forced on occasion because of public pressure at home and among its allies to lend itself to negotiations it would rather have avoided (the 1960 summit meeting is a case in point), so is it possible that the Soviet Union may feel called upon to prove its willingness to negotiate seriously in order to avoid acquiring a reputation for negative diplomacy.

Finally, just as the Soviets were forced to abandon the new diplomacy of Brest-Litovsk because of the intrusion of the harsh realities of military power, so may the military factor compel them to become more accommodating in matters on which they appear absolutely obdurate at the present time. There is little likelihood that another Hoffmann will appear to force them into line by military action. But the general threat posed by such things as a continuation of the present stalemate on the arms control question, the prospects of everwidening nuclear sharing, and the possibility of China's becoming a real nuclear power must be a matter of concern to Soviet statesmen; and, although there is no way of knowing if and when that concern will become great enough to make them less intractable on the big issues than they have been, it always is possible that such a change will come and that negotiations will become productive.

34

One of the principal tasks of Western statesmen, therefore, has been, and will continue to be, to try, when negotiations are proposed, to discover whether they are seriously meant or planned simply as another propaganda show. They have endeavored to do this by following the procedure used by Shuvalov in 1878 and by many diplomats before him and insisting on preliminary discussions and agreements before committing themselves to formal meetings. Yet even when these attempts have failed, they have not felt justified in refusing to go to the proposed meetings. At the same time, their hopes have become far more modest than they were at the time of the Geneva summit meeting of 1955, and they no longer include the thought that there is any possibility of the Soviets reversing themselves so completely that they will return to the methods and courtesies of traditional diplomacy. Indeed, it is clear that even if the Soviet Union. became convinced that it was urgent for them to negotiate settlements of outstanding issues they would remain true to the techniques they have evolved since 1917: combining the methods of hard bargaining that served them so well in the 1920s and 1930s with the arts of irritation, obfuscation, and delay that have marked much, if not most, of their cold war diplomacy. As Secretary Dulles said in January 1958: "We must, on the basis of past experience, assume that negotiation with the Communists, if it is to bring acceptable results, will be a long hard task.” 35

On this, see Philip Mosely, "Some Soviet Techniques of Negotiation," in Negotiating with the Russians, ed. Raymond Dennett and Joseph E. Johnson (New York, 1951), p. 274. 35 Address, Jan. 16, 1958. See Department of State Bulletin, 38, No. 971 (Feb. 3, 1958).

[From How Nations Negotiate. Copyright © 1964 by Fred Charles Iklé. Harper

and Row. Reprinted by permission.]

HOW SHREWD ARE SOVIET NEGOTIATORS?

By Fred Charles Iklé

(Research Associate, Harvard Center for International Affairs. 1962-63; Professor of Political Science, MIT, 1963–67; now Head, Social Science Department, The RAND Corporation)

Soviet foreign policy has been highly successful in the last twenty years, if measured by the expansion of the Communist-controlled area and by Russia's newly won influence in many parts of the world. Yet the combined military and economic strength of the West has remained superior to that of the Communist camp during this same period of expansion. Small wonder that many people think Soviet negotiators are far shrewder and more skillful than their Western opponents and that conferences with the Russians are traps to be avoided rather than opportunities to be sought.

Undoubtedly, Soviet negotiators have certain advantages over their Western adversaries because they are backed by an authoritarian government. Western capitals, and Washington in particular, cannot develop a negotiating position on a major issue without letting the public in on some of the internal controversies. This gives Soviet delegates valuable intelligence about the strength with which Western positions are held. Moscow, of course, permits no leaks about any differences that might exist between, say, Gromyko and Malinovsky over how to approach the West on disarmament or on Berlin. Its fall-back positions remain secret, not only from newspapermen but frequently also from its own delegations. Western diplomats often complain about this wall of secrecy that makes it so difficult to find out how firmly a Soviet position is held and what sort of modifications in the Western position might lead to agreement.

Moreover, Soviet diplomats need not feel constrained by domestic public opinion as much as Westerners do. The public in Communist countries is normally poorly informed about negotiations. Knowing their lack of influence on foreign affairs, Soviet citizens hardly attempt to make their views heard-or even to formulate a view of their own. This permits Soviet diplomats to choose their negotiating tactics with greater freedom. Only in the long run, perhaps, do Communist leaders require some domestic backing for their foreign policy.

