Can Putin Survive?
The Lessons of the Soviet Collapse
This article is adapted from one of a series of four lectures delivered at the Claremont Colleges in April of 1975, and soon to be published by the Claremont Press under the title, The Conduct of Foreign Policy in the Nation's Third Century.
A commonly heard comment about American foreign policy these days is that the nation has lost its earlier sense of national goals and ideological objectives and that we should, as a nation, settle upon a new consensus as to our global moral objectives. This is a difficult subject, and, in my view, much of the discussion of it is made up of half-perceptions and half-truths.
In the first place, it is clearly true that there is less consensus today among Americans on foreign policy issues than was the case from about 1940 until about 1965. This is in no way surprising. The goals of World War II were simple and clear: the utter extermination of Hitlerian nazism and its Japanese counterpart. At the end of World War II, the United States developed a grand global vision grounded in traditional American liberal economics, free trade, anticolonialism and parliamentarianism. That vision inspired American leadership in the construction of the major world institutions that came into being at the end of World War II-the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade, and the United Nations.
Very shortly, however, as the outlines of the cold war crystallized, the dominant drive of U.S. foreign policy increasingly became anticommunism and global Soviet containment; a secondary theme was the desire to help develop a united, democratic Europe that would forever preclude another European-centered world war; and a third motif was decolonization and, somewhat less wholeheartedly, assistance in the untried experiment of bringing modern economic development to the unindustrialized world.
The Nazis are now gone. The restoration of Europe and Japan has long since been completed. The colonial empires have been wholly dismantled. The global institutions built at the end of World War II are now demonstrably inadequate to the problems of today. The cold war (at least in its original form) is now history. The comparative moral, political and economic power of the United States has been measurably reduced. The trauma of Vietnam has intervened, bringing with it for a time a major schism in U.S. public opinion. Basic changes have also taken place in domestic social attitudes. Politically and psychologically, we are in a time of regeneration, in part stunned by the Vietnam debacle and in part fumbling in a dim recognition that world conditions have changed and that old problems have given way to new ones.
On the other hand, despite these developments, the decline of consensus should not be overstated. Public consensus continues to support a number of elements of U.S. foreign policy-and they are the central ones on the basis of which most of our foreign policy rests.
The nation's resolution to defend itself against attack remains unimpaired. Similarly, a direct Soviet military assault on Western Europe, Japan or Canada would be met with American military retaliation. No conceivable U.S. foreign policy program would contain as a component the territorial expansion of the United States. The United States will, like all other countries, devote a substantial portion of its international energies to enhance the economic interests of the American people, but the nation will at the same time continue to respond sympathetically to the humanitarian needs of others. The nation's ideological preference remains in favor of parliamentarianism and free market economics. European unity still enlists U.S. support.
Other such continuing components of our international position could be cited. In fact, with the Vietnam issue behind us, the major changes that distinguish U.S. policy today from the continuity of yesterday are seen on reflection to be essentially two: a lowering of the intensity of our cold-war fears and our communist containment policy, and a heightening of our recognition that it will not be feasible to remake the world in our own image.
Indeed, on further reflection, it becomes apparent that our main problem in shaping our foreign policy in the last decade was not that we lost our consensus, but that we too long retained a consensus as to our perception of reality into a new era in which the reality itself had radically changed.
It is easy to make up a roster of things it would be nice to have-like peace and health and open opportunity and an end to poverty-and to describe these as the nation's "goals." But they do not provide much headway toward developing public policy or public support for them. In real-life situations, the problem of the policy-maker is usually how to choose between two or more results that are all desirable but conflict with one another; or how to choose between two or more results, all of which are undesirable; or how to move toward the desired result where one has little or no leverage on the situation; or, if something must be traded off, how to see to it that that which is sacrificed is the least valued-that the most favorable mix of costs and benefits is achieved.
A real-world issue of U.S. foreign policy does not give rise to a single question of "policy" but rather provokes a whole series of subdebates, of which the following are only the most obvious:
Facts: What are the facts? What will they be tomorrow?
Stakes: Who has what kind of stake in the outcome, and how much? The United States, generally conceived? Various domestic interest groups in the United States? Who cares about the outcome, why, and with what intensity? What outcome is more compatible with general ideological preferences of the United States? Economic? Strategic? What is the balance between the short-run and the long-run interests of the nation? What are the risks of action? Of inaction?
