by Gore Vidal
Joe swiveled on the step until his bloodshot eyes had Peter’s in full focus. “Where did you get that from?”
“Acheson’s rhetoric is still echoing throughout the whispering gallery of our city. He took the floor when Marshall proved to be less than inspiring. Acheson spoke powerfully of that one rotten apple which spoils a barrel …”
“When was this?” Joe did not enjoy the needling of those who did not feel as he did about the manifest destiny of the United States.
“At the White House. The President called in …”
“… the congressional leaders. I know. To ask for money, to support the Greek democracy …”
“Resting comfortably in peace ever since Philip of Macedon came to town.”
“You tend to overdo the history, dear boy.”
“Mr. Acheson is overdoing the history. Not since Rome and Carthage, he says, has the world been so polarized, which is nonsense. We’re no Rome, while landlocked Russia is no maritime empire like Carthage or even Britain …”
“Don’t niggle. We stand at Armageddon.”
“Theodore Roosevelt? Oh, God, not now.”
“Why not Uncle T when we need him, in spirit at least?”
“My Aunt Caroline quotes your Cousin Eleanor as saying that your Uncle T’s love of war killed dead all attempts at progressive reform in this country.”
Joe gave his most disagreeable snort, causing Bess Truman, First Lady of the Land, to turn around in her place to identify the snort’s source.
Fortunately, the doorkeeper’s roar brought silence to the chamber. “The Cabinet of the President of the United States.” Peter looked at his watch—almost one o’clock. History was in the making, as the Cabinet came down the aisle and took their places in the front row. Acheson sat in for Marshall, who was in Moscow—or should one say Carthage now? Next, the doorkeeper announced, “The President of the United States of America …” The entire chamber stood, including Peter and Joe Alsop. To Peter’s amazement, there was as much of a roar of applause from the Republicans as from the Democratic side of the House. History was flinging the dice. For war.
Truman took his place at the clerk’s desk beneath the speaker’s rostrum; opened a black folder; waited for the applause to stop. Then he began to read in a high-pitched nasal voice. Peter made a few notes. Although he would soon have the entire text, he liked to test himself against it, liked to test the speaker against the speech. What were the key lines? The declaration of war, if there was to be one.
Peter and history did not have long to wait. The President not only briskly assumed for the United States global primacy but made it clear that from this moment forward the United States could and would interfere in the political arrangements of any nation on earth because “I believe that it must be the policy of the United States to support free peoples who are resisting attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressures.” There it was: droit de seigneur. Peter waited for an analysis of what constituted “attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressure.” After all, the United States itself was both armed and outside Greece and Turkey. But no further explanation was given other than “I believe that we must assist free peoples to work out their own destinies in their own way.”
What, Peter wondered, was a free people? Had Americans ever been free of a governing class that often acted against that majority rule which was supposed to be the source of all political legitimacy? If the Canadians had the military and economic power, might they not have had an equal right to save their southern neighbors from two European world wars on the ground that an American minority, armed with great wealth, could so subjugate the American political process as to oblige the many to go glumly to war for the benefit of the few?
Peter suddenly realized, as the little President recited his Achesonian message, why it had been so necessary for Roosevelt to provoke the thunderbolts at Pearl Harbor and then, even more necessary, for the excluded majority never to know what he had done to them. The few always knew best; the many must always follow their lead. This was the “democratic” way in the United States.
Suddenly, everyone was on his feet except for Peter, who remained seated, scribbling in his notebook. Standing ovation. Loud applause. Raw imperialism? Or simply a tribute to a plucky actor whom no one thought capable of pulling off such a role.
“I suppose you’ll object?” Joe smiled his lupine smile, somewhat disconcerting viewed from below.
“Are we to aid every country?”
“Why not?”
Peter wondered if Joe was serious; if Truman was serious; if the current “crisis” was serious. But if what had already been billed in advance as the Truman Doctrine were to take effect, would a total world empire ever be in anyone’s interest? The war industries, now languishing, would profit. But would the general economy improve?
Would …?
Back, alone, in his office, Peter began to fit together—and find a pattern for—Truman’s various statements, starting with the news that Hiroshima had been destroyed. “This is the greatest thing in history,” he had said. It was not recorded whether he smiled or wept when told that Europe had lost thirty million people in the war while the United States had lost a “mere” three hundred thousand military men. Where Roosevelt saw four world spheres of power—American, British, Russian, and Chinese—with the United Nations as their joint police depot, Truman saw only two great powers, which, as of today, were in open conflict: Rome versus Carthage. In this context, Acheson had pretended that the Soviet Union was on the march everywhere in Eastern Europe, which, true or not, could hardly put them on an imperial par with the American acquisition of three-fourths of Germany, soon to be an American province, and of militarily occupied Japan, an American dependency. Then, of course, there was all of Latin America, most of the Pacific islands, while in Africa …
How had Acheson and Truman got away with so much misrepresentation, leading to so many false conclusions, without anyone seriously questioning their hectic and hectoring analyses? It reminded Peter of British intelligence before the war—White Cliffs of Dover rolling over and over Mrs. Miniver and her parched rose, awaiting FDR’s legendary life-saving garden hose. But what was the American equivalent of England’s well-motivated propagandists? In just eighteen minutes at the Capitol, the President had arbitrarily divided the entire world into two “alternative ways of life,” when the truth was that if the United States was not so eager for war, there were many alternative ways of life from the fragmented Chinese and the turbulent Indians to the Soviet Union which had already “lost” Yugoslavia while never getting much of a grip on the Chinese communist leader, Mao Tse-tung, a positively celestial figure in his self-absorption.
