The Bear's Teeth

(See Cover) In elegant apartment 42-A of Manhattan's Waldorf Towers, servants were busy setting the long, polished table. U.N. Ambassador Adlai Stevenson was expecting Soviet Delegate Valerian Zorin and ten of his aides for lunch. There would be good food, good wines, and, hopefully, over the coffee and cigars, some quiet, profitable talk. But suddenly a Soviet courier appeared with a scribbled, abrupt message. The lunch was off, apologized Zorin, due to the press of unexpected business.

Stevenson did not have to be told what the unexpected business was--the news ticker had told of it an hour earlier. A battered corpse lay buried at the bottom of a secret grave thousands of miles away in the desolate eastern Congo bush. Patrice Lumumba, ex-beer salesman, ex-embezzler, ex-Premier, was dead. Russia was obviously preparing to make the most of it, and Stevenson quickly got on the telephone to tell Washington to brace itself for the onslaught.

Fire & Ink. As if at the push of a button, turmoil erupted in dozens of countries on five continents. In Moscow, a mob assaulted the Belgian embassy, smashed windows, and broke bottles of ink against the walls while militiamen stood by and watched. The demonstration was so well organized that whether the students from Africa were French-speaking or English, they showed up with placards (see cut) in English--for the benefit of U.S. TV cameras. Hours later, similar crowds were in action in Belgrade, Amsterdam, Paris.

In Colombo. Dublin, Rome, Teheran, Melbourne and Delhi, demonstrators marched through the streets shouting "Lumumba!" and waving anti-Belgian placards. In Cairo, the Belgian embassy was set afire.

The Russians were cannily and callously taking advantage of the genuine grief and outrage of many Afro-Asian nationalists for whom Lumumba had become a symbol of uncompromising revolt against the Western whites who had held Africa for more generations than most could count. But the Communists also managed to turn some of the anger against the U.S., which had never even possessed an African colony, with the argument that any ally of Belgium must be an enemy of the black man. In Ghana, crowds organized by Kwame Nkrumah's party officials pranced through the streets of Accra with placards reading UNITED STATES MURDERS LUMUMBA, besieged the U.S. embassy, ripped the emblem from over the door and smashed an outdoor light with rifle shots. Even in Western-oriented Nigeria, the U.S. embassy was attacked and its windows smashed by thousands of shrieking Nigerians.

In Moscow, the Russians revealed that their immediate target was U.N. Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjold and the U.N. operation in the Congo. In a savage 1,500-word statement, they attacked Hammarskjold as an "imperialist lackey" and an "accomplice and organizer of murder," and demanded that he be thrown out of office. Simultaneously, Moscow announced immediate recognition of the Communist-backed Stanleyville rebel regime of Red-lining Antoine Gizenga, onetime Vice Premier in the Lumumba government, and promised "all possible assistance and support" for it. To an anxious world, it seemed a clear threat that Russia was ready to intervene physically in the Congo cockpit.

In Manhattan next day, stocky, florid Valerian Zorin clumped in through the big wood door at the side of the U.N. Security Council chamber to launch the Russian offensive in the biggest propaganda forum of them all. At 59, Chief Soviet Delegate Zorin had done hatchet jobs before. Zorin was the Ambassador to Czechoslovakia who helped organize the Soviet plot that converted the Czechs' wobbly democracy into an armed dictatorship and that very possibly helped Foreign Minister Jan Masaryk "fall" to his death in the courtyard of the Czech Foreign Ministry. He has served as Ambassador to Bonn, more recently stonewalled the West in the interminable disarmament talks in Geneva. Lacking the vulpine brilliance of Andrei Vishinsky but more animated than the dead-faced Andrei Gromyko, and probably less able than either, Zorin is now rated No. 3 man in the Soviet Foreign Ministry, where he has been Deputy Foreign Minister on and off for over a decade.

The Demands. His heavy jaw jutting like one of Ionesco's man-turned-rhinoceros, and flanked by two beetling aides,* Zorin laid out the Soviet demands in his curious reedy tenor: 1) arrest Katanga's Moise Tshombe and Congolese Army Major General Joseph Mobutu, and put them on trial; 2) dissolve all Tshombe and Mobutu troop units and force all Belgians out of the Congo; 3) pull the U.N. force out of the Congo within a month.

"The freedom and national independence of the Congo cannot be guaranteed so long as the mercenary clique of Tshombe, Mobutu and Kasavubu have free rein,'' cried Zorin, adding, "An end must be put once and for all to the so-called United Nations operation in the Congo. The Congolese people must be given the opportunity to solve their own vital problems.''

