Читать книгу The St. Petersburg Connection - Alexis S. Troubetzkoy - Страница 8

The Shortest Distance

In the summer of 1987, an extraordinary young woman from Los Alamitos, California, lowered herself gingerly into the frigid waters of the Bering Strait, some 350 miles north of Anchorage, Alaska, and set out to swim to Russia. Lynne Cox was her name. With long, persistent strokes, the stout-hearted athlete doggedly pressed forward, eventually losing sight of the United States. She wore an ordinary swimsuit and bathing cap. Incredibly, she had no wet suit — only protective grease. In those 38ºF–42ºF waters, hypothermia might have been expected to beset Cox, but the cold appeared to leave her unaffected. Steadily and forcefully, she propelled herself through the choppy waters dancing about her, and after what seemed an interminable time, her feet finally scraped the rocky bottom. Lynne Cox was in Russia — she had made it. That the thirty-year-old succeeded in her goal was an unbelievable feat. Warmly bundled psychologists monitoring Cox’s swim from the comfort of the accompanying boat were astonished, as were the admiring publics of Russia and of the United States. In May 1990, at a White House summit conference, President Reagan and President Mikhail Gorbachev raised a toast to the indefatigable Cox who “proved by her courage how closely to each other our peoples live.”

It took Cox two hours and sixteen minutes to cover the distance from Little Diomede Island in the United States to Big Diomede Island in Russia. For her, swimming in those near-freezing waters, the passage must at times have appeared endless. In reality, however, it is the shortest distance, a mere 2.7 miles. The United States nearly abuts Russia — Canada and Mexico aside, Russia is its nearest neighbour.

For over a century, this neighbourliness transcended any consideration of geographic proximity; the happy state of bilateral relations between the United States and Russia had bonded the two countries into firm friendship. From the very birth of the American nation in 1776, relations between the United States and Russia had been predicated on mutual support and respect. To this day, the two countries have never fought one another. Over the centuries, the United States has at one time or another engaged in warfare with virtually every major world power. Americans have taken up arms against the British and the French, the Germans and Spanish, the Italians and Japanese. But never the Russians. And Russia has fought with all these same powers — Spain excepted — and others, like Sweden and Turkey. But never with the United States. Even through the perilous decades of the Soviet Union, through glasnosts and beyond, in all the conflicts of Europe, Asia, or Africa, not a drop of blood has been shed by one of the other. The tale of how that came to be forms some of the more intriguing pages of European and American histories. Insofar as the United States and Russia are concerned, the account of early interaction is particularly compelling, and no more so than from the human interest viewpoint — the citizens of one country influencing the development of the other.

A vivid illustration of supportive action is the Russian response to American pleas for assistance in addressing the problem of Barbary pirates. For centuries, these North African brigands had engaged in high-seas extortion and raiding, at one point invading Ireland and spiriting away the entire population of the coastal town of Baltimore. Only one of the unfortunates returned home from the clutches of the Algerian raiders. The thugs considered themselves at war with any country that had failed to sign a contract guaranteeing hassle-free sailing in the western Mediterranean in return for a hefty annual fee.

In 1792 George Washington was forced to pay Tripoli a ransom fee of $56,000 to free a captured American ship and its crew. Shortly thereafter, the envious Algerians made similar demands, but for larger sums. Tripoli reacted by raising the ante. Enough was enough. Washington refused all demands, and to nobody’s surprise, the pasha of Tripoli declared war against the United States. President Thomas Jefferson dispatched a fleet of four newly constructed ships to engage the Barbary canaille. During the ensuing battle, some American sailors were taken prisoner — naturally, a huge payment was demanded. Ransom money was out of the question, and the president turned to the Russian tsar for assistance. The response was immediate. Russia at the time had a formal alliance with the sultan of the Ottoman Empire, suzerain of the Barbary Coast, and it also had a well-armed fleet stationed in the Mediterranean. Tsar Alexander leaned heavily on the sultan, and within weeks the incarcerated seamen were released; Jefferson sent a warm letter of gratitude to St. Petersburg. Such was the cooperative relationship between both the two heads of state and also their nations.

