A Shade of Difference

by Allen Drury

  “Oh, brother,” Lafe Smith said softly to his colleague, “this is serious.”

  “Yes,” said Hal Fry grimly. “Indeed it is.”

  For several moments the television cameras roved about the chamber, catching the United States and United Kingdom delegations looking soured and isolated in a sea of standing, applauding delegates, bringing the impassive face of the M’Bulu, head erect, eyes straight ahead, repeatedly before the viewers, lingering with loving attention on his spattered robes, while the press reporters stood in their gallery and scribbled hasty notes. Then with a sure instinct for timing Terry brought the tableau to a close by raising a long left arm. A quick hush fell, and into it he said one slow and powerful word that renewed pandemonium:

  “Free-dom!”

  Immediately the roar of sound welled up again as the chant was repeated from all across the floor:

  “Free—dom! Free—dom! Free—dom!”

  The Africans were in a frenzy, the Asians wildly excited, the Communists, for once, in the presence of a showman better than they were. The President of the Assembly, his rosy cheeks purpling, his blue eyes popping, pounded and pounded and pounded his gavel, his shouts for order drowned out in the rhythmic chant that filled the Hall and drove out thought and sensation with its hypnotic reiteration.

  That, too, Terry permitted to run on just long enough. Then he raised both arms and, with a vigorous down-sweeping gesture, steadily repeated, commanded silence. Gradually the noise subsided; an excited, buzzing, rustling quiet began to fall. Experienced diplomats, who a second before had been shouting with the rest, turned to one another amazed that they had done so, shaken by the impact of the most basic emotions set loose. A spent silence descended upon the chamber. Into it the heir to Gorotoland began speaking with a slow and powerful deliberation.

  “Mr. President! My friends of the United Kingdom! (Raucous laughter from many delegations.) My friends of the United States! (Cheers, applause, laughter, harsh, ironic, menacing.) My friends of Africa and freedom-loving peoples everywhere. (Great applause and shouts.) Where I have been, you know. What I did, you have heard about. What happened to me, you see.” He paused, stilling a rising murmur of boos, and then spat out his words: “Do you think it worthy of the home of the brave and the land of the free?”

  (Wild shouts of “No! No! Free-dom! Death to the Americans! America the slavers!” Communist desk-banging, shrill screams and shouts from the demonstrators of DEFY in the public galleries.) Terrible Terry went gravely on.

  “Will you give me freedom?” he demanded, and a great shout of “Yes!” replied.

  He nodded with a fierce satisfaction. Then his expression changed back to one of grave and sober contemplation.

  “Mr. President,” he said slowly, and a real hush fell at the note of gravely chiding sorrow in his voice. “It seems to me that it is time for this great organization of the world to take official notice of the desperate social conditions within the United States of America. It is time for all people who truly love freedom—who truly seek right and justice for humanity—who cry out when oppression and cruelty occur anywhere in the world—to make it clear to the United States that the world will no longer tolerate such barbaric practices as exist in this country behind the facade of democracy. It is an empty democracy, Mr. President! Look at me! This is the kind of democracy it is!”

  And he stepped away from the rostrum and forward to the edge of the platform, so that all could see him full-length, spattered and smeared with the colorful mementos of the ladies of Charleston. An uneasy mixture of applause and murmurs rose from the floor, and many delegates looked nervously toward the United States, for this was suddenly a truly serious thing the M’Bulu was doing and many were not sure how fully they dared support it.

  He stepped back to the rostrum and for a long moment looked out upon them in somber contemplation.

  “Mr. President, I have no doubt that all of you, my friends of the freedom-loving countries, will overwhelmingly approve independence for Gorotoland. That is fairly easy. That does not take real bravery. That is a matter of simple justice.

  “I ask you this, however: Will you also be brave enough to condemn a nation whose ideals and actions are so far apart—who commits such crimes against innocent human beings simply because they are not white?

  “Will you also be brave enough to censure the United States and demand that it conform to the high and noble ideals of the United Nations?

  “That will be your true test, my friends.

  “I urge you to think well upon it!”

  And, drawing himself once more to his utmost height, he bowed gravely to the Assembly, turned and bowed gravely to the apoplectic little President on the raised dais above him, stalked slowly back to the private room behind the dais, and disappeared.

  For several minutes the Assembly sat dazed, as if drunk from so much powerful emotion, shaken by the enormity of the challenge thus openly flung at last at America. Many of the delegates had felt these things for many years. Many of them had wished to do something about it. None had dared. Now Terry had. The shock of it was so powerful that, it appeared, not even the Americans themselves could think of an answer. It could be seen that angry whispered conversations were going on within the delegation, and many heads now turned to see; it was expected that momentarily either Senator Fry or Senator Smith would exercise the “right of reply” and come forward to respond to the harsh criticism of their country. But the moment passed. (“We’ve got to say something,” Lafe hissed angrily. “I said wait until Felix is through!” Hal Fry hissed back, and for a long moment they openly glared at one another, until Lafe’s eyes dropped and he shrugged and slumped back in his chair.)

