By Eric Vandenbroeck and
co-workers
The Vietnam War
While the last remnants of the 1946
US-China peace agreements disappeared in the smoke of the battles in Manchuria
and northern China, Ho Chi Minh was bringing his own peace agreement back to
Vietnam, hoping to sell it to his increasingly skeptical countrymen. During the
time that the negotiations were proceeding, the Vietminh at home had taken
advantage of the departure of the Chinese troops to complete the destruction of
rival political parties and their armed militias. Some of the opposition
forces, including those in Mong Cai Province,
retreated with their Chinese sponsors.
Three days after his arrival, Ho
addressed the nation, explained the r implications of the modus vivendi, and
called for a second meeting of the National Assembly. As the president spoke,
the Vietminh security organizations completed their roundup of opposition
figures. When the Assembly convened on October 28, only thirty-seven of the
seventy opposition seats were occupied. When a deputy inquired about the
missing delegates, he was advised that they had been arrested "for crimes
of common law."1
The Assembly approved a new Cabinet that
accurately reflected the new power alignment in the north: Vietminh ministers
occupied all key positions. Ho was named prime minister as well as president. A
draft constitution that declared the total independence of Vietnam without
reference to the French Union was approved by the Assembly two weeks later.
In southern Vietnam, the cease-fire
provided for in the modus vivendi went into effect as scheduled on October 30.
It lasted about a week. The French interpreted the agreement to mean that they
should not attack Vietminh forces but could still move into Vietminh controlled
territory. Since at this point almost three-quarters of the southern provinces
appeared to be under some measure of Vietminh control, this was a sure recipe
for trouble. By late November, d'Argenlieu was
reporting to Paris that hostilities in the south were once again at their old
level.2
It was the north rather than the south,
however, that was to be the flash point for all-out war in Indochina. It began
ostensibly as a dispute over customs. Control of trade at Haiphong, the
principal port for Hanoi and Tonkin, was of critical importance to the
Vietminh. Arms and other military materiel smuggled in from China for Giap's growing army entered the country mainly through
Haiphong. Customs duties at the port were one of the few sources of revenue
left to the government after the economic devastation of the famine and the
Chinese occupation. The French asserted that Haiphong was a port of the
"Indochinese Federation" and claimed the right to control customs
there. Haiphong in 1946 was a smuggler's paradise. It had the largest Chinese
community in northern Vietnam and attracted deserters from Lu Han’s occupation
armies.
On the evening of November 22, Debes delivered an ultimatum to the Vietnamese authorities
in Haiphong calling for "all Vietnamese military and semi-military
forces" to evacuate the city. Shortly after ten o'clock the following
morning, French heavy artillery began their bombardment of the Vietnamese
quarter of the city. The Vietminh government in Hanoi was not even informed of
the ultimatum until after the French had opened fire.3
"That the French could seriously
have wished for a favorable reply to their ultimatum is incredible,"
observed American vice-consul James L. O'Sullivan.4
French lOS-millimeter
and 155-millimeter artillery, mostly acquired through American Lend-Lease,
blasted the Vietnamese quarter, causing heavy casualties among those civilians
who had not yet evacuated the area. Nung tribal
mercenaries working for the French moved through the wrecked buildings
methodically burning and looting the houses. One U.S. intelligence agent who
witnessed the destruction concluded that "the French have made pillaging
their military policy."5
French Spitfires strafed refugees
fleeing the fighting. Vietnamese troops stubbornly held out for two days, even
launching a counterattack that captured the municipal theater, which the French
had occupied after the November 20 incident.6
After two days the Vietnamese fighters
were forced to withdraw. Many of the civilian refugees gathered in the village
of Kien An, just outside the city. Kien An became the grave of many of these people when Debes's artillery and aircraft, supported by naval gunfire,
attacked the village.7
O'Sullivan labeled the destruction of the village "a terroristic
measure."8
At least three thousand Vietnamese died
as the result of the French operation Lations at
Haiphong. And beginning in December, French officials suddenly began confiding
their fears about the Communist character of the Vietminh government to
American diplomats. They warned that Ho was "in direct contact with Moscow
and is receiving advice and instructions from the Soviets," also that
Chinese Communists were in Indochina helping the Vietminh.9
O'Sullivan, who knew that the French had
been aware of Ho's Communist connections since the 1930s, found it
"peculiar" that French concerns should be brought to American
attention "at the very moment ... when the French may be preparing to
force the Vietnamese government to collaborate on French terms or to establish
a puppet government in its place."10
On the Vietnamese side, there was still
hope on the part of Ho Chi Minh and some of his associates that war might be
averted, or at least postponed, through further negotiations, but Giap was making all-out preparations for war. By this time
his best-armed units had become the Army of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam.
About 10 percent of the officers were reported to be former soldiers or
noncommissioned officers of the French colonial army.11
The Tu Ve, or
militia, had grown to almost a million men, only sorw
of whom had firearms. Three military schools had been opened in March in
northern and central Vietnam, where officer candidates received basic infantry
training, learned small unit tactics and guerrilla warfare, and were drilled on
Party theory and doctrine. Each regiment of the new army also established its
own basic training school.12 Beginning in the fall of 1946, the
Vietnamese began moving their improvised armaments factories to the area
northwest of Tonkin known as the Viet Bac, from which the Vietminh had
originally waged guerrilla war against the Japanese.
Hanoi was quiet, but the atmosphere was
"menacing." Vietnamese militia and army troops began to erect barricades
and roadblocks at key points. The Vietnamese government began to evacuate all
civilians able to leave. Most of the army redeployed to the city's outskirts,
leaving behind the militia, youth assault squads, snipers, and saboteurs.
Vietnamese suspected of being pro-French were taken into "protective
custody." Government officials began to sleep outside the city, and one by
one the ministries began to move their offices and records out of the
capital.13
From the French authorities came a
steady flow of demands that the Vietnamese referred to as
"ultimatums." They began to refer to Morliere
as "General Ultimatum." First the French demanded that the Vietnamese
dismantle their barricades and roadblocks within the city. If they failed to
comply, the French would clear them away. The same day, a French officer
transmitted a statement that the Vietnamese police had shown itself incapable
of maintaining law and order and that the French would take over that
responsibility in the city. Two days later, on December 17, came a demand that
the Vietnamese militia disarm and that the Vietnamese cease all preparations
for war.
Ho Chi Minh addressed a final appeal to
Leon Blum, the famous leader of the French Left, who had just taken office as
prime minister. He appealed for a return to the conditions of the modus
vivendi.14
Blum had recently published an article
calling for an "agreement on the basis of independence" with the
Vietnamese and an end to decision making by "military authorities or
civilian settlers in Indochina."15
Ho's message to Blum failed to reach
Paris until December 20. By that time the Vietminh had decided that they had no
choice but to fight. At 8:00 P.M. on the evening of December 19, the power
supply in Hanoi was suddenly cut. Tu Ve units attacked
French positions and troops throughout the city. A number of French civilians
were taken as hostages, and some were brutally murdered. Throughout Tonkin,
French military posts came under attack. The American vice-consul reported that
"it seems the French are faced with an almost completely hostile
population." After three days of fighting, French troops were in control
of the European part of the city and had captured the presidential palace. By
that time, Ho Chi Minh and his ministers had withdrawn from Hanoi. On the
twentieth, as the Vietminh radio station was being reassembled in its new
clandestine location, Ho broadcast to the nation an exhortation to "fight
with all the means at your disposal." It took the French more than two
months to regain control of the Chinese and Vietnamese sections of Hanoi. The
Vietnamese war with the French was to continue for more than seven years.16
Viewed as an effort to establish peace
and stability on the ruins of Japan's Greater East Asia, the occupations were a
resounding failure. If Asia in 1945 was an enormous boiling pot, as General Wedemeyer insisted, then the Allies accomplished little to
prevent the pot from boiling over. By 1948 all the states occupied by the
Americans, British, and Russians were at war, either with their former colonial
rulers or with political factions within their own country, sometimes both.
Some wars were concluded by 1949, as was the case in China, where, between
April and November, the Communists completed their chain of sweeping victories.
Chiang and his remaining supporters retreated to Taiwan, while in Peiping on
October 1, 1949, Mao announced the establishment of the People's Republic of
China and proclaimed, "China has stood up."
