The Ugly American (7 page)

Everybody Loves Joe Bing

The best authority on Father Finian's Burma trip was Ruth Jyoti, the editor and publisher of the
Setkya Daily Herald
, one of the finest independent papers of Southeast Asia. It was Ruth who first heard and broke the story of Finian's adventure, and who made a month's trip into Northern Burma to document it.

Ruth Jyoti was a most unusual Eurasian. Her fair skin and blonde hair were Anglo-Saxon. Her other features were Asian, and so were her attitudes. She had been raised and educated by her Cambodian mother. This is not to say that she did not know a great deal about Europeans and Americans. Her reputation as an Asian editor brought her into contact with many foreigners. And she was attractive, single, and twenty-eight.

Ruth knew many Americans. The city of Setkya, where she published her paper, was one of the important American foreign aid centers and fairly crawled with ICA technicians, USIS press agents, and cultural attachés. Most of these Americans called upon her frequently for help and advice, so that it was inevitable that the USIS would invite her to America.

In 1952 Ruth accepted an offer of a three months' trip to learn about the press in the United States. Her first contact with America came in Hawaii. She was impressed by its beauty and charm—after she was finally able to see it. She was held up for hours in an Immigration and Customs waiting room for aliens. This room was neither dirty nor shabby; but obviously no one had ever given it much thought. And the officials were cold almost to the point of insult.

Ruth was too experienced a reporter either to waste time or to ignore first impressions. She picked up her notebook.

They may not believe it, but Americans have poorer facilities for visitors than Communist China,
she wrote in her notebook.
At every factory, village, or sports center—wherever you are—in China, there is a guest house. The house is often crude, but it is always the best one available. And this is very effective propaganda.

In San Francisco she waited at the airport until her State Department escort arrived. Buying herself copies of the
Chronicle
and the
Examiner,
she sat down in the Pan-American guest room and began to read. She went through both papers rapidly without finding the specific news she was looking for. A frown of disappointment crossed her face, and she reached for her notebook.

Today, in Setkya,
she wrote,
the chiefs of seven major Asian nations are meeting. This conference may have profound effects upon Asian-American relations; yet there is no mention of the South Asian Bloc meeting in either of the two large San Francisco newspapers.

I
wonder why the American papers do not report this Asian news? I notice that about
70
per cent of the paper space is taken up with advertising and comics. But I must read more papers in different cities before I begin to generalize.

Now, about the average American woman I see here at the airport. A great many of them are wearing slacks and
.
. .
"Miss Jyoti?"

"Yes," she said, looking up. A debonair man of about fifty stood in front of her. Removing his black homburg, he bowed slightly.

"I'm Joseph Rivers of the State Department. Welcome to America. I very much enjoyed reading your articles on Father Finian,"

"Thank you, Mr. Rivers. You are too generous."

"Of course, Miss Jyoti, as a private citizen Father Finian had a good deal more freedom of action than a person who works officially for our government."

"Of course. Which might suggest that America should encourage her private citizens to do more of the sort of thing that Father Finian did."

Mr. Rivers looked at her sharply, and Ruth smiled at him. They did not mention Father Finian again.

"Mr. Rivers, could you get me a copy of. the
New York Times?''
she asked.

"You bet," Mr. Rivers said, leading her through the busy terminal. "Say, Miss Jyoti, I was in Setkya for a few days not too long ago. You know Joe Bing there?"

When she shook her head, Air. Rivers was genuinely astonished.

"Why you must know him! He's chief of information for the ICA in Setkya. Everyone knows him. There was an article on him in
Life
a few weeks ago."

"We don't see much of
Life
in Setkya, Mr. Rivers. It's a frightfully expensive magazine out there."

"But you have to know Joe Bing. He's six feet tall, fat, wears Tattersall checked vests. Lots of charm. Absolutely a male Elsa Maxwell. Knows everyone. I can remember him sitting in the cafe at the Hotel Montaigne. Nodded to everyone who went by . . ."

"Nodded to everyone who was European, Caucasian, western-educated, and decently dressed," Miss Jyoti said coldly. "I know the bastard now. He drives a big red convertible which he slews around corners and over sidewalks. And he's got exactly the kind of loud silly laugh that every Asian is embarrassed to hear."

"Oh, come on now, Miss Jyoti," Mr. Rivers said. "Old Joe is an expert newspaper man. He gives out all the copy on our aid program."

"He mails it out, or sends it by messenger," Miss Jyoti replied firmly. "And he has one hell of a big party every month where he brags that every chunk of food and every drop of liquor comes from the good ole U.S.A. And at wholesale prices right out of the commissary store. There hasn't been an Asian at one of his parties for two years. At his first party he only had liquor, when Buddhists and Moslems drink only fruit juice or water or milk. And the word got around."

"I'm truly sorry that you don't know Joe well enough to understand his good points," Mr. Rivers said lamely. He was somewhat frightened by the intensity with which Miss Jyoti spoke. Also he wondered how she could be a friend of America and still say such things about Old Joe. After all, everybody loves Joe Bing. The Department loves him. The newspaper people love him. They chose him to set up the protocol for Nixon's trip. Where the hell does she get off, saying things like that about Joe?

"You know, I heard about Joe Bing from Father Finian," Ruth said sweetly as they got into the limousine for San Francisco. "Father Finian had written him to see if Joe could send him some American ballpoint pens from the American Commissary in Setkya. Father Finian showed me Joe's reply: 'Commissary privileges are extended to American governmental employees and their dependents only' with the relevant government regulation. That was all."

"Well, you have to draw the line somewhere, or everyone would be piling into the commissaries," Mr. Rivers said.