Thomas Jefferson, as secretary of state, wrote in 1791, “Russia is the most cordially friendly nation to us of any power on earth.” Tsar Alexander I — the eventual vanquisher of the indomitable Napoleon — declared, “He [Jefferson] is the only sovereign who cordially loves us.” Alexander reciprocated in admiration not only of Jefferson but of the United States, particularly for its “… free and wise constitution, which assures the happiness of each and everyone.” Warm words indeed. Such was the relationship in Jefferson’s time and so it continued over a hundred years. By 1809, when Russia finally extended diplomatic recognition to the young American republic, the relationship between the two countries had solidified into a friendship that ended only with the fall of imperial Russia in 1917.

In Jefferson’s day, the United States was in its infancy, a nation founded on the principles of equality and freedom — in the truest sense an open country with an open society. Russia, on the other hand, was an ancient country of startling inequality and, in the words of Churchill, “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” In one country, the democratically elected president, a zealous republican answerable to his people; in the other, a hereditary monarch, an autocrat of boundless power, answerable only to himself. “In the domain assigned to the Tsar,” wrote an eighteenth-century historian, “he can, like God, create what he wills.” Russia and the United States were two countries, nearly half a world apart, standing in startling contrast but regarding each other with respect and partiality.

The countries did have one element in common at that time: insofar as Europe was concerned, they were both outsiders. The United States was a newcomer to the family of nations, physically distanced by the Atlantic Ocean, and just beginning to develop muscle. It was a country where democratic ideals had rooted in revolutionary soil. Many crowned heads in Europe viewed the new nation as a novel, possibly insidious experiment — for some, bordering on anathema. Ancient country as it was, Russia remained largely unknown to the West. The tsars for the most part had not been drawn into European internal affairs. It was only with Alexander’s critical participation in the Napoleonic Wars that Russia became a key player on the continental geopolitical stage. Until then, Europe viewed both Russia and the United States as potentially threatening elements in the preservation of the balance of power. That both countries were outside the European pivot no doubt helped to draw them closer — psychologically, if nothing else.

Political outsiders as America and Russia may at one time have been, trade soon propelled them to the continental fore. Something else that concurrently caused the nations to find common cause were their respective rivalries with Britain. By the second half of the nineteenth century, New York, Boston, and Philadelphia had developed into major trading centres — and the lucrative maritime trade triangle of North America, the Caribbean, and Europe had also burgeoned by then. To sustain and expand this growth, ships were required in large numbers. Enormous quantities of raw materials had to feed the shipyards: iron for anchors and chains, linen for sailcloth, hemp for ropes, wood for hulls and decks. For much of their supply, shipbuilders looked to Russia and its Baltic ports. And the tsar’s domain delivered. Its vast hinterland was a trove of raw material, but above all, the country offered an inexpensive labour force. Prices were right. Additionally, there was a market for Russian linens, ironwork, and glassware. In return, quantities of tobacco, cotton, coffee, sugar, spices, and other non-indigenous goods were received in St. Petersburg. Trade between the two countries flourished. (In passing, it may be noted, the supply of these low-cost goods depended on serfdom and slavery. Legitimate argument can therefore be made that the profitable commerce between the two nations contributed to the perpetuation of these social evils within the two countries.)

The United States and Russia shared something else in common: space. Both countries had lots of it — arable lands galore, broad prairies, fertile river valleys, rich forests, and an abundance of natural resources. Frontierism helped to mould the national character of their respective peoples. While the energies of the great powers centred on empire building, Americans and Russians were also focused on the cultivation of these illimitable resources. The priority in both cases was first and foremost the exploitation of their lands’ bounty, as well as the maintenance of their security. Referring to the frontier and to national character, Foster R. Dulles observed in 1954 that “Russia and America have always looked to the future, for it has always been big with promise, and their people have shared a sturdy confidence, a sense of inherent power, that have often impressed foreign visitors.”[1] It was Alexis de Tocqueville, writing over a century and a half earlier, who defined it best:

There are at present two great nations in the world, which seem to tend towards the same end, although they start from different points. I allude to the Russians and the Americans.… Their starting point is different and their courses are not the same, yet each of them appears to be marked by the will of heaven to sway the destinies of half the globe.[2]

At the turn of the nineteenth century, the tsar’s domain stretched east from the Baltic Sea seemingly without end. It was the world’s largest country, a vast expanse that covered nearly one-sixth of the earth’s habitable surface. For over four centuries, the tsar’s territory had expanded at a rate of almost twenty square miles a day. Among its extensive steppes, rich farmlands, and dense forests, and along its massive waterways, lived some forty-four million subjects of diverse ethnic and religious origin. Much of the country was unmapped and sections of it simply unexplored.