In the Netherlands Indies, the
Indonesian nationalists won few battles but won the war. A succession of
agreements between the Republic and the Dutch from 1947 to 1949 each broke down
a few months after signing and were followed by Dutch "police
actions" that left the Dutch in control of most of Java's towns and cities
by 1949. Sukarno and most of the government were captured by the Dutch, but
part of the Republican army held out, waging war from central Java. By that
point, time had run out for the Netherlands. The United States, impressed by
the Republic's suppression of a Communist rising in 1948, was by now convinced
that the Dutch were the aggressors, and, along with many other members of the
United Nations, pressured The Hague into conceding full independence to the
Indonesians in December 1949.
Other wars, like those between the
Vietminh and the French in Indochina and in Malaya, where Chinese Communist
veterans of the MPAJA had launched a new insurgency, were to drag on into the
1950s. The civil war in Korea escalated into a major international conflict in
June 1950 after Kim II-sung finally persuaded the Soviets and the new People's
Republic of China to back an all-out military offensive against the South.
An army general with long experience in
Iraq recently observed that "every army of liberation has a half-life
after which it turns into an army of occupation."17
That was certainly true of the Allied
armies that liberated East Asia from the Japanese. Most arrived too late and
stayed too long. All the occupation commanders saw their mission as one of restoring
or maintaining law and order and of carrying out higher policies agreed to in
the great wartime conferences at Yalta and Potsdam or as enunciated by their
own governments in London, Moscow, and Washington. The problem was that the
attempt to implement these policies often proved incompatible with the goal of
maintaining order. In three countries the occupiers faced an armed insurgency
by the time they departed.
Occupations proceeded most smoothly
where soldiers of the occupation force found a basis for at least limited
cooperation and friendship with the locals. Marines and Chinese shopkeepers,
rickshaw pullers, prostitutes, bar owners, and household servants had their
decades-old symbiotic relationship. Australians and Indonesians in Borneo quickly
established one based on barter. In the last analysis, an occupation is not
only a political and military event but a cultural process whose outcome may be
shaped by the expectations, values, social interactions, any historical
experience of both the occupier and the occupied.
In general, occupations of Japan's
former empire appeared to work most successfully where the occupiers and the
occupied shared common, or at least compatible, interests. Many scholars have
explained MacArthur's success in Japan this way. Similarly, to a degree the
Chinese in northern Vietnam, the Soviets in northern Korea, the British in
Malaya, and the Americans in northern China all found common interests with the
peoples they were charged with freeing from the Japanese. In all these
countries, local leaders, or at least a sizable and powerful segment of the
local leadership, believed that their interests and aspirations could be
advanced through cooperation or partnership with the occupation authorities.
The actual, as opposed to the expected,
consequences of the Allied occupations have often been explained in terms of
the confrontation of onset of the Cold War. In fact the situation was
considerably more complicated, because the demise of Greater East Asia not only
brought on a confrontation with the West but also stimulated old and new
rivalries, ambitions, and regional and communal animosities that would be
played out in 1945, 1946, and 1947 from Korea to Indonesia.
Leaders in the struggle for independence
found themselves opposed to other leaders whose vision of independence and
freedom differed radically from their own. In this situation it was natural
that rival factions should seek to align themselves with one or more of the
victorious Allies. As Allan Millett has observed of Korea, "The joint
occupation ... provided Korean politicians with an unusual opportunity to seek
foreign endorsements and assistance."18
This was true of rival political leaders
in other occupied countries as well. Far from being unwillingly drawn into the
Great Power rivalries of the late 1940s, political leaders and factions in all
the "liberated" countries actively sought the moral and material
support of the Soviets, the Europeans, or the Americans in their struggle for
mastery.
The most deleterious effects of the
Allied military presence developed not through blunders or misjudgments of
those charged with carrying out the occupations, but when the highest levels of
government acted indecisively, had mistaken notions or no notion at all about
what was actually happening on the scene, and neglected or ignored reports from
the field. Mountbatten had at least some idea of the formidable nationalist
opposition the British were likely to face in southern Vietnam and Indonesia,
but the government in London, preoccupied with retaining the goodwill of the
Dutch and French, tended to downplay or ignore his warnings and those of his
commanders in the field. The ass and its successor, the SSU (Strategic Services
Unit) provided detailed and highly accurate information on developments in
Southeast Asia to the State Department and the White House, with no discernible
result. Hodge and his political advisers tried repeatedly to alert Washington
DC the likely consequences of the establishment of a trusteeship for Korea but
were ignored. It remains to be seen whether these patterns of behavior will be
repeated in Iraq and Afghanistan. If they are, the experiences of half a
century ago suggest what consequences we can expect.
Conclusion: Globalized De-Colonization
1950-2000.
Bringing this series of article studies
up into a perspective of a more Globalised view we
Following the above developments, the possibilities of a non-aligned 'Third
World', independent alike of the East and the West, exerted enormous appeal.
Third World solidarity against colonialism, forcefully displayed at the United
Nations, helped to accelerate the end of European rule, especially in Africa
after I960. But, for all its attractions, the post-colonial future imagined at
Bandung nevertheless was doomed from the outset. The simultaneous crash of a
Europe-centred world order and the sudden revival of
independent statehood across most of Asia promised a new beginning. Asian conceptions
of race and culture, Asian indifference to Europe's fratricidal quarrels, the
interests of Asia's impoverished millions could now find a voice. This was the
spirit of the 'Asian-African' conference held at Bandung in Indonesia in May
1955. The host was Sukarno, the Indonesian president and hero of its
anti-colonial revolution. Delegates came from more than twenty-five countries,
including the Gold Coast and Cyprus, then both still colonies.19
Egypt was represented by Gamal Abdel
Nasser. The presence of Nehru and of Chou En-Iai, the
prime ministers of India and China, lent an added authority to the conference
proceedings. The meeting had no formal agenda, but its implicit purpose was to
assert the claims of the non-Western world in international politics.
Conference resolutions called for more Afro-Asian members in the United Nations
Security Council, denounced all forms of race discrimination, and declared
colonialism an evil 'which should speedily be brought to an end'. In a notably
conciliatory speech, Chou En-lai insisted that China
had no expansionist aims and was ready to negotiate with the United States.
Nehru denounced entry into an alliance with the West as 'an intolerable
humiliation for an Afro-Asian country', and N A TO as 'one of the most powerful
protectors of colonialism'. Africa and Asia should remain neutral in the
conflict of East and West: 'why should we be dragged into their quarrels and
wars?20
Behind the speeches of Nehru and Chou En-Iai was a vision of an Asia and Africa in which outside
influence would exist only on sufferance. It was a heroic conception of
decolonization that rejected any vestige of post-imperial attachment. The Asian
states would take up the struggle to free the remaining colonized peoples.
Cultural cooperation between Asians and Africans would replace the old defer-
some non-European states that had been only technically sovereign. It shattered
the legitimacy of imperial rule and ridiculed the ethos of imperial 'service'.
It opened the way for post-imperial governments to expropriate foreign-owned
property, control external trade, and reach a (sometimes profitable)
accommodation with multinational firms. It was the vital stimulus for a great
reappraisal of cultural values, and for the rejection - or questioning - of
those that were seen as European in origin. What was much less clear (as we
will see in what follows) was whether the collapse of a Europe-dominated
imperial order would mean a real transition to a 'world of nations'. Or whether
the partition of Eurasia (as the vital context in which decolonization
occurred) would encourage the rise of new kinds of empires, reliant much less
on colonial rule than on forms of influence that might be just as effective.
The end of British rule in India in 1947
and the withdrawal two years later of Europe's navies from China marked the end
of the 'Vasco da Gama epoch' in Asian history. The age of European dominance
was over. This was the verdict of an Indian historian a few years later. Of
course the weight of the European presence should not be exaggerated. The
Europeans had assembled grand colonial empires, in Southern Asia especially: in
the Malay archipelago, in Indochina, above all in India. They commanded the
seaways to East Asia after 1840, and were firmly lodged in maritime China by
the 1860s. But Japan had resisted subordination to Europe and more than
preserved its autonomy. The European effort after 1890 to drive deeper into
China's society and economy was scarcely under way before it was choked off by
the geopolitical changes of the First World War. Europe's colonization of Asia
had been a patchy affair, only shallowly rooted in much of South East Asia
(where colonial rule had gained limited purchase before the 1890s). It was much
more impressive on the continent's maritime fringes than it was inland. (In
this respect, as in others, India was different.) It was partly this that
explained why it fell apart so quickly in 1941-2, and staged only a brief
recovery after 1945.
