Six Crises (34 page)

When I returned to Washington I recommended all-out cooperation with Frondizi and his government. As I flew from Argentina to Paraguay, I realized that Rubottom had been right. My four days in Argentina alone had been worth the trip.

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Paraguay presented then and now a difficult problem in diplomacy for our State Department. It was, and still is at this writing, the last one-man dictatorship in continental South America. All of Latin America is sensitive to its long history of dictatorships, some of which were as oppressive as the Communist variety. The State Department added Paraguay to my trip agenda, knowing full well it was like throwing a bone to the American-hating elements elsewhere along my tour. But this was a country with a long history of friendship for the United States, one with which we had normal relations. There was no diplomatic reason to snub it pointedly.

United States policy toward all of Latin America was set with the Montevideo Pact of 1933, pledging non-intervention in the internal affairs of any country. The United States can and does show its true feelings when a country overthrows a dictator by coming to the aid of the succeeding regime if it is set up on democratic principles. This we had done in Argentina and Colombia. In order to indicate U. S. sentiments toward dictatorships, the State Department had limited my visit to Paraguay to a day. In each of the seven other nations I visited I spent two, three, or four days. This point, I am sure, was not missed in diplomatic circles where every nuance of protocol and procedure is studied. But it was not widely understood publicly. In my talks with General Alfredo Stroessner, President and strong man controlling the government since 1954, and in a speech to a special joint session of the Paraguayan National Congress, I noted with approval the strong opposition of the Paraguayan government to Communism. But I emphasized that the most effective way to fight Communism was not by setting up an opposing system of totalitarianism but by establishing a government based on political and economic freedom.

I do not know how much good, if any, my expressions had in Paraguay. They were not reported in the controlled Paraguayan press, for obvious reasons, and they got little play elsewhere because these sentiments are so familiar.

When I returned to Washington I proposed that the United States
could abide by its non-intervention agreement and still indicate more strongly its preference for free governments over dictatorships in South and Central America by a policy of a “formal handshake for dictators; an
embraso
for leaders in freedom.”

•  •  •

When we arrived at the airport in La Paz, the picturesque capital of Bolivia, we were still 13,000 feet above sea level, the highest altitude of any commercial airport in the world. Dave Ball, our airplane steward handling the baggage, fainted because of overexertion at high altitude. Despite the thin air, our reception throughout our two and a half days in Bolivia could not have been warmer or more friendly. A few Communist hecklers carrying anti-American signs were in evidence, but their efforts were literally snowed under by the thousands of cheering people who lined the streets as we traveled through the city and the surrounding countryside.

Yet Bolivia is the saddest example of abject poverty in continental South America. The country's economy is based on tin and, at the time of my visit, the world demand for tin was at an all-time low. Its mines were depleted, its mining methods outmoded, its agriculture poor and backward. Inflation was so fantastic that its standard piece of currency, the boliviano, was worth 1/1000 of a U. S. penny.

Politically it was a free country but its leaders were so torn by ancient political and personal feuds and rivalries that its problems seemed to defy even a beginning to a solution. To help prevent mass starvation, the United States had provided over fifty million dollars' worth of surplus food and forty million dollars for special projects to bolster the economy during the four years preceding my visit.

While reviewing Bolivia's economic plight, President Hernan Siles pointed to the pictures of his two predecessors on the walls of his office. One, he said, had become despondent at the futility of his own efforts and had committed suicide. The other had been taken by a mob and hung from a lamppost in the street outside the window of the President's office. “I often wonder what my fate will be,” he said with a wry smile.

From La Paz to Lima, the three-hour flight provided an opportunity for me to review the briefing papers on Peru prior to arrival. Peru is one of the most advanced nations of South America economically and culturally. No other country in Latin America has a longer history of friendship with the United States. Our economic ties have been close and mutually beneficial for many years. This had been particularly true during the administration of Peru's President, Manuel Prado, who
had won power two years before in a free election, ending a long period of dictatorship in the land of the Incas.

