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neil smith

university of california press




Earlier versions of three chapters appeared as prior publications: The Lost Geography of the American Century, Scottish Geographical Journal 115 (1999): 118 (Chapter 1); Bowmans New World and the Council on Foreign Relations, Geographical Review 76 (1986): 43860 (Chapter 7); Shaking Loose the Colonies: Isaiah Bowman and the Decolonization of the British Empire, in Geography and Empire, ed. Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994), 27099 (Chapter 13). University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California University of California Press, Ltd. London, England 2003 by the Regents of the University of California

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Smith, Neil. American empire : Roosevelts geographer and the prelude to globalization / Neil Smith. p. cm. (California studies in critical human geography ; 9) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 0520-23027-2 (acid-free paper). 1. Bowman, Isaiah, 18781950. 2. GeographersUnited States Biography. 3. GeographyUnited StatesHistory20th century. 4. GlobalizationHistory2oth century. I. Title. II. Title: Roosevelts geographer and the prelude to globalization. III. Series. g69.b75s65 2003 910 .92dc21 2002011192

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List of Maps Prologue Acknowledgments 1. The Lost Geography of the American Century

ix xi xxiii 1




1898 and the Making of a Practical Man

31 53 83

3. Conditional Conquest: Geography, Labor, and Exploration in South America 4. The Search for Geographical Order: The American Geographical Society



5. 6.

The Inquiry: Geography and a Scientic Peace A Last Hurrah for Old World Geographies: Fixing Space at the Paris Peace Conference

113 139

7. Revolutionarily Yours: The New World, the Council on Foreign Relations, and the Making of Liberal Foreign Policy







8. The Geography of Internal Affairs: Pioneer Settlement as National Economic Development 9. The Kantian University: Science and Nation Building at Johns Hopkins Geopolitics: The Reassertion of Old World Geographies Silence and Refusal: Refugees, Race, and Economic Development Settling Affairs with the Old World: Dismembering Germany? Toward Development: Shaking Loose the Colonies Frustrated Globalism, Compromise Geographies: Designing the United Nations Defeat from the Jaws of Victory Geographical Solicitude, Vital Anomaly

211 235

World War II, xii; Bowman in, 294, effect on political geography of, 274; Johns Hopkins during, 25160 Wright, J. K., 289, 440, 442 Wrigley, Gladys, 88, 442, 458 Yale Expedition to Peru, 6167 Yale South American Expedition of 1907, 5760

Yale University, 61, 67, 87, 1056; Bowman at, 4652 Yalta, 9, 22, 342, 400401, 402, 413, 414 Young, Allyn, 129, 161 Yugoslavia, 15663, 16568 Zionists, 305, 307, 31011



10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

273 293 317 347

374 419 454 463 465 539



15. 16.

Collections Consulted Notes Index



Vinson, Fred, 422, 445 Virilio, Paul, 6 Virtual War, 42027. See also cold war Vogt, William, 449 Waibel, Leo, 297, 302, 315 Wallace, Henry, 239, 240, 26566, 313, 328, 445 Wall Street, 195, 2056 war, 283; geography and, 26. See also terrorism, war on War, Balkan, 157 War, PeruChile, 71 War and Peace Studies (WPS), 325, 32628, 330, 331, 381. See also Council on Foreign Relations Warburg, Paul, 2056 Ward, H. Henslow, 1056 War Department, 89, 131, 25253, 257, 263, 294 Waring, Frank, 412, 415 Warntz, William, 107 War of 1812, xiii War Refugee Board, 303, 312 Washington, George, 289 Weber, Max, 20 Webster, Charles, 393 Weigert, Hans, 287 Weinberger, Caspar, 7 Weisz, K. I., 315 Welles, Sumner, 329, 339; clash with Hull, 38586; Council on Foreign Relations and, 32930; disagreement with Bowman, 332, 333, 33436; on German borders, 33236; on Russias veto, 403; trusteeship and, 353, 35657; United Nations proposal of, 380, 382 Welles affair, 38586 Western Hemisphere: definition of, 32224 White, David, 216, 217 White, Gilbert, 260, 442 White, Henry, 118, 145 Whitehead, Alfred North, 243

Whittlesey, Derwent, 439, 440, 441, 442, 443 Widener, Eleanor, 440 Wiebe, Robert, 8384, 109, 121 Wilde, Oscar, 285 Wilkins, Hubert, 99 Williams, William Appleman, 140, 234 Williams, William Carlos, 104 Willis, Bailey, 134 Willkie, Wendell, 344, 377, 38687 Wilson, Robert E., 428 Wilson, Woodrow, xvi, 5, 16, 79, 11521, 224, 238, 263, 273, 275, 378; Bowman and, 165, 1712; Bowman on, 224, 318; Bowmans respect for, 16869, 171; conservative opposition to, 488n7; dispatches troops to Mexico, 52; Fiume/Rijeka crisis and, 157, 158, 167; and Inquiry, 11521, 12325, 130, 131; internationalism of, 140, 141, 142, 27374, 413; liberal idealism/moralism of, 11617, 14042 169, 177; new diplomacy of, 141, 179; opposition to working class and socialism of, 207; at Paris Peace Conference, 16, 140, 145, 15253, 15963, 17172; 174; and prelude to globalization, 22, 45556; sexual equality and, 403; tragedy of, 380; Turner and, 224. See also Fourteen Points; Inquiry, the Winant, John, 363, 368 Winchester Arms Co., 79 Wise, Stephen, 300 Wittfogel, Karl A., 29394 Wolman, Abel, 267, 302 Wolman, M. Gordon, 267 Woodrow Wilson Foundation, 378 Woolf, Virginia, 12, 47 Working Security Committee, 340 World Bank, xii, 21, 348, 384, 445, 454 World Trade Center, xi World Trade Organization, xii, 21, 45657 World War I, xiii, 113, 273; Bowman on, 11718; U.S. entry into, 11517


1. Bowmans Latin American expeditions, 1907, 1911, 1913 2. The Urubamba River, 1911 expedition 3. Bowmans map of the Urubamba River 4. Part of Bowmans 1911 topographic map down the seventy-third meridian 5. Europe in 1914 6. Poland after 1922 7. Fiume/Rijeka crisis with prewar boundaries 8. Europe after 1922 9. Global pioneer belts, 1931 10. George Renners Maps for a New World, 1942

58 63 65 68 144 154 159 175 227 286



Timor, 356 Titicaca, Lake, 67 trade, 362; in discussions about United Nations, 38384 transcendentalism, 35, 4445, 51 Transcontinental Excursion, 86 Treasury Department, 115, 348 Treaty of London, 156, 157, 159, 166 Treaty of Paris, 113 Treaty of Rapallo, 167 Treaty of Versailles, 153, 163, 169, 170, 274, 28182 Trentino, the, 124, 156, 157 Trieste, 124, 156, 157, 290 Trotsky, Leon, 123, 425 Truman, Harry S, 263, 343, 402, 412, 413, 419, 422, 424, 426, 433; Bowman and, 43536; Point IV of, 44546 Truman Doctrine, 424 trusteeship, 351, 35360; at United Nations Conference, 40911 Turkey, 166 Turner, Frederick Jackson, 14, 38, 114; Bowmans corollary to, 22931, 234; Bowmans disagreement with, 216, 218, 22426; frontier thesis of, 114, 21112; influence on Bowman of, 38, 213, 22324; response to Bowmans work of, 229 Tuve, Merle, 254 Ukraine, 15355, 402, 403 Ullman, Edward, 439, 441, 442 unilateralism, xiixiii United Nations, xii, xvi, 9, 21, 26, 260, 374415, 454; American Lebensraum and, 374, 377, 379, 414; Bowman and, 375, 379, 38284; charter, 378, 38384, 406, 409, 419; Churchill and, 391, 411; contradictions of, 379; at Dumbarton Oaks, 39399; as expression of U.S. globalism, 37475, 376, 379, 411, 412; four power proposal for, 380; issue of membership in, 380, 39697, 4023; location of, 397; at Moscow summit,

387; nationalist assumptions underlying, 383, 392, 399; organization of, 31920; regionalism and, 379, 38084, 4049; Roosevelt and, 37677; Security Council membership and, 394; at Tehran meeting, 38990; U.S. Constitution as model for, 38283; veto issue and, 39495, 39798, 4023, 4056; at Yalta, 400401. See also United Nations Conference on International Organization United Nations Conference on International Organization, 4014; Bowman at, 40212; globalism vs. regionalism crisis at, 4049, 41112, 41415; trusteeship issue at, 40911 United Nations Declaration, 376 United Negro College Fund, 25051 United States: anti-Soviet policies, 15356; as enigma, 356; global ambitions in early twentieth century, 11317; search for order in, 8385; as world police force, 329. See also globalism, U.S. U.S. Army Civil Affairs Division, 340 U.S. Constitution, 38283 U.S. Geological Survey, 40, 44, 46 U.S. Senate, 26, 174, 413, 43032 U.S. Steel, 361 U.S. Supreme Court, 9091, 249 USSR. See Soviet Union university, Kantian model of, 23536, 241, 256, 262, 263 Upper Silesia, 151, 152 Urey, Harold C., 432 Urubamba River, 59, 6165 Van Allen, James A., 255 Vandenberg, Arthur, 392, 403, 4056, 4078, 409, 411, 458 Venezuela, 295 Ver Hoef, Marcella, 289 Vidal de la Blache, 92 Vietnam, 5, 415 Vietnam War, 21, 192 Viner, Jacob, 326



Smith, Woodruff, 276, 314 social Darwinism, 19091 socialism, 14, 190, 193, 220; in one country, 37778; U.S. liberalism as response to, 193, 2067 social science, 218, 22022; geography and, 22022 Social Science Research Council (SSRC), 21720, 221 sociology, 215, 220 Sonnino, Baron, 158 Soviet Union, xv, 13, 123, 124, 13738, 139, 348, 378; Bowmans antipathy toward, 190, 2012, 37172, 42026; Bowman on, 42022; Council on Foreign Relations study group on, 19899; postwar Germany and, 33233, 334, 338; and UN, 387; U.S. troops in, 13738 space: absolute vs. relational 12, 177; closure of, xvii, 1213, 18485 Spanish-American War, 31, 113, 117 spiritualism, 45 spying, 8990 Spykman, Nicholas, 288, 291, 423 Stafford, Marie Peary, 100, 102, 1034, 105, 106 Stalin, Joseph, 201, 202, 274, 294, 339, 342, 38992, 400401; Bowman on, 42223, 42526; on dollar imperialism, 448. 450; on German boundaries, 339, 342; postwar territorial ambitions of, 37778; at Tehran, 38990; and UN, 378, 379, 396 Standard Oil of Indiana, 428 Stanley, Colonel Oliver; meeting with Bowman, 36566, 36768, 370 Stark, Admiral Harold R., 323 Stassen, Harold, 402, 405, 406, 407, 409, 410 State Department, 96, 119, 131, 133, 134, 135, 14546, 260, 261, 285, 294, 318; Council on Foreign Relations and, 197, 32528, 32830, 331; and dependent territories, 348, 35260; design of United Nations by, 374, 376, 378, 38087, 389, 391, 39295,

397, 404; and Germany, 31819, inactivity in face of genocide, 298, 299, 300, 303, 304; International Organization subcommittee of, 372, 380, 382; Office of Geographer, 331; political subcommittee of, 330, 33136, 337; postwar reconstruction and, 33038, 343; territorial subcommittee of, 330, 331. See also Advisory Committee on Postwar Foreign Policy; Informal Agenda Group Stettinius, Edward, 342, 348, 349, 392, 424; Bowman and, 386, 413, 526n29; at Dumbarton Oaks, 393, 396; on free trade, 348, 349; at London meeting, 361, 369, 394; resignation of, 413; at United Nations Conference, 4027, 4089 Stettinius, Virginia, 413, 529n88 Stevenson, Adlai, 410 Stimson, Henry L., 254, 340, 341, 408, 409, 435, 436; on German boundaries, 34041 Strabo, 89 Strachey, Lytton, xx, xxi Strausz-Hup, Robert, 302, 304 Sullivan, Harry S., 220 Sulzberger, Arthur Hays, 311 Supan, Alexander, 14, 282, 283 Taft, William H., 101, 181 Tanganyika, 367 Taylor, Myron, 303, 329, 330, 337, 38586 Teapot Dome scandal, 91 Tehran conference, 360, 361, 38990, 400, 415 terrorism: state, xv; war on, xixii, xivxv, xvi territories, detached, 357, 358 territory, significance of, 27374, 34345 Thatcher, Margaret, 6 Thomas, Charles A., 436 Thompson, Dorothy, 285 Thornthwaite, C. W., 260, 261, 262, 267


In November 2001, U.S. forces seized a rural part of southern Afghanistan near Kandahar, and in a staged display jubilant marines hoisted an American ag on the highest point of the terrain. The reference to Teddy Roosevelts Rough Riders on San Juan Hill at the dawn of the rst moment of U.S. global ambition or to U.S. marines on Iwo Jima during the second moment was deliberate and as revealing as it was precise. Ofcially this was a war on terrorism fought by an international coalition, but the marines were under no illusion as to where the nexus of global power lay or who the ultimate victors would be. At the zenith of the third moment of U.S. global ambition, this conation of national self-interest with global universalism has become starkly evident around the world. This manuscript was effectively completed before the so-called war on terrorism began, but the historical geography of American globalism has everything to do with understanding the causes of the rst major war of the twenty-rst century. Just as the earlier two moments of U.S. global ambition were punctuated by war, so too after 7 October 2001 is the third moment. Earlier conicts such as the 1991 war against Iraq were limited and, conceived as such, compared with the declared global scope of this new war. Initiated four weeks after hijacked commercial airliners sliced into the Pentagon and the World Trade Center, the new war began with the U.S. military targeting an already devastated Afghanistan. It continued with an escalation of antiterrorist assaults from Chechnya to the Philippines, In-





donesia to Colombia, and with a brutal Israeli onslaught against Palestinians in the Occupied Territories. Labeled a war on terrorism, the new war represents an unprecedented quickening of the American Empire, a third chance at global power. The conation of narrow national self-interest with global good has been more acute since 11 September 2001 than at any time in the American Century. Ominous enough were the post-9/11 calls by President George W. Bush for a new American crusade in the Middle East and his repeated declaration that either you are with us or you are with the terrorists. Most sharply redolent of the new American globalism, however, was the challenge to the rest of the world that if you dont share our values you can expect only retribution. For those living outside the nationalized U.S. boundaries of our values, there were few benecent ways of interpreting that statement. Franklin Roosevelt aspired to have the world run by Four Policemen, among whom he calculated the United States would have the superior power. The new global landscape after 2001 posits a much more ambitious unilateralism as the U.S. ruling class acts in the condence that it can be the solitary global police force. This is the real meaning of the claims that the United States won the cold war and that, as a result, it stands as the only remaining superpower. Just as the scale of capital accumulation has increasingly outgrown the nation-state, giving the global state institutions of the second moment (UN, IMF, World Bank, GATT/World Trade Organization) a heightened relevance, part of U.S. global ambition has involved the reinvention of the national (U.S.) state at the global scale. The attacks of 11 September 2001 provided the moral and military opportunity to solidify that agenda. Prior to 2001 the seemingly isolationist-leaning George W. Bush would surely have seemed an unlikely leader for such a global campaign. A multimillionaire with all the means, his geographical curiosity about the rest of the world was so limited that upon assuming the presidency at the age of fty-four, apart from vacations in Mexico, he had been out of the United States only twice. He did not even have a valid passport. Even so, some historical events are predictable, within limits. As I write in mid-2002, the U.S. government obviously seeks to expand the war. While not yet comparable in any way to the global conagrations of the twentieth century, the limits to this wars expansion are by no means clear. Also, it is far from clear, except perhaps in the cases of Iraq and the Palestinians, which states and cities, governments and mountain hamlets, will nd themselves in the cross-hairs of global revenge and ambition. One other very important

rights, global, 177 Robeson, Paul, 437 Rockefeller, John D., 99, 251 Rockefeller, Nelson, 192, 4067, 449 Rockefeller Foundation, 20, 94, 99, 217, 218, 259, 297, 326, 330, 428 Roletto, Giorgio, 290 Roll, Peter, 440, 442 Romania, 125, 157 Roosevelt, Eleanor: meeting with Bowman, 3056, 307 Roosevelt, Franklin Delano, xii, 20, 40, 251, 263, 38992, 422; anticolonialism of, 35556, 357, 359, 360, 36162, 371; Bowman and, 26; criticized by Bowman, 356, 357; definition of Western Hemisphere and, 32224; and dependent territories, 35575, 35960, 36162, 36566, 369; global ambitions of, 378, 379; and idealism, 400; inclusion of China in Four Nations Declaration, 388; Jewish question and, 313; meeting with Bowman, 36162; Morgenthau plan and, 34142; partition of Germany and, 337, 338, 33940; refugees and, 294, 29596, 300301, 3034; response to Kristallnacht of, 29596, 298; Science Advisory Board and, 237, 239; study of geography and, 20; at Tehran, 339, 38990; United Nations and, 37475, and Wilsonianism, 318; and World War II origins, 32224. See also Four Policemen Roosevelt, Theodore, 74, 79, 84, 92, 140, 181 Roosevelt, Theodore, Jr., 1089 Root, Elihu, 19495, 197 Rowland, Henry, 242 Royal Geographical Society, 15, 94, 444 Royal Institute of International Affairs, 194, 195, 321, 369 Royce, Jossiah, 44 rubber, 69, 71, 72 Russia. See Soviet Union

Sachs, Leon, 247 Salisbury, Rollin, 49 Santayana, George, 37, 44 Sapir, Edward, 219, 220 Sauer, Carl, 19, 21516, 22628, 25960, 262 Schenck, Colonel Hubert, 440 Schott, Gerhardt, 280 Schulten, Susan, 277 Schulzinger, Robert, 196, 199 science, 43: Bowman on, 43, 237, 238, 242; elitism, 110, 237, 242; as frontier, 236; geography as, 221; and nationalism, 238, 27779; of settlement, 22526, 228, 229; and war, 25156 Science Advisory Board (SAB), 212, 23941, 427 Science Advisory Committee, 239 Scotland, 321 Scott, Robert, 92, 101 Semple, Ellen Churchill, 47, 179, 276 September 11, 2001, xii, xv, xvi, xviii Serbia, 125, 142, 157, 158, 168 settlement, science of, 92, 22526, 228, 229, 294. See also pioneering Seward, William Henry, 324 sexual equality, 403 Seymour, Charles, 49, 161 Shackleton, Ernes, 92 Shaffer, G. Wilson, 247 Shaler, Nathaniel Southgate, 37, 39, 51 223; influence on Bowman of, 4345, 50 Shapley, Harlow, 432, 433, 434 Shepardson, Whitney, 194, 195, 326, 459 Shotwell, James T., 330; Council on Foreign Relations and, 194; the Inquiry and, 120, 122, 123, 127, 129; at Paris Peace Conference, 160, 165, 176, 409n31 Silk, Leonard and Mark, 193, 195 Sinclair, Upton, 172 Singer Company, 114 Sklar, Martin, 135 slavery, 59, 72





peonage, 734, 8082 Peru, 55, 57, 6068, 72, 7678. See also Andes Philippines, 1, 188, 252 physiography, 42; Bowman, Turner and, 230; Bowmans work in Andes on, 5759, 6268. See also geomorphology Pilsudski, Joseph, 149 pioneering: Bowmans research on, 21314, 21619, 22234; development and, 23032; and idealism, 22324; modern, 22425, 22829, 233; pioneer belts, 226, 227; and women, 225. See also Turner, Frederick Jackson Pizarro, Francisco, 72, 80 Platt, Raye R., 93, 96 Point IV, 44551; as Soviet plot, 451 Poland, 123, 125, 138; 28081, 338, 400, 4023; as buffer state, 15354; at Paris Peace Conference 14956, 166, 170, 490n31; postWorld War II, 342, 389, 391 polar exploration, 54, 8586, 97107; fakery in, 98, 100, 1047. See also Byrd, Richard E.; Peary, Robert E. Polaroid Corp., 427 Polish-Ukrainian Armistice Commission, 155 political science, 215 Polk, Frank, 164, 16667, 170 Potsdam, 343, 419 Powell, John Wesley, 37, 41, 223 power, territorial definition of, 274, 291 pragmatism, 44, 375 Pratt, John Lee, 26061, 266, 268, 361, 386, 453 Pratt, Mary Louise, 7980 Presidents Advisory Committee on Political Refugees, 295, 299 Princeton University, 119, 258, 265, 266 Progressive Party, 265 progressivism, 79, 142, 181 proximity fuze, 25556 Prussia, 142, 151 psychology, 220

Quebec summit, 338, 339, 341 Quechua, 69, 75 Rabi, I. I., 427 race: geographical order and, 1089; and refugees, 30811, 31213; supplanted by ethnicity, 177 racism, 7476, 101, 30811. See also anti-Semitism Radek, Karl, 200, 201 Ratzel, Friedrich, 3839, 71, 72, 117, 223, 283, 335; agrarianism of, 38, 314; concept of Lebensraum of, 38, 289; geopolitics and, 27677, 285, 290; influence on Bowman of, 3839, 71, 73, 190, 335 Rawlins, Dennis, 98, 100 Raymond, Harry, 105 Raytheon Corp., 427 Readings, Bill, 268 Reagan, Ronald, 424 Redfield, Robert, 21920, 232 Redmond, Roland, 204 Red River boundary dispute, 9091 Reed, John, 40 Refugee Economic Corporation, 297, 29899, 304, 315 refugees, resettlement of, 293316. See also M Project regionalism, 327, 350, 35354, 365, 391, 399400, 414; contradiction with globalism, 379, 38084, 4045, 411; crisis at United Nations Conference of, 4049, 411 Reinsch, Paul, 18 religion, 43, 44, 403 Renner, George, 28587, 391 republicanism, 16970 Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC), 251 resources, 56, 94, 2023, 261, 328, 335, 35253, 357, 358 revolution: Russian, 22, 118, 123, 132, 137, 179, 190, 201, 273, 454; socialist, 143, 155 Rice, Alexander Hamilton, 88, 440 Riga line, 15455

thing is predictable, too: this projection of U.S. global command will ultimately fail. I will return to this point momentarily. The continuity among the rst, second, and third moments of U.S. global ambitionfrom 1898 through 1945 and up to 2002is more in view today than ever it was in the late twentieth century, but there are also vital discontinuities. Global unilateralism has never before been the rule, and although it is much too early to announce the completion of some kind of U.S. global hegemony, that is the trajectory of change. The extent of American unilateralism after 2001 is certainly unprecedented. There are really two discontinuities here. First, the guiding vision involves the establishment of what we might think of as the rst truly global empire. From China to Greece, Rome to Britain, empires were national and/or international but never totally global in scope. The American Empire strives to be planetary, just as U.S. historian Brooks Adams anticipated a century earlier; by the same token, British geographer Halford Mackinders Empire of the World is more sharply in view now than at any previous time. Second, whereas the third moment is also now punctuated by war, the difference this time round is that while the United States participated in the world wars of the twentieth century, it initiated neither. This time by contrast the United States stands as the original belligerent state. The contradictory spatiality of the American Empire is thrown into sharp relief, expressing a new disjuncture between an assumed geographical privilege and exceptionalism on the one hand and the peculiarly antigeographical ideology of post-nineteenth-century Americanism on the other. That the assumptions of geographical exceptionalism embody and express this antigeographical ideology does nothing to lessen the contradiction. Somehow, throughout the so-called American Century, U.S. territory has barely been touched by the succession of brutal warsan estimated ten million dead in World War I, more than thirty million in World War II, and many more millions in other wars on all continents. Not since the War of 1812 was there a signicant foreign incursion on the U.S. mainland. No other nation has been so immune to and yet so implicated in the terror that made the twentieth century the most deadly in history; nowhere else has a populace had the luxury of deluding themselves that geography is salvation, that geography protects power. With that illusion punctured after 2001, national exceptionalism is reinventing itself as the elixir of a putatively postnational globalism. The geography of empire and in particular its scalesimultaneously national and globaltherefore becomes more, not less, pivotal. The Defense Department understands the contradiction precisely. Several days after sol-





diers restaged San Juan Hill and Iwo Jima in southern Afghanistan, marine colonels quietly conveyed to their troops that the Stars and Stripes was no longer to be hoisted as a victory symbol for the international coalition. This particular sign of the conation between national and global interests gave too much away. For some this insistence on the geography of empire might lead to a focus on oil, and indeed numerous socialists have argued that beneath the rhetorical veneer of the war on terrorism lies a war for oil. Oil is certainly a signicant part of the equation, but it would be a mistake to convert the new war into the old language of resource-driven geopolitics. It is not that geopolitics is irrelevant, but if the argument I make here about the evolving historical geography of the American Empire makes sense, then the priority of geo-economic over geopolitical concerns has to be recognized. What characterizes the American Empire is precisely that power is exercised in the rst place through the world market and only secondarily, when and if necessary, in geopolitical terms. War forces geopolitics to the fore, but it should not blind us to the wider geoeconomic aspiration for global control. Viewed this way, we can see the war on terrorism as something less than, yet also more than, simply a war for oil. It is a war to ll in the interstices of globalization. These interstices may be cast as entire nation-states (Afghanistan, Iraq) but also as smaller regions (the occupied West Bank), neighborhoods, households, individuals; they are constituted as nodes or elds in a network of terror that is said to span the globe. They can be anywhere (even in the United States) that terrorists, real or imagined, organize, congregate, plot. Viewed from the White House or from Wall Street, the war against terrorism is a war to eliminate these interstices in an otherwise globalizing world in which the alchemy of our values has achieved a perfect fusion of freedom, democracy, and capitalist prot. Only the interstices of terror threaten the triumph of that achievement at a global scale. The apparent normality of capitalist globalism is the unspoken backdrop against which all alternatives, from al Qaeda to antiglobalization protestors, are treated as spores of terror. It only takes a minor adjustment of vision, a gestalt shift that brings globalization rather than terror into critical focus, to see in this picture the endgame of globalization, war as a means of securing the remnants of a supposedly preglobalized world. Masquerading as a war on terrorism, it is actually a war devoted to the completion of the geoeconomic globalism of the American Empire. The geographical focus on the Middle East is crucial, not simply because of oil but also because of the fundamental challenges emanating from this region toward the American Empire. During its second moment of global

Negri, Antonio, 457 neo-liberalism, xv Neutrality Act, 323 New Deal, 26, 233, 240, 242 Newsweek, 451 new world order, 6, 89, 180, 318, 352; end of territorial control and, 371. See also Roosevelt, Franklin Delano New York Times, 91, 98, 108 Nicaragua, 5, 182 Nimitz, Admiral Chester W., 108 nitrates, 70 Nitti, Francesco Saverio, 166 Noble, Albert, 256 North, Oliver, 1 Norway, 322 Notter, Harley, 330, 459 Office of Economic Affairs, 352 Office of Naval Research, 434 Office of Scientific Research and Development (OSRD), 255, 427, 428 Office of Strategic Services (OSS), 97, 259, 294, 439 Ogilvie, Alan, 93 oil, xiv, 91, 445 OPEC, xv Open Door policy, 52, 115, 116, 182, 228 Operation Soapbox, 398 Oppenheimer, Robert, 432 Orchard, John E., 204, 446 order: geographical, 8385, 90, 1089, 121; search for, 8384. See also new world order Orlando, V. E., 139, 158, 159, 160, 16263, 165, 166 Orwell, George, 412 Ottoman Empire, 132, 142, 157 Tuathail, Gearid, 12 overhead payment, origin of, 255 Pacific Islands, U.S. usurpation of, 365, 40910 Palestine, xii, 3047, 311, 312, 354 Panama, 15, 57, 84, 182, 197 parallax, geographical, 59

Paris Peace Conference, 19, 113, 13980, 183, 305; Black Book at, 147, 148, 149, 152, 160; Bowman on, 173, 174, 325; changes initiated by, 17677, 17980, 182; and colonies, 176; and ethnicity, 17778; Experts letter, 16063, 179; failures of, 17376, 17879; fixing geography at, 14053, 164, 173; House Affair at, 16064, 17274; the Inquiry at, 14547; and Italy, organization of, 14950; Red book at, 147; territorial issues at 149, 17778; Wilson at, 16, 14043, 15963, 174. See also Fiume/Rijeka; Poland Park, Robert E., 218, 222 Pasic Nicola, 158 , Passarge, Siegfried, 277, 283 Pasvolsky, Leo, 329, 333, 359, 392, 405; Bowmans dislike of, 385, 4047, 459, 525n26; postwar Germany and, 337, 343; United Nations and, 402, 403, 405, 407, 408 Pax Americana, 31819 Paz y Mio, General Luis Telmo, 95 peace, scientific, 121, 165 Pearl Harbor, 96, 251, 285 Peary, Josephine, 103 Peary, Robert E., 34, 482n44, 483n54; American Geographical Society and, 8586; Bowman examines records of, 98, 1028; channel of, 9899; controversy about reaching North Pole by, 97107 Peck, Annie, 61, 67 Peirce, Charles, 45 Pelzer, Betty, 267 Pelzer, Karl, 257, 258, 267, 296, 298, 302 Penck, Albrecht, 38, 94, 27778, 280, 282 Penck, Walter, 278 PenckDavis debates, 27779, 282 Pendleton, Robert L., 260, 261, 302 peneplanation, 59 Penrose, E. F., 260, 261, 363, 452 Pentagon, xi, 437





Mezes, Sydney E. (continued) Inquiry and, 120, 122, 123, 125, 12630, 133, 146; internationalization of Central Africa and, 137; at Paris Peace Conference, 160, 162 Michigan State Normal College, 3536, 3738 Middle East, xivxv migration. See Jews; M Project Military Affairs Committee, 253 Military Intelligence, 8990, 96, 122, 14546 Mill, H. R., 48, 182 Miller, David Hunter, 122, 123, 125, 127, 129, 133, 165 Miller, Kelly, 248 Miller, O. M., 104, 107 Millikan, Robert, 237, 238, 240, 263, 431 millionth map. See Hispanic America, millionth map of minerals, 352 minority treaties, 17071, 493n76 Mitchell, Broadus, 24749 modernity, shock of, 71 Molotov, V. M., 337, 338, 387, 402, 405 Mongolia, 23132 Monroe Doctrine, xvi, 15, 54, 114, 13234, 170, 182, 197, 201, 307, 327, 328, 349, 353, 354; Bowman on, 381; contradictions of American globalism and, 4048; global, 5, 9, 178, 191, 318, 373, 374, 414; and hemispheric definition, 32224; at Paris Peace Conference, 176; in World War II, 32324, 356 Monsanto, 43637 Montana, 224 Montenegro, 125, 157 Montesquieu, Charles L., 21, 215 Morgenthau, Henry, 3034, 312, 34042 Morgenthau plan, 31213 Morrill, James, 436, 437 Morrison, Samuel Eliot, 245 Morse, Jedediah, 10 Moscow summit, 33839, 377, 387

Mosely, Philip, 326 M Project, 299304, 308, 31215; Bowmans work on, 294, 3014 multilateralism, 447 Munich Institut fr Geopolitik, 275 Mussolini, Benito, 166, 168 NAFTA, 22 National Academy of Sciences, 23637, 259, 427, 42829, 430 National Association of Manufacturers, 24344, 430 National Committee on Education and Defense, 253 National Defense Research Committee, 254, 427, 428 National Geographic Magazine, 7, 86, 97, 101, 114 National Geographic Society, 39, 106 National Imagery and Mapping Agency, 3 National Research Council, 94, 122; Bowman as chair of, 212, 23637, 239, 240; Bowman excludes social sciences from, 42930, 43435; Committee on Pioneer Zones of, 216; Division of Geology and Geography of, 89, 216 National Science Foundation, 427, 42935 nationalism, xvi, 114, 116; of Bowman, 168, 375; and class, 192; conservative, 38992; exploration and, 108; founding of United Nations and, 383, 38992, 399; German geopolitics and, 277, 28283; intensification at end of World War I of, 13738; international ambition and, 114; scientific, 238. See also internationalism, nationalist nation building, 8384, 11316, 178, 456; and the university, 23536 natural region, 6768 Nauru, 358, 359 Nazis, 280, 284, 289, 295; genocide by, 299300, 304, 307, 312 Nearing, Scott, 505n70

ambition around World War II, the United States took over from Britain and France as the major world power in the Middle East, but its power eroded almost before it was fully established. Especially in the decade after 1973, U.S. power diffused signicantly: OPEC asserted its leverage over oil resources in ways that enriched the multinationals but marginalized the U.S. state; the 197879 siege of the embassy in Tehran and the accompanying revolution that ousted the shah represented an ignominious defeat for U.S. policy; this was compounded by the bombing of the U.S. Embassy and marine compound in Beirut several years later. At the same time, however, various strands of Islamic fundamentalism were challenging pan-Arab or Arab nationalist models of state making that were inuenced to a greater or lesser degree by Western models of development. In an effort to reassert control and in the context of the cold war, the U.S. government opportunistically supported a wide variety of governments and movements. Against Iran they armed and subsidized the Iraqi government of Saddam Hussein; against the Soviet Union they likewise supported fundamentalist movements such as the Taliban and Osama bin Ladens al Qaeda. For the latter, the major targets were not only foreign intruders but also the capitulationist, Westernized governments of various states in the region, including Saudi Arabia. In the process, the United States fueled rather than blunted the crystallization of Islamic alternatives to the vision of globalization being promulgated from Washington and New York, London, Tokyo, and Frankfurt. The attacks of 11 September 2001 provided the opportunity for the United States to challenge and eliminate the threat of that alternative globalism. As the enormity of ambition for an American Empire comes more fully into view again after 2001, so does the impossibility of its fruition. A good war on terror would be one that reduced rather than increased the terror people feel around the world, but that has not happened. If anything, for ordinary people, the opposite is true. These are neoliberal times, we are told, and the central contradiction of neoliberalism pits the state against the private market. There is no reason to think that terror would not accommodate itself to the same practical and ideological grooves. This raises the prospect of a neoliberal global economy cross-cut and always potentially disrupted by a contest between the private-market terror of the al Qaeda sort on one side and state-sponsored terror of the U.S., British, Israeli, or Iraqi sort on the other. Yet at the same time, even as expanded conict looms, the United States nds itself more isolated on the global stage than at any previous moment. From the start the U.S. war has been transparent to the masses of Latin America, Africa, and much of Asia, and by early 2002 popular opposition had also spread in Europe and even North America. As with the earlier





moments of U.S. globalism, the internal contradictions are glaring and the planetary projection of power is increasingly hollow. Todays nationalist globalism has evolved from the days when Isaiah Bowman, the geographer, foreign-policy adviser, and protagonist of this book, advanced as a U.S.-centered internationalism. As in prior moments of U.S. global assertion, however, the nationalism at whose behest the global reach is sought eventually ceases to be capable of carrying that ambition. There is a dramatic, political mismatch of geographical scales. Much as with the denouement of the second moment of U.S. globalism in the tawdry nationalism that surrounded the struggles to set up the United Nations, the national scale is no longer a sufciently sturdy vehicle for the payload of globalism. It is not, as some would have it, that the national is being crushed under the weight of the global. Rather, the burden of the global simply overows the capabilities of any national container. On 11 September itself, airports were closed, the borders with Canada and Mexico were closed, currency markets and stock markets were all closed. The ensuing war on terrorism, pursued to make the world safe for our values, brought with it a whole architecture of homeland security that seriously hinders, prevents, or delays the movement of goods, people, capital, and ideas into and out of the United States. Not just air travelers but also Wall Street nancial transactions, truckers on the Mexican and Canadian borders, senior citizens crossing to Windsor, Ontario, for a days gambling or to Nogales for cheap prescriptions are all disrupted. The imposition of steep tariffs on steel imports, unprecedented subsidies for U.S. farm exports, U.S. rejection of the Kyoto environmental accords, sabotage of the Durban world conference on racism, refusal to sign the International Declaration on the Rights of the Child, and withdrawal from the International Criminal Court in the rst years of the twenty-rst century all intensify the increased isolation of the national state that has done most to champion globalization. Just as an isolationist U.S. Senate rejected Woodrow Wilsons global Monroe Doctrine, and as the clumsy effort a quarter century later to make the United Nations an instrument of U.S. policy hobbled that institution, U.S. nationalism is again the Achilles heel of American globalism. After 2001, the American right increasingly celebrates the rise to empire, taking back the triumphant language of the rst moment of global ambition a century earlier. History may indeed be repeating itself as farce. The 11th of September 2001 may well come to symbolize not the nal owering of the American Empire but the rst intimation of its defeat. The real issue, of course, is the level of destruction that will be visited on the

and colonies, 348, 362; as economic question, 373; Roosevelt and, 361; Soviet threat to, 420, 426; United Nations and, 374, 377, 379 Lee, Douglas H. K., 260, 261 452 Lefebvre, Henri, 12, 47 Leffingwell, Russell, 205, 206 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 12 Leith, C. K., 352 Lenin, Vladimir, 14, 23, 110, 124, 273, 290 Leningrad, seige of, 393 LeRond, General, 151 Levin, N. Gordon, 117 Lewis, Edward S., 24748 liberalism, U.S., 11518, 135, 181, 187, 192, 426; of Bowman, 2016, 242, 26263, 268; contradictions of, xxii; in response to socialism, 181, 192, 193, 2067; specificity in U.S., 181, 2067; of Wilson, 11617, 140, 169, 177, 192. See also idealism, Roosevelt, Franklin Delano Liebman, Charles, 31011, 315 Lippman, Walter, 40, 138, 38687, 392; condemnation of geopolitics, 28587; the Inquiry and, 120, 122, 123, 125, 12728, 129, 485n22; at Paris Peace Conference, 146; on United Nations Conference, 402 Lithuania, 155 Livingstone, David, 472n38 Lleras Camargo, Alberto, 408 Lodge, Henry Cabot, 169 London, 321; Bowman on mission to, 361, 36270 Long, Breckenridge, 303 Lord, Robert, 150, 155 Louis, William Roger, 349, 370 Lovejoy, Arthur, 245 Low, Seth, 85 Lowdermilk, Walter Clay, 3067 Luce, Henry, 2, 5, 8, 1720, 23, 265, 319; and end of geography, 1821 Lunt, William, 160, 161 Luttwak, Edward, 457 Luxemburg, Rosa, 1314, 27374, 282

Lynd, Robert, 219 MacFarlane, Charles T., 35 Mach, Ernst, 12 Machiguenga, 64, 69, 73 Machu Picchu, 7678 Mackinder, Halford, xiii, 1117, 23, 25, 28, 53, 54, 110, 273, 290, 420, 425; Bowmans debt to, 27, 28; closed global system of, 1617; Geographical Pivot of History, 1112, 13, 14, 26, 28; new geography of, 17 Madison, James, 381 Magnuson, Warren, 428, 430, 432 Mahan, Alfred, 114 Malinowski, Bronislaw, 218 Mallory, Walter H., 325, 326 mandates, colonial: origins of, 13637 Manhattan project, 263, 264 manifest destiny, 10, 17 map perversion, 14748 Marburg, Theodore, 249 Markham, Sir Clements, 55, 100 Marshall Plan, 424, 44546, 448 Martin, Lawrence, 148 Martonne, Emmanuel de, 279, 281, 283 Marx, Karl, 4, 71, 220, 231, 447 Massi, Ernesto, 290 Mather, Kirtley, 440 Maull, Otto, 282 Maury, Matthew Fontaine, 37 Maverick, E. Maury, 431 May, Henry, 46, 140 McBride, George, 122 McCarthy, Joseph, 452 McCloy, John, 405 McCormick, Anne OHare, 329, 332 McKinley, William, 1 Mencken, H. L., 412 Merck, Frederick, 218, 219, 221, 222, 443 Messersmith, George, 325 Mexico, xvi, 52, 90, 133, 202 Meyerhoff, Howard, 433 Mezes, Sydney E.: on backward areas, 136; Bowman and, 12630; the





James, Henry, 44 Japan, 149, 279, 288, 327, 330, 343, 351, 354, 359, 365, 367, 387; atomic bombing of, 263, 430 Jebb, Gladwyn, 393, 398 Jefferson, Mark, 36, 40, 55, 121, 132, 134, 146, 14849, 215 Jefferson, Thomas, 910, 37, 45, 46, 181 Jeffersonianism, 355, 357 Jehlen, Myra, 9 Jewett, Frank, 431 Jews; 24748; Palestine as homeland for, 3057; proposals for resettlement of, 29599, 30711, 312 16; reaction to mass killings of, 299300, 304; and resettlement proposals for, 29599. See also Palestine; anti-Semitism Joerg, W. L. G., 86, 88 Johns Hopkins University, 84, 236, 24169, 420, 435; Applied Physics Laboratory at, 25556, 26465; Bowman as president of, 24169; corporate funding of, 24344, 261, 26465; geography at, 25662, 26465, 26667; faculty at, 24446, 25657; Page School at, 256, 258; race at, 24648; students of, 244, 247; trustees of, 26061, 26768; at war, 25160 Johnson, Douglas, 122, 146, 160, 161, 16465, 167 Journal of Geography, 88 Kant, Immanuel, xix, 12, 44, 215; and modern university, 23536, 241, 246, 262, 263, 268 Kearns, Gerry, 12 Kellogg Company, 264 Keltie, Sir John Scott, 195 Kemp, Harold, 441, 442 Kennan, George, 192 Kerbey, Major, 62 Kerr, Philip, 152 Kevles, Daniel, 37, 241, 433 Keynes, John Maynard, 16869, 260, 325, 340

Kilgore, Harley M., 42829, 430, 431, 432 Kilmer, Joyce, 45, 145 Kipling, Rudyard, 232 Kissinger, Henry, 192 Kittredge, George, 44 Kjelln, Rudolf, 275 Knickerbocker, Hubert R., 293, 294 Knights of Labor, 83 Kolko, Gabriel, 530n18 Korea, 359, 360 Kristallnacht, 29496 Krock, Arthur, 42324 Kroeber, Alfred, 215 labor, 21, 7882, 202, 31416; backward countries as source of, 18990 Lamarck, Jean-Baptiste, 223, 472n38 Lamont, Thomas, W., 194 Lansing, Robert, 119, 129, 130, 133, 161, 162, 164, 174 Lasswell, Harold, 219 Latin America, 48, 5382, 9297, 115, Bowman on capital investment in, 2023; Council on Foreign Relations study group on, 199; focus of the Inquiry on, 13234; United Nations debates and, 402, 4068; U.S. troops in, 197 Lattimore, Owen, 204, 258, 291, 297, 302, 326, 452, 505n77; accused of spying, 267, 452; on Bowman, 309 Latvia, 155 Law, Richard, 363, 365 League of Nations, 140, 149, 152, 164, 16970, 17273, 320, 374, 376, 378, 408; Bowman offered executive secretaryship of, 17273 Lebanon, xv Lebensraum, 38, 276, 282, 283, 289; origins of concept, 38, 27677, 314 Lebensraum, American, 2728, 38, 27677, 284, 319, 32728, 34546, 426, 447, 455; as antigeography, 414; Bowman on, 2728, 327, 28384, 319, 34546, 362, 371, 373, 379, 411;

world in this contest of terrors before the disintegration of empire becomes a reality and a more just and more humane internationalism can be put in its place.

This book is about a period, a place, and a person. The period is the American Century, which I take to have been announced in 1898, even if it was not recognized and named until decades later. The place is the United States, where the government, corporate institutions, and ruling class sought a twentieth-century globalism best conceived as an American Empire. The person is the geographer Isaiah Bowman. The central argument is that the American Century, understood as a specic historical period, was built with an equally specic but largely unseen geography and that revealing the historical geography of the American Empire tells us much about its politics. Isaiah Bowman was not only a son of the American Century; he was also a primary architect of its geography, and re-visioning the place and the period through his work provides an incomparable window on that historical, political, and economic geography. This book is a history of geography, but even more a geography of history. By the end of the nineteenth century, U.S. economic expansion was outstripping its European rivals; yet, the amateur adventurism of 1898 notwithstanding, the United States had no signicant territorial empire beyond its national boundaries, and this put the country in a precarious and highly contradictory position. The opportunities for economic expansion were dramatically circumscribed precisely when expansion was most urgent. The need for economic expansion was increasingly out of sync with the very limited possibilities for direct territorial expansion. Short of a global challenge to European colonialism and a direct confrontation with anti-colonial movements, it was increasingly clear that a wholly different geographical strategy would have to underlie continued American expansionism; economic stagnation and depression loomed as the fateful price for geographical inertia. Fin-de-sicle America had many vocal advocates for colonialism, but this was not the strategy that won out. Rather than following the European model, the United States fostered its own geography of economic expansion.1 This argument about the synchrony and dislocation of geographical and economic expansion in the twentieth century lies at the heart of this book. The American Empire, which grasped for global power at the beginning, middle, and end of the twentieth century, was built on a strategic recalibration of geography with economics, a new





orchestration of world geography in the pursuit of economic accumulation. It is commonly assumed that the closure of not only continental but global frontiers in the last two decades of the nineteenth century, together with rapid innovations in transportation and communications, implied the declining importance of geography in the pace and pattern of political and economic development. Indeed, the idea of the American Century portends a quintessentially liberal victory over geography, as distinct from the nineteenth-century European empires, whose conservatism was integral to geographical conquest: the American Century would seem to take us beyond geography. Histories of American expansionism and of U.S. foreign relations written after the 1910s have generally expressed quite anemic geographies. The discipline of economics, which rose to prominence among the social sciences after World War II, operates on the broad assumption of an aspatial world, in which spatial difference (in contrast with temporal) is of trivial importance. The institutional weakness of academic geography itself in U.S. universities through the middle six or seven decades of the twentieth century provides further evidence of this beyond geography presumption. This book challenges that presumption. In its success as much as its failure, the American Century was an inherently geographical project whose contours are largely disguised by the self-justifying loss of geographical vision that dominated U.S. intellectual and popular conceptions of the world throughout most of the century. This lost geography is no mere oversight, and its redress is of much more than academic interest. The deracination of geography in the liberal globalist vision associated with the United States in the twentieth century abetted a broad ideological selfjustication for the American Empire insofar as the submergence of geographical difference effected an elision of political difference both at home and around the globe. A attened geography enabled a politics attened to the lowest common denominator of American globalism. A central goal of this book is therefore to begin to reconstruct the broad contours of the geography of the American Empire. The use of the language of empire to describe U.S. globalism may seem strange or strained. After all, did the United States not oppose European colonialism as part of its own global ambition? The rationale for treating U.S. power as imperial is bound up with my central arguments and will, I hope, emerge more fully as the book unfolds, but an initial clarication is probably in order here. In the wake of globalization, talk of empire has again become fashionable, but in a way that pictures empire as

Hispanic America, millionth map of, 9297, 109 Hiss, Alger, 413, 451 history: of foreign relations 79; geographical controls of, 4748; geographical pivot of, 917, 26, 28, 273; idealist vs. realist interpretation of, 8; respatialization of, 8 Hitler, Adolf, 26, 204, 28384, 291; Haushofer and, 275, 281, 28384, 420 Hobsbawm, Eric, 438 Ho Chi Minh, 176 Hoffman, Paul G., 446, 448 homosexuality, 386, 442 Honduras, 197 Hoover, Herbert, 204 Hoover, J. Edgar, 244, 340, 424 Hornbeck, Stanley, 35859 House, Edward H., 11920, 145, 459; break with Wilson, 16062, 179; and experts letter 16062, 164; Fiume/Rijeka crisis and, 15962, 16465; the Inquiry and, 11920, 12425, 126, 128, 129, 130; offers executive secretary of the League of Nations to Bowman, 17273; at Paris peace conference, 149 Hull, Cordell, 298, 306, 318, 329, 414, 422; division of Germany and, 335, 33638, 341, 343; Moscow summit of, 38788; trusteeship and, 35657, 35960, 368; United Nations and, 377, 380, 382, 392, 408; and Sumner Welles, 335, 336, 38586 human ecology, 215 Humboldt, Alexander von, 37, 55, 69, 215 Humboldt, Wilhelm von, 235 Huntington, Archer M., 57, 86, 94, 109, 120 Huntington, Ellsworth, 40, 47 Hussein, Saddam, xv Hutzler, Albert D., 247 Huxley, Julian, 326 Huxley, Thomas, 42

idealism, liberal, 8, 45, 11518, 14042, 203, 375, 400; Bowman on, 242, 373; contradictions of, 117, 140; German, 235; practical, 4546, 140; pragmatism of, 117 ideology, xiii, 21; anticonquest, 8 imperialism, 15, 118, 185, 18788, 192, 355, 358, 360, 44551; without colonies, 373 Indochina, 359, 36162; Bowman on, 46061; offered to China, 360 industrialization, 9495 Informal Agenda Group, 33738, 384, 392 Inquiry, the, 89, 11838, 301; cartography of, 13132; disorganization within, 12630; draft of Fourteen Points by, 12325, 132; focus on Latin America of, 13234; geography of, 13035; organization of, 11923; at Paris Peace Conference, 14547; significance of, 13536 Intergovernmental Committee on Refugees, 299 International Criminal Court, xvi International Geographical Union (IGU), 258, 27981, 284 internationalism, xvi, 118, 14142, 168, 182, 193, 201, 284, 29192, 41314; of Bowman, 140, 141, 142, 27374; Council on Foreign Relations and, 19495; and nationalism, 375, 456; nationalist, xvxvi, 373; of Woodrow Wilson, 140, 14142, 373 International Monetary Fund, 21, 348, 384, 445, 454 International Workers of the World, 83 Iran, xv Iraq, xii, xv iron curtain, 530n10 isolationism, 169, 176, 181, 183 Israel, xi, xv Italy, 116, 142, 170, 401; geopolitics in, 290; territorial claims at Paris, 15663, 16468 Iwo Jima, xi, xiii





Germany (continued) 34042; and Soviet Union, 33234 Gildersleeve, Virginia, 402, 403 Gilman, Daniel Coit, 223, 24142, 24748 Gilman, Elisabeth, 247 Glacken, Clarence, 262 globalism, U.S., xixii, xvi, 23, 825, 26, 28, 13538, 178, 275, 290, 317, 32728, 34849, 37475, 41415, 420; American Century as synonymous with, 454; of Bowman, 32728; capital accumulation and, 1516; cold war and, 45556; as escape from geography, 23, 135 36; 377; formation of United Nations and, 4049, 41112, 41415; geographical contradiction of, 4045; materialist, xv; Monroe Doctrine as contradiction to, 34950, 4048, 414; as neoliberal project, 455; origins of, 2, 5, 377; spaceless vs. spatially constituted, 15; three formative moments of, 56, 925, 26, 420, 454, 455 globalization, xiv, xv, 2125; as new specter, 4; spaceless geography and, 2223 global power, U.S., 8, 17; irrelevancy of geography to, 18, 19; realist vs. idealist interpretation of, 8 Goldman, Eric, 245, 246 Goldthwaite, J. Walter, 40 Good Neighbor policy, 353 Gring, Herman, 284, 293 Gottmann, Jean, 25859, 267, 442, 444 Grace, W. R., 79 gradualism, revolutionary, 142, 193, 2012, 205, 2067, 389 Gramsci, Antonio, 421 Grand Area, 327, 381 Great Depression, 233 Greece, 157, 424 Greenewalt, Crawford H., 436 Greenland, 32224 Greenough, John, 109

Gregory, Herbert E., 47, 49, 475n18 Grew, Joseph, 145 Gromyko, Andrei, 393, 394, 395, 39697, 399, 402, 408 Guatamala, 415 Gulf Oil Co., 261, 165, 266 Guyot, Arnold, 37, 42 Hackworth, Green, 329 Haenel, Carl, 78 Haiti, 182, 197 Hale, George Ellery, 237, 238, 262 Hall, G. Stanley, 220 Hansen, Alvin, 326 Harding, Warren, 91, 170 Hardt, Michael, 457 Harriman, Averell, 446, 448 Harrison, Leland, 130 Hartshorne, Richard, 259, 294, 440, 441, 459 Harvard University, 7, 87, 434; Bowman as student at, 38, 3945; elimination of geography at, 19, 43944, 462 Haskins, Charles, 129 Haushofer, Karl, 420, 507n2; Bowman as American, 28788; connection to Hitler, 275, 281, 28384; German geopolitics and, 277, 28182, 291; influence in Italy, 290 Hawkins, Harry, 329 Hazlitt, Henry, 451 heartland thesis, 13, 276. See also Mackinder, Halford Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 268, 462 Hensen, Matt, 109 Hendricksen, Kai, 66, 67 Herbert, Wally, 98 Herbertson, A. J., 50, 67 Hess, Rudolf, 281, 283 Hettner, Alfred, 277 Higbee, Edward C., 262 Hilderbrand, Robert, 399 Hiroshima, 263

total, spaceless, devoid of any signicant geography.2 But power always resides in place, and as the events of 11 September 2001, and the subsequent war, made clear the geography of global power can be incisive. For all that it also traverses old boundaries with increasing ease, power always expresses spatiality. The assumption of a deterritorialized globalism is a symptom of the lost geography, captured by the pretensions of globalization, rather than an antidote to them. While fully recognizing that contemporary global power is not rooted exclusively in one nation and that the structure and importance of the national state system is transforming rapidly, I want to insist on the American Empire to emphasize the fact that global power is disproportionately wielded by a ruling class that remains tied to the national interests of the United States. Although this work is largely historical, I hope its contemporary relevance will be clear. The book begins in the 1890s, a period that has remarkable similarities to our current period, more than a century later. The increased power of nance capital, the international expansion of foreign direct investment, and the political importance of trade were as much hallmarks of the late nineteenth century as they are of the early twenty-rst. By unearthing the constitutive geography of the American Century, we can bring into sharp relief the formative moments of the American Empire under the contemporary banner of globalization. The period leading up to World War I and the crucible of political-economic change following World War II represent two earlier moments in the assertion of U.S. globalism, preludes to contemporary globalization. I began work on this much-interrupted but always-riveting research while still a graduate student, and its initial focus was comparatively narrow. In the late 1970s and into the 1980s several geography departments were closed at prominent U.S. universities, and the discipline I was preparing to enter seemed to be drowning in self-pity. No one, it was bemoaned, understood the vital mission of this queen of the sciences, as an older generation liked to conceive their vocation. In Scotland, where I grew up and attended a university, the geography tradition was staid yet respected, so I found the pretension of the queen of the sciences view as alien as the self-pity. These contradictory self-conceptions seemed to bear an uncanny resemblance to Kants dualistic treatment of geography. Geography for Kant commanded the study of space and therefore a half of all knowledge, sharing with history (the study of time) a hegemony over scholarship. Yet it was also merely a propaedeutican exercise preparatory to more serious study. Neither Kants contradictory treatment of geography nor the latterday mix of pretension and pathos rang true for me. It was all too obvious





that geographical knowledges played a very powerful political role in many societies; geography had always been a handmaiden to the state, often in quite insalubrious ways. I wanted to expose the social power of U.S. geography in the twentieth century, yet I also wanted to offer a critique of the geographical tradition that would strip away the sense of inferiority that obscured the disciplines genuine intellectual and practical power for many geographers. I was working through these ideas at Johns Hopkins University, where I was vaguely aware that the geographer Isaiah Bowman had served as president in the 1930s and 1940s and had played a prominent role in U.S. foreign policy. His nineteenth-century liberalism, as the student newspaper put it, lived on as campus myth more than three decades after his retirement. I was delighted to nd that the library across the quadrangle held the largest collection of his papers, and these quickly revealed the reach and extent of his inuence, not just in foreign policy but also in education and science policy. Here was a geographer whose entire life and work were dedicated to the unapologetic application of geographical ideas to global politics and who became such a prominent public gure that he was virtually a household name over several decades, treated in the press rst as Woodrow Wilsons geographer, then as Roosevelts. One of the rst documents I came across included a statement from cold war secretary of state Dean Acheson calling Bowman one of the principal architects of the United Nations. I was hooked. Could there be a better gure for peeling away the power of geographical ideas in practice? Fascination alternated with puzzlement: Why was Bowmans story not better known? Even geographers had little, if any, sense of his doings beyond a summary recitation of his heroic status in the discipline. Where was the deeper analysis and assessment? No one more than Isaiah Bowman applied the ideas of twentieth-century U.S. geography to public ends. Across an extraordinary range of foundational events, he was present at the creation of the American Century. The obscure geography of the American Empire is therefore uniquely revealed in his career. Bowman was above all else an academic entrepreneur. Personally, he could be charming when the context called for it but stringent, even ruthless, during his habitual fourteen- or sixteen-hour work days; as one of his few friends conceded, he was hardly the kind of man to choose as a shing partner. Insistently practical, he embraced the transition to the American Century as a matter of evolutionary destiny. From Paris in 1919 to the San Francisco United Nations conference in 1945, he understood both the necessity and the limitations of geographical solutions to the obstacles facing American globalism. His geography changed with the century.

Federalist debates, 38182 Feis, Herbert, 329 Fejos, Paul, 53536n88 Fermi, Enrico, 432 Field, Henry, 302, 304 Fiji, 252 Finley, John H., 91, 293, 294, 479n16 Fishing Party, 43538 Fiume/Rijeka, 491n40; at Paris Peace Conference 15657, 16063, 16568, 170; experts letter regarding, 161, 173, 179 Foch, Marshal, 154 Ford, James B., 94, 120 Foreign Affairs, 196, 197 Foreign Office (UK), 119, 363, 36568, 370 foreign policy, U.S., 193; development of, 18182; innocence narrative of postwar, 379, 400; and liberalism, 181. See also Council on Foreign Relations (CFR); State Department Forrestal, James, 424, 435 Foucault, Michel, 1415, 46869n30 Four Nations Declaration, 387 Four Policemen, xii, 351, 356, 364, 37677, 382, 38990, 398 Fourteen Points, 12325, 132, 137, 143, 15152, 157, 370, 486n22 Fowler, Robert D., 254 France, 124, 167, 394 Franck, James, 245, 246 Frankfurter, Felix, 11819 free trade, 115, 182, 348, 349, 38384 frontier, science as, 42735 frontiers, 38, 75: closure of, xvii, 114; and labor, 7882. See also pioneering; Turner, Frederick Jackson Fukuyama, Francis, 6 Gardner, Lloyd, 415 Garland, Hamlin, 33 Gater, Sir George, 363 Gay, Edwin F., 196 Gdansk/Danzig, 125, 15253, 162, 166, 280 Gelfand, Lawrence, 132

General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), xii, 21, 384 General Motors, 260, 261, 348, 361 geo-economics, xiv, 457 geographical cycle, 27778. See also Davis, William Morris geographical parallax, 9 Geographical Review, 88, 99, 165, 288, 289 geography: applied, 213; beyond, xviii, 274, 37678; Bowman on, 21, 27; cultural, 21516; discipline of, xviii, 10, 23, 39, 86, 183, 215, 218; economic (commercial), 7071; end of, 23, 59, 20, 54, 13536, 142; at Harvard, 43944; human, 21415, 216; ignorance of, 34; of internal affairs, 21314, 233, 234; irrelevancy to U.S. power of, 18, 19; lost, xviii, 1720; 258, 457; military, 52, 89; new, 18384; in nineteenth-century America, 10; origins of U.S., 3637; physical, 183; political, 71, 183, 213, 215; and power, xiii; rediscovery of, 7; regional, 48, 87, 215; resources in, 23; retreat of academic, 19; school, 222; as science, 221; social sciences and, 218, 22022; spaceless, 2223. See also geopolitics geology, 86, 214 geomorphology, 42, 214 geopolitics, xiv, 27492; American discovery of, 27475, 292; Bowman on, 28889; competitive power and, 291; German, 19, 27475, 27677, 28185, 28790; Italian, 290; origin of term, 27576; and political geography, 28889, 29092; Ratzel and, 27677, 290 George, Lloyd, 139, 140, 15153, 162 Germany, 13, 115, 116, 124, 125, 142, 276, 296; and Polish borders, 15053; borders after World War I, 151 53; borders of after World War II, 320, 33237, 33840, 34143; geopolitics of, 27475, 27677, 28185, 28790; Morgenthau plan for,





decolonization, 348, 349, 371, 372, 415 Defense Department, xiii Defense Mapping Agency, 3 de Gaulle, Charles, 394, 399, 421 democracy, and science, 242, 246 Democratic Party, 83, 16970, 265 Denmark, 322 dependent territories, 13637, 202, 331, 34773, 445, 447; categories of, 35051; development in, 372; and security, 362; State Department deliberations on, 35160; in United Nations, 380. See also colonialism Depression, the, 204, 233 Descartes, Ren, 12 determinism, geographical, 27, 4748, 50, 183, 190, 215, 228; development, 22229, 23032, 31316, 35273, 44551; capital and, 449; in dependent territories, 372; economic approaches to, 234; land settlement and, 226, 228; pioneering and, 23032; uneven, xxi, 16, 17, 24, 214, 234 Dewey, Commodore George, 1 Dewey, John, 191 Dewey, Thomas, 342, 393 diplomacy, new, 141, 169, 179, 203 Divine, Robert, 389 Dix, Arthur, 289 Dominican Republic, 182, 197, 299 Dulles, Allen, 199, 326, 330 Dulles, John Foster, 145, 146, 402, 410, 436, 437 Dumbarton Oaks conference, 378, 39399, 415; geographical compromises at, 398400; and Security Council membership, 394; and UN membership, 39697; and veto power, 39495 Dunlap, Knight, 245 DuPont, 43637 Durkheim, mile, 220 dust bowl, 225 Eagleton, Terry, 7 Eastman Kodak, 79

Eaton, Charles, 359, 402, 407, 410, 412 Economic and Social Council, 412 Economic Cooperation Administration (ECA), 446, 447 economic expansion: U.S. vs. Europe, 11617, 14142 economics, 215; discipline of, xviii Eden, Anthony, 337, 338, 35960, 370, 380, 391; at United Nations Conference, 408, 409 Einstein, Albert, 12, 432 Eisenberg, Carolyn, 345 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 424, 436, 437, 438 Eliot, T. S., 40 elitism, best science, 37, 110, 237, 242 El Salvador, 197 empire, xiii, xviii, 114, 204; evil, 424; of the world, xiii, 17, 23. See also American Empire; British Empire Engels, Friedrich, 4 Enlightenment, the, 12, 215 environmental determinism, 47, 48, 746, 183, 19091, 215, 22829 Erving, W. G., 62 ethnicity, 20, 17778 eugenics, 24950, 301, 3089 Europe: map in 1914, 144; map after 1922, 175 European Advisory Commission, 339, 340 European Union, 22 evolution, 4243, 44; and race, 355 evolutionism, 43, 135, 205, 355 exceptionalism, American, xiii, 38, 140, 187 expansion, 17; decoupling of economic and territorial, 135, 14042; 18485, 187; geography of, xvii expansionism, U.S., xviii, 114, 116, 184, 18889 exploitation, 2023, 358 exploration, 48, 5354 Explorers Club, 98 fascism, 17 FBI, 244, 424, 435

The Bloomsbury biographer Lytton Strachey famously held that discretion is not the better part of biography. Another popular dictum has it that one cannot spend the time and effort involved in writing a biography without coming to admire ones subject. However, this book is not a biography in any traditional sense; although I use the career of Isaiah Bowman to reveal the geography of the American Century, I am less interested in what motivated Bowman than in how he and his colleagues applied geographical ideas to the construction of empire and how that empire, in turn, fashioned certain kinds of geographical ideas. By playing the chords of Bowmans life, I am trying to suggest the larger historical, geographical, and political symphony that both nurtured and employed him. Along the way I have found myself forced to make some concessions to biography, for better or worse, and in so doing I have found Stracheys insistence on candor reassuring. I hope it will be clear that there is little danger of my converting Bowman into any kind of a hero. My intention to avoid biography notwithstanding, I am acutely aware of the danger of producing a great man history in which the geography of the American Century is rendered the product of a few privileged men making history behind closed doors. As much as the ruling classes in the twentieth-century United States amassed extraordinary global power in relatively few hands and tried hard to operate in such a fashion, the whole point of this book is that the geography of the American Century, scrupulously if at times chaotically planned, did not come to fruition in anything like its intended shape. American globalism was frustrated in part by other great men, of course, but it also ran up against political, economic, and cultural realities that national leaders and governments could not wave away, and it came up against ordinary women and men who in various ways and at specic times confronted or ignored the ruling powers so as to write history and geography their own way. Therefore, it became increasingly clear to me as I continued my research that the present book, even though not conceived this way in the beginning, was in many ways a companion volume to an earlier work. In my book Uneven Development, I attempted to derive a theory of uneven geographical development. The central argument was that the specic logics of capital accumulation embody equally specic geographies of economic expansion and that the unevenness of geographical developmentbetween developed and underdeveloped areas on different spatial scalesowes not to geography in the old sense (differences in geographical endowment) but to the inherent logic of economic expansion per se. It was a book of heavy abstractions and theory, economic logics, and grand geographical processes, with little human touch





inspiring the uneven geographies it sought to explain. The present book is very much the other side of the same coin. It is light on logics and abstractions, and theory is generally unobtrusive; in contrast, after the rst chapter it is heavy on historical detail and human drama. The story told here looks strikingly different from that of Uneven Development, but I hope readers will agree that it is sympathetic with that earlier argument. Since the 1980s there has been a gathering public and intellectual awareness that geographical knowledge is more complicated, more sophisticated, and more important than the widespread impression conveyed by map quizzes and appeals to geographical inuences. From Congress to the media to the universities, people are beginning to catch up with Bowmans sense that geography is continually and profoundly reinvented. The old eld of diplomatic history and the history of foreign relations has also begun to revive, breaking out of its habitual role as a hallelujah choir for empire, aiming instead at a global American history,3 and this seems to provide an opening for a judicious respatialization of history. Rather than echoing the triumphalism of the American Century, therefore, this book attempts a critical if modest reconstruction of one aspect of the connection between geography and history so intently breached in the early years of the twentieth century. One overriding question has nagged at me throughout work on this book. If Bowman was such a prominent gurea household name whose obituary graced the front page of the New York Times and drew a banner headline from the Baltimore Sunwhy within a couple of decades did he fade into comparative obscurity? He gures in various histories of twentieth-century science and foreign policy but is curiously absent from others. Part of the explanation may be that geographers themselves have been very bad at writing their own history,4 but there is much more to it than that. It was only when I began to explore the connections between Bowman and the emerging American Empire that this personal puzzle concerning Bowmans legacy began to make sense in a wider frame. He is comparatively invisible today precisely because of the sharpness with which he expressed the contradictions of liberalism from inside, yet in one respect against, the vortex of power, a subject positioning that makes him a unique witness to the politics and history of the American Century.

38182, 39192; regionalism of, 39192, 411; as threat to U.S. globalism, 379 CIA, 3, 89 Clark, Andrew, 259, 267 Clark University, 222 class, 2023, 318, 425; at Harvard, 39, and nationalism, 192, 202; and science, 42735 Clay, General Lucius, 343 Clemenceau, Georges, 139, 152, 162, 166, 171 Clifford, Clark, 435 Clinton, Bill, 6 Cochabamba, 59, 60 Cohen, Benjamin, 329, 332 cold war, 375, 426; academic geography and, 19; hysteria, 451; liberal globalism and, 45556; and science, 43538 Colombia, 406, 408 colonialism, xvii, 8, 1516, 84, 134, 13637, 176, 34773, 387; effect of Paris Peace Conference on, 176; Roosevelts hard line against, 35556, 357, 359, 360. See also territories, dependent Colonial Office (UK), 119, 363, 36568 colonies, shaking loose of, 34873 Columbus, Christopher, 11, 101 Commerce Department, 287 Committee for the National Science Foundation, 432 Committee Supporting the Bush Report, 431 communism, 4, 5, 22, 118 Compton, Karl, 239, 240, 241, 435 Conant, James B., 420, 434, 435, 441; elimination of geography at Harvard and, 440, 442, 44344; Fishing Party and, 43538 concentration camps, 284, 29394 Congo, 356 Congress of Vienna, 113 Connally, Tom, 388, 402, 403 conquest, conditional, 5657, 79, 93, 224

conservatism, xvii, 168, 375 Constantinople, 166 Cook, Frederick, 100, 102, 103, 105 Coolidge, Archibald Cary, 120, 126, 184, 194, 196 Copeland, Charles, 44 Copiap, 70 Coropuna, 61, 66, 67, 78 Costa Rica, 296, 297, 307 Council of Europe, 391 Council on Foreign Relations (CFR), 20, 27, 182, 192207, 322, 350; Bowman and, 182, 193, 196, 198200, 2047, 325, 326, 328, 32930, 331; Brookhart incident, 2056; establishment of, 182, 19297; and Foreign Affairs 19697, 200; frontier/pioneering studies of, 226, 229; liberalism of, 200201; mineral studies of, 352; origins of, 182, 192200; publications of, 200; report on Greenland of, 322; State Department and, 20, 200, 32531; study groups of, 197200; in Washington, 32538. See also War and Peace Studies (WPS) Croatia, 156, 157, 158, 168 Cuba, 182, 197, 406, 415 Curtis, Lionel, 194, 321, 420 Curzon line, 15455, 342 Cuzco, 61, 62, 7677, 80, 475n18 Czechoslovakia, 142, 150, 163, 284 Dachau, 29394. See also concentration camps Darwin, Charles, 42, 44, 53, 55, 57 Darwinian theory of evolution, 42, 190, 276 Davis, John W., 200 Davis, Norman H., 326, 329, 330, 332, 337, 350 Davis, William Morris, 36, 38, 39, 42, 220, 222; on Bowman, 459; influence on Bowman of, 39, 4041, 46, 50; theory of erosion cycles of, 4142, 55, 5759, 27779 Day, E. E., 161, 219



Bowman, Robert, 246, 248, 302, 30910 Bowman, Samuel Cressman, 32, 33 Bowman corollary, the, 22932 Bowman line, the, 32223, 324 Boyd, Louise, 92 Boy Scouts of America, 107, 108, 453 Braden, Spruille, 97 Brazil, 394, 397 Bretton Woods agreement, 319, 384, 394, 445 Britain, xv; 261, 348, 387; Council on Foreign Relations study group on, 199200; in World War II, 35960, 36271. See also Churchill, Winston British Empire, 123, 141, 185, 187, 196, 207, 290, 321, 32627, 349, 350, 354, 360, 371, 380, 382, 384, 399 British Guiana, 29697, 299, 310 British Honduras, 299, 315 Bronk, Detlev, 452, 506n89 Brookhart, Smith Wildman, 2056 Brookings Institution, 428 Browder, Earl, 451 Brown, Clarence J., 432 Brown, Donaldson, 261, 265 Brckner, Eduard, 281 Bruman, Henry, 2467 Brunhes, Jean, 185, 284 Bryan, Kirk, 439, 440 Brzezinski, Zbigniew, 192, 379 Buck, Paul, 43940, 441, 442 Buffalo Bill, 114 Bukharin, Nikolai, 425 Bulgaria, 142, 157 Bullitt, William C., 163, 386 Bull Moose Party, 83 Bundy, McGeorge, 252 Burma, 252 Bush, George H. W., 6, 180 Bush, George W., xii Bush, Vannevar, 435; National Science Foundation and, 427, 428, 429, 430, 432, 433 Butler, Matthew, 250 Byrd, Richard E., 92, 99, 100, 106, 108 Byrnes, James, 413, 422, 445

Cadogan, Sir Alexander, 363, 36667, 393, 395 Cairo summit, 339, 360 Cambon, Jules, 151 Cambridge, University of, 258, 260 Campbell, W. W., 23940, 241 Canada, xvi, 199, 354 Canham, Erwin D., 436 Cano y Omedilla, Juan de la Cruz, 96 capital accumulation, 231; globalism and, 1516, 11416 capitalism, 6, 1314, 22, 115, 116, 178, 206, 426 Cardozo, Benjamin, 219 Carlyle, Barton, 268 Carnegie Corporation, 435 Carter, George, 259, 5056n79; on Bowman and Jews at Hopkins, 503n38; at Bowman School of Geography, 260, 266; Lattimore affair and, 267, 452 Carter, John Franklin, 302, 304 cartography, 87, 17378; at AGS, 9397; at the Inquiry, 122, 126, 127, 129, 13132; at Paris Peace Conference, 14748, 17378 Caruso, Enrico, 54 Castells, Manuel, 6 Cecil, Lord Robert, 194 Chapare (Bolivia), 57, 59, 60 Chiang Kai-shek, 360 Chicago School, 215 Chile, 55, 57, 713, 76, 2023, 296 China, 383, 387, 415; at Dumbarton Oaks, 398; in Four Powers, 38788 Chinard, Gilbert, 245 Chisholm, George, 177 Choate, J. H., 15 Churchill, Winston, 304, 313, 324, 337, 338, 362, 369, 377, 387, 38992; anti-Chinese prejudice of, 387; colonial question and, 351, 356, 360, 36365, 370, 371; global organization and, 370, 380, 391; meeting with Bowman, 36365; postwar Germany and, 33739, 341, 342; regional councils proposal of,


So deeply did the conundrum of a lost geography churn inside me that I either had to write the book, as Hermann Hesse once said, or be reduced to despair. It took a long time, and the work has left me in massive intellectual debt. At Johns Hopkins, where the research began, I was lucky to have Reds Wolman and the late Abel Wolman, both of whom knew Bowman, to help guide my initial forays and give life to the archival detail. Historians Bob Kargon, John Higham, and Kathy Ogren helped orient me to a vast U.S. history literature that was foreign to me, John Boland talked extensively with me about the project, and many other teachers and friends enthusiastically discussed the project with me. But I also needed institutional help. Bowman placed a peculiar condition on his papers, housed at the M. S. Eisenhower Library, closing them entirely until 1975 and thereafter designating a large portion as restricted. Only scholars over the age of forty and with established international reputations, he stipulated, would be granted access. Since I began this work as a twenty-ve-year-old graduate student I was precisely the kind of scholar Bowman sought to keep away from his legacy. I was therefore dependent on David Harvey himself only a few years over forty at the timeto represent me as his research assistant. From the start David was enthusiastic and always supportive of this inquiry into geographical knowledge and its uses. The last laugh, of course, goes to Bowman himself insofar as the book comes to fruition somewhat after my own fortieth birthday.





I am very grateful to Robert G. Bowman of Lincoln, Nebraska. Bob invited me into his home, gave me access to the extensive materials he held from his fathers papers, let me work long days and nights in his basement, and housed me while I did this work. He was extremely generous with his time and reections, and although there is much in my interpretation with which he has disagreedand he will surely nd more here to debateI can only thank him for his wonderful openness, warmth, hospitality, and encouragement. I would also like to express my gratitude to all of the people, many of them no longer with us, who selessly granted me interviews or wrote me their reections about the people and events covered here. I should also register my debt to Allan Werrity, whose St. Andrews course rst gave me a glimpse of the intellectual excitement that could inhere in the history of geography, despite the deadening ways in which this subject is usually taught. I have consulted numerous archival collections and would like to thank Carol Beecheno, Judy Gardner-Flint, Joan Gratton, Anne Gwyn, Lisa Minklei, Judy Morgan, Margaret Burri, and James Stimpert at the Archives and Special Collections in the Eisenhower Library in Baltimore. Doug MacManus helped guide me through the collections at the American Geographical Society and engaged me on many of the issues, and Peter Lewis and Mary Lynne Byrd have been equally welcoming. Thanks also to Janice Goldblum at the National Academy of Sciences archives, to Clark Elliot at Harvard, Barbara Narenda at the Peabody Museum at Yale, and to many other overworked but very helpful archivists and librarians, who did not always nd the answers I needed but who made the work more fascinating anyway. Thanks too to Michael Watts and Alan Pred, who welcomed the book into their series, and to Stan Holwitz, Mary Severance, and Robin Whitaker at the University of California Press. My work has been supported by several grants and fellowships. A Mellon Foundation summer grant got me started at Hopkins, and a Spencer Foundation grant allowed me to expand the work and visit various manuscript collections; summer stipends from the Council for Research in the Social Sciences at Columbia University and from the Rutgers University Research Council helped continue the momentum. I am especially grateful for a Simon Guggenheim Fellowship in 199495, which allowed me to frame the entire work and complete a rst draft. These grants and a research assistantship also allowed me to hire several graduate students many now well on with their own careerswho have helped with the research: Karen DeBres, John Kasbarian, Peggy Neweld, Olivia Mitchell, Annie Zeidman, Tamar Rothenberg, James DeFillippis, Ruthie Gilmore,

Bloom, Sol, 402, 407 Bohr, Niels, 438 Bolivia, 55, 5860, 7172 Borges, Jorge Luis, 460 boundaries, 34346; and ethnicity, 157; and military calculation, 15356 boundary disputes: Bolivia and Paraguay, 96; Chile and Peru, 96; Colombia and Peru, 96; Colombia and Venezuela, 96; Guatemala and Honduras, 93; Oklahoma and Texas, 9091; Peru and Ecuador, 95, 96 Bowman, Cora, 47, 163, 453 Bowman, Emily (Shantz), 33, 3435 Bowman, Isaiah: as academic entrepreneur, xx; The Andes of Southern Peru, 55, 74, 477n56; anticonquest narrative of, 8082; anti-Semitism of, 24647, 30911, 503n38; antiurbanism of, 31314; authoritarian style of, 24546; biographical synopsis of, 2528; on boundaries, 34445; as cartographer of ethnicity, 17778; changed by Paris, 16872, 183; changed by South America, 79; on colonies, 35152, 358, 362, 37071; comparative obscurity of, xxii, 45861; on conditional conquest, 56, 69; conservative nationalism of, 375; contradictions of, 2627; on corporate sponsorship, 265; Cuzco Man, 475n18; Deflection of the Mississippi, 41; Desert Trails of Atacama, 55; disavowal of developmental idealism by, 35758, 359; distrust of bankers, 44950; early college of, 3536; early teaching of, 3132, 34; economic globalism of, 32728, 329; evolutionary idealism of, 50, 56; as FBI informant, 244, 424; FBI on, 435; fieldwork for pioneer belt study of, 23233; Forest Physiology, 4951, 230; The Frontier Region of Mexico, 52; on geographical controls of history, 4748; as geographical explorer, 53; on geography as a science, 221; Geog-

raphy in Relation to the Social Sciences, 22022, 429; The Geography of the Central Andes (dissertation), 49; on globalism, 414; global vision of U.S. economic interests, 34950; as gradual revolutionary, 2012, 205, 2067, 389; The Graduate School in American Democracy, 24243; at Harvard, 3845; idealism of, 169, 2034, 223; on idealism, 242, 369; International Relations, 203; Is an International Society Possible? 42324; and Jeffersonianism, 171, 223; Latin American expeditions of, 5682; liberalism of, 2016, 242, 26263, 268; life on farm of, 3233; Limits of Land Settlement, 219, 226, 295, 298; Livingston medals awarded to, 97, 321, 480n32; marriage of, 47; in Michigan, 3235; on nationalism of international organization, 415; The New World, 26, 109, 18284, 18592, 196, 198, 199, 201, 261, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 287, 290, 317; Paris diary of, 172, 173; and Peary affair, 97107; The Pioneer Fringe, 219, 223, 225, 226, 229, 233; positivism of, 43, 51, 18586; pragmatism and idealism of, 4546, 18586; Princeton speech, 42324; racism of, 74, 1089, 24751, 308, 500n49; Red Czar speech of, 42425; and refugees, 295326; retirement and death of, 453; on science, 43, 237, 238, 242; Science the Endless Frontier, 42728; as scientific elitist, 237, 242; as scientistentrepreneur, 79; silence on German geopolitics of, 28385; on Soviet Union, 190, 2012, 37172, 42026; study of Red River by, 9091; summary of career of, 2528; transcendentalism of 51; treatment of AGS workers by, 88; and UN, 374415; Well-Drilling Methods, 49; at Yale, 4650; in Ypsilanti, 3536





American Geographical Society (continued) 9297, 109; the Inquiry and, 89, 12022, 12627, 128, 13435; and Military Intelligence, 8990, 96, 236; and polar exploration, 8586; and State Department, 96, 122, 130, 131, 135, 331. See also Geographical Review Americanism, 430 Americanization, 455 American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, 310 Amundsen, Roald, 92 Andes, 49; Bowman on economic geography of, 6971; Bowman on political geography of, 7176; Bowmans 1907 fieldwork in, 5456, 5760; Bowmans 1911 fieldwork in, 5556, 58, 6167, 68, 8082; Bowmans 1913 fieldwork in, 58, 6769 Angola, 297, 308 dAnnunzio, Gabriele, 166, 16768 anthrax, 254 anthropogeography, 49, 72 anthropology, 215, 220 anticommunism, 425; of Bowman, 15356, 190, 29394, 42026, 450 anticonquest narrative, 7980, 400 anti-globalization movement, 2425, 45657 anti-Semitism, 24647, 30911, 358, 503n38 area studies, 19, 262 Argentina, 4023 Armstrong, Hamilton Fish, 196, 205, 206, 325, 326, 359, 402 Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP), 25253, 257, 259, 262 Artega, Melchor, 7778 ASEAN, 22 Association of American Geographers, 19, 40, 86, 88, 212, 439; Bowman and, 48, 49 Atacama, 69, 70 AT&T, 244, 265, 429

Atlantic Charter, 351, 353, 358, 376, 390 atomic bomb, 263, 43638 Atomic Energy Commission, 431, 434; Bowman proposed for, 435, 53233n46 atomic secrecy, 43638 Atwood, Wallace, 222, 257, 505n70 Australia, 252, 357 Austria, 284 Austria-Hungary, 124, 132, 142, 156, 15758 Bailey, David, 444 Baghdad, 6 Bahrain, 311 Baker, Newton, 120 Baker, Russell, 244 Balfour, Arthur, 118 Balkans, 12425, 156 Banse, Ewald, 28283, 510n25 Barbados, 368 Barrows, Harlan H., 35 Bartlett, Robert, 108 Baruch, Bernard, 298 Bassett, Tom, 79 Baudrillard, Jean, 6 Baulig, Henri, 40 Beard, Charles, 245 Beer, George Louis, 123, 13637, 160, 165, 174, 176, 194 Belgium, 124 Bell Labs, 42728 Belorussia, 402, 403 Berger, John, 24 Bergson, Henri-Louis, 14 Berle, Adolf, 303, 329, 359, 445 Berlin Conference, 116 Beveridge, Albert, 115 Billings, Marland, 439 Bingham, Hiram, 55, 6162, 66, 67, 182, 475n18; discovery of Machu Picchu by, 7678 biography, xxxxi biological warfare research, 254, 436 Bliss, General Tasker, 145, 154, 16061, 194, 198

Paige West, and Cheryl Gowar. My thanks also to Michael Siegel for compiling the maps in chapter 3 and to Jason Hackworth for those in chapter 6. In addition, in the late 1980s and the 1990s I learned from and enjoyed the intellectual comradeship and support of many wonderful scholars: Pedro Caban, Susan Fainstein, Sue Gal, Lloyd Gardiner, Jason Hackworth Andy Herod, Dorothy Hodgson, Link Larson, Jim Livingston, John McClure, Marc Manganero, Don Mitchell, Fritz Nelson, Diane Neumaier, Rick Schroeder, Carolyn Williams, and Elvin Wyly. John Gillis afforded me a crucial year at the Center for Historical Analysis. Bruce Robbins invariably saw this project in strictly disciplinary terms, which helped me to frame it in such a way that deed this reading as best I could. More than anyone at Rutgers, George Levine, director of the Center for the Critical Analysis of Critical Culture, provided an extraordinary multidisciplinary home, without which this book would have been much poorer, and through thick and thin he has always been a generous and forthright supporter. Many friends and colleagues have contributed to this work with specic suggestions and have in very different ways lent support while I pursued it: Itty Abraham, John Agnew, Bob Beauregard, Liz Bondi, Eric Clark, Sue Cobble, Caroline Desbiens, Joe Doherty, Keya Ganguly, Anne Godlewska, Mike Heffernan, Briavel Holcomb, Paul Knox, David Lowenthal, Arthur Maass, Peter Marcuse, Sallie Marston, Janice Monk, Sheila Moore, Robert Newman, Gearid Tuathail, Gerry Pratt, Alan Pred, Ed Soja, and Marv Waterstone. John Paul Jones is a special gift on this earth, and I never stop learning from him. Tim Brennans rampaging intelligence periodically introduced new, critical arguments into the way I approached this project. At a crucial moment Julian Wolpert invited me to give a seminar at Princeton, which helped quicken my thinking about European geopolitics after World War I. Luca Muscar shared some of his work on Jean Gottmann with me. Jorge Marconi suggested some excellent contextual readings and updates for the Andes chapter, and Briavel Holcomb also gave me comments on it. I am especially grateful to David Harvey and Derek Gregory, who very kindly agreed to read the manuscript in its entirety, gave me very helpful suggestions, and encouraged me about its worth as I struggled to see the forest for the trees. Several people have shown me parts of the world that gure into this story. I would like to thank Carmen Medeiros for Cochabamba and the Chapare, Claudio Minca for Rijeka, and Kirsten Johnson for La Paz. Some of the book was written in the woods of Lake Waubeeka in Connecticut thanks Phyllis, thanks Marshallwhere discussions with Jack Karan and Benjie and Edna Feldman gave a personal avor to the cold war years. I was



able to spend part of the autumn of 1995 in the shing village of Puerto Angel, Oaxaca, where the Buena Vista became not just home but also a place for concentrated writing. Adrian, Lourdes, Miguel, Rosa, Reina, Gladys, Gloria, and Carey all helped make it a wonderful and relaxed place to write, as did Sade, the lack of phone, fax, and e-mail, the gliding caciques announcing sundown, and the other aerial and aqueous wildlife that make the place a delight. Having come to the Graduate Center at the City University of New York in 2000, I feel lucky to have entered an extraordinary scholarly environment and have accumulated intellectual debts even faster than in the past. The opportunity to join the anthropology program there has provided the wonderful gift of a new career entwined in all sorts of challenging ways with my existing interests. Ida Susser is a long-time friend who always offers unselsh support and whose efforts, along with those of Louise Lennihan, made all the difference for me coming to the Grad Center. Talal Asad, Michael Blim, Tom McGovern, Shirley Lindenbaum, Don Robotham, Sunita Reddy, Jane Schneider, Stanley Aronowitz, David Chapin, Omar Dahbour, Peter Hitchcock, Setha Low, David Nasaw, Joan Richardson, Frances Fox Piven, Joe Glick, Ella Shohat, and Sharon Zukin have all welcomed me with ideas, support, and humor. At the Center for Place Culture and Politics I was lucky to have an extraordinary group of doctoral and faculty fellows to play with and to have Megan Schauer, April Burns, Mike Lamb, Laura Kaehler, Melis Ece, Denise Geraci, Kym Neck, Gerard Weber, and Jimmy Weir help me launch the centers work. Julian Brash, Eliza Darling, Jeff Derksen, Kim Engber, Molly Doane, and David Vine are always intellectually challenging. The coming of David, Haydee, and Delna to New York only multiplies the joy of this new community. As a scholar and a friend, whether on the eighth oor or at OReillys Bar, Bill Kelly is one of a kind, and as a university provost even more so. His vision energizes the Graduate Center. I owe Bill profound thanks for his condence that something interesting can be built at the Center for Place Culture and Politics and only hope I can live up to the expectations. And talking of OReillys, thanks Owen, thanks John, thanks Sandra. My own life in the belly of the beast has now spanned a quarter of the American Century, has taken me from my original family in Dalkeith (Nancy and Ron), BlythBridge (Sheila, Andrew, Douglas, and Donald), and West Saltoun (Derek, Rona, Catriona, Debbie, and Euan). They give this book a perspective they probably cant realize. Some very special people have also adopted me here: Arthur and Susan Katz, Phyllis Katz and Marshall Feigin, Gary Katz and Maggie Magee. Actually, the adoption was


Abancay, 66, 80 Abercrombie and Fitch, 79 Acheson, Dean, xx, 329, 375, 445 Ackerman, Edward, 439, 440, 441, 442 Act of Chapultepec, 406, 408, 409 Adams, Brooks, xiii, xvi, 1011, 12, 17, 20, 52, 84, 114, 184 Adams, James Truslow, 148 Advisory Board on Overseas Territories, 446 Advisory Committee on Postwar Foreign Policy, 32930, 33236, 380, 412 Advisory Committee on Problems of Foreign Relations, 328 Afghanistan, xi, xiii Africa, 261, 350, 367; partition of, 116; scramble for, 135 Agassiz, Alexander, 39 Agassiz, Louis, 3637, 44 Aglietta, Michel, 13 Agriculture Department, 237 Alaska, 308 Albania, 157 Albert, Prince, 92 al Qaeda, xiv, xv

Amazon, 56 ambition, U.S. global, xi, xv, 11316, 136, 378, 379, 454, 455; three moments of, xixx, 925 American Association for the Advancement of Science, 427 American Century, xii, xiii, xvixviii, xx, 2, 78, 16, 1725, 26, 31, 54, 135, 180, 265, 292, 455; decline and revival of, 56; end of geography as presumption of, 2; as geographic century, 7; and globalization, 454; ideology of, 1821; irrelevancy of geography to, 1718 American Empire, xiiixiv, xvxix, 2, 4, 1011, 1921, 28, 114, 176, 184, 236, 45658, 462; and dependent territories, 352; geo-economics over geopolitics in, xiv; geography of, 26, 45758; and globalization, 2125; world market and, 19, 21 American Geographical Society, 15, 57, 8586, 165, 233, 29394, 440, 47879n8; Bowman as president of, 8792, 10910; Bulletin of, 85, 87, 88; Hispanic America (millionth map),



forced on them by Cindi Katz, to whom I dedicate this book. She has lived with it in the form of my messy study for more than half its life. Late dinners, missed movies, dances dodged, parties missed, walks not taken, and trips postponed only begin to tell the toll. As with everything else we do, however, we suffered the toll together as Cindi messed up her study while striving to nish her own book, an inverse topography, in its way, of the American Empire. What I have learned from her would take another book, but I doubt I have the words to express what I hope she already knows. New York, August 2002

notes to pages 457461


3. By the same token, some of the most innovative work in political geography and diplomatic history is now moving away from state-centered analyses, and while this is entirely to the good, it is important to understand this shift in context. It would be a mistake to see this as a purely intellectual movement. The shift away from state-centered analyses makes sense precisely because of the circumscription of state power in a variety of contexts toward the end of the American Century, but it is a shift made possible only because internationalism has grown ineluctably out of its opposite, the fruition of nationalism. This makes attention to the state an intensely historical and geographical issue. 4. Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000). 5. Bowman, Geography as an Urgent University Need, 10 January 1947, JHU, 2. 6. Gladys Wrigley, Isaiah Bowman, Geographical Review 41 (1951): 765. Vandenberg is quoted in Dr. Bowman Dead; Noted Geographer, New York Times, 7 January 1950. 7. Harley A. Notter, ed., Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation 19391945, Department of State Publication 3580 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Ofce, 1949); Ruth B. Russell with Jeanette E. Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 1958); Whitney H. Shepardson, Early History of the Council on Foreign Relations (Stamford: Overbrook Press, 1960). 8. The comment comes from the daughter of J. K. Wright: interview with David Lowenthal, 31 March 1989, New Brunswick, New Jersey; J. K. Wright, Geography in the Making: The American Geographical Society 18511951 (New York: American Geographical Society, 1952); Richard Hartshorne to author, 15 April 1986; William M. Davis to George E. Hale, 13 January 1919, NAS. 9. Chauncy D. Harris, Geographers in the U.S. Government in Washington, D.C., during World War II, Professional Geographer 49 (1997): 24556. 10. Interview with Robert Strausz-Hup, 13 March 1996, Newtown Square, Pennsylvania. 11. Bowman, the far east, attached to Bowman to Philip Jessup, 23 September 1949, RGB.


notes to pages 449457

year of work, would now be made in seconds, because Point IV was sending punch presses to do the job.
fejos: bowman: fejos: Ike, what makes you think that the Siamese will want to do this? Oh, its easier to do than what theyre doing now. What makes you think they will want to do what is easier to do? They dont. They get a special pleasure out of it, to shape something, to get a form out of it, and get beauty. Now you want to give them punch presses.


