The following exchange between Arthur I. Waskow and Paul Kecskemeti grows out of Mr. Kecskemeti’s piece “Nuclear Abolitionism” (July), which raised several questions about the soundness of the idea that an international police force with a monopoly of nuclear weapons could preserve peace, law, and order in a disarmed world. Mr. Waskow, of the Peace Research Institute and the Institute for Policy Studies in Washington, is the author of The Limits of Defense and The Worried Man’s Guide to World Peace. Mr. Kecskemeti is on the staff of the RAND Corporation and the author of, among other books, Strategic Surrender.

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Arthur I. Waskow:

Radical pacifists and Establishment strategists hold at least one belief in common: that the achievement of complete disarmament on a world-wide scale would require a total transformation in the nature of man and the international system. Where they differ is that the pacifists look forward to such a transformation and strive to bring it about, while the official strategists either fear it or believe it to be impossible, and so refuse to accept general and complete disarmament as their goal.

One variant of the strategists’ view was set forth by Paul Kecskemeti in his discussion of “Nuclear Abolitionism.” Mr. Kecskemeti assumed that the enforcement of general and complete disarmament would require creating a world nuclear “police” force, and then went on to criticize this “supreme world authority” as absolutist and tyrannical, since it would “simply crush anyone who, by rebelling, infringe[d] its absolute monopoly of violence.” He predicted that the absence of any world-wide political consensus would compel such a force to “function erratically or be paralyzed altogether,” and he expressed the fear that it might unleash a general nuclear war.

Mr. Kecskemeti may be right in his analysis of the results of creating a “supreme” world force with a monopoly of nuclear weapons. But is he right in his first assumption—that disarmament could not be enforced in the absence of such an agency? The United States Arms Control and Disarmament Agency (ACDA), for instance, has not made that assumption, and, indeed, the United States in its negotiations at Geneva has been unwilling to commit itself on the question of nuclear arms for the projected “peace force.” The ACDA, in fact, was sufficiently unsure of its position to ask the Peace Research Institute for a study of the factors involved in political control of an international police force.

After a process of study to which Walter Millis, Hans J. Morgenthau, Roger Fisher, David Singer, Lincoln Bloomfield, and Richard Snyder made major contributions, the Peace Research Institute submitted its report: Quis Custodiet?: Controlling the Police in a Disarmed World. The report proposed an alternative view of the problem—a plan wherein the world force would possess no nuclear weapons and, indeed, would be physically unable, even with the conventional weapons at its disposal, to “crush” a violating nation.

How, then, could disarmament be enforced? Through the construction of a true police force rather than a world army—a force that would act by restoring a precise compliance with the disarmament agreement, rather than by crushing a nation that had violated it. Thus the first attempt at dealing with an arms violation might, for example, consist of dispatching ten men with tear gas and pliers to dismantle the key machinery in a factory that had started to turn out tanks instead of automobiles. At this first stage, at least, the Disarmament Police Force might not even arrest or punish the violators and would concentrate instead on putting an end to the violation.

Since even the smallest nation would have enough local police to foil such a raid on its rearmament plants, this kind of enforcement action obviously could not work against a wholehearted determination to break the disarmament agreement. But as Mr. Kecskemeti says, nothing short of war could overcome such a determination (at least on the part of one of the great powers)—and fighting a great war to enforce a disarmament agreement would clearly be absurd. Enforcement would therefore have to be directed at deterring any nation from deciding to break the agreement in the first place, or failing that, from sticking to its decision in the face of police action.

Enforcing disarmament by using the police to deter rather than to suppress would require the establishment of a series of graduated levels of deterrence, with the proviso that they be applied in a measure proportionate to their general acceptability: in other words, the more consensus, the more force. So far as the sheer realities of power are concerned, they would be recognized by allowing a veto to come into play at a level of force that might be troublesome to the great powers (but only at that level). Nothing would be lost by this provision, for if the great powers were bent on violation, they could always call on enough force to resist the police.

To examine how these principles would operate, let us use a technique the strategists often employ in analyzing possible world crises: a “scenario” illustrating the various problems that could arise.