However, the briefing papers also showed that Peru now was in the grip of several problems. There was evidence that the Prado regime was becoming shaky. For the past several months, Peru's economy had been sliding into a recession parallel to the situation in the United States at the time. This had caused several sore points in our relations with Peru. For example, copper, Peru's chief mineral export, had dropped in price in the world market from 46 to 25 cents. Lead and zinc posed similar problems, and the Peruvians feared their entire mineral industry, and particularly copper exports, would be ruined if the United States adopted certain import restrictions being advanced in Congress to protect our own depressed mineral industry.

The government of Peru objected even more strongly to the United States program of “dumping” our enormous surplus of cotton on the world market. Cotton was Peru's most important export and the Peruvians were complaining that we were crippling an important segment of their economy. In addition to economic troubles, Peru was involved at this time with another flare-up in their century-old dispute with Ecuador over the demarcation of the border between the two countries, which lay somewhere in the torrid Amazon Basin wilderness.

However, I was assured by Rubottom that from a social and diplomatic standpoint no capital in the hemisphere would provide a more gracious and friendly welcome. The briefing papers said that there were potential political troubles under the surface—that while the Communist Party was illegal, the laws against it were not enforced. But all in all I expected this visit to be a pleasant interlude after some rather difficult experiences on some of our previous stops.

At Lima Airport our reception could not have been more gracious and regal. But as we motorcaded into the center of the city, I sensed an air of suspense and uneasiness. There were not many people on the streets and most of those who were there did not seem to be aware of who we were. The few who recognized us greeted us with either indifference or a shrill whistle, which is the Latin American equivalent of the Bronx cheer. The Peruvian government official riding with me explained that the government had played down our arrival and had not published the motorcade route to avoid any “incidents.” But, he assured me, my appearances the next day had been publicized and I would be welcomed by big, friendly crowds. His words were somewhat disquieting since I had not anticipated any “incidents” in friendly Peru.

In my suite at the elegant, old-world Grand Hotel Bolivar, in the center of the city, members of my staff reported that thousands of leaflets were being distributed throughout the city summoning all “students, workers, employees” to gather at San Marcos University the next morning to prevent me from speaking there,
JOIN US—GATHER TO SHOUT WITH ALL YOUR FORCES—OUT NIXON—DEATH TO YANKEE IMPERIALISM,
said one leaflet, which referred to me as “the most insolent representative of monopolistic trusts.” The leaflet was signed “The Communist Committee, Lima District.”

Although the Constitution of Peru specifically outlawed the Communist Party, it was obvious that the government had done little to implement the law and that the Communist Party was operating openly throughout the country.

My two days' schedule in Peru was so tightly drawn that I had only time enough in the hotel to change clothes for my formal call on President Prado and for his state luncheon in honor of Mrs. Nixon and myself. But I asked Colonel Robert E. Cushman, Jr., my Assistant for National Security Affairs and chief of my personal staff, to check on the situation at San Marcos University. I had received invitations before leaving Washington to appear at the leading university in each of the countries I was to visit, and I did not want to bypass San Marcos. Established in 1551, it was the oldest seat of education and culture in the Western Hemisphere and one of the most revered.

The state luncheon was an example of Latin American cordiality and elegance at its best. Never have I attended a state luncheon or dinner in Washington or in any other capital which surpassed it. Conversation flowed with the finest vintage French wines, but no one brought up the Communist “incidents” which had been staged for my arrival.

After the three-hour luncheon, I had to rush to meet my schedule commitments for the afternoon. I placed a wreath at a monument, visited a cultural institute, had a private talk with the President of the Peruvian Senate, met with a group of labor leaders, and hurried back to my hotel to change into formal dress for a reception and buffet at the American Embassy.

