Far from a middle-of-the-road justification for inaction, the orientation and preoccupations of this book are the basis for taking steps for a more graceful dance with the U.S.
The topic of Canada’s relations with the U.S. is big and broad, with experts who advance knowledge by taking manageable objects of study and exploring them in depth. However, this method of exploration is also a weakness — and that weakness is a rationale for this book. There is a need to bring together what is important in considering Canada’s future with the United States, to gather up the breaking down of knowledge, to bring it into a coherent whole.
From managing water resources to ballistic missile defence, from energy to Arctic sovereignty, I propose a new paradigm for living with our neighbour that advances our interests.
Notes
1. Raymond Chrétien, former Canadian ambassador to Washington, in an interview with the author on March 30, 2009.
2. Lloyd Axworthy, Navigating a New World, Canada’s Global Future (Toronto: Alfred A. Knopf Canada, 2003), 97.
2
Avro Arrow: the World’s Fastest Fighter Jet Runs Out of Fuel
Ships Hunt for Avro Arrow. Armed with high-tech scanners and specially trained divers, two Canadian warships probe the depths of Lake Ontario for the wreckage of a lost Canadian dream.
June 25, 2004, Globe and Mail.
What, exactly, was that Canadian dream? Why is the abrupt way in which it was cancelled so poignant? What can we learn from the Arrow about who we are and our national psyche? What does it tell us about how to advance our interests with the U.S.?
Built to shoot down Soviet bombers coming over the polar ice cap, the state-of-the-art Arrow flew at twice the speed of sound and as high as fifty thousand feet. The descendant of the Avro Canuck, the first jet fighter designed and built in Canada, the Arrow had thirty-eight thousand parts and drew on the resources of 654 subcontracting companies.
Prior to the Arrow, Avro produced almost eight hundred Canucks that were in service throughout the 1950s. With the success of the Canuck it was logical for Avro to work on a next-generation aircraft. The company, based outside of Toronto, had also built one of the world’s first commercial jet aircrafts — the Avro Jetliner, which, while technically sound, was not a commercial success.
Canada emerged from the Second World War with the fourth largest economy and military — after the U.S., the U.K., and France. We were living what many call the Golden Age of Canadian diplomacy. Winston Churchill had given his prescient speech in which he warned that an Iron Curtain had descended in the middle of Europe. An arms race had emerged between two economic and social systems locked in a contest that could lead to nuclear annihilation. Part of that nightmare struggle involved Soviet bombers coming over Canada. Rather than relying on the Americans, we decided to develop a fighter interceptor to stop them ourselves.
The Avro jet fighter, which flew for the first time in March 1958, was based on the British Vulcan bomber with an arrow-like delta wing. Arrow’s rationale was to attack bombers, but as the plane came into production it became clear that intercontinental ballistic missiles were a new threat for which the Arrow was not a response.
For the plane to be affordable, Avro would have to sell hundreds to other countries. But the Americans, French, and British all had their own aircraft industries to support and advance.
For largely business reasons, Avro wanted to build all of the systems as well as the engines, fire control, and weapons systems. Then, to reduce the cost of development the decision was made to purchase the fire control and missile system. Still the plane was so expensive it would absorb the entire Canadian defence budget, leaving no money for the navy and army. Would Canada have wanted to continue with the Arrow knowing it meant increasing taxes to expand military spending and slowing the emergence of new social programs, while fuelling a global arms race?
When I set out to examine the story of the Avro Arrow, I was of the view — as so many of us still are — that the aircraft spoke to the promise of our country, and the cancellation to the frustration of that promise. It is also widely believed that the United States was decisive in thwarting our potential. As it turns out, the U.S. was not “the,” or even “a,” villain.
Indeed, the U.S. was benign in the sense that it did not actively set out to kill the Arrow. The arrival of the missile age did mean the Americans encouraged us to buy its Bomarc missiles, but surface-to-air missiles did not preclude the need for fighter jets. Nevertheless, the U.S. decided not to order any Arrows. It had its own fighter jet manufacturers to support and cannot be blamed for wanting to support and advance its own leading-edge industries.
The United States emerged from the Second World War with 40 percent of the world’s economic capacity and in a geopolitical struggle for influence with the Soviet Union. In this context the Americans massively supported the economies of their NATO allies. They made various offers to support the Arrow, short of purchasing it for their own air force. They even offered to help finance building the plane for use by the Royal Canadian Air Force. This was a generous offer, given their self-interest in selling us fighter jets off American assembly lines. Some reports even have the U.S. secretary of the air force saying to the Canadian ambassador, “We’ll buy the Arrow and give it to you.” [1]
Yet we rejected American assistance as unwanted charity, and a huge chunk of an invaluable industry was lost.
There’s no doubt that the Arrow became too expensive for Canada alone to support. Even C.D. Howe — the Liberal minister of everything who, before the Tories took power, had backed Avro and put his protege, Crawford Gordon, in charge of it — said in January 1959, one month before the cancellation, that costs were completely out of hand and that the Arrow should be scrapped.
When the end came in late February 1959, it was haphazard and brutal. In a sense the Arrow had been suffering a slow and steady demise. First the Canadian government was going to buy seven hundred. Then one hundred, and finally it gave the order to destroy thirty-seven of the aircraft — five flown and thirty-two in production.
The death of the Arrow cost nearly twenty-five thousand jobs: fourteen thousand people worked directly on the plane and eleven thousand in support industries. Among the casualties were fifteen hundred highly prized engineers, most of whom were snapped up by leading projects in other countries. Some ended up developing the supersonic Concorde passenger jet. Most went to American aircraft producers or to NASA.
In 1994, during my honeymoon in Louisiana, we stayed at a bed and breakfast where I noticed a model of the Avro Arrow on the mantel. I was shocked to see such a familiar Canadian touch-stone deep in what seemed the strange and different American Deep South. The owner explained that she had grown up as part of “the Avro Arrow family.” She said, “I’m bitter Canadians never realized what they threw away, such potential so foolishly discarded.” Her father was one of the Avro engineers that went on to help develop the Gemini and Apollo projects.
Perhaps if the Arrow had been less ambitious, less of an all-or-nothing undertaking, it could have more easily survived. At one point, Avro was going to build every aspect of the plane from airframe to engine to weapon and fire control systems. The great strength of the plane, where it truly surpassed others, was its airframe. Why the drive to develop so many other areas of expertise?
One of the reasons is that the Avro and its head, Crawford Gordon, were deeply steeped in Liberal politics, and the new Conservative prime minister, John Diefenbaker, had just defeated the Liberals, his bitter rivals. The way the Arrow was cancelled is tied up with