"Oh, I agree. And after all, Father Finian wanted to use the pens for a private purpose—as prizes to the natives who did the best job of distributing their newspaper. At first it was an underground newspaper; but lately it's become one of the best rural newspapers in Burma."

"We couldn't allow individuals to use commissary items to support private business," Mr. Rivers said earnestly.

"Oh, I agree with you," Ruth said.

Mr. Rivers sat back and began to point out the sights of San Francisco.

The San Francisco press gave Ruth a dinner two nights later at which she was asked to say a few words about Americans stationed in Asia. After a few pleasantries about the good food and American hospitality, she dug into her subject with vigor.

"Generally Americans in Asia are not effective. They are what I call the Intellectual Maginot Line. They feel that if the nice rich respectable people like them, they must be doing a good job. I can understand that. You look at foreign faces, hear strange languages—and you just feel more comfortable at the Press Club or the American Club or the Officer's Club. Or anywhere where quiet people are wearing collars and ties and talking in English. The Asians who wear collars and ties and speak English are a special class, and most Americans have real difficulty meeting any other sort. And I regret having to say this, most of you don't make the effort. I could stand here all night and tell you stories about one American mistake after another. But perhaps it will be more helpful if I tell you about an American who was effective.

"He was Bob Maile of the USIS. Now I'm not saying that all USIS men are effective. Far from it. But Bob Maile was. He did more to raise American prestige than anyone else over there—the ambassador included.

"Bob was in Setkya for about five months before any of the editors even heard about him. Usually the first thing a new USIS official does is to come barging in on us. They fawn all over us—if we talk English—and start making big plans for our country—without knowing anything about it. It's become such a pain in the neck that almost every editor has orders that no American is to be allowed in his office. And if one forces his way into my office, I just pretend I don't speak English.

"Bob was different. I met him and his wife Dorothy at a party given in his honor by the typesetters. You see, instead of barging in at the top with the air of an ambassador, Bob Maile started off by trying to become familiar with our language and country. He made friends with the typesetters, the reporters, the photographers, the circulation boys. He showed the photographers how to raise the ASA speed of their films so that they could take candid pictures without flash. He helped them get chemicals. He got a fan for the dark room and he made the light trap in his own home.

"He did these things without asking for credit or telling anyone. In return, he wanted tutoring in our language, lessons in our cooking for Dorothy, and help in getting his children into our schools. He was humble about everything, and he made it clear that he thought he was getting more than he was giving.

"Now, not all of this is easy. I know enough about western standards to understand that sending an American child to a native school takes some courage. Asian schools are dirty, rowdy, noisy, and infectious by your standards. But Bob Maile's kids did all right. They caught impetigo once, and got mixed up in a couple of fights—but they also got a good education, and they came to understand a different kind of life.

"Let me tell you a story that as newspaper men you'll appreciate. About a year ago a story broke that an American soldier had raped a girl in a temple. The temple part made it the story of the century. If it had hit the headlines we would have had a religious war against the Americans on our hands. The chief American public information man in Setkya, a man whom many of you probably know, just holed up in his office. He never touched what he called 'native controversies.' That meant he hadn't time to buck it up to Washington for an answer.

"Bob Maile, on the other hand, called on the editors of the biggest papers and news services in Setkya. He didn't threaten anyone, or conceal information, or say that the story would be unfriendly to the United States. He just asked if we had checked it out thoroughly.

"This is the kind of question you take from someone you trust. So we checked it out—and it was wrong. An American had gone to a brothel, refused to pay when he left, on grounds that are unmentionable here, and got into a brawl. Not worth a paragraph in any paper.

"Bob never brags about what his office does. He doesn't have to. In my country good deeds are publicized all over by the bamboo telegraph. And Bob Maile is the best known American in my country.

"I wish the other Americans were all like him. If they were, the Communists couldn't last long in Asia."

Confidential and Personal

From: Ambassador Louis Sears (Sarkhan)

To: Mr. Dexter S. Peterson, Sarkhan Desk, State Department, Washington, D. C.

Dear Dex, I'm writing this to you personally (even typing it myself) because I need help and I want to make sure you know what the score is out here in Sarkhan. Honest, Dex, these Sarkhanese are really tricky. Sometimes I think they're all Commies. And to tell you the truth, I'm not so sure about the loyalty of some of the Americans here, either.

I guess that by now the Department's been reading all the press lies about Sarkhan. The stories that reporter for the
Times
wrote are false. My relations with the Sarkhanese couldn't be better, and the enclosed editorial from the
Eastern Star
proves it. And his stories about my neglecting that crackpot Colvin because I was ignorant of the circumstances is pure hogwash. I personally saw Colvin right after he got into trouble. Also enclosed are clippings from the Sarkhanese papers published the day after. Colvin has a lot of drag in Wisconsin and may be raising hell through his senators and congressmen. Just show them the clippings.

We got another crackpot here, too—Father Finian. This priest has to be handled with kid gloves. I don't want to get into a beef with the Roman Catholics. But this Finian has just come from Burma where he started a small revolution; now he's organizing here in Sarkhan way up north, and the local papers are beginning to raise hell. If Cardinal Spellman is for him, I can tolerate him, I suppose. But if the Catholic bigshots are down on him, I'll get him shipped back to the States.

Now Dex, aside from those two things—and despite the newspaper lies—everything is on an even keel out here. The Sarkhan politicians keep squawking that if we don't bail them out the country will go Commie. Don't believe it for a damned minute. I get around at one hell of a lot of social functions, and official dinners out here, and I've never met a native Communist yet. And even though the Russian ambassador screwed us for a little while on the rice deal, I had a hundred thousand handbills distributed saying that it was the good old USA who supplied the rice.