by Allen Drury
“The world is confronted, Mr. President, with a condition of war.
“A condition of war, Mr. President!” he repeated, his voice rising, his delivery beginning to get into the grand old ranting swing of it that had echoed through this room so many times from the lips of Soviet delegates. “Mr. President, I call your attention to this: a condition of war! War upon the freedom-loving, liberty-seeking peoples of an innocent nation, Mr. President! A war of neo-colonialist, imperialist aggression! War upon us all!
“Mr. President,” he said, and his tone changed abruptly to one of heavy sarcasm, dutifully mimicked by the translator, “is there another pretext beside the one I have mentioned, for this attack? Why, yes, Mr. President, there is. The President of the United States tells us that he was ‘invited’ to send assistance, Mr. President. And by whom? By someone named Terry, Mr. President! By a worthless colonialist lackey named Terry, who cannot even command his own capital, Mr. President! By an international jackanapes who is even now lolling about in New York instead of heading his own troops in the field, Mr. President! An invitation from this is worth a war?”
A little titter of agreement ran through the room, and abruptly he halted and turned toward the American delegation with an elaborate irony.
“There will be some, Mr. President, who will say that this is a charitable venture, perhaps. Or perhaps scientific. Possibly they will say they meant to go to the moon and found themselves in Gorotoland instead.” He nodded at the quick burst of laughter that came from the press section, the delegates, and the members of the staff and general public who had managed to squeeze into the overflowing chamber. “Well, Mr. President, we say to them this, that they will wish they were in the moon instead of Gorotoland once the world has passed its judgment upon them!”
There was a burst of applause and the President of the Council rapped his gavel impatiently for order. Tashikov concluded in a somber and portentous fashion.
“Mr. President, the resolution condemning the neo-colonialist imperialist aggression of the United States and ordering withdrawal of United States troops from Gorotoland is clear and simple. The conscience of the world demands it. The facts demand it. The conscience, I would estimate, of 90 percent of the American people themselves, demand it. (There was loud applause, but this time he ignored it and hurried on.)
“I urge the Council to adopt this resolution, so that the world may know that American imperialistic invasion of the continent of Africa is at an end. Otherwise, Mr. President—” and his voice sank to an ominous note and his little eyes behind their gold pince-nez snapped and sparkled with anger as he looked again at the American delegation—“no one can say what may happen to the world. My Government cannot be responsible. It will have to take appropriate measures, regardless of the consequences. Regardless, Mr. President!”
Again there was applause, interrupted by the President’s gavel. Tashikov sat back, looking about him with a satisfied air, as across the circle Raoul Barre leaned forward and raised his hand for recognition. He too looked thoughtfully around the table for a moment before he began to speak.
“Mr. President,” he said gravely, “the Government of France has associated itself with the Government of the U.S.S.R. in sponsoring this resolution for one reason and one only: because we believe that only by re-establishing a condition of peace (‘Was that what was there before we came?’ Cullee inquired, not too quietly, of Lafe. There were a few hisses and the President of the Council gave him an annoyed look and rapped sharply with his gavel.) will it be possible to negotiate a reasonable settlement of the difficulties in Gorotoland.
“My Government does not, of course, attribute to the United States the motivations implicit in the language of my colleague from the Soviet Union. Nonetheless, Mr. President, I have to tell you that France is seriously shocked and saddened by what appears to be a most irrational and irresponsible act. If I may quote America’s most distinguished journalist, Mr. Walter Dobius”—there was applause, and several of Walter’s colleagues pointed him out to the audience. The applause became filled with an extra respect, an added warmth—“in his brilliant column this morning, the action of the Administration in Washington is ‘the triumph of idiocy over reason.’ (‘It must be nice,’ Lafe remarked to Claude Maudulayne, ‘to hear yourself quoted attacking your own country.’ The British Ambassador smiled but made no comment.) Mr. Dobius also refers to it as, ‘a purpose no decent man can defend … a hopeless war far away at a time when the nation’s domestic needs are crying for solution.’ He also says that the President ‘has committed his country to what amounts to a state of war in the middle of Africa.’ With these strictures, Mr. President, my Government agrees.”
He paused and took a swallow from a glass of water at his elbow.
“It is imperative, Mr. President,” he resumed soberly, “that peace be restored in Gorotoland. Only if peace is restored can lasting stability follow. My Government, all during the early hours of this morning, attempted to persuade the President of the United States to rescind his decision and order the withdrawal of American troops. The President of the United States, Mr. President, refused to accept the sage wisdom of the President of France. Therefore my Government had no choice but to associate itself in this public condemnation and to judge the United Nations, representing the massed conscience of the world, to order the withdrawal which amicable persuasion has been unable to secure.
“France urges the Council to approve this resolution, Mr. President. After its passage, which now seems certain”—vigorous applause—“we hope the issue of Gorotoland can be debated calmly and intelligently so that a lasting solution for its problems may be found.”
