Love & Hate

In an airplane crash on the cloud-draped slopes of windy Orizaba, eight Mexicans and eight U.S. citizens had died together. They had also died in the same cause. All were workers of the U.S.-Mexican commission fighting aftosa (foot & mouth disease).

The U.S. Embassy and the Mexican government exchanged notes of sympathy, and plans were made for an impressive joint funeral. But, sad to say, the common fate of the 16 did not contribute to international understanding. Instead, U.S.-Mexican friendship, which had blossomed steadily since Harry Truman laid a wreath on the Ninos Heroes monument (TIME, March 17, 1947), was shaken to its roots.

The very night of the crash, on the alpine slopes of Orizaba (18,000 ft.), things began going wrong. Mexicans were first to reach the wreckage. They were presently joined by a U.S. rescue party including seven soldiers--some armed.

Rescue Party. By treaty, uniformed U.S. or Mexican soldiers may enter the others' country on legitimate errands, provided they go unarmed. In this case, although it was contrary to the letter of the law, there was some excuse for bearing arms: the lost plane carried 200,000 pesos in cash. (Actually, the cash had been recovered by Mexican authorities before the U.S. soldiers reached the scene.)

The U.S. soldiers on Orizaba kept Mexican photographers from taking pictures of the corpses. All through the night the Mexican press was kept sitting, cold, hungry and idle. The gringos gave them no help, lent them not a blanket, gave them not a sandwich nor a cup of coffee.

Guests in Charge. Next day the fat of international friendship was in the fire. With more anger than accuracy, some newspapers charged that a platoon of U.S. paratroopers was maltreating Mexicans on Mexican soil. Mexican reporters said they had been menaced by "machine guns and large combat weapons." Powerful Excelsior said the newsmen had been mistreated "simply because they were Mexicans."

The indignation was quickly fanned by traditionally anti-U.S. elements. The Sinarquista national committee publicly protested "the violation of our soil." Right-wing Catholic university students staged a street demonstration.

The affair on Orizaba, however, had only touched off a growing Mexican resentment. The slaughter of precious but aftosa-ridden cattle had been hard to take. And Mexican tempers had long been riled by the behavior of some U.S. members of the anti-aftosa commission. Some of them (one U.S. official described them as having a "Texas mentality") had scoffed at their well-educated but poorly paid Mexican colleagues. Few of the Americans bothered to learn Spanish, few tried to understand Mexican temperament.

At the joint state funeral, small, earnest U.S. Ambassador Walter Thurston talked long and seriously with General Harry H. Johnson, new chief of the U.S. section of the anti-aftosa commission--out of the corner of his mouth. Afterwards Thurston announced that he had ordered a full investigation. Later he handed to Foreign Minister Jaime Torres Bodet a note deploring the comments of Mexican newspapers.

By this time the Mexican papers were easing up on the Orizaba affair but, still steamed up, had launched a hot-headed crusade against American influence in the Mexico City Y.M.C.A.

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