Proud Highway:Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman (69 page)

As far as the Alliance is concerned, there are four main “reaction groups” in South America. U.S. officials and pro-American Latins are very much for it; American businessmen (with exceptions) and hardnose Latin leftists are against it—which in effect makes it a “middle of the road” sort of concept, which is odd. On the “anti” side I should also include a much smaller than is generally believed segment of “the oligarchy.” Contrary to a lot of press opinion, the wealthy lads are not so stupid as to ignore which way the game is going, and it is only the diehards and the arch-conservatives who actively and vocally oppose the Alliance. The same is true, in a way, of U.S. businessmen; those (mainly young) who work for big companies (Sears, Willys, Ford, IBEC, Fruco, etc.) might disagree with
the Alliance in practice—if they disagree at all
^*
—while the old-line “free-enterprisers,” most of them running or working for small businesses, are the only ones who claim it is “just another one of Kennedy's socialistic schemes.”

One of the main enlightened bitches about the Alliance concerns its focus on government-to-government action. This gives a lot of people who work for private companies the feeling that they are being left out, although Alliance blueprints call for a large percentage of the funds (better check the figure) to come from private enterprise. While I was in La Paz, for instance, a Grace Company official blew his top during a visit by Teodoro Moscoso. He drafted a cablegram (which he later tore up and which I retrieved from his wastebasket) to an American publication (either
Time
or
The New York Times
) saying that Moscoso had been in La Paz for a week and had not seen a single representative of “private enterprise.” He had spent his time, said the cable, with nobody but Bolivian and U.S. government officials (which, as far as I could determine, was true).

A lot of people were complaining about it, and eventually the word reached Moscoso. On the day that he left La Paz, he called a sort of open press conference—specifically inviting the gentlemen from private enterprise—and proceeded to give about as weak-kneed and unimpressive an outline of the Alliance's objectives as I ever hope to hear. I was really shocked, because I had dealt, indirectly, with Moscoso in Puerto Rico, where he ran a tough, hell-for-leather show as director of Fomento, which was then Puerto Rico's version of the Alliance. But he was a different man in La Paz, and it got almost embarrassing when people began yelling from the audience, “Where do we fit in?” and “How about private enterprise?”

His only reply was, in effect, “Have faith.” And that didn't satisfy anybody. Even me. He did say, “Now I'm no man to bow down before the sacred cow of private enterprise—but if the cow gives good milk, I believe we should milk it.” He did not mean it to sound as condescending as it did, but I know from conversation that it left a pretty rancid taste in a lot of mouths.

After Moscoso's talk he left for Santa Cruz and I got hold of one of the Alliance's lawyers—a man named Rodgers—and told him that it was my impression, after four months of travel in South America, that the Alliance was in bad trouble. I then cited a few examples of failure and delay, and asked if he wished to comment on the outlook.

“Well, we expected trouble,” he replied. “And the opposition is damned tough—but we're tougher.” That was all I could get out of him, so I shook my head sadly, smiled, and thanked him for his time. On that day in La Paz I realized the Alliance was in worse trouble than I had thought.

Now, in retrospect, I don't believe we're in such bad shape as I thought then, but it took me a long time to get over that encounter with the Alliance “brain trust,” and I hope the next one will not be such a come-down.

If I had to give one single impression concerning the Alliance, it would be the contrast between the publicity it gets here in the States, and the nearly negligible interest it has stirred up in Latin America. During the first few months of my stay in South America I was constantly talking and asking about the Alliance, but after a while I realized the natives didn't particularly give a damn about it and—in the main—were only being polite when they took time out from more immediate pursuits to discuss it with me.

The fact is that, were it not for the stream of propaganda emanating from USIS offices in every Latin country, the Alliance for Progress would barely be mentioned at all. To the average Latin, it is merely a program of more and faster aid, to counter the menace of Castro and his widespread disciples. The concept of partnership is entirely missing, and the main feeling now is that the U.S. has promised a lot, but given little.

There is a kind of bitterness that lurks beneath the surface of most conversations concerning U.S.–Latin relations as regards the Alliance. The biggest Latin complaint is that the action is moving “too slowly,” and that the funds are tied up in “Washington bureaucracy.” The American immediately counters with the (correct) charge that Latin governments are moving even more slowly in submitting the necessary plans and blueprints for development projects. This leads, of course, to a dead end of rationalization, excuses and counter-accusations.

What generally emerges is something (from the Latin) like this: “After fifty years of vicious exploitation, what do you expect from us? Why shouldn't you help us? Why shouldn't you pay us back for all you've taken? Now that you're in trouble, now that you're afraid of the Communists, now you expect us to be on your side like old friends—and you want to pay us off with a handful of dollars.”

I have two friends in Rio, both of whom are “pro-American,” and both of whom feel exactly this way. One has just completed his training for the diplomatic service, and the other is a young executive in the real estate and investment business. They have both traveled and visited the States and they both want to go back. They like the way we live here and they have no use at all for communism.

But, man, you start criticizing Brazil's slothful reaction to the Alliance, and both of them will give you the same business. In reality, they're not talking to you; they're talking to your father and your grandfather, but you're the one who has to take the guff. The Latin personality is such that it never forgets an insult or a humiliation, and in their eyes that was all they got from the U.S. from 1900 until Castro became a threat in 1960.

