A Spectator's Notebook
Never before have I had myself woken up in the middle of the night to hear a broadcast, but I did so this Wednesday morning to listen to President Nixon announce peace in Vietnam. His delivery was flat; rhetoric was kept down; and I can't say that I was moved. I soon was back asleep. But it is good that that war is at an end. Sometimes it seemed that it would, could, never end. I have made several trips to Vietnam, and at first I supported the American cause there. But once the Americans ceased advising and started fighting, once the marines had ventured out beyond the Da Nang perimeter, the war not only escalated, but degenerated. After my last visit, I changed my mind and came to the conclusion not only that the Americans could not win, but also that because of the corruption and destruction they were causing they did not deserve to do so. If this meant a serious defeat for the west, and if, worse, the domino theory subsequently were proved correct, and Laos, Cambodia and Thailand should, fall, even then—so be it. Several of my friends denounced this attitude, but none of them who did so had been to Vietnam. And every friend of mine who had been there came, sooner more often than later, to the conclusion I slowly and reluctantly reached.
There was in Vietnam (far more than ever in treland) a terrible beauty; and now that the war is over, those who knew that beauty and, as reporters and photographers, loved as well as hated the war, will feel a curious sweet and sour nostalgia. Vietnam and the war's participants apart, it is for good rather than for ill, I think, that those who knew something of the war will never be rid of its memory.
Free pens and tragedy
My first encounter with LBJ — he is the only American I have come across who actually behaved as if his name really was made up of initials was in Berlin, during one of the nasty Berlin crises which used to erupt with such nervous frequency. The argument had been about the land corridor, and the United States had determined to send a convoy of troops through from West Germany to Berlin. When the troops finally arrived, LBJ was there to take the salute, in his vicepresidential capacity. He was, in fact, setting the stage, along with General Lucius B. Clay, for Jack Kennedy's subsequent triumphal visit, when he proclaimed to an ecstatic Berlin crowd, " Ich bin em n Berliner!" LBJ was more subdued so far as eloquence went. But in every other respect he was American ebullience personified. For the first time, I saw an American politician — and the Vice-president at that — moving around in a haze of publicity boys, giving away free ball-point pens.
He was a very bouncy fellow then, something of a figure of fun and very much the all-time-great politician. During his presidential years, when he had to pick up the Vietnamese policy handed to him by Kennedy and had, too, to face the time of his nation's greatest discontent since its civil war, the bounce left 'him. He became stooped, drawn, tormented. Towards the end of his presidency, a sense of doom and of tragedy clung about him, inseparable from him, like the smell of pipe smoke in tweedy jackets. He felt, and looked as if he felt, the full weight of war and of the terrible black decisions of war. His life, far more than that of theassassinated Kennedy he succeeded, was tragic.
Ted's devoted press
The gravity of the present crisis appears to have escaped the notice of the usually vigilant British press. The crashing stock exchange has been played clown; and so, too, has the advance warning given by a Government minister to a few journalist friends that Phase Two of Heath's Incomes policy will be tougher than the present Phase One; and Phase Three will be tougher still. The Prime Minister disliked being questioned on this matter in the House of Commons, as he made quite clear to those watching his performance. Tory members, re-assembling, are very subdued, I hear. They ought to be thankful. What would it have been like if the press were hostile to the Prime Minister, instead of his most devoted servants? It is odd how excellent a press Mr. Heath is now getting, until one reflects that the people who support him now, in 'his incomes policy, are those who supported him before, on Europe. They are stuck with him, and he is stuck with them.
What's in it in Ulster?
Willie Whitelaw was in excellent spirits, considering, when he delivered a pep-talk on behalf of Ulster's economy to a gathering of City notables at the Mansion House on Monday. It is, in fact, extraordinary how well the Northern Ireland economy bears up. The record on industrial relations is sound; the traditional textile industry is doing better than might be expected; and Harland and Wolff faces no shut-down. The City gents applauded the Irish Secretary's speech. But, overhearing them afterwards, as they queued for their overcoats and briefcases, one constantly heard "Yes, very interesting. But do yoU really think there is any money to be made for us over there?"
Macrocosm and microcosm
Full marks to Mark Mathews. He is chairman of Microgen Ltd., a firm of which I was quite ignorant until this Tuesday. I came into the office and found, wrapped up in transparent plastic, a small tree. It was a present to me from Mr. Mathews. There was a letter which explained — if that is the word — the gift: "It may seem strange that a microfilm service bureau feels involved with trees" the letter began; and truth to say, it did seem a bit odd. "It is however extremely logical," Mr. Mathews's letter went on, "for microfilin systems reduce paper usage and consequently preserve trees. We are proud to be a company involved in ecological improvement."
I was not entirely convinced; but it was very nice to receive a tree as a present. Why do not more people give trees as presents? It makes a change from a rose bush; costs no more; and if it takes, will last far longer and become far more impressive. I shall take Mr. 1VIathews'S beech tree home, and plant it; I hope that it Will prosper.
Amilcar Cabral
Molly Mortimer writes: Amilcar Cabral's extravagant claims to control large parts of Portuguese Guinea did not need his death for deflation. The United Nation's own special commission had already proved this much, to left-wing dismay. This commission, uninvited bY Portugal, purported to have stayed several days in Cabral's Guinea in 1972. As it never emerged into light of day there, Portuguese authorities continue to claim that it never in fact left Sekou Toure's Guinea at all. His death has thrown another scheme into disarray. Such is the political pressure at the UN that it was seriously mooted to give Cabral's imagina' ry country a real seat in the Assembly; rather as the imaginary Council for South West Africa is given grave credence in that fairy palace.
The real importance of Amilcar Cabral's death lies in the fact that he came front Cape Verde and he was determined " liberate" those Islands. He also admitted to much gratitude and support from Soviet Russia. The Cape Verde Islands are a vital, advanced and integral part of NATO defence in the Atlantic. Russia has long been angling for sufficient control in West Africa to complete her straddle across to South America and an effective stranglehold by her navy. Any Russian foothold in Cape Verde would render totally vulnerable shipborne supplies to Europe. Am& car's death has thrown these schemes into at least temporary disarray; for there is n° immediate leader to replace him. Whoever ended Cabral's war, Britain may be grateful to them one day.
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