Black Marx
THE PRESS BILL GRUNDY
As I understand it, the reason why in the country of the blind the one-eyed man is king is that with his one eye he can see, however dimly. It is, I presume, for a somewhat similar reason that the pundits whose writings fill so many column inches in the papers are as highly regarded as they are. In a world where informa- tion is continually being hurled at us, like bits of a giant jigsaw, the man who knows what the picture on the lid is like stands more chance than most of slotting the pieces into place. And as one who never was any good at jigsaws anyway, I simply have to put my trust in pundits; only that way can I even begin to get the slightest inkling of what it's all about.
On occasions, though, I feel a bit let down. One such was a month or two ago when Patrick Brogan told us in The Times how splendidly solid and dependable General de Gaulle's France was, and why. A week later, eyelids unbatted, he was explaining to us just why the revolution had been inevitable all along. He never did get round, now I come to think of it, to explaining why the failure of the revolution was just as inevitable. Perhaps he couldn't think of the reason. But that is all water sous le pont, and l'm sure Mr Brogan is as eager to forget it as I am, although for different reasons.
Unfortunately I can't forget it. The events of the last week won't let me. Czechoslovakia is the word that keeps stirring things up, and Victor Zorza is the name that keeps floating around in the fog.
Mr Zorza, as you will doubtless remember, is the Guardian's specialist on communist affairs. His pronouncements have been appear- ing in that worthy paper for many years now, and have made all clear on many occasions. But not, I fear, any more. The bright confident morning has gone for ever. For though it may be human to err, pundits are by definition superhuman and are therefore above error. Or should be. Mr Zorza is not, and he it was that said it.
Mr Zorza's regular Wednesday feature 'The Communist World' started on 17 July with an unusual sentence—unusual for a pundit, that is: 'In common with other analysts I have believed for some time that the likelihood of Soviet military intervention in Czechoslovakia was minimal, and I have said so. I no longer believe this analysis to be correct.' Now you may think that is an honest thing, a brave thing, or a foolish thing to say. I find it quite simply shattering. For if the man with the map admits to being lost, where on earth are the rest of us? My view of the terrain was made even mistier by the fact that the day after Mr Zorza's admission, his colleague Geoffrey Moorhouse was writing from Prague: 'No one here seriously thinks that a passage of arms Is imminent. . .
But let's not confuse things. Let us stick close to Mr Zorza. There he was, starting off with an admission of monumental error, some- thing which might have made a lesser man cautious. But Mr Zorza is not a lesser man. He is a pundit, even if a fallible one. And in no time at all he was bouncing back again. At first, I grant you, there was just a touch of wariness. The evidence' he was writing in the next paragraph, 'now suggests . . .' But It didn't take long for the habit of a lifetime to reassert itself. Two paragraphs later the evidence no longer merely 'suggests.' Now it 'clearly points to.' And a few lines later an interpretation is 'obvious,' and an emphasis 'clearly' implies something or other about the doings of the Kremlin.
Since then there has been no holding him. On Monday he was writing with all his old authority that the stage in Czechoslovakia is now quite definitely set for intervention. 'The argument,' he remarks, 'is somewhat disguised . . . but it can be readily recognised [my italics] when placed in its proper context. And of course he goes on to provide us with that proper context. On Tuesday there was a long article interpreting the latest hand in the poker game, an article which ought to have given me back the comforting feeling that somebody knows what's happening and with a bit of luck will tell me.
But unfortunately it didn't. The magic has gone. Having been told that the Emperor has no clothes on, for the life of me I can't see him as anything but naked, try as I may. And naked he doesn't look so impressive any more. What I shall do now I have no idea. Ah well, there's always Kyril Tidmarsh. Now there's a name to conjure with Some other time, perhaps.
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