There is a nine-nation “court” on which each of the four Greatest Powers—perhaps the United States, the Soviet Union, United Europa, and China—is represented. The court has the authority to issue “warrants” for police action under various terms. Any two of the nations represented can summon a squad of up to ten men, armed only with incapacitating gas and billyclubs, to enforce a cease-and-desist order aimed at a given instance of violation. The two votes are enough to initiate this action even against the wishes of a majority, so long as another majority has previously ascertained the existence of a violation. A simple majority of the nine can send up to two hundred men armed with rifles to enforce an order; a majority that includes at least two of the Greatest Powers can order the use of a thousand men armed with submachine guns and the like; and a majority made up of the Big Four and two other states can send perhaps five thousand men armed with tanks, machine guns, and mortars.

In Country Z, a third-rank power with an elective seat on the Disarmament Police Court, a disagreement arises as to the intentions of hostile Country Q which has been running a propaganda campaign against Z and two of whose spies have just been caught infiltrating Z’s border guards. A strong faction in Z’s cabinet believes that Q is preparing its own people for recovery of an irridenta, and is infiltrating the border guard in order to prevent effective resistance when the lightning attack comes. This faction argues that the world is unlikely to reverse a fait accompli if Q conquers the disputed territory, and therefore a stronger defense system is essential. The ten light tanks allowed Z under the disarmament agreement are not enough, and—since Z has no aggressive intentions whatever—the faction argues that there is nothing wrong with making twenty more tanks.

A “peace party” in the cabinet disagrees, and urges instead that Z step up its own propaganda services and perhaps offer Q a technical assistance mission that could at the same time be on the lookout for trouble. But Z’s President finally compromises: instead of tanks, bulletproof cars will be constructed, without windows and with a specially tough transmission and tire system, capable of being converted, if necessary, into defensive armored cars. No specific prohibition of this vehicle is found in the disarmament agreement, and so the “peace party” acquiesces.

The inspectors of the International Disarmament Organization¹ uncover these activities and report them to the Disarmament Police Court. Q charges that the “automobiles” are really forbidden tanks, which Z indignantly denies. The court rules, 6—3, that the automobiles are indeed tanks, and issues a cease-and-desist order to the manager of the plant where they are being made. Two of the dissenting nations are Greatest Powers who approve of Z’s government and dislike Q’s, and the third is of course Z herself.

Under the majority finding, two of the states represented on the court send a single policeman, unarmed, to serve the cease-and-desist order on the plant manager. He tries to do so, but five local Z policemen bar his way, and when he refuses to leave the premises, they charge him with trespassing and cart him off to jail. This causes an uproar in the world press, and Z releases the prisoner with apologies but refuses him access to the tank factory.

At this point the two states supporting the original order are joined by two others of the court’s majority, providing enough votes to command the Police Force to send six men, armed with tear gas and pistols, to serve the cease-and-desist order again and to resist any force used against them. A warning is first broadcast from an International Disarmament Police helicopter to the tank factory office, but the six Disarmament Policemen are ordered to halt by fifteen of Z’s policemen. The Disarmament Policemen read the order from the court aloud, but are again commanded to halt, whereupon they fire a jet of tear gas at the local policemen in their path. The latter, equipped with gas masks, announce they will fire on any Disarmament Policemen who advance. All six men advance nonetheless, the local police fire, three Disarmament Police are killed, one is wounded, and the rest retreat.

At this point the world press explodes. Three members of the famed and honored Disarmament Police have been killed, Z is resisting the world’s finest court, the disarmament agreement is in jeopardy, the nightmare of nuclear war is recalled. Certain groups and individuals within the two Greatest Powers that initially supported Z now withdraw their support, while others continue maintaining—and more strongly than ever—that Z’s quarrel is just. One of these Greatest Powers, however, warns Z privately that it had better capitulate, for fear of world repercussions. It offers to issue formal warnings against incursions by Q if Z will abandon the armored-car project. The Disarmament Police Court is called into session and several speeches are made urging dire action against Z, but the court votes (five members in favor, three opposed, one abstaining) to try once again to send a minimal force. The five members in favor pledge that as a majority they will vote to send a larger force if this one is resisted.

So five Disarmament Police appear once more at the gates of the tank factory. This time the manager invites them in and, before they can formally serve the cease-and-desist order, tells them it was all a mistake, he wasn’t making bullet-proof cars anyhow, and asks them to look for themselves. Even so, they serve the order on him, and inspectors subsequently ascertain that production of the cars has indeed ceased.