Nevertheless, a deliberately leaked cable from General Lucius Clay in Berlin suggested that war with the Soviet Union was imminent. It was hard to take seriously the cries of Truman and Acheson that the skies were falling in when, as of 1947, the United States was responsible for half the world’s industrial output. Clipped to this fact sheet, Peter found a Truman quotation from August 1945: “We must continue to be a military nation if we are to maintain leadership among other nations.” This had been said in Cabinet shortly after the two nuclear bombs had fallen upon Japan. The enemy appeared to be something Truman called “totalitarian states.” Apparently, he had said, “There isn’t any difference between them.…” Except the ones that were treasured allies like Iran and South Africa.
In the file that contained a number of Truman quotations, he found a memo from the Joint Chiefs of Staff dated 1946:
“Experience in the recent war demonstrated conclusively that the defense of a nation, if it is to be effective, must begin beyond its frontiers.” Aeneas must have collected this. When a senator had asked the secretary of the Navy, James Forrestal, if he meant for American ships to be based everywhere, Forrestal had replied, “Wherever there is a sea.” Aeneas had also found a copy of some twenty places where the United States would maintain
air bases or air transit flights. They girdled the earth from Indochina to Guatemala, Canada, Peru, Karachi, New Zealand, while most of the Pacific’s islands had been more or less officially annexed. All in the name of “security” against an enemy or enemies unknown except for the nonatomic and fleetless Soviet Union.
When Truman was asked in 1945 if the United States would now become the world’s policeman, he said, of course it would have to. After all, “in order to carry out a just decision the courts must have marshals.… To collect moneys for county governments, it has been found necessary to employ a sheriff.” In the vigorous effort to make a case that must at times be, in Dean Acheson’s own exquisite phrase, “clearer than truth,” only the United States had the power “to grab hold of history and make it conform”—to what Acheson did not say.
So there it was. The grab was in. On March 21, nine days after Truman declared his “doctrine” to Congress, he created a Loyalty Review Board before which several million government workers would each be forced to swear that never, ever, deep in his heart of hearts, had he for an instant lusted after the evil, the godless, the monolithic, the world-conquering doctrine of communism, whose Vatican was the Kremlin and whose dupes were everywhere in the government, in the classrooms, and even, it was whispered, in the churches of God’s last best hope of earth. Aeneas and Peter had fought over the text of their editorial deploring this astonishing restraint on a “free” people. Their compromised result was hardly Miltonian and, sadly, Peter agreed with Aeneas that his own inspired heading, Ein Reich Ein Volk Ein Truman, was perhaps almost as excessive as the Loyalty Board itself.
It came as no surprise to Peter that The American Idea was promptly included by the attorney general in a list of subversive periodicals and organizations while FBI agents wondered, in the course of a long visit, why—and to what end—the paper was published in a Negro neighborhood. In due course, when Aeneas applied for a passport, he was warned by the State Department that journalists critical of America’s foreign policy could—and would—be denied the right to travel abroad. But, as Peter wrote, there were also intermittent joys in the course of that remarkable year, 1947. The Office of Education had created a program to nurture patriotism in the schools; it was called “Zest for American Democracy!” This soon became a regular feature in The American Idea while, for the editors, “Zest” became the adjective of choice to describe the latest hyperbole from the Administration and its thundering chorus of approval in the press, whose Heldentenor was Henry Luce with his surging aria “American Century,” all rights unreserved, as Aeneas had noted.
2
Miss Perrine showed Peter into James Burden Day’s office, whose great windows and long view of white marble and green lawn was visual proof of his seniority in the Senate. Over the fireplace hung a painting of Jefferson. One wall displayed the obligatory political photographs of the Senator with the likes of William Jennings Bryan as well as, unexpectedly, the late Huey Long. “I was always drawn to the larger-than-life losers.”
“So unlike the smaller-than-life winner in the White House.”
“Isn’t he a ring-tailed wonder!”
“A born leader.”
The Senator laughed and motioned for Peter to sit on the black leather sofa while he himself sat just opposite in a rocking chair. “On the other hand, Harry’s not so bad at following orders. I guess he learned that from Tom Prendergast. When Van told him last February that he’d have to scare the hell out of the country to get all that money for Europe, he did a bang-up job but, as old Mark Twain used to say, ‘There were things which he stretched.’ Anyway, we gave him everything he asked for. Twelve and a half billion dollars that we certainly could have used a lot better here at home.” The Senator stopped his rocking. “I hope you’ve kept my tactless unsigned memo locked up.”
“Only Aeneas and I have ever seen it. Of course its message has been shared with our shocked readers.”