He sat back with a polite smile at his American colleagues, both of whom bowed ironically. A little sound of amusement, turning quickly to annoyance, swept the audience. In the press section Walter could not refrain from shaking his head with a frown that was dutifully noted by all.
Lord Maudulayne raised his hand and leaned forward to his microphone.
“Mr. President, speaking as the delegate of one of the governments—one of the few governments, apparently—which will not support this resolution, the United Kingdom cannot agree with the premise put forward by the delegate of France nor the harsh condemnation uttered by the delegate of the Soviet Union. The United Kingdom may possibly regret some aspects of the American action, yet it cannot deny that the basis for that action was perfectly valid as the United States see it.”
There was ripple of laughter, and his next words came sharply.
“This does not mean, Mr. President, that my Government does not see it the same way. We do. Our methods of dealing with it might have been different in some respects, but we would have dealt with it, Mr. President. Make no mistake of that. We would have dealt with it.
“The Government of the United States, and by association the Government of the United Kingdom, made amply clear to the rebel forces in Gorotoland that indiscriminate and irresponsible attacks upon innocent and defenseless people would be met with the severest reaction. Apparently this was not believed. The world now has the proof.
“My Government regrets, Mr. President, that things have come to this pass. But the solution is simple. The President of the United States has clearly stated that the American mission is pacification and stabilization, not retribution, and that once pacification and stabilization have been achieved, the United States will gladly withdraw. It was on that condition that the President accepted the invitation of the legitimate government headed by His Royal Highness Prince Terry (skeptical laughter, raucous, rude, welled up) to go in.
“Therefore, Mr. President, we need not fear the outcome. It does not mean war, nor will it mean war, if this Council and the United Nations as a whole will refrain from exacerbating still further, with this resolution, a situation already explosive and unhappy enough.
“Mr. President, Her Majesty’s Government hope this resolution will be defeated.
“I join my disting
uished colleague the delegate of France, in the hope that once it has been, and once the American mission has been completed, this organization may turn to the establishment of a genuine and lasting solution for the problems that beset Gorotoland.”
“I certainly don’t think that gained any ground,” the Post remarked scornfully to Walter in the press section. He nodded.
“The British,” he said heavily, “will let us carry them down, yet.”
“I suppose we’ll speak next,” the Post said. “What do you suppose we’ll do?”
“A counter-resolution in the form of an amendment condemning Prince Obi.”
“Oh, really?” the Post asked, as respectfully surprised as though he hadn’t heard the same thing himself, hours ago. “Do you think it will pass?”
“Are you kidding?” Walter asked. A scornful smile touched his mouth. “I don’t see why we even bother to speak.”
But the chief American delegate must have considered it worthwhile, for he leaned forward in his turn and placed two huge hands quietly around the stem of his microphone,
“Mr. President,” Cullee Hamilton said slowly, “I think the true nature of the United Nations in this present era of its decay—(‘Oh, no! some visiting lady from Boston or Kansas City gasped in the audience. The President of the Council rapped his gavel)—of its decay,” Cullee repeated calmly, “has never been better illustrated than in the comments of the Soviet delegate and the fact that they have quite obviously been accepted as fact by most of those sitting around this table—and most of those in this audience—and most, I am quite prepared to believe, in this world.
“What have we had here this morning, Mr. President? We have had lying (Again there was a gasp, some murmurs, a little booing from the audience. He swung around and surveyed it with a contemptuous look and then turned back) lying, deliberate, cold-blooded, calculated, crude. And instead of everyone here rising up and crying No! like my friend in the audience a moment ago crying out at the truth, everyone accepts it blandly and calmly and puts the stamp of approval on it.
“Everyone, that is, except the United States and the United Kingdom and perhaps a very few others.
“The Soviet delegate says that the murder of American citizens and the attack on American property—or, rather, Mr. President, he doesn’t say that at all. He doesn’t admit it. He doesn’t even name it. He doesn’t even say it happened.
“This is the first lie.
“And we all know it’s a lie.
“The Soviet delegate, however, has to acknowledge that something happened, so without saying what it was he talks vaguely of some undefined ‘action’ by ‘troops momentarily exceeding their orders.’
“It was not an undefined ‘action,’ Mr. President, it was a specific action. It was not done by troops exceeding their orders, it was a cold-blooded, deliberate massacre of innocent people and a cold-blooded, deliberate destruction of property on the cold-blooded, deliberate orders of a cold-blooded, deliberate gang of Communist riff-raff masquerading as a quote legitimate unquote government.
“The pretense that it was done by troops ‘momentarily exceeding their orders’ is the second lie, Mr. President.
“The pretense that those orders were given by a quote legitimate unquote government which consists of Obifumatta and his Communist mercenary-volunteers is the third lie, Mr. President.
“And we all know they’re lies.”
“That’s not very diplomatic language,” the Post remarked with an ironic smile.
“Shocking!” Walter said gravely. “Absolutely shocking.”
“The Soviet delegate,” Cullee went on, “says that the United States has gone into Gorotoland on ‘a flimsy pretext.’ The deliberate murder of half a hundred Americans and the deliberate destruction of American property is not ‘a flimsy pretext.’
