By the Force of Words
- Thread starter Israel
- Start date
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I'm going to quote something @Wolfram said around the start of my own TL because it's apt here: I'm literally quivering with excitement. This is gonna be great. Big POD, big fun.
Part One: Abbreviations
London, United Kingdom
1945
In the preceding July of that year, the British Labor Party won control of Parliament with a 12 percent swing in their favor; a total seat gain of 239. Clement Atlee appointed Hugh Dalton, representing Bishop Auckland, as Minister for Foreign Affairs.
At that time, Mr. Dalton was reviewing some memorandums that have been piling up on his desk; they described the concerning situations regarding relations with the United States, the Soviet Union, and other nations in Europe, Asia, and the Americas.
It served as a somewhat pleasant distraction when he was reminded that an appointment was scheduled, however brief, with Chaim Weizmann, President of the Zionist Organization.
"Good morning," he greeted with an undeliberate weary smile and remarked in an equivalent verbal manner, "take a seat." Weizmann complied, sitting down at the seat besides the end of the long table; Dalton assumed the latter.
"The situation is dire." announced Weizmann, whatever his tone of voice substituting for melodrama. "I'm afraid so," concurred Dalton, "and I assure you that this Government wishes to do all that it can to resolve this issue."
"Yes, yes," he responded more informally, "but with all due respect, sympathies will do no one any good." he paused. "We are both aware of how tiresome many have grown these past months."
Indeed, first the Irgun recommenced their activates against the British authorities in Palestine, and it appeared that the Haganah may soon themselves lose patience and take action.
"I want to deescalate tensions in Palestine, just as anyone else. But it is my responsibility," he explained, "to avoid appearing to take a side, in any way, or else condemn the people to more resentment and violence."
Weizmann nodded. "But something must be done; ineptness will only allow such an effect to occur." Dalton leaned back, his lips locked as an exhaustive sigh was attempted.
"The prospect," he begun, "of a commission inquiring as to possible resolutions to the situation; should it prove active enough?" Weizmann thought for a moment, itching at his eyebrow.
"What sort of commission?" he clarified. "Headed by an impartial voice, but composed of representatives of the parties involved; the head in question would, of course, be selected pending the approval of those parties."
"So in a way a conference?" Dalton nodded, conceding "I suppose." Weizmann, once again, gestured as did the Minister. "I believe that would service all involved, to an extent."
"And this, should the Prime Minister agree, can be held within the next few months; I do believe that you and your colleagues could be of much assistance in preparations for the holding of this commission."
"Of course." Dalton got up, and Weizmann followed. The two shook hands. "We will discuss this further." said the guest as he exited the office. What Mr. Dalton did not know what that Mr. Weizmann had made close acquaintance with a young man, by the name of Aubrey Eban.
1945
In the preceding July of that year, the British Labor Party won control of Parliament with a 12 percent swing in their favor; a total seat gain of 239. Clement Atlee appointed Hugh Dalton, representing Bishop Auckland, as Minister for Foreign Affairs.
At that time, Mr. Dalton was reviewing some memorandums that have been piling up on his desk; they described the concerning situations regarding relations with the United States, the Soviet Union, and other nations in Europe, Asia, and the Americas.
It served as a somewhat pleasant distraction when he was reminded that an appointment was scheduled, however brief, with Chaim Weizmann, President of the Zionist Organization.
"Good morning," he greeted with an undeliberate weary smile and remarked in an equivalent verbal manner, "take a seat." Weizmann complied, sitting down at the seat besides the end of the long table; Dalton assumed the latter.
"The situation is dire." announced Weizmann, whatever his tone of voice substituting for melodrama. "I'm afraid so," concurred Dalton, "and I assure you that this Government wishes to do all that it can to resolve this issue."
"Yes, yes," he responded more informally, "but with all due respect, sympathies will do no one any good." he paused. "We are both aware of how tiresome many have grown these past months."
Indeed, first the Irgun recommenced their activates against the British authorities in Palestine, and it appeared that the Haganah may soon themselves lose patience and take action.
"I want to deescalate tensions in Palestine, just as anyone else. But it is my responsibility," he explained, "to avoid appearing to take a side, in any way, or else condemn the people to more resentment and violence."
Weizmann nodded. "But something must be done; ineptness will only allow such an effect to occur." Dalton leaned back, his lips locked as an exhaustive sigh was attempted.