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But what if the violating nation had been one of the Big Four, and had first resisted small police detachments and then vetoed the use of powerful units, refusing to give in despite the growing anger of the rest of the world? In that case, a final escape clause would have to go into effect. If a veto were cast against the use of a given level of force to bring about compliance with an order of the court’s majority, that majority would be authorized to revise or cancel the particular part of the disarmament agreement being violated. Other nations would then be allowed to take appropriate action in their own defense against the violator. In effect, a veto would be the signal for a renegotiation of the original agreement. At worst, such a breakdown might escalate into a rearmament race, in which event the disarmament agreement would at least have served the purpose of putting all nations into a “non-alert status.”

The philosophy behind the veto in a plan of this kind—that in some cases it would be illegitimate, in others necessary—would apply also to those two apparently insoluble dilemmas impeding the creation of an international force: independent income versus nationally contributed money; and transnational versus national recruitment and training. Those elements of the police which could be ordered to duty by either minority or simple majority vote would be paid out of an independent fund and be made up of transnational units; those, however, which could be dispatched only by unanimous agreement of the Big Four would come from special units made up in equal parts of citizens trained by, and dominantly loyal to, each of the Big Four nations. The veto would take the form of a withdrawal by the vetoing power of its own quarter of the unit, deliberately so constructed that such a withdrawal would cripple it and make it unusable. This special unit would be financed by equal contributions from the Big Four, thereby enabling those nations to exert a partial or qualified veto over its actions.

Two major problems come to mind in considering this version of a Disarmament Police Force: how could it deter the use of nuclear weapons, and how could disputes between nations be settled without war if there were no world government?

The first problem raises the question of whether the Disarmament Police Force should have nuclear weapons of its own, not only to deter any nation from using them against another nation, but first of all, lest such weapons be used to threaten the Police Force itself. A possible answer is that the Police are not too susceptible to the threat of nuclear attack, because of their relatively high mobility, small size, and ease of dispersal. But this very invulnerability might make their possession of nuclear weapons all the more dangerous, since the threat of retaliation would not be an effective deterrent.

But what about a threat by one nation to use hidden nuclear weapons against another? Let us imagine that nation R, to forestall impending political defeat, decided to challenge the political advantage of its opponent S by suddenly revealing a small nuclear stockpile and threatening S’s largest city with destruction. R would probably be ignored, for political ends are extremely difficult to achieve with threats of mass destruction, and generally require more subtle and precise pressures. It is hard to conceive of the United States, say, enforcing racial integration in South Africa not by the conventional political pressures or police and military force, but by threatening instead the destruction of all Johannesburg. Or imagine a threat to annihilate New York unless the United States stopped giving economic aid to Brazil. Would such threats be believed or obeyed, even if there were no opposing nuclear capacity to deter them (as there would not be at this moment, for instance, if South Africa were threatened in such a way) ?

For these reasons, the use of small hidden stocks of nuclear weapons by a violator nation seems unlikely—which, however, does not mean that it is impossible. To guard against it, an arrangement like the one David Singer suggests in Deterrence, Arms Control, and Disarmament might be examined. Singer proposes that a small stock of deterrent nuclear missiles be stored near the territory of former nuclear powers, but outside of it, guarded by a detachment of the International Police Force without the ability to fire them, and physically accessible to the former nuclear power in case of a threatened use of nuclear weapons against it. Such an arrangement would have the drawback of failing to eliminate the weapons feared by all—and feared precisely because controls against their unauthorized use are so hard to create. The Singer approach, however, might perhaps be useful as an interim arrangement during the last stages of the disarming process and the first phase of existence in a disarmed world. But in any event, the Disarmament Police would not have nuclear weapons of their own.

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The other major problem—disputes outside the arms field—would require the creation of a scale of “world concern” for different sorts of disputes, since some would be more likely than others to pose a threat to the disarmament agreement. Thus a dispute over borders in which one side used its local police, or even unarmed men and women in a “walk-in,” might force the smaller and weaker nation toward rearmament. (For example, a disarmament agreement in which x men with pistols per one thousand population were allowed for internal policing might put Israel at a grave disadvantage vis-à-vis her Arab neighbors.) Thus, too, an internal struggle for power that attracted outside supporters on all sides (as in the Congo) might inspire one or another nation to rearm. But cases of this kind—threats to the national territory and struggles for control over the symbols of governmental legitimacy—are rather special in their close relation to the use of arms and violence. Economic boycotts and embargoes, propaganda “wars,” competitive economic subsidies, espionage, even bribery and blackmail are far less likely to anger or threaten a nation so greatly as to make it rearm.