Soviet negotiators enjoy a further advantage in that they can support their long-term strategy and day-to-day tactics with fully coordinated propaganda machinery, whereas Western countries speak always with many voices. Frequently at conferences the Russians delight in citing

statements by Western opposition leaders, scientists, or journalists to refute a position of a Western government.

In short, Soviet negotiators seem to command all that is required for carrying out the most cunning strategies: complete secrecy in planning, freedom from domestic interference in execution, and the coordinated support of a powerful authoritarian regime. Given all these advantages, have Soviet negotiators really shown proportionate cunning and skill? An examination of their record, comparing some of their opportunities with the results they actually obtained, is in order.

The Marshall Plan, to take one case, will long be remembered as one of the most successful and farsighted programs of American foreign policy. What is almost forgotten is that the Russians were initially invited to participate. After Marshall's historic speech in June, 1947, British Foreign Secretary Bevin quickly seized the initiative, met with his French colleague Bidault, and asked Moscow to join in a conference at which Europe would work out its answer to the American offer. Stalin sent Molotov to Paris with a delegation of eightynine aides.

What did the skillful Soviet negotiator make of this decisive opportunity? He did not try to postpone West European recovery and European-American cooperation by more than five days!

True, Bevin made it clear that he would not be delayed by Soviet stalling. But why did Molotov make it so easy for Bevin? Why did he reject outright the American offer for a coordinated recovery program, instead of accepting it in principle and then discussing the details later? Why did he fail to exploit the suggestion made by some groups in the West that the United Nations should play the leading role in European recovery? Or he could have shown some interest when Bidault (conscious of pressure on his government by the powerful French Communist Party) made a last-minute effort to save the conference. With reluctant agreement from Bevin, Bidault's proposal attempted to meet some of the Soviet objections by emphasizing that the organization for European recovery would not interfere with a country's internal affairs. Yet Molotov would not give an inch, and the conference broke up. Thus Russia lost its chance to delay or influence an integrated West European recovery.

To realize the enormity of this Russian blunder, we must recall that the implementation of the Marshall Plan was not assured at that time. On the one hand, U.S. Congressional support was far from certain. On the other hand, there was considerable European backing for Russia's participation. Prior to the conference which brought Molotov to Paris, an editorial in the London Times said: "The strongest argument which could be placed in Mr. Marshall's hands for delivery to Congress would be the firm hope of a sound integration of the whole European economy effected by all the countries which are to benefit from American aid, and led by Britain, France, and the Soviet Union." Similarly, the Economist proposed that the United Nations. Economic Commission for Europe be used-"in spite of its shortcomings"-as the machinery to administer Marshall aid: "Might it not

therefore be the course of wisdom to reach a compromise between the Russian and the Western views?"1

Khrushchev showed himself an equally unskillful negotiator with his tactics on the Berlin issue, though his mistakes were of a different kind from Stalin's and Molotov's. As an example, Khrushchev spoiled his bargaining reputation by repeating again and again his threat to sign a peace treaty with the Communist regime in East Germany, each time specifying the period within which he would do so but doing nothing each time his bluff was called. An explicit threat with a time limit can be a potent weapon; however, prudent negotiators use it only when they are fully prepared to carry it out or are certain that they will not be challenged. A time limit makes it all too apparent if they are caught bluffing, and this damages the credibility of their threats in the future. History recounts few examples of a senior statesman who squandered and blunted his power to use such threats so completely as Khrushchev did.

This was not Khrushchev's only blunder. When he broke up the summit meeting in May, 1960, he spoiled a unique opportunity to extract concessions from the United States. Only a few days before he flew to Paris to meet with Eisenhower, Macmillan, and De Gaulle, he was able to denounce the United States roundly for the U-2 flights, causing major repercussions in the whole world and skillfully trapping the U.S. government in a lie. On the first day in Paris, Khrushchev played his cards well; with righteous indignation he asked for an apology from the President, which he must have known he could not get. But he did get the promise that the U-2 flights would be discontinued, while Macmillan and De Gaulle pleaded with him to start the summit meeting.