“This is the fourth lie.
“And we all know it’s a lie.
“The Soviet delegate says that the government of His Royal Highness Prince Terry, 137th M’Bulu of Mbuele in direct descent, is not the legitimate government of Gorotoland. It is legitimate by his birth, by its control of two-thirds of the country (skeptical laughter), and by the recognition of these United Nations scarcely six months ago, Mr. President.
“The UN did recognize this government and bring it into being six months ago, you know, Mr. President.
“We really did.
“To say that it is not the legitimate government of Gorotoland is the fifth lie.
“And we all know it’s a lie.
“Lastly, Mr. President, we come to the great eternal everlasting he of them all, and that is that the United States is a colonialist, imperialist power. The United States gave up its last colonial possession in the year 1946, Mr. President, when it granted independence to the Republic of the Philippines. Since that time the United States has not acquired a single piece of new territory, nor has it imposed its type of government on a single nation, nor has it engaged in any attempts to subvert and overthrow other governments. Neither has the United Kingdom, which is associated with us in the attempt to restore stability to Gorotoland.
“The world knows that the United States is not a colonialist, imperialist power, Mr. President.
“It knows this.
“But the Soviet delegate says this isn’t true, and that we are an imperialist power.
“This is the sixth and final lie, Mr. President.
“And we all know it’s a lie.
“But, Mr. President, observe this great United Nations. Here nobody shouts NO! at a lie, like my friend in the audience shouting NO! at the truth a while back. Here the lie is king, Mr. President. Here the lie is stated every day, in a thousand ways, on a thousand subjects; and from here it goes out, solemnly sanctified by whatever remains of the dignity of this body, across the world.
“There are no rules by which we can challenge lies before they are sanctified in our proceedings, Mr. President. We give them an implicit stamp of approval just by sitting here calmly and listening to them. A great many of us go further and give them approval with our votes.
“The United Nations is tailor-made for liars, Mr. President. The United Nations is the greatest mechanism for liars in the history of mankind. All liars have to do is open their mouths here and their lies become hallowed. Lie and ye shall be listened to—that is our rule, and the Soviet delegate has proved it once again.
“Because all of us at this table—and perhaps I should not speak for all of us in this room, Mr. President, or for others in the world beyond, because some are ignorant, some are naïve, and some are willfully self-blinded—but certainly all of us at this table, know what the facts are.
“There are no innocents in this house, Mr. President.
“We know.
“And yet most of us at this table are going to vote against the facts. And to justify ourselves we are going to pretend that lies are truth and that truth is a lie. And so King Lie will rule again.
“Mr. President,” he said, in a quieter, more thoughtful tone, “the United States had contemplated introducing an amendment to this resolution seeking the condemnation and ouster of Obifumatta’s Communist mercenaries. My Government has decided not to do so, but to let events develop—(he paused and all around the room there were puzzled glances, startled looks, questionings, and uncertainties, for this was not like the United States, which could always be counted upon to Play The Game)—and see what may occur,” he finished softly, and sat back.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the Post said. “That was a strange performance. And a strange conclusion.”
“I think the whole Administration has gone mad,” Walter said somberly. “I really do. I think that was an insane speech, utterly unfounded, utterly destructive of the United Nations, completely inexcusable in every way. There couldn’t have been a more graceless or more inept way of preparing for the beating we’re going to have to take. I just don’t see why we did it. I just do not see!”
“Well, buddy,” L
afe said, leaning comfortably against Cullee’s shoulder and speaking in his ear as he stared around the buzzing audience, “I guess you told ’em. And more power to you. I thought it was a great speech.”
“Quite pertinent,” Claude Maudulayne agreed. “Not, perhaps, quite diplomatic, but”—he smiled—“quite pertinent.”
“I thought it was necessary to lay a little groundwork,” Cullee said calmly.
“For an abstention?” Lord Maudulayne inquired quizzically. “Perhaps so.”
Cullee gave him a steady sidelong glance. “Perhaps not.”
“Oh?” the British Ambassador said with a startled look. “Shh,” Lafe interrupted quickly. “Listen to Vasily. He’s going to climb the wall.”
And so, for a moment, it seemed that the Soviet Ambassador would do. During Cullee’s speech he had shuffled his papers, bounced about in his seat, stared, squinted, puffed out his cheeks, sucked them in, popped off his pince-nez, put them back on, leaned forward, leaned back, spun about to stare at the audience, spun back, grimaced at Raoul, glared at Cullee, and generally given a superb performance of a man about to explode, prevented from doing so only by sheer strength of character. Now his, “Mr. President!” cracked across the table like a whip.
“The distinguished delegate of the United States,” he said with a furious calm, “has done his best this morning to destroy the United Nations. That is the purpose of his remarks. They were ostensibly an attack upon me, Mr. President, but the purpose is crystal clear. The United States, speaking through this”—he hesitated and spat out the word—“individual—is now engaged upon a deliberate and blatant attempt to destroy this organization.
