U.S. At War: At Dumbarton Oaks

The once-delayed, well-advertised World Security Conference began this week at stately Dumbarton Oaks, a magnificent 16-acre estate set like a jewel in Washington’s Georgetown. The 39 delegates, none in a plug hat, strolled down the old pebble walks, through formal gardens, under Chinese scholar trees, across arched bridges over the carp pond. Promptly at 10:30 a.m. they filed into the pink brick Georgian mansion, past the Byzantine and mediaeval objets d’art, into the high-ceilinged music room. There they arranged themselves around a huge U-shaped table covered with the inevitable blotter pads.

Surrounded by polychromes and ancient cathedral benches, Secretary of State Cordell Hull put on his beribboned pince-nez, rapped once sharply for order and, in his best intricate diplomatic language, called on the conferees for cooperation.

That night silver-haired Under Secretary Edward R. Stettinius Jr., head of the U.S. delegation, entertained at Washington’s swank Carlton Hotel. The menu: broiled chicken, peach ice cream, California wines. Next day: high tea at Blair House. Each day the delegates rode out to Dumbarton Oaks in Army cars for a two-hour morning session and another two-hour grind in the afternoon.

This was Washington’s biggest international meeting since the 1921 Disarmament Conference. Some enthusiastic commentators described it as the most impor tant meeting since Versailles. But by its own definition the conference was merely exploratory, on a technical level. The conference will not discuss the heart of all the problems of postwar peace — what to do with Germany and Japan. Nor will the conferees ever discuss the countless important subsidiary questions, such as the problem of boundaries.

The purpose of the conference, in effect, is to prepare memoranda on the possible creation of a world organization to preserve the peace. The Big Three have al ready exchanged memos on this. The present conference will be a further exchange.

After it ends, the delegates will report their findings to their governments, after which, with all the preliminaries out of the way, the participating nations will get down to real business — with the war in Europe even nearer an end.

Divergences. There was much to explore. What kind of peace organization did the Big Four nations want? And —what kind of peace could they agree on? The U.S. plan was based on Franklin Roosevelt’s Great Blueprint, of which the world got a quick glimpse three months ago (TIME, June 12). This called for a world assembly of all peace-loving nations; a world council, dominated by the Big Four but giving some representation to small nations; and a world court. The Big Four would make the major decisions (i.e., dealing with aggressors); the world court and world assembly would settle minor international disputes (trade problems, customs, etc.).

Britain’s plan — more of a series of notes, actually — as brought to the conference by the short, urbane Permanent Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Sir Alexander Cadogan, coincided generally with the known outlines of the U.S. program. Neither called for a world police force.

There were only hints of the Russian program, but the hints promised a sharp divergence. Russia wanted: 1) virtually absolute rule by the Big Four; 2) an international air force to stop aggression.

Was the Russian plan “realism” or cynicism? Earlier indications had been that Russia did not take the conference very seriously. For one, she seemed to think the conference could have been held earlier or else postponed until later. Right now there were pressing problems right on her doorstep—Poland, the Baltic States and even the disposition of German territory. Secondly, she had disappointed the U.S. and Britain by choosing 35-year-old Ambassador Andrei Andreevich Gromyko to head her delegation. Yet on his arrival this week, fresh from Moscow, Ambassador Gromyko was “most optimistic” about the conference’s success.

As the meetings ground on, only meager press releases were issued, containing perfunctory information. For the conference itself was secret, and delegates were forbidden to grant interviews. But Cordell Hull promised a full account at the conference’s end—probably in three or four weeks.