served in a variety of critical State Department positions and overcame gender barriers to her career which her brothers never had to confront or reflect upon.  John Watson Foster, the grandfather of Foster, Allen and Eleanor, served as secretary of state for eight months in 1892-93.  Their uncle – husband of their mother’s sister – was Robert Lansing, who served as Woodrow Wilson’s Secretary of State.

            The father of Foster, Allen and Eleanor was a Presbyterian minister and the children grew up in a household permeated with religiosity and Christian missionary zeal.  The children usually attended three Sunday services, took notes on their father’s sermons, and analyzed them afterwards with their father.  However, only Foster seems to have deeply absorbed the religious fervor of his father.  One of the striking features of the biographical side of this book is the vast difference in personality between Foster and Allen.  Foster was rigid and distant, with little sense of humor.   Further, early in life, Foster showed a “judgmental harshness that never softened,” Kinzer writes.  He was always “sharply self-righteous” (p.13).

          Brother Allen by contrast seemed in the 1920s to be a character from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, a bon vivant, outgoing and gregarious, a man who enjoyed parties and company, especially the company of women.  Although he stayed married to his wife, “[u]napologetic adultery” became an established part of Allen’s character in his early adult years and “remained so all his life” (p.44), with affairs and liaisons around the world.   Brother Foster’s married life was monogamous in the full sense of the word.  The popular expression “dull, duller, Dulles” was a reference to Foster, not Allen.  Despite the brothers’ differing devotion to their wives, they were “strikingly similar in their relationships with their children.  Both were distant, uncomfortable fathers” (p.45), Kinzer writes.

         Foster and Allen attended Princeton University, where each was inspired by Professor Woodrow Wilson.  The brothers, Kinzer writes, were “products of the same missionary ethos that shaped President Wilson.”  His example “strengthened their conviction that there is nothing intrinsically wrong – and indeed, much that is admirable – in American involvement abroad” (p.32).  It is striking how similar in personality Foster seemed to Wilson.  Kinzer describes Wilson as “sternly moralistic, and certain he was acting as an instrument of divine will” (p.31), and the same could be said of Foster.  With their former professor in the White House and their uncle serving as his Secretary of State, each brother was able to land a role in Wilson’s entourage at the 1919 Versailles Peace Conference.  At the conference, Allen and Foster spent time together and realized how much their world views were similar, notwithstanding great differences in personality

          Foster went to law school, then started a highly successful career at New York’s fabled law firm, Sullivan and Cromwell, where he made a comfortable living representing some of America’s most prominent corporations, particularly in their overseas ventures and misadventures.  Sullivan and Cromwell “thrived at the point where Washington politics intersected with its business.  John Foster Dulles worked at this intersection for nearly forty years” (p.19).  Foster’s legal work at Sullivan and Cromwell was instrumental in forming a lifelong view that equated the United States’ national interest overseas with those of the corporations he represented.  Integral to this view was the unquestioned assumption that his clients, as they operated overseas, were on the right side of justice and righteousness.  Although Foster’s mastery of complex legal and financial codes throughout his tenure at Sullivan and Cromwell “reflected a rigorously organized mind,” Kinzer writes that Foster was “not a deep thinker” (p.209).

            Allen joined the Foreign Service in 1916, where he served in Vienna and Bern and showed he could deal effectively – manipulate if necessary – his foreign counterparts.  Ten years later, Allen left the Foreign Service to join Foster at Sullivan and Cromwell.   His stay there was abbreviated, with most of it spent in the firm’s Paris office.  In Paris, Allen demonstrated a “flair for discreet deal making,” becoming a “potent advocate for America’s richest men, a banks, and corporations” (p.41).  Neither brother served in the military, in either World War, but Allen joined “Wild Bill” Donavon’s information gathering operations that would evolve into the CIA.  This experience brought to the fore Allen’s lifelong interest in the spy world, the world of both information gathering and what is known euphemistically as “operations,” which can encompass “dirty tricks” and more.

