“Rapacious West” reference in speech causes convusions

(Excerpted from Rendering Unto Caesar, by Bradman Weerakoon)

Most important visitors to the country called over at Temple Trees to pay their respects to the prime minister. One of the most interesting of these occasions was the morning the West Indies cricket team called over on the initiative of Felix Goonewardene, then Editor of the Times of Ceylon. While world class on the field, most of them like Garfield Sobers and the legendary three W’s Walcott, Weekes and Worrell were distinctly uncomfortable in the prime minister’s presence. Exceptional among them were Conrad Hunte, who spoke eloquently of his MRA (Moral Rearmament) connections and the dashing Rohan Kanhai.

Conference of Six Afro-Asian Non-aligned Countries December 1962

Towards the end of 1962 the situation on the disputed China-India border in the snow-bound Himalayan and Karakoram ranges had deteriorated and the occasional skirmishing between the border guards had broken out into open war between the two countries. Conflict between the two giants of the non-aligned world who had proclaimed “panchseela” and particularly the peaceful resolution of disputes between nations, was embarrassing to say the least to those who had paraded non-alignment as the best way forward for the developing nations in an increasingly divided Cold-War driven world.

It led to the Afro-Asian community taking up the issue and deliberating on what should be done to prevent full-scale war between the two former friends. Sirimavo took the initiative in convening a meeting in- Colombo in early December, which brought together Prince Norodom Sihanouk of Cambodia and General Ne Win of Burma, in addition to representatives from the United Arab Republic, Indonesia and Ghana.

It was the first international conference I had participated in and what struck me was the extreme formality of the occasion the set speeches made by the participants and the overly effusive compliments each gave the other. I was also surprised at the sight of the delegation leaders changing their suits for each session of the meeting. The Conference lasted only a day and it seemed as if they wanted to make sure they were noticed.

It was agreed that the prime minister of Ceylon and three or four of the other leaders should visit China and India before the end of the month; so Felix, Glannie Peiris and I accompanied Sirimavo on the visits to Peking and New Delhi. First to China to meet Chou En-lai and Mao Tse Tung and then to India to speak with Jawaharlal Nehru

The Chinese looked upon the visit as both a mission on behalf of the Colombo powers as well as a state visit of a prime minister of Ceylon to their country, and Sirimavo was received in a right royal manner. It was winter and very cold in Hong Kong and we bought as much warm clothing as we could to protect ourselves from the freezing temperatures that we were warned we would face in Peking. From Hong Kong to Canton, our first stop in the People’s Republic was by train, as no air flights existed in view of the hostile nature of the relations between Hong Kong then a British colony, and China.

I recorded the entry of a Sri Lankan Prime Minister into China for the first time in a piece I did on our return for Ceylon Today, the monthly journal of the Department of Information in the following terms:

“At Samchun, where a little iron bridge marks the frontier between the People’s Republic of China and the new territory leased to Hong Kong on the mainland, the prime minister was received by the vice-governor of Kwangtung Province and Chinese protocol officials. His Excellency Hsieh Ke-Hsi, Chinese Ambassador in Ceylon, also accompanied the party from there on in the special train to Canton.

“After a three-hour train journey through a countryside strikingly similar to rural Ceylon, with its paddy fields and irrigation channels, Canton was reached. At the railway station a reception had been organized and the prime minister was formally welcomed to the city by the provincial governor of Kwangtung. Long lines of children carrying the flags of Ceylon and China cheered the prime minister shouting, “Long Live Friendship between China and Ceylon.”

“Outside, in the station square, several thousands of people, dancers in traditional lion costumes, and bands playing Chinese music greeted the delegation. After inspecting an impressive army Guard-of-Honour and reviewing the march-past, the prime minister, was formally welcomed to the People’s Republic of China by the governor of Kwantung, who referred to the friendly relations that bound the people of the two countries together and to the common desire of the people of China and Ceylon for peace.

“The train ride into Canton and the People’s Republic was interesting for its first impressions of the contrast between the bustling, over-crowded, capital-driven city of Hong Kong and the rather bleak and forlorn appearance of the mainland. But as we entered the territory of China marked by the small iron bridge and many sign boards, the hospitality of the Chinese customs and railway staff who took over was evident.

“The friendliness of the waitresses with their trays of steaming mugs of green tea, from then on to Canton was infectious. The first sights of the Chinese countryside in deep winter, however, were not very encouraging. Groups of solemn-faced men and women dressed in identical blue tunic suits, waved little paper `lion’ flags as the train passed on. Canton itself was a large and active city. Much of the population seemed to be on the move on bicycles. Their noses and mouths were masked in gauze, as we learned, to prevent the spread of infection and to protect them from the bitterly cold wind.”