These two categories of disputes—those that are conducive to rearmament and those that are not—should therefore be treated differently. For the first type, it may well be necessary to create a Border Police to guard threatened boundaries and a Special Situations Police to cope with domestic disorder at the point when it begins to endanger international peace and disarmament, both forces to operate on principles similar to the Disarmament Police but to be separate from them. Thus the Border Police might begin by walking a boundary with binoculars in hand and end by defending it with machine guns, as a consensus developed among various nations favoring more serious action. Since border disputes and domestic disorder would be lower on the scale of “world concern” than the central question of disarmament itself, a wider consensus and a larger vote would be required to send a contingent merely to police a border than to send a Disarmament Police unit of the same size.

The kind of conflict unlikely to lead to rearmament would be carried on with no holds barred. That is to say, nations would be allowed to compete with one another by means of propaganda, economic aid and pressure, and other “non-lethal equivalents of war” without any interference from the Police Force, and their relative power would, as it always has in the international system, determine the outcome of their struggle. This safety-valve for conflict would tend to preserve the disarmament agreement. Just as labor unions and management have found it easier to eschew violence once the legitimacy of purely economic battling was recognized, so nations that had the resources to achieve their ends without recourse to arms would be more likely to defer to an international institution that was trying to deter rearmament.

By these means, freedom—the freedom that so deeply concerns both Mr. Kecskemeti and myself—could be ensured. Human impetuous-ness and excessive police zeal could be tolerated and controlled, since the physical power at the disposal of aggressive impulses would be limited. The efforts of free nations to safeguard their own liberties and advance those of others could be continued—indeed strengthened—if they were pursued with economic and political weapons exclusively

Perhaps this model of a disarmed world can offer hope to those who are not prepared to delay getting rid of the bomb until such time as the transformation of man or of nations will have taken place. Certainly the model requires further examination and research, but its existence should at least inhibit the easy assumption that a disarmed world must be an Orwellian world. The choices before us are not confined to Eden, Hell, or 1984; a disarmed and decent world is possible this side of Utopia, and perhaps Mr. Kecskemeti can join in working toward it.

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Paul Kecskemeti:

Apparently there are many areas of agreement between Mr. Waskow and myself. He seems willing, for instance, to grant my point concerning the terroristic, “Orwellian” implications of disarmament schemes that call for a world nuclear force to preserve peace, law, and order. Yet at the same time, his discussion makes it appear as if it were I who had gratuitously dragged the issue of a world nuclear force into the debate on nuclear disarmament for the ulterior purpose of discrediting the whole idea. This is not so. My article dealt with the policy proposals put forward by two distinguished advocates of nuclear disarmament, Max Lerner and John Strachey, both of whom champion the creation of a world nuclear force as the means necessary for curbing aggression in a disarmed world. I felt that their approach was profoundly wrong, and said why. But I also pointed out that this aberration does not constitute a clinching argument against nuclear abolitionism as such.

My quarrel with the enthusiasts of a nuclear world force is entirely unrelated to the basic assumption Mr. Waskow reads into my argument as well as into that of the authors with whom I took issue. Neither Mr. Lerner nor the late Mr. Strachey can be described as radical pacifists; neither has ever maintained that complete disarmament “would require a total transformation in the nature of man and the international system.” On the contrary, as I repeatedly stressed in my article, both authors go to considerable pains to demonstrate the realistic character of their analyses: they expect complete disarmament to come about without any radical change in the “nature of man and of the international system.” I, too, treated the problem within this realistic frame of reference. With regard to disarmament, the question I raised first and foremost was whether, things being what they are, we can expect an agreement to be concluded soon. Obviously there is a considerable difference between asserting that general disarmament appears unlikely under present conditions, and asserting that only a total transformation in human nature could render it possible. In my article, I made only the former assertion.

Mr. Waskow doubts that I am right in assuming that “disarmament could not be enforced” without “creating a ‘supreme’ world force with a monopoly of nuclear weapons.” But this assumption is not mine; credit for it should be given to Messrs. Lerner, Strachey, Bertrand Russell, et al. My point was an entirely different one—namely, that neither disarmament nor a peaceful world order could be maintained by nuclear terror. The question of whether disarmament could be enforced by other, non-terroristic methods, I left open.