  Presently in a shaking voice the President said into the uneasy tension:

  “The Chair now recognizes the distinguished delegate of Panama to finish explaining his resolution.”

  “Mr. President,” Felix Labaiya said with the small, neat, self-contained precision that characterized his person, his attitude, his thinking, and his voice, “I shall not detain the Assembly long, for I know we wish to proceed speedily to debate, and perhaps to vote upon, this resolution. The resolution itself was circulated to all delegations two weeks ago. It has been overwhelmingly approved by First Committee, and it does not need further explanation from me. I hope, and I expect, that it will be approved here, too, so that the United Nations, through the General Assembly, may proceed swiftly to bring Gorotoland into the independent partnership of free nations.

  “But, Mr. President,” he said, and something in his voice made many sit forward intently in their seats, those who did not speak English holding their earphones tightly to their ears to receive translation, “the task will not be complete if that is all we do in this resolution. A grave event, a display of great courage and kindness, followed by a vicious insult to both human decency and to the representative of another country, has occurred on the soil of the host nation to the United Nations. True, the insult has been condemned by officials of that country; but the deeper insult, to humanity, to human dignity, to peoples of differing racial backgrounds, to the United Nations, to you—has not been expiated. Nor can it be, the delegation of Panama believes, until the United Nations comes to the assistance of the wayward country and aids its officials, by a great expression of world opinion, to rid their society of its greatest evil, the evil of racial discrimination. Therefore, Mr. President, the delegation of Panama proposes, and herewith formally adds to its resolution on The Problem of Gorotoland, the following amendment:

  “Whereas, the distinguished representative of Gorotoland, acting in the greatest traditions of human freedom and decency, has been savagely attacked in a city of the United States of America; and,

  “Whereas, this attack grew directly from policies of racial discrimination in the United States of America, which decent men everywhere deplore and condemn; and,

  “Whereas, the continued existence of these policies in the United States tends to
place the United States in direct violation of the principles of the Charter of the United Nations and therefore casts grave doubts upon the qualifications of the United States to continue as a member of this body”—there were gasps of surprise from many places across the floor, but he went on with unperturbed self-possession—

  “Now, therefore, be it resolved that this resolution is hereby amended to direct the Security Council, acting on behalf of the United Nations, to make an immediate investigation of racial practices in the United States, looking toward the ending of such racial practices, and offering the full assistance of the United Nations in this task so that the United States may truly conform to the principles of the Charter and be fully worthy of membership in this great body.”

  He paused and the room almost visibly palpitated with the swirling thoughts of all the silent delegates.

  “Mr. President, that is the amended language of my resolution. I commend it to your early and favorable consideration. Simple justice and the imperatives of history demand it. Let us meet the demand and thus, in friendly spirit, help the great Republic of the West to show forth to the world, once more unsullied, the banner of freedom she raised in the presence of mankind in 1776.”

  And he turned, bowed to the President, descended the steps of the rostrum, and resumed his seat beside Paraguay as the room burst into an explosion of talk and argument, silenced almost as soon as it began by Senator Fry of the United States, rising in his place and waving toward the Chair.

  “The Chair recognizes the distinguished delegate of the United States,” the President said in a quivering voice, “to exercise the right to reply—?”

  “Point of order, Mr. President,” Hal Fry shouted, and the President amended hastily, “On a point of order,” as Hal came forward down the aisle while galleries and delegates strained to see him and a tense silence fell once more upon the room.

  “Now, Mr. President,” he said, “the United States has heard, with a patience far greater than these two performances here this morning have warranted, vicious attacks upon itself. The United States has made, it feels, full apologies and amends for what occurred to His Royal Highness in Charleston. The United States does not feel that—”

  But there was a commotion on the floor, and the Soviet Ambassador was on his feet, also crying, “Point of order!”

  “The distinguished delegate of the Soviet Union desires recognition on a point of order,” the President said, and Tashikov came forward as Senator Fry stepped down and took a temporary seat at the side.

  “Mr. President,” Vasily Tashikov said angrily, and delegates all over the room adjusted their earphones and switched hurriedly to the Russian translation, “the point of order is that under Rule 73 of the General Assembly, points of order are not debatable. The distinguished delegate of the United States is attempting to debate his point of order. Therefore, he himself is out of order.”

  And he returned to his chair amid scattered applause as Hal Fry stepped back to the podium and started to speak. The President silenced him with his gavel.

  “On the point of order raised by the distinguished delegate of the Soviet Union,” he said, “the Chair feels that the point is well taken and that the distinguished delegate of the United States should state his point of order without debate.”

  There was a burst of clapping from many of the Afro-Asian bloc, and the Senator from West Virginia, wishing he did not feel suddenly so tired in this moment of crisis, bowed to the Chair.

  “Very well, Mr. President,” he said, and his voice dragged a little for a second in a way that made Lafe Smith down in the delegation look suddenly intent; but then he went on, strongly as usual. “Very well. The point of order of the United States is that this amendment is not germane to the resolution seeking independence for Gorotoland and therefore is out of order at this time.”

  “My God,” the London Daily Express whispered with audible savagery in the press gallery, “how phony can you get?” The New York Post nodded and chuckled, but the New York Times looked quite annoyed.

