August 1982

AUGUST 1982 RUPEES 2.75

Indian Photography

Rediscovered

SPAN

Mark Twain In 1896 the Bombay GazeUe reported, "Mark Twain has the power of moving people to tears as well as to laughter, and sandwiched between the numerous anecdotes with which he delight-

ed the audience were one or two incidents of extreme pathos, rendered additionally pathetic by the author's dramatic and impressive way of telling them."

The author of Tom Sawyer was back in India rec~ntly in the person of David Grant, a 31year-old English ~eacher from Milton Academy in Milton, Massachusetts. Under a grant from the Eleanor Patterson Founda-, tion, he followed the itinerary Twain set when he made the

lecture tour that led to his book FolJowingthe Equator. (That historic tour was described in the November 1966 SPAN~ with the cover by Mario, left.) Grant delivered Twain's remarks verbatim, transforming himself through makeup and costume into the salty humorist of the last century who undertook his tour to repay debts and dig up new material for his books. The Twain wit traveled well then; thanks to Grant, it is also well preserved,

SPAN 2

Recalling Mrs. Gandhi's Visits toU .S.A.

4

Toward Disarmament "We Need Deeds, Not Words"

by President Ronald Reagan

5 India's Embellished Images

by Fergus M. Bordewich

12 The President Meets the Press

by Laurence I. Ba"en

17 On the Lighter Side

18 Confronting the North-South Dilemma

by Robert D. Hormats

21 Boeing Flies Into the Future

by Richard W. Buck

26

Combating Terrorism

by James Berry Motley

28

Studying in America Then and Now b} Usha Helweg and Simran Singh

34

Cinema With a Conscience Chidananda Das Gupta Talks With William Greaves

38 Earth-Sheltered Structures

40 The Poem as Time Machine

by Tess Gallagher

45 A New Challenge for George Shultz

46 Focus On ...

Editor Managing Editor

Mal Oettinger Chidananda Das Gupt,a

Assistant Managing Editor

Krishan Gabrani

Senior Editor

Aruna Dasgupta

Copy Editor Editorial Assistant

Murari Saha Rocque Fernandes

Photo Editor

Avinash Pasricha

Art Director

Nand Katyal

Associate Art Director

Kanti Roy

Assistant Art Director

Bimanesh Roy Choudhury

Chief of Production

Awtar S. Marwaha

Circulation Manager

P.N. Saigal

Photographic Service

ICA Photographic Services Unit

Photographs: Front cover, 5-11-courtesy Judith Mara Gutman, Smithsonian Institution and American Institute of Indian Studies. Inside front cover-Avinash Pasricha. 6-John Abrams. 12-13-D. Gorton, NYT Picture. 21-25-Lee E. Battaglia. 28-courtesy Usha Helweg and Simran Singh. 29, 31-Avinash Pasricha. 34-37-courtesy William Greaves Productions. 38-39-Philip MacMillan James except 38 top by Bob Homan, 39 top courtesy Cummins Engine Company and 39 third picture courtesy Saez/Pacetti. 46-courtesy National Gallery of Modern Art, New Delhi. 47-Avinash Pasricha. Inside back cover and back cover-Randa Bishop.

Published by the International Communication Agency, American Center, 24 Kasturba Gandhi Marg, New Delhi 110001, on behalf of the American Embassy, New Delhi. The opinions expressed in this magazine do not necessarily reflect the views or policies of the United States Government. Printed by H.K. Mehta at Thomson Press (India) Limited, Faridabad, Haryana.

Use of SPAN articles in other publications is encouraged, exc~pt when copyrighted. For permission, write to the E~itor.

2 rupees

75 paise.

with new address

Price of magazine: For change

10 Circulation

110001. See change

')f address

of address.

Manager.

one year's

subscription

send an old address SPAN

Magazine,

(12 issues),

21 rupees;

from a recent SPAN 24 Kasturba

Gandhi

single copy,

envelope

aloflg

Marg, New Delhi

form on page 48b.

Front cover: Ifeverything-the man, his jewelry, the sitar-about this picture seems grander than life it is due to the unique 19th century Indian style of photography embellished by painting in traditional style. Some 180 such photographs collected by an American art historian are currently being exhibited in American cities. See story beginning on page 5.

Back cover: Peggy King, a graduate of Clown College, Florida. See inside back cover.

A LETTER FROM THE PUBLISHER There is an intensity and directness about Indian photography of the past, as illustrated in our cover story. The unique vision of Indian photographers past is being acclaimed by American gallerygoers and will eventually repose in a musetnn in Bombay. The vitality of India's current photographers sparkles in the work of Avinash Pasricha, SPAN's photo editor who is an outstanding lens artist.

"I grew up playing around with pinhole cameras and got a thrill out of exposing film iil my father's photographic studio," Pasricha says. .•• "I was given my first camera--a Kodak Brownie--when I was nine and took pictures all through school and college." After graduation from St. Stephen's in New Delhi, he came to the U.S. Information, Service 2S years ago. "I expected to run my father's photographic business someday and thought I could learn something in the picture lab." He joined SPAN three years later, helping to prepare the first issue. "The job became challenging: exploring the use of pictures, getting a picture printed and then hearing people talk about it. That kind of exposure inspires you to a continual effort to become a better and better photographer. You can't afford to repeat yourself. People react--that's what keeps you on your toes." In his work as photo editor he still exhibits the organizational ability a good businessman needs--but he is celebrated for his artistic sensitivity.

He believes that there are still some uniquely Indian aspects to photography here, despite the pervasive influence of Western media, particularly magazines, on Indian photojournalists. For example, Pasricha says, "Studio portrait photographers in large and small towns are very much influenced by the way "their forefathers saw things, and they still use hand-painted photographs. People want to see a glamorized photograph of themselves, not the way they are. And even though technology has brought us color photographs and multiple prints, people still appreciate the original quality of handpainted work."

In the article on page 6 it is noted that Indian photographs often feature "pockets of interest" instead of focusing on a single central subject--niuch in th~ manner of miniature paintings that have different events occurring in the foreground and the background. Pasricha points out that "this is also true of Indian dance."

Pasricha has won acclaim for his pictures of dancers and musicians, including the Wills first prize of Rs.30,000 in an India-wide competition in 1980 for the photograph at right. Pasricha considers catching the mood of a performer "a labor of love." His portraits are also famous: 'ry ou can do a good portrait of anyone, provided you believe that everybody is worth photographing, you have patience and stalk a subj ect until you capture the right moment. You try to get people to relax and show their best side. It's a knack."

What was his favorite photograph in 23 years at SPAN? There were several, but the one shown at left came instantly to his mind. For the back cover of May 1967 for a story about water resources he wanted a picture of a girl drinking water. ''UneXpectedly,'' he recalls, "the water created sparks as it danced off her fingers. I had a beautiful picture in just five minutes' effort."

Pasricha sees a great future for photographers in India. "Even ten years ago a young person would have trouble making a good career of photography. Now the growth of industry and media offers tremendous opportunities and challenges to a photographer," he said.

--M.P.

Recalling Mrs. Gandhi's Visits to U.S.A. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi's state visit to the United States, July 27 through August 4, provides a unique opportunity for the Prime Minister and President Ronald Reagan to renew the dialogue they had begun at Cancun in Mexico. They will no doubt review vital global issues and seek to strengthen bilateral relations between the two countries.

This is Mrs. Gandhi's third official visit (the other two were in 1966 and in 1971). However, she has been a frequent visitor to the United States. Her first trip was in 1949 when she accompanied her father Jawaharlal Nehru. She was with him again during his other state visits in 1956 and 1961. Mrs. Gandhi visited the United States every year from 1960 to 1966: In 1962, she went on a month-long private lecture tour; in 1963, for the ground-breaking ceremony of the Indian pavilion at the World's Fair in New York; in 1964 to

Above,' Cheering New Yorkers greet Mrs. Indira Gandhi, on her first visjt to their city as Prime Minister in 1966. Below: Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and Mrs. Gandhi at Disneyland, California, in 1961 with Walt Disney (right), the amusement park's renowned creator, and two young Americans.

inaugurate the pavilion and to speak on behalf of all participants in the fair; and in 1965 to open the Nehru exhibit, entitled Jawaharlal Nehru: His Life and His India, in New York. In 1968 and again in 1970, the Prime Minister visited New York to address the U.N. General Assembly.

Not many foreign leaders visiting the United States have attracted as much public attention as the Indian Prime Minister. She has lectured at numerous American universities, frequently addressed press gatherings and women's clubs and appeared on nationwide radio and television programs.

In the next issue, SPAN hopes to publish a special supplement with an extensive photo coverage in color of the Prime Minister's visit. On these pages, we present a sampling of photographs from Mrs. Gandhi's earlier trips.

Left: In San Francisco (1949) with her father and the city's mayor, Elmer Robinson. Below: At the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars in Washington in 1971. With Mrs. Gandhi are (from left): Dillon Ripley, director of the Smithsonian; Senator John Sherman Cooper; and L.K. Jha, Indian Ambassador to the U.S.

Top: At the White Holise in 1956 with Mrs. Mamie Eisenhower, Prime Minister Nehru and President Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Above: Mrs. Gandhi and Mr. Nehru with President John F. Kennedy and Mrs.¡ Jacqueline Kennedy at the White House lawns in 1961.

Top: With President Lyndon Johnson (right) and Secretary of State Dean Rusk at the White House in 1966. Center: With President Richard Nixon in 1971.

Above: With President Ronald Reagan at the Cancun (Mexico) summit in 1981.

Below: With Mrs. Martin Luther King, Jr., in Washington i/IJ1971. Below, right: Secretary Dean Rusk (left) and U.S. Ambassador to India Chester Bowles call on Prime Minister Gandhi at Blair House, Washington, in 1966.

-,

tWeNeed Deeds, Not Words'

by PRESIDENT

In an address to the recent U.N.

special session on disarmament, President Ronald Reagan renewed the United States' commitment todo everything possible for arms reductions and peace. Following are excerpts of his speech.

I speak today as both a citizen of the United States and of the world. I come with the heartfelt wishes of my people for peace, bearing honest proposals, and looking ,for genuine progress.

The record of history is clear: Citizens of the United States resort to force reluctantly and only when they must. Our foreign policy, as President Eisenhower once said, "is not difficult to state. We are for peace, first, last and always, for very simple reasons." We know that only in a peaceful atmosphere, a peace with justice, one in which we can be confident, can America prosper as we have known prosperity in the past, he said.

To those who challenge the truth of those words let me point out that at the end of World War II, we were the only undamaged industrial power in the world. Our military supremacy was unquestioned. We had harnessed the atom and had the ability to unleash its destructive force anywhere in the world. In short, we could have achieved world domination, but that was contrary to the character of our people.

Instead, we wrote a new chapter in the history of mankind. We used our power and wealth to rebuild the war-ravaged economies of the world, both East and West, including those nations who had been our enemies. We took the initiative in creating such international institutions as this United Nations, where leaders of goodwill could come together to build bridges for peace and prosperity.

America has no territorial ambitions, we occupy no countries and we have built no walls to lock our people in. Our commitment to self-determination, freedom and peace is the very soul of America. That commitment is as strong today as it ever was.

RONALD

REAGAN

The pain of war is still vivid in our national memory. It sends me to this special session of the United Nations eager to comply with the p~ea of Pope Paul VI when he spoke in this chamber nearly 17 years ago. "If you want to be brothers," His Holiness said, "let the arms fall from your hands."

We Americans yearn to let them go.

In the nuclear era, the major powers bear a special responsibility to ease these sources of conflict and to refrain from aggression. That is why we are so deeply concerned by Soviet conduct. Since World War II, the record of tyranny has included Soviet violation of the Yalta agreements leading to domination of Eastern Europe, symbolized by the Berlin wall-a grim, gray monument to repression I visited just a week ago. It includes the takeovers of Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Afghanistan; and the ruthless repression of the proud people of Poland. Soviet-sponsored guerrillas and terrorists are at work in Central and South America, in Africa, the Middle East, in the Caribbean and in Europe, violating human rights and unnerving the world with violence. Communist atrocities in Southeast Asia, Afghanistan and elsewhere continue to shock the free world as refugees escape to tell of their horror.

The dt'-s::adeof so-called detente witnessed the most massive Soviet buildup of military power in history. They increased their defense spending by 40 percent while American defense spending actually declined in the same real terms. Soviet aggression and support for violence around the world have eroded the confidence needed for arms negotiations.

While we exercised unilateral restraint they forged ahead and today possess nuclear and conventional forces far in excess of an adequate deterrent capability.

Soviet oppression is not limited to the countries they invade. At the very time

the Soviet Union is trying to manipulate the peace movement in the West, it is stifling a budding peace movement at home. In Moscow, banners are scuttled, buttons are snatched and demonstrators are arrested when even a few people dare to speak out about their fears.

My people have sent me here today to speak for'them as citizens of the world. which they truly are, for we Americans are drawn from every nationality r.epresented in this chamber today. We understand that men and women of every race and creed can and must work together for peace. We stand ready to take the next steps down the road of cooperation through verifiable arms reduction.

Agreements on arms control and disarmament can be useful in reinforcing peace; but they are not magic. We should not confuse the signing of agreements with the solving of problems. Simply collecting agreements will not bring peace. Agreements genuinely reinforce peace only when they are kept. Otherwise we are building a paper castle that will be blown away by the winds of war.

Let me repeat, we need deeds, not words to convince us of Soviet sincerity, should they choose to join us on this path.

Since the end of World War II, the United States has been the leader in serious disarmament and arms control proposals.

• In 1946, in what became known as the Baruch Plan, the United States submitted a proposal for control of nuclear weapons and nuclear energy by an international authority. The Soviets rejected this plan.

• In 1955, President Eisenhower made his "Open Skies" proposal, under which the United States and the Soviet Union would have exchanged blueprints of military establishments and provided for aerial reconnaissance. The Soviets rejected this plan.

• In 1963, the limited test ban treaty came into force. This treaty ended nuclear weapons testing in the atmosphere, outer space, or underwater by participating nations.

• In 1970, the treaty on the nonprolif(Text continued on page 48)

o a visitor encountering Calcutta for the first time, the city seems to swarm with a wonderful, if claustrophobic, energy. Automobiles, cows, gaunt men straining at rickshaws, coolies with pushcarts piled impossibly high, all jockey for space in the pitted streets, maneuvering with astonishing speed and agility.

One evening in 1976, an elegant woman stepped from the air-conditioned serenity of the Grand Hotel into the leaden heat and began to pick her way among the hawkers, vagrants and shoppers who filled Chowringhee bazaar. She made her way to an office building where she had heard there was an old photography studio, the kind of place she often sought out while traveling abroad. She had no idea that what she would discover in that studio would inspire her to return again and again to the subcontinent over the next six years. Nor could she foresee that her discovery would not only begin to reveal to her the unique vision and artistry of traditional Indian photography, but challenge many Western biases and preconceptions about the nature of photography itself.

In the old studio's musty archives, Judith Mara Gutman, historian and scholar of American photography, discovered 19th-century photographs as unlike most contemporaneous Western ones in their composition, technique, texture and vision as traditional Indian miniature painting differed from the entrenched representationalism of Western art. Indeed, investigation over the ensuing six years (financed largely by the Smithsonian Institution) convinced her that many 19thcentury Indian photographers relied on the form, spirit and aesthetics of classical miniature painting to structure their photographs. Some deliberately used their cameras to flatten depth and wipe out perspective. They erased shadows.

They cropped pictures to put the viewer in taut confrontation with their subjects.

Some of the finest of these artists delicately painted their photographs, boldly adding details or painting out ones they didn't like; and often, several artists worked on the same photograph, so that the final image was the product of shared perceptions rather than of an individual artistic vision.

The pictures Mrs. Gutman found in Calcutta and subsequently searched for throughout India are not just quaint images of a lost age. The photographs of turbaned rajahs and their retainers, of stiff-backed scions of the mercantile mid-

T

Copyright Š 1982 by the New York Times Company. Reprinted by permission from The New York Times Magazine.

dIe class, of hunters and their game, of musicians, dancing girls and jute mills, represent a particularly Indian way of defining reality. Nineteenth-century Indian photographers aimed at capturing not the passing moment but the eternal. They intuitively recorded the special Indian faith in man's identity with the animal world and inanimate matter, and they sought to reach beyond mortality itself toward the equivocal Hindu dividing line between life and death.

The fruits of Mrs. Gutman's efforts were seen in a recent exhibition entitled "Through Indian Eyes," at the International Center of Photography in New York. (Her book by the same name was released simultaneously.) From there, the exhibition is moving on to 10 cities in and outside the United States. The first such exhibition of traditional Indian photography ever mounted in the United States, it includes 180 photographs taken between the 1850s and the 1920s, plus several miniature paintings to illustrate the origins of Indian photographic technique, and a group of 19th-century European photographs of India by way of contrast. Eventually, the exhibition will rest in¡India's first museum of photography, being built to house it in Bombay.

Mrs. Gutman, who is best known for her study of the early 20th-century photographer Lewis Hine, does not see her Indian project as a radical departure from her past work, which has also been concerned with how historical processes, aesthetics and perception interact. "I have always been interested in looking at the relationship . -tween photography and culture," sh" AjS. "What I am trying to do is upg~?.'ie the whole idea of the photograph as a cultural document. I have always contended that the better the art in any given photograph, the better it expresses the pa-rticular culture to which it belongs. This exhibition is a demonstration of that belief.

"The exhibition is of crucial importance," she continues, "because in it we are seeing a way of looking at the world About the collector and the author: Judith Mara Gutman, left, is a historian of art and photography.

Her investigations into vintage Indian photography resulted in the exhibition discussed here by Fergus M. Bordewich, a freelance writer.

through photography that we never knew existed before. I hope it will undermine our ethnocentrism, especially in the visual arts. We assumed, particularly in . the 19th century, that there were irrevocable rules by which photography had to abide. These photographs make everyone aware that something very different was being done with the camera."

Through much of its history, photography has been trusted by many to serve up reality without fraud or embellishment. "The camera," declared pioneering photographer Laszlo Moholy-Nagy, 50 years ago, is the "beginning of objective vision." Some photographers tem\ciously believed that the camera transcended culture, that it spoke a language of its own untainted by history and by the prejudices of the eye behind the lens.

Insofar as such notions linger on, knowledgeable students of photography feel that Mrs. Gutman's exhibition deals them a heavy blow.

