Democracy and Diplomacy
ON both sides of every battlefront in Europe all forward-looking men are demanding relief from the dangers of secret diplomacy. The popular party of Germany is outraged at the revelation of the secret power of their Foreign Office. In England, the Liberals are distressed at the realization of the disasters which might have overwhelmed the Empire if the uncontrolled power of the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs had been in the hands of a knave or a fool. It is almost the only point of unanimity in the Old World. The democratic control of diplomacy is a burning issue in every nation at war.
Some Americans naively believe that secret diplomacy is an evil confined to ‘ the effete monarchies ’ of Europe. Such people are generally embarrassed by the question, ‘Are our marines still in Nicaragua?’ Not one in ten of our voters can answer off-hand. Not one in a thousand can give a coherent account of our diplomatic relations with the Central American republics. Why has our administration, so strongly opposed to intervention in Mexico, intervened in San Domingo? The people of the United States know no more about the international policy of their government than the English or Germans knew of the plans of their Foreign Offices.
This ignorance in regard to the facts of our foreign relations is not due solely to indifference. The veil of secrecy which shields Downing Street and Wilhelmstrasse and the Quai d’Orsay is no denser than that which enshrouds our State Department. Our diplomatic archives are as jealously guarded as any in Europe. The student of American history who wishes, for instance, to understand our role in the Conference of Algeciras must go to European sources for help. The State Department has little or no information available.
The diplomacy of our Republic is almost as undemocratic as that of Russia. Once in four years we elect our Chief Executive. But we have no direct voice in his policy in dealing with our neighbors, and only such knowledge of it as he chooses to impart.
Until his recent peace move, Mr. Wilson made no noticeable effort toward the amelioration of this condition. He kept more closely to the tradition of secrecy than some of his predecessors. This was regrettable. For there is no contribution to democratic progress and the peace of the world which we, as a nation, could make, which would be more gloriously American and more heartily welcomed by the Liberals of all the world than the devising and demonstrating of means by which diplomacy could be made democratic.
The advocates of open diplomacy cannot deny that there are certain definite advantages in secrecy. The man who decides to be truthful is certainly handicapped when dealing with less scrupulous rivals. But a reputation for veracity confers certain advantages which the liars lack. To argue in favor of truthfulness, it is not necessary to deny that falsehoods are sometimes profitable.
The methods of business offer a better analogy. The directors of any company find it easier to bribe legislators or judges, to burn competing plants, to oppress their workers, if they are protected by secrecy. But the commonweal is better served by publicity.
In diplomacy, as in business or private life, ‘the wicked love darkness.’ The nation which is bent on aggression had best keep it quiet. If we wish to annex Central America, secrecy will be of value. But, just as the growth of democracy in business tends to fight the sinister profits of secrecy with increasing publicity, and just as we are gradually opening the books of insurance companies, railroads, and other great corporations, so the growth of democracy in government will surely abolish ‘le secret du roi.'
The chief opposition to democratic control of foreign affairs comes from the professional diplomats. They defend their special privilege of secrecy with passion. They bitterly oppose democratic interference with their prerogatives. They hate and fear publicity.
But behind the professional diplomats of Europe (and too many of our diplomats accept them as models) are the great masses of common people of all countries, who, like us, are striving for a better democracy. If the President should break through the crust of tradition, tear up the red tape of the protocol, and take the citizens, at home and abroad, into his confidence in regard to the problems of foreign relations, it would doubtless lay him open to the sarcastic jibes of the diplomatic clubs. He would probably be lampooned in Punch, as Lincoln was. But he would —as Lincoln did — win the love and gratitude of all democrats the world around.
II
The democratization of diplomacy presents a two-fold problem: the relation of the government to other nations, and its relation to its own citizens.
It is an anomaly, a denial of our own democratic faith, that our Republic should accredit its ambassadors to the kings and not to the peoples of Europe. We have simply followed the fashion, accepted the old monarchical protocol. We should have devised some means whereby we could deal directly with the Reichstag of Germany and not solely with the Kaiser. We have a representative at the ‘ Court of St. James,’ but none with the British Parliament. This is more than a quibble over words, for in this case the words are symbols — these forms of the ancien regime are symbols of all that is anti-democratic.
There are obvious mechanical obstacles to the publication of all the dayto-day detailed operations of a great organization like the State Department. The advocates of democratic diplomacy are not asking for any such absurdity as a daily ‘White Paper.’ There are also occasional negotiations which would be disturbed by current discussion. But the broad principles of foreign policy are susceptible of democratic control. They are no more esoteric than the tariff. They are not nearly so complicated as the currency bill or the adjustments between Capital and Labor.