"The prospect," he begun, "of a commission inquiring as to possible resolutions to the situation; should it prove active enough?" Weizmann thought for a moment, itching at his eyebrow.
"What sort of commission?" he clarified. "Headed by an impartial voice, but composed of representatives of the parties involved; the head in question would, of course, be selected pending the approval of those parties."
"So in a way a conference?" Dalton nodded, conceding "I suppose." Weizmann, once again, gestured as did the Minister. "I believe that would service all involved, to an extent."
"And this, should the Prime Minister agree, can be held within the next few months; I do believe that you and your colleagues could be of much assistance in preparations for the holding of this commission."
"Of course." Dalton got up, and Weizmann followed. The two shook hands. "We will discuss this further." said the guest as he exited the office. What Mr. Dalton did not know what that Mr. Weizmann had made close acquaintance with a young man, by the name of Aubrey Eban.
Part Two: The End of Subtly
Tel Aviv, Mandate of Palestine
1945
Ten years previously, David Ben Gurion became Chairman of the Executive Committee of the Jewish Agency. Within that capacity, he drafted policy for the Yishuv in Palestine, and was recognized by the world community as a spokesperson for the dominant Labor Zionist cause.
"Hmm," he licked his lips, "do you expect this to prove fruitious?" he blanketed the fist of his left hand under his right, awaiting reply. The overhead fan continued to cycle, to little avail for them.
"Certainly," replied the young officer sitting across the desk with most delicious geniality, "all representatives are entering with the mindset of conceiving a just and effectable solution; great potential for progress is opportune."
He frowned. "What role does Mr. Weizmann intend to take at this conference?" the younger fellow wisped at the edges of his lips. "He intends to represent our cause alongside yourself, sir, and other leaders."
"Of course," he agreed, "within an organized, unified delegation." the officer recognized the statesman's tact; he nodded slightly. "Mr. Weizmann hopes that all will be in agreement as to the goals of this Conference," his eyes cornered for a second, "but we must allow for the expression of all proposals if we are to take advantage of this monumental event."
Ben Gurion clapped one palm against the other. "Of course," he repeated as earlier, "but, as representative of the Jewish community in Eretz Yisrael, it is my duty to ensure consensus among the factions composing it. Internal disputes must be settled within such a context."
"If all involved concur on certain basic, specific tenets of argumentation, then there will be no need for confining disagreement to within our own delegation. This should be reasonable?"
"Reasonable," he continued, "we must finalize these tenets before we are to prepare to appear before the Commission. That is the most logical course of action."
"Certainly." the officer opened his briefcase. Ben Gurion relaxed; it appeared that for the moment, the representatives of the two factions have found common cause. It was not to last.
1945
Ten years previously, David Ben Gurion became Chairman of the Executive Committee of the Jewish Agency. Within that capacity, he drafted policy for the Yishuv in Palestine, and was recognized by the world community as a spokesperson for the dominant Labor Zionist cause.
"Hmm," he licked his lips, "do you expect this to prove fruitious?" he blanketed the fist of his left hand under his right, awaiting reply. The overhead fan continued to cycle, to little avail for them.
"Certainly," replied the young officer sitting across the desk with most delicious geniality, "all representatives are entering with the mindset of conceiving a just and effectable solution; great potential for progress is opportune."
He frowned. "What role does Mr. Weizmann intend to take at this conference?" the younger fellow wisped at the edges of his lips. "He intends to represent our cause alongside yourself, sir, and other leaders."
"Of course," he agreed, "within an organized, unified delegation." the officer recognized the statesman's tact; he nodded slightly. "Mr. Weizmann hopes that all will be in agreement as to the goals of this Conference," his eyes cornered for a second, "but we must allow for the expression of all proposals if we are to take advantage of this monumental event."
Ben Gurion clapped one palm against the other. "Of course," he repeated as earlier, "but, as representative of the Jewish community in Eretz Yisrael, it is my duty to ensure consensus among the factions composing it. Internal disputes must be settled within such a context."
"If all involved concur on certain basic, specific tenets of argumentation, then there will be no need for confining disagreement to within our own delegation. This should be reasonable?"
"Reasonable," he continued, "we must finalize these tenets before we are to prepare to appear before the Commission. That is the most logical course of action."
"Certainly." the officer opened his briefcase. Ben Gurion relaxed; it appeared that for the moment, the representatives of the two factions have found common cause. It was not to last.
Part Three: Long Distances
Washington, D.C.