"Such an extraordinary way of conceptualizing comes through in these photographs," says Ted Hartwell, curator of photography at the Minneapolis Institute of Art. "They obviate what we have been taught to believe about the sheer mechanicalness of the medium. There are people who say that the camera is a dumb machine and can only take pictures according to its mechanical nature, and that it cannot incorporate the hand of the artist. It is a profound controversy. This collection confronts that controversy head on and demonstrates plainly how cultural conventions determine the w~y we see."

The cultural influence on photography "should perhaps have been as obvious as the nose on your face," adds Cornell Capa, founder and executive director of the International Center of Photography.

"But it has not been obvious." This collection, he says, "makes it evident that there are ethnocentric perspectives in the use of photography. The exhibition shows how a seemingly simple a"ndinnocent machine, the camera, became a part of the restructuring of a whole visual system."

The first cameras arrived in India in the 1840s, at a time when it was fast becoming the centerpiece of the British Empire.

Since the 17th century, the commercial tentacles of the British East India Company had been reaching across the land from the entrepots of Calcutta, Madras and Bombay until the entire subcontinent was a patchwork of foreign colonies and nominally independent feudal protectorates. In the wake of the company came all the paraphernalia of Western civilization,

Patron and Deity places photographed figures academies in Madras and Jaipur as well. in a painted framework, using the Camera clubs proliferated. In 1856, the aesthetics of the traditional Indian miniature.

Bengal Photographic Society was found-

from rifles to railroads to the first glimmering notions of parliamentary government.

With it all came photography.

Little of 19th-century Europe's technology could have 'been more alien to feudal India than the camera, both in its conception and its mechanics. Yet Indian civilization devoured it with amazing speed and enthusiasm. "A basic characteristic of Indian culture," says Professor Bernard Cohn, a specialist /in 19thcentury Indian history at the University of Chicago, "is' that nothing drops out.

Everything is added, and_everything foreign that is added becomes theirs, as if they themselves had invented it." Photography seized the Indian imagination and within a few years after it was introduced into the subcontinent, many Indian photographers' had detached the medium from its foreign roots and transformed it into a virtually indigenous craft passed on from father to son.

As early as 1855, photography was added to the curriculum of a Bombay art school, and it was soon being taught at

ed in Calcutta, which was then the capital of British India, and /" 'oed to both European and Indian m~,",_¡..;rs.An eminent historian, Rajendrala! Mitra, was elected treasurer. Less than a year later, however, a crisis befell the society which foreshadowed the way Indian photography would evolve for the next halfcentury. During that fateful year, Mr. Mitra supported Bengali peasants in their widespread agitation against British planters. The planters, in turn, had Mr. Mitra expelled from his office as someone unfit to associate with European "gentlemen."

Of the society's 100 members, all 30 Indians resigned.

That was in 1857, the year of the Great Mutiny, or, as it is today known in independent India, the First War of National Liberation. Indian troops, abetted by local princes, revolted against their British masters all-across northern India. After a bitter and bloody struggle, the British reasserted control, but the once relatively amicable relations between the British and Indians were never the same again.

The British withdrew into segregated set-

tlements all over the subcontinent; the Indians, in their view, were no longer to be trusted. Thenceforth, the great majority of the British in India would see the vast civilization in which they were camped as a threatening mass of heathens who, at best, might be lifted from their squalor and ignorance only by imitating the presumably "superior" principles, mores and tastes of Europe.

The men who left the Photographic Society, like others in comparable circumstances throughout the subcontinent when the Great Mutiny took place, largely lost contact with mainstream European photographic techniques and aesthetics.

But they spirited photography away as they would a captured prize, and took it back into the recesses of traditional Indian culture.

Among the most striking initial impressions made by many early-Indian photographs are their disconcerting "flatness" and lack of a single focal point. In two fairly representative pictures, for instance, mustachioed rajahs are compressed against the chairs on which they sit, and the chairs, in turn against the floor beneath them and the wall behind them until all sense of depth is lost. Another picture, of a party of nobles gathered on a balcony, keeps the viewer's eye in continual uneasy motion, circling one image after another, plunging in and pulling out, groping always for the missing "center." Nineteenth-century English critics were irritated by such qualities, which violated basic canons of European aesthetics. In 1895, Practical Photographer magazine commented gloomily that "the natives are infesting photography, and bringing down its level all over India." In fact, Indian photographers were re-creating a vision they had inherited from their own artistic tradition.

"With an unconscious compulsion, the Indian photographer reduced his photographic space into a flat plane," says Dr. Stella Kramrisch, curator emeritus of Indian art at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. "That is what looked right to him. In Indian painted miniatures, every color is neatly defined within an outline, and every figure is contained within its own specific ground. By keeping all the figures and objects in a painting-human beings, trees, a river-within their own limits, the Indian artist established a harmony among them. Every object had its own value and could be appreciated in its distinctness-it could almost be plucked out, like a jewel, and then set back in its place."

"The picture field in a classical Indian

pamtmg is a conceptualized space with no necessary relevance to any part of the physical world," Mrs. Gutman says.

"People do not have to look like specific persons. Nor do buildings and terrain serve as models. Usually filled with several 'pockets of interest' across a flattened picture field, a painting's rhythm does not necessarily lead to a single dominating subject as in a Western visual representation. Everything in the picture happens at once, and in an idealized space over a timeless eternity."

To many Western photographers, the camera's very essence lay in it~ ability to capture the instant that could never be duplicated. "Not a tool, save the camera, is capable of expressing the full majesty of the moment," the American photographer and critic Paul Rosenfeld said.

Henri Cartier-Bresson "prowled the streets all day," he said, determined to "'trap' life-to preserve life in the act of living. Above all, I craved to seize the whole essence, in the confines of one single photograph, of some situation that was in the process of unrolling itself before my eyes." More recently, the critic Susan Sontag wrote that "photography is the inventory of mortality."

To the Indian photographer, however, the moment hadn't a bit of "majesty." He spent far more effort erasing the traces of time than in seizing them. With his palette he could wipe away aging, as he commonly did when he painted youth into photographs of subjects grown old, and with his lens he could blur the line between life and death. In traditional Hinduism, death is essentially a progression to another degree of existence, up or down the chain of being that stretches between the pure disembodied soul and the lowly flea; nothing that exists is excluded from participation in a primal consciousness. Man, cow, blade of grass, table-everything, at some level, shares a kind of elemental identity.

Thus, in a group of shikar, or hunting, photographs, the deer, tigers, birds and other animals that were the victims of royal hunts are not exhibited as simple "prizes," but are adorned in such a way that it is difficult to tell at first whether they are dead or alive; their eyes are turned warmly toward the camera, their heads are lovingly propped up, their legs tucked pertly beneath them. In one particularly striking photograph, hunters with their dogs seem pressed back by the foreshortened perspective against a wall filled with their trophies until the hunters become almost indistinguishable from their prey. "As if that wasn't enough," Mrs. Gutman says, "a photograph of a

live animal was pasted onto the scene.," The relative equality of inanimate objects is evident as well in other types of photographs. In a fairly typical photograph of an official's residence, jugs on the ground, shrubbery and bits of architecture all share a visual parity with the human beings lined up on the verandathe nominal "subject" of the picture.

The photographs that reach most deeply into the essence of the Indian vision, however, are those that, with paint, create a special art on the canvas of the naked photograph. "I saw a painted photograph for the first time in Udaipur, in Rajasthan," Mrs. Gutman says. "I found it in an ordinary curio shop. The owner kept wanting to show me paintings. But I wandered around. I thumbed through a couple of old albums that looked as if they might contain photographs. Suddenly, in one of them I saw this old picture of a rajah." It showed an elderly split-whiskered gent of regal bearing, a sheathed sword across his knees and a cane tilted against his elegant European chair. His fingers were carefully elongated with paint, and his legs thickened to resemble those in a miniature.

The sheath had been painted green, his clothes white, his turban pink, and his coat's trim delicately dappled in gold.

The entire photograph had, in fact, been painted over and was, indeed, almost a painting.

"It was such a wonderful feeling," Mrs. Gutman recalls. "The exhilaration! As I stood there bargaining for the thing, I thought, 'My God, I've never seen anything like this before.' The shopkeeper simply dismissed it-in his view it wasn't high art and therefore wasn't worth his notice. But I felt as if I had discovered a whole new vision of life. From then on, wherever I went, I showed that picture to everyone I met and asked where I could find more."

In India, "photography rivaled painting but it never had the revolutionary impact that it had in Europe," according to Dr. Partha Mitter of the University of Sussex, an organizer of a recent exhibition of Indian and European photographs in London. Indeed, most Indians made little distinction between photographs and other forms of image-making.

"I began to realize," Mrs. Gutman says, "that people would show me paintings as easily as they would photographs-it was the picture that was important, not the particular way of making it. I would say, 'No, no, I want to see photographs,' and finally someone would say, 'Oh, it is camera photographs that you want to see?'" The majority of Indian photographers apparently never felt that coloring their work constituted some kind of "contamination." These photographers saw coloring as a wonderful embellishment of what was already in their photographs: Painting, they felt, was necessary to complete the photograph.

Mrs. Gutman unearthed painted photographs not only on paper but also on glass, porcelain and ivory. "When a painted photograph was made on ivory and a light placed behind the image, the colors burst out in a way that seemed explosive in contrast to the 'realistic' look of the face, which was left almost untouched," she says. "When the image was on photographic paper, the colors danced about more freely. On glass, the photographic elements turned translucent while the watercolors took on deeper coloration. " Often, the man who actually held the camera became almost incidental as a group of artists created the painted photograph. One artist would paint out unwanted dark areas and minimize shadows; another would do the finishing work with crayon, charcoal and pumice; a third might paint in a watercolor background, while a fourth outlined figures for silhouetting. Finally, an artist trained in miniature painting would fill in the central imagery.

To the traditional Indian eye, painted photographs were felt to be more realistic than unpainted ones in their portrayal of human beings: The "pure" photograph wasn't true enough. The photographer wasn't interested in how his subject happened to appear at one random moment, but in his sum total, his essence. Such an attitude was derived from the principles. of traditional portraiture, in which, a noted Indian critic wrote, the subject was to be shown "not as he was on earth, but as he was in himself."

10

The "essence" lay not just in the subject's face, but in his accouterments as well, and the artist's aim was to enhance those things that were crucial to his fundamental character. Paint added the glistening beauty felt to lie beneath the skin, or it emphasized the turban, the cane, the sword, the jewels that were symbols of dignity and authority. A maharajah could not be considered a king without his sword. The more stirringly evident the attributes of his power, the more powerful a figure he must be. In 1871, for example, the Maharajah of Baroda had hundreds of visiting cards made from his coronation photograph, and ordered his artists to make his face more benevolent in some and more commanding in others; power lay in the mold of his visage.

Based on the response in India to her . work, Mrs. Gutman is convinced that the . collection has stimulated a fresh interest in the art of photography there. After the first decades of the 20th century, steady outside influence gradually Westernized the form of popular photography. The work of most 19th-century photographers was dismissed.

"Most Indian photographers have been uninterested in the 19th-century, because they have viewed it as a period of decay, debasement and depression leading, at best, to a 20th-century rebirth," says Professor Cohn. Mrs. Gutman's spadework has redeemed a brilliant art from the seeming cultural slag heap of the colonial age, at a time when Indians are eager to discover further examples of their national expression.

The exhibition may also affect the way contemporary Western photographers view and practice their art. "Some people," Mrs. Gutman says, "will begin to copy the style of Indian photography, in the way that it poses people and organizes them within the photograph. But I hope that, more importantly, some photographers may go to the roots of the Indian mode of expression, and reach down into the process of creativity itself to open up photography to new ways of seeing. " According to William Ewing, director of exhibitions at the International Center of Photography, "'Through Indian Eyes' uncovers new material, and it suggests that there is far more out there for us to find out about. Contemporary photographers will be knocked out by seeing how visually acute photographers of the past and of another society were, and it should be inspiring for people to see how quickly the potential of the medium was reached."

D

The President Meets Once u.s. Presidents simply lectured the press; now they respond to incisive questioning before a television audience of millions in what has become a democratic ritual.

At the beginning of 1981, as Ronald Reagan's Administra- . tion was settling into office, Professor Robert M. Entman of Duke University completed a critical study called The Imperial Media, in which he condemned the modern televised press conference as "a ritual of predictable thrust and parry.

Reporters give a show of undaunted inquisitiveness; presidents, of ersatz candor."

At the same time, the University of Virginia's Center of Public Affairs produced a report with a contrary conclusion.

This document, which had journalists among its authors, said, "There are, of course, many ways in which a President can exert leadership. Equally important, a President must express leadership.

Surely, one of the best means for such expression is the presidential press conference, where the chief executive has the opportunity to answer questions directly, somewhat as a British prime minister does during the traditional 'question period' in the House of Commons."

Ronald Reagan, like all of his recent predecessors, has tinkered with some of the details of arrangements.

However, the President and his aides showed clearly from the first that they would ignore the advice of Professor Entman, who argued that dealings between the White House and journalists should be reduced.

Reagan held his first formal, televised press conference within two weeks of taking his oath of office and within the first two months participated in a dozen interviews with journalists individually or in small groups. His eclectic press schedule included sessions with some of the country's most prominent editors and columnists as well as a conversation with my son Paul, a 19-year-old college sophomore who writes for the Harvard Crimson, the student newspaper of Harvard but he must do so in full view of the public.

University.

The American constitutional system provides no formal Despite the variety of encounters with~eporters, only one method by which the President personally can be asked to method has become a firm custom as well as the subject of wide explain or defend his policies. The heads of hi~ cabinet attention. When Washingtonians talk about "the press conferdepartments frequently do just that when they appear at ence," they mean the kind of meeting between press and hearings conducted by committees of the Congress. However, the cabinet officers are appointed to their posts, not elected.

President that is scheduled in advance and broadcast live by the major television networks as well as by many radio stations.

The final responsibility rests with the President. While every Magazines and newspapers across the country give the event President confers frequently with leaders of the Congress, those meetings usually are private. heavy coverage. Some stations broadcast the conference at later Thus the American press, as it has in certain other times for the convenience of those who may have missed it the situations, fills a void by providing an unofficial check on the first time. A few major newspapers publish the entire transcript. activities of the Presidency, which is the centerpiece of the U.S. Why all the attention? The institution is unique. No other governmental system. This check is wholly extralegal; no statute requires that the President hold press conferences and leader of a major nation routinely submits to unrehearsed none requires that news organizations cover them. Yet the interrogation by a large number of journalists on any subjects the reporters care to raise. The President may occasionally press conference now has the force of tradition behind it. A choose to be unresponsive to a particularly sensitive question, President would find it very difficult, in political terms, to end

the Press

In answer to media charges that he was inaccessible, Ronald Reagan set up informal question-and-answer sessions in the White House rose garden.

the practice. The press would be equally hard put to diminish its role.

Yet the institution is far from static. It evolved slowly over the decades and not even the press conference's most enthusiastic supporters would argue that it is flawless. Therefore, it continues to change.

During the 19th century, meetings between press and President were rare. But Theodore Roosevelt-the Republican cousin of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a Democrat-enjoyed innovation. Though Theodore Roosevelt was the scion of an affluent and prominent New York State family, he mingled easily with people from different backgrounds.

As a young man, he worked on ranches in the West. During the SpanishAmerican War in 1898, he organized and led a regiment of cavalry. As President from 1901 to 1909, he invited groups of

reporters to the White House and conducted animated conversations with them on subjects of interest to him-occasionally while his barber was shaving him.

The reporters did ask questions of Roosevelt, but he dominated most of the sessions with vigorous orations on his pet projects.

He loved the outdoors, was something of an amateur naturalist and wanted wilderness areas protected from commercial development.

He also wanted consumers protected from business monopolies and often inveighed against the business "trusts." An ebullient and gregarious man, Roosevelt used the prototype press conferences as a megaphone for his strongly held views rather than as an opportunity to be tested by the press.

The next President, William Howard Taft (1909-13), was far more reserved than Roosevelt; Taft abandoned the practice altogether.

But Woodrow Wilson (1913 -1921) brought the press conference back to the White House for good. Not only did he allow open questioning, he also established the principle that all reporters accredited to cover the White House were entitled to participate in the question-and-answer sessions. That was a significant change. It meant that participation was among the rights of the press corps and not a privilege to be bestowed by the White House on individual reporters.

The three Presidents who followed Wilson- Warren Harding (1921-23), Calvin Coolidge (1923-1929) and Herbert Hoover (1929-33)-continued to have scheduled meetings with reporters. However, all three required that questions be submitted in writing prior to the meetings. That technique deprived the press conferences of spontaneity and allowed the Presidents a significant advantage.

Yet this rule underscores an important and lasting element concerning presidential conversations that are l)1ade public: The words are scrutinized closely. An impression, once created, is difficult to alter~ The lesson for Presidents is painfully clear: If they expose themselves to a free give-and-take, they must be well-prepared to answer questions with precision or to say candidly, on occasion, that they are unable to respond to a particular inquiry.

Franklin D. Roosevelt (1933 -1945), like his older cousin Theodore, enjoyed dealing with reporters and had great confidence in his ability to handle the exchanges. As Governor of New York State, he had met frequently with journalists in Albany, the state capital, in what he called "very delightful family conferences." Still, Roosevelt was not prepared to allow unrestricted use of his answers. He thought that would be too risky.

Immediately after taking office in March 1933, Roosevelt summoned reporters to his office and laid down new and specific rules for their subsequent meetings. First, he ended the requirement that questions be submitted in advance; in the nearly 50 years since then, no President has attempted to reinstate that restriction. But if Roosevelt was willing to open himself up on any subject, he was unwilling to speak for direct quotation very often. Only if his press secretary, Steve Early, put the President's remarks on paper could they be used verbatim.

Roosevelt also wanted to be able to speak "on background" when he chose to do so. As he defined the term, it meant that reporters could use the information "on your own

2.

3.

4.

5.

Theodore Roosevelt always made good copy for newspaper reporters.

Franklin D. Roosevelt met the press under his own careful restrictions.

Harry S. Truman allowed reporters to quote him directly.

Dwight D. Eisenhower inaugurated thefirst broadcast news conferences.

John Kennedy allowed live television and radio broadcast of news conferences.

Lyndon B. Johnson kept reporters on their toes by calling impromptu conferences.

7. Richard Nixon regarded news conferences as gladitorial encounters.

8. Gerald Ford held some press conferences while traveling around the country.

9. Jimmy Carter was well aware of the impact of news conferences on his presidential image.

authority and responsibility, not to be attributed to the White House." (Today that practice is called "deep background," while "background" allows the source to be identified in a general way, for example, a "White House source" or a "top administration officiaL") Finally, Roosevelt told the reporters that on occasion he would wish to speak "off the record." In those situations, the information could not be published at all; rather it was conveyed solely for the guidance of reporters.