Yet change after 1945 was real enough.
Less than ten years later, colonial rule had all but vanished from South, East
and South East Asia. Where it still persisted, the timetable for independence
was Dower's striking phrase to 'embrace defeat'.21
By the end of the war, Japan had been
occupied by a large American garrison, military and civilian, nearly a million
strong.22
For more than six years, an American
viceroy (for most of that time General Douglas MacArthur) held executive power,
and his approval was needed for any major decision. Japan's sovereignty was
suspended; Japanese were forbidden to travel abroad; no criticism was allowed
of the occupation regime. A raft of reforms was designed to root out what were
seen as the sources of Japan's militaristic imperialism. Women were
enfranchised and the voting age was lowered, more than doubling the electorate.
A new constitution prescribed by the occupiers barred the armed forces from a
seat in the government and renounced war as an instrument of national policy.
The great family-ruled business combines or zaibatsu were broken up. Land
reform reduced the power of the landlords and doubled the proportion of those
who farmed their own land to some 60 per cent. Trade unions were encouraged.
New textbooks were written, and the educational syllabus was democratized.23
So fierce an assault upon the pre-war
order might have provoked a hostile reaction, since the civilian elite with
whom the Americans dealt remained deeply conservative. In fact it formed part
of a remarkable bargain. When their fears about China led them to 'reverse
course', the Americans accepted the need for a strong Japanese state with an
industrial economy. They made their peace with the powerful bureaucracy. They
had the tacit support of the Japanese emperor, whose role as a figurehead had
been carefully preserved. Amid the growing turmoil in mainland East Asia and
the outbreak of war on the Korean peninsula in June 1950, Japan's conservative
leaders also had little room for maneuver. They were anxious to end the
American occupation and restore Japanese sovereignty. But an open challenge to
Washington's policy might anger the American public and delay independence. It
might encourage the Left, who commanded a third of Japanese votes, and induce
more radical change. The result was to give the Americans an extraordinary
leverage over the shape and direction of the new Japanese state. The peace
treaty signed in San Francisco in 1951 returned Japanese sovereignty, though
neither the Soviet Union nor China was a signatory. America's terms were stiff.
Japan was required to accept a mutual-security pact that allowed American
forces to use any part of the country and exempted their personnel from
Japanese jurisdiction. The island of Okinawa, annexed by Japan in I879 and the
scene of an epic battle in the Pacific War, became a great American base, no
longer administered as part of Japan. The Japanese economy was linked to
America's through a fixed exchange rate, while its old market in China was
closed in deference to America's trade embargo. At the critical stage of East
Asia's post-war formation, Japan had become the indispensable bulwark of
America's regional power, the great offshore platform from which its economic
weight and military muscle could be used as a check on the resurgence of China.
American influence was also strongly felt in Japanese popular culture.
Ironically, in decolonized East Asia, the influence of the West (not merely of
Europe) was asserted more forcefully than before the Second World War. Asia's
third great state was India.
Indeed, Nehru may have hoped to partner Beijing to exclude outside influence
from the continent's politics - as he had urged at Bandung. But the odds were
against it.24
India's influence was hobbled by its own
post-colonial inheritance. Its independence had come with a traumatic partition
and left an unresolved conflict to poison relations.25
It was a further misfortune that the
question of Kashmir (claimed by Pakistan but largely held by India) soon became
linked to the highly charged issue of Tibetan autonomy China's brutal
suppression of Tibet's traditional government after I980 was achieved in part
by cutting its links through the Himalayas. The two main routes between India
and Tibet lay through Sikkim to the south and Leh in
Kashmir to the west.26
Military activity on an ill-defined
border was a source of Sino-Indian tension, and eventually war.27
India's defeat (in 1962) was aptly
symbolic of Nehru's grander ambitions. India's political system (which
dispersed considerable power and resources to its state-level governments), the
threat 'at home' of war with Pakistan, and the lackluster progress of the
Indian economy (India's share of world trade fell by two-thirds in the I950S
and I960s) conspired to frustrate India's claim, at this stage, to be an Asian
'great power'. In its widest sense, the course of Asia's decolonization was
powerfully shaped by the limitations and weaknesses of its largest states.
Neither singly nor in combination could they hope to resolve the succession
disputes that arose from Asia's imperial past or the ideological conflicts of
its revolutionary present. That left the door open for the outside powers whom
Nehru had wanted to banish. It was China's subservience that let Stalin unleash
the North Korean attack in June 1950.28
And by the late 1950s Mao was convinced
that harsher methods were needed. He mistrusted Moscow's call for coexistence
with capitalism, and saw the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev's summit diplomacy
as a betrayal of China. Sino-Soviet solidarity lasted barely a decade. Faced
with the hardening of American support for the Taiwan regime, Mao raised the
military stakes by bombarding Quemoy, a close-in offshore island under
Kuomintang rule. He countered the loss of momentum in China's transformation at
home with an aggressive new strategy of rural collectivization, the so-called
'Great Leap Forward'. The redistribution of land from landlords to peasants
turned out (as in Russia) to be only the prelude to the state's taking control.
And in 1960 he approved Hanoi's insistent demand to resume the armed struggle
(suspended since 1954) for a Communist victory in South Vietnam.29
Mao's new course was to make China the
sponsor of revolutionary violence against surviving colonial states, or those
successor regimes that colluded with capitalism. His message was simple.
Imperialism's overthrow was far from complete. Decolonization must come - if it
was to be real - by a great rural revolt of impoverished peasants: a global
'people's war' against the world's bourgeoisie.30
Mao's drastic programme
for a post-imperial world aroused wide enthusiasm, intellectual and political,
not least among those who hoped to savor its victory from a comfortable
distance. In the I960s and '70s it offered a hopeful alternative to the
failures and compromises of post-colonial regimes. It attracted those who still
hoped to reverse capitalism's unexpected revival in the post-war world. As we
shall see in a moment, it achieved its most striking success in the special
conditions of South East Asia. But on a wider view it was the containment of
China and Maoist anti-imperialism that was really significant. In part this
arose from the disruptive effects of Mao's political doctrines - especially his
'Cultural Revolution', a form of massive purge - on the Chinese economy. In
part it reflected the revival of tension with China's great northern neighbor.
But the most serious obstacle to Mao's ambitions grew out of the dramatic
divergence between East Asia's two great states.
If China's turn towards Communism
confounded most wartime predictions, no less surprising was the readiness of
Japan (in John invasion) on the Middle East region. The British had concluded
that, with a nuclear deterrent that they could deliver by air, the base was
redundant in its present form as well as politically costly.31
It was control of Japan that allowed the
deployment of a huge American army to defend South Korea. But the main theatre
of conflict where external power played a critical part was in South East Asia.
This was no coincidence. Here the end of colonialism was a much more ragged
affair than in South Asia (where British rule had collapsed) or East Asia
(where the Japanese empire was shattered by war). This was partly because of
American help to both Britain and France (though not to the Dutch). But it was
also a product of ethnic and religious division, a fragmented geography, and
the limited progress that state-building had made in the colonial era. It had
appeared at first as if wartime occupation by Japan had broken the back of
European colonial rule across the whole of the region. It had given local
political leaders just enough freedom (and just enough time) to build new
political loyalties and smash the old colonial machine. In Burma, Indochina and
the Dutch East Indies (Indonesia), new 'national' governments appeared. When
the Allied troops of South East Asia Command (mainly British and Indians)
returned in the wake of the Japanese retreat, they found in place new claimants
to power. The result was a stand-off.
The colonial powers' tactic was to
co-opt the new leaders by promising the devolution of power but not real
independence. But both local politics and the international scene were much too
unstable for any bargain to hold. In Burma, the British were quickly forced out
by the obvious cost of reimposing control and the negligible benefit of trying
to do so. In Indonesia, Indochina and British Malaya the struggle was more
protracted. The Dutch hoped in Indonesia to exploit the fact that nationalism
enjoyed only limited backing across much of the archipelago, where fear of
Javanese domination and (in some cases) anti-Islamic feeling made Dutch
colonial rule the lesser of two evils.32
Its original aim was to cut Ho Chi Minh
down and build a Vietnamese state after his own design.33
Thirdly, the Viet Minh were restrained
by their Chinese ally - partly from fear of American firepower, but partly
because China did not want to drive either Laos or Cambodia into American arms.