In his piece, Mr. Waskow undertakes to demonstrate that non-terroristic methods would indeed work. But from the scenarios he gives us, it is clear that he has constructed, not a method of enforcement that would operate successfully without large-scale violence, but rather a dual system, within which only certain violations would be corrected while others would remain untouched. The method, that is, would work only in the easy, trivial cases. When it came to serious infractions, all interested powers, as well as the Disarmament Authority itself, would have to waive enforcement in order to avoid armed conflict.

The veto is needed, according to Mr. Waskow, because any attempt to enforce disarmament clauses against an obdurate great power would inevitably raise the prospect of a large-scale, possibly nuclear, war. But this is precisely the thesis Mr. Waskow had exhibited earlier as proof of the perverse anti-disarmament bias of the “Establishment strategists”! According to Mr. Waskow, also, there may be cases in which we cannot “restore compliance” without “subduing” the violator, and since this would be impossible when the violator was a great power, the result would be a stalemate. To resolve it, Mr. Waskow can only counsel abandoning the objective of restoring compliance altogether—which again puts him with the “Establishment strategists.”

Now there is considerable merit in the proposition, presupposed by Mr. Waskow’s analysis, that disarmament infractions ought not to be treated as casus belli in themselves. To my mind, however, this proposition has several implications extending even beyond the acknowledged one of making the enforcement of disarmament agreements subject to a veto by the great powers. The most general implication is that we can have peace without complete general disarmament: this follows inescapably as soon as we postulate that the powers should remain at peace, infraction or no infraction. Here, too, Mr. Waskow, without seeming to realize it, is implicitly agreeing with the “Establishment strategists.”

Once having included the veto device in his system, he can no longer argue that complete disarmament is a sine qua non of peace. What he can, and indeed does, argue is that a disarmament regime which is nominally complete without nevertheless being infraction-proof would still represent something far superior to the system that prevails at present. He advances several interesting arguments in support of this thesis. One is that the moment general disarmament were agreed upon and put into effect, no strong incentive would remain for any of the great powers to seek to impose its ends by violence and to rearm for this purpose. Another is that whatever infractions might be expected to materialize would in all probability be infinitesimal to begin with and easily handled by the precision methods of police enforcement.

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Neither argument looks convincing to me. In speculating on the issues that might lead to violent conflict and rearmament in the disarmed world, Mr. Waskow can think only of remote, bizarre, Ruritanian tempests in teapots. Would it not be better to think in terms of the tense political issues that are with us today, hanging suspended precisely because everybody realizes that fighting over them would lead to disastrous consequences? In the real world, we have to worry not about Z and Q, but, for instance, about the German Federal Republic. I make bold to predict that in a radically disarmed world, the issue of German reunification (plus a dozen equally explosive ones) would come to a head in short order, and that the disturbances we might expect would not be limited to unarmed demonstrators swarming over state frontiers.

Let us imagine, for example, a rally of students in East Berlin calling for reunification by democratic vote. Many workers might join, and the East German security forces might go over to the demonstrators, forcing the Communist government to flee. As things are now, the lessons of past uprisings would probably suffice to inhibit explosive political developments of this sort. But in a world where only minimal security forces existed, the same lessons might have the opposite effect. Any momentous political upheaval, moreover, would immediately upset the existing world political balance, and a ballooning war crisis could easily result. It is very plausible to assume, for example, that the security forces of the neighboring satellite states would intervene to restore the DDR, which, in turn, would automatically entail intervention by the Federal Republic’s security forces. The political fate of Europe and the world would hang in the balance, and the great powers would be induced to start rearming immediately in order to protect their vital interests. The Disarmament Authority would soon find out that its “true police force,” equipped to ensure compliance by precision methods, could not achieve anything. It would be easy to construct many realistic political scenarios leading to a similar denouement.

It seems to me, in fact, that the “true police force” idea contributes nothing essential to the clarification and solution of the disarmament problem. Such a force would be able to perform its mission only in some cases of violation while being powerless in others (the really serious ones). Moreover, in the trivial cases where police action could succeed, physical intervention by a constabulary would hardly be necessary. Once an offending government had decided to cease persevering in open violation, I see no reason why the continued physical existence of the illegal machinery or hardware should call for a supranational constabulary armed with demolition equipment. If demolition were recognized by all as a legal requirement, the offending government could be expected to furnish the necessary personnel and equipment itself. If it were not so recognized, demolition would not occur in any case. The direct, physical police approach would seem, then, to be either superfluous or ineffective.