While these rules sound confining by the standards of the 1980s, they represented a breakthrough in the 1930s. Not only would the President be available regularly-sometimes once a week-but he would also attempt to comment on a variety of topics. Further, he would use these sessions to discuss particular items in some depth.

Of course there were drawbacks to Roosevelt's approach.

The "background" device sometimes put reporters in the position of lending their own authority to the Administration's line. The "family" atmosphere Roosevelt sought to achieve helped the intimacy of the situation but gave the public no sense of the interplay between the President and reporters. Nonetheless, Roosevelt's long incumbency-12 years-established the President's obligation to face reporters periodically. The presidential press conference had become permanent.

Harry S. Truman (1945-1953), facing a larger press corps,

moved the conferehces to a more spacious chamber and generally spoke on the record. Dwight D. Eisenhower (1953-61) brought in his own innovation: He allowed filming and tape recording of all his press conferences, though broadcast of them was delayed to prevent slips of the tongue from creating false impressions. The most important step in the evolutionary process occurred when John F. Kennedy took office in 1961. A fluent, witty speaker and fast thinker, Kennedy was the first President to allow live television and radio broadcast of his press conferences. They were held in a large auditorium of the State Department, usually twice a month, and attracted several hundred reporters.

Kennedy's glamor and the presence of live television cameras gave the press conferences a certain element of political theater. More than ever before, the reporters took on, to some extent, the role of performers. Many were eager to be recognized by the President. As he would come to the conclusion of a response, many journalists would rise and seek to get his attention in order to get their question in. The shouts of "Mr. President, Mr. President" struck some observers as undignified. . The nature of press conferences was itself becoming an issue. At one of the early sessions in March 1961, a reporter asked Kennedy, "There are many Americans who believe that in our manner of questioning or seeking your attention we

are subjecting you to some abuse or a lack of respect. ... Could you tell us generally your feelings about your press conferences to date and your feelings about how they are conducted?"

Kennedy smiled as he responded, "Well, you subject me to some abuse, but not to any lack of respect." He added, as his audience laughed, that he saw no reason to change the arrangements.

Kennedy continued to sey some reporters and columnists privately and in those meetings he generally spoke on a background basis. But the televised conference became a regular feature of the President's press relations and has remained one ever since. Kennedy was a master of the art form, moving easily from complicated questions about the economy to sensitive inquiries about national security affairs. His performances also revealed to the public, in a more graphic way than previously, the adversarial aspect of relations between journalists and any President.

Kennedy was so good at the formal press conference that his was a difficult act to follow. Lyndon B. Johnson, somewhat less facile, did not enjoy the exchanges as much. Frequently during his Presidency (1963 - 69), he staged impromptu sessions which kept reporters a bit off balance. For instance, Johnson sometimes answered questions while walking his dogs around the South Lawn of the White House. Richard Nixon (1969-1974), though excellent at repartee, seemed to dislike the form and reduced the number' of sessions. Like other Presidents, he occasionally erred. On one occasion, he commented on the possible guilt of a defendant in a notorious murder trial-a clearly inappropriate intrusion into judicial process. Later Nixon acknowledged the error.

Gerald Ford (1974-77) and Jimmy Carter (1977 -1981) stuck to the basic format while making minor changes. Ford, for instance, held some formal press conferences while traveling around the country. In those sessions, half the questions were alloted to reporters from the locality in which the event was being held. The Washington journalists accompanying the President got the other half.

Ronald Reagan came into office with considerable experience in conducting press conferences. As Governor for eight years of the largest American state, he had frequently met California reporters as a group. During the 1976 and 1980 presidential campaigns, candidate Reagan held numerous press conferences. Once in the White House, he and his advisers decided on one simple change to deal with the lack of decorum that had become habitual when reporters sought to be called upon. Reagan's press secretary, James Brady, announced that reporters wishing to be recognized should remain in their seats-quietly-and raise their hands instead of their voices.

The suggestion was one of several made in the study conducted by the University of Virginia's Center of Public Affairs. While there was some skepticism initially that the reporters would maintain discipline, they did accede to the request. Afterward, there was general agreement among officials and most reporters that the more dignified atmosphere was an improvement.

Because the televised press conferences run only 30 minutes and the questions tend to be diverse, some observers have argued that the exchanges are superficial. One proposed solution to that is to have reporters follow up each other'1 questions when the President's'answers aren't fully responsive. Some of that does occur spontaneously, but systematic foll,6w-up would require advance coordination-and that conflicts with the larger need to keep the events free of contrivance. Also, the \

/

reporters,function as individuals-and competitors. American journalists do not like to operate as a group or a collective.

Two other alternatives to overcome superficiality seem more attractive. The first is to allow an opportunity to the reporter who asks the original question to follow up if the response seems inadequate. Reagan and his advisers are sympathetic to that approach, and the President usually pauses to take a supplementary question. A second measure is to have the President hold meetings with small groups of reporters between the formal press conferences. At these sessions, television correspondents-but not television cameras-may attend from time to time. There is more opportunity for detailed discussion of specific issues than in the half-hour conferences, which are normally attended by nearly 300 journalists.

Reagan began holding the smaller meetings-half a dozen reporters attended the first one-immediately after his initial press conference. One flaw of this system is that the White House determines who will participate. However, the President's press staff seems determined to give many news organizations a turn at this miniconference. Further, transcripts of the conversation are made available to the rest of the press corps.

Still another issue is being confronted. Although any reporter, American or foreign, can attend a formal press conference if he or she holds White House accreditation, the questioning has traditionally been dominated by the regulars-the correspondents who cover the President full time. The regulars defend that practice by saying that they follow White House activities closely and therefore are equipped to ask the most penetrating questions. Others argue that only a tiny fraction of the 2,660 news organizations represented in Washington can maintain one or more full-time correspondents at the White House and that some subjects never get aired because the regulars are not interested in them. (The participants are diverse; for example, four Soviet news organizations-State Radio & TV, TASS, Pravda, and Izvestiya-have White House correspondent accreditation.)

One suggestion to overcome this is to select the 20 to 25 reporters who will ask questions by means of a lottery before the press s;onference starts. Early in 1981 the Reagan White House-much to the annoyance of the regulars-announced that it would experiment with such a procedure. In March, as the White House prepared for Reagan's second formal press conference, a lottery was used. The President himself made the first selections, pulling cards out of a large jar that was already half filled with jellybeans, his favorite candy.

The rules for the lottery were complicated and still produced a high percentage of regulars among the questioners. Nonetheless, correspondents from some relatively obscure publications did get a chance, as did two foreign journalists. The life span of the lottery has, however, been brief and President Reagan has reverted to the "hand-raising" system.

Whatever the system, the President certainly favors extensive and diverse dealing with reporters. In the same week in which he held the lottery press conference, for instance, he also gave an hour-long interview to Walter Cronkite on the occasion of Cronkite's retirement as principal announcer of the CBS Evening News. Reagan will experiment in other ways. But periodically he will expose himself to live, televised press conferences-the Washington show that gets mixed reviews but has survived through two solid, interesting decades.

0 About the Author: Laurence 1. Barrett is a Washington correspondent of Time magazine.

ON THE, LIGHTER SIDE

~RP"r "Hey, that's my wife!"

"I always arrive right after disaster strikes because I'm ... Insurance Man!" ©

1981. Reprinted courtesy Bill Hoest and Parade.

"Ditto."

Copyright Joseph Dawes. Reprinted from Omni magazine.

Drawing by Levin;

©

1979 The New Yorker Magazine, Inc.

Confronting the Northby ROBERT D. HORMATS

Any consideration of the North-South dialogue must take into account some of the fundamental changes that have taken place in the world economy over the last decade and their effect on relations between developed and developing countries as well as on relations among the latter group alone.

Over the last decade the world economy has undergone a democratization in a number of senses. Today, there are a number of developing countries playing very active roles in the world economy.

In the early Fifties, the developing countries were not major participants in the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GAIT), the International Monetary Fund (IMF), or the World Bank, and that, I think, lasted through the Sixties as well. The last decade has seen developing countries becoming more important participants in the international trading system; OPEC (Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries) has accumulated vast sums of money and a consequently increased market power; and the result has been these countries asserting themselves on the international economic and political scene and becoming together a major participant in the international economic debate.

Together with that, the developing countries are playing a much more active role in dealing with various international political disputes-a development that has, to a degree, enhanced their role in the international economic area. The Cancun meeting probably would not have taken place 10 years ago, both because the developing countries' role was not as great as it is today in the economic sphere and because these countries' political demands were more easily ignored in the past than they are today.

The refrain is often heard that "progress really has not been made in the North-South dialogue; that somehow things have stagnated over the last 10 years." That complaint addresses the political dialogue, which has been limited to the United States for the most part, with a brief interlude in the Conference for International Economic Cooperation, which took place in Paris during 1974, 1975 and 1976. There has been an attempt by the developing countries to take political advantage of the solidarity

or the unity that emerged during the 1973 oil crisis and was prolonged for a two- or three-year period after that. Just after the oil embargo, the developing countries experienced a surge of confidence for three basic reasons. One, a group of developing countries demonstrated that it could use a particular commodity to exercise leverage over other countries in both the economic and political arenas.

Although the leverage itself was not all that successful, the notion was created that a commodity possessed by the developing countries could be utilized effectively to enhance their role in the world scene.

Second, tht; OPEC countries, in order to avoid the non-oil-producing countries turning against them, decided that they would assume the leadership of the developing world. There was an interesting development in diplomatic strategy at that point. The OPEC countries were aware that what they had done in raising prices had hurt other developing nations, and they concluded that either they could be the victims of the wrath of these less fortunate countries or they could turn their success into an example and take the lead in the Third World group, which, principally under Algerian leadership, they did. The third element of the strategy was that other developing countries began to feel that OPEC might use its leverage to the benefit of the rest of the Third World, in pressing for additional aid and trade benefits, for example.

The period from 1973 to early 1975 was really the primary time of Third World assertiveness, and there was a set of rather acrimonious debates in the United Nations, culminating in the formation of the Conference on International Economic Cooperation.

By and large, however, the progress in North-South relations has not been in the "political arena." The debate in the U.N. has been for the most part rather frustrating, characterized largely by polemics or by sustained debate over resolutions that were without much substance or meaning. Unfortunately, this generally continues to be the case.

The economic track in the North-South dialogue, however, has led to substantial progress. Let us look at the demands of the developing countries in the early

1970s. First, they felt that the IMF conditions were too tight: that it was not lending enough money and that the repayment period was too short. This has changed. Today the IMF has a great deal more resources than it had 10 years ago; countries can repay over a period of six, eight, sometimes ten years; and countries can borrow up to 400 percent of their quotas rather than 100 percent.

A second area is trade. The trading system itself has undergone a major change over the last decade-a change from which the developing countries have drawn considerable advantage. Following the 1973 oil crisis and the ensuing economic havoc, instead of retreating to protectionism, which would have had a dramatic adverse effect on the developing countries in particular, the world engaged in a series of trade negotiations under the auspices of the GAIT. These negotiations succeeded both in broadening the trading system and in improving the rules of that system. A look at the developing world today, particularly Brazil and some of the countries of East Asia, shows that those countries have succeeded in substantial measure because they have been able to take advantage of the open trading system. The very dramatic improvement in exports for a number of developing countries indicates those that have succeeded, the so-called newly industrialized countries (NICs). These NICs have benefited from an open-trading system both as a result of proper domestic incentives and as a very dynamic internal economy.

There have also been changes in the resources available through the World Bank and the regional development banks over the last decade -an increase so great as to spur the reaction in the United States today that the United States has overextended itself in the multilateral arena and that it has not received sufficient political return on its investments.

The World Bank is criticized in the United States for being a "dole" institution, while simultaneously the developing world accuses it of being an imperialist institution.

Thus there has been considerable prog-

South Dilemma ~-$~~'

~~\)~

===--~~~

".~~~

- _~>.'_?

~'=-'.c.-:::: _;".~~.~

-.

'.

."~:c::'~:c~

,

.~

" -;"~y;/¥"~ / e---:::'~_.

- c: ..-fIN

... \~

---.... ,-~,~

~

~ ~,

~

ress ov~r the last decade in practical economIc terms, rather than m areas wh~r,e, the debate, has become overly poh~lClzed, Wh~re It has concent:ated on partIcular functIOnal or economIc problems, problems of developing countries have been addressed, and have been ad~ressed seriously, Obviously, none ,of us ISa perfect free trader: When a partlcular industry is disrupted by imports for political, social and economic reasons, there will be pressure to protect that indu~try. The E~ropean Economic Commumty, for socIal reasons, protects ItS agriculture and we do in a few areas as well. While progress has been made in broadening international trade, further progress is not guaranteed during a period of major stress in the world economy, and there is the threat today that the developed world will pull back into a

,

;'<~

'.

'0.' .... ~

'.-

~

IEAS/))) -,...........~~.~ .'Q a.( I '(jIii-

DIl?t't:ArJ

~,

~'

/1

JA' ',CAM CAMf,fC['f AJIAA) A~D "....

A)1,f~ (j)IJNff/7 CouruTk COllIe '~; '11/ItJ1f?/f) YfJ Uli'A.rv' I~

CtJU'

,

41 O:J~

57 6

1Q:J lEI I 0 b"1 ~' fr I ~ /

~01~p

" (j

1'1'~ I

~~

Q

~ ~ W

,' \1~~~ '-

~ 'I~ ~

~'Y-/ •~

Lf

~

r.tfEiJ

~~~

j~J

~~

I.::l;~

_

' ~~

~v

~

~

_ ~

~~

~~~I' ~ ~~g~~~ "l ..

"'f<

__"A -

~".~

I~o~

~

"

0/

~~

'")?

''l .

"'-"1V.I-1

\\"'0 ,- \~ :'Il S·

:"l:

of••••••.~

~

~-

)Y ~

-~ ti

,•. ~.6lI, ~~.. ~~"'..: ~

\

•.•.~.... ~ 0 ~~~'* ~

\v/"r-.t ~\

~

1\'.':if 1-1. ~Q;)Jf'

.~'L .• ~.t* ,,"ll ~~ ~D....· ~

\..l..lU~~

;~~ '-=-- (J ~ .~~:r ·~~t"*;~1 ~: \ • ~ ~~ ~..... ~ j I~~ \ ....•.

• ....'~ ,0);. ~ ..~rl ~. ,,~~~ J#;~•••~.

'-

~ •.••..•.

,~::\r".··

A

:;l

l~Y

~

..-....-~

~

"'::::::;1~/""'-~~YI

!) "\'II

g ..)0. ).

,,, •• ~-•.~ J~ .\~'}~ ~

~

IY'" <.

>

~

L

0I

because many of them, including those that have done very well in the open trading system, are protecti.onists the.mselves and argue that theIr respectIve industries are still in their infancy.

There will be enormous difficulties in the international economic system over ~.. the next s~veral years. The ~ate ~f ••. ~ growth In most countnes IS :-.:~~. likely to be ,much slower .in the 1980s than I.t wa~ e.ven In. the .~;"'if1" 1970s, InflatIon IS Increasmgly ~,: :-.:,.~ ..-. difficu.lt to ,cope wi~h: When ). "' ..•~~ countnes begm to achIeve some~hat.higher rates of growth, infla~':.;:'::~.:~;: :,;) tlOn mcreases and they are forced . ~~'.:. to put on the brakes very early in ~ \~;.~ ~ the recovery process, In addition, I~'~r-1~c we will see a much higher rate 'of y?,~ unemployment in the West-at r ~ least in the early part of this de ::a. 1JI) cade-than has been anticipated which will add enormously to protection ist pressures,

•

\J

~~ ~

Q ~I

fD=

Q

7'

,~:'

t:..~~"

2

i

:;r~:::t:~~~i~~~~~~l~t::e~a~h:c~~:el~~

~"

~-::t''''n~I~.

~

.) bE;

~

~~ ~

f

~

~~

~'jjl

~

~;.~

)86"tJ.

~

gg

v

~ •

\// \~fl~ !t\tu1

07

J

11

)"J

,I

~:"

21 f·

3 0 ~.:

if

G 1~~

• 6\

1

25/502

~~.J':~

1'1

~ I

\

:

'SS ~

~ ~ ,~ 9 14 ~

• ~~6 l: ~ '~•~

••

t:",3t)1

' (l

~

/

II

, '£

IVJ~/p ~

2/ 99

LA

l

\,

~

UL

,.~

T

'.01

*!~ ~ q

"~'\.~":~"\

o~

.•

~~

.~

~lJ..