In the sumptuous ballroom of the Embassy, Mrs. Nixon and I exchanged greetings with members of the diplomatic colony and with high-ranking Peruvian government, business, and church leaders. Miss Peru (Miss Gladys Zender), who had just won the 1958 Miss Universe beauty contest, was one of the centers of attraction among a group of exquisitely gowned women at the reception.

After the guests had passed through the receiving line and the reception was well under way, Don Hughes, my military aide, whispered that Ambassador Theodore Achilles had asked if I would step into the next room to discuss our next day's schedule. With Achilles were Rubottom; his deputy, Maurice Bernbaum, who was Director of South American Affairs; and three members of my own staff, Bob Cushman, Don Hughes, and Bill Key. Their reports added up to the fact that we had a crisis on our hands: should I go to San Marcos University as scheduled despite the threatened demonstrations? Or should I skip the visit and perhaps be pictured as running away from anti-American Peruvians? It was apparent that the Communists, after the failure of their efforts to disrupt my tour in Uruguay, Argentina, or Bolivia, had decided to make an all-out effort to embarrass me and the United States at San Marcos University, an institution so well known throughout Latin America that whatever happened there would be front-page news everywhere. Rubottom reported that the Communist agitators had been successful in sucking many non-Communist students at the University into their program for a mass demonstration. If I went to the University, he said, it would be difficult to avoid violence. The others joined in, adding that there would be an element of personal danger to me and that if anything happened to me, even a minor incident, it would be a news sensation throughout South America which might be detrimental to the United States.

As I listened to these reports, I could not help but think of the irony of this scene. Here we were discussing how to cope with a potential mob riot while in the next room the elite of Lima were dancing, talking, and imbibing in the great hall of the American Embassy. We could hear the laughter and the tinkle of champagne glasses as we sat discussing the deadly serious question of what we should do the next day.

I was told that the Rector of San Marcos had confided to an Embassy official the hope that I would cancel my scheduled visit and thus avoid possible personal danger. The Lima Chief of Police had expressed the same view to a member of my staff.

I told the group that I did not want to cancel my widely advertised visit to the University in the face of threats from Communist-led bullies, but that I did not want to put my judgment above that of those on the scene who knew more about the situation than I did.

I asked Ambassador Achilles to have a member of his staff call the Rector of the University and inform him that if he would publicly withdraw his invitation, I would abide by his wishes and cancel my
visit. The call was made and within a matter of minutes we had the answer. The Rector was now more fearful than before of violent disturbances, but he would not publicly withdraw the official invitation. That would be an admission that he had lost control of his own institution, and it also might turn the agitators' wrath upon him.

In fairness to him, it should be pointed out that the rector of a Latin American university is in a far more vulnerable position than the head of a university in the United States. As a reaction to the authoritarian control which existed during the Spanish regime, many universities in Latin America went to the other extreme and adopted a system of so-called “democracy” which has led to virtual chaos in some institutions and a lack of discipline in others. In many Latin American universities, the students, rather than the board of trustees or the faculty, run the institutions. If the students don't approve the hours for classes, they go on strike. If they believe a professor grades too hard, they demand he be fired. If they disagree with his viewpoint, they condemn him and hold over him their power to get him discharged. Under these circumstances, I understood why the Rector did not want to handle the hot potato which I had tossed to him.

My next move was to ask that the Lima Chief of Police be informed that if he would say publicly what he had said privately—that he would prefer that I cancel the visit because of the danger of violence—I would do so. His answer came back promptly. He took the same tack as the Rector. He hoped I wouldn't go through with the visit. But he would not take the responsibility for publicly advising me to stay away from San Marcos, because he did not want to incur the wrath of the Communist-led students and also he did not want to create the impression that the Lima police force could not handle such a situation and provide protection for a high-ranking visiting official. By this time the reception was ending and later, as I rode with Mrs. Nixon to the state dinner given in our honor by the Vice President of Peru, I realized that the buck had been passed to me. I had to make this decision alone and take sole responsibility for the consequences.