As for Hammarskjold, intoned Zorin, "the Secretary-General has directly participated in the collective plans of the colonizers whose final goal is to stifle the young African republic . . . there is not the slightest justification for considering that he has seen the light and is prepared to change his course." Zorin's target was as much the office of Secretary-General as the man who occupied it. Last October, during Nikita Khrushchev's shoe-banging visit to the General Assembly, the Soviet Premier had proclaimed his dislike of Hammarskjold ("We do not trust Mr. Hammarskjold and cannot trust him"), demanded that the Secretary-Generalship be replaced by a three-man executive, representing the three world blocs, the East, the West and the neutrals. Hammarskjold branded this for what it was: a deliberately unworkable idea that would hamstring the entire U.N. Secretariat.

As Zorin attacked him, Hammarskjold sat toying with a pencil or puffing on a cigarette. Russia, said Zorin, would henceforth refuse to have any dealing with Hammarskjold, would address all business to a Deputy Secretary-General, Russia's Georgy Arkadev. It was a gambit that the Russians had also tried on Hammarskjold's predecessor, Trygve Lie, who lost Russia's favor in 1950 when he supported the U.N.'s defense of South Korea. Lie weathered Moscow's snubs until November 1952, but finally found it impossible to continue in his post.

The Last Word. Hammarskjold's own job is safe until his term expires in April 1963, for there is no provision for the Secretary-General's impeachment. But would he too finally quit rather than endure the endless Soviet slaps? No, said Hammarskjold to the tense delegates. His voice was low, his face stonily impassive, his words edged. "It is ironic for us, who have been guided solely by the interests of the Congo . . . to be attacked by those who pursue entirely different aims,'' said Hammarskjold caustically. "By resigning, I would, at the present difficult and dangerous juncture, throw the organization to the winds ... I hope that my language is clear enough.''

Adlai Stevenson leaped immediately to Hammarskjold's defense. "The issue is simply this: Shall the United Nations survive? Shall the attempt to bring about peace by the concerted power of international understanding be discarded?'' As for Hammarskjold himself, "he needs no defense from me. His record is an open book . . . Let the Soviet government, if it wishes, pretend that he does not exist; it will find that he is far from a disembodied ghost, and it will find that peace-loving states will continue to support his patient search for the right road to security and peace in the Congo."

Turning to the Congo, Stevenson jabbed back at Zorin. He reminded the Council that Patrice Lumumba himself had first asked the U.S. for troops to restore order, and the U.S. told him to appeal to the U.N. Stevenson noted tartly: "We rejoice to hear the Soviet denounce political assassination with such vehemence . . . We condemn any death without due process of law, whether of African politicians, Hungarian patriots, or Tibetan nationalists ... As to colonialism, my country fought colonialism in 1776 . . . and my countrymen have died to end colonialism in Cuba, though some Cubans seem to have forgotten it."

Stevenson's primary concern, however, was Russia's threat to intervene directly in the Congo. "The United States," he warned, "does not intend to sit by if others consciously and deliberately seek to exacerbate the present situation . . . We are prepared to use all our influence, if other United Nations members do likewise, to prevent such assistance from coming into the Congo."

But the Russians had stoked up a highly emotional issue. Just how emotional was demonstrated in the Council chamber itself. Midway through his speech, Stevenson was interrupted by wild screams coming from the visitors' gallery. As Stevenson stopped and stared, some 60 Negroes burst into the gallery, scrambled down the aisle shouting "Lumumba!'' flailed wildly at the astonished guards. One woman, shrieking like a banshee, laid out a cop with a skull blow from her spike-heel shoe. It took 15 minutes to drag the screaming, kicking demonstrators outside, where they continued their demonstration on the sidewalk. Some may have been Communist, but most were merely excited members of Manhattan Negro factions. But the Communists lost no time in exploiting them; Party Secretary Ben Davis turned up, got himself photographed being hustled off by policemen. In Harlem, orators declared that the death of Lumumba was somehow related to segregation in New Orleans.

A Chat on the Phone. With the Russians happily surveying their handiwork, Adlai Stevenson decided that still tougher words were needed if Moscow was to get the point. That afternoon he picked up a phone in a small office high in the U.N.'s glass and steel skyscraper, got through quickly to the White House. "Mr. President, it's time for you to get tough," said Stevenson to John F. Kennedy. "I recommend that at your news conference this evening, you tell the U.S. people and the world that we are ready to oppose any unilateral intervention in the Congo, and in no uncertain terms. I'm presumptuous enough to have some language for you."