Management and tactics: To what extent can the United States affect the situation? Assuming some leverage, what is the most effective tactic for using it? Should the United States act in the matter unilaterally, or multilaterally? Who will be in charge of implementing the steps decided upon?
Costs, priorities and trade-offs: What will it cost to achieve the desired results? As compared with other desired objectives, how important is it that the desired outcome be achieved at this time? Pursuit of any policy line inevitably means that other desired policy lines will have to be given up or postponed: what trade-offs and other costs will be entailed in pursuing the particular objective? And what are the priorities?
Resources to be committed: How much of the nation's limited economic, military and political capital should be committed to the particular objective? With what intensity should the desired outcome be sought?
A list of generalized national foreign policy objectives proves to be of little or no assistance in working through such a typical matrix of questions, disputes and considerations.
Under our form of government, policy decisions on particular matters are hammered out through a pluralistic process that combines elements of official leadership, interest groups, public debate and various forms of power leverage. Every contesting participant in that process is able to invoke in support of his own position-and he invariably does invoke-one or more of the national "goals" that would appear on anybody's abstract list of objectives of the United States. Such "goals" often provide the vocabulary of public policy debate; they usually do little to resolve real problems of policy choice.
Despite the example of the Holy Alliance, in the nineteenth century it had not yet become fashionable to consider that every nation's foreign policy should have an ideological component. Although the United States stood far in the vanguard of representative democracy and individual liberty, the nation did not feel obliged to seek to export its governmental forms or ideals. The primary objectives of U.S. policy were to stay out of European politics, to extend U.S. trade, and to keep the seas open for American ships; we carried out those policies very well.
The twentieth century, however, has seen the emergence of titanic international struggles among a variety of competing secular ideologies. "Isms," great and small, fight for control of men's minds and institutions of power. Future historians of foreign affairs will see our era as made up of a mix of two classical elements (balance-of-power struggles and competition for national economic return) and one new element that is remarkably akin to older wars of religion-an ideological struggle over the "right" principles that "ought" to govern patterns of economic distribution among men in society and define the proper relationship between the individual and the collectivity, the state.
The ideological stance of the United States is clear enough. Indeed it is remarkably so, and it has been extraordinarily stable. The nation has a preference for a relatively free-market economy where feasible, and a preference for the individualistic libertarian tenets set out in the Constitution in 1789, as expanded in the years since to bring more domestic groups into full political participation. A major question for debate today is whether and to what extent these ideological preferences should be given weight in determining the nation's posture on foreign policy issues.1
Critics who contend for a "higher ideological content" in our foreign policy usually point out, quite correctly, that the nation performs at its best when welded together in a common ideological endeavor. They recall the enthusiasm in World War I for making the world safe for democracy, they point to the public ideological commitment of World War II and the generation following, and they detect a messianic streak in the American people-a latent propensity to go forth to save the world. When that psychological resource is tapped there is almost nothing the United States cannot accomplish; when that resource is not invoked, goes the argument, the American public loses interest in international affairs, tends to withdraw, and U.S. foreign policy wilts. As these analysts see it, therefore, for the United States to have a strong and effective foreign policy over a period of time, our leaders must serve up, and the public must, after debate, accept some large-scale targeted goal, something which the United States is setting out to do. In this view of the matter, the American public should settle upon some long-term ideological objectives: to achieve political or religious liberty for all; or to put a floor under global poverty and redistribute wealth among all nations and peoples; or to stamp out totalitarianism; or to commit its armed forces to enforce world peace; or to assure free speech and free movement of persons around the world; or to establish a free market economy everywhere; or to eliminate racial prejudice; or something of the sort. Then the U.S. government, supported by such a consensus, should press steadily toward that ultimate goal.
There is something to be said for this perspective. If the American people could be unified by some broad humanitarian theme it would doubtless make the conduct of American foreign policy easier. Depending on the theme chosen, such a course would also have the power to attract some admiration and support in other countries around the world. And there is no doubt that the American people are capable of a kind of exaltation when the right leader sets the right moral target at the right time. But, granting these general points, the argument for a high-intensity ideological foreign policy suffers from a number of defects.
No person can make any decision without some reference to his underlying philosophic preferences and value system. Equally inevitably, foreign policy outcomes perceived by the United States as preferred will in some degree reflect ideological preferences of the public and of government officials. For example, our military alliance commitments to Western Europe, Canada and Japan are in large part based upon a recognition that our own national security and defense posture are inextricably commingled with theirs, but the alliance also obviously expresses our ideological preference for liberal democracy and a free-market economy.