(In return, Laos and Cambodia pledged neutrality; Thailand had already joined
the West's Manila Pact of South East Asian states.) In mainland South East
Asia, much of the friction turned on the state-building projects of Burmese,
Thais, Vietnamese, Laos and Khmers: it was largely the conflicts among and
between them that drew the outsiders into the region and made it hard to resist
foreign offers of aid. Much the same was true in the case of Malaya. Malay
political leaders viewed the Communist insurrection after I948 as a local
Chinese challenge to a future Malay state as much as a threat to British
colonial rule. To keep it at bay and ward off the bear hug of their Malay 'big
brother' - Sukarno's Indonesia - they combined independence (in 1957) with a
British alliance, not non-alignment or neutralism.34
The critical phase of decolonization in
Asia between 1945 and 1960 thus followed a course very different from the hopes
and dreams that had been aired at Bandung. Far from disdaining as futile the
game of Cold War diplomacy - as Nehru had urged - many Asian leaders had
accepted the reality of a 'bipolar' world. Far from maintaining a proud
independence, they hoped to turn the Cold War to their local advantage. In
reality, perhaps, they had little choice.
Economic and military weakness, internal
division, social unrest and the century-old habit of looking beyond Asia for
the route to modernity were all bound to deflect Asia's post-colonial
trajectory. It remained to be seen how far they would drag the continent into
the orbit of a new imperial system.
World Decolonization.
Decolonization in the Middle East was no
less tortuous, embittered and conflict-ridden. The end of the Second World War
was greeted there, as much as in the rest of Asia, as a new beginning. With
peace came the promise of an end to the vast military machine that the British
had built all across the region - a super-imperialism that had turned the Arab
states and Iran (also partially occupied by Russian troops) into mere
auxiliaries of the imperial war effort. Once that had gone, political life
might begin again. Better still, the British had decided (for their own
convenience) to lever the French out of Syria and the Lebanon, France's pre-war
mandates, and secure their independence (1946). This was a promising start.
They had also encouraged the formation of the Arab League in 1944-5. The
British intended the League to be a channel of their influence, a way of
keeping the Arab states together under a British umbrella. But it might also
serve as a vehicle for Arab cooperation to exclude or contain the influence of
outside powers. The new geopolitical scene in which Soviet and American power
was seen to balance (if not outweigh) that of Britain made this far less
unlikely than it would have been before I939. To many young Arabs, there seemed
reason to hope that the post-war world would be a new 'national age'. The false
dawn of freedom from Ottoman power after I9I8 - which had led instead to
Britain's regional overrule - might at last give way to the glorious morning of
full Arab nationhood. Almost immediately the barriers piled up. The British
rejected the 'logic' of withdrawal: instead they dug themselves in.35
Arguments of strategy (as we have seen) and
heavy dependence on oil (still mainly from Iran) made retreat unthinkable. The
strategic vulnerability and economic weakness with which Britain had entered
the peace (London hoped they were temporary) ruled out the surrender of
imperial assets unless (as in India) they had become untenable. In the Middle
East, the British still believed that they had a strong hand. Their position
was founded on their alliance with Egypt, the region's most developed state,
with more than half the population of the Arab Middle East - 19 million out of
some 35 million.36
The long-standing conflict between the
Egyptian monarchy and the landlord class gave them enormous leverage in the
country's politics. If more 'persuasion' was needed, they could send troops
into Cairo from their Canal Zone base in a matter of hours. To improve
relations after the strains of war, they now dangled the promise of a smaller
military presence. They assumed that sooner or later the Wafd
or the king would want to come to terms, because Egypt's regional influence,
like its internal stability, needed British support. So, when negotiations
stalled, the British stayed put, intending to wait until things 'calmed down'.
They could afford to do so - or so they thought. For they could also count
certain of their historic claim to head the Arab cause: it was they, after all,
who had led the rising after 1916 and proclaimed an Arab nation. Their long
standing ambition was a great Hashemite state uniting Syria (lost to the French
in 1920) and Palestine with Iraq and Jordan. Their fiercest enmity, returned
with interest, was towards the house of Saud.37
It was the Saudi monarch who had seized
the holy places of Mecca and Medina from their Hashemite guardian, and turned
Hashemite Hejaz into a province of what became 'Saudi' Arabia. Much of the
rivalry between Egypt, the Hashemites and the Saudis was focused on Syria,
whose religious and regional conflicts made it a fertile ground for influence
from outside.38
This rough equilibrium of political
forces in the post-war Middle East was quickly upset by the volcanic impact of
the Palestine question. The British had planned to keep their regional imperium
by a smooth transition. All the Arab states would be independent; some would be
bound by treaty to Britain; the rest would acknowledge its de facto primacy as
the only great power with real strength on the ground. It was always going to
be difficult to manage this change in the case of Palestine, ruled directly by
Britain under a League of Nations mandate since the First World War.
Reconciling the promise of a Jewish 'national home', in which Jews could
settle, with the rights of the Arabs who were already there had been hard
enough in the 1920S. The flood of refugees from Nazi oppression in the 1930S
made it all but impossible. London's pre-war plan was to appease the anger of
the Palestine Arabs at the growing Jewish migration by fixing a limit to ensure
a permanent Arab majority. With its future settled as an Arab state, Palestine
could be edged towards a form of self-rule. After 1945 this ingenious solution
was soon blown to pieces. The practical difficulty and political embarrassment
of excluding Jewish refugees, diplomatic pressure from the United States
against the attempt to do so, and the scale and ferocity of the terrorist
campaign waged by Jewish settlers destroyed any semblance of British authority
by mid-1948.39
The result was the worst of all colonial
worlds: an ungovernable territory whose control was disputed between two
seemingly irreconcilable foes; outside encouragement that hardened the resolve
of both contending parties; and the absence of either the means or a method to
impose any decision. The partition proposed by the United Nations could not be
enforced. The war that followed between the Jews and Arabs (local Palestinians
and the contingents sent by the Arab states) brought a Jewish victory. The new
state of Israel was strong enough to impose a second and more favorable
territorial partition. But it was not strong enough to force the Arab states to
accept this outcome as a permanent condition.
The Arab catastrophe marked a crucial
stage in the end of empire in the Middle East. It galvanized the sentiment of
pan-Arab nationalism and gave it a cause and a grievance. It was a crushing
humiliation for the ruling regimes in the main Arab states, where post-war
inflation and hardship were fostering mass discontent: the violent
demonstrations of the Wathbah (the 'Leap') in Baghdad
in January 1948 had already stopped the renewal of the Anglo-Iraqi treaty.40
It provoked bitter resentment in the
ranks of the armies, who blamed their defeat on their civilian leaders. The
impact on Egypt was the greatest of all. The king had insisted on sending an
army, to boost his domestic prestige and assert Egypt's first place among the
Arab states.41 The shock of defeat was felt all the
more deeply. To make matters worse, he could make little progress towards
evicting the British from their massive Canal Zone, the great visible symbol of
Egypt's subaltern status. Nor indeed could his old political foes, the leaders
of the Wafd. Where diplomacy failed, direct action
stepped in. The struggle with the British became increasingly violent. Strikes,
assassination and other acts of terror exploited British dependence upon
Egyptian labor and the vulnerable state of British installations and personnel.
Retaliation and revenge spread to Egypt's main cities. As the sense of order
broke down, the king planned a putsch to purge discontent in the army. Before
he could act, the 'Free Officers' movement seized control of the government in
July 1952, and forced him into exile.
