Defense by Deterrents

In a moving, majestic speech, the world's greatest orator last week came to grips with the hydrogen bomb. By his own oft-repeated statement, 80-year-old Sir Winston Churchill has had the bomb constantly in his mind, particularly since that April day in 1954 when the first public image of the hydrogen fireball billowed out of the photographs into the minds of men. Now, his shock behind him, his desperation gone, Churchill gave splendid utterance to the belief that has guided the U.S. ever since Hiroshima: that nuclear fission spells hope, as well as horror, for mankind.

Small Wooden Box. Churchill rose to a silent and expectant House of Commons. His notes lay before him; his hearing aid was in place. As he offered the government motion, approving Britain's 1955 Defense estimates, his voice, gathering strength, carried the familiar lisping growl to every corner of the chamber. Churchill plunged into his subject by slapping the sides of the dispatch box.

"It is now the fact," he growled, "that a quantity of plutonium, probably less than would fill this box on the table*. . . would suffice to produce weapons which would give undisputable world domination to any great power which was the only one to have it. There is no absolute defense against the hydrogen bomb . . . [Before its consequences] imagination stands appalled."

Bomb of Our Own. "What ought we to do?" cried Churchill, and paused as if hoping for an answer. "It does not matter so much to old people; they are going soon anyway, but I find it poignant to look at youth in all its activity and ardor and, most of all, to watch little children playing their merry games, and wonder what would lie before them if God wearied of mankind."

Disarmament would be the best solution, said Churchill. "But facts are stubborn things," and one of the stubbornest is that the Soviet government refuses to accept "any practical system of international inspection." The West therefore has "only one sane policy in the next few years. That is what we call defense through deterrents."

Thus far, the H-bomb is the only real deterrent. Britain therefore must have H-bombs of its own. "Unless we make a contribution," Sir Winston rumbled, "we cannot be sure that the targets which would threaten us most [e.g., Soviet missile installations, submarine bases], would be given what we consider the necessary priority in the first few hours."

Besides, Churchill implied. Whitehall's ability to sway U.S. policymaking is in direct proportion to British deterrent strength. "Personally," he said, "I cannot feel that we should have much influence over [U.S.] policy or actions, wise or unwise, while we are largely dependent, as we are today, upon their protection."

Peace for Four Years? The Prime Minister glanced down at his pile of notes containing a digest of British intelligence reports and produced a piece of startling news. Russia is not in a position to deliver the hydrogen bomb, he said. "The only country which is able to deliver today a full-scale nuclear attack with hydrogen bombs, at a few hours' notice, is the U.S." And that, said Churchill in a characteristic piece of understatement, "is from some points of view--and to some of us--not entirely without comfort."

Of course, Sir Winston warned, the nuclear deterrent doctrine "does not cover the case of lunatics or dictators in the mood of Hitler when he found himself in his final dugout." But assuming the men in the Kremlin have regard for their own interests, Churchill predicted that a general war is unlikely for at least three or four years.

"During that period it is most unlikely that the Russians would . . . attempt a surprise attack . . . which would bring down upon them at once a crushing weight of nuclear retaliation. In three or four years' time--it may be even less--the scene will be changed. The Soviets will probably stand possessed of hydrogen bombs and the means of delivering them not only on the United Kingdom but on North American targets. They may have then reached a stage not indeed of parity with the U.S. and Britain, but of what is called 'saturation' . . . where although one power is stronger, perhaps much stronger, both are capable of inflicting crippling or quasi-mortal injury on the other."

Equality of Annihilation. Is war the more likely once East and West reach thermonuclear stalemate? On the contrary, said Churchill, the danger will probably diminish because "both sides will then realize that global war would result in mutual annihilation." Churchill developed a theme in which he has found new encouragement: the H-bomb's "vast range of destruction" has put continents "on an equality, or near-equality of vulnerability with our small, densely populated island ... I have hoped for a long time for a top-level conference where these matters could be put plainly and bluntly . . . Then it may be that we shall by a process of sublime irony have reached a stage in this story where safety will be the sturdy child of terror, and survival the twin brother of annihilation."

He paused and fumbled with his spectacles to let his ringing phrases sink home. His peroration brought a new burst of eloquence: "All deterrents will improve and gain authority during the next ten years. By that time, the deterrent may well reach its acme and reap its final reward, [enabling] tormented generations to march forth serene and triumphant from the hideous epoch in which we have to dwell.

"Meanwhile, never flinch, never weary, never despair."

A deep roar of approval greeted the stouthearted old man as he went back to his place on the Tory front bench. Even London's hostile Daily Mirror, which is forever demanding that Churchill resign because of "senility," conceded that he had been "at his very best." Yet despite its impressive rhetoric and reassuring confidence, Churchill's speech was flawed by an inconsistency which Left-Winger Nye Bevan was quick to exploit next day in the House.

"The mediocrity of his thinking is concealed by the majesty of his language," sneered Socialist Bevan. While maintaining that the only effective guarantee of peace is Western superiority in nuclear weapons, Churchill had argued that peace may be even surer when the "saturation point" is reached and the West's advantage slips away. "The right honorable gentleman said yesterday he would meet the Soviet leaders and talk tough and then have supper," said Bevan at his most biting. "The last supper, I presume. Because if those Soviet leaders can talk tough now . . . they can talk even tougher [when they have H-bomb parity]."

"I Was Struck Down." Sevan's solution was standard for politicians of his persuasion: negotiate now, while the West is ahead. He mischievously accused the Prime Minister of failing to confer with the Soviet leaders "because we are now at the mercy of the U.S."

"Absolutely wrong." snapped Sir Winston, getting to his feet. It was true that after Stalin's death he had tried to enlist Eisenhower's approval for a "parley at the summit," said Churchill, but at that point "I was struck down by a very sudden illness which paralyzed me completely, physically." The old man illustrated by rubbing his right hand from his left shoulder down to his knee. It was the first time many M.P.s had realized that the Prime Minister's illness in 1953 was a stroke, and the House was shocked to silence as he said, with moving simplicity: "That is why I had to put it all off, and it was not found possible to persuade President Eisenhower to join in that process."

Voice weak and head heavy, Churchill went on to say that he had then considered "a dual meeting" with the Russians, without the U.S., "at some neutral place such as Stockholm." Whitehall has never admitted that the Prime Minister went that far, and when TIME reported it last July, the Foreign Office issued an unofficial denial.

Sermon on the Mount. Nye Bevan was delighted with the answer he had provoked. "Complete confirmation of what I have said," he smirked, as he returned to the attack. His new target was not Churchill but his own party leader, Clement Attlee. The Labor leader had moved a vote of censure against the Tories for the shortcomings of British defense production (jet fighters, atom-bombers, guided missiles), but had fully accepted Churchill's decision to build an H-bomb and to ensure German rearmament before trying anew for Russian talks. Bevan's way of defying these decisions without risking expulsion from his party was to persuade his own supporters to abstain from Labor's vote of censure.

When the vote came, Labor's motion to censure the Churchill government lost overwhelmingly: 303 to 196, with 57 Bevanite abstentions. At week's end, Clem Attlee felt impelled to make it clear that the vast majority of the British Labor Party supports the Tory decision to use H-bombs if necessary. Addressing the Oxford University Labor Club, Attlee also advised all those, including Churchill and Bevan, who set such store by Big Three talks: "It's no good going to the Kremlin and thinking you can read them the Sermon on the Mount . . . They are tough people, and they certainly don't believe in moral sentiments. Everything they do is for self-interest, and one has to face up to it."

*The wooden dispatch box is about the size of a case of Scotch: two feet long, 18 inches wide, 12 inches high.

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