(Paul Fejos, Oral History, CU OH, 1962, 1415). Bowman defended a classical labor theory of value against a cultural use theory of value. 89. William Vogt, Lets Examine Our Santa Claus Complex, Saturday Evening Post, 23 July 1949, 77. 90. Bowman to Harlan Cleveland, 9 and 15 December 1949, RGB. 91. Henry Hazlitt, Illusions of Point Four (Irvington-on-Hudson, N.Y.: Foundation for Economic Education, 1950). For an updated and equally misguided indictment, see Nicholas Eberstadt, Foreign Aid and American Purpose (Washington, D.C.: American Enterprise Institute, 1988). 92. Interview with Owen Lattimore, 1 December 1983, Cambridge; Bowman to Wright, 16 November 1939, JHU; Bowman to Whitney Shepardson, 20 February 1941, JHU; Bowman to Richard Light, September 1947, JHU; Allen Weinstein, Perjury (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1978), 376; Robert Newman, Owen Lattimore and the Loss of China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). 93. E. F. Penrose to author, 1 June 1983; Newman, Owen Lattimore and the Loss of China; Owen Lattimore, Ordeal by Slander (Boston: Little, Brown, 1950); interview with Owen Lattimore, 1 December 1983; Bowman, Memorandum on Interview with two Investigators . . . , 9 September 1944, RGB.

chapter 16
1. See especially William T. Stead, The Americanization of the World, or the Trend of the Twentieth Century (1901; New York: Garland, 1972). For the current argument, see R. Pells, Not Like Us (New York: Basic Books, 1997); David Slater and Peter Taylor, eds., The American Century (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1999); Tony Smith, Making the World Safe for Democracy in the American Century, Diplomatic History 23 (1999): 17388; and Geir Lundestad, Empire by Invitation in the American Century, Diplomatic History 23 (1999): 189217. 2. Edward Luttwak, From Geopolitics to Geo-Economics, National Interest (summer 1990): 17; see also Edward Luttwak, The Endangered American Dream: How to Stop the United States from Becoming a Third World Country and How to Win the Geo-Economic Struggle for Industrial Supremacy (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1993).

The story is told, perhaps apocryphally, that in May 1898 when William McKinley received the news that Commodore George Dewey had sailed into Manila Bay, routed the Spanish navy, and claimed the Philippines, the president was immediately jubilantbut also quickly puzzled. Although McKinley had authorized Deweys mission, he now fumbled with a map and eventually admitted to a friend that he could not have told where those darned islands were within two thousand miles.1 No such geographical uncertainty haunted Oliver North, the U.S. Army colonel who, in the closing days of the cold war, masterminded the Iran-Contra conspiracy. Norths surreptitious Iranian arms sales underwrote the terrorist campaign by anticommunist Contras against Nicaraguas Sandinista government. In a related fund-raising gambit, North presented slide shows to horried upper-class matrons, designed to convince them that Nicaragua was a deadly threat to American democracy. His opening slide was a map: A foreshortened United States bled off the top edge of the screen while a large, dark Nicaragua loomed from the maps base into the Gulf of Mexico, menacing the Texas coast. The United States was overprinted with a paternal bald eagle while Nicaragua was emblazoned with a large red hammer and sickle. Norths imaginative political cartography conveniently suppressed the fact that Nicaragua is actually smaller than Florida, had a lower population than Alabama, and could have seated its entire army in the University of Michigans football stadium with a bevy of seats left over.

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notes to pages 445449


These two events may be seen as bookends of an American Century that began, in political if not strictly calendrical terms, with the ill-founded colonial adventurism of 1898. They highlight two central themes of this book. The rst theme concerns the development of American globalism through the twentieth century. While globalization came to overwhelm all other ways of thinking about the future after the 1980s, U.S. globalism was actually hatched over many decades and bore an American imprimatur from the start. Coining the expression the American Century in 1941, millionaire magazine publisher Henry Luce already recognized U.S. hegemony as an accomplished fact, but as his choice of historical periodization suggests, American globalism was even then decades old.2 In fact, its origins in traditional colonial conquest notwithstanding, the globalism that has captured economic strategies and world visions today, and simultaneously come under fervent attack, represents a long-term strategic rebuttal of European colonialism and anticolonial movements alike. Simultaneously a precursor and a successor to Soviet socialism, American globalism also supersedes the two-hundred-year-old nexus of world power connecting European states and their colonies. The strategies and failures, accidents and discontinuities of emerging U.S. power in the rst half of the twentieth century authored an indispensable prelude to post-1980s globalization and laid out an early blueprint for todays global ambition. The second theme concerns the equivocal role of geography in this emerging American Empire. Where McKinley struggled with the world map, North deployed it with rapier ideological efciency. This should not be taken as symbolic of some historical shift from a broad American ignorance of geography in 1898 to an apparent enlightenment a century later. If anything, the opposite may be true: pollsters at the beginning of the twentyrst century routinely record the geographical ignorance of the American populace at an all-time high. Rather, the journey from casual global assumption to intense geographic paranoia, from imperial fumbling to a reallife Dr. Strangelove, expresses a central shift in the political and economic meaning of geography in the American Empire. Even as U.S. globalism was gathering power in the early decades of the twentieth century, a certain way of understanding the world geographically was being submerged. Indeed, one of the denitive presumptions of the American Century, a presumption that built to a crescendo by the 1990s, is that this new globalism leads to the end of geography. The end of geography, explains the erstwhile chief economist of the American Express Bank, refers to a state of economic development where geographical location no longer matters in nance.3 In broader terms, the replacement of European by American

in Rita Morris, An Examination of Some Factors Related to the Rise and Decline of Geography as a Field of Study at Harvard, 16381948, Ph.D. dissertation, Graduate School of Education, Harvard University, 1962, 239. 76. Bowman to Henry Field, 6 November 1945, RGB. 77. Henry Wallace to Bowman, 3 November 1942, JHU. 78. Fourth Point at Work, Economist (2 April 1949); Bowman to Paul G. Hoffman, Encouraging Private Investment in the Dependent Overseas Territories, 2 pp., undated, RGB. 79. Harry S. Truman, presidential inaugural address, 20 January 1949, HST. 80. Bowman to Hoffman, 26 January 1949; Bowman, untitled four-page memo, I have just returned . . . , 24 January 1949; Bowman to John Lee Pratt, 11 February 1949; Bowman to Averell Harriman, 4 March 1949; all in RGB. Hoffman had been president of the Studebaker car company, and Harriman was a railroad, shipping, and banking magnate, wealthy aristocrat, and ex-ambassador to Russia and Britain, who had also done a stint as secretary of commerce. 81. Fourth Point at Work; Bowman to Pratt, 15 July 1948, JHU. 82. Bowman, untitled memo, At our meeting of May 20, 1949 . . . , undated, RGB. 83. Bowman to Benjamin DeKalbe Wood, 26 February 1949, JHU; Bowman, Memorandum of a Meeting on Thursday, February 3 1949, E.C.A., 3 February 1949, RGB; Bowman, ECA: Rigid Bilateralism . . . , memo, undated, RGB. 84. Memo, on talk between Dr. Isaiah Bowman and Nevett Bartow, August 17, 1949 at the Century Club, New York, 17 August 1949, RGB. See also Bowman to Hoffman, 17 October 1949, RGB; Orchard to Bowman, 3 October 1949, RGB; Hoffman to American Embassy [Harriman], Paris, 9 June 1949, RGB; Harriman to Hoffman, 17 June 1949, RGB. 85. Richard M. Freeland, The Truman Doctrine and the Origins of McCarthyism (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1972), 5, 21; Bowman, Memorandum on Conversation with Mr. Harriman, 12 August 1949, RGB; Michael L. Hoffman, Soviet Says Point 4 Is a Colonial Plot, New York Times, 27 July 1949; Thomas Zeiler, Managing Protectionism: American Trade Policy in the Early Cold War, Diplomatic History 22 (1998): 33760. 86. Bowman, Memorandum on Point Four, 12 August 1949, RGB; Hoffman to American Embassy, Paris, 1 September 1949, RGB. 87. ECA, Status of Overseas Projects, memo, TOECA R-10, 1 September 1949, JHU; Bowman to Mr. Cleveland, Mr. Woodbridge, memo, 4 April 1949, RGB; George Woodbridge to Bowman, 13 September 1949, RGB. 88. Bowman to H. J. Fleure, 12 December 1949, JHU; Bowman to Harriman, 10 February 1949, RGB; Bowman, Memorandum on Point Four. See also James Reston, Treasury Wins Long Battle on Financing Point Four Plan, New York Times, 16 June 1949; Isaiah Bowman, How Far Can United States Resources Go? Listener, 6 July 1948. Anthropologist Paul Fejos remembered one of Bowmans more enthusiastic moments about the industrialization of the backward areas. Observing a handcrafted Siamese ashtray, Bowman proudly proclaimed that such an artifact, having previously taken perhaps a half


notes to pages 440444

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graphical Field, Harvard Crimson, 4 March 1948; Geography off the Map, Harvard Crimson, 6 March 1948. 61. Peter B. Roll to Whittlesey, 8 March 1948, HUG 4877.412; Off the Map, Harvard Crimson, 2 March 1951. 62. Bowman, untitled memo, 27 July 1937, RGB; O. M. Miller to Preston James, 4 October 1966, AGS. 63. Interview with Preston James, San Antonio, Texas, 27 April 1982. 64. Bowman to Conant, 26 November 1947, JHU; Bowman to Gladys Wrigley, 15 April, 1948, JHU. 65. Richard Hartshorne, The Nature of Geography (Lancaster, Pa.: AAG, 1939). Whatever Bowman shared with Hartshorne, the practical man was decidedly hostile to the pedantic philosophizing of The Nature of Geography. He thought it silly business, an enormous compilation of nearly useless material endlessly desquamating subjects of inferior importance to begin with (Bowman to Robert Bowman, 6 December 1939, RGB). 66. Bowman, Geography as a University Discipline, hand-corrected draft, sixth regular meeting of the Subcommittee on Geography of the Committee on Education Policy, Harvard University, 18 November 1949, JHU; Bowman to Wrigley, 15 April 1948, JHU. 67. From what we heard at Cambridge last autumn [Whittlesey] did not help matters by insisting upon association with Kemp (Bowman to J. K. Wright, 8 March 1948, JHU). See also Bowman to Wrigley, 11 March 1941, AGS GR. 68. Interview with Jean Gottmann, 23 March 1982, Baltimore. 69. Edward Ullman to Donald McKay, n.d. [1949], HU, Subcommittee on Geography of the Committee on Education Policy, HUG, UA 70. Bowman to Buck, 12 May 1948, JHU. 71. Cf.: Together, Buck and Conant must have made a terrifying combination, coming up on both the soft and hard side of Bowman and of the discipline of geography (Gerard Piel to author, 15 April 1985). The description of Conant is from Kevles, The Physicists, 288. 72. Bowman to Wright, 22 March 1948, RGB; Kirk Bryan to Bowman, 16 March 1948, JHU. 73. Bowman recorded the conversation afterward with Conant:
bowman: conant: But you must have noticed that I was silent, and guessed the reason why. I shall be grateful to my dying day for that silence. I think it was a remarkable piece of self-restraint, and I shall never forget it.

(Bowman, Brookhaven Laboratory Conference, 13 October 1948, JHU). 74. Interview with Jean Gottmann, 23 March 1982. 75. Ed Tenner, Harvard, Bring Back Geography! Harvard Magazine, MayJune 1988, 2730; Casper Weinberger, Bring Back Geography, Forbes, 25 December 1989, 31; McGeorge Bundy to author, 4 May 1988. Bailey is quoted

global power in the twentieth century presented itself simultaneously as a victory over geography and a replacement of Old World territorial inheritances by the New World rule of moral and economic principle. These two themes, the concerted rise of U.S. globalism and a lost geographical sensibility, are intricately interwoven; their connections are neither simple nor linear. For example, a good case could be made that on the cusp of American globalism in 1898, the heavily immigrant American populace knew as much as, if not more than, its leaders knew about geography. Had they been inclined, early Philippine migrants to California could have helped McKinley with his map. But today, even amid unprecedented global migration, the opposite may be true. Popular geographical illiteracy in the United States contrasts starkly with the immense governmental resources devoted to geographical intelligence. In the 1980s the Defense Mapping Agency alone employed a reported nine thousand people, far outstripping any civilian counterpart, and was the major single employer of graduating geography majors. Periodic incidents of ofcial cartographic ignorance are the exceptions that prove the rule: the 1999 bombing of the Chinese Embassy in Belgrade by U.S. warplanes was explained away in Washington as a mapping error, whereas skeptics around the world refused to believe that such a powerful geographical intelligence apparatus could be so cartographically incompetent. This presents us with an acute contradiction. The advent of the American Century made management of global geography an increasingly vital endeavor, and over many decades the U.S. government built an elaborate if inchoate bureaucracy for the task. The State Department and the Central Intelligence Agency, the Department of Defense and the National Security Administration (as well as U.S.-inspired international agencies such as the United Nations, the World Bank, and the International Monetary Fund) all maintain well-staffed geographical sections or their equivalent. The National Imagery and Mapping Agency (NIMA), which absorbed the Defense Mapping Agency in the early 1990s, represents a kind of central geographical nervous system for U.S. global strategy.4 Yet the very success of this American globalism, built in no small part upon powerful geographical intelligence, has spawned a quite contradictory public reality, namely the eclipse of geography as a discourse of global power. Economic and cultural globalization, it is widely held, transcends old constraints of geography, locational difference, and national boundaries. Geography here survives as nostalgia. How are we to account for this contradiction: the institutional power of geographical intelligence amid its broader cultural eclipse at the apex of the

lost geography of the american century

notes to pages 436440


American Century? Conspiracy theorists during the Vietnam War surmised that the geographical ignorance of the American people was deliberate government strategy designed to give national rulers maximum freedom in military and economic policy: when people are clueless about other places, they rarely object to their exploitation or bombing. Conversely, it has been argued that with the face of the earth largely mapped by the early years of the twentieth century, questions of imperial geography gravitated from the conceptual, exploratory, and imaginative to the descriptive, technocratic, and routine; scientic discovery gave way to mundane management. There is some truth in each of these explanations, but neither captures what I hope to demonstrate here, namely that far from being irrelevant, geography was profoundly important to the methodical construction of an American Empire that did indeed see itself as beyond geography. As the territoriality of power, geography is as important to American hegemony today as it was to European hegemony, but in a radically different way. The absolute geography of territorial possession and control that anchored eighteenth- and nineteenth-century European expansionism is certainly of less central importance now, but such a narrow conception hardly exhausts our sense of geography. In the American Century, as we shall see, a far more uid and relational geometry has been thoroughly constitutive of global power. Marx and Engels famously wrote in 1848 that a specter was haunting Europe, and that specter was communism. A century and a half later, a new specter haunts the entire world: globalization. This expanded geography is not accidental insofar as the capital accumulation that undergirds so-called globalization can no longer be contained or even organized on the national scale. Globalization is less a new specter, therefore, than an old one reinvented on a higher scale. As its name suggests, globalization is a quintessentially geographical issue, although of course it is many other things as well. To the extent that the geography of the American Century remains obscure, the origins, outlines, possibilities, and limits of what today is called globalization will also remain obscure. There is no way to understand where the global shifts of the last twenty years came from or where they will lead without understanding how, throughout the twentieth century, U.S. corporate, political, and military power mapped an emerging empire. If this book is primarily historical, its main purpose is to provide a missing perspective on the geography of contemporary global power. First and foremost, though by no means exclusively, globalization was made in America and was built around U.S. interests and ideologies, but it was also established from the beginning of the twentieth century rather than simply at its end.

time by Michigan Republican Arthur Vandenberg, chair of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, whom he had come to know in San Francisco, but by 1949 Bowman had become much more outspoken, and Truman this time demurred, saying only that he preferred a younger man. See Bowman for Atom Post, New York Times, 6 January 1949; Truman to Arthur Vandenberg, 8 February 1949, HST. Interview with Robert G. Bowman, 2 June 1984, Lincoln, Nebraska. 47. Bowman to Truman, 12 September 1946. Barton Bernstein, The Birth of the U.S. Biological-Warfare Program, Scientic American, June 1987, 11621. 48. Henry L. Stimson, The Decision to Use the Atom Bomb, Harpers, vol. 194, February 1947, 97107. See also Robert Jay Lifton and Greg Mitchell, Hiroshima in America: Fifty Years of Denial (New York: Grosset/Putnam, 1995), chapter 7. 49. V. Bush to James Forrestal, 20 December 1948, PU, John Foster Dulles Papers, Box 41. The article that nally spurred the committees formation was by Bradley Dewey, High Policy and the Atomic Bomb, Atlantic Monthly, December 1948. See also the account in James Hershberg, James B. Conant: Harvard to Hiroshima and the Making of the Nuclear Age (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993), 37475. 50. Hershberg, James B. Conant, 390. 51. U.S. Policies Governing the Use of Certain New Weapons and Release of Information Regarding the Capabilities of, and Defense against, the Use of these Weapons,three-page top-secret memorandum, attached to Karl Compton to Bowman, 14 March 1949, JHU. 52. Secret ve-page draft attached to Conant to K. T. Compton [date blacked out]; James Conant to K. T. Compton, 2 May 1949, PU, John Foster Dulles Papers, Box 41. 53. Conant to Compton, 2 May 1949. 54. Hershberg, James B. Conant, 389. 55. Bowman to J. Russell Smith, 3 October 1947; Bowman, untitled memo, undated, marked File: U.S. U.S.S.R., RGB. 56. David Holloway, Stalin and the Bomb (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994). 57. Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes (New York: Vintage, 1994), 24. 58. For a more detailed version of the Harvard story, from which this discussion is taken, see Neil Smith, Academic War over the Field of Geography: The Elimination of Geography at Harvard, 19471951, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 77 (1987): 15572. 59. On geography in the war, see Edward Ackermans own Geographic Training, Wartime Research, and Immediate Professional Objectives, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 35 (1945): 12143. See also Andrew Kirby, What Did You Do in the War, Daddy? in Geography and Empire, ed. Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994), 300314. 60. Derwent Whittlesey to George Cressey, 16 April 1948, HUW; Marland P. Billings to Whittlesey, 21 February 1948, HUG 4877.412; Billings to Paul Buck, 6 June 1947, three letters, copies in JHU; College Dooms Major in Geo-


notes to pages 433435

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37. Howard A. Meyerhoff, Obituary: National Science Foundation, 1946, Science 104 (2 August 1946): 9798. 38. Kevles, The Physicists, 365. See also Daniel Lee Kleinman and Mark Solovey, Hot Science/Cold War: The National Science Foundation after World War II, Radical History Review 63 (1995): 131. 39. R. W. Gerard, A National Science Foundation and the Scientic Worker, Science 103 (4 January 1946): 4; Shapley to Bowman, 6 November 1946, JHU. 40. Kevles, The Physicists, 363; Lomask, A Minor Miracle, 53. Cf.: The NSF legislative delay cost the nation a program balanced between civilian and military patronage (Kevles, The Physicisits, 361). 41. David Sills to author, 13 November 1986; President Bowman, New York Times, 23 February 1935. 42. Social science funding ranged between 5 and 6 percent of total NSF grants between the mid-1960s and mid-1980s before falling to 3.5 percent in the Reagan years (Otto N. Larsen, Milestones and Millstones: Social Science at the National Science Foundation, 19451991 [New Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Books, 1992], 104, 175). 43. See, inter alia, Gar Alperovitz, Atomic Diplomacy, 2nd ed. (New York: Penguin, 1987); James S. Allen, Atomic Imperialism: The State, Monopoly, and the Bomb (New York: International Publishers, 1952); Martin J. Sherwin, A World Destroyed: The Atomic Bomb and the Grand Alliance (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1973); J. Samuel Walker, Prompt and Utter Destruction (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997). 44. On Bowmans ambivalence about the bomb, see his letter to his son, Robert Bowman, 13 August 1945, RGB; and Bowman to J. Russell Smith, 3 October 1947, JHU. For the meeting with Truman, see Bowmans untitled four-page memo: On Saturday, September 7 . . . , 25 September 1946, RGB. For the ve hundred thousand estimate, see Bowman to Hamilton Fish Armstrong, 10 July 1946, JHU; and Vannevar Bush to Bowman, 16 August 1946, RGB. This gure was more than a tenfold exaggeration of pre-Hiroshima military estimates: see Rufus E. Miles Jr., Hiroshima: The Strange Myth of Half a Million Lives Saved, International Security 10, no. 2 (1985): 12140; Barton Bernstein, A Postwar Myth: 500,000 U.S. Lives Saved, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 42, no. 6 (1986): 3840. See also Gar Alperovitz, The Decision to Use the Atomic Bomb (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1995); Robert Jay Lifton and Greg Mitchell, Hiroshima in America: Fifty Years of Denial (New York: Grosset/Putnam, 1995). 45. Bowman, On Saturday, September 7 . . . , RGB; untitled, undated memo on White House letterhead, Bowman, HST; J. Edgar Hoover to Clark Clifford, 5 September 1946, with two-page memo, HST. See also FBI le, 10046382. Hoovers report is a cold war classic, focusing on crime, credit, and politics, going back to Brown City, Michigan. It is extraordinary for the network of informants contacted, yet how little it reveals about Bowman. 46. Bowman to Harry S. Truman, 12 September 1946, JHU; Bowman to Robert W. Sawyer, 8 November 1946, JHU; Bowman, On Saturday, September 7. . . . Three years later he found himself again proposed for the AEC, this

the end of geography, or geographical parallax+

The rise of the American Empire was the most commanding event in the political and cultural economy of the twentieth century, and as the 11 September catastrophe demonstrates, it casts a long shadow over the twentyrst. In retrospect we can identify three formative moments in the U.S. rise to globalism. A barely formed nation at the end of the nineteenth century with a dramatically expanding industrial economy, the United States exed military-geographical muscle and supranational ambition in the acquisitive, classically colonial wars of 1898, but with entry into World War I and the promise of Woodrow Wilsons League of Nations, a different and more ambitious global amplitude was announced. This was the rst formative moment, connecting 1898 with Wilsons dream of a global Monroe Doctrine. But it was a dream deferred. The second moment came with the next world war. Luces announcement of the American Century may have seemed ambitious, even brazen, in 1941, but by wars end the ascendancy of U.S. capital and culture seemed assured. However truncated and transformed by anticolonial struggles and the cold war, it was this American globalism that owered after 1945. But that era too was short-lived. After the 1970s, with U.S. power facing stringent global competition (political as well as economic), scholars began to perceive the closure or at least a shortening of the American Century. Outmaneuvered in Vietnam and Nicaragua and held hostage in Iran, the United States also suffered serious economic decline. The Japanese and German economies threatened U.S. control of nance and markets, deep domestic deindustrialization followed stiff competition from the low-wage economies in Asia and Latin America, and U.S. city centers were devastated as capital was sucked to the suburbs.5 Much of the global competition was actually U.S.-nanced and funneled prots back to the United States, but this was beside the point. The postwar period of U.S. superiority waned; uneven development now seemed to work increasingly against the United States rather than in its favor. No sooner did that U.S. decline seem assured, however, than the picture changed again. The partial internationalization of many production systems and labor markets; the emergence of secondary and tertiary nancial markets around the world since the 1970s; the greater integration and deregulation of previously national nancial markets; the wilting of the Japanese economic challenge in the 1990s; the aggressive restructuring of the U.S. economy; and the implosion of ofcial communism after 1989: all these developments made the mounting death notices for the American

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notes to pages 427433


Century conspicuously premature. The smashing of the Berlin Wall and the modern-day sacking of Baghdad two years later were heralded in Washington in the very same language used by both Woodrow Wilson and Franklin Roosevelt: it was, said the elder George Bush, the advent of a new world order. Make no mistake, announced an exassistant secretary of the treasury in 1994: a capitalist revolution is sweeping the world, and the United States is comfortably in its vanguard.6 This is the third formative moment in the U.S. rise to globalism. It encouraged Bill Clinton, in his 1999 State of the Union address, to envisage a next American Century, and it undergirded the so-called war on terrorism after 2001. The self-congratulatory geography of this capitalist revolution was global, and its language, utopian. Francis Fukuyama proclaimed the end of history, while Margaret Thatcher insisted there is no alternative to global capitalism. Capitalism, Western democracy, and Hollywood had won. Not just the end of history but also the end of geography seemed to follow from the new world order. In business schools throughout the United States and East Asia and in nancial board rooms around the world, the new message for the 1990s held that a borderless world now prevailed, and nation-states were fatally weakened by new global ows of capital, information, people, and ideas.7 The rise of new nancial markets and their virtually instantaneous technological accessibility rendered space, place, and borders superuous. In the symptomatically Americanized tones of a 1997 British telecom advertisement, Geography is history. Hatched from the raried personal experiences of a small coterie of nancial executives, traders, and cybersleuths and nurtured by a more widespread revolution in electrical, computer, and televisual communications, this assumption of a borderless world is quite literally utopian in the sense that it assumes or anticipates a spaceless world, and it has migrated well beyond the borders of its own signicance. It has more progressive variants, as in Manuel Castellss powerful claim that the world now comprises a space of ows, a network society, rather than a space of places. And it has become a leitmotiv of globalized culture as well as nance. For French postmodernist Jean Baudrillard, the end of geography is the apogee of dialectical critique, a utopia already achieved in and as America. Even the cultural critic Paul Virilio nds himself in the surprising position of mirroring nance capital when he too declares the death of geography.8 The puzzling thing is that this powerful end of geography rhetoric is emerging alongside quite antithetical trends. Since the early twentieth century, geography as an academic discipline in the United States has declined consonant with the fortunes of geography as a discourse of power.

21. J. Merton England, A Patron for Pure Science: The National Science Foundations Formative Years, 19451957 (Washington, D.C.: National Science Foundation, 1982); James L. Penick Jr., Carroll W. Pursell Jr., Morgan B. Sherwood, and Donald C. Swain, The Politics of American Science (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1972); Kevles, The Physicists, 34266; Lomask, A Minor Miracle, 3359. 22. Vannevar Bush, Sciencethe Endless Frontier (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Ofce, 1945). 23. Report of the Bowman Committee on Government Aid to Science, 9 May 1945, 6, RGB; Bush, Sciencethe Endless Frontier, 65127. 24. Report of the Bowman Committee . . . , vi (Sciencethe Endless Frontier, 68). See also Isaiah Bowman, Science and Social Pioneering, Science 90 (6 October 1939): 30919; England, A Patron for Pure Science, 1078. 25. Kevles, The Physicists, 344. 26. Bowman to Harlow Shapley, 9 November 1946, RGB; Bowman et al. to President Truman, 24 November 1945, RGB. 27. Bowman et al. to Truman, 24 November 1945; Bowman to Charles Ross, telegram, 23 November 1945, JHU. 28. Bowman to E. E. Day, 5 June 1946, JHU; Bowman to Homer W. Smith, 7 June 1946, JHU. The CIO is the Congress of Industrial Organizations, a grouping of trade unions. 29. Statement Presented on October 8, 1945, by Isaiah Bowman of the Johns Hopkins University to a Joint Meeting of the Senate Subcommittees on Commerce and Military Affairs with Reference to Proposals for Federal Support of Scientic Research, RGB (printed in U.S. Senate Subcommittee of the Committee on Military Affairs, Science Legislation: Hearings on S. 1297 and Related Bills, 79th Cong. 1st sess., 1945, 1014); Bowmans Talk to Senators, New York Herald Tribune, 9 October 1945. 30. U.S. Senate, Science Legislation, 36869; Kevles, The Physicists, 348. 31. Bowman, S. 1720, memo, 17 January 1946, RGB; Bowman et al. to President Truman, 24 November 1945; Bowman to Charles Ross, telegram, 23 November 1945, JHU; Bowman to Carroll Wilson, 26 November 1945, JHU. Initial signatories of the Committee Supporting the Bush Report included James B. Conant, president of Harvard; Linus Pauling, of the California Institute of Technology; A. N. Richards, of University of Pennsylvania; and Robert E. Wilson, of Standard Oil of Indiana. 32. J. Donald Kingsley to John R. Steelman, 31 December 1946, reprinted in Penick Jr. et al., The Politics of American Science, 121; The Committee for a National Science Foundation, Science 103 (4 January 1946): 11. 33. England, A Patron for Pure Science, 4559; Bowman to Day, 5 and 21 June 1946, RGB. 34. U.S. House of Representatives, Hearings before the Subcommittee of the Committee on Interstate and Foreign Commerce . . . H.R. 6448, 79th Cong. 2nd sess., 2829 May 1946, 13. 35. Bowman to Day, 21 June 1946, RGB. 36. House Action on Science Legislation, Science 104 (26 July 1946): 79.


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H. Crider, Vinson Calls Loan to Britain a Must, New York Times, 6 March 1946. 10. LeFeber, America, Russia, and the Cold War, 39; Bowman to Robert G. Bowman, 13 February 1946, JHU. Contrary to popular belief, Churchill did not actually coin the term iron curtain in his March 1946 speech, but appropriated it from the Nazis. It was a stock phrase of Nazi anti-Soviet propaganda that came to prominence after German foreign minister Count Schwerin von Krosigk, on the eve of German defeat, broadcast to the German people that the invading Soviet army to the east brought with it an iron curtain excluding the eyes of the world. The speech was reported in Kosigks Cry of Woe, London Times, 3 May 1945. On Britains role in fomenting early cold war tension, see Peter J. Taylor, Britain and the Cold War (London: Pinter, 1990). 11. Bowman, Is an International Society Possible? typescript, JHU. Edited versions were later published as an American Affairs pamphlet by the National Industrial Conference Board, New York, in January 1947, and in the Explorers Journal. 12. LeFeber, America, Russia and the Cold War, 4748; Richard Hartshorne to author, 15 April 1986. 13. Arthur Krock, U.N. Bloc Voting is the Shadow of San Francisco, New York Times, 21 November 1946; Address to Beginners, Time, 21 October 1946. 14. George Francis Kerr to Bowman, 18 October 1946, RGB; Bowman to Hoover, 1 October 1941, FBI le 10046382. 15. Bowman to Colonel Herman Beukema, 22 October 1946, RGB; Bowman to Oscar Ruebhausen, 30 December 1946, JHU. 16. Bowman, Discovering Your Place in This Complex World, 22 September, 1947, JHU; Bowman to Lewis H. Brown, 15 May 1947, RGB. Bowmans comparison of Stalin with the tsars paralleled the argument of his old nemesis Walter Lippmann the same yearexcept Lippmann opposed the Truman Doctrine. See Walter Lippmann, The Cold War (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1947). Truman is quoted in LeFeber, America, Russia and the Cold War, 54. 17. Olive Swezy to Bowman, 24 September 1947, JHU; Curtis P. Nettels to Bowman, 24 September 1947, JHU. 18. John Lewis Gaddis, The United States and the Origins of the Cold War 19411947 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1972), 4. As Gabriel Kolko has observed, Neither the Americans, British, nor Russians were willing to permit democracy to run its course anywhere in Europe at the cost of damaging their vital strategic and economic interests (Kolko, The Politics of War [New York: Random House, 1968]). 19. Bowman, untitled memo, It may be argued . . . , 9 March 1943, JHU. See also the observation by George Kennan: The cause of Socialism is the support and promotion of Soviet power, as dened in Moscow (Kennan, The Sources of Soviet Conduct, Foreign Affairs 25 [1947]: 573). 20. Daniel Kevles, The Physicists (New York: Vintage, 1979), 297; Milton Lomask, A Minor Miracle: An Informal History of the National Science Foundation (Washington, D.C.: National Science Foundation, 1974), 37.

Since the 1980s, however, a forceful reassertion of geographical consciousness has been ringing through political, cultural, and especially academic institutions. Even at the hearth of the American Empire, the U.S. Congress in 1987 established an annual Geography Awareness Week in response to polls demonstrating lamentable popular ignorance of geography. Two years later the exsecretary of defense Caspar Weinberger appealed to Harvard University to initiate a widespread reintroduction of geography in schools and universities. (Harvard did not immediately oblige but symptomatically, perhaps, has reintroduced geography teaching in the curriculum of its Business School and School of Government.) Historians, economists, and other scientists have begun to rediscover geography too, albeit often in quite determinist tones.9 Even more powerfully, the so-called cultural turn in the humanities and social sciences, from Michel Foucault to feminism, from post-structuralism to postmodernism, has been underwritten by a broad deployment of spatial metaphors, making the turn simultaneously cultural and spatial. Oxford literary critic Terry Eagleton has captured this shift, announcing that geography, which used to be about maps and chaps, now looks set to become the sexiest discipline of all.10 National Geographic Magazine went further: it sponsored millennium-ending radio, television, and Internet programs proclaiming the twentieth century to have been the geographic century. By one account, then, the American Century took us beyond geography; by another, it was the geographic century. This contradiction between a spaceless and a spatially constituted American globalism is latent in the global history of the twentieth century. It rose to the surface at crucial points, was strongest during the formative moments of the American Empire, and points to the powerful necessity of understanding the preludes to globalization in a geographical register. Claims concerning the end of geography express less the realities of a new world order than a certain ideological apprehension about how the future will turn out. They issue during periods of particularly intense spatial transformation (such as globalization) accompanied by wide public interest in the connections between economic and political change, and they obscure rather than illuminate the very real geographical shifts that have framed the history and the politics of the American Empire. The pretense of an end to geography is symptomatic of a certain self-attery of the American Century and provides a distorted, one-dimensional perspective on the origins of U.S. globalism, its trajectory, and its politics. If, as two historians assert, there has been a long and debilitating separation of geography from history,11 twentieth-century U.S. diplomatic

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notes to pages 413422


and foreign relations histories exemplify this shortcoming. These histories have generally expressed rather than countered assumptions about the end of geography, reading the aspatiality of history back into the past.12 Until recently, the great debates in this eld involved a contest between idealist and realist interpretations of U.S. global history. For the so-called idealists, U.S. foreign policy can be understood as an expression of the ideals of Americanism and the exercise of U.S. power in the name of liberal ideals and political democracy. Realists, on the other hand, were more inclined to emphasize naked power and national self-interest as the salient forces in global change, seeing the world as a chessboard of strategic national actions. If the idealist position is explicitly nongeographical, the realist position engages only the most trivial sense of geographical space. Geopolitical calculation is integral to the realist purview, but here global space is treated with a simplicity and absolutism that is continuous with nineteenthcentury Europe or indeed McKinleys colonialism. This vision is appropriate for the period of nation-state building, when states across the world scrambled to claim and map out the squares they could call their own on the global chessboard, but it has only periodic and supercial applicability to the geography of the American Century. Much as they persevere in many quarters, both realist and idealist visions are antiquated and inadequate for the history of twentieth-century global power, not least because they are blind to the geography of that power or present it in highly deracinated form. U.S. global power is rooted in a much more complicated reconguration of geography, economy, and politics. Of course the idealist-realist paradigm has been challenged by historians, and it is symptomatic that when more progressive revisionist histories of U.S. foreign relations began to appear in the latter decades of the twentieth century, they brought a tentative respatialization of the language of foreign relations that abridged the triumphalism of Luces American Century.13 The revisionist insistence on a twentieth-century American empire was subversive insofar as it threatened a cherished ction of American innocence. Various anticonquest ideologies of twentieth-century AmericanismLuces among themworked hard to make America and the political geographical implications of empire seem mutually incompatible.14 But the revisionist respatialization of foreign relations history has itself been partial and largely implicit.15 The American rise to globalism is still viewed almost exclusively from the single axis of historical change without benet of the parallel axis of geographical change. It is axiomatic in physics that an object cannot be located precisely if viewed along only a single axis;

84. Bowman to Robert and Walter Bowman, 6 July 1945, RGB; Bowman, Memorandum of talk with Secretary Stettinius, 16 June 1945, JHU. 85. Bowman, untitled one-page memo, 16 June 1945, JHU. 86. For Stettiniuss version of events, see his Roosevelt and the Russians (Garden City: Doubleday, 1949), 19596. 87. Bowman, untitled three-page memo, 4 June 1946, JHU. 88. Bowman, untitled two-page memo, 29 June 1945, JHU; Bowman, Memorandum of Conversations, 24, 25, and 26 June 1945, JHU; Bowman, memo, 4 June 1946, JHU; George E. Allen, Presidents Who Have Known Me (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1950), 17273. Virginia Stettinius had warned that not everyone in the United States felt as enthusiastic about the UN as the San Francisco revelers now felt and that things could come to a bad end for her husband. Bowman dismissed her concerns as hysterical and parochial, but of course she was right. Less than a year later Truman squeezed Stettinius out of the UN. 89. Bowman, untitled two-page memo, 4 May 1943, JHU. 90. Isaiah Bowman, Is an International Society Possible? (New York: National Industrial Conference Board, 1947), 10. 91. Isaiah Bowman, The Dumbarton Oaks Proposals, Association of American Colleges Bulletin 31 (March 1945): 33. 92. Frank Waring, 26 May 1945, cited in CU OH, Henry Wallace, 382831. 93. Gardner, Spheres of Inuence.

chapter 15
1. Robert Coughlan, Isaiah Bowman, Life, 22 October 1945, 117. 2. Bowman to Lionel Curtis, 2 November 1939, RGB. 3. Really one foresees to the extent to which one acts, to which one makes a voluntary effort and so contributes concretely to creating the foreseen result (Antonio Gramsci, The Modern Prince [New York: International Publishers, 1957], 101). 4. Supplement to Mr. Bowmans Letter of September 27, undated [probably 7 October 1943], emphasis added, JHU; Bowman to Hamilton Fish Armstrong, 10 July 1946, JHU. 5. Bowman, untitled memo, I put into the record . . . , 28 November 1942, JHU; Bowman, untitled memo, Lunched with Norman Davis . . . , 2 October 1942, JHU. 6. G. R. Sloan, Geopolitics in United States Strategic Policy, 18901987 (New York: St. Martins Press, 1988), 112. 7. Turner Catledge, Our Policy Stated, New York Times, 24 June 1941. Hull is quoted in Newsweek, 22 November 1943. 8. It is at this point that our help will make friends (Bowman, untitled memo, It may be argued . . . , 9 March 1943, JHU). 9. Quoted in Walter LeFeber, America, Russia, and the Cold War, 19451984 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1985), 9, 26. The earlier Vinson quote is from John


notes to pages 403412

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64. Sumner Welles, Dear Friend, letter to a group, 29 August 1947, JHU. 65. FRUS (1945), 1: 279, 390; Bowman, Meeting of the Big Five, 7 June 1945, three-page memo; Bowman, Lunch in 666 Mayower, 5 October 1948, JHU; Vandenberg, Private Papers, 202; Bowman, untitled memo, 26 May 1945, 9:00 P.M., JHU; Bowman, Tom Connally, two-page memo, 3 April 1945; Bowman, American Delegation Meeting, 26 May 1945, JHU. 66. FRUS (1945), 1: 527, 546, 799803, 1010. 67. Bowman, untitled memo, 26 May 1945, 9:00 P.M., 12; Bowman, untitled, undated memo [28 April?], Cool since dressing down . . . , JHU. 68. Bowman, untitled three-page memo, 7 June 1945; FRUS (1945), 1: 500. 69. Vandenberg, Private Papers, 187. 70. FRUS (1945), 1: 59192, 6079. 71. Vandenberg, Private Papers, 187. 72. Vandenberg, Private Papers, 189; FRUS (1945), 1: 683. 73. FRUS (1945), 1: 61725; Vandenberg, Private Papers, 188, 18991. 74. FRUS (1945), 1: 68083; Campbell, Masquerade Peace, 17374. Bowmans gloat at winning this round against Pasvolsky earned him a sharp public rebuke from Stettinius. 75. FRUS (1945), 1: 674, 69294; Thomas M. Campbell and George C. Herring, eds., The Diaries of Edward R. Stettinius, Jr., 19431946 (New York: New Viewpoint, 1975), 362. 76. FRUS (1945), 1: 69198; Campbell and Herring, eds., The Diaries of Stettinius, 36172. The establishment of a British-French regional bloc in western and southern Europe was well known by the U.S. delegation and in the State Department. According to Assistant Secretary of State James Dunn, a close friend of Bowmans: The British and French [are] engaged in setting up a Western European bloc. The question of the establishment of this bloc [is] no longer in doubt (FRUS [1945], 1: 649). 77. Gaddis Smith, The Last Years of the Monroe Doctrine, 19451993 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1994), 4748; Notter, ed., Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 295; Russell and Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter, 224; FRUS (1944), 1: 699703; Henry L. Stimson and McGeorge Bundy, On Active Service in Peace and War (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948), 600601. 78. FRUS (1945), 1: 31819; Vandenberg, Private Papers, 169. 79. U.S. espousals of colonial independence came from an overexuberant young man in the State Department who openly called himself an idealist, Bowman once told the British, and he was chastised never to use that word again (Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 173). 80. FRUS (1945), 1: 795. 81. FRUS (1945), 1: 795. 82. Kingsbury Smith, The American Plan for a Reorganized World, American Mercury 55 (November 1942): 536. 83. Frank Waring, reports to secretary of commerce, 26 May 1945, in Henry Wallace, Oral History, CU OH, 382831; Bowman to Charles Liebman, 19 January 1942, RGB.

precise location requires at least one other axis of observation. Applied to astronomy, this principle of parallax holds that an object viewed along one axis is displaced, changes position as an additional axis of observation is added. My goal here is something analogous. Existing economic histories of global transformation habitually lack the vital parallax that a geographical sensibility brings. In many ways this book is about establishing that missing geographical parallax. It not only redresses the lost geographical perspectives of the era, but, more important, it also reveals the powerful continuity that connects globalization after the 1980s with the frustrated globalism of Yalta and the United Nations more than four decades earlier and with Wilsons 1919 ambition for a new world order premised on a global Monroe Doctrine. The continuity of these events still overshadows the discontinuities.16 Further, just as in astronomy, the addition of geographical parallax does not simply add a missing dimension or introduce a new factor in an already received history; it displaces the object of study and thereby transforms it. The point here is not simply to spatialize history, to write a spatial history. Reconceiving the geography inherent in the history but hidden in the historical narrative irrevocably transforms the history itself. Let me offer some broad strokes of this argument via an examination of the contradictory geographies of each of the three moments American imperial assertion.

the first moment: the geographical pivot of history

The lost geography of the American Century is all the more puzzling because it contrasts sharply with what came before. A little intellectual and political history helps put the issue in perspective. For European settlers in North America from the seventeenth into the nineteenth century, the seeming emptiness of the continent was the crucial founding ction. To them, America did not connote society, or history, argues Myra Jehlen, so much as geography.17 It was a cruel ction of course, dependent on the violent, continent-wide erasure and spatial ghettoization of the Native American population, but this bloody social geography of frontier expansion was the substance on which ideals of American democracy and destiny were built. History was not irrelevant in this social movement, but it was circumscribed by the strict temporality (and geography) of the past. History was the old country while the future was inscribed in the furrows, vistas, and struggles of the worked American landscape. Thus for Jefferson and many other intellectuals of the time, thrilling to the success of the Revolutionary War, histor-


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notes to pages 392402


ical change was quickly seen as a malady; progress beyond Europe was already achieved via migration, and further historical change could be inimical to the eighteenth-century liberal absolutism on which the new republic was founded. Change was conceived more in terms of geographical expansion than social transformation. For Jefferson as for Jedediah Morse, author of the new nations rst geographical and historical compendium, The Universal American Geography (1797), history was geography.18 As U.S. national and eventually international power began to crystallize toward the end of the nineteenth century, much of this experience would be rewritten as a quintessentially historical story evolving over a xed and therefore diminished geographical space, but the historicism of manifest destiny ideologies notwithstanding, geographical discourse remained powerful in the United States. One historian of science has argued that the discipline of geography dominated the sciences in America through the rst six or seven decades of the nineteenth century.19 Whatever the exaggeration of this assessment, a broadly dened study of geographyincluding geology, geophysics, and agricultural sciencesurely was the appropriate science of spatial expansion in the new nation. Geography, America, and the nation-state were triplets born of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, coming of age in the nineteenth century. From Jeffersons own intensely geographical expansionism to the militarism of 1898, the discipline of geography should have been and partly was the American science par excellence. Highly historicized and largely inseparable from geology throughout most of the nineteenth century, it was socially in tune with its times. On the cusp of the twentieth century, during the rst formative moment of the American Century, this tradition survived. The renowned historian Brooks Adams famously championed a New Empire on behalf of the United States. Adams perceived that the United States was poised to supplant Britain as the leading global power, and he saw the imminent transition quite starkly. His laconic enthusiasm of 1902 is worth quoting at length:
In 1789 the United States was a wilderness lying upon the outskirts of Christendom; she is now the heart of civilization and the focus of energy. The Union forms a gigantic and growing empire which stretches half round the globe, an empire possessing the greatest mass of accumulated wealth, the most perfect means of transportation, and the most delicate yet powerful industrial system which has ever been developed. By the products of that system she must be brought into competition with rivals at the ends of the earth. The nation, in its corporate capacity,

39. Bowman, memo, 24 March 1944, JHU; Bowman, secret memos, 13 and 17 December 1943, JHU; Bowman, Plan for the Establishment of an International Organization for the Maintenance of International Peace and Security, 23 December 1943, JHU; Cordell Hull, Memorandum for the President, 29 December 1943, JHU; Divine, Second Chance, 15990. 40. Blueprint, San Francisco Chronicle, 18 June 1944; Bowman, memo, 23 September 1944, JHU; Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 269. 41. Arthur H. Vandenberg, The Private Papers of Senator Vandenberg (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1952), 95. 42. Peter Calvocoressi and Guy Wint, Total War (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972), 487. 43. Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 8793. 44. Bowman, untitled ve-page memo, 24 August 1944, 23; Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 12228. 45. Bowman, untitled ve-page memo, 3 February 1944, JHU, 3. 46. Bowman, untitled ve-page memo, 3 February 1944, 12. 47. The best account of the veto dispute is Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 183212. 48. Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 95101. 49. Russell and Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter, 551; Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 314; Hull, Memoirs, 2: 170910. 50. Bowman, untitled ve-page memo, 24 August 1944, 4; Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 30515; Bowman, memo, 23 September 1944. 51. FRUS (1944), 1: 814; Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 9293, 12526, 220. 52. Divine, Second Chance, 221. 53. Isaiah Bowman, The Dumbarton Oaks Proposals, Association of American Colleges Bulletin 31 (1945): 3243; Isaiah Bowman, The Dumbarton Oaks Proposals, Johns Hopkins Alumni Magazine 33 (1945): 3743. 54. Divine, Second Chance, 257. 55. Meisler, United Nations, 9. 56. Quoted in Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt, 3: 237. 57. Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks, 246, 257. 58. See Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes (New York: Routledge, 1992). 59. Bowman to Charles Liebman, 16 March 1945, JHU; Robert W. Sawyer to Robert Bowman, 9 August 1950, RGB; FRUS (1943), 1: 759. 60. Diana Shaver Clemens, Yalta (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970), 216; Campbell, Masquerade Peace, 90. 61. Bowman to family, 21 May 1945, RGB. 62. See the accounts in Mark Scott and Semyon Krasilshchik, eds., Yanks Meet Reds: Recollections of U.S. and Soviet Vets from the Linkup in World War II (Santa Barbara: Capra Press, 1988); Carolyn Eisenberg, Drawing the Line: The American Decision to Divide Germany, 19441949 (Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1996), 14. 63. Lippmann is quoted in Divine, Second Chance, 291. See also Campbell, Masquerade Peace, 16364.


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29. The place is covered in dust, Stettinius complained to Bowman when he ordered a crew of cleaning women and painters to spruce up his dingy ofce. Organizationally, too many people have access to the Secretary, with no effective channels of command, and a messy organizational chart. I want to reorganize this place from the top to bottom, he announced, and I want you and John Pratt to help me. No one else, just us three. Bowman, October 14, 1943, 2:45 p.m.: Under-Secretary Stettinius Ofce, secret memo, JHU; Bowman, untitled memo, 10 February 1944, JHU. Stettiniuss father had worked with Myron Taylor at General Motors before going on to a partnership in J. P. Morgan, and the younger Stettinius followed Taylor into the chairmanship of U.S. Steel. 30. Divine, Second Chance, 126. 31. Bowman to Secretary Hull, 27 September 1943, JHU; Supplement to Mr. Bowmans letter of September 27 undated [probably 7 October 1943]), JHU; Bowman, secret memo, 7 October 1943, JHU (the last two memos never reached Hull, with Bowman blaming this on Pasvolskys sabotage: Bowman to Hamilton Fish Armstrong, 10 July 1946, JHU); Arthur Krock, Pact a Product of U.S., New York Times, 10 November 1943; Bowman, Krock, New York Times, memo, (misdated) 10 October (presumably 10 November 1943), JHU. 32. The Four Powers Agreement is reprinted in Russell and Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter, 977. After Molotovs and Edens suggestions in Moscow, the nal wording read: sovereign equality of all peace-loving nations. Bowman claimed to have devised sovereign equality to be used in place of Welless equality of all nations on the grounds that sovereignty may be equal but states never (Bowman, Krock, New York Times, misdated memo, 10 October). 33. The most revealing source on these grander geopolitical calculations concerning China is Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt, 1: 12, 293; 2: 222. On Churchills racism, see Bowman, Report by Bowman on Chequers Conversation, 15 April 1944, JHU; Hull, Memoirs, 2: 127783; Bowman, secret memo, 28 October 1943, JHU. 34. Bowman, secret memos: four-page, 3 November 1943; three-page, 28 October 1943; two-page, 3 November 1943; one-page, 6 November 1943; all in JHU. 35. Cited in Divine, Second Chance, 8182. 36. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 78586; Adam Ulam, The Rivals: America and Russia since World War II, reprint ed. (1971; Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1981), 1415; Divine, Second Chance, 15759. 37. Report by Isaiah Bowman on Chequers Conversation, 15 April 1943, JHU. 38. Report by Isaiah Bowman on Chequers Conversation; Bowman, Colonial Policy, draft submitted to secretary of state, April 1944, JHU; Bowman, World Organization, draft submitted to secretary of state, n.d., JHU. On the Renner maps, see the section Strange Silence and the American Haushofer in chapter 10. The London visit was precisely one of those State Department projects that drew the ire of the Treasury Department.

has to deal with problems domestic and foreign, more vast and more complicated than were ever before presented for solution. In a word, the conditions of the twentieth century are almost precisely the reverse of those of the eighteenth and yet the national organization not only remains unaltered, but is prevented from automatic adjustment by the provisions of a written document, which, in practice, cannot be amended.20

Apart from his disdain for the rigidity of an archaic constitution, two things stand out about this argument. In the rst place, Adams understands the future of U.S. power in terms that weave history, economy, and geography into an integral global if nationally centered vision. Second, and indicative, it is an American empire to which this scion of a major aristocratic family aspires (his grandfather and great-grandfather had both been presidents). Writing only two years after Adams and from the opposite shore of the Atlantic, Halford Mackinder, the geographer, educator, and member of Parliament made an even more epochal connection among geography, economics, and history. In an article famous as much for its triumphant title as for the argument it presaged, Mackinder greeted the advent of the twentieth century as the end of a great historic epoch. Opened by the unprecedented European expansionism following Columbuss transatlantic voyage, the four-centuries-long Columbian epoch now waned as the American, African, and Pacic frontiers dissipated, the last polar discoveries seemed imminent, and the map of the world [had] been completed with approximate accuracy. Indeed, less than one-seventh of the land and water surface of the earth remained unmapped, and claims to have reached both South and North Poles (however fraudulent in the case of the latter) were made within a decade.21 But as betted Mackinders liberal Christianity, this ending was also a beginning:
From the present time forth in the post-Columbian age, we shall again have to deal with a closed political system, and none the less that it will be one of world-wide scope. Every explosion of social forces, instead of being dissipated in a surrounding circuit of unknown space and barbaric chaos, will be sharply re-echoed from the far side of the globe, and weak elements in the political and economic organism of the world will be shattered in consequence. . . . Probably some half-consciousness of this fact is at last diverting much of the attention of statesmen in all parts of the world from territorial expansion to the struggle for relative efciency.22


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notes to pages 381386


For all its frequent quotation, the profundity of this passage is largely passed over. The Geographical Pivot of History certainly betrays a triumphalism blind to its own precariousness, in Gearid Tuathails felicitous phrase, and indulges a parallel if alternative ethnocentrism to that of Adams.23 But something more signicant also inheres in Mackinders geographical pivot. To comprehend adequately the largely unremarked source of his originality, we need to take a brief excursion into philosophical conceptions of space. Absolute space refers to space conceived as a given eld of action; natural and social events and processes happen in space, and their location can be measured according to some kind of coordinate system. Philosophically, absolute space derives from Descartes and Kant among others; in practical terms it can be thought of as the space of private property, national territoriality. It is the space of Newtonian physics and of national state making alike, the space of nineteenth-century European expansion and colonization as well as Euclidean geometry. Absolute space has become, in Western societies, the space of common sense. But there are other ways of conceptualizing space. Newtons contemporary Leibniz, for example, proposed a relational conception of space according to which natural and social processes, objects, and events take ontological precedence over space. Accordingly, it is not that things happen in space but rather that space is the product of these processes and events. Resoundingly defeated in the Enlightenment, some elements of this notion of relational space reappear forcefully in the mathematics and physics of Ernst Mach and Albert Einstein at the turn of the twentieth century, and in highly modied form they became axiomatic to twentieth-century physical, mathematical, and cosmological sciences. Mackinder of course was a contemporary of Einstein, whose special theory of relativity was published the year after the geographical pivot. The entire period from the 1880s to the early 1920s, in fact, was an era not just of economic and political turmoil but also of profound and unprecedented creativity and transformation in scientic and cultural concepts, giving rise to modern art, music, literature, and architecture. Old conceptions of space and time were overthrown in many intellectual and artistic elds, and new ones installed. As Henri Lefebvre once put it, cribbing the ostentatiously exaggerated precision of Virginia Woolf, Around 1910 a certain space was shattered. The space of modern common sense and classical perspective, a space thitherto enshrined in everyday discourse, just as in abstract thought, was irrevocably altered.24 Geographer Gerry Kearns has made an explicit connection between the closed space

14. Bowman to Herbert Hoover, 4 December 1940, JHU; Bowman, untitled two-page memo, marked Insert, undated, JHU; Bowman, Memorandum for Discussion: Refugee Settlement, T-B10, 20 May 1940, CFR, 5. 15. For the best account, see Laurence H. Shoup and William Minter, Imperial Brain Trust (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1977), 13540. For an argument connecting the Grand Area to eventual U.S. involvement in Southeast Asia, see G. William Domhoff, The War-Peace Studies of the Council on Foreign Relations and the Rationale for U.S. Involvement in South-East Asia, 19391945, paper presented at the annual conference of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations, June 1995. 16. Divine, Second Chance, 114. 17. Divine, Second Chance, 124; Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 717. See also Wilbur Edel, The State Department, the Public and the United Nations Concept, Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University, 1951, 101. 18. Bowman to Welles, 30 March 1943, JHU; Bowman, untitled two-page memo, Insert, undated. 19. Mr. Bowmans Remarks in the Political Committee, June 12, 1943, JHU, 3. 20. Bowmans Remarks in the Political Committee, June 12, 1943, 4, 5. 21. Bowman, Memorandum for Mr. Armstrong, 25 June 1943, RGB. 22. Cf. The IMF and the World Bank were designed to be central institutions in a world free of war and destructive economic nationalism (M. Moftt, The Worlds Money [New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983], 14). 23. Bowman, St. Com., secret memo, 25 June 1943, JHU. For an explicit comparison of Treasury and State Department preparations, see Schild, Bretton Woods and Dumbarton Oaks. 24. Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt, 1: 15. 25. Bowman, untitled memos, 7 January and 3 June 1943, JHU; Bowman, secret memo, 7 October 1943, JHU. At one point, Welless chauffeur even bet Hulls chauffeur that Welles would be secretary of state within three months. 26. Harley Notter, Notes, 1426 September, NA NF, RG 59; Bowman, Thursday February 12, 1942, memo, JHU: LPs limitations are of course his foreign appearance, his accent, his Russian origin. . . . Armstrong says he was a Jew but I doubt this. There is nothing in his appearance to indicate it. I have never heard him comment on the Jewish question in any form and this might indicate that he is a Jew. Bowman, secret memo, 7 October 1943, JHU. 27. Bowman, CHs Ofce, memo, 2 July 1943; Bowman, untitled memo, 2324 April 1943; Bowman, Steering Com., handwritten memo, 21 May 1943; Bowman, untitled memo, Friday, 4 June 1943; all in JHU. Cf.: The chief mistake which Welles made was in his actuarial estimate of Mr. Hulls length of life (Bowman, secret memo, 1 July 1944, JHU). 28. Bowman, untitled memos, 3 and 4 June 1943, JHU; Ronald Steel, The Strange Case of William Bullitt, New York Review of Books, 29 September 1988, 1524. See also the account by Welless son: Benjamin Welles, Sumner Welles: FDRs Global Strategist (New York: St. Martins Press, 1997).


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chapter 14
1. Dean Acheson, Statement by Secretary of State Dean Acheson . . . , 6 January 1950, No. 17, Department of State, JHU. 2. Bowman, untitled memo, 7 January 1944, JHU. 3. See, for example, Ruth Russell and Jeanette E Muther, A History of the United Nations Charter (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 1958); Stanley Meisler, United Nations: The First Fifty Years (New York: Atlantic Monthly, 1995); and Townsend Hoopes and Douglas Brinkley, FDR and the Creation of the UN (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997). 4. Robert E. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948), 453. 5. Cordell Hull, Memoirs, 2 vols. (New York: Macmillan, 1948), 2: 131415. 6. Stephen E. Ambrose, Rise to Globalism, 3rd ed. (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1983). 7. Robert A. Divine, Second Chance: The Triumph of Internationalism in America during World War II (New York: Oxford University Press, 1967), 16774. 8. Bowman, memo, marked File: FDR, undated, JHU; Zbigniew Brzezinski, The Future of Yalta, Foreign Affairs 63 (1984): 279. (Note that this article appears in the journal that Bowman helped to found more than six decades earlier.) 9. Lloyd Gardner, Spheres of Inuence: The Great Powers Partition Europe, from Munich to Yalta (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 1993), 261; Warren F. Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt: The Complete Correspondence, 3 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). On Roosevelts supposed navet, see William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New York: Delta, 1962), 22324. 10. The UNs origins, long ignored by historians as unimportant, have become the focus of more geographically prescient analyses appearing recently. See Thomas M. Campbell, Masquerade Peace: American UN Policy, 194445 (Talahassee: Florida State University Press, 1973); Robert C. Hilderbrand, Dumbarton Oaks: The Origins of the United Nations and the Search for Postwar Security (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1990); and Georg Schild, Bretton Woods and Dumbarton Oaks (Houndmills, England: Macmillan, 1995). See also Gardner, Spheres of Inuence. 11. Sir Charles K. Webster, The Making of the Charter of the United Nations, History 32, no. 115 (March 1947): 21; Harley Notter, ed., Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation 193945, Department of State Publication 3580 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Ofce, 1949), 8889. 12. In addition to Welles, Bowman, and research director Leo Pasvolsky, it included James Shotwell, a veteran of the Inquiry and the Paris conference and an energetic internationalist; Benjamin V. Cohen, a New York corporate lawyer and White House adviser; and Green H. Hackworth, a State Department legal adviser; and later, Clark Eichelberger, of the League of Nations Association. 13. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 227.

narratives of this period and transformed conceptions of space and time.25 In political economic terms, this period marks a shift from what Michel Aglietta describes as an extensive mode of capital accumulation, in which economic expansion was dependent on extending the absolute social and spatial sway of capital, to an intensive mode of accumulation, in which the intensication of economic exploitation, in part via technological innovation, now held the key to economic growth.26 Returning to Mackinder, we see that the geographical pivot argument is certainly laden with predictable historical determinisms about geography in social and political affairs, reaching back to Rome and classical Greece. Among geographers, this 1904 article is typically identied as the rst intimation of his famous heartland thesis, which helped form emerging twentieth-century political geography and geopolitics as a discourse of land power rather than sea power. Accordingly, Mackinders argument is thoroughly steeped in a traditional absolute conception of space. But just as certainly he was struggling toward something more profoundly signicant than merely reproducing a Cartesian absolutism of global space. The progressive Mackinder extols the momentous implications of a shift from absolute territorial expansion to a struggle for relative efciency. Irrevocable change heralded a new epoch. However ominously for his own liberal nationalism, the heartland thesis placed Germany and Russia at the geographical core of imminent world history, and this represented a cautious relativizing of spatial relations among different nations even as it reafrmed the xity of nation-states structures per se. But Mackinders true brilliance lay in glimpsing the broader relationality of geographical space in the coming twentieth century, the evolution from an absolute to a relational conception of space as foundational for global affairs. For the rst time, he anticipated, this would allow a certain correlation between the larger geographical and the larger historical generalizations.27 Geography and history were becoming more, not less, entwined. He was quite explicit. The political economic system was now essentially closed, he reasoned; absolute geographical expansion was ending, and any explosion of social forces would not simply dissipate into distant space but would sharply re-echo around the globe. Social, political, and economic change increasingly inscribed a relational rather than an absolute global space. What Mackinder glimpsed in 1904 exploded in 1914. German socialist Rosa Luxemburg was only the most explicit to argue that when capitalist enterprises ran out of noncapitalist space to conquer and in which to invest surplus value, then capitalism itself would necessarily collapse.28 The limits to capital are ultimately geographical, and World War I brought the de-


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nouement, for Luxemburg. There were others at the time, however, who recognized that the decoupling of economic growth from absolute geographical expansion did not automatically mean the collapse of capitalism. Among these was a prescient Vladimir Lenin, who, drawing on the German geographer Alexander Supan and challenging Luxemburg directly, argued that while the colonial powers had completed the seizure of the unoccupied territories on our planet, so that for the rst time the world is completely divided up, this implied no inevitability of capitalist collapse. Rather, Lenin argued, in the future only redivision is possible.29 An arch-anticommunist, Mackinder would have been horried by the parallels between Lenins relational geography of capitalist expansion and his own. But Mackinder too was prescient. His notions of an explosion of social forces reverberating around the world and the shattering of weak elements in the global system anticipate not just World War I but also Lenins own revolution in Russia. The grammar of global power in this period was indisputably geographical, but the relevance of geography to social, economic, and political change was changing fundamentally. In the United States, 1898 effectively marked the end of national spatial expansion, even as the production of unabsorbed economic surplus continued. The intense coupling of history and geography so redolent of the period following the Revolutionary War began to disintegrate, and Frederick Jackson Turners famous declaration of the end of the frontier line was a symptom as much as a cause. Geography could no longer contain history, and while history as a social and political discourse was thus liberated to explore the social rather than natural origins of societal change, geography was relegated to the realm of the xed. Much as history was identied with Europe, geography was reduced to the stage upon which the emergent American history happened. To phrase it in all starkness, the political economic, historical, and symbolic expansion of the United States outstripped its geography by the end of the nineteenth century, and the boundaries of European states were largely xed. Whereas in the past, economic expansion was closely associated with and in large part accomplished through expansion in absolute geographical space, henceforth economic expansion would bear a much more complicated relationship to geographical change. Alongside the progressive triumphalism of the geographical pivot of history, therefore, a diametrically opposed sentiment also lurked. Then, too, there were fears of the end of geography, as the closure of absolute space provoked powerful ideological effects. It was to this period that Foucault gestured, citing Henri Bergson, when he asked famously how and

36. Bowman, Colonial Policy, undated; Welles quoted in Robert Dallek, Franklin D. Roosevelt and American Foreign Policy, 19321945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), 429. 37. Bowman, Colonial Problems, memo, 18 April 1944; Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 33032. 38. Quoted in Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 330; Bowman, Colonial Problems, 18 April 1944. 39. Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 332. 40. Bowman, Colonial Policy, memo, 24 April 1944, JHU; Bowman to John Winant, 28 April 1944, JHU. In the letter to Winant, Bowman oats the selfprotective explanation that it was his (Bowmans) intervention with Churchill that accounted for Stanleys changed attitude, but Cadogan was the real intermediary (Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 332). 41. Bowman, Colonial Policy, 24 April 1944. 42. Bowman to Winant, 28 April 1944. 43. Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 333. 44. Bowman, Colonial Policy, 24 April 1944; Bowman to Winant, 24 April 1944, JHU. 45. Bowman to W. M. Mallory, 6 May 1945, JHU; Bowman to Carl Sauer, 27 May 1944, RGB; Bowman, Colonial Policy, draft report to the secretary of state, n.d., JHU. 46. Bowman, untitled memo, 12 June 1944, JHU. Bowman thought it was his impending nemesis, Leo Pasvolsky, who had raised the question of people talking too much (Bowman, Jimmie, memo, 18 June 1945, JHU). 47. Minutes of International Organization subcommittee, 10 May 1944, NA NF 142, 52; Colonial Policy, draft report; Bowman, untitled memo, 12 June 1944, JHU. 48. Minutes of International Organization subcommittee, 10 and 12 May 1944, NA NF 142; Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 334, 35165. 49. Bucknell to secretary and undersecretary of state, secret telegram, 18 May 1944, JHU; Bowman, memo, 13 June 1944, JHU. 50. Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 9. 51. Dallek, Franklin D. Roosevelt and American Foreign Policy, 429. For Churchill, see The Widening Prospect, London Times, 11 November 1942. 52. Bowman, Trusteeship, memo, 12 December 1946, JHU. 53. Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 179. 54. Draft Declaration of Principles relating to Dependent Territories, secret memo, 17 May 1944, JHU. A blander and somewhat modied version of this draft declaration became the trusteeship section of the United Nations draft constitution, prepared in the State Department in July 1943. It is reprinted in Harley A. Notter, ed., Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 19391945, Department of State Publication 3580 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Ofce, 1949), 47283. 55. Bowman, secret ve-page memo (record of conversation with Eleanor Roosevelt), 7 January 1944, JHU, 5.


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14. Minutes of political committee: P-33, 14 November 1942, 2; P-37, 12 December 1942; both in NA NF 55. 15. Isaiah Bowman, Jeffersonian Freedom of Speech from the Standpoint of Science, Science (6 December 1935): 530. See also Gilbert Chinard, Thomas Jefferson, the Apostle of Americanism (Boston: Little, Brown, 1939), 501. 16. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 572; Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 121, 279; Robert A Divine, Second Chance (New York: Atheneum, 1971), 61. For the Roosevelt-Churchill correspondence, see Warren F. Kimball, Churchill and Roosevelt: The Complete Correspondence, 3 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). 17. Bowman, memo, 2324 April 1943, JHU; minutes of political committee, P-36, 5 December 1942, NA NF 55, 7. 18. Bowman, memo, 23 February 1943, JHU. 19. Minutes of political committee, P-51, 10 April 1943, NA NF 55. 20. Minutes of political committee, P-51, 10 April 1943, 19. 21. Bowman, untitled memo, 14 April 1943, JHU. 22. Bowman, -P1-, memo, 17 April 1943, JHU. 23. Minutes of political committee, P-52, 17 April 1943, NA NF 55; Bowman, -P1-, 17 April 1943; minutes of political committee, P-21, 8 August 1942, NA NF 55, 11. Nauru nally gained independence in 1968. 24. Minutes, P-52, 17 April 1943; Bowman, -P1-, 17 April 1943. 25. Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 241. 26. Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 22728, 354. 27. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 713, 719. The Pescadores Islands lie between Taiwan and the Chinese mainland and are now known as Peng-hu Chntao. 28. Call Made on the President by Secretary Hull, Under Secretary Stettinius and the Members of the London Mission, Messrs. Bowman, Murray, Matthews, Pratt, Lynch and Hector, 17 March 1944, JHU. 29. Bowman, untitled memo, 28 October 1943, JHU; Bowman, secret memo, 6 November 1943, JHU. In three and a half years at the University of Virginia, Stettinius had succeeded in earning precisely six credit hours toward a degree (Thomas M. Campbell, Masquerade Peace: Americas UN Policy, 194445 [Talahassee: Florida State University Press, 1973], 9n.). 30. Bowman, Report of a Conversation with the President, 17 March 1944, JHU. 31. In 1940 the United States exchanged fty destroyers for eight bases in the British West Indies, Bermuda, and Newfoundland. 32. Bowman, untitled memo, 10 February 1944, JHU. 33. Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 32636; Bowman diary, 28 March 1944, JHU; Bowman, memo, 11 April 1944, JHU. 34. Report by Bowman on Chequers Conversation, 15 April 1944, JHU. 35. Report . . . on Chequers Conversation; Bowman, Colonial Policy, undated, JHU.

when geography was banished to the realm of the dead, the xed, the undialectical, the immobile.30 Nowhere was the ideological crisis more severe than in the United States, and the U.S. lawyer and diplomat J. H. Choate said it most bluntly. Mr. Choate was troubled in regard to the future of the two great Geographical Societies in England and America, because it was perfectly clear, he fretted, that in a very short time all these [worldwide] boundary questions would be denitely and nally settled. . . . What would the London Geographical Society do when that end had been realized?31 So powerfully mourned in the whole subsequent edice of Turnerian history and replicated in myriad forms up to and including the contemporary nostalgia for old places in a globalizing world, this loss of vacant, conquerable space has provided an enduring wellspring for the antispatial imagination of the American Century. The contradiction between a spaceless and spatially constituted globalism took a very specic form in this period. Geography was either a pivot of history or its dregs. The dilemma facing the U.S. ruling classes in the 1890s was not primarily one of space, however, for all that it came to be expressed that way. The real dilemma lay in the overaccumulation of capital and surplus value by a rapidly industrializing national economy and the shrinking opportunities for its reinvestment domestically. This was not a uniquely American dilemma and had already been confronted in Europe, where economic expansion had run up against the boundaries of nationstates even as these states themselves were still in formation. The solution lay in expansion of national sovereignty over imperial possessions. Nascent English imperialism as early as the sixteenth century represented an almost seamless extension of the concurrent struggle to establish and delineate the still weak nation-state.32 The 1880s scramble for Africa, by contrast, represented a nal territorial and economic aggrandizement in an already well-delineated global system of absolute national spaces. If the consummation of colonialism fueled European expansionism after the 1870s, it was hardly an available option for the United States two decades later. In the rst place, the conferences of Brussels and Berlin in the mid-1880s had largely carved up the remaining sizable tracts of colonizable land in Africa and allocated virtually the entire continent to several European powers. In the second place, the territories of southern and central America, although certainly available to the United States under the Monroe Doctrine, were mostly, at least on paper, independent republics. Although this rarely hampered inveterate U.S. interference, up to and including the invention of a new country (Panama) in order to facilitate construction of a U.S.-controlled transisthmus canal, ofcial colonization of


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notes to pages 343354


independent republics was difcult to square with U.S. republicanism. Asian adventurism was tentative and expensive, and the colonial adventurism of 1898 garnered only the geographical crumbs of an already disintegrating Spanish Empire. The continued resort to economic expansion through geographical expansion was hardly available in the 1890s as a solution to the overaccumulation of capital. The outlines of globalism were achieved, in most respects, by the beginning, not the end, of the twentieth century. The resulting dislocation between economic growth and absolute geographies, appearing with the infancy of the American Century, created quite contradictory ambitions for geography and fears about its fate. When Woodrow Wilson sailed to Europe in December 1918, armed with a moralism that was distinctly American yet simultaneously universal, he optimistically expected that the Paris Peace Conference would be a geographical mopping-up exercise. In contrast with what he saw as the petty, avaricious geographical squabbles of the European nations, Wilson expected the conference to tidy up the world map in preparation for a new and higher stage of international societya benecent brotherhood of capitalist nations competing economically but peacefully while advancing the global good. More than anything, it was these high expectations for the 1919 Paris Peace Conference that seemed to promise a future beyond the closed frontier and a cemented connection between an emerging American Empire and the escape from geography. But the conference failed this antigeographical ambition, and the U.S. Senate recoiled at an apparently weakened national sovereignty implied by membership in the League of Nations. An explosion of bitter geopolitical claims followed, and eventually fascism and World War II. Be that as it may, this rst moment of the American Century bears the distinct historical and geographical stamp of the contradiction between a world beyond geography, as Wilson dreamed of, and one in which geography was entrenched as a pivot of history. Partly as a result of efforts to resolve this contradiction in the process of managing capital accumulation, the twentieth century came to be marked by the systematic pursuit of geographically uneven development in a way that was wholly new. Although previous differences in levels and conditions of development obviously existed, they were less than systematic: for myriad reasons, economic development occurred in one place rather than another. Development in one place was not necessarily connected to development or lack of development somewhere else, even if such connections often obtained. After the crucial period from the 1890s to 1919, in the period that began Mackinders closed global system, this was no longer true, and the spatiality of eco-

aries of Edward Stettinius, Jr., 19431946 (New York: New Viewpoints, 1975), 199201. 68. Hammond, Directives for the Occupation of Germany, 431. 69. Lucius D. Clay, Decision in Germany (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1950), 73; Supplement to Mr. Bowmans Letter of September 27, JHU. 70. Minutes of political committee, P-18, 11 July 1942, NA NF 55; Bowman, memo on Lippmann article, 9 July 1945, JHU. 71. Bowman, Secret. Impact of Geography on National Power, 30 September 1946, JHU, 7; minutes of political committee, P-2, 14 March 1942, NA NF 55. 72. Bowman, untitled four-page memo, Good faith . . . , RGB. 73. Carolyn Eisenberg, Drawing the Line: The American Decision to Divide Germany, 19441949 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 9.

chapter 13
1. Edward Stettinius to John Lee Pratt, 10 March 1944, JHU. 2. William Roger Louis, Imperialism at Bay: The United States and the Decolonization of the British Empire, 19411945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978), 27. 3. Stettinius to Pratt, 10 March 1944. 4. Minutes of security subcommittee, S-3, Advisory Committee on Postwar Foreign Policy, 6 May 1942, NA NF 76; Bowman to Wallace, 27 March 1940, RGB. 5. Richard Law to Oliver Stanley, 11 April 1944, quoted in Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 329, 55. 6. A broadly similar list guided Council on Foreign Relations deliberations from 1940. Noninclusion of various Central and South American republics widely held to be backward (category 6) reects continued adherence to the Monroe Doctrine. 7. Quoted in Robert E. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948), 572; Ruth B. Russell, A History of the United Nations Charter (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 1958), 4243. 8. Minutes of territorial committee, T-5, 11 April 1942, State Department, RG 59, NA NF 42; Bowman, Dependent Areas, memo, 10 April 1942, JHU. 9. Cf. Eric F. Goodman, Rendezvous with Destiny (New York: Vintage, 1955), 342. 10. Thomas R. Read to Bowman, 10 July 1942, JHU; C. K. Leith, Minerals in the Peace Settlement (New York: Geological Society of America, 1940). 11. CFR, Progress Report, WPS, 3 July 1940, RGB. 12. Minutes of political committee, P-22, 15 August 1942, NA NF 55. For a useful summary of the early discussions see Louis, Imperialism at Bay, 15974. 13. Bowman, memo, 2 October 1942, JHU.


notes to pages 338342

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54. Bowman to Hull, 27 September 1943, JHU; Supplement to Mr. Bowmans letter of September 27, JHU. 55. Hammond, Directives for the Occupation of Germany, 316; Bowman, annotations on Sherwoods Roosevelt and Hopkins, RGB; Notter, The Political Reorganization of Germany, in Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 55860. See also Hulls Welcome Home as Hero Cancels a Year of Vilication, Newsweek, 22 November 1943, 3439. 56. Bowman, secret memo, 7 October 1943, JHU. See also Philip Mosley, The Occupation of Germany: New Light on How the Zones Were Drawn, Foreign Affairs 28 (1950): 580604. 57. Hammond, Directives for the Occupation of Germany, 336. 58. Hammond, Directives for the Occupation of Germany, 32223; Dallek, Franklin D. Roosevelt and American Foreign Policy, 43839. 59. Bowman, memo, 24 February 1944, JHU; Mosley, The Occupation of Germany, 59091. 60. Bowman, Memo, 21 February 1944, JHU. 61. On the Morgenthau plan, see: John Morton Blum, From the Morgenthau Diaries: Years of War, 19411945 (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1967); Hammond, Directives for the Occupation of Germany, 34888; Warren F. Kimball, Swords or Ploughshares? The Morgenthau Plan for Defeated Nazi Germany, 19431946 (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1976); Fred Smith, The Rise and Fall of the Morgenthau Plan, United Nations World 1, no. 2 (1947): 3237. The Morgenthau quotes are from Dallek, Franklin D. Roosevelt and American Foreign Policy, 472. 62. Henry L. Stimson and McGeorge Bundy, On Active Service in Peace and War (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948), 567. See also Godfrey Hodgson, The Colonel: The Life and Wars of Henry Stimson 18671950 (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1990); and Bowman, untitled three-page memorandum of visit to White House, 3 February 1944, JHU, 2. 63. Stimson and Bundy, On Active Service, 57077; Bowman, memos, 11 and 15 September 1944, JHU; Dr. Isaiah Bowman September 8 1944, notes attached to Elizabeth Neary to Bowman, 11 September 1944, JHU, Series XIV. For Stimson on Bowman, see Stimson diaries, 27 October 1933, YU, Group HM 51. Cordell Hull may have been opposed to dismemberment from the beginning, as he later claimed (Hull, Memoirs, 2 vols. [New York: Macmillan, 1948], 2: 1287), but he seems not to have taken a strong stance during these meetings. 64. Lord Moran, Churchill (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1966), 190; Winston S. Churchill, Triumph and Tragedy (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1953), 15657. 65. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 81889; Godfrey Hodgson, The Colonel (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1990), 26465. 66. The Lublin Committee, named after the town where its members lived out the war, comprised mostly socialists. The United Kingdom and the United States sided with the London Poles, whose members drew more from the prewar ruling class and who abandoned Poland after the Nazi invasion. 67. Bowman, Memo, 18 December 1944, JHU; Bowman to Cordell Hull, 27 September 1943, JHU; Thomas M. Campbell and George C. Herring, The Di-

nomic development and decline became an increasingly direct expression of the social, economic, and political logics of capitalist expansion. Development and underdevelopment were no longer sporadically related but now functionally related. It is in this sense that uneven development as a systematic rather than a somewhat haphazard process became installed as the hallmark of twentieth-century economic expansion.33 Having posed the problem of a new geography in the post-Columbian era, Mackinder was unable to develop it. He did recognize the advent of a new Empire of the Worldhis term for globalizationbut could not countenance, as Adams clearly foresaw, the United States laying claim to this global empire. That would take relationality much too far for this imperial geographer. Nor did Mackinders revelation of a new geography fare any better in the United States, where defeat in Paris and the Senate, the rise of fascism, and a powerful isolationism vis--vis nonMonroe Doctrine territories stripped any spatial imagination about new global geographies from the discourses of spatial closure. The new geographies that Mackinder glimpsed remained stubbornly hidden for decades in the self-understanding of the American Century.

the second moment: from american empire to american century: henry luce revisited
Ideologies of a spaceless American Century did not prevail by accident, and this is nowhere clearer than in the spectacular announcement of the American Century itself. The Republican publisher Henry Luce had been a vocal isolationist, opposed to U.S. intervention in the war raging in Asia and Europe, which is why his 1941 cover article in Life made such a splash.34 A clarion call written ten months prior to Pearl Harbor, Luces The American Century may read as disarmingly diaphanous today but actually embodied a pithy appeal for Americans to accept their duty and responsibility, join the war, and throw off any remnants of isolationist self-delusion. Its allure lay in its modern repackaging of the most cherished myths of national superiority addressed to global claims. Only the United States can win the war and adequately dene war aims, Luce claimed. History bore the United States into a position of global leadership, and it should be unselfconsciously grasped. U.S. rulers should seize global power for the simple reason that they can: by virtue of their superior economic prowess, it was already de facto theirs. Manifest destiny breaks all bounds of national space. For all the retrospective attention to Luces inuential article at the end of the twentieth century, no one seems to have picked up one of its most re-


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markable features. What is striking about Luces appeal, certainly in comparison with the earlier texts of manifest destiny, is the abstractness, even vacuity, of its geography. This was no oversight. Writing in 1941, Luce did not yet have the luxury of casual geographical ignorance, and his vision is as antigeographical as it is global. Are we going to ght for dear old Danzig or dear old Dong Dang? Luce mocked. Are we going to decide the boundaries of Uritania? Such forced derisory references to stereotyped Asian and European place-names are usually glossed over as the expression of a resilient isolationism, but they have a much deeper signicance. Luce was not simply indulging the extraordinarily insular national culture of post-Wilsonian America, nor was he merely arrogant in his dismissiveness. By unabashedly announcing U.S. victory in the grandest geographical conquest of allglobal political-economic and cultural powerand simultaneously disavowing the relevance of global geography, he forged a selective wedding of isolationism with internationalism that would have been quite foreign to Mackinder or Brooks Adams or, for that matter, to Woodrow Wilson, but that came to epitomize an American global vision in which foreign geography and foreign places were incidental to U.S. world power. Luce is crucial for helping to crystallize a distinctly midcentury version of the central geographical contradiction of the American Century, and this, as much as his passionate patriotism, accounts for the appeal of his argument. The replacement of European power by U.S. hegemony is simultaneously a victory over geographyDong Dang, Danzig, wherever. Luce was telling Americans that they could put themselves back into the world without necessarily learning much about it. The triviality of geography that Luce labored to convey in 1941 successive generations took for granted, and he hammered the point home: If we cannot state war aims in terms of vastly distant geography, . . . shall we use some big words like Democracy and Freedom and Justice? Triumphant enough to name an entire century after his country, he thought such majestic words were ne as long as they did not cloud the hard-headed recognition of newfound U.S. power. Possessing this new global power, he sensed, meant not having to care about the worlds geography. Precisely because geography was everythingthe American Century was globalit was simultaneously nothing. The American Century, therefore, was premised on a quite opposite connection between geography and political economy vis--vis that which drove the European empires and fueled European geographical traditions. European attention to local and global geographies was integral to strategies of territorial expansion in a way that no longer applied to the United States

12. Ofcial minutes of these State Department meetings were deliberately rough and general according to Notter (Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 106), and so Bowmans more detailed memos are a vital source. 38. Bowman, Thursday, February 12, 1942, memo, JHU. 39. Minutes of political committee, P-5, 4 April 1942, NA NF 55; memo for discussion, fourth meeting of the territorial committee, 20 May 1940, CFR. 40. Bowman, -P-, memo of Advisory Committee meeting, 18 April 1942, JHU; Bowman to Curtis, 2 November, RGB; minutes of political committee, P-6, 11 April 1942, NA NF 55, 2, 6, 11. 41. Minutes of political committee, P-7, 18 April 1942, NA NF 55; Bowman, -P-, 18 April 1942, JHU. 42. Minutes of political committee, P-8, 25 April 1942, 9, 13, NA NF 55. 43. Minutes of political committee, P-9, 2 May 1942, NA NF 55; Bowman, Germany, memo, 2 May 1942, JHU; Isaiah Bowman, The New World (Yonkerson-Hudson: World Book Company, 1921), 294; IBs remarks at P Committee, May 9, 1942, memo, JHU. 44. Minutes of political committee, P-16, 20 June 1942, NA NF 55; Bowman, untitled memos, 19 and 20 June 1942, JHU. 45. Bowman, untitled memos, 19 and 20 June 1942; minutes of political committee, P-16, 20 June 1942, NA NF 55; Sumner Welles, The Time for Decision (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1944), 347, 349. 46. Bowman, untitled memo, 23 January 1943, JHU. 47. See the Welles biography by his son, Benjamin Welles, Sumner Welles: FDRs Global Strategist (New York: St. Martins Press, 1997). 48. Minutes of political committee: P-17, 27 June 1942, 1; P-18, 11 July 1942, 17; P-19, 18 July 1942, 12, 1819; all in NA NF 55. 49. Bowman, memo, 28 November 1942, JHU. See also Philip Mosely, Dismemberment of Germany: The Allied Negotiations from Yalta to Potsdam, Foreign Affairs 28 (1950): 48798; and Philip Mosely and Paul Y. Hammond, Directives for the Occupation of Germany: The Washington Controversy, in American Civil Military Decisions: A Book of Case Studies, ed. Harold Stein (Birmingham: University of Alabama Press, 1963), 317. Both of these sources credit Bowman and Armstrong with leading the ght over German policy. The archival record suggests that Pasvolsky, too, was Bowmans ally more than Armstrong was. Mosley, on whom Hammond probably relies, was a CFR member, Bowmans research secretary in both the council and State Department territorial committees. 50. Bowman, memo, 7 January 1943, JHU; Bowman, memo, 16 January 1943, JHU; Bowman, memo, 15 March 1943. 51. Bowman, memos, 15 January and 23 February 1943, JHU. 52. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 71112. 53. State Department document, Germany: Partition, in Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 188, 55457; Hammond, Directives for the Occupation of Germany, 322.


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25. CFR, Project for a Study of the Effects of the War on the United States and the American Interest in the Peace Settlement, memo, December 1939, RGB; CFR WPS. 26. CFR WPS, economic and nancial committee memoranda E-B18, E-B19, 6 September and 19 October 1940; Mallory to Bowman, 3 July 1940, JHU; Lawrence H. Shoup and William Minter, Imperial Brain Trust: The Council on Foreign Relations and United States Foreign Policy (New York: Monthly Review, 1977), 13540. 27. Bowman to Mallory, 5 October 1939. 28. CFR WPS, memo T-A3, 18 April 1940. 29. Bowman, Memorandum of Talks with Mr. Messersmith and Mr. Wilson by Mr. Mallory and Mr. Jones at Washington on January 11th, 1940, 13 January 1940, JHU; Wilbur Edel, The State Department, the Public and the United Nations Concept 19391945, Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University, 1951, 5861. See also Regina Gramer, The Contribution of the Council on Foreign Relations to the American Century, 19391949, unpublished paper, Center for the Critical Analysis of Contemporary Culture, Rutgers University, 3 February 1993. 30. Bowman, Notes on Conversations of May 3rd, 3 May 1941, JHU. 31. Bowman to Alan Ogilvie, 2 January 1942, JHU. 32. Bowman to H. F. Armstrong, 15 December 1941, JHU. 33. Edel, The State Department . . . , 93; Armstrong to Bowman, 12 December 1941, 16 and 23 November 1948, JHU; Bowman, memo, 12 February 1942, JHU. 34. Hull to Norman Davis, 12 November 1940, JHU; H. F. Armstrong, Personal and Condential Memo to Members of the War and Peace Studies Groups, 8 May 1942, JHU; Mallory to Bowman, 28 September 1945, JHU; CFR, The War and Peace Studies of the Council on Foreign Relations, 19391945 (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1946). Cf. Bowman: Again and again I was able to answer questions asked in subcommittee meetings in Washington because I had the facts derived from my previous participation in a group meeting in New York. . . . The group discussion was in effect an analysis in which objections as well as advantages had been aired, therefore my report to the advisory committee and its subcommittee represented the carefully weighed thinking of a group rather than of an individual (War and Peace Studies, 5). 35. Although they were technically subcommittees of the overall Advisory Committee, the parent committee became so unwieldy so quickly that the subcommittees were soon referred to simply as committees. 36. Harley A. Notter, ed., Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation 19391945, Department of State Publication 3580 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Ofce, 1949), 86. See also Notters description of the territorial meetings (11723). 37. Bowman, memo, 7 January 1943, JHU; Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation, 9699, 117; Bowman to Charles B. Hitchcock, 12 November 1942, JHU; minutes of political committee, P-2, 14 March 1942, RG 59, NA NF 55,

in the mid-twentieth century. The emerging American Empire dened its power in the rst place through the more abstract geography of the world market rather than through direct political control of territory. Whereas Europeans had accompanied the British East India Company, Dutch East Indies Company, and the Massachusetts Bay Company with settlers, state and civil institutions, and military control, multinational corporations in the twentieth century led with trade, nancial, and direct investment agreements while governmental involvement increasingly focused on establishing broad legal and policy conditions rather than direct intervention. This pivotal shift in the relationship between geography and economic expansion facilitated a combination of global power with popular geographical ignorance in the United States that represented something quite new and became an abiding ideological trademark of the American Century, at least into the 1980s. Harvard would close its geography program seven years after Luces article, replacing it with a range of more instrumental area studies programs intended to generate direct geostrategic intelligence for ghting the cold war.35 By the same token, the public and academic concern with cold war geopolitics represented a step backward to binary, absolutist geographies, which effectively stied any more-sophisticated geographical discourse. American geographers, pursuing scientic respectability and recoiling from the tarnish of Nazi geopolitics, were broadly allergic to anything that whiffed of social theory or political analysis, and in their growing obscurity helped to perpetuate geographical ignorance as much as to counter it. The same year that Luce published his American Century, the renowned Berkeley geographer Carl Sauer complained in his presidential address to the Association of American Geographers that the discipline had embarked on a great retreat. By midcentury, according to one historian, the discipline of geography in the United States was Middle Western . . . middle class . . . and middlebrow.36 The institutional weakness of geography as an academic discipline in the postwar period was therefore calibrated closely with the national self-attery that U.S. global power rendered geography irrelevant except in narrow instrumental terms. Luces American Century marked a continuity of U.S. ambition from 1919, the Paris Peace Conference and Woodrow Wilson, but it also signaled a discontinuity. There was nothing anemic about the geographies on the butcher block at Paris. The transition from visceral to vacuous geographies is symbolized in the very language Luce chose to highlight the new American globalismthe American Century. Resorting to a historical rather than geographical language, he not only evoked a national sense of destiny, placing the United States at the pinnacle of history, but also sought to elide


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the politics of U.S. hegemony. If his article The American Century voiced an unwarranted historicism, the real issue is what that historicism suppressed. The shift to century from an older, expectant language of an American Empire, so instinctive to Brooks Adams and his generation, did not simply mark a displacement of geography by history but confessed an integral political shift. Whereas the geographical language of empires suggests a malleable politicsempires rise and fall and are open to challengethe American Century suggests an inevitable destiny. In Luces language, any political quibble about American dominance was precluded. How does one challenge a century? U.S. global dominance was presented as the natural result of historical progress, implicitly the pinnacle of European civilization, rather than the competitive outcome of politicaleconomic power. It followed as surely as one century after another. Insofar as it was beyond geography, the American Century was beyond empire and beyond reproof. The disavowal of geography in Luces American Century is simultaneously an occlusion of political possibilities, a depoliticization of history. The end of geography intimated by Luce and others was a rhetorical spacelessness more than any real escape from geography. In the rst place, the 1930s and 1940s followed a period of unprecedented immigration to the United States, and the working classes retained a very intimate sense of European geography and competing colonialisms. At home, Luces anemic global geography conspired with a domestic strategy of class and race assimilation, highlighted earlier by the optimistic invention of ethnicity as a refraction and domestication of national differences and foreignness onto the domestic landscape. To become American was to forget the geographies and cultures of the Old World or else to bleach them into categorical nationalisms, which themselves, somehow, reected and reafrmed U.S. exceptionalism. In the second place, the wartime Roosevelt administration was anything but ignorant of geography. A councillor of the American Geographical Society prior to his presidency and exassistant secretary of the navy, Roosevelt relished the study of geography, and during World War II he famously encouraged Americans to get out their family atlases and follow along as he updated the military action. Long before Luce announced the American Centuryalmost two years before the United States was even in the warthe State Department and the Rockefeller Foundation joined with the Council on Foreign Relations to carry out an elaborate study of postwar planning, which gradually, throughout the war years, crystallized a very precise geographical vision of what postwar American globalism

York: Doubleday, Doran, 1939); Lawrence Martin, The Geography of the Monroe Doctrine and the Limits of the Western Hemisphere, Geographical Review 30 (1940): 52528. 13. Bowman, undated six-page memo, JHU; Bowman, SequelFDR, 18 April 1941, JHU, Series XIV; Robert E. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948), 291; Dallek, Franklin D. Roosevelt, 261; Bowman, undated memo of annotations on Sherwoods Roosevelt and Hopkins, RGB. 14. Martin W. Lewis and Kren E. Wigen, The Myth of Continents: A Critique of Metageography (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997). 15. Bowman to FDR, 19 May 1941, JHU. 16. Benjamin Mills Pierce, A Report on the Resources of Iceland and Greenland (Washington, D.C.: U.S. State Department, 1868). 17. Peter Francis Coogan, Geopolitics and the Intellectual Origins of Containment, Ph.D. dissertation, University of North Carolina, 1991, 294; Bowman, memo accompanying letter to FDR, 19 May 1941, JHU, 1a; Bowman to FDR, 19 May 1941, JHU; Isaiah Bowman, The Strategy of Territorial Decisions, Foreign Affairs 24 (1946): 181; CFR WPS, Territorial Series, Meetings, T-A3, 18 April 1940, 7. 18. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, 30812, 37374. 19. Newsweek, 3 April 1944, 41. 20. Bowman to Walter H. Mallory, 5 October 1939, JHU; Bowman, The Strategy of Territorial Decisions, 180; John Maynard Keynes, The Economic Consequences of the Peace (New York: Harcourt Brace and Howe, 1920). Among relevant retrospectives that emerged in this period and that Bowman read, see Paul Birdsall, Versailles Twenty Years After (New York: Reynal and Hitchcock, 1941); Thomas A. Bailey, Woodrow Wilson and the Lost Peace (New York: Macmillan, 1944); and David Lloyd George, Memoirs of the Peace Conference (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1939). Earlier works also read by Bowman include: Harold Nicholson, Peacemaking 1919 (London: Constable, 1933); G. Bernard Noble, Policies and Opinions at Paris (New York: Macmillan, 1935); and Rene Albrecht Carrie, Italy at the Paris Peace Conference (New York: Columbia University Press, 1938). 21. Bowman to Lionel Curtis, 2 November 1939, RGB; Bowman to Leland Harrison, 6 May 1921, JHU; Bowman to Secretary of State Charles F. Hughes, 6 May 1921, AGS IB. 22. CFR WPS, 1. 23. Bowman to Mallory, 5 October 1939. 24. George Messersmith, Memorandum of Conversation, 12 September 1939, State Department Decimal File 811.43 CFR /220, RG 59, NA; Bowman, three untitled memos, 27 November, 15 December, and 17 December 1939, JHU; Cordell Hull to Bernard Baruch, 10 January 1940, JHU; Bowman, Memorandum, 9 December 1939, JHU.