The effects at first seemed far from
radical. The new regime set out to restore order. It crushed the Muslim
Brotherhood, an Islamist movement that enjoyed mass support. It accepted the
loss of Egyptian influence in the upper Nile when the British-ruled Sudan was
promised independence as a separate state (the British rejected Cairo's demand
to respect the 'unity of the Nile valley'). Above all, it secured British agreement
to leave the Canal Zone base by conceding a right of return if its use were
needed to repel an outside attack (code for a Soviet invasion) on the Middle
East region. The British had concluded that, with a nuclear deterrent that they
could deliver by air, the base was redundant in its present form as well as
politically costly.42
What they probably hoped was that the
new Nasser regime would turn its attention to internal reform. Egypt, they
thought, would exert limited influence in the Arab world. This was the
judgement of the British ambassador in Cairo in July 1954.43
Meanwhile they would remodel their
imperium around a closer alliance with the Hashemite states and a new military
pact. American influence, helpful in making the Suez agreement, would be thrown
on their side. Egypt would be isolated and on its best behavior. But Nasser's
response was not to comply. Instead, his astonishing revolt against the British
'system' was the central event in the Middle East's decolonization.44
As an Egyptian nationalist (one of the
first acts of the new officers' government was to bring a statue of Ramses II
to Cairo), Nasser had every reason to mistrust the British and plot their
departure from the Middle East as a whole. He was also influenced by pan-Arab
feeling and the Palestine war. He wanted a cleansing tide of revolutionary
politics to smash the old regime of landlords and kings, left over from the
Middle East's colonial era. He also feared that time was against him. Any ruler
in Cairo would have faced much the same dilemma. The Sudan was lost. There was
high tension with Israel. The Arab East (the Mashreq) was being closed to
Egyptian influence and perhaps even its trade. Without markets or oil, he faced
stagnation at home and growing social unrest. He would be dangerously dependent
on economic aid from the West. His regime was untried. His critics would
multiply. His revolution would fail. So, as the British assembled their
'Baghdad Pact' (with Turkey, Iraq and - they hoped - Jordan: Syria was next on
the list), Nasser launched a counter-attack. He embraced pan-Arabism. With
Saudi support, he backed the anti-Iraqi faction in Syrian politics. He
encouraged opposition in Jordan to joining the pact. Then in September 1955
came a spectacular coup. Nasser broke free from the embargo on arms imposed by
the West and arranged a supply from the Soviet bloc.
Egypt would now be a real military
power. By early 1956 he had declared an open political war on Britain's Middle
East influence. The rising level of violence along the borders with Israel
played into his hands. With what seemed amazing ease, he had seized the
initiative in regional politics. He had made Egypt the champion of the pan-Arab
cause, and pan-Arab feeling into a dynamic force. The reaction in London was one
of panic and rage. The Suez Crisis in 1956 grew directly out of this
confrontation.
When a loan to pay for Egypt's Aswan
High Dam was stalled in Washington, there was no going back. Nasser
expropriated the Suez Canal, then jointly owned by Britain and France. It
seemed an act of bravado. But perhaps Nasser guessed that the British would
find it hard to defeat him. They no longer had troops in the old Suez base. An
open attack would enrage all Arab opinion. International pressure (through the
United Nations) was unlikely to bring what they really wanted: his political
downfall. Nasser may also have sensed that London's relentless hostility was
not shared fully in Washington. Indeed, the riposte, when it came, revealed
Britain's political weakness. Thinly disguised as an intervention between the
forces of Egypt and Israel (in whose invasion they colluded), Anglo-French
occupation of the Suez Canal was meant to humiliate Nasser and ensure his
collapse. The key to Nasser's survival was the enormous appeal of his act of
defiance to patriotic Arab opinion. It convinced President Eisenhower that
allowing the British their victory would unite Arab feeling against the West as
a whole, throw open the door to more Soviet influence, and wreck American
interests into the bargain. By a painful irony, the economic fragility that had
helped spur the British into their struggle with Nasser - fear that his
influence would damage their vital sources of oil- now proved decisive. Without
Washington's nod, they faced financial collapse. The British withdrew, and ate
humble pie. Nasser kept the canal So It was not he who fell through the
political trapdoor, but the British prime minister, Sir Anthony Eden.45
Suez signalled
the end of British ambition to manage the politics of the whole Arab world. It
created a vacuum of great-power influence. It was the moment to forge a new
Middle East order. Nasser stood forth as an Arab Napoleon. His prestige was
matchless: he was the rais (boss). With its large
middle class, its great cities and seaports, its literature and cinema, its
journalists and teachers, Egypt was the symbol of Arab modernity. Nasser's
pan-Arab nationalism (formally inscribed in Egypt's new constitution) chimed
with a phase of sharp social change in most Middle Eastern states. To the new
urban workers, the growing number of students, the expanding bureaucracy, the
young officer class, it offered a political creed and a cultural programme. It promised an end to the Palestinian grievance,
through the collective effort of a revitalized nation. Within less than two
years of his triumph at Suez, Nasser drew Syria into political union, to form
the United Arab Republic. The same year (1958) saw the end of Hashemite rule in
Iraq. Nasser still had to reckon with American power (the United States and
Britain intervened jointly to prevent the overthrow of Jordan and Lebanon by
pro-Nasser factions). But American fears of rising Soviet influence and
Nasser's opposition to Communism allowed a wary rapprochement. It looked indeed
as if Nasser had achieved a stunning double victory. He had displaced the
British as the regional power in favour of a looser,
more tolerant American influence. He had made himself and Egypt the
indispensable partners of any great power with Middle East interests. Pan-Arab
solidarity under Egyptian leadership (the new Iraqi regime with its Communist
sympathies had been carefully isolated) opened vistas of hope. It could set
better terms with the outside powers. It could use the oil weapon (oil
production was expanding extremely rapidly in the 1950s). It might even be able
to 'solve' the question of Palestine.
But, as it turned out, the Middle East's
decolonization fell far short of this pan-Arab ideal. Nasser might have hoped
that the oil-rich sheikdoms of the Persian Gulf (especially Kuwait) would
embrace his 'Arab socialism' and throw off their monarchs. But the British hung
on in the Gulf and backed its local rulers against Nasser's political
challenge. Secondly, the pan-Arab feeling on which Nasser relied faced a
powerful foe. In the early post-war years the new Arab states seemed artificial
creations. The educated Arab elite moved easily between them. So did their
ideas. State structures were weak, and could be easily penetrated by external
influence. By 1960 this had begun to change. New 'local' elites began to man
the states' apparatus. Every regime acquired its mukhabarat - a secret police.
The sense of national differences between the Arab states became clearer and
harder: the charismatic politics of Nasser's pan-Arabism faced an uphill
struggle. His union with Syria broke up after three years. Thirdly, the Israeli
state proved much more resilient than might have been hoped, and its lien on
American sympathy showed no sign of failing: if anything, it was growing
steadily stronger by the early 1960s.46
Fourthly (and largely in consequence),
the pan-Arabist programme could not be achieved
without help from outside. The search for arms, aid and more leverage against
Israel (and their own local rivalries) drew the Arab states into the labyrinth
of Cold War diplomacy. Lastly, a twist of geological fate placed the oil wealth
of the region in the states least inclined to follow Cairo's ideological lead:
Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Britain's Gulf protectorates. Nor did oil become (as
coal had once been for Britain) the dynamo of social and industrial change. In
fact Arab prosperity (or the prospect of it) seemed grossly dependent on an
extractive industry over which real control lay in foreign hands the 'seven
(multinational) sisters' who ruled the world of oil.47
The second catastrophe of the 1967 Six
Day War, fought between Israel and Egypt, Jordan and Syria, was a savage
reminder that mineral wealth was not the same as power, and that oil dollars
did not mean industrial strength. By 1970, the year of Nasser's premature
death, the promise of post-imperial freedom had become the 'Arab
predicament’.48
The three largest states in the Middle
East were Egypt, Turkey and Iran (each of which was to reach a population of 66
million in 2001). With the failure of Nasser's struggle to make Egypt the centre of an Arab revolution, his successor, Anwar Sadat,
turned back (like Mehemet Ali in the 1840s) towards an accommodation with the
West. By the late 1970s Egypt had become the second largest recipient (afth Israel) of American aid.
Turkey, under Atatürk's shrewd former
lieutenant Ismet Inonu, remained carefully neutral during the Second World War.
But the huge forward movement of Soviet power at the end of the war, and
Stalin's open avowal of his designs on the Straits - 'It was impossible to
accept a situation where Turkey has a hand on Russia's windpipe,' he declared
at Yalta - pushed Ankara firmly towards the Western camp. Under the Truman
Doctrine (1947), Turkey was included in the sphere of American help and
protection, however vague at this stage. By 1955 it had become a full member of
NATO. In a way that Kemal Atatürk could hardly have dreamed of, the pattern of
Cold War conflict had opened the door for Turkey's acceptance as a part of the
West, with, a claim to enter the European Union. Tensions with Greece and over
the future of Cyprus (which Turkey invaded and partitioned in the 1970s) made
relations fretful at times. Within Turkey itself, the key question for much of
the half-century after 1945 was how far Ataturk's grand project of a strong
bureaucratic state, with a modern industrial base and a secular culture, was
compatible with representative democracy (Ataturk's Turkey had been a one-party
state) and an open (not state-dominated) economy.