They are psychologically unable to let us forget it, even though it might have no bearing on either of our current problems. The unvarnished truth is that we need Latin America today, and that is a new reality. The Latins are quick to recognize it and even quicker to throw it in your face if you get uppity.

There is the queer duality of our problem in Latin America. The new generation is very aware of their problems, and also aware that the U.S. wants and needs to help in the solutions. But don't push me, they say, because for the first time in your history I'm important to you. And they are.

And the crucial thing to remember is that they would rather do nothing at all than be forced into action by the “gringos,” whose heavy-handed ghost is so much more visible to them than it is to us. We are paying now for the “big-stick” tactics of an earlier generation, and the best we can hope for is to settle the score as quickly and gracefully as we can.

In nearly every Latin country there is a congenital suspicion of American motives—although it often takes queer and contradictory forms. In Bolivia, for instance, I spent an entire afternoon and evening arguing with a labor leader that nearly everybody considered a communist. He hated Wall Street, he said, and felt certain that both Kennedy and Moscoso had come under the sway of “capitalist bosses.” He made a clear distinction between “Wall Street” and “the American people,” which was all the more pathetic because of his ignorance of what “Wall Street” means. He also thought that both John Steinbeck and John Dos Passos were young American writers, whose work he admired and with whom he felt sympathy. It took a few hours and quite a bit of prodding before he admitted that he'd learned to read English by reading
Playboy
.

But the Alliance for Progress? As far as he was concerned it was just a new and subtle form of exploitation. Just another scheme to keep the capitalists in power. He had no use for Russia or even Cuba, but he wanted no part of Washington either. He was for Bolivia, he said, and the idea that the Alliance for Progress might be for Bolivia, too, had never crossed his mind.

In most cases, Americans are made nervous by anti-American Latins, and after a few encounters they tend to keep their distance. Only the Peace Corps, to my knowledge, has made an impression on that segment of the population that is also most susceptible to communist influence. And, in doing so, they constitute one of the few visible proofs that the American personality is not quite the same as it used to be.

In Brazil, arch-leftist Leonel Brizola, the president's brother-in-law, calls members of the Peace Corps “spies for the State Department.” He urges the populace to stone them, but his advice falls on deaf ears when an American comes to a poverty-stricken village and shows the people how to plant tomatoes and learn to read and generally participate in the social and
economic development of the Twentieth Century. My impression is that one American working with his hands in Latin America is worth ten running their mouths.

The Latin is no stranger to grand rhetoric, and he has good reason to be suspicious of it. When the Spanish first came to this continent they talked to the natives about saving their souls, and in the meantime made off with all the gold and silver they could get their hands on. Then a new, homegrown generation rose up, under Bolívar and San Martín,
¹²
to “free these nations from the Spanish yoke.” But the result was more of the same, with new bosses.

Then Uncle Sam came on the scene; he penetrated the continent only so far as was necessary to secure obedience and security for U.S. private enterprise. This conquest, like all the others, came under the banner of “freedom, liberty, democracy” and all the other fine words that most Latins no longer take seriously.

So now, in this tense age, how can we be surprised when Latins seem suspicious of our talk about “preserving the free world”? How can we expect them to give all-out support to the Alliance for Progress, when nearly every student is learning—from a legion of anti-American teachers—how the gringos have humiliated and exploited the Latin countries ever since our history brought us in contact with them?

What we should never forget, though, is that the majority of Latins are with us, even though they hate to admit it. But only so far as we believe in ourselves, and only as long as we keep proving, over and over again, that we are not as mean and greedy as were our forefathers.

In a way, Latin America is like a woman who has been wronged so often that she no longer believes what any man says—although she wants to, and keeps giving it one more try. Our problem with the lady is to convince her that we are Right—because Latins are as emotional as women on that subject—and also to convince her that we are strong enough to sustain our Right, because both women and Latins are pragmatic enough to know that one is not worth much without the other.

And that, placed in its proper feminine context, is the job cut out for the gentlemen who run our Alliance for Progress. At the moment it is very definitely “ours,” and it will stay that way until we can convince the Latins that it is theirs, too. Which may take quite a bit of doing.

OK, Clifford. It's 3:45 AM here and I have to get up early and drive all the way to Durango on two bald tires. I hope this will do you, or at least help. And if I think of anything else in the next day or so I'll send it on. Probably you wanted more pure color, but I got off on my sermon and I think my conclusion—especially the final note on Latin and feminine nature—is a far, far better thing that I do. Amen.

HST

Thompson was dissatisfied with a Smith & Wesson rifle scope he had purchased in Florida. This letter got him a refund
.

August 29, 1963
Aspen, Colorado

Bushnell Co.
c/o Angevine's Gun Shop
Deland, Fla.

Gentlemen:

Here is a nutshell of this scope, purchased by me from Mr. Angevine about June 20, 1963. I mailed the postcard registration to you a day or so after the purchase.

In the gunshop, the scope was mounted with little difficulty. I then took it out for sighting in, but after four rounds from a .44 Magnum the cylinder expanded against the mount and would not swing open. I took the gun & scope back to the gunshop, where Mr. Angevine and I worked on it to secure a closer fit. This was done mainly by gently tapping the mount closer to the topstrap, then tightening the mount screws as far as they would go. After several hours of this, on successive days, the cylinder would swing out, with pressure, after 10 or 15 rounds, and the scope was more or less sighted in.