In recent Chinese history Canton had been the centre of revolutionary ferment. It is here that the Opium War had its beginnings and the revolution which ushered in Dr Sun Yat Sen’s proclamation of a Chinese revolutionary movement gained ground. That afternoon, the prime minister visited the site of the Peasant Movement Institute.

After a day or two of being feted in Canton, where we were equipped with heavy fur overcoats and headgear, so that we all looked, as Felix remarked ‘like cuddlesome teddy bears’, we left for Peking where the temperature was 10 degrees below zero. Sirimavo was to make a little ‘thank you’ speech as she came down the gangway and set foot on Chinese soil for the first time, but she wasn’t able to do so. The cold was so intense that although she tried to move her lips no sound came forth. The speech was finally made in the warm reception area well inside the airport building.

The meetings with the Chinese side, with Chou En-lai sitting opposite Sirimavo at the table, went into the evening hours when we would adjourn for some Chinese ballet and dinner which was always a feast. The story-line of the ballet or opera was invariably about the incursions of invaders of the past into Chinese territory. The interpretation which came over our headphones was by Chou En-lai’s personal translator, a young man with a strong American accent since he had had his early education in the United States. Hearing snatches of the interpreted dialogue like the heroine asking: “Where is the pass?” and the peasant’s reply: “There ain’t no pass” in a broad American drawl, as we watched Chinese opera in the heart of Peking, was uncanny.

Felix was a great source of strength throughout. Sirimavo passed the baton over to him and he responded magnificently. He intervened, even cross-examined, of course, with great respect and courtesy, at every opportunity. The Chinese were determined to show us that their move over the Himalayas, both on the eastern and western fronts, was right and just and that all they were doing was to correct an anomaly and go up to their historic boundary. The conference table was littered with maps of the Himalayan heights and we heard mention of the MacMahon Line and the Ladakh Plateau and the passes so often during those days that they almost became part of our dreams.

A ceasefire was in place before we arrived and the Colombo powers delegation’s plan was to consolidate this and prevent a recurrence of conflict. After four days of discussions we agreed on a communique which we were then to put to the Chinese side. It was difficult coming to a final agreement. The Chinese strategy in negotiation at the time, seemed to be to agree fairly easily to the principle when the leaders met, but to fight it out to the bitter end when the officials worked on the draft.

I recall one occasion in the middle of the night – we were leaving early the next morning – when Sirimavo had to be put up to speak on the telephone to Chou En-lai, who was at the same Guest House, to object to a particular phraseology that the Chinese officials wanted us to adopt. It did not take long for Chou to agree to our formulation. I felt that this was a useful negotiating ploy, to go for the maximum but to be prepared to back-down, if the opposition was too great.

A minor disaster that we had to face after the China visit was a reported reference in the speech – one of many that Sirimavo made – replying to the toast proposed at the dinner accorded by Chou En-lai. I was responsible for the general speeches like those at dinner and receptions, and had been very careful in drafting about any references to Taiwan, the United Sates and the West. However, although we had not realized it at the time the prime minister was making her speech, the words ‘rapacious West’

appeared in the text, as reported. We actually became aware of it only when we returned to Ceylon as all of us in the delegation were so caught up in the euphoria, which the very act of being in China creates, that nobody realized that we had unwittingly made a slip.

When we checked on our notes, Felix, Glannie and I could not imagine how these words had crept in. Finally we came to the conclusion that it must have been inserted in the final draft by someone who had an axe to grind in the embassy. The finger pointed to the embassy, although there was no proof of it. It taught me a very good lesson as to how careful one had to be with the final copy. We took quite some time to shrug off the ‘rapacious West’ comment which the press kept reminding Sirimavo about for several months.

The visit to New Delhi was noteworthy in that it marked the visible nearing of the end of an era in which the great Nehru had dominated the politics, not only in India but the entire region. I will never forget one late afternoon’s image of a very tired, ageing and bald Nehru having removed his Nehru cap without which I had never seen a photograph of him, walking slowly down the corridor of the South Bloc where his offices were, after a long and not successful round of discussions with our side.

The Himalayas which had been the ‘Great Wall’ of India from time immemorial had been breached and in his historian’s vision of India’s oneness, her purity violated. His policy of friendship with neighbouring countries, especially China had not yielded the expected response. Life, it appeared, would never be the same for him.

We were put up at the Rashtrapati Bhavan itself as the president of India’s guests. It was my first visit there and I was immensely impressed at the sense of power, the architecture, the layout of the gardens and the dress of the uniformed guards. Everything about it exuded majesty, enormous size and strength. The British architect had indeed succeeded in memorializing the immense potency of the Raj’s imperial presence.