Then, as the President of the U.S. scrawled notes on his white desk pad, Stevenson read off his suggested version of a statement. To a visitor, Kennedy admitted later that he was pleasantly surprised at Stevenson's toughness. "My God. in this job he's got the nerve of a burglar." After consulting the State Department, the CIA and the major Western allies for advice and suggested amendments, Kennedy read the final statement to the press. "I am seriously concerned." he said in words cautious but clear, "at what appears to be a threat of unilateral intervention in the internal affairs of the Republic of Congo ... I would conceive it to be the duty of the United States, and indeed all members of the United Nations, to defend the charter of the United Nations by opposing any [such] attempt by any government." No one doubted that the President was declaring that the U.S. was ready to use armed force, if necessary, to back up his words.

The Contrails. Fact was, according to intelligence reports, that some shipments of Soviet arms and equipment had already arrived at the Stanleyville headquarters from which Antoine Gizenga's forces now controlled large sections of the Congo's vast interior. The route, apparently, was via Cairo and Gamal Abdel Nasser's high flying four-engined Ilyushins; Britain had received assurances from the Sudan that it would continue to forbid overland transit, but there was little the Sudanese could do about those mysterious south bound contrails occasionally spotted at 30,000 feet and higher.

Russia's attack on the U.N. came at a time when many in the West were having misgivings of their own about Congo policy and Hammarskjold's operations. The U.N. deputy in the Congo, Rajeshwar Dayal, seemed to be all too willing to close his eyes to outrages by Lumumbaist bullyboys, while taking every opportunity to denounce anti-Lumumba regimes. The U.N. force itself was dangerously close to disintegration, with Morocco and Guinea withdrawing their troops, and professional meddlers such as Nasser and Ghana's Nkrumah trying to take a hand in the Congo's internal affairs. Most of all, there seemed to be no end in sight under the present ground rules. For too long, U.N. troops, operating under fuzzy, limited orders, had stood listlessly by as the Congolese shot and stabbed one another; often the U.N.'s uncertain policy had prolonged more arguments than it settled.

But unlike the Soviet Union, the West wanted to strengthen, not weaken, the U.N. Since he took over the U.S. delegation three weeks ago, Stevenson has been energetically conferring with Hammarskjold, as well as with the Africans and Asians, in search of a "consensus" for a new formula that could break the long Congo stalemate. Hammarskjold wanted wider powers, enabling him to block money transfers from abroad to Congo banks and to search all incoming planes for arms.. But many sensitive African nations were wary of too much power for the U.N. For its part, the U.S. was urging Belgium to cease its arms buildup in Katanga--aid that, in African eyes, was just as "unilateral" and disruptive as the Communists' support for Gizenga. (With extraordinarily bad timing, a chartered Stratocruiser arrived in Katanga last week carrying three crated jet fighters, doubtless procured with Belgian assistance.) At one point, there was broad agreement among the Afro-Asians on a plan that would neutralize the competing Congolese army forces, oust all foreign military or paramilitary "advisers" and soldiers of fortune, bring back Parliament and a broadened central government.

When Adlai Stevenson told Soviet Delegate Zorin about the plan, mentioning lightly that India and Nigeria--two conspicuous Afro-Asian names--might introduce it as a resolution, the Russian seemed startled: "What's that, what's that?" he barked at the interpreter. "Repeat that about India and Nigeria." He knew Moscow could not come out flatly against any scheme with wide support among the Asians and Africans.

Common Ground. With the news of Lumumba's death, and in the thunder of Moscow's political drums, hopes of agreement suddenly faded in a welter of confusion. But it soon became clear that although several African nations (Ghana, Guinea, the U.A.R., Mali, Morocco) quickly joined the Russians in recognizing Gizenga's "government," that was where Moscow's success stopped. Mali and Guinea spoke up halfheartedly for Hammarskjold's resignation (but not his ouster); most shared the view of one Asian who admitted, "We're all at fault for not giving Hammarskjold a stronger mandate."

Faced with the prospect of U.N. withdrawal from the Congo, almost all were suddenly sobered. A major factor was the conversion of India's Prime Minister Nehru, who had refused to send a single soldier to fight in Korea; since then Nehru has seen the Red Chinese in action in Tibet and elbowing at his own frontiers.

"The future can be saved only by action --strong action!" he cried last week amid the ugly echoes of Moscow's threats, and announced that he was ready to contribute Indian combat troops to beef up Hammarskjold's Congo force.

Hastily, the Afro-Asians reached agreement at last on a resolution that most could support. Its main provisions: 1) the U.N. is to stop the Congo's civil war, using force if necessary to prevent clashes; 2) the opposing Congolese army units (Gizenga's, Mobutu's, Tshombe's) should be disarmed under U.N. control and taken out of politics; 3) all Belgians and other foreign military and political personnel should be forced out of the country; 4) Parliament is to be reconvened.