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72. Woodruff D. Smith, Friedrich Ratzel and the Origins of Lebensraum, German Studies Review 3 (1980): 54. 73. George L. Warren to Bowman, 15 December 1938, 2, 6; Bowman to Liebman, 9 January 1939. 74. Bowman, Memorandum on Refugee Settlement, 1. 75. Bowman, Memorandum on the Report of the British Guiana Commission, 28 April 1939; Bowman to Salter, 11 January 1939; Bowman to Liebman, 9 January 1939; all in RGB. 76. Leo Waibel to Bowman, 14 February 1940, RGB; Bowman to Liebman, 15 February 1940; A Refugee Settlement, Daily Clarion (British Honduras), 28 March 1940. 77. World Watches as Hopkins Starts Study; On the Record: Bowman Assays. . . . 78. Bowman to Mr. Achilles, 12 April 1945, RGB.

would look like. A new political and economic geography was very much the point in the State Department, if not in the pages of Life, and Roosevelts version of a new world order was an intensely geographical affair. As war wore on, these private and public ofcials wrestled with the precise architecture of a postwar global political economy that simultaneously xed postwar political geography and constructed the requisite institutions to regulate the transborder uidity of goods and raw materials, capital and people, ideas and technology. As our protagonist, top State Department geographer Isaiah Bowman, expressed it, Empire builders must think in terms of space as well as time; to a revolutionary degree man changes his geography as he goes along.37

chapter 12
1. History Repeats for Dr. Bowman, Omaha Evening World-Herald, 19 March 1944. 2. Cordell Hull quoted in Department of State Bulletin 8 (1943): 323. 3. Bowman to Albert Thomas, 21 January 1943; Bowman to Hull, 15 April 1943; Bowman to Nicholas J. Spykman, 21 July 1937; all in JHU. 4. It is widely assumed that the term was coined by General George Strong in a 1942 meeting of the security subcommittee of the wartime State Department (see minutes of security subcommittee, S-3, 6 May 1942, NA NF 76). Actually the term seems to have been coined after Versailles by Woodrow Wilsons adversary at Paris, Baron Sonnino. See J. F. Normano, The Struggle for South America (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1931), 15758. 5. Henry Luce, The American Century, Life, 17 February 1941. 6. CFR, Studies of American Interests in the War and the Peace (WPS), Territorial Series, memoranda of discussions, T-A1, 16 February 1940. 7. Bowman, England at War, undated letter to Robert G. Bowman, RGB, 1. 8. Bowman to Lionel Curtis, 2 November 1939, RGB; Bowman, England at War, 6. 9. See, for example, Alexander P. De Seversky, Victory through Air Power (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1942). 10. CFR WPS, memo, 1 January 1946, JHU, 8; CFR WPS, Territorial Series, memoranda, T-B3, March 1940, CFR; Bowman to Joseph H. Willits, 8 August 1940, JHU. The CFR report was quickly published in the councils journal: Philip Mosely, Iceland and Greenland: An American Problem, Foreign Affairs 18 (1940): 74246. 11. Robert Dallek, Franklin D. Roosevelt and American Foreign Policy 19321945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), 265. 12. Bowman, undated six-page memo, JHU. See, for example, the claims by the explorer Vilhjalmur Stefansson, Iceland: The First American Republic (New

the third moment: late-century globalization

Montesquieu once proposed that most imperial states have made commercial interests give way to political interests, whereas England has always made its political interests give way to the interests of commerce.38 However that may be looking back from the eighteenth century, any dominance of economic over political interests in Britain now pales in comparison with the American Empire. Postwar U.S. dominance was organized rst and foremost through the world market. This is not to say that political interests wilted after 1945, that military power languished, or that exceptions did not exist. The war in Vietnam was certainly a political battle (and defeat), but it was premised on a cold war that itself was provoked amid a 1940s battle by U.S. capital and the U.S. government for global economic access to labor and commodity markets. The binary geographies of the cold war frustrated U.S. global ambitions. The ideology of the American Century survived only by ignoring the fact that a good half of the world was distinctly un-American or at least strove to be uncapitalist. At one level the geographical contradiction in this period lay between the national scale of political and economic organization and the increasingly global scale of capital accumulation. The international bodies established at the end of World War II, such as the United Nations, the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT, later renamed the World Trade Organization), were intended to regulate these contradictions between national and global interests in a way that entwined specically American interests with global management. From Roosevelt to Kennedy, claims to an American globalism oated forward, contradicted on a daily basis by the binary geographies of cold war militarism that lled media headlines. For more than two decades the geo-


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graphical mosaic of global power was relatively stable among a rst world (the capitalist West), a second (USSR, China, North Korea, Cuba), and a third world (the underdeveloped countries), but the economic, political, and cultural crises and challenges after the 1960s (on the streets of the United States as much as abroad) and the implosion of Soviet communism two decades later detonated this geography. No sooner, it seems, was the postwar global system xed in a terrestrial space of discrete national pieces and blocs than the entire global jigsaw puzzle was thrown into the air. As the pieces began to come down, they were not the same pieces that went up. The rst, second, and third worlds have effectively disappeared; new blocs have emerged, from the European Union and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations to the North American Free Trade Agreement; international protostate bodies such as the IMF, the World Bank, the WTO, and even the UN have dramatically increased in power; national economies generally play a more subordinate role while metropolitan economies contribute more directly to global capital accumulation. From the 1980s into the twenty-rst century, a crisis-induced frenzy has sought to t these pieces back together again and remake the map of the world both conceptually and in practice. Viewed this way, globalization after 1989 can be seen as a contemporary remapping strategy and as a fervent attempt to redress the geographical divisions established after 1945a second chance at Yalta, the wartime conference where the global geographical carve-up among the three most powerful allies was consummated and the cold war took an increasingly spatial identity. The deep sighs of epochal relief from the Western ruling classes after 1989 were mixed with unconstrained glee as the capitalist revolution engulng the erstwhile second world reverberated globally in ever-intensifying reafrmations of neoliberalism. Capitalism was strategically conated with democracy. The failures of the second moment of the American Century were swept away as if by a magic wand, and so too were the failures and frustrations of the rst moment, not just in Paris and Washington, but also and most crucially in the Russian Revolution of 1917. Globalization therefore represents a third attempt at Wilsons new world order. The global universality of capital seems again within reach; the end of history as well as of geography, centrally on the agenda. The language of globalization refers to real processes in the worldwide fabrication and circulation of commodities and cultures, information and ideas, but the value of the term globalization lies just as much in its ideological power. It conceptually dissolves the stubborn contradictions of the rst two moments of the American Century, eclipsing national and local prerogatives within the global and promoting a new geography that is ac-

notion of culture in twentieth-century cultural geography, see James Duncan, The Superorganic in American Cultural Geography, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 70 (1980): 18198. 53. Bowman to George P. Auld, 23 October 1935, RGB. 54. Isaiah Bowman, Science and Social Pioneering, Science 90 (6 October 1939): 315. 55. Bowman, Science and Social Pioneering, 316. 56. Bowman, Comment upon the Memorandum of the Political and Economic Planning Organization in London, 21 February 1939, 2, JHU; Isaiah Bowman, Geography, Modern Style, Outlook 12 (17 July 1929): 461. 57. Bowman, Comment upon the Memorandum. . . . 58. Interview with Owen Lattimore, 12 January 1983, Cambridge. 59. Bowman to Robert Bowman, 20 November 1939 (two letters), RGB. Bowman made the rst letter to his son sufciently ofcial to have penned his usual ofce salutation, Sincerely yours, before remembering to whom he was writing. 60. Bowman to Robert Bowman, 16 March 1942, RGB. 61. Bowman to Roosevelt, 25 November 1938, RGB; Joseph A. Rosen to Isaiah Bowman, 1 December 1938, 3 January 1939, RGB; Bowman to Rosen, 2 December 1938, RGB; Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews, 214, 330. 62. Bowman to Liebman, 9 November 1942, JHU; Liebman to Bowman, 11 November 1942, RGB. See also the discussion of Chaim Weizman in Bowman, MEMORANDUM of a Conversation with James G. McDonald . . . , 23 March 1940, RGB. 63. Bowman to Arthur Hays Sulzberger, 9 November 1942, RGB. 64. Minutes of political committee, P-52, 17 April 1943, NA NF 55; Bowman, -P1-, memo, 17 April 1943, JHU; minutes of political committee, P-21, 8 August 1942, 11, NA NF 55. 65. Bowman to William Yale, 9 December 1947, RGB. 66. Morgenthau, The Refugee Run-Around, 2, 65. As Morgenthau reports, even Secretary of State Cordell Hull freely admitted: When you go through this record for the last year and a half, it is one of the most shocking matters. In a meeting with Morgenthau and some of his deputies, Hull was unable to introduce some of his subordinates working on refugee matters and visa issuances because he did not know their names. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews, 285. 67. On the Record: Bowman Assays. . . . 68. Henry A. Wallace, The Price of Vision: The Diary of Henry A. Wallace (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1973), 21011. 69. Bowman, Memorandum on Refugee Resettlement, 15 May 1940, JHU, 3. 70. Bowman, Population, Migration, Settlement. 71. Morton White and Lucia White, The Intellectual versus the City (New York: Oxford University Press, 1977).


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sadorships during the Nixon and Reagan presidencies. See also Editors, Robert Strausz-Hups Worldview, Orbis 17 (1973): 67990. 28. Ladislas Farago, Refugees: The Solution as FDR Saw It, United Nations 1, no. 5 (1947): 1415, 64; M Project monthly reports for 1 June30 September 1945, 9 (attached to Henry Field to Bowman, 2 October 1945), RGB. See also Henry Fields later compilation: M Project for F. D. R. Studies on Migration and Settlement (Ann Arbor, Mich.: Edwards Brothers, 1962). 29. Bowman, Memorandum of a Conference with John Carter, Henry Field, Strausz-Hup, Jacobson and Anton deBalasy, secret memo, 9 December 1943, JHU. 30. Field to Bowman, 1 November 1945, RGB. 31. Bowman to Robert G. Bowman, 30 March 1943, RGB; Bowman to Sumner Welles, 5 March 1943, JHU; Liebman to Bowman, 6 April 1943, RGB. 32. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews, 80, 153. 33. Farago, Refugees, 14, 64; Field to Bowman, 1 November 1945, RGB. 34. Henry Morgenthau Jr., The Morgenthau Diaries, VIThe Refugee Run-Around, Colliers Weekly, 1 November 1947, 23. 35. Bowman, Memorandum of a Conference. . . . 36. Interview with Strausz-Hup, 13 March 1996. 37. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews, 78. 38. Esco Foundation for Palestine, Inc., Palestine: A Study of Jewish, Arab and British Policies (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1947), vol. 2. 39. Bowman to Gladys Wrigley, 8 September 1942, JHU. 40. Bowman, memorandum to the president, 22 May 1943, RGB; Bowman to Myron Taylor, 23 June 1947, JHU. 41. Bowman, untitled three-page memo, 28 October 1943, JHU; Bowman to William Langer, 2 January 1946, RGB. 42. Joseph P. Lash to the author, 3 May 1982; Joseph P. Lash, Eleanor: The Years Alone (New York: W. W. Norton, 1972), 111. 43. Bowman, secret two-page memo, untitled, 17 December 1943, JHU. 44. Bowman, untitled memo (conversation with Eleanor Roosevelt), 7 January 1944, RGB; Bowman, Memorandum to Mrs. Roosevelt, 24 January 1944, JHU. 45. Bowman to Alfred Hays Sulzberger, 9 November 1942, RGB. 46. Lash, Eleanor, 112. 47. Walter Clay Lowdermilk, Palestine: Land of Promise (London: Victor Gollancz, 1944), 17, 161. 48. Lash to author, 3 May 1982. 49. Bowman to Myron Taylor, 23 June 1947, JHU; Bowman to William L. Langer, 2 January 1946, JHU; Robert E. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948), 87172. 50. Bowman to Roosevelt, 25 November 1938, RGB. 51. Bowman to Roosevelt, 25 November 1938. 52. See his foreword to Carlos Monge, Acclimatization in the Andes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1948). For a critique of this superorganic

tually spaceless. It offers a new cartography in the struggle to remake the global map in very particular ways and in support of very specic class and locational interests. But the inherited contradiction between a spaceless and a spatially constituted globalism is not so much resolved by globalization as simply recast in a new form. With a parallel triumphalism, the reworking of European geography since 1989from Ireland and Britain to Germany to the Balkans bears considerable formal resemblance to the geographical reconguration of 191723, presumably because it is redrawing the maps of precisely that era. Globalization reiterates the scenario of Mackinders new geography a world empire, struggles over specic absolute spaces, and intense relationalities in a closed global sphere. Far from marking the end of geography, a good case could be made that globalization heralds a new and even more intense geographical pivot of history, which has only intensied since 2001. The correlation between the larger geographical and the larger historical generalizations that Mackinder perceived in 1904 may pertain more today than at any point in the American Century. The opposite contention of a spaceless globalization works today, as in 1919 or 1941, to occlude alternative political futures, to depoliticize history, albeit the history of the present and near future. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that laments about national geographical ignorance should have emerged so powerfully in the United States in the 1980s. The countrys geographical sensibility and educational discourse were not underdeveloped by accident. To make sense of todays global shifts, a certain conceptual retooling of the centurys aspatial imagination became vital. The ideological marginalization of geography through most of the century had served its purpose, but at a huge cost, and was ultimately unsustainable. Luces disavowal of geography was politically driven, and the resurrection of geography curricula today is no less so. But what kind of geography is to be studied? Establishment geography since the 1980s has busily tried to reinvent itself as a handmaiden to corporate and state power, placing most of its bets on the technical acumen of geographical information systems, business geography, and policy studies or on the eshing out of liberal multicultural reforms. By contrast, other academic geographies emerging after the 1960s have rediscovered and developed the suggestion, sprouting rst with Mackinder and Lenin, that postnineteenth-century geographies are the product of an intense relationality between places connected by social and cultural, economic and political processes. The politics of geographywho gets what, where, and why and who loses where?is explicitly recognized.39 Thus differences within aca-


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demic geography refract the long-standing geographical contradictions of the American Century: while an established tradition feeds into the bureaucratic stream necessary for the management of local as well as global geographies, a new critical tradition questions the social contours of the power that continually makes and remakes these world geographies. There is more than one way to redraw the map of a global world. The American Century represented a solution and successor to the economic geographic limits of European expansionism. Constitutive geographies lurked in the history of development and underdevelopment, urban structure and suburban growth, regional expansion and decline. To the extent that these geographies have remained hiddenhistory and social analysis seen as only incidentally or trivially geographicalthe founding ction of the American Century that we inhabit a postgeographical world was perpetuated. It is the recuperation of this geography, broadly conceived, that informs John Bergers brilliant insight that prophesy now involves a geographical rather than historical projection; it is space not time that hides consequences from us.40 We are only beginning to open up that archive of created geographies, but as we do it becomes increasingly evident that reintroducing the largely hidden geography of the American Empire invites a fundamental rethinking of the history itself. There is nothing inevitable about the global geographies that accompanied and facilitated U.S. hegemony. Despite Luces and others sense of American destiny, the cartography of postWorld War II global power remained quite opaque through most of the war. For all that U.S. leaders contributed to its onset, the cold war that followed was a momentous defeat for U.S. global ambition, severely circumscribing the amplitude of the new empire. U.S. dominance has not grown linearly and was an open question at particular junctures during the century: more apparent than real prior to World War I, barely evident in the 1930s, and declining precipitously in the 1970s. Uneven geographical development on all scales in the global landscape is certainly an expression of the structured social relations of capitalist societies and the multifaceted logic of capital accumulation, but it is simultaneously authored by everyday individuals and classes, groups and governments. The geography of the American Century, therefore, is neither wholly planned nor entirely voluntaristic. It represents not a one-dimensional devaluation of space but a restructuring of the spatial grammar of economic expansion. This new geography was mapped and continues to be mapped in the halls of world power. But as the anti-globalization movement also demonstrates with its focus on some of the most coveted global institutions of the Ameri-

10. Roosevelt to Bowman, 15 December 1938, RGB; Bowman to Charles Liebman, 27 December 1938, RGB. 11. Bowman to Roosevelt, 10 December 1938, RGB. 12. James McDonald to Bowman, 12 December 1938, JHU; McDonald to Charles Liebman, 13 December 1938, JHU. 13. World Watches as Hopkins Starts Study of Land Settlement Problem, Baltimore Evening Sun, 22 February 1939; On the Record: Bowman Assays Migration Facts, Baltimore Evening Sun, 22 February 1939. 14. Bowman to Charles J. Liebman, 3 January and 9 January 1939, RGB; Bowman to Sir Arthur Salter, 11 January 1939, RGB. 15. World Watches as Hopkins Starts Study; On the Record: Bowman Assays; Bowman to Liebman, 9 December 1942, RGB. 16. Bowman, Memorandum on Refugee Settlement, 15 May 1940, JHU. 17. Bowman to Edwin B. Wilson, 19 April 1941; Bowman to Bernard Baruch, 22 December 1939; Bowman, memo, 3 pp., 27 November 1939; Bowman, memo, 1 p., 15 December 1939; all in JHU. 18. Bowman, Reports and Memoranda Relating to Settlement Requested for the Files of the Refugee Economic Corporation, December 1942, RGB. 19. Kenneth Campbell, First 37 for Sosua Settlement Reach Dominican Land of Refuge, New York Times, 9 May 1940; Bowman to Liebman, 15 February 1940, RGB; Bowman, Investigation and Activities of the Refugee Economic Corporation, 21 March 1940, RGB; David S. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews (New York: Pantheon, 1986), 315. Bowman was also getting corroboratory advice from colleagues that caution was important. Geographer Carl Sauer especially stressed the problems of security for refugees: You cant send people into a situation where they might have the shirts taken off their backs (Sauer to Bowman, 29 December 1938, RGB). 20. Bowman, Memorandum of Visit . . . by Stephen V. C. Morris, 25 March 1940, JHU, 1; Bowman, memorandum, 26 March 1940, JHU. 21. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews, 47, 5152; Deborah E. Lipstadt, Beyond Belief: The American Press and the Coming of the Holocaust, 19331945 (New York: Free Press, 1985). 22. Bowman, Population and Territorial Questions, Territorial Committee, 12 November 1942, JHU. 23. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews, 7578, 7982. 24. Bowman, Memorandum of Visit . . . by Morris. 25. Bowman, Population, Migration, Settlement, memo, 10 November 1942, JHU. 26. Bowman, The Permanent Study of Population, 13 November 1944, RGB. 27. Robert Strausz-Hup, Geopolitics: The Struggle for Space and Power (New York: G. P. Putnams Sons, 1942); interview with Robert Strausz-Hup, 13 March 1996, Newtown Square, Pennsylvania. Strausz-Hup went on to become a professor of geography at University of Pennsylvania and a renowned right-wing intellectual. He was also a diplomat, holding seven U.S. ambas-


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46. Edmund Walsh, Total Power (New York: Doubleday, 1948), 1011. Weakened by a heart attack, deeply depressed after his Nuremberg interrogation, distraught about the murder of his son by the Nazis, and adamant that the last had distorted and abused his ideas, Haushofer and his wife committed suicide a few months later.

chapter 11
1. Hubert R. Knickerbocker to John Finley, 21 June 1933, AGS IB. 2. Bowman to Knickerbocker, 6 July 1933, AGS IB. Karl Wittfogel (18961988) was, of course, already a well-known scholar in Europe and, contrary to Knickerbockers claim, was quite politically active in the Communist Pary of Germany (the KPD). See Wittfogel, Oriental Despotism: A Comparative Study of Total Power (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1957). There he explained the causes of Eastern authoritarian government, from China and the USSR to Egypt, as a result of environmental conditions. See also G. L. Ulmen, The Science of Society: For an Understanding of the Life and Work of Karl August Wittfogel (The Hague: Mouton, 1978); and Richard Peet, ed., The Geographical Ideas of Karl Wittfogel, Antipode 17, no. 1 (1985). 3. See Chauncy D. Harris, Geographers in the US Government in Washington, DC, during World War II, Professional Geographer 49 (1997): 24556; Chauncy D. Harris, Lessons from the War-time Experience for Improving Graduate Training for Geographic Research, report of the Committee on Training and Standards in the Geographic Profession, National Research Council, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 36 (1946): 195214; Barry M. Katz, Foreign Intelligence, Research and Analysis in the Ofce of Strategic Services 19421945 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989); Andrew Kirby, What Did You Do in the War, Daddy? in Geography and Empire, ed. Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994), 300314. 4. Otto Tolischus, Nazis Smash, Loot and Burn Jewish Shops and Temples until Goebbels Calls Halt, New York Times, 11 November 1933; Peter Steinfels, The Road to Extermination, New York Times, 9 November 1988. 5. Bowman to Gladys Wrigley, 15 October 1938, RGB. 6. Bowman to F. D. Roosevelt, 15 October 1938; Bowman to Wrigley, 15 October 1938; Roosevelt to Bowman, 2 November 1938; Bowman, Population Outlets in Overseas Territories, Harris Foundation lecture, Chicago, 2122 June 1937; all in RGB. 7. Bowman, untitled four-page memo, 4 November 1938, RGB. Bowmans submission on Costa Rica was summarized from a report by George McBride, a UCLA geographer, who had recently returned from Central America. 8. Bowman, memorandum, 16 November 1938, RGB; Bowman to Karl Pelzer, 16 November 1938, RGB. See Karl Pelzer, Pioneer Settlement in the Asiatic Tropics (New York: American Geographical Society, 1945). 9. Bowman to Roosevelt, 10 December 1938, RGB.

can Centurythe new geography is also made in the streets, where alternative visions of society and democracy ourish. In American Empire, I piece together the historical geography of U.S. global ambition through the career of a geographer who orbited the vortex of political power in the United States during the rst two formative moments of the American Century. That he was, throughout most of the period, Americas most famous geographer provides a uniquely privileged parallax on the spatially constituted yet simultaneously spaceless American Century. Through the eyes and deeds of Isaiah Bowman, we can begin to make sense of this exquisite contradiction and in the process excavate the singular geographical architecture that has come to dene the American Empire, from the forays of William McKinley to the utopianism of twenty-rst-century globalization.

all geography is always new : isaiah bowman

Halford Mackinder may have proposed the notion of the geographical pivot of history, but he was born in the wrong empire to live his prediction into practice; the geography of the British Empire in the twentieth century is a story of decline and contraction. Isaiah Bowman was also born a British subjectin Canada in 1878but grew up in rural Michigan and eventually become the most geographically articulate among the ofcial architects of the American Empire. After the Paris Peace Conference he was feted in the press as Wilsons geographer and a quarter century later as Roosevelts geographer. He shared with Franklin Roosevelt a strong sense that American destiny pivoted on how Americans changed the geography of the world as they went along. Unlike Mackinder, he was raised in the bowels of an expanding empire, where he lived through, and quickly became an agent of, the rise to global power. The unsophisticated Michigan farm boy survived a Harvard undergraduate degree and between 1907 and 1913 pursued research on remote, highaltitude Andean geomorphology and settlement geography. One of the last explorers opening up the regions absolute space in the old tradition, he readily recognized his and others pioneering scientic research as a precursor to economic conquest. After a professorial stint at Yale, where he received his Ph.D., Isaiah Bowman became the new young director of a struggling American Geographical Society, which afforded a valuable entre into the New York ruling classes. He quickly found himself administering Woodrow Wilsons Inquiry, the think tank for postwar recon-


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struction, and in Paris in 1919, he slouched on the oor with Wilson as they pored over innumerable maps or huddled in the diplomatic clinches. It was here that Bowmans approach to the study of geography changed irrevocably. Deeply disappointed by the outcome in Paris and the U.S. Senate and hardened by his own personal encounters, he returned to New York and published the rst major American political geography text, a world geographical survey entitled The New World. It reads now as a handbook for the budding American Century. Determined to build a liberal internationalism despite the isolationist recoil, he was a founding director of the Council on Foreign Relations and many years later coaxed Mackinder to write an article for its journal, Foreign Affairs. Bowman understood that Mackinders geographical pivot of history was not simply a global reality but operated on other scales too, and he focused his interests during the isolationist doldrums of the 1920s and early 1930s on internal geographical frontiers and national science policy. Bowmans politics shuttled between conservative Democrat and liberal Republican. He loathed the New Deal but Hitler more so, although he stayed unaccountably mute about the rise of geopolitics until 1942. As with so many others, his Wilsonian idealism was rekindled, this time with a hard edge of self-satised realism, when the State Department began to plan the postwar world. Now president of Johns Hopkins University, he became a central gure in State Department plans for postwar reconstruction and special adviser to Roosevelt. He was especially involved in three campaigns: settling affairs with the Old World (deciding the boundaries of Germany); shaking loose the European colonies for American commercial exploitation; and establishing a global political body (the United Nations) designed to ensure political and military quietude for business as usual. Disappointed in 1945 to be revisiting many of the same issues as in 1919, he was also ushed with simultaneously nationalist and internationalist excitement about a second chance at global design. He negotiated with Churchill and Molotov, but became increasingly embittered by what he saw as Stalins intransigence and Roosevelts appeasement, and he marched enthusiastically into the cold war while never endorsing the binary geographies in which that contest was widely expressed. It is often commented that war is good for geography, and Bowmans career, like those of so many others, was made from the opportunities presented by two world warsthe rst two formative moments of the American Centuryas well as by the mobilizations for postwar reconstruction. The hidden geography of the American Empire is therefore uniquely revealed in his career. His personal contradictions often mirrored those of the

35. Carter R. Bryan, Americas Geo-Political Institute, Foreign Commerce Weekly 7, no. 6 (1942): 3, 3233; Weigert, German Geopolitics, 26. See also Colonel Herman Beukema, School for Statesmen, Fortune, vol. 27, January 1943, 10829; Robert Strausz-Hup, In My Time (New York: W. W. Norton, 1965); Hans Weigert, Generals and Geographers (London: Oxford University Press, 1942). 36. Bowman to Lippmann, 9 September 1942; Bowman to Nicholas Spykman, 29 October 1942; Bowman to Sumner Welles, 29 September 1942; all in RGB. Isaiah Bowman, Political Geography of Power, Geographical Review 32 (1942): 352; Isaiah Bowman, Geography versus Geopolitics, Geographical Review 32 (1942): 64658. 37. Nicholas Spykman, American Strategy in World Politics (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1942), 78. 38. Bowman, Political Geography of Power, 352 (excerpted in the Baltimore Sun as Power and Peace, 4 March 1942); Bowman to Weigert, 10 November 1942, JHU. 39. Bowman, Geography versus Geopolitics, 646, 648, 656, 658. Geographer Alfred Hettner had made a similar attempt to separate geopolitics and political geography: Die geopolitik und die politische Geographie, Geographische Zeitschrift 35 (1929): 33236. See also Reinhold Strauss, Die Deutschen Geopolitik 19191945, Diplom Thesis, Technische Universistt, Mnchen, 1984. 40. M. Ver Hoef to Bowman, 1 May 1947, RGB; Bowman to Ver Hoef, 5 May 1947, RGB; J. K. Wright to Bowman, 21 August 1942, AGS JKW. 41. Arthur Dix, Geopolitik, Lehrkurse ber die geographischen Grundlagen der Weltpolitik und Weltwirtschaft (Fssen a. Lech: Atheneum, 1927), translated and quoted in David T. Murphy, Space, Race and Geopolitical Necessity: Geopolitical Rhetoric in German Colonial Revanchism, in Geography and Empire, ed. Godlewska and Smith, 181. 42. Friedrich Ratzel, Flottenfrage und Weltfrage, translated and quoted in Derwent Whittlesey, German Strategy of World Conquest (New York: Ferrar and Rinehart, 1942), 54. 43. Murphy, Space, Race and Geopolitical Necessity. On Weltpolitik, see also Woodruff D. Smith, The Ideological Origins of Nazi Imperialism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 5282. 44. David Atkinson, Geopolitics, Cartography and Geographical Knowledge: Envisioning Africa from Fascist Italy, in Geography and Imperialism 18201940, ed. Morag Bell, Robin Butlin, and Michael Heffernan (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), 26597; Lucio Gambi, Geography and Imperialism in Italy: From the Unity of the Nation to the New Roman Empire, in Geography and Empire, ed. Godlewska and Smith, 7491. 45. Nicholas Spykman, Geography and Foreign Policy, II, American Political Science Review 32 (1938): 236. See Gearid Tuathails use of this: Critical Geopolitics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 5055.


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archival value, he offered, but nothing came of the offer (Bowman to Penck, 28 November 1923, AGS IB). 24. Alexander Supan, Leitlinien der aligemeinen politischen Geographie: Naturlehre des Staates, 2nd ed. (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1922), 125. See also Walther Vogel, Politische Geographie (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1922); and Otto Maull, Politische Geographie (Berlin: Gebrder Borntraeger, 1925). 25. Ewald Banse, Germany Prepares for War (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1934), xixxx. Banse stacks German philosophy against French rationalism and British materialism, arguing that with Kant behind one, one naturally gets deeper into the heart of things and people than with Voltaire and Nelson (7778). 26. Sandner, The Germania triumphans Syndrome; Gerhard Sandner and Mechtild Rssler, Geography and Empire in Germany, 18711945, in Geography and Empire, ed. Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994), 120. 27. Isaiah Bowman, Two Works on Political Geography, Geographical Review 14 (1924): 66566; Isaiah Bowman, Some Recent Works on Political Geography, Geographical Review 17 (1927): 51113. 28. Bowman to Lionel Curtis, 2 November 1939, JHU. (Bowman subsequently sent a copy of this extraordinary letter to Franklin Roosevelt.) The extent of this inuence has since been questioned, but there is no doubt that Bowman took it seriously. 29. Bowman to Carl Sauer, 1 August 1934, AGS IB; Bowman, Population Outlets in Overseas Territories, Harris Foundation lecture, Chicago, 2122 June 1937, RGB. On Gring, see Hubert R. Knickerbocker to John H. Finley, 21 June 1933, AGS IB. 30. Bowman sent a nasty, accusatory letter to Brunhes, who had slaved over the translation through the 1920s. Brunhes never responded. He died three months later (Bowman to Jean Brunhes, 22 May 1930, AGS IB). 31. Bowman to Gladys Wrigley, 27 July 1938, AGS GR; Bowman to Daniel Willard, 7 August 1938, JHU. Richard Hartshorne, attending a geography conference in Bavaria in 1938, notes that of about 300 geographers around 297 of them [were] wearing swastikas (interview with Hartshorne, 20 May 1989, Madison, Wisconsin). 32. George T. Renner, Maps for a New World, Colliers Weekly, vol. 109, 6 June 1942, 1416. See Karen De Bres, George Renner and the Great Map Scandal of 1942, Political Geography Quarterly 5 (1986): 38594; and Peter F. Coogan, Geopolitics and the Intellectual Origins of Containment, Ph.D. dissertation, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Department of History, 1991, 18184. 33. Cited in Coogan, Geopolitics and the Intellectual Origins of Containment, 183. 34. Isaiah Bowman, Richard Hartshorne, and Derwent Whittlesey to Editor, Colliers Weekly, 27 June 1942; Bowman to Walter Lippmann, 9 September 1942, RGB.

periods geography: a devout internationalist, he was an equally staunch nationalist; a proselytizing geographer, he was rigorously interdisciplinary. Personally charming or downright gruff, he was liberal in theory and authoritarian in practice. Insistently practical, he embraced the transition to the American Century as part opportunity, part evolutionary destiny. His talent most valued in Washington over more than three decades was his sharp perception of geographic relations among places and the decisive distillation of any complex global situation into discrete policy proposals. More than anything he was a policy entrepreneur, unique in those circles for his geographical sensibility. He understood the necessity and limitations of specic geographical solutions to the hurdles of American globalism as well as the shifting importance of geography. Unlike pundits with a different training, he never had the luxury or inclination simply to move beyond geography, and yet he had an appropriately twentieth-century sense of the evident limits to the geographic determination of social events. It was this combination of a geographical training and sensibility with rareed political access that makes him so inuential and his story so valuable. To a revolutionary degree man changes geography as he goes along, Bowman once claimed. All geography is always new.41 If this placed Bowman ahead of his time (Mackinder notwithstanding, a broad disciplinary insistence on inherently mutable geographies had to wait until after the 1960sand was actually carried by an emerging social theory tradition in geography that Bowman would have abhorred), it also marks his debt to Mackinder. His prescience was undoubtedly inspired by a lifetime spent witnessing and participating in the invention of new geographies. The mutability of geography was no mere academic observation for Bowman, and in the 1940s, when he and liberals of his generation again dared to imagine an American globalism following the political closure of the 1920s and 1930s, Bowman gave that vision its most vivid geographical expression. No line can be established anywhere in the world, he asserted amid frenzied State Department planning for postwar reconstruction, that connes the interests of the United States because no line can prevent the remote from becoming the near danger. This assertion of a geographical globalism, tinged with military paranoia as much as economic expectation, reached a crescendo almost two decades later in the atomic age, when Kennedy could declare, Our frontiers today are on every continent.42 The year before Henry Luce proclaimed the American Century, a deant Bowman announced to his elite Council on Foreign Relations colleagues that if Hitler was demanding Lebensraum (living space), then Lebensraum he should getexcept that the postwar world would be a global


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Lebensraum, it would be an economic Lebensraum, and it would be an American Lebensraum. Bowmans globalism, quite unlike Luces, came sweated with geographical implications and differences. Bowman was present at the creation of the geography of the American Century. Many others were too, but few if any had the geographical sensibility of Bowman. He became the U.S. inheritor and global practitioner of Mackinders geographical pivot of history, and as the son of an expanding empire he could see much further into the future than his British counterpart could. Whereas Mackinder recognized the new international amalgams of geography, economics, and power with a certain nostalgia for the Columbian epoch and a nationalist apprehension for the future, Bowman fused nationalism and internationalism into optimistic expectation. He understood as very few did that the American Empire both constructed and was constructed through a melange of geographies every bit as distinctive as those of the European empires it succeeded. As Bowmans approach to geography and his public career demonstrate, the American Empire constructed an uneven global landscape very much in its own image. This was a source of perpetual and often acute frustration to its architects, who were never able to manage that construction under conditions of their own choosing.

11. Davis to Bowman, 27 July 1923, AGS IB; W. M. Davis, The Cycle of Erosion and the Summit Level of the Alps, Journal of Geology 31 (1923): 141; W. M. Davis, The Penck Festband: A Review, Geographical Review 10 (1920): 24961; Chorley, Beckinsale, and Dunn, A History of the Study of Landforms, 516, 53754. See also W. M. Davis, Passarges Principles of Landscape Description, Geographical Review 8 (1919): 26673; Walther Penck, Die morphologische Analyse: Ein Kapitel der physikalischen Geologie (Stuttgart: Geographische Abhandlungen, 1924; translated as Morphological Analysis of Land Forms: A Contribution to Physical Geology [London: Macmillan, 1953]). 12. Davis to Bowman, 27 July 1923. Davis may already have been genuinely disturbed: Chorley, Beckinsale, and Dunn, A History of the Study of Landforms, 527. 13. Bowman to A. Penck, 26 July 1923, AGS IB; Penck to Bowman, 22 August 1923, AGS IB. 14. Bowman to Penck, 25 September 1923, AGS IB; Bowman to Davis, 6 December 1925, AGS IB. 15. See Mechtild Rssler, La gographie aux congrs internationaux: changes scientique et conits politiques, Relations internationales 62 (1990): 18399; also Geoffrey Martin, One Hundred and Twenty Five Years of Geographical Congresses and the Formation of the International Geographical Union, International Geographical Union Bulletin 46 (1996): 18. 16. Bowman to Emmanuel de Martonne, 12 March 1925; de Martonne to Bowman, 14 October 1927; Bowman to de Martonne, 16 November 1927; Bowman to Henry J. Cox, 10 October 1928; Bowman to H. J. Fleure, 15 February 1932; all in AGS IB. See also Isaiah Bowman, The International Geographical Congress, Geographical Review 18 (1928): 66167. 17. Bowman to de Martonne, 30 January and 26 March 1931, AGS IB; de Martonne to Bowman, 3 March 1931, AGS IB. 18. Gerhardt Schott to Bowman, 5 October 1931, JHU, 2. 19. Bowman to John H. Finley, 11 September 1934, AGS IB. 20. Lawrence Martin to Bowman, 6 June 1919; Eduard Brckner to Bowman, 29 December 1919; Bowman to William Morris Davis, 7 February 1920; Bowman to Brckner, 25 February 1920; all in AGS IB. 21. See Michael Heffernan, The Spoils of War: The Socit de Gographie de Paris and the French Empire, 19141919, in Geography and Imperialism 18201940, ed. Morag Bell, Robin Butlin, and Michael Heffernan (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), 253. 22. Otto Maull, Das Wesen der Geopolitik, 2nd ed. (Leipzig: B. G. Taubner, 1936), 23. See also Bowman to Charles Lee Lewis, 14 October 1948, RGB; and Robert Strausz-Hup, Geopolitics: The Struggle for Space and Power (New York: G. P. Putnams Sons, 1942), 5152. 23. Penck to Bowman, 30 October 1923, AGS IB. Bowman showed genuine concern for the aging Penck as well as for Walthers family. The AGS would buy any manuscripts, maps, or other papers of Walthers of lasting scholarly or


notes to pages 276278

Hitlers life. See, among others, Andreas Dorpalen, The World of General Haushofer (New York: Farrar and Rinehart, 1942). 3. Rudolf Kjelln, Studier ver Sveriges politiska grnser, Ymer 9 (1899): 283332. Kjelln (18641922) was professor of political science rst at Gteborg, then at Uppsala. 4. Friedrich Ratzel, Politische Geographie, oder der Geographie der Staaten, des Verkhers, und der Krieges, 2nd ed. (1897; Munich: R. Oldenbourg, 1903); Friedrich Ratzel, Die Gesetze des rumlichen Wachstums der Staaten, Petermans Mitteilungen 42 (1896): 97107. 5. Ellen Churchill Semple, Inuences of Geographic Environment on the Basis of Ratzels System of Anthropo-geography (New York: Henry Holt, 1911), 12; Wodruff D. Smith, Friedrich Ratzel and the Origins of Lebensraum, German Studies Review 3 (1980): 51, 53. See also David N. Livingstone, The Geographical Tradition (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1992), 200. 6. Mackinder, The Geographical Pivot of History. The aphorism was revised and reprinted several times:
Who rules East Europe commands the Heartland; Who rules the Heartland rules the World Island; Who rules the World Island commands the World.


See also Alfred Mahans The Inuence of Seapower on History, 16601783 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1890). 7. Susan Schulten, The Geographical Imagination in America, 18801950 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 46. 8. W. M. Davis, The Geographical Cycle, Geographical Journal 14 (1899): 481504; R. J. Chorley, Robert P. Beckinsale, and Anthony J. Dunn, The History of the Study of Landforms, or the Development of Geomorphology, 2 vols. (London: Methuen, 1973), 2: 498. See also chapter 3 in this volume for a longer discussion. 9. Siegfried Passarge (18671958) researched desert geomorphology and resources in the German colonies of the Cameroons and South-West Africa (now Namibia) prior to the war and was professor of geography at Hamburg from 1908 to 1936. See Gerhard Sandner, The Germania triumphans Syndrome and Passarges Erdkundliche Weltanschaaung: The Roots and Effects of German Political Geography beyond Geopolitik, Political Geography Quarterly 8 (1989): 34151. Alfred Hettner (18591941) is best known in the United States for his methodological and philosophical work that so inuenced the U.S. geographer Richard Hartshorne. A participant in the turn-of-the-century neo-Kantian revival in German intellectual circles, Hettner was professor of geography at Heidelberg from 1899 to 1926. 10. W. M. Davis to Bowman, 2 February 1920, AGS IB. The correspondence between Davis and the Pencks is extensively reprinted in Chorley, Beckinsale, and Dunn, The History of the Study of Landforms.

notes to pages 264275


92. Klingaman, APL, 4756; Bowman to Barton, 1 April 1948. 93. Donaldson Brown to Bowman, 26 March 1946, JHU; Bowman to Brown, 28 March and 24 July 1946; Bowman to Brown, 27 February 1947, RGB; Bowman to Luke Hopkins, 4 June 1946, JHU. 94. Bowman to Brown, 24 July 1946. 95. Bowman to Brown, 24 July 1946. 96. Interview with Shaffer, 28 March 1986. 97. Carter was under orders to report weekly to Bowmans ofce, ostensibly to help the busy president keep up with the eld, and if he failed to show, he got a call: Mr. Bowman wants to know why you havent appeared yet this week. Interview with Carter, 15 June 1982; Bowman to Pratt, 8 November 1949; interview with Gottmann, 23 March 1982. 98. Pratt to Bowman, 9 November 1949, JHU. This letter was followed by another announcing that Pratts plans for charity that year did not include the Bowman School of Geography: Pratt to Bowman, 26 November 1949, JHU. See also interview with Owen Lattimore, 12 January 1983; Bowman to Pratt, 8 November 1949. 99. Interview with Abel Wolman, 21 December 1984, Baltimore; interviews with Carter, 15 June 1982; Gottmann, 23 March 1982; Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984. 100. Interview with Carter, 15 June 1982. See Bowmans own version of his treatment of the trustees: Isaiah Bowman, A Response, Johns Hopkins Alumni Magazine 37, no. 2 (1949): 48. 101. Bowman to Barton, 1 April 1948. 102. Readings, The University in Ruins, 59. 103. Actually, there is also a bust of Bowman tucked away in a dark corner of the entrance to Schaffer Hall.

chapter 10
1. Halford Mackinder, The Geographical Pivot of History, Geographical Journal 23 (1904): 42137; Vladimir Lenin, Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism (original publication in Russian, 1917; Bejing: Foreign Language Press, 1975), 90; Rosa Luxemburg, The Accumulation of Capital (original publication in German, 1913; New York: Monthly Review Press, 1968). 2. Frederic Sondern Jr., 1,000 Scientists behind Hitler, Readers Digest, vol. 38, June 1941, 2327. See also Hans Weigert, German Geopolitics (New York: Oxford University Press, 1941). Karl Haushofer (18691946) had retired as major general after World War I and took up the chair of geography and military science at Munich, where he had received his doctorate. He spent two years in Japan prior to the war and was a specialist in the geography of East Asia. After Hitlers accession to power, Haushofer was appointed president of the German Academy (1934). His wife was Jewish, and despite his service to Hitler prior to 1941, he never joined the Nazi Party. His son, Albrecht Haushofer, a poet, was shot in 1945 by the SS for his part in the Staffenberg plot against


notes to pages 259264

interested in doing this? I said, Well, yes. He said: Mr. Bowman is over at the State Department. If you were to go over there to room so-and-so, he would interview you. I went over and had an interview. Bowman lived under such high pressure, it was unbelievable. . . . I had talked to him for maybe an hour . . . over at the State Department, and he grabbed me by the elbow and he said, I have to get to such-and-such train. Come on. We rushed out front, and, talking all the way, he rushed into the street with his umbrella and agged down a taxi; just stopped him right dead in the street, stopped him cold. He said, Bye, Doctor Carter. Ill see you in Baltimore. He jumped into the taxi and was gone just like that. He had recommended me, he interviewed me, and I was hired! That was it, bang! (interview with Carter, 15 June 1982). 80. Sauers classic works include: The Morphology of Landscape, University of California Publications in Geography 2, no. 2 (1925): 1954; The Geography of the Ozark Highland of Missouri, Geographical Society of Chicago Bulletin No. 7, 1920; and American Agricultural Origins: A Consideration of Nature and Culture, in Essays in Anthropology Presented to A. L. Kroeber in Celebration of his Sixtieth Birthday, June 11, 1936 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1936), 27997. See Carl Sauer to Bowman, 21 May 1944, Sauer Papers, Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley; Bowman to Sauer, 24 May 1944, JHU; and Bowman to A. L. Kroeber, 25 January 1944, JHU, Box 6, File 6.1. The praise for Sauer comes from Bowman, Geography as an Urgent University Need, memo, 10 January 1947, RGB. 81. The reference is to John Leighly: Bowman to Robert Bowman, 7 February 1946, RGB. 82. Bowman to John Lee Pratt, 8 November 1949, JHU. 83. Bowman, Memo to the trustees, 25 March 1940, JHU; Bowman to Donaldson Brown, 28 February 1947, JHU. 84. John Lee Pratt Is Dead at 96, New York Times, 22 December 1975. 85. Bowman, A Proposal, 29 January 1946, JHU; Bowman to Charles Lieberman, 16 March 1945, JHU. 86. John Franklin Carter to Bowman, 14 December 1945, RGB; Bowman, Geography as an Urgent University Need (revised), 10 January 1947, 1; Bowman, untitled memo, Revised February 20, 1947, RGB. 87. John Lee Pratt to Bowman, 3 January and 6 December 1949, JHU. 88. See John R. Mather and Marie Sanderson, The Genius of C. Warren Thornthwaite, Climatologist, Geographer (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996). 89. President Bowman, JHU Newsletter; Bowmans successor, chemist Detlev Bronk, galvanized a similar campus sentiment in the kindest possible terms when he noted that Bowman did much to preserve Hopkins as a community of scholars against the distractions of a materialistic age. Detlev Bronk, Tribute to Bowman, Johns Hopkins University Magazine, June 1950. 90. Bowman to Walter Bowman, 13 August 1945, JHU; Bowman to Harry Truman, 12 September 1946, HST. 91. Hopkins Joins Atomic Plan, Baltimore Sun, 20 July 1946.


The Spanish-American War of 1898 was a watershed in the historical geography of U.S. expansionism. The national and state boundaries of the United States were effectively in place, even though several territories had yet to consummate statehood, and the geographical claims that resulted from the war were less about national consolidation than international colonization. These were, of course, closely intertwined pursuits, but their geographical consequences were very different. Unlike earlier territorial acquisitions, such as northern Mexico, Alaska, and the Louisiana Purchase, all of the territories wrested from Spain after 1898 were held in some form of colonial possession, never to be incorporated fully into the nation-state. This marked the rst and last serious foray by the United States into extraterritorial colonization. Thereafter, U.S. expansionism took an increasingly geoeconomic rather than colonial form. The Spanish-American War therefore represents an anomaly, but it also marks the cusp of a radically different globalism. The symbolic dawn of the American Century, it just as vitally gave way to the rst contours of a new global geography. The year 1898 was also a watershed for the nineteen-year-old schoolteacher Isaiah Bowman. He made two important decisions. In the autumn he took his rst independent political initiative. Enthused by the war frenzy, Bowman organized young men from three rural Michigan school districts, including his own, into a militia company of one hundred. He was promptly elected captain and arranged for a local carpenter to make wooden guns,


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notes to pages 255259


real ries not being available from the National Guard. For two years, Bowmans militia carried out military training, studied the manual of arms, and performed simple maneuvers and eld exercises. They attracted a lot of local interest, but as the fervor for the splendid little war receded, he transferred his interest from the militia to the organization of a debating club.1 Now as later, Bowmans life was led at the intersection of geography and politics; intellectual and political initiatives were always closely connected. No doubt inuenced by adventurous reports from the wars various outposts, Bowman also made his rst denite plan to follow geography as a career,2 his second decision, which ultimately freed him from the spartan, isolated, harsh, often oppressive rural upbringing of his early years and introduced him to a more worldly life of science and academia, politics and foreign policy. A child of the recently settled frontier, geography for Bowman represented freedom, and rewriting this equation of geography and freedom on a global scale became his lifes work.

brown city
Isaiah Bowman was born on 26 December 1878 in Berlin, Ontario.3 His paternal ancestors were Swiss Mennonites, his grandfather was a teacher turned preacher, and his great-grandmother inspired his biblical name. Both sets of Canadian grandparents were well-to-do, but their legacies were divided rather nely among large families. His father, Samuel Cressman Bowman, turned from teaching to farming in order to make a better living for his own growing family. In the depths of a particularly inclement winter but spurred by the needs of a spring sowing, the elder Bowman moved an eight-week-old Isaiah and his two sisters, aged two and four, by horsedrawn sleigh, along with all the family belongings, to a 140-acre farm and log cabin in Brown City, sixty miles north of Detroit.4 Isaiah spent the next seventeen years of his life on and around the farm, where the daily rhythm was determined by the seasonality of work. The family grew to eight children, and the living was rough. The downright necessity of innite and incessant toil was a condition of even mean living, he later recalled of his boyhood. There were cows to milk, and elds to tend, and by the age of ten he was fully capable of plowing the stony drift soil with a horse-drawn steel plow and helping to raise barns. The family had almost no money, and eggs, which usually went to town to pay for groceries, were a luxury eaten only once a yearat Easterwhen the family allowed themselves all they wanted. He collected fruit and berries in the surrounding woods and thickets, caught eels in the creek, built a raft with

64. Klingaman, APL, 813. The ve companies were Crosley Radio Corporation, Sylvania Electric Products, RCA, Eastman Kodak, and McQuay-Morris. 65. Winifred Mallon, Navy Discloses Radio Shell Fuze, New York Times, 21 September 1945; The Radio Shell, New York Times, 22 September 1945. 66. The Radio Shell, New York Times; Bowman to Brown, 28 March 1946. 67. Bowman to Robert W. Sawyer, 27 September 1945 and 8 December 1948, JHU. 68. Bowman to Carroll L. Wilson, 10 January 1935. 69. Interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984. 70. Wallace Atwood received his Ph.D. from the University of Chicago in 1903, where he stayed to teach for a further ten years. He was professor of physiography at Harvard from 1913 to 1920. He founded the journal Economic Geography in 1925 but is notorious for an episode involving the socialist Scott Nearing. Leaving a badly attended geography lecture one evening at Clark, Atwood dropped in on a lecture being presented by Nearing on the ills of capitalism. The hall was packed and enthusiastic, Nearing was in full ow, but Atwood, whether ill-tempered for reasons of politics or disciplinary pride, was having none of it. He summarily interrupted, insisted that the proceedings were over, and ordered a startled janitor to turn out the lights. The episode became a cause clbre for academic freedom of speech, and Atwood was widely roasted in, among other places, the Nation. 71. Bowman to Mark Jefferson, 6 September 1936, RGB. 72. Bowman to Robert Bowman, 9 November 1939, 23 July 1942, JHU. 73. Interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984; Bowman to Gladys Wrigley, 4 February 1943, JHU; Isaiah Bowman, A Department of Geography, Science 98 (24 December 1943): 56465. 74. Bowman, A Department of Geography, 564. 75. Bowman, Geography as an Urgent University Need, 1944, JHU, 2. 76. Bowman to Robert Bowman, 9 November 1939, JHU. 77. Lattimore later rationalized his move to Hopkins as resulting from the Japanese invasion of China: Theyd already taken Manchuria, now they were closing in on Peking. It was obvious that I wasnt going to have much of a chance to do eldwork. . . . So I wrote to Bowman and asked if he could recommend me for a teaching post at any university. I got a brisk note back from him: Im not going to recommend you anywhere; Im going to appoint you director of the Page School here at Hopkins (interview with Owen Lattimore, 12 January 1983, Cambridge). 78. Interview with Jean Gottmann, 23 March 1982, Baltimore; Jean Gottmann to Bowman, 22 December 1942, RGB; Bowman to Robert Bowman, 24 February 1943, RGB; the initial contact came with Gottmann to Bowman, 17 December 1941, JHU. Jean Gottmann, Megalopolis (New York: Twentieth Century Fund, 1961). 79. The way I was recruited was that Karl Pelzer had known me in Berkeley. He phoned up when they were going to set up this program [ASTP] and said: George, I understand that youre unhappy in Washington. Would you be


notes to pages 250255

1898 and the making of a practical man


46. Bowman to Robert G. Bowman, 1 July 1946, RGB. 47. Isaac Rehert, All the Presidents Man, Baltimore Sun, 29 December 1981. 48. John D. Rockefeller Jr. to Bowman, 1945, JHU. 49. Editorial, Baltimore Evening Sun, 25 April 1939; P. Stewart Macaulay to John W. Owens, 26 April 1939, JHU. 50. Bowman to Alan Ogilvie, 2 January 1942, JHU. 51. Johns Hopkins University, Annual Report, JHU, Ferdinand Hamburger Jr. Archives, 1943. 52. French, A History of the University . . . , 441. 53. French, A History of the University . . . , 45556. 54. Louis E. Keefer, Scholars in Foxholes: The Story of the Army Specialized Training Program in World War II (Jefferson, N.C.: MacFarland, 1988); Henry Stimson and McGeorge Bundy, On Active Service in Peace and War (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1947), 45761. 55. Keefer, Scholars in Foxholes, 3137. 56. These included Chicago-trained Derwent Whittlesey, who taught at Harvard, and Richard Hartshorne, also a Chicago Ph.D., then at Wisconsin. See Andrew Kirby, What Did You Do in the War, Daddy? in Geography and Empire, ed. Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994), 300314. 57. Colonel Herman Beukema to Gladys Wrigley, 4 February 1949, JHU; Bowman to J. Russell Smith, 22 March 1943, RGB. Little of the ASTP work had lasting value, but see Geographical Foundations of National Power (Washington, D.C.: Army Service Forces Manual, 1944), M-1031. (See also the companion navy volume, eventually published as a book: Harold and Margaret Sprout, eds., Foundations of National Power [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1945].) It did, however, help to spur the postwar U.S. Area Studies tradition that sought to overcome popular and strategic ignorance of the rest of the world. 58. Isaiah Bowman, The Future of Education and Military Defense, Educational Record 23 (1941): 42835. 59. Interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984; Defense Stressed at Johns Hopkins, New York Times, 4 June 1941. 60. On the marriage of science and the military, see Stimson and Bundy, On Active Service in Peace and War, 46465. 61. French, A History of the University . . . , 454; Barton J. Bernstein, The Birth of the U.S. Biological-Warfare Program, Scientic American, June 1987, 11621. 62. William K. Klingaman, APLFifty Years of Service to the Nation (Laurel, Md.: JHU Applied Physics Laboratory, 1993), 3. Waldemar Kaempffert, Radio Shell That Beat the Buzz Bomb Helped to Win the War in Asia as Well as Europe, New York Times, 23 September 1945. 63. By the late 1980s the overhead rate for Johns Hopkins had risen to almost 80 percent.

the earnest intention of exploring the distant Mississippi, and went on winter sledging trips. There was some interaction with neighboring farms, especially at Sunday church picnics, but this too varied with the seasons. On one occasion, a friend unearthed an Indian skeleton, and this provided them days and weeks of fantasy play. Evenings were often spent huddled in blankets by the stove, eating apples, and listening to the fathers sonorous stories of his own youth or reading Indian stories or the frontier exploits of Daniel Boone.5 Hard work and religion were formative impulses in Bowmans life, and both were sternly administered. Having come from a family that was strongly endowed with religious feeling and a sense of duty and responsibility, Samuel Bowman was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian, not the kind of person one got close to. His son responded with a mixture of resentment and distant respect. The merrier temperament of Isaiahs mother, Emily (Shantz) Bowman, provided some respite, and they shared a special empathy. He accumulated an ordinary farm boys intricate knowledge of the environment and its workings, and his mother encouraged an early passion for book learning. At the one-room country school a mile and a half from the farm, he revered the intellectual discipline, though the education was basic. When he suffered from nervousness and frequent nightmares at the age of seven, he was temporarily taken out of school on the doctors advice (he read too much). However, the availability of books from his older sisters and their excited after-school talk about the settlement of America and the Indian battles, massacres and ways of life only encouraged more reading. He hid books under the front doorsteps and would take them to read behind the lumber pile. He was thrilled by a biography of Alexander of Macedonia and by Stanleys In Darkest Africa; in Captain Cooks Voyages he read the dry abstractions of reported latitudes and longitudes as a boys dreamy world of unbounded travel and adventure.6 Gender roles were clearly allocated. Bowman always considered himself to be a Son of the Middle Border, to use the title of the Hamlin Garland book that impressed him in later life. Beyond the social and geographical triangle of farm, school, and Brown City, he barely traveled as a child or an adolescent, although his forced sabbatical from school allowed a single trip with his father back to the Ontario grandparents. His grandfathers heavy eyebrows, high forehead, and deep voicephysical traits the grandson would inherit in softer formmade a strong impression; his Bowman voice . . . shook the rafters. Even when he was pulled out of school to work on the family farm, with the onset of the 1893 economic crisis, and after embarking on his own teaching career in 1896, Bowman remained in neigh-


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notes to pages 246249


boring St. Clair County, only a few miles to the south, where he passed the teachers exam.7 Teaching gave him access to books, but otherwise the experience seared him with a harsh sense of discouragement, even failure, and crystallized in him a cautious conservatism that became a lifelong trait. Weighing 125 pounds, measuring ve feet three inches tall, and awkwardly adolescent at seventeen, he was hardly distinguishable from many of his students. He seems to have had unrealistic expectations and, in compensation for his slight stature, carried an inherited sternness into the classroom. He ran afoul of parents he antagonized. The job produced too great a sense of responsibility in one so young, he lamented bitterly to Eleanor Roosevelt half a century later.8 His early teaching was also discouraging in a second, more immediate sense. Even for the period the salary was low$19.50 per month rising in four years to $35. The family was caught in the precipitous recession of 189397, and he gave his father anything left over from his meager living expenses. After four years of teaching, when most boys are nishing college, he anguished, his country school training had not given him a systematic preparation in many subjects, and he had no savings to further his education.9 There were bright spots, however. He did have time to study, and a retired sea captain who owned a local grocery store took him under his wing, teaching him geometry and navigation several nights a week. Bowman had no way of knowing that this training would be instrumental years later when he was called on to evaluate Robert Pearys claim to have reached the North Pole. But it was his mothers encouragement that he remembered with uncharacteristic fondness, especially the occasion when she picked up a couple of stray metamorphic rocks on the farm and puzzled aloud how they were made and how they got there. Perhaps her son might get an education and explain such mysteries to her, she mused. Bowman never forgot his mothers prompting. Nor did he forget the glow of pride he felt when, having received an A for drawing his rst school map, his mothers approval came with the prediction that geography would be his favorite subject.10 Whether dutifully or independently, Bowman came to follow his mothers wish for his education, but she had to push him one more time to make a college career happen:
One day my mother came out into the yard where I was chopping wood and the look of concern on her face was so marked that I asked her what the trouble was. She answered me by saying, Son, I am worried about you. What are you going to make of your life? I replied that I did not know, because I was nearly twenty-two years old and

34. Interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984. 35. Interview with Goldman, 7 February 1983. Goldman was initially so hurt that such discrimination could occur in academia that he took a broadcasting job before going to Princeton. The irony was that, since his father was Jewish but his mother Protestant, by Jewish tradition he wasnt even Jewish! 36. Bowman to Robert G. Bowman, 24 February 1943, JHU; interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984; Bowman to Louis Aubert, 17 January 1921, JHU. Henry Bruman went on to endow the Humboldt Chair of Geography at UCLA in the late 1990s. 37. Interview with Shaffer, 28 March 1986. The anti-Jewish sentiment in the tony neighborhoods north of the Homewood campus also cost the university a second Nobelist: the economist Simon Kuznets left the university when the administration refused to front the purchase of a home for him, in order to bypass extant covenants on the property. 38. Geographer George Carter, who came to the university after the quota was implemented, remembers Bowmans rationalization this way: Bowman said to Baltimores Jewish leaders: Do you want this to become a Jewish University or do you want this to be a general university in which Jews are included? . . . If you want a balanced university, then were just going to have to put a quota system in. . . . They said, Mr. Bowman, we think that makes very good sense. We will not object. . . . He wasnt being anti-Semitic; he was trying to maintain the nature of Hopkins (interview with Carter, 15 June 1982). See also Jim Bready to author, 6 January 1989; Jim Bready, Bowman Revisited, Baltimore Evening Sun, 4 January 1989. 39. Bigot was the term used by students: President Bowman, JHU Newsletter. 40. Interview with Broadus Mitchell, 8 January 1982, New York City. 41. Bowman to Robert G. Bowman, 24 May 1939, RGB. 42. Interview with Mitchell, 8 January 1982. 43. Quoted in Head on a Platter, Time, 22 May 1939. 44. Head on a Platter. Geographer Richard Hartshorne, active in academic union politics, opposed this lack of due process, but he too refrained from challenging Bowman directly. Interview with Richard Hartshorne, 20 May 1989, Madison, Wisconsin. See Mark H. Ingraham, ed., The Academic Citizen: Selected Statements by Richard Hartshorne (Madison: Department of Geography, University of Wisconsin, 1970). About Roosevelts challenge to the Supreme Court, Bowman was so incensed that he did something he almost never did: he complained to several legislators, including U.S. senators Miller Tydings and George Radcliffe (Bowman to George Radcliffe, 21 July 1937, JHU; Bowman to Miller Tydings, 21 July 1937, JHU). 45. Head on a Platter; interview with Mitchell, 8 January 1982; Jim Bready to the author, 6 January 1989. Mitchell was a well-known historian of the U.S. South and went on to write several widely acclaimed books, among them the two-volume biography Alexander Hamilton (New York: Macmillan, 1962) and Depression Decade (New York: Rinehart, 1947).


notes to pages 240246

1898 and the making of a practical man


13. Compton to Bowman, 4 April 1936, RGB. Wallace is quoted in Kevles, The Physicists, 26164. Millikan may have been particularly callous and aloof regarding the social impact of the depression: Call unemployment leisure, he once remarked, and one can at once see the possibilities (quoted in Kargon and Hodes, Karl Compton, Isaiah Bowman, and the Politics of Science, 308). 14. Bowman, notes on reading Sherwoods Roosevelt and Hopkins, RGB; Bowman to Lillie, 21 October 1935; Bowman to E. B. Wilson, 6 November 1935, JHU. 15. Cochrane, The National Academy of Sciences, 369. 16. Kevles, The Physicists, 266. 17. Scholars without Money, Time, 23 March 1936, 39. 18. Scholars without Money, Time; President Bowman, New York Times, 23 February 1935; W. Elmer Ekblaw, Review of Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences, Economic Geography (1935): 108. As a sign of Bowmans prominence, even the sale of his New York house was noted in the press: Educator Sells Yonkers Home, New York Times, 4 August 1935. 19. Kevles, The Physicists, 44, 53. 20. Bowman, A Design for Scholarship, 910; Bowman to Donaldson Brown, 24 July 1946, JHU; Bowman, The Graduate School in American Democracy, 19. 21. Bowman to Donaldson Brown, 28 March 1946, JHU. 22. Bowman, The Graduate School in American Democracy, 15, 7, 3132. 23. Bowman, The Graduate School in American Democracy, 22. 24. Bowman to John C. French, 26 January 1946, JHU, Series I, Box 1.1; French, A History of the University Founded by Johns Hopkins (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1946), 461. 25. Bowman, Research in Private Institutions, address to the National Association of Manufacturers, New York City, 8 December 1938, JHU. 26. Ronald Ransom to Bowman, 10 February 1939, JHU. 27. Bowman to F. P. Rous, 5 April 1939, APS F. P. Rous Papers, Bowman le. 28. Interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984, Lincoln, Nebraska. On the FBI, see Bowman to J. Edgar Hoover, 1 October 1941, FBI case 10046382, obtained under Freedom of Information Act request #415989; President Bowman, JHU Newsletter, 5 March 1948; Russell Baker to author, 26 March 1984. 29. Interview with Abel Wolman, 21 December 1981, Baltimore; Bowman to Carlyle Barton, 1 April 1948, JHU. 30. Interview with G. Wilson Shaffer, 28 March 1986, Baltimore; Bowman to Archer M. Huntington, 1 April 1940, JHU; interview with George Carter, 15 June 1982, Long Green, Maryland; Daniel J. Kevles to author, 30 December 1982 (reporting on an interview with Franck). 31. Interview with Eric Goldman, 7 February 1983, Princeton; Bowman to Robert G. Bowman, 16 October 1939, RGB. Lovejoy, a philosopher, was another who was forced out. Beard at the time was drawing the nominal salary of one dollar a year. 32. Bowman to Charles S. Garland, 4 June 1948, JHU. 33. Neil Bartlett, personal communication, 29 March 1996, Tucson, Arizona.

without any means for continuing my education. She asked me what it was I wanted to do, and I told her I wanted to go to college but that such a plan was out of the question. Her comment was, If I were a young man of your age and had your strength and interest in intellectual work, I would go to college!11

from ypsilanti to harvard yard

As soon as the snows cleared after his twenty-rst birthday, Isaiah Bowman took himself off to the county seat, Port Huron, and became a U.S. citizen. In the autumn of 1900, having saved some money for expenses and with a loan of several hundred dollars from an inheritance his mother had received, Bowman registered at the Ferris Institute in Big Rapids. He had attended Ferris summer school the year before, but this time he returned for a full year of college preparatory training. He had seven dollars in his pocket when he arrived, sustaining himself in part by additional teaching. The institute had long wanted to teach military drill, but not until Bowman turned up, fresh from the Brown City militia, was a qualied instructor on hand. Although he was a good four years behind his contemporaries, he felt that at least his teaching experiences had taught him the habits of disciplined study, and for the rst time he felt free to devote himself to a frenzied pursuit of knowledge. He took eighteen courses that year, including Latin, German, political economy, rhetoric, geology, botany, algebra, geometry, physics, and chemistry, but he specialized more fully in history and geography. He graduated with a record average of 96 percent.12 Among his teachers was a young Harlan H. Barrows, whose introduction of human ecology to geography in the early 1920s would help build a stronger human geography in a U.S. tradition dominated by physical geography. Bowman was even more impressed with one of Barrowss own teachers, Charles T. MacFarlane, who presented a guest lecture at Ferris, motivating him to further his studies with MacFarlane at Michigan State Normal College, in Ypsilanti.13 The most enduring inuence at Ferris was the broad philosophical ambience of the institute. Transcendentalism was undergoing something of a turn-of-the-century revival, and Bowman, inuenced by his Ferris teachers, many of whom were keen dabblers, felt that it opened great windows upon vast possibilities of self-improvement. Traces of this early brush with transcendentalism survived into his old age.14 He arrived at Michigan State Normal in the autumn of 1901 and rented rooms with a friend and fellow student at 123 Summit Street for $1.75 a week.15 MacFarlane had left in the interim, so Bowman began work with


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notes to pages 233240


his successor, Mark Jefferson. Fifteen years Bowmans senior and born into a literary family in Massachusetts (his father had met Emerson), Jefferson had specialized in land colonization and settlement patterns, having spent six years doing eldwork and overseeing a sugar hacienda in Argentina. He had taken his rst degree at Boston University and his M.A. at Harvard with the best-known U.S. geographer of the day, William Morris Davis. The most widely educated of Bowmans teachers so far, Jefferson, like Barrows, became a major force in developing a human side of the discipline. Bowman worked closely with Jefferson, focusing on physical geography, but he also picked up a grounding in physiography, glacial geology, and mineralogy as well as eld, mapping, and teaching techniques. Toward the end of the year, Jefferson recommended that he work with Davis at Harvard if, the year after, Bowman would return as an instructor at Michigan State Normal.16 Bowman grabbed the chance. Barely even out of Michigan, he now embarked on the biggest journey of his life, going east at the age of twentythree. A geographic departure from home, it was equally an intellectual and social sojourn into a dramatically different world. The ambition of becoming a geographer was itself daring. In the college system as much as in the country school of his boyhood, geography was less an intellectual pursuit in most places than a preparatory amalgam of factual information and related studies in physical sciences and social studies. The academic division of labor was still poorly developed, and although medicine, law, history, some of the humanities, and the basic sciences of geology, physics, chemistry, and biology now entered many academic curricula, the same could not be said of the so-called human sciences. Political economy still encompassed the majority of what would become the narrower disciplines of political science, sociology, economics, and demography. Psychology was in its infancy, more a clinical European pursuit than an American university subject, and anthropology was yet fairly amorphous; Franz Boas, widely seen as the founder of anthropology in the United States, actually received his 1881 Ph.D. in geography. It was within this larger structuring of academic disciplines in the decades around the turn of the century that geography struggled for a discrete identity as the science of the earths surface. It moved aggressively to distinguish itself from astronomy on one side and geology on the other. Like most emerging disciplines in the United States, it owed its intellectual roots to various European traditions, imported to the States largely through the older East Coast colleges and universities. The physical and anthropogeographical traditions of Germanic geography were especially inuential. In 1848 the Swiss geographer Louis Agassiz, the rst to propose a universal ice age and

63. Interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984, Lincoln, Nebraska. For a homologous viewpoint on the frontier thesis and the New Deal, see the contemporaneous article by Curtis Nettels, Frederick Jackson Turner and the New Deal, Wisconsin Magazine of History 17 (March 1934): 25765. 64. Bowman to Hamilton Fish Armstrong, 7 May 1942, JHU. 65. Williams, The Frontier Thesis and American Foreign Policy. 66. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 51; Bowman, Pioneer Settlement, 9.

chapter 9
1. See the discussion in Bill Readings, The University in Ruins (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996), 5469. 2. Robert Millikan to Bowman, 16 January 1935, RGB. 3. See Rexmond Canning Cochrane, The National Academy of Sciences: The First Hundred Years, 18631963 (Washington, D.C.: National Academy of Sciences, 1978); Carroll W. Pursell Jr., ed., The Military Industrial Complex (New York: Harper and Row, 1972). 4. See Daniel Kevles, The Physicists (New York: Vintage, 1979), 10216; Helen Wright, Explorer of the Universe: A Biography of George Ellery Hale (New York: Dutton, 1966). The Hale description is by James McKeen Cattell, quoted in Robert Kargon, The Rise of Robert Millikan (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1982), 104. 5. Isaiah Bowman, The Future of University Research in Relation to Financial Support, Journal of the Proceedings and Addresses of the Association of American Universities (November 1937): 80; Isaiah Bowman, The Graduate School in American Democracy (Washington, D.C.: Ofce of Education, U.S. Department of the Interior, 1939), 32; Isaiah Bowman, A Design for Scholarship (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1936), 6. 6. Cf.: The world of men consists of two parts: rst, realities of custom, property, social relationships, partial adjustments . . . ; second, ideals toward which we strive. Ideals are ideas not yet realized (Isaiah Bowman, Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences [New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1934], 6). 7. Ronald C. Toby, The American Ideology of National Science, 19191930 (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1971), 191. 8. Bowman, The Graduate School in American Democracy, 12. 9. Bowman to Carroll L. Wilson, 10 January 1935, JHU. 10. Bowman to Frank Lillie, 21 October 1935, JHU. 11. Much of the Science Advisory Board story is covered in Carroll W. Pursell Jr., The Anatomy of a Failure: The Science Advisory Board, 19331935, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 109 (1965): 34251. It can also be reconstructed through the Bowman Papers at Johns Hopkins and the National Academys own les. See also Robert Kargon and Elizabeth Hodes, Karl Compton, Isaiah Bowman, and the Politics of Science in the Great Depression, ISIS 76 (1985): 30118. 12. Bowman to Karl Compton, 22 May 1933, JHU.


notes to pages 228233

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port on Present-Day Possibilities (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1937); Carl Sauer, The Prospect for Redistribution of Population, in Limits of Land Settlement, ed. Bowman, 8; E. G. R. T., Review of Limits of Land Settlement, Geographical Journal 91 (1938): 28688. 45. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 32. 46. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 3233; Isaiah Bowman, The Pioneer Fringe, Foreign Affairs 6 (1927): 50. 47. Bowman, Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences, xiii, 34. 48. This was an argument he rst developed while teaching at Yale: A city could be built at the South Pole or an articial rain-provoking mountain range constructed in the Sahara, but it wouldnt pay to do either of these things. Between what is physically possible and what is commercially possible there may be a wide gulf (Pioneer Fringe, 77). More enigmatically if less subtly: Mans culture may rise superior to his environment, but man has also had to rise superior to his culture (Pioneer Fringe, 62). 49. Bowman to J. M. Keith, 28 March 1927, JHU. The only signicant exception to Bowmans white-only vision of pioneers involved the Mongol nomads in Manchuria, whose accomplishments accrued despite their representation of a low-grade population. As late as 1945 he believed that white settlement in Australia is urgent if mass migration from Asia is not to make it an adjunct of India or China (Isaiah Bowman, Land Settlement and Resource Development, Nature [6 January 1945]: 9). 50. Frederick Jackson Turner to Bowman, 24 December 1931, AGS IB. 51. Frederick Jackson Turner to Walter Hines Page, 30 August 1896, quoted in Coleman, Science and Symbol in the Turner Frontier Hypothesis, 42. 52. Bowman, Planning in Pioneer Settlement, 99. 53. Williams, The Frontier Thesis and American Foreign Policy. 54. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 200. 55. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 27375. 56. George L. McDermott, Frontiers of Settlement in the Great Clay Belt, Ontario and Quebec, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 51 (1961): 261. 57. For press reports of his addresses, see: Modern Pioneering Told by Bowman, New York Times, 14 April 1931; Pioneer Spirit of Our Forefathers by No Means Dead, Portland Press Herald, 15 April 1931; Out Where Its Christmas till Easter, New York Times, 9 January 1932; Dr. Bowman Decries Aimless Use of Land, New Hampshire Register, 20 March 1932; Says Vast Land Area Still Awaits Pioneer, New York Times, 20 March 1932; New Field of Pioneering Cited at Yale, New York Herald Tribune, 20 March 1932. 58. Rudyard Kipling to Bowman, 23 December 1931, AGS IB. 59. Interview with Preston James, April 1982, San Antonio, Texas; Bowman, Planning in Pioneer Settlement. 60. Gladys M. Wrigley, Isaiah Bowman, Geographical Review 41 (1951): 30. 61. Bowman, Field Notebook: Far West, 1930, AGS IB, 2. 62. Bowman to J. Mackintosh Bell, 28 December 1931, AGS IB.

to argue for the importance of glaciers in sculpting the face of the earth, had come to Harvard. There he inuenced a large number of students, including Nathaniel Southgate Shaler, whose interests in what today would be called geomorphology and biogeography encouraged the development of Harvard geography toward the end of the century. At about the same time, Agassizs colleague Arnold Guyot, a student of the famous German geographer Carl Ritter and author of Earth and Man (1849), brought an almost mystical and teleological physical geography (including a human component) to the College of New Jersey, later Princeton University.17 Nineteenth-century U.S. geography was heavily physical in its roots but already distinguished itself from geology in its concern with human interactions in the physical environment. It was an intellectual import with the highest European pedigree, which, when called upon, could quite readily footnote classical scholarship to demonstrate its origins in and centrality to Greek thought, which was generally presumed to provide the basis of the Western intellectual tradition. In this, geography resembled most nineteenth-century sciences, exhibiting its own strain of what science historian Daniel Kevles has dubbed best science elitism or what George Santayana at the time called the genteel tradition in American philosophy.18 Because it was still less a subject than an inchoate set of intellectual veins contributing to and drawing from various studies, geography was widely infused throughout the sciences, from geology and physics, mathematics and astronomy, to statistical and economic research. But there was another, more practical and home-grown thread to U.S. geography: a grittier tradition paralleled the European pedigree of scientic elitism and philosophical gentility. Late-nineteenth-century American geography was also the tradition of John Wesley Powell, explorer and mapper of the arid West, one-armed veteran of the Battle of Shiloh, ambitious director of the U.S. Geological Survey in the 1880s, and a scrappy political ghter in Washington. Earlier there was the exploration geography of Lewis and Clark, inspired by the deeply geographical vision of Thomas Jefferson, and there was Matthew Fontaine Maury, who directed the U.S. Naval Observatory and whose Physical Geography of the Sea (1855) was widely lauded, not least by the aging Alexander von Humboldt, as a founding statement of oceanography. This practical tradition was primarily rooted in the land grant colleges in the countrys interior, such as Michigan State Normal, where questions of climate and agriculture, soils and resource use, settlement and vegetation were the pragmatic currency of a geography education etched in the ruts and furrows of the westward European arrogation of the continent.


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notes to pages 222226


This uneasy mix of intellectual elitism and spunky pragmatism was a hallmark of the larger intellectual scene in the United States at the end of the nineteenth century, and it formed the scholarly milieu that an expectant but somewhat timid Bowman walked into when he enrolled in the Lawrence Scientic School at Harvard in the fall of 1902. His Michigan life disposed him toward the practical tradition, while his voracity for knowledge and ideas and a driving ambition drew him to the genteel. Harvard was the acme of that elite tradition, a central conduit for the importation of European ideas, and his teachers, especially Shaler and Davis, were steeped in it. They saw themselves in the tradition of scientists devoted to unlocking the secrets of the earths history, imprinted in its surface forms and processes. Bowman blossomed instantly, taking energetically to the work. He was overjoyed when assigned to assist the great German geomorphologist Albrecht Penck, who came to lecture at Harvard. At Daviss behest, he had been reading Die Erde und das Leben, by Friedrich Ratzel, the old German geographer and father of anthropogeography, a eld that straddled the still murky boundaries of geography and anthropology. With all the fresh nivet of a young scholar whose learning almost keeps pace with his condence, the Harvard senior enthused to his Ypsilanti teacher that those old German boys make me realize that not all the geography is west of the Atlantic.19 Bowmans relations with German geographers would eventually become highly combative, but there is no doubt that they were a primary inuence on him in these formative years. Where Penck complemented the Davisian physical geography Bowman was imbibing, Ratzel gave him a way to think about humanized landscapes. Ratzels vision of national economy and population was largely agrarian, rooted in the assumption that an expanding national population inevitably implied colonization of the land and pursuit of agriculture. Bowman Americanized the vision, nding a means of connecting his visceral boyhood life with an American exceptionalism bound up in Frederick Jackson Turners lost frontier thesis. But Ratzel was also the author of Politische Geographie, which in 1898 effectively crystallized a new subeld in the discipline. A complementary strand of his argument, drawing on an analogy from plant ecology, held that all human groups and institutionsnations, states, peoples (Vlker)were intimately tied to the land they occupied and had to grow to survive. Or, as Ratzel put it, they needed Lebensraumliving space.20 Ratzels theories were highly inuential throughout the academy, and his concept of Lebensraum came to play a dubious but very public role several decades later. His geography was umbilically tied to the mission of nation-state building in imperial Germany after 1871. Bowman constantly

29. Park, Burgess, and MacKenzie, The City. Bowman was not alone in this shortcoming. There is no record that University of Chicago geographers, including human ecologist Harlan Barrows, had any signicant intellectual contact with Park and the other Chicago School sociologists. 30. Mercks best-known work, Manifest Destiny and Mission in American History (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1963), came much later but built upon earlier work on the Oregon problem and nineteenth-century U.S. expansionism. See, for example, Albert Gallatin and the Oregon Problem: A Study in Anglo-American Diplomacy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1950). See also Frederick Merck, Economic History of Wisconsin during the Civil War Decade (Madison: State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1916). For Mercks assessment of Bowmans Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences, see Minutes of the Fourth and Sixth Regular Meetings of the Subcommittee on Geography of the Committee on Educational Policy, Harvard University, 10 October and 18 November 1949, cited by permission of Arthur Maass. 31. Isaiah Bowman, The Land of Your Possession, Science 82 (27 September 1935): 28593. 32. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 4, 1, 29; Bowman to J. M. Keith, 28 March 1927, AGS IB. 33. William Coleman, Science and Symbol in the Turner Frontier Hypothesis, American History Review 72 (1966): 43. On the curiosity of Bowmans lack of citation of Turner, see J. L. M. Gulley, The Turnerian Frontier Thesis: A Study in the Migration of Ideas, Tijdschrift voor Economissche en Sociale Geograe 4/5 (1959): 89. 34. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 34, 47. 35. Williams, The Frontier Thesis and American Foreign Policy, 388. 36. Bowman to Frederick Jackson Turner, 13 March 1914, APS AAG, Box 4. 37. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 123, 1314; Isaiah Bowman, Jordan Country, Geographical Review 21 (1931): 2255. 38. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 1113, 80. From his eldwork, Bowman knew that as much as the motor car brought benets to pioneer belts, it also provided the means of escape from them, leading to rural depopulation (Pioneer Fringe, 2930, 142). The full impact of this possibility was not entirely recognized in the United States until several decades later, with John F. Kennedys road-building program in Appalachia. 39. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 46, 14041, 188; Isaiah Bowman, The Scientic Study of Settlement, Geographical Review 16 (1926): 650. 40. Isaiah Bowman, Modern Pioneering, Outlook 152, no. 14 (31 July 1929): 541. 41. Bowman, The Land of Your Possession, 28593; Isaiah Bowman, Our Expanding and Contracting Desert, Geographical Review 25 (1935): 4361. 42. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, vi, 141. 43. Bowman, Pioneer Fringe, 1. 44. P. R. C., Review of Limits of Land Settlement, Scottish Geographical Magazine 54 (1938): 374; Isaiah Bowman, ed., Limits of Land Settlement: A Re-


notes to pages 217222

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tainly well aware of Bowmans proprietary claims over the project: Frederick Merck to O. E. Baker, 4 February 1928, APS OEB, Merck 1. 15. Bowman to W. A. Mackintosh, 12 September 1929, AGS IB. 16. Bowman to Charles Colby, 30 November 1930, AGS IB. 17. Bowman to Baker, 18 May 1926, JHU. After the meeting, Bowman sent Malinowski a fawning letter. Recalling an incident from his 1911 canoe exploration of the Urubamba in Peru, he latched on to Malinowskis insistence that a structured logic pertained in primitive societies as much as in Western ones. For a couple of pages, he lamented the barriers to cross-cultural research, barriers that reside in the mind of the white investigator as much as in the mind of the native (Bowman to Malinowski, 20 August 1926, AGS IB). There is no record of a reply. 18. Baker to Bowman, 28 August 1926, APS OEB; R. E. Park to Bowman, 19 August 1926, AGS IB; Bowman to Baker, 29 September 1926, AGS IB. 19. E. Richard Brown, Rockefeller Medicine Men (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979). 20. See, for example, his plea to E. E. Day: Bowman to Day, 15 March 1930, AGS IB. 21. Bowman to Baker, 14 January 1927; Bowman to Merck, 2 March 1928; Bowman to Wellington Jones, 13 August 1931; Regarding the Discontinuance of the Committee on Pioneer Belts, NRC memo, 30 June 1928; all in AGS IB; Bowman to Preston James, 3 August 1928, JHU. 22. Quoted retrospectively in the SSRCs own newsletter: 50th Anniversary of the 1930 Hanover Conference, Items 34, no. 2 (June 1980): 3537. 23. Isaiah Bowman, Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1934), xv. 24. Bowman, Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences, 20, 145. 25. Bowman, Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences, 112, 2425. 26. See, for example, the tepid response by Derwent Whittlesey, editor of the Annals of the AAG: You have put together in a handy place information that every graduate student in geography should have at the outset of his study (Whittlesey to Bowman, 25 May 1934, AGS IB); Bowman to Albrecht Penck, 26 August 1931, AGS IB. 27. I do not agree . . . in placing rst emphasis upon geographical education (Bowman to Nevin Fenneman, 20 May 1920, JHU). Rose B. Clark, Geography in the Schools of Europe (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1934). On Atwoods unique role in encouraging women to take geography degrees at Clark, see Janice Monk, The Women Were Always Welcome at Clark, Economic Geography 74, extra issue (March 1998): 1430. 28. William MacDonald, The World as Geography, New York Times, 13 May 1934; J. Russell Smith, review in Social Studies 20 (1935): 6264. A unifying text for geographers would not come until the end of the decade, when Richard Hartshorne published The Nature of Geography, a droll, highly conservative invention of disciplinary tradition that was widely cited if not so widely read (Lancaster, Pa.: Association of American Geographers, 1939).

translated Ratzels view of geography into the U.S. context and was sufciently inuenced by this conservative German theorist that a Ratzel biographer many years later named Bowman as the only geographer who shared with Ratzel such a comprehensive grasp of political geography.21 But all this lay well in the future. In addition to the raried heights of European intellectual thought, the Lawrence Scientic School and the geography tradition at Harvard were equally a product of the more homegrown, applied scientic tradition. Now dean of Lawrence, Shaler had become a renowned patriarchal presence in Harvard Yard; his lectures were always crammed, his reputation mythical. Precisely because of their more practical bent, both the Lawrence School and geography were habitually viewed with suspicion by the stuffy elite of Harvards senior professoriate and administration. William Morris Davis was especially targeted for his sometimes lowly concerns: he had cut his teeth in western eldwork; took the lead in founding a professional association (the Association of American Geographers) in opposition to the increasingly popular focus of Alexander Graham Bells National Geographic Society; led the crusade for a discipline of geography independent of geology; and spent a lot of time promoting geographical teaching in secondary schools as well as in colleges and universities.22 The zoologist Alexander Aggasiz, son of the glacial geologist and arch-defender of the elite scientic tradition, was generally scandalized by Daviss commitment to such activities, and the last straw, which provoked a bitter complaint to the president of this all-male university, came when he stumbled into a room where Davis was instructing a class of women!23 This combination of practical and more theoretical concerns is evident in Bowmans coursework at Harvard; he took Research Physiography and Paleontology and Astronomy alongside Mechanical Drawing and Advanced Geology Fieldwork.24 Arriving with Jeffersons recommendation, Bowman was made to feel very much at home by Davis, but it was an alienating and frigid environment otherwise. Anything but a Harvard gentleman, he experienced class difference as viscerally real for the rst time. Intellectually sparked, he was socially overawed, acutely conscious of being a complete outsider. Harvards stuffy upper-class presumptions were as alien as they were oppressive, not a community where a poor boy could participate in the social trappings of an elite education. Outside his work he never loosened up. He fueled furnaces, shoveled snow, and cut grass to get by and participated hardly at all in student life: shyness and poverty prevented him from even joining the Union; he never attended class meetings; and he refused social invitations because he lacked anything formal to wear except for the


1898 and the making of a practical man

notes to pages 213217


one worn suit he used daily. Virtually a teetotaler for much of his life (in later years he admitted to having an occasional thumbful of sherry),25 he was clean living to a fault, a stranger to the frivolity of the party and tavern scene of undergraduate life, and rued the lack of college fun in later years. Franklin Roosevelt, with whom he later worked closely, was in the class ahead of him; the much exalted class including T. S. Eliot, John Reed, and Walter Lippmann, a little behind him. Often dour, periodically lonely, and subject to deep and dark moods, Bowman found he was as alienated from the socialist politics of John Reed and the social liberalism of Lippmann or Roosevelt as he was from the class privilege they all seemed to share and which weighed so heavily on him.26 The disjuncture between Harvard Yard and Brown City was surely made even more real when he returned to a familiar Michigan in 1903, as agreed, to teach for Jefferson. He saw his family during this year, of course, but gives little sense of having gone home or of seeing his future in Michigan. While making notes for an autobiography four decades later, he toyed with the title Free and Twenty One, indicating the depth with which geographical and intellectual freedom were intertwined; going east was a lifealtering escape. He never again spent much time in Brown City or indeed with his family. Whether no letters existed or he expunged them, his voluminous correspondence reveals none to or from his parents. He was never tempted to do anything else but return to Harvard, which, for all its social frigidity, was an intellectual cornucopia. Not even a lucrative job offer from the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS), with whom he had worked on a Long Island groundwater study in the summer of 1903, could lure him. After leading Jeffersons summer eld courses around Lake Huron, he returned to Cambridge on a $150 scholarship for normal school students, less than a third of his Ypsilanti income.27 Bowman came alive in the Lawrence Scientic School and in his long absorbed hours in the library. He soaked up the intense atmosphere of the relatively informal Harvard Geological Club, which met most Friday evenings at the home of a faculty member and where the idea for the Association of American Geographers, founded in 1904, was rst oated by Davis. The few friendships he developed all involved students in geology or geography: J. Walter Goldthwaite, Ellsworth Huntington, Henri Baulig. Only when animated did his million-dollar smile break out.28 He wrote Jefferson constantly during his Harvard years, treating him very much as an intellectual father, but it was Daviss inuence that would be decisive. Never before, in so short a time, he reported at the beginning of his rst Harvard year, have

See also William Appleman Williams, The Frontier Thesis and American Foreign Policy, Pacic Historical Review 24 (1955): 37995. 2. Bowman to Edward A. Filene, 8 May 1930, AGS IB; Bowman, Pioneer Settlement, memo, undated, 23 pp., RGB, 1. 3. Isaiah Bowman, The Pioneering Process, Science 75 (20 May 1932): 524. 4. Bowman, Pioneer Settlement. See also Derwent Whittlesey, Sequent Occupance, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 19 (1929): 16265. 5. Isaiah Bowman, Applied Geography, Scientic Monthly 38 (1934): 176. 6. See, for example, my Uneven Development: Nature, Capital and the Production of Space (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1984). 7. Isaiah Bowman, Planning in Pioneer Settlement, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 22 (1932): 93. 8. Harlan H. Barrows, Geography as Human Ecology, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 13 (1923): 114. On the emergence of a city geography, see Mark Jefferson: How American Cities Grow, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 47 (1915): 1937; and The Law of the Primate City, Geographical Review 29 (1939): 22632. For the Chicago School, the paradigmatic study came from Robert E. Park, E. W. Burgess, and R. MacKenzie: The City (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1925). 9. Carl Sauer, The Morphology of Landscape, University of California Publications in Geography 2, no. 2 (1925): 1954. Sauer paid a heavy career price for his attempts to integrate theory and history into 1920s and 1930s geography, becoming the target of a bitter antiintellectual attack led by Wisconsin geographer Richard Hartshorne: The Nature of Geography (Lancaster, Pa.: Association of American Geographers, 1939). 10. Bowman, Mr. Minister, Ladies and Gentlemen, address to the International Geographical Congress, Paris, 1931, RGB, 3. 11. Isaiah Bowman, The Scientic Study of Settlement, Geographical Review 16 (1926): 647; Isaiah Bowman, The Pioneer Fringe, American Geographical Society Special Publication, No. 13 (New York: AGS, 1931), 111. See also Bowman to Arthur M. Schlesinger, 15 February 1932, JHU; Bowman to Henry Wallace, 6 May 1940, JHU. 12. David White to Bowman, 23 April and 4 May 1925; Bowman to Wellington Jones, 13 March 1931; Bowman to W. H. Twenhofel, 15 July 1931; all in AGS IB. The initial committee comprised all geographers: Bowman, O. E. Baker (U.S. Department of Agriculture), Charles Colby (University of Chicago), Nevin Fenneman (University of Cincinnati), Lawrence Martin (Library of Congress), and W. L. G. Joerg (AGS). 13. Bowman, Appendix M: Memorandum on Pioneer Belts, 25 April 1925, JHU. 14. Bowman to O. E. Baker, 23 August 1926, AGS IB; Bowman to Frederick Merck, 1 January and 21 February 1927, AGS IB. The initial SSRC committee, established in 1926, was chaired by the Harvard historian Merck and included R. E. Park (Chicago sociologist) as well as Bowman and Baker. Merck was cer-


notes to pages 195212

1898 and the making of a practical man


on the U.S. side, whereas Shepardsons account, written forty years later and after Bowmans death, conspicuously omits Bowman. 29. The 1901 Platt Amendment, which Cuban leaders were bullied into signing, justied U.S. occupation of the island and provided for the establishment of the Guantnamo Bay naval base. 30. Bowman to R. H. Lord, 22 April 1920, AGS IB; Schulzinger, The Wise Men of Foreign Affairs, 56; Silk and Silk, American Establishment, 187; Bowman to Ben Cherrington, 23 September 1939, JHU. 31. Bowman to Stephen P. Duggan, 5 November 1921, AGS; Bowman to Keltie, 14 December 1920, AGS; Bowman to de Martonne, 27 January 1923, AGS IB. 32. Schulzinger, The Wise Men of Foreign Affairs, 11; Archibald Coolidge to Edwin Gay, 17 March 1922, AGS IB. 33. Bowman to C. F. Hughes, 6 May 1921, AGS IB. 34. Memo to members, 21 December 1922, CFR RG, vol. 1; Soviet Russia: Government, Economic Conditions and International Relations, Report to the Council on Foreign Relations on the Meetings of Study Group B, 23 March 1923, CFR RG, vol. 1; I. Trone, memo on report of study group B, CFR RG, vol. 1; Bowman, The New World, 294. 35. Malcolm Davis to Fred Fairchild, 17 March 1927, CFR RG, vol. 2. 36. Schulzinger, The Wise Men of Foreign Affairs, 14; CFR, Record of Fifteen Years, 19211936 (New York: CFR, 1937), 14; CFR, Report of the Provisional Committee Appointed to Prepare a Constitution, and Select the Original Members of the British Branch of the Institute of International Affairs, 17 June 1919, Paris. 37. Bowman, The New World, 4th ed., 45460, 1819, 71316, 738. 38. Fourth meeting, mineral group, 12 May 1932, CFR RG, vol. 4. 39. Isaiah Bowman, International Relations (Chicago: American Library Association, 1930), 910, 29, 33. 40. Bowman, International Relations, 2021. 41. Bowman to Shotwell, 16 May 1933, JHU; Bowman to Gay, 5 October 1932, AGS IB. 42. Silk and Silk, The American Establishment, 191. 43. Russell C. Lefngwell to Armstrong, 19 January 1923; Armstrong to Lefngwell, 18 January 1923; Paul Warburg to Armstrong, 19 January 1923; all in CFR Records of Meetings, vol. 1. 44. Bowman to Armstrong, 20 January 1923, in CFR Records of Meetings, vol. 1. No copy of the Bowman letter appears in Bowmans les, either at the AGS or at Johns Hopkins, suggesting that Bowman may have had second thoughts about such an intemperate outburst.