I

~

~

~~-:;<lo:o

00

~~~

~

r,

:"~I"

......•••

::::".....•.••••{((C

.~

II!\.

r J~

I

•.

~ iLU.....

~.o.

7/.~.:''''''~.

U,S, FOREIGN

TRADE

WITH LEADING DEVELOPING COUNTRIES (millions of dollars)

•• ~•••~-:ti :~ ~-.::<!¥l ~

•

P""

0 IMPORTS INTO THE UNITED STATES

..•.•..", ..

......• .J*~, .• rMli •.

~

'f/)

\~~,

~'

.

,\' il~1Ilu/J.J

:\\

.~

v:?~

'~--'~

'\ '~; \

~,

..'.c.· __ ~

~._~;;;;:::::--

~

~

1;~&~1l

"~1i:~ ,.... *,.

V.,..-UI

\

~

\..--"""

EXPORTS FROM THE UNITED STATES

ILLUSTRATION

BY

B,

ROY

CHOUDHURY

We have a respite at present because oil prices are relatively stable, but protectionist pressures loom on the horizon, with the potential for inducing a very serious crisis among the developing countries. This may prove to be the worst problem for the United States, Europe and Japan, and it, in turn, will have a major adverse effect on developing countries that might be caught in the middle.

There has been a broad misconception that U.S. policy in this area is premised entirely on the magic of the market. At the same time, the United States is trying to keep aid close to traditional levels. The Reagan Administration asked in its budget for appropriations of funds that were an increase over those of the previous administration. However, given the cuts in the domestic budget, Congress is unlikely to vote for sustained levels in foreign assistance.

Nonetheless, aid clearly does have a role, but aid from the United States and many other countries is going to be limited by budgetary constraints. The areas where it can be best utilized and where it can do the most good are primarily in some of the poorer countries that cannot sustain their borrowing requirements on international financial markets and require concessional assistance to build the basic infrastructures, human and physical, that are required.

There is no doubt that there are certain projects in the developing countries that cannot be financed by the private sector, although private investment can and should playa far greater role. We, in the United States, have several projects in infrastructure, in general, but particularly in education, that are financed by the state and federal governments, and the United States does not argue that developing countries should do it any differently. The real question is: How do you use a limited amount of aid to the best advantage possible? How should one determine those countries that need the aid less and are therefore going to have to rely on the international financial market? A graduation does not mean that these countries should be pushed into international financial markets prematurely or overnight, but that this could be accomplished over time in a manner consistent with their credit possibilities.

The second area is trade-one area where the U.S. record is relatively good.

With the exception of the textiles industry, where there is a multilateral protection agreement, the United States does not have, to my knowledge, any import

restnctlOns on the major manufactured goods of the newly industrialized countries. The evidence of this is that 50 percent of the manufactured exports from all the developing countries go to the United States. This is not to say that when dumping, subsidies, or disruptive imports occur, the Unites States will not impose import restrictions. But for domestic reasons-to fight inflationand for international reasons, the United States is making a concerted effort to minimize restraints on imports.

The Reagan Administration's concern with the concept of global negotiations is that they tend to imply that the United Nations, which is not really equipped to cope with the economic issues-nor is the IMF, the GATT, or the World Bank-is going to involve itself very heavily in the work of those institutions.

Those institutions effected some important changes, and in our judgment, it is not desirable that a political institution such as the U.N. try to superimpose itself on them. There have been frequent reassurances that this will not happen, and it is indeed likely that Brazil and a number of other countries that use the IMF and the GATT quite effectively do not want the United Nations to impose its will on them. However, there are a number of developing countries that see U.N. involvement as an important redistributive effort, and it is this aspect of the North-South dialogue that worries us and other developed countries.

The United States shares the view that greater progress can and should be made Robert D. Hormats, UnTil his resignation in June, was U.S. AssistanT Secretary of State for Economic and Business Affairs.

in the future through functional institutions but that the United Nations should be limited primarily to a debating or a consulting role, and where negotiations do take place they should not impinge on the competence or maudate of the IMF, the GATT, or the Bank. There is concern in the United States, echoed elsewhere in the, developed world, and in some developing countries as well, that the United Nations should not attempt to negotiate what the World Bank, the GATT, and these other institutions have already established.

Clearly there are issues that do not have an institutional home: Energy is one, and over a number of years there has been no real agreement on how best to handle the energy problem. It is generally acknowledged that the IMF and the World Bank should continue to help the developing countries increase energy production. There is also a possibility for very useful debate in the U.N. on how to improve conditions for international investment. Because investment climates today are erratic and because the rewards to investors are not as great as the investors would like, investment is simply not taking place in many developing countries. In the 1960s a very large percentage of new investments were in the developing world. In the 1970s, because of frequent changes in the developing countries' laws regarding investments, a larger percentage of overall investment shifted to the developed countries as a result of political risk and uncertainty in the developing world. It is perfectly appropriate for the U.N. or other bodies to determine how to improve that climate so that a larger portion of the world savings can go into investment in the developing world.

The question boils down to one of confidence. There is today a lack of confidence between the developed and the developing countries. The developing countries feel that the developed world's main objective is to preserve the existing international economic system,' making only minimal changes. For their part, the developed countries sense that whatever issues involve the developing countries will be highly politicized issues. The Declaration of the Nonaligned did not give anyone in the developed world any great confidence, nor have the debates that have taken place in the United Nations done so. Canctin did represent the beginning of an effort to reduce this gap in confidence and demonstrated that these issues can be dealt with on a more pragmatic basis.

0

he doors to the largest building in the world opened and a small tractor emerged with a huge airplane in tow. Thousands of onlookers, including officials from all over the world and buyers from 17 airlines, applauded as the gleaming white, red and blue aircraft came into full view . The Boeing Commercial Airplane Company was introducing not only the newest memberthe Model 767-in its successful line of commercial jet aircraft, but ushering in a new generation' of fuel-efficient airliners that it hopes may d,?minate the skies for decades.

"The 767 should playa significant role in the world's air transportation system for the balance of this century," T.A. Wilson, chairman of Boeing's board of directors, announced at the unveiling ceremony in 1981, outside Boeing's 25-hectare assembly plant in Everett, Washington. "It offers the latest technology available in structures, systems, aerodynamics and engines."

Anyone who flies or buys commercial jet airplanes was listening intently. Since it began making airplanes 65 years ago in Seattle, Boeing has developed and nurtured a reputation for innovation, reliability and engineering excellence that no other company in the industry can match.

Today Boeing has customers in more than 150 countries. It has produced an overwhelming proportion of all commercial airplanes and has so many orders for its 747 model that the waiting time is several years, even though the company turns out one 747 every four working days.

Counting the 727 trijet and twin-engine 737 models, Boeing produces 28 new jets every month. It has delivered more than 4,000 commercial jets to customers and has orders for hundreds more. In 1980 Boeing's total sales were $11.5 thousand million-greater than the gross national product of many countries.

Boeing recently added space to tl;le giant Everett assembly plant to produce the 767. It is a wide-body aircraft-a sort of minijumbo jet-for the medium-range market, designed to carry 211 passengers up to 5,150 kilometers with one-third less fuel than is required by older jets. A sister aircraft, the smaller but similar model 757, is being built nearby in Renton, Washington.

One overriding concern is behind the development of Boeing's new models: fuel efficiency. In 1970 fuel accounted for 12 percent of an airline's total operating costs. By 1980 fuel took up 27 percent of the cost of running an airline. Boeing estimates that by 1990 the proportion will be 35 percent.

Every part of the 48.5-meter-long 767 is designed to save fuel. Boeing has used new lightweight composite materials to replace fiberglass and aluminum in some parts. But it admits the 767 only brings commercial aviation "to the threshold" of the possibilities that such materials present for future aircraft. Composites account for slightly less than 3 percent of the 767's overall weight.

Yet this alone saves 567 kilograms compared to conventional materials. These new materials cover about 30 percent of the aircraft's outside surface area, which is expected to result in lower maintenance costs.

Boeing is especially proud of the 767's new wing, which evolved from more than 30,000 hours of wind tunnel testing. It is slightly flatter on the bottom than earlier wings and thicker through the center. The design

T

creates better lift and permits the new jets to reach cruising altitude faster, another key factor in saving fuel.

In the cockpit, the 767's modern electronic equipment gives it more' automatic flight control than any other airliner. The plane's pilots can sit in lamb's-wool-covered seats with their hands off the controis while the plane's computers take it up, climb to cruising altitude, change course from one radio beacon to another, land at an airport thousands of kilometers away and put on the brakes, all automatically. The system makes it safe to fly with two instead of three pilots, yet another saving.

A saving for the passenger is also in the bargain. The 767 mid 757 will feature spacious overhead racks for passengers who want to carry their suitcases on board and avoid the time and hassle of claiming their luggage upon arrival at the terminal.

Boeing is noted for the testing it inflicts on its jets. At the rear end of the huge 767 assembly line, a 767 shell, without any interior accommodation or fancy electronics, is locked into a torture chamber and subjected to pulling, twisting and turning to measure the plane's maximum structural strength. Hydraulic jacks bend the body until it breaks. The metal rips and tears and rivets fly as engineers check their charts and keep careful notes.

Meanwhile, a second frame-only 767 is prepared for simulated flight tests outside the assembly building. Once again, hydraulic jacks, under the guidance of computers, apply within three minutes all the stress and strain of a two-hour flight, including takeoff and landing. After one year of such abuse, the airplane will have endured the equivalent of 20 years of hard service. Every part will be inspected and examined thoroughly at the end of the year of testing to identify any weaknesses or changes, however minute.

By the time Boeing rolled out its first 767 in August 1981, it had orders for 170 of them and airlines had taken options on another 132. The plane will be certified by the U.S. Government for commercial use soon, and the first 767s are to be delivered to United Airlines this month.

Boeing officials hope eventually to sell between 1,000 and 1,500 of the 767 jets, as airlines replace their aging fleets.

It may take a decade before Boeing knows conclusively whether its gamble on the new 757 and 767 models has paid off. The successful and popular 747, after a dozen years of service, is only now reaching the financial break-even point for the company.

Over the past two decades, Boeing has also become a world leader in helicopters, rockets, missiles and hydrofoil boats. It is also at the cutting edge of the growing and exciting field of space technology. In August 1966, Boeing's Lunar Orbiter slid precisely into orbit around the moon and sent back spectacular photographs of the lunar surface, mapping landing sites for the United States' Apollo moon missions. Boeing also had a part in these dramatic journeys into space, designing and building the mighty S-1C first-stage booster rocket that lifted the astronauts from earth. The company's story is one of industrial innovation and scientific acumen.

It was founded in 1916 by William Boeing, a wealthy Seattle yachtsman and aviation buff. He and another amateur aviator, U.S. Navy engineer Co?rad Westervelt,

designed and built a seaplane at Seattle's Lake Union.

The aircraft's successful flight led Boeing to form the Boeing Airplane Company, which got a contract to build 50 training planes for the U.S. Navy.

After the war the government contracts disappeared and Boeing's company nearly collapsed; for a while, he kept the company solvent by building furniture in his aircraft hangars. The day was saved, however, when his designers came up with a high-performance pursuit airplane, the PW-9, which Boeing was then able to sell to both the U.S. Army and U.S. Navy in great numbers.

The company prospered further when, in 1927, it won a contract from the U.S. Post Office to fly mail between Chicago and San Francisco. Boeing developed a plane that could carry passengers as well, and founded the Boeing Air Transport System-thus putting the company in the passenger airplane business to stay.

In the early 1930s the Boeing holdings merged with several other companies to form the United Aircraft and Transport Corporation. However, the government forced the conglomerate to break up into smaller companies, and Boeing himself left the industry in 1934. The Boeing company, however, continued to build airplanes and, in the late 1930s, President Roosevelt asked Boeing to start building bombers, whatever the cost, because he felt that war was imminent and that it would be won or lost in the air. The next few years were frantic and profitable ones at Boeing, as it produced the B-17 and B-29 bombers that played such important roles in the war. But after the war, Boeing collapsed once again, and company officials decided to move into the more reliable business of making nonmilitary commercial jet aircraft, which now amount to more than 80 percent of the company's business.

After the war Boeing built 54 of the double-deck Stratocruisers, regarded as the most comfortable airliner of the prejet era. In 1958 Boeing introduced the four-engine 707, the world's first large passenger jet. It was an immediate success. Boeing introduced the 727 in 1964, the stubby 737 in 1968 for shorter distances and smaller airports, and, in 1970, the giant 747 that, in some versions, can carry 550 passengers.

Engineers at Boeing have devised innovations for Boeing planes that meet the special needs or solve the special problems of potential customers. For instance, a special device that protects the engines from becoming clogged by dust is a strong selling point to some airline companies that must use dirt runways.

Boeing factories and laboratories now spread from Washington State to Pennsylvania, and from Kansas to Florida. At Seattle, it continues to be the largest private employer with approximately 80,000 employees.

Most of the three million individual parts that go into the new 767 and 757 models are made elsewhere, from as near as other Seattle suburbs to as far away as Italy, where Aeritalia is making most of the tail, and Japan, where various companies are building body sections, the front and back cargo doors and escape hatches.

The Boeing recipe for success has three main ingredients, blended very skillfully: products that are the best, safest and most efficient anywhere; a highly trained sales force that doesn't have to exaggerate the facts; and a service

operation that has teams ready to go anywhere, at any time, and do anything; to keep its jets in the air.

First, the products. All passenger jets must meet rigid tests and specifications before any nation will allow them to be flown. Designers at Boeing, however, seem to take a special delight in exceeding these requirements.

For example, most jets are equipped with two or more fail-safe hydraulic systems; Boeing 707s and 747s have four. The company's engineering has been described as "suspenders and belt" because Boeing people insist on having a backup to everything. All this duplication of systems costs a good deal of money, of course. But it is money well spent, for it buys safety in a mode of transportation where accidents can be catastrophic.

A few statistics illustrate the durability of Boeing aircraft. Of the 1,700 Boeing 727s built since 1964, only 36 have been lost to service due to accident or malfunction.

Of the 785 Boeing 737s built, 13 have been lost to service; of the 520 Boeing 747s produced so far, only nine are no longer flying.

Boeing likes to point to an incident over the central United States a few years ago as a demonstration of how well-built its jets are and how well¡ they perform under trying conditions. On an April day in 1979, a Boeing 727, flying at an altitude of 11,900 meters and carrying 87 passengers, suddenly flipped over and went into a nosedive. (The exact cause is still disputed.) The jet dropped more than 10 kilometers straight down at the speed of sound. Somehow the pilot managed to pull out of the dive at an altitude of about 1,500 meters and land the airplane safely, to the astonishment of everybody in the industry. This story is told at Boeing with a mixture of awe at the pilot's skill and pride in the durability of the 727.

The second key ingredient in Boeing's recipe for success is its sales force of 60 agents around the world who - not only pass along the good news about Boeing but also learn as much as they can about the needs and plans of the airlines they serve.

Nine of every ten of these agents are engineers, and most have been dealing with the same airlines for years, some as long as 40 years. Backed up by a staff of 400 analysts in Seattle, the sales agents make themselves invaluable to the airline companies.

The third ingredient is service after the sale. If a Boeing aircraft is laid up anywhere in the world, a team of company engineers rushes immediately to the plane, figures out what is wrong and offers to fix it.

William Richardson, engineering director for British Caledonian Airways, recalls that his airline once had a fire in the fuselage wiring of a 707 cargo plane during loading at Gatwick airport near London. Boeing immediately dispatched a crew from Seattle that took on the job like a team of open-heart surgeons. Richardson says he was impressed that each man's tools were arranged with such precision, down to the smallest wrench, that not a moment was .lost looking for or using them. "We can signal on Monday afternoon that we need a part, and it will be in London on Tuesday morning," Richardson says. 0 About the Author: Richard Buck is business editor of Seattle Times.

Boeing's assembly hangar in Everett, Washington, is the largest enclosed building in the world. It covers nearly 25 hectares. Here the company's planes go through a variety of grueling tests. 1. This model of an aircraft part has been sprayed with paint before air is directed on its surface so that airflow patterns can be easily detected. If necessary, design

modifications can be made before the parts are finally made and fitted onto the plane. 2. In Boeing's acoustical test chamber-the world's largest such facility-22,000 foam blocks absorb sounds. 3. A technician works on the nose of a 747 jumbo jet. Every 747 has more than 215 kilometers of wiring. The company produces one 747 every four working days.

4. The new generation of 767 jets, being

assembled here for United Airlines, have a computerized cockpit, lighter materials for the fuselage and redesigned wings. Each of its parts is engineered to save fuel. During a year's testing every 767 endures the equivalent of 20 years of service. Computers help to apply the strain of a two-hour flight in three minutes.

ince time immemorial terrorist acts have included assassination, seizing hostages, and a variety of atrocities that only fiendish minds could devise.

Terrorists give innumerable explanations for their violence. Their rationalization process is usually related to three basic concepts: (1) society is sick and cannot be cured by half measures of reform, (2) the state itself is violent and can be overcome only by violence, (3) the righteousness of the terrorist cause justifies any action that supports it.

During the course of history, there have been numerous differences among terrorists such as their social origins, and their individual and group motivations. There is one significant constant: the prevailing origin of terror's leadership in the middle class, particularly in the upper middle class.

Dr. Jeanne Knutson, founder and executive director of the International Society of Political Psychology, has emphasized that ,terrorists consider themselves "freedom fighters" rather than criminals, It is a rigid governmental view of terrorists as criminals, she argues, that often drives them to violence, Furthermore, terrorists derive great psychological benefit from public acknowledgment of their political concerns and are usually able to accept a nonviolent and face-saving resolution once they attain this acknowledgment, Contemporary terrorism embraces a wide variety of political phenomena. It involves a group of individuals who are products of affluent industrialized society.

They seek to destroy this society in the name of some revolutionary concept. Examples of such"groups would include the Italian Red Brigade, the German Baader-Meinhof gang, the Japanese Red Army, and the U.S. Weather Underground. A second group of terrorists comprises those espousing more traditional political causes-unification of Ireland, a homeland for the Palestinians, majority rule for Rhodesia, independence for Puerto Rico. Acts of "international terrorism" are committed to terrorize nations and governments into compliance or complacency. It is to this concept that attention is now directed.

The most widely used definition of "international terrorism" is: "The threat or use of violence for political purposes when such action is intended to influence the attitude and behavior of a target group other than its immediate victims and its ramifications transcend national boundaries."

The director of the U.S. State Department's Office for Combating Terrorism, Ambassador Anthony C.E. Quainton, has reported. that there were; "293 acts of inter-

S

Abridged by permission of International Security Review.

1981 by the American Security Council Foundation.

Š

26

Copyright

National Liberation Front (FLN) in Algeria and wrote a revolutionary book entitled The Wretched of the Earth. Fanon's writing has increased the acceptability of terrorism as a strategy, inasmuch as he endorsed violence as having a positive impact on individuals, and raising national consciousness. His basic theme is that violence mobilizes an oppressed people and binds them together into a new nation.

The yearning for decolonization has been a fourth. factor contributing to the current wave of terrorism. It has been argued that terrorism is a manifestation of the political and ideological struggles against imperialism and colonialism. A fifth factor may best be called "The Myth of the Guerrilla."

Succinctly stated, this myth holds that any movement that employs the strategies of guerrilla warfare and/or terrorism is assured of success. Mao's communism in China, the FLN in Algeria, the Viet Minh in Indochina, and the Zionist underground in Palestine have given credence to this myth.