          Both brothers’ opposition to the Soviet Union and all it stood for pre-dated World War II.  Foster had supported the Nazi regime as a strategic bulwark against Bolshevism until nearly the point when the United States entered the war against Germany, considering the regime “essentially Western, Christian, and capitalist” (p.84).  Once the war ended, both Foster and Allen saw the Soviet Union as just as implacably menacing, just as bent upon world domination, as the defeated Nazi enemy.  The USSR was pursuing more than traditional Russian strategic goals, Foster and Allen came to believe.  It was bent upon achieving “power over the whole world; it posed to the West not just the sort of threat that assertive powers have always posed to one another, but a ‘challenge to established civilization –the kind of thing that occurs only once in centuries’” (p.83-84).  Even more than Nazism for the two brothers, Communism was an “ultimate evil with which no compromise could ever be possible” (p.84).

          This was the environment in which the newly created Central Intelligence Agency came into being in 1947.  Allen joined the agency as Deputy Director for Operations.  In this capacity, he favored both intelligence gathering and covert operations.  “The collection of secret intelligence is closely related to the conduct of secret operations,” Allen argued in a confidential report.  “The two activities support each other and be disassociated only to the detriment of both” (p.87).  Many in the early CIA opposed Allen’s view, but it ultimately prevailed.

           When Dwight Eisenhower became President in 1953, he nominated Allen as CIA Director and Foster as his Secretary of State.  This put the two brothers at the levers of powers, with the smiling, grandfatherly Ike as their perfect boss.  Eisenhower was as much a Cold War warrior as the Dulles brothers, but he took office with a different perspective and experience.  Combining the “mindset of a warrior with a sober understanding of the devastation that full-scale warfare brings” (p.114), Eisenhower was very reluctant to commit American military forces to combat operations.  By contrast, covert operations were the precise method for meeting the worldwide communist menace head on.

* * *

          Kinzer notes that the brothers were Eurocentric in outlook, with little understanding of or interest in the independence movements that were raging through much of the world in the 1950s.  Yet, the brothers were conspicuously unsuccessful in their attempt to confront Communism in Eastern Europe.  CIA operations in Poland, Ukraine and Albania, which had encouraged anti-communist resistance, “collapsed in defeat” (p.132).   Allen’s CIA also failed to foresee Khrushchev coming to power after Stalin’s death, and did nothing to help Hungary revolt after “having whipped up anti-Soviet feeling in Hungary” (p.213).  Foster gained much attention for his publicly stated view that the objective of the United States was to “roll back” Communism in Eastern Europe.  This was nothing more than rhetoric, “devoid of serious meaning” (p.153), and Dulles knew it, Kinzer argues.  There was little or no policy to back it up and the Soviets likely knew it as well.

          The brothers’ lackluster record in Eastern Europe may have whetted their appetite for success outside Europe.  President Eisenhower authorized each of the six covert operations which Kinzer studies – Iran, Guatemala, Indonesia, Vietnam, Congo and Cuba, grouped together in a section entitled “Six Monsters” — but it seems that these operations were never the subject of explicit orders coming from the President, not oral and surely not written.  The first target was Muhammed Mossadegh, familiar to tomsbooks readers as the leader of Iran deposed in 1953 by a joint British-American covert operation.  Kinzer has written a separate book on the Iran operation, “All the Shah’s Men.”  Christoper de Bellaigue, in his book reviewed here last month, takes a swipe at Kinzer’s book, noting that Kinzer, unlike himself, does not read Persian and comparing Kinzer’s efforts to describe the coup to an author writing on Pearl Harbor knowing only Japanese (de Bellaigue at 5).

          But on the substance of the CIA’s Iranian intervention, Kinzer’s views largely coincide with those of de Bellagiue, that the coup was animated by a toxic combination of a British need to preserve its waning worldwide prestige and an American eagerness to confront an overstated communist threat in Iran.  Although Mossadegh was no communist, “Foster and Allen saw him as weak and unstable, an Iranian Kerensky who would be unable to resist if the Communists struck against him” (p.130).  The Dulles brothers won Ike’s support for covert action in Iran by framing their antipathy to fit cold war fears.  After failure of the initial coup effort, the agency succeeded in toppling Mossadegh, its first successful exercise in regime change.

