He came, he saw, he settled
Paul Johnson
OVER HERE by Raymond Seitz Weidenfeld, £20, pp. 372 Former ambassador Raymond Seitz prides himself on his knowledge of British ways, and his book is a display of his savoir- faire. He certainly knows more about us than his immediate predecessor or succes- sor. On the other hand, he is occasionally caught out. Thus he allowed himself to be inveigled down to Salisbury to lunch with Ted Heath, a tedious and unrewarding chore which sophisticates know how to avoid. For his naivety he was rewarded with `a hard time about American policy in the Middle East'. Desperate to change the sub- ject, Seitz asked, 'Of all the relationships between a British prime minister and an American president since the war, which one do you think was the best?' Heath instantly replied, 'Heath and Nixon.' Seitz adds, 'I almost choked on my asparagus.'
Seitz's book has attracted attention because of its revelations about the way in which Clinton's White House betrayed British military secrets to the IRA, and its hostile comments about the dreadful Kennedy woman who is US ambassador in Dublin. The revelation produced outrage among the American-Irish lobby, and the Times published a letter deploring Seitz's un-ambassadorial conduct which appeared to come from a high American establish- ment quarter. But on inquiry I discovered that the signatory was merely a Kennedy stooge, and certainly all my own friends in the United States were delighted by Seitz's frankness.
The truth is, President Clinton, a crass and ignorant man, was slow to learn about the importance of British goodwill. When John Major paid his first visit to Washing- ton a few weeks after Clinton's inaugura- tion, Seitz records that Clinton
was sitting with a few aides in the Oval Office. One of them joked, 'Don't forget to say "special relationship" when the press comes in.' Oh yes,' Clinton said, 'how could I forget the Special Relationship?' And he threw back his head and laughed.
But as all American presidents learn by hard experience, the Special Relationship is a reality, operating at innumerable levels. Every United States president finds sooner or later that, when times are hard, Britain is the only ally on whom America can depend. Clinton has learned this in his turn. After the sobering experience of the latest Iraq crisis, when he discovered that Britain was not only his only ally but the only major power which was not actively obstructive, he too became a warm convert to the Relationship and all that it implies. In six years of his presidency, no foreign visitor has been more welcome than Tony Blair this month, not least because Stainless Tony supplied him with a vicari- ous fig-leaf, or innocence by association. (Oddly enough, the only recent British prime minister who did not benefit from the Relationship, and by Seitz's account did his best to upset it, was Ted Heath.) What the Special Relationship continues to show, and what Seitz's book emphasises on almost every page, is that the United States is not, for Britain, a foreign country, but family. Although Seitz's ostensible object is to indicate the differences he has discovered, and to describe British, or more properly English, peculiarities to do with the monarchy, the class system and so forth, the fundamental standpoint from which he begins his assessment is so close to our own that his book is almost an exercise in introspection. It has none of the hidden or flaunted malice with which a Scotsman or an Irishman would write a book about Britain, or still more, the English. The tone is quizzical at times, gently playful, occasionally wistful, sometimes admiring, even fulsome, yet also critical in a straightforward kind of way. Beneath it all is an assumption of respect and affection. It is mostly flattering to us and I am not surprised to hear that the book is on the best-seller list. Moreover, Seitz has put his baggage where his mouth is and has chosen to retire here. His deci- sion has a lot to do with his dogs, but then that is very English too. His is the case of an American who has come home, or at least 'home'.
`Quick hide the Van Gogh, he's a director of Bath Rugby.'
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