And so it was also with the United States. When the thirteen colonies came together in 1776, the united territory included 892,000 square miles of land, stretching north to south along the Atlantic seaboard. The western borders of some states were not clearly delineated and most of the enormous territories required clearing. The population at the time was just over five million inhabitants, not counting slaves and the surviving indigenous people. In 1803, a determined Thomas Jefferson persuaded the Continental Congress to purchase from France the Louisiana Territory. On April 30 of that year, the triumphant president signed the deed of sale in payment for which Napoleon received $15 million. With a single stroke of the pen, the United States doubled in size. The nation now stretched from the shores of the Atlantic, across the Mississippi River and deep into the northwest. Apart from a few forts and the occasional trading post along the waterways, however, only Natives inhabited the newly acquired land.

At the time of the American Revolution, Catherine II was on the Russian throne. The formidable ruler had been watching the unfolding events in North America with curiosity, and, as a daughter of the Enlightenment, Catherine the Great was interested in the theoretical aspect of it. How would the principles of self-government take root were the colonials to succeed? She also wondered about the impact the developing events might have on Britain, a Russian ally. A disturbing aspect to the American Revolution was this: France, their common enemy, was aiding the young nation. Moreover, it did not escape Catherine that whatever the outcome, Russia’s trade with the United States would no doubt be affected. But how? Positively or negatively? And finally, she feared that the North American conflagration could draw European powers into conflict, which then might upset the delicate balance of power and in turn affect her expansionist ambitions.

Catherine observed the troublesome events as an interested bystander. From the beginning, and especially as the struggle gained momentum, she had little doubt that the British would fail, and she boldly expressed her opinion in public. Britain’s George III appealed to Catherine for military support — “a few Cossack regiments” (specifically, twenty thousand soldiers). She refused the request, pleading that her forces were exhausted from the recently terminated Turkish campaign, and she said, “I am just beginning to enjoy peace.” In alliance with Britain or not, the empress had little personal affection for its king and ministers, and no doubt this aversion influenced her reply. Besides, the whole matter was a hopeless case. George received her reply with profound resentment. He had, after all, supported the Russians in their recent Turkish war, and some form of reciprocation might reasonably have been expected.

As the confrontation in the American colonies went from bad to worse for the British, the king once more appealed to the tsarina, this time pleading for a force significantly greater than a few Cossacks. Before things went bad for the British, the request was as much for moral support as anything. Now it was a critical matter of maintaining the monarchical system and the status quo. Another Russian refusal, George said bluntly, would risk Britain’s enmity. In presenting his request to Catherine, British ambassador James Harris asked, “Suppose the colonies were yours. Would you give them independence?” To which Catherine indignantly replied, “I would rather lose my head! But the American colonies are not mine, fortunately.”

In 1779, Harris made one final, desperate appeal for Russian assistance, this time offering Catherine the island of Minorca as an enticement. If she were to decline that Mediterranean base, she might have been offered “one of the sugar islands” in the Caribbean — perhaps Jamaica. The empress would have none of that and George III was once more rebuffed. The miffed envoy in concluding his written report to the king quoted Catherine’s final rejoinder: “If England desires peace she must renounce her struggle with the colonies.” She did, however, offer her services as a mediator. The proposal was summarily rejected by George.

An intriguing academic question: had Catherine not steadfastly refused King George’s entreaties, but instead expedited the requested twenty thousand Cossacks, might the revolution’s been reversed? Imagine, then, the United States today as a Commonwealth nation, with the queen at its head ... not unlike Australia and New Zealand.