But the U.S. detected a couple of dangerous loopholes. The resolution said nothing about the shipment of foreign arms and equipment into the Congo, and did not give Hammarskjold's men the right to intercept such contraband. This was, after all, the key to peace. But when the U.S. proposed amendments to close these loopholes, some of the resolution's backers were strangely reluctant to agree; one of them was Nasser's U.A.R., which had been trafficking in arms for Gizenga for some weeks and perhaps wanted to continue doing so.

The Lunge. What induced Moscow to embark on this disruptive lunge? One answer is that Russia wants nothing, no body, no agreement, no group of nations capable of hampering any adventure or pursuit the Kremlin might have in mind. Though the Russians value the U.N. as a propaganda forum, they have no interest in a U.N. with power to act (Zorin was quick to point out that he had nothing against the U.N. itself, only against its executive officer). Even if the present attack is beaten back, it has served the Russians' purpose in intimidating Hammarskjold.

After Khrushchev's attack last fall, Hammarskjold became notably more cautious in the Congo, shied away from involvement in the Laos squabble, on the ground that the Russians were waiting for just such an opportunity to bring him down.

In Africa, the Zorin attack alarmed governments who look to the U.N. for protection and as a forum where they can make their voices heard. But even here, the Russians had scored by their own reckoning. For the Communists look over the heads of governments to Africa's impassioned students and wild-eyed nationalists. If sufficiently encouraged in their anticolonial hatred for white men, they can be depended on, in the Communists' view, ultimately to rule the future of Africa. The 10,000 students who rioted last week in Nigeria were a warning of how effective this tactic could be; Nigeria's moderate government was frankly frightened by the outburst, at week's end privately warned the U.S. that it would be forced to 'be somewhat more anticolonial in its future policies if it were to keep its influence in African councils.

Planes over the Sudan. But Western experts doubt that Khrushchev is prepared for really serious intervention in the Congo. If the Russians tried to move into the Congo, they would face as many difficulties as the U.N.--or Patrice Lumumba --and they know it. Even providing major aid to Gizenga would be enormously difficult. In the deep Sudan interior, the overland roads are perilous, and planes can bring in only a trickle of supplies, even if the Sudan permitted overflights (which it has so far refused to do). If the Congo ever became a theater for a clash between East and West on the model of the Spanish Civil War, the West would have all the advantages of supply lines. As it is, the Russians will have all they can do just sneaking planes through or around the Sudan to feed Gizenga enough supplies to keep him going as a troublemaker.

Cold Shock. Basically, Lumumba's death was too good an opportunity for Khrushchev to miss and a chance to prove to comrades the world over that he could be as militant as the Chinese when the chance came. "Do you think he could have passed it up, and then explained to Mao that he didn't want to offend his new friend, John F. Kennedy?" demanded one Western expert.

Whatever the motives, Khrushchev's decision was like a bucket of cold water to the U.S.'s new leaders. For Adlai Stevenson, dedicated to lessening cold war tensions, and long contemptuous of the brusque counterblast as a technique of foreign policy, the week had come as a shock, stimulating the strongest kind of change in a man essentially unschooled in the closeup rough-and-tumble of Communist diplomacy. For the new President of the U.S., Russia's attitude was a rude reminder that although the Kremlin's tactics might change, its strategy most emphatically does not. "Together, let us explore the stars, conquer the deserts, eradicate disease, tap the ocean depths and encourage the arts and commerce," said Kennedy in his inaugural address. Word went out recently from the White House urging Moscow to avoid harsh incidents in the early weeks of the new U.S. regime, whose policy was not yet molded.

But Nikita Khrushchev is not to be conned that way. Khrushchev figures that he will get a summit meeting with Kennedy not because of how much or how little he smiles but simply because the sheer weight of Russia in today's world makes a summit meeting necessary sooner or later.

For the week's work, Khrushchev would congratulate himself that he had once again stirred the world into a state of anxiety, a testament to his power but also to the apprehension the world holds for Communist ruthlessness.

He had managed to tarnish the image of the U.N., and to diminish the effectiveness of its Secretary-General, even though the small nations rallied to Hammarskjold's defense. But Khrushchev also had his failures. The uncommitted nations refused to stampede. And if his actions were designed to test the mettle and temper of the new Kennedy Administration, he found it unmistakably firm.

* The men behind him on the cover: Platon Morozov, Zorin's No. 2 man at the U.N. (with earphone), Alexei Nesterenko, the U.N. Soviet mission's political counselor.

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