I grown so much or in so many directions. . . . I nd the work exactly suited to my needs. It is encouragingly difcult.29

evolutionary theory and practical idealism

One Harvard course in particular was crucial for Bowmans future work. As an undergraduate he joined Daviss graduate seminar, which he found the most critical and stimulating exercise he had ever had next to Geometry. He was dispatched to investigate a range of physical geographical problems, from glacial lakes to the effect of the earths rotation on the deection of river courses. His rst published paper, in Science, grew out of this work. Deection of the Mississippi compared maps of the river course, made thirteen years apart, and sought empirical evidence of the widely accepted theoretical argument that the earths rotation leads to asymmetrical bank erosion.30 The results were inconclusive, and the paper a minor contribution at best, but it already displayed the Davisian impulse to connect theory and measurable empirical change in the landscape. It was also untypical in the sense that it was not based on eldwork, although it did conclude with a record of Bowmans Michigan research with Jefferson and his summer on Long Island. Over the next few years he published several other eldwork reports on river dynamics and preglacial coastal deposits, also emanating from the broad survey of physical processes Davis demanded, and they demonstrate a methodical respect for physical processes, if no special intellectual verve. The direction of Bowmans own research interests in physical geography was not yet clear. He was learning more than method from Davis, and the focus on rivers was not accidental. Davis is best known for the theoretical innovation marked by his 1899 geographical cycle, which became the central theoretical edice of physical geographic theory for the next half century. He posited water as the central geomorphological agent. On the basis of earlier research by Powell and his own eldwork in Montana and the Appalachians, Davis argued that all landforms could be understood as the function of three variables: structure, process, and time. Structural uplift and the processes of uvial erosion and deposition combine over time to produce an ideal geographical cycle: as a result of uplift, river gradient is steep and erosion is intense, but across geological time, erosion reduces the gradient until eventually deposition becomes the pivotal process of geographical change. Rivers and landforms evolve through a sequence of stagesyouth, maturity, and old ageand rugged mountain ranges are ground down to

chapter 8
1. Frederick Jackson Turner, The Signicance of the Frontier in American History, in The Frontier in American History (New York: Henry Holt, 1920).


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notes to pages 184194


level peneplains, awaiting renewed uplift and the recommencement of the whole cycle. Historical and geographical change are closely correlated, as Mackinder might have put it. Davis recognized variations in this ideal cycle: wind and glaciers were also powerful geomorphological agents, and structural irregularities and climatic change might interrupt or otherwise affect the cycle.31 In his assistantship connected to Daviss course Physiography of the United States, Bowman explored this theoretical material in the context of a regional survey. Davis was a grandson of the abolitionist Lucretia Mott and inherited his Quakerism from her. But he is more widely remembered as the progenitor of a scientic geography in the United States as well as the teacher of an unprecedented group of early-twentieth-century geographers. His insistence on the need for theory and a simultaneous dependence on empirically observable facts was central to the broad ambition for a scientic geography. What distinguishes Davis, in retrospect, is more the combination of these empirical and theoretical strictures with a secularization of physical geography. The tradition he inherited drew directly from eighteenthcentury natural theology, carried forward by Ritter in Germany and Guyot at Princeton, among others, in which natural and cultural changes are mediated by religious teleology. Nature, culture, and god represented mutual expressions of each other. Ratzel among others had attempted to displace the religious teleology in physical geography, but his organic vision retained a teleological spiritualism of its own. Davis deftly substituted the Darwinian theory of evolution for the teleological interpretation of German natural philosophy,32 opening the way for a twentieth-century scientic geomorphology. The sureties of Darwinian evolutionary theory brought their own whiff of teleology, but this was deemed compatible with, rather than antagonistic to, science. Physiography increasingly became Daviss notion of physical geography. This was a late-nineteenth-century notion, dressing physical geography in scientic garb at a time when physical geography still carried connotations of theistic agency. When Bowman arrived at Harvard, Daviss enthusiasm for physiography was at its peak. He emphasized process over form, the specic geographical processes producing landforms and landscapes, thereby also decentering the descriptive, mathematical abstractions of astronomy that had undergirded the elite tradition of East Coast geography to that point. With Daviss inuence, geomorphology became more the study of the origins of landforms than of landforms themselves, and physiography came to represent an Americanization of physical geography, the early efforts of Thomas Huxley notwithstanding.33

1908); Paul S. Reinsch, World Politics at the End of the Nineteenth Century (New York: Macmillan, 1916). 9. Bowman to Jean Brunhes, 21 September 1925, AGS IB; Bowman, The New World, v. 10. Bowman to Brunhes, 21 September 1925; Bowman to Nicholas Roosevelt, 2 February 1924, AGS IB. 11. Bowman to James Shotwell, 28 January 1922, JHU. 12. Isaiah Bowman, Geography vs. Geopolitics, Geographical Review 32 (1942): 653. 13. Bowman, Memorandum, 26 February 1944, JHU. 14. Bowman, The New World, vvi. 15. Bowman, The New World, 28, 130. 16. Bowman, The New World, 548, 569. 17. Bowman, The New World, 56164; Bowman, The New World, 4th ed., 13. 18. Bowman, The New World, 564. 19. Bowman, The New World, 564. 20. Bowman, The New World, 28, 203, 2, 541; Bowman, The New World, 4th ed., 3. 21. Bowman, The New World, 38789, 7, 292. 22. Bowman, The New World, 11, 525. See also Robert Argenbright, Bowmans New World: World Power and Political Geography, M.A. thesis, University of California, Berkeley, July 1984. 23. Arthur Link, Wilson the Diplomatist (New York: Franklin Watts, 1974), 142. See also Emily S. Rosenberg, Spreading the American Dream: American Economic and Cultural Expansion, 18901945 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1982); Ronald Steel, Pax Americana (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1977); and Robert Dallek, The American Style of Foreign Policy (New York: New American Library, 1983). 24. Bowman, The New World, 562. 25. Leonard Silk and Mark Silk, The American Establishment (New York: Basic Books, 1980), 196, 198; Robert D. Schulzinger, The Wise Men of Foreign Affairs (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984), 7, 18; Newsweek, 6 September 1971, 74; Zygmunt Nagorski, A Member of the CFR Talks Back, National Review, 9 December 1977; Theodore White, The Making of the President (New York: Atheneum, 1965), 87. 26. John G. Milburn to John W. Davis, 3 January 1923, YU, John W. Davis Papers, Box 6. 27. Council on Foreign Relations: By-Laws with List of Ofcers and Members (New York: CFR, 1922), 1; Handbook of the Council on Foreign Relations (New York: CFR, 1920), 4. 28. Whitney H. Shepardson, Early History of the Council on Foreign Relations (Stamford, Conn.: Overbrook Press, 1960), 9; Schulzinger, The Wise Men of Foreign Affairs, 34; Council on Foreign Relations, A Record of Twenty-Five Years 19211946 (New York: CFR, 1947), 6. In his account of the origins of the council, Schulzinger makes Bowman and Shepardson the two earliest movers


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86. House diary, 13 April 1919. 87. Bowman to Ellen Semple, 18 September 1920, AGS IB; Beer diary, 25 March, 1919; Bowman to Professor Chisholm, 4 April 1919, AGS IB; Bowman to Harding, 21 January 1921, AGS IB. 88. Moon, More Light on the Peace Conference, 503; Bowman to W. L. Westermann, 4 June 1920, JHU. 89. On French geographers involvement in this carve-up, see the excellent essay by Michael Heffernan, The Spoils of War: The Socit de Gographie de Paris and the French Empire, 19141919, in Morag Bell, Robin Butlin, and Michael Heffernan, Geography and Imperialism (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), 22164. 90. Jefferson diary, 7 March 1919, EMU. 91. Bowman, The New World, 4th ed., 32; George Chisholm, Geography at the Congress of Paris, 1919, Geographical Journal 55 (1920): 310. See also Klaus Schwabe, Woodrow Wilson, Revolutionary Germany and Peacemaking (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1985). 92. Isaiah Bowman, Life, 22 October 1945, 123. 93. Quoted in David Steigerwald, The Reclamation of Woodrow Wilson? Diplomatic History 23 (1999): 84. 94. Bowman to Ellen Semple, 18 September 1920, AGS IB. 95. Bowman et al. to Wilson, 17 April 1919.

chapter 7
1. Isaiah Bowman, Two Works on Political Geography, Geographical Review 14 (1924): 666. 2. Robert H. Wiebe, In Search of Order (New York: Hill and Wang, 1967), 225, 243. See also E. H. Carr, The Twenty Years Crisis, 19191939: An Introduction to the Study of International Relations (New York: Harper, 1945). 3. Thomas L. Karnes, Hiram Bingham and His Obsolete Shibboleth, Diplomatic History 3 (1979): 3957. 4. See, for example, Harlan H. Barrows, Geography as Human Ecology, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 13 (1923): 114; and Carl Sauer, The Morphology of Landscape, University of California Publications in Geography 2 (1925): 1953. 5. Bowman to James Truslow Adams, 2 August 1924, JHU. 6. Isaiah Bowman, The New World, 1st ed. (Yonkers-on-Hudson: World Book Company, 1921), v. 7. Bowman, The New World, 91; Isaiah Bowman, The New World: Problems in Political Geography, 4th ed. (Yonkers-on-Hudson: World Book Company, 1928), 714. (Unless otherwise stated, all further references to The New World are to the 1st edition.) 8. Brooks Adams, The New Empire (New York: Macmillan, 1902); Archibald Cary Coolidge, The United States as World Power (New York: Macmillan,

So completely did Bowman learn Daviss thinking in this period that some of his writings of the time read almost as though Davis himself were the author.34 Thus it is hardly surprising that he also imbibed from Davis a pervasive if largely implicit evolutionism. Indeed, the philosophy of science he learned with Davis might reasonably be thought of as an evolutionary idealisma belief in the hard-won, progressive development of ideas veriable through a strict positivism. Bowman believed that evolutionary theory itself had evolved to maturity. There was a continuum from Greek and Roman thought to the present, he came to argue, but only as late as our time could the principle of evolution be so variously documented that the idea became accessible and interesting to all men, not the vision of a few. Science too is ancient and has likewise evolved to the point where today we can recognize it as science, and in that sense it provides universal access to nature. Science involves empirical observation, limited analysis and generalization, confrontation of theory (idea) with fact, as well as revision or modication (with much myth and nonsense built in too). The methods of science may not always have been clear or systematic, cause and effect might be wrongly ascribed, but science provides privileged access to truth and yields a progressive increase in knowledge.35 Half a century earlier, this combination of ideas might well have been prohibitively incompatible with prevailing religious beliefs. But the mature Bowman was a secular Christian, a believer in god in the abstract. Any antagonism between religion and science (including evolutionary theory) seemed increasingly arcane, and quite unlike Shalers science, for example, Bowmans was thoroughly abstracted from his religious inclinations. Whereas Shalers evolution became a kind of teleological tool for reconciling nature, humanity, and God,36 Bowman inherited the evolutionism without any need of displacing an already displaced god. Shalers inuence on Bowman was nonetheless crucial, although often underestimated compared with Daviss. He attended lectures by Shaler as well as Davis, and when he received the rst offer of a U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) summer job in 1903, it was Shaler who advised him: I can save you words, Bowman, I can save you words. You gogo to that larger school of earth sciencethe Survey, and good luck to you.37 Shaler had been Daviss teacher ever since the latter arrived at Harvard in 1876, and he had personally gone through the evolution wars. Bowmans evolutionism was largely assumed and rarely doctrinaire, more a binding glue for his political and physical geography than a driving passion. It was much weaker than that of his intellectual ancestors, and its provenance, now ltered through at least two generations of post-Darwinian geographers, was vaguer. A stu-


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dent of Louis Aggasiz, who strongly opposed Darwin in the 1860s, Shaler had become increasingly convinced that his own teacher was wrong and that Darwinian evolution made a lot of sense. At the beginning of the new century Bowmans was a more emulsied evolutionism.38 Bowman was proud to have attended lectures by some of the star Harvard professors of the day, including pragmatists Henry James and Jossiah Royce, and in English, George Kittredge and Charles Copeland, and Shalers broader intellectual interests complemented these inuences. Bowman became involved in many of the same social and political aspects of geography that preoccupied Shalers later years. A geologist by profession, but a geographer by inclination, Shaler was a crucial bridge between the physical and human aspects of late-nineteenth-century geography. He became outspoken and quite xenophobic on questions of immigration, race, and resources.39 Davis was far from unaware of the social aspects of geography, having early on admonished an as yet uncomprehending Mark Jefferson to go and nd out what a City is. . . . No one seems to know.40 But in suffusing his human geography with an evolutionary ethos, Bowman was following Shaler as much as Davis. From his Ferris Institute days, Bowman was primed to absorb another inuence of Shalers. A poet as well as a geologist, Shaler lived on the margins of both pragmatism and late-century New England transcendentalism. With various of his Harvard colleagues, he shared the pragmatists conviction that observation and hypothesis formulation combined with experimentation and individualism taught a body of knowledge appropriate for addressing real-life problems. The multiple strands of American pragmatism evolved in close dialogue with evolutionary theory and less obviously if more contentiously with transcendentalism.41 The scientist Shaler was equally red by the metaphysics of the latter. Transcendentalism was inspired largely by nineteenth-century German literature and philosophy, most notably Kant and Goethe. Kants transcendental idealism in particular revolved around forms of knowledge derived not from empirical experience but from a priori conception.42 In the United States, and especially in early-nineteenth-century New England, transcendentalism took many forms, from the nature romanticism of Emerson to the systematic subjectivism of George Santayana (at Harvard during Bowmans undergraduate years) and the broad-based spiritual challenge aimed at established Protestantism. Transcendentalists shared the belief that the emerging materialism associated with American capitalism was insufcient to lead a rounded life and that a higher spiritual reality pervaded nature and human knowledge.43

70. Bowman, Memorandum on Remarks by the President . . . , 1. 71. Isaiah Bowman, International Relations (Chicago: American Library Association, 1930). Wilson accepted Bowmans invitation to become a fellow of the AGS in October 1921 (Bowman to Wilson, no date, LOC; Wilson to Bowman, 5 October 1921; LOC). Interview with Robert G. Bowman, 2 June 1984, Lincoln, Nebraska. 72. Bowman to Louis Aubert, 11 November 1920; Bowman to Madison Grant, 9 June 1919; Bowman to Robert Lord, 5 June 1920; Bowman to de Martonne, 17 November 1919; all in AGS IB. 73. Bowman to A. Demangeon, 5 January 1922, JHU; Bowman to G. P. Auld, 29 October 1935, JHU; Bowman to Harding, 21 January 1921, JHU. 74. Bowman to Eduard Brckner, 25 February 1920, AGS IB. 75. Frank Polk to Bowman, 8 November 1920, JHU. 76. Bowman to Harding, 21 January 1921, AGS IB. Bowman also came to feel that the minority treaties were invented by the more powerfully organized minority groups acting through representatives in Allied government. Some years later he would be more explicit: Powerful Jewish representatives from the U.S. made support of the minority provisions (in which they had the chief hand) a political must. Bowman to Norris S. Lazaron, 31 August 1946, JHU. See also William Yale, Ambassador Henry Morgenthaus Special Mission of 1917, World Politics 1 (1949): 30820. 77. Bowman, The Eight Points: Promise and Fulllment, four-page memo, 31 October 1941, RGB. Herbert Croly, editor of the New Republic and close associate of Lippmann, saw Wilson as a return to the past: see Kolko, The Triumph of Conservatism, 216. 78. Bowman to Shotwell, 13 December 1937, JHU; Bowman to Lansing, telegram, 29 October 1919, NA RG59, Subgroup M, Box 367. 79. Georges Clemenceau, Grandeur and Misery of Victory (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1930), 167. Bowman to Ray Stannard Baker, 19 May 1921, JHU; Bowman to Seymour, 6 January 1920, JHU. 80. Bowman to Sumner Welles, 25 September 1946, JHU; Bowman to Upton Sinclair, 2 October 1939, JHU; Upton Sinclair to Bowman, 27 September 1939, JHU. 81. Robert Coughlan, Isaiah Bowman, Life, 22 October 1945, 123. See also, for example, Reveals Wilson Troubles in Paris, New York Times, 24 December 1919. 82. Bowman, Memorandum on Remarks by the President . . . ; Bowman, President Wilsons viewpoint in approaching the work of the Peace Conference of Paris, three-page memo, JHU. 83. Bowman diary, 13 April 1919; House diary, 13 April 1919. 84. Bowman to House, 18 April 1919; House to Bowman, 18 April 1919; both in YU, House Papers, Box 70. 85. Bowman diary, 1 May 1919; Beer diary, 9 May 1919 (also Bowmans annotation of copy of Beer diary, JHU); Bowman, Account of Interview with Bliss, 27 August 1939; Bowman to John E. Lane, 28 May 1919, JHU.


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51. For a somewhat speculative version of the break, see Inga Floto, Colonel House in Paris (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980). 52. Bowman, Account of Interview with Bliss. 53. Robert Lansing diary, 21 April 1919, excerpt in Bowman collection, JHU. Baker, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, 2: 15580. Arthur S. Link, Wilson the Diplomatist (New York: New Viewpoints, 1974), 115. Orlandos threat of revolution is cited in Lloyd George, Memoirs of the Peace Conference, 539. 54. Bowman, Account of Interview with Bliss, 4; Birdsall to Bowman, 18 August 1940, JHU; A Memorandum by Robert Lansing, 21 August 1919, in Papers of Woodrow Wilson, 62: 45455; Clive Day, Condential Memoranda, 28 May 1919, YU, Inquiry Papers, Series 1, Box 1, folder 16. 55. New York Times, 22 May 1919. See the account by Robert Lansing, The Peace Negotiations: A Personal Narrative (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1921), 27172; and Upton Sinclair to Bowman, 6 December 1939, JHU. 56. Ronald Steel, Walter Lippmann and the American Century (Boston: Atlantic Monthly Press, 1980), 157. 57. Shotwell, At the Paris Peace Conference, 322. 58. Bowman to Ray Stannard Baker, 9 May 1921, JHU; Bowman to Shotwell, 5 December 1919, JHU; Bowman to W. H. Buckler, 5 November 1919, JHU. 59. Bowman to Baker, 19 May 1921, JHU; see also Bowman to Birdsall, 21 October 1940, JHU; Bowman diary, 9 May 1919. 60. Woodrow Wilson to Bowman, 6 September 1919, JHU; Bowman to James Ford, 8 September 1919, AGS IB. 61. Bowman to Seymour, 6 January 1920, JHU. 62. Bowman, Constantinople and the Balkans. 63. Bowman to Seymour, 10 January 1920, JHU. 64. Bowman to Seymour, 6 and 30 January 1920, JHU. 65. Bowman to Seymour, 6 and 30 January 1920; Bowman to Johnson, 5 October 1921, JHU; Bowman to Seymour, 25 February 1920, AGS IB. 66. Lederer, Yugoslavia at the Paris Peace Conference, 276308. 67. Bowman to Seymour, 6 January 1920, JHU; and 16 November 1920, AGS IB. See also Charles Seymour, The Struggle for the Adriatic, Yale Review 9 (1920): 46281. 68. Bowman, The New World, 1st ed., 25355. For the postWorld War II history, see A. E. Moodie, Some New Boundary Problems in the Julian March, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 16 (1950): 8193; and Richard S. Dinardo, Glimpse of an Old World Order? Reconsidering the Trieste Crisis of 1945, Diplomatic History 21 (1997): 36581. For the recent destruction of Yugoslavia, see Warren Zimmermann, Origins of a Catastrophe: Yugoslavia and Its Destroyers (New York: Times Books, 1996). 69. Thomas A. Bailey argued that delays over Fiume/Rijeka encouraged the Germans to delay signature of the Treaty of Versailles, emboldened the Japanese to press for Shantung, and facilitated US. and French support for the British-inspired Greek landing in Smyrna, Turkey (Bailey, Woodrow Wilson and the Lost Peace, 26366).

Although pragmatism and transcendentalism may sound mutually contradictory to a later sensibility, Shaler, the scientist of earth history, saw no conict. To nd a spiritualism in the earth itself was not at all inconsistent with science; it was the whole point: materialism and spirituality could indeed be held together as if to offset each other. The intellectual dance between them marked demonstrative progress beyond the empirical-transcendental dialectic that had preoccupied Kant.44 From all this Bowman imbibed a more casual, modern, and airy philosophical constellation that was habitually translated into a more-activist contrast of realism and idealism:
The world of men consists of two parts: rst, realities of custom, property, social relationships, partial adjustments to the resources and layouts of the regions in which we live, and a knowledge of these and many other things; second, ideals toward which we strive. Ideals are ideas not yet realized. They may denote the practical, material, and unsentimental things of life as well as the visions that yield spiritual nourishment.45

The more contemplative spiritualism of Shaler is here transformed and updated into something much more practical. The spiritual is galvanized toward practical ends, placing Bowman rmly in the center of a reinvented American liberalism with direct roots in the eighteenth century. Idealism is useful; pragmatism is laced with transcendentalism. Nowhere was the pragmatist tradition stronger than at Harvard, where Charles Peirce, arguably the most inuential of nineteenth-century pragmatists, once bemoaned the horrid contradictions that inhabited him: Realist, Materialist, Transcendentalist, Idealist.46 Like Shaler, Bowman read poetry throughout his life and wrote it too, although none seems to have survived. He was keenly appreciative of the Emersonian style he detected in his earliest mentor, Jefferson; and he was sufciently taken by the syrupy populism of his contemporary Joyce Kilmer that in later years he kept a copy of the nature-idolatrous Trees in a place of honor in his desk. Transcendentalism indeed. A harder-headed Bowman also insisted that the ideas of science, like those of democracy, were based on experimentation. Of all the patriotic American gures, he revered Thomas Jefferson above all, who was, he said, a practical idealist: It was the combination of the practical and the ideal that gave an individual stamp to the thought and practice of Jefferson. Indeed, Jefferson coupled freedom and science as conditions of progress.47


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It is tempting to elevate this struggle between pragmatism and idealism as the subtext of Bowmans later life, and there is much evidence for doing so. But it is too simple a dichotomy and provides too supercial a portrait. The mature Bowmans idealism was deployed pragmatically, and his pragmatism equally rose to an ideal that he strained to nd in others. What he absorbed at Harvard was an evolved transcendentalism and pragmatism that provided him with a exible array of intellectual options in the service of political strategy. His description of Jefferson as a practical idealist could therefore be applied perfectly to Bowman himself. As Henry May has argued, given the large, vague limits of practical idealism it was possible to be mostly practical or mostly idealistic as long as one maintained some touch with both qualities.48

yale and the forest physiography

Still quite unsure about what future he would pursue, Bowman secured a schoolteachers certicate for Michigan public schools during his interim year at Ypsilanti. Warned by Davis that there were no jobs for geographers, he took the civil service hydrology exam in the spring of 1905 before completing his Harvard degree and nished at the head of the list. After graduating from Harvard, he went straight to work for the USGS. For the rst time in his life, he had the chance to travelto the South (Charleston Harbor, South Carolina) and the West (Dallas). He wanted to visit the Grand Canyon, which played such an important role in nineteenth-century physical geography, but was unable to do so. He had been offered ve hundred dollars in scholarships to continue at Harvard on graduate work, but feeling the need to make more of a living if he was going to do a doctorate, he took a summer school assistantship at Yale. With a faculty member ill, he was soon offered a full-time instructorship,49 and Yale became his home for the next ten years. In contrast with Harvard, he found Yale friendly in a warm and personal sense. Though still young looking and hardly over ve feet six inches, he was now unambiguously part of the faculty and responsible for his own courses. Davis took the time to pen him a letter, sending him on his way as he embarked on a geography career and offering advice about teaching, research, the importance of contacts, and the niceties of polite society. He took a singularly paternal tone unimaginable from Bowmans father: You must not neglect either healthful exercise or social relations, Davis felt impelled to advise. And be sure to make your duty call, after any invitation to dinner or the like, promptly, he continued. Dress up proper, stay a little while . . . and thus show your proper appreciation of the

39. Lederer, Yugoslavia at the Paris Peace Conference, 16769. 40. The population gures were anything but straightforward. The last ofcial census registered twenty-four thousand Italians in Fiume/Rijeka, but at the conference the Italian government claimed thirty-three thousand. In addition, what counted as the city was not entirely clear. Bowman quite reasonably included the adjacent coastal suburb of Susak as an integral part of the city of Fiume, which resulted in the Slav populations narrowly exceeding the Italian (26,600 to 25,800); without Susak, Fiume/Rijeka proper did have an Ital ian majority (Bowman, The New World, 1st ed., 26465; Johnston, Fiume and the Adriatic Problem, 121). See also Ray Stannard Baker, The Italian Crisis at Paris, New York Times, 6 August 1922. 41. Edith Wilson, My Memoir (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1938), 24546. 42. Lederer, Yugoslavia at the Paris Peace Conference, 18586; Mezes to House, 16 March 1919, YU, House Papers, Box 80; Ray Stannard Baker, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, 3 vols. (New York: Doubleday, Page, 1922), 2: 186. 43. Shotwell to Bowman, 2 December 1919, JHU; Bowman diary, 16 April 1919; Beer diary, 15 March 1919. 44. Lunt et al. to President Wilson, 4 April 1919, in Baker, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, 2: 147. 45. Isaiah Bowman, Account of Interview with General T. H. Bliss, Crillon Hotel, 1919, memo, 27 August 1939, JHU; Bowman to Paul Birdsall, 14 August 1940, JHU. 46. Bowman, Account of Interview with Bliss; Bowman et al. to Woodrow Wilson, 17 April 1919, JHU. 47. Wilson to Bowman, 18 April 1919, JHU. 48. Edith Wilson suspected House of planting press stories that boosted House and criticized Wilson. Edith Wilson, My Memoir, 25051. Much of this is reconstructed in detail in correspondence around the writing of Paul Birdsalls Versailles Twenty Years After. See especially Charles Seymour to Paul Birdsall, 26 June and 18 July 1940, JHU; Paul Birdsall to Bowman, 18 August 1940, JHU; and Bowman diary, 4 May 1919. On Houses secret meeting, see Lloyd George, Memoirs of the Peace Conference, 159; Thomas A. Bailey, Woodrow Wilson and the Lost Peace (New York: Macmillan, 1944), 261. 49. Bowman, Account of Interview with Bliss, fn. 25; excerpt from Beer diary, 29 April 1919: Beer says: All six are to go home on or about May 15, while Shotwell, Westermann, Hornbeck, I and the rest are to be asked to stay. So be it! Also Bowman to Paul Birdsall, 14 August 1940, JHU; Bowman to W. H. Buckler, 10 March 1949, JHU. 50. House said to Bowman only that he thought the letter was lecturing the president, an impression, House added, that passed when Wilson praised the letter warmly. Bowman diary, 4 May 1919. Lansing seems not to have known the full story until months later. See A Memorandum by Robert Lansing, 21 August 1919, in The Papers of Woodrow Wilson, ed. Arthur Link, 69 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 62: 45455.


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also Bowman, Constantinople and the Balkans, 162. Bowman to Shotwell, 13 December 1937, JHU. 27. Beer diary, 31 March 1919. Even Beer, who held no great respect for Bowman, volunteered sardonically that in view of his inaccessibility, this reprimand by Wilson is delightful. The meeting with Wilson actually took place on 29 March, and Bowman registered nothing of the rebuke in his diary, preferring to note that the president told three good darkey stories, which Bowman proceeded to outline (Bowman diary, 29 March 1919). 28. Bowman diary, 10, 15, 18, 22 March 1919; Bowman to commissioners, 11 March 1919, JHU. 29. Bliss to Lansing, 19 April 1919, Bowman Papers, JHU; see David Lloyd George, Memoirs of the Peace Conference (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1939), 225. 30. Bowman, Constantinople and the Balkans, 151. 31. According to the historian James T. Shotwell, also in the American delegation and an early member of the Inquiry: The restoration of Poland by the Paris Peace Conference owes muchif not, indeed, mostto the American Delegation; and its frontiers were largely determined by Dr. Bowman, who traced them with scrupulous care on the basis of exhaustive demographic surveys (Shotwell, At the Paris Peace Conference, 305). Important though Bowman was, his part in this is probably exaggerated by Shotwell, whose habitual generosity toward other participants in the historical record may well have facilitated a certain generosity toward himself. He has such nice things to say about me that I feel mean about criticizing, Bowman once said of Shotwell. But the distortions are incredible. He makes his own past important to a degree not warranted by any evidence whatever (Bowman to Paul Birdsall, 17 June 1940, JHU). 32. Bowman to Charles R. Dryer, 11 February 1920, AGS IB. 33. Isaiah Bowman, The New World, Problems in Political Geography, 1st ed. (Yonkers-on-Hudson: World Book Company, 1921), 334. 34. Dr. Bowman was in a peculiarly advantageous position to observe the hidden intrigues (Parker T. Moon, More Light on the Peace Conference, Political Science Quarterly 36, no. 3 [1921]: 5018). 35. See David Schmitz, Woodrow Wilson and the Liberal Peace: The Problem of Italy and Imperialism, paper delivered at the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations Annual Convention, August 1984. 36. Douglas Wilson Johnson, Fiume and the Adriatic Problem, in What Really Happened at Paris, ed. House and Seymour, 11318. 37. For a straightforward and still very useful account of this complicated historical geography, see Bowman, The New World, 1st ed., 24953. 38. With Serb leader Pasic largely clueless about the geography of most of the disputed regions of Croatia, the Yugoslav delegation also relied on Jovan Cvijic, a well-known geographer and former rector of Belgrade University. See Ivo J. Lederer, Yugoslavia at the Paris Peace Conference: A Study in Frontiermaking (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1963), 93.

acquaintance that you are forming. And when, in the future, he concluded, some bright young girl should become Mrs. Bowman, you must have a good acquaintance waiting to receive her in New Haven.50 In fact, during a Thanksgiving trip to Lynn, Massachusetts, in 1902, at the invitation of a classmate and friend, he met Cora Olive Goldthwaite. The Goldthwaites were a nancially comfortable, rather stiff middle-class New England family, and Cora had graduated from Radcliffe in English literature. After a sixyear relationship, feeling established and nancially secure on a twelvehundred-dollar salary, Bowman proposed to Cora in March 1908, and they were married in June of the following year. Yale was building a geography curriculum, largely because of the plans of another Davis student, Herbert E. Gregory, and Bowman taught an impressive range of courses in physiography (general as well as regional) and physical geography. But he focused increasingly on the human dimensions of geography, especially in North America, and added several courses (many cotaught with Ellsworth Huntington) on geographical controls in history, anthropogeography, and the like.51 He wanted to understand and explain the geographical diversity of human activities. Two major preoccupations guided his Yale teaching. First, he dabbled with a resurgent and fashionable environmental determinism, which is a theoretical tradition positing that geographical differences in social behaviors, cultures, and economies are the results of different physical and environmental conditions; the environment determines the society; geography controls history. Environmental determinism appealed to an absolutist conception of space, had a long and distinguished history dating most recently to the eighteenth century, and had an obvious appeal as a kind of royal shortcut to human science. Bowmans colleague Huntington would make a career out of the more extreme environmentalist explanations of human geographical variation, as did their older contemporary Ellen Semple. Still, in his early days at Yale, Bowmans own teaching and research were organized around the contention that the character of the physical features of the earth has been a prominent factor in the life of a race, a position he later acknowledged as including a lot of determinism.52 He was more swept along in the current, however, than he was a coxswain of this determinism, and by 1910, the same year that Virginia Woolf (and later Henri Lefebvre) identied as ushering in a new conception of space (see the section The First Moment in chapter 1), he registered his own dissatisfaction with the theory. He was troubled by the bald generalizations behind arguments extolling geographical controls in history, seeing them as ghosts . . . of an idea often asserted in the past and as often denied for want of solid research.53 Societies were much more plas-


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tic, and collective social action could easily supersede most environmental controls, he reasoned. A habitual admonition to his later Yale classes catches the complex relationality of space and nature that he now glimpsed:
I used to say to my classes . . . that one could build a city of a hundred thousand at the South Pole and provide electric lights and opera. Civilization could stand the cost. But what would be the use of it if there were no resources to sustain it? I used to put opposite this the statement that we could also build a mountain range in the Sahara high enough to provoke rainfall. But again, what is the use of it. . . . 54

His second and interconnected preoccupation was with what came to be called regional geography, a geographical inquiry that took regions as its basic spatial unit and investigated their differences. Nineteenth-century physical geography always had a regional dimension, as Bowman certainly learned with Davis, and the regional approach came to dominate human geography in the United States from the 1930s to the 1950s. Bowman was in at the ground oor. The regional survey of the world by H. R. Mill, The International Geography, had a decisive inuence on him, and his rst paper to the Association of American Geographers (1905) was an extended book review concerning the regional geography of the Near East, as it was then called. He consistently claimed that his South America course of 1906 was among the rst, if not the rst, regional course offered in any American institution, and he was the rst AAG member at that time to identify himself as a regional geographer.55 The regional approach to geographical knowledge was not inherently antagonistic to environmental determinism; indeed, Yale geography took the natural region as the central unit of study and generally built a human geographical portrait of a region on top of a rm physical foundation. In 1908 Bowman tried what he called the man-rst idea in his South America course, reversing the priority of physical and human components. By the end of his Yale stint, he also taught commercial geography and political geography, which, while retaining a signicant environmental element, were increasingly emancipated from questions of environmental control.56 They also signaled the ways in which Bowmans interests would change in coming decades. Yale was a new world for Bowman. He had a signicant social life beyond work, devoted most days to preparing and teaching large classes, spent most summers in eld research, and as an ambitious young faculty member threw himself into building Yale geography. He encouraged explorations in the less well-known parts of the world. For all of its problems,

Mayer, Politics and Diplomacy of Peacemaking (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1967). 10. Bowman, Peace Conference, eight-page memo, 7 October 1939, JHU, 2; Shotwell, At the Paris Peace Conference, 1617, 9091; also Lawrence Gelfand, The Inquiry (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1963), 17679. 11. Bowman diary, 22 December 1918; Bowman, Peace Conference, memo, 3. 12. Bowman, Peace Conference, six-page memo, 5 October 1939, JHU, 2. 13. Bowman to Sydney E. Mezes, 6 January 1919, YU, Mezes Papers, Series I, Box 1, Folder 14. 14. The ofcial title of the Black Book was Outline of Tentative Report and Recommendations Prepared by the Intelligence Section, in Accordance with Instructions, for the President and the Plenipotentiaries, January 21, 1919, JHU. See also Shotwell, At the Paris Peace Conference, 13334; and Bowman to Francis Deak, 22 June 1940, JHU. 15. Bowman, Memorandum on Remarks by the President. . . . 16. Isaiah Bowman, Constantinople and the Balkans, in What Really Happened at Paris, ed. Edward M. House and Charles Seymour (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1921), 142. 17. Especially in geography and map-making, reported one British author, the United States stood rst at Paris (Two Books on the Peace Conference, Times Literary Supplement [London], 30 June 1921). For an inventory of the maps brought to Paris, not including the hundreds of maps made there, see Isaiah Bowman, The American Geographical Societys Contribution to the Peace Conference, Geographical Review 7 (1919): 79. 18. Mark Jefferson to Phoebe Jefferson, 25 January 1919, EMU. 19. Anonymous one-page memo, EMU, Box 2; Jefferson, Paris Peace Conference diary, 28 January, 23 March 1919, EMU. 20. Clive Day, The Atmosphere and Organization of the Peace Conference, in What Really Happened at Paris, ed. House and Seymour, 3334. The autocratic system of the Council of Five apparently lost any nal semblance of democracy when on one occasion they discovered that a question before them had already been acted on three times and each time had been settled in a different way (marginalia in Bowmans copy of E. J. Dillon, The Peace Conference [London: Hutchinson, n.d.]). 21. Bowman, Constantinople and the Balkans, 15859. 22. Robert H. Lord, Poland, in What Really Happened at Paris, ed. House and Seymour, 73. 23. Report No. 1 of the Commission on Polish Affairs, 12 March 1919, JHU; Bowman diary, 9 March 1919; George Louis Beer diary, 21 March 1919, CU. 24. Bowman diary, 19 March 1919. 25. The president accepted all [my] suggestions and followed through magnicently (Bowman diary, 19 March 1919). See also Bowman, Constantinople and the Balkans, 16061; and Lord, Poland, 7280. 26. Charles Seymour, The End of an Empire: Remnants of AustriaHungary, in What Really Happened at Paris, ed. House and Seymour, 101; see


notes to pages 138145

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and Revolutions: 19131921 (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1976); William A. White, Woodrow Wilson: The Man, His Times and His Task (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1924), 427, 441. 60. Lippmann to Newton D. Baker, 19 July 1919, quoted in Steel, Walter Lippmann and the American Century, 164. For a more apologetic approach, see Betty Miller Unterberger, Americas Siberia Expedition, 19181920 (New York: Greenwood Press, 1969); Betty Miller Unterberger, Woodrow Wilson and the Bolsheviks: The Acid Test of Soviet-American Relations, Diplomatic History 11, no. 2 (1987): 7190. But see also John M. Thompson, Russia, Bolshevism, and the Versailles Peace (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966).

chapter 6
1. Tons of Data Go with Wilson Party, New York Times, 4 December 1918, 2; James T. Shotwell, The Paris Peace Conference, in George Louis Beer: A Tribute to His Life and Work in the Making of History and the Moulding of Public Opinion (New York: Macmillan, 1924), 91. 2. Martin J. Sklar, The Corporate Reconstruction of American Capitalism, 18901916 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New York: Dell Publishing, 1962). See also Thomas J. Knock, To End All Wars: Woodrow Wilson and the Quest for a New World Order (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992). 3. Bowman, Memorandum on Remarks by the President to Members of the Inquiry on December 10, 1918, unpublished memo, JHU, 1. 4. Henry F. May, The End of American Innocence (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1959), 17. 5. Isaiah Bowman, The New World, 4th ed. (Yonkers-on-Hudson: World Book Company, 1928), 31. 6. Arno Mayer, Political Origins of the New Diplomacy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959). 7. See Gabriel Kolko: The Triumph of Conservatism (New York: Free Press, 1963); The End of Isolationism, New Republic 1 (7 November 1914): 910. It has even been suggested that opposition to Wilson by conservatives such as Henry Cabot Lodge grew less from any signicant differences than from the conservatives frustration over Wilsons having betrayed them by being a member of the wrong party (Gary Wills, The Presbyterian Nietzsche, New York Review of Books, 16 January 1992, 37). 8. See Neil Smith, Uneven Development: Nature, Capital and the Production of Space (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1984), chapter 3; David Harvey, The Spatial FixHegel, Von Thunen and Marx, Antipode 13, no. 3 (1981): 112; Michel Aglietta, A Theory of Capitalist Regulation: The US Experience (London: New Left Books, 1979). 9. Bowmans peace conference diary, various entries, RGB (hereafter cited as Bowman diary). The culinary description is from James T. Shotwell, At the Paris Peace Conference (New York: Macmillan, 1937), 96, 237. See also Arno J.

the study of environmental controls offered explanation over simple description, and when coupled with innovative work in human and regional geography and the insistence on eldwork, it formed a lively and new geography curriculum at Yale by 1908, attracting more and better students. A more intellectually and socially secure Bowman actually livened up the department, and his teaching was challenging, encyclopedic, and well received. He was elected to the new Association of American Geographers in 1906 and developed a sufcient reputation that he was courted for a position at the University of Chicago, then the hearth of American geography. He taught summer school there and occupied a oor in the house of the department chair, Rollin Salisbury, but balked at a permanent job. He had formed life-long friendships in New Haven, including one with the political scientist Charles Seymour, who later became president of Yale and judged that Bowman helped transform the softest of the so-called snap courses at Yale into a stimulating discipline on a permanent basis.57 Bowman alone was not responsible for the shift, but after his colleague Herbert Gregory retired and Bowman moved on, geography at Yale declined. At the end of his rst semester teaching there, Bowman declared himself a doctoral candidate at Yale. Four years later at the age of thirty, he led his dissertation. He continued to publish material derived from earlier eldwork, including a piece on the disposal of oil-well wastes and an obscure but inuential manual, Well-Drilling Methods, which engineers still consulted in the 1960s. But the dissertation marked the beginning of a new direction. Entitled The Geography of the Central Andes and based partly on eldwork from a 1907 expedition to Peru and Bolivia, it exhibited more of his Harvard background than the still-emerging innovations of Yale. He began with two regional physiography chapters on the western and eastern watersheds of the Andes, followed by two on the populations of the Atacama and highland Bolivia. He offered an anthropogeographic interpretation of these regions, elaborated their trade routes and economic connections, and concluded with an evaluation of man and climatic change across the whole continent. The dissertation was more a collection of papers than a coherent regional geography, and indeed all but one chapter appeared in various journals over the next couple of years. He also published his rst book in his Yale years, Forest Physiography. It is a peculiar book in several ways. While it could no longer be confused for a Davis product, it is clearly rooted in his Harvard training, yet he did not acknowledge Davis and made only desultory reference to a couple of his works. Instead, it is dedicated to a California agrogeologist whose work on soils had recently grabbed Bowman. Was Bowman asserting indepen-


1898 and the making of a practical man

notes to pages 130138


dence from an old mentor, or was he just caught up in the enthusiasm of new ideas? The books immediate provenance lay in a course on physiography, lithology, and soils that he taught in Yales forestry school, and its outline follows the material covered there. The lumber industry was a major economic force in the country at the time, with parts of the Midwest, including Bowmans native Michigan, still yielding rst-cut timber, and this provided a very practical rationale for the book. The forester, Bowman explained, requires a scientic knowledge of soils and climate.58 The book had very little to do with forests, despite its title. Puzzled reviewers generally treated it as a rather quirky regional physiography with a long introductory treatise on soils grafted onthe best detailed description of the physiographic regions of the United States, praised A. J. Herbertson at Londons Royal Geographical Society.59 It did have some notable features. A genetic classication of geographical forms is, in effect, an explanation of them, wrote Davis in his classic paper on the geographical cycle.60 It was classic Kantian hubris and a lesson that Bowman, a sometimes pedantic classier, took very much to heart; process, classication, and the regionalization of different biophysical complexes are the anchors of Forest Physiography. On the question of regions, Bowman had grasped a clear sense of the procedures of regionalizationthe necessity of judging the distinction between similar and dissimilar features within and among placesthat would come to undergird a whole tradition of regional geography as areal differentiation.61 And, perhaps less remarkable given the topic and his training, he shows a keen, early sensibility concerning the connection between lumbering, soil destruction, and erosion. Bowmans evolutionary idealism washes through the introductory passages on the agency of soils and the historical destiny of plants. Soil is important for plant evolution, he says, but competition among trees can doom some species regardless of the soil. Plants have their own innate tendencies:
Plants possess a peculiar inherent force by the exercise of which they directly adapt themselves to new conditions and become tted for existence in accordance with new surroundings. Thus plants are thought to have certain physiologic plasticity or power of self-regulation that tends to adjust them to a new environment, a feature that goes far in explaining the absence of a rigid control of physiographic conditions over forest distributions although an approximate control is often manifested.62

This weak version of determinism, allied with the implied teleological agency of specic botanical species, afrms Shalers as much as Daviss inuence on Bowman and suggests the depth to which he was at this point

1 October 1918; Bowman to Lippmann, 16 October 1918, YU, Lippmann Papers, Series I, Box 38. 40. Mezes to House, 14 June 1918, CU MC, Box 1; Statement Made by Dr. Bowman Concerning the Reorganization of the Inquiry, 14 March 1932, vepage memo, JHU, 25; Bowman, Inquiry, JHU, 2. 41. Lansing to Mezes, 13 November 1928, CU MC, Box 1; Statement Made by Dr. Bowman Concerning the Reorganization of the Inquiry, 5; House to Wilson, 22 October 1918, in Papers of Woodrow Wilson, ed. Arthur Link, 69 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975), 5: 4068. 42. Gelfand, The Inquiry, x, 100, 31314. 43. Bowman to W. L. G. Joerg, American Commission to Negotiate Peace, three-page memo, 16 February 1942, JHU, 1. 44. Condential Information Released for Papers . . . , 78. 45. Bowman, The Geographical Program of the American Peace Delegation, unpublished article, undated [1920], JHU. 46. Bowman to John C. Merriam, 5 June 1918, AGS IB; Condential Information Released for Papers . . . , 78; Gelfand, The Inquiry, 44. 47. War Aims and Peace Terms, 2 January 1918, in Baker, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, 3: 25. 48. Gelfand, The Inquiry, 1023. 49. Bowman to George Smith, 6 June 1918, NA INQ; House diary, in Charles Seymour, The Intimate Papers of Colonel House: From Neutrality to War 19151917 (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1926), 45152. 50. YU, Miller and Auchincloss Papers, Box 5. 51. Indeed, as the U.S. delegation steamed to Europe for the peace conference at the end of 1918, war threatened between Chile and Peru. Lansing to Mezes, 17 and 29 April 1918; Mezes to Lansing, 22 April 1918; Mezes to Young, 4 February 1918; all in CU MC, Box 1. 52. Bowman to Mark Jefferson, 8 October 1917, EMU; Jefferson to secretary of commerce, 5 February 1918, EMU; Isaiah Bowman, The Pioneer Fringe (New York: American Geographical Society, 1931), 5. 53. Bailey Willis to Ray Leyman Wilbur, 15 October 1918, NA INQ (quoted in Gelfand, The Inquiry, 283). 54. Although the Inquiry seems never to have been called a think tank at the time, the term did emerge when the prowess of tank warfare in World War I became evident. 55. Martin Sklar, The Corporate Reconstruction of American Capitalism, 18901916 (Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1988), 38. 56. Mezes to Lippmann, 26 December 1917, CUM Box 1; Wilson quote from Levin, Woodrow Wilson and World Politics, 14. 57. Beer to Mezes, 31 December 1917, CU MC, Box 1. This seems to be the rst application of mandate in such a context. 58. Lippmann to Mezes, 5 September 1918, CU MC, Box 1. 59. John M. Thompson, Russia, Bolshevism, and the Versailles Peace (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966), 3435. See also Lloyd Gardner, Wilson


notes to pages 124129

1898 and the making of a practical man


place in the Inquiry as more important than any other, and Steel seems to have replicated this presumption in his treatment of Lippmann (13940). In fact, Lippmann himself recalled later that Isaiah Bowman played a big part in the Fourteen Points. I would say that Isaiah Bowman and I did most of the work on it (Lippmann, Oral History, CU OH, 110). See the same essential testimony of Charles Seymour in Letters from the Paris Peace Conference (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965), xxiv. 23. Quoted in George Louis Beer diary, 1 January 1919, CU. 24. Baker, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, 3: 43. 25. Unless otherwise stated, the Inquiry draft referred to is the rst one: The War Aims and Peace Terms It Suggests, 22 December 1917. This and the nal text of the Fourteen Points can be found in Baker, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, 3: 2346. The second draft is entitled A Suggested Statement of Peace Terms, 2 January 1918, FRUS PPC. 26. Bowman, Peace Conference, 5 October 1939, JHU, 4. 27. House to Mezes, 10 October 1917, CU MC, Box 1. 28. Regarding the concern with secrecy, on several occasions actual or prospective members of the Inquiry were terminated or refused employment on the basis of security reports that painted them as pro-German, insufciently patriotic, or suspect for other reasons, such as foreign birth (Gelfand, The Inquiry, 3278). 29. Report on the Inquiry, Its Scope and Method, 20 March 1918, FRUS PPC; Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 3. 30. Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 5; Bowman to Lawrence Martin, 11 March 1944, JHU. 31. Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 4; Bowman, Peace Conference, 5 October 1939, six-page memo, JHU; Shotwell, Oral History, 8283. See also the account in Steel, Walter Lippmann and the American Century, 12840. 32. Gelfand, The Inquiry, 50. 33. Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 5. 34. Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 67. 35. Mezes to House, 18 August 1918, YU, Inquiry Papers, Series I, Box 2, folder 127. 36. Bowman to House, 17 August 1918, YU, Inquiry Papers, Series I, Box 2, folder 116; Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 67; Bowman, Inquiry, JHU, 1; House diary, 29 July 1918. 37. Bowman to House, 30 August 1918, YU, Inquiry Papers, Series I, Box 2, folder 116. 38. Bowman ushered in his regime of orderly efciency (Gelfand, The Inquiry, 102); Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 10; Bowman, Inquiry, 28 August 1939, 2; James T. Shotwell, At the Paris Peace Conference (New York: Macmillan, 1937), 6. 39. Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 10; Bowman, Inquiry, 28 August 1939, 2; Condential Information Released for Papers . . . , 89; Bowman to Gladys Wrigley, 9 October 1939, JHU; House diary, 20 and 29 September, and

a product of the post-Darwinian nineteenth century.63 In fact, a gendered and thoroughly suggestive transcendentalism framed his entire vision of nature. The books rst words are:
Men whose work brings them into touch with the soil and its relation to life do not use the phrase mother earth in a casual sense. The great hosts of plant and animal life that people the lands . . . are, directly or indirectly, the dependent children of the earth. Viewed from such a standpoint the soil is not mere dirt, a substance to be despised, a synonym for lth, but a great storehouse of energy, a great home, a bountiful mother. Countless billions of micro-organismsthe bacterial orathrong its dark passageways while the roots of countless higher plants ramify through it in eager quest for food and water.64

Those who go up by the help of transcendentalism, do not always come back in safety, it has been said,65 and this may be a case in point. Bowmans publisher clearly did not include any budding Freudians on its editorial staff, or this passage, written barely a year after he married, would surely have been excised. Or perhaps they simply assumed that physical geography was immune to unscientic ramications. No such arbitrary separation of science and spirituality affected Bowman, however. Just as science and religion, god and evolution, represented no contradiction for the physical geography of Shaler, a transcendental infusion of meaning into nature never seemed incompatible with the strictest positivism and the rigorous identication of facts and objective truths for Bowman.

the practical man

The life of the mind was Bowmans escape from hard work, hard religion, and hard paternal authority, but these inuences carried forward into his own mature demeanor. The personal condence that ripened during the Yale years displaced all trace of shyness. He would not always match the intellectual air and originality of Davis or Shaler but was far more adept at translating the new geographical ideas into action: science was nothing if not wedded to a larger social purpose. For all its oddities, Forest Physiography pregured a lot about Bowmans career, his strengths, and his limitations. It was a manual for foresters struggling to break free from an intellectual treatise. Practical men must choose constantly between principle and expediency, suggested an older and wiser Bowman, translating the philosophical tension between pragmatism and transcendentalism into more modern and more useful terms. Principle is the long-term interest; expediency is the


1898 and the making of a practical man

notes to pages 116124


present advantage. As two colleagues would later say of him, The scholar and the man of action were combined in about equal measure.66 The practice of expediency and espousal of principle would become a way of life. But how specically would this penchant for the practical mobilize his scientic geography for a wider application? In Bowmans last year at Yale, the U.S. government was lurching toward conict with another remnant of the Spanish Empire. The Mexican Revolution had begun in 1910, and four years later Woodrow Wilson dispatched troops to the Gulf port of Veracruz to safeguard U.S. oil investments. As the uprising increasingly focused on the north, Wilson now claimed the pretext of cross-border incursions was to combat the revolutionaries, especially Pancho Villa. Bowman quickly responded with a military geography of northern Mexico, applying his geographical training to contemporary political events for the rst time. He explicitly sought answers to a number of the questions which the military man raises on looking over the possibilities of such a region. It offered a topographical survey, highlighting the availability of resources such as water and the different forms of ground cover, but it especially focused on transportation routes: a military campaign directed against a revolution in that region, either by a central Mexican authority or by American forces, must always confront the problem of reaching in force those remote sections that are the haunts of guerilla bands and small fugitive detachments.67 The principle in question here, Bowman would have said, was U.S.-style democracy; the expediency, his casting of geographical science as a military tool. From the Michigan militia in 1898 to Mexican geography a decade and a half later was a long journey for Bowman, but its start and end were marked by a consistent braiding of geographical and political concerns, scholarly and practical interests. Despite ashes of insight associated with his disavowal of environmental determinism and a clear sense that new geographical realities offered opportunities, he still generally thought of American expansionism in absolutist, territorial terms. He had moved only cautiously beyond the geographies afrmed by the colonial adventurism of 1898. He read Brooks Adamss New Empire and Halford Mackinders Geographical Pivot of History in this period, and he watched the Open Door evolve from a China policy into a global ambition with Woodrow Wilson, but as yet he neither grasped these as his own vision nor embraced the shifting articulation of global economies, histories, and geographies that was becoming visible. His Andean eld research partly reafrmed this traditional vision, but it also opened up new veins of social transformation that in turn helped to open Bowman to the greater uidity of global geographies.

7. John D. Hargreaves, Prelude to the Partition of West Africa (London: Macmillan, 1963), 33438. 8. N. Gordon Levin, Woodrow Wilson and World Politics: Americas Response to War and Revolution (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968), 4344. Bowman, Memorandum on Remarks by the President to Members of the Inquiry on December 10, 1918, JHU. 9. Bowman to de Margerie, 28 March 1917, 22 June 1917, AGS IB. 10. Lawrence E. Gelfand, The Inquiry: American Preparations for Peace, 19171919 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1963), 131. 11. Sydney Edward Mezes, Preparations for Peace, in What Really Happened at Paris, ed. Edward Mandell House and Charles Seymour (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1921), 2. 12. Robert Wiebe, The Search for Order (New York: Hill and Wang, 1967), 254. 13. See especially Arno Mayer, Political Origins of the New Diplomacy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959). 14. Bowman had briey shared a house with Shotwell during a summer sojourn in Washington in 1917 (James T. Shotwell, Oral History, CU OH, 7980). 15. Bowman, Notes on the Inquiry, 30 November 1918, 11 pp., JHU; Bowman, The Inquiry, 8 March 1939, three-page memo (draft of entry for The Dictionary of American History, ed. James Truswell Adams [New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1940], 124), JHU; Sydney E. Mezes to Franklin K. Lane, 2 January 1918, CU MC, Box 1. 16. Ray Stannard Baker, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, 3 vols. (New York: Doubleday, Page, 1922), 1: 108; William H. Buckler to Walter Hines Page, 30 April 1917, cited in Gelfand, The Inquiry, 16. 17. Condential Information Released for Papers . . . , American Geographical Society, 3 December 1918, JHU, 3; Bowman, Inquiry, 28 August 1939, four-page memo, JHU, 1; Fact Students Join Wilsons Peace Party; Highbrows Laden with Secrets of Foreign Lands, Kansas City Star, 6 December 1918. 18. Wiebe, The Search for Order, 21718. 19. Condential Information Released for Papers . . . ; Gelfand, The Inquiry, 45. 20. On Lippmann, see Ronald Steel, Walter Lippmann and the American Century (Boston: Atlantic Monthly Press, 1980). 21. Lippmann to division chiefs, 11 December 1917, CU MC, Box 1; Activities of the Inquiry, 27 November 1917, CU MC, Box 1; Condential Information Released for Papers . . . ; Mezes to Colonel Marlborough Churchill, 16 July 1918, CU MC, Box 1. 22. House diary, 4 and 9 January 1918, YU, House Papers; Steel, Walter Lippmann and the American Century, 13334; Lippmann to division chiefs, 11 December 1917, CU MC; Gelfand, The Inquiry, 13537, fnn. 6, 8. Steels biography makes a heroic and unsustainable presentation of Lippmann as entirely on his own in his responsibility for the Inquiry draft (133). Shotwell, whom Lippmann marginalized in the Inquiry, once put it that Lippmann regarded his own


notes to pages 107115

61. William Warntz, Review of Dennis Rawlins, Peary at the North Pole: Fact or Fiction? Annals of the Association of American Geographers 65 (1975): 81. 62. Lloyd Rose, Ice Follies, Voice Literary Supplement, May 1989, 16. 63. Harry Steward to author, 12 February 1996. 64. Untitled, undated memo: One of the grandest things . . . , 2 pp., RGB. 65. Rawlins, Peary at the North Pole, 6364. On Byrd and the Boy Scouts, see Rodgers, Beyond the Barrier, 27, 33. 66. Warntz, Review of Dennis Rawlins, 80. 67. Bowman to Chester W. Nimitz, 31 January 1947, RGB. Byrd Flight Covers 35,000 Square Miles Open to U.S. Claim, New York Times, 8 December 1929. For his continuing active interest in Antarctica, see also Isaiah Bowman, Antarctica, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 69 (1930): 1943; and Geographical Objectives in the Polar Regions, Photogrammetric Engineering 15, no. 1 (March 1949): 612. 68. Bowman to Roland L. Redmond, 21 January 1939, JHU. 69. Wright, Geography in the Making, 189. 70. Wiebe, The Search for Order, 12. 71. John Greenough to W. M. Davis, 21 February 1919, AGS IB (Davis le); A. M. Huntington to W. Redmond Cross, 1924, quoted in Wright, Geography in the Making, 205. 72. Bowman, Two Works on Political Geography, Geographical Review 14 (1924): 666.


chapter 5
1. Documentos presentados a las cortes en la Legislatura de 1898 por el Ministro de Estado (Madrid: Tipolitograa de Raoul Peant, 1898), 300. 2. Bowman to Henry Wilson Harris, 30 June 1939, JHU. 3. F. J. Turner, The Problem of the West, Atlantic Monthly 78, no. 467 (September 1896): 28997. See also Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Empire (New York: Pantheon, 1987), 14264. 4. Emily S. Rosenberg, Spreading the American Dream: American Economic and Cultural Expansion, 18901945 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1982). Beveridge quoted on page 22. 5. Government is so closely afliated now with the Bethlehem Steel Corporation, claimed one of its executives (W. H. Hurley to E. M. House, 24 October 1917, CU MC, Box 1). 6. Rosenberg, Spreading the American Dream, 67. On Wilsons fear of German victory, see Ernest R. May, The World War and American Isolation, 19141917 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1959). On the consideration of political position vis--vis the peace, see Charles Seymour, Intimate Papers of Colonel House: From Neutrality to War, 19151917 (New York: Houghton Mifin, 1926), 26465.

As the conquests of 1898 suggest, the first mappings of the American Century represented a continuity with the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries more than a harbinger of new geographies. To be a geographer in the passing era was to be an explorer, an adventurer into the unknown space and barbaric chaos, as Mackinder described it, beyond the civilized world.1 It was to be David Livingstone or Henry Stanley in the depths of what Europeans called darkest Africa; Lord Franklin and Fridtjof Nansen against the Arctic; or John Wesley Powell cavalcading by raft down the Grand Canyon. All were boyhood heroes of Bowmans. Insofar as most of the worlds places were integrated into the world map by the beginning of the twentieth century, the frenzy for planetary exploration began to subside, yet the tradition of exploring faraway places survived. When Bowman set off for South America in 1907, he saw himself as a geographical explorer.2 This was no simple refusal of the end of an era but an assertion that there remained unexplored or barely explored worlds to conquer, an attempted redefinition of exploration in a changing world. In the early twentieth century the geographical explorer seeks not merely new or wonderful things as in the past; real exploration can also be done in ones own garden, Bowman observed. If this was an allusion to Darwin and his study of earthworms, it also anticipated the transformation of the leading edge of geographical research from an extensive territorial quest at the edges of the known world into a social and scientific investigation of the gaps in the known. It was a


conditional conquest

notes to pages 104107


ready corollary to Mackinders observation that new social irruptions now reverberated to transform the world they came from: the way of studying the world changed in tandem with the world being studied. Bowman readily dismissed idle prattling about the end of geography: It has become the fashion to say that major exploration is at an end because the North Pole and the South Pole have been attained and the general design of the mountains, deserts, and drainage systems of the earth has become known. Rather, he claimed, geography is reinvented: The map is still crowded with scientific mysteries though its great historic mysteries have been swept away. . . . It is undoubtedly an achievement to fill in a blank space on the map; but discovery has not ended when the blank spaces are filled.3 Modern geographical research strives to make sense of what the new replete mapping of the world means. Written as a concluding reflection on his Andean fieldwork, Bowmans observation captures the changing purpose and role of geography in the first formative moment of the American Century. Geography had not passed from the scene but adopted a new and more intricate identity. In the throes of the fieldwork, of course, Bowman was not always so lucid. His rationale for going to South America had less to do with any prescience about a Wilsonian new world order that was still years away than with doing the done thing. Grueling fieldwork was still a rite of passage for any selfrespecting geographer, and Bowmans was about as grueling as could be, barring tragic consequences. Having lived under the shadow of the Monroe Doctrine for nearly a century, South America was the earliest proving ground of the American Century. In the early years of the twentieth century, it was the leading destination for U.S. direct investment and a playground for U.S. explorers and archaeologists. First-order European conquest was almost four hundred years old, but after nearly a century of independence the European links remained strong. Large urban centers, especially on the Atlantic coast, were areas of well-incorporated world commerce, and the same turn-of-thecentury migrations that brought Europeans to the United States also populated the cities and farms of South America. Even on the riverine frontiers thousands of miles up the Amazon during the turn-of-the-century rubber and timber booms, some engineers, entrepreneurs, and gentlemen adventurers sent their shirt collars to Lisbon for washing and starching; in 1896 the Italian tenor Enrico Caruso was brought up the jungle waterway to inaugurate the Manaus Opera House. But the continent also included large stretches that were still marginally integrated into the larger world, and these were the areas that attracted

University library in 1984. It was Rawlinss discovery of this copy that contributed to the 1988 revival of the case. 48. Bowman to Marie Peary Stafford, 8 August 1935, RGB. I could have yumped wit yoy as the Norwegian said, Bowman responded to Staffords new document. 49. Memorandum, O. M. Miller to Dr. Bowman, Astronomical Observations at Pole, 12 August 1935, RGB. 50. To Elsie, in William Carlos Williams, Selected Poems (New York: New Directions, 1985), 53. 51. He carried no white witnesses (Amundsen and Peary, Times Literary Supplement, 21 December 1935). 52. Bowman to Harry Raymond, 5 November 1935, RGB; Bowman to Mrs. Edward Stafford, 12 November 1935, RGB. 53. Bowman to Marie Stafford, 31 August 1936, RGB; Marie Peary Stafford to Bowman, 8 September 1936, RGB. In 1988 Rawlins had begun from the assumption that they were solar observations, but they proved after all to be star observations. 54. Bowman to Marie Peary Stafford, 31 August 1936. Peary was obviously keenly interested in disproving Cooks claim. Shortly after returning in 1909, he hired Hudson Hastings to write a report evaluating Cooks claim (four-page, signed, undated report, Explorers Club Archives, Peary Arctic Papers, le 1.2.33). As for the controversy since 1988, Rawlins agrees that he wrongly assumed (in line with Mrs. Pearys description on the envelope) that they were solar observations at the Pole rather than star sightings, but the report to the NGS, while pointing out Rawlinss error, indicated equal bafement about the Betelgeuse paper. Since it is now known that some of the numbers in the document refer to the registration numbers of Pearys chronometers, the star sighting could not have been Cooks, as Bowman had assumed. Pearys farthest north point in his previous (1906) expedition was 8706 , and the Betelgeuse paper might be a back-up documentation of that feat. 55. Bowman to Stafford, 22 November 1937, RGB. 56. Bowman to Norman V. Donaldson, 20 December 1935, RGB. See also the account in Rawlins, Peary at the North Pole, 28994. 57. Bowman to Marie Stafford, 30 July 1936, RGB. 58. Bowman had relayed this to Finn Ronne, whom he swore to secrecy: Finn Ronne, Antarctica, My Destiny (New York: Hastings House, 1979), 18283. 59. Bowman to Guy North, 22 November 1937, RGB; Stafford to Bowman, 8 March and 28 November 1937, RGB. Not until May 1986 was a Peary stamp issued, and when it was, Matthew Henson shared the honor (and the stamp) with Peary. 60. If I were a woman I would be in tears! I mean that I am so deeply disappointed that I shall not be able to be in Maine this summer (Bowman to Stafford, 1 April 1938, RGB); The Peary Memorial at Jockey Cap, Fryburg, Maine, an Appreciation by Isaiah Bowman, August 1938, RGB.


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41. From Pearys diary while in Central America in the mid-1880s: San Salvador, the land which rst gladdened the eyes of Columbus. . . . Birthplace of the new world, purple against the yellow sunset, as it was almost four hundred years ago when it smiled a welcome to the man whose fame can be equalled only by him who shall one day stand with 360 degrees of longitude beneath his motionless feet and for whom East and West shall have vanishedthe discoverer of the North Pole. Quoted in Douglas Johnston, A Biography of Peary, Science 86 (1937): 288. 42. Minik, one of those brought to New York in 1896, later denounced museum ofcials as scientic criminals. Only in 1993 were the four sets of remains returned to Greenland (Michael T. Kaufman, Eskimos Used as Human Specimens Will Finally Get Traditional Burial, Atlanta Journal, 22 August 1993). Bowman did not meet Pearys eskimos, but he did meet an Inuit woman brought later by his close friend Knud Rasmussen. Treating her, too, as a scientic specimen, Bowman requested that Rasmussen photograph her secretly so that her unique gait and posture and her natural carriage could be recorded. He added, It would also be an interesting thing to take a photograph of her body from the waist up in prole and also looking straight at her back (Bowman to Rasmussen, 17 November 1924, AGS IB). Hensons account is given in Matthew Henson, A Black Explorer at the North Pole (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1989). See also Pierre Berton, The Arctic Grail: The Quest for the North West Passage and the North Pole (New York: Viking, 1988); S. Allen Counter, North Pole Legacy: Black, White and Eskimo (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1991); Roland Huntford, Scott and Amundsen (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1979); Robert M. Bryce, Cook & Peary: The Polar Controversy Resolved (New York: Stackpole Books, 1997); Cindi Katz and Andrew Kirby, In the Nature of Things, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 16 (1991): 25971; Lloyd Rose, Ice Follies, Voice Literary Supplement, May 1989, 16. 43. Taft quotation in William Herbert Hobbs, Admiral Peary, the Discoverer of the North Pole, Scientic Monthly, May 1935, 391; Rawlins, Peary at the North Pole, 9. 44. J. Gordon Hayes, The Conquest of the North Pole: Recent Arctic Exploration (London: Thornton Butterworth, 1934); W. Henry Lewin, The Great North Pole Fraud (London: C. W. Daniel, 1935); William Herbert Hobbs, Peary (New York: Macmillan, 1936). If the rst two sources were harshly critical, the last was a paean to Peary. The Lewin volume included a monograph revealing that Ross Marvin, an engineer who died on the Peary expedition of 1909, did not actually fall into the sea as generally reported, but was murdered. Apparently he was killed by an Inuit member of the party responding to mistreatment. 45. Bowman, Eagle Island, Maine (Bowmans eleven-page account and transcription of Peary expedition records), 30 July 1936, RGB. 46. Bowman, Eagle Island, 1. 47. Bowman, Eagle Island, 2; Marie Peary Stafford to Bowman, 3 August 1935, RGB. Bowmans copy of this document was among the papers held by his son, Robert Bowman, and shipped from Lincoln, Nebraska, to Johns Hopkins

Bowman. He went not to the Amazon but to the high Andes, the land of the Incas, stretching from Peru and Bolivia to northern Chile. After a century of independence and nation building, hundreds of miles of national frontiers remained contested, and the authority of the central states was weak in outlying districts.4 Bowman mounted three separate expeditions, in 1907, 1911, and 1913. His interest in the region had been sparked by his Ypsilanti teacher Mark Jefferson, and he knew from teaching South America at Yale that good physical research on the area was limited. Several German geographers had done fieldwork there in recent decades, as had Peruvian geographers, but the coverage was sparse and the quality uneven. So little was known, in fact, that Bowman used as a baseline the classic works of Humboldt and Darwin, who had visited the region in the 1800s and 1830s, respectively. The contemporary human geography of the region (unlike the archaeology) was even more underdeveloped, although British geographer Sir Clements Markham had begun intensive research in the 1870s.5 Three distinct environments dominated the region: the mountain chains of the Andes; the extensive intermontane plateau, or puna; and the Atacama Desert. Although a few outside intrepids had reconnoitered the area, it was still a significant blank spot on the world map for most geographers and for the publics of Europe and North America. It was one of the last extant frontiers on the rim of the known world, Bowman observed, quoting Teddy Roosevelt.6 If he conceived himself solidly within a new scientific geography for the new century, he also relished the romance and heroism of exploration in the old style. It was here that Bowman did his most trenchant and original geographical research. Several papers and two books were the result: The Andes of Southern Peru (1916) and Desert Trails of Atacama (1924). Traversing some ten thousand miles by mule, canoe, train, and stagecoach, as well as on foot, and enduring extraordinarily difficult conditions of climate, altitude, physical environment, and personal danger, his expeditions recorded, mapped, and interpreted various facets of the regions geography: geomorphological analyses of structural uplift and climatic change, regional physiographies and settlement geographies, economic and commercial inventories, and cultural archaeologies of relict Indian communities. His earliest results were at times speculative and overgeneralized and on at least one occasion quickly proven wrong, but some of his analyses of different regional landscapes, landforms, and processes had enduring scientific value. The scientific work, however, was overshadowed by one momentous event. The 1911 venture was organized with his Yale colleague Hiram Bingham, and it was on this


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expedition that the mythical lost city of the Incas, Machu Picchu, was discovered. Bowman appreciated the larger context of his work. On the one hand, with prospectors and rubber planters already well established in the Amazon, the Andes, long a barrier to trade between the coast and the interior, had become the last great frontier of the continent. On the other hand, the conquistadores had initiated a period of sheer human conquest, in Bowmans words, opening up uncharted territory often by brutal means. But the new conquest was different. Led by commerce and capital rather than muskets, it was a conditional conquest: Even if railroads are run across the mountains, the desert reclaimed by scientific methods of irrigation, and rubber in enormous quantities gathered on all the highways and byways of a once impenetrable forest, all these are done by such methods and at such expense of human energy and capital, even of life, as to make them examples not of sheer human conquest, but a conditional conquest.7 The conquest was conditional in two ways for Bowman. First, although modern societies were easily capable of grand modifications of nature, and therefore no outright environmental determinism was tenable, geographical forces nonetheless strongly and persistently molded the will and the deeds of South Americas people and will continue to do so. Geography always conditions economic conquest. But conquest is conditional in a second sense, namely, it requires an imposition of knowledge and capital from outside to break the nature-imposed torpidity of indigenous society. It is conditional, therefore, on the attention and resources of the sterner races, whose tastes have led them to exploitation of many precious substances that have long held the original races in a thralldom practically complete.8 We will examine the connection between Bowmans evolutionary idealism and his conceptions of race in due course. The point here is that geographical knowledge is itself a condition of conquest. Its explications of people and place, landscape and environment, delineate the conditions and possibilities of conquest. It transforms immediate practical questions of environment and resources into manageable scientific and technical problems. Primary explorationsheer conquest, for Bowmanopens up and formally maps the outlines of uncharted spaces; later waves of exploration conditional conquestoffer a replete remapping as a prelude to integration into the circuits of global economy and culture. If exploration establishes the initial means of penetrating unexplored regions, scientific geography serves up newly pioneered areas for economic exploitation and development. The stuff of geographydescriptions and explanations of physical conditions and processes, mapped landscapes and their features, resource in-

33. Wally Herbert, National Geographic Magazine, September 1988. See also Wally Herbert, The Noose of Laurels: Robert E. Peary and the Race to the North Pole (New York: Atheneum, 1989); J. N. Wilford, Doubts Cast on Pearys Claim to the Pole, New York Times, 22 August, 1988; A Correction, New York Times, 23 August 1988. 34. Boyce Rensberger, Pearys Notes Show He Faked Claim, Washington Post, 12 October 1988; J. N. Wilford, Peary Notes Said to Imply He Fell Short of Pole, New York Times, 13 October 1988. Peary defenders could stomach some mistakes in Pearys habitually sloppy calculations, but the direct challenge to his honor implied by accusations of fakery was too much, and the case for the defense geared up. The National Geographic Society commissioned retired real admiral Thomas D. Daviess Navigational Foundation to provide an independent review. The Davies report concluded that Rawlins had misinterpreted the new datait was not a solar observation at alland that new forensic photography and depth soundings suggested that Peary did get to within three to ve miles of the Pole and certainly no more than 15 miles away. But these claims too were contestedby scientists who were familiar with the new techniques and doubted the accuracy levels claimed by the NGS-sponsored study. See Thomas D. Davies, Robert E. Peary at the North Pole: A Report to the National Geographic Society (Rockville, Md.: Foundation for the Promotion of the Art of Navigation, 1989); W. E. Leary, Peary Made It to the Pole after All, Study Concludes, New York Times, 12 December 1989; Paul Wallich, Polar Heat, Scientic American, March 1990, 2224. See also Eliot Marshal, Pearys North Pole Claim Reexamined, Science 243 (3 March 1989): 113132. The Davies claim of fteen miles is quoted in Paul Wallich, Peary Redux, Scientic American, June 1990, 2526. A further modication is also recorded there: Davies states that the foundation had only established Pearys position (with 65 percent probability) within 20 miles of the pole . . . (25). 35. Isaiah Bowman, Non-existence of the Peary Channel, Geographical Review 1 (1916): 44852. 36. Bowman to Robert A. Bartlett, 25 April 1928; Byrd to Bowman, 15 January 1927, and Bowman to Byrd, 4 March 1927, inter alia; Byrd to Raymond Fosdick, 1 April 1931; Byrd to Bowman, 17 July 1931; all in AGS IB. 37. Isaiah Bowman, Whats the Use of Explorers? Outlook, 21 August 1929, 659. 38. Dennis Rawlins, Peary at the North Pole (Washington, D.C.: Robert B. Luce, 1973), 6061. 39. Bowman to Gilbert H. Grosvenor, 25 June 1921, AGS IB; Grosvenor to Bowman, 1 July 1921, AGS IB. 40. Rawlins, Peary at the North Pole, 64; Eugene Rodgers, Beyond the Barrier (Annapolis, Md.: United States Naval Institute, 1990); Roland Huntford, The Last Place on Earth (New York: Antheneum, 1986), 126; J. N. Wilford, Did Byrd Reach Pole? His Diary Hints No, New York Times, 9 May 1996.


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America specialist hired in 1917, and around the Harvard geomorphologist Charles Hitchcock after 1929. Ray Platt was, like Bowman, a student of Mark Jefferson. See also Miklos Pinther, The History of Cartography at the American Geographical Society, Ubique 22, no. 1 (2002): 67. 21. Bowman to N. M. Fenneman, 9 December 1922, 5 January and 6 February 1923, AGS IB; Fenneman to Bowman, 22 December 1922, AGS IB. 22. J. F. Normano, The Struggle for South America (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1931), 66. See also Michael L. Krenn, U.S. Policy toward Economic Nationalism in Latin America, 19171929 (Wilmington, Del.: Scholarly Resources, 1990); Richard V. Salisbury, Anti-Imperialism and International Competition in Central America, 19201929 (Wilmington, Del.: Scholarly Resources, 1989); Robert N. Seidel, Progressive Pan Americanism: Development and United States Policy toward South America, 19061931 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1971); Emily Rosenberg, Spreading the American Dream: American Economic and Cultural Expansion, 18901945 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1982); David Sheinin, The ism in Pan Americanism: State Department AntiCommunism and the Shaping of the Pan American Movement, 19261933, paper presented at the annual meeting of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations, June 1996. 23. Appendix, The Map of Hispanic America on the Scale of 1:1,000,000, Geographical Review 36 (1946): 2628; Bowman to Arthur Hinks, 28 September 1923, AGS IB; Hinks to Bowman, 8 October 1923, AGS IB. Following a review in the RGS journal, which belittled the millionth map as mildly practical, Bowman complained to Hinks, secretary of the RGS, about its apparent hostility toward the AGS (Bowman to Hinks, 28 September 1923). 24. The Map of Hispanic America, 28. 25. George McBride, an earlier employee of the AGS who worked on the millionth map, was U.S. commissioner appointed to help negotiate a settlement of the Peru-Ecuador boundary war, provisionally settled in 1941 (Bowman to Amos E. Taylor, 30 November 1948, JHU). 26. Life, 8 December 1941, 104. 27. Bowman to Manuel Gamio, 17 February 1922, AGS IB; Bowman, The Millionth Map, 322. 28. Raye Platt, The Millionth Map of Hispanic America . . . , Geographical Review 36 (1946): 12. 29. Bowman to Archer Huntington, 31 January 1942, JHU; Bowman to George F. Carter, 20 October 1944, RGB; Meeting of Technical Advisory SubCommittee, Baltimore, February 29, 1948, RGB, 2. For more detail, see Platt, The Millionth Map of Hispanic America, 2324. 30. Wright, Geography in the Making, 355. 31. Spruille Braden, Congratulatory Address, Science 103 (1946): 32325; Bowman, The Millionth Map, 321. 32. The Livingstone Medal was actually Bowmans second such honor. In 1928 he had been honored with the Livingstone Medal of the Royal Scottish Geographical Society, where Alan Ogilvie played a leading role.

ventories, catalogs and portraits of social conditions vis--vis the environment, mapped trade routesprovided a kind of anatomical diagram, a physiology of the region being opened up.

physiographic conquest i: the davisian andes

With a semesters leave of absence from Yale and a thousand-dollar grant from the industrialist Archer M. Huntington, an inheritor of the Huntington railroad fortune and habitual benefactor of the American Geographical Society, Bowman launched the Yale South American Expedition of 1907. In April he set out on his biggest adventure yet aboard a United Fruit Company steamer bound for Jamaica, then Panama. Fully aware of his journeys significance, he kept a detailed diary. Crossing the isthmus by land, he was deeply impressed by the cut being dug for the canal. As he sailed south down the northern coast of Peru, he began to make field observations of coastal disturbances, terraces, deposits, and other signs of changed sea level all the way down to Iquique in northern Chile. On a mules back, he carried out a topographic mapping from Lagunas in northern Chile, eastward over the coastal range, up the Andes slope, through a high pass and onto the Bolivian puna, a high plateau ranging between twelve thousand and fourteen thousand feet above sea level (map 1). Returning to the Chilean coast, he detoured south to the dusty seaport of Antofagasta before returning to the Bolivian puna farther north. A stagecoach took him to the old colonial city of Cochabamba, then down the steep slope of the Cordillera Oriental (the eastern range of the Andes) into the Chapare district of eastern Bolivia and the Amazon basin. He returned home via La Paz, Lake Titicaca, and the Peruvian coast.9 The 1907 expedition was driven largely by physiographic concerns. Bowman believed that William Morris Daviss theory of erosion cycles was likely to provide the best explanation of many Andean landscapes. Uplift was pivotal to the Davisian theory and might occur in various ways, and erosion was just as vital because it wore down uplifted terrain into peneplains, relatively flat plains perched significantly above sea level. From the deck of the Beagle, observing the coastal cliffs of Peru, Darwin first proposed that massive uplift had occurred throughout the entire area, but this was eventually challenged by researchers who insisted that the regions geomorphology owed more to volcanic forces and events. It was generally accepted that some mix of volcanic action and structural uplift had operated in the region, but advocates of uplift and vulcanism differed radically on the extent, intensity, and significance of these different geological agents. The controversy revolved around contradictory structural and fossil evidence, but Bowman now


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Map 1. Bowmans Latin American expeditions, 1907, 1911, 1913.

came in search of physiographical clues: what did landscape form tell about landscape origins? His initial coastal observations verified many of Darwins descriptions, and he pieced together a more detailed picture of coastal forms and processes. He measured relict wave-cut terraces, raised beaches, and comparatively recent shell deposits between eight hundred and fifteen hundred feet above the current sea level, all of which suggested rapid changes of sea levels. He quickly attributed this to dramatic uplift throughout the area, much as Darwin had done and in line with the Davisian theory.10 On the inland stretch of the expedition, he carried out more detailed physiographic analysis in search of a broad chronology of the cycles of geo-

could let their hair down: Our members . . . will remember with pleasure the reduction of discomfort in a long journey, much of it across dry country, by the abundant provision of Budweiser Beer courtesy of the Anheuser-Busch Brewing Association (Memorial Volume of the Transcontinental Excursion of 1912 of the American Geographical Society of New York [New York: American Geographical Society, 1915], 7). 9. Untitled agreement with Professor Bowman, 8 December 1914, AGS IB; Bowman to James Lee Love, 7 November 1939, JHU, 4. 10. Bowman to Mark Jefferson, 7 July 1915, AGS IB. 11. Wright, Geography in the Making, 190; untitled agreement with Professor Bowman, AGS. 12. Wright, Geography in the Making, 19094; Bowman to N. M. Fenneman, 17 February 1917, AGS IB. 13. Bowman to Fenneman, 20 May 1920, JHU; Bowman to G. J. Miller, 24 March 1920, AGS IB; Bowman to Richard E. Dodge, 3 August 1922, AGS IB. Wrigley had been a student of H. J. Fleure at the University of Aberystwyth. On her largely overlooked role, see Douglas R. McManis, The Editorial Legacy of Gladys M. Wrigley, Geographical Review 80 (1990): 16981. 14. Bowman to John C. Merriam, 5 June 1918; Edward B. Mathews to Bowman, 9 January 1920; Colonel W. S. McNair to Bowman, 2 April 1921; Bowman to McNair, 13 May 1921; all in AGS IB. Bowman also pled with the secretary of state for a permanent intelligence unit inside the State Department (Bowman to Charles E. Hughes, 6 May 1921, AGS IB). 15. Bowman to Robert H. Lord, 16 June 1921; Bowman to W. M. Davis, 28 July 1921; W. W. Dyer to Bowman, 3 May 1922, AGS IB. See also Bowmans account: An American Boundary Dispute, Geographical Review 13 (1923): 16189. 16. Bowman to Finley, 5 March 1923, AGS IB; Home Boundaries, New York Times, 9 March 1923. The Teapot Dome scandal in Wyoming and California erupted after 1921 when it became known that two U.S. government oil reserves had been leased to private oil magnates in exchange for nancial favors. Bowman shared an afnity with John Huston Finley, born to an Illinois farm, who became president of the City College of New York and the State University of New York in Albany before moving to the Times. Finley was elected to the AGS Council in 1924 and in 1925 to the presidency, which he held for a decade. See Marvin E. Gettleman, An Elusive Presence: The Discovery of John H. Finley and his America (Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1979). 17. Cited in Robert Cushman Murphy, The New President of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, Scientic Monthly 56 (1943): 572. 18. Bowman to Waldemar Lindgren, 1 November 1927, AGS IB; Bowman to de Martonne, 13 September 1934, AGS IB. 19. Bowman to Richard Pattee, 17 January 1941, JHU; Isaiah Bowman, The Millionth Map of Hispanic America, Science 103 (1946): 31923. 20. Wright, Geography in the Making, 306. In addition to Ogilvie and Platt, the work was built around George McBride, a UCLA graduate and a South


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70. Amy Kaplan, Romancing the Empire: The Embodiment of American Masculinity in the Popular Historical Novel of the 1890s, in Cultures of United States Imperialism, ed. Amy Kaplan and Donald E. Pease (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1993), 664, 661. See also Thomas D. Schoonover, The United States in Central America, 18601911: Episodes of Social Imperialism and Imperial Rivalry in the World System (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1991). 71. Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (New York: Routledge, 1992), 7. 72. Bowman, Desert Trails, 358. On Pizarro and the original conquest, see Eduardo Galeano, Open Veins of Latin America: Five Centuries of the Pillage of a Continent (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1973), 2531. 73. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 97. 74. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 9799. 75. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 100. 76. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 100. 77. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 100.

chapter 4
1. Robert H. Wiebe, The Search for Order (New York: Hill and Wang, 1967), 187. 2. Martin J. Sklar, The Corporate Reconstruction of American Capitalism, 18901916 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 33. 3. Houston A. Baker Jr., Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 15. 4. Wiebe, The Search for Order, 113. 5. Quoted in J. K. Wright, Geography in the Making: The American Geographical Society, 18511951 (New York: American Geographical Society, 1952), 138. 6. On the National Geographic Society in this period, see Philip J. Pauly, The World and All That Is in It: The National Geographic Society, 18881918, American Quarterly 31 (1979): 51732. 7. He was born Archer Worsham; his mother married Collis P. Huntington in 1884. See James T. Maher, Twilight of Splendor (Boston: Little, Brown, 1975). 8. This extended eld trip, organized by Davis, provided an unprecedented venue for the meeting of nearly 140 North American and European geographers. It proceeded by train from New York City on 22 August 1912 via Chicago and the northern plains to Yellowstone Park and Seattle (13 September). Next it went south to San Francisco, east to the Grand Canyon, Memphis, and Washington, D.C., and returned to New York City on 17 October. The group was welcomed by local dignitaries at most stops, and its progress was noted in the national press. Although its proceedings were usually rather formal (the lead-off dinner was at the Harvard Club, the closing dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria), the following acknowledgment by Davis suggests that some of these austere gents

morphological change. From conglomerate, dissected alluvial fans and other deposited sediments embedded in lower rock layers, he identified eroded relict flood-plain surfaces and piedmont river deposits, both suggesting uplift. And by a rudimentary mapping of river profiles and cross-sections, he located stream forms that he took as mature, even aged, in the Davisian cycle, except that they were currently the agents of vigorous stream dissection rather than deposition. Here was a remarkable South American parallel to the Colorado Rivers dissection of the Great Basin, most marked in Arizonas Grand Canyon, which had played a central role in the development of nineteenth-century geography, from Powell to Davis. Again, Bowman had little trouble conceiving this landscape in classical Davisian terms of uplift and erosion. But the chronology was not straightforward. From detailed analysis of the Cochabamba, Cliza, and upper Urubamba river basins of northwestern Bolivia and southern Peru, he concluded that the area had undergone not one but three sequential cycles of uplift, dissection, and peneplain formation, followed by renewed uplift. In some places earlier cycles appear not to have reached maturity before a new cycle of uplift commenced; in the Cordillera Occidental (the western range of the Andes), where uplift remained intense in recent times, the landscape profile was most youthful; on the edge of the Cordillera Oriental, by contrastin the Yungas, the Chapare River, the slopes east of Cochabambathe dissection of this latest uplift was already well underway.11 Bowman came away from the 1907 expedition convinced that Daviss schema for the erosion cycle was the central explanatory tool for the physiography of the Central Andes. Peneplanation, he declared, is the dominating fact in the physiography of the region.12 Detailed empirical analysis would reveal the particular contours of peneplanation in specific places and the extent to which other forcesstructural interruption by faulting or by volcanic eruption, for example, or the effects of resurgent glaciation modified the Davisian template. But this affirmation and complication of Daviss theory were hard won. Bowman became thoroughly acquainted with a mules back and endured the worst of a high Andes winter. The feudal bondage of the peonage system established in the sixteenth century was loosening, but in the mountains and on the puna, far from the more modern influences of the coast, it survived in various forms. Still called peons, Indian day laborers received only token wages, were often coerced into work, and were subject to constant, often life-threatening beatings. Slave traders still openly worked the Amazon basin, kidnaping Indians for work in the plantations. In May in La-


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gunas, preparing for the most arduous phase of the expedition, Bowman acquired mules and hired a peon as porter and two guides (half-breed) from the local nitrate plant. Including an American companion called Rogers, this party headed northeast into the mountains, through the pass of Lillillita and into Bolivia. Bowman was mapping, sketching, and taking elaborate notes throughout. But at fourteen thousand feet above sea level he was stricken by severe soroche (altitude sickness) and could only sit miserably as his mule trudged on. After two days of hard riding from the desolate border hamlet of Llica, their food and water were exhausted, and their night camp was snowed in by intermittent blizzards. The men were cold, hollow eyed with hunger and sleep deprivation, and their lips and faces were cracked by the dry, cold wind. The mules were absolutely dejected, great snow masses on their backs.13 A second night in the snow was helped only by some whiskey and hot tea. The guides crazy wanderings had led them in circles, Bowman records, so that they recrossed their tracks into and out of Bolivia until they found a gorge they could follow down from the puna. But head guide Luidor resented the implication he was lost and quickly abandoned the descending party, heading back up to the puna with the pack animals. When the weather cleared and Bowman caught up with him, he exploded in rage. Who was guide and who was traveler? Bowman bellowed. Luidor drew a knife from his boot leg and threatened to kill the gringo geographer. Bowman loaded his six-shooter, swung his bandolier across his chest, invoked the provincial governors name for insurance, and spent the night ready for business.14 The remainder of the 1907 expedition was less harrowing but certainly eventful. They left the land of the highland Aymara for the forest Machiguenga of the Chapare region northeast of Cochabamba, descending into the Amazon basin by dugout canoeone half breed at stern and three painted savages at bow.15 Bowman analyzed the region south of Lake Titicaca to Oruro, concluding that at least two uplift surfaces could be identified there. Overall he had covered nearly four thousand miles and was bringing back conclusive physiographical evidence, he felt, that the erosion cycle operated in the Central Andes.

physiographic conquest ii: cartography

When he next returned to the region, it was a more elaborate affair altogether, a more intense research experience and eventually a very famous expedition. Financed to the tune of $11,825 and with seven scientific mem-

46. Isaiah Bowman, The Military Geography of Atacama, Educational Bimonthly (June 1911): 121. 47. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 93. 48. For Ratzels symptomatic silence on labor, see Richard Peet, The Social Origins of Environmental Determinism, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 75 (1985): 30933. 49. Bowman, 1907 diary, 23339, 25152, 374. 50. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 25, 8487. 51. Bowman, 1907 diary, 292. 52. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 2428. 53. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 88. 54. See David Livingstone, Climates Moral Economy: Science, Race and Place in Post-Darwinian British and American Geography, in Geography and Empire, ed. A. Godlewska and N. Smith (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994), 13254. 55. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 1089. 56. Theodore Roosevelt, The Andes of Southern Peru, Geographical Review 3 (1917): 322. Reviewed in the Nation and the New York Times and the subject of a biting exchange in the London-based Geographical Journal, The Andes of Southern Peru was translated into Spanish twenty years after its initial publication and was still being cited as an authoritative text after World War II. Where Markham and Bingham opened up the Incas of this region to the wider British and North American public, Bowman opened up the regions geography. That the book was not well received in Markhams Britain was always a disappointment to Bowman. 57. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 25. 58. Bowman, 1907 diary, 27374. 59. Bowman to Davis, 27 April 1909, RGS: Bingham Correspondence; Bowman to A. C. Burnham, 1 March, 1926, JHU. 60. A. Bingham: Portrait of an Explorer, 134; Raiders of the Lost City, American Heritage, July/August 1987, 64. 61. Bowman, notebook II, 67, 9, AGS IB. 62. Bowman, notebook of 1941 trip, 47, 50, AGS IB. 63. Daniel Buck, Fights of Machu Picchu, South American Explorer 32 (1993): 2232; A. Bingham, Portrait of an Explorer, 15972. 64. From The Century, July 1916, 227, quoted in Buck, Fights of Machu Picchu, 32. 65. Bowman, Desert Trails, 2. 66. Scoffs at Binghams Inca City Discovery, New York Times, 8 September 1916. 67. Seligman to Bowman, 8 September 1916, AGS IB; Bowman to Seligman, 14 September 1916, AGS IB. 68. Bassett, Cartography and Empire Building, 316. 69. See correspondence by Bingham, YU 664, II, 54; Bowman, Regional Population Groups of Atacama, Part 1, 142; A. Bingham, Portrait of an Explorer, 106, 130.