The case of Iran is the most intriguing
of all. Iran had been jointly occupied by Soviet and British forces in 1941,
partly to block Reza Shah's approaches to Germany, mainly to secure free
passage for supplies from Britain to an embattled Russia. Reza Shah abdicated
and was sent off into exile. The result was to unravel his authoritarian state.
Resentful notables (the powerful landowning class), radical movements in the
towns (like the Tudeh Party), tribal leaders (of the Qashgai and Bakhtiari) and ethnic minorities (Kurds, Arabs
and Azerbaijanis) challenged the new young shah's authority and scrambled for
favor from the occupying powers. At the end of the war, this instability grew.
The Red Army stayed on in Iranian Azerbaijan until 1946. The effects of wartime
inflation ravaged the economy. The supporters of the shah struggled with the
radicals and notables for control of the Majlis, or parliament. The government
faced increasing resistance from tribal, provincial and ethnic groups. By 1949,
however, the shah was close to reasserting control, perhaps because the
alternative seemed a further fragmentation of the Iranian state and a deepening
cycle of social unrest.
Before this could happen, a huge crisis
broke out. To restore his position, the shah had been anxious to swell Iran's
revenue from its main source of wealth, the vast oilfields in the south-west of
the country, controlled by the British-owned Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (today's
BP). In July 1949 a so-called 'supplemental agreement' proposed to increase the
royalty that the company paid from 15 to 20 per cent, with further increases
envisaged. But this agreement ran foul of two massive
obstructions. The first was the fear among the shah's opponents that this
newfound wealth would seal the revival of his power along pre-war lines. The
second was the much wider hostility across Iranian opinion against continued
foreign control of Iran's key resource and against the influence the company
was believed to exert To make matters worse, while the matter was debated in
the Majlis it became known that Aramco, the Arab-American Oil Company, had
offered a 50 per cent share of profits to its host government in Saud Arabia.
As negotiations with Anglo-Iranian ground on, the politica
temperature rose and in March 195I the Majlis passed a law to nationalize the
company. A few days later Mohamed Mossadeq, veteran
antagonist of the shah and his father, took office as prime minister.49
The result was a stand-off. British talk of armed intervention war vetoed in
Washington, where London's approach was regarded as reck less and retrograde.
50
Instead, the large British staff was
withdrawn from the fields and the Abadan refinery. The major oil companies,
fearing that others might follow the Iranian example, imposed an international
boycott on Iranian oil that was very effective. Mossadeq
had seemed on the brink of achieving a constitutional revolution, but hi
support - never very cohesive - now began to break up. In the Wes he was
suspect as a dangerous demagogue, paving the way for Communist rule. In August
1953 he was overthrown by a military coup aided and part-funded by American
agents with some British support and replaced by a premier who was loyal to the
shah. Under a new oil agreement, Iran's oil was sold through a cartel of
British and American companies. The shah's oil income rose spectacularly:
tenfold between 1954-5 and 1960-61, to $358 million; and aHur
the fifteen fold by 1973-4. So did his military and political power. By the
early 1960s he was firmly established as a major ally of the West whose value
as a bulwark against a Soviet southward advance was offset periodically by the
fear that his drive to be master of the Gulf would set off a conflict with the
Arab states of the region.
In Cold War terms, the shah's triumph
over Mossadeq seemed; victory for the West. In fact
his success owed as much to the division: and mistakes of his opponents and to
the deep-dyed conservatism of a landlord-dominated society as it did to the
machinations and maneuvers of the CIA.51
From another point of view, the shah and
Mossadeq between them had wrought a remarkable change
in Irans general position. The semi-colonial status
which even Reza Shah have not entirely thrown off, the Company's privileges as
almost a state within the state, and the pervasive influence that the British
exerted over Iranian officialdom and through their provincial allies had all
been swept away in the humiliating retreat into which Anglo-Iranian was forced.
To an extent that no other Middle East ruler could rival, the shah could assert
not only Iran's independence but also its claim to be the one great power of
the region. It was a signal irony that those who eventually inherited the state
he had built were the bitterest enemies of the changes it imposed on Iranian
society.
It was events in East Asia, South Asia
and the Middle East that destroyed the Europeans' illusion that their colonial
empires could be revived in the post-war world. For a while at least, Africa
seemed different. Even well-informed observers doubted that Africa could follow
in the wake of Asia, or would be allowed to do so without a bitter struggle. In
the Maghrib countries (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia), the power of France remained
deeply entrenched. The French idea of a Mediterranean 'destiny' precluded real
separation from lands thought so vital to France's place in the world. With I
million settlers in Algeria (all with a voice in France's parliamentary system)
and an Armee d'Afrique
(mainly recruited in North Africa) that filled a crucial place in their
military system, post-war French governments were doubly disinclined to see a
North African lesson in their forced withdrawal from Indochina. In sub-Saharan
Africa, the British, French, Portuguese and Belgians saw even less reason to
prepare for an early withdrawal.
Sub-Saharan Africa had felt indirectly
some of the fallout of war: inflation, shortages, the recruitment of soldiers,
localized industrialization, the screech of propaganda. But (except briefly in
Ethiopia) no real war was fought on its soil, and no invasion had disrupted the
colonial regime. Linguistic, ethnic and religious diversity seemed to rule out
the danger that African nationalism would ever become as potent as pan-Arab,
mobilizing mass support within (let alone across) colonial boundaries. For
similar reasons, the prospect that African leaders could create political
movements on the model of Indian nationalism seemed very remote. The vast sub
continental coalition created by Gandhi was a world away from the localized
nature of Africa's colonial politics. Indeed, far from evolving into African
nations, the colonial states of sub-Saharan Africa seemed to be moving in the
opposite direction. 'Tribal' Africa was still being invented, in part at least
as the African response to the forms of 'indirect rule' the Europeans had
imposed. Creating 'tribes' (some, like the Yoruba, on a very large scale) still
seemed the optimum way for African elites to exert their influence and build
their power. Lastly, in the 'White South', it was white settler nationalism,
not black African nationalism, that mobilized most aggressively after 1945.
Enforcing apartheid (literally 'separation') and fortifying white political
supremacy was the political programme in 1950s South
Africa. Building and defending a white-ruled Central African state was the
settlers' aim in Northern and Southern Rhodesia (modern Zambia and Zimbabwe).52
The entrenchment of white power had a
further dimension. With the rediscovery of its colonial mission after 1945, Salazarist Portugal embarked on the systematic colonization
of its two great African territories in Angola and Mozambique.53
Ironically, then, while the old colonial
powers were struggling to hang on in Asia, they thought in Africa that they had
time to play with. Bureaucratic blueprints for the transfer of power in the
indefinite future and after a series of stages (like a dunce's progress from
the first form to the sixth) flowed from the pens of colonial planners. The
real imperative was the urgent need to make the colonies produce: cocoa,
vegetable oil, cotton, sisal, tobacco, copper, gold, uranium, cobalt, asbestos
and aluminum. Dollar shortage and Cold War tension turned Africa from the
derelict of the inter-war years into Europe's Aladdin's cave. The 'night
watchman' state, which let sleeping dogs lie, had to be made into the
'developmental' state, which interfered everywhere. White settler communities
in East and Central Africa, typically regarded by pre-war colonial officials as
a redundant nuisance, had now to be petted and their expansion encouraged. In
colonial West Africa, where there were no white settlers, colonial
administrators looked for support to the educated elite of the coastal towns.
Coldly regarded before the war, they were now to help energize the drive for
growth. With curious optimism, more romantic than rational, the makers of
policy in London and Paris assumed that the promise of ultimate self-government
would soothe the irritation of a much more intrusive colonial presence and lay
the foundations of 'Eurafrican' partnership when colonial rule was eventually
relinquished.