Further, it is evident that tomorrow's international agenda will repeatedly put to us in one form or another at least four basic questions that contain an unavoidable ethical or ideological component. What will be the American attitude regarding the poor two-thirds of the world? What will be the American attitude regarding persons in other countries whose individual political rights are being suppressed? What will be the American attitude toward such global problems as environmental protection and the use of the world's air space and seabeds? And what will be the American attitude toward the development of new multilateral international institutions that will entail some sacrifice of national freedom of unilateral action? It will require political leadership of the highest order to explain these broad issues to the American public and to work out responsive U.S. foreign policy positions that are compatible with the ethical and ideological predispositions of a majority of the American people.
The question is thus not whether there should be some ideological component in foreign policy, but whether that ideological component should be greatly enlarged or made predominant.
In assessing that question, it must first be recognized that even a high degree of ideological content in our foreign policy will not produce consensus, eliminate debate, or provide answers to foreign policy problems. If Nation X decides on ideological grounds to impose economic sanctions against Country Y, that step does not pre-determine whether the government of Nation X would also be willing to go to war with Country Y on the same ideological grounds. Regardless of the ideological target, the costs and benefits of each new policy decision must be weighed anew, and the issue decided pragmatically on its own footing as it arises.
The answer arrived at will, of course, vary in accordance as the ideological factor (or any other factor) is differently weighted, but the process of decision-making is not altered by changes in the weighting of the factors. Thus, while one may argue that this or that ideological consideration should be given more weight in foreign policy decision-making, one cannot eliminate the necessity for the weighing process itself.
A high ideological content has not historically been an indispensable element in the successful conduct of U.S. foreign policy, as the experience of the nineteenth century showed. Some of the nation's less appealing chapters of history coincided with a high fervor of self-righteousness, notably the Mexican War, the Spanish-American War, and our adventure with old-time imperialism at the turn of the century. Then too, there appear to be hangover costs; when the nation has experienced an ideological "high" in foreign policy, it has tended to be followed by a later "low" and a propensity to withdraw from the world, as the United States did in rejecting the League of Nations, and as many fear the American public may be doing today.
In present-day circumstances it is far from apparent what ideological bugle call would arouse a consensus among the U.S. public and spark a moral crusade. The point is not merely that no such consensus of enthusiasm exists at present; it is, rather, that the domestic atmosphere at this time of post-Vietnam and post-U.S. imperium is not propitious for a remobilization of the moral energies of the nation for a major overseas initiative. Any effort to embark upon a new ideological push at this time would sharply divide, rather than unify, the American people.
Then there are the special dangers that crusades always bring. Once launched, the jihad, the holy war, is the least manageable of all forms of human dispute. For man's greatest suffering at the hands of man we can thank the ideologues and the religious zealots of history-those arrested personalities who cannot live with uncertainty, cannot tolerate difference, are divinely (or atheistically) certain of their own rightness and are ready-eager-to impose their views on others.
The foreign policy history of the twentieth century has been heavily freighted with that sort of thinking, some of it (though by comparison only a small part of it) contributed by the United States. The costs to mankind of this attitude have been unimaginably great. Western Europe, Japan, the Soviet Union, China and the United States all seem to have concluded of late that they have had enough of high ideologies in their foreign policy for a while, and all are moving toward the conference table as a preferred alternative to mutual destruction over ideological issues that are, by definition, irresolvable.
It is the Third World today which has entered upon a period of intense ideological excitation, inspired in part by a new and fevered nationalism in each country and in part by a sense of community directed against the industrialized powers. In these circumstances, even if it were possible to muster a domestic consensus in the United States for some sort of ideological offensive, it is difficult to believe that such an offensive could do other than to isolate the United States further, and further disrupt the fragile international order that now exists.
Finally, it is now commonplace to observe that the agenda of international affairs is today expanding beyond the traditional issues of security and balance of power to include complex issues of economic interdependence, resource management and global preservation. Issues like these by their nature require multilateral negotiatory treatment, and simply cannot be dealt with on an ideological basis.