Finally, new technologies have enabled terrorist groups to exploit advances in the areas of transportation and communicationsuch as world airways and television-to their advantage.

International terrorism has been rising in frequency at a dramatic rate. It cannot be controlled by relying on domestic security forces and criminal court processes, and it is occurring in part because of support from foreign governments. Examples include: the hijacking of three transatlantic airliners by the PLO; the attacks on Lod Airport and the Munich Olympics; kidnapings and murders of U.S. and other diplomats in Brazil, Argentina and Guatemala; terrorist abductions and hostage cases in Khartoum, Cordoba and Beirut; seizure of the German embassy in Stockholm

by the Baader-Meinhof gang.

Robert G. Newmann, former U.S. Ambassador to Afghanistan and Morocco, has predicted an upsurge in international terrorism to gain political ends. A former chief scientist of the U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, Robert H. Kupperman, has also argued that by virtue of the Tehran captivity of Americans, terrorist violence affecting the United States will increase for the simple reason that the country gave the appearance of impotence in dealing with it.

More recent events in Bogota have commanded a great deal of attention from some of the experts on terrorism. They feel that the events which have unfolded are setting the pattern for what is likely to be commonplace in the 1980s. Kupperman recently stated, "It will be the decade of terrorism and unconventional warfare."

Samuel T. Francis of the Heritage Foundation warns that "Americans can expect that terrorism and guerrilla warfare will escalate in Latin America." The theory of Soviet involvement in Latin America-as mastermind of a "strategy of denial" that is depriving the United States of the resources it needs in the Third World-is highly controversial and hotly disputed.

To combat terrorism the United States has developed a comprehensive policy position.

The State Department's director of the OfficeforCombating Terrorism has announced a fourfold set of principles regarding terrorism. They are: (1) condemnation of all terrorist acts as criminal, (2) no concessions to terrorist blackmail- no ransom or release of prisoners, (3) recognition of host government sovereignty to exercise its responsibilities under international law when Americans are abducted abroad-every effort should be made to find a peaceful solution, and (4) assistance to families and employers in cases of A~erican private citizens who are abducted.

Four additional elements comprise the basic U.S. counterterrorist strategy. The first element is good intelligence on terrorists and their plans. Intelligence is considered to be the most effective weapon against terrorism but must be kept secret to be effective.

The second element of the U.S. counter-

terrorist strategy is an in-place command and control structure. The basic structure for "crisis management" of an international terrorism incident involves a number of agencies. The complexity of the U.S. political system may provide certain jurisdictional and resource problems for those agencies involved-thus hindering timely 'and decisive action by the Special Coordination Committee to negate the consequences of a potentially disruptive act of terrorism.

The third element is the development of appropriate tools for handling any terrorist situation that the United States may face.

This includes not only communications but also special units for hostage rescue or other missions, and clear legislative authority.

The final element of this strategy is an international one. The fight against terrorism is an integral part of U.S. relations with all governments. The Bonn Declaration of July 1978, for example, is the first multilateral enforcement mechanism against countries that condone acts of terrorism.

What direction will terrorism take in the future? The use of terrorism as surrogate warfare-the backing of terrorist groups by one nation or nations for the purpose of staging attacks against another nation or nations-is discussed often in the small world of terrorism experts, according to Ambassador Quainton. Is terrorism a strategic weapon or is it likely to become¡one?

He says this is "a very speculative area, but it deserves serious intellectual analysis."

International terrorism, one may posit, may well be the major manifestation of low-level conflict confronting the United States in the years ahead. If the trend of United Nations membership continues to grow at the current rate of three new nations a year, by 1990 the inhabited portion of the planet will be subdivided into more than 200 independent political communities; 300 by the year 2000.

Surrogate warfare is a weapon that would favor the nondemocratic powers, and if skillfully used could give them a marked advantage .. Totalitarian societies, such as China and the Soviet Union, are much less vulnerable to disruption by terrorists than are democratic societies. They are more capable of coercing and controlling their populations.

Terrorism is a military weapon when it meets the following criteria: when utilized as a substitute for "conventional" warfare, as in the case of the Palestinians against the Israelis; when used as the chosen weapon of conflict by a population segment against another segment and/o.r a foreign power, as in the case of Northern Ireland. Even though he wears no uniform, may have received little training, is exposed to mini-

mal discipline, and belongs to an ephemeral organization-the terrorist is a soldier. He engages in armed conflict in pursuit of a cause.

In sum, terrorism used as a military weapon is warfare conducted behind the enemy's lines. Its tactics are aimed at destroying the enemy's installations, killing his officials, and battering his country's morale.

The deaths of civilians-unacknowledged as a goal, but nevertheless often deliberately sought-are an additional result of terrorism as an instrument of war. Terrorism is a tactic that must be studied, policies must be developed and defenses constructed.

What does the future hold for terrorism?

Indications are that it is almost certain to increase for a variety of reasons: (a) it seems to pay-political blackmail gets results, (b) punishments for convicted terrorists are light, (c) free publicity is acquired on a massive scale, (d) industrial society will become more vulnerable, (e) terrorists have ready access to air travel, and (f) as terrorist groups become better informed and organized, they will receive increasing support from various governments.

Terrorism has entered the mainstream of world politics and could become a new form of warfare. With the availability of relatively small and inexpensive means of destruction, a handful of men could have an enormous impact upon states and societies worldwide.

It is not unrealistic to envision some countries preferring to arm and use terrorists to pursue their foreign policy objectives, rather than accept the stigma of direct and visible involvement in a conflict with another state.

There is evidence that a worldwide terrorist underground presently exists. Its goal, in the words of Italy's Red Brigade chief, Renato Curcio, is "Europe's ultimate war for communism." The March 1980 arrest in France of 22 suspected terrorists disclosed, for the first time, the effectiveness of a coordinated European effort to combat terrorism. The decision to organize new antiterrorism measures is an outgrowth of the perception of European leaders that terrorism is developing into an international network, aided by a great simplification of border-crossing formalities.

Terrorism will continue in the years ahead; the international community must be prepared to deal with it in all its dimensions.

It is not out of the question that at some future time terrorists may try to use mass destruction weapons-chemical, biological, or nuclear- for extortion purposes.

0 About the Author: James Berry Motley is a senior research fellow at the National Defense University, Washington, D.C.

CORNELL, 1960 "Postpone departure until after results, love, Daddy," read the telegram of May 1, 1960. I had finished my B.A. examination at Delhi University and was to join my parents in London, and then proceed on to America where I would start my graduate studies. My father, Amolak Ram Mehta, had been a Fulbright and Rockefeller Scholar at Johns Hopkins and UCLA medical schools. He had acquainted me with the opportunities abroad and had promised that if I proved myself by doing well academically, he would arrange for me to db advance studies in the United States.

My father was a gambler. He had gone against family opinion by sending my sightless brother, Ved Mehta, to the Arkansas School for the Blind when he was only 14 years old.

"Why waste money on a handicapped child?" many had argued.

Ved had proved my father correct. He had earned the coveted Phi Beta Kappa key, written his autobiography, studied at Oxford and Harvard and earned a reputation as an outstanding writer. Although I was a girl and number six among seven children, my father was willing to break social norms again and not limit his investment to his sons-he was willing to give me a quality education rather than have me married off. I worked extremely hard for many years to claim his offer. He may have had second thoughts but I was confident and not about to relinquish the prize I felt I had earned. "Will definitely pass, sailing May 17, love, Usha," went my reply. I was going to America regardless of results.

There has been a relatively small Indian representation on America's campuses since the turn of the century. England had been the wealthy Indians' preferred location for studies in the preindependence period. Its emphasis on arts and letters gave the nationalists the necessary philosophical and legal skills to fight for rights; many of India's great leaders of the freedom movement-including Nehru and Gandhi-were products of British universities. The princely families considered Oxford and Cambridge more prestigious than any other universities, anywhere in the world, as did officials who were making selections in civil services during the colonial period. The few Indian students who did go to America espoused India's cause for independence and inspired many prominent Americans to lend their support to India's freedom movement.

After independence Indian students in increasing numbers started looking toward the United States for their education.

America's attraction lay in the opportunity it offered for greater competency in the technical and business fields. It was the period that saw the beginnings of the exchange programs and the availability of financial aid. One exchange program that promoted Indo-American intellectual interaction was the Fulbright-Hays Program that established the United States Educational Foundation in India (USEFI). In the 25-year period after its implementation in 1950, it was responsible for over 5,000 Indian and American scholars crossing the oceans in exchange professorships and research projects. Ford Foundation, Rockefeller Foundation, Hazen Foundation, Rotary International, Carnegie Corporation and others also lent their support to¡ Indo-American scholarly exchange.

"I think practically every Indian student in America received almost full tuition and fees plus some living allowance during that time," one former student recalled. He is probably right: American educational institutions were then expanding at a fast rate, money was readily available, and the spirit in the United States was one of helping people from developing courttries. This resulted in the offer of liberal scholar-

Usha Helweg with her father, Amolak Ram Mehta.

_______________

ships to study in American universities. Thus, in 1958, there were 2,585 Indians out of 43,391 foreign students in the United States. In 1972, the Indian contingent of 12,523 was the largest among foreign students and by 1978, India ran'ked seventh with 9,080 out of 235,509 of

America's foreign student population.

Some of these students had jobs in India and were in the United States on leave to get training that could advance their careers at home. Others had come under the auspices of American faculty members who had been in India and whom they had assisted on research projects. The teachers advised and encouraged promising students to go to the United States for further education, and sometimes helped them obtain financial aid.

The Indian student community that I joined in the United States in 1960 was imbued with the spirit of patriotism and service to the motherland. Optimistic of India's future, the students knew that they could return to good jobs and make a valuable contribution to India's development. I studied political science, for I aspired to be a high government official on my return. Other popular courses were economics, agriculture, urban development, business administration, and science.

And meanwhile there was also one's own economy to be kept in mind. My first day at Cornell brought me face to face with this problem. I arrived at Cornell University in the fall of 1960. My bus was a couple of hours late so it was after 5 p.m. when I reached the campus in a car. The offices were closed.

Where was I to spend the night? One of the American students who had shared the cab with me suggested that I register at Willard Straight Hall, run by the student union. I went there and discovered that one night's lodging at Willard Straight would cost me eight dollars. Forty rupees flashed through my mind, an outrageous amount for one night by the Indian standards I was used to. The expense unnerved me and I couldn't sleep. "How am I going to survive in such an expensive country?" I asked myself. To conserve my money, I decided against dinner that night, satisfying my hunger by nibbling on some grapes and an apple that my father had given me.

Money' was and still is a concern for Indian students in America, for all prices are seen in terms of rupees. I automatically found myself multiplying every dollar figure by five, calculating with a sinking heart how much it came to in rupees.

My excitement at going to Cornell couldn't help me overcome my fear that I would be a poor Indian foreign student. I had read about rich Americans "rolling in dollars" and an American friend in New Delhi had shown me slides of campus life. The color in the slides had made everything look "rich" and "expensive." However, when I finally settled in Cascadilla Hall I was pleasantly surprised to find that most of my contemporary graduate students were at my economic level, fending their way through school. Some were on assistantships, others on fellowships, partial scholarships or part-time jobs to defray costs. Everybody was friendly and no one looked down on me or any other graduate student because we were on a tight budget.

I wondered how my parents would react to my living in a

coed dormitory. Even though the wings for boys and girls were separate, for me it was a new experience. My parents had sent me to a conservative all-girl convent school and college, where even the instructors were females. Apart from my brothers and male cousins, I had been around only females. Not only was I attending coeducational classes but living in a coeducational dorm! At first I was petrified but it did not take me long to realize that my fellow graduate students, American and other, were just as dedicated to their studies as I was and were not all lecherous males clamoring amorously for me.

The Indian male students immediately adopted me as a "sister" and charge. At Cornell, as on other campuses, an Indian was put automatically on the roll of the Indian Students Association and came under the wing of fellow Indians. They advised me where to eat, what to wear in winter, where to shop for bargains and to beware of American boys. I was a highly moral Hindu girl from a cultured family; therefore, they felt that my behavior had to be a reflection of my background. At first their concern was very comforting because I felt lost among the vast sea of students.

My father had advised me, "Do in Rome as the Romans do.

I don't want you to be a wallflower; do mix with fellow American students. Go out on dates and if you fall in love and want to marry, you will have your mother's and my blessings. However, do maintain your morals. I don't want you to marry because you have to or because you 1 " didn't know what you were doing. Anyway," he had continued, "if you do get into trouble, remember we will bail you out."

My Indian brethren had differing points of view about how I should behave. Some felt I should be the shy recluse New Haven, Connecticut, 1960: Usha spends while others felt I should her first Christmas in the United States with her mix and socialize. I lay brother, Ved Mehta. low for the first semester, summing up the situation, absorbing the environment of dorm life and my classes. I was pleased when American grad students invited me to go for a "drink" after the library closed at 11 p.m. one Friday. Everyone ordered cocktails or beer, but I ordered a Coca-Cola. I did not know one drink from another. I had never seen liquor in my life. All I knew about alcoholic beverages was that they caused intoxication and made a person obnoxious. I was content with my Coke and nobody suggested anything else.

Deep in my heart I was apprehensive about how my American friends would behave after drinking. I had heard stories in India about American "immorality." However, after a couple of drinks and discussions revolving around advisers, professors, departmental and national politics, we all departed for our respective abodes, very relaxed and happy for the companionship. Frequent experiences like this enhanced my horizons.

Like my fellow graduate students, I worked hard all week and looked forward to weekends of interaction with other students-Indian and American. Saturdays usually revolved around the mundane chores of laundry and shopping. In the evening we went, in groups of seven or eight, to the movies and

had dinner with friends. Indian and American families frequently invited me out for dinner and occasionally took me to the theater or an opera.

We were considered not only students but also representatives of India. I participated in radio and television programs and spoke to Rotary groups, Lions Clubs and other civic organizations about my homeland. I loved being an "ambassador" of India in Tompkins and surrounding counties. I was told I was "exotic," thanks largely to my saris and the Punjabi dress I wore. We Indian students did a lot in those years to remove the ne-gative stereotypes and prejudices that Americans had about our country. I feel proud that we contributed to the high regard and appreciation most Americans have toward India today.

The few Indian women on U.S. campuses during those early years were primarily from institutes of higher learning in India or wives of graduate students. They usually didn't mix much with the younger crowd, Indian or American. The more conservative Indian students-male and female-remained isolated from the Americans. Others mixed and made the best of their stay on campus.

The hotel administration students were perhaps the most gregarious. Usually well-financed by their parents, they were also paid during practical training in institutions like Cornell's Statler Inn. It was these students who, much to the chagrin of our conservative Indian brothers, taught me to distinguish between different wines and to appreciate a good steak. They helped me get my summer job working as a hostess at the Statler. They took me to parties-and they protected me.

After six months, I finally braved a date. This was immediately followed by phone calls from some of the more conservative Indian boys who felt that I had become "immoral." They had their own preconceived notion of the institution of dating: to them it meant allowing oneself to adopt immoral American ways. The fallout from this attitude is illustrated by the following two incidents. I was invited by a married Indian student to the movies. I vividly remember we went to see Connie Francis in Where the Boys Are. When the lights went down I suddenly became aware of my "date's" intentions. His arm went around my shoulder and he leaned close to me. I was annoyed, more so because I had always respected him and regarded him as an upright, fatherly person-he had a daughter my age. I moved away, and after a few more overtures he got the message and left me alone for the rest of the movie. During the walk back to the campus, I plainly told him that I did not appreciate his pawing me. "But you date American boys!" was his indignant reaction. "What's wrong with us Indians?" I then realized what he and other Indian students believed dating to mean: They were convinced that I allowed boys to s!eep with me after they had fed or entertained me. I don;t think he believed my protestations that I had not even been kissed by an American boy. I did not go out with him again.

The victim in my second example was Jane, an American girl. She came to me in tears one night with a story that confirmed my new discovery about the Indian men's attitude to dating in those days. Jane had gone OIl a date with an Indian student. After dining out, he invited her to his room for a drink.

As soon as they arrived in his room he locked the door from .the inside; frightened, Jane quickly "developed a headache" and asked to go home. He was furious with her-after all, he'd spent so much money on dinner for her and she was refusing

him the much-anticipated pleasure.

However, there has been a change in this attitude in the Seventies and Eighties. ¡Asian migration, easy communication, traveling, accessibility of reading material and television have helped most Indian students to get a social orientation to American ways and values before coming to the United States.

Indian students, incidentally, are popular dates because of their good looks and grooming.

Indian students on the whole have done very well academicallytoo. The students of the Sixties and early Seventies had an excellent command of the English language. The British system of education, under which most of these students had studied, had taught them grammar and composition. Initially they had problems with the unfamiliar objective-type tests but because of

practice in learning by rote they were able to master that also.

They were partly'motivafed by family izzat or honor, which depended greatly on how well a young person did. They were also anxious not to disappoint those who had invested in them.

I have visited some of my fellow grad students who are all holding top positions in their respective fields and contributing to the development of India. Hearing their success stories makes me feel like the odd one out of that batch- I was among the very few who opted to stay on in the United States. D About the Author: Usha Helweg is a part-time instructor and a research administrator at Western Michigan University. She and her husband, Arthur Hehveg, were recently in India 011 a Smithsonian Instilulion grant doing research on the effect of emigration on India.

**** STANFORD,1980 I need not have been neurotic the night before.

I was taking my first examination at Stanford University, one of America's most respected institutions. I relaxed as the professor, grinning slightly, handed out the papers.

"I hope you spend as much time an-.:weringthese questions as I did thinking them up. Good luck," he said. "I'll see you all on Friday."

And he walked out.

I was awed by the trust Stanford places in its students.

Unmonitored, they are allowed to take their exams wherever they like. You can bring in a Coke and a bag of french fries, perch your feet on a table and finish your paper in class. Or you can take it home or to the coffee house or even to the library and bring it back after three hours.

You can cheat too, since there is no one around to check on you. But the Honor Code that all Stanford students are required to sign morally binds them not to cheat.

This "to thine own self be true" policy that puts cemplete trust in its students is one of the university's unusual features.

Another is that it is students who evaluate teachers-at the end of the quarter, on his lectures, clarity, ability to arouse interest, and accessibility.

Classes, too, are different from anything I was used to in India. In centrally heated conference-type rooms, the professor is dressed casually in an open-necked T-shirt. He lectures perched on his desk, his chin on one knee. He insists that his students call him by his first name. I found it stimulating to be so relaxed with some of the best known specialists in their fields.