Our Constitution is unfortunate in this matter. The Executive is practically irremovable for four years, and that is ample time to set all the world at war. In the countries with responsible ministries, which can be reversed at any time, there is much more chance of direct popular control of diplomatic policy.
Even the quadrennial election is a poor guide. Was the issue in November home or foreign politics? The campaign recalled the first candidature of Bryan and the perplexity of low-tariff men who believed in a gold standard. The multiplicity of issues makes voting a distressing choice between a programme of Seven Devils and Seven Seas and a platform of Seven Seas and Seven Devils.
So long as our Constitution remains unchanged, any president who wishes to base his foreign policy on the will of the nation, will have to rely largely on extra-legal expedients. No machinery has been provided by which he can take a referendum in such matters.
No administration can follow the will of the democracy unless the citizens know what they want. So the first requisite in democratic control of diplomacy must be education in the subject. And all experience in the plebiscite shows that the intelligence of any vote is in direct ratio to the clearness with which the issue is posed.
The phrase, much used in the November campaign: ‘He kept us out of war,’ is a good example of the bad method. What did it mean? Are we to understand that Mr. Wilson has stood and will stand for ‘peace at any price’? It is beyond dispute that many who shouted this slogan, many who were influenced by it, disagreed in their understanding of it. It was unintelligible and therefore unintelligent.
If we are to have any serious democratic control of our international relations, we shall need very much more concrete and precise statements of policy than that.
It is widely, if vaguely, known that the establishment of more cordial relations with the Latin-American republics is a matter very close to the President’s heart. We have heard rumors of explicit treaties — a ‘ Peace League ’ of American republics. But what is the status of these negotiations?
Some real progress in good feeling was certainly made during Mr. Wilson’s first term. His reflection undoubtedly adds greatly to the strength of his influence. But what are the obstacles which have so far prevented the reaching of tangible results? Have the obstructions come from opposing interests at home? From unreasonableness below the Equator? From intrigues in Europe or Asia? What privileges and what pretensions must we surrender? What hostilities must we overcome? What new obligations must we take upon ourselves? In short, what chance is there of success?
We know that the President is working on this problem. But we are absolutely in the dark as to the methods that he is using, the snags that he has encountered.
Isolated individuals who have close connections in the Argentine, Brazil, Chile, or Equador, who follow the South American newspapers, or those who enjoy the personal confidence of the President or his advisers, have more concrete knowledge of the problem. But there is nothing which deserves to be called public opinion on the subject. The democracy has not been trusted with the essential facts.
We, as a nation, can have no intelligent attitude toward the Mexican tangle so long as we are ignorant of these South-American negotiations. The Secretary of the Navy and Congress cannot agree on any sane naval programme so long as this large element in the problem is ignored.
And what policy does our government intend to follow in the Far East? It is idle to talk of democratic control in this matter. We have no means of knowing whether we approve of the Administration’s policy or not. We do not know what that policy is.
But it is necessary for our own peace of mind that we should be told. Is it our policy to maintain the Open Door, even at the cost of war? Completely open, or only ajar? Are we to support the young republican movement in China with financial help? Are we to determine this question for ourselves, or ask consent of the ‘Concert’ of Great Powers? Or are we going to blow up the Philippines and come home?
Until we have thrashed out all these problems, until the nation is agreed on a policy, all this ‘preparedness’ talk is empty words. We cannot adequately prepare till we know what to expect.
We ought to define our Asiatic policy out of fairness to our friends in Japan. There are jingoes over there, who are inciting ill feeling toward us. Their strongest argument is the assertion that we have decided on an aggressive policy, that we are determined to deny them ‘a place in the sun.’ And our friends among the Japanese cannot refute this dangerous propaganda of hate, because they do not know what our policy is. We do not know ourselves.
When we turn our attention from the Far East to the Nearest East, we are rendered breathless, dazed, by the Great Tragedy. How light were the petty gains that the diplomats strove for in secrecy compared to this appalling weight of woe! Was any new colony worth it? Or any railroad to Cathay? The democratic elements of Europe did not want this war. If the common people could have controlled their fates, if they could have reasoned together, it would not have come.
If the misery of war ever falls on us, it will come in the same way — without our willing it; without any foreknowledge of its imminence. As I write, men over whom we have no control may be signing a treaty in our name, drafting an ultimatum which will seal our fate.
III
While the democratic control of our own foreign policy demands first of all an elaborate and continuous campaign to educate the electorate, and then some specific constitutional changes, our dealings with other countries could be rendered more direct and democratic by executive action.
