The Baited Hook

Ever since the Italian elections, it had been common political gossip that the Kremlin's next move might be a "peace offensive." That offensive started last week with a bang.

On May 4 in Moscow, U.S. Ambassador Walter Bedell Smith paid a private call in the Kremlin on Soviet Foreign Minister V. M. Molotov.

Talking Turkey. "Beedle" Smith had called to talk turkey with Molotov. In a full statement of the U.S. position, he told the Soviet Foreign Minister that the U.S. is economically sound of heart & limb; that it is by no means paralyzed in its international activities by the upcoming presidential campaign; that a united U.S. people are just as determined as ever to oppose Soviet aggression and the spread of Communist ideas; and that if Moscow is beginning to think anything else, it is listening too hard to Henry Wallace--and swallowing its own propaganda.

Smith was acting on explicit instructions from the State Department, which had decided that Russia might be making some grievous miscalculations. Hitler's error in thinking his opponents were "worms" had plunged him into World War II. Smith's conversation with Molotov was a warning not to make the same mistake.

Smith, however, still following his instructions, added one casual, friendly thought. He said: "As far as the U.S. is concerned, the door is always open for full discussion and the composing of our differences."

Tart Rebuttal. The Kremlin thought this over for several days, then invited Smith back to receive Molotov's reply. After a self-righteous rehash of Soviet policies and a charge that the U.S. was to blame for everything wrong with the world, Molotov leaped delightedly through the "open door."

Unctuously he declared: "The Soviet government views favorably the desire of the government of the U.S. to improve these relations . . . and agrees to the proposal to proceed ... to a discussion and settlement of the differences existing between us." Smith delivered a tart rebuttal, sent complete texts of the conversations to Washington, and went off fishing in Normandy.

State Department officials were leisurely analyzing the reports when, in the words of one of them, "the roof fell in." The Moscow radio began broadcasting the conversations to the world. While the State Department watched in consternation, the world sat up with joy and wonder--as Russia intended that it should.

Open Letter. Nanking, Paris, London, Berlin, Moscow, New York newspapers blazoned the story that Russia had accepted a U.S. bid to talk about their differences. For hours, while almost no one analyzed the Smith-Molotov texts, the whole world felt a springlike breath of hope. The magic word "peace" appeared in headlines. People saw a melting of the frozen front of the cold war. Tom Dewey, electioneering in Oregon, hailed it as "the best news since V-J day if they [the Russians] mean it."

Henry Wallace, speaking to 19,000 people in Madison Square Garden the night after the news broke, triumphantly announced: "The two letters assume what we have long contended--that the wartime cooperation between the two great powers can be rebuilt . . ." He himself had written an open letter to Stalin along just those lines, he declared.

No Change in Strategy. Despite the fact that the springlike breath actually came from Moscow's wind machine, the world wanted to believe that it was the real thing. Should the U.S. have let the world believe it? To reject the Russian "proposal to proceed" would make it appear that the U.S. was obstructing peace.

But tacitly to accept it would only encourage what George Marshall believed would be more fruitless discussions while Russia, behind a new peace front, followed her implacable expansionist policy. Russian strategy never changed, only Russian tactics changed. To oppose this latest tactic would cause disappointment in the world, would make the State Department appear inept and even a little silly. Nevertheless Marshall decided that this was the only course to follow.

Tardily but firmly, he slammed the door. He was having no U.S.-Soviet tete `a tete. If there were any discussions, they belonged in the U.N., he said. Let Russia present a definite agenda of the subjects she was prepared to discuss. Let her alter her obstructionist tactics in Korea, for example, or in the Allied Control Council in Berlin. Even as Marshall spoke, the U.N. Atomic Energy Commission was breaking up for good because of Russian intransigence. Until Russia displayed a genuine change of heart, more talks would only "do the world great harm," said Marshall.

At the mere possibility that the world's two great antagonists might be going to stop shaking fists and shake hands instead, Europe had heaved a heartfelt sigh of hope (see INTERNATIONAL). That hope was quenched by Secretary Marshall. State's original warning to Moscow, almost forgotten in the subsequent foofaraw, still stood. Marshall explained that no approach to Russia had in fact been made or intended; that all the U.S. was doing in the Smith note was to talk turkey, privately, to Russia. But no explanation could change these facts: 1) that the Russians had seized an opportunity to look peace-loving and amenable; and 2) that the opportunity had been given to them by two well-meaning American soldiers who had not thought of all the answers.

The whole affair had shown that too many people were so hungry for peace and security that they would bite at any peace bait without the slightest consideration for the hook that might be there.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.