UNITED NATIONS: By Acclamation

“Is there any objection?” asked Assembly President Paul-Henri Spaak of Belgium.

There were no objections.

Said Mr. Spaak: “There being no objection, I declare that the resolution on principles governing the general regulation and reduction of armaments is unanimously adopted by the General Assembly.”

This, last week, was the most dramatic exhibition of the world’s will to peace since the Charter was signed at San Francisco. By acclamation, the 54 members of the U.N. recommended that the Security Council frame treaties prohibiting atomic weapons and other instruments of mass destruction, reducing standard armaments, establishing safeguards not subject to the veto. The Assembly also recommended: 1) cooperation with the Atomic Energy Commission; 2) consideration of an international police force; 3) balanced withdrawal of troops from former enemy countries.

The Security Council’s efforts would at best be long, difficult and troubled, and at worst might be futile. But Paul Martin of Canada called for “holy obstinacy.” Alexandre Parodi of France mentioned “grounds for hope.”

Gentleman’s Agreement. Earlier in the week, matters had not looked so good. One night—which became famed as “gentleman’s agreement” night — the bright lights at Flushing beat down on a dapper, suave, self-assured diplomat with a red handkerchief flopping out of his coat pocket. This was Britain’s Sir Hartley Shawcross, 44, a quick-witted prosecutor who had not yet learned that, at international conferences, haste makes waste, or worse.

The battered question of a troop census was still under discussion. Shawcross had taunted Russia’s Molotov because of Russia’s reluctance to include a census of home troops. Molotov taunted Sir Hartley with Britain’s unwillingness to include information on armaments — all armaments. When the Russian was through, the Briton rushed to the rostrum. Cried he: “I accept the challenge! I think this is going to be a historic occasion.”

Shawcross then read his scribbled resolution. It provided for “the immediate establishment of an international supervisory commission operating within the framework of the Security Council but in its operations not subject to the veto of any Power. . . .” Purpose: to collect information on troops and arms.

Molotov, catching the full implications of the Briton’s proposal, accepted “in principle.”

Second Thoughts. In effect, Sir Hartley had committed the U.S. to disclose information on its stockpile of A-bombs and fissionable material as soon as the contemplated commission could be set up. All this seemed to fly right over Senator Connally’s head, for the orotund Texan made no relevant comment. Next day, however, there was a great hue & cry.

Almost inextricably tangled, the troop-and-armament matter was hustled back to subcommittee. Sir Hartley tried simultaneously to save, face for Britain, and The Bomb for the U.S., by rewriting his resolution, whereupon Russia’s Vishinsky accused him of welshing on his “gentleman’s agreement” with Molotov. Assembly President Spaak (who happened to be the subcommittee chairman, and who has been an unpublicized tower of strength during the whole meeting) saved the day by separating the troop question from the armament question. The troop count was abandoned; the disarmament plan, thus disencumbered, was sent on to the plenary Assembly session.

Troop Figures. Secretary Byrnes, making his first appearance at this U.N. meeting, did much to clear the air. He said that the U.S. would not submit atomic information to any hastily devised agency, but would yield everything when a world control system along Mr. Baruch’s lines had been set up. He also cut the ground from under Russia’s agitation for a troop census by giving the figure on U.S. forces abroad: 550,000. Most of them, he added, were in occupation areas. There were 96,000 in the Philippines, only 19,000 in China. Russia, he thought, had many more in Manchuria. Britain’s Bevin, who had no ready figures, nevertheless added his bit: Britain’s total army was now under 1,000,000. About the Red Army, Molotov said nothing.

Next day the disarmament resolution was unanimously passed.

Sir Hartley Shawcross, who had given up all hope of catching the Queen Elizabeth, realized that the big ship was still at her pier when he cast his last vote. He telephoned the Cunard Line, made a flying trip to his hotel, packed, hustled to the dock. In the scramble he forgot his passport. His secretary got it to him, in a basket pulled up on a line, just as the ship was moving out.

It was quite a week for Sir Hartley. It was also quite a week for the world.