The faculty at Stanford, which includes 13 Nobel laureates and four Pulitzer Prize winners, takes its responsibility pretty seriously. They may eat lunch in class with students and they may use four-letter words, yet your teachers will sit up all night with you before term papers are due. These world-famous professors and writers sit not in academic ivory towers, but bent over their typewriters with their office door open to welcome you. Most are very generous with their phone numbers and invitations to drop in for advice or for a beer.

Professors turned friends are your greatest critics. They

spend almost as much time analyzing your term paper as you spent writing it. Comments can vary anywhere from "You'll never make it," to "Yes, you have what it takes." But while your paper might not make any point at all, you are never shown up in class, however ignorant you may seem.

"The only dumb question," we were told, "is the unasked one." And you can ask your adviser about anything-your career, your personal life, your finances or the lack of them. You can demand answers to the most awkward questions.

One common question concerns part-time jobs. Many students have to-or want to-earn as they learn. Often you can earn your bread and butter (and beer and postage stamps) through teaching or research assistantships to which your adviser assigns you. The first commandment of the Stanford budget is that a student once admitted to the university will not be disqualified because of shortage of funds. Depending on his proficiency, a student may be assigned to teach a junior class, grade papers or do research work. Part-time jobs are usually available in libraries, computer centers and cafeterias.

In any case, it is unbelievably easy to support oneself, for job opportunities are many and the average pay is approximate: ly four dollars an hour. And with the secondhand turnover, you can buy a TV for 10 dollars, a bike for 25 and a car for 250.

At the undergraduate level, required courses make up less than haif a student's program. He is free to choose and tryout the rest. By designing his own major with courses as varied as film aesthetics, acoustics and physiotherapy, the student can specialize later in what he discovers to be his real interest. He also has the choice of studying French history in Paris or Third World problems in Nairobi: Stanford has campuses in different parts of the world where students can spend a year with aU the

university facilities at their disposal.

In most of the required courses, students are meant to work under the same conditions they will experience after graduation; they are forced to make independent decisions and live with the responsibilities they have accepted. Journalism students, for instance, are required to choose a beat off-campus. It could be health, education, refugees or crime, but it means actually being out there, spending as much time in a hospital or a police station as in the library. It means developing a nose for news and following the scent all the way-until you have your story. The idea is to wean you away from the protective cocoon of university life into the career you have chosen; to make you accept, and perhaps enjoy, the excitement and the tension you will have to live with.

As part of their training, journalism and business school students get together, the former interviewing the latter. The encounter is recorded on videotape and then played back to be analyzed and improved upon.

An Indian student can probably get much more out of Stanford than an American student because there is much less that he takes for granted. Because many of the nonacademic courses are always available to Americans, they sometimes tend to ignore them. But most foreign students enthusiastically grasp the chance of learning jazz dance, fencing, car mechanics, aerobics, body massage or five different types of martial arts.

The libraries at Stanford are magical. There are over 20 research libraries in addition to smaller ones in most departments. The Meyer Undergraduate and Green Graduate libraries alone "provide 68 miles of shelving, enough for more than 2.8 million volumes, and seating for 1,700 readers," writes Peter C. Allen in Stanford: From the Foothills to the Bay. To give students even greater access to books, the Gutenberg Express joins the campuses of Stanford University and the University of California at Berkeley through a daily shuttle service.

Libraries soon become addictive. You can spend hours studying beside a pleasant potted plant, undisturbed. You can analyze the Indian Emergency in the microfilm section, drop by at Green library to read The Times of India or India Today, or study in the Hoover Institution library where Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn once wrote his memoirs. Those involved in serious research use the library computers: From one data base they can get a printout of all the published material on a subject. Some students have video display terminals in their rooms wired to the main computer on campus.

Punch the right code and your computer will give you the day's news, mail from a friend at MIT or even tell you a dirty joke. Some students become so addicted to computers that they forgo food and drink and sleep in the Center for Educational Research at Stanford that houses LOTS, the Low Overhead Timesharing System. It is open 24 hours a day.

Many professors give serious students free access to their private libraries. Departments can usually arrange for almost any kind of material you might need in your research¡ or get an expert to come and speak on your subject. Students are allowed as much funding as may be necessary to justify their research.

For instance, "The engineering research at Stanford," Allen tells us, "now runs about $25 million a year, involving some 200 grants and contracts. The range is universal, from microscopic integrated circuits to all of outer space."

An examination in the United States is not an unusual experience for a student from India. Since you have to put in three hours of work at home for everyone hour in class throughout the year, you don't have to spend the nights before exams cursing yourself and seeing the clock tick away mockingly. In any case, the final exam counts for only 20 percent of your grade. The rest depends on class participation, term papers and your consistent progress through the year. If you are not well during an exam or are busy with another course, you can arrange to take it later. The Stanford policy is to see how much a student can get out of a course, not how much he can put on a piece of paper in three hours. The atmosphere at Stanford and the facilities available make you want to study and pursue education for education's sake, not for examination's sake.

A Stanford degree also buttresses your career chances.

"Rating of academic quality is an inexact science at best," writes Peter Allen in his book. "But the most recent surveys taken for the most part among faculty peers across the country offer a preponderance of evidence as to the distinction of Stanford's professors. They rank the schools of education and business first in the nation, engineering and medicine second, and law third; and they place 17 of the university's departments among the top five in their discipline."

Most graduating students already have assured jobs before they leave the university. Indian graduates are mostly from the engineering department and most are absorbed into Silicon valley in the heart of which lies Stanford.

An amusing scenario takes place once a year on campus: This is the Job Fair where Lockheed, Hewlett-Packard, Fairchild, and other top companies send executives to recruit Stanford students. In their well-pressed, three-piece suits these executives hand the students their catalogs and brochures and make attractive job offers. The students in T-shirts, jeans and slippers chuck these catalogs into their backpacks to think about later.

Life outside the classroom is casual yet demanding, hard work but full of surprises.

Graduate students who live on campus have a choice of high-rise buildings, or low-rise, two-bedroom apartments, both built with consideration for the students who will be using them.

In either case you have to learn to live with a roommate who might turn out to be a friend in need or a fiend indeed' depending on whether your friends, phone calls or all-night typing get on his or her nerves.

Stanford is a very bike able campus, many of its streets shut off to automobiles. Along with the students zipping by on their SimIan with friends at every Stanford student's favorite haunt-the coffee house.

ten speeds, also on his bicycle is Donald Kennedy, the eighth president of Stanford who has three degrees from Harvard University. Every morning the softcspoken president runs 10 kilometers; he invites any student who would like to join him.

For many a shy foreign student, the Bechtel International Center is a good place to begin finding his feet and his friends on this 3,560-hectare campus. The ivy-covered I-Center has weekly coffees to break in foreign students and their spouses, language classes, international cooking, folk dances, a giantsize TV and a very, very friendly staff. While their homelands might be at war, many an Iraqi and Iranian student become friends here.

Once you've made your friends, life on campus can be one of the most fulfilling experiences of your life. The general enthusiastic feeling is, "I just can't get enough out of my days here." Allen quotes a student: "You have to work pretty hard to be bored at Stanford. Almost anything you want to do you can find some club, team, organization or friend to do it with."

Almost every day there are plays, talks, concerts, all-night folk dancing, parties. Sometime, Joan Baez who lives down the road drops by to sing. The university shows at least 10 different films a week. The variety extends from contemporary hits to French and Italian classics to history-making films.

One of the biggest events of the year is the annual football game between Stanford and Berkeley (a university that Stanford students disparagingly refer to as "second best in California"). Tickets for the big game are sold out months in advance. Closer to the game there is black marketing.

Then there is the coffee house, a cosy little hideout in the center of campus. It has tough wooden benches and serves the finest coffee. Even students who don't have the time find themselves here. You can be sure of a couple of hours' amusement. Talented students sing, dance, perform a play for free. Or if you're the kind that can keep his cool amid noise and music and dancing student waitresses, you could write your thesis here or pore over a game of Scrabble.

During the beginning of my first quarter at Stanford, sitting with my book on a coffee house table, I was taken aback to see a noisy group of about 20 men and women rushing in, wrapped in bed sheets. They were obviously wearing no clothes under their sheet wraps. Th~t was my introduction to a "Toga party," usuallyheld at the beginning of the quarter to initiate freshmen.

The coffee house closes at 11 p.m. but if your spirits still strain to be high, the place to head for then is The Oasis, one of the 10 most frequented student spots in the United State~. A giant-size pitcher of beer and a bag of unshelled peanuts (the shells you simply throw on the floor) see you through till 3 a.m. when it shuts. Then it's time for a 24-hour coffee shop like Denny's.

Of course, the beer sessions are limited to weekends. The rest of the week is hard, hard work. One of the advantages of being at Stanford is that almost every other student knows a good deal about his subject. Conversation on every level is enlightening. Depending on who your friends are, you could come out with a fairly good knowledge of biochemistry, computer science or heart transplants.

Sometime during the year a group of students, to create a response to Third World malnutrition, organize a fast that they ask all of Stanford to participate in. The fast is to make well-fed First Worlders realize what hunger feels like.

Many student'dormitories and houses also organize courses to increase awareness of Third World issues. Hammarskjold House, for instance, holds a course on how the Western press distorts Third World events; the discussions often end in fierce debate till late at night.

"A comfortable university," Richard Lyman, Stanford's seventh president had said, "is virtually a contradiction in terms ... we exist to disturb and activate the minds of men and women."

For the Indian student in the United States many values change. So do impressions. Most come expecting all American kids to take drugs, all American women to be easy game.

And yes, sex on campus does exist as on any other campus in the United States. But the attitude is not one of denial or secrecy. Instead men and women students live together openly, there is free contraceptive counseling; gay people have their own clubs.

Crime exists too on this idyllic campus. Bicycle theft is an accomplished art at Stanford, and you just resign yourself to the fact that at least once in three years, you're going to find your bike gone. More serious crimes like rape are being combated with a round-the-clock police vigil at different parts of campus.

Rape awareness projects are organized in the different dorms to teach women how to avoid rape and if it does happen, how to cope with it.

The university runs a service after 8 p.m. that sends escorts up to one kilometer off campus to see women safely home.

But being in a small town like Palo Alto, Stanford is a fairly safe campus. It is a campus that slowly spoils you. Its winters are gentle like east coast springs. Nestling between hills and bay, the university offers both mountains and beaches as recreation. The Spanish architecture of the university is breathtaking. Standing in its great green oval, an awed lump in his throat, the new student for the first time gazes at the noble buildings with their intricately carved columns, the clear blue skies and golden rolling hills. Very pleasant surroundings for what architect Frank Lloyd Wright called one of the most beautiful campuses in the United States.

And in April, when winter gear has just been packed away, doors and windows are left open to let fresh air and the smell of soft grass wander in, Stanford reserves a day to celebrate spring in its own unique way. From early evening till dawn an entire street is shut off to vehicles. For miles you can hear a superpower band thundering out Stanford's favorite rhythms while thousands and thousands of students pushing against each other dance the night away. Beer and popcorn are on the house this spring night. This is also the night. when the entire graduating senior class is saying its good-bye to the un!versity.

It isn't good-bye forever, though. The Stanford Alumni Association has more than 50,000 members who keep in touch with their school through newsletters, conferences and summer programs. The khaki envelope with the university stamp on the left corner falls through the post box in different countries for many, many years.

0 About the Author: Si,nran Singh has recently returned from the United States with a Master in Journalism from Stanford University. During her course, she reported for The Stanford Daily and was a copy editor for The Alumni Almanac.

Cinema With a Conscience For some people, the world, imperfect as it is, seems to acquire meaning only when it appears on a screen. The mirror is more important than the reality it reflects-at least when two film buffs talk about their trade. William Greaves, film producer, director, Broadway actor and dancer, black activist, member of the Indo-U.S. Subcommission for Education and Culture, thinks film in his sleep besides spending his waking hours on it.

His interest in documentary and in black cinema is so pervasive that discussion of them never really ends; every time one meets him, one picks up where one left off the previous time, which may have been the day before or a year ago. He thinks about the world a ,lot-his world, my world, our world-but only through the medium of cinema or television. Discussions with such people invariably ramble across many subjects but reveal, in the end, very basic concerns-with human rights, with the freedom and dignity of the individual and his fulfillment regardless of where, and to what, he is born. Our interests in India' are so similar that a sympathetic chord is struck at once.

One of the concerns that ruffle the Indian film buffs consciousness is that Indian documentary has remained mainly unchanged over a long period; it seems to have congealed into a single mold, a model that precludes any freshness of approach. One is therefore always anxious to compare notes with film experts from other countries. More so with Greaves, because he was for eight years with a government film agency, the National Film Board of Canada, until veteran documentarian Willard Van Dyke "discovered" him in the United States.

Das Gupta: I am curious about the status of the documentary in the United States.

How do you go about it these days? How do you define documentary, for that matter? Do you still go by the old Grierson definition: "creative treatment of actuality? " Greaves: No. Since the 19305, the days of John Grierson in England, documentary has expanded considerably to include all forms of nonfiction film. In Grierson's time, documentary was thought of largely within the context of films that had some message, some kind of social or community value. Of course Grierson was one of the major pioneers in the field. It was from him that the whole concept of the documentary emerged. Although Robert Flaherty had been there much before him and had certainly made the definitive documentary with Nanook of the North in 1921, it was Grierson with the British group, Harry Watt, Basil Wright, Paul Rotha and all those people, who developed a strong concept of films as a social force, as an educational tool.

Grierson's writings in Forsyth. Hardy's Left, John Grierson: "The cinema is my pulpit"; below, left, Robert Flaherty's poetic documentary Nanook of the North (1921); below, Pare Lorentz' The Plow That Broke the Plains (1936), a documentary cheered by mass audiences.

cOllection Grierson on Documentary is one of the landmark works that have helped to inspire any number of people to enter the field of documentary filmmaking.

D.G. Flaherty was the poet of the two; for Grierson, the cinema was a pulpit. The films that Grierson's inspired producership brought about in Britain's Empire Marketing Board, in the G.P.O. and Crown Film units, burnt with social purpose. Flaherty also had a feeling for man's struggle against nature but he went more for the poetic record of his own fascination with it. Would you say that the Flaherty trend has overtaken Grierson in the United States?

W.G. Well, yes and no. In point of fact the Grierson thesis still holds. As you know, he set up the National Film Board of Canada and out of that has come the replication of its format, a whole approach to government films; it has been duplicated in many countries.

D.G. Including India?

W.G. Including India.

Even in the United States there was the Georgia Film Board and similar organizations in other states. Certain elements of even the early United States Information Agency were similar in many respects to some of the .preoccupations that the Film Board had.

D.G. And some of Pare Lorentz's films in the Thirties. In fact Lorentz was your Grierson, wasn't he? Take films like The Plow That Broke the Plains and The River which were thundering successes in the theaters and got President Franklin D. Roosevelt excited about a U.S. film service.

W.G .. Pare Lorentz' films, yes, of course, absolutely. Grierson's influence is pervasive. But besides Lorentz, if he had an American counterpart, it was not Flaherty but surely Louis de Rochemont.

The "March of Time" series in a way was

Above, William Greaves as executive producer (center) on location in a predominantly black neighborhood for the "Black Journal"; left, Richard Pryor and Cicely Tyson in the comedy Bustin' Loose for which Greaves was executive producer.

Although he did some restaging in some of his documentary work, essentially Flaherty was very much in the verite tradition of film production that was later embraced by people like Jean Rouche in France.

copied by the Canadian film board. Louis de Rochemont did a lot of very important work in the documentary: He made films for the Navy, made a series called "The Earth and its People." Most important, he introduced the whole concept of documentary film production into feature films.

He completely revolutionized Hollywood's approach to feature filmmaking. Until then, Hollywood had been accustomed to these incredible studio-bound sets and manufactured waterfalls, excessive lighting and thousands and thousands of crews crawling all over huge sets. But Louis de Rochemont pulled the basic camera crews out of the studio and took them out to the actual locations, as he had in making his documentaries, and he came in with films like Boomerang, The House on 92nd Street, Lost Boundaries, and a number of others. De Rochemont had a very major influence in America but is not given often as much credit as, say, Flaherty or Grierson.

Flaherty, of course, was the master of what you can call, for want of a better term, the verite [truth] film.

D.G. Also Mario Ruspoli and the others who started with anthropology and turned into filmmakers.

W.G. Yes, exactly, there were Shirley Clarke, Pennebaker and Leacock and so on in America in the so-called "Direct Cinema" who did not believe in excessive planning and structuring of the material but went for an unvarnished reality. Of course at the National Film Board of Canada, we had our own group functioning concurrent with Leacock and Pennebaker.

So, in a sense you could say that the Flaherty tradition in documentary really extends into docudramas.

There is the de Rochemont presence too in today's nonfiction film in America. It's interesting to see all these different strandsFlaherty, then Grierson and de Rochemont-all interweaving so that you see a heavy reliance on documentary material in feature films today. A great deal of production is strongly anchored in reality both in the actual shooting as well as in the conceptualizing.

And conversely, in documentaries you find that there is a

high appreCIatIon of dramatic values.

Many of my documentaries have strong dramatic elements even though they are literally documentaries and not to be confused with anything else. They obey in the organization of the material certain traditional dramatic values, such as building conflicts, crises and climaxes.

But coming back to your initial question: What does the term documentary mean today? Of course, documentary includes the sponsored film for a government, the industrial film for companies (Including commercials), all kinds of promotional films, newsreels and screen magazine stories. It embraces information films, training films, educational films ... it's become an umbrella word that covers all kinds of nonfiction film.

D.G. Would you say that the dividing line between the feature and the documentary has disappeared or is disappearing?

W.G. Well, you have the phenomenon of the docudrama, you know. One of my docudramas is on the life of Booker T. Washington in which we supply information through dialogue. I also intersperse that material with vintage photograph material over which we make certain assertions through pure narration to achieve a mixing of dialogue and narration in a new kind of experience. So, you're right, there is a kind of a melting away of the dividing line between those two approaches to cinema.

And I think that's a very good and healthy thing because it's always been a burden on the dramatic feature film that it often was unconnected to reality. And then on the other side of the coin you had the perpetual problem confronting the documentary filmmakers who were forced to make plodding, dull, boring documentary films that nobody wanted to see. Certainly in America, there's a heightened appreciation of the weaknesses of these two seemingly differing forms as well as a heightened appreciation of their inner strengths.

BiLLGreaves with 'camera.'

