I: Everybody's Talking About World War Three
Right, procrastinating from uni to get ahead with this: expect a lot of stops and starts as I try to juggle writer's block and essays, but I will try my best to keep updates coming - probably tri-weekly to monthly at first, though if I really get into this TL (and if there's enough interest/feedback/constant clour for more) that could become weekly or fortnightly depending on what format I settle for (ah, the eternal dilemma: omniscient narrative or single-character POVs? 
)
So without further ado, here we go:
There is No Depression: Protect and Survive New Zealand
- David Lange
Yes everybody's talking about World War Three
But we're as safe as safe can be...
Throughout 1983, the world watched with bated breath as the two superpowers of the era, the United States on one side and the Soviet Union on the other, experienced a cooling of relations which many was feared would bring about nuclear war and devastation the like of which the world had never seen.
In New Zealand, thousands of miles from either of the belligerents or the flashpoints in Europe and the Middle East, the threat of war loomed impossibly distant yet chillingly near, as the spectre cast by Soviet nuclear missiles placed the tiny island country of three million people within the reach of nuclear attack, aggravated by its close ties to the United States.
There were those who protested. As the country experienced a burgeoning economic crisis and society’s fabric was stretched by a failing economy, many amongst the younger generation took to protest, on and off the streets, against what they saw as a one-sided alliance with the United States which only served to put their country on the list of Soviet targets for annihilation whilst giving the Americans somewhere to park spare ships. While anti-nuclear protest was by no means a new phenomenon to New Zealanders, (the USS Truxtun having been met in 1982 by throngs of angry protestors), it reached a new level of intensity by the time the first round of Soviet-American negotiations broke down in Geneva in late January of 1984, so much so that Muldoon felt compelled to pass under urgency a piece of temporary legislation which would forbid protests from being held within 200 metres of any military facility, the consulate or embassy of any foreign country, or the House of Representatives in Wellington. While the former measure would prove almost laughably redundant given the remoteness of most New Zealand Defence Force installations, the move to cordon off the Beehive and much of central Wellington from protest inflamed feelings amongst those who felt the Prime Minister was once again abusing his power.
For his part, Muldoon couldn’t have cared less.
Following the introduction of Emergency Powers in the United Kingdom on January 28, and the downing of KLM-146 over the Aegean Sea by Bulgarian forces, protest against war briefly abated as people wondered what might happen next. As the situation in Europe began to go rapidly downhill, some wondered if the Government’s response had not been correct in gearing the country towards whatever might come next.
Records salvaged from the National Archives (and the disused railway tunnel in the Rimutakas to which many documents were moved) indicate that several meetings and telephone calls were held in the Beehive’s ninth and tenth floors during February 3-5, where the decision was probably made to lay Civil Defence plans should an attack be declared. While there were no concrete provisions made regarding nuclear war, the Prime Minister was later quoted as saying “I want everyone to know that they’re safer in New Zealand than in Switzerland,” indicating his lack of concern about the likelihood of the country coming under nuclear attack.
By the 10th, the PM’s chipper outlook had no doubt changed as the news of Andropov’s death and replacement by a military council (which he referred to in no uncertain terms as “a junta, plain and simple”), as well as heightened tensions following the Munich bombing, led him to place the Defence Force on alert, meeting with US Ambassador Browne to discuss the role New Zealand would be prepared to play under its ANZUS obligations. Although Browne assured Muldoon the ongoing negotiations in Geneva would make any contribution of New Zealand troops unnecessary, he said the United States welcomed the gesture from its ally and said the mobilisation of reserve regiments across the country would be appreciated.
On Valentine’s Day, many ignored the restrictions on unsanctioned gatherings to demonstrate against the escalation of forces, as the small NZDF’s mobilisation became rapidly apparent and hysteria spread about the chances of Soviet attacks. Crowds gathered in the centres of Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch, Dunedin, and Hamilton to protest; while those in smaller provincial centres dispersed relatively early, Muldoon ordered that “those long-haired layabouts get their arses off the street and stop helping the Russians spread panic”; an order which led to violent confrontations between students and police in Dunedin and a similar clash at the gates of Parliament.
The following day, a young Maori man was arrested on suspicion of throwing a Molotov cocktail at the US Embassy in Wellington and taken into police custody. Rumours that he had been beaten by the Marine guards who caught him near the scene led to conflicting feelings of anger at the Americans and contempt toward the people threatening to undermine the alliance with the one country which could capably defend New Zealand from Soviet attack. This was soon overshadowed, however, as the morning of the 17th brought with it the news of a Soviet ultimatum in Europe and the joint response of Reagan and Thatcher with a solid negative. As panic spread, Muldoon called a press conference for noon where he said, in part:
“…we now face a grim possibility that war will arise again in our lifetime…I must ask of you now as a country to stand together behind this Government and trust that we can ride out this storm…”
It wasn’t particularly reassuring, as speeches go, but the situation was sweeping up Muldoon, and the world, faster than he could adjust to it. With the economy teetering on the brink of freefall as investors across the world engaged in a panicked spree of buying and selling, he was faced with an out-of-control global crisis that could, for all he or anyone else knew, end the world.
It was with this in mind that the cameras and microphones of the country’s news media congregated in Parliament’s press hall at half past ten on the humid summer’s night of February 18th, 1984 as, giving a speech that continues to create debate over whether he was drunk or just stressed by the extraordinary situation, Robert Muldoon announced the outbreak of World War Three.