When, in our dealings with the British Empire, we are content to confine our intercourse to the Court of Saint James, we are ignoring the vital, modern elements of the nation. We — a republic— are giving credence to an empty survival of mediaeval ism, and we are coming in contact with the most reactionary caste of Great Britain.
The British have led the world in democratic forms of legislation. But their diplomatic service is still an appanage of the aristocracy. Mr. Bryce was the happy exception which proved this unhappy rule. Many of the British ambassadors, many of the permanent officials of their Foreign Office, are Tories. As they are fighting desperately against all democratic progress at home, it is not to be expected that they will deal sympathetically with us. If we ‘play the game’ according to the rules they devise, we must give up hope of direct and cordial communication with the democratic mass of the British people. When we deal with the ‘Court of Saint James ’ we are talking to that small and unrepresentative section of British society which is most outspoken in its hostility to our political theories and in its disdain for our ideals.
The attitude of the British Government toward us during the war has been exceedingly complex. The Asquith Cabinet — the famous 23, who have recently fallen to make way for the Lloyd-George directorate — were rarely united on any subject. But the necessity of explaining our neutrality to their own people had brought them into practical unanimity on the simple thesis that the attitude of our government was determined by a mixture of degenerate commercialism and fear of German-American riots.
The people of Britain went into the war on the ‘ Moral Issue’ — their word pledged to Belgium, democracy versus military autocracy. The critics of Britain have called these motives in question, but that is aside from my point. The people accepted them with earnest sincerity and conviction. The stupendous success of voluntary enlistment cannot, be explained on any other basis. The popular, democratic support of the war has been based on the conviction that the Moral Issue is obvious.
If it had seemed equally obvious to us in those fatal days of August, 1914, we would have declared war on Germany. But no such moral obligation was apparent to our government. And although every one of us at once took sides individually, — overwhelmingly the Entente side, — public opinion supported the official proclamation of neutrality. Many of our citizens have questioned the political expediency of neutrality, but few have condemned the attitude of the administration on the ground that it has shirked an obvious moral responsibility.
But for the British Government to admit that any fair-minded people can be honestly neutral is to give up the semi-religious doctrine that the Moral Issue is clear. The government dares not allow any doubt to arise as to the justice of their cause or the complete righteousness of their actions. And the supervision of the newspapers by the Press Bureau, the censorship of private correspondence, the Defense of the Realm Act, make the control of public opinion more facile than any one who has not witnessed it can easily credit.
Of course the efforts of the government in this matter have not been completely successful. Certain individuals, a few fearless periodicals, have maintained a critical attitude toward the official theory. But the great, mass of public utterances, on the platform and in the press, has been pretty successfully ‘controlled.’ And the average Englishman has been adroitly taught to believe that we are tugging at the leash to join them in their war against the enemies of civilization; that we are gnashing our teeth in rage at Mr. Wilson for holding us back. Any American who does not fit into this pattern is suspected of German blood or a sinful desire to run contraband. It was generally believed that Mr. Wilson in his heart of hearts saw our plain duty to join in the crusade, but was deterred from righteousness by a crafty desire to win the votes of munition-makers and by fear of personal violence at the hands of the Kaiser’s spies.
So far our Administration has confined itself to the traditional technique of diplomacy. Our notes to Britain have been able briefs in International Law. They have hardly reached beyond Downing Street. Some have been published as White Papers. A few have been published in extenso, in fine print, on the inside of the newspapers. But they are long and involved, and few read them. Not many citizens of any country are mentally prepared to follow such intricate arguments. Our diplomatic correspondence reaches the British public in the form of newspaper résumés, carefully pressed through the sieve of the Foreign Office.
I chanced to be in London when our first note in regard to the interference with the mails was delivered. It was a long legal document, discussing all the alleged illegalities of the British action. It certainly was not news to the officials of the Foreign Office. They knew what was happening to the mails. They knew the law in the case.
Reports from Washington said that Wall Street had gambled heavily on the Entente victory and that the Administration would not dare to press the protest. Public opinion in America was so strongly anti-German that there was no danger of our switching to that side. The Foreign Office did not fear our illwill and did not care for our good-will.
Some official of the Foreign Office made a condensation of the note — a cold-blooded sophistication. It was circulated by the Press Bureau and the next morning the British Democracy read in the headlines: —
DOCTOR WILSON’S NEW NOTE DRASTIC WORDS AS SOP TO HYPHENATES
OUR RIGHT TO SEARCH MAILS CONCEDED
The leading articles of the day gravely discussed the immorality of the Yankees’ desire to trade with the Huns, and whether or no Mr. Wilson’s subserviency to German-American voters would gain his reelection. And all this was reprinted in the newspapers of Paris, Petrograd, and Rome.