What they failed to allow for was the rickety
condition of the colonial state. Across much of Africa, it had always been
feeble. In the age of partition and conquest before 1914, it sought little more
than a rough colonial pax and relied on settlers and concession-holders to
create a taxable revenue. In the inter-war years, the prevailing dogma of
indirect rule (based on fear of destabilizing 'traditional' African society)
and depression-hit revenues favored a shoestring regime that delegated power to
so-called 'native authorities' at the local level. More perceptive governors
were all too aware that, without a change of direction, it would get harder and
harder to hold their colonies together or to win general assent for any central
initiative.54
It was only the war (with its demand for
more action and spending) and its aftermath that made reform seem urgent. But
what the policymakers intended as a consensual advance towards a louder African
voice and a more proactive state held a different meaning for African opinion.
Amid post-war austerity, colonial governments had to regulate prices, hold down
wages, quash labour unrest, and limit local
consumption. They had to force through improvements in agricultural practice
-like cattle-dipping, anti-erosion measures and burning diseased cocoa trees -
that aroused intense animosity and relied on compulsion. With the swarm of
alien experts and (in some places) new settlers, colonial Africa experienced
what some historians hav6 called its 'second colonial occupation'.55
It was hardly surprising that this sudden
spasm of activity by the colonial regime provoked suspicion and resistance.
Within a short space of time, colonial governments had to choose between two
alternative courses. They could devolve more quickly to African leaders and try
to win the state more popular backing (the option pursued by the British in
Ghana after the 1948 disturbances). Or they could turn instead to a regime of
repression, in the hope that forceful action would discourage 'extremism' (the
term reserved for those who refused to cooperate with colonial governments) and
refill the ranks of those (called 'moderates') who were willing to accept a
leisurely timetable of political change and an indefinite period before African
majority rule.56
The first preference of governments in
London and Paris (and even in Brussels), once the scale of African resentment
was clear, was to avoid confrontation and strike a new bargain with African
leaders. But in Kenya and Central Africa this solution was barred by the vocal
presence of white settler communities.
When settlers became a target for
African attack in Kenya (though very few indeed were actually murdered), the
demand for an 'emergency' became irresistible. The result was to unleash a huge
cycle of violence. For in Kenya the 'Mau Mau' insurgency
among the Kikuyu people was fuelled as much by
resentment against fellow Kikuyu as by hatred of settlers. Economic change had
allowed many Kikuyu notables and their followers to increase their wealth at
the expense of the poor - the landless or less well connected. Older notions of
a 'moral economy' and social reciprocity turned these tensions into a social
war, as 'loyal' chiefs harried those suspected of Mau Mau
sympathies, and these reacted in kind or fled to the forests, the base for
guerrilla war. The back of Mau Mau resistance was
broken by I956. But even in Kenya, the cost of a prolonged security operation,
the need to rally African communities to the government side, and embarrassment
over the atrocities and brutalities of the repression apparatus, especially the
camps where Mau Mau suspects were 'rehabilitated' had
made devolution unavoidable by 1960.57
By that date, indeed, independence under
governments chosen and led by Africans had become the accepted policy of all
the colonial powers, with the exception of Portugal. But what they hoped and
intended was to control the timetable of change, to install 'moderate' regimes
with whom relations would be cordial, and to maintain close supervision over
the foreign relations and internal development of the ex-colonial territories.
Since sub-Saharan Africa still seemed an international backwater, remote from
the front line of cold war, they thought they had time in hand for a
post-colonial transition.58
This illusion was shattered by the
crisis in the Congo. The Belgian government had granted independence in June
1960 on the premise of minimal change in its role and influence in the Congo's
affairs.59
It was a catastrophic misjudgment.
Within a matter of days the army had mutinied, spreading panic and terror among
the large expatriate community. The charismatic new premier, Patrice Lumumba,
rejected a close post-colonial partnership. The mineral-rich provinces of South
Kasai and Katanga seceded unilaterally from the new Congo republic, in
Katanga's case with the connivance of Brussels, perhaps with the aim of
destroying Lumumba. By August I960 Lumumba had appealed for aid to the Soviet
Union, and Soviet arms and personnel began to arrive on the scene. A United
Nations force of 10,000 men was sent to hold the country together. But, with
the rise of new separatist regimes, the escalation of violence as rival armies
battled for control, the murder of Lumumba by Katangan
(and perhaps Belgian) soldiers, and international differences over the purpose
of the UN force, the country portrayed only three years before as a model
colony had become the 'Congo disaster. Although a semblance of order had
returned by I964-5, the Congo's tragedy transformed the meaning of
decolonization in Africa. It revealed the unexpected hazard of a Cold War
competition between East and West for African allegiance. It confirmed the
wisdom (as it seemed in London) of an early withdrawal from Britain's remaining
colonial burdens in East and Central Africa before they were afflicted by the
contagion of disorder. And, most decisively of all, it entrenched the suspicion
of whites south of the Zambezi that anarchy and barbarism were the inevitable
product of concession to African nationalists. As progress towards complete
independence became more and more hectic in the rest of Africa (even Algeria,
despite its million 'pieds-noirs' - white settlers -
had thrown off French rule in 1962), in the 'southern third' white control
tightened to form a solid bloc that also included the Portuguese colonies in
Angola and Mozambique. Here was a new and peculiar 'partition' of Africa.
As much as in the Middle East or the
rest of Asia, decolonization in Africa was not a clean break with the imperial
past, or a ticket of entry into a 'world of nations'. The new African states
inherited the weaknesses of their colonial forerunners - into whose shoes they
had stepped after the briefest transition. Regional or local ethnicity was much
stronger than nationalism. Building national identities without common vernacular
languages presented an enormous challenge. The 'tribal' legacy of colonial rule
was deeply embedded: indeed, in many parts of Africa, creating new forms of
'tribal' ethnicity was the usual means of adjusting to the larger scale of
economic and social life.
Meanwhile, the pressure to expand the
state's role was acute, whether in social services or economic development. The
imperative need for any new regime was to find external sources of financial
and often military aid, before it lost its claim on the loyalty of its
followers.60
It was a scene ready-made for the growth
of external influence in a novel post-colonial form. If the world's greatest
powers had a motive to do so, the means to build new empires of influence lay
all around.
Decolonization is thus best
understood as the dissolution of the distinctive global order - geopolitical,
legal, economic, cultural and demographic - that had made an appearance by the
I840s, was consolidated in the 1890s, and staggered on into the 1940s and' 50s
where conditions still favored its survival. The ability of the surviving
colonial powers preserve this old imperial system faded rapidly after 1945.
That, as we have seen, was one key element of the new post-war international
landscape. The other, just as critical, was the bloody collapse of the war
imperialisms of the Nazis and Japan. It was the near simultaneous fall of both
these imperial regimes - the 'old colonial' and the 'new imperialist' - that
cleared a space for the emergence of new world empires, with new ideologies,
new methods, and new aims and objects.
1. Duiker, Ho Chi Minh, New York, 2000,
pp. 363-64.
2. Worthing,
Occupation and Revolution, pp. 253-55.
3. Duiker, Ho Chi Minh, New York, 2000,
pp. 363-64.
4. Duiker, Ho Chi Minh, 2000, pp.
363-64.
5. K.H. Huyen,
Vision Accomplished?, pp. 133-34.
6. Sainteny,
Ho Chi Minh, pp. 65-66.
7. Duiker, Ho Chi Minh, p. 365.
8. Wickes, "Saigon 1945-Hanoi 1946.
9. W. Baze to
General Leclerc, 11 November 1945, dossier 1, folder 3, box 19, Leclerc Papers.
10.
Conference de Dalat, 21 avril 1946, in Bodinier, Le retour de la France,
pp. 248-49.
11. Martin Shipway, The Road to U1ar:
France and Vietnam, 1944-1947 (Providence: Berghahn
Books, 1996), p. 208.
12. Ibid., p. 212.
13. Ibid.
14. Declaration conjointe des gouvernements
de la Republique fran"aise et de la Republique democratique du Viet-Nam,
in Bodinier, Le retour de la France, pp. 287-91.
15. Christopher E. Goscha,
"The Ambiguities of War in the South: Reflections on the Rise and Fall of
Nguyen Binh," paper presented at the conference
on "Le Viet-Nam depuis 1945: Etats,
marges et constructions du passe," 11-12 January
2001, pp. 20-21.
16. The Political Advisor in Korea to the
Secretary of State, 23 January 1946, FRUS, 1946, vol. 8, The Far East, pp.