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30. A. Bingham, Portrait of an Explorer, 249. Most recent height estimates are: Aconcagua (22,841 ft.; 6,962 m); Huascarn (22,205 ft.; 6,768 m); Coropuna (21,079 ft.; 6,425 m). 31. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 19093, 199273, 285310. See also Francois E. Matthes, Glacial Sculpture of the Bighorn Mountains, Wyoming, United States Geological Survey Annual Report (Washington D.C., 1900), vol. 21, part 2, 181. A corrie, or cirque, is a large bowl on a mountainside scooped out by a ball of ice; a bergschrund is a cravasse that forms where the corrie ice pulls away from the rock surface. 32. Isaiah Bowman, First Report of Professor Bowmans Expedition, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 45 (1913): 75053; Isaiah Bowman, Geographical Expedition of 1913 to the Central Andes, Yale Alumni Weekly 8, no. 1 (1913): 4078. 33. Isaiah Bowman, Results of an Expedition to the Central Andes, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 46 (1914): 161; Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 235. See also A. J. Herbertson, The Major Natural Regions: An Essay in Systematic Geography, Geographical Journal 25 (1905): 300312. 34. Bowman, Regional Population Groups of Atacama, Part 1, 146. 35. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 62. 36. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 1, 4, 34, and passim. 37. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 5556. See also Isaiah Bowman: The Distribution of Population in Bolivia, Bulletin of the Geographical Society of Philadelphia 7 (1909): 7493; The Highland Dweller of Bolivia: An Anthropogeographic Interpretation, Bulletin of the Geographical Society of Philadelphia 7 (1909): 15984; and Regional Population Groups of Atacama, Part 1. 38. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, vii; Bowman, Desert Trails, 319. 39. Guano for fertilizer was actually a major focus of early imperial interest by U.S. capital in the region. See Jimmy M. Skaggs, The Great Guano Rush: Entrepreneurs and American Overseas Expansionism (New York: St. Martins Press, 1994). For an expanded argument about trade routes and colonization, see Thomas J. Bassett, Cartography and Empire Building in NineteenthCentury West Africa, Geographical Review 84 (1984): 321. 40. See Copiap Mining Co., AGS IB: Miscellaneous Notes from South American Field Work; Bowman, Desert Trails, 18185. The diary was by a James Sanderson, overseer of the Ramadilla estate. The grateful manager wrote Bowman some months later that his prediction of a wet year was borne out and that great benets will ensue. 41. Bowman, Desert Trails, 109, 162, 29293. 42. Bowman, Geographical Expedition of 1913 to the Central Andes, 107. 43. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 24; Karl Marx, Capital, 3 vols., trans. Samuel Moore and Edward Aveling (New York: International, 1967 ed.), 1: chap. 1. 44. Friedrich Ratzel, Anthropogeographie (original publication, 188291; Stuttgart: J. Engelhorn, 1912). 45. Bowman, Desert Trails, 34445.

bers, the 1911 Yale Expedition to Peru was led by Hiram Bingham, an ambitious man who had married into the wealth of the Connecticut upper classes. Bingham, who had graduated with a geology Ph.D. from Harvard the same year that Bowman earned his baccalaureate, came to Yale as an instructor in Latin American history and geography in 1907. He would go on to become governor of Connecticut and a U.S. senator before a romantic scandal ended his public career. Bingham was an old-school explorer, more acquisitive than inquisitive, a man who sought out firsts and harbored a proprietary attitude toward South America. Explorer Annie Peck, who claimed to have reached the apex of America after ascending the north peak of Huascarn (22,205 ft., 6,768 m) in northern Peru, was a particular thorn in his side. Any unexplored country would do, barked a livid Bingham on hearing her claim: he had to get back to the Andes to answer Peck. Being beaten by a woman was bad enough, but Peck was a sixty-one-year-old grandmother. He fastened on Coropuna, a multipeak volcanic mountain in southern Peru, whose height was only vaguely known but was estimated to be as high as 23,000 feet (7,010 m)higher than Aconcagua, then estimated at 22,763 feet (6,938 m). If so, Coropuna would be the highest peak in the Americas. Peck was already planning an ascent, and Bingham vowed to beat her to the top, having failed to browbeat her into stepping aside on the grounds that Coropuna was somehow his.16 Archaeological interest in South America was at fever pitch, and as a second objective he decided to discover the ruins of an old Inca capital that was rumored to perch on a high mountain saddle above the Urubamba River. This part of the plan was not revealed to the rest of the party. To lure Yale sponsorship, the expedition required a demonstrably scholarly purpose, hence Bowmans inclusion. He was to lead a cartographic survey of the Urubamba River valley and map a topographic section from the province of Cuzco south across the Andes to the coast.17 They would go to the Urubamba first to get acclimatized, and Bowmans party would complete the cartographic work. Bingham, traversing the plateau and ridges, would join up with them later, and they would jointly tackle Coropuna. The 1911 voyage to Peru occupied them with Spanish lessons and other preparations but became less relaxing for Bingham when Annie Peck boarded the same steamer in Jamaica. Following a three-day stopover at Lima, the Bingham-Bowman party arrived at Mollendo in early July, then proceeded by train to the highland city of Cuzco. They were briefly detained there by analysis of human remains in glacial deposits and by the need to secure sufficient mules and arrieros (muleteers),18 but in the third week of


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July, they headed north to the Urubamba. Bingham was insistent that his and Bowmans parties should separate at the river, and if Bowman was quite happy to get away from an overbearing Bingham, only later did he understand his colleagues motive. As Bingham struck up the mountain slopes in search of the Inca capital, accompanied by an escort of soldiers provided by the president of Peru, Bowman took to the valley bottom to explore and map the Urubamba (map 2). The north-flowing Urubamba dissects the eastern rim of the Andes, flowing into the Amazon via the Ucayali River, and its middle and lower canyon represented a scientifically unexplored region that Bowman found alluring. In Daviss terms, it was a very young stream cutting quickly and violently through the edge of a recently raised peneplain. Only fragments of the valleymost of it a deep gorgehad been mapped, mostly by Peruvian geographers from the Geographical Society of Lima. Here was Bowmans blank space to map. Few settlers had ever ventured down the most rugged hundred-mile stretch from Rosalina to the Pongo Manique, a foreboding series of rapids. In 1897 a Major Kerbey descended the last twenty miles of this section and declared it more hazardous than Powells descent of the Grand Canyon three decades prior. Kerbey lost his canoe, and the handful of others who succeeded hima Peruvian engineer, four Italian traders, would-be rubber merchants, even slave traders for the rubber plantations farther down the riverall lost at least a canoe, some their lives. There is no record of a single descent without the loss of at least one canoe, Bowman reported grimly, knowing that a dangerous river descent was the only way to map the Urubamba.19 The imminent adventure clearly thrilled Bowman as a piece of oldfashioned exploring, but he meant to accomplish more than that. The Urubamba map would provide a cartographic baseline for research on the geomorphological processes now operating in the region. The cut made by the canyon lay open tens of millions of years of geological processes as well as the most aggressive geomorphological agency of the Urubamba itself. It would be hard to find a more dynamic example of Daviss erosion cycle in action. Accompanied by their own soldier, the Bowman party left Cuzco and descended the upper reaches of the Urubamba, outfitting themselves at Santa Ana. Progress was initially slow: a drunk official, a mule bitten by a vampire bat, and the inexperience of the cartographer and his assistant all frustrated Bowman.20 They eventually reached Rosalina, where the river trip began. In addition to Bowman, the party included three Machiguenga guides, the expedition surgeon W. G. Erving, who was compiling a photographic record of Indian racial physiognomy,21 and a local planter, Seor

an Explorer (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 1989), 10. See also Annie Smith Peck, A Search for the Apex of America (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1911). 17. The scientic work was for Bingham simply a device to link the search for Inca ruins with the climbing of Coropuna, according to Binghams son: A. Bingham, Portrait of an Explorer, 199. 18. Bingham diary, YU 664, Series II, Box 183. Bowman, after analyzing a series of sediments in which Bingham had found human bones, published several papers promoting the idea of an ancient Cuzco Man dated to between twenty thousand and forty thousand years before the present. Much to the ire of the local subprefect, Bingham ordered the remains excavated, and they were eventually presented to the Peabody Museum at Yale. On a subsequent expedition, however, with the help of Yale geologist Herbert Gregory, Bingham concluded that the bones were of much more recent origin, representing a postConquest ceremonial burial. Cuzco Man was a myth. See Isaiah Bowman: Man and Climate Change in South America, Geographical Journal 33 (1909): 26778; A Buried Wall at Cuzco and Its Relation to the Question of a Pre-Inca Race (Yale Peruvian Expedition, 1911), American Journal of Science 34 (1912): 497509; and The Geologic Relations of the Cuzco Remains, American Journal of Science 33 (1912): 30725. For the refutation, see Hiram Bingham, The Investigation of the Prehistoric Remains Found Near Cuzco, Peru, in 1911, American Journal of Science 36 (July 1913): 12; George F. Eaton, Vertebrate Remains in the Cuzco Gravels, American Journal of Science 36 (July 1913): 314; and Herbert E. Gregory, The Gravels at Cuzco, American Journal of Science 36 (July 1913): 1529. 19. Isaiah Bowman, The Caon of the Urubamba, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 44 (1912): 885; Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 8. 20. Bowman to Bingham, 1 August 1911, YU 664, II, 527. 21. A. Bingham, Portrait of an Explorer, 154. 22. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 819. 23. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 19; Bowman, The Caon of the Urubamba, 891. 24. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 20. 25. Bowman, Andes of Southern Peru, 20. 26. Hiram Bingham, Preliminary Report of the Yale Peruvian Expedition, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 44 (1912): 20. Hendriksen was a Danish cartographer working for the Coast and Geodetic Survey, and he had been seconded to the expedition at the personal behest of President Taft: Bingham to Taft, 10 March 1911, YU 664, II, 54. 27. A. Bingham, Portrait of an Explorer, 235. 28. Foreword, in Carlos Monge, Acclimatization in the Andes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1948), viii. 29. Bowman to Bingham, 22 November 1911, YU 664, II, 630; Hiram Bingham, Inca Land (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifin, 1922), 46.


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66. J. K. Wright and G. F. Carter, Isaiah Bowman, 18781950, Biographical Memoirs 33 (1959): 42; Bowman to Charles Phelps Taft, 21 January 1948, JHU. 67. Isaiah Bowman, The Frontier Region of Mexico, Geographical Review 3 (1917): 1617. See also Friedrich Katz, The Secret War in Mexico: Europe, the United States and the Mexican Revolution (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981).

chapter 3
1. Halford J. Mackinder, The Geographical Pivot of History, Geographical Journal 23 (1904): 422. 2. Isaiah Bowman, Desert Trails of Atacama (New York: American Geographical Society Special Publication No. 5, 1924), 1. 3. Bowman, Desert Trails, 12. 4. Some contests still continue: a violent border war re-erupted in 1995 between Peru and Ecuador. 5. Clements Markhams work culminated in his classic The Incas of Peru (London: Smith, Elders, 1910). See also Charles Darwin, A Naturalists Voyage, Journal of Researches into the Natural History and Geology of the Countries Visited during the Voyage of H.M.S. Beagle round the World (London: John Murray, 1890 ed.). See Isaiah Bowman: Man and Climatic Change in South America, Geographical Journal 33 (1909): 26778; and Regional Population Groups of Atacama, Part 1, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 41 (1909): 142211. 6. Bowman, Desert Trails, 1. For Latin American writers responding in different ways to the conversion of their countries into frontiers, see David J. Weber and Jane M. Rausch, eds., Where Cultures Meet: Frontiers in Latin America (Wilmington: Jaguar Books, 1994). 7. Bowman, Regional Population Groups of Atacama, Part 1, 144. 8. Bowman, Regional Population Groups of Atacama, Part 1, 144. 9. Bowman, 1907 diary, AGS IB; Bowman to Jefferson, 9 June 1907, EMU; Isaiah Bowman, The Andes of Southern Peru (New York: Henry Holt, 1916), 34. 10. Isaiah Bowman, The Physiography of the Central Andes: I. The Maritime Andes, American Journal of Science 28 (1909): 197217. 11. Bowman, Physiography of the Central Andes: I; Bowman, The Physiography of the Central Andes: II. The Eastern Andes, American Journal of Science 28 (1909): 373402. 12. Bowman, Physiography of the Central Andes: II, 373. 13. Bowman, 1907 diary, 137, 17980. 14. Bowman, 1907 diary, 17694. 15. Bowman, 1907 diary, 296. 16. Bingham to President William H. Taft, 10 March 1911, YU, Yale Peruvian Expedition Papers, Series II, Box 5, le 4; Albert M. Bingham, Portrait of

Map 2. The Urubamba River, 1911 expedition.

La Sama. The staunch twenty-five-foot dugout canoe also carried 200 pounds of baggage, a dog, and supplies of yucca and sugar cane. But the guides refused to run the river, not so much because of the rapids but because many had only recently found refuge up the Urubamba from downstream slave traders and plantation owners, and they were anything but eager to return. Bowman set off anyway, hiring five replacement boatmen downriver and a boy interpreter. For the entire trip of two hundred miles, Bowman made geomorphological observations, stopping at regular intervals to map backward and forward along the canyon.22 The first major rapids were so hazardous that they walked the riverbanks and used ropes to maneuver the canoe through the rapids, but all the party received some injuryBowman a bad ankle sprain. When they rounded the


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big bend of the Urubamba, the canyon walls grew higher and more sheer, announcing the next major obstacle, the confluence with the Pomareni, which plunges into the Urubamba at a right angle, creating a confusing mass and conflicting currents rendered still more difficult by the whirlpool just below the junction, where the water is hollowed out like a great bowl. In this maelstrom, a canoe that goes a little too far to the right would be thrown over against the cliff-face; a little too far to the left and we should be caught in the whirlpool. The heavy canoe became as helpless as a chip . . . turned this way and that . . . heading . . . apparently straight for destruction. But the guides judged their position well, and they finally skimmed the edge of the whirlpool coming gently to rest on the shore.23 But the worst, they assumed, was still ahead. The Pongo Manique is the final succession of rapids, cut four thousand feet into the eastern edge of the Andes, and it was no more forgiving to travelers than it was to the rock. The rapids stretch fifteen miles, and at one point the river rages between sheer walls no more than fifty feet apart. Occasionally they managed to clamber down the bank or maneuver the canoe by ropes, but mostly they had to take their chances with the cauldrons of rushing water. The effect in some places is extraordinary. A floating object is carried across stream like a feather and driven at express-train speed against a solid cliff.24 They survived the Pongo, however, and as the water smoothed out, Bowman became positively lyrical about the swift succession of natural wonders announcing a new climatic zone:
Fern-clad cliffs . . . and the banks are heavily clad with mosses. . . . Cascades tumble from the cliff summits or go rippling down the long inclines. . . . Finally appear the white pinnacles of limestone that hem in the narrow lower entrance or outlet of the Pongo. . . . One suddenly comes out upon the edge of a rolling forest-clad region, the rubber territory, the country of the great woods. Here the Andean realm ends and Amazonia begins. . . . The break . . . is almost as sharp as a shoreline.25

It was here that the most serious accident occurred. They had hired the Machiguenga chief Domingo to explore downriver. The chiefs son, maneuvering by boat pole, hit the trigger of Bowmans loaded shotgun, blowing off several of his own fingers and badly wounding the chief. The surgeon tended to their wounds, and the party limped back upstream to the chiefs settlement, where they left the casualties, never to learn of the chiefs fate. Bowmans 1911 research was more focused than that of 1907. His map of the Urubamba represented an original and definitive piece of exploration and cartography (map 3). The journey had also offered up numerous geo-

48. Henry F. May, The End of American Innocence (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1959), 14. 49. Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939; Bowman to Jefferson, 30 November 1904, 5 May, 5 July, and 6 October 1905, EMU, Box 2. 50. Davis to Bowman, 18 March 1906, JHU; Bowman to Love, 30 July 1946, JHU. 51. Bowman to Jefferson, 6 October 1905, 2 February and 1 August 1906, EMU, Box 1. 52. Isaiah Bowman, Geography at Yale University, Journal of Geography 7 (1908): 5961, 61. For a critique of determinism, see Richard Peet, The Social Origins of Environmental Determinism, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 75 (1985): 30933. 53. Isaiah Bowman, Review of Geography of the Middle Illinois Valley, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 42 (1910): 69092; Bowman to James Truslow Adams, 2 August 1924, AGS IB. 54. Bowman to Hayden, 10 January 1944, RGB. 55. APS AAG, Box 24; Hugh Robert Mill, The International Geography, 2nd ed. (New York: D. Appleton, 1912); J. K. Wright to Derwent Whittlesey, 9 September 1950, AGS, JKW, le: Whittlesey, D., 195056. 56. Bowman to Jefferson, 2 February 1906, 28 February 1908, EMU, Box 1; Bowman, Geography at Yale University, 60. 57. Charles Seymour, Geography, Justice, and the Paris Peace Conference (New York: American Geographical Society, 1951), 1. 58. Isaiah Bowman, Forest Physiography (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1911), 3. 59. There is something about soils and Physiography of the United States in its 728 pages, he wrote to Jefferson, though why I ever had the temerity to put Forest in the title stumps me myself (Bowman to Jefferson, 22 June 1911, EMU, Box 1). See also A. J. Herbertson, Review of Forest Physiography, Geographical Journal 40 (1911): 2089. 60. Davis, The Geographical Cycle, 484. 61. See, for example, Carl Sauer, The Morphology of Landscape, University of California Publications in Geography 2 (1925): 1953; Richard Hartshorne, The Nature of Geography (Lancaster, Pa.: Association of American Geographers, 1939). 62. Bowman, Forest Physiography, 13. 63. Shaler himself had already published several closely related pieces: Forests of North America, Scribners Magazine 1 (1887): 56180; Physiography of North America, in Narrative and Critical History of America, ed. J. Winser (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 188489), 4: ixxx. 64. Bowman, Forest Physiography, 1. 65. Theophilus Parsons quoted in Philip F. Gura and Joel Myerson, eds., Critical Essays on American Transcendentalism (Boston: G. K. Hall, 1982), 9.


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35. Isaiah Bowman, Science and Social Pioneering, Science 90 (1939): 30919. 36. Livingstone, Shaler, 8485. 37. Bowman to Jefferson, 13 May 1903, EMU, Box 1. 38. David Livingstone has made the point that among these earlier generations of U.S. geographers, the inuence of Lamarck is generally dimmed in the glare of Darwins achievements. Certainly Shalers evolutionism came to be inected by Lamarcks emphasis on the environmental impetus for an organisms evolutionary development, but any Lamarckian inuence in Bowman is hard to detect. As a geographer, of course, he was intimately concerned with the relationship between human and biological organisms and their environment, so Lamarcks inuence might be intuited in Bowmans recognition of responses to environment serving as a motor for evolution. But this was precisely the period when the Lamarckian and neo-Lamarckian insistence on the inheritance of acquired characteristics was being roundly denied, and this aspect of Lamarcks work makes no coherent appearance in Bowmans vision. Livingstone, The Geographical Tradition, 187207; J. A. Campbell and D. Livingstone, Neo-Lamarckism and the Development of Geography in the United States and Great Britain, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 8 (1983): 26794; George W. Stocking Jr., Lamarckianism in American Social Science: 18901915, Journal of the History of Ideas 23 (1962): 23956. 39. Livingstone, Shaler, 5585. 40. Jefferson to Chauncey Harris, 17 April 1940, EMU, Box 2. 41. See Philip P. Wiener, Evolution and the Founders of Pragmatism (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1949). 42. I call all knowledge transcendental which is occupied not so much with objects, as with our a priori concepts of objects. A system of such concepts might be called Transcendental Philosophy (Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason [London: Macmillan, 1919 ed.], 9). 43. Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939. Among the many works on the subject, see Perry Miller, The Transcendentalists (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1950); and Philip Gura and Joel Meyerson, Critical Essays on American Transcendentalism (Boston: G. K. Hall, 1982). 44. Manfred Bttner, Kant and the Physico-Theological Consideration of the Geographical Facts, Organon 11 (1975): 23149. 45. Isaiah Bowman, Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1935), 6. 46. Quoted in Wiener, Evolution and the Founders of Pragmatism, 73. In this period the young intellectuals of America were still most widely inuenced by pragmatism (Henry F. May, The Rebellion of the Intellectuals, 19121917, American Quarterly 8 [1956]: 11426, 116). 47. Isaiah Bowman, Jeffersonian Freedom of Speech from the Standpoint of Science, Science (6 December 1935): 52932; Bowman to Jefferson, 6 September 1936, EMU, Box 2.

Map 3. Bowmans map of the Urubamba River (reprinted from Isaiah Bowman, The Andes of Southern Peru [New York: published for the American Geographical Society by Henry Holt, 1916]).

morphological observations, but between the rigors of canoeing the river and the demands of mapping, there was scant opportunity for concerted physiographic work. That changed with the second phase of the expedition, the planned topographic reconnaissance and mapping of a north-south transect following east of the seventy-third meridian, from the edge of the


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Cordillera Occidental, past Coropuna to the coast. They marched out of the river valley, recouped back upstream, and headed for the plateau, picking up the cartographer Kai Hendriksen on the way.26 Bingham had not rendezvoused as planned at Santa Anna, and Bowman did not know whether to be suspicious. From the start it was intended that Bowman would break from the transect to accompany Bingham up Coropuna, but the geographer and his party reached the starting point for the mapping, the provincial town of Abancay, behind schedule. They had supplies for an immediate start, but both men and mules were exhausted, and new mules were not immediately available. It was an agonizing choice. Binghams Plan of Campaign specified mid-October to begin the Coropuna ascent, but the peak was 150 miles directly south over perilous terrain, and the topographic mapping of the route would never progress quickly enough for Bowman to arrive at the foot of Coropuna on time. Should he abandon the mapping to Hendriksen for sake of the climb? Abandon science for the explorers glory of gaining what might be the highest peak in the hemisphere? Yes, he decided, but with mules suddenly available and Hendriksen adamant about the priority of the mapping, he relented.27 Mapping the transect south from Abancay was the most fraught part of the whole expedition, a complete contrast to the Urubamba voyage. Under the best of circumstances, topographic mapping is not designed for rapid progress. An observer at a spot of known location and altitude sets up a sextant while another carries a pole to some easily identified landscape feature in the direction of the transecta mountain peak, river feature, change of slope. They may be separated by hundreds of yards or by miles, as long as the position of the pole carrier can be read precisely and the location and altitude accurately calculated. The pole carrier then proceeds to another point while the observer moves to the location just mapped and sights forward again to the next point. Fewer points and more distance between them makes for faster mapping but a less accurate map. Fighting blizzard conditions, temperatures down to 6 Fahrenheit, impossible terrain, soroche, howling wind, and other predations, they climbed back into the high Andes, managing barely six miles per day. Some days were better than others: the weather was clear though cold, the terrain unremarkable, and their feet dry. Other days were worse: the guides and peon porters mutinied, heading for the valleys and leaving the crazy gringos with their heavy instruments in the snowy clouds. This meant more delays while new mules, guides, and porters were procured. The transect took Bowman up over seventeen thousand feet. He later claimed to have discovered the highest permanent human settlement in the

don: John Murray, 1883); H. F. Tozer, A History of Ancient Geography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1897); George Santayana, The Genteel Tradition in American Philosophy, University of California Chronicle 13 (October 1911): 35780. 19. Bowman to Jefferson, undated [probably fall, 1904], EMU, Box 1. 20. Friedrich Ratzel, Politische Geographie, oder die Geographie der Staaten, des Verkehrs, und der Krieges, 2nd ed. (1897; Munich: R. Oldenbourg, 1903). See also Woodruff D. Smith, Friedrich Ratzel and the Origins of Lebensraum, German Studies Review 3 (1980): 5168. 21. Harriet Wanklyn, Friedrich Ratzel: A Biographical Memoir and Bibliography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961), 41. 22. On Davis (18501934), see Robert P. Beckinsale, W. M. Davis and American Geography, 18801934, in Origins of Academic Geography in the United States, ed. Brian Blouet (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1981), 10722; R. J. Chorley, A. J. Dunn, and R. P. Beckinsale, The History of the Study of Landforms, or the Development of Geomorphology, vol. 2: The Life and Work of William Morris Davis (London: Methuen, 1973). 23. Quoted in Livingstone, The Geographical Tradition, 20910. 24. G. Martin, The Life and Thought of Isaiah Bowman (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1980), 712. 25. Bowman to Arthur W. Page, 11 December 1948, JHU. 26. Bowman to Burnham, 1 March 1926, 2; Bowman to Love, 30 July 1946, JHU II.28; interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984. 27. Bowman to Jefferson, 13 May, 13 June, 6 July, and 20 July 1903, EMU, Box 1; Jefferson to Bowman, 8 June, EMU, Box 1; Bowman to Burnham, 1 March 1926, 2; J. L. Love to Bowman, 26 July 1946, JHU II.28. 28. Bowman to Burnham, 1 March 1926; Martin, Life and Thought, 9. 29. Bowman to Jefferson, 9 November 1902, EMU, Box 1. 30. Isaiah Bowman, Deections of the Mississippi, Science 20 (1904): 27377; Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939. 31. W. M. Davis: The Geographical Cycle, Geographical Journal 14 (1899): 481504; Complications of the Geographical Cycle, in Geographical Essays, ed. D. W. Johnson (n.p.: Dover Publications, 1954), 27995; The Geographical Cycle in an Arid Climate, Journal of Geology 13 (1905): 381407; and The Sculpture of Mountains by Glaciers, Scottish Geographical Magazine 22 (1906): 7689. 32. J. Herbst, Social Darwinism and the History of American Geography, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 105 (1961): 540. See also the discussion in Livingstone, The Geographical Tradition, 2025; and D. Stoddart, Darwins Impact on Geography, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 56 (1966): 68398. 33. Thomas Huxley, Physiography: An Introduction to the Study of History (London: Macmillan, 1877); Stoddart, Darwins Impact on Geography, 685. 34. J. K. Wright and George C. Carter, Isaiah Bowman, 18781950, Biographical Memoirs 33 (1959): 42.


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also John C. French, A History of the University Founded by Johns Hopkins (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1946), 45657. 5. Interview with Robert Bowman, 2 June 1984, Lincoln, Nebraska; Bowman to Edward A. Filene, 8 May 1930, AGS IB; Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939, JHU; Bowman, undated and untitled autobiographical statement, JHU I.1. 6. Bowman to French, 5 January 1946. 7. Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939. 8. Bowman, untitled memo (conversation with Eleanor Roosevelt), 7 January 1944, JHU, 4; Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939. 9. Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939. 10. Bowman to French, 5 January 1946; Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939. 11. Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939. 12. Bowman to Love, 5 November 1939; Bowman to Burnham, 1 March 1926, JHU. 13. Harlan H. Barrows (18771960) was also from Michigan and also spent a year (as a teacher) at the Ferris Institute. He completed bachelor work in geology at Chicago and served as chair of that department for more than two decades after 1919. See especially his Geography as Human Ecology, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 13 (1923): 114. 14. Bowman to French, 5 January 1946; No-one can overestimate the inuence of the inspiring and devoted teachers at the turn of the century who were riding the wave of still surviving transcendentalism (Isaiah Bowman, The Faith We Celebrate, Teachers College Record 46 [1944]: 152). 15. John Munson, Isaiah Bowman: Obituary, Eastern Michigan State College Newsletter, February 1950, 2, EMU, Bowman le. 16. Bowman to Love, 7 November 1939. On Mark Jefferson, see his publications: Recent Colonization in Chile (New York: American Geographical Research Series No. 6, 1921); Peopling the Argentine Pampa (New York: American Geographical Research Series No. 16, 1926); The Law of the Primate City, Geographical Review 29 (1939): 22632. See also Geoffrey Martin, Mark Jefferson: Geographer (Ypsilanti: Eastern Michigan University Press, 1968). Ironically, Bowmans roommate in Ypsilanti was John Munson, who went on to become president of Michigan State Normal and forced the retirement of Mark Jefferson (Jefferson to Bowman, 2 October 1937, EMU, Box 2). 17. On Louis Agassiz (180773), see E. Lurie, Louis Agassiz: A Life in Science (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1960). On Shaler (18411906), see David Livingstone, Nathaniel Southgate Shaler and the Culture of American Science (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1987). For an intellectual history of geography in this period, including a discussion of Arnold Guyot (180784), see Livingstone, The Geographical Tradition (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1992), 139215. 18. Daniel J. Kevles, The Physicists: The History of a Scientic Community in America (New York: Vintage, 1979). On claims of classical origins, see, inter alia, E. H. Bunbury, A History of Ancient Geography among the Greeks and Romans from the Earliest Ages till the Fall of the Roman Empire, 2nd ed. (Lon-

world at 17,400 feet.28 After three and a half weeks, with the job more than half completed and the worst of the Cordillera traversed, he left completion of the map to Hendricksen (map 4). Exhausted, Bowman went ahead to check on Binghams progress on Coropuna. It was with mixed emotions that Bowman, having spent almost all of the last six weeks above twelve thousand feet, eventually picked out with his binoculars the flag that Bingham had planted on the summit. He continued down out of the Cordillera, intent on a physiographic study along the coast and desperate to get back to sea level, having endured, in addition to altitude sickness, ten days of diarrhea that left him weak and wobbly.29 When he met up with Bingham he got the story of the Coropuna ascent. It seems that Annie Peck had reached the top of Coropuna first but had climbed the north peak of the massif, which was estimated at some 282 feet (86 m) lower than that climbed by a gloating Bingham. The joke, however, was on Bingham: even the higher peak of Coropuna (21,079 ft., 6,425 m) was eventually measured as 1,126 feet (343 m) lower than Huascarn, which Peck had already climbed. Where Bingham planted the Stars and Stripes and Yale Universitys colors on his peak, the indomitable Peck raised the yellow banner of the Joan of Arc Suffrage League, inscribed votes for women.30 The 1911 expedition reaffirmed Bowmans earlier conclusions about the extent of uplift, which he estimated as perhaps five thousand feet in its most recent phase. At the same time, he moderated his insistence on peneplanation as the regions dominant physiographic motif, conceding that in the zone of most intense volcanic activity in the Cordillera Occidental, the immense volume of lava, as much as eight thousand feet thick, overwhelmed the earlier physiography. He was also much more concerned with glaciation than in the past, amassing considerable evidence against the contemporary doctrine that Southern Hemisphere glaciation was insignificant. He offered an innovative explanation for the geomorphological features known as bergschrunds and produced evidence that snow itself was an erosional agent.31 His 1913 expedition approached the continent from the east rather than the west, from Buenos Aires by train to Salta in northwest Argentina (map 1). Following and mapping historically important trade routes, he crossed into central Chile, explored the coast, then retraced some of his earlier route to Oruro, La Paz, and Lake Titicaca. It was a less significant trip than his first two expeditions in terms of his physiographic research, although he did investigate a large relict lake predating Titicaca.32 Influenced by Oxford geographer A. J. Herbertsons work on natural regions (his 1913 trip involved a Southampton stop and a visit to Herbertson), Bowman began to de-


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notes to pages 1532


Map 4. A part of Bowmans 1911 topographic mapping down the seventy-third meridian (from Isaiah Bowman, The Andes of Southern Peru).

velop the notion of idealized natural regions and derived a series of regional diagrams for the various Andean subregions. Such empirical generalizations of geography well symbolize Bowmans penchant for confident synthesis over innovative theory, fitting easily with a wider, evolutionary idealism: the landscape of today is like the human raceinheriting much of its character from past generations.33 If he was fascinated by the regions physiography for its own sake, he never doubted the practical connection between physiographic exploration and conquest. If a region was to be opened up for commerce, he argued, it was necessary to know what was there to exploit and the geographical con-

pression in Bergsons work, his archaeology of the privileging of time over space is literally groundless. 31. Cited in Bowman, Memorandum on a proposal to delay boundary settlements until the days after the peace, 30 December 1942, JHU. 32. Lesley B. Cormack, The Fashioning of an Empire: Geography and the State in Elizabethan England, in Geography and Empire, ed. Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994), 1630. 33. For further theoretical elaboration of this argument, see Neil Smith, Uneven Development: Capital, Nature and the Production of Space (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990). 34. Luce, The American Century. 35. See my Academic War over the Field of Geography: The Elimination of Geography at Harvard, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 77 (1987): 15572; Bruce Cumings, Boundary Displacement: Area Studies and International Studies during and after the Cold War, Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 29, no. 1 (1997): 626. 36. Tom Glick, In Search of Geography, ISIS 74:1:271 (1983): 96; Carl Sauer, Foreword to Historical Geography, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 31 (1941): 124. 37. Bowman, Geography as an Urgent University Need, memo, 10 January 1947, JHU; Isaiah Bowman, Geographical Interpretation, Geographical Review 39 (1949): 364. 38. Montesquieu, Spirit of the Laws (Cambridge, 1989), 343; originally published as LEsprit des lois, 1748. 39. For a recent assertion of the establishment attempt to reinvent geography, see National Research Council, Rediscovering Geography: New Relevance for Science and Society (Washington, D.C.: National Academy Press, 1997). 40. John Berger, The Look of Things (New York: Viking, 1974), 40; quoted in Soja, Postmodern Geographies, 22. 41. Isaiah Bowman, The Strategy of Territorial Decisions, Foreign Affairs 24 (January 1946): 187; Isaiah Bowman, The New Geography, Journal of Geography 44 (1945): 213. 42. Kennedy quoted in W. A. Williams, Empire as a Way of Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), 19899; Bowman quoted in New York Times, 7 January 1950.

chapter 2
1.Bowman to James Lee Love, 7 November 1939, JHU, Series II, Box 28, 2. 2. Bowman to A. C. Burnham, 1 March 1926, JHU. 3. Now Waterloo, Berlin was renamed amid the anti-German nationalism of World War I. 4. Bowman to A. C. Burnham, 1 March 1926; Bowman to John C. French, 5 January 1946, JHU I.1.; Bowman to Mary Day, 6 February 1942, JHU I.1. See


notes to pages 1015

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18. Jehlen, American Incarnation, 9. See also Richard Slotkin, Regeneration through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier, 16001860 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1973); and Richard Slotkin, The Fatal Environment: The Myth of the Frontier in the Age of Industrialization, 18001890 (New York: Atheneum, 1985). 19. Nathan Reingold, Science in Nineteenth-Century America (London: Macmillan, 1966), 61. 20. Brooks Adams, The New Empire (New York: Macmillan, 1902), xv. For a related contemporary argument, more explicit about Americanization but less so about geography, see W. T. Stead, The Americanization of the World; or, the Trend of the Twentieth Century (New York: H. Markley, 1902). 21. Halford J. Mackinder, The Geographical Pivot of History, Geographical Journal 23 (1904): 421. For the estimate of unmapped land, see Edward A. Reeves, The Mapping of the Earth, Past, Present and Future, Geographical Journal 48 (1916): 340. 22. Mackinder, The Geographical Pivot of History, 422. For disciplinary biographies, see Brian Blouet, Halford Mackinder: A Biography (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1987); and W. H. Parker, Mackinder: Geography as an Aid to Statecraft (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982). 23. Gearid Tuathail, Critical Geopolitics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 28. 24. Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1991), 25. In 1924 Woolf had speculated that on or about December, 1910, human nature changed. Virginia Woolf, Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Brown, in The Captains Bed and Other Essays (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1956), 96. 25. Gerry Kearns, Closed Space and Political Practice, Society and Space 2 (1984): 2334. See also the more technological argument of Stephen Kern, The Culture of Time and Space 18801918 (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1983). Kerns argument on time is stronger than his argument on space, which is actually quite compatible with the end of geography ideology. 26. Michel Aglietta, A Theory of Capitalist Regulation (London: New Left Books, 1979). 27. Mackinder, The Geographical Pivot of History, 422. 28. Rosa Luxemburg, The Accumulation of Capital (1917; New York: Monthly Review Press, 1968), 36566. 29. Vladimir Lenin, Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism (Peking: Foreign Language Press, 1975 ed.), 90; Alexander Supan, Die territoriale Entwicklung der europischen Kolonien (Gotha: J. Perthes, 1906), 254. 30. Did it start with Bergson, or before? Foucault asked, concerning the devaluation of space vis--vis the lionizing of time as richness, fecundity, life, dialectic (Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge [New York: Pantheon, 1980], 70). Foucault astutely identies the historical timing of this restructured relationship between time and space, but in looking to such an idealist philosopher as Bergson rather than to the altered structures of time and space that found ex-

ditions that would help or hinder conquest. He was awed by the Atacama in northern Chile, where he saw the intimate connection between spatial vastness and sparse water availability as the pivotal geographical relationship affecting the regions future development. Between the oases there is little to be gained and much to be lost in applying energy to the conquest of sheer space.34 Bowmans social, political, and economic geography of the region represented a second facet of the conditional conquest.

economic geography: the shock of modernity

No one in Bowmans account of the region lived far from the physical geography he or she occupied. There was, as he once put it, a natural conspiracy of conditions that crafted and differentiated the patterns of life and geography in these sparsely occupied lands, so many and such clear cases of environmental control within short distances that it was a fascinating geographical laboratory.35 Much as he generalized about idealized physiographic regions, he generalized about typical cultures of different geographic subregions. In the Amazon basin east of the Cordillera there was the forest dweller, including the Machiguenga, whose life was dominated by the river. Rubber was the main commercial crop, but Indian labor was scarce. Although he empathized with the conquest of the forest, led by the rubber merchants, he was rightly skeptical of Humboldts expectation a century earlier that the forests would be replaced by teeming cities, Manaus notwithstanding. The physical, climatic, medical, and social conditions were just too hard. Second came the planters who lived up in the eastern valleys, like the Urubamba, carving a path from Andes to Amazon. They eked out a living in sugar, cacao, and coca plantations and exhibited the purest optimism of the pioneer. The forest Indians of this region practiced slashand-burn agriculture, grew coca as well as subsistence crops, and were much more independent and self-reliant than the Quechua of the plateau edge, a characteristic earning Bowmans praise.36 Farther up the mountain came the highland shepherds, mostly Aymara Indians, who raised llamas, goats, sheep, and alpacas on the edge of the puna and grew corn and potatoes. The shepherd may have been deeply impoverished, but his was a noble struggle, Bowman felt. By contrast, he berated the Quechua employed by the shepherds as poor, ignorant, drunken, and devious. Finally, down the western slopes, there was the coastal planter who grew cotton and sugar (and in the north, rice) and raised cattle on the edge of the Atacama. He was a major local force of economic development, with one foot in the local and one in the continental economy. There was, Bow-


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notes to pages 79


man concluded, a vertical stratification of society corresponding to the superimposed strata of climate and land.37 These idealized subregional diagrams of race and class differences were calibrated with environmental differences, for Bowman. His stratified social and environmental profile from the Amazon over the Andes to the ocean was equally an evolutionary progression. The poorest Indians of the river, forest, and puna were prisoners of their environment, maintaining only a primitive relationship to culture and geographical conditions. The white settlers on the Pacific slope, by contrast, had managed to emancipate themselves significantly from natural constraints, even if water availability, usable soil, and labor supply remained powerful controls.38 In the 1913 expedition, Bowman spent more time in the Atacama of northwestern Argentina and northern Chile, the most developed part of the region, where commercial geography was uppermost in his mind. The 1907 trip first raised the issue of trade routes and the economic geography of Bolivia, and he now expanded this work farther south. He mapped trade routes, existing and potential, which he recognized as vital for successful colonization, and in northern Chile he became fascinated with the desert as a physiographic type and with pioneers methods for turning it to commerce. The nitrate industry had dominated the coastal economy since the middle of the nineteenth century, when it overtook guano as the leading export, but other minerals were mined, too.39 At Copiap, a major mining center for gold, silver, and most recently copper, he studied in detail an estate overseers diary, which provided a record of the Copiap Mining Company, its workings, exports, and imports. It also included meticulous records of rainfall, from which Bowman predicted for the company manager a rainy 1914.40 Copiap was a thriving frontier town in the coastal desert, a staging post for trans-Andean trade, and it had a unique city geography. Urban geography did not yet exist as a field of study, although Jefferson was beginning work on the subject, and here, if not in his adopted home of New Haven, Bowman found a way to become interested in the geography of urban development. Like other frontier towns, Copiap was changing quickly with the burgeoning agricultural and extraction economy. A reorganization of the commercial life of the region was under way, transforming economic and social relations that had, Bowman assumed, persisted from the time of the Conquest. Trade routes were dramatically altered, new economic opportunities arose, and new social relations jolted every community. That shock the modern railroad has supplied, Bowman concluded. But more important than even the railway, the large commercial companies they facilitated were a new instrument for . . . development.41

Planning D: Society and Space 9 (1991): 26183, 277. Casper Weinberger, Bring Back Geography, Forbes, 25 December 1989, 31; Paul Krugman, Development, Geography, and Economic Theory (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1995); David S. Landes, The Wealth of Nations (New York: Norton, 1998); Jared Diamond, Guns, Germs and Steel (New York: Norton, 1997); Eugene D. Genovese and Leonard Hochberg, eds., Geographic Perspectives in History (Oxford: Blackwell, 1989). For a more general assessment, see Edward Soja, Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory (London: Verso, 1989). See also the excellent study by Susan Schulten, The Geographical Imagination in America, 18801950 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001). 10. International Books of the Year, Times Literary Supplement, 5 December 1997, 11. For a critique of the metaphorical uses of space, see Neil Smith and Cindi Katz, Grounding Metaphor: Towards a Spatialized Politics, in Place and the Politics of Identity, ed. Michael Keith and Steve Pile (London: Routledge, 1993), 6783. 11. Genovese and Hochberg, eds., Geographic Perspectives in History, vii. 12. For an extreme case, see Philip Paulys implication that geography is an accidental discipline with no real raison dtre: The World and All That Is in It: The National Geographic Society, 18881918, American Quarterly 31 (1979): 51732. 13. The pathbreaking work was William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New York: Viking, 1955). See also LeFeber, The New Empire; Lloyd Gardner, Walter F. LeFeber, and Thomas J. McCormick, Creation of the American Empire: US Diplomatic History (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1973); Lloyd Gardner, Imperial America: American Foreign Policy since 1898 (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1976); Walter Russell Mead, Mortal Splendor: The American Empire in Transition (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1987); Emily Rosenberg, Spreading the American Dream: American Economic and Cultural Expansion, 18901945 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1982); David Traxel, 1898: The Birth of the American Century (New York: Knopf, 1998); Nicholas Guyatt, Another American Century: The United States and the World after 2000 (London: Zed Press, 2000). 14. On the anticonquest myth, see Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992). 15. More explicit efforts at respatializing history have often verged on the deterministic, positing that the xed location and resource endowments of places have determined the trajectory of historical change. See, for example, Genovese and Hochberg, eds., Geographic Perspectives in History. 16. Cf. Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes, who argues that the twentieth century effectively ends with the 1989 implosion of ofcial Communist rule in the USSR and Eastern Europe. For an alternative chronology, highly sensitive to the constitutive geography of global political and economic power, see Arrighi, The Long Twentieth Century. 17. Myra Jehlen, American Incarnation (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1986), 56.


notes to pages 27

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3. Richard OBrien, Global Financial Integration: The End of Geography (New York: Royal Institute of International Affairs and the Council on Foreign Relations, 1992), 1. 4. Including elements of the Defense Intelligence Agency and the CIA, the NIMA aims to provide a comprehensive management of U.S. imaging and geospatial capabilities in support of national decision making and military operations. Data on the current number of NIMA employees are classied. See and /publications/stand-up/mission .html. 5. Steven Schlossstein, The End of the American Century (New York: Congdon and Weed, 1989); Thomas J. McCormick, Americas Half-century: United States Foreign Policy in the Cold War and After (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989); Walter Russell Mead, Mortal Splendor: The American Empire in Transition (Boston: Houghton Mifin, 1987); Donald W. White, The American Century: The Rise and Decline of the United States as a World Power (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996); Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes (New York: Random House, 1995). I should confess to having made similar arguments in The Short American Century, Studies in Contemporary International Development 23 (1988): 3846. For an alternative perspective, see Giovanni Arrighi, The Long Twentieth Century (London: Verso, 1994); Robert Brenner, The Economics of Global Turbulence, New Left Review 229 (1998): 1265; Tony Smith, Americas Mission: The United States and the Worldwide Struggle for Democracy in the Twentieth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994); David Slater and Peter J. Taylor, eds., The American Century (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1999); and Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000). 6. Quoted in Paul Craig Roberts, The GOP Contract Is Too Mild, New York Times, 3 December 1994. 7. Francis Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (New York: Free Press, 1992); OBrien, Global Financial Integration; Kenichi Ohmae, The Borderless World: Power and Strategy in the Interlinked Economy (New York: Harper Business, 1990). See also Stephen Graham, The End of Geography or the Explosion of Space? Conceptualizing Space, Place and Information Technology, Progress in Human Geography 22 (1998): 16585. 8. Richard G. Smith, The End of Geography and Radical Politics in Baudrillards Philosophy, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 15 (1997): 311. However inadvertently, Baudrillard is true to himself insofar as he confuses Montana and Minnesota in his book-length riff on America. Paul Virilio, Open Sky (London: Verso, 1997), 65. See also Manuel Castells, The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture, 3 vols. (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 199698). 9. As Simon Dalby warns, increased geographical intelligence does not necessarily lead to a more peaceful world. . . . The major collectors of such information are often intelligence agencies and military organizations. Dalby, Critical Geopolitics: Discourse, Difference and Dissent, Environment and

All over, Bowman witnessed and recorded the social and economic evidence of this shock of modernitythe revolutionary economic changes by new contacts with distant people.42 Modernity meant progress, and progress brought food and tools, capital and trade. If, seeing a quick snapshot of a new region, he often read an ahistorical stasis into its social landscapes, here he was deeply impressed by the dynamism of the regions economic transformation and its equally dramatic geographic transformation.

the moral economy of geography: the ratzelian andes

What a story it could tell if a ball of smoke-cured rubber on a New York dock were endowed with speechof the wet jungle path, of enslaved peons, of vile abuses by immoral agents, of all the toil and sickness that make the tropical lowland a reproach! As Marx would have put it, the fetishism of commodities does indeed hide a world of social relations,43 but we can safely assume that Bowmans critical recognition of economic exploitation did not stretch to a comprehensive disavowal of capitalism. Not Marx but the German geographer Friedrich Ratzel provided the core inspiration for Bowmans human geography of the Central Andes. Ratzel posits an organic connection linking a people, the land, and the geography of statestheir formation, growth, and relations with other statesas an expression of their spatial and environmental predicament.44 Bowmans account of national origins is similarly simple and organic: obstructions and impediments of nature threw communities into natural groups whence arose regional consciousness, and, almost of necessity, a name, a capital, a flag, international boundaries and all the trappings of nationalism, he reasoned. As for South America, geographical isolation intensified nationalism; the physical geography was unfavorable to that broad and sweeping occupation of the continent such as the United States had achieved.45 Thus armed, Bowman actually paid surprisingly little attention to the political geography of the region. In one descriptive study of the military geography of Atacama, he did try to explain the current national boundaries of the coastal region, dating to the war of 187984. This was primarily a war between Chile and Peru that Bolivia lost: Chile annexed not only the guano and nitrate fields of southern coastal Peru but also Bolivias coastal slope, leaving that country landlocked.46 In addition to the ruthlessness of local officials, the fragmented physical geography and isolation of the region encouraged revolution, he supposed, and at the same time handicapped any effective central government response. The opening up of trans-


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portation routes to provincial centers was the best antidote, corroding provincialism and facilitating rapid troop movement to put down any uprising. This was the primary difference, he noted, between intermontane Bolivia, where Cochabamba, Sucre, Oruro, and many other provincial centers were connected by railway or coach, and Peru, where isolation persisted over a wide area.47 Treating national states as organic and largely unhistorical, he missed the chance to compare the political with the economic transformation of the regions geography. He knew that the considerable power of provincial governors vis--vis national centers dated to the 1530s division of territory among Francisco Pizarros lieutenants and their descendants, but he was less aware that this division of power between the capitol and the provinces was being reworked. The decentralized political mosaic inherited at independence survived largely intact during the Republica Aristocratica, as it is known in Peru. But intensified central efforts at nation building on behalf of an emerging middle class, increased integration of provinces under national authority, and the widening shock of economic modernity all challenged not just provincial power but also the power of sheer space in favor of a more integrated national geography. Although he would later become a political geographer, Bowmans political geography of this region is rudimentary and fairly deterministic, but as his imaginary journey of the smoke-cured ball of rubber suggests, his sense of economic geography is far more acute. However, he faced a dilemma. Not least because of his Michigan background, his spontaneous allegiances lay with the planters, settlers, and industrialists, who were investing capital in the land and making something out of a spartan nature. At the same time he could not fail to recognize the ruthless exploitation this involved. At the heart of the dilemma were issues of class and race, and as he struggled to make sense of what he saw, Bowman proved again his debt to Ratzel. Yet at the same time, his recognition of the centrality of labor to the regions human geography filled in Ratzels symptomatic silence on work.48 The 1913 expedition produced an anthropogeography of the region, and Bowman well understood that labor is ever a pivotal issue in frontier regions. From the Amazonian rubber plantations, up the eastern valleys, and over to the cattle pampas farther south and to the coastal plains, the main lament of planters and farmers, mining capitalists and estate managers, was the scarcity of labor. Reporting on this malady in detail, Bowman feared that scarcity and the consequent expense of labor dramatically dampened enterprise, even in the nitrate industry of northern Chile, which operated


1. Throughout this book I try as much as possible to talk about the United States rather than America, in recognition that America refers to two continents rather than a single country. At times however, especially with the adjectival form, American (as with the language of the American Century or the American Empire), alternatives are often awkward, and highly resonant meanings too established, and so I have retained this geographically incorrect usage. 2. See especially Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000). 3. Robert Buzzanco, What Happened to the New Left? Toward a Radical Reading of American Foreign Relations, Diplomatic History 23 (1999): 582; Elizabeth Cobbs Hoffman, Diplomatic History and the Meaning of Life: Toward a Global American History, Diplomatic History 21 (1997): 500. 4. For the most sustained treatment of Bowman, see Geoffrey J. Martin, The Life and Thought of Isaiah Bowman (Hamden, Conn.: Shoe String Press, 1980). This work provides a useful annotated curriculum vitae for Bowman.

chapter 1
1. Walter F. LeFeber, The New Empire (Ithaca, N.Y.: American Historical Association and Cornell University Press, 1963), 361; Stanley Karnow, In Our Image: Americas Empire in the Philippines (New York: Random House, 1989). 2. Henry Luce, The American Century, Life, 17 February 1941.


collections consulted

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CU: Columbia University Manuscripts and Archives, New York City George Louis Beer diary CU MC: Sydney E. Mezes Collection CU OH: Oral Histories EMU: Eastern Michigan University, Ypsilanti, Michigan: Mark Jefferson Papers Explorers Club Archives: Peary Arctic Papers, New York City FRUS: Foreign Relations of the United States (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office), various years, multiple volumes FRUS PPC: Paris Peace Conference Papers HST: Harry S. Truman Library, Independence, Missouri HU: Harvard University Archives, Cambridge, Massachusetts HUG: Harvard Geography 1948 HUW: Derwent Whittlesey Papers, Widener Library JHU: Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore: Isaiah Bowman Papers, Series 58 Ferdinand Hamburger Jr. Archives LOC: Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. NA: National Archives, Washington, D.C. NA INQ: Inquiry Archives NA NF: Harley Notter Foreign Policy Files, 193945 NAS: National Academy of Sciences, Washington, D.C. PU: Princeton University, Princeton, New Jersey John Foster Dulles Papers RGB: Robert G. Bowman personal holdings, Lincoln, Nebraska: Bowman Papers (now integrated into the Bowman Papers at Johns Hopkins University) RGS: Royal Geographical Society, London YU: Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut Hiram Bingham Correspondence Isaiah Bowman Correspondence John W. Davis Papers (Group 170) Edward M. House Papers (Group 466) Inquiry Papers (Group 8) Walter Lippmann Papers (Group 326) Sydney E. Mezes Papers (Group 657) David Hunter Miller and Louis Auchincloss Papers (Group 825) Henry Stimson diaries (Group HM 51) YU 664: Yale Peruvian Expedition Papers (Group 664)

a strict monopoly and enjoyed amazing profits. He interviewed numerous managers and farmers and was sympathetic to their plight. The scarcity was so severe that they could no longer dismiss workmen at will and had instead to humor them. The workers were slow, lazy, and overpaid, they complained, and in the case of Indians, treacherous and base. For Bowman, natural selection and the inertia of the natives distort the economic geography of the region.49 The peonage system survived as the residue of a genocidal European conquest in which millions of Indian lives were destroyed. Along with title to the land, estate owners enjoyed the right to the labor of the Indians who lived on it. Peons, known to owners and managers as free Indians, worked six days a week, had their room and board paid, and as Bowman witnessed on one estate, were paid a token sum (one sol, less than fifty cents) for a weeks work. Nonpeon wage laborers, usually mestizos, received five sol. Peonage is slavery, he recognized, and life remained dangerous for Indians.50 On one occasion Bowmans mule party approached an Indian group coming toward them on a precipitous mountain trail. As they met, the Indian party cringed to the rock face, afraid of being pushed over the edge by the white mans mule traina not-irregular occurrence, apparently.51 The hardships they had endured, their final escape, the cruelty of the rubber men explained a lot, he said of the Machiguengas. It is appalling to what extent this great region has been depopulated by the slave raiders and those arch enemies of the savage, smallpox and malaria. And he recognized too that in a pioneer region, the cost of low-class birth is unrequited toil. The threat of brutal repression was constant. Peonage has left frightful scars on the country.52 But there were also limits to Bowmans empathy. He was often patronizing toward childlike Indians or those debased by modernity, and whatever his condemnation of the brutalization of peons, he was quite agreeable to capitalists complaints about lazy and treacherous workers. Not unremarkably for the period, he held that different classes exhibited inherently different social and behavioral characteristics, and he proposed a classificatory system of types. The savage holds to fetishes and taboos, acting in no really rational manner, whereas the educated European classes act from motives often wholly unrelated to economic conditions or results. Between them, the massesmestizos and working-class people of European originare deeply influenced by whatever affects their material welfare.53 This class typology generalizes Bowmans empirical observations in the region and is lubricated by a moral reckoning imported from North America and from nineteenth-century ethnology. His personalization of class posi-


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tionsplanter, Indian, half-breedoffsets his division of the human character into ideal types, which themselves presume a geographical basis. A certain suppleness attaches to this dialectic of geography and human character, and the result is a thoroughgoing moral economy of geography.54 This is nowhere more vividly expressed than in a striking ethnographic vista presented in The Andes of Southern Peru. It is worth quoting at length:
In the most remote places of all one may find mountain groups of a high order of morality unaffected by the white man or actually shunning him. Clear-eyed, thick-limbed, independent, a fine sturdy type of man this highland shepherd may be. But in the town he succumbs to the temptation of drink. . . . The well-regulated groups of the lower elevations are far superior intellectually and morally in spite of the fact that the poorly regulated groups may fall below the highland dweller in morality. The coca-chewing highlander is a clod. Surely, as a whole, the mixed breed of the coastal valleys is a far worthier type, save in a few cases where a Chinese or negroid element or both have led to local inferiority. And surely, also, that is the worst combination which results in adding the viciousness of the inferior or debased white to the stupidity of the highland Indian. It is here that the effects of geography are most apparent.55


Even by the standards of the time, this was a fairly blunt environmentally inspired racism. Environments, classes, and races are broken down into types, which can be classed hierarchically, and the human condition of a people in any particular place can be gauged by locating their position in the resulting geography-race-class matrix. Even Teddy Roosevelt, hardly himself an enlightened thinker on race, substantially softened Bowmans equation of race and environment in reviewing The Andes of Southern Peru.56 But what can we learn from this vista of class and race difference that Bowman constructs? First, in his own mind there may have been no real contradiction between sympathy for the Indians and for the managers. His universalism of different human types is superintended by empirical generalizations from the field, but its juxtaposition with a thorough condemnation of brutal precapitalist social relations harks back to eighteenthcentury liberalism. Sympathy for maltreated Indian workers and support for capitalist employers simply derive from different empirical facts, and, however regrettably, facts rarely match ideals. Yet his condemnation of the settler capitalists is not so thorough. The unjust and frightfully cruel floggings are isolated eventsthe exception not the rule, he suggestsusually

Note: Two of the major collections consulted, the Bowman Papers at Johns Hopkins University and the collection of Bowman Papers held by Robert G. Bowman in Lincoln, Nebraska, were combined and reorganized after most of the archival research for this book was completed. The combined collection is held at the Milton S. Eisenhower Library, Johns Hopkins University, in Baltimore. Except where I have used sources identified after this reorganization, in which case a full source reference is provided, I identify sources from these collections with simply the acronyms JHU and RGB. AGS: American Geographical Society, New York City AGS IB: Bowman archives and correspondence of the director (Bowman) AGS JKW: Correspondence of the director (J. K. Wright) AGS GR: Geographical Review archives APS: American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia APS AAG: Association of American Geographers Records (currently held at the University of Wisconsin) APS OEB: O. E. Baker Papers F. P. Rous Papers CFR: Council on Foreign Relations, New York City CFR RG: Records of Groups CFR WPS: War and Peace Studies (Studies of American Interests in the War and the Peace)


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This book was completed on the historical crest of a media-orchestrated hallelujah chorus for globalization and neoliberalism, the third moment of the American Century, but not before the aspatial globalism of the American Empire was radically challenged. The 199798 economic crisis was globalized with lightning speed, its most serious effects only barely contained in Asia, Russia, and Brazil. The 1999 uprising in Seattle and subsequent protests expressed a dramatic reassertion of geographical difference against the utopic unanimity of a Wilsonian globalism, which had triumphed again after 1989 but already looked to be fading. The long twentieth century began in the nineteenth and has lasted into the twenty-rst, but it now looks vulnerable to powerful assertions of geographical difference. From the perspective of its end, the American Centurys lost geography itself looks like history. With empire owering, it represented a brief hiatus rather than an ending. The end, as Hegel might have put it, is again geographical. Suddenly geography is the metaphor of choice in literary and academic discourse, with the U.S. Congress annually celebrating Geography Awareness Week since 1987. Even Harvard University has had to smuggle geography in through the back door of the J. F. Kennedy School of Government, where economists and international relations specialists have struggled to reconstruct a vision of global geography that remains for the moment uninformed by advances in geographical knowledge since the 1960s. Nonetheless, these are real responses to profoundly real reassertions of material geographies as the American Empire again struggles to arrange the backyard of its global Lebensraum. Bowman lived his life to put geography and political economy together, and the resulting geographical solicitude is again on the agenda. That many of us today share the same intellectual ambition combined with a quite different politics should not mean that we cannot learn from understanding why Bowmans mapping of the American Empire made him such a vital anomaly, or why his successes and failures go to the heart of comprehending the fate of the third moment of U.S. imperial ambition.

resulting from a lack of official restraint by drunken owners.57 And even where he concedes that peonage is slavery, the payment of even meager wages seems to dissolve that objection. Second, the severity of his condemnation of the highland Quechua is highly suggestive. Living on the edge of the puna, they are neither incorporated into the increasingly capitalist economies of the lowlands nor entirely left to their traditional means. When Bowman calls them debased, he means that the Quechua no longer remain true to their proper geographical place and environment. Whatever the culpability of the white planters, it is the Quechua who have denied their essential character in the confrontation with modern means and mores. The planter classes are quite naturally trying to procure labor power, but what happens to the Quechua in lowland employ is their own responsibility. The victim is to blame for debasement at the intersection with modernity. The politics of the frontier only reaffirmed Bowmans liberal pragmatism. Frontiers are violent places, uprisings are numerous, and the Central Andes in the first years of the twentieth century were no exception. Bowmans diaries raise the specter of periodic revolutions as peons and wage workers fought back against repressive working conditions and the ubiquitous corruption of judges, governors, and other officials in league with the planters and industrialists. Yet whatever the provocation of institutionalized violence, revolution is a scourge, Bowman insisted, recording that peons had long memories and bided their time for revenge: when a revolution begins and lawlessness reigns they even up scores. They go about very submissive and tame even in the face of wrong, he concluded, but in revolt they are capable of great cruelty. If the capitalists cruelty to peons is acknowledged in general terms, he meticulously reproduces the most gruesome accounts recorded by the owners themselves. In the 1904 uprising in Bolivia, a vicious owner from Oruro Province was caught, whereupon they skinned his face before killing him. With another, local Indians cut off his arm and showed it to him; then his leg etc. In a third case, murderous revenge was taken on an official who had badly beaten an Indian and then stolen his property. They may be cheated and beaten at every turn, such that it is a wonder they even retain spirit enough to keep alive revenge, but revolution against economic progress is futile, he insisted.58 He stops short of suggesting that social revolution contradicts environmental conditioning, but he does comment that the geographically inspired provincialism of the region held a hidden blessing by frustrating the spread of revolution. Bowmans moral economy of the Central Andes is a broad human geography already infused with political sentiment, albeit a sentiment he


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would not have recognized as political. If some of its elements, such as the unabashed moral racism, harken from an earlier day, his geography is not simply nostalgic. By 1913 he is most fascinated with the coastal zone of northern Chile, where the shock of modernity is most intense and has led not only to rapid geographic change but also to an unprecedented mixing of race and class types. The dislocation of people and place, type and environment, increases rather than decreases the importance of geography in the new modernity.

the conspiracy of discovery: machu picchu

Bowman always resented Hiram Bingham for squeezing him out of the discovery of Machu Picchu in 1911. Although second in command of the expedition, he knew nothing of Binghams intentions until bumping into him after the Coropuna ascent. It was there he learned that on the third day after the two parties had separated outside Cuzco, Bingham scrambled into Machu Picchu. Standing a towering six feet four inches, the picture of the intrepid upper-class explorer (and one of the figures from whom seven decades later the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark would take inspiration), Bingham drew Bowmans most competitive ire. He was petty, Bowman complained to his mentor Davis, and years later he still bridled at having put himself under the leadership of another man.59 Bingham, in turn, was deeply covetous of his discoveries, keeping everyone at bay. His son judged him envious of Bowman, and one can only guess the tenor of his and Bowmans interactions from Binghams comment to his wife that the geographer was rather crude but well meaning.60 Machu PicchuGreat Peak in Quechuawas the fabled lost city to which the Incas had fled from Pizarro and his army in the sixteenth century. In Cuzco in 1907, Bowman recorded word of Inca ruins in his diary and felt later that, despite Binghams deeply guarded intentions, reaching Machu Picchu might be his true goal. With Binghams plans and schedule revealed only piece by piece, Bowman grew suspicious that Bingham might even abandon the seventy-third transect, and he took to recording Binghams doings in his diary in deliberately scrawled Spanish.61 In fact Bingham talked with several people in Cuzco who freely told him about Machu Picchu, and when Bowman again heard about the ruins from local people down the Urubamba, he was sure that Bingham had deliberately maneuvered him out of the way. I then knew why Bingham wanted me to go to Santa Ana as far as I could and wait for him there, Bowman recorded.62 Bingham, of

asserting U.S. prerogatives in the region. He advocated the United States quick regional claim to Southeast Asia, in advance of assumed Soviet claims, and warned ominously that we can lose our shirt in the swamps and canyons of the hinterlands of that region.11 His prescience lay not simply in recognizing the quagmire that Vietnam would become for an American imperialism that he supported. Rather, he understood precisely the difference that geography would make and the toll it would take on a onedimensional (geographically ignorant) American globalism. The lost geography of the American Century was always a tragedy for Bowman. He would never know that he had also predicted one of the tragedies of the empire he helped build. Bowman was an extreme case. It may stretch traditional credibilities to claim that this autocrat who waged a one-man anticommunist scourge and who, according to his secretary, was not above burning despicable books in the Johns Hopkins presidential replace, somehow represents American foreign policy liberalism. But my point is precisely that the twentieth-century distinction in the United States between liberal and conservative, and the redenition of liberalism in particular, was itself a narrowly conceived antidote to the threat of socialism and communism. Elsewhere around the world, the conservatism of the liberal tradition is axiomatic, and the case of Isaiah Bowman beautifully illustrates that this instance of American exceptionalism is at root ideological and should be renounced. Challenges to the universalization of American liberalism, and with it capitalist markets, were often met with quite illiberal responses in the name of liberalism. Bowman was the consummate geographical practitioner of the American Empire, but this put him in an impossible position. He was driven to succeed personally but fated to fail publicly. It is difcult to discount the importance of postwar geographical reconstruction in the worlds most wartorn century. The perverse irony for Bowman, indeed for the discipline of geography, is that this work had to be accomplished successfully in the State Department and the White House, whereas in public the geography of the political settlements had to be energetically lost so that the politics of the geography could stay hidden. Like a medieval executioner, the twentiethcentury practitioner of geography had to be deadly accurate but could never be unmasked. To practice geographical globalism and to mask it at the same time was Bowmans fate. He was the perfect candidate for the job, up to and including his refusal to take the political route out of this dilemma and embrace State Department leadership. It was a choice, ultimately, to remain true to the geography rather than the politics. A lawyer or an economist would never have been faced with such a dilemma.


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same source. As one eyewitness put it in all bluntness, Washington in the 1940s was a place where the little people got their testicles torn off.10 But none of these conditions makes Bowman unique. Fame, Jorge Luis Borges once wrote, is a form of incomprehension, perhaps the worst. The more I gnawed at the question of Bowmans legacy, therefore, the more I became convinced that much as he fought the selfattery that the American Century was beyond geography, Bowman himself became one of its victims. The discrepancy between his deeds and his fame between 1915 and 1950 and his obscurity today is difcult to explain otherwise. In an empire whose self-understanding perpetuates a lost geography, there is little incentive to keep alive a memory that cuts awkwardly across and in part exposes the grooves of history. Bowmans career, from Latin American explorer to Wilsonian idealist to anticommunist rebrand, expressed perhaps too acutely the contradictory liberalism of twentiethcentury America; fame, indeed, passed over into a form of incomprehension. Isaiah Bowman was a vital anomaly. More than anything else, he just didnt t in. He went to Harvard but was never of it, however much he tried to be; he joined the ruling class but wasnt of it, either; he was groomed by the National Academy of Sciences precisely because he was not one of its elite; he came to Washington and was eventually spurned; and although he reached the pinnacle of academic success, he was accepted neither by the Hopkins faculty nor, most ironically, by geographers themselves. In fact, his decision to become a geographer was itself a means of oblique engagement with a world he always wanted to change. In larger historical terms, he understood better than almost anyone the constitutive global geography of the American Empire and was cognizant enough of how that geography mattered to devote a life to its construction. In all of this there is a lot to admire, as many truly did, but his life and behavior also suggest that the riddle of his unfullled legacy lies in the tense demilitarized zone that he himself constructed between geography and politics. At times with airy arrogance, at times with sophistication, Bowman never stopped challenging the false geographical anemia of the American Century. His vitriolic anticommunism notwithstanding, he instantly understood cold war containment theory as a preposterous contradiction. He was too much of a Wilsonian to settle for only half the pie. Yet it was always his pragmatism that won out. In what was probably his last major advice to the Department of State, he prepared an extraordinary paper on American prospects in the Far East in the autumn of 1949. Knowing of the impending devolution of French power in Indo-China and eschewing accusations of imperialism, he urged an immediate military decision on Saigon as a means of

course, never had any intention of meeting in Santa Anna and having Bowman share in any discovery. Obviously, many people knew of Machu Picchu before Bingham discovered it. Apart from the Quechua who lived in and about its ruins and who had cleared some of the grounds, there was Seor Melchor Artega, who guided Bingham to the place. Bowmans informants from the village of Huadquina in the valley below had been there, and so had a Pedro Duque and his son Alberto, of Cuzco, who later communicated with Bowman about the city, which, to local people, was manifestly not lost. A host of others, from German geographers to Scottish missionaries, either did make or could have made the same claim. Also the Peruvian explorers Ugarte and Lizarraga, direct descendants of Pizarros conquest, had visited in 1894 and 1904, respectively, but had placed less global significance on their find. Bingham was able to read Lizarragas name inscribed in graffiti on the ruins.63 Melchor Artegas testimony is especially telling. As reported at the time, he had long known of the ruins but considered them insignificant. Indeed, he had a distinctly low opinion of them as cosas de Gentiles [pagan things] not to be compared with the Cathedral of Cuzco, with its tin saints and plaster virgins.64 It was, of course, Artegas ancestors who sacked and pillaged Machu Picchu, and his disdain in favor of the Catholic cathedral echoes that history. Perhaps the intriguing question is how vanquishment condemnation to the dustbin of history and the jungle vines of nature becomes transformed four centuries later into discovery. This romantic discovery narrative actually has a very narrow historical currency. Finding Machu Picchu would have carried much less significance in Lima or New York a half century earlier, when Artegas sentiments would have been more general. First, it took considerable time and a successful pacification of the Indians before this romance of discovery was viable. Second, it would be inconsequential where the modern belief in a single human race did not pertain. But most important, all exploration in the earlier period was expected to involve discovery along the entire rim of the known world, and Machu Picchu would not have seemed so exceptional. This particular discovery narrative presumed global conquest. Decades later Machu Picchu would have been discovered by a laboratory scientist poring over areal or satellite photographs. The value attached in Europe and North America to Binghams 1911 find is therefore a direct expression of the angst that accompanied claims that the global frontiers were closing. Discoveries such as Machu Picchu were increasingly scarce events, valued all the more because they seemed to con-


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firm that there remained geographical mysteries, still a few frontiers to conquer. It was Bingham of Connecticut who felt the need to discover Machu Picchu, not Seor Artega or the local Indians who wandered in and out of the ruins, and it was a European and North American audience, and some local elites, who ratified the claim. Bowman would have dearly liked to have collaborated in the discovery of Machu Picchu and to have climbed Coropuna, even if it was later measured to be 1,762 feet (537 m) lower than Aconcagua. To have stuck with the scientific agenda, however, was to put himself in the future rather than the past, and he remained circumspect about the value of such discoveries. Discovery can hardly be said to be ended until we have studied every people in the world in its peculiar physical setting and have made nations known to one another.65 Yet he also lived in the present, and when Binghams claim was challenged, as so often happened with the high stakes surrounding exploration, Bowman found himself on the spot. Hearing about Binghams claims, a German mining engineer, Carl Haenel, wrote to the New York Times that he himself had been at Machu Picchu in 1910, a year before Bingham, and had followed the directions of another German engineer named Hassel, the real discoverer of the place in 1900. The results of the 1900 expedition were published in a 1910 monograph that Bingham used, Haenel charged, and he went on to vilify the American as a violent anti-German and a worthy compatriot of Cook, Roosevelt & Co. (Frederick Cook faked a discovery of the North Pole that same year, and Teddy Roosevelt was accused of false claims in South America.)66 These were fighting words. The world war was raging, the United States was an unacknowledged ally of Britain and France, and patriotic pride was on the line. Not just in Peru but in the United States and Germany, such discoveries are intimately bound up with nation building, and an indignant Bingham insisted that he had been the first to discover Machu Picchu. Contacted by the press for comment, Bowman first told the New York Evening Post that response to the German accusations was unwise because it was likely to mix politics and science, then proceeded to rally behind Bingham and the heroic explorer mythology: Professor Binghams discoveries are soundof that you may be quite sure.67

geography, labor, and conquest

Bowmans ambition went beyond mere discovery. His geography was intended not simply to describe old worlds or old wonders newly found, but to make the world. His excitement in South America was the excitement

biographical interrogation and the place he would be assigned in history. He saved everything for a later expos but never wrote the big book that cemented his connection to U.S. foreign affairs. Among his colleagues in the State Department and at the Council on Foreign Relations, he was virtually alone in not committing his experiences to book-length reection. In the second place his relationships with many of the gures who would go on to write or dominate the denitive accounts of foreign policy events were terse. In addition to conict with Colonel House in Paris, Bowman had a running feud with Harley Notter, who wrote the denitive text on postwar preparations in the State Department during the war; he despised Leo Pasvolsky, who started the denitive treatment of the United Nations Charter; and he was disaffected from Whitney Shepardson, who wrote the rst history of the Council on Foreign Relations.7 Any who wanted to keep his memory alive were greatly outnumbered by those who didnt. This certainly applied to geographers who knew his curt authoritarianism rst hand: Shall we say, summarized Wisconsin geographer Richard Hartshorne, that Isaiah Bowman harbored a fairly strong vanity generally kept well under control. Even Bowmans own mentor, William Morris Davis, thought him an exceptionally able man, though more elated by his success than is necessary. At the American Geographical Society, where the Bowman years represented the societys heyday, a successor who wrote glowingly of Bowmans legacy privately despised him, and another acquaintance was even more scathing. Bowman not only lied, she complained, but also cheated at cards with her children just to win.8 But it was more than a question of personality. Rather than using his entre into Washington power to introduce other geographers into the inner circle, he was much more likely to guard his prerogative jealously, and the denitive account of geographers involvements in World War II Washington failed even to mention Bowman.9 He was largely estranged from his discipline by the 1930s. Baltimore and Washington, not geography, were increasingly Bowmans life after 1935, but he fared little better there. He alienated almost everyone at Hopkins, and after his 1944 refusal of the assistant secretaryship of state became marginalized from a younger rump of right-wing dissenters who rose to power under Truman. The cruelest irony was that Bowman had much more in common with the Truman State Department of 1945, to whom he was dust, than with Roosevelts department a year earlier, where he was a consummate insider. Washington was a difcult place to work, an ideological whirlpool in which the currents of early-century liberalism, still fueled by Wilson, sloshed violently into cold war wrath claiming much the


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energetically it was hidden. The powerful resurgence of a geographical grammar and attitude for understanding the world at the apex of the American Empire should perhaps encourage us to think less of a lost geography than of a certain geographical hiatus mimicking ruling American ambitions for an empire deemed spaceless in its global universality. During each of its formative moments, the American Empire was punctuated with an intensely geographical solicitude. The contemporary value of reconstructing the formative period of the American Century through the eyes of Isaiah Bowman should now be apparent. Although he did not use the language of the American Empire, Bowman understood very well that a U.S.-centered globalization did not lie in the future but was announced early in the American Century, and far from ushering in a world market ruled by a nonterritorial logic, the American Empire was its own geographical artifact. Empire builders must think in terms of space as well as time, he argued in his prospectus for establishing a school of geography at Johns Hopkins University. Geography is always changing, human societies change their geographies as they go, and it is especially vital to think in terms of space when a spreading network of technicalities, trade and population differentials, and international rivalries are transforming the world. History as a record of experience is not enough. Geography conditions that experience.5 His language of conditioning may bear the determinist traces of an earlier moment, but the supple spatiality of Bowmans vision is unmistakably attuned with the end-ofcentury geographical sensibility. If Bowmans career provides a central vista into the geographical hiatus of the American Century, why is his legacy so obscure at the end of a century he helped to build? A household name in the 1940s and described by Senator Arthur Vandenberg as one of this countrys greatest scientists, administrators and patriots, why did he virtually disappear from accounts of the period? For almost thirty years, the most elaborate treatment of Bowman remained the obituary appreciation in Geographical Review by his friend and ex-student Gladys Wrigley.6 Bowman himself seemed to have little doubt about his deserved place in history and not only manicured his voluminous les for biographers who would be queuing at the door to get in but also left strict instructions about access to this material. The problem, he felt, would be a surfeit of interest in his work and career, not a paucity. The answer is not straightforward and comes in parts. In the rst place his defensiveness about his papers and les reveals a certain ambivalence about

of a frontier, where the abstract fact of discovery is adorned by a passion to transform the landscape. For all their brutality, the men who organized this economic conquest of space fascinated him: the prospector, the rubber merchant, the nitrate entrepreneur. If his own purpose was different, he was well aware that his geographic research was joined to this larger conditional conquest. He was the scientist-entrepreneur. His expeditions were intended to feed the wide current interest in the new phase of South Americas civilization and increase U.S. business interests in the region. Much as geography was the handmaiden of empire for earlier European colonization, it aspired to a similar role vis--vis U.S. expansionism, legitimating the projection of . . . power, as Tom Bassett has said of cartography.68 The costs of the 1911 expedition were in part underwritten by the Winchester Arms Company, Eastman Kodak, and W. R. Grace, and the expedition was outfitted by Abercrombie and Fitch. A New Haven rubber merchant, keenly interested in Bowmans lower Urubamba work, also contributed, although there is no record that the research was directly used for commercial purposes.69 South America changed Isaiah Bowman. It has been argued that after the 1890s, U.S. imperial expansion overseas offered not only a replacement frontier for capitalist investment but also a frontier where the essential American man could be reconstituted. The dialectic of nation building and manhood, a staple of Western mythology, was exported and reproduced at the turn of the century in the confrontation with the new Indians abroad.70 This was Bowmans experience precisely. He returned from South America a man remade, a puny farm boy turned rugged explorer, confident almost to a fault. His brushes with danger, the authority he enjoyed, even the miserable treatment by Bingham matured him considerably. His presence now exuded power. He also matured politically, a transformation catalyzed in part by the brutality he encountered. He went to South America an uncertain conservative with sufficient liberal sympathies to be attracted to Teddy Roosevelt, but his politics were still ill-defined. He was not seriously affected by the new middle-class liberalism that grew out of the Progressive Era, carried Woodrow Wilson to power, and pervaded places like Harvard. But in the Central Andes he had to find a way of reconciling his support for conquest and his embarrassment at the brutality it involved; there as in the United States, and for him personally as for the larger society, the issue of labor was the anvil on which his new liberalism was forged. Mary Louise Pratt has suggested that Euro-American rationalizations of conquest often include what she calls anti-conquest narratives. These


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represent ideological strategies whereby the agents of conquest seek to secure their innocence in the same moment as they assert . . . hegemony.71 Antipathy for conquest is woven into a wider apology for its achievements. Bowmans condemnation of the ruthless treatment of the laboring classes in the Central Andes was real enough, yet he equally believed that the conditional conquest of his day represented a natural extension of the heroic work of the first explorers and founders like Pizarro.72 Pizarros brutality was legendary. The scourge of the indigenous people, he personally strangled the Inca leader Atahuallpa and had him decapitated, and he ransacked Bowmans beloved Cuzco in search of gold and silver. When Bowman came four centuries later, it was geographic data rather than gold he sought, but the road to data led no less surely through the need for labor, and the practical man had on occasion to devise his own solutions to an environmentally induced labor shortage. The 225-mile transect down the seventy-third meridian was the most harrowing of all his journeys, involving moments of greater danger than he had faced before or would after, and the story of this scientific episode lends ironic support to the connection Bowman draws between the sheer conquest of yesteryear and its conditionality in the twentieth century. In the following account, Bowman provides one of the more honest if desolate anticonquest narratives in twentieth-century science. In Abancay in 1911, several dozen antigovernment rebels, many partwhite, were killed by conscripted Indian troops during an explosive revolt. North of Abancay, Bowman, escorted by a soldier whose life was now threatened because he had shot one of the rebel leaders, was obliged to sneak out of town in the darkness of the wee hours. Well-endowed white travelers accompanied by soldiers in this remote region were invariably government officials, and advance news of Bowmans approach elicited an armed deputation of Abancay leaders. His letters of introduction from the provincial governor somewhat mollified them.73 In case of trouble, a reluctant teniente (lieutenant governor) of Antabamba Province was assigned, in addition to several soldiers, to escort the partys mapping expedition south of Abancay. For laborers, the party had four Indian peons taken from the village jailthe scum of the town. The first day went smoothly but the weather was dangerously cold (around 6 Fahrenheit, or -14 Celsius), and they camped at sixteen thousand feet. Ice covered the brooks, and all night long the wind blew down from the lofty Cordillera. . . . It seemed to me doubtful if our Indians would remain. I discussed with the other members of the party the desirability of chaining the

World Trade Organizations millennium round of trade meetings. It is also the message of dozens of similar protests that have followed around the world, from Prague to Quebec to Genoa. American globalism is tripped up again by geography as it scours the earth for a safe place to meet. This argument is glimpsed in Edward Luttwaks 1990 announcement of geo-economics, which, in the era of globalization, supersedes an increasingly obsolescent geopolitics. Although he is not optimistic that the transition will be completed anytime soon, Luttwak envisages that the logic of global economic evolution leads to a hegemony of geo-economics in which the free interaction of commerce is governed only by its own nonterritorial logic. States, he continues, are now forced to acquire a geo-economic substitute for their decaying geopolitical role.2 Luttwaks argument has galvanized a conservative defense of the U.S. state in the era of globalization; his cherished if alarmist intent, as revealed in the subtitle of his book, is to stop the United States from becoming a third world country. But his insight discerning the shift from geopolitical to geo-economic power is undermined by two central aws, one historical, the other geographical, both of which should be evident against the backdrop of my argument in this book. In the rst place, the transition to a geo-economic globalism was not initiated at the end of the American Century but marks the crucial break with territorial expansionism at its beginning. In the second place, the geography of the American Empire is not simply an account of relict territorial divisions encased in nation-state structures, and future territorial differentiation is not simply a defensive resort to that evaporating geography, a resilience of the past defying the nonterritorial logic of the world market.3 Luttwaks argument is a logical expression of the lost geography of the American Century with which I began this book. He repeats the same vainglorious pretensions about the end of geography that marked the rst and second moments of U.S. global ambition. The inability entirely to overcome a relict geography becomes a matter for lament. But this defensive nationalism is already overwhelmed by the geo-economic relations it extols, and the political camouage purchased with the loss of geographical parallax throughout most of the American Century became dramatically visible with the political and economic reshufe of global relations after the 1970s. By the same token, Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri document the rise of a new empire, but insofar as this empire remains spatially unlocateda non-placean abstraction from its constitutive geographies, this recognition of empire remains clouded by the lost geography ideologies that should be its target.4 The political economy of the American Empire has had a vibrant geographical logic of its own and did all along, however


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blocs from international capitalism again frustrated the promise of a liberal globalism. One can therefore see how, to its American authors, there was no contradiction in the nationalism and internationalism that simultaneously drove liberal foreign policy and how also, regardless of the rhetorical scripting that pitted liberal doves against conservative hawks, the cold war was an outgrowth of liberal foreign policy and entirely consistent with it. The cold war embodied a resort to geography on all sides. It was Wilson, after all, the founder of that foreign policy liberalism, who deployed troops against the Bolsheviks, on Soviet soil, in 1919. Nation-states were therefore far from coincidental to this global vision accompanying the aspirations of the American Empire. On the contrary, they were axiomatic to it. It was an internationalism led by and premised on an American economic nationalism at the core. But the internationalization of U.S., European, and Japanese capitals by the 1960s, quickly followed by capitals from much of the rest of Asia (including China), changed this dynamic, even before the Soviet bloc collapsed. Since the 1970s and most intensely since the 1990s, the global scale of economic expansion has signicantly eroded the economic prerogativenot necessarily the political or cultural rationaleof nation-states. In the language of Bowman or Wilson, economic internationalism has been so successful that it has begun to render its nationalist (American) carrier increasingly obsolete. The global geography of the American Empire, marked by the power of the IMF, World Bank, or World Trade Organization as well as the U.S. state, is therefore an inversion of the global geography envisaged through the League of Nations, even if the continuity is also greater than is generally assumed. Internationalism now predicates nationalism rather than the other way round. This is obviously a deeply uneven process, with some states retaining or even augmenting their power while others lose theirs. Across national boundaries, the increasingly neoliberal state apparatuses dene themselves more and more as partners with capital while dismantling the systems of social service provision for domestic working classes, on which national capitals were built in the rst place. To put this differently, the very success of a liberal American internationalism in the twentieth century produced a globalism that threatens narrowly nationalist interests even in the United States itself. However much the U.S. state wishes it, this is a globalism that cannot remain under the control of the United States and that presents highly crystallized targets for global opposition. The last is surely the message from the Battle in Seattle in the nal weeks of the twentieth century, where as many as forty thousand demonstrators from many countries and various labor, environmental, and social movements closed down the

peons to the tent pole. Judging that this might appear extreme, Bowman merely warned the tenientestupid with only a slight strain of white bloodthat he was responsible for preventing their escape. But escape they did; even the mules had wandered off for the lower slopes. Bowman was furious. He hauled the sleeping teniente out of the tent and onto his feet and upbraided him, demanding to know the whereabouts of the Indians. After breakfast he forced the teniente to carry mapping instruments that two men had carried the previous day and directed him to a seventeenthousand-foot peak, where the days mapping would commence. The teniente wandered off, dumping the instruments, and he too fled. The party was now stranded, and Bowman was desperate. He had already given up Coropuna and had no intention of losing the scientific work too. Two Indians appeared in the pass above the camp, and after edging suspiciously away with their corn-laden llama train, they came timidly along and Bowman intercepted them. They pretended not to understand Spanish and protested vigorously at being shanghaied. I thought from the belligerent attitude of the older, which grew rapidly more threatening as he saw that I was alone, that I was in for trouble, but when I drew my revolver he quickly obeyed. With gun drawn, he plied them with food and drink, coca and cigarettesthe two most desirable gifts one can give to a plateau Indianuntil a compromise was reached. The older man would continue with the llama train, leaving his son as Bowmans peon. With the muleteer now returned with the mules, they struck camp, but Bowman was apprehensive. The plateau Indian of South America is usually so stupid and docile that the unexpectedly venomous look of the man after our friendly conversation and good treatment alarmed me. He too escaped. Next came a half-grown boy, too small for heavy work, so he was mustered instead to carry a note to the governor. Your Indians have escaped, likewise the Lieutenant Governor, Bowman wrote with anything but humor, demanding a fresh supply of men and animals.74 The party limped on for several days through driving snow and wind, struggling to map the meridian without porters and laid up by soroche. Bolstered by a squad of soldiers, the teniente returned to arrest Bowman on the charge of maltreating an official of Peru. A bribe of cigarettes, raisins, and biscuits turned the situation around, and although the teniente quickly departed, he left four men and four fresh mules. Still, provisions were low, and promised llama meat for the peons never arrived, so a disgruntled Bowman had to feed them from his own dwindling supplies. The next morning the new Indians were gone, the mules with them, and Bowman set off to


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kidnap a fresh supply. A llama was hijacked from one unfortunate traveler, and two young girls fled screaming in abject fear and terror upon sighting the party. Eventually the party made it to lower ground, the altitude sickness and cold receded, and they were able to reequip for the second half of the transect map.75 In the most harrowing incident, an unfortunate Indian who passed nearby was caught by a pursuing Bowman, but he too refused to be dragooned. All my threatening was useless and I had to force myself to beat him into submission with my quirt [riding whip]. Several repetitions on the way, when he stubbornly refused to go further, kept our guide with us until we reached a camp site.76 Bowmans cruelty in the furtherance of science gives added meaning to his own claim that the modern conditional conquest is the natural extension of its precursor. Just as appalling is the self-satisfied anticonquest rationalization that he mobilizes to justify kidnapping and exploiting Indians:
I had offered him a weeks pay for two hours work, and had put coca and cigarettes into his hands. When these failed I had to resort to force. Now that he was about to leave I gave him double the amount I had promised him. He could scarcely believe his eyes. He rushed up to the side of my mule, and reaching around my waist embraced me and thanked me again and again. The plateau Indian is so often waylaid in the mountains and impressed for service, then turned loose without pay or actually robbed, that a promise to pay holds no attraction for him. I had up to the last moment resembled this class of white. He was astonished to find that I really meant to pay him well.77

was perhaps its most powerful landscape expression prior to World War I. But just as important were the proliferation of multinational corporations that began before the war and accelerated in the 1920s, the extraordinary innovations in transportation and communication, and the internationalization of cultural commodities from music to lm to advertising. New York was challenging London as a center of global nance; the international power and range of the House of Morgan presaged the global sway of U.S. capital in coming decades, and the Wall Street crash of 1929 provoked an international, not simply a national, economic depression. The new globalism was also political in inspiration. American nationalism was the primary political vehicle for this globalism as well as its major enemy. This was especially evident in the failed rst and second moments of American Empire and is vividly expressed by the nationalist internationalism of Isaiah Bowman as much as by Woodrow Wilson and Franklin Roosevelt, the midcentury State Department, and the Council on Foreign Relations. For the liberal foreign policy establishment of these decades, internationalism was the fruition of American nationalism, a global manifest destiny underpinned by growing economic dominance. This ambition has resurfaced at the end of the American Century with the question of whether globalization is synonymous with Americanization. Fears of Americanization appeared rst in turn-of-the-century Europe and continued throughout the century, but with the consummation of postwar U.S. economic and cultural expansion by the 1970s, they impinged globally rather than regionally on peoples identities.1 Americanization and Wilsons globalism have evolved in consort, but there is also a vital discontinuity between the early and the late decades of the so-called American Century. If we contrast the Americanized world that Bowman and his cohorts struggled to construct with the new American Lebensraum of the early twenty-rst century, the relationship between nationalism and internationalism seems to have changed in subtle but fundamental ways. American globalism is no longer a liberal but a neoliberal project, the conservatism of which is manifest. It rejects the idiosyncratic social liberalism of mid-twentieth-century U.S. politics in favor of a return to the assumptions of market and individual self-interest emanating from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The mission of foreign policy liberalism from Wilson onward was the global establishment of capitalism, free trade, and bourgeois democracy within and among the mosaic of nation-states that constituted the world market. The intensity of the cold war and the resort to a binary geopolitics arose precisely from the fact that the abstention of the Soviet and Chinese



The American Century is synonymous with globalization. The rst formative moment, from 1898 to 1919, adumbrated the vision of a global political economy that would simultaneously surpass the regional parameters of the European empires and entwine a global political structure (the League of Nations) with an already accomplished world market. The Russian Revolution, labor and socialist revolts at home, and nationalist U.S. Senate rejection of the league, followed by the rise of fascism in Europe, brought a concerted retreat from this early effort at globalisma deglobalization of sorts. World War II posited a intier global design. But the cold war frustrated this second moment of American imperial ambition. At the beginning of the twenty-rst centurythe third moment of U.S. imperial assertiona new global amalgam of political and economic ambition, summarized in the rhetoric of globalization, is again promised. The postwar institutions of global managementthe United Nations, International Monetary Fund, World Bank, and General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATTsuperseded by the World Trade Organization)have newfound power after decades of limited relevance, even dormancy. Twentieth-century globalism was stimulated rst and foremost by the increasing geographical scale of economic production and circulation, in short, the increasing scale of capital accumulation. Among the many signs of this expansion, the unprecedented scale of the U.S. Steel works at Gary, Indiana, built in 1905 with a town of two hundred thousand to service it,

The United States at the turn of the twentieth century was gripped by a search for order, according to historian Robert Wiebe in the classic book of that title. Through most of the nineteenth century, the country encompassed a society without a core, a highly decentralized agglomeration of communities and towns with equally dispersed political and economic powers. Nationhood may have been formalized with independence and the ratication of the Constitution, but only at the end of the nineteenth century was the formality lled in as a fact of daily life. This ratication of nationhood was a response to crisis at home as well as the exing of muscle abroad. Depression in the 1890s and a nancial panic in 1907 demanded a more coordinated economic response; farm and village communities were being broken down by the corrosive effects of economic expansion; unprecedented numbers of immigrants forever altered the social life of cities; urban governments were assaulted by demands for social and political reform; blacks remained on the social and political margins despite formal emancipation; labor groups from the Knights of Labor to the International Workers of the World responded forcefully and at times effectively to the brutal proletarianization of large sections of the populace. Organized electoral politics fell into a shambles, with every presidential election seeming to generate new party challenges to Democrats and Republicans: the Populists in the 1890s, the Bull Moose Progressives in 1912, the Socialist Party in 1916. Generally, Wiebe observes, the rst years of the twentieth century


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produced a conscious sense of individual helplessness and confusion.1 The global nale of European colonization and rising demands for independence began to close the book on an old order and raised the prospect of something new. Exactly what that would be was unclear, but as Brooks Adamss New Empire signied, there was a bouncy condence that the United States had an expanding claim to the global future. The search for order took place in many different ways. Economic panics fostered new, more integrated nancial and industrial systemsthe rst phase in the corporate reconstruction of American capitalism.2 Law-andorder panics occurred in the countrys large cities; labor disputes increasingly erupted on a national scale; as black workers were more integrated into the industrial economy, black leaders rose to national signicance;3 Teddy Roosevelts Progressive presidency initiated a much more activist role for government in dening and tackling national problems; a new middle class of professionals dislodged crusty nineteenth-century individualism with a reform-oriented liberalism. This new middle class comprised the managers and experts who operated the burgeoning corporate and public bureaucracies, invented and oversaw the new production technologies, and satised the rapidly rising demand for societal knowledge in the service of social control and engineering. Knowledge in general, but science in particular, was increasingly the domain of professional rather than amateur researchers and scholars, and universities and scholarly societies played a crucial role both in providing the professional personnel and in legitimizing the new professions that emerged during this period. The advent of the American graduate school in 1876, when Johns Hopkins University grafted the German model onto a U.S. liberal arts education, was quickly followed by the formation of distinct disciplinary associations institutionalizing geology, economics, and history (in the 1880s), psychology (1892), physics (1901), anthropology (1902), political science (1903), and sociology (1905) as distinct professional and academic specialties. The search for order was inherently geographical. Railroads and telegraphs connected the country, automobiles even more so; residential suburbs provided the middle class with an alternative to the perceived disorder of the city; successive administrations sent marines and gunboats throughout the Caribbean and Central America to enforce a pro-U.S. political order sympathetic to marauding corporations and bankers, in one instance even establishing a whole new country for the purpose, Panama. A powerful demarcation of a national core culture was the corollary of international political and military involvement. If the search for order was accompanied by a revolution of identity,4 this equally implied a geographical restructuring. Suburban bab-

When he retired from Johns Hopkins at the end of 1948, Bowman and his wife, Cora, moved into a large apartment close to the campus, where he retained an ofce, generously funded by John Lee Pratt, for all his writing projects. He warned his children and grandchildren that with less space now they would have to be more resourceful when visiting. The books he planned were historical, geographical, political, and autobiographical, and while he had scraps of already written material, his voluminous les beckoned him to fresh writing. But he had trouble settling down to retirement. A number of commitments kept him busy. Bowman was not the kind of man who would give presents to himself or even think of such a concept, but in addition to Point IV, continued Harvard consultations, and the Fishing Party, he agreed to sit on the executive council of the Baltimore Chapter of the Boy Scouts of America. In the rst year of his retirement he did tap out nearly two hundred pages of material beginning to trace the evolution of foreign policy planning from the Inquiry to the World War II State Department. Politely put, it was a rough and often stiff rst draft; his British Foreign Ofce counterparts would have called it diaphanous. He celebrated his seventy-rst birthday the day after Christmas 1949, presumably swore off champagne for the coming of 1950, and was getting some holiday writing done. On the cusp of the second half of what was supposed to be the American Century, at around midnight on 5 January, he had a massive heart attack. He died at Johns Hopkins University Hospital eight hours later.