          One year later, the CIA scored a similar victory in successfully deposing another democratically selected leader, Jakob Arbenz of Guatemala.  Guatemala for the Dulles brothers was the place where “Moscow’s global conspiracy reached closest to American shores, led by a puppet masquerading as a nationalist” (p.147).  The United Fruit Company, a Sullivan and Cromwell client, dominated the country, running it more or less as its private fiefdom.  In most countries, governments control and regulate corporations.  “The opposite was true in Guatemala: United Fruit was the power, Guatemala was the subsidiary,” Kinzer wryly notes (p.148).

           Arbenz was initially uninterested in nationalization of United Fruit’s extensive investments in his country, but he wanted to impose land reform and labor regulations which would benefit workers throughout the country, including those working for United Fruit.  “Foreign capital will always be welcome as long as it adjusts to local conditions, remains always subordinate to Guatemalan laws, cooperates with the economic development of the country, and strictly abstains from intervening in the nation’s social and political life” (p.149), Arbenz had said in his inaugural address.  These and similar statements convinced the brothers that Arbenz had to be removed.  In a covert operation that involved enlistment of the Catholic Church, the brothers scored their second straight success, barely a year after their first in Iran.  Colonial Castillo Armas, the CIA’s chosen “liberator,” decreed repeal of the land reform acts that had so enraged United Fruit, suspended the constitution, and banned illiterates from voting, thereby disenfranchising three-quarters of the population.  “Ten years of democratic government, the first that Guatemalans  had ever known, were over” (p.173), Kinzer writes.

           However, these two victories would not be repeated when the brothers turned their focus to Asia, first to Vietnam, then to Indonesia, with two resilient rulers, Ho Chi Minh and Sukarno. Although Ho Chi Minh was undoubtedly the most avowedly communist among the leaders the CIA had targeted to date, Foster and Allen “mistakenly saw China a pawn of the Soviet Union and Ho, also mistakenly, as a puppet of both” (p.176).  Crushing Ho, they believed, would strike a decisive blow against international world communism.  Kinzer’s view is that Ho Chi Minh was not only more nationalist than communist in ideology, but also more neutralist than communist in geopolitics.  CIA covert actions in the 1950s failed to dislodge Ho, but also failed to attract significant attention at that time.  Kinzer’s narrative is laced with speculation that a more supple United States approach might have averted the disaster that followed for the United States in Vietnam the following decade.

          Indonesia’s Sukarno professed a love for the United States, quoting profusely Jefferson, Madison, Lincoln and others.  In quoting Sukarno quoting great Americans with important views on democracy and freedom, Kinzer subtly suggests without saying so explicitly that Sukarno was a closer adherent to American ideals than either Dulles brother.  Sukarno’s tradition emphasized conciliation and harmony and abhorred confrontation, finding good and evil mixed everywhere.  “What Foster and Allen took as Sukarno’s abandonment of the West was actually his attempt to make foreign policy according to principles that shape life in Indonesia” (p.227).

              All this made Sukarno a fervent neutralist who wanted to keep his country out of Cold War alignments, and this was simply unacceptable to the brothers.   For the Dulles brothers and their boss, neutralism was almost worse than communism.  When he told Foster that neutralism doesn’t favor communism, Sukarno claimed that Foster had retorted, “America’s policy is global.  You must be on one side or the other.  Neutralism is immoral” (p.218).  Despite an extensive CIA covert operation in Indonesia that involved training and equipping more than 10,000 rebel soldiers, termed Operation Archipelago, the agency was unable to dislodge Sukarno as the leader of Indonesia.  Indonesia was the CIA’s most notorious defeat to date, and strengthened Sukarno in numerous ways.

