I think we’re all aware that the Gallipoli land campaign kicked off a century ago, and it would be hard not to notice the human sacrifice involved. On the whole, the heritage story is also doing a pretty good job of pointing out the campaign’s international significance, giving great weight to ANZAC matters, managing to mention that much of the ground force committed came from various outposts of the British and French Empires, and even giving a nod to the impact of a hard-won Ottoman victory on the future of an independent Turkey. On the other hand, from a British perspective, you’d have to say the commemorative industry could be doing a whole lot better.
You can hunt down a documentary or dig deep in the broadsheet press, but if you stick to the mass-consumption side of the media you might not even notice that the entire campaign was a fiasco from start to finish. Perhaps national love for Winnie explains populist reluctance to roundly condemn Churchill’s bombastic role as the plan’s principal political promoter. Perhaps unwillingness to remind us of Churchill’s reckless streak has contributed to tabloid reticence when it comes to mentioning the strategic optimism, shoddy planning and command ineptitude that characterised Britain’s part in the campaign, or to laying much stress on the outrage provoked in contemporary Australia by those failings. Of course, this is the centenary of the first landings on the peninsular, and despite the abject failure of naval efforts against the Dardanelles defences the Gallipoli campaign wasn’t yet a disaster – but it was suffering from poor planning and execution from the first day, and that isn’t part of the news packages I’m seeing.
Ah well, let’s hope Gallipoli hasn’t dropped off the news map when the time comes to commemorate the really shambolic stuff.
One other problem with the pomp and ceremony surrounding Gallipoli is the way commemoration can warp history. The commitment of troops to a sideshow in the eastern Mediterranean wasn’t by any means the only, or even the most significant event of that weekend in 1915. Negotiations to bring Italy into the War on the side of the Triple Entente were reaching the end of a long road, and on Monday 26 April the Treaty of London was signed.
The Treaty guaranteed that Italy, by a distance the biggest European economy not yet committed to the War, would join the fight against Germany and Austria-Hungary. In early 1915, a time when strategic thinking on both sides assumed that one more push in the right place would bring this unsustainable conflict to an end, it was seen by many in authority as a potentially war-winning diplomatic triumph. It was not, however, a propaganda triumph, because it was kept secret, and it was kept secret because it was arguably one of the grubbiest agreements ever made between nations, a stark reflection of naked greed, high-handedness and desperation that left even some of its makers appalled and talking of international blackmail.
By the spring of 1915 Italian politicians, press and public were clamouring for war in the just causes of national expansion and national glory. Given that orthodox pre-war thinking all over Europe had assumed the approaching conflict, long overdue, would create a new world order dominated by the winners, this was not the outrageous chauvinism it appears today. The Ottoman Empire, Greece, Brazil, Bulgaria, Romania and almost every other country with foreign policy issues needed to be on the winning side and was open to bribery in return for joining it.
Italy had a young nation’s restless thirst for international status to go with foreign policy issues in spades, the most emotive of them centred on territorial disputes with the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Vienna’s refusal to make concessions in the region around Italy’s northeast frontier had scuppered any prospect of Rome going to war in 1914 alongside Austro-Hungary and Germany, its partners in the Triple Alliance, and gave the Entente powers a key advantage in what soon became an auction for Italian allegiance.
A charitable view would be that the auction got out of hand, though it might be more accurate to say it reflected the madness of a world at war. Either way, the winning Entente bid made promises it either couldn’t keep, could only keep by breaking promises made to other countries, or had no intention trying to keep. On the Italian side, Entente promises were accepted eyes wide shut for fear that the breakthrough everyone expected would end the War before Italy could claim its share of the jamboree. Check out those promises and lies.
Italy was promised substantial military and economic aid, starting with an immediate loan from Britain of £50 million (a vast sum in 1915), as well as substantial reparations after victory was achieved and the fulfilment of almost all its many territorial ambitions. Italy was to be given the Trentino (South Tyrol) and Trieste regions to the north of the country, both then ruled by Vienna, and despite promises already made to Serbia it would control both the Dalmatian and Adriatic coastlines with the sole exception of the port of Fiume (Rijeka), which was withheld as a sop to Russian support for Slav interests. Italy was also to be given formal possession of the Dodecanese archipelago (which it had annexed in 1912 but which the Entente was also promising to Greece) and the Adalia region on the Turkish coast nearest to the islands, along with an expanded area of influence in Libya.
None too surprisingly with hindsight, the Treaty of London did nobody much good. Allied aid never began to match Italian expectations, and the new battlefront that opened up in the mountain passes around the frontiers with Austria-Hungary became another ghastly stalemate that was still in progress when the Bolsheviks took over Russia and released details of all the Entente’s secret treaties.
Details of the London treaty began appearing the Western press at the end of 1917, provoking understandable anger in Serbia and Greece, but also sparking pubic outrage in Italy over a particularly embarrassing clause that prohibited any Entente response to peace proposals by the Pope. At the end of the War an exhausted and turbulent Italy received precious little of its territorial bounty at the Paris Peace Conference, as the Treaty became a byword for the failings of ‘old world diplomacy’ and the claims of smaller Balkan states took precedence. Within another three years, Italian dissatisfaction would find expression in the noisy nationalism of Benito Mussolini’s Fascist Party.
I don’t know, all that seems worth a mention to me, or at least a commemorative tip of the hat – but I guess hard-nosed diplomacy and treaty clauses get low billing in a media circus that’s all about feelings.