What a reversal of roles, after Khrushchev had been calling for a summit conference so long! What a chance for Khrushchev to drop the demand for apology grudgingly, as if making a generous concession, and then to confront the Western statesmen and ask for reciprocal concessions!

Khrushchev chose another tactic. He put on his rambunctious show in Paris, throwing away his dignity and his trump card. In the end it was, in a sense, he who apologized-two days later in East Berlin. To the glum East German Communists who had expected the longannounced peace treaty, he said the existing situation would have to be preserved until another summit meeting could take place.

Later, Khrushchev hinted that he had anticipated the failure of the Paris summit meeting but that his colleagues wanted him to go all the same. Perhaps Khrushchev realized that his earlier expectations were too optimistic and that the Western powers would not abandon Berlin completely. But this was a poor reason for bringing back from Paris even less than he could have gotten. Had he chosen

1 The Times (London), June 24, 1947; the Economist, June 28, 1947. A French diplomat noted in his diary just a few days before Molotov's final nyet: "With a little Machiavellism, the Soviets ought to Insert themselves in the preparatory plan because their accession would immediately provoke its failure" (Jacques Dumaine. Quai d'Orsay: 1945-51 [Paris: Julliard, 1955], p. 204). And two years later McGeorge Bundy reflected: "How much of the original impetus of the plan would have survived if Molotov had really sat down at Paris. deployed the enormous retinue he took with him (and one still wonders what they were doing there if this notion was not considered) and cooperated in form but not in fact?" In the mood of 1949 Bundy goes on to ask: "And if we are grateful, are we perhaps also safe for the present, from the effects of a policy of deceptive friendliness by Russia?" ("The Test of Yalta," Foreign Affairs [July, 1949], pp. 627, 629.)

a shrewder tactic, generously "forgiving" the U-2 incident, the Western powers could not have broken up the meeting without making at least some concessions-perhaps quite substantial ones.

According to a recent Soviet handbook on diplomacy:

[Communist diplomacy] is invariably successful in exposing the aggressive intentions of the imperialist governments. . . . It does this from the tribunes of diplomatic conferences, in official diplomatic statements and documents, as well as in the press. [This] is one of the important methods of socialist diplomacy by means of which it mobilizes democratic social opinion and the masses of people all over the world against the aggressive policies of the imperialist governments.'

Yet, when faced with some unusual opportunity for mobilizing "the masses of people all over the world", Soviet diplomacy is not "invariably successful."

Along came the issue of atmospheric nuclear tests in the spring of 1962, for example. For the previous six months the United States had confined itself to underground testing, although the Soviet Union had resumed nuclear tests in the atmosphere the summer before. But in March, 1962, the American government decided the self-imposed handicap was too great, and President Kennedy announced twelve days before the disarmament conference convened that the United States would soon have to resume nuclear testing in the atmosphere. He promised, however, that if the Soviet Union would accept a treaty with appropriate controls, "sign it before the latter part of April, and apply it immediately there would be no need for our tests to begin." Some people feared that the Russians might take advantage of that offer and make some last-minute concessions which would trap the American government into further negotiations whose only result would be postponement of its tests.

As it turned out, the Soviets were far too clumsy. Whatever their real aims, they failed to delay the U.S. tests, they did not inflict a propaganda defeat on the West, and they did not get a control-free ban against underground nuclear testing. Although at the time they probably preferred to remain free to resume their own tests later in 1962 rather than to commit themselves at once to test cessation under a treaty, they must surely have been interested in making propaganda gains and in increasing dissension between the United States and neutralist nations. For this, they had some real opportunities. They could have encouraged the interest the British negotiators showed in a further reduction of the inspection system. "We are ready to negotiate upon any proposals for an adequate minimum. of international verification," said the British Foreign Secretary Lord Home. "We are flexible and ready for reasonable compromise." Nyet-no international verification at all, was the Soviet reply.

Opportunity for the Soviets to make some political and propaganda gains became even greater when the eight neutral nations proposed their compromise plan for a test ban. That plan essentially accepted the Soviet position that there should be no foreign inspectors in Russia but added an "international commission" to evaluate the data from national systems. The commission could, in a vaguely

Diplomaticheski Slovar (Moscow: State Publishing House for Political Literature, 1960), I, 466.