           Foster died in 1959, but brother Allen continued to lead the CIA’s campaign to unseat threatening foreign leaders, the next being the “dangerously defiant” (p.264) former postal clerk Patrice Lumumba, who rose to be head of state in what had been known as the Belgian Congo.  Belgium left a dubious colonial legacy in the resource-rich Congo, which became an independent state in 1960, failing to educate the populace or build institutions which could function independently.  Lumumba was brutally killed by Western-backed supporters of Joseph Mobutu in a secessionist civil war raging within his country, with the United States playing a secondary role to the “more decisive and resourceful” Belgians (p.282).  In death, Lumumba became of a symbol of third world liberation, while Congo plummeted into a hell of repression, poverty, corruption and violence.  Allen admitted less than two years after Lumumba’s death that the CIA may have overrated the communist threat in the Congo.

           The final covert operation which Kinzer reviews was the disastrous Bay of Pigs intervention in Cuba in 1961.  After the 1960 election, while still in office as a lame duck President, Eisenhower expanded the anti-Castro operation, approaching it with “determination and focused enthusiasm” (p.288).  But several factors precluded launching the operation prior to the Presidential transition.  Against his better judgment, a young and untested President Kennedy authorized the operation, which failed spectacularly.  When the furious Kennedy called Dulles into the Oval Office to give him the news that it was time to move on from the position he had held since 1951, Kinzer quotes Kennedy as telling Dulles, “Under a parliamentary system, it is I who would be leaving office.  But under our system it is you who have to go” (p.303).  The Bay of Pigs was the “first time that the CIA was fully unmasked seeking to depose the leader of a small country whose only crime was defying the United States.” The Bay of Pigs thus became a “reviled symbol of imperialist intervention” (p.303).

            Kinzer notes that while the operation to depose Castro was underway, Allen “seemed asleep at the wheel” (p.285).  In general, Allen was a poor administrator, with an “undisciplined mind,” seeming to some “almost scatterbrained” (p.188).  He was easily distracted, with an “inability to focus, lack of attention to detail, and aversion to vigorous debate” (p.289).   By the time Kennedy asked for his resignation, Allen’s lackadaisical leadership had led the CIA to “endlessly tolerate misfits.  Even in high positions, it was not unusual to find men who were evidently lazy, alcoholic or simply incompetent” (p.318).  In Kinzer’s estimation, Allen had the “cold-bloodedness that an intelligence director needs, but not enough intellectual rigor or curiosity.”  Carried away by his “love of the cloak and dagger game” Allen “lost sight of the limits to what covert action can achieve” (p.318-19).    Kinzer speculates that in his final years at the CIA, Allen was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s Disease.  He died in 1969.

* * *

            Having garnered the facts of the brazen CIA agency operations under Allen’s leadership, Foster’s encouragement until his death, and Eisenhower’s tacit authorization, Kinzer ends with what seems like a prosecutor’s closing argument against the Dulles brothers and the policies they pursued.  He contends that empathy was beyond their emotional range.  “Sympathizing with the enormous complexities facing leaders of emerging nations would have required them to consider those leaders independent agents, rather than instruments of Soviet power.  Their compulsive oversimplifications of the world prevented them from seeing its rich diversity” (p.327).  Neither was adept at “synthesizing, compromising, listening, adopting, or evolving.  Political nuance rarely clouded their world view.  Neither did moral ambiguity” (p.320).  Most damningly, the brothers’ “lack of foresight led them to pursue reckless adventures that, over the course of decades, palpably weakened  American security interests” (p.314).  Like many prosecutorial closing arguments, Kinzer’s may be slightly hyperbolic and overstated.  But the evidence he cites is sufficient to convince this reader that the Dulles brothers’ Cold War exploits did little to advance the long term interests of the country they served.