The situation in the other countries of the Entente is largely a derivative from that in England. We have no controversies with any of them beyond the fact that, more or less reluctantly, they have consented to the British naval policy. There has been little reason for anything but amiable diplomatic correspondence with them. In the second place, there is the unfortunate fact that few of them maintain regular newspaper correspondents in America. Most of the letters and news they get from us passes through the hands of the British Censor. Almost all the items in their papers dealing with American affairs are translations from the London papers — more often than not from the Northcliffe press, which is definitely hostile to us.
The traditional friendship between the French and ourselves is being seriously threatened, because our State Department has not contrived means to deal directly with the French people.
It would be difficult to overstate the degree to which our attitude is misunderstood. Often intelligent, well-read Englishmen and Frenchmen have said to me, ‘You blockaded the Southern States. How can you object to our blockade of Germany?’
There is no word in any of our notes to the Entente which questions the right to blockade or to seize for contraband. Our government wishes to preserve these methods of warfare. Our protests have been against innovations in these matters, which seem to us contrary, not only to the express letter of International Law, but also to the spirit of equity. However, the President’s notes have been so long that few have read them. Misunderstandings have been made the more easy.
The result of following the traditional protocol of diplomacy is that, while the people of the United States and Britain and France have every reason to cooperate in the general work of civilization, their governments are snarling at each other.
Lincoln was faced by a somewhat similar problem during the Civil War. Those who were in control of Her Majesty’s Foreign Office would have rejoiced to see the failure of our experiment in popular government. But the great mass of the English people then as now — were inspired by liberal democratic aspirations. Lincoln went over the heads of the Court of Saint James, directly to the common people he loved and understood and trusted. His letter to the trade-unionists of the cotton industry was a grave breach of diplomatic etiquette. And no doubt the professional diplomats were shocked and offended by Beecher’s visit to London. But Lincoln won his point. He succeeded in putting his case before the democracy of Britain.
The point. I have illustrated above by reference to our relations with the Powers of the Entente is of course even stronger in regard to our relations with their enemies. There is a greater chasm between the government and people of Germany than in the case of Britain. By adhering to the traditional protocol in our dealings with the German Empire we are voluntarily abandoning the chance of any accord with the democratic forces of that country.
One is tempted to sardonic humor over the situation. During this war America, the youngest of the greater powers, has been more rigidly conservative in her diplomatic traditionalism than the older monarchies of Europe.
Both groups of belligerents have recognized the value of ‘Publicity,’ and the holiest traditions have not kept them back from accepting this most modern arm. They have all subsidized newspapers in the neutral countries. The British and Germans, having sent so many propagandists to our shores, could hardly object if we returned the compliment. The Entente, dissatisfied with the Court of Athens, has appealed to the Greek public. Several European premiers and foreign secretaries, two or three kings in distress, have harangued us directly by means of newspaper interviews. Our Administration has not been so progressive.
Of course the most distressing element of the situation is the present mal-entente with Britain. The great mass of our people want cordial relations with our Anglo-Saxon cousins. And in this matter the democratic will of the nation is in accord with the most astute statesmanship. If we are to abandon our traditional isolation, — a change in policy which is inevitable, — the best hope of the future lies in more happy relations with the American republics to the South and in the development of a cordial working agreement with France and Britain. There is every evidence that the democratic forces of these two countries.— struggling in Britain, triumphant in France — desire our cooperation. But so far, our Administration, limiting its action to the traditions of diplomacy, has failed to establish friendly terms with Britain.
IV
In order to democratize our diplomacy some such steps as these are necessary.
First of all, we must consciously work at the education of our public opinion. It is as true of diplomacy as of any other branch of government that an intelligent despot is preferable to an ignorant majority. If we wish to escape despotism we must go in wholeheartedly for education.
Without violating any proper confidences, without wrecking current negotiations, qualified students might be granted much freer access to the archives of the State Department. So long as we forbid professors of American history to study our recent diplomatic history, we are forbidding them to teach it. We are condemning our students to ignorance in this matter.
The Secretary of State could learn valuable lessons from his colleagues of the Departments of the Interior and of Agriculture. They have discovered how to interest the public in their work. We should be taught to consider our State Department, not as a mystic arcanum, but as an important element in the nation’s welfare which it is our duty and our interest to understand.
Private enterprise has established a number of forums and societies for the study of international relations. They should be stimulated by official encouragement. Mr. Wilson’s speeches before the League to Enforce Peace, at the lighting of the Statue of Liberty, and, more recently, before the Senate, are the kind of educational work of which we need more.