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convincing defense, however, especially since one of those he warned was Owen Lattimore. Bowman personally brought Lattimore to the Page School at Hopkins in 1938, promoted him through the Council on Foreign Relations, the AAG, and the AGS as well as the Century Club, and was his entre to the State Department. The Bowmans and Lattimores were social acquaintances. It was Lattimore who presented Bowman with his honorary Hopkins degree two years after Hisss was presented by Bowman. In February 1950, with Lattimore doing research in Afghanistan and with Joseph McCarthy under pressure to name the names of all the Soviet spies who, he claimed, riddled Washington, McCarthy named Lattimore.92 If McCarthy was to be believed, the two top Soviet spies in the country at the beginning of 1950 were Bowmans friends! Bowman bore a special culpability in the Lattimore case, and it reverberated ironically and tragically on his own dreams and ambitions. While publicly on the best of terms with Lattimore, he began distancing himself in 1944 after a federal agent appeared at his door inquiring about Eleanor Lattimore, Owens wife. Four years later Bowman apparently advised his successor at Hopkins, Detlev Bronk, that one of his rst jobs would be to get rid of Lattimore. Once Lattimore was publicly accused of spying by McCarthy, the chair of the Bowman School of Geography, George Carter, began waging his own vicious campaign. He accused several geography graduate students of being communists and campaigned sufciently against one of E. F. Penroses graduates that he was hounded out of the profession. Carter also informed on Lattimore to the House Un-American Activities Committee, going so far as to le an afdavit including spurious accusations that his colleague was a spy. Under attack from witch-hunters nationwide, the president and trustees of Johns Hopkins offered little defense of Lattimore. Penrose and his wife, Edith, helped organize a faculty and student defense; Penrose and biogeographer Douglas Lee angrily but unsuccessfully demanded Carters resignation as department chair. But as faculty began to leave and students refused to come, the Isaiah Bowman Department of Geography lay in ruins.93 With his connections to Lattimore and Hiss apparently in mind, the FBI opened an investigation of Bowman in 1954, but as the bumbling agents soon discovered it was too late. The farce of McCarthyism was complete. In fact, Bowman did not live to see the unfolding of Point IV or the vicious accusations against his erstwhile friend Owen Lattimore. Although he saw the beginning of trouble in the departmentindeed, sparked it by ring Pelzer and Gottmann, promoting Carter, and turning his successor against Lattimore he would never know the mess that came of his most cherished dream.

bittry and nationalism increasingly supplanted community allegiance; nationalism and masculinism, class and race privilege, were all recast whether in war or in the escapades of Arctic explorers, in Teddy Roosevelts charge up San Juan Hill, or more tamely in the pages of National Geographic Magazine. The American Geographical Society was caught up in these shifts. Founded in 1851, the AGS was a prestigious New York society whose professional geographers were largely outnumbered by merchants and lawyers, bankers and publishers, industrialists and politicians. Its crusty ways were charted by self-styled men of consequence from New Yorks ruling society. Many were also gentleman explorers, or wished they were, avidly following the exploits of adventurers from Alaska to Zanzibar, Africa to the Arctic. The AGS sponsored expeditions, hosted lectures by scientists and returning explorers, and published maps, expedition results, notices, and other geographical inquiries in its Bulletin. By the end of the century, however, its elite clubbiness had passed over to stodginess. Its old ordering of a dramatically changing world was no longer sufcient, and its preeminence among U.S. geographical societies was increasingly challenged by newer bodies. Recognizing their predicament, a few younger AGS councillors cautiously began to redirect the societys work toward greater professionalization. AGS leaders were acutely aware that the closing of global frontiers deprived them of many of their favorite objects of exploration. But two major prizes remained, and as other destinations receded, the excitement around polar exploration intensied. The Arctic, among all the societys interests, was its specialty. When he succeeded to the presidency of the AGS in 1903, following New York mayor Seth Low, the Arctic explorer Robert E. Peary made an impassioned plea for the society to continue a large and vigorous policy of polar conquest:
Of late years exploration has of necessity become a work of details, opening the hearts of continents and pushing northward and southward, till today only the northern and southern apices of the earth still hide in the mists and gloom of the polar nights. If we wish to keep in the lead and be in at the death of the nal geographical conquest of the world, our rst efforts must be in those two directions, north and south.5

Feted with two medals by the AGS (in 1896 and 1902) for his Arctic achievements, Peary was the epitome of the societys explorer-hero. But by the early years of the twentieth century, fewer of the AGS councillors shared Pearys single-mindedness about polar conquest. Where Peary anticipated the death of geographical conquest, they struggled to perceive a new


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agenda. They went along with Peary only so far, and when his explorations led to longer and longer absences, and his overwhelming obsession with the North Pole threatened to engulf the AGS itself, a number of disagreements led to his resignation. Geography in the United States at the turn of the century was closely imbricated with geology but was increasingly developing an independent professional identity at the hands of scholars who felt that their focus on landscapes and surface features along with human agency merited a distinct disciplinary identity. In the 1880s, geographers traditional power base still lay in a host of local geographical societies including those of Chicago, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and San Francisco as well as New York, but in response to the nation-building impulses of the period, the search for a national association representing geographers led to the 1888 establishment of the National Geographical Society. When the National Geographic Magazine turned from scholarly to popular subject matter, professional geographers were left without effective national representation or organization,6 leading to the establishment of the Association of American Geographers (AAG) in 1904. An aged aristocracy of AGS councillors who lacked a clear sense of alternative purpose still dominated the society after Pearys departure, and it was hardly a magnet of opportunity for a new generation of professional geographers on the make. But it did undertake to sponsor and publish the Annals for the edgling AAG, and just as signicantly Archer Huntington was named AGS president. Huntington was the inheritor of Collis P. Huntingtons railroad and shipbuilding fortune and, at thirty-six years old, was less than half the age of many of the councils old order.7 He was no less committed to the elitism of the AGS than were its stalwarts, but he recognized that in changed times the society needed a fuller professional legitimacy and a more activist research agenda. He sought cooperative meetings with the AAG, and having become a professional philanthropist with the fortune he inherited, he personally funded the momentous and highly publicized 1912 Transcontinental Excursion, which for the rst time brought dozens of European geographers to the United States for an extended eld trip (Bowman was a marshal on the trip).8 He underwrote the construction of a new classical revival building at 155th Street and Broadway for the AGS ofces (1911) and hired the societys rst professional geographer, W. L. G. Joerg, but knew that if they were to pursue a serious research program and compete nationally, they needed not a gurehead president so much as a an energetic director. Bowmans years at Harvard and Yale provided an apprenticeship in social class. Without it he would never have been considered seriously by the

construction provided intervening opportunities. But Point IV did establish the groundwork for increased U.S. foreign direct investment in some parts of the third world by the late 1960s, especially in Latin America and East and Southeast Asia. Dramatic economic investment in Asia was eventually stimulated by the Vietnam War and took off after the wars end. If Point IV was dollar imperialism, the ow of capital was much lighter, more sporadic, and more uneven than expected in the rst quarter century after the war. Meanwhile, cold war hysteria in the United States had become so frenzied by the beginning of 1950 that, incredible as it might seem, Point IV found itself denounced, not as a capitalist, but as a Soviet, plot. Going well beyond the nativist howl that U.S. tax dollars did not belong abroad, Henry Hazlitt, a contributing editor of Newsweek, was only one among many vocal and well-connected right-wing ideologues who saw new foreign aid policies not as a lever for American globalism but a Trojan horse for communism. Point IV was inspired by Earl Browder, U.S. Communist Party leader, he charged, and was a vehicle for placing the U.S. government at the center of a larger collectivist and statist world government. This postwar spore of earlier isolationism would resurge at the end of the twentieth century in the form of right-wing militias and nativist (American) denunciations of the UN also as a communist plot.91

Quite how Bowman would have responded to this implication that, as ECA leader on Point IV, he was a communist stooge or fellow traveler, we shall never know. Incredible as it sounds, Bowman might well have been vulnerable to the scrutiny of building McCarthyism. Far stranger things happened. His reactionary politics and rabid anti-Sovietism would not necessarily have prevented him from accusations that he was a communist sympathizer. There was evidence after all, and his FBI le from the period reveals that agents explicitly tried to elicit whether in private he was as patriotic as his speeches implied. The same Bowman who delivered the Red Czar speech was also, it turned out, an acquaintance of Alger Hiss, had proposed Hiss for membership in the American Geographical Society, and had arranged to have him awarded an honorary degree at Johns Hopkins in 1947. The following year Hiss was publicly and sensationally accused of spying, in the highest-prole cold war case to date, and Bowman deposed himself as a character witness on Hisss behalf. Some sort of class allegiance kept him tied to Hiss, even though the Hopkins president had since the early 1940s quietly warned various people to steer clear of the Hiss brothers. If Bowman were ever under suspicion, these warnings might not have made a very


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rection of the Council on Foreign Relations, but his antipathy two decades later was even more bitter. It may have been the only residue of class consciousness he retained from a dirt-hard adolescence, but bankers for Bowman were parasites. They only underwrote the world with cash, at a pretty percentage, he might have said, but did nothing to change it. Their philosophy was exploitation, and when bankers put private money into overseas territories they will carry that philosophy with them, he warned. Private investment overseas was vital, but no bankers. Can we really team up and at the same time pretend that democracy follows the dollar? Bankers control of foreign trade initiatives represented a worse fate than even government control.90 However heartfelt, such a conceptual rewall between capitalists and bankersdid capitalists not also carry their philosophy with them?allowed Bowman to accommodate to his class success and aspirations without relinquishing his class roots at the same time. The bitter class lessons of his youthfrom Brown City to Harvardwere crystallized against bankers. His anticommunism was as reexive as his antagonism to bankers; its rawness owed directly from his deep personal understanding of what made communism simultaneously attractive and dangerous. The Soviet criticism of dollar imperialismdollars and democratic phraseology, in Bowmans wordswas surely correct. Truman, Acheson, Bowman, and Hoffman all saw Point IV as a policy in political economy. An economic development program providing outlets for U.S. capital, it doubled as a campaign against communism. Where Stalin was wrong was in the apparent belief that Point IV represented nothing new, a familiar colonial plot. Point IV was not a stars-and-stripes version of European colonialism, far from it. Followed by Kennedys Alliance for Progress, the Peace Corps, and innumerable other postwar foreign-aid initiatives, Point IV explicitly renounced colonialism while spinning a web of economic threads that inveigled underdeveloped nations into the world economy on U.S. terms. Point IV in and of itself was not very successful. It certainly did not live up to the bold new departure Truman had envisaged but tended instead to dissipate into myriad initiatives of the UN, the World Bank, and various U.S. government agencies. When it became a political football in Washington with the intensied cold war, independence movements in the colonies after 1945 kept many capitalists from investing. Proxy wars between the United States and the USSR from Korea to Cuba, Angola to Vietnam, enhanced economic instability on three continents while U.S. geographical ignorance ratied investor hesitancy. The continued availability of investment opportunities in safe Europe and later Japan following Marshall Plan re-

AGS. But Huntington had underwritten Bowmans 1907 and 1913 expeditions to South America and was impressed by the results. Here was an academic who was also an explorer; he had the energy and experience to run a research program, and his Harvard and Yale background yielded the appropriate pedigree. Bowman was called to interview in December 1914, offered the job, and after rst turning it down, eventually accepted an enhanced offer. His annual salary of seven thousand dollars far outstripped what Yale had countered with, and he had additional support for an assistant and for a publication program. The position was guaranteed for ve years.9 The directorship was Bowmans ticket to the higher ranks of the professional classes and simultaneously his entre into New Yorks ruling class. The AGS directorship was in many ways a negotiation between these two class positions. It brought him an entry into Whos Who in America, and at the age of thirty-six, he celebrated the new job and the nancial security it afforded by purchasing Turtle Island in Wentworth Lake, New Hampshire, which he set about making into a summer home for his family, which now included two young children.10

institutional entrepreneur
The institution that Bowman inherited bore little resemblance to the kind of modern scientic society that Huntington thought possible and that Bowman was determined to build. Financially, the AGS faced a debt of forty-six hundred dollars for 1915; the staff of twenty-two had not been replenished with younger talent, and the society operated according to antiquated procedures. The membership had languished at around eleven hundred for nearly four decades. Despite the spacious new building, the library was disorganized, its unique collection of forty-seven thousand books and thirty-six thousand maps in dire need of cataloging, and it was severely underutilized by geographers and the public. Bowman felt that the societys major publication, its Bulletin, was lled with too many dry and narrowly technical descriptions, often poorer renditions of livelier articles published in more popular outlets yet emanating from AGSsponsored expeditions. The AGS should throw its weight behind the excitement currently generated by regional geography he thought, as well as mapping, and with a war already raging in Europe, he suspected that European cartographers and geographers might soon be available. He understood very well that in the AGS he had just been handed an extraordinary opportunity for steering a new epoch of geographical research.


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Whatever the problems, the societys international reputation, size of the existing operation, space for expansion, and potential nancial resources were enormous. No other geographer in the country had such material resources at his disposal or such an opportunity for increasing and improving them and making them dynamic. 11 Bowman did not waste much time determining the problems. In his rst few months he prepared a series of plans designed to reorient the society, increase its efciency, and boost its reputation, and he began presenting these for council approval. The Bulletin was the societys most emblematic product, and he immediately renamed it the Geographical Review. Its content was also changed, leading off where possible with a more popular article accessible to the lay public interested in geography and minimizing the narrow technical reports and arcane announcements. More scholarly and less clubby, it eventually became quarterly rather than monthly. The encouragement of more accessible and topical articles was linked to a membership drive in which addresses were culled from various sources, especially the Social Register, college and university alumni lists, and membership records of other scholarly societies and clubs. Members would also receive annually a book and a map published by the AGS. By the end of 1916 the number of AGS fellows had more than doubled, to 2,787. In that same year Bowman overhauled the staff, ring six workers three weeks before Christmas. A supportive council stanched the resulting outcry and accusations of ruthlessness with claims that such drastic action was necessary.12 Having quickly gained the councillors condence, Bowman moved to suggest younger, more vibrant additions to the council. Bowman did not disparage the importance of geographical education but never shared Daviss passion for it, and after briey rescuing the oundering Journal of Geography, a teachers geography journal, he relinquished it to the National Council of Geography Teachers. He tolerated the School of Surveying, organized and funded by Alexander Hamilton Rice under the societys auspices. From Yale he had brought with him a doctoral student, Gladys Wrigley, and she and Joerg were quickly entrusted with greater responsibilities. With membership nearing four thousand in 1920, he entrusted Gladys Wrigley with the editorship of the Geographical Review, and Joerg was placed in charge of a new series of research monographs. Rather abruptly, following a joint AGS-AAG annual conference in 1922, Bowman ended AGS sponsorship of the Annals, the journal of the AAG, presumably to concentrate on the societys own research activities.13 Some of the societys more popular activities continued as services to the broader membershipits high-prole and affable lecture series, for example, fea-

Aluminum Import Company sought $7.9 million for an aluminum plant, also in Jamaica. For geological and topographical surveying, $1.8 million was requested as well as smaller amounts for rice and cocoa development, the transfer of used machinery from the United States to various countries, and a sawmill in Trinidad.87 With Point IV Bowman nally left behind his most cherished assumption that development would be driven by settlement. Capital more than people now led the economic geography of development. But he was also running out of steam. Despite recognizing that the political signicance of underdeveloped territories was as great in the postwar era as in the late nineteenth century, he was unable to summon up his enthusiasm of 1939 to 1943, when his vision of an American Lebensraum had unfolded. His cynicism was never far off: All is Point Four here, he wrote Aberystwyth geographer H. J. Fleure. We are bustling around the world doing good, tripping over ourselves in the process. . . . Who knows but what 1949 may be remembered by the historians, when dollars and democratic phraseology walk hand in hand in the allegedly naive corners of the world. His skepticism about the programs results was even sharper. Sometimes still animated, he was now more usually cautious about what foreign aid could achieve, and he backed well away from any demand for immediate selfdetermination. Technology transfer was important but not a guarantee of development, he insisted, pointing to the environmental disaster wrought by FDRs export of plows to West Africa and Nelson Rockefellers failed mechanization of Brazilian agriculture.88 In a Saturday Evening Post critique of Point IV, eugenicist William Vogt used Bowmans authority to argue that millions might be saved from tribal war, malaria and tsetse y only to face starvation due to overpopulation. But Bowmans sharpest cynicism was reserved for the recipients of foreign aid. Once the capital is invested, the technology transferred, and the rice thresher and textile mill put in the hands of the native, what will he do? Bowman queried. Will past prejudices really be shorn? Will he suddenly believe that the witch doctor has died and Allah has gone off for a nap?89 Bowmans stint with Point IV revealed another, more surprising if enduring aspect of his politics. Bankers and nanciers quickly played a leading role in the ECA, and Bowman decried their inuence at every opportunity. With the 1890s nancial crisis and his familys near loss of their farm to the bank seared into his memory, and having lost his savings in the Great Depression, he held an uncompromising distrust of the banking class. Quite comfortable in the company of industrialists and generals, he saw bankers as a species apart. He had clashed with them before in the 1920s over the di-


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group of qualied representatives from overseas colonial dependencies, to be indoctrinated with a rst-hand understanding of American commerce and banking? With the help of such indoctrination . . . the scope [of U.S. investment] and standards of living might be advantageously expanded.84 But congressional legislation enabling Point IV was still not in place, and the program had now attracted Stalins attention. A cautious Hoffman and Harriman overruled Bowmans indoctrination initiative. Truman built a rhetorical defense against charges of U.S. imperialism into his inaugural announcement of Point IV. The old imperialismexploitation for foreign prothas no place in our plans, he claimed, emphasizing instead democracy and fair-dealing. But the Soviet government easily understood commercial multilateralism as the leading edge of global capitalism, and Stalin had already condemned the Marshall Plan as dollar imperialism. In July, the Soviet ambassador to the UN attacked Point IV directly as just another colonial plot, a judgment eagerly corroborated by various Asian delegations, and U.S. ofcials received mounting reports of the fear of American capital everywhere. It was not so much that Point IV was tainted by cold war tension, rather that cold war McCarthyism was dramatically intensied in ideological support of U.S. economic interests expressed in the Marshall Plan and Point IV.85 For Bowman, of course, imputations of imperialism were preposterous, and depictions of swaggering U.S. capital rubbing the natives noses in the dirt even more so. He was especially bitter at Indian ingratitude: For them to suggest that we bear the principle burden for making them feel comfortable about receiving our money is indicative of the dream world in which so many people live who see our standard of living and deplore their own wretched condition, as if we were responsible for their condition or were able to remedy it at a stroke.86 Point IV began modestly indeed. Bowman argued that geographical infrastructure such as ports and railways ought to be a rst priority. This represented a decisive shift away from the wartime State Departments concern with resources and agricultural products, reecting the assumption that public leverage was most effective in xed capital investments whose long amortization periods repelled private investors. A comprehensive African railway survey ($615,000) with a continental railway plan to follow and a preparatory visit to North Borneo by two road engineers ($10,000) were immediately considered, as was dredging on the Essequibo and Berbice Rivers in British Guiana, but the largest ticket items and the most specic came from private investors. Reynolds Metals Company requested $11.1 million for the development of Jamaican bauxite, and the

turing returning explorers, European dignitaries, and prominent geographers, and the vastly popular New York Walk Book, which was periodically updated. Except in polar research and exploration, the societys concern with current affairs was rather desultory, and Bowman set out to remedy this. He ensured that the AGS was routinely in the press. Emboldened by the councils enthusiastic support for Woodrow Wilsons think tank called the Inquiry, which virtually took over the AGS building in late 1917, and by the councils support for Bowmans work at the Paris Peace Conference, Bowman increasingly saw himself as an entrepreneurial institution builder in search of niches where geography could be muscled in, its indispensability vaunted. Where opportunities presented themselves, he invariably grabbed them; where they didnt, he aggressively made them. His entrepreneurship under the banner of geography was nothing if not promiscuous. He used his appointment to the Executive Committee of the Division of Geology and Geography of the newly formed National Research Council in 1918 to forge a three-way coalition among the NRC, the AGS, and the War Department. After unsuccessfully urging the NRC to organize a geography curriculum in the countrys colleges and universities (turned by the war into de facto military schools), he pressed both the War Department and the NRC to include geography in the military curricula at land grant colleges. The War Departments collection of topographic maps and geographical data on the almost dark countries of South and Central America was sorely lacking, and the Military Intelligence chief wanted ofcers sent to South and Central America to gather information. Bowman keenly volunteered to attach ofcers to exploring expeditions or eld parties sent out by the Society or working under its auspices. Further, citing the growing inuence of geography among military men, he even urged the War Department to send some ofcers to the AGS to advance their studies in the eld of geography as applied to military operations. He hedged about whether the Latin American governments ought to be informed.14 What became of these plans tendering geography for the purpose of government spying is not clear. There have always been social scientists who have collaborated with governmental intelligence organizations, and from the time of the Roman geographer Strabo to the current CIA, geography as a scholarly pursuit has traditionally operated as handmaiden of the state. But the great majority of scholars have traditionally frowned on collusion with military intelligence operations, and scholarly associations often carry explicit prohibitions against spying. The reason is as pragmatic as it is political: if scientic expeditions and eld trips are known to include spies, they


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can expect no cooperation from the country of their destination, their results are compromised, and, worse, the lives of the researchers may be endangered. What is remarkable about Bowmans injudicious peddling of geography and the services of the AGS is the lack of any sense that his eager cooperation with Military Intelligence, the governments premier spy agency in this period, in any way compromises his scientic integrity or endangers scientists. Even more extraordinary is the sycophantic offer of the AGS to provide spy training. Spying presumably contributed to the imposition of geographical order. Bowman never tired of opportunistic intervention in powerful government and corporate circles. More public and certainly more colorful than his dalliances with Military Intelligence was his role in the boundary dispute that ared up in 1921 between Oklahoma and Texas. It is a case study in the geographical search for order. Boundary disputes were continually in the news following World War I as the last of Europes emerging nationstates jostled for territorial position, and long-standing boundary battles erupted in the Americasmost notably between Guatemala and Honduras in 1919. In North America, however, the many straight lines of state, provincial, and national boundaries betray the geometric imposition of frontiers from above, lacking any organic origin in historical or cultural patterns of life. Not since the unilateral seizure of northern Mexico in the 1840s had the discrete establishment of national territorial claims been advanced primarily by means of military incursion and local uprisings. Economic claims, legal history, and a dynamic geomorphology all contributed to the quarrel between Texas and Oklahoma. It was the most complicated boundary dispute Bowman knew, and some very modern issues were at stake. Following the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, the southern bank of the Red River was agreed as the boundary between the United States and Spanish Mexico, giving Oklahoma the entire river basin, but with the later dispossession of Mexico, Texas entered the Union, claiming the terrain up to the medial course of the river. In practice the 539-mile river boundary made little difference to local farmers, who freely used the river from both banks for irrigation and stock watering; its dramatic change in course following periodic ooding and the erosion and accretion of land on opposing banks was an annoyance but little more. In 1918, however, oil was discovered around and in the riverbed, and the question of who owned the land provoked a crisis between competing economic claims. It was further complicated by the U.S. governments assertion of claim to part of the riverbed. The case reached the Supreme Court, and Bowman was contracted by the Department of Justice to carry out a eld survey, report on the physio-

and high prices, he argued, and would unnecessarily constrain competition and production. Multilateralism, not bilateralism, was the appropriate framework for the American Lebensraum. Fully edged globalism rather than mere internationalism was what they now strove for.82 Guarantees to the investor would be balanced by guarantees of local interests, Truman had proposed, and Bowman quickly identied such guarantees as the crucial missing element. What kinds of protability guarantees could be made to U.S. businesses, and what would the corollary guarantees to local governments look like? This became a central conundrum for Point IV ofcials, who were nonetheless optimistic that if the correct mechanism could be devised, the sluice gates of U.S. capital investment would open. But that would bring its own dilemmas: if the United States were to step up production in underdeveloped regions, it risked exceeding the limit of world demand. Bowman argued candidly that a market can be created through arousing desire for goods and commodities, but only within limits, and he balked at the international price and wage controls on cartels and monopolies that such a dilemma seemed to call for, but had no other solution.83 Thus did the strident cold warrior unwittingly replicate some of the central contradictions identied in the marxist diagnosis of capitalism. How did so-called primitive accumulation take place? Where did the capital come from? What would happen if economic surpluses could not nd markets? How would the tendency to overproduction be resolved? And how is it possible that the free play of competition can lead to its opposite, namely, monopoly control of prices and markets, even production. The practical man, seeking to understand how American capitalism could be generalized across the globe, had iterated his way empirically to some of the central dilemmas of Marxs Capital, even as he spat vitriol at communism everywhere. But Bowman in 1949 was in no mood to recognize such intellectual niceties. To break the investment bottleneck he proposed a high-level U.S. diplomatic mission to European capitals to encourage U.S. and joint ventures in their colonies. Junior ECA ofcials were alarmed at such a transparent attempt to apply the lash to European colonial powers, but they were overruled, and a preparatory Paris summit was arranged. Bad health convinced Bowman against the trip, but in the meantime he sought to expand the propaganda front. Cognizant that the substantial geographical ignorance of U.S. businessmen concerning the rest of the world seriously circumscribed potential investment, he nonetheless chose to educate the residents of the underdeveloped world instead. Why not, he proposed in August 1949, bring to the United States under the aegis of the ECA, a


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The U.S. government had sponsored specic aid programs in Latin America and provided disaster relief, and the exigencies of war had provoked the massive lend-lease program in Europe, but Point IV now promised a comprehensive funnel of capital into those areas deemed ripe for development. U.S. industrial and technological know-how, combined with international capital investment and democracy, was the solution to underdevelopment, Truman argued.79 The knock came at Bowmans door even before the speech: Would he head up this bold new program? He would be working with Paul G. Hoffman, who directed the Economic Cooperation Administration (ECA), responsible for implementing the Marshall Plan, and with Averell Harriman, its roving European ambassador. But a newly retired Bowman had six books to write, was reluctant to move to Paris as the job required, and was worried about his health when a periodic thyroid illness ared again. A compromise was quickly reached whereby he would stay in Baltimore, with easy access to Washington, and work half-time overseeing ECAs Point IV work. He was appointed special consultant to the ECA administrator and eventually chaired the Advisory Board on Overseas Territories, charged with implementing Point IV. An assistant would report to him from Paris, and he selected John E. Orchard, the Columbia economic geographer who had previously worked for the lend-lease program.80 Point IV for Bowman was about lling in the economic geography of U.S. globalism. It looked like a tting cap to a career for one who cut his academic teeth with the conditional scientic conquest of the Andes, was concerned with the mandate territories at Paris in 1919, and helped devise U.S. strategy for shaking loose the colonies after World War II. The economic, ideological, and political aspects of third world development, as it now came to be known, all came together in Point IV. Having envisaged the postwar world as an American economic Lebensraum, he now cast himself in the image of that future. Whatever his NSF and Harvard scruples about social science, for Point IV he became an economic geographer. Truman had insisted that greater production is the key to prosperity and peace, and Bowman agreed. But somebody must bring in capital. Only in rare cases can natives . . . accumulate capital in a primitive economy, and American capitalists were proving reluctant: in 1948 only eight hundred thousand dollars was drawn from the initial Marshall Plan fund of a billion dollars for private capital investing in Europe.81 Investors would be even less keen outside Europe. Some held that a series of strong investment treaties with foreign countries would encourage investment, but Bowman was more ambitious. Rigid bilateralism tends to protect high costs

graphic character and history of this highly dynamic uvial landscape, and testify to an investigative commission. Apart from access to water and oil resources and the permanently shifting riverbed, there were questions of river navigability, ownership of riverbed deposits, the denition of the oodplain vis--vis stable land, and so on. Bowmans testimony coincided with the U.S. governments position, namely, that the only sensible (as well as legally consistent and sustainable) resolution from a geographic point of view was for the medial point of the rivers normal ow to mark the boundary of Oklahoma and for the southern portion of the riverbed claimed by Texas to belong to the United States. In three rulings between 1921 and 1923, the Court broadly concurred, began dening a precise boundary, and specied conditions under which changes in the channel and oodplain could alter those boundaries.15 But the dispute did not end there, and Bowman eventually became angry with the outcome. Following the Supreme Court decision, Congress countered that opportunistic oil wildcatters who had rushed to the disputed southern strip of the oodplain, gambling on a favorable legislative outcome, should retain illegally sunk wells and the prots thereof. The Teapot Dome scandal had already broken, and Bowman was furious to learn that the attorney general, apparently subject to strong political inuence, encouraged Congress in its neutralization of the commissions work. Bowman relayed the events to his friend John Finley, senior editor at the New York Times, and within a couple of days a stern editorial appeared admonishing the Harding administration to impose exacting conditions on oil leases in the riverbed, but to no avail.16 An incident during the Red River dispute suggests the extent to which the man who had survived Harvard as a short and unsophisticated outsider now condently exuded his new class privilege. Having reported his ndings in commission testimony, Bowman was cross-examined and asked whether he might predict the future course of the river. Cautiously he did, whereupon the cross-examining lawyer retorted sardonically, May I ask, then, whether you regard yourself as a major, or merely a minor, prophet? I am called a major prophet, Bowman shot back. Sensing a successful ambush of this expert witness, the lawyer rushed to ask before a hushed court precisely why an alleged man of science was so ready to prophesy the future. I am called a major prophet, Bowman calmly explained, because my name is Isaiah.17 In his twenty years at the American Geographical Society, Bowman fostered the metamorphosis of an organization that had begun to atrophy. Taking it beyond exploration, he built a powerful and energetic research insti-


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tution. He more than doubled the size of the staff, increased the membership to almost six thousand by 1930, dramatically expanded the societys publications, and stabilized and multiplied its revenues. On a daily basis, the AGS building was a whirl of activity. Visiting geographers from overseas the famous as well as the unknownwere always presenting themselves, as young U.S. geographers did when preparing for their own expeditions. Prominent gures in U.S. foreign relations consulted the AGS staff and its library and maps, and all the famous explorers of the day, from Vilhjalmur Stefansson (whom Bowman had known at Harvard) and Louise Boyd to Knud Rasmussen and Charles Lindbergh, came and went in search of maps and information for upcoming expeditions. He was especially close to Richard Byrd. Many explorers presented lectures or were honored with one of the societys medals: Robert Scott, Ernest Shackleton and Roald Amundsen, Sir Halford Mackinder and French geographer Vidal de la Blache, Albert I (prince of Monaco) and Theodore Roosevelt. Amid this clamor, Bowman built what he referred to as a sort of faculty, which included as many as six researchers with doctorates and others with graduate and undergraduate training. As an institution builder, he was the consummate entrepreneur, always willing to court inuential men, but jealously guarding the AGS when he felt it in danger of unreasonable exploitation. At the beginning of the 1920s Bowman set his sights on building the AGS as a research institution and eventually boasted that it was the only research institution in the world devoted to geography.18 He initiated two major projects and numerous smaller research efforts that ran in the interstices of these larger projects and the societys routine work. One of the major projects concerned pioneer settlement and the associated questions of land use, which grew out of his South American research but, in its U.S. focus, increasingly connected with his Michigan roots. The second also evolved from research, absorbed a huge portion of the societys resources, and became a centerpiece of its work in the 1920s and 1930s.19 Reorienting the AGS from a polar to a Latin American focus, Bowman commenced an ambitious compilation of the rst ever map of Hispanic America at the scale 1:1,000,000.

the millionth map of south america

The dream of the millionth map, as it was known, is difcult to appreciate today. It was a truly extraordinary undertaking. Costing half a million dollars, requiring an average of seven workers per day over a quarter century, and requiring 107 separate sheets, it represented the largest single geographical research project in the United States between the two world wars. Covering all

out of it as if I were a Republican!76 This may have been the greatest irony of Bowmans Washington career. The abrupt cold war acidity of Trumans State Department should have represented a homecoming for him, but at Foggy Bottom as much as at Harvard he was the paradoxical victim of his own cautious conservatism. Behind State Department walls, he had been an early and extreme voice against the USSR but never explicitly allied himself with the younger, more agile anti-Soviets, a group that eventually included future secretaries of state James Byrnes and Dean Acheson as well as Adolf Berle. Bowman found himself passed over when a new generation of right-wing Democrats stole the anticommunist thunder he had boomed to Lionel Curtis as war began. He was tainted by his close association with Hull and even more so with Stettinius, whom Truman blamed for U.S. concessions at Yalta, and the new generation in the State Department distrusted him as either suspiciously liberal, given his history with Woodrow Wilson, or else too stodgy and rigid a conservative. In one major Truman foreign policy initiative, however, he did play a central if brief role. Henry Wallace had written Bowman in 1942 that with an International Bank and a practical form of International TVA [Tennessee Valley Authority] it might be possible to develop certain backward areas of the world and in such a way postpone serious post-war depression.77 Bretton Woods established the International Monetary Fund and World Bank, but at the end of the 1940s direct capital investment by U.S. capitalists was still lacking. Late-nineteenth-century European prosperity was based on capital export, and U.S. corporations had begun to expand their foreign direct investment in the rst decades of the twentieth century. The depression ended this trend, however, and by 1938 U.S. investment abroad had fallen from eight billion dollars (in 1929) to three billion. A decade later, private investment abroad stood at only nine hundred million dollars, a mere 2 percent of domestic investment, and was highly concentrated in Latin America and Middle Eastern oil. Petroleum companies accounted for almost 80 percent of direct foreign investment in the three years after the war.78 Wallaces fear of a deep postwar depression was now widespread, and Vinsons warning that capitalism was inherently international was more urgent. In the fourth major point of his January 1949 inaugural address, Truman announced a new program. It was sold publicly as an antidote to misery, hunger, and disease, but its larger goal was to spark stagnant economies and the economic growth of underdeveloped areas. Point IV, as it came to be known, was an adjunct of the Marshall Plan devoted to investment and development outside Europe. It was a logical outcome of Roosevelts commercial ambitions in erstwhile colonies and at the same time unprecedented.


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gushed with gratitude.73 In June 1948 Bowman sailed for Britain, where he was to receive an honorary doctorate of science from Oxford University and the Patrons Medal of the Royal Geographical Society (RGS). Aboard the Queen Mary he bumped into Jean Gottmann, whom he had red from the Hopkins geography department several months earlier. Bowman was a lonely gure, Gottmann recalled, and insisted several times that the Frenchman should come up to his luxury cabin on the sundeck to talk about geography and old times. An ambivalent Gottmann eventually went, and Bowman admitted candidly that he had been decisive in making the initial decision to drop geography at Harvard. They were a bad advertisement for the discipline, he told Gottmann, and a bad bunch of men. When Gottmann protested that this was a terrible blow . . . to American geography, Bowman brushed him aside, pulling from his briefcase a copy of his address to the RGS, which, he insisted, included a paragraph that would convince Conant and all other doubters of the merits of geography. Gottmann was struck not just by the vacuity of Bowmans bravado but by how pathetic a gure he now cut.74 Geographers were correct that postwar U.S. globalism would require extensive geographical knowledge, but what they could not foresee was that the weakness of the discipline, compounded by the closure of the Harvard program, would diminish the ability of the discipline to respond. Even as Harvard was axing geography, plans were being laid there, at Columbia University, and elsewhere for a new eld that came to be known as area studies. Led by institutes for Russian and East European studies, which responded to demands for instrumental knowledge to fuel the cold war, but broadening out into a much wider pursuit, area studies provided much of the geographical knowledge for the new American globalism. As for Harvard geography, the 1949 committee admitted to being bafed about what geography actually was but concluded that they probably ought to have a department of it at Harvard anyway. Pleading nancial exigency, the administration never implemented the decision. When there is enough money, suggested David Bailey, secretary of the Harvard Corporation in 1960, and when Harvard can nd the right man, geography will again be on the Harvard curriculum. Formally, the question of Harvard geography remains unresolved, and periodic urries of activity raise the possibility that geography might again be found appropriate.75

dollars and democratic phraseology : point iv imperialism

With President Roosevelts death my status in relation to the Government changed substantially, Bowman once volunteered, and now I feel as much

of the Americas below the U.S.-Mexico border, more than twenty million square kilometersmodern metric units were applied throughoutit provided the rst denitive mapping of the absolute space of the United States back yard at such a ne and versatile scale (one centimeter equals ten kilometers). The rst inkling of the map came in 1913 when Bowman rode the train down from New Haven to appeal for funds at the AGS for his impending Atacama expedition. He scoured the magnicent AGS collection for maps of the region but was frustrated by the disorder he encountered. There was no integrated map of the entire region at a usable scale, only a scattering of maps drawn at different scales using different styles and with very uneven coverage, often outdated and error-ridden. Yet good base maps were obviously a desideratum of serious geographical research. Their practical value was sharply reafrmed in 1919 after the threatened boundary war between Guatemala and Honduras, and the AGS, contracted to survey the disputed region, was embarrassingly bereft of adequate base maps. The millionth map imposed cartographic order on the dark countries of South and Central America. It was less an original topographic mappingthe only remaining uncharted lands were isolated pockets in Amazonia and the Andesthan a rounding out of what Bowman called conditional conquest. It was compiled from myriad sources: existing national and regional maps at various scales; archival sources in numerous governmental and scholarly ofces throughout the Americas; corporate exploration and survey data (especially from oil and rubber companies, railroads, and construction and development companies); and the results and reports of many exploratory expeditions up, down, and across a continent and a half. In only one casea 192728 expedition to the Andean sources of the Amazonwas an original survey commissioned. The requisite work was equally multifaceted: research of sources, compilation of information, drafting, editing, and the nal cartography, all carried out by a squad of geographers, cartographers, and other specialists. The rst sheet, La Paz, was completed in 1922 under the supervision of Scottish geographer Alan Ogilvie, who after three years at the AGS returned to Edinburgh and was replaced by Raye R. Platt. Five Americans and four Scots were among the early team of cartographers, but otherwise, the map was a virtual employment program for White Russians, mostly high-ranking naval ofcers vanquished by the revolution, who compiled seventy-two of its sheets.20 The work was meticulous, as only Bowman could have demanded, and the cartographic artistry spectacular, especially in the diversely colored sheets of the high Andes. The nal product is a breathtaking 34.4-by-29.5-foot composition, one of the most beautiful achievements of American cartography.


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Funding for the project was a constant concern. Huntington, who shared Bowmans passion for the region and who preceded the AGS building with an adjacent home for the Hispanic Society of America, kicked off with twenty-ve thousand dollars, and Bowman raised a further fteen thousand by appeal. But the map ate money very quickly. The National Research Council refused to contribute, and Bowman was desperate enough to offer cosponsorship to his large, wealthy, and popular competitor, the National Geographic Society, but after conferring with the AGS Council, coolly withdrew the invitation.21 The council apparently preferred to retain exclusive control, and over the rest of the decade, the council, in the person of James B. Ford, paid for the work. Along with Huntington, Ford was the societys major benefactor in the rst half of the twentieth century and, after underwriting Bowmans rst membership campaign, became a strong supporter of the new director. He had made a fortune in the rubber industry but now contented himself as commodore of the elite Larchmont Yacht Club in Westchester County. Before his death in 1929, Ford contributed a total of $192,000 to the map. Dependent on mortgage and stock investments and philanthropic support,AGS nances were pummeled by the depression, and another two hundred thousand dollars from Huntington had to be followed by a grant of $85,000 from the Rockefeller Foundation to help nish the map. Making the millionth map was also politically tricky. The German geographer Albrecht Penck had rst proposed in 1891 the cooperative construction of a world map at the scale of 1:1,000,000, but progress was slow. The British balked at use of the metric system while the French insisted that Paris, not Greenwich, should be the maps base meridian. Conferences in 1909 and 1913 ironed out the cartographic parameters of the international map and planned its production, and, as if to conrm that war is good for geographers, the ensuing conict actually speeded up assembly of the European portion. The AGS always proclaimed its Latin American map as independent from yet cooperative with the larger project. They adopted the world maps conventions of style, color, contour spacing, and so forth, but the overriding ambiguity encouraged a competitive turf war. Britains Royal Geographical Society, claiming much of the international project for its own, saw the AGS effort as either an arrogation of continental authority by an upstart AGS or else useless duplication. More serious was the reception in Latin America itself. The wartime withdrawal of European (especially British) capital provoked a rush of U.S. corporations into the resulting economic vacuum there. They invested in traditional resource extractionnitrates (Chile), petroleum (Peru), tin (Bolivia), and rubber (Brazil), and increasingly, after the war spurred an unprecedented

about it. Let me say that my general reply is to the effect that I propose to mind my own business.70 Bowman seems to have believed that he could help disband the current geography personnel and guide its rebuilding. As he served up Whittlesey on a plate, he cautioned over and over to perturbed geographers that things can be worked out quietly. But Bowmans homophobia and anticommunism were abetted by self delusion and tragic miscalculation. If, as he charged, Whittlesey had been unable to get Harvard to see anything useful in the discipline, this was a disciplinary as much as a personal indictment. Intellectually, Whittlesey was among geographys top scholars, and Bowmans own work received no rave reviews. The prominent historian Frederick Merck, reporting to a 1949 Harvard committee charged with evaluating the whole geography situation, disparaged Bowmans Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences as digressive and diffuse and disjointed and generally lacking substance. The Nature of Geography fared no better. It was not just Whittlesey but all of geographys best who failed to sell the discipline. And to a chemist like Conant, the presumption of Bowmans Pollyannaish claims for geography as queen of the sciences must have seemed pathetic. Conant was a formidable opponent, who by one account saw no difference between poisoning a soldier and blowing him to bits, and Buck was just as indomitable. Intimidated by Harvard as an undergraduate, Bowman may have jousted with Colonel House, Roosevelt, and Churchill, but he was still intimidated by Harvard at the end of the 1940s.71 It got worse. Defending his decision, Conant eventually issued a directive that sent shock waves through the discipline: Geography is not a university subject, he declared. Closing a program was one thing but denouncing an entire discipline was another, and given Harvards educational leadership this announcement echoed throughout American higher education. Bowman was angry, and he had a point: I do not see how Conant can say that this is not a university subject of study while at the same time harboring the Harvard School of Business Administration. Seeking to undo the damage in which he was now implicated, he concluded to J. K. Wright that he had one more job to do, which is to attempt a defense of geography as a university subject and see that it is scattered widely throughout the country as an offset to the action at Harvard.72 It is doubtful that Bowman ever understood how gravely he miscalculated. He never did confront Conant; in fact, the pandering continued. When he sat in his rst board of overseers meeting in October 1948, the highly publicized question of closing geography arose. Bowman remained silent, and Conant


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ences was as messianic and pretentious as it was popular among geographers. In the Harvard battle it was to this view of the discipline that Bowman resorted: the geographer has to handle physics, chemistry, biology, meteorology, climatology and geology. Why not? he wrote to Gladys Wrigley. With the incessant splintering of elds of specialized knowledge, the geographer is the one professional synthesizer.66 Bowman also despised Whittlesey. He disrespected Whittleseys scholarship, once calling his Earth and the State an ignorant and truly appalling book, but was repulsed by his homosexuality. In Cambridge for the ad hoc meeting, Bowman was quietly informed that although Kemp was no longer a geography instructor, Whittleseys relationship with him remained embarrassing.67 The depth of Bowmans homophobia rarely came out in public, but he was once quite explicit to Jean Gottmann. The subject naturally got around to the Harvard department, Gottmann recalled of their 1948 meeting, and before Bowman could even indict the departments scholarship their PhDs were worthless and their program was an intellectual kindergartenhe made scathing accusations of vice, nepotism, and pederasty.68 Amid the gathering cold war hysteria, sexual and political mores mirrored each other intensely. Homosexuality was deemed by many to be as un-American as communism, both unnatural and dangerous threats to a manly capitalism. They were linked at Harvard insofar as Whittleseys work pegged itself to the social more than the natural sciences, and Bowman did not shrink from raising the specter of politics in social science at later Harvard deliberations. An embarrassed Ullman even had to apologize once for Bowmans implication that geography is . . . the most important bulwark to communism and brutality in the world. Just because this article may ramble, Ullman pleaded, does not mean that Bowman is stupid.69 In fact, from the time of the 1947 ad hoc meeting, Bowman was already collaborating with Buck and Conant against Harvard geography. Far from opening his mouth, as student organizer Peter Roll had hoped, he actively encouraged others to keep theirs shut. On news of Ackermans dismissal, he immediately pressed AGS director J. K. Wright, who had also been on the ad hoc committee, to do nothing. Citing the background about Whittlesey, he warned against the concerted disciplinary protest suggested by Haverford president Gilbert White. And he deected a urry of implorations to galvanize a defense of Harvard geography, effectively stemming any revolt. In the most quisling tones he also wrote to the Harvard provost: From time to time I am in receipt of a letter from hither and yon to the effect that Harvard has dropped geography and why dont I do something

industrialization, in the manufacture of cars and agricultural and industrial machinery and the renement of petroleum. The 1890s slogan Trade follows the ag was superseded by the more direct recognition that trade follows capital, although gunboat diplomacy still persisted with periodic U.S. military interventions during the 1910s and 1920s (mainly in Central America and the Caribbean). In order to blunt anti-American opposition, U.S. policymakers explicitly sought political, social, cultural, and civic connections with Latin American elites, culminating in the pan-American movement, but powerful nationalist and anti-imperialist movements emerged throughout South and Central America nonetheless, even among the middle classes. The mapping of the region by gringos was a delicate matter.22 Eight of the thirty-ve countries represented at the 1913 international millionth map conference were from Latin America, and so the AGS had to be careful lest the Hispanic American countries should feel that the Society was presuming to take upon itself an enterprise which was the prerogative of their governments. Bowman appreciated the power inherent in the prerogative to map oneself, but it never deected his resolve. The AGS tiptoed round South American proprietorship by inscribing each sheet with Provisional Edition, the implication being that the maps would serve the international project only until the ofcial denitive edition [had] been produced by the proper Hispanic American government.23 In practice, few such denitive editions were produced, for as Bowman well knew, few South American governments or geographical societies combined the resources and the priorities to map themselves according to the international map standards, and with many sheets involving two or more nations, Bowman knew he could afford to be solicitously diplomatic with little fear of serious competition. Only Argentina and Brazil eventually produced their own 1:1,000,000 maps prior to World War II, and these the AGS dismissed as either obscure or inferior.24 Most governments were content to cooperate with the AGS in providing materials and access to archives, the more so when they felt that the provision of information would enhance their position regarding outstanding boundary disputes, such as occurred between Peru and Ecuador. In this case a reverse bidding war ensued. Ecuador not only provided the whole collection of unpublished surveys and maps held by its Department of Works, along with two thousand dollars to boot, but also assigned an assistant secretary of war, General Luis Telmo Paz y Mio, as consultant to the AGS, where he remained for six months. The millionth map was in steady demand from the start. Construction engineers, industrialists, prospectors, traders, government ofcials, geologists, and other scientists all consulted it. Various sheets were used as the


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base maps or otherwise contributed to the resolution of boundary disputes between Chile and Peru (1925), Bolivia and Paraguay (1929), Colombia and Peru (1932), Colombia and Venezuela (1933), and Peru and Ecuador (1941). When the latest Peru-Ecuador dispute ared again in 1995, deputations from both countries journeyed to New York to consult the pertinent sheets and AGS archives of the original project.25 They became base maps for air navigation charts of the region, and the Panama sheet was the ofcial chart for U.S. Army Air Corps pilots in the Canal Zone. The onset of war again in 1939 and the growing fear of an Axis invasion of South America or the West Indies led to a run on the sheets when numerous government agencies placed orders. This brought considerable publicity, including a full-page photograph in Life and acknowledgment that the map played a crucial role in the political and economic life of the Western Hemisphere, adjusting national boundaries, and guiding technological progress into the wilderness.26 To scholars, Bowman advertised the map in scholarly terms while to government and corporation ofcials he spoke of commerce and national welfare. At the same time that he urged U.S. Military Intelligence ofcers to join AGSsponsored expeditions in Latin America and to second themselves to the AGS, he swore to the Mexican secretary of agriculture that we have no connection whatever with the Government and that the map and the society are entirely an independent enterprise, free from all political consideration.27 Comparing it with earlier conquest efforts, Raye Platt, director of the millionth map project, was more forthright about what the map meant. The landmark 1775 continental map by Spanish cartographer Juan de la Cruz Cano y Omedilla, he enthused, was a three-century digest of European measurement and discovery on a continent which, to judge from the fortunes it had already yielded, was lled with treasure to be had only for the taking. The millionth map was undertaken insofar as the same need arose in our own time.28 Pearl Harbor was bombed the same week that Life publicized the map, and the U.S. government immediately requested that public distribution of it be halted. It was now considered a potential war weapon. Bowman unhesitatingly complied. At the same time, the State Department began nancing emergency work on unnished sheets covering areas of projected strategic importance. It also funded a plethora of spin-off mapping projects. If the war threw up numerous emergency diversions, it also provoked the stimulus and nances to nish; sudden and large demand for the map resulted in four years of protable operation at the postdepression AGS, an unprecedented event.29 More generally the society threw itself into war work. Bundles of maps, books, and other sources were constantly shuttled back and forth between the AGS and different government ofces in Washington,

The second embarrassment for Harvard and geography was that, amid the powerful ideological reassertion of a narrow familial conventionalism after the war, Derwent Whittlesey was gay. He lived with Harold Kemp, a mediocre scholar at best, for whom he had secured a Harvard lectureship. Had it not been that Whittlesey brashly promoted Kemp, little public notice might have been paid to his sexuality. But it was an open secret in Cambridge, and the verbal mythology within the discipline mixed prurience and homophobia, lasting for decades: Whittlesey was the man, Kemp the woman, reported one senior geographer in the 1980s. They always had pink-faced undergraduates over there. They took them to the opera.63 Other whispers had it that a third geography faculty member was involved with Kemp and Whittlesey in a homosexual cell. Bowman was pivotal to the fate of geography at Harvard. He was on the 1947 ad hoc committee recommending Ackermans promotion, soon thereafter was elected to the Harvard Board of Overseers, and was a personal friend of Conant. Himself a Harvard man who relentlessly proselytized for geography, the president of Johns Hopkins would have to be reckoned with in any move against the discipline. But Bowman had his doubts about the Harvard department. In the rst place, he was deeply opposed to its intellectual direction. Whittlesey, Ackerman, and Ullman were all human geographers with little training in the physical side of the discipline, and the graduate students increasingly followed this mold. Bowman insisted that physical geography was the only conduit to science and that a separate human geography would inevitably be descriptive, fragmentary and easy. The trouble with modern geographers is that they are human geographers with no established body of principles, scientic in character. Knowing that Buck and Conant wanted a broader evaluation of Harvard geography, Bowman made this attack forcefully against human geography at the 1947 ad hoc committee and reiterated it to Conant afterward in a stiff note accompanying a copy of his Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences.64 This was more than mere nostalgia for the physical geography of his Harvard youth. Dogged by a defensive sense of their own marginalization in the academy, American geographers after the 1930s were obsessed with dening the discipline into a position of prominence, and the view that came to prevail, especially after the publication of Hartshornes The Nature of Geography, was that geography did not claim its own discrete object of study the way sociology or chemistry might but rather synthesized in a spatial and environmental framework the results of other disciplines.65 There was considerable precedent for this view, but in the context of twentieth-century science, the resulting claim that geography was therefore the queen of the sci-


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bious intellectual worth anyway. Rumors began circulating that geography would be cut, not built, and at the end of February 1948, with the backing of Harvard president Conant, Buck overturned the ad hoc committee recommendation, refused to promote Ackerman, red one of the geography instructors, and made it clear that a tapering off in Geography would take place. Despite warning signs, a despondent Whittlesey was apparently taken by complete surprise. We seemed to be just at the point of consolidating the slow gains of the last 20 years, he wrote. To have it all knocked out from under us is hard to take.60 A highly publicized academic war over the eld of geography quickly ensued. Ackerman already had prestigious support: Richard Hartshorne (his old OSS boss), J. K. Wright (director of the American Geographical Society), and Colonel Hubert Schenck (of the Allied General Headquarters) had all previously written glowing recommendations, and although Whittlesey was shell-shocked, others now mobilized a protest. Kirk Bryan and geology colleague Kirtley Mather were appalled and said so publicly, and the Harvard Crimson, calling the decision anachronous, denounced a minority of the professors of geology for selling geography out to the administration. The student council angrily decried the decision, and a ood of letters from prominent geographers worldwide inundated Buck and Conant. A chorus of condemnation might alter the decision, concluded student organizer Peter Roll, if I can get Bowman and a couple of others to open their mouths.61 But there were skeletons in geographys closet that had a bearing on the decision. In 1931 the Amazonian explorer Alexander Hamilton Rice had effectively bought himself a professorship at Harvard, or so many felt. He was married to Eleanor Widener, a wealthy society woman who in 1915 had donated the Widener Library to Harvard in memory of her son, a Titanic victim. Rice had been elected to the AGS Council in 1917, was its vice president through the 1920s, and sponsored an AGS School of Surveying. But the council took a dim view of his wifes attempt to donate a million dollars to the depression-strapped AGS in exchange for Bowmans ouster and her husbands ascendancy to the AGS presidency. Rebuffed, the Rices decamped to Harvard, where a soon-to-retire president Lowell accepted their gift, aimed at establishing the Institute of Geographical Exploration with Alexander Hamilton Rice as its professor.62 But Rice was a showman and entrepreneur, not a scholar. He commuted to Harvard from Newport, Rhode Island, in a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce and plagued Conant constantly. Persona non grata with the other Harvard geographers, who had no hand in his appointment, he was an embarrassment for the discipline.

D.C. The Ofce of Strategic Services (OSS), precursor of the CIA, had no patience for such a piecemeal approach. OSS ofcers arrived one day to examine the AGS collection of maps and books and left only after microlming 31,676 selected modern maps, for a haul of eighty-ve reels.30 The millionth map represented the completion of nineteenth-century geographical business, as much in tune with the exploratory and imperial vision of the AGS in the 1890s as with the realities of modern commerce and politics a half century later. It was a mopping-up exercise after the chaotic urry of sheer conquest. It imposed geographical order of a very practical sort. After the war, the society hosted a dinner at the Rainbow Room in Rockefeller Center to celebrate the maps completion, and the platitudes of Assistant Secretary of State Spruille Braden, a mining engineer who had previously roamed from the Andes to the Amazon, captured the aging agenda the map addressed. Its makers had gone out into the unknown and vanquished and charted it, he concluded, and the resulting map represents not only the indomitable determination of men to know and to master the world but also the forces of civilization advancing in spite of high barriers. In his own speech that night, Bowmans anticlimactic relief took a different tack: he felt compelled to apologize for the maps apparent conventionality by saying that it merely took a continent and a half out of a state of cartographic disorder into one of order.31 Yet the maps symbolic power was thoroughly contemporary and may have been just as consequential as its strategic, economic, and political uses. It was inspired by a thoroughly modern blend of scientic technique and competition entwined with national ambition, a point reinforced by eventual State Department sponsorship. It comprised a powerful projection of U.S. science as well as political and economic power in the hemisphere. A new generation of AGS councillors recognized its contemporary value when they awarded Bowman the societys David Livingstone Centenary Medal for his work.32 The millionth map epitomizes Bowmans personal shift from explorer to geographical entrepreneur. No less a product of an older geographical order, it was an indispensable premise of the new.

what the hell difference does it make+ peary and the pole
Until the late 1980s the polar establishment in the United States successfully protected Pearys anointment as discoverer of the North Pole. But then a cautiously skeptical report published in the National Geographic Magazine, a sponsor of the original expedition and heretofore one of the staunchest de-


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fenders of Pearys claim, ushed long-standing suspicion onto the front pages. Wally Herbert, a British explorer, concluded that Peary had erred in some navigational calculations and was no closer than thirty to sixty miles from the Pole. The news was quickly reported in the New York Times and was followed there the next day by a tongue-in-cheek Correction of the Times own 1909 editorial hailing Pearys feat. The newspaper had exclusive rights to the original 1909 story in exchange for expedition sponsorship, and as the correction suggested, both it and the NGS were highly interested parties who may have failed to scrutinize adequately what they yearned to believe.33 The sense of relief at laying this ghost to rest was palpable, although many still refuse to believe it. That the correction took until the 1980s is the consequence of various factors but none more crucial than the actions of Isaiah Bowman. Anyone who might have imagined that this historic volte-face by two of Pearys stalwart institutional supporters might close the issue would have badly misjudged the personal and nationalist vehemence with which such spats over polar discoveries are fought. Six weeks after the National Geographic article, Dennis Rawlins, a Baltimore astronomer with a long interest in polar claims, bumped Mikhail Gorbachev and Dan Quayle to side columns on the front page of the Washington Post with what seemed like conclusive proofa newly discovered document recording Pearys solar observations at the Pole. These observations proved, Rawlins reported, not only that Peary turned back at approximately 8815 north latitude, 121 miles short of the Pole, but also, most damning, that he knew he had stopped short and therefore deliberately faked his claim. The newly revealed document was the key to this account. It was in Pearys handwriting and held by Pearys wife since prior to her husbands death in 1920. Only Bowman and his assistants had analyzed it since.34 Many commentators believed that the attainment of both North and South Poles by 1911 hastened the end of geography as an intellectual pursuit, but Bowman had a contrary sense of polar exploration. Clearing the clutter of discovery from the world map was not the end of geography but its beginning, opening the way for a much more profound scientic exploration of the earths surface. The old Arctic is good for many another expedition before we have whittled down its problems to ordinary dimensions, Bowman enthused in 1928, when airplane technology was rekindling the frenzy for polar exploration. His attraction to the heroics of exploration and discovery was personal as much as professional. His Andean expeditions earned a nomination to New Yorks prestigious Explorers Club, and he was elevated to its vice presidency in 1922. He had personally helped to clear up the cluttered map of discoveries. In an 189192 voyage, explorer

of Americas postWorld War I ideological isolationism. War is traditionally good for geography, and U.S. geographers were optimistic that the postwar period would deliver the discipline onto its rightful academic pedestal. All the evidence was on their side; an American globalism would need geographical knowledge of unprecedented accuracy and extent, and geographers were poised to ll the need. As Bowman had put it in the wartime State Department, anything happening anywhere around the world potentially involved U.S. interests. The geography program at Harvard in the late 1940s was very different from that of the Shaler-Davis days, when Bowman was an undergraduate.58 In the 1920s a serious attempt was made to launch an independent geography program within geology. The geomorphologist Kirk Bryan had been hired in 1926, followed by the Chicago-trained human geographer Derwent Whittlesey and several part-time instructors. Whittlesey was a political and settlement geographer of some note. He had been elected president of the Association of American Geographers in 1944 and also editor of one of the disciplines leading journals, the Annals of the AAG, and it was he who led the Harvard crusade for geography in the 1940s. Much as at Hopkins, World War II had stimulated new interest in geography, and the Harvard administration now decided to hire several new permanent faculty. Edward Ackerman, a Harvard Ph.D. who had worked for the Ofce of Strategic Services and the Combined Chiefs of Staff during the war, was hired, as was Edward Ullman, a Chicago Ph.D. also from the OSS. Ackerman and Ullman were beginning to explore the application of systems theory and mathematics to locational analysis, conceiving human geography in formal positivist terms. Their wartime work quickened this process, and they were widely seen as among the most innovative young researchers of a new generation, on the cutting edge of a more sophisticated human geography.59 But Harvard also faced a serious postwar nancial crisis, and by 1947 the administration was clearly on the lookout for cost savings. Ackerman was up for promotion, and Harvard procedure called for the formation of an ad hoc committee on geography to consider the case. After an afrmative vote in the Division of Geological Sciences in May 1947, the ad hoc committee ratified the Ackerman promotion. The division also unanimously concluded that the time had come for an independent department of geography. But because some of the geologists were jealous about the resources to be funneled toward geography, Marland Billings, the chair of the Division of Geological Sciences, went behind the facultys back to the Harvard provost, Paul Buck, insisting that geology needed the resources instead and would make better use of them and that human geography was of du-


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Then a dramatic event changed things. On 23 September 1949, before the nal report was submitted, news of the rst Soviet atomic test was released, and Conant repolled the committee. Eisenhower switched sides, now voting for the release of atomic information. Although Conant now had his majority, he got cold feet, and rather than opening up the issue again, the group agreed that the public should be told only that accurate assessment of the destructiveness of atomic bombs was still not possible and that no superbomb was in the works. Neither statement was true, but in the cold war hysteria following the news that the USSR was now an atomic power, the Fishing Party report drew scant attention. They had brought forth a mouse.54 For Bowman any questions about scientic secrecy and weaponry were now entirely overridden by the specter of the Soviet Union. The 64dollar question was how to balance the need to inform the public and Western European allies and the need to keep enemy from countering our plans. It was no contest. Release of information only aids enemy. He may have rued the invention of the atomic bomb, but long before the Fishing Party was convened he had come to the conclusion that it was a handy weapon and ought to be used not just against Stalin and his government but against Russias millions if Moscow decides to march across starving Europe.55 The Danish nuclear physicist Niels Bohr had warned Roosevelt and Churchill that Soviet physicists knew a nuclear bomb was possible and that the Soviet Union should be informed about U.S. research lest the Soviets conclude that their allies were double-crossing them. Bohrs advice was rejected, but he was right: Soviet physicists had been working on an atomic bomb since at least 1942. Now ve years later, the Fishing Party decisively compounded the mistake. Their refusal to make a powerful statement concerning the freedom of information was a crucial way station in the rapidly developing military-academic-industrial complex and the building paranoia on all sides of the nuclear arms race.56 The Fishing Partys own deliberations were not declassied until 1971.

vice, nepotism, and pederasty : academic war over geography at harvard

The Second World War was a lesson in world geography, Eric Hobsbawm has written,57 and nowhere was the lesson more needed or engaged than in the United States. Roosevelts invitation to the American people to take out their atlases and follow along with his reside radio chats as he charted the wars progress represented a dramatic corrective to the lost geographies

Robert Peary claimed to have discovered a new channel separating Greenland from ice-free land to the north, but later expeditions conrmed Greenlands insularity, with no such northern land. In the rst volume of the new Geographical Review in 1916, Bowman, having reviewed the accumulated evidence, declared the nonexistence of the Peary Channel.35 As geographic corrections go, this was a desultory footnote, but it stands in ironic contrast to his later opportunity vis--vis Peary. Bowman was shrewd enough to know that much of the heroic exploration in the period was long on individual glory and short on science, regardless of the exculpatory rhetoric of scientic achievement increasingly used in discussing such adventures. His experiences with Hiram Bingham made this knowledge deeply personal, but so did his close association with various polar acionados. Among many who visited Bowman was Richard Byrd, whose ights to the Poles in 1926 and 1929 and whose Antarctic encampment at Little America (193335) kept polar exploration in the popular imagination and a popular aspiration of many in the United States. During his frequent visits, he sought Bowmans advice and conded his secret plans, and Bowman provided him with charts and suggestions. For the New York Times, which sponsored several of Byrds exploits and maintained a radio link to Little America, Bowman was the stock expert for quotes on polar expeditions and their signicance. He also conveyed telegrams from Byrds Antarctic expeditions to other media centers for publication. Pilots traditionally carried symbolic objects on such trips, giving them to friends and benefactors afterward; Bowman sent a book with Byrd on his transatlantic ight in 1927 and received a U.S. ag carried on the 1929 transAntarctic ight. At the height of the depression, Byrd offered to approach the Rockefeller Foundation on behalf of the AGS and to introduce Bowman to John D. Rockefeller, but nothing seems to have come of this.36 With the apparent conquest of both Poles, the emphasis on scientic research in such expeditions intensied. Bowman contributed sonorously to the high marriage of science and exploration, but given the expense of exploration it was a marriage in which business increasingly dominated. When Australian Hubert Wilkins was planning his 1928 transpolar ight from Alaska to Spitsbergen, during which he took soundings for ocean depth, Bowman helped him raise funds. He approached a wealthy, hard-headed Detroit businessman, who insisted only on knowing a business answer to the scientic question What is a single sounding out there worth? The price of an airplane, Bowman retorted, and the money was committed.37 A symbiotic relationship prevailed among explorers, scholarly societies, wealthy benefactors, corporate donors, and the national news media. Concrete


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rewards came in many forms: national claims could be lodged for new territory or resources; society publications and events reporting a discovery would sell out, further enhancing the discoverys prestige; corporate sponsors could advertise the contribution of their products in making the discovery; and many in the geographic and scientic establishment staked their reputations, careers, and nancial futures on specic expeditions. These various interests mingled in a motley but polite exploring milieu. For critic Dennis Rawlins, it was especially polite with regard to the taboo topic of possible exploring fraud, which, if openly entertained, would (and did) upset those innocent sources of scal municence that represented the lifeblood of the entire arrangement. . . . One must keep in mind that the same cozy group of societies not only promoted expeditions, but also certied their stories of success and bestowed gold medals.38 Another reward came in the form of naming newly discovered landscape features after benefactors and supporters. Richard Byrd named the Bowman Glacier, and Finn Ronne named the Bowman Coast, both in Antarctica. A bay in Bafn Island also bears Bowmans name. A huddle of large egos were intensely in play, and as director of the AGS Bowman navigated various squabbles. Sometimes he was a participant, as in his feud with the National Geographic Society over rights to publish results; at other times he was an arbitrator.39 It was in this latter role that he was invited to revisit the controversy surrounding Pearys claim to have reached the North Pole on 6 April 1909. Bowman became involved in the Peary case in 1935 at the request of Marie Peary Stafford, the old admirals daughter. This was no small responsibility; heroic polar narratives were the paradigm of manly achievement, superhuman endurance, man against nature, and national destiny. They were also bound together by assumptions of gentlemanly honor, which have tolerated little scrutiny. Byrd failed to reach the North Pole in his 1926 ight, despite his claim to the contrary, and was reputedly dead drunk during his trans-Antarctic ight of 1929, requiring a bottle of brandy to allay a fear of ying induced by too many crashes. Britains Sir Clements Markham used his expeditions to escape hostile, Victorian antihomosexual morality (and legality) at home. And Pearys rival, Frederick Cook, who claimed to have reached the Pole nearly a year earlier than Peary, had already submitted fraudulent claims of climbing Mt. McKinley and was eventually incarcerated in the federal penitentiary at Leavenworth for mail fraud in connection with oil stock sales.40 The point here is not to condemn morally but simply to reveal the widespread hypocrisy of explorer mythmaking. These were all more or less open secrets among the explorer brotherhood at the time, but the cultural puis-

against, the atomic bomb and weapons of biological, chemical and radiological warfare.51 The Fishing Party met at the Pentagon in April 1949 for a detailed brieng by scientists and military personnel on two subjects: the precise capabilities of the various weapons of mass destruction, and the current offensivedefensive balance regarding aerial warfare. At the second meeting, following an assessment of U.S. military capabilities, the committee split with a one-vote majority arguing that no ofcial public statement should be made at this time. Their reasoning was terse: any release of information would establish a precedent, potentially threatening national security, and was illadvised in light of the Soviet threat. Public debates among experts would enhance confusion and bolster extremism, and there was no real public demand for additional ofcial information in any case. Certain well-known and probably well-meaning pressure groups as well as extremists should be ignored. The public actually feared that too much rather than too little information would be released, the majority concluded.52 The minority was aghast at this contorted and authoritarian paternalism and the implied perpetuation of a haphazard status quo whereby the American people received their atomic information via a process of osmosis and leaks. For them, the public release of reliable information would calm rather than iname irrational fears. If the majority prevailed, they concluded, not only would the positive intent of their mandate be annulled to decide what information should be releasedbut a vital precedent would be lost. What appears to be needed, the minority concluded, is not the siege mentality of the majority but a bold, new philosophy.53 Bowman sided unhesitatingly with the majority. He had railed for much of his life against government paternalism but at this vital juncture chose to believe that the people did not want or need to know anything. He was joined by Dulles and Eisenhower as well as the Monsanto and DuPont industrialists. Conant led the four-person minority. Even Morrill, president of the University of Minnesota, who would distinguish himself three years later by banning Paul Robeson from performing an on-campus concert, could not stomach the reactionary bent of the majority. The intended nal report included a minor compromise, recommending the release of information about biological weapons, but a disappointed Conant was left to pad his transmittal letter with weak platitudes about representational government and the importance of freely available information for making sound judgments. In practice, however, the Fishing Party endorsed a government-industry-military monopoly over chemical and atomic knowledge and technology.