615-16.
17. Lt. Gen. David H. Petraeus,
"Learning Counter-Insurgency: Observations from Soldiering in Iraq,"
Military Review, January-February 2006, p. 4.
18. Allan R. Millett, "The Korean
People: Missing in Action in the Misunderstood War, 1945-1954," in William
Stueck, ed., The Korean War in World History
(Lexington, Ky.: University Press of Kentucky, 2003), p. 36.
19. For the full list, see Keesing's Archives, 1955, p. 14181.
20. For the text of these speeches, Keesing's Contempurary Archives
I955, pp. 14181ff.; G. Kahin, The Asian-African
Conference at Bandung, Indonesia, April 1955 (Ithaca, NY, 1956).
21. John Dower, Embracing Defeat: Japan
in the Aftermath of World War Two (Harmondsworth, 1999).
22. Ibid., p. 206.
23. C. Tsuzuki, The Pursuit of Power in
Modern Japan 1825-1995 (Oxford, 2000), p. 357.
24. For a recent study, J. M. Brown,
Nehru (London, 2004).
25. See J. Rizvi, Trans-Himalayan
Caravans: Merchant Princes and Peasant Traders in Ladakh (New Delhi, 1999), ch. I.
26. See J. Rizvi, Trans-Himalayan
Caravans: Merchant Princes and Peasant Traders in Ladakh (New Delhi, 1999), ch. I.
27. The standard account is N. Maxwell,
India's China War (London, 1970). 32. D. Kumar (ed.), The Cambridge Economic
History of India, vol. 2: c.1757-c.1970 (Cambridge, 1982), pp. 972-3.
28. The course of British policy can be
followed in the documents published in H. Tinker (ed.), Constitutional
Relations between Britain and Burma: The Struggle for Independence 1944-1948 (2
vols., London, 1983-4).
29. Qiang Zhai, China and the Vietnam Wars 1950-1975 (Chapel Hill,
NC, 2000), pp. 82-3.
30. Mao's thinking is examined in J. D.
Armstrong, Revolutionary Diplomacy: Chinese Foreign Policy and the United Front
Doctrine (Berkeley and London, 1977), ch. 3.
31. C. Tsuzuki, The Pursuit of Power in
Modern Japan 1825-1995 (Oxford, 2000), p. 357.
32. Besides in our section above,
American policy towards Indonesian nationalism can be followed in Foreign
Relations of the United States [FRUS] 1948, vol. 6: The Far East and
Australasia (Washington, 1974), especially Acting Secretary of State to US
ambassador in Moscow, 30 Dec. 1948, pp. 613ff; and FRUS 1949, vol. 7: The Far
East and Australasia (Washington, 1975), especially Acting Secretary of State,
conversation with Dutch ambassador, I I Jan. 1949
(threatening end of American economic aid), p. 139.)
33. For analysis of Diem, Miller,
'Vision, Power and Agency'; Tonnesson, 'Indochina's
Decolonization'; D. Duncanson, Government and Revolution in Vietnam (London,
1968), ch. 5.
34. For Malayan-Indonesian tensions
before and after independence, Joseph Chinyong Liow, 'Tunku Abdul Rahman and
Malaya's Relations with Indonesia 1957-1960', Journal of Southeast Asian
Studies 36, I (2005), pp. 87-09.
35. For a good account of British
policy, W. R. Louis, The British Empire in the Middle East 1945-19F: Arab
Nationalism, the United States, and Postwar Imperialism (Oxford, 1984).
36. This estimate is explained in, W. B.
Fisher, The Middle East: A Physical, Social and Regional Geography (London,
1950), p. 249.
37. Ghada
Hashem Talhani, Palestine and Egyptian National
Identity (New York, 1992), p. 9.
38. P. Seale, The Struggle for Syria: A
Study of Post-War Arab Politics I945-I958 (London, I966); A. Rathmell, Secret War in the Middle East: The Covert
Struggle for Syria I949-I96I (London, 1995); P. Seale, 'Syria', in Y. Sadiqh and A. Shlaim (eds.), The
Cold War and the Middle East (Oxford, I997); M. Ma'oz,
'Attempts to Create a Political Community in Syria', in I. Pappe
and M. Ma'oz, Middle East Politics and Ideas: The
History from Within (London, 1997).
39. M. J. Cohen, Palestine and the Great
Powers 1945-1948 (Princeton, 1982) is the standard account.
40. H. Batatu,
The Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq (Princeton,
1978), pp. 470-72, 545-66, 680.
41. Talhani,
Palestine, pp. 48-50.
42. For details see R. McNamara,
Britain, Nasser and the Balance of Power in the Middle East 19P-1967 (London,
2003), ch. 3.
43. See James Jankowski, Nasser's Egypt,
Arab Nationalism and the United Arab Republic (Boulder, Colo., 2002), p. 56.
44. The standard account is K. Kyle,
Suez (London, 1991).
45. See Rathmell,
Secret War, pp. 160-62; Abdulaziz A. al-Sudairi, A Vision of the Middle East: An Intellectual
Biography of Albert Hourani (London,1981).
46. For the intensification of America's
'special relationship' with Israel from the late 1950s, D. Little, 'The Making
of a Special Relationship: The United States and Israel 1957-1968',
International Journal of Middle East Studies 25,4 (1993), pp. 563-85; G. M.
Steinberg, 'Israel and the United States: Can the Special Relationship Survive
the New Strategic Environment?', Middle East Review of International Affairs 2,
4 (1998).
47. See A. Sampson, The Seven Sisters:
The Great Oil Companies and the World They Made (London, 1975).
48. The title of the influential study
by Fouad Ajami (London, 1981).
49. For the onset of the crisis, E.
Abrahamian, Iran between Two Revolutions (Princeton, 1982), ch
5. For Anglo-Iranian, J. Bamberg, The History of the British Petroleum Company,
vol. 2: The Anglo-Iranian Years 1928-1954 (Cambridge, 1994).
50. For the American view, see for
example Rowntree to McGhee, 20 Dec. 1950, in FRUS 1950, vol. 5: The Near East,
South Asia and Africa (Washington, 1978), p. 634. For British policy, Louis,
The British Empire in the Middle East, pp. 632-89.
51. M. J. Gasiorowski
and M. J. Byrne (eds.), Mohammad Mosaddeq and the 1953 Coup in Iran (Syracuse,
NY, 2004), 'Conclusion'. For landlord dominance and its impact, Abrahamian,
Iran, pp. 378-82.
52. J.R. T. Wood, The Welensky Papers (Durban, 1982) remains the best account.
53. The number of white settlers in
Portugal's main African territories in Angola and Mozambique
increased from 67,000 in 1940 to 300,000 by 1960. See A. J. Telo,
Economia e Imperio no Portugal Contemporanea
(Lisbon, 1994), p. 267.
54. See the memo by the governor of
Nigeria in September 1939, CO 5831 244/30453, printed in A. F. Madden and J.
Darwin (eds.), The Dependent Empire 1900-1948, vol. 7: Colonies, Protectorates
and Mandates: Select Documents on the Constitutional History of the British
Empire and Commonwealth (Westport, Conn., 1994), pp. 705H.)
55. See D. A. Low and J. Lonsdale,
'Towards the New Order', in D. A. Low and A. Smith (eds.), History of East
Africa, vol. 3 (Oxford, 1976), pp. 1-63.
56. For the strategies open to colonial
governments, J. Darwin, 'The Central African Emergency, 1959', in R. F. Holland
(ed.), Emergencies and Disorders in the European Colonial Empires after 1945
(London, 1994).
57. For details see J. Lonsdale, 'The
Moral Economy of Mau Mau: Wealth, Poverty and Civic
Virtue in Kikuyu Political Thought', in B. Berman and J. Lonsdale, Unhappy
Valley: Conflict in Kenya and Africa, book 2: Ethnicity and Violence (London,
1992), pp. 265-504.
58. See also, D. Anderson,
Histories of the Hanged (London, 20°5). C. Elkins, Britain's Gulag (London,
20°5) offers a more vehement account.
59. See Crawford Young, Politics in the
Congo: Decolonization and Independence (Princeton, 1965).
60. Besides our
own more recent, extensive studies about the subject see also Ludo de
Witte, The Assassination of Lumumba (Eng. trans. London, 2001), and Colin Legum, Congo Disaster, 1961.
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