“...we have decided, after consultation at Government House with our allies from the American embassy and the British High Commission...that following the aggression displayed in Europe the appropriate and moral next step for New Zealand to take is to declare war upon the Soviet Union.”
)So without further ado, here we go:
There is No Depression: Protect and Survive New Zealand
I: Everybody's Talking About World War Three
I hold that the character of nuclear weapons is such that their very existence corrupts the best of intention…that they have brought us to the greatest of all perversions; the belief that this evil is necessary.- David Lange
...everybody's talking about World War ThreeYes everybody's talking about World War Three
But we're as safe as safe can be...
Throughout 1983, the world watched with bated breath as the two superpowers of the era, the United States on one side and the Soviet Union on the other, experienced a cooling of relations which many was feared would bring about nuclear war and devastation the like of which the world had never seen.
In New Zealand, thousands of miles from either of the belligerents or the flashpoints in Europe and the Middle East, the threat of war loomed impossibly distant yet chillingly near, as the spectre cast by Soviet nuclear missiles placed the tiny island country of three million people within the reach of nuclear attack, aggravated by its close ties to the United States.
There were those who protested. As the country experienced a burgeoning economic crisis and society’s fabric was stretched by a failing economy, many amongst the younger generation took to protest, on and off the streets, against what they saw as a one-sided alliance with the United States which only served to put their country on the list of Soviet targets for annihilation whilst giving the Americans somewhere to park spare ships. While anti-nuclear protest was by no means a new phenomenon to New Zealanders, (the USS Truxtun having been met in 1982 by throngs of angry protestors), it reached a new level of intensity by the time the first round of Soviet-American negotiations broke down in Geneva in late January of 1984, so much so that Muldoon felt compelled to pass under urgency a piece of temporary legislation which would forbid protests from being held within 200 metres of any military facility, the consulate or embassy of any foreign country, or the House of Representatives in Wellington. While the former measure would prove almost laughably redundant given the remoteness of most New Zealand Defence Force installations, the move to cordon off the Beehive and much of central Wellington from protest inflamed feelings amongst those who felt the Prime Minister was once again abusing his power.
For his part, Muldoon couldn’t have cared less.
Following the introduction of Emergency Powers in the United Kingdom on January 28, and the downing of KLM-146 over the Aegean Sea by Bulgarian forces, protest against war briefly abated as people wondered what might happen next. As the situation in Europe began to go rapidly downhill, some wondered if the Government’s response had not been correct in gearing the country towards whatever might come next.
Records salvaged from the National Archives (and the disused railway tunnel in the Rimutakas to which many documents were moved) indicate that several meetings and telephone calls were held in the Beehive’s ninth and tenth floors during February 3-5, where the decision was probably made to lay Civil Defence plans should an attack be declared. While there were no concrete provisions made regarding nuclear war, the Prime Minister was later quoted as saying “I want everyone to know that they’re safer in New Zealand than in Switzerland,” indicating his lack of concern about the likelihood of the country coming under nuclear attack.
By the 10th, the PM’s chipper outlook had no doubt changed as the news of Andropov’s death and replacement by a military council (which he referred to in no uncertain terms as “a junta, plain and simple”), as well as heightened tensions following the Munich bombing, led him to place the Defence Force on alert, meeting with US Ambassador Browne to discuss the role New Zealand would be prepared to play under its ANZUS obligations. Although Browne assured Muldoon the ongoing negotiations in Geneva would make any contribution of New Zealand troops unnecessary, he said the United States welcomed the gesture from its ally and said the mobilisation of reserve regiments across the country would be appreciated.
On Valentine’s Day, many ignored the restrictions on unsanctioned gatherings to demonstrate against the escalation of forces, as the small NZDF’s mobilisation became rapidly apparent and hysteria spread about the chances of Soviet attacks. Crowds gathered in the centres of Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch, Dunedin, and Hamilton to protest; while those in smaller provincial centres dispersed relatively early, Muldoon ordered that “those long-haired layabouts get their arses off the street and stop helping the Russians spread panic”; an order which led to violent confrontations between students and police in Dunedin and a similar clash at the gates of Parliament.
The following day, a young Maori man was arrested on suspicion of throwing a Molotov cocktail at the US Embassy in Wellington and taken into police custody. Rumours that he had been beaten by the Marine guards who caught him near the scene led to conflicting feelings of anger at the Americans and contempt toward the people threatening to undermine the alliance with the one country which could capably defend New Zealand from Soviet attack. This was soon overshadowed, however, as the morning of the 17th brought with it the news of a Soviet ultimatum in Europe and the joint response of Reagan and Thatcher with a solid negative. As panic spread, Muldoon called a press conference for noon where he said, in part:
“…we now face a grim possibility that war will arise again in our lifetime…I must ask of you now as a country to stand together behind this Government and trust that we can ride out this storm…”
It wasn’t particularly reassuring, as speeches go, but the situation was sweeping up Muldoon, and the world, faster than he could adjust to it. With the economy teetering on the brink of freefall as investors across the world engaged in a panicked spree of buying and selling, he was faced with an out-of-control global crisis that could, for all he or anyone else knew, end the world.
It was with this in mind that the cameras and microphones of the country’s news media congregated in Parliament’s press hall at half past ten on the humid summer’s night of February 18th, 1984 as, giving a speech that continues to create debate over whether he was drunk or just stressed by the extraordinary situation, Robert Muldoon announced the outbreak of World War Three.
“...we have decided, after consultation at Government House with our allies from the American embassy and the British High Commission...that following the aggression displayed in Europe the appropriate and moral next step for New Zealand to take is to declare war upon the Soviet Union.”
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