Thomas H. Peebles

Cotonou, Benin (West Africa)

October 25, 2014

2 Comments

Filed under American Politics, History, Politics, United States History, World History

Middle Eastern Rationalist

images

Christopher de Bellaigue, Patriot of Persia: Muhammad Mossadegh
and a Tragic Anglo-American Coup

         In this crisply-written biography, Christopher de Bellaigue provides an in-depth portrait of Muhammed Mossadegh, the leader of Iran at the time of a joint American-British covert operation in 1953 that deposed Mossadegh and gave new impetus to the regime of Shah Mohammed Raza Pahlavi.  De Bellaigue terms the coup tragic and makes a strong case that this is precisely the right term.  The coup was tragic for the ancient land of Persia, now called Iran, setting it off on a course that led to the Islamic revolution of 1979, and the taking of hostages from the American Embassy in Teheran later that year.  But it was also tragic for Great Britain, the United States, and the West generally, converting Iran, potentially an ally and a stabilizing force in the Middle East, into a seemingly implacable enemy of the West.  With discussions over Iran’s nuclear ambitions still tenuously underway, and a regime of stringent sanctions still paralyzing the country, Iran seems as far from becoming a stabilizing force in the Middle East as it did in 1979.

 

          But while Mossadegh served as Iran’s democratically-chosen Prime Minister from 1951to 1953, the country held much promise as a moderate partner of the West in a turbulent region.  Mossadegh emerges in this portrait as an irascible, mercurial hypochondriac, given to fainting spells at opportune times.  Behind these personal qualities, however, was a “rationalist who hated obscurantism and believed in the primacy of law” (p.3).  At the time of the coup, the country was on a course toward modernization that “would have brought Iran substantially closer to a secular, constitutional regime” (p.207), de Bellaigue argues.  As a result of his “long immersion in the ideas of the West,” Mossadegh combined an understanding of independence and democracy with an “even more profound identification with his own society and people” (p.273).  To de Bellaigue, Mossadegh was the  “first to try to build a modern Middle Eastern State on basis of collective and individual liberty” (p.273).

 

* * *

 

          Mossadegh was born in Tehran in 1882, the son of elite parents.  His mother lived into her nineties and was herself an activist for a pluralist Iran almost to her final days.  Mossadegh  spent time in Paris and other parts of Western Europe as a young man, and earned a Doctor of Law degree at the University of Neuchâtel in Switzerland.  He was of a generation of western-educated Middle Eastern and Asian leaders animated by the nationalism and anti-colonial outlook that gained impetus after World War I.  His view of leadership was colored by his Muslim faith: the community chooses the best person and follows him wherever he chooses to lead.  In 1906, he was elected to a new parliament, the Majlis, at the age of 24.  By the time he turned 40, he had served as Iran’s minister of justice, finance minister and governor of two provinces.  He left politics in 1925 when the Majlis, over Mossadegh’s objection, deposed the ruling Quajar Shah and installed Reza Khan Pahlavi as the new monarch, the first Shah of the Pahlavi dynasty (Shah is the Persian word for king).

 

          Unlike much of the non-European world in the latter portion of the 19th century, Iran was never formally taken over by European powers.  Yet, Russia and Great Britain competed for interest in Iran, “constrained by mutual wariness from trying to swallow the country whole” (p. 10).  Much of Iranian history in the first half of the 20th century revolved around the question of oil and Iran’s relationship to the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (AIOC, now British Petroleum or BP) and to AIOC’s dominant shareholder, the government of Great Britain.  AIOC had been in Iran since 1913.  In 1933, the Shah signed an oil agreement with Britain that was decidedly not favorable to Iran.  AIOC refused to agree to a 50%-50% profit sharing arrangement, allocating a mere 16% of annual company profits to Iran and employing few Iranians in skilled-worker or management positions.  Mossadegh became an uncompromising proponent of nationalization of Iran’s oil reserves, incurring the wrath of both the British and the Shah.

 

          After the Nazis invaded the Soviet Union in August 1941, Britain and the Soviet Union, now allies, jointly occupied Iran.  Later that year, Britain forced the Shah, who leaned toward the Axis powers, to abdicate in favor of his 22 year old son, Mohammed Raza Pahlavi.  When World War II ended, Iran was “rich [in oil], potentially unstable, and susceptible to interference — qualities that guaranteed the close attention of the powers as they gathered their forces for the new Cold War” (p.112).  Although highly suspicious of the Soviet Union, Iran reserved its most unfettered hostility for Great Britain.  As de Bellaigue notes, Iranian “fear and hatred of the British . . . [assumed] proportions rarely seen in the formal empire” (p.54). Mistrust between Great Britain and Iran “became a pathology” (p.134).   Both “felt wronged and expected redress, but neither understood the grievance nursed by the other – or else they dismissed it as humbug.  .  . Both were surprised by the other’s intransigence” (p.165).

