14 December 1971: The Enterprise and Washington’s controversial neutrality
Amid the genocide in East Pakistan, the US Navy’s sudden appearance in the Bay of Bengal sparked fierce debate in Washington over neutrality, complicity, and the moral cost of Cold War strategy
On 14 December 1971, the passage of the Seventh Fleet's warship, Enterprise, through the Malacca Strait ignited controversy in Washington. Even as the Nixon administration sought to frame its actions as neutral, the move prompted criticism from Congress, journalists and observers alike. Senator Adlai Stevenson III of Illinois sharply questioned the United States' claim of impartiality, highlighting the thin line between neutrality and tacit support for one side.
Stevenson's remarks focused on the administration's call for ceasefires and troop withdrawals along India's and Pakistan's borders. "This is a peculiar form of American neutrality," he said. "In reality, it amounts to favouring one side."
The escalating genocide in East Pakistan—the targeted slaughter of Bengalis—rendered any claims of impartiality hollow. For those witnessing the destruction of a nation's birth, policy statements in Washington rang hollow. "A policy that obstructs a nation's self-determination and removes the greatest democratic power from the equation can never be called neutral," Stevenson argued.
Evidence of bias, Stevenson noted, was already in place. Two US Navy vessels—an attack submarine and a naval cargo ship—had been transferred to Pakistan under the ship-loan programme, effectively operating on Islamabad's behalf. The submarine, Diablo, measured 311 feet and 2,400 tons, equipped with ten torpedo tubes; the cargo ship, Mission Santa Clara, stretched 550 feet and weighed 1,650 tons. Renamed Gazi and Dhaka by Pakistan, these ships were part of a broader programme supplying 295 vessels to 37 countries. Yet, in South Asia, they appeared strategically aimed against India, raising doubts about the United States' true role.
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"The loan programme is fundamentally flawed," Stevenson warned. By retaining nominal ownership of these ships, the US risked complicity in military actions against India. Recipient nations invest heavily, making return of vessels unlikely. While the programme claimed to counter Soviet and Chinese influence, Pakistan's waters lie far from either Moscow or Beijing, yet border India—a direct recipient of military pressure. "Gradually winding down the ship-loan programme would therefore be beneficial for the US," Stevenson concluded.
The presence of the Enterprise in the Bay of Bengal raised further questions. Senator Thomas Eagleton of Missouri asked why the aircraft carrier was rushing into Asia's newest theatre of operations. Official statements suggested a humanitarian mission: to evacuate Americans stranded in East Pakistan. Yet, reports indicated that 47 Americans had voluntarily remained behind, challenging the rationale for military intervention.
Stevenson and Eagleton questioned whether the Enterprise's real purpose was to safeguard West Pakistani troops rather than American citizens. By signalling US support, the ship could encourage Pakistani commanders to hold their ground, prolonging the conflict and escalating violence. "Would it not be more humane to remain completely outside the conflict?" Stevenson asked. He suggested pressuring India to permit Red Cross intervention, ensuring protection for prisoners of war and civilians alike.
The Senators' concerns extended to the broader geopolitical stakes. The Indo-Soviet treaty, signed after US inaction over East Pakistan, increased Soviet influence in the region. With millions of East Pakistani refugees flooding India, the humanitarian and political stakes were enormous. In contrast, the United States had been slow to act, effectively allowing a local conflict to escalate into a potential great-power confrontation. Stevenson warned that Washington risked becoming embroiled in a regional war with global implications, all while maintaining a veneer of neutrality.
The 14 December debate was more than a Congressional inquiry; it was a warning. It underscored the peril of half-measures, of distant powers entangled in local wars without fully grasping the human cost. For the Bengalis of East Pakistan, the world's silence and Washington's questionable neutrality were painfully evident. And as bodies continued to be discovered in Rayerbazar and beyond, the stark consequences of indecision, partiality, and power politics were made tragically clear.
Meanwhile, on the ground in Dhaka, the horrors of war were unfolding with shocking immediacy. Before surrendering on 16 December, the Pakistani army conducted a systematic massacre of Dhaka's intellectuals, scientists, and businessmen. Over fifty were executed in a coordinated operation overseen by General A A K Niazi and the high command. Isolated pits in Rayerbazar, central Dhaka, became sites of atrocity. Thirty-five decomposed bodies were discovered in a single visit, with total casualties likely exceeding 150.
Among the victims were prominent figures such as Dr Fazle Rabbi, chief cardiologist at Dhaka Medical College, and Munir Chowdhury, chairman of the Bengali Department at Dhaka University. Brick fields and nearby waterlogged ponds became execution sites, the stark juxtaposition highlighting the grotesque nature of the killings. Families searched desperately for missing relatives. Abdul Malek, a Dhaka businessman, identified three of his brothers among the corpses, all lined side by side by the pond. The abductions had occurred early on a Tuesday morning, with Punjabi soldiers rounding up targeted men and women under armed guard.
Journalists at the Intercontinental Hotel described Dhaka as tense but strangely composed. Streets were filled with people navigating grief and fear, while sporadic gunfire echoed through the city. Many Bengalis accused long-settled Bihari Muslims of assisting the Pakistani military—a bitter irony, given that just months earlier, civilians from the same community had suffered in Jessore. The Dhaka killings, however, were on a scale far more horrifying, targeting the very intellectual backbone of Bengali society.
In this context, the presence of the Enterprise in the Bay of Bengal loomed ominously. To some in Washington, it represented a demonstration of US power or a counterbalance to Soviet influence. To others, it was a tacit signal to Pakistani forces that they would receive backing, potentially prolonging slaughter and impeding efforts to safeguard civilians. The debate over neutrality, intervention, and moral responsibility played out thousands of miles from Dhaka, yet its consequences were felt acutely in the blood-soaked streets of the city.
As the world watched, questions about American foreign policy, ethical responsibility, and the limits of neutrality became urgent. The deployment of the Enterprise and the ship-loan programme highlighted the contradictions of a superpower claiming impartiality while effectively enabling one side in a brutal conflict. Meanwhile, the tragic reality on the ground in Dhaka reminded observers that political manoeuvring could never substitute for moral action.
The 14 December debate was more than a Congressional inquiry; it was a warning. It underscored the peril of half-measures, of distant powers entangled in local wars without fully grasping the human cost. For the Bengalis of East Pakistan, the world's silence and Washington's questionable neutrality were painfully evident. And as bodies continued to be discovered in Rayerbazar and beyond, the stark consequences of indecision, partiality, and power politics were made tragically clear.
