Wet Blankets in Foggy Bottom
The explosion in Poland sent the Department of State into a paroxysm of exultation. Anxious speculation over the possibilities of a Russian coup d’état in the first hours gave way, upon news of Gomulka’s survival, to ebullient self-congratulation: a victory had been won, as glorious as any an army ever gained on the field. For Mr. Dulles’ bureaucracy, here, at last, was the culmination—and vindication. Gone were the halting doubts about its own worth, about its ability to cope with its Soviet counterpart. Gone were any misgivings about the efficacy of its nostrums—of détente, of reliance on the carrot instead of the stick, of watchful waiting while the behemoth wasted away of its own disease. If aid to Tito had been a calculated risk, then we calculators had been proved mighty shrewd fellows. The prospects of the Soviet Empire collapsing from within may have looked like a long shot, but what do they look like now? Nothing succeeds like success, and for the U.S. Department of State, the exhilarating discovery that it had been right all along was hardly bearable.




Comments