  The President, the Secretary-General, and the Deputy consulted together for a moment while the Assembly stirred restlessly below. Then the President spoke.

  “It is the opinion of the Chair that the point of order is not well taken under the rules of the Assembly, and therefore the point of order is overruled.”

  “We appeal the ruling, Mr. President,” Hal Fry said.

  “The United States has appealed the ruling of the Chair,” the President announced. “Under the rules, the appeal must be put immediately to a vote without debate, and accordingly the voting will now begin.” He reached in his little box and drew a name. “A vote Yes will uphold the point of order and defeat the ruling; a vote No will uphold the ruling and defeat the point of order. The voting will begin with Turkey.”

  “Yes.”

  “Uganda.”

  “No.”

  “Ukrainian S.S.R.”

  “Nyet.”

  “U.S.S.R.”

  “Nyet.”

  “United Arab Republic.”

  “No.”

  “United Kingdom.”

  “Yes.”

  “United States.”

  “Yes.”

  “Upper Volta.”

  “Abstention.”

  “Uruguay.”

  “Abstención.”

  Ten minutes later, most of the Afro-Asian bloc having lined up against the United States, Portugal and South Africa having done the same in voices full of spite, much of Latin America and Europe having abstained, the President spoke.

  “The vote on the appeal is 38 Yes, 43 No, 32 abstentions, remainder absent, and the appeal is defeated. The distinguished delegate of the United States.”

  “Don’t tell me he’s going to try something else!” Paris-Match exclaimed in the press gallery. “Hope springs eternal,” said the Christian Science Monitor with an uncomfortable little laugh.

  “Very well, Mr. President,” Hal Fry said, “I move to adjourn debate on the item under Rule 76.”

  “The Chair, under Rule 76, will grant five minutes each to two speakers for the motion and two against.” There was a movement on the floor, several messengers went to the podium, the President finally rapped his gavel.

  “The Chair will recognize the United Kingdom and Cameroun speaking in favor of the motion, Ghana and Guinea speaking against. The distinguished delegate of the United Kingdom.”

  “Mr. President,” Lord Maudulayne said with a measured imperturbability, “it is not the purpose of the United Kingdom to inflame further passions which have already been inflamed enough here this morning. As the target of the original draft resolution proposed by the distinguished delegate of Panama, it might be presumed to be of assistance to the United Kingdom for the issue of Gorotoland to be confused by the introduction of what can only appear to us to be an extraneous matter.

  “However, while the United Kingdom makes no brief for anything that may happen in another country—and also is not quite so anxious as some to appoint itself guardian of others’ morals—we nonetheless agree with the distinguished delegate of the United States that this is entirely aside from the central issue of immediate independence for Gorotoland. We do not think this house should confuse the issue by permitting itself to be dragged into debate on a matter which is something for the United States to solve, in her own way, within her own borders. Great progress has been made in the United States toward solution of this problem (“Not very damned much!” a DEFY demonstrator in the gallery shouted, and a guard started hastily toward his seat), and there is every sign that the progress will continue. It is not our purpose here in the United Nations—it is not our right—to presume to interfere in this process through the channels of world public opinion that we can mobilize here. We must be judicious, tolerant, and fair. Otherwise the United Nations descends to mere name-calling and sinks in the sea of its own passions. We support the motion of the United States to end debate on this item.”

>   “The distinguished delegate of Ghana,” the President said, and the delegate, clad in his gorgeous native robes, strode angrily to the podium and began furiously speaking, so excited that the words tumbled out in a torrent and he forgot to bow to the Chair.

  “Mr. President! The distinguished delegate of the United Kingdom says we must be fair to the United States. Was the United States fair to the M’Bulu? Was that fairness, Mr. President—the rotten eggs and rotten tomatoes and dirt we have seen here? I ask you, Mr. President! Does anyone call that fairness?”

  He paused and a shout of “No!” rose from many delegations.

  “Mr. President! Ghana urges you to vote against ending debate on this matter. Ghana urges you to condemn the United States, just as you would condemn any other power, be it big or little, that so violates human decency. That is what the United Nations is for, Mr. President—that all should be judged equally, on the same basis, whether they be big or little. Let us remember the Charter, Mr. President! Let us be true to the United Nations! Let us continue debate, and vote, on this tragic issue!”

  “The distinguished delegate of Cameroun,” the President said patiently, and another Negro in robes walked down the aisle as the Ghanaian came up, brushing past him with an expression of contempt and not speaking.

  “Mr. President,” the delegate of Cameroun began in liquid French, and earphones went on all over the room and dials were hastily switched to the French translation, “we are hearing great speeches here today. We are hearing great emotional appeals here today. People are banging desks and displaying dirty clothes”—a startled sound, followed by hisses, responded to this—“and appealing to the Charter of the United Nations.

  “Is everything perfect in Ghana, Mr. President, I would ask my distinguished colleague? Do democracy and liberty shine down upon its sons and daughters, Mr. President—or only upon a few of them? Mr. President, sometimes it is well to catch the mouse in one’s own house before sending the cat to catch the neighbor’s.