In India, our knowledge of black cinema stops with Richard Pryor and Shaft, if not with Sidney Poitier when he came to dinner. Black cinema has its own fascinating history. At one time, black America's need to organize its people, to call attention to their plight and to protest against inequality, revolved round the problem of access to mass communication. Eventually, the cinema and television played an important part in focusing attention on their struggle for civil rights. The social concerns of this cinema are very similar to India's in terms of her own minorities such as the Harijans. Cinema and black selfexpression are one and the same thing for Bill Greaves; they are fused together in his consciousness by the logic of his community's history and its needs.

D.G. Now, you are in the black filmmakers' Hall of Fame. What would you say is the status of the black film, what condition has it reached?

W.G. Well, the participation of black people in films goes way back to the turn of the century, but black filmmaking probably really didn't begin till around 1915, when Emmet J. Scott, who had been administrative assistant to Booker T. Washington, made a film called Birth of a Race, which was a rejoinder to D.W. Griffiths' Birth of a Nation, a famous film but also a film tarnished by racial prejudice. â&#x20AC;˘ It's interesting that the first blackproduced film was, to my knowledge, a film of protest against injustice. That, in fact, characterized a lot of black production as it developed in subsequent years, particularly in the wake of the civil rights movement and the urban unrest that took place in America during the 1960s. That was the period when black filmmaking really got off the ground. But between the time of Emmet J. Scott and the Sixties, there had been a number of black production companies, such as the Johnson Brothers, and then the legendary Oscar Micheaux, who is now revered as the pioneer of black filmmaking. He was the man who not only went out and got the funds for his productions but also distributed his films, so that they were widely shown.

D.G. Was there some difficulty in distribution because of racial prejudice?

W.G. Well, to some degree yes, there was. But one of the things that he (In a

curious way) benefited from was the fact that there was so much discrimination in the United States at that time that in many parts of the country blacks had difficulty even getting into a theater, or they had to sit in the back. There were no films being done that addressed any of the problems of black life, so he had a virgin territory to explore.

D.G. What period are you talking about here?

W.G. Well, I'm thinking of from the 1920s up to say the end of World War II. It was actually in the late 1920s and early 1930s that Micheaux made his films and bicycled them around the theaters in the black community. And now, of course, his films are preserved by the U.S. Library of Congress.

In the 1960s, with the civil disorders and riots, America was agonizing, wondering why this was happening: Who are these Afro-Americans? What is it they want? Why are they writing? Many blacks also wanted to know the same thing because not all blacks were involved in them. There was a desperate need for information. Lyndon Johnson set up a presidential commission on the civil disorders. Governor Otto Kerner of Illinois headed this commission which studied the phenomenon of the rio~s and tried to determine some of the causes. Of course, there were economic causes as ' well as social discrimination, but one of the facts that the commission identified was that blacks were not given access to the mass media, so the Afro-American community did not have a platform for the expression of its views. It had no way of communicating to white America what it was feeling, and to sensitize white America to what was going on. It had no way of communicating with itself, it had no way of also seeing itself in other than stereotypical imagery of the screen.

Following this report the <;:arnegie Endowment did a study of the black presence in the media and the values blacks could communicate. Carnegie and the Ford Foundation funded, through National Educational Television, a public television network program each week called "Black Jourmil," which was a public affairs program on the Afro-American experience. I became the cohost and the executive producer of that program, and I won an Emmy award for it.

The program became the flagship, the prototype, for the proliferation of similar local television shows throughout America. "Black Journal" also set up a training school for blacks who wanted to become

filmmakers. So many Afro-American youth were studying filmmaking in the New York area. This kind of training became available elsewhere in the country, and eventually there was a relatively large group of black filmmakers.

D.G. When did the full impact of this begin to be felt?

W.G. Around the late 1960s and early 1970s. Until then, because of the discriminatory policies of the unions in Hollywood, in television, it was very difficult for blacks to get in. That doesn't mean that there weren't any blacks but there were very few black technicians. When I was working at the United Nations, I doubt if there were more than five other blacks in the country working at that level.

But after the civil rights movement, the Kerner Commission report and "Black Journal," blacks literally exploded on the film scene. Some of them got into Hollywood, which began to come under a certain amount of pressure from the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission to hire blacks. The United States Government began investigating discrimination in the communications industries. There also ensued, with the formation of the Corporation of Public Broadcasting, which. is a sort of a quasigovernmental entity, the funding of black

One of the many photographs from which Bill Greaves constructed his documentary on the early days of Harlem, From These Roots (1974).

shows. There was considerable encouragement of black technicians. And so, today there is a strong Afro- American presence in the American film industry.

D.G. A sizable presence?

W.G. It's a sizable presence, but not yet commensurate with the population.

In other words, if we represent 12 percent of the American population, there is not yet in the communications industry a 12 percent representation of AfroAmericans, all up and down the line, from the executive levels down.

D.G. I can understand

that in the beginning this was a kind of movement and the fi~s ~uffi~ ~pro~~dulf assertion. But has the black film arrived at a point where it is no longer selfconsciously protesting but simply expressing whatever it is in itself?

W.G. I think that development is occurring; there's no question about it. This is one of the dilemmas and problems of the Afro-American filmmaker. It is an unfortunate burden on the artists of such groups that they must not only be creative people, but they must also confront

forces of reaction, oppression or InJustice. They find themselves obliged to communicate the needs and interests of their respective groups, and in one way or another they must influence the groups that are associated with the injustice.

So, it's almost a schizophrenic kind of existence that the Afro-American filmmaker leads. Many Afro-American filmmakers do not have any involvement in social problems. Their work is simply what it is. However, the majority of Afro-American filmmakers are, to varying degrees, concerned with the problem of using film and television as social forces, as educational tools, as weapons of liberation or whatever you want to call it.

D.G. For bringing up their own commu'nity to a national level ...

W.G. That's right. To achieve the promises of the American Constitution and to realize their own potential. I look forward to the day when that whole protest dimension will not be necessary, because the society will be a really egalitarian society. Protest and persuasion are in fact a very enervating and draining kind of preoccupation.

I would rather conserve my energy and use it in creative areas.

The human spirit should be preoccupied with loftier things than class discrimination and the like, but if class discrimination exists, it'S gO! to be confronted.

0

Earth-Sheltered Structures

D

irt cheap" would be one apt way to describe earthsheltered structures. Partly covered by dirt-not completely underground-these architectural innovations use energy much more efficiently than ordinary buildings. For dirt is a natural insulator that is both cheap and plentiful.

Earth-sheltered structures are set into slopes and excavations or built on flat land and then partly buried. They are designed to take full advantage of sunlight for illumination and heating. Dirt has another virtue-it's the insulator for all seasons. An excellent temperature moderator, it reduces heat gain in summer and heat loss in winter. "Even without fuel for heating, you'd be no worse than uncomfortable in an earth-sheltered house," says expert Ray Sterling. "This type of construction makes heating a question of comfort, not survival." Sterling is the director of the Underground Space Center, a research and information-exchange facility at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis.

Advocates of earth-sheltered construction claim energy-cost savings of 50-85 percent over conventional strnctures. These dirt-covered buildings have other advantages too-they save space, are said to be easier to maintain, less noisy and more resistant to fire and storms.

The American Institute of Architects e.stimates that there may be as many as 5,000 earth-sheltered houses and 100 larger earth-sheltered buildings (schools, libraries, factories, stores) in the United States.

1. The north side of earth-sheltered 5. houses in Indian Mills, New Jersey, exposes little surface. The major living areas are on the south side which has angled 6. windows and solar collectors.

2. Earth-shielded townhouses in Minneapolis.

3. Despite being underground, this 7. lounge in a University of Minnesota building is flooded with light from angled windows.

4. Rooftop parking saves space

in an earth-sheltered manufacturing plant of the Cummins Engine Company in Walesboro, Indiana.

These earth-shielded Minneapolis townhouses are several limes more energy-efficient and cooler than the skyscraper at left.

A school in Miami, Florida, designed for maximum cooling, is carefully engineered for minimum exterior-wall exposure to the sun.

All but 5 percent of this two-level concrete building at the University of Minnesota is underground (interior shown in 3).

TABLEAU V\VANT

WILLINGLY When I get up he has been long at work, his brush limber against the house.

Seeing him on his ladder under the eaves, I look back on myself asleep in the dream I could not carry awake. Sleep inside a house that is being painted, whole lifetimes now only the familiar cast of morning light over the prayer plant.

This 'not remembering' is something new of where you have been.

What was settled or unsettled in sleep stays there. But your house under his steady arm is leaving itself and you see this gradual surface of new light covering your sleep has the greater power.

You think now you felt brush strokes or the space between them, a motion bearing down on you-an accumulation of stars, each night of them arranging over the roofs of entire cities.

His careful strokes whiten the web, the swirl of woodgrain blotted out like a breath stopped at the heart. Nothing has changed you say, faithlessly. But something has cleansed you past recognition. When you stand near his ladder looking up he does not acknowledge you and as from daylight in a dream you see your house has passed from you into the blessed hands of others.

This is ownership, you think, arriving in the heady afterlife of paint smell.

A deep opening goes on in you.

Some paint has dropped onto your shoulder as though light concealed an unsuspected weight. You think it has fallen through you. You think you have agreed to this, what has been done with your life, willingly.

Copyright Š 1980, The Atlantic Monthly Massachusetts.

Reprinted with permission

They think it's easy to be dead, those who walk the pathway here in stylish shoes, portable radios strapped to their arms, selling the world's perishables; even love songs. They think you just lie down into dreams you will never tell anyone.

They don't know we still have plans, a yen for romance, and miss things like hats and casseroles.

As for dreams, we take up where the living leave off. We like especially those in which the dreamer is about to fall over a cliff or from a bridge that is falling too. We're only too glad to look down on the river gorge enlarging under a body's sudden weight, to have the ground rushing up instead of this slow caving in. We thrive on living out the last precious memories of someone escaped back into morning light.

Occasionally there's a message saying they want one of us back, someone out there feeling guilty about a word or deed that seems worse because we took it as a living harm, then died with it, quietly. But we know a lot about forgiveness and we always make these trips with a certain missionary zeal. We get back into our old sad clothes. We stand again at the parting, full of wronged tenderness and needing a shave or a hairdo. We tell them things are O.K., not to waste their lives in remorse, we never held it against them, so much happens that no one means. \

But sometimes one of us gets stubborn, thinks of evening the score. We leave them calling after us, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, and we don't look back.

Company, Boston, from The Atlan/ie.

The Poem as Time Machine Octavio Paz defined the poet's time as "living for each day; and living it, simultaneously, in two contradictory ways: as if it were endless and as if it would end right now." Stanley Kunitz has written a poem entitled "Change," which gives this dual sense of impermanence and the

desire to be eternal. Always, as a maker of poems, I have been witness to the images, have been led by the poem as it speaks into and with itself and opens out of its contradictions to engage the reader.

But the reader is also the maker of the poem as it lives again in his conscious-

ness, his needs, his reception, and even his denials. The poem is in a state of perpetual formation and disintegration.

It is not at the mercy of pure subjectivity, but, as Ortega y Gasset would say, it is "the intersection of the different points of view." This, then, brings about a succes-

sion of interpretations of which no single one, even that of the poet, is the definitive one. In this way the poem enters and becomes time. It becomes, as Paz phrases it, "the space that is energy itself, not a container but an engenderer, a catalytic arena open on all sides to the past, on all sides to the future."

This conception of time as an atmosphere, as the "now" of the poem, which Paz calls "the Historical Now" or "the Archetypal Now," is what I would like to call "the point of all possibilities." By this I mean the point at which anything that has happened to me, or any past that I can encourage to enrich my own vision, is allowed to intersect with a present moment, as in a creation, as in a poem. And its regrets or expectations or promises or failures or any supposition I can bring to it may give significance to this moment that is the language moving in and out of my life and my life as it meets and enters the lives of others.

The poem not only makes time, it is time; it is made of time as is the bee who dances out the directions that are and are not the map of a place, the remembering of a way back to the flower feast that belongs to others, to the hive, and to the very moment that way is given.

I have, in a poem, called a man back from the dead if he has not answered me fully in life. Yeats, in "He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead," even rushes ahead of the fact to gain the right urgency in which he might be granted forgiveness.

The time of the poem is not linear, is not the time of "this happened, then this, then this," though I may speak in that way until I am followed and the language leads me out of its use into its possibilities. No one is buried so deeply in the past that he may not enter the moment of the poem, the point of all possibilities where the words give breath, in a reimagining, so we know what was as what it is now and what it can become. If the language of commerce is a parade, then the language of the poem is that of a hive where one may be stung into recognition by words that have the power to create images strong enough to change our own lives as we imagine and live them.

The poet between poems is like a child called into the house to peel potatoes for supper. The time of the house is enigma to him. He cannot wait to be out the door again. "Time Is a River Without Banks" is the title of Chagall's painting of the winged fish flying through the air above Abridged by permission from The Atlantic Monthly.

Copyright Š 1980 Tess Gallagher.

the river. The fish is playing' a fiddle above a clock which flies with it. In order to indicate the river there are houses and lovers and the reflections of houses. The lovers are not looking up. They are in love and at the point of all possibilities.

They have transcended time, which is all around them like the unheard music of the fiddle.

It is the poet who refuses to believe in time as a container, who rushes into the closed room of time, who plunges through the bay window and slashes a hand across the harp, even if what results is not music so much as a passionate desecration of a moment, which, like the photograph in its effort to fix us, excludes us from our own past. The poet is always the enemy of the photograph. If she talks about her own appearance in the group smiling on the porch, she will inch her thumb into the lens to indicate that she has escaped. She will assault the image with words, changing th~ bride's dress into a cascade of petals. She will make sure the train pulls away from the platform.

The poem as time machine works in an opposite way from the time machine as used in H.G. Wells. In the latter, one is sent out like a lonely projectile into time past or future, casting the present into a future or a past. The poem, on the other hand, is like a magnet which draws into it' events and beings from all possible past, present and future contexts of the speaker. It is a vortex of associative phenomena.

In poem-time, the present accompanies memory and eventuality; it is not left behind, since the very activity of the words generates the poem's own present no matter what tense the poet uses. The poem's activity in the consciousness of the reader is a. present-time event which may, nevertheless, draw on his past, his expectations and hopes.

I sit in a Montana cafe having a meal with my mother, who is visiting from Washington State. Suddenly she remembers a time when she was beautiful, when she had the power of beauty. I realize I never knew her in that time, though often she still acts from it, as from some secret legacy. I see that I have failed to make her know her present beauty, so she must return endlessly to that past-a reservoir. Even as I see her, I see myself, my own aging. I walk with her into "the one color/of the snow-before us, the close houses,lthe brave and wondering lights of the houses." It has been snowing during our meal, and the houses have been transformed by a covering of snow, as

Tess Gallagher is on the faculty at Syracuse University in New York State. She is the author afUnder Stars and Instructions to the Double.

though time in the form of snow has softened all contours, has fallen down about us deep enough, white enough, to put everything on the same plane spatially and temporally. The girlhood beauty of my mother accompanies us as we leave, gives the houses their brave and wondering lights, causes them to drift in a white sea under the covering of night.

Perhaps it is our very forgetting that allows these past images significance. If we remembered constantly, the timefabric of our lives would remain whole and we would have no need of the poem to reinvolve us in what was a part of what is and may be.

"Forget! Forget it to know it," Robert Penn Warren says in his poem "Memory Forgotten. " He connects forgetting with what we feel to be true, the smell or the sound from afar that, if we knew its significance, would give us back some essential part of ourselves. He makes forgetting a positive accident, like the money found in a coat you hadn't worn for months, an accidental payload. The truth that we are is bound up, it would seem, with our partiality, our inability to hold everything of ourselves in memory as we go. Every time we remember some forgotten moment in a way that illuminates the present or causes the present to mediate some past, then the boundaries we thought were there between past, present, and future dissolve, if only for the time that is the poem.

It is believed that in the infant's first consciousness of the events and objects passing before him, he does not separate himself from them, but experiences his own identity simply as an endless stream

of stimuli. Even his response to events is not so much toward as in them. The infant is immersed in objects, and their time in space continues with him, is infinite.

The Hindus have a name for this continuing or fourth din:tension of "being across time." It is called the LingaSharira, that which remains the same in us though our cells change completely every seven years and we are not in fact the same in body that we were. Part of what the poem does is to restore us to consciousness of the Linga-Sharira which continues through change and which is immeasurable.

The poem, because it takes place at the point of all possibilities, in that it can intersect with all past, present, and future expectations, is able to accommodate this fourth dimension, the "something els~" of the Linga-Sharira, which allows us to change yet to remain the same through time. "The same," in this instance, means theoverview that can look at the total life at the same instant that it looks at any onepoint of the life and say: This is she as she is, was, and will be.

Octavio Paz speaks of the poetic experience as one which allows us to deny succession, the death factor. "Succession," he says, "becomes pure present.... The poem is mediation: thanks to it, original time, father of the times, becomes incarnate in an instant." The poem then represents an overflowing of time, the instant in which we see time stopped without its "ceasing to flow." It overflows itself, and we have the sensation of having gone beyond ourselves.

Part of the recent popularity of the writing of poems in prisons, grade [elementary] schools, poetry workshops in universities, and the wards of mental clinicshas developed from the sense that we are traveling too fast through a time which has fewer and fewer of the futuremaintaining structures with which we grew up. I mean the structures of marriage, of the family, of the job as a fulfillment of one's selfhood. These allowed one to look ahead into the near and far future of one's life with some expectation of continuity, which is a part of one's future-sense. We now have serial marriages, separations between parent and child, .as well as jobs that come and goas the technology fluctuates even more crazily to accommodate a productoriented society.

It may be that the poem is an anachronism of being-oriented impulses.

It is an anachronism because it reminds usironically that we stand at the point of all possibilities yet feel helpless before

the collapse of the future-sustaining emblems of our lives. This has reduced us to life in an instantaneous "now." The time of the poem answers this more and more by allowing an expansion of the "now." It allows consequence to disparate and contradictory elements in a life.

The "I," reduced to insignificance in most spheres of contemporary society, is again able to inhabit a small arena of its own making. It returns us, from the captivities of what we do and make, to what we are.

When the "now" expands, it includes before and after. The poem reminds us that the past is not only that which happened but also that which could have happened but did not. An example of an unrealized future enacted in a poem is Gene Derwood's "Elegy," where we read that the boy "lamentably drowned in his eighteenth year" will not fulfill the expectations of adulthood: Never will you take bride to happy bed, Who lay awash in water yet no laving Needed, so pure so young for sudden leaving.

All time is during. Thatis why it is so hard to exist in the present. Already we are speeding ahead so fast that we can only look back to see where we have been.