Even the old habits and behaviour seemed to yet live, as I was reminded by the “Any one for tennis this afternoon?” query, aired by the young adjutant doing protocol duty for our team, in a very Oxonian accent at his colleagues passing by, as he walked us down the stately corridors to our suites.

State Visits to the Socialist Countries

Our relations with the socialist-bloc countries were so good that we made state visits to several countries which had been earlier `out of bounds’. In addition to Poland, Czechoslovakia and the former German Democratic Republic (East Germany and the eastern side of Berlin separated by the famous Berlin Wall) we were welcome guests in the Soviet Union in the summer of 1962. After three days of talks and the signing of agreements in Moscow we toured, sometimes by Aeroflot and at other times by train to Leningrad (St Petersburg).

The Hermitage museum was a special treat, especially to art lover Lakshmi Bandaranaike, and Volvograd, earlier Stalingrad, where during the great `patriotic war’ almost a million Soviet troops had died during a six-month siege was impressive. I was able to capture the moment in Sirimavo’s speech that morning when she was presented, by the Mayor of Volvograd, with a small silver box containing the soil of the city ‘made sacred by the blood of heroic men’. T B Subasinghe, who with his beautiful wife Lalitha made a very effective contribution as our ambassador, was very complimentary about the prime minister’s speech.

Sirimavo was a very special guest of Khrushchev, the general secretary of the Communist Party, and prime minister of the Soviet Union. He was a bluff and earthy man with a homely wife, who called a spade a spade and the two leaders got on very well together. Sirimavo who was very particular about observing the regulations, asked me whether she could keep the gift that Khrushchev presented her with. I observed that since it was a personal gift, albeit of considerable value, she would be well entitled to keep it on refunding to the state its nominal value.

The question of state gifts continued to be one which always was a concern with the leaders I worked with. When could they be retained by the recipient and in what circumstances should they in terms of the Establishment Code, be returned to the State to be kept in the Colombo museum? The logic behind the rules was that since the taxpayer paid for the gift that was given outwards usually in those days the familiar ebony elephant, caparisoned in silver Kandyan filigree work and encrusted with semi-precious stones, the inward gift also should go to the taxpayer via the Colombo museum.

As a postscript I would add that state gifts today are of much lesser intrinsic value though highly imaginative. The recent state gifts to President George Bush, for example, included in addition to a beautiful coffee-table book, Geoffrey Bawa’s Lunuganga, a substantial block of recycled writing paper. The recycling was of elephant dung, and on hearing this, a recent British visitor remarked that this was indeed an appropriate gift considering the present times.

In Moscow in view of the special relationship that we enjoyed with the Soviet Union, we were not put up at one of the many state guest houses or the state-owned hotels, but were given luxurious suites in the Kremlin Palace itself The Kremlin, contrary to the forbidding and gloomy picture that years of negative media publicity had evoked, was a highly decorative, heavily ornamented, museum-like place. The onion-shaped spires of the familiar exterior seemed to flow into the elaborate interior decor.

Everywhere there was gold ornamentation not only in the large armchairs of the suites and on the solid headrest of the enormous bed, but even in the bathrooms where the knobs of the water taps appeared to have received a heavy coating of gold. We got a good sense of the basic richness of the Soviet Union, and its heritage from Tsarist times, which was being carefully and proudly, preserved by its present rulers most of the time.

The Ceylon touch after the dinner given at the Kremlin by Khrushchev was the welcome appearance of Chitrasena and Vajira doing excerpts of their ballet ‘Karadiya’. The evening before we had been mesmerized by the grace and sylph-like dancing of the Russian ballerinas in ‘Swan Lake’ at the Bolshoi Theatre. Vajira, then in her prime, did us all proud with the fluid agility and statuesque beauty of her dancing and came a very close second to the star performers of the Bolshoi, the home of classical ballet.

Harvard in the Summer of 1963

In August, Henry Kissinger, then Professor of International Relations at Harvard, invited me to the International Seminar he annually convened, during the three-month summer vacation. This was a good opportunity to go back to ‘school’ after my 1952-53 year at Michigan where I first did my post-graduate work in Sociology. Kissinger even then was quite a character with strong opinions. When we asked him how he would like to be addressed – Dr or Professor – he rather grandly replied, “Just call me Kissinger.” The link with Kissinger was to prove very useful when he moved to Washington later on as the National Security Advisor in the Kennedy administration.

The stay at Harvard was significant for a particular incident which indicated the way in which the United States administration went about its business. One day I had a call from Washington asking whether someone from the state department could call on me at Harvard. It was to ‘tap’ me on what was going on back home. I never found out whether he was from the CIA, but he certainly asked me a whole lot of probing questions that day.