Disarmament, as a matter of fact, is not a police problem. The decisive variable is the interested governments’ willingness to cooperate; and where cooperation is the key factor, coercive enforcement as such does not arise as a significant issue. An area for law enforcement by true police methods exists only where there is a good chance of restoring legal order even against wholly uncooperative offenders—and restoring it by limited, legally circumscribed, minimally violent methods of repression. Even in a domestic setting these conditions are not always satisfied; in the international one, they almost never are.

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This is not to say that disarmament agreements could be made viable without any kind of “policing.” The point is only that this part of the problem cannot be fruitfully approached in terms of physical coercion. In particular, the formula, “the more consensus, the more force,” strikes me as profoundly misleading. What Mr. Waskow seems to be saying is that so long as the great powers agree among themselves, they can raise the level of punitive violence against small countries without having to fear untoward consequences for themselves. Maybe so. But it is pernicious to base a peace policy upon an equation of “peace” with “terror.”

In general, we cannot postulate simple, linear relationships between such quantities as “consensus” and “force,” or their converses, “tension” and “relative stability.” War, for example, both presupposes and generates high consensus within each belligerent camp and high tension between the opposing camps. (In times of peace, on the whole, both consensus and tension tend to be lower.) Also, overt violence among opponents does not vary directly with the degree of tension. Highly tense situations can be relatively “stable” in the sense that no overt violence occurs for long periods: while in situations of less tension, the incidence of overt violence can nevertheless be higher. Finally, it seems to me wholly erroneous to believe that lowering the level of armaments—to the point, finally, of complete disarmament—must necessarily reduce tension and increase stability. Tension over crucial political issues could survive such moves, and if so, stability might decline critically.

No, I do not make the “easy assumption that a disarmed world must be an Orwellian world.” My image of a successfully pacified and disarmed world is even less Orwellian than Mr. Waskow’s, because I would not allow for violence to mount in proportion to consensus. I merely assume that a disarmed world could be far more unstable than our present nuclear environment is. Hence, I believe that in our theoretical analyses we must weigh the very real and important advantages of eliminating weapons of mass destruction against the equally real risks (including rearmament) of greater instability. Moreover, we also have to consider the factual questions of whether or not, when, and on what terms we can really achieve nuclear disarmament. Since we apparently cannot have it just for the asking, it is our duty to examine the question of how peace can be preserved while nuclear weapons continue to exist.

To work for a peaceful, decent world this side of Utopia—these are indeed the terms I would use to define the task my fellow analysts and I are charged with. I deliberately say “peaceful” instead of “disarmed”; the first term indicates the objective, the second, a possible means of achieving it, but the two are not synonymous—even as Mr. Waskow himself shows. A world which is not disarmed can be relatively stable (peaceful), and war can break out at any stage of disarmament. Too much disarmament under conditions of high political tension could, as I have already said, theoretically generate extreme instability; therefore we should not bemoan the fact that when political tension is high, radical disarmament is unlikely. We can regard such a situation as generating an adaptive mechanism that makes for a restraint in behavior which counterbalances sharp discrepancies in political values, objectives, and interests.

How reliable is this adaptive mechanism? Could it not break down in a crisis? Does it not produce destabilizing effects of its own? And assuming that the existing nuclear weapons do—through deterrence—render war less likely, do they not at the same time guarantee beyond a doubt that war, if it does break out, will be maximally devastating? These are legitimate questions, and any serious analysis of peace, war, deterrence, and disarmament must deal with them in as searching a fashion as it can. But it is precisely because the situation often involves conflicting requirements—what might be good as a way of increasing restraint, for example, could be bad as a means of reducing potential destruction if and when war did come, and vice versa—that we must go about our task in a non-utopian spirit, searching for the best possible solution rather than the absolutely perfect one. My article was a plea for exactly that, and Mr. Waskow in his piece advocates the same general outlook. What baffles me is how he could have read my polemic against the Eden vs. Hell, all-or-nothing approach as a manifestation of that approach itself.

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¹ The IDO is proposed as a separate organization with very wide inspection powers by both the Soviet and American draft treaties on disarmament. Neither treaty proposes a veto rule for IDO.