This speeding up of the time-sense in contemporary life, through the technology of mobility and through the disintegrative nature of human relationships, has affected the language of the poem as a time-enacting mechanism. The poem has begun to move in simple sentences, in actions and images more than in ideas, to speak intensely about the relationship of one person to another, to attempt to locate its subject matter or its speaker, if only during the time of the poem, very specifically at 142nd Street on July 23, 1971. Many contemporary poems have opted for the present tense and a great suspicion has fallen over the past and future tenses. If they are used at all, they are converted into a present happening in order to insure immediacy. The sentences are simple perhaps because this slows the time-sense down and makes the language more manageable. Though some wonderful poems are being written with this pacing, I am often nostalgic for a more extended motion. It is no secret that the contemporary reader has begun to balk at the periodic sentence. The atrophy of even short-term recall in America has caused the mind to resist holding much information, or even verbal structures of the slightest complexity. When my Irish musician friend tells me of singers who can sing hundreds of songs that have been

passed on to them, I see how far we have come from this kind of memory.

The poem as time machine has inherited a heavy responsibility from these strains on the language and on the human figure's diminishing stature among its self-perpetuating creations. The poem is expected to tell us, not that we're immortal, but simply that we exist as anything at all except contingencies. It has the old obligations to carry experience memorably in the language with few of the formal structures to maintain it. Its voices have become a chorus of one, the personal "I" venturing as far as the patio or the boathouse. But as regards man's relation to time, the poem has shown itself valiant. I am no longer envious of Flash Gordon and his time machine. The poem is the place where the past and future can be seen at once without forsaking the present.

In a poem I consecrate all that forgotten life which allows the incidence of memory, cast like a light on my life and the lives of others. The poet is the Lazarus of the poem, rising up with it. In the time of the poem it is still possible to find courage for the present moment. The life imagined in the poem has been known to affect the speaker, the reader, their sense of what can be salvaged or abandoned in a life. However, if we are like the blind man whose reality in the instant of "now" ends at the tip of his stick as he walks along the cliff, we must still believe in falling. The poem, for all its bounty, is a construct, and though the words in it may give the fiercest light, we cannot live there. Poems are excursions into belief and doubt, often simul-. taneously.

Mostly we are with the child peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink. We are too short for the view out the window except when we stand on the kitchen chair, which we are not supposed to do, but which we do. The time in the poem can be as useful as a kitchen chair, helping us to be the right size in a world that is always built for others. If I did not grow up to be a horse, I will not hold it against my life. I could not think fast enough to keep my two-leggedness from setting in.

Still, I know there is a young girl in me who remembers the language of horses.

She is with me in the time of the poem.

With all the modern timesavers, we have no better machine for the reinvention of time than the poem. I would not trade my least-loved poem for a Polaroid snapshot. The real timesavers are those that accommodate the mind, the heart, and the spirit at once.

0

Alew Challeoge 'or George Shultz "He- does his homework; he hears people out, and he is a consensus maker."

"He could make everyone, even those opposed to the action taken, feel an integral part of the process."

"He's an unflamboyant person. He doesn't have any sharp edges. He works in a manner that does not call attention to himself."

This sampling of views, by those who have worked with him 'and know him well, best sums up the diplomatic style of George Pratt Shultz, whom President Ronald Reagan has appointed as his new Secretary of State.

An academic turned industrialist, Shultz, 61, brings to his new job vast experience and, in the words of New York's Citicorp chairman Walter Wriston, "enormous personal acquaintanceship with heads of state around the world." George Shultz has held three cabinet-level portfolios.

In 1969 President Nixon appointed him as Secretary of Labor. Later Shultz served as Director of the Office of Management and Budget and lastly as Secretary of Treasury.

In all three posts, Shultz earned high marks for his grasp of the issues and his quiet diplomatic style. The words most often used to describe him were "honest" and "decent." According to Time magazine, Shultz displayed "an impressive talent for exercising authority and expanding turf without ruffling feathers or alienating colleagues."

Shultz resigned as Treasury Secretary in 1974 to join Bechtel, one of the world's largest construction and engineering conglomerates. He became Bechtel's president the following year, in which capacity his many duties included coordinating overseas projects, shaping company policy and chalking strategy for future markets both inside and outside the United States.

During the 1980 presidential campaign, Ronald Reagan asked Shultz to serve as his chief economic adviser. Those who dealt with him recall Shultz as one of the few who never lost his temper during the intense debate over the shaping of economic policy.

After his victory, President Reagan came close to naming him as his Secretary of State, but subsequently appointed him as chairman of the economic policy advisory board.

In that role, Shultz put together an economic policy that blended President Reagan's major campaign promises-a big tax cut and a balanced budget-with the tight money and lower social, spending ideas of traditional conservatives and monetarists.

Shultz is no stranger to the intricacies of international relations. As Treasury Secretary, for example, he negotiated trade agreements with Soviet President Leonid Brezhnev in 1972. This June he served as advance man for President Reagan's tour of Western Europe. His friends predict that Shultz will adapt to the State Department without any difficulty. "Does he know foreign affairs? In terms of the nuances, and all the capitals and prime ministers, no," notes Charls Walker, a former Shultz deputy at the Treasury Department.

"But when it comes down to common sense and toughness and getting good people, he'll be terrific. " Born in New York City on December 13, 1920, Shultz, whose father was a

historian, was raised in the suburban town of Englewood in New Jersey. After graduating from Princeton University in 1942, he served as a Marine Corps captain in Hawaii during World War II. There he met and married Army Nurse Helena O'Brien. They have five children.

After the war, Shultz earned a doctorate in industrial economics at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. In 1948, he joined the faculty there. Some of Shultz' early research at MIT centered around "conflict resolution" -on devising methods that encourage adversary parties to find solutions to disputes on their own. "He can see how different people approach problems from different angles," says Professor Chauncy Harris of the University of Chicago Center for International Studies.

In 1957, Shultz joined the University of Chicago as a professor of industrial relations, and five years later was made dean of the university's Graduate School of Business.

Through it all-whether in university, government or business-Shultz has retained an affability and a taste for the quiet life. Talking about dinner parties at his home in Washington when Shultz was Secretary of Treasury, old friend and Nobel Prize winner Milton Friedman says that often Shultz and his wife Obie-as she is known to her friends-did all the cooking and serving themselves. At Bechtel, "when he could afford the most expensive house in San Francisco, Shultz settled for a small place on the Stanford University campus, where he taught a business-school course in his spare time.

"He's a remarkably nice person. YOij'd trust him with anything you had," Friedman says. 'There is no false front to him ..

He's a real person from beginning to end."

In his 'memoirs, Years of Upheaval, former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger wrote: "I met no one in public life for whom I developed greater respect and affection. If I could choose one American to whom I could entrust the nation's fate in a crisis, it would be George Shultz."

Now President Reagan has entrusted one of the nation's most difficult and challenging jobs to George Shultz. 0

TEENAGERS' UN TWO INDIAN SHOWS UNIVERSITY LAB , IN SPACE

Rabindranath Tagore, Head Study, c. I930s, Ink on silk, 42 x 53 em,

The 1,500-piece Elizabeth Bayles Willis collection of Indian textiles was on display at the Bellevue Museum in Seattle Jast month.

The Willis collection includes clothes -ranging from bridal dresses to 19thcentury turbans-and a rich variety of textiles. The highlights are resist-dyed, printed and painted textiles of Orissa, Andhra Pradesh, Rajasthan and Gujarat. A loom, weaving tools, maps and photographs documenting the textile production process and the cultural contexts in which the fabrics are~and were-used, completed the picture of India's textile heritage.

The exhibits were collected by Elizabeth Bayles Willis from over 150 cities, towns and villages during her trips to India in the 1950s and 1960s. She first came to India in 1952, soon after the All India Handloom Board was established. In response to a request from the Uttar Pradesh Government, the United Nations recommended her as a technical adviser on handicrafts development.

Willis was captivated by the techniques and designs that she saw in various villages where her assignment took her. She began her own private collection which she continued to expand on subsequent official and personal trips to India.

In 1958, she donated her collection to the University of Washington and it became the start of the Costume and Textile Study Center which now houses one of the finest textile collections in- the United States.

An illustrated monograph, Courtyard, Bazaar, Temple: Traditions of Textile Expression in India, written by textile specialist Katherine F. Hacker and Bellevue Museum curator Krista Jensen Turnbull, was published in conjunction with the exhibition. In tandem with the exhibition, there were lectures by the University of Washington South Asia specialists, screenings of several Indian documentary and feature films (including Satyajit Ray's Devi) and cultural performances like Odissi dances, puppet shows, tabla and sarangi concerts, and an illustrated lecture on the epic singing of Rajasthan. Three short films highlighting Islamic and Hindu traditions helped to explore the subject of religious motifs so evident in Indian textiles.

The glories of yesterday's India have been filling American museums and exhibition halls in recent months. A major art exhibit being planned to coincide with Prime Minister Indira Gandhi's visit to the United States will introduce Americans to contemporary Indian art. India's National Gallery of Modern Art has sent 50 paintings r~presenting 47 20th-century painters (from 1930 onward) to the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C., for a month-long exhibition which began July 28. . Among the artists whose work is on display are Gaganendranath Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, Amrita Sher-Gil, Jamini Roy, K.K. Hebbar, Satish Gujral, M.F. Husain, 1. Swaminathan, Shanti Dave, Biren De, Laxman Pai, Rameshwar Broota, F.N. Souza, Ram Kumar, G.R. Santosh and Krishen Khanna.

Says Dr. Laxmi P. Sihare, director of the National Gallery of Modern Art: "These paintings do not claim to unfold a step-by-step historical evolution and development of modern Indian paintings, nor do they represent all trends being pursued by practidng artists ... they provide some idea of the development of the past 50 years ... and reveal the intense struggle of modern Indian painters to achieve desired technical standards and aesthetic sensibilities and, above all, to attain an original creative vision essentially inspired by our cultural heritage."

J

called for. According to organizer Tony Basalari, this is the unique experienceoftakingpart in a model U.N. "We emphasize that the delegates become their country, know the policy of their country. The delegates appreciate it more-rather than just researching a topic, they're transforming themselves into somebody elsesomebody with a different view than their own. How can you get a more complete view of the country than by having another 150 countries in a committee besides yourself? You can sit in a classroom and learn about one or two countries. But it's just like acting and writing, insofar as when you write you have to go one word at a time, but when you act, everything can happen at once. It's a stage. And that's what the model United Nations is: a stage. And everything can happen at once and you can experience it all at once."

1. Bhupen Khakhar, Man With a Bouquet of Plastic Flowers, 1975, Oil on canvas, 140 x 145 em.

2. Shanti Dave, No Title, 1971, Oil on canvas, 172.5 x 221 em.

3. Tyeb Mehta, The Gesture No.3, 1977, Oil on canvas, 90 x 115 em.

4. Jamini Roy, Krishna and Balarama, e. 19405, Tempera, 148 x 87 em.

During its recent fourth and final test flight, space shuttle Columbia carried the first of its "Getaway Special Payload." It comprised nine experiments developed by students at the University of Utah.

One of the most exciting of these experiments, designed by Steven Walker (above, right), was to test the effect of weightlessness on the growth of green algae. Scientists think that algae, which gives off oxygen in respiration, could be used as a source of oxygen for astronauts in future space flights.

Another experiment, by Kelly Hunt (above, left), was aimed at studying the growth patterns of the duckweed plant. The investigation centered on the role played by the nutrienicarrying systems in the plant's roots and how it might be affected by space.

The "Getaway" was made possible by Gilbert Moore, an Utah aerospace executive. He paid $10,000 six years ago to the U.S. National Aeronautics and Space Administration to reserve the first "Getaway," and donated it to Utah State University to be used for a program of studentdeveloped experiments.

Room aboard the shuttle is made available on a rental basis to individuals or organizations for conducting experiments in space.

4

WE NEED DEEDS continued from page 4

eration of nuclear weapons took effect.

The United States played a major role in this key effort to prevent the spread of nuclear explosives and to provide for international safeguards on civil nuclear activities.

• In the early 1970s, again at U.S. urging, agreements were· reached between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. providing for ceilings on some categories of weapons. They could have been more meaningful if Soviet actions had shown restraint and commitment to stability at lower levels of force.

Over the past seven months, the United States has put forward a broadbased comprehensive series of proposals to reduce the risk of war. We have proposed four major points as an agenda for peace: • Elimination of land-based intermediate-range missiles; • A one-third reduction in strategic ballistic missile warheads; • A substantial reduction in NATO [North Atlantic Treaty Organization] and Warsaw Pact ground and air forces; and • N~w safeguards to reduce the risk of accidental war.

We urge the Soviet Union today to join with us in this quest. We must act not for ourselves alone, but for all mankind.

On November 18 of last year, I announced Dnited States objectives in arms control agreements: They must be equitable and militarily significant, they must stabilize forces at ,lower levels and they must be verifiable. The United States and its allies have made specific, reasonable and equitable proposals. ln February, our negotiating team in Geneva offered the Soviet Union a draft treaty on intermediate-range nuclear forces. We offered to cancel deployment of our Pershing II ballistic missiles and ground-launched cruise missiles, in exchange· for Soviet elimination of their SS-20, SS-4 and SS-5 missiles. This proposal would eliminate with one stroke those systems about which both sides have expressed the greatest concern.

On May 9, I announced a phased approach to the reduction of strategic arms. In a first phase, the number of ballistic missile warheads on each side would be reduced to about 5,000. No more than half the remaining warheads would be on land-based missileS. All ballistic missiles would be reduced to an equal level at about one-half the current U.S. number.

In the second phase, we would reduce

each side's overall destructive po}Ver to equal levels, including a mutual ceiling on ballistic missile throw-weight below the current U.S. level. We are also prepared to discuss other elements of the strategic balance.

Let me stress that for agreements to work, both sides must be able to verify compliance. The building of mutual confidence in compliance can only be achieved through greater openness.

I have instructed our representatives at the 40-nation Committee on Disarmament to renew emphasis on verification and compliance. Based on a U.S. proposal, a committee has been formed to examine these issues as they relate to restrictions on nuclear testing. We are also pressing the need for effective verification provisions in agreements banning chemical weapons.

The use of chemical and biological weapons has long been viewed with revulsion by civilized nations. No peace-

"America has no territorial ambitions, we occupy no countries and we have built no· walls to lock our people in." making institution can ignore the use of these dread weapons and still live up to its mission. The need for a truly effective and verifiable chemical weapons agreement has been highlighted by recent events. The Soviet Union and their allies are violating the Geneva protocol of 1925, related rules of international law and the 1972 biological weapons c5mvention. There is conclusive evidence that the Soviet Government has provided toxins for use in Laos and Kampuchea, and are themselves using chemical weapons against freedom fighters in Afghanistan.

The democracies of the West are open societies. Information on our defenses is available to our citizens, our elected officials and the world. We do not hesitate to inform potential adversaries of our military forces, and ask in return for the same information concerning theirs.

The amount and type of military spending by a country is important for the world to know, as a measure of its intentions, and the threat that country may pose to its neighbors. The Soviet Union and other closed societies go to extraordinary lengths to hide their true military spending not only from other nations, but from their own people. This practice contributes to distrust and fear

about their intentions.

Today, the United States proposes an international conference on military expenditures to build on the work of this body in developing a common system for accounting and reporting. We urge the Soviet Union, in particular, to join this effort in good faith, to revise the universally discredited official figures it publishes, and to join with us in giving the world a true account of the resources we allocate to our armed forces.

I have directed the exploration of ways to increase understanding and communication between the United States and the Soviet Union in times of peace and of crisis. We will approach the Soviet Union with proposals for reciprocal exchanges in such areas as advance notification of major strategic exercises that otherwise might be misinterpreted; advance notification of ICBM launches within, as well as beyond, national boundaries; and an expanded exchange of strategic forces data.

We, who have signed the U.N. Charter, have pledged to refrain from the threat or use of force against the territory or independence of any state. In these times when more and more lawless acts are going unpunished-as some members of this very body show a growing disregard for the U.N. Charter-the peace-loving nations of. the world must condemn aggression and pledge again to act in a way that is worthy of the ideals we have endorsed. Let us finally make the Charter live.

The United Nations, Hammarskjold said, was born out of the cataclysms of war. It should justify the 'sacrifices of all those who have died for freedom and justice.

As both patriots of our nations and the hope of all the world, let those of us assembled here in the name of peace deepen our understandings, renew our commitment to the rule of law and take new and bolder steps to calm an uneasy world. Can any delegate here deny that in so doing he would be doing what the people-the rank and file citizenry of his country-want him to do?

Isn't it time for us to really represent the deepest, most heartfelt yearnings of all our people? Let no nation abuse this common longing to be free of fear. We must not manipulate our people by playing upon their nightmares; we must serve mankind through genuine disarmament..

With God's help we can secure life and freedom for generations to come.

0

Mrs. Gandhi in America An exclu~ive color portfolio of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi's visit to the United States hy SPAN photo editor A vinash Pasricha.

American Graphic Design Advertising in America is larger than life, al/-encompassing, all-pervading-and highly creative.

Indian artist Paritosh Sen says that high technology and sophisticated consumerism have given a new vigor and vitality to this form.

Remembering a Southern Literary Prophet Jacquelin Singh writes about Flannery O'Connorher writings, her southern background, her sometImes mystic faith and her courage in the face of a disabling disease. A sampler presents O'Connor on the King of Birds, the peacocks she raised so avidly.

Facing Up to the Population Problem India's is among the most consciously pursuedcampuigns in the worldwide battle with the population problem. Rami Chhabra discusses the Indian strategy, its tactics and philosophy. Three American experts assess the global implications of the problem.

SUBSCRIBE TO

SPAN

SPAN is av.ailable at leading newsstands at Rs. 2.75 per copy.

An annual subscription at Rs. 21 for 12 issues saves you one-third and conveniently brings SPAN to your home or office.

TO NEW SUBSCRIBERS Fill out coupon on reverse side a!1d mail to: SPAN Magazine Subscription Service, Post Box 213, New Delhi 110001.

To: SPAN Magazine Subscription Service Post Box 213 New Delhi 110001

SPAN ORDER

FORM

Name (Mr.lMrs.lMissl---------------Address -------------------Pin Code

I I II I I I

I enclose payment of Rs. 21 in favor of SPAN Magazine by "AlC Payee" OBank Draft 0 Postal Order 0 Money Order (receipt enclosed) Cheque (Add Rs.3 on outstation cheque. please)

o

When notifying SPAN about a change in your address. please attach the address label from a recent SPAN envelope in addition to filling out the form below. Since four to six weeks are needed to process a change of address. please let us know about any change promptly.

CHANGE OF ADDRESS FORM NEW ADDRESS

(USE BLOCK LETIERS)

Name -------------------Present Position/Designation -----------Address-------------------

MAIL TO: Circulation Manager, SPAN Magazine

24 Kasturba Gandhi Marg. New Delhi 110001¡

AMERICAN

LIBRARY, CALCUTTA

On June 24, 1982, the American Center library in Calcutta was attacked by a group of persons. The newly renovated building-which is visited by an estimated 22,000 people every month-was badly damaged. In a severe condemnation of the attack on "the only modern library in the city" (Bengali daily Jugantar), newspapers took out editorials admonishing the miscreants. The Calcutta Center has been inundated with visits frem well-wishers who while expressing their anger and sorrow at the attack have also lauded the decision to open the library the very next day. Two book displays planned for that day were held as scheduled.

Hundreds of Indians-ranging from judges to students-have written to the library expressing their sympathy and condemning the incident. An excerpt from a typical letter: "1 am enraged and ashamed of what happened at the American Center yesterday.... 1 felt as if something of my own had been smashed.... As a long-time beneficiary of your library, I wish to make a small contribution of Rs.25 toward repair of the facilities damaged."