Our periodical press, daily, weekly, and monthly, is our greatest source of information. Here and there editors have realized the importance of informing their readers on the problems of diplomacy. But they have had very little official encouragement. If the State Department wished, it could multiply the volume and greatly increase the accuracy of the printed discussions of foreign affairs.
At present the Secretary of State issues an annual report which is published as an annex to the President’s Message. It is perhaps the dreariest reading of all our official publications, a close second at best to the machinemade Tidal Calendar. As a means of developing an intelligent public opinion in foreign policy it is utterly inadequate. Most of its items are two or three years old. We should have White Papers, as occasion arises, published while interest in the matter is still alive.
The Yellow Books published by the French Government in regard to the frequent crises over the Morocco Affair are infinitely more informing than anything that we have been given about Mexico.
Mexico furnishes an admirable illustration. On no subject is the public mind of America more at sea. Mr. Wilson and his aids have struggled with this problem for four years and have failed to bring peace to that unhappy land. Most of us are ready to admit that it was an exceedingly difficult problem — that the Archangel Gabriel w’ould probably have failed, too. But by shrouding the negotiations in mystery the Administration has not hidden its failure. It has hidden only the causes of failure and so has further bewildered public opinion. On all hands we meet people who pretend to ‘know about Mexico.’ Each one of them has seen more or less clearly some facet of the problem. Their statements are blatantly contradictory. No one’s claim to ‘ know about Mexico ’ is worth anything unless he has had access to the State Department archives. Only the Administration has been able to see all sides of the question. But beyond a few sonorous generalities we, the people of the United States, have been given no information.
There are few questions, if any, of greater importance to us and the generation to follow us than this Mexican tangle. We are kept in darkness. But if the President’s policy has been as high-minded as those in his confidence believe, he could furnish no better defense against his critics than the bare facts.
The publication of any honest and complete collection of Mexican correspondence, frankly confessing bad guesses as well as good intentions, admitting the inevitable human failures as well as success, intended to inform rather than mislead the electorate, would be of great value, not only in increasing our national understanding of the problem: it would be a resounding stroke for democratic diplomacy the world around.
If Mr. Wilson would dare to authorize a non-partisan committee of qualified scholars — appointed, for instance, by the American Historical Society — to go over the very voluminous Mexican correspondence and publish a digest of it, it would not only help us to a clearer appreciation of this problem, but would set a new standard in diplomatic usage. It would plant a new milestone in the progress of Democracy.
In order to break through the traditional barriers of diplomacy and to establish more direct contact with the popular forces of other countries, the President might instruct our ambassadors abroad to watch the newspaper discussions regarding the relations between the two countries, and, if the need arose, to take part in them.
A poor translation of an inaccurate, unsympathetic English report of Mr. Wilson’s speech before the League to Enforce Peace appeared in the telegraphic columns of the French papers. It was two weeks or more before the mail brought the text of the speech. A deep and painful impression had already been made. The complete text, or an accurate resume, of every such important speech on foreign affairs should at once be telegraphed to our ambassadors for issuance to the press. It would not be amiss for the State Department to cable regular press bulletins to all our embassies.
When ambassadors are dispatched on foreign missions, it would be well for Congress to give them credentials and messages of good-will to the parliament of the country to which they are accredited. And when ambassadors come to us, the President, in some formal ceremony, might take them to the Capitol and present them to Congress, and in this manner emphasize the fact that their business is with a democracy.
It would be but one step further to grant to all ambassadors the courtesy privilege of addressing messages directly to Congress.
We desire to make it impossible for a fewmen in secret and uncontrolled conclave to decide the fate of nations. If we find the Foreign Office of any country standing in the way of cordial friendship, we must go over their heads, directly to the people. It is popular friendship more than the good-will of the rulers of the moment which we seek.
And we must freely grant the same privilege to other nations. It would be better for all concerned if the European governments, which are now spending money to influence our public opinion, were offered some more open and direct method of appeal.
If the minister from Liberia is dissatisfied with the treatment he receives at the State Department, it would be much better if he were free to air his grievance before Congress than for him to be reduced to the necessity of ‘ persuading’ some editor to write an indirect attack on the administration.
But, of course, in any such reforms, the spirit of their operation is more important than the form. The two main objects to be sought are: first, the development of an enlightened public opinion at home, and, secondly, more direct methods of communication between the peoples of the different countries.
We, as a nation, are deeply interested in the future peace of the world. We must devise means by which our diplomacy can be made democratic in its control and in its action. Any experiments we make in this direction will be watched with interest by the Liberals of all the world. The solution of the problem would be the greatest contribution which any nation could make toward the welfare of the race.