“Funny how unshocked people are by what’s going on. Harry and Acheson have gone to war with our tax money and no one’s dared blow the whistle on them—at least in Congress, which includes me, I’m afraid, along with the rest of the stout hearts. You know, the other day Dean came up to the Hill to lecture us on the facts of life. We can never, he solemnly testified, sit down with the Russians and solve problems. In which case, I asked, why not fold the State Department? But what’s really so peculiar is that we’ve never been richer or more powerful, yet all we do is wring our hands and tremble at the thought of the bankrupt Russians conquering Europe. Then us.”
“Do you think the President really believes this nonsense?”
The Senator was amused. “Never forget that politicians are not like other people. We don’t really believe in anything except getting reelected. The Red Menace is a wonderful way to scare the folks into voting for you. As for Harry …” He frowned. “He’s ignorant. He reads one history book and thinks he understands history. Everything’s like a cartoon to him. Stalin equals Hitler. We tried to deal with Hitler at Munich. Mistake. War. Treaty with the Russians equals Munich. No treaty. But, just in case, prepare for war. He hasn’t yet read a book that will tell him how history never repeats itself.”
Peter withdrew the National Security Act from his heat-crumpled seersucker jacket. The Senator duly noted Congress’s latest handiwork. “What line do you take?” he asked.
“I don’t know if we’re going to have a line or not, because …” Peter took a deep breath and plunged into what he took to be the heart of history. “It’s possible that for all the wrong reasons they—Truman, Acheson, Marshall—are right.”
The Senator’s smile was wintry for so bright a day in July. He rocked slowly in his chair. “Go on,” he said.
“If we’re not destroyed by the Russians or the Chinese or—who knows?—enraged Panamanians, then everyone will agree that the total militarizing of the country was a very good thing and history always marries the winner …”
“Because he is the only one left standing?”
“Because he’s the only one willing to pay her price. But the big question is: will this world empire end up bankrupting us, as it’s done the British? Or will it make us even richer, as it did the Spanish once upon a time?”
Burden opened his copy of the National Security Act. “What we have now in our wisdom done is create …” He rifled the pages. “What did we call it? Oh, yes. The National Military Establishment. We’re putting the Army, the Navy, and our newly independent and vainglorious air corps that won the war all alone to hear them tell it into a single department. We’re shutting down the War Department. Much too provocative a word, ‘war.’ Henceforth, we shall speak only of our desperate need to defend ourselves against what’s rapidly turning out to be everyone on earth.”
Burden turned more pages. “We have also created a National Security Council. That’s the president, plus secretaries of state, defense, and so on. They will form a high command, no doubt on the Prussian model. To be kept informed by a new agency, dedicated to spying not only on our eternal enemy the Soviet but also, far more important, on our unreliable European allies …”
Peter was startled. “Is that in there? In the act?”
“Good Lord, no. That was in one of our closed-session briefings. Our security requires that we do everything possible to prevent a leftwing party from ever coming to power anywhere in Europe. This new agency with its bland name,” he glanced at the text, “Central Intelligence Agency, tells us that next spring the Italian communists are expected to win Italy’s first free election. The CIA has sworn that they can see to it that the communists will lose if they are adequately funded.”
“Who are they?”
“The old OSS. Cloak-and-dagger types from the war. Colonel Wild Bill Donovan and his merry men.”
“Is there no congressional control over them?”
“I believe a joint committee will be tolerated but, basically, this is a White House show. We are on the sidelines from now on. Vandenberg sol
d out the Republicans in order to get his name in the paper, while most Democrats around here believe there will be a Republican president next year so why not let Harry Truman go hang himself alone?”
“It’s easy enough to get rid of him.” Peter put the fateful document away. “But how do you get rid of this act?”
There was a long pause. Burden Day stared at a bust of Cicero, who was staring at another empire, being born, as it turned out, over his dead body. Since Burden Day could have no answer to this, Peter asked, abruptly, “Is Diana going to marry Clay?”
“What?” The Senator had been daydreaming. “Oh, Diana. Well, there was an understanding that after the ’46 election he would marry her. There was also an understanding that Enid be got rid of. Sorry. Your sister. I forget. I’m tactless.”
“That’s all right. She’s put away. For good, I suspect. But she won’t divorce him.”
“And Clay can’t divorce an invalid wife, which is how the state sees this matter. So Diana is in limbo.”
“She’s left the paper.”
“So I gather. I wish she would … go on with it. You are a good couple.”
“I thought so. Think so. She’s been seeing Billy Thorne in New York.” Peter attempted a smile. “Only professionally. He’s as interested as we are in what happened at Pearl Harbor.”
“You must all wait until—when was it? 1995—when the papers are unsealed. You’ll get to see them. I won’t. Though I reckon I might be available through Ouija board.” Suddenly, the Senator’s mood darkened. “What has gone wrong with the people that they can’t see what is happening to them?”
“What is wrong with us that we can’t get through to them?”
The old man stopped his rocking and sat up straight. “Perhaps they know something we don’t. Perhaps they really want something that we don’t.”
“High taxes? A peacetime military draft? Loyalty oaths? Censorship? And it’s only two years since the war was over.”