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ological Warfare Unit of the War Department, which was every bit as secret as the Manhattan Project. Whatever his attitude toward Russian civilians, he retained an abstract queasiness about the use of science for the destruction of human life, and said so to Truman.47 One position, however, he did take rmly. Despite a 1947 account by retired secretary of war Stimson that solidied the Truman governments self-justication for dropping the bomb, the public knew little about its chemistry and capabilities. The atomic bomb remained shrouded in the highest secrecy, and public fears, suspicions, and vocal opposition were on the rise, not least from scientists themselves.48 The atomic tests on the Bikini atoll raised public fears of a superbomb, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff reported the gruesome power of the next generation of nuclear weapons. They recommended that the U.S. president have rst strike authority, because if other governments gained such weapons, there would be no time to consult Congress in the event of surprise attack. This recommendation, of course, was political dynamite, giving the president de facto authority to declare war. Truman and the State Department wanted to bury the military report, fearing that public debate about the morality of atomic warfare would only galvanize political opposition, yet they also knew that the broadening web of government and military secrecy presented an obvious political target and was increasingly vulnerable to leaks. Promilitary hysteria aimed at Russia was matched by fears of a nuclearinspired end of civilization. Many businessmen, seeking protable inroads to the new technology, also favored public release of atomic information. Under mounting pressure, Truman referred the matter to a committee.49 The Fishing Partythe highly classied committees code namewas charged with the rst major high-level reconsideration of nuclear secrecy in the United States.50 It was deliberately small and could hardly have been more elite. It was chaired by Harvard president James Conant, who had advised the government from the start on the development of the bomb and who, at the nal moment, gave decisive advice on Japanese targets. Committee members included two university presidents besides Bowman James Morrill (Minnesota) and Dwight D. Eisenhower, who occupied the Columbia presidency en route between military and political careers; industrialists Crawford H. Greenewalt (DuPont) and Charles A. Thomas (Monsanto); Christian Science Monitor editor Erwin D. Canham; and John Foster Dulles, New York lawyer and Republican, future secretary of state, and author of the doctrine of massive nuclear retaliation. Their charge was broad and simple. Without any publicity whatsoever as to its formation or purpose, the committee would assess: The information which should be released to the public concerning the capabilities of, and defense

sance of polar mythology and its pivotal role in the redenition of identitiesnational and gender, class and racialweighed heavily toward the protection of public myth from private truth. That it has taken so long to air corrections and the seamier side of this history suggests that polar heroism remained, in its hermetically protected bubble, a vital ideological ction of the American Century. There were national crimps, real and imagined, in the different styles of polar explorersthe Norwegians quietly familiar with the extreme climatic conditions, the British laden with tea sets and accoutrements of empire and thinking only of the queenbut Peary was one of a kind. For U.S. explorers generally, the North Pole was some kind of last frontier where the behavioral norms of the Wild West could still be vented, and Peary was no exception. At a young age he upbraided his doubting mother that whatever he did he had to become famous, and by the time he was in his twenties and had fastened on a way, he began to see himself as the Christopher Columbus of the North Pole. He became so obsessed with being the rst to stand with 360 degrees of longitude beneath his motionless feet that the loss of eight toes to frostbite did not stop him;41 he raided Inuit sacred sites, shown to him in trust; he fathered at least one child during one of his eight expeditions to the Arctic, abandoning his Eskimo wife, Allakasingwah, and a bitter child. He brought six other Inuits to New York as scientic exhibits. They were housed in the dank basement of the Natural History Museum, and when four died of pneumonia their skeletons were simply added to the permanent collection. Racism went to the core of Pearys organizational assumptions; when he made the nal dash for the pole, he was accompanied by Matthew Henson, a young black explorer who has only now begun to receive recognition, and four Inuits, Egingwah, Oohtah, Ooquah, and Seegloo, who are yet barely recognized even in revisionist narratives.42 The individual prestige of gaining the Pole was inestimable. On his return, Peary embarked on an illustrated lecture tour, receiving a thousand dollars per show. The nationalist prestige following three centuries of the keenest international rivalry was even greater. Tales of Pearys heroics provided a mantra of national superiority, much as Scotts ignominious death did on the other side of the Atlantic, and hints of the darker side of Pearys doings only added to the romanticism of this wild man in upper-crust company. Too much was riding on Pearys claim to make it vulnerable to contrary evidence, and a perfunctory congressional hearing went through the motions of ratication, promoting him to rear admiral. President Taft, a frequent contributor to National Geographic Magazine, puffed up his own chest at the complete success of our country in Arctic Exploration.43


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Relations between Peary and the American Geographical Society were not uncomplicated. Bad blood leading to his 1906 resignation as president and his sponsorship by the rival National Geographic Society kept things cool, even after Peary returned triumphant, and with the embroglio over Cooks parallel claim in full swing, the AGS declined to take any public position or to award Peary a further medal. This was the entre exercised by the forty-one-year-old Marie Peary Stafford in 1935 when she invited Bowman to her Washington, D.C., home to discuss her fathers scientic legacy. Pearys claim had been submitted and endorsed not simply by the NGS, the New York Times, and Congress, but also by geographical societies across the world, despite the inexplicable holes and inconsistencies that Pearys presentation of proof suffered. Now a quarter century later, a urry of retrospectives by Peary acolytes and Cook enthusiasts alike revived the controversy of whether Pearys claim was fraudulent or whether Cook arrived at the North Pole rst.44 Marie Stafford thought that decisive action by the AGS might help cement her fathers claim. Bowman was initially put off by Staffords emotionalism and her mix of sense and sentiment. Why should the AGS now suddenly present a posthumous medal to a man who already had two? The society had no special access to Pearys records, and retroactive conrmation now was out of the question. He carefully laid out the societys proposition: if the family would turn over all the evidence, including Pearys records, which had been closed after the congressional hearing in 1911 and never opened after Pearys death, the AGS would perform a detailed examination and issue a statement, provided that the Society should be free to publish its ndings, regardless of their nature. Pearys daughter secured the permission of her mother, Josephine, and that summer, spurred on by the knowledge that another Peary defender was pressing Stafford for access to the records, Bowman combined a short summer retreat to New Hampshire with a perusal of the papers at the Peary home on remote Eagle Island, Maine. Bowman spent the last two days of July 1935 poring over the records of the 19089 expedition. In meticulous detail, he copied the records from Pearys diary, his positional observations and calculations on the approach to and retreat from the Pole, and observations by Robert Bartlett and Ross Marvin, who traveled on part of the journey. He recorded Pearys temperatures (-10 to -25 Fahrenheit), ice movements, wind and ice conditions, and observations on the stamina of the dog teams (Am feeding 4 teams . . . 5th team of poorest dogs are consuming each other) as well as his own increasing need to have the dogs carry him by sledge. He calculated Pearys return pace at an extraordinary thirty-three miles per day over an eight-day

he soured on Roosevelt, the New Deal, and social liberalism, his political convictions eclipsed even his passion for an expansive geography, and social science was the victim. A poor relation in the NSF to this day, the inclusion of the social sciences remained under political attack as recently as 1995 in ways that echo Bowman and the 194546 hearings.42

cold war science: the fishing party

Bowman was not nished with science, however. The nuclear attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki revealed a new and terrible technology that had to be managed, both domestically and as an ever-present instrument of U.S. foreign policy.43 The Atomic Energy Commission, with sweeping powers to direct atomic research and development, was quickly established, and although the commission retained elite scientic control, the military hierarchy was fully empowered within its wall of secrecyanother clearcut victory for elitism. Bowman was summoned from his Turtle Island vacation home in early September 1946 and invited by Truman to serve on the ve-person AEC. Proud of Johns Hopkinss modest role in atomic research and a patriotic mouthpiece for the administrations myth-making exaggeration that the atom bomb had saved the lives of ve hundred thousand U.S. soldiers, Bowman was privately very alarmed by the use of such a hideous weapon.44 But he took the offer seriously. He had enthusiastic support from the army, the navy, and the State Department, and an FBI check found him squeaky clean. Truman and Bowman danced around each other at the White House meeting. The geographer was careful to assure Truman that he was a Democrat, and the president dangled the still unassigned chairmanship of the AEC before Bowman. But Truman was clearly having difculty recruiting top scientists for the AEC and prevaricated on why James Conant and MIT president Karl Compton had declined appointments.45 Bowman was lobbied hard by Navy Secretary James Forrestal, Vannevar Bush weighed in, and White House aide Clark Clifford enlisted the Hopkins Board of Trustees. But Bowman would have to leave Hopkins, and the AEC annual salary of fteen thousand dollars would mean a 40 percent pay cut, he told Truman; to avoid conicts of interest he would have to sell his stocks at deeply depressed postwar prices. Pledges from the Carnegie Corporation and the Hopkins trustees to make up his salary and pension differentials did not persuade him.46 Bowman also declined the chairmanship of the board coordinating postwar military research between the Departments of Army and Navy, and during the war, he refused Henry Stimsons request that he head up the Bi-


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lier Wilsonian idealism, the conceptual divorce of science and politics was a convenient ction, a powerful if conservative political weapon. It left the political direction of science policy in the hands of science elites, who could reject any challenge as politically motivated. As one Chicago scientist put it at the beginning of 1946, Science is in politics now and it is in to stay. . . . True laissez-faire research is almost unknown even now. When Bowman and Shapley parted ways, the astronomer tried to explain the sentiments of many scientists: the domination of freedom in American science by the great industries and domination by the military, not the federal government, were now the primary dangers.39 While NSF legislation languished in the late 1940s, an array of other bodies lled the vacuum. The Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) was quickly established to direct that slice of research, and the Ofce of Naval Research (ONR) cornered military sponsorship of science after August 1946. ONR was highly aggressive, swarming over the countrys campuses in search of scientists to fund, and by one estimate 80 percent of papers delivered at the 1948 American Physical Society meeting were supported by ONR. The military dominated campus sponsorship of basic research by 1949, and the AEC and Department of Defense spent 96 percent of campus research dollars in the physical sciences. These three agencies, together with the Public Health Service, spent $63 million that year. The National Institutes for Health, with a 1951 budget of $30 million, claimed the medical niche.40 This interweaving of corporate and military interests, of course, led Trumans Republican successor to decry the military-industrial complex. By comparison, the NSF appropriation for 1952 was only $3.5 million, less than 1 percent of the capitalization Bowman initially envisaged for the NSF and less than 3 percent of the annual budget anticipated in Sciencethe Endless Frontier. Bowman bears a special responsibility for the exclusion of the social sciences from the NSF legislation. Since World War I if not earlier, his geographical career was devoted to transgressing the boundary between physical and social sciences, a boundary that he felt geography was especially lucky to inhabit. An ambassador from physical geography to the social sciences, the New York Times once described him. Well-accepted by the Social Science Research Council hierarchy (if not always its young turks), on whose board he sat for most of the 1930s, he was entrusted by the National Academy elite with the chairmanship of the NRC precisely because his ability to speak the language of social science would have a salutary effect in New Deal Washington.41 Social scientists lobbied hard for inclusion in the NSF, and Bowman was in a unique position to secure their inclusion. But as

period. And he recorded the last pre-Pole positional entry as 8925 north, noted the blank diary pages around 6 April (the day he supposedly reached the Pole) and the subsequent loose-leaf diary insertion with The Pole at last!!! Mine at last.45 It was a fty-three-year-old and congenitally incautious Peary who claimed to have reached the Pole in 1909 and a slightly older Bowman in the comfort of Pearys own home who excitedly delved into the puzzle he dearly wanted to solve. No one had previously examined the Peary records in anything like this detail. Bowman also paraphrased the explorers competitive and megalomaniacal ambitions, recorded on the reverse sides of his diary pages immediately preceding 6 April:
suggested improvements in equipment for an Antarctic expedition, furs to be bought for Mrs. Peary in Canada, patent and exhibition possibilities of his equipment after his return, and his own qualications for homors [sic] and rewards. In this last item he mentions the rank of Admiral (retired on full pay? . . . ) and refers to honors given British Antarctic explorers who had accomplished less than he had. He refers also on the same page to his presidency of the American Geographical Society and the International Congress of 1904. . . . On another page he mentions Nansens receipt of 50,000 for his story and someone else 75,000 and suggests that he confer with Harpers for 100,000.46

If Bowman was revolted by such tawdry egotism, it was barely evident. Concerning the claim to the Pole, the diary itself was inconclusive, but Bowmans excitement was quickly heightened by what promised to be the most valuable clue of all. While he was on Eagle Island, Marie had told him of a piece of paper with calculations written on it, given to Josephine Peary by her husband. Marie recovered the paper from a safety deposit box in Portland the day after Bowman nished reading the records, and seeing the name of the star Betelgeuse in the corner, she concluded that the calculations were a check on star observations where Mother said he was up most of the night. (Star observations are used to calibrate the chronometers explorers carry; they are temporal rather than locational checks but vital for establishing the accuracy of location.) She gave the calculations to Bowman, telling him that when Peary had handed the paper over to his wife, he had told her to treasure it as her most precious possession and never let it out of her hands unless it was to silence that G d s of a b Cook. 47 Josephine had put this Betelgeuse paper in an envelope and scribbled on the outside that these were Pearys observations at the Pole on April 5 & 6 1909. Bowman was hooked. He was uncharacteristically ebullient, thinking the star observations were just what was needed. Whether out of conviction for


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the record or the indulgence of his own explorer fantasies, whether from Maries insistent charm and his affection for her family (he later sent a box of candies to Pearys grandsons), or whether simply the result of his heady two-day immersion in the story, Bowman returned from Eagle Island with little if any residue of caution concerning Pearys claims. Feeling himself on the edge of denitive proof of a geographical detective puzzle vital to the history of Exploration and of science, an uncharacteristically giddy Bowman scribbled back to Marie from the Cosmos Club in Washington, D.C., that if accepted as real, not faked, the diary observations indicate a position at the pole. This disposes of the criticism that he didnt know where he was, Bowman continued; he did, because his nal observations put him at the Pole. As if to convince himself beyond such a patently apologetic tautology, the straight-laced Bowman invoked an anathema that appears neither before nor since in his correspondence: He was on cracking ice & what the h__ diff. did it make?48 Looking for anything that would shore up this fabricated defense, Bowman turned to one of his AGS geographers, O. M. Miller, for an opinion. Mait Miller was a Scottish-born mathematical geographer with Arctic experience who suffered severe injury in the trenches of World War I before emigrating. He soon responded to Bowman that the observations themselves were consistent with a position at the Pole but that they could have been easily faked. The individual observations . . . look too good to be true under the severe conditions, and other obvious readings, such as a temporal series of photographs of the shadow cast by an upright staff, would have been more convincing. In addition to Pearys unprecedented pace (thirty-three miles per day on severely faulted ice was unheard of then or since), other concerns troubled Miller. He thought it incredible that with so few astronomical checks, no determination of compass error, and the ice in permanent motion under his feet, Pearys dead reckoning could have hit the position off so precisely. Not to mention the loose diary sheet recording the arrival at the Pole. The congressional investigation was a farcical rubber stamp that answered none of the outstanding questions.49 The pure products of America go crazy, poet William Carlos Williams once observed.50 He might have been reecting on explorers; certainly something about polar exploration makes grown men lose their heads, and Bowman was no exception. The shrill frenzy with which he scavenged for clues in defense of Pearys case suggests that he was ghting a deep, unutterable recognition that his hero was a faker. He was past hearing Millers skepticism. He knew the consistent charge that Peary had sent back all the men considered reputable attestants to his claim, a category dened at the

passed on 3 July, and the next step would have been relatively simple if not for the existence of a quite different House bill. With no time to rationalize two competing bills, science legislation died before reaching the House oor. By failing to present a united front scientists themselves caused the legislators to doubt the wisdom of any of the competing measures, legislative observers noted.36 Scientists were outraged. The sardonic obituary was written in Science, with Bush and Bowman ngered as the culprits:
At noon, 19 July 1946, The National Science Foundation was pronounced dead by the surgical staff of the House committee on Interstate and Foreign Commerce. The death was a homicide! Readers of Science are familiar with the promising career of the deceased, and many will mourn this untimely and unnatural passing, for the killing was done, not by politicians but by scientists.37

Ten years earlier Bowman had complained bitterly that the death of the Science Advisory Board was a case of scientists killing off science, but now incensed scientists bitterly turned the accusation against him. Geologist Howard Meyerhoff followed his obituary in Science with the observation that the House bill was a political blunder which has cost science at least a year of life for the National Science Foundation. Actually, it cost four years of life for the NSF. A year later, a similar bill, including the BushBowman provision for a board-nominated chair, passed the Congress, and Truman vetoed it, lecturing that its framers lacked faith in the democratic process. The following year, the famous Do-nothing Congress, as Truman dubbed it, did nothing. The year after, successful legislation had the one feature upon which Truman insisted: presidential appointment (after consultation) of the NSF director. Bowman and Bush conceded this compromise but won most of the other points: the bill had little provision for government retention of patents, only an advisory suggestion about the geographical dispersal of grants, and the social sciences were excluded, although their future inclusion was raised as a possibility. On 10 May 1950, ve years and a day after the submission of the original Bowman committee report, Truman signed the NSF into life. Whatever the compromises, it was, concludes historian of science Daniel Kevles, a victory for elitism.38 The NSF ght was one of the hardest for Bowman, and he bitterly retreated after the rst year. He lost a lifetime friendship with astronomer Harlow Shapley, who had nominated Bowman for the Harvard presidency in 1933, when Conant was appointed. The contradiction in Bowmans positionan insistent separation of science from politics yet an ideologically driven refusal of the social scienceswas evident to many. As with his ear-


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group of scientists, alarmed that Bushs and Bowmans stubborn elitism would jeopardize eventual legislation, formed the Committee for the National Science Foundation. Led by Harlow Shapley, the Harvard astronomer, and Harold C. Urey, Nobel Prizewinning Columbia atomic scientist, this group was politically more liberal, included many prominent scientists Robert Oppenheimer and Enrico Fermi, even socialists such as Einstein. This group was less dogmatic about government control, favored the retention of patents in the public sphere, and sought inclusion of the social sciences. This group was more concerned by military and industrial control of science, for which federal funding was a solution rather than a danger. The increasingly public division between the two groups of scientists was explained in stark terms in the White House. There is a small inner group closely allied with a few powerful institutions and large corporations . . . and on the other hand, a larger group of scientists with interests widely spread throughout the nation and with a desire to avoid the concentration of research and the power to control it.32 The scientists, Kilgore, and Magnuson eventually united around a compromise bill that contained the possibility of a social science division and retained a board-nominated director. But concerned that the resulting bill would die before Congress recessed in July 1946, Bush and Bowman broke ranks and organized yet another end run around Kilgore, inspiring an alternative bill in the House rather than the Senate. It reected few of the hard-fought compromises, and Bush and Bowman now denounced the compromise bill.33 When Bowman came to testify for the House bill, he must have been shocked at the response: Clarence J. Brown, of Ohio, not comprehending the Hopkins president as an ally against the social sciences, retorted that the average American just does not want some expert running around prying into his life and his personal affairs. If Congress gets the impression that this legislation would establish an organization in which there would be a lot of short-haired women and long-haired men messing into everybodys personal affairs and lives, inquiring whether they love their wives or do not love them and so forth, you are not going to get your legislation.34 The House bill quickly cleared a stacked committee, but Bush and Bowman had badly miscalculated. When the compromise bill reached the Senate oor, Bowmans testimony for the renegade House bill was gleefully exploited by opponents of a science foundation. Bowman had not been as adept as Bush at covering his tracks and was forced to rush to Washington with his tail between his legs, insisting to anyone who would listen that he did actually support the Senate billany bill.35 But the damage was done. The Senate bill

time more by race than by scientic competence.51 But Bowman brushed aside all misgivings. He could no longer even countenance the possibility that Pearys record was false. The myth was the thing. What the hell difference did it make, indeed. The defense of Peary moved into high gear. The precious star sightings were surely the clue, but Bowman was stuck on their interpretation. Engaging his friend Harry Raymond, an Albany astronomer, Bowman prefaced his request to Raymond by steering him to the expected answer: The sincerity and truth of [Pearys] statements one can hardly question after looking at the whole record.52 Straightjacketed, Raymond responded reluctantly, having taken months to make anything of the Betelgeuse paper. He doubted that the observations t any location on Pearys 1909 trip. So what were they? Could they be observations from Cooks voyage that Peary had secretly obtained from a Cook associate and that would prove the falseness of Cooks claim? Josephine Peary had admitted that she might have been confused when she annotated the sightings as from the Pole, and Bowman drew the scent away from Peary with the hunch that the observations were Cooks.53 From Raymond he eventually learned that the observations could indicate a latitude of 87o north, consistent with Cooks claimed itinerary.54 Bowmans examination of the Peary records was a closely guarded secret, but some among the polar fraternity suspected it was going on, and Cook renewed his appeal to the AGS in 1936 for an examination of his records and verication of his claim. The AGS did not oblige. But nor did they ofcially anoint Peary. Bowmans unacknowledged fears seem to have overcome his angst about the Peary mythology. To Marie Peary Stafford, Bowman simply declared that denitive evidence was lacking and that whatever the challenges to Peary, he had been crowned and there was no gain in reopening the issue. The case is drawing to a close, he advised in 1937.55 As much as he remained intrigued by the scientic puzzle of the case, he was also coldly calculating about its political ramications, and behind the scenes Bowman took further steps to ensure that the proper geographical order of the past was not disturbed. In the autumn of 1935, a couple of months after returning from Eagle Island, Bowman systematically deployed his inuence to suppress a manuscript contesting Pearys claim. After H. Henslow Ward had visited the AGS, making it known that his manuscript, The Peary Myth, was being submitted to Yale University Press for publication, Bowman manipulated an old colleague at Yale into interceding at the press to suggest that he, Bowman, be consulted as an independent authority regarding the manuscripts worthiness. He triumphantly boasted to Marie that he was getting the manuscript for an opinion! and that his


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Yale colleague knew nothing of his involvement. The manuscript was delivered to Bowman the week before Christmas, and he put everything aside to tackle it. It was a devastating indictment of Pearys false claim to the North Pole, and had it been published, the Peary myth would have died in the 1930s. Instead Bowman closed ranks. Unable to deny any of the facts and clearly nding it difcult to gain a critical toehold against the authors story, he embarked on a long and generally dissembling hatchet job. Bowman attacked Wards manuscript as unjudicial for even questioning the myth of Pearys attainment of the Pole. Ignoring all of Wards assembled proof of fakery, he dismissed the books claims as unconrmed, concluding that Yale cannot afford to publish it. By this I do not mean that the story is untrue, Bowman added, simply that it ought not to be published. He presented no counterevidence whatsoever, but took instead to imagining other random possible versions of events supportive of Peary. After wedging in these blatant red herrings, he concluded that the book was a piece of dialectic, not a piece of analysis. Wards repeated references to the National [Geographic Society] as a commercial company would provide a rm basis for legal action, he postured, and the NGS, he presumed, would ght to the last ditch to prevent the publication of the book. Most insidiously, Bowman, now a Peary family friend, concluded that Ward is absolutely prejudiced and one-sided while pretending to be judicial.56 However transparent, Bowmans assassination of the manuscript worked. Yale rejected it, as a New York press did some months later, with Bowmans opinion again a factor.57 Henslow Ward died in the meantime, and the manuscript, which still languishes in the National Archives, was never published. The suppression of scientic evidence in defense of proper geographical order was coupled with active and deliberate mythmaking. And not for the rst time. Bowman knew that Richard Byrd did not get within 150 miles of the North Pole in his 1926 ight, having winkled the truth out of Byrd in a four-hour, rain-drenched walk round and round the AGS building in 1930, but he perpetuated that myth too.58 He remained very friendly with Marie Peary Stafford, prodding the postmaster general at her behest to issue a Peary commemorative stamp. Marie, for her part, refused to be awed by the austere Bowman, fawning on him as no one else would have dared: You are a peach, she once wrote. Later she expressed her gratitude that Bowman could so adroitly keep his nger on the pulse of Dads affairs and unnervingly pick out the important points for our side. 59 Quite charmed by Marie after an inauspicious beginning, Bowman let himself become her stable expert. When a memorial to Peary was placed on Jockey Cap, overlooking Fryburg, Maine, he wrote a short appreciation summoning the clichs

If some of the assembled senators, staffers, and audience were left sifting through the inanities for the grist, at least one politician thought he got the message clearly, and he didnt like being talked down to by a university president. E. Maury Maverick, the Texas New Dealer whose name became synonymous with roguish independence and who popularized the word gobbledygook, took direct aim. Disavowing any tinge of sarcasm he went on to say that Bowman may be a gentleman and a scholar, but he, Maverick, was tired of bulldozing scientists, piously abrogating [sic] to themselves all the patriotism while lecturing politicians. Likening Bowman to these hired hands of the monopolies, he decided to lecture back. Was it not a politician who originally enacted the National Academy of Sciences? he asked rhetorically. And who, for instance, was smart enough, and honest enough, to appoint Dr. Bowman to numerous scientic missions? A politicianand I might add, a statesmannamed Franklin D. Roosevelt. A scientist, because he receives $50,000 a year working for a monopoly, or a big business, Maverick concluded tersely, must remember that this does not necessarily make him pure except that he may be a pure scientist.30 The hearings were rarely as exciting and droned on for nearly four weeks, but not before the president of Notre Dame, previously a member of Bowmans Science and Public Welfare Committee, distilled the issue of science support down to one of American freedom versus communism. Only Frank Jewett, chairman of the board of AT&T and now president of the National Academy, opposed the science legislation, claiming that the proposed NSF was an entering wedge for some form of socialistic state. Robert Millikan, now the old man of the academy, largely agreed. Bush and Bowman shared every sniff of Jewetts and Millikans class instincts about labor, the New Deal, and socialism, differing only in their condence that they could tame the beast of a government-sponsored science. When the Truman administration nally signaled its support for Kilgore over the scientic elite, Bowman convened a meeting of top scientists in his Johns Hopkins ofce to try to sway the president. Comprising forty-three signatories, the Committee Supporting the Bush Report urged Truman to support the Magnuson bill, but Truman was unimpressed, and this second end run around Kilgore zzled. They negotiated and Kilgore eventually compromised, softening the geographical dispersal provision and, more important, the insistence on presidential appointment of an NSF director.31 But they worked under considerable time pressure. The Senate was about to enact the separate Atomic Energy Commission, and worries about military dominance of atomic research began to surface. A very prestigious


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mology of science and democracy comprised twin pillars of social and political freedom, and Americanism was its rightful cultural expression: science was a weapon in the ght against communism, he now believed, but social science was the Trojan horse of Americanism. More than on any other issue, Bowman and Bush were uncompromising about who would control any new science foundation. The board should include businessmen and scientists nominated by the National Academy of Sciences but on no account government ofcials, and it should be the board, not the president, that appoints its own chair. Bowman organized scientists against Kilgores bill, threatening Truman with a tidal wave of protest by American scientists if it prevailed.27 The future of federally funded science was the prize for which these divergent interests organized in the summer of 1945. On the one side was a group of conservative scientists and engineers, largely from elite universities and large industrial corporations, led by Bush and Bowman, who supported the Magnuson bill. They were joined by the military, who objected to civilian control over military science implied in the Kilgore bill (S. 1850), and by the National Association of Manufacturers, eager for access to patents. On the other side were reformminded New Dealers in the Senate and, it transpired, Truman himself. Bowman highlighted the class contours of the ght: Kilgores connection with labor and his inclinations with respect to it are well known, he warned one university president, as are his well-known relations with the CIO.28 With two bills in the Senate and the atomic bombing of Japan lending urgency to the question of science, congressional testimony began in October with Bowman strategically placed as the lead witness. After some solemn, predictable bluster about science and the common baseline of all American life, our liberties, he made the case for a national science foundation in terms of national defense. There must be a maintenance of our military strength until we see what the world is going to be like, he warned grimly, and scientic power represented the front line of defense. Free enterprise in our laboratories was what had readied the nations science for war, and free enterprise in our laboratories is how it should continue. The war is not over, only the military phase of it. He summarized his objections to the Kilgore bill, agreed that scientists now had to involve themselves in politics, and politicians should support science, but he warned gravely that what scientists fear most is government control. Do not put the proposed National Research Foundation in the category of just another Government bureau, he lectured, where politicians tell scientists how to do their job.29

of the Greek classics, eagerly redirecting the fawning toward Peary himself. To Peary he applied Pericles panegyric following the Peloponnesian War: The heroic dead have the whole earth for their home. Citing his great march to the North Pole, the force of a noble example, his superhuman goal, strength, determination, discipline, and sacrice, Bowman concluded that Admiral Peary had in himself the heroic stuff that Carlyle praised: he was a man with qualities over and above. 60 What the hell difference does it make, Bowman had written to Marie in an unsteady moment teetering between the ecstasy of discovery and the revelation of fakery. In a quite unintended way, he was probably correct. What difference, indeed, if Peary actually stood with 360 degrees of longitude beneath his motionless feet, whether he was within 120 yards or 120 miles? The spurious empiricism of old-fashioned attainment exploration expresses a geographical angst about the absoluteness of spaceor rather the precise locations of places and nal delimitation of their absolutenesswhich was quite specic to the latter decades of the nineteenth century and the earliest of the twentieth. If Bowman glimpsed this, he did so only for a moment. He was more its agent than its critic. He knew the age of attainment exploration was over, but he remained a prisoner of its myths. Not until that age was well past, by the later decades of the twentieth century when a whole new geography had been constructed, could the myths be quietly dismantled. In 1975 mainstream geographer William Warntz could conclude that polar exploration was a professional sport waged at the expense of science and serious geography.61 However much Bowman enlisted the rhetoric of science, his cover-up of Peary exemplies this assessment. Staunchly moralistic and just as staunchly a defender of science, he had no qualms about lying in support of Pearys fakery and suppressing others who threatened to speak the truth. If, as has been argued, Peary represents nightmare American imperialism incarnate,62 Bowman constructed an energetic oblivion of the traits, deeds, and demeanor of a man he would have otherwise found repulsive. The extraordinary thing is that in 1935 Bowman could see no reasonable alternative to the myth. When he rst received Mait Millers warning that Pearys record simply would not stand up, Bowman was jolted. The very old-school Miller suggested that it was their responsibility, indeed duty, to announce these ndings publicly, but Bowman recoiled in horror. What would the Boy Scouts of America think! he sputtered.63

An old workers joke about Stalinist Russia has it that the history of the future is xed; it is the history of the past that keeps changing. At the old-


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est and most revered geographical institution in the United States, Bowman saw himself at the helm of a search for order that also consumed the past as much as it made the future. His deliberate cover-up on behalf of Peary and the Peary myth was an uncharacteristically clumsy and desperate effort to prevent the past from being changed, protecting a version of geography written by the winners of history. It succeeded for more than half a century. It highlights what the scientist in him could never admit, namely, that the search for geographical order was equally and intrinsically a search for political and ideological order. The appeal to the moral order of the Boy Scouts might seem farcical Miller himself was staggeredif it were not so precisely apt. He took the Scouts very seriously, at one point even admitting he would rather have thought up the idea of scouting than any other idea in the world. The Boy Scout has a degree of manhood built into his character, and it means a great deal to America to have an organization that cuts across all so-called classes of societies and all religious faiths.64 For Bowman the Boy Scouts expressed the same ideological amalgam of class and gender, race and nation as polar exploration, a balm for the angst and disorder of the day, and the connections between scouting and polar exploration were practical as much as ideal. The Boy Scouts mobilized on behalf of Richard Byrds expeditions, and one of their number accompanied him on the 192830 Antarctic trip. When Bowman convinced the New York Times to kill the story of Byrds inebriation on the 1929 South Pole ight, he again argued that such a revelation of the truth would devastate the countrys youth.65 Nationalism was and remains a central text of exploration. Robert Bartlett, Pearys second in command, always believed that his British citizenshiphe was from Newfoundlandwas a key factor in Pearys decision to send him back short of the Pole for fear that his presence would complicate any resulting national claims.66 Bowman habitually advised Byrd about which Antarctic ight routes would result in maximum claimable territory for the United States, and in 1929 he estimated that his advice bagged thirty-ve thousand square miles of Antarctic coast for the country. As late as 1947, with the continuing promise of vast resources prior to the international treaty on Antarctica, he gave similar advice to navy chief Admiral Nimitz, warning that in light of Russian discoveries in the region, the United States would need to be vigilant in asserting national territorial rights.67 Race was equally entwined in the politics of establishing geographical order. Several years after his departure from the AGS, it was proposed by Theodore Roosevelt Jr. that the society should award a medal to Pearys

the double-crossed senator introduced his own bill. It differed from the scientists bill in several respects. First, patents resulting from governmentsponsored research would revert to the U.S. government and be available for nonexclusive use, whereas the National Academy scientists argued for private retention of patents. Second, National Science Foundation support would not be concentrated in a few elite universities but widely distributed. Third, the New Dealers bill included the social sciences in an explicit recognition that the purpose of the foundation would be to stimulate research with societal applications. Fourth and most contentious, Kilgores foundation director would be appointed directly by the president. For the populist Kilgorea small-town lawyer, National Guardsman, Legionnaire, Mason, and past Exalted Ruler of the Elks Lodgescience was no more the possession of a social elite than culture was,25 whereas for Bush, Bowman, and the National Academy, this was taking democracy too far: science was an elite achievement of the best minds, and any attempt at government interference or tampering was sure to be fatal. The resulting battle over National Science Foundation legislation represents one of the clearest episodes of class antagonism in twentieth-century American science. Bush and Bowman were especially adamant about removing the foundation from direct presidential control. Bowman, now sitting on the board of directors of AT&T, argued that public retention of patents from publicly sponsored research eroded incentives for private research, and his best science elitism was affronted by any proposal to rationalize the distribution of research funds geographically. On the third contentious issue, the inclusion of the social sciences in science foundation legislation, the author of Geography in Relation to the Social Sciences had to maneuver a narrower path. If in 1934 he had contemplated a cautious engagement between geography and social science, a decade later he was defensive and much more politically motivated. He dissembled with Truman: the social scientists ought not to be included because their concerns were different, and the membership of the foundation would not be the appropriate group to allocate funds to the social sciences. This tautology masked little of his increasingly visceral antipathy to the social sciences, which were too inltrated by mere opinion, he thought; all could express themselves capably or otherwise on social questions, whereas scientic facts were available to only the few with the ingenuity and patience to seek them out. Worse, the social sciences were dominated by those with left-wing opinions, and their mission was social reform. The inclusion of the social sciences in proposed legislation would endanger if not wreck the whole business and threatened to make science a political and propagandist football.26 Bowman had always held that a supple ho-


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Bell Labs, Robert E. Wilson, chairman of Standard Oil of Indiana, and representatives from the Rockefeller Foundation and the Brookings Institution. Since . . . private sources cannot assume the whole burden of science funding, the Bowman committee concluded, an increased measure of direct federal aid is necessary. Their central recommendation envisaged a national research foundation, providing grants and student fellowships for basic scientic research. There would be different divisions for physical sciences, biological sciences, engineering, agriculture, and so forth, and the foundation would take over responsibility for military scientic research. Wartime centralization would be relaxed, and the foundation would be run by a board, appointed by the president on recommendation from the National Academy. The NDRC and OSRD had spent almost ve hundred million dollars during the war, and the committee suggested the same gure as an initial capitalization. This blueprint by the Bowman committee became the core proposal of Sciencethe Endless Frontier.23 The title itself was signicant. Much less of a clich than it is now, the notion of science as an endless frontier both mobilized and inverted the Turnerian angst of geographical closure that had marked earlier decades. The appeal to a modern scientic future exuded the optimism of a new American globalism. The frontier was now mapped not by intrepid explorers, ax and gun in hand, but by the abstractions of mathematical physicists and chemists, astronomers and biologists, for whom the whole world was visible from the laboratory. Bowman inspired the title of this inuential report: Even if the nations manpower declines in relative numbers, even if its geographical frontiers become xed, began the Bowman report, there always remains one inexhaustible national resourcecreative scientic research. Science was the new frontier of social pioneering.24 Wartime research experienced an unprecedented centralization. Only ten corporations claimed 40 percent of federal expenditure, and eight universities (including Hopkins) claimed 90 percent of research funds disbursed to universities: Vannevar Bushs old Radiation Laboratory at MIT received 35 percent. Smaller colleges and public universities were locked out of the wartime bonanza of federal science support, and 90 percent of military and OSRD contracts left patents in corporate hands. Against this backdrop, Sciencethe Endless Frontier was ceremoniously presented to President Truman in July 1945 and became the basis for Senate legislation introduced by Washington Democrat Warren Magnuson. But Magnuson hereby upstaged Senator Harley M. Kilgore, a New Deal Democrat from West Virginia, who had been introducing similar legislation since 1942. Bush, Bowman, and the National Academy elite had deliberately gone behind Kilgores back, but then

black companion, Matt Henson. Bowman shot the idea down, complaining of attempts by the large movement of Negroes to get a place in the sun.68 Teddy Roosevelts impeccably Republican son envisaged a more liberal racial order than Bowman did. For two decades, the American Geographical Society provided an unprecedented platform from which Bowman could become involved in mapping, making, and defending the worlds geography. If the AGS was good for Bowman, Bowman was just as good for the AGS. When he moved in 1935, he left a vibrant research and mapping operation with considerable momentum but depression-sized nancial problems. His decades there were indeed halcyon years for the AGS.69 Curiously, however, no clear vision replaced the vacuum left by the withdrawal of his frenetic energy. Bowman oversaw a renovation by modernization and energy more than a renovation of the societys deeply structured vision of the world and its mission. Much as he talked up and actually built scientic research at the AGS and personally recognized the advent of a new geographical order, the projects he pursued there were actually quite cautious. None of his AGS accomplishments matches the progressiveness of global vision expressed in his book The New World, published after only six years at the society. By contrast, the millionth map certainly provided a bridge between the old geography and the new and was of inestimable practical value, but it was conceptually rooted in a past paradigm. Even more so, his fascination with polar exploration: however much he extolled polar science, he protected some of the worst excesses of a tradition that others around him began to recognize as morally bankrupt. Why? Why can his AGS research projects just as easily be seen as conservative efforts to impose the known upon the unknown, as Wiebe has put it, to reimpose an old order on and against the new?70 Powerful institutional inertia is part of the answer. Bowmans intellectual ventilation of the AGS did not unduly upset its habitual elitism but rather reafrmed and reinvigorated its genteel mission even as it modernized the place. His energetic injection of contemporary research priorities was entirely compatible with the ne conservative spirit of our organization commended by John Greenough, the retired merchant, banker, and philanthropist who succeeded Huntington as president. Or, as Huntington himself put it during Bowmans directorship, it was important that the AGS rise above the great maelstrom of secondary mentality with which we are surrounded: It is only by unyielding defense of an unpopular and what is commonly called highbrow attitude, that the work of geography can be forwarded. This is an old and dignied body. It has one peculiarity which is lacking in many othersit is alive.71


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At the AGS Bowman found a way of translating his best science elitism learned at Harvard into a personal conservatism and a wider social elitism that in no way contradicted but, in the AGS at least, kept in check an emerging liberalism in other spheres. He was comfortable moving in and out of the old mold. Therefore, at the same time that he was mapping the absolute spaces of Latin America and orchestrating a cover-up to defend the U.S. conquest of the North Pole, he readily understood the new relationality of global space glimpsed by Mackinder and Lenin: as sharply as they did, he recognized that even the few remaining empty spaces of the world are no longer non-political.72

increasing bitterness was a tacit recognition that the cold war was a massive defeat for the same liberal foreign policyfrom Woodrow Wilson, through the Council on Foreign Relations, to Franklin Rooseveltthat he had devoted himself to building.

class, science, and the endless frontier : the national science foundation and free enterprise in our laboratories
The geography of internal affairs that had preoccupied Bowman in the 1920s and 1930s concerned pioneer settlement in the American West, but it also involved the organization of American science in the name of national development. Science after all was experimental, much like frontier settlement, and after the atomic bomb, science appeared to many as a new frontier writ large. If the war was rst and foremost scientic and industrial, the postwar future would be even more scientic, chromium bright. Chagrined over the failure of the Science Advisory Board in 1935, Bowman nonetheless retained a high prole in national science circles, becoming vice president of the National Academy of Sciences and president of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) while neck deep in the wartime State Department. What he and Compton were unable to do in 1935 with the Science Advisory Board, war accomplished in a ash, and science was very different a decade later. The hurriedly organized National Defense Research Committee (NDRC) mutated into the Ofce of Scientic Research and Development (OSRD) via a 1941 executive order that was quite uncontroversial,20 and its top-secret work was contracted out to scientists in universities, industry, and government, establishing the precedent of massive federal funding for private research. As the war ended, the only question for most of those involved was how best to galvanize this new alliance for peacetime purposes.21 The OSRD was headed by Vannevar Bush, an electrical engineer who had been dean of engineering at MIT and president of the Carnegie Institution as well as founder of the Raytheon Corporation, and he took the lead in organizing postwar government sponsorship of science. The rst step was the preparation of a 1945 report, Sciencethe Endless Frontier, which became the springboard for the National Science Foundation.22 Commissioned by Roosevelt, the report amalgamated the ideas of four separate committees, the most important of which, Science and Public Welfare, Bowman chaired. His committee included MIT physicist I. I. Rabi, businessmen from Polaroid and


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intern notwithstanding. It is not Marxism any longer, he comprehended. Stalins dealings with communist parties outside the USSR were more geared to the enhancement of national foreign policy than to sparking revolutions that might evade his control.19 Yet within two years Bowman was warning about the peril of communist-inspired world revolution. The USSR as an ideological enemy was one thing for Bowman, but as a political threat to American economic globalism, it was quite another. With Germany and Japan defeated and the American Lebensraum suddenly within grasp, Soviet refusal to cooperate in the construction of a U.S.-led global capitalism was interpreted as an instinctive threat to U.S. economic survivala survival now conceived as dependent on global economic intercourse. It was less a defensive political geography or geopolitics on the U.S. side that fanned the ames of the cold war, however much the conict came to be translated into such simplistic terms, than an offensive economic geography. For the rst time, despite the clear preponderance of U.S. military power after 1945, the USSR could mount a credible challenge to U.S. hegemony. If the struggle at this point seeded a renewed realist geopolitics in the United States itself under the pall of the mushroom cloud, Bowman was surely right that by 1946 it was a struggle between different social and economic systemsTruman would make the same point several months latereven if postwar Soviet and Eastern European societies had none of the workers control that was supposed to be the basis of communism. In the end, an American Lebensraum that dominated 75 percent of the global economy simply was not enough. A do-or-die competitive nationalism now drove the quest for globalism. There was nothing casual in Bowmans cold war politics, and the Princeton address marked a decisive turning point. The two parts of the address the rst an embarrassingly vapid recitation of clichs, the second an aggressive realpolitikreplicated in extreme form the contradictions of his earlier liberalism. His pugilistic conservatism after 1945 may have marked a signicant political migration from his earlier Wilsonian optimism but was equally an intellectual continuity. The liberal balance was not defeated but tilted decisively away from idealism; realpolitik actually afrmed the rectitude of his liberalism. The binary cold war geographies he now promoted eschewed the subtle and powerful unity of vision that coined American Lebensraum. Bowman had no means of regaining that vision so long as capitalism, Americanism, and democracy remained for him fused and confused. More than ever his geography now tailed his politics. The internationalist dream still gasped for oxygen in the interstices of his acerbic denunciations of communism and was nourished largely by the past, but his


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present government of Russia as evil incarnate. But the protests were also more intense: At a time when all intelligent and Christian people should be working to promote understanding and peace, it seems incredible that incoming students in an American university should be greeted by its president with words calculated to iname their distrust of another country, in support of militarism in this country and a distorted picture of what is happening in the world.17 Stalins regime certainly provided grist for this cold war propaganda mill. The political purges of the 1930s solidied his ruthless control at the cost of many thousands of lives, from Leon Trotsky and Nikolai Bukharin to myriad small-time apparatchiks; the Gulags enslaved and killed thousands more; and the unprecedented industrial expansion of the 1930s and 1940s was carried out on the backs of workers and peasants. But was there really much new evidence of Soviet repressiveness after the war to justify this escalation of cold war rhetoric? Already by 1941 the prevailing view in the United States was that the Soviet Union was a cruel and rapacious dictatorship, only slightly less repulsive than Nazi Germany.18 Were the Eastern European states somehow less democratic in 1947 than before the war? And why did the threat of Soviet control of Eastern Europe create such an outcry, when fascist conquest in the same region after 1938 did not decisively move the United States to action? Postwar anticommunism in the United States certainly perpetuated preexisting ideological antipathies, but it was also fueled by discontinuities with the prewar world. Something was different after 1945. It was not simply the existence of the atom bomb, because the rst Soviet tests were not known until 1949. Rather, it was the overwhelming power of the Soviet military against Germany, despite the delayed second front, and their ability to prevail after the most devastating losses of modern warfare that stunned many Americans into the realization that Soviet prerogatives in parts of Europe and Asia threatened the global free hand that American leaders felt their country had, by right, inherited. They now chose to see Soviet interests in Eastern Europe as conrmation of that challenge rather than the logical corollary of Mackinders geopolitics, or indeed Bowmans. Why would the USSR have less need than Germany of the buffer states that Bowman had advocated between East and West? Domestic class fears conrmed the international threat: a surge of strikes and workers protests suggested to conservatives that national boundaries were no barrier to communism and that the threat would only intensify with economic depression. As late as 1944, Bowman in fact understood that Stalin no longer seriously aspired to world revolution, the hollow rhetoric of the now-dissolved Com-


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praised the address to New York Times readers as very remarkable and timely.13 Over four thousand copies of the Princeton address were circulated at the Air University, on whose board Bowman now sat. Among the hundreds of felicitations arriving in the mail, one exhorted Bowman to combat fth columnists, reds, and pinks and to get in touch immediately with J. Edgar Hoover, who was similarly bent on an authoritative expos of communists. Bowman, of course, was already well acquainted with Hoover, having been an occasional FBI informant since at least 1941.14 Not everyone was so laudatory, however. Several letters were highly unfavorable, but these were from New Yorks East Side, Bowman sneered, in a nasty disparagement of Jews or communists or both. Students at Colgate University, where he gave a similar address several days later, accused him of succumbing to the dangerous confusion of slogans, stereotypes and emotional shortcuts. How much democracy and free enterprise does Dr. Bowman think can survive a third world war?15 In March 1947, Truman intervened to support British-backed forces against communists in Greece and announced that henceforth the United States would ght communist movements wherever they appeared. This Truman Doctrine was quickly followed by the Marshall Plan, which aimed unabashedly at the political-economic reconstruction of a capitalist Europe. Peace, freedom and world trade are indivisible, Truman proclaimed. Bowman chose his address to incoming Johns Hopkins students that autumn to escalate his attack on the evils of communism: Reds Plotting to Rule Globe, screamed the Milwaukee Journal, reporting the speech on 23 September. He now warned about subversion on college campuses but more pointedly claimed that communism was an absolutism designed to be more ruthless and complete than Czarism: Reds Worse Than Czars, blared the Des Moines Tribune that same day. This speech decisively articulated the theme of an evil empire that would become a staple of right-wing cold war American geopolitics, revived decades later by Ronald Reagan. Nothing in the regimes of the czars, bad as some of them were, had such a high degree of organization for evil, such vicious use of power, as the regime of the Soviets. Postwar Soviet expansionism from the Baltic to the Bosporus was only a prelude to the imposition of an evil system on the whole world.16 The response to the Red Czar speech again mixed ecstasy and condemnation. Congratulations this time came from Dwight D. Eisenhower, the increasingly phlegmatic secretary of defense James Forrestal, even former secretary of state Stettinius. Your attack on the Soviet Union is unquestionably the most devastating one I have ever read, exuded a prominent Cornell historian. No one has succeeded as you have in picturing the


Shortly after the lovely little war of 1898, the Treaty of Paris was signed between a vanquished Spain, nally stripped of its colonies, and a victorious United States only beginning to descry world power. Whatever the treatys profound implications, the peace negotiations that produced it were a decidedly low-key affair. The United States was represented by only seven men; the Spanish, by six.1 Only two decades later, following World War I, the next Paris Peace Conference attracted thousands of delegates, advisers, experts, reporters, inuence peddlers, aggrieved parties, and hangers-on for an extended merry-go-round of deliberations, dinners, and decisions. Even by European standards this was an extravagant affair. The last major European treaty negotiation in 1871 between France and the new Germany was, by comparison, a minor affair, and the obscene aristocratic lavishness of the Congress of Vienna (1815), which picked over Europe in Napoleons wake, was no match for Paris in 1919. For the U.S. government the event was utterly unprecedented. Unlike Britain, France, and Germany, the United States had no globally ung empire, except the small territories wrenched two decades earlier from Spain. Throughout the nineteenth century, successive U.S. administrations had dened their international interests in hemispheric rather than global terms, or as Bowman himself put it, Until 1898 we were an isolated Power.2 But the delegation that arrived in Paris twenty years later came imbued not with hemispheric but with global ambitions.


the inquiry

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The late-nineteenth-century coalescence of the United States into a coherent nation-state in economic, political, and social as well as territorial terms simultaneously altered the countrys international prole. The corollary of national cohesion was international identity. This is precisely the dialectic of national boundary construction: successful national enclosure provokes international ambition. For all their apparent opposition, nationalism and internationalism are two sides of the same coin; the age of empire was the age of nationalism. The search for geographical order in the United States at the beginning of the twentieth century was not to be contained within the territorial ambitions of the Monroe Doctrine and certainly not within the narrower connes of the United States itself. The dominant fact in American life has been expansion, Frederick Jackson Turner told the people, and the end of the frontier would rightfully be supplemented by expansion abroad.3 The resulting shift in the expression of U.S. national interests and power, from the national to the international scale, came quickly in the years between 1898 and 1914. It is not that the United States lacked an international prole in the nineteenth centurythe country was far from isolationist but now its internationalism was no longer taken for granted as the servant of nation building. The reverse was true: the nation was now taken for granted in its pursuit of international interests. Global ambition came in a variety of forms. It was in this period that the iconic National Geographic Magazine began to picture the world for the geographical imaginations of the emerging middle classes. Buffalo Bills Wild West Show traveled the world and infused the romance, rapacity, and race destiny of the American frontier into the embryonic arteries of twentieth-century global culture; Christian missionaries fanned out to Asia and Africa; the Singer Company led the rush of budding U.S. multinational rmsrailroads and oil companies, electrical, steel, and car companieswhose exported capital was threaded with cultural assumption. It was in this period too that Alfred Mahan pictured the United States as the natural successor to British sea power and that Brooks Adams announced the American Empire. In the rhetoric of the day, the imperative for expansion was a leitmotif of American exceptionalism passed off as a natural trait of the new nationstate. But the language of expansion conveniently glossed the connection between economic and geographical imperatives. Capital accumulation and the commensurate expansion of trade and markets, political interests, and cultural entanglements underlay the expansionist political geography of the last two decades of the nineteenth century. The clamor for global expansion and the opening of new markets came most sharply from American farmers and

ruary 1946, warning that war was as inevitable as the uneven development of capitalism, provoked a stormy response from Churchill, and as the virtual war threatened to become real, the USSR declined a huge billiondollar IMF and World Bank reconstruction loan because of the capitalist strings attached. The following month, Churchill made his iron curtain speech in Missouri.10 Stalins speech clinched the matter for Bowman, who now grumbled that Stalin offered not one word of gratitude for our help in the war. He used the opportunity of the Princeton University Bicentennial Celebration to speak out. Innocuously entitled Is an International Society Possible? Bowmans Princeton address was a headline-grabber despite the yawning reprise of idealism in international affairs with which it began. He set up foundational ruling-class American valuesindividualism, freedom, the pursuit of private property, the sanctity of the nation-state, and the naturalness of social inequalityas universal human traits intermingled with the core of the UN idea. The confusion of Americanism and global universalism was here invisible yet in full view. Communism stood in opposition to all this, he said, for while the United States sought world unity by including the USSR, the Soviets wanted a United Nations that worked only as a means to Soviet ends. They repress rather than celebrate individualism and freedom, extol no humanitarian god, and worship industry only for the sake of material things, he projected. Soviet ends involve world communism. It is time to say this frankly, and the fundamental question now is: Whose social system is to prevail? The world already lives with a form of war, he lectured, lamenting that the United States was incapable of the kind of single-minded and sustained national effort that characterized the Soviet Union.11 This was roiling stuff, and if some in the audience found it tedious and long-winded, it played to a country in which knowledgeable Americans who were usually calm began to sound shrill and desperate.12 The Princeton address established Bowman as a leading anti-Soviet propagandist for the cold war; any quibbles with Spykmans power politics were now merely academic. The response was immediate, with headlines blaring: UN as Communism Sounding Board (Trenton Times); Only Russia Blocks Path (Omaha Morning World Herald); Geopolitical Expert Says Russ Block One World (San Francisco Chronicle); Communist Aims Bar World Union (St. Louis Star-Times). It was also reported in Canada and Europe, with the Ottawa Citizen vainly if inaccurately resisting the inammatory message: Keep trying for co-operation with Soviet. A column and a half appeared in Time, and Pulitzer Prizewinning journalist Arthur Krock


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tis letter to Roosevelt, who, while not about to embark on an ideological campaign against a potential future ally, nonetheless took Bowmans warnings seriously enough to repeat them to the Senate Military Affairs Committee.6 The virtual war was on long before the term cold war was coined, before Churchill railed about the iron curtain in 1946, before Yalta, even before Roosevelt and Churchill vacillated on the second front. Bowman was certainly among the earliest and most vituperative of anti-Soviet fanatics among a State Department staff that later fanatics thought riddled by communists. But even the bumbling Cordell Hull, a postwar Nobel Peace Prize winner, once uttered the hope that the war should cause the Russian people to be bled white. And Bowmans cynical military geography pitting Germany against the USSR was fully consonant with Senator Trumans: If we see that Germany is winning we should help Russia and if Russia is winning we ought to help Germany and that way let them kill as many as possible. . . . 7 For Bowman, as for many others, the cold war began nearer 1917 than 1945. Such cruel and obsessive anticommunism had a capitalist point. The delay of the second front involved more than just the issue of intensied military, political, and human destruction in the USSR. Bowman anticipated that the resulting colossal losses would come close to paralyzing the economic life of Russia and cripple its chances for independent economic reconstruction, opening the door to a new phase of dollar diplomacy.8 Trumans secretary of the treasury, Fred Vinson, expressed the economic need more broadly: the capitalistic system is essentially an international system. . . . If it cannot function internationally, it will break down completely. James Byrnes, the new hawkish secretary of state, lled in the political implications: a durable peace cannot be built on an economic foundation of exclusive blocs . . . and economic warfare. Vinson concurred: Two rival blocs would mean economic warfare. Probably we would win, but it would be a pyrrhic victory. World trade would be destroyed and all countries would suffer.9 As Bowman had argued since 1943, the premises of the emerging American Empire embodied an international geography that was now global. Bowman was deeply disappointed but hardly surprised that the United Nations did not emerge as a smooth conveyance for U.S. interests. He blamed the unrealistic ambitions of the smaller nations but mostly the intransigence of a Soviet delegation that was generally isolated in the Security Council. He was just as frustrated that the visceral anticommunism he had long harbored in silence was being reinvented in the Truman State Department as bold new thinking. A saber-rattling speech by Stalin in Feb-

industrialists, who were now threatened by their own success, the specter of overproduction. Between 1898 and 1914, annual U.S. exports nearly tripled to an annual level of $2.3 billion. Surplus commodities, capacity, and capital ooded the economy, and the expansion of trade and markets offered a geographical solution to the economic problem. American factories are making more than the American people can use, extolled Senator Albert Beveridge, and American soil is producing more than they can consume. Fate has written our policy for us; the trade of the world must and shall be ours. Together, capitalists, christians and cowboys led the turn-of-the-century transition of U.S. ambitions from a national and hemispheric to a global scale.4 Political expression of this scalar shift in U.S. interests was at rst narrowly tied to economic expansion, as with the Open Door policy (18991900), which sought open access to markets and trade while protecting U.S. privilege in the Americas. As it matured, however, the connection between U.S. economic and political interests thickened. The government became more deliberate in its promotion of national economic interests, and a much closer afliation between corporate and public leaders quickly evolved.5 At the same time the government grew more sophisticated in weaving such clear-cut class collaboration between private and public interests into a seemingly honorable account of national self-interest. By the time of Woodrow Wilsons presidency, the frenzied pursuit of U.S. economic interests across the world was generally clothed in the more medicinal rhetoric of moral global advancement. U.S. entry into World War I was closely bound up with this global ambition and moral renditions of it. Never before had the United States intervened in a European war, although there had been several military forays into Asia, and when Woodrow Wilson nally made the decision to intervene in April 1917, the immediate justication was a series of German naval attacks on U.S. trading ships. Commerce on the high seas, he argued, was a global and inviolable right. But U.S. neutrality had been merely formal. The sunken ships were hauling part of the U.S. surpluswar materiel and related goodsto the European Allies, and by 1917 U.S. nanciers had lent the Allies a staggering $2.3 billion, almost a hundred times what they had released to Germany. These bankers had so much at stake in an Allied success that the Treasury Department and the Federal Reserve Board were alarmed. The success of U.S. economic expansion had become inextricably bound up with the necessity of an Allied victory, and the possible effects of a German victory raised geopolitical fears concerning Latin America. Moral authority to design the resulting peace would belong to those who had fought on the battleeld,6 and these very practical considerations were recycled into a moral rationale for war against a militaristic and autocratic aggressor. Heightened nationalism at


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home targeted socialists and pacists who broadcast the less noble economic grounds for U.S. involvement. World War I was widely if inaccurately perceived in the United States as a European war emanating from long-standing squabbles in the Old World: the young nation of the United States was far removed and had transcended those shackles of history. Such an account bolstered U.S. narratives of national innocence, a fat disavowal of the political geographical truth behind the intervention. U.S. nationhood may or may not have been young in social and cultural terms, but geographically and politically its revolutionary eighteenth-century origins made it already old. Most European nation-states, whatever the galvanization of antecedent cultural and national traditions, are actually a territorial product of the nineteenth century. Even Italy and Germany materialized as nation-states only in the last third of the nineteenth century. As late as the 1870s, there were just seventeen sovereign European states, whereas the gure almost doubled in the aftermath of World War I. Spurred by dramatic industrialization, rapid accumulation of capital, and the consequent search for fresh markets, resources, and labor, nation building intensied in the last decades of the nineteenth century, spurring in turn intense international claims, which, in the context of Europe, meant rst and foremost colonization. Far from a stable accomplishment of capitalist democracy, the political geography of the Old World was molten. The war of 191419 was the pivotal event that cooled these dynamic economic, political, and cultural forces into a recognizably twentieth-century map of European states. If the United States shared with European powers the imperative of economic expansion, the territorial dimension of this imperative was very different in North America, at least after the 1840s. European nation building still involved intense territorial competition along many borders and even more intense issues of sovereignty and statehood, but by the 1880s colonialism led the quest for economic expansion. In North America, by contrast, with the expansion of the western frontier dimming, national expansionism surely shared Europes broad economic goals, but colonialism was not the only or even the most favored means of its achievement. The United States was not even represented at the Berlin Conference of 188485, when the European powers performed the nal colonial surgery on Africa.7 Post1898 U.S. expansion was market-centered rather than colonial in form, as the Open Door policy exemplies. These differences between European and U.S. styles of economic expansion wove neatly into an American exceptionalism that reached its apotheosis in the liberal moralism of Woodrow

Russia may produce such disastrous effects upon Hitlers plans that it is neither idiotic nor fanciful to say that within ten years France and England may be ghting side by side with Germany in order to hold Russia in check. When the rest of Europe is exhausted economically and spiritually then will it be seed-time for Stalin and for Communist doctrine.2 As Antonio Gramsci once put it, one can predict the future only to the extent that one is involved in making it happen,3 and the clarity of Bowmans anticipation of a pending anti-Soviet conict warrants that for him the cold war was already well under way. He changed his mind on many things during the war, but not about the Soviet Union. He gave Secretary of State Cordell Hull quite unrestrained advice prior to the 1943 Moscow conference, warning that if Russia arrives in Berlin in advance of Great Britain and the United States, its delegates will foment a pro-Moscow rebellion, and two German revolutions may be in being . . . at the same time, one in the East, the other in the West. Likewise, in southeast Europe:
There is no visible combination of statesmanship and strength in any of the Balkan states sufcient to withstand the subversive work of Russia unless the United States supply arms and also political and military leadership. This would mean taking sides against Russia. It is impossible to believe that the unfolding of such a policy can take place without military clashes followed by growing support on both sides, followed by virtual war between Russia and the West. . . . A deGaullist government in France might then complete the work of Russia and establish Bolshevism throughout the length and breadth of Europe.4

The prescience of a State Department insider about virtual war in 1939 cannot be separated from the paranoid misreading of de Gaulle. Both predictions sprang from the same world vision, which, by any standards, was extreme. The USSR was already an enemy nation for Bowman, who callously rejoiced at the German slaughter of Russians, which reached its peak in 1942: Unless Russia is chewed to bits by war she will be the same uncommunicating, enigmatical, sullen and treacherous force after this war that she was from 1918 to 1941. Even more viciously: The only hope . . . is that [Russia] will be greatly weakened herself and the present struggle is taking a terric toll of Russias lives and substances. . . . But the bloodletting in Russia must be so great that it may be expected to count in the nal stages of the war.5 Such brutal contempt for the Russian people, twenty million of whom perished in the war, was never declared policy in Roosevelts State Department, but it was a common undercurrent. Bowman sent a copy of his Cur-


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school of geography did not gel into a coherent faculty. Now sixty-six years old and still turning up at the ofce before seven in the morning, his furious work schedule took its toll, and his illnesses grew more frequent. He saw his chosen discipline further damaged by the closure of the geography program at Harvard, a very personal defeat, not just because of his own Harvard associations, but also, as we shall see, because of the tragic role he himself played in its demise. The founding of the National Science Foundation, in which he played a central role, should have vindicated his 1930s ambitions for the Science Advisory Board and consummated a long career in the leadership of U.S. science, but this too turned into a bitter defeat. A top-secret dalliance with atomic policy only provided further vent for his bitterness. In all three of these rolesat Harvard, with the NSF, and in atomic policyBowman invariably found himself in an awkward minuet with James B. Conant, president of Harvard University. Harvard hung gloomily over the last years of his life, much as it had during his student days. If there was a bright spot, it may have been in the continuation of his work on dependent territories under Trumans Point IV Program. But any solace there was little and late. Overshadowing all of this was the biggest defeat of all: the cold war. Every facet of Bowmans work after 1945 was colored by the gathering cold war, and he came to lead his own high-prole crusade against a Soviet Union that he felt threatened the American Lebensraum. His bitter frustrations in this period, with geography, science, and U.S. foreign policy, mirrored the geographical circumscription of American hegemony, for which, in his eyes, the war was fought. He experienced this array of personal defeats as a larger withering of the second moment of U.S. global ambition.

bowman s virtual war

Two months after the outbreak of World War II, Bowman wrote an extraordinary letter to his old Paris friend Lionel Curtis, master of Oxfords Balliol College. Alarmed about the geopolitical implications of the 1939 Stalin-Hitler accord and repeating Halford Mackinders insistence on a divided heartland, Bowman exhorted that Germany and Russia must at all costs be played off against each other and a chain of buffer states maintained between them. Hitler understood this from Haushofer, he argued, but the weakness of Mackinders argument and the y in Hitlers ointment was the newfound strength of the USSR, now of menacing size and a budding world power. Hitlers pact was a fatal mistake that only strengthened the Stalin regime. Then came a startling prediction: The strengthening of

Wilson. For Wilson as for most Americans, the United States, founded in political revolt against European autocracy, was forever distinguished from the European powers as a superior alloy of capitalist enterprise and democratic faith. However self-interested in economic terms, U.S. entry into World War I could be cast as an act of high-minded democratic destiny, antithetical to, rather than identical with, the autarky of European power. This quintessentially Wilsonian fusion of global liberal ideals with U.S. economic self-interest facilitated Wilsons heartfelt declaration in favor of peace even as he took the country into war, and it refracted the most pragmatic prosecution of war and postwar settlement as instances of that ideal. It allowed Wilson to defend unprecedented international adventurism in Europe and the Pacic, not as narrow national self-interest, but as progressive moral universalism of precisely the sort expressed in Americas eighteenthcentury birth. Bowman recalled Wilsons counsel during the trip to the peace conference: The desires of the people of the world for a new order . . . must be made to work. Or as the historian N. Gordon Levin has put it, Wilson saw no necessary contradiction between his desire on the one hand for a liberal war against German imperialism and his hope on the other for a compromise peace to form the basis of a new commercial and political world harmony. Only Wilsons supreme faith in the universal righteousness of his conception of American self-interests abated any contradiction between traditional forms of national power and his moral crusade for a new world order.8 By the beginning of 1917 Isaiah Bowman was convinced that the United States had to be on the battleeld. He remained sufciently inuenced by German geographer Friedrich Ratzel to believe that the war had resulted from the preponderance of small states in Europe with nowhere to expand and the resulting imperial rivalries. Born Canadian and a life-long Anglophile despite his Germanic Swiss ancestry, Bowman was convinced that moral and pragmatic considerations demanded U.S. involvement. He scorned Wilsons 1916 campaign slogan that he had kept the country out of war. It is the hope of the majority of Americans, Bowman told the French geographer Emmanuel de Margerie, that we shall get into the war and make as great an effort to help the Allies as the administration has made to keep out of the war. He thrilled to the war when it came. He rejoiced that the country had been born again. . . . No such patriotic enthusiasm has been awakened before in this generation. It was a far keener and deeper emotion than that aroused by the Spanish war.9 With his experiences in Latin America, where he saw rsthand the potential bounty of U.S. expansion abroad, and his adherence to the geog-


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raphers maxim that all the worlds places are interconnected, Bowman was opposed to any kind of isolationist politics. He was already a convinced internationalist. But by the same token, he was still too conservative in 1917 to be a convinced Wilsonian Democrat. In response to Wilsons shrewd co-option of conservative moralism and the patriotism evoked by war, many, including Bowman, eventually came to see Wilson not just as the most palatable political option but as the visionary of a new world order. World War I was many things. From the Somme to the Dardanelles, South Africa to Vladivostok, it was a war exhibiting unprecedented military technology and carnage. It was certainly an interimperialist struggle, and here, paradoxically, Lenin and American conservatives found uncomfortable agreement. But it was also a watershed in the development of geoeconomic power. It achieved a kind of nal geopolitical shakeout, establishing a discrete system of national territories throughout Europe. It was nal not in the sense that no further geopolitical change occurred; clearly it did. Rather, the form of the territorial system of nation-statesdecades, even centuries, in evolutiontruly came to fruition only after World War I. Neither the cold war after 1945, nor African and Asian decolonization, nor the implosion of Soviet communism after 1989 shattered the system established in 1919. Quite the opposite. The breakup of the Soviet Union completed a projection of geopolitical nationalism that the Bolshevik revolution had tried to bypass.


toward a scientic peace

In the lead-up to war, Wilsons speeches focused on the peace that would follow, and preparations for the peace conference began quickly after U.S. entry into the war. British foreign secretary Arthur Balfour led a mission to Washington in which various secret Allied treaties, largely territorial in nature, were revealed to government ofcials. Not a party to such treaties, Wilsons government was taken by surprise, and they insisted to Balfour that no public discussion of postwar preparations should occur lest it jeopardize the public embrace of the war effort. But with the issue already in the press, Wilsons real concern was that the U.S. vision of peace ought to take precedence over mere territorial concerns. Within the government, proposals for peace preparations popped up like mushrooms. From the U.S. Embassy in London, the brother of seasoned conservative diplomat Henry White began one scheme. Lawyer Felix Frankfurter, stationed in Paris with

The end of World War II should have been Isaiah Bowmans crowning moment. The United Nations Charter was ratied in October 1945, and to his initial relief a more conservative, farm-raised midwesterner now occupied the White House. We can look forward to the greatest age in mankind, Harry Truman had announced at Potsdam in July 1945 as the American Century seemed again within grasp. The coming era would be more conservative, which only augured well for the post-Roosevelt Bowman. Generally reluctant to reveal much to the media, he was more forthcoming with the easing of wartime secrecy, and his every movement and utterance concerning science or education, immigration or resource conservation, and especially U.S. foreign policywere eager newspaper fodder. The leading geographer in the U.S. and probably in the whole world, commented Henry Luces Life in a lengthy 1945 feature on Bowman, his geographical abilities are an important asset to the country.1 Bowman naturally assumed that important personages would beat their way to his door after the war, and they did, but not always with the results he wanted or expected. Rather than capping a distinguished career in geography, science, and government, the late 1940s brought a comprehensive array of defeats for the dean of American geographers. He refocused his attention on Johns Hopkins University in the autumn of 1945 but found a new generation of faculty and students more alienated from his imperious administration than ever before. Worse, his burning ambition to build a

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the War Department, reported that French committees were well into peace preparations, and he-too-urged action. The veteran apparatus of the British Foreign Ofce was well along. From inside the State Department other proposals owed, and by August 1917 Secretary of State Lansing had managed to put a cursory effort into motion. But Wilson evidently had other plans. He had not normally trusted the lumbering, old-fashioned Lansing with foreign policy, thought him surrounded by reactionaries, and but for the war might have red him. Thus in early September, Wilson gave his close condant Edward House the job of quietly gathering . . . a group of men to prepare a portrait of what the other parties to war would be demanding for a peace agreement and to prepare the U.S. position.10 If bypassing the State Department seems strange, it was still the tradition that the president take the reins of foreign policy himself. There was, in fact, little consistent foreign policy to speak of. The State Department was weak and ineffectual, no match for the British Foreign or Colonial Ofces, and possessed few and comparatively inexperienced ofcials. The isolation of the United States and lack of interest in other countries or contact with them, wrote one observer, left the government with little information and too small and scattered a personnel to deal with such information as might be gathered.11 Stated more pithily, entry into the war brought almost panicky demands in Washington for basic data. Despite measures designed to increase the professional and organizational strength of the State Department, the American network of international communications was sparse compared with those of European powers.12 The specialized organization Wilson established came to be known as the Inquiry. Assembled in advance of any peace conference, the Inquiry marked a signicant innovation in the conduct of foreign policy. It was in effect the rst U.S. think tank on foreign policy, albeit with a very specic agenda, and was overseen outside normal channels by Colonel House. Edward H. House was a kind of professional political broker. A Texan, he inherited a British accent from a boyhood year in England and a large fortune from his parents sugar and cotton plantation interests, Confederate shipping activities, and bank holdings. He dallied with political power and in 1911 sought out and aggressively boosted New Jerseys governor, Woodrow Wilson, as a presidential hopeful. Following Wilsons election, House became Wilsons right-hand man. Wilson was an expolitical science professor and Princeton president, and in 1917 he supported Houses assemblage of academic experts rather than government ofcials to staff the Inquiry. These men and a few women were the shock troops of the administrations new diplomacy, the front line of


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Wilsons stated intention of putting diplomatic peacemaking on a rational footing.13 To direct the organization, House chose Sydney E. Mezes, whose qualications as philosopher of religion and president of the City College of New York were less important than the unquestioned loyalty he would bring as Houses brother-in-law. In hiring the young muckraking journalist and ex-socialist Walter Lippmann (then an assistant for the secretary of war), House was responding directly to Wilsons own desire to include the liberal opposition establishment. House also engaged Archibald Cary Coolidge, the well-known professor of eastern European history at Harvard, and James T. Shotwell. Shotwell was an energetic, Canadian-born Columbia University historian who would go on to edit the massive 150-volume Economic and Social History of the World War. It was he who coined the name Inquiry,14 a deliberately bland name designed to attract little attention to the highly secret outt. In late October 1917, as the organization was coming together, Coolidge, supported by Shotwell, suggested that Isaiah Bowman be drafted for the Inquiry. They apparently felt it was vital that a geographerand preferably also the resources of a geographical societybe enlisted, given the kinds of problems that would have to be resolved at the end of the war. Widely known now for his research and Latin American expeditions but especially for his directorship of the American Geographical Society, Bowman was an obvious choice for the New Yorkbased Inquiry. Inquiry director Mezes considered him one of the leading if not the leading geographer of the country. House also clearly eyed the valuable assets of the societys extensive map collection, library and journal materials, and cartographic and geographical staff. Bowman enthusiastically agreed to put himself and the AGS at their disposal, and within a fortnight the personnel had moved from cramped desks in a corner of the New York Public Library to the spacious third oor of the AGS building. The Inquiry was shrouded in secrecy. The Wilson administration was anxious about possible attacks from the large and vocal antiwar movement, but it was also apprehensive that news of peace preparations might suggest that Wilson (and especially his secretary of war, Newton Baker, derisively labeled a pacist by conservative nationalists) was not serious about waging war. To the AGS Council, therefore, Bowman explained the Inquirys presence with only the most general and minimal ofcial statement. At rst, only four of the councils inner circle, including Archer Huntington and James Ford, were given a full statement of the Inquirys business, but the addition of guards, nightwatchmen, and other security measures must have alerted anyone who cared to know that something was afoot.15


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Many things came together with the involvement of Bowman and the AGS in the Inquiry. Long before the great war closed, remarked Woodrow Wilsons chronicler, it was recognized by all the great nations that scientic knowledge would play an unprecedented part in any peace conference. A peace of the old kind could be patched up by the diplomats, but a peace of the new kind required immense and accurate knowledge. It was vital, suggested one diplomat, that the United States not act as mere conciliators but that they actively frame a scientic peace. 16 More than anyone Bowman took this mission of a scientic peace seriously. If he and the AGS were initially seen as vital ingredients, within a few months they became its lynchpins. The conclusion of the war would require an unprecedented reordering of the inherited territorial order of a Europe-centered world, and geographical information would be at a premium. By 1917, geographical information at the AGS meant scientic data, but the emphasis on a scientic peace had a broader resonance. The emergence of a politically coherent nation-state, progressivism, government planning, the institutionalization of foreign policy, and the rise of a new professional stratum of the middle classesscientists and engineers, managers and all hue of expertswere all connected. The professional classes shared a broad belief in the possibility of precise solutions, scientic answers to specic problems, and the Inquiry extended this faith to postwar territorial, political, and economic arrangements based on the requisite data. Academics had advised peace delegations before, of course, but the deliberate preparation of such a commission so far in advance was unprecedented in the history of U.S. foreign relations. The Inquirys personnel were casually referred to with the reverent appellation experts, and press accounts revealing their existence at the end of the war played up their scientic elitism: Fact Students Join Wilsons Peace Party; Highbrows Laden with Secrets of Foreign Lands, blared one front-page headline. Bowman was their primary geographical expert and quickly became more. He personally embraced the Inquiry as a fact study, conducted in a scientic spirit and devoted to the preparation of data, but equally he found it a powerful extension of his own hitherto scholarly search for geographical order.17 The Inquiry would ferret out from the data the proper geographical order, and the peace conference would be responsible for implementing it. Historian Robert Wiebe has concluded that Wilson underwent the intellectual migration of his generation and aspired to offer the most detailed plan of a new world under careful government supervision.18 The Inquirys crew of experts, most in their thirties and forties, were wholly of this generational intellectual migration, and by the end of 1917 they had


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nestled into the top oor of the AGS building and the job of gathering the data they optimistically believed would undergird U.S. authorship of this new world. Bowman, now thirty-eight years old, had high ambitions for the Inquiry he now housed. He had vaulted suddenly if somewhat serendipitously into the formative cauldron of liberal foreign policy and found himself in a position to use his scientic acumen and credentials toward national policy goals. The search for geographical order, begun practically in South America, was now extended to the global scale and drawn into the halls of political power, where the new order would be battled out.

order and disorder

Numbering 51 researchers and other staff at the beginning of 1918, the Inquiry grew to three times that size by the end of the war, including 126 researchers and executives.19 Geographers, historians, and cartographers dominated, but the group also included economists and psychologists, classicists and geologists. Among the geographers were Bowmans old Ypsilanti teacher, Mark Jefferson, Ellen Semple (Clark), Douglas Johnson (Columbia University), Nevin Fenneman (University of Cincinnati), and George McBride (librarian at the AGS). Their research and compilation efforts spanned the globe and were roughly categorized around geographical subareas (Russia and eastern Europe, Latin America, Africa, the Balkans, and so forth) but also included thematic topics (cartography, diplomatic history, reference and archives). Their work was initially orchestrated by the four-person Executive Committee. In addition to Sydney Mezes as director, it comprised historian James Shotwell (research), New York lawyer David Hunter Miller (law partner of Houses son-in-law) as treasurer, and the twenty-eight-year-old Walter Lippmann as secretary. Lippmann went on to become a nationally famous journalist and political critic and already had a national reputation writing for the liberal New Republic.20 For the rst three months the Inquiry focused on widespread data collection, culling information and materials from many sources. They worked in the closest contact with various government departments (State, Commerce, Interior, Agriculture) as well as the War Trade Board and the National Research Council, but the closest contact was with the Military Intelligence Division, the governments primary organ of foreign espionage. From July 1918, Bowman acted as liaison between the Inquiry and Military Intelligence. There was also continual liaison with their French and British counterparts. Six subdivisions were established covering government and politics, geography, social science and

in the rhetoric of internationalism. The success of the international organization for which we strive today, he once declared, turns largely on the wide recognition of national interest in an international undertaking for peace.91 Frank Waring was prophetic in his assessment of the U.S. performance in San Francisco: This country, for the rst time, has a pre-eminent position in world affairs and is acting very much like a tired liberal who, when he is nally given responsibility for government, becomes as conservative as his predecessor.92 It was a profound observation. The seamless geography of global intercourse envisaged in a supranational UN was frustrated by contradictions at the heart of the vision itself. Yet the postwar world was no simple reversion to prewar nationalisms. Lloyd Gardner traces the origins of postwar spheres of inuence to the fateful British-Nazi pact at Munich in 1938 and the Nazi-Soviet pact a year later.93 Prior to the conferences at Dumbarton Oaks and Tehran, however, there was no certainty that such regional spheres would materialize. That took a further ingredient: the regionalism at the core of U.S. planning for postwar globalismthe assumption that the global economy and polity should be Americanism writ large. This was the major catalyst hardening regional blocs into spheres of inuence by the middle of 1945. In the interstices of that frustrated globalism, a compromise world geography emerged, organized on the transnational more than the national scale. The scale of political and economic organization was indeed enlarged but stopped short of the global by the impending cold war. It was a compromise geography and a compromised geography, a truncated fruit of U.S. globalism, which as late as San Francisco could have ripened with different results. At least until the 1990s, the UN never did work as the instrument of U.S. foreign policythe global political manager of the American Empireintended by its State Department architects. On the one hand, postwar independence movements fought for and won decolonization, and from China to Cuba, Guatemala to Vietnam, they threatened to circumscribe U.S. globalism on the ground while confronting it in the UN General Assembly. On the other hand, the spurious if self-serving ambition of a globalism beyond geography gave rise to its mocking opposite: the trivial binary geographies of the cold war, containment, and the domino effect. Endemic to the architecture of the American Lebensraum in the early 1940s, this frustrated globalism could have turned out quite differently.


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for postwar planning that was oriented strictly toward national self-interest. As the struggle over the UN vividly indicates, Roosevelts internationalism in particular was less a departure from previous foreign policy than a global extension of an already existing internationalism. The Monroe Doctrine embodied an older, more limited internationalism focused on Latin America, but by 1943 this weapon aimed at European economic prerogative was expanded from the continental to the global scale and inverted from a defensive to an offensive strategy. Globalism, not internationalism, was the crucial issue. As Bowman put it, In the economic eld we shall want to be in on everything the world around.89 But the failure of the second moment of the American Century paralleled the failure of the rst. The halcyon antigeography of the American Lebensraum nurtured the seeds of its own impossibility. Initially conceived to prevent the balance of economic and political power from reverting to competing geographical localisms, the UN was the bastard child of a locationally and politically specic universalism emanating from Washington, D.C. Long before the San Francisco conference, the self-interest involved in conceiving the world as unhinged from its geographyHulls adieu to the unhappy pastwas clearly visible. As Bowman conceded about arrangements for the UN, Down to the time of the Yalta conference, we could not nd a generally satisfactory formula for having our cake and eating it toofor designing a world body in which all were equal but some more equal than others.90 The relapse into regionalism certainly involved compromises with Britain and the USSR in particular, but it also provided the means for accessing most of the cake in hopes of eating it too. Yet the UN can be considered stillborn, as is sometimes claimed, only if one accepts the postgeographical fantasies for an American Lebensraum. Britain, the USSR, and especially the United States ultimately failed to create a global policing mechanism that would do their bidding. Rather, its subsequent functionality and dysfunctionality continued to express the contradiction of its own founding assumption, namely, that territorial sovereignty as enshrined in the system of discrete and exclusive territorial states is the basis for a globalism beyond territorial power. It was an internationalism of nationalisms, a geographically dened abstraction from geography. There was no being able to get away from the nation, Bowman lamented, much as he helped to make it so. For the UNs founders, nations were the naturally evolved geographical expression of a people, one of the self-evident truths in Bowmans early draft of a UN constitution. The suppleness of Bowmans earlier claim, that to a revolutionary extent man makes his own geography, was now replaced by the brittle inevitability of nationalism coiled

history, economics and business, international law, and strategy. Suspending all but the most vital AGS work, Bowman began as Inquiry division chief for geography. In addition to earmarking and researching contentious areas within its global survey, the Inquiry set out to compile a prole of the interests and expected demands of the various interested powers, divided between friends (United States, British Empire), enemies, and neutrals (Denmark, Holland, etc.). By February 1918, with war drawing to an end and the preparatory work barely begun, the emphasis shifted toward analysis rather than simply data collection and the production of surveys.21 Still, not all of the Inquirys work in the rst few months involved data collection. Almost before they had begun and before the rst reports were completed, they had a resounding political success, albeit one they could not share publicly. In late 1917 the revolutionary Soviet government was threatening a quick withdrawal from an imperialist war, the British and French squabbled, and the antiwar opposition at home ared up again with Leon Trotskys revelation of the secret territorial treaties made earlier in the war among the European powers: copies were discovered among hastily abandoned tsarist documents. When the British and French governments demurred from any joint statement of war aims, Wilson, embarrassed by the treaties and seeking to put the discussion of peace on a footing more favorable to U.S. global interests rather than the apparent territorial acquisitiveness of the European powers, organized his own declaration. Through House he asked the Inquiry for an initial draft, and this became the basis for the famous Fourteen Points delivered by Wilson on 8 January 1918. Preparation of the Fourteen Points involved an intense effort. Four Inquiry personnel began work during the second week of December. Using physical maps, statistics on national, ethnic, and linguistic groups, and information on trade, economics, and political movements, they began mapping the contentious regions of Europe and matched these to the details of the secret treaties. Bowman participated in this early work, helping especially (and for no obvious reason) to draft the groups position on Poland, but was less involved in the later stages. Other Inquiry members contributed materials, especially Shotwell and the African historian George Louis Beer. Millers judgment guided the form of the report, Mezes was of little use, and Lippmann took responsibility for drafting the resulting memorandum. The War Aims and Peace Terms It Suggests was conveyed to House before Christmas. It contained a series of recommendations concerning the establishment of national territorial units and new national boundaries and included maps and explanatory notes. Wilson returned the draft for amendments, and House took the Inquirys second draft to Wash-


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ington on 4 January 1918, together with voluminous Inquiry materials, and the next day set to work on it with Wilson. They crystallized the territorial recommendations and added a preamble and ve general points. After two hours, House later boasted, he and Wilson had nished remaking the map of the world, as we would have it.22 The Fourteen Points were concerned with territory as much as principle. The Russian Revolution had upset all the assumptions about the wars progress and outcome, and this was of primary concern. A wary Inquiry team wove the new menace of Bolshevism throughout their draft, yet they did not want to unduly alienate Lenin, who remained technically an Ally. They insisted on German evacuation from all Russian territory and tried to reassure the Bolsheviks that the United States had no intentions of supporting the counterrevolutionary White Army. Wilson already anticipated a clean slate on which to write following the defeat of tsarism,23 which he assumed imminent, and in pulling the Inquirys scattered points together into Point VI, he offered Allied assistance to the Bolshevik government, volunteering there that the treatment accorded Russia by her sister nations in the months to come will be the acid test of their good will.24 The evacuation of Belgium and restoration of sovereignty were comparatively unproblematic (Point VII), but France (Point VIII) was more complicated. Northern France should similarly be reinstated, but Wilson softened the Inquiry implication that Alsace-Lorraine, grabbed by Germany in 1871, be restored to France. Italy was even more complicated (Point IX), because its claims to the alpine Trentino and to the eastern Adriatic from Trieste down the Dalmatian coast had been a central object of the secret treaties, the booty offered by Britain and France to coax Italy into the war in 1915. The Inquiry readily conceded the Trentino on grounds of political geography, advised that Trieste be made an international city, but strongly rejected Italian claims to the eastern Adriatic coast south of Trieste. Wilson sidestepped the Adriatic question in his Fourteen Points, however, knowing full well that it would become a volatile issue. He talked only about the readjustment of the frontiers . . . along clearly recognizable lines of nationality. His expectations of volatility were not to be disappointed. The proposal that Austria-Hungary be dealt with in terms of the selfdetermination of different ethnic groups (Point X) was a fairly transparent move to dilute the Hapsburg Empire, given that for strategic reasons its breakup was still rejected by the Inquiry. Even more vague was the statement about the Balkans (Point XI). The Inquiry vacillated here: The ultimate relationship of the different Balkan nations must be based upon a fair balance

released to the public. Mindful of Wilsons fate, Bowman took the U.S. Senate as his target audience.84 In a long walk around Union Square, as the conference wound down, Stettinius offered Bowman the job as U.S. delegate to the Interim United Nations Commission, which would now take over, but he demurred, suggesting instead Alger Hiss, State Department organizer of the Dumbarton Oaks and San Francisco conferences.85 Ironically, Bowman soon found himself assisting Stettinius with his career. The secretary was widely believed to have fumbled negotiations in Yalta, allowing the Soviet Union to add the Belorussia and Ukraine seats to the General Assembly,86 and Truman wanted James Byrnes as secretary of state. But the resignation of a secretary of state has to be choreographed. The San Francisco conference delayed any public action, and Stettinius did not receive denitive word of Trumans intent until 21 June. Having lived with rumors of his demise throughout the conference, he was deeply resentful and called Bowman to the penthouse. Stettinius knew he had been appointed as a pair of legs for FDR and thought he deserved better,87 but Bowman advised against any impetuous rejection of the U.S. ambassadorship to the UN, which Truman dangled in front of Stettinius. From secretary of state to U.S. ambassador was an ignominious demotion, Stettinius felt. But Truman was in a jam, Bowman advised, having promised the job to Byrnes, and he convinced Stettinius that he could carry off the UN ambassadorship as a logical next step in his public service. They met with Trumans emissary to hammer out details. First was the extraordinary calculation that went into the timing. With the Senate due to take up ratication of the UN Charter on 28 and 29 June, they agreed to have Stettiniuss resignation announced the day before so that, in the press, the 28th would be Eds day, as Bowman put it. Byrness name would be sent to the Senate the day after, giving him his own day in the headlines. They then organized the mutual letters of resignation and the UN appointment, with Bowman drafting the secretarys letter of resignation. Both letters were edited by shuttling them back and forth between San Francisco and Washington, and on the day of Trumans closing address, Bowman had a brief meeting with the president to conrm the details. Earlier, en route to the airport with Stettinius for Trumans arrival, Bowman even found himself interceding by telephone with Virginia Stettinius, the secretarys wife, who was livid at Truman for shunting her husband aside and even madder at her husband for not consulting her in the whole matter.88 From Wilson and the Council on Foreign Relations to Roosevelt and beyond, twentieth-century American internationalism was an economic strategy as much as a political commitment. It provided an acceptable rationale


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But some were more equal than others at San Francisco, as the veto provision ensured, and in the postwar global market it was well understood, echoing a contemporaneous George Orwell, that one would be more equal than the rest. In 1945, globalism, by denition, spoke with an American accent.

the rest is geography

Behind the scenes in Washington, a new world is being planned for you, began an extraordinary 1942 article in H. L. Menckens periodical American Mercury. Clearly written with State Department approval but without direct attribution to State Department sources, it went on to give an authoritative summary of the highly secret work of the Postwar Advisory Committee:
If the plans materialize, you are going to be given a try at running the world. . . . If you think that defeating the Axis is the chief aim of the Governments foreign policy, you are going to get a surprise. American leadership in world affairs, looking toward a pacic and prosperous epoch, is the ultimate goal of those in Washington who are endeavoring to design the shape of things to come.82

Such candor and clarity in the press was unprecedented and presumably reected an attempt by frustrated ofcials to convey their nationally focused larger vision to the American people. Certainly by the time of the San Francisco conference, no one on the delegation disagreed with Congressman Eaton that they were seeking to be masters of the world, although they may have been embarrassed at the brusqueness with which he stated the shared goal. Three years of State Department work culminated in San Francisco, and for Bowman the conference represented the pinnacle of his career in foreign policy. He was a lead architect of the articles dealing with economic and social cooperation, the Economic and Social Council, and the trusteeship provisions, especially the linkage between trusteeship and economic development. While conservatives in the United States railed at any concessions to the Soviets, Roosevelt liberals, such as Commerce Department adviser Frank Waring, found the delegation too timid and legalistic and the three principal advisers pedantic.83 It was probably Bowmans legalism and pedantic attention to detail that got him his last job of the conference, coordinating and compiling the delegations nal report to Truman. After many days of round-the-clock editing, Bowman gave the 266-page report to Truman prior to his 26 June closing speech at the conference; two weeks later it was

of nationalistic and economic considerations, applied in a generous and inventive spirit after impartial and scientic inquiry. Wilson adopted the more specic requirements of a German evacuation and the restoration of Serbia, Romania, and Montenegro; the contours of the new Yugoslavia were not yet readily apparent. More explicitly than with the Austrian Empire, the Inquiry proposed that the Ottoman Empire be split up (Point XII), a strong if circumscribed Turkey retained, and an independent Armenia established, more to prevent economic monopolization of Turkey by Germany than from any sense of justice and humanity. There was also a vaguely dened recognition of Syria, Palestine, and Arabia, with which Wilson concurred. Poland (Point XIII) was a different matter, however. Although the Inquiry initially insisted on an independent and democratic Poland, largely at Bowmans behest, the difculties here proved to be as great as any. The complicated ethnic geography involving Germans and Russians as well as Poles, the awkward detachment of East Prussia from Germany, and the thorny issue of Danzig/Gdanskthe obvious port for an independent Poland convinced Lippmann, Mezes, and Miller to reverse themselves and propose a Polish state federated inside Russia. But Wilson stuck with Bowmans choice, an independent Poland. Point XIV simplied the inexplicably tangled proposal sent up by the Inquiry, concluding with a ringing rhetorical appeal for a League of Nations. No economic peace until the peoples are freedLippmanns words, presumably, not Bowmanswas how the Inquiry ended its draft, offering an astute recognition of where U.S. power would lie following the war.25 For better or worse, Wilsons Fourteen Points became a foundational document in the settlement of the war, and its effect was immediately obvious from press reactions around the world. More than any previous statement, except the declaration of U.S. involvement in the war, it gave Wilson a pedestal on the world stage. The inner circle of the Inquiry were elated at this quick sign of their importance, but work only intensied. They may have put words into the mouth of the President, as Lippmann crowed, but a mountain of mundane work lay ahead.26 There was as yet little discernable organization, and whatever the emphasis on coherent planning, the denition of specialized projects was less than systematic. Germany was not the direct focus of any of the research groups, and only one worker was assigned to cover Italy while twelve researchers worked on diplomatic history and fteen on Latin America. Eastern Europe was stressed at the neglect of western Europe. Further, the allocation of personnel to research foci often bore little if any relation to any actual area of expertise.


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In part this happened because the United States possessed so few bona de experts on many areas of the world, but in part it was also a question of whom House, Mezes, and the others would trust, regardless of expertise. Preoccupied with secrecy, House insisted that Mezes apply a standard of absolute discretion, ability and patriotism in recruiting Inquiry personnel.27 His own demand for total loyalty ltered through his brother-in-law to the organization as a whole, with the practical effect that Houses stamp on the Inquiry encouraged the induction of a narrowly dened group; it was larger than a clique but a more restricted group of interconnected colleagues and friends than if genuine expertise had dominated the selection process. More than half of the personnel of the Inquiry came from ve institutions: Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Princeton, and the AGS, while twothirds of the most active members had received their terminal degrees from only four universities. In part too, the mismatch of area and expertise resulted from the kind of work required and a certain indecisiveness, even ambivalence, about the importance of expert knowledge in the rst place. The Inquiry carried out virtually no original research but spent most of its effort compiling accounts of the geographical, historical, social, and political aspects of those areas they felt might be contentious following the war. The Inquirys leadership valued quick and efcient synthesis of existing results as much as a scholars regional expertise.28 The more that researchers got into the work, the more they realized the extent of the job and the more the job outgrew their ability to encompass it. The Inquiry expanded its personnel steadily in early 1918, but there was less and less conviction about what they were doing and why. Several membersincluding Coolidge, in a letter to research director Shotwellquestioned the need for specialist scholars at all if compilation was the major work at hand; a host of cross-cutting needs were never adequately conceptualized; and projects once begun might be abruptly curtailed for the sake of new ventures. House for his part left the Inquiry largely to its own direction or lack thereof. By spring, Bowman was utterly frustrated. Here was an unparalleled innovation in U.S. foreign relations housed in his own AGS building, yet the group was increasingly disorganized, rudderless, and threatened to fragment. He prized himself precisely on his ability to organize major research endeavors but was largely excluded from control. He was especially frustrated by the lack of data synthesis, the inappropriate allocation of Inquiry personnel to assignments, and the ambivalence with which map preparation was viewed by Mezes and Lippmann. On the one hand, the cartographic resources of the American Geographical Society were being absorbed away

Erstwhile champion of trusteeship principles in the interests of the natives, Bowman now threw the people and the principles to the wind for the sake of a nationalist contest with the USSR, which he now saw as the central threat to an American Lebensraum. The conference did eventually establish a Trusteeship Council that had narrowly circumscribed powers, fell short of requiring British, French, and Dutch decolonization, and sanctioned U.S. control of several Pacic islands conscated from the Japanese. The crisis of regionalism at San Francisco has traditionally been seen as an outgrowth of the hardening bipolar confrontation between U.S. and Soviet leaders and to a lesser extent as a contest between regionalism and globalism within the U.S. delegation. Although it was certainly provoked in response to Soviet attempts to exempt preexisting European treaties from UN control, it is important to recall that Vandenbergs earlier consternation was raised not directly in competition for global control but in regard to hemispheric defense for the United States. The regionalism crisis was not so much a by-product of emerging cold war tensions as a preexisting condition that became entwined with that confrontation. It predated San Francisco, was born from the contradictory geography inherent in U.S. internationalism, and ourished when that vision blossomed into an American globalism. That incipient cold war tension became braided with the struggle over regionalism is hardly surprising, but it was stubborn defense of the Monroe Doctrine that made it so. Thus the regionalism crisis encompassed globalism; it did not intrude from the outside. Regionalism was not alien to, but inherent within, the specic vision of twentieth-century U.S. globalism. A U.S. globalism that was prepared to jettison such regional prerogatives and cede a modicum of power to a global organization it did not entirely control could easily have avoided the coming denouement. But no such risky magnanimity governed Vandenbergs or Bowmans or even Pasvolskys vision for the UN. Nor did it rule Roosevelts vision. Nor is it plausible to argue that regionalism is inherently contradictory to any global vision. For Churchill particularly, regionalism was a strategy for maintaining global power, an effort to divide and conquer, and it was Roosevelts brilliance to comprehend that U.S. global power no longer depended on such a strategy. The ambivalence of Churchill and Stalin concerning United Nations globalism reected an understanding that the UN was inected by a specically American globalism emanating from the State Department, and the resort to regionalism by the British and Soviet leaders was defensive from the beginning. The United Nations was to be the political embodiment of the American Lebensraum, a new federalism at the global scale that opened the world to ordered political-economic expansion.


