National Affairs: Out, Swining

Out, Swinging

In his youth, as a coal miner inOklahoma, handsome, irascible Major General Patrick Jay Hurley once killed a fractious mule by bashing its head with a two-by-four. Last week Pat Hurley, his Irish blood boiling, flailed an indecisive State Department and killed an official attitude.

In his swinging, Republican Pat Hurley violated every rule of diplomatic conduct and probably ended any chance he might have had to do any more diplomatic jobs for President Truman. But his public moment accomplished what many months of private urging had failed to do. He forced on Secretary of State James Francis Byrnes the issue of a resolute U.S. policy toward China, and forced a decision on it by Harry Truman.

After ten months as U.S. Ambassador to China, 62-year-old Pat Hurley returned to the U.S. two months ago. He was browned off by what he considered to be State Department careerists’ action: some of them were sabotaging his White House orders to bolster Chiang Kai-shek’s Government, and to effect unity between it and the Yenan Communists. Last week, back in Washington after a rest, Pat Hurley decided on a showdown. He wrote a statement. He wrote his resignation. Then he called on Secretary Byrnes.

Politician Byrnes told Pat Hurley that the President wanted him to go back to China and patch things up. Hurley brought up his past experiences. The Secretary avoided the past, talked about the future. There was no talk about a basic change in U.S. policy. When Pat Hurley left, he put his letter of resignation on Jimmy Byrnes’s desk. The Secretary left it there. He apparently believed that he had persuaded the Ambassador to return to Chungking.

“Hydra-Headed Confusion.” Next morning Jimmy Byrnes met War Secretary Patterson and Navy Secretary Forrestal to draft a policy directive for Ambassador Hurley. It was in the same nebulous terms as before. It called for continuing support of Chiang Kai-shek’s Government but avoided any clear-cut U.S. commitment to do something that would actually help it.

That morning Pat Hurley read of an attack in Congress on his China mission and himself by Representative Hugh De Lacy of Washington, a leftish Democrat. It followed the pattern of many previous attacks: Hurley had been more interested in giving supplies to Chiang to fight the Communists than he was in bringing Chiang and the Communists to unity; he had committed the U.S. to armed intervention. De Lacy’s conclusion: the U.S. should express regret to China that she was a house divided and withdraw its forces.

At that, Pat Hurley blew up. He released his statement to newsmen. The statement was a violent but confused attack on a policy which, he said, had let the U.S. be “sucked into a power bloc on the side of colonial imperialism.” But his two-by-four whacked hard and specifically on what he called “hydra-headed direction and confusion” in the State Department. Some of the whacks:

“American foreign policy announced by the highest authority is rendered ineffective by another section of diplomatic officials. . . . Our professional diplomats continuously advised the Communists [in China] that my efforts in preventing the collapse of the National Government did not represent the policy of the United States…. A considerable section of our State Department is endeavoring to support Communism generally as well as specifically in China. . . . America’s economic strength has been used all over the world to defeat American policies and interests. This is chargeable to a weak foreign service.”

A Job for the General. Hurley’s outburst took everyone by surprise. President Truman heard of it on his way to lunch. He swore. Then he acted, swiftly.

That afternoon George Marshall, just arrived at Leesburg, Va., was hauling duffle bags and other gear out of his car. He and white-haired Mrs. Marshall had driven down from their wartime quarters at Fort Myer for a rest at home. General Marshall knew it was bad news for him when the telephone operator said it was the White House calling.

Harry Truman was brief and to the point. He had a job for the General to do in China. Would he go? General Marshall hesitated a moment. He had looked forward to his retirement, hoped for a long rest. Already there was talk that Harry Truman wanted him to be U.S. Ambassador to Moscow, and Good Soldier Marshall had told friends that he wanted no part of any State Department job. But he said: “I will, Mr. President.”

Next morning General Marshall was at the White House. He was just as determined as Pat Hurley to insist on a purposeful, realistic policy, with no punches pulled. The General was pleased to find that Harry Truman and Jimmy Byrnes agreed with him.

George Marshall went right to work with Secretary Byrnes and on his plans to carry out his mission.

No one, least of all Ambassador Marshall, thought it would be easy to steer even the clearest policy through the swirling complexity of China’s politics. But Marshall was eminently qualified for the job. He knows the background of General Joseph Stilwell’s quarrels with the Generalissimo, of General Hurley’s bouts with futility. It was Chief of Staff Marshall who dictated General Wedemeyer’s orders to support Chiang’s Government.

George Marshall believes that the peace of the world may depend in large measure on China’s success in reaching unity and strength. Anyone who knows Good Soldier Marshall at all knows that he is first of all a man of peace.