For these reasons, and others as well, another call to ideological arms does not at this time offer a promising basis upon which to build U.S. foreign policy for the last quarter of this century. The relationship between a foreign policy that contains some component of ideological preference and a foreign policy that is heavily ideologized is the relationship between normal cell activity and cancerous cell activity. For a complex nation in a complex world, single-minded pursuit of some fixed ideological objective will not only deprive that nation of gains that might otherwise have been made in the direction of multiple objectives that are important to it; will not only guarantee a continuously dangerous condition of crisis and confrontation with others; will not only lead to misassessments of objective realities and the nation's capacity to change them; but will also lead to division and self-destructive tendencies within the body politic itself-all as we have recently experienced in our Vietnam involvement.
And yet there remains an important moral role for the United States to play in the world.
As the world's preeminent military power, we can expect to produce in others some fear and also some awe. As the world's most efficient producer we can expect to excite criticism and also some admiration. As the world's richest nation we can expect to generate in others some envy and also some esteem. But we cannot expect to achieve the inspiration of others except through spiritual leadership. The United States has in the past provided that inspiration to the world. It is not doing it now. But it can, one day, do it again.
No contemporary American can be unaware of the deficiencies, shortcomings and blind spots that still mar the social landscape of the United States today, and the painful slowness with which we have sometimes moved to correct these failings. But many Americans, especially younger ones, do need to remind themselves that, for all its blemishes, the United States stands in the forefront of the world in its commitment to the proposition that the individual human being should be free-free to think what he wants, write what he wishes, assemble as he will, read as his curiosity leads him, paint as his eye uniquely sees, worship as to him seems right, and espouse whatsoever political position he finds congenial, so long only as he accords those same privileges to his fellow citizens.
The United States has been imbued with this spirit of individual liberty since its founding, and its institutions are imbued with it today. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that this urge for individual self-expression has ever been the ultimate revolutionary aspiration and always will be. In this sense, the United States remains the most progressive revolutionary society in the world.
We are, however, living in a transitory period in which the vocabulary of revolutionary aspirations is turned upside-down; today's revolutionary voices have little or no interest in, or are actively opposed to, the ideal of individual expression. The reasons are not hard to find. Over the course of this century, the unindustrialized former colonies of the world, the backward fastnesses of Russia, and the traditionalist frozen-in-amber static society of China have all grimly determined that they will somehow, at whatever cost, make the twentieth century the era in which they asserted their full nationhood, garnered for themselves the bounty of modern technology, and shattered the atavistic social, political, and wealth structures they had inherited from the past. Future historians will see this century as a period of the most extraordinary achievement for these countries, as they set out to try to bring themselves abreast of the industrialized West and as they are, in varying degrees, making progress in so doing.
The United States has in the main misunderstood the process that is taking place in the unindustrialized countries in this century. In some degree we have grasped that economic modernization is being pursued and in some degree we have sought to assist in that regard. To a degree we have understood that basic human social services are needed in the developing countries and, again, we have done something to try to help with programs for schools, medical care and the like. But we have had little or no understanding of the demand for change in the ancient social orders of these countries or the demand for national self-expression. We have, as a result, for the most part comported ourselves toward these countries so as to appear to be (and sometimes clearly have been) opposed to their internal forces of modernization and in league with their domestic forces seeking to maintain the status quo.
In some instances we have been negative toward these new societies because our democratic preferences-especially those of our liberal ideologues-have been repelled by the authoritarian character of their new governments. Sometimes we have been negative toward them because our free market preferences-especially those of our conservative ideologues-have been repelled by the planned economy preference of some of the new governments. Sometimes we have been negative because some private U.S. economic interest groups stood to suffer immediate losses from a change in the status quo and succeeded in harnessing Washington to their narrow interests. Sometimes the leaders that have arisen in the nonindustrialized countries have seemed to us to be demagogues, or worse. Sometimes we have been negative because the economic policies pursued by the new regimes have been not only harmful to U.S. interests, but downright suicidal for themselves. But most often the issues of U.S. attitude toward a newly developing country became wholly confounded with and dominated by the global confrontation of the cold war; we thought it necessary to support the forces of the status quo because the alternative seemed to be an extension of dangerous Russian global influence, "the spread of communism."