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to the conference, but such unilateral action would destroy what we are going to San Francisco to achieve. He understood the importance of the bases, but the priority surely was to nesse the bases without establishing a precedent for others or closing off economic intercourse, and this could be achieved only if the United States rst set up a principle of trusteeship in the interests of the natives.78 It was the regionalism dilemma in a different form. The discussion of trusteeship hit a rock when the Chinese and Soviet delegations took explicitly anticolonial positions, proposing that independence be written in as the eventual goal of trusteeship. In so doing, they sided strongly with the so-called small nations. The prospect of a globally ordained goal of independence was too much for Britain and France, and the State Department too had long since backed away from such a position. Bowman was pivotal in shifting the fulcrum of debate toward the vaguer goal of selfgovernment.79 Stassen, Dulles, and most of the delegation thought they could nesse the issue by referring to progressive development toward selfgovernment, but Bowman, whose position had evolved considerably in a month, insisted on confronting the contradiction squarely. In a turbulent delegation meeting on 18 May, he was invited by Stettinius to address the trusteeship issue. We are face to face with a real problem, he announced grimly and immediately blamed their predicament on the Soviets for having the audacity even to raise the question of independence. After sarcastically commenting that the peoples surrounding the USSR could themselves do with a little independence, Bowman argued that the real motive here was Soviet expansionism into ex-colonies, and he launched a protocold war tirade that reached a new level of anti-Sovietism in the U.S. delegation. When perhaps the inevitable struggle came between Russia and ourselves, he predicted, the question would be who are our friends.80 The regionalism pot he had helped stir two weeks earlier was now fully cooked, and his remarks set off another polarization of the U.S. delegation. Deft consensus was blown apart again. One ofcial defended independence for dependent territories as the dying wish of the late President Roosevelt, and Adlai Stevenson insisted that anything short of independence would draw blaring newspaper headlines that the United States opposed colonial liberty. Others thought the language of self-determination was sufcient. Still others picked up Bowmans invitation and ran with it. For New Jersey congressman Charles Eaton, the predicament was clear and simple: who was going to be masters of the world.81 The implication of Bowmans position was also clear: with bigger sh to fry, any principled imperatives concerning dependent peoples could wait.

from society work, and Bowman wanted either new cartographers or compensation to the AGS for the use of its staff. On the other, the mapmaking was inadequate in scope and followed no particular plan. He submitted numerous programs for cartographic work only to have them returned on the grounds that the money was not available to carry them out. On one occasion, when the need to hire outside cartographers began to be recognized, Lippmann urged, over Bowmans objection, the hiring of a man (referred by House) whom Bowman believed to be insane. Bowman thought he knew how things should be run and was burned by his exclusion from the Executive Committee.29 Reorganized into twenty-nine divisions, twelve geographical and seventeen synthetic, the Inquiry was still chaotic and lurched out of control. As the focus turned to the presentation of data rather than its gathering, and rapid mapmaking became vital, journalist Lippmann was given control of cartography. Ambitious and impatient, Bowman now took aim at Mezes, who was perceived throughout the Inquiry as an incompetent leader. Shotwell and Lippmann diplomatically cajoled the director into action, but Bowman had no such patience. Mezes may have been but two whispers away from the president, but Bowman openly considered him a very stupid director, ignorant and guileful. Mezes for his part thought Bowman young, brash, conspicuously ambitious, and threatening.30 In fact no one was happy. Half the key people were ready to quit. A disgusted Miller, also tied to House by personal connections, kept his distance from the whole business, and Lippmann lost patience with leading Mezes through his work while his own projects were blocked. Stimulated by Houses favoritism and lack of direct oversight and quickened by various heightened ambitions resulting from early success with the Fourteen Points, personal jealousies infected the whole operation. A power struggle ensued. Despite having been named the director of a revamped research agenda, Bowman still found himself powerless at the end of May 1918. In the vacuum of Mezess incompetence, Lippmann threatened to take control of the Inquiry. Bowman would then have to take orders from Lippmann, Shotwell later recalled, and Bowman was a man who took orders from no one. He resolved to act, but rst a canny Bowman decided on a three-week vacation to allow the chaos to come to a head.31 Bowmans complaints about bureaucratic disorder were legitimate enough, but his own well-nigh authoritarian personality was quite evident to members of the Inquiry as he came to arrogate more and more of the responsibilities from the less competent Mezes.32 Springtime discussions between Bowman and Lippmann raised the possibility of plotting against Mezes, but


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nothing came of it. Lippmann wouldnt move alone, and Bowman, distrusting Lippmann, had already decided that only alone would he move.33 Bowman and Mezes were both relieved when Lippmann abruptly left for a propagandist job as captain in Military Intelligence in France, but at the same time, in Bowmans absence, the Inquiry abruptly halted its work on a 1:3,000,000 base map of Europe. An incensed Bowman wrote Mezes indicting the general disorganization of the Inquiry, and when he returned from vacation he confronted Mezes, calling him a weak director. Days later, accusing Mezes of gross mismanagement, he tendered his resignation.34 It was a calculated move. The Inquirys operation was housed by the good graces of the AGS director, and his resignation could prove sticky. A cool Mezes had surely considered this possibility and simply asked Bowman to postpone a decision for a couple of days while he consulted House. Bowman is a ne fellow, he reported to House, but only academic and unpractical results could be expected from him, and he cant do things any way but his own. He has to be given his head to work well, or at all, but, concluded Mezes, this price was not too high for his ne house and exceptional geographical competence.35 It was now Mezess turn for vacation, and he left without responding to Bowman, who now consulted House directly at his estate in Magnolia, Massachusetts. Following lunch he and House took chairs out under a tree, and the colonel asked him point blank: Whats the matter with Lippmann? He was a bad inuence and disorganized, Bowman responded, and administration bored him, whereupon House quickly conded the political circumstances of his appointment: The Administration had to cooperate with the extreme liberals of the country. Whats the matter with Mezes? House continued. We both laughed, Bowman recorded. It wouldnt do to criticize his brother-in-law, and the question was discreetly dropped. The upshot of all this, by Bowmans account, was that he was asked whether, if he had complete charge of men, money, and plans, he would take charge of the Inquiry? It was no modest Bowman who replied that since these three terms included everything, he would agree to serve.36 At the age of thirty-nine Bowman was playing a delicate game of political poker with the presidents right-hand man. Supremely self-condent, he had deliberately provoked Houses intervention, and the gamble paid off with his appointment as executive ofcer of the Inquiry. If this was the earliest example of a calculated political gamesmanship, it would not be his last, as House himself would nd out. Bowman made the most of the chance, feeling his oats after a year of frustration, and immediately suggested an expansion of the Inquirys work to focus on the peace confer-

the impasse did not last long, and a private huddle between Eden and Stettinius quickly restored Anglo-American harmony. With the USSR and the United States writing their own regional blocs into the charter, Britain wanted the same privilege in Western Europe, where, Eden said, he was worried about Soviet expansionism in the Mediterranean. Thus the regional provision was subsequently generalized, and the specic reference to the Act of Chapultepec was omitted. Stettinius conferred again with Truman, and with Vandenberg he confronted the Latin American leaders, who acquiesced only when Stettinius agreed to hold a hemispheric conference to implement the Act of Chapultepec, and Vandenberg promised that the Senate would make explicit that this delicately worded article of the charter covered regional defense arrangements in the Americas. The irony of Stettiniuss appeal to the Latin American leadersthat they eschew a small hemispheric view and embrace world leadership, when of course it was stubborn U.S. calculation about regional blocs that caused the crisis in the rst placeis matched only by the cynicism of Vandenbergs appeal that the Latin Americans trust his well known sympathy for their regional interests while he was simultaneously advising Stettinius to stop the Latin Americans from pushing us around.76 In the United Nations Charter, ones eyes can easily glaze over the dry language of Articles 51 and 52. The seemingly innocuous wording conveys little of the intense political battle that went on in San Francisco or the stakes that were in play, especially within the U.S. delegation, over the appropriate political geography of the United Nations. A second issue at San Francisco, that of trusteeship, only conrmed the extent to which an American globalism was premised on specic nationalist and regional interests, and again bared the contradictions of regionalism. Bowmans personal ip-op on this issue was dramatic. Trusteeship was omitted from the Dumbarton Oaks agenda, not in deference to British colonial sensibilities, but because the U.S. military was vehement about the need to occupy an array of Pacic Islands as strategic bases. U.S. possession of these bases had to be unambiguous, the military argued, not subject to the political smog of UN trusteeship and the whim of a body the United States did not control. Roosevelt went along, calculating that the bases could double as airports for commercial airline companies such as Pan Am.77 Having shepherded trusteeship questions through the State Department since 1942, Bowman felt proprietary, and his advice was carefully solicited. He respected Stassen, who favored a wide-ranging plank on trusteeship, but thought the military had a good argument on bases. It is easy to appeal to the patriotism of the people in support of Stimsons demand that the United States simply take what it needs in the Pacic, Bowman argued prior


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nationalist internationalism. A State Department ofcial volunteered that mention of the Monroe Doctrine in the League of Nations Covenant had always been an embarrassment, and Vandenberg allowed that any mention of the Monroe Doctrine in the absence of world organization was surely outdated. They looked to the Truman White House for guidance but none was forthcoming. Stettinius, present for the Act of Chapultepec in order to secure Latin American registration for the San Francisco conference and thereby ensure the U.S. bloc, now secured testy approval from Alberto Lleras Camargo, the Colombian foreign minister and spokesperson for the Latin American delegations, to include mention of the act in the charter. He had Bowman, Dulles, Pasvolsky, and James Dunn draft the wording of the new formula, which expanded the concept of self-defense from the national to the regional scale in cases where nonaggression arrangements existed. A skittish consensus seemed in sight whereby inclusion of the Act of Chapultepec would nger the historical chain . . . of events from Monroe, as Bowman put it. They knew this would create a lightning rod and would require Trumans approval, which it received despite opposition from the retired Cordell Hull and more surprisingly from the War Department, where even Stimson, a traditional regionalist, felt it gave too much authority to regional arrangements.74 Should Britain or the USSR balk at this delicate wording, Bowman understood, the blunt question would be whether the United States would wish to give up its hemispheric organization in order to preserve the world organization. Neither he nor anyone else in the delegation was willing to entertain such an all-or-nothing predicament, and their work in the rst half of May was largely focused on devising a text that would let the United States have it both ways. The crucial language read: The right to take measures of self-defense against armed attack shall apply to arrangements, like those embodied in the Act of Chapultepec, under which all members of a group of states agree to consider an attack against any one of them as an attack against all of them. Gromyko responded that he would have to study it, but Eden, in his most angry outburst of the conference, exploded at such a naked American exceptionalism, momentarily rupturing the harmony that had prevailed between the United States and Britain at San Francisco. It would result in regionalism of the worst kind, and he objected that if such a provision as this were included in the Charter he would not be able to sign it. Either we have a world organization or we dont.75 The geographical ip-op on regionalism was now complete. Here was Stettinius, backed by the entire U.S. delegation, defending regional exceptions to the world organization while the British publicly insisted on globalism! But

ence.37 He established the Research Committee, which, along with Bowman and Shotwell, comprised Allyn Young, a Cornell economist, and Charles Haskins, historian and dean of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences at Harvard. Haskins chaired the committee. Bowmans self-congratulatory report that for the rst time in the history of the Inquiry the work became orderly and efcient and consecutive is probably accurate and deserved. Shotwell certainly credited Bowman with averting imminent disaster, and progress was rapid. Despite a desultory attempt by Mezes to retain control, the Research Committee resumed on the 1:3,000,000 map series, a series of block maps was developed covering especially contentious boundary regions, and they purchased large numbers of 1:1,000,000 sheets, a move previously blocked by Mezes and Lippmann.38 Bowman was ying high. House now visited the Inquiry on a weekly basis, and with the war grinding to a close and a Paris peace conference now under active discussion, Woodrow Wilson visited the AGS and the Inquiry ofces on 8 October 1918. Secretary of State Lansing had already visited, and at Bowmans insistence he and House had scrawled their signatures on the wall of the AGS directors ofce. It took little prompting to convince Wilson to clamber onto a ling cabinet and do likewise. But trouble was not far off. Mezes had been largely bypassed for more than two months, and although he generally suffered this indignance calmly, he had not in his own mind relinquished control. The Research Committee now ran the work, with Mezes declining to attend, but the Executive Committee, on which Bowman now sat, was headed by Mezes, whose title remained director. There was, in effect, dual governance. House continued to funnel his communications with the Inquiry largely through Mezes and seems by the end of September to have begun quietly rehabilitating him. And Mezes was not always so retiring. At one stormy Executive Committee meeting he lost his temper and accused Bowman of seeking to abolish the Executive Committee, and House in turn seems to have become concerned that Bowman had overstepped his authority. Bowmans position was further weakened when House dispatched David Miller, usually an ally on the Executive Committee, to other duties in Washington, and after embarking for Europe in late October, House radioed Mezes from sea instructing that the work of Bowmans Research Committee be terminated and that nal recommendations were now to be prepared. Shown the cable, Bowman was bewildered at the sudden change of course, and his erstwhile condence in House was shaken. Acting only on the colored stories that Mezes told him, Bowman complained, House had jettisoned the old organization and put stupid brother-in-law in charge again.39


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Throughout the government there was intense personal jostling for appointments to the peace conference delegation. As early as June, Mezes had considered the question and come up with a list of six, but in late October, presumably at Houses suggestion, he prepared a longer list for personal transmission to Wilson. In lofty style, he showed the list to Bowman, explaining that there was no room for the geographer except perhaps as clerk to Mezes. He later relented from such churlishness, proposing that Bowman could substitute himself for any of the specialists on the list, but a disgusted Bowman was having none of it. Along with Houses suggestion that the Inquiry would need seventy-ve to eighty people in Paris, the list was sent to Secretary of State Lansing, who looked set to head the delegation. Lansing had little respect for Mezes and had not forgotten that the Inquiry was set up independently to do a job that he felt his own department was best equipped to do, and with Wilsons backing, he requested a pareddown Inquiry list. It is so unlikely that anything but the main territorial, political and racial questions would be resolved at the peace conference, Wilson wrote Lansing, that only the men and materials necessary for settling the main questions should be taken. Specically, Wilson suspected that detailed discussion of nancial and commercial arrangements would be delegated to special conferences or commissions.40 Lansing wanted Mezes in Washington to work out a revised list; Mezes, having been rebuffed by both Wilson and Lansing, having no ammunition in Washington, and expecting only humble pie, was trapped. He asked Bowman to go instead. After Bowmans discussions with Lansing and Assistant Secretary Leland Harrison and consultation with Mezes, a much shorter list of seventeen was submitted. Many Inquiry researchers were angry and resentful at being omitted, and Bowman was still not on the list. But Mezes must have known that from the start House had assumed Bowmans presence in Paris and had recommended it to the president; with his own pettiness exposed at the highest levels, Mezes had little choice but to include him. Bowman was subsequently named chief territorial specialist.41

the inquiry s geography

Although it aimed at a scientic peace entirely independent of any political hypotheses, as Bowman liked to think, the Inquirys preparation was considerably less systematic than this would imply. Overall, Inquiry personnel produced approximately two thousand reports and twelve hundred maps and expended $241,200, all drawn from Wilsons discretionary budget for National Security and Defense. The reports varied from several

Its intent was so transparent, however, that Hell broke loose. The Soviet delegation sensed the subterfuge to weaken their security in Eastern Europe, while many Latin American leaders were utterly disaffected by the position they now seemed to occupy between the twin threats of communism and an arrogant Monroe Doctrine. Vandenberg recoiled from what he had unleashed as new regional claims proliferated: Australia weighed in for its own regional protection, Britain and France perceived the need for a more explicit Western European union, and other regional groups organized. Most horrifying for the senator was the Arabian bloc. Furious at this can of worms, Stettinius upbraided Rockefeller, and on the day of German surrender, made the senator defend his proposal to the entire U.S. delegation. It was an acrimonious meeting. Vandenberg got some support from the military, who had long chafed at the openness of global security arrangements but who were muzzled by Roosevelt, and more explicit support from his fellow Republicans Bloom and Eaton. But most in the State Department feared, as Roosevelt had, that such an explicit embrace of a self-serving regionalism would gut the global organization. Pasvolsky and Stassen led the ght. The staunchest proponent of a jeopardized globalism, Pasvolsky was explicit that the greatest American good would come from keeping regional blocs as powerless as possible. Vandenberg in turn was stunned at Pasvolskys casual avowal that the United States would take unilateral action, regardless of the UN, when it suited U.S. interests, thinking this a much greater threat to UN unity than regionalism.72 If Bowman detested Pasvolskys initial proposal, he also knew that Vandenbergs suggestion, in its present form, could be fatal to any serious UN organization, although he did favor some kind of reafrmation of the Monroe Doctrine. Armstrong agreed, and Vandenberg, who at rst dug in his heels, suggesting they should retract their vote for the Russian proposal, now had to reassert his own internationalism: We do not propose to give regional arrangements any such supremacy as will destroy the unity of the world organization, and invite a general break-up of the world into regional groups, he conceded.73 But many from the State Department now recognized that it might already be too late. The conference was in turmoil, Molotov was leaving, and the press had the story. A badly split U.S. delegation had no solution or any obvious means of arriving at one in regard to the regional crisis. Intense discussion of regionalism and globalism engulfed the U.S. delegation in the second week of May 1945. Consistent stances were a rarity as delegation members genuinely struggled to x their own reconciliations of globalism and Monroe. They had struck the hard-core contradiction of a


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ism so outspokenly at the expense of international organization, as Vandenberg now seemed to do. Yet he also distrusted the vague language of Pasvolskys defensea weak and vacillating solution, as Stassen called itwhich left the USSR with a power in Europe that now seemed exempt from veto. In deference to Vandenberg the delegation eventually included a minor strengthening of regional prerogatives. Stassen and Bowman continued to object, arguing for further curbs on regional power (Stassen) and Soviet power in particular (Bowman), but Bowmans attempt to derail U.S. support for the amendment was rebuffed.70 The geographical contradiction that Roosevelt had always skated over now writhed on the table. It was felt sharply by Bowman but by Vandenberg even more acutely. After the Soviet amendment, which exempted preexisting treaties, was accepted by the big four, he dolefully recorded that he could not object because he was already on record advocating immediate military alliances to prevent Axis rearmament. The corollary, he concluded, was that the Monroe Doctrine, not covered in the Europe-specic language of the amendment, was evacuated. How, he brooded, could legitimate regional arrangements be protected without inviting the formation of a lot of dangerous new regional spheres of interest?71 How, in other words, could they retain Monroe Doctrine privileges without diluting the power of a U.S.-disposed United Nations? Just as much as Roosevelt or Bowman, Vandenberg wanted it both ways. They fought for a U.S. globalism that kept the regional prerogatives of the Monroe Doctrine intacta global Monroe Doctrine indeed. Informed by Nelson Rockefeller, assistant secretary of state for Latin America, that the South American republics were also up in arms, Vandenberg resolved to act. Latin American leaders feared the effects of communism on their own working and peasant classes even more than the indignities of the Monroe Doctrine, and they erupted at the possibility that Latin American security might be subject to British, French, Chinese, or Soviet veto. Vandenberg therefore sought to insert the Act of Chapultepec in the Russian amendment. Agreed on only two months earlier between the United States and the Latin American republics, this act was merely the modern name for the Monroe Doctrine, the senator believed, although he did not put it quite so bluntly to Latin American leaders. In any case, it reiterated joint hemispheric defense, and he felt its inclusion provided a deft means of smuggling protection for the Monroe Doctrine into the UN Charter. Receiving enthusiastic support from Cuban and Colombian delegates, with whom Rockefeller tested the waters, the senator went public with this proposal.

pages to ve-hundred-page monographs, and although copies were distributed to House, Wilson, the State and War Departments, as well as elsewhere in the administration, it is doubtful that this raw output was read to any great extent. Researchers were in many ways working in the dark. They knew that certain issues were likely to emerge at a peace conference and usually managed to focus on these, if unevenly, but by far the majority of reports followed hunches about what might come up and, if it did, what form it would take. Many of the reports were little more than general surveys of places, people, and politics. The yield was unwieldy and deed neat classication. The Inquiry certainly failed to meet Wilsons highest expectation, namely, systematic planning of the U.S. position at the peace conference.42 The academic focus on detail and preoccupation with facts embraced most strongly by Bowman left little room for the next step of discerning policy positions. If Lippmann, in Bowmans estimation, had the cart of policy generalization before the horse of fact gathering, the Inquiry under Bowman barely got to the cart. The Fourteen Points were a grand but unique exception. The Inquiry was nonetheless charting new ground in American diplomatic preparation, and its success or failure could not really be foretold ahead of the peace conference itself. Certainly Bowmans assessment of the Department of Statethey had a limited view of peace conference organization and no real conception of effective organization for so comprehensive a program43might well be applied to the Inquiry too. But the Inquirys mapmaking activities do stand out as more fruitful overall than the reports, the maps being the most valuable aspect of the groups work. Using the latest and best sources, the Inquiry made maps to visualize territorial boundaries, settlements, population distribution and density, linguistic distributions, religion, economic activities, resources, trade routes, strategic points, and much more. The base maps would prove the most valuable of all at a peace conference intent on drawing new patterns and boundaries on the world map.44 Bowman could grow quite excited about a base map. It is a designedly neutral map, he declared, inert, mapa muda in Spanish, or dumb map. New state lines, ethnic boundaries, a rectied frontier, or a distribution of any sort could be superimposed at short notice at a conference where the most controversial activity would be the geographical rearrangement of nations and boundaries.45 The base maps, produced by the Inquiry in several scales, provided virtually complete world coverage. The 1:3,000,000 series in particular, which Bowman had to reinstate, would become a kind of cartographic currency of political deliberation at the conference. Not surprisingly, the AGS cartog-


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raphers played the leading role in their preparation, but an entire cartographic force, directed latterly by Mark Jefferson, was mobilized. For historian Lawrence Gelfand, the AGS contribution proved decisive for the Inquirys entire program. Or as Bowman put it more generally, Every development of the art of war calls for the more extended use of maps.46 Two aspects of the geographic work of the Inquiry are worth highlighting. The rst is the question of geographical coverage. The Inquiry stressed Russia and eastern Europe over western Europe. Although there was no doubt that specic problems would emerge in western Europe, the feeling was that these would be contained (geographically discrete), or else they would and should be resolved with the strong Allied European powers taking the lead. It was otherwise with Russia and eastern Europe, where much larger geographical issues were at stake. Already when the United States entered the war, it was clear that entire nation-states were to be established and others broken up: the map of Mittel Europa would be unrecognizable with the defeat of Germany and the anticipated fall of the AustroHungarian and Ottoman Empires. Extraordinary resourcesphysical and humanwere on the geographical block. As the Inquiry leadership saw it in a draft of the Fourteen Points, the United States had a strong interest in the disestablishment of a system by which adventurous and imperialistic groups in Berlin, Vienna and Budapest could use the resources of this area in the interests of a ercely selsh foreign policy directed against their neighbors and the rest of the world.47 The Russian Revolution, and acerbic reactions to it, only heightened U.S. interest in political geographic disestablishment and reconstruction. The second aspect is another apparent anomaly that has attracted commentary. It has been suggested that the Inquiry focused inordinately on Latin America at the expense of more important areas. Dened by Bowman in Monroe Doctrine terms as everything south of the Rio Grande, including the Caribbean, this region usurped more of the budget (thirty-ve thousand dollars) than all other regional research combined, with barely a trickle going to such vital regions as the Far East, Italy, and the remainder of western Europe; about 15 percent of the Inquirys reports were devoted to Latin America. This emphasis reected Bowmans special professional interest . . . in Latin American geography, suggests Gelfand, and was personally inspired by him.48 There is little doubt that Bowman inuenced the signicant focus on Latin America, that his personal interests played a part, that the Latin American work was largely staffed by his own recruits, and that he was quite capable of bending the agenda to his own interests. Nor is there any doubt that

ment who balked at any weakening of the Monroe Doctrine. This was not a contest of nationalism versus internationalism so much as a contest between regional and global visions of a nationalist internationalism. It led to an outright regionalism crisis over the constitutive geography of UN globalism and a crisis of U.S. globalism overall.69 The discussion of regionalism and the Monroe Doctrine in the U.S. delegation was rst provoked not by Latin American concerns but by Soviet interests in Eastern Europe. It had been agreed informally at Dumbarton Oaks that no regional organization could take enforcement action without Security Council authorization, but acceptance of the veto provision at Yalta meant that a single Security Council member could block regional enforcement, thereby gutting effective regional prerogatives. Early in the conference Molotov introduced a series of bilateral treaties that the USSR had concluded with various European statesBritain, Czechoslovakia, France, Poland, and Yugoslaviato prevent any resurgence of German militarism in the borderlands of Eastern Europe. France had made similar treaties. Insofar as they were a local preemption of a not-yet-ratied UN framework and were vital for immediate security purposes, Molotov sought exemption from Security Council authority. The Italian precedent again lurked in the background, and Pasvolsky, drafting the initial U.S. response, treaded lightly. Recognizing the increased regional prerogative it gave the USSR, but recognizing too that this exception to UN control did not itself harden an Eastern European bloc, Pasvolsky tried to nesse the amendment through both the U.S. delegation and the conference, but he failed. The immediate concern in the U.S. delegation was less with Europe than with the Americas. Arthur Vandenberg was the U.S. delegate responsible for regional arrangements, and he quickly objected that if the general principle of Security Council authority over regional arrangements were maintained, it would spell the end of the Monroe Doctrine. The U.S. could be vetoed in its own backyard, and the Senate would never agree to that. Pasvolsky responded that Vandenbergs fears were unfounded. On the one hand, if a Security Council member vetoed any proposed U.S. action in the Americas, the United States could always invoke the right of selfdefense. On the other hand, the United States was protected against unwelcome interference in the Western Hemisphere by dint of its own veto power on the Security Council. Did self-defense include U.S. defense of Argentina? asked the banker and assistant secretary of war John McCloy. Did not Vandenberg risk jettisoning a worldwide system for the sake of an old regionalism? asked Harold Stassen. Bowman was in a tricky spot. He still embraced the Monroe Doctrine but was unwilling to promote its regional-


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It was in San Francisco that Bowmans long-simmering feud with Pasvolsky erupted. Thinking Pasvolsky dangerous to American interests, temperamentally un-American, and involved in murky relations with the Russians, he concluded that it was a mistake to put one man with his background into a key position.67 Here, at least, Bowman and the Soviets agreed, because the latter also deeply distrusted Pasvolsky, a White Russian migr who had ed the revolution. Pasvolsky resented Bowman quite as much, especially for his public acclaim following the London mission, and unceremoniously wrote the geographer out of subsequent historical accounts of the origins of the UN.68 But there were far more momentous clashes in San Francisco. Lost in the cold war scripting of this history is a telling story about the geography of postwar globalism. The salience of the UN conference emerges as much from debates that surfed through the dominant U.S. delegation as from the actual ink of the charter and from the ways these debates were refracted onto the world map. It was here that the geographical contradictions of American globalism, from Wilson to Roosevelt, came most forcefully to the surface. It was the State Department blueprint via Dumbarton Oaks that occupied the conference, and this had lasting consequences for the UN, but just as important, the U.S. delegation itself was deeply ambivalent about what it had produced. Roosevelts geographer found himself stretched to the limits of his ability to reconcile the conicting geographical requirements that lay at the heart of American globalism. The vision of an open political and economic world of the sort Roosevelt envisaged awkwardly contradicted the hemispheric privilege and exceptionalism enshrined in the Monroe Doctrine. U.S. internationalists had always had to tiptoe carefully around the Monroe Doctrine, but never before, not even in the Senate in 1919, was the Monroe Doctrine so fully confronted by a U.S. globalism. If any vestige of the Monroe Doctrine was to be retained, how could the United States object to regional claims in Eastern or Western Europe or to British Empire exceptionalism? Others were rarely slow to raise this contradictionit had been a smug British favorite since at least 1942but at San Francisco the majority of states represented at the conference now bristled at such big-power prerogatives. For them the birth of the United Nations should signal the demise of such regional hegemonies of powerful over weak nations. International expectations were high, as were internationalist aspirations in the United States itself, and Roosevelts death multiplied the expectations for a conference that was now emotionally attached to his legacy. But such aspirations also provoked the ire of wary conservatives in Congress and even some in the State Depart-

Mezes made a belated if desultory proposal to divert resources from this work. But a narrowly personal explanation for the substantial Latin American focus misses the political and economic geographies that dominated Washington at the time. In the rst place, it was not simply a war in and about Europe, however much European battles and issues dominated. Long before the United States entered the war, the Wilson government fretted about strong, ofcially voiced pro-German sentiment in Latin America, and the prospect that several Latin American nations would become ofcial belligerents was taken very seriously. In part, then, the Inquiry focus simply perpetuated a Monroe Doctrine paternalism, whereby the U.S. government claimed a special prerogative in the region. Thus Latin America was on the Inquirys agenda from the earliest days, when Bowman had little say over the groups work. After all, in early 1917 an alarming telegram from Berlin to the German ambassador in Mexico City was intercepted by British Naval Intelligence and relayed to the U.S. government. Not only did it announce the fateful resumption of unrestricted German submarine warfare in the Atlantic, which led directly to the U.S. declaration of war, but it instructed the German ambassador that in the case of U.S. entry into the war, his assignment was to spearhead the building of a Mexican-German alliance with the promise of taking back New Mexico, Texas, and Arizona (the Japanese government was also to be approached).49 Wilson, of course, had long since sent troops to Mexican soil for the purpose of protecting U.S. capital and putting down the revolution. Pro-German sentiment was greater farther south, especially in Argentina, Chile, and Brazil, where recent German colonization was most rapid. Indeed, at the same time as he worked for the Inquiry, David Hunter Millers law rm worked for the State Department to investigate nancial and trade deals that might contravene the trading with the enemy act: South America, especially Argentina, was a major focus.50 A range of disputes threatened sporadic volatility in the region, and when the Inquiry commenced its initial work, it was Mezes who commissioned a report on the dangerous issues that may possibly involve war among the South American countries. With national boundaries still unsettled in many places, frontier disputes brought a dangerous threat of war, which absorbed much of the Latin American effort. Still optimistic about achieving systematic regional coverage of the globe, the early Inquiry leadership initially postponed the South and Central American work, but it was Secretary of State Lansing, not Bowman, who reversed these priorities. In April 1918 with Latin American work lagging, Lansing secured a further twenty thousand dollars to beef it up.51


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But it was not just a backward-looking embrace of the Monroe Doctrine that made Latin America a strategic focus for the Inquiry. Latin America was strategic in both Old World political terms and New World economic terms. Wilson was nothing if not an economic Progressive who more aggressively and widely than any of his predecessors unshackled U.S. nancial institutions from traditional constraints on foreign investment. Even the crusty old Lansing readily anticipated a massive expansion of trade and capital investment after the cessation of hostilities, and Latin America would be a prime target. Bowman too ventured that wars end will surely bring worldly development to their door, and it should be led by the United States. Three weeks before joining the Inquiry, he had proposed an AGSsponsored Latin American eld trip to Mark Jefferson. After the war, he wrote Jefferson in explanation, the South American colonist will be a big factor in the fresh advances of the merchant, and it will be vital to know the conditions on the ground. In preparation for the resulting trip to Argentina, Brazil, and Chilethe three major destinations of U.S. capital exports and tradeJefferson wrote the secretary of commerce for assistance, noting that he had especial interest in the trade possibilities they may offer to the United States.52 To the extent that war erupted in South AmericaGerman inspired or otherwisethe continent would be fully on the agenda of any peace conference, and U.S. commercial expansion would be jeopardized. Postwar boundary disputes avored by imported European national and ethnic feuds would be especially inimical to economic expansion in the region. This was indeed the larger picture: rapid postwar economic expansion into South and Central America was needed to stave off economic depression. And the picture was widely shared. As Bailey Willis, director of the Inquirys Latin American Division, put it, albeit with some exaggeration: The Latin American Division is regarded by the Directors of the Inquiry and also by those ofcials of the State Department who are familiar with its work as an essential research auxiliary of the State Department.53 As it turned out, when war held off in Latin America, no one expected the region to be very important at the peace conference. But even if the region played a minor role, as it eventually did, U.S. proprietary claims there were so great that it would have been surprising had the Inquiry not gone to Paris fully conversant with the economic and political geography of their own backyard. At a more personal level, it would have been equally surprising if an entrepreneurial Bowman had not exploited the overlap between the Inquirys work and his own at the AGS. The Inquirys Latin American work became a springboard for the AGSs Hispanic American Research pro-

similar instructions. Outmaneuvered on Argentina and Poland, Stalin dug in on the veto. The Soviets were pilloried in the U.S. press as selshly obstructing world peace, and few displayed the sympathy of Sumner Welles: Russias veto right is her only assurance that the United Nations will not endanger Russian security.64 The drama dragged on, with signicant swings in the positions of the main delegations but without resolution. Only after Stettinius telegraphed the U.S. Embassy in Moscow to intercede with the Soviet leader did Stalin appease U.S. and British demands. The difference in the positions, he said, was insignicant. Whether simply cutting his losses with British and American blocs stacked against him in the emerging organization is not clear. But for those nations excluded from the Security Council, with no access to the veto, this unseemly struggle was a bitter pill, and the USSRs insistence on a strong veto dissolved much of the moral high ground they had gained in the ght over Argentina. Bowman gravitated toward Texas senator Tom Connally, who tried to obtain the geographer as a personal adviser, and to Arthur Vandenberg from his native Michigan, and his positions on the major questions mirrored their conservatism. On seats for the Ukraine and Belorussia he was largely resigned. On the veto and voting questions, he stopped short of the hardliners refusal to negotiate concessions with the broad Soviet interpretation, agreeing with Stassen that the real issue was the lack of an agreed American position. At the height of the veto impasse, he advised a chagrined Vandenberg against threatening to go home, suggesting instead that the United States could score major public relations points by continuing to suffer in silence. Most of Bowmans work on the veto question came in a subcommittee with Dulles and Pasvolsky aimed at wording successive U.S. proposals.65 His major contribution may have been his role in drafting Article 55, on social and economic cooperation, and his insertion of language about cultural and educational cooperation a not uncontroversial issue amid multilateral fears of ideological indoctrination in the resulting council. He grumbled a lot too about the preamble to the charter, opposing Gildersleeves proposal on sexual equality in the job market on the grounds that the corollary issue relating to race, color or creed would surely follow. Sexual equality was an issue for Woodrow Wilson, he conceded, but it was forced on Wilson in Paris by organized Womens groups, and the progress which women have made since Versailles makes this issue a completely dead one. He also ridiculed a Russian proposal on respect for human rights in particular the right to work and the right to education and also for fundamental freedoms for all without distinction as to race, language, religion or sex.66


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the Beaux Arts Opera House, the real action was centered on the big four meetings, which invariably occurred in the hotel penthouse, occupied by Stettinius, now secretary of state following the resignation of a seriously ill Hull. Stettinius headed the delegation, which included Senators Arthur Vandenberg and Tom Connally, Congressmen Charles Eaton and Sol Bloom (all veterans of the State Departments postwar advisory committees), Harold Stassen (ex-governor of Minnesota and a naval commander), and Virginia Gildersleeve (dean of Barnard College). In addition to a technical staff headed by Pasvolsky, the delegation had three principal advisers: Hamilton Fish Armstrong, John Foster Dulles, nephew of Robert Lansing and an activist Presbyterian and Republican who was emerging as a foreign policy broker after advising the 1944 Dewey campaign, and Isaiah Bowman. The loose ends of Dumbarton OaksUN membership and the Security Council vetowere the ashpoints in San Francisco. The membership issue erupted as soon as delegates were seated, making Eastern Europe an early and consistent focus of the conference. Molotov, leading the Soviet delegation, insisted that the Polish government be seated at the conference, but Stettinius objected that the Lublin government had not added representation from the London Poles in accord with the Yalta agreement. The question of the Soviet republics quickly followed, and although President Truman was indignant about the Yalta compromise he inherited, he had the U.S. delegation support admission for the Ukraine and Belorussia. The Latin American nations now balked, insisting that Argentina also merited immediate membership. Stettinius brokered a compromise in which Argentina would be admitted in exchange for a positive Latin American vote on Belorussia and the Ukraine, but Molotov was incensed. Something was wrong, he rasped, if the country over which the European war began and which was subsequently devastated was excluded while Argentina, which had continued to provide the Nazis with valuable resources until recent months, was admitted. Many newspapers in the United States agreed. I saw Stettinius and Nelson Rockefeller marshal the twenty Latin American republics in one solid block, witnessed Walter Lippmann, and steamroller the trade-off of Argentina and Ukraine-Belorussia through the United Nations.63 The veto issue prompted an even greater crisis. At Yalta a compromise was agreed whereby the veto would be operable in enforcement decisions but not in the case of peaceful settlement. This was a very nebulous distinction, however, and while the United States assumed a narrowly applicable veto, Gromyko, heading the Soviet delegation after Molotovs departure, took an expansive view. An impasse was reached by the end of May, with Truman instructing Stettinius not to budge and Gromyko acting on

gram, which began after 1920 (and was crowned by the millionth map), but Bowman actually began formulating the research program as early as 1915, so its dovetailing with Inquiry work is not surprising.

The Inquiry carries great signicance in the history of U.S. foreign relations. For the rst time, rather than simply responding to events, the government attempted to provide a systematic worldview ahead of time. A scientic approach was combined with a global purview. Institutionally, it was also the rst think tank of any signicance in U.S. foreign relations.54 That its results fell short of systematic global coverage, with huge geographical and topical holes remaining, was perhaps inevitable. Conceptually, the Inquiry inaugurated a connection between economic expansion and global (not just international) geography that would become a staple of the American Century. In Europe such a connection had been mediated through the territorial search for and control over colonies, but members of the Inquiry began to glimpse that the market itself could inscribe a global geography. Mezess complaint that Bowman was academic and unpractical was not without substance, whatever Bowmans smugness about his own practicality. As Martin Sklar has argued, an emerging corporate liberal consensus in this period revolved round an evolutionary positivist outlook,55 and this describes Bowman to a tee. He would not, could not, recommend specic policies until all the facts were in, and he nurtured a certain pedantry about empirical knowledge. If he had a weakness in this new political arena in which he found himself, it lay not in a hesitance to jump from data to policy but in his insistence that policy emerge from the most exhaustive consideration of data. Rigid as that might appear, empiricism and liberalism were for Bowman the same thing. The salubrious knit of interests between the American Geographical Society and the State Department was vital to the Inquirys progress in sketching such a worldview. It combined the economic globalism sprouting in the Wilson administration with the encyclopedic geographical purview of the AGSthe books, the expertise, and above all the map collection. The global geographical concerns of the society took on a sharp political and economic rationale while the emerging postOpen Door globalism of the Wilson administration received a grounding in world geography. Such a combination would have been impossible at any date much earlier. Neither would the coverage of world geography have been sufciently complete or sufciently valued, nor would the economic ambition have been global. In this very specic way, the inherently geographical work of the Inquiry pointed not to


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the end of geography but to the complete recalibration of geography as the product of uneven economic and political change. It was the relationality of geography that mattered now, not its absoluteness. The Inquiry produced anything but a complete or coherent statement on this crucial transition in the making of global geography, but it was a beginning. Its thousands upon thousands of pages of reports make for woefully boring reading and a thoroughly fragmented picture of the world. U.S. global ambition itself was still in its infancy in 1917 and 1918, the vision would be worked out only piecemeal, and it would not be without signicant opposition or damaging retreats. But in one respect the Inquirys work pointed strongly to the future, namely, the issue of the so-called backward nations. Even before the war, Wilson had expressed the national need to nd our way out into the great international exchanges of the world, but with the advent of war, aspirations for political and economic expansion crystallized rapidly, and existing political arrangements in backward countries and the economic obstacles of European colonial empires came quickly into focus. This issue had already been broached both within the government and in the press, and it came under active discussion in the Inquiry at the end of December 1917. The group focused on efforts to secure freedom of economic intercourse among self-governing nations. Fit nations would move toward self-government; those considered unt, Mezes suggested, should be governed by international commissions for backward areas.56 Colonial territories never were a major focus for the Inquiry. But they did receive close attention from the African historian George Louis Beer, seconded to the Inquiry, who was well ahead of any government thinking at the time. Beer sought to establish a rather patronizing quid pro quo between the international administration of certain territories and the question of free trade from the U.S. perspective. He had considered the possibility of direct international government of such areas, but deciding that was infeasible, he began to think about the possibility of international mandates, suggesting that Western nations administer territories not yet designated for national statehood. Focusing on Africa, he envisaged an arrangement whereby
the state exercising sovereignty in Africa is proceeding under an international mandate and must act as trustee primarily for the nations and secondarily for the outside world as a whole. [Required, would be a] code of native rights, prohibiting forced labor in all its forms, assuring to the native his legitimate rights to the soil, and protecting him from

tary exigency for failing to consult with Stalin when they set up a provisional Italian government that excluded partisans and communists. Stalin had protested but relented in the face of the inevitable, and an Anglo-American alliance could have little complaint if the Red Army invoked the same courtesy after beating back the Germans along a wide front from the Balkans to the Baltic. Bowman was to have been at Yalta if not for laryngitis and u, and one can only imagine his response had he been there.59 Certainly none of the principals seemed too pained about the outcome as they toasted each other with vodka and caviar on the last night and decided on San Francisco for the founding UN conference. Roosevelt wanted a postwar world open for business, and the American delegation at Yalta considered the United Nations to be the crucial issue of the conference. The geographical contradictions of Dumbarton Oaks were accentuated at Yalta, and the emerging regional blocs sat awkwardly alongside Roosevelts continued rhetorical internationalism. But there was also real progress toward a global organization, and Roosevelt left Yalta with his two allies rmly committed to the UN policy, largely on American terms.60 But by April, Roosevelt was suddenly dead, and the contradictions were further accentuated, not just because the dead are peering through the windows, as Bowman put it, but also because some of the so-called lesser nations were now invited to the party.61 The touch of democracy occasioned by congressional representation and the presence of forty-three other nations augured against Roosevelts dire hope that the solidication of national interests into regional blocs could be minimized. Quite contradictory positions among the U.S. delegates exposed the dilemma at its most extreme. Although the immediate issue was the status of the Monroe Doctrine, the larger predicament was the issue that had dogged them from the rst State Department deliberations: how to accommodate new and existing regional and national claims without abrogating a robust political and economic globalism.

the regionalism crisis : geographical contradictions of political globalism

The United Nations Conference on International Organization opened in San Francisco on 25 April 1945, the same day the Red Army and the U.S. First Army rst greeted each other face to face on the banks of the Elbe.62 The soldiers were euphoric and the public too, and German unconditional surrender soon followed. After years of war, optimism lled the air. The U.S. delegation took over the Fairmont Hotel, and although the conference ofcially met in


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began to unravel at Dumbarton Oaks, and the frustration of a placeless globalism nonetheless presaged a new compromise global geography that no one especially desired. Yalta in February 1945 was the next stop en route to a postwar United Nations. For many, Yalta has become a brittle and lasting symbol of the navet myth in U.S. foreign policy, whereby a wily Stalin apparently outfoxed a naive Roosevelt, successfully frustrated U.S. global hegemony, and won the rst round of the cold war with a sucker punch. But there are several problems with this conservative orthodoxy. It is, rst, a classic if updated example of an anticonquest narrative that reafrms the essential innocence of U.S. strategy while ascribing the lowest motives to its opponents.58 Second, it wants the argument both ways: a virtuous United States stood above the fray of tawdry territorial politics but deserved to win it anyway. Third, the navet myth expresses a navet of its own insofar as it takes Roosevelts idealistic public relations rhetoric seriously. Finally, the myth is historically suspect, since it was at Tehran fteen months earlier that the geographical carve-up of the postwar world began in earnest, and the diplomatic resort to geography at Dumbarton Oaks was part of the process. The liberal orthodoxy is only the opposite side of this coin and is equally self-serving. It too accepts uncritically Roosevelts idealism, which is defended as necessary in the face of the alternative, a geographically acquisitive power politics. But Roosevelt surely wanted it both ways himself. He knew he had to ght the territorial ghts, tried to concede as little as possible, but wanted above all to protect the larger goal of a United Nations from the collateral diplomatic damage of specic territorial clashes. Yalta does not represent a break in Great Power negotiations so much as a quickening of existing policies. That the navet myth still dominates interpretations of Yalta is testimony not just to conservative nationalism in American politics after 1945 but also to the nexus of agreement between conservative and liberal visions. By all accounts Yalta was a tawdry scene, and the tawdriness was nothing if not multilateral. Politically inspired deals came thick and fast. Quite apart from negotiating a friendly Polish government, Stalin committed to enter the war against Japan in exchange for territory taken by the Japanese in 1905 (southern Sakhalin), the Kuril Islands, and rights to the Manchurian section of the trans-Siberian railway to Vladivostok. Stalin and Churchill carved up much of eastern and southern Europe, and Indochina was earmarked for independence from French colonial control. Any U.S. objection to Soviet prerogative in territory reconquered from German control was quickly countered by the argument that when U.S. and British troops moved into Italy, before opening the second front, they cited urgent mili-

the evils of western civilization, such as intoxicants. At the same time the existing free trade area in Africa could be extended and the existing provisions for free trade under the Berlin Act of 1885 and the specic treaties should be made more denite and more comprehensive so as to secure the open-door in the fullest sense possible.57

Mezes and Beer had even thought in terms of the internationalization of all of Central Africa, with a view to accessing its valuable forest resources, but they decided this would not be practical. No less original, the idea of international mandates entwined a liberal moral rectitude toward the natives with U.S. economic opportunism. Only a prescient Lippmann seems to have objected, warning that such arrangements transparently perpetuated asymmetries of global power and that explosive class struggle would surely result.58 Meanwhile another event had occurred that would eventually lead to the most dramatic alteration of global geography in the twentieth century and radically circumscribe Americas own global ambition. Initial U.S. response to the Russian Revolution was muted in the stunned assumption that Bolshevik power could not last. The rst troops of the U.S. force committed to Siberia arrived at Archangel /Arkhangelsk in September 1918, where, under the excuse of protecting a stranded Czecho-Slovak army unit, they took up positions in defense of the counterrevolutionary White Army. Although the U.S. force was small, its symbolic importance was immense. The United States had already imposed an embargo on socialist Russia, even as the Fourteen Points were being written, and they had begun to funnel massive nancial aid to the anti-Bolshevik forces, despite the promise in Point VI that the country had no intention of supporting the White Army. Any trace of the liberal magnanimity the Inquiry and Wilson had been willing to afford to the Soviet republic had vanished. The United States had already failed its own acid test of good will, as Wilson had put it in the Fourteen Points, and the consequences would be drastic. The worldwide intensication of nationalism on the eve of the peace conference was exacerbated by U.S. intervention in the Soviet republic. New geopolitical lines began to be drawn in Europe, and socialist revolts broke out all over. Social democrats and liberals around the world, looking for an alternative to Bolshevism, became disillusioned that Wilsons liberal rhetoric offered little signicant departure from imperialist business as usual. The Soviets nonnegotiable demand that Russian soil be immediately evacuated by German forces was reversed when the initial armistice agreement left room for a lingering German military presence in Russian borderlands for the sole purpose of warring with the Bolsheviks. Wilsons aban-


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donment of goodwill vis--vis the Soviet republic made increasingly transparent the self-interest behind claims to a moral internationalism.59 Lippmann understood very well how bad a mistake this was and stood against the intervention. Our behavior at Archangel and in Siberia, he later wrote Secretary of War Baker, is one of the least gratifying episodes in our history.60 Bowman shared none of Lippmanns misgivings, nor was he yet entirely abreast of Wilsons international expansionist vision. Within a couple of months, however, his attention would be riveted on precisely the borderlands between Germany and Russia that drew Lippmanns cynicismthe Polish question. At the same time, his own economic and political internationalism would expand to t and help guide Wilsons global agenda.

tration itself as with other participants of the conference. Although Russian intransigence is often blamed for almost scuttling the United Nations at birth, concludes one UN historian, Gromyko, in fact, accommodated the Americans on almost all issues at the conference.55 In fact, Dumbarton Oaks represented a signicant resort to geography, initiated not by traditional defenders of the old world order but by would-be inheritors of the new. If the United States had come to the conference on a carriage of Roosevelts most assertive globalism, activated by the dream of power beyond geography, the delegation had also opened the door widest to a United Nations of implicit regional blocs when it played the China card. The other delegations well understood that U.S. economic and military ambition was best placed to exploit the political globalism of the UN, but the transparent attempt to install Brazil on the Security Council, the retreat from an absolute veto, and the inclusion of ten American republics among the original membership of twenty-six, all demonstrated the constitutive regionalism of the U.S. design for a sympathetic UN. The emerging Anglo-American alliance and perfunctory negotiations with the Chinese simply conrmed the status that the USSR could expect in the coming organization. As an astute Charles de Gaulle concluded concerning American strategy for the UN, Roosevelt . . . intended to lure the Soviets into a group that would contain their ambitions and in which America could unite its dependents.56 As Robert Hilderbrand has concluded in his excellent historical analysis of the conference, traditional nationalism came to replace the prevention of the next war as the dominant force in postwar policy-making. All of the Great Powers feared the effect that such a strong body might have on their own national objectives for the postwar era.57 The dilution of central-power authority ratied at Dumbarton Oaks sprang directly from this defensive resort to existing state-centered political geographies. Once again states rights prevailed over federal unity, except this time on the global scale. Put this way, the prospects for the UN were perhaps more ominous than even the Dumbarton Oaks participants could yet see. From the Monroe Doctrine to Eastern Europe to the British Empire, regionalism was premised on a wider geographical fortication of competitive national interests. The slippage from regional associations to security zones to spheres of inuence, driven by a resurgence not just of nationalist interests but also of a traditional geographical calculus of political and economic power, would therefore prove difcult to halt. Hulls unhappy past reappeared as a gloomy future. This was not an inevitable result or a simple retreat. Dumbarton Oaks was a resort to geography, but it was more than simply a retreat to an outmoded nationalism. The strategy that de Gaulle detected also


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Union but was one of only two members of the U.S. delegation who advocated no compromise whatsoever. Several military delegates felt that they may have to accept the Soviet insistence on an absolute veto if the conference was to be saved and short-term military objectives not jeopardized, but Roosevelt was reluctant.51 The United States did not acquiesce, and the deadlock, along with the unresolved question of Soviet republic membership, hung like a pall over the closing of the rst phase of the conference in late September. The second phase of the conference, involving the Chinese, was largely pro forma and treated as a sideshow. Confronted by a shabby mix of polite paternalism and impatience by the United States and Britain, the Chinese delegation had been kept in the wings for more than ve weeks and had little leverage. The second shift produced nothing novel. Kept abreast of the rst phase of the conference on a daily basis, the Chinese delegation had already expended their major weapon by making routine leaks to James Reston of the New York Times, who, to the horror of Roosevelt and the U.S. delegation, published authoritative updates during rst-phase negotiations.52 The conference produced a draft charter that was agreed on among the four powers and could be taken to an inaugural UN convention. It was a compromise with fewer and blunter teeth than rst envisaged under Roosevelts Four Policemen: there were now ve permanent seats diluted by six rotating seats on the Security Council and no provision for a standing military, but the economic and social provisions survived. The two loose ends of membership and veto power loomed large. Nevertheless, the U.S. group embarked on a wide and energetic propaganda campaign, Operation Soapbox, to sell what they had achieved to the American public, and Bowman, too, hit the lecture circuit.53 Immediate responses to Dumbarton Oaks among the U.S. public ranged from relief to skepticism, from outrage to enthusiasm: relief for some that the extremes of world government seemed to have been laid well aside; outrage among conservative Americans when Soviet positions on the veto and republic membership became known (all transpiring against the backdrop of a premature Warsaw uprising and Soviet failure to intervene); skepticism by a few that anything new would come of a UN organization; enthusiasm by many that a United Nations might just work. Jaded rationalization was more the mood of British representative Gladwyn Jebb, who lamented that in such a wicked world the original hopes for a pacist globalism may have aimed too high.54 But it was nothing so enigmatic as Jebbs wicked world that deated the promise of Dumbarton Oaks. If the conference watered down the grandest aspirations of U.S. globalism, the blame lay as much with the U.S. adminis-


On a cold December day in 1918, three army trucks arrived at pierside in Hoboken, New Jersey, where the SS George Washington was being prepared to transport the American delegation to the Paris Peace Conference. The war to end all wars was being followed by the conference to end all conferences, and the delegates at Paris would resolve the territorial, diplomatic, and economic issues that prompted war. A esta of egos and intrigue, laborious meetings and ponderous ceremonies, momentous decisions and interminable bureaucratic squabbling, it was attended by delegations from fty-ve countries and an army of hangers-on. It sported the national leaders of many of the world powers: Clemenceau of France, Lloyd George of Britain, Orlando of Italy, and Wilson of the United States shared the power. A vanquished Germany was made to lick its wounds while awaiting the outcome, and the new Russian government was not invited. With troops from more than a dozen national armies, including combatants from both sides of the war, still ghting on Russian soil, they had more immediate concerns than this imperialist convocation. They instead were hosting the Second Communist International. The army trucks had carried Inquiry materials from the American Geographical Society building in upper Manhattan, and when workers began unloading the hundreds of boxes lled with maps, bibliographies, books, reports, and statistics, reporters began to laugh and jeer. They did the same when the boxes were unloaded in Paris,1 just as skeptical that so many tons


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of dry, scientic material could have any use in what promised to be emotionally charged and politically driven peace negotiations. A scientic peace it surely would not be. The liberal ideals with which Wilson armed himself for the political clinches in Paris attracted similar opprobrium. From Lloyd George to hardnosed Republicans at home, he was ridiculed for believing that ideals and principles could compete with Machiavellian intrigue and backroom deals. But in large measure these indictments miss the point. Wilsons rhetorical idealism was itself a ruthless political weapon applied in the most realist and partisan of causes. As William Appleman Williams and a generation of historians after him have argued, Wilsons central aspiration was no less than the construction of a liberal capitalist world order providing free economic access. The primary architect of corporate liberalism at home, he enthusiastically inherited the Progressive campaign for tariff and banking reform that would free U.S. capital for overseas investment.2 For Wilson the Paris Peace Conference was a seamless continuation of that domestic posture. He well understood that as much as Britain had beneted from socalled free trade while it dominated the trade routes and markets, now the United States, by dint of its emerging economic superiority, would be the prime beneciary of such apparent magnanimity. At the Paris Peace Conference, the rst moment in the making of the American Century came to a head. Aboard the George Washington en route to Paris, Wilson offered a clear vision of the moral and nationalist exceptionalism that structured his liberal internationalism. He admonished a gathering of Inquiry personnel that the U.S. delegation would represent the only disinterested people at the conference, which involved both responsibilities and opportunities.3 The moral rhetoric of a liberal peace, therefore, functioned to give Wilson and the U.S. delegation the ammunition with which thoroughly interested solutions could be proposed in the language of moral magnanimity. In short, a kind of gestalt described Wilsons continuous back-and-forth interpolation of the practical and the ideal. If, as Henry May has argued, Teddy Roosevelt was the greatest spokesman of practical idealism at the end of the rst decade of the twentieth century,4 it was a mantle enthusiastically donned in the next decade by Wilson. At Paris, this constant interpolation of moral universality and national self-interest pivoted on questions of geography. The Paris Peace Conference was about many thingsreparations, the League of Nations, economic settlements, international labor arrangementsbut rst and foremost it was about territory. Territorial settlements, especially in Europe, were the centerpiece of the conference. A continent

not go away but agreed not to force a denitive solution at Dumbarton Oaks. He was true to his word, raising it again only as a reminder of unnished business at the end of the conference. The business of the conference was conducted by three main subcommittees responsible for general, legal, and security aspects of the organization and reporting to a joint steering committee. Bowman was assigned to the rst subcommittee, which was covering General Questions of International Organization, and which included seven Americans (Stettinius, Pasvolsky, and army general Stanley Embick among them), four British delegates including Cadogan, Jebb, and Webster, and three Soviet representatives led by Andrei Gromyko. Bowman also chaired several meetings of the U.S. delegation in the absence of Stettinius or Assistant Secretary Breckenridge Long and helped explore locations for the organization. In addition to the Azores, Roosevelt had tossed out the Pentagon or the Empire State Building as possibilities, but he also felt that the assembly ought to move among continents. Bowman advised against a U.S. location for the United Nations, fearing it would lead to a Hollywood asco, given the uncontrolled press and radio that would crowd around, but no decision was made.50 Bowmans most substantive contribution came in regard to an issue with which he was closely tied. He chaired the U.S. committee that adjusted the design of the Economic and Social Council, which he pioneered in the State Department and which facilitated the Soviet concession that the UNs prerogative might go beyond strict security concerns. Less predictably, he also helped draft the human rights provision that had drawn a prickly response from both Britain and the Soviet Union, and even less likely, he rst proposed the inclusion of a statement about sexual equality. Reduced to a purely internal organizational proposalemployment in the UN would not be barred because of race, nationality, creed or sexthis remarkable innovation was quietly dropped by the joint steering committee. On the Brazil question, Bowman thought Roosevelts insistence ill-advised and was part of a group that talked him away from it. Tense debate over its inclusion might well rekindle regionalist aspirations elsewhere, he realized, and in any case Brazil had not assuredly matured into a Great Power; jealousies would be raised among the Spanish-speaking republics, especially Argentina. On the veto issue, he accepted the principle of unanimity on the Security Council but agreed with the provision that parties to a dispute not vote, and he worked to smooth over confusions in the U.S. group about the evolution of their own position. When the veto dispute climaxed in the second week of September, he not only opposed acquiescence to the Soviet


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The nal and most delicate issue involved overall UN membership. After only several days of discussion, Gromyko alerted the other delegations that he intended to push for the admission of all sixteen Soviet republics as separate members. Stettinius was so panicked about this request that after consultation with Roosevelt, he pleaded with Gromyko not to publicize this demand lest the whole conference grind to a halt. The conference was subject to disturbingly accurate and systematic press leaks, and Stettinius referred to this request only as the X matter. He ordered the small U.S. group who had been present at the meeting not to reveal it even to other members of the delegation and tried to expunge it from the minutes too, but Gromykos protest prevailed. Roosevelt sent another telegram to Stalin, but to little avail. Gromyko argued that the Soviet socialist republics were free to pursue their own foreign policy, and technically this was true. But the larger intent was obviously to offset the very real threat of Soviet isolation in the emerging organization.48 In holding themselves blind to Soviet concerns, Britain and the United States, having already stacked the all-important Security Council with their own allies, acted in naked national self-interest. Whatever their disagreements over colonies, these two governments acted more and more in unison at Dumbarton Oaks, and both already represented de facto regional blocs. Of the base membership for the new organization, the twenty-six signatories of the UN Declaration in 1942, there were three quite distinct groups in addition to the Great Powers. There were eight European nations, all of which had been wholly or partly overrun by Axis forces, ve members of the British Commonwealth, and nine Monroe Doctrine republics from Latin America. Seven of the last group had experienced U.S. military intervention since the last war, and many were still run by puppet dictatorships installed or shored up by the United States. Britain and the United States therefore had their own inbuilt regional blocs in the new organization, and they worked hard to keep it that way. In accord with customary practice, the British delegation had consulted with the dominion governments in preparation for the conference and provided periodic briengs throughout; the United States in the person of Cordell Hull likewise made every effort to keep the Latin American republics informed, insisting that the new organization sought to preserve Western Hemispheric principles on a global basis.49 Contrary to the tack eventually taken in the U.S. press, it was not paranoia but unsentimental realism that led Gromyko and Stalin to insist on membership for the Soviet republics. Stalin would have been a fool not to have recognized the way the United Nations was stacking up, and Stalin was a dictator, not a fool. Gromyko warned that the issue would

that had eight thousand miles of national boundaries on the eve of war had ten thousand after the peace conference and its attendant treaties. An astounding three thousand miles of new boundaries were drawn.5 On one level, Wilson and his delegation were disinterested, because the arbitration of very few territorial disputes affected U.S. interests directly. Yet establishing a stable geography in Europe was of paramount concern to U.S. leaders, because political geographical stability was seen as a precondition of world trade and investment. The Paris Peace Conference of 1919 was actually the last such major international conference in which Old World questions of absolute territorial possession predominated. Old World in this sense is less a geographical description than a strategic one. The Spanish-American War, President McKinley, and Teddy Roosevelt, all devoted to territorial expansion and aggrandizement, were as much examples of Old World geographical concerns as European colonization was. World War I may have represented the culmination of the nineteenth centurythe zenith of the British Empire and British industrial supremacybut it also marked a more profound though less noticed shift. Where nineteenth-century European expansion was premised on a tight weave between economic power and territorial possession, U.S. entry into the war and the countrys much heralded participation in the peace conference exposed a different weave of geography and economics in the folds of Wilsonian rhetoric. Fueled by the unprecedented success of U.S. capital accumulation at the end of the nineteenth century but largely blocked from territorial expansion, successive U.S. governments and ruling classes faced a sharp dilemma. The world economy may not have been closed, but its geography increasingly was, and Wilsons anticipation that Paris would be a harbinger of a new diplomacy responded optimistically to the newly emerging articulation of geography and economic expansion.6 As eight of the Fourteen Points bear out, however, territory remained vital in Wilsons vision, the sine qua non of peace, but territorial settlements were vehicles for, rather than the destination of, that peace. The brilliance of liberal U.S. internationalists in this period, with Woodrow Wilson as their agbearer, lay not in the idealist rhetoric of peace and international organization retted from the nineteenth century or even in the fashioning of a liberal corporatism within which continued economic expansionism could be recast as reform. Rather, it lay in the implicit realization that the wedding of geography and economics undergirding European capital accumulation was not inevitable; that the coming era could be organized differently; and that economic expansion divorced from territorial aggrandizement dovetailed superbly with U.S. national interests. These presumptions


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marked a gradual revolution, as Bowman would later put it. Since national economic interests and a crusading internationalism were in no way inconsistent, the appeal for a new world order could be folded neatly into the inherited nineteenth-century rhetoric of world organization and peace. Progressivism was liberalized rather than denied.7 U.S. economic ascendancy not only threatened to displace Europe; it also reworked the leading geo-economic edge of capitalist expansion in the early twentieth century. The genesis of national states as a system for organizing the worlds political economy provided an eighteenth-century spatial x for specic economic dilemmas of emergent capitalism. Rooted in Europe, it provided a geographical means for regulating global competition and cooperation.8 If nineteenth-century colonialism represented a continuation of that system, Wilsonian internationalism in the early twentieth marked a cautious break from it. With capital accumulation increasingly outstripping the scale of national boundaries and markets, and new colonialisms no longer feasible or practical, U.S. internationalism pioneered a historic unhinging of economic expansion from direct political and military control over the new markets. In these earliest incarnations, therefore, U.S. internationalism was national interest exemplied. It was not a renunciation of a territorially dened system of nation-states; even less did it assume the end of geography. But it did anticipate a world economy in which territorial differences among states were of diminished economic signicance and in which political squabbles could be regulated to prevent the disruption of trade. Before the nettle of political geographical difference could be assuaged, however, it had to be stabilized. To get beyond political geography, as it were, the political geography of the globe had to be xed, taken out of the equation. This was the larger prospect of the Paris Peace Conference, at least insofar as Wilson and the U.S. delegation were concerned. Geography on the cusp of the American Century was nowhere more formidable than in Central, eastern, and southeastern Europe. The weightiest problems of nation construction and boundary drawing in Paris all involved this region. Two empires were dissolved into nation-states (AustroHungarian and Ottoman), while proud precapitalist domains passed into apparent obsolescence (Prussia, Serbia); existing nation-states were pared down (Germany, Bulgaria) or expanded (Italy, Romania), new nation-states were established or their boundaries ratied (Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia), and others were restored (Poland). All of this was negotiated as war continued in Russia and along its borderlands, from the Baltic Sea to the Balkans and the Black Sea. Intense military skirmishes threatened to revert to full-scale war as every nation-state, new or old, sought to establish its

this would be difcult to square with the congressional prerogative to declare war, and the State Department, out of clear self-interest, was the rst to propose a Great Power veto. But the same veto power could enable other powers to block otherwise unanimous action, and prior to Dumbarton Oaks State Department ofcials began to have doubts. What if the veto was made nonabsolute? If unanimity of action were still retained, the Great Powers might nd themselves obliged to contribute to an enforcement operation they had voted against, potentially even an operation against their own national governments.45 Yet an absolute veto would also virtually guarantee that only the smaller nations would become the targets of UN peacekeeping, and the role of the UN as cover for big power coercion would be transparent. There was a lot of hand wringing in the State Department precisely because there was no clear resolution that best advantaged U.S. interests. In effect, the department wanted the argument both ways: it wanted the prerogative of vetoing proposals antagonistic to U.S. interests yet the ability to prevent vetoes of U.S. global prerogatives. The best compromise the United States delegation could produce, echoing a British suggestion, was that a Great Powers vote should not be counted when it itself was party to a dispute. This still raised the danger that the United States would have to adhere to a policy it opposed, but given the composition of the Security Council, it was a reasonable calculation that such a formula would more often favor than oppose U.S. interests. Roosevelt eventually accepted this position in his preconference meeting with several delegation members.46 But the veto proposal ran into immediate trouble. The British and Soviet delegates could make much the same calculation, and while Cadogan gave initial support, Gromyko refused. The U.S. formula would retain UN power in the face of Great Power aggression, but it also held out the possibility that four of the Security Council powers could gang up on the fth, and the Soviet delegation, not unreasonably, now felt vulnerable. Instead, the Soviet delegates resolutely supported the State Departments initial proposal, an absolute veto in the Security Council, and this led to the most convoluted wrangling at Dumbarton Oaks. The British and U.S. representatives shifted their positions during several weeks of intense jockeying, as much because they were genuinely undecided and even muddled about the implications of different veto arrangements because they were opposed to them. The Soviets had no such uncertainties: they consistently and adamantly argued for absolute veto power despite Roosevelts personal appeal to Stalin. After three weeks, the conference deadlocked on the issue, and it was set aside.47


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tion or broader functions. Second, the composition of the executive council, now called the Security Council, had to be xed. Third, the precise nature of the voting procedures, and especially the extent of veto power in the Security Council, became a major issue. But the question of membership became the most explosive of all. Differences over the organizations purpose emerged immediately. All were agreed, in light of the failure of the League of Nations and its minimal enforcement capacity, that security functions should be central, but the State Department proposals envisaged a major social and economic function for the UN. Security questions were inextricably connected to economic issues, the U.S. delegation argued, and Britain concurred, but for the Soviets, negotiating on the heels of the Bretton Woods agreement, the linking of security and economic issues potentially entwined capitalist economic assumptions with security arrangements. Gromyko eventually conceded, and the Economic and Social Council originally advanced by the State Department was approved.43 The question of Security Council membership would not be resolved so easily. At Tehran, the United States had wedged China into the council, and Britain now used the indeterminate status of occupied France to propose a fth seat. This issue had arisen at London, where Stettinius responded coolly. Publicly, the uncertain complexion of the French government succeeding the Vichy was raised as an objection; Hull especially disdained the Committee of Liberation, led by a mercurial Charles de Gaulle. But the unspoken geopolitical calculation was more important: a fth seat to France tilted the weight of the council back to Europe and specically strengthened Britains position, whereas the China card made their position weak; despite the dilution of its power the United States acceded to the British proposal, calculating it was a minor retreat. The Soviet government had the most to lose and had consistently rejected a permanent seat for France on the grounds of its powerlessness and defeat in the war, but it, too, eventually acquiesced. A Security Council seat was earmarked for France. The addition of a fth policeman opened the door for more, and Roosevelt had already planned to counteract any French seat with the insistence on a sixth seat, for Latin American. He had Brazil in mind, but it was a transparent move and was quickly shot down.44 The third major issue concerned the proposed Great Power veto that would operate in the Security Council. Actually, it was the whole voting formula that was in question. State Department drafts had assumed that the Security Council would work on a principle of unanimity: whatever the council voted would be carried out unanimously by the Great Powers. But

territorial claims vis--vis both neighboring states and temporary armistice lines established by Allied troops in late 1918. Socialist revolutions threatened throughout Europe, coming to tumultuous if short-lived fruition in Germany and Hungary in the spring of 1919. It was this combustible geography of Central and eastern Europe that the peace conference especially sought to settle (map 5). The Paris Peace Conference was therefore about xing geography in a double sense. In the rst, the job of the conference was to adjust the map of territorial possession among nation-statesthe rectication of frontiers, in Wilsons phrasein the wake of crumbling monarchical empires and states. But in the second sense, it was meant to bring about a x among the intricate local and precapitalist geographies of disparate cultures, language groups, and nationalities and to help complete the jigsaw puzzle of nationstates. Thus Paris was also about the rationalization of global space according to discrete national interests, economies, and states. It was about xing the global geography of modernity. For Wilson this was simply a means to an end, whereas for many of his European counterparts it was the objective of the conference; however, they could agree that without xing the modern space of Europe, Paris would be a failure.

a geographer in paris
As chief territorial specialist to the American delegation, Isaiah Bowman occupied a decisive position. As a geographer he was much invested in the Old World view and not yet entirely convinced of Wilsons liberalism. He retained a certain conservatism, springing not from Wall Street, where a corporate internationalism warmed to Wilson, but from Michigan. His insistence on data-driven solutions and base maps rather than imaginative policy recommendations during Inquiry preparations mixed a progressive trust in empirical science with a more traditional caution about the authority of invariant geographical relations. Had he remained simply chief territorial specialist in Paris, the New World vision that soon awakened in him might have languished. But that is not what transpired. Wilsons Fourteen Points, with their all-encompassing appeal to fairness and justice in the name of peace, struck an optimistic chord in war-weary Europe, and when the SS George Washington arrived in Brest harbor on 13 December, it received a tumultuous welcome: a huge eet of battleships and destroyers saluted the American otilla with airplanes and a dirigible overhead. The U.S. delegation arrived in Paris with hope bursting from their maps and data as much as from their rhetoric, and they took up quarters at

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the resort to geography: dumbarton oaks

The goal of the Dumbarton Oaks conference was to thrash out a draft UN charter. The State Department began nal preparations in July 1944, resulting in two working books of compiled materials. Headed by Stettinius, the U.S. delegation included seven senior State Department ofcials, six generals and admirals, and in bipartisan spirit a lawyer from the Republican National Committee. With the work passing more and more to career ofcials in the department, only two departmental advisers were included, among them Bowman, who was also reappointed special adviser to the secretary of state and president. The British delegation was led by Sir Alexander Cadogan, undersecretary at the Foreign Ofce, and included Charles Webster and Gladwyn Jebb, with whom Bowman had conferred months earlier in London. The Soviet delegation was headed by the young Andrei Gromyko, freshly appointed to the U.S. ambassadorship. Public anticipation was intense. A potentially damaging broadside by Thomas Dewey, the Republican candidate in the upcoming presidential elections, who felt the conference ratied big four coercive power, was headed off, and the Soviet insistence on not meeting with the Chinese was eventually resolved by an agreement to meet in two shifts. When the rst phase of the conference, involving the Soviet Union, ofcially opened on 21 August 1944, the siege of Leningrad had broken, German forces were in broad retreat, and at least in Europe an end loomed to one of the most terrible wars ever waged.42 Rome was in Allied hands, the perennially delayed second front had at last begun in Normandy, and news of the liberation of Paris reached Dumbarton Oaks in midsession. If this now fed British and U.S. urgency about nalizing a postwar agreement, the Soviet Union was enjoying sweeping battleeld success, and every passing day increased their moral and political high ground. The U.S. delegation knew the conference would be arduous but expected success for their broad design of a world organization and did not anticipate the ferocity of debate that quickly ensued. The conference began smoothly enough. The British and Soviet delegations had prepared their own draft proposals, but with British support the State Department draft was adopted as the base document. Less controversial provisions for an international air force and a human rights protocol were easily passed, and the name United Nations Organization was also agreed on. But there were thornier issues. In the rst place there was a question of purpose that centered on whether the organization would have a purely security func-

Map 5. Europe in 1914.


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proach, presumably anticipating looser British control, Churchills regionalism seemed doomed. After Tehran a jubilant Roosevelt began mulling over appropriate locations for his United Nations Organization (he mused about the Azores) and requested for the rst time an organizational plan from the State Departments Informal Agenda Group. Senators and congressmen now clamored for details of postwar plans, and Walter Lippmann even appeared at Bowmans State Department ofce, desperate for information. But few details were forthcoming, and conservative commentators began to surmise, correctly as it turned out, that secret deals had been made at Tehran. Not even Hull knew the details of Tehran, and he grew suspicious. The navet myth began to ll in the resulting vacuum. The government had reached an extreme low point in the condence of the country, Bowman reected in March 1944, and the good effect of Moscow has been lost. In Tehran, Stalin was master of the party, he concluded.39 State Department renements of the draft UN charter continued after the Stettinius mission to London. Department members had envisioned not a standing military but a force seconded from member nations, and they specied for the rst time that the four permanent members would enjoy the right of veto. Showing it to lawyers (who approved) and senators (who were cagey), Hull took Stettinius, Bowman, and Pasvolsky to present this next iteration to the president in June. A Milquetoast press release revealed little, but newspapers got this point: State Department experts on international geography and economics are hard at work, reported the San Francisco Chronicle, and the United States is the rst major nation to present a blueprint for post-war world peace.40 Copies of the tentative proposals were sent to the British, Soviet, and Chinese governments in advance of the next step in UN negotiations: a four-power conference in Washington, D.C., in August 1944. Dumbarton Oaks, a walled and gardened Georgian mansion in the Georgetown section of the capital, named for the Scottish ancestral home of its original owner, was to be the venue. For three yearsfrom Quebec to Casablanca, Moscow to TehranAmericans had watched summits unfold elsewhere, but now the new world show was coming home. So well had the State Department integrated nationalist interests with global ambition that when the proposals for international organization were shown to the powerful Arthur Vandenberg, a conservative Republican senator and prewar isolationist, he was overjoyed. The striking thing about it, he recorded in his diary, is that it is so conservative from a nationalist standpoint.41

the famous Hotel Crillon in the Place de la Concorde. Delirious crowds jammed the streets and doorways looking for a glimpse of Wilson and the other Americans, and the rst weeks were a heady swirl of power, Paris, and politics. Bowman wandered bright-eyed around the city, to the Opera House, the Louvre, and Notre Dame, and attended the theater several times, once as the guest of General Tasker Bliss: It was thrilling to walk in with a four-star or real general, past lines of khaki and the crowd and to come out with President Wilson leading. He dined with dignitaries such as T. E. Lawrence and the Arabian emir Faisal, who would soon become king of newly established Iraq, the maharaja of Bikaner and Aga Khan of India, as well as geographers from around the world (Romer from Poland, de Martonne of France) and other intellectuals (the famous French philosopher Henri Bergson). He toured some of the battleelds of Northern France, paying a visit to the grave of a personal favorite, the poet Joyce Kilmer. Bowman was not the kind to exult freely about the fare at the Crillon, but others did: oysters, lobster, turkey, plum pudding, pumpkin pie, ice cream, cheese, nuts and fruit, coffee, cigarsand French wine. On Christmas Day he went with other commission members to the working-class outskirts of Paris to distribute gifts to children and was horried at the wretched quarters, the lth, and misery of families decimated by war and poverty.9 Only briey did the gaiety keep chaos at bay. The U.S. delegation was headed by ve commissioners, or plenipotentiaries. In addition to Wilson and his condant Colonel Edward House, these were Secretary of State Robert Lansing, top military man General Tasker Bliss, and the veteran Republican diplomat Henry White. Despite the opportunity afforded by the long sea voyage, Wilson, still in the tradition of nineteenth-century foreign policy, gave the commissioners little guidance about their work at the conferencepositions, policy, strategyand the rst days in Paris brought anything but clarity. The delegation was massive, 1,248 persons in all. There were advisers everywhere, including twenty-one from the Inquiry, and lines of authority were haphazard at best. The State Department had been placed in charge of the overall commission and brought its own group of advisers. The inferior quarters allotted Inquiry personnel on the George Washington foreshadowed their discovery upon arriving in Paris that Military and Naval Intelligence personnel were equally intent on running the advisory work. A young John Foster Dulles headed a team from the Central Bureau of Statistics, also jockeying for position. It was initially stipulated that the Inquiry and Military Intelligence were to work through the State Department bureaucracy, headed by Joseph Grew, secretary to the U.S. delegation. But this would have marginalized the In-


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quiry group to menial support work, and Bowman immediately protested that the commissioners needed direct access to this best-prepared group of experts. After only three days in Paris, at the behest of Colonel House and with Wilsons approval, Bowman succeeded in having the chain of command reversed, so that the Inquiry personnel were placed in the pivotal role, with State Department, Military Intelligence, and Dulless statistical specialists all reporting through them. Mezes retained his directorship in little more than title, while Bowman, now the executive ofcer of the renamed Section of Territorial, Economic, and Political Intelligence, set about the task of organizing personnel and work schedules for all the commissions advisers.10 This Intelligence Section provided the factual and cartographic fodder for the American commissioners. It had a staff of nearly one hundred divided among eighteen divisions. Eleven of these were territorial divisions, seven of which focused on different regions of Europe and four of which focused on other regions. Among the remaining seven divisions, whose focus was economic and political, were geography and cartography, headed by Mark Jefferson, and boundary topography, headed by Columbia University geographer Douglas Johnson. But the new chain of command did not immediately resolve the confusion, since military advisers still occupied the delegations main ofces and headquarters at 4 Place de la Concorde, adjacent to the Hotel Crillon. The old Inquiry members were stuffed into corners and corridors if they had space at all. A frustrated Bowman consolidated his power. He gathered several doughboys and worked throughout the night to evict the military and reassign ofces to the Inquiry personnel. Bowman as it turned out usurped the desk of one of his former students at Yale.11 The period between Christmas and New Years Day was relatively calm. The library was set up, and some specic requests from Wilson were attended to. A briey bedridden Bowman was sought out by Walter Lippmann, whom he had not seen since the journalist left the Inquiry, but with Military Intelligence now sidelined, Lippmanns position at Paris was tenuous. He came rather meekly with attery on his lips, begging Bowman for a job: It is clear to me who has the authority around here, and Bowman is the man who is going to be most inuential in the American delegation, Lippmann inveigled. Bowman lapped up the attery but suggested only a mission to Berlin.12 Real work began on New Years Day 1919. If the Inquiry stopped well short of specic recommendations, the need was now pressing, and Wilson reiterated the request for ideal solutions to every problem that might

With Stalin broadly onboard after Tehran, the next step was to tack back against British recalcitranceChurchills in particularand ll in the details of what the UN organization would look like. While in London with the Stettinius mission in April 1944, Bowman had a chance to negotiate directly with Churchill about his plan for a Council of Europe. Churchill at rst stuck doggedly to a regional rather than a global scheme for world organization, but pushed by Bowman to explain what authority would bind his different regional councils, the prime minister eventually sketched on a piece of paper a tripod of world peace. It comprised three regional security councilsthe Western Hemisphere, Europe, and Asiaand a Supreme Council, under the authority of the three major powers (China was excluded), acting as a largely independent umbrella. He handed the paper to Bowman, then grabbed it back to append a world court. He did not oppose a world organization as such, he insisted, only the vague plans that had accompanied such proposals, and he concluded with a carefully worded appeal to the diaphanous idealism for which Bowman was known. They had to try, he said, quoting Tennysons poetic longing for a parliament of man, to faintly trust the larger hope.37 Churchills willingness to talk about a global organization and even to sketch a design marked a signicant step forward, even if his tripod remained narrowly concerned with security and left the regional councils in an ambiguous relationship to the global. It was more than the U.S. government had managed to elicit from him before. His plan for the Council of Europe was a different story. In addition to the United States, the USSR, and Britain, the council would include eight continental nations: France, Italy, Iberia, a federated Scandinavia, the Low Countries, a Balkan federation, a Danubian federation, and Poland. The resemblance to the Renner plan, which had caused such a political restorm in the United States in 1942, was striking, and Churchills proposal was not taken seriously in the State Department. Bowman noted only that the plan was not well thought out.38 Whether Churchill even meant to push this proposal earnestly is unclear, for he knew he was ghting a losing battle. He strove to ensure British hegemony in any European council, but his own ofcials in the Foreign and Colonial Ofces increasingly followed Eden in recognizing the lost cause of a defensive regionalism. Churchills Council of Europe looked transparently like a European bulwark against the USSR and would prove unsupportable. As one Foreign Ofce ofcial conceded, the regional councils could only be put into practical effect inside the framework of a World Organisation embracing all states great and small. When a meeting of dominion prime ministers the following month also reafrmed the global ap-


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whereupon Roosevelt invoked guaranteed congressional opposition to potential U.S. military responsibility in Europe. Why, Stalin came back, would that objection apply to the regional scheme alone when a global organization would also imply such responsibility? Roosevelt dissembled that he envisaged the commitment of only U.S. naval and air forces, not ground forces, in Europe, but Stalin also insisted that the Four Policemen proposal would draw the ire of the small nations, especially in Europe, where there would be additional resentment over the superior role given the Chinese. This, too, inclined him toward a regional scheme. This was a setback for Roosevelt, but not for long. Whether the Soviet leader was sufciently impressed by Roosevelts entreaties and the genuine differences he stressed between the U.S. and British positions, or whether Stalin softened with the promise of the second front, on the last day of the conference he, again privately, informed Roosevelt that he was becoming convinced about the necessity of global rather than regional organization. Not only had a delighted Roosevelt separated Churchill and Stalin on an issue central to U.S. postwar interests, but also he was now in a position to further clarify his vision to the U.S. public without fear of alienating Stalin. Seeking to preserve his advantage, he cautioned Stalin quite dishonestly that it was too early to discuss this issue with Churchill, when of course it had been an evolving topic between the British and U.S. leaders for nearly two years.36 In his refusal to back prewar Polish boundaries against Stalin, Roosevelt was quite calculating. Only the most naive had much doubt that the Soviets intended to retake territory lost after 1918 and probably more, and this is why Roosevelt fought so hard to get Stalins assent to the Atlantic Charter. But did he really want to side with the old codger of the British Empire to oppose Stalins claims on his own borders? The Atlantic Charter disavowed such territorial transfers prior to the end of war, until a United Nations organization could arbitrate such claims, but a realistic Roosevelt knew better, seeking only to keep such transfers to a minimum. The westward realignment of Soviet borders into territory given Poland after World War I was inevitable in any Allied victory. It is not that Roosevelt was above resorting to geographical resolutions himself but that the greater priority for an American globalism lay in establishing a world organization. It made little sense to sacrice that goal by wading into a messy and presumably unwinnable territorial dispute approached according to Old World rules. Stalins concession on world rather than regional organization may even have been a quid pro quo for Roosevelts refusal to dig his heels in on Poland.

arise in the days and weeks ahead, and he wanted them in ten days. Bowman immediately parceled the work out to the division chiefs, whose reports he edited into sets of recommendations, assembling them, with maps, into a single document. But the promised draftsmen had not materialized only one had appeared after a week, and he was not a draftsman, Bowman complained, but a man learning to drawand the assignment stretched three weeks beyond the deadline.13 Bowmans collated report, dubbed the Black Book for the color of its binder, proposed solutions for territorial problems in twenty-seven areas of Europe and also included an economic and labor report. It was a skeletal statement of U.S. positions, initially distributed only to the U.S. commissioners, with Bowman holding extra copies under lock and key. Only much later was it released to other delegations, who feverishly requested it as soon as its existence became known.14 Several weeks later a Red Book was also produced, somewhat as an afterthought, comprising recommendations on the colonies, non-European territories, and a number of other issues omitted from the Black Book. If drawing base maps preoccupied Bowman at the Inquiry, lling them in was the job of the conference. However disinterested he conceived himself, Wilson was clear that the truth [could] not be told by a dispassionate annalist [sic] and that maps were choice devices for displaying not just facts but also the subtle and else invisible forces that lurk in the events and in the minds of men.15 Bowman wholeheartedly concurred. If cartography and geography were sciences, objective and disinterested in their methods and results, they were nevertheless powerful tools toward specic, often highly political purposes. He saw his job in Paris as not simply supplying advice to Wilson but also corralling the factual and graphic support for Wilsons positions. When it came to lling in the base maps, Bowman and the cartographers faced many choices: a map could be made to highlight topographical features or cultural boundaries while deemphasizing religious boundaries; or it could be made to emphasize the integral function of a city within a regional economy rather than contrasting linguistic regions. Alternatively, the graphic depiction of linguistic divisions might be made to submerge the distinctiveness of economic regions or urban areas. Bowman well understood this inevitable politics of cartography in Paris. It would take a huge monograph to contain an analysis of all the types of map forgeries that the war and peace conference called forth, he later commented. A new instrument was discoveredthe map language. A map was as good as a brilliant poster, and just being a map made it respectable, authentic. A perverted map was a life-belt to many a foundering argument.16


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Such accusations of map perversion were hurled at others, especially Central European delegations struggling for national recognition and identity, who, Bowman felt, came armed with their own bagful of statistical and cartographic tricks. But Bowmans own cartographic responsibilities were barely less compromised, inasmuch as his Intelligence Section sought to translate what they saw as Wilsons preferred political solutions into lines on a map. Maps were routinely deployed in tense negotiations where statistics failed. The power of the cartography program lay precisely in Bowmans recognition that cartographic choices in Paris were political choices. He was extremely possessive of the cartographic division, which worked under great pressure and was prohibited from producing maps for other delegations without his explicit consent. It was Bowmans astute understanding of the power of maps, from the Inquiry through the peace conference, that ensured the necessary cartographic ammunition, making the U.S. delegation the envy of other delegations. Whereas the U.S. was often criticized for its diplomatic inexperience, its cartographic operation drew praise, often grudging, from the Europeans.17 In this regard, while Bowman was responsible for a number of appointments in the delegationincluding the historian James Truslow Adams and geographer Lawrence Martin (who later became chief librarian of the Library of Congress)none was more important than his insistence that Mark Jefferson, his old Ypsilanti teacher and a seasoned geographer, be made chief cartographer. There were few other men to whom Bowman would have entrusted that job. Jefferson supervised anywhere from ve to twenty-ve draftsmen and cartographers at any one time, and by late January, immediately following work for the Black Book, they were making more than three hundred maps per week. They were bombarded by requests for maps, and so the hours were long and conditions arduous. As Jefferson recalled, they spent considerable time deriving ways of showing up ideas on maps.18 If Bowman was an energetic, ambitious, stern, and at times a headstrong presence at the conference, Jefferson cut a gruffer and more lonely gure. He was rst into the cartography rooms in the morning and last to leave, worried intensely about the work, but was insufciently senior to enjoy some of the social merry-go-round there. His conference diary presents a rather unattering picture of his old student, noting that Bowman was not very accessible and that he never invites us to meet any friends he gets hold of. At one lunch with Jefferson in the Crillon dining room, Bowman spent the time looking to see where he might better go! On another occasion, Bowman presided at a formal dinner, when without warning he an-

the triumph of conservative nationalism

At the end of 1942 the impatient editors of the liberal New Republic complained that the State Department was, as Robert Divine has put it, honeycombed with conservatives intent on preserving the status quo, and that the president should more actively guide foreign policy himself.35 This conservatism was reafrmed in the following year, but what the New Republic editors failed to grasp, and what many liberal historians have likewise missed ever since, is that this conservatism itself embraced an evolving Wilsonian activism, most evident perhaps in Bowman and Hull, and had no intention of maintaining any kind of status quo. It was an activist conservatismmore properly a conservative liberalismwhose self-interested globalism was simultaneously progressive and nationalist. Bowman remained the gradual revolutionary in the early 1940s, but with a clearer reconciliation of the t rather than the contradiction between national selfinterest and globalism. Further, it was a conservatism that lurked just below the surface of Roosevelts own liberal rhetoric on foreign policy. This activist, conservative nationalism developed nowhere more clearly than in the context of the embryonic United Nations in late 1943 and 1944. The Moscow agreement was a good start, but Roosevelt now wanted Stalin brought into direct negotiations. Although Roosevelt had met Churchill ve times in the previous two years, he would not meet Stalin until Tehran in November 1943. The main business there was naturally militarythe second front was now promised for spring 1944, Soviet involvement in the Pacic war was discussed, and much morebut postwar arrangements in Indochina and Europe, especially Poland, also occupied them. Roosevelt, pushing a more global agenda, urged the conscation of Indochina from France, while Stalin, attendant to affairs on his own borders, pushed for a realignment of Polish frontiers at the expense of Germany. Churchill opposed the former as a bad anticolonial precedent but could offer little resistance to the latter in light of massive Soviet losses in the war and the conscation of Soviet territory sanctioned by the 1919 Paris Peace Conference, to which the USSR was not even invited. Roosevelt protested too, but ducked a showdown on Poland. The only signicant discussion of international organization at Tehran came in private talks between Stalin and Roosevelt, where Roosevelt attempted to divide and conquer. He presented Stalin with the State Departments UN draft constitution for a tripartite organization comprising an assembly, an executive council, and the Four Policemen, but Stalin responded that he preferred a regional model of the sort he knew Churchill favored,


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conference, Hull revealed that he had already gained Chinese consent for the document, and Molotov, too, relented. The Chinese ambassador in Moscow was called in to cosign. Roosevelt shared Churchills evaluation of Chinese backwardness if not his overt racism, but he calculated that in the event of major postwar tension between the United States and the USSR, tripartite power would leave Britain as a potential power broker. Chinas inclusion killed not just two but several birds with a single stone: Roosevelt added what he smugly assumed would be a reliable ally; diminished potential British power; prevented an Old World alliance between the USSR and Britain against U.S. globalism; and blunted liberal criticism at home aimed at big-power domination of the postwar world.33 Magnanimity toward the lesser powers and peoples of the world doubled as strict self-interest. Public support in the United States for the postwar organization was widespread, and it built to a crescendo with quick Senate approval. It was especially gratifying to Hull that the Senate measure was engineered by the young Texan and chair of the Foreign Relations Committee, Tom Connally, whom Hull had cultivated in the State Department Advisory Committee. The folly of nearly a quarter century might yet be righted. Bowman, too, was delighted. Here again, he breathed, with a great sigh of historical relief, we have the very beginnings of a world organization on a new basis. Having not abandoned Wilsonianism with the same drama as Lippmann but having mined and hardened the pure pragmatism of Wilsons idealism, he remained captivated by the prospect of international political organization. He heard news of the Moscow agreement directly from Roosevelt, days ahead of its announcement to the Senate, and was thrilled to have the arduous State Department work come to some sort of palpable, public result. But he was also irked that Hulls well-deserved success eclipsed the work of Welles, and therefore of the IO subcommittee. It was our documents that Hull took to Moscow, because he had nothing else to take, Bowman complained.34 Four-power adherence to world organization on a new basis was bought at a price, however. U.S. insistence on Chinese inclusion signaled the willingness of the most globally inclined of the powers to resort to regional self-interest in designing the world organization when it was strategically advantageous. Playing the China card was the most explicit expression thus far of the contradiction between regionalism and globalism in U.S. strategy. Its signicance was not missed by the Allies, and a precedent was set.

nounced to the company that he was going to call upon Professor Jefferson to speak. A surprised Jefferson jumped to his feet and snapped at Bowman: Hes Mister Jefferson, please, and he has nothing to say, so hes not going to speak, then sat down.19

the territorial settlements: remaking poland

In questions concerning reparations, the League of Nations, or international economic and labor policies, Bowman was only marginally involved, but in territorial questions his inuence on U.S. positions and overall outcomes was at times decisive. The territorial focus was squarely on Europe, and, in their minds, Wilson and House had already remapped the continent, however vaguely, before arriving in Paris. But so had the other delegations, many with much more immediate interests at stake. These widely conicting visions and claims had to be arbitrated denitively into xed geographical arrangements so that every region and river valley, forest and eld, hamlet and coal mine in Europe was assigned a discrete national place. New boundaries were to create a new political geography that would in turn provide the terra rma for enduring peace and economic expansion. Bowman was involved with the political geography of virtually every corner of the continent, but he was most deeply involved in the Polish and Italian-Yugoslav settlements. In the rst, he lined up forcefully with the emerging Polish government of Joseph Pilsudski against the Bolsheviks and became something of a national hero in Poland. In the second, he just as forcefully opposed the claims of right-wing Italian nationalists in the Balkans, but with more ambivalent results. By the time the Black Book was prepared, the conference had already convened at the Quai dOrsay and established basic procedures. The socalled Council of Ten was taking shape as the top decision-making body. It comprised the leaders and deputiestwo commissioners eachfrom the United States, Britain, France, Italy, and Japan. Without any semblance of democratic procedure, the other delegations were simply excluded, left to plead their own cases. But it was a formal, stuffy, and cumbersome body that readily settled into a maximum of speech giving and a minimum of decision making. They shrank to the Council of Five, shedding the deputies, but, more important, began to establish commissions to do the spade work on specic territorial questions. On European questions, these commissions comprised top advisers of just four countries, with the Japanese summarily dropped. By March, all territorial claims were effectively ltered through the commissions, the intensity of informal negotiations and secret huddles


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notwithstanding. Fifty-two commissions were operational before the treaty with Germany was signed. The central role of the commissions was a largely unforeseen development, and the chief advisers to these four delegationsthe U.S., British, French, and Italiansoon found themselves making direct territorial proposals rather than simply advising. The commissions considered the evidence, distilled multitudinous national recommendations and appeals, and proposed specic territorial arrangements. Commission recommendations to the Big Four (Lloyd George, Clemenceau, Wilson, and Orlando) were the fulcrum around which solutions were forged. According to one observer, the Big Four increasingly ruled the Conference, but in practice most of the articles in the treaties were taken bodily without change from the reports of the commissions.20 As chief of the U.S. advisers, Bowman markedly increased his power. Along with colleagues from Britain, France, and Italy, he heard, processed, and ultimately arbitrated the lengthy deputations and nationalist pleas of many delegations, groups, and representatives with a mixture of genuine and patronizing concern and also boredom: When Dmowski related the claims of Poland, he began at eleven oclock in the morning and in the fourteenth century, and could reach the year 1919 and the pressing problems of the moment only as late as four oclock in the afternoon. Benes followed immediately with the counter claims of Czecho-Slovakia, and, if I remember correctly, he began a century earlier and nished an hour later.21 Bowman had worked on Poland at the Inquiry, and it was his primary territorial concern by February 1919, when the Polish commission, one of the rst, was established. He served on it until early April, working closely with Robert Lord, a Harvard historian, who unlike Bowman had prior scholarly expertise on Poland. For the combined reasons of righting historical wrongs and reestablishing a territorial buffer between Germany and the Soviet Union, the Big Four all supported some measure of Polish claims against German territory to the west and Russia to the east. But there agreement ended. Wilson insisted strongly upon an independent Polish State and sought a larger Poland than envisaged by the British and French delegations. Bowman strongly agreed, and as the commissions work turned to specic territorial claims, borders, and compromises, he amassed data justifying an expansive Poland. On paper, his procedure was straightforward. The rst step was to map the geography of ethnic Polish settlement, identifying the regions in which they constituted a majority. The second, more complicated step was to t boundaries to this distribution. The boundaries should make strategic sense while minimizing the allocation of Poles to

World for the top of the best-seller list. Against Willkies ambitious globalism, Lippmann offered a cold if equally internationalist realism about world power. By one reviewer he was praised for having tossed overboard the last vestige of well-meaning but essentially futile Wilsonianism. Hull and Roosevelt knew they had to stem the tide of this rising conservative realism and used a Moscow foreign ministers meeting in October 1943 to include the Soviet Union in the discussion.30 The Moscow summit was a big deal, promising the rst wartime agreement among the United States, the USSR, Britain, and China and raising the possibility of a four-way agreement on building a United Nations organization. Hull knew that a successful meeting would open a new phase of postwar planning, and he eagerly anticipated the chance to crown his own diplomatic career, seeing an opportunity to step out from Roosevelts shadow. He took a revised copy of the State Departments draft constitution for the UN organization to the summit, but before embarking for Moscow, he held a last-minute brieng with Stettinius, Bowman, and Pasvolsky. Pasvolsky advised that economic reconstruction, especially in the USSR, should be a priority, while Bowman insisted that territorial agreements should be made now with Molotov and Stalin to minimize Soviet territorial gains in Eastern Europe resulting from Red Army victories over retreating German armies. Yet Hull knew that Soviet foreign secretary Molotov was in a mood to talk only about the war and especially about the long-promised but always delayed second front that would take the murderous pressure off Soviet forces and civilians. Hull had also never own before, largely out of fear.31 The public Four Nations Declaration, drafted in the State Department and issued at Moscow, was relatively innocuous. The fourth of seven points specied a principle of membership in the postwar international organization, namely, the sovereign equality of all states, a phrase Bowman claimed to have put in nal form.32 The most controversial issue was not the wording at all but U.S. insistence that it be a four-power rather than a three-power agreement. The USSR had never declared war on Japan, and a joint declaration with China raised the risk that Japan would target the USSR in the east, where it was wide open. The United States wanted Chinese inclusion, because, short of revolution, the country would oppose the interests of the huge socialist state along its northwestern frontier, yet also oppose European colonialism. Churchill was indignant that the Chinesethe pigtails, in his racist disparagementbe included on anything like equal footing with Britain, but he had already reluctantly acquiesced, so when Molotov refused to sign alongside China, citing the absence of its representatives from the


frustrated globalism, compromise geographies

last hurrah for old world geographies


fore moving on to the chairmanship of U.S. Steel and eventually the U.S. ambassadorship to the Vatican, the secretary succeeded in having Roosevelt curb Welles directly. Hull quickly dissolved the Advisory Committee, Welless power base, and Bowman now distanced himself from Welles, whom he suspected of going off the deep end.27 Press accounts began to report rumors of a factional State Department. Welles was personally and politically vulnerable. He was now the target of a Washington whispering campaign insinuating immorality and indiscretion. The source was William Bullitt, a miscreant upper-crust Philadelphian who had served as ambassador