 

          In the post-World War II era, Iranian secular nationalists battled religious nationalists, with oil usually providing the backdrop.  An indication of Mossadegh’s political dexterity is that he had good relations with both groups.  Mossadegh became Prime Minister in 1951 when Prime Minister Haj Ali Razmara, an opponent of naturalization and a close ally of the Shah, was assassinated by hard line Islamists.  In the aftermath of Razmara’s assassination, Parliament officially nationalized Iranian oil reserves, a measure strongly supported by both secular and religious nationalists.  25% of oil profits were to be set aside for AIOC’s claims of compensation.  For Mossadegh, Iranian oil “represented life, hope, freedom. . . Mossadegh did not see why the British could not accept their new, lower status.  After all, they would be amply compensated for nationalization and retain full access to Iran’s oil” (p.165).   Mossadegh said he was more interested in what he termed the “moral” rather than “economic” aspect of oil nationalization.  The Western powers saw only “hysteria, irrationality and caprice” in such remarks, failing to recognize that Mossadegh’s words represented a voice for an “authentic movement of national independence” (p.144).

 

         In Britain’s view, nationalization meant quite simply that Mossedegh needed to be deposed by any means available.  Britain imposed a boycott on Iranian oil, and Iran proved wanting in the technical expertise required to operate its oil fields successfully.  This precipitated a serious national crisis, with oil income reduced to near zero, hampering Mossadegh from implementing the reforms he sought.  During the nationalization crisis, Mossadegh formed an alliance of convenience with the Communist Tudeh Party (“Tudeh” means “the masses” in Persian).  After much distance and distrust between Mosadegh and the Tudeh, by 1953, the Tudeh was at least nominally in Mossadegh’s camp, a fact that did not go unnoticed in Washington and London.

 

          However fervently Britain desired to depose Mossadegh, it was incapable of engineering a coup by itself and turned to the United States for assistance.  The United States was slightly more sympathetic to Mossadegh and nationalization than Great Britain.  President Harry Truman didn’t care nearly as much about Mossadegh or AIOC as he cared about stopping communism. Like many others in Washington at the time, Truman saw the Soviet Union as primed to take over Iran.  Truman nonetheless resisted a coup to depose Mossadegh, as did Britain’s Prime Minister Clement Atlee.  But Winston Churchill returned to power as Prime Minister in 1951, and Dwight Eisenhower replaced Truman as President in January 1953.

 

         Churchill viewed a firm stand against nationalization as necessary to preserving Britain’s waning prestige and power in the post-war world, as well as a source of desperately needed revenue.  In what de Bellagiue characterizes as a “remarkable cable,” Dean Acheson, Truman’s Secretary of State, wrote that in his view nationalization of AIOC, would “destroy the last vestige of confidence in British power and the pound. . . [T]he cardinal purpose of  British policy is not to prevent Iran  from going Commie; the cardinal point is to preserve what they believe to be the last remaining bulwark of British solvency; that is, their overseas investment and property position” (p.184-85).

 

          American support for the British position in the Eisenhower administration was driven by the anti-communist fervor that was sweeping the country.  This was the McCarthy era, after all, and two anti-communist warriors named Dulles were in positions of immense authority in the young Eisenhower administration: Allen, running the CIA and brother John Foster, Eisenhower’s Secretary of State.  The brothers Dulles were quick to see the Soviet Union as poised to step into and take over Iran should Western resolve falter.  Although skeptical of the communist menace in Iran, Churchill was able to convince Eisenhower that a coup that would replace Mossadegh would serve as a critical check upon Soviet interests in Iran.  The “British obsession with lost prestige and the American obsession with communism” thus brought the two allies together in common cause against Mossadegh’s government (p.207).

