The Predictability Gap

Not that crisis is to be recommended, but there is nothing like a real, full blown, to-the-brink international flap to clear the air of confusion. Crisis can, in fact, impose its own orderliness, washing away irrelevancies, clarifying issues in black and white terms, mobilizing national resource and purpose, setting in train a predictable sequence of action and reaction.

Throughout most of the cold war years, the world has lived in a state of constantly recurring crisis. So accustomed have so many become to the condition that its absence can cause a vague sense of unease. Cyprus? Guantanamo? Panama? South Viet Nam? East Africa? Malaysia? All are trouble spots. But taken separately or even together, they do not quite seem to spell CRISIS. Feeling this, the average newsreader is likely to have certain qualms and begin to wonder if something isn't really going on that he ought to know about and be able to worry about.

Domino Theory. For so long, the cold war was waged on the basis of seemingly eternal verities. Communism was a monolith and therefore all the more powerful, dangerous--and, for some reason, efficient. The domino theory guided U.S. foreign policy. If Greece fell, so would Turkey, then most of the Middle East. If Laos went, so, like a row of dominoes, would South Viet Nam, Thailand and the rest of Southeast Asia. Any Communist action had to be met instantly and decisively by Western reaction. All this led to a certain predictability of policy.

That predictability is now lacking. For one thing, some of the old verities no longer seem so true. The Communist world is not monolithic, and Russia's Khrushchev is beset by economic and political difficulties that would make any Western statesman blanch with dismay (see cover story in THE WORLD). Moreover, in recent months new men have become heads of government in three of the West's four most powerful nations. Konrad Adenauer, Harold Macmillan, and even John Kennedy in his relatively short tenure were known quantities. Their reactions to given challenges could be foretold with considerable accuracy. But Ludwig Erhard, Sir Alec Douglas-Home and Lyndon Johnson are not bound by the policies--or for that matter the shibboleths--of their predecessors. All are feeling their way, seeking new foreign-policy avenues, and their course is difficult to predict.

Masterpiece of Blandness. Last week, for example, Britain's Prime Minister flew to Washington to visit the President of the U.S. Sir Alec and Lyndon got along famously--up to a point.

Their communique was a masterpiece of blandness. Home solemnly pledged Britain's support of U.S. policy in South Viet Nam; Johnson automatically reaffirmed U.S. support of Britain's desire for "the peaceful national independence of Malaysia." And together the two nations would continue the "pursuit of peace" for all they were worth.

The communique neglected to mention some differences of opinion--particularly in trade policy toward Communist nations. One thing that Home did inherit from Macmillan was a belief that Khrushchev has renounced nuclear war as an instrument of foreign policy, and that the West would be better served by dealing with a fat Communist than with a lean and hungry one. Home, therefore, is anxious to expand trade with Communism. Britain is holding elections this year, and the idea is politically popular. But Johnson disagreed with his thesis. And, as it happens, he too is up for election, and in the U.S. increased trade is more controversial.

As the West's new leaders probe for new foreign-policy approaches, there is always the danger of a misstep. Johnson, for instance, almost certainly overreacted to Fidel Castro's nuisance-value move of cutting off Guantanamo's water supply. He has got to learn that activity, or even action, is not to be equated with wisdom. And he seems to be more thin-skinned than a Texan should be over criticism of his conduct of foreign affairs. Last week, before a group of Internal Revenue agents, he made some petulant off-the-cuff remarks in defense of his record.

Greyer Skies. "We have problems in the world," he conceded. "We are living in a frustrating period, an exciting period, a developmental period. I have seen times when the skies were greyer. We don't have on our hands a missile crisis in Cuba. We don't have Laos; we don't have the conference in Vienna that we faced the first few months of President Kennedy's Administration--the Bay of Pigs--all of those were major problems." As for today's problems, Johnson labeled them "distresses," then added: "You will hear alarmists and people who like to jump on their Government, people who like to criticize, people who find it quite impossible to be affirmative and constructive. They will join with some of our opponents, and they will be almost as much of a problem as some of our other enemies. The best way to treat them is just, 'God forgive them, for they know not what they do.' "

Despite such hypersensitivity to criticism and some unpredictability in Johnson's handling of foreign policy, some things do remain perfectly predictable. Although there may be variations in attitude and approach, the basic U.S. positions against Communism will remain firm. Nor will the U.S. dissipate its military and economic strength. For as long as it maintains those strengths, it can afford to let both its friends and its enemies indulge in a degree of foreign-policy experimentation. And there need be no great risk of one of those all-clarifying crises.

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