In many of the emerging countries there has been some validity in one or a number of these U.S. perspectives. But the ultimate underlying truth was that the time had come for the industrially backward people of the world to move into the twentieth century, and move they have. More often than not, the United States has wound up on the wrong side of that historic evolution. As a result, the United States stands today in deep disfavor among many of the developing countries, and is portrayed as the main external adversary opposing their national development, internal modernization, and economic advancement.2
In a similar way, other programs and institutions affiliated with the United States have become suspect or villains in the view of many in the Third World. The CIA is, of course, the most virulently attacked. Ironically, AID-born as a beneficent program for the express purpose of assisting the Third World development process-is calumniated only a little less. And in the eyes of many developing countries, foreign-controlled multinational corporate enterprises-many of which are based in the United States-have come to be identified with the old imperialistic economic order.
As a result, increased taxation, expropriation, and, of late, kidnapping and terrorism have been directed against such companies. Popular attitudes in these countries toward such treatment of multinational companies are evocative of our own dim recollections of Saxon Robin Hood, living dispossessed in his own country and penniless in the woods, and making occasional retributory forays against rich, fat bishops and the symbols of outlander Norman authority-a dangerous legend for the world's richest country to perpetuate. Many (not all) of the charges made in the Third World against the multinational companies are unfair, and the companies have frequently brought employment and other advantages to other countries where they have invested. But though the Normans, too, brought many advanced and elevated benefits to rustic, backward England, it took a very long time for the men in Sherwood Forest to see it that way.
More generally, these attitudes, coupled with precarious economic conditions in much of the Third World, have produced heavy political pressures in the United Nations and other forums for a so-called "new international economic order" and other proposals for major wealth transfers by the industrialized West to the Third World, backed up by efforts to organize raw materials cartels and threats to resort to boycotts and other forms of arm twisting. These efforts at pressure may or may not prove ultimately effective, but they have already introduced new heat, strain and danger into the world's international political relations and will doubtless continue to do so.
It is now obvious to all that our Vietnam policy was a blunder; one cannot help but wonder, too, how different and better a world it would be for the United States today-and for everybody else-if we had worked more actively for the last 30 years to assist the forces for change in the Third World. Given the tensions of the cold war, the U.S. misperception of the Third World's historical situation, and the economic interests of significant elements of the United States, it is probably true that we could not have done significantly better than we did. In any case, we did not do so, and we shall now for a time have to live with the consequences.
And we must look to the future. In part, what happened during the post-World War II era was that the United States completely misunderstood what revolution we were witnessing in the emerging post-colonial countries. Naïvely, though understandably enough, we thought our own history would be relived by these new nations. In keeping with our anti-colonial traditions, our position immediately following World War II was strongly in favor of granting prompt independence to the colonies of England, France, Holland, and Belgium-much to the annoyance of those wartime allies. So far, so good.
But we then expected the newly independent countries to start at once to behave politically like the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in 1776-complete with parliaments, voting, free press, private entrepreneurship, and the like. We based our policy on that premise-and were promptly disappointed, as in almost no case did the emerging countries follow those expectations. Circumstances in the new unindustrialized countries of this century were wholly different from ours in 1776, and it was not yet time for our kind of revolution. It was time instead for the pursuit of three great goals "at whatever cost"-the building of nationhood, economic modernization, and internal social restructuring.
In those three efforts, some (not all) of the new societies have made extraordinary progress. But they have had to pay a large price for that progress. The price has been paid largely in regimentation, submergence of the individual, suppression of dissent, discouragement of inquiry, public misinformation, and imposed conformity. They have become conscript societies. It will be long debated whether up to now it has been necessary to become a conscript society in order to achieve the goals that were set. But now, as collective social progress has been made, the time is coming, so far most noticeably in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, when the seeds of individual expression are stirring and seeking an outlet to sprout. The rustlings of personal expression will not be confined there.
It is not a credible proposition, for example, that the magnificently civilized, creative, colorful and sophisticated Chinese people will for long be content to be compelled to look at only the same eight politically authorized operas, and to spend their lives in gray formations doing responsive readings in unison. Throughout the authoritarian world, the stage is slowly being set for the next evolutionary if not revolutionary move forward, the resumption of the ancient craving for individual liberty. No amount of internal secret police work will stop it. And bit by bit, whatever totalitarian communism or totalitarian neo-Peronism may achieve today in the realm of forced-draft social modernization, tomorrow's reformers will see the political structures of these conscript societies for what they are-authoritarian and repressive.