 

          The CIA plan, Operation Ajax — its first exercise in regime change — was hatched in early 1953 with assistance from the British M16.  The plan envisioned a pro-Shah military coup to depose Mossadegh, even though the Shah initially opposed the British-American plot.  In the summer of 1953, the CIA launched a propaganda campaign against Mossadegh’s government, with Kermit Roosevelt, Theodore Roosevelt’s grandson, serving as the CIA field commander.  The campaign precipitated large scale protests between pro and anti-Mossadegh factions, with the CIA apparently encouraging both sides in the hope that the protests would turn violent.  They did.  Meanwhile, as many as 30 members of Parliament, bankrolled by the CIA, “plotted murders and kidnapping whilst hiding behind their parliamentary immunity” (p.228).

 

         A failed coup took place on August 15-16, 1953.  The Shah panicked and left for Rome.  Mossadegh ordered security forces to round up the coup plotters, and dozens were imprisoned.  Believing that he had beaten back a Shah-led coup, Mossadegh asked his supporters to return to their homes.  This was a serious miscalculation.  The plotters regrouped and, on August 19, 1953, succeeded in toppling the Mossadegh government. In a “remarkable reversal in fortune,” Roosevelt and his co-conspirators had “turned defeat into triumph and their methods would enter the training manuals” (p.235).  There is “no glossing” of the ruthlessness of the Anglo-American intervention, de Ballaigue asserts, which subjected Mossadegh’s government to “pitiless acts of war by two hostile powers,” including not only a “bombardment of misinformation” but also “conspiracies to riot, murder and abduct”   (p.228).

 

          De Bellaigue portrays Mossadegh during the coup as a Hamlet-like figure, vacillating between “inertia and unfounded optimism” (p.242-43).  Although Mossadegh almost certainly had advance knowledge of the coup, he failed to react to its warning signs, remaining too favorably disposed to individual liberties to protect his own interests.  Absorbed in legal niceties as the “ground was laid for his overthrow” (p.236), Mossadegh refused to use the popular support available to him and did not take the threat sufficiently seriously until it was too late.  Unaware until almost the very end that the United States was behind the coup, Mossadegh was guided by his desire “not to isolate himself completely from the Eisenhower administration.  He only had one foreign policy, to lean on the United States, and even [at the time of the coup]. . . he hoped to preserve it”  (p.236).

 

          Mossadegh was arrested, tried and convicted of treason in a military court.  He was initially sentenced to death but, after the Shah commuted his sentence, Mossadegh was placed under house arrest.  Many of his political associates were executed.  General Fazlloh Zahedi, formerly Minister of Interior in Mossadegh’s cabinet and the CIA’s choice as Prime Minister, led the new government.  Zahedi quickly reached agreement with AIOC to restore the flow of Iranian oil, with the United States and Britain receiving the largest share.  In return, the United States massively funded the Shah’s government, including his army and secret police, the SAVAK, turning Iran into a “vulgar tyranny” (p.273) until the Shah’s overthrow in 1979.  Mossadegh lived the rest of his life under house arrest.  He died in 1967, having seen his ideals “submerged in a tide of petro-dollars” (p.271).

 

* * *

 

          “Few foreign interventions in the Middle East have been as ignoble as the coup of 1953,” de Bellaigue concludes, and “few Middle Eastern leaders have less deserved our hostility than Muhammed Mossadegh” (p.273).  Among the policies which were reversed by the coup, de Bellaigue cites land reforms, social security and rent controls to help the rural and urban poor.  Mossadegh also envisioned a military under civil control and “modestly enhanced rights for women in the face of clerical unease” (p.207).  Had these reforms survived, “Mossadegh would now be remembered as an agent of extraordinary change” (p.207).   But Iran never regained the path toward a stable, pluralist and secular constitutional monarchy of the type that Mossadegh sought to put into place.  De Bellaigue demonstrates convincingly in this penetrating study that upending Mossadegh’s government was a tragic miscalculation for the United States and Great Britain, a miscalculation that continues to reverberate today.

 

Thomas H. Peebles

Cotonou, Benin (West Africa)

September 28, 2014

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