1945
James Francis Byrnes was a Congressman, a Senator, a judge, director of two wartime agencies, and now a Secretary of State; he even almost became Vice President, had it not been for the fears of the late Roosevelt and the big-city bosses that he might alienate the Northern liberals.
Nevertheless, he was in a position of great power within the Administration, and it seemed that his power would not wane, and even though he was not the face of American foreign policy that did not stop him from representing it within any manner he selected.
The intercom buzzed. "Yeah?" he asked as he pressed on the speaker. "You have a call coming in from Cairo, Mr. Secretary." replied his secretary. He nodded to himself. "Fine, thank you."
He picked up the receiver. "Hold on for the Premier." Byrnes frowned, tapping incessantly as the moment withered away. Suddenly, a man cleared his throat. "Mr. Prime Minister?" he clarified innocently.
"Mr. Secretary," responded Prime Minister Nokrashy Pasha, "good morning, I believe?" Byrnes chuckled. "Yeah, that's right; good evening, then." he put away a handful of papers in a drawer.
"I needed to confer with you personally, Mr. Secretary." he explained gravely. "On what matter?" Byrnes discerned. "Well, Mr. Secretary, will you be addressing the London conference in person?"
Byrnes brought the event to the front of his mind. "No, I will not, a delegation will represent this Administration." Pasha hmmed. "And what position will this delegation take?" he asked with a more demanding tone.
"The position of whatever best serves the national interests of this country, just as your delegation will for yours." Byrnes was already exhausted of the conversation, whose end was easily foreseeable in his experienced mind.
"Very good," he surprised Byrnes, "very good indeed, yes. If your office would be so kind as to provide any information you find convenient to disclose with our Ministry, we would be much obliged."
"What sort of information?" Pasha hmmed again, this time with a less recognizable undertone. "Whatever proposals you or your office have considered as a possibility for presentation."
Byrnes considered for a moment the request, not intending on being manipulated or otherwise allowing their guard down. "I'll see about that," he answered finally, "is there anything else, Mr. Premier?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Secretary; good morning." he ended the conversation. It was only then that Byrnes realized that there was a lot more going on than he expected. And suffice it to say, he started regretting deciding not to go.
1945
James Francis Byrnes was a Congressman, a Senator, a judge, director of two wartime agencies, and now a Secretary of State; he even almost became Vice President, had it not been for the fears of the late Roosevelt and the big-city bosses that he might alienate the Northern liberals.
Nevertheless, he was in a position of great power within the Administration, and it seemed that his power would not wane, and even though he was not the face of American foreign policy that did not stop him from representing it within any manner he selected.
The intercom buzzed. "Yeah?" he asked as he pressed on the speaker. "You have a call coming in from Cairo, Mr. Secretary." replied his secretary. He nodded to himself. "Fine, thank you."
He picked up the receiver. "Hold on for the Premier." Byrnes frowned, tapping incessantly as the moment withered away. Suddenly, a man cleared his throat. "Mr. Prime Minister?" he clarified innocently.
"Mr. Secretary," responded Prime Minister Nokrashy Pasha, "good morning, I believe?" Byrnes chuckled. "Yeah, that's right; good evening, then." he put away a handful of papers in a drawer.
"I needed to confer with you personally, Mr. Secretary." he explained gravely. "On what matter?" Byrnes discerned. "Well, Mr. Secretary, will you be addressing the London conference in person?"
Byrnes brought the event to the front of his mind. "No, I will not, a delegation will represent this Administration." Pasha hmmed. "And what position will this delegation take?" he asked with a more demanding tone.
"The position of whatever best serves the national interests of this country, just as your delegation will for yours." Byrnes was already exhausted of the conversation, whose end was easily foreseeable in his experienced mind.
"Very good," he surprised Byrnes, "very good indeed, yes. If your office would be so kind as to provide any information you find convenient to disclose with our Ministry, we would be much obliged."
"What sort of information?" Pasha hmmed again, this time with a less recognizable undertone. "Whatever proposals you or your office have considered as a possibility for presentation."
Byrnes considered for a moment the request, not intending on being manipulated or otherwise allowing their guard down. "I'll see about that," he answered finally, "is there anything else, Mr. Premier?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Secretary; good morning." he ended the conversation. It was only then that Byrnes realized that there was a lot more going on than he expected. And suffice it to say, he started regretting deciding not to go.
Gentleman Biaggi
Banned
is it bad that i thought that guy was osvaldo dorticós torrado?
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