Revolutionary movements of the past century have all begun as movements toward idealized collective economic and social systems. But once installed in power they have become primarily distinguished by, and are likely to be most remembered for, their innovative and unique systems of rigid political control.3 When eventually the counterpressure to these repressive systems mounts, the thrust will not be toward new social and economic ends, but toward the ancient goals of political freedom and individual self-expression.
Marx, it will be recalled, paid tribute to the rise of the capitalist bourgeoisie as the modernizing agent that swept away the rotting social castle of aristocracy and feudalism in Western Europe and substituted a better, more efficient, more productive and widely sharing society. In the Marxist view, however, the new post-feudal system bore within itself the seeds of its own destruction and will in time be swept into the dustbin of history as it is replaced by the new order of socialism. Socialism will then build upon the social gains that were made during the capitalist era.
This historical prognosis is parallel to the point argued here. In some backward countries during the twentieth century, totalitarian regimes, some of them communist, are acting as the modernizing agent to sweep away the rotting manor house of aristocracy and colonialism and substitute a better, more efficient, more productive and widely sharing society. But these new regimes bear within themselves the seeds of their own destruction, for they can allow no significant room for the expression of the individual human spirit. As the latent drives for personal liberation again become active, the authoritarian regimes of today-musty, ossified, and profoundly reactionary-will be themselves swept into the dustbin of history. The new progressive elements will not then reinstate the earlier pre-industrial order that was but will proceed to build upon the social and economic gains made during the era of conscript modernization.4
The time will come-in some countries soon-when the triple tasks of nation-building, modernization, and social restructuring by authoritarian means will be largely completed, or become too costly to be pursued single-mindedly further. When that time comes, if the United States has maintained vital and active the traditions of its own revolution and Constitution, then the banners for the next round of progressive change will be rediscovered safe in Philadelphia.
Whatever policy the United States may follow in economic matters, it is debatable whether the developing nations that have adopted central economic planning systems will ever welcome the return of fully free-market forces to their economies.5 But if American preserves at home its steadfast stand in favor of the claim of the free individual, and also continues to make progress in dealing with its own internal social inequities, the United States will eventually regain its moral leadership among the nations of the world-not by force of its economic power and its arms but by virtue of its ideological example as a society of free men.
In the long view, the surest way for the United States to influence for the better the ideological future of mankind everywhere is by being sure that we present an unwavering example of commitment to our principles at home. And that is an ideological target that can be-has been-set for all Americans.
In the meantime, in the United Nations and other forums, the United States should do what it can to train the spotlight of international public attention upon the openness of its own society and upon the oppressive closedness of authoritarian regimes, of the right or the left. Such steps by the United States will not be widely welcomed for some time to come. They will not be welcomed because human liberties are never a favorite topic of restrictive regimes, because most developing countries see the present era as the epoch for industrial and social development and consider the time to be premature for serious concern about the individual, and because the United States is today viewed negatively in many parts of the world. Nevertheless, the United States should continuously speak out internationally to reassert its ideological stance on individual freedom and expression. In time, the audience of the world will once more listen and respond.
1 Whether these traditional national ideological preferences themselves should be abandoned in favor of others is an entirely separate issue-the issue that is pressed by political elements that are for that reason properly denominated "radical," whether of the unreconstructed right or of the unconstructed left. Sometimes persons who argue that our foreign policy has "insufficient ideological content" will be found in reality to be arguing that their own idiosyncratic brand of ideology should be adopted by the nation-quite a different point.
For a recent contribution to aspects of the debate, see William P. Bundy, "Dictatorships and American Foreign Policy," Foreign Affairs, October 1975.
2 We thus left the door open-we threw the door open-to the Soviet Union to declare itself as friend of the forces of modernization in these countries. As it has turned out, however, the Russians have done little with this opportunity. Despite the openings offered them, they have conducted themselves in such a ham-handed manner that they have been thrown out after having been invited in (as in Ghana, Sudan, Egypt, and Indonesia), and have been able to hang on only where their troops are stationed in active occupation or where, as in Cuba, they support a regime by direct subvention. The "spread of communism" has not gone quite as easily in Third World countries as Soviet planners hoped, or American planners feared.
3 Their origins as conspiratorial semi-military undergrounds may account for a part of this.
4 Though it is fascinating to note that a reinstatement of the ancient order seems to be what Solzhenitsyn would envision for Russia.
5 On the other hand, who 300 years ago would have predicted the retreat of centrally planned mercantilism?