“There is a longing in the air. It is not a longing to go back to what they call ‘the good old days.’ I have distinct reservations as to how good ‘the good old days’ were. I would rather believe that we can achieve new and better days. Absolute victory in this war will give greater opportunities to the world, because the winning of the war in itself is certainly proving to all of us…that concerted action can accomplish things. Surely we can make strides toward a greater freedom from want than the world has yet enjoyed. Surely by unanimous action in driving out the outlaws and keeping them under heel forever, we can attain a freedom from fear of violence…I would rather be a builder than a wrecker, hoping always that the structure of life is growing – not dying.”
- President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Address to the Canadian Parliament, Ottawa, Canada, August 25, 1943
“Aided by his ‘syndicate’ of researchers, civil servants, and historian-aides, [Winston] Churchill was able to have his day in literary court, in his six-volume opus, The Second World War, which helped win him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1953…For the memory of President Roosevelt…it was, however, near-devastating, since its magisterial narrative placed Churchill at the center of the war’s direction and President Roosevelt very much at the periphery…In many ways, then, this book and its predecessor are a counternarrative, or corrective: my attempt to tell the story of Roosevelt’s exercise of high command from his – not Churchill’s – perspective.
- Nigel Hamilton, Commander in Chief: FDR’s Battle with Churchill, 1943
History is not simply written by the victors; it is written by those who know how to tell good stories. To that end, Winston Churchill has had a marked impact on the historiography of the Second World War. First and foremost, of course, was his role as Prime Minister of Great Britain, where he took an incredibly hands-on approach to running the war. No matter the mistakes he made – and he made a boatload – one can only admire the pugnacious way he stood up to Adolf Hitler, even after France had fallen, and even while the Soviet Union still held the hands of the Nazis.
Beyond his influence as a historical actor, though, Churchill also had extraordinary literary skills. His way with words is almost awe-inspiring, and this skill – combined with an exceptionally long life – ensured that his time as Prime Minister only grew with time. Carefully shaping, exaggerating, and eliding events allowed him to build a lasting memorial – to himself.
As Nigel Hamilton observes, this was an advantage denied to the American leader, Franklin Delano Roosevelt. FDR never had the chance to write his memoirs or defend his actions or give a speech at the United Nations, which he had called into being. Instead, he died suddenly before the great world war – which he had done so much to win – even ended.
Hamilton has taken it upon himself to attempt to wrest the grand narrative away from Churchill and retell a familiar story in an FDR-centric way. To do this, he has undertaken an ambitious, three-volume project designed to reclaim some lost glory.
In Mantle of Command, the first volume in the series, Hamilton set the stage for his argument, positioning Churchill as an empire-obsessed blunderer whose soaring rhetoric could not quite match the string of defeats suffered by his nation. Covering the time-period from Pearl Harbor to the landings in North Africa, Hamilton posited that FDR convinced both Churchill and his own chiefs of staff that Operation Torch was the only way to get into the war without being mercilessly slaughtered by the Wehrmacht.
Hamilton continues the tale in Commander in Chief, this time focusing on the post-Torch wrangling over where the Allies would strike next. Specifically, Hamilton tries to make this a battle of wills between Churchill (who wanted to nibble on the periphery of the Axis’ ill-gotten empire) and Roosevelt (who supported a cross-Channel invasion in 1944).
As in the first book, Commander in Chief is not a chronological narrative. Rather, it is structured as a series of “episodes,” twelve in all, that Hamilton feels are useful in highlighting FDR’s skills as overall commander of American forces (and in a broader sense, the free world). These so-called episodes really run the gamut. Some are useful (the section on the Casablanca Conference), some are useless (such as the chapters on Roosevelt’s flight to Morocco, which does nothing more than teach us that flying boats are really, really cool), and some are simply perplexing (such as Hamilton’s contention that FDR used the leverage of atomic secrets to get Churchill to agree to Operation Overlord, without providing any supporting evidence).
Hamilton’s style is informal and pugnacious. He peppers his writing with rhetorical questions, exclamatory asides, and broad interpretations about what various figures were thinking and feeling. His method is readable and engaging and it took me just a handful of days to get through the 399 pages of text. (And I was drunk for a couple of those days!)
Unfortunately, overall, Commander in Chief is quite disappointing. While Mantle of Command had its weaknesses, it also provided a number of helpful insights (and also hit Churchill right in the groin of his reputation: his position as an unreconstructed colonialist). Instead of rectifying the issues that plagued Mantle of Command, Hamilton tends to repeat them, and then repeat them again, and then again (repetitiveness being one of this book’s flaws).
Commander in Chief’s major issue is a lack of sourcing. Hamilton has a reputation as a dogged researcher and library hound. Those skills are not put on display here. His list of sources is painfully thin, and he tends to draw on a very few people for the bulk of his contentions. For instance, he quotes extensively from FDR’s distant cousin Daisy Suckley, whose patent adoration for Roosevelt makes her less-than-objective. (On the other hand, I appreciated his use of Canadian PM Mackenzie King, who kept detailed diary entries covering his face-to-face conversations with the American President). The paucity of actual witnesses is made all the more apparent by Hamilton’s tendency to cut away from Roosevelt’s story to spend time with Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. Granted, Goebbels’ diary entries are fascinating; at the same time, they have only the most tenuous connection to the points Hamilton is trying to make, and thus feel like filler.
Hamilton is an extremely opinionated historian. In general, I am fine with this. Most historians have their biases and blind-spots, and I prefer honesty in this regard than the false veil of “objectivity.” But if you are going to give an opinion, you have to provide the factual premises upon which your conclusion is based. If you don’t give me the foundation, if you don’t give me the evidence, then you’re no better than Cliff Clavin, perched at the end of the bar, spouting confident nonsense. Too often in Commander in Chief, Hamilton would write something provocative without including that little superscript at the end of a sentence, denoting an endnote.
Hamilton’s agenda is to raise Roosevelt up to the heights he imagines occupied by Churchill. Alas, when you advance such an agenda without proofs, you tend to make your position seem weaker, not stronger. Oddly, then, I thought that Commander in Chief tended to diminish FDR rather than enlarge him.
The reason, I fear, is that Hamilton has taken the wrong course. It could very well be that Roosevelt simply can’t compare to Churchill, for the simple reason they played such different roles. Churchill was both the bellicose warrior and the eager strategist, with very keen ideas about the direction of the war. Yet he was also enraptured by a fading vision of the world, inextricably tethered to Empire and colonialism and notions of racial supremacy.
Roosevelt, in my opinion, simply wasn’t as involved in the daily mechanics of war-making as Hamilton asserts, at least not relative to his orotund, cigar-smoking, scotch-swilling counterpart. Yet he possessed a prominence all his own. FDR recognized the dangers of totalitarianism early on, and oversaw the massive transformation of American industry from Model Ts and refrigerators to aircraft carriers and long-range bombers. For good and for ill, he took an isolationist nation and turned it into a global military machine that would soon ascend to be the most powerful on earth. He also had a far-reaching vision of the postwar world that Churchill – still clinging to his Indian dreams – sorely lacked.
Hamilton is not wrong in identifying Franklin D. Roosevelt as a world-historical figure, an equal to Churchill and Stalin as the titans of an age. His error is in attempting to demonstrate FDR’s greatness in reference to theirs, rather than accepting – and celebrating – his own uniquely transformative gifts.