The Nation. - Department of Government at Cornell University

792 The Nation. June 5, 1995house’s chief financial officer, chaired the Ex-Im Bank’s nonvotingprivate advisory committee.) Westinghouse has traditionallyfavored the G.O.P. for political contributions, butduring the last election cycle the company gave $149,350 tothe Democrats, compared with $78,825 to the Republicans.Given these kinds of disparities, it’s no wonder some Republicansare now talking about shutting down Ron Brown’sexport-boosting operation. It would be surprising if theymoved very far on that front, though, since their bread is but-tered on the same side as Brown’s. As James Treyblg, who negotiateda $100 million Joint venture agreement for TandemComputers while in China with the Commerce Secretary, toldThe Wall Street Journal, “Whether you’re a Democrat or aRepublican, you really have to respect this guy for what he’sdone for Corporate America.’’ 0= GUATEMALA ’46In the LairOf the OctopusGORE VIDALIn “Murder as Policy” (April 24), Allan Nairn notes, accurately,that the “real role . . . of all U.S. ambassadors[to Guatemala] since 1954 [has been] to cover for and,in many ways, facilitate American support for a killerarmy.” Nairn’s report on the capers of one Thomas Stroock,a recent viceroy, is just another horror story in a long sequencewhich it was my . . . privilege? to see begin not in 1954 buteven earlier, in 1946, when, at 20, a first novel just published,I headed south of the border, ending up in Antigua, Guatemala,where I bought a ruined convent for $2,000 (the conventhad been ruined, let me say in all fairness, by earthquake andnot by the Guatemalan military or even by the U.S. embassy).Guatemala was beginnmg to flourish. The old dictator,Ubico, an American client, had been driven out. A philosophyprofessor named Arevalo had been elected president in a freeelection. A democratic socialist or social democrat or whatever,he had brought young people into government, tamedthe army and behaved tactfully with the largest employer inthe country, the American company United Fruit.Easily the most interesting person in-and out-of the townwas Mario Monteforte Toledo. Under 30, he was a thin, energeticintellectual who wrote poetry. He had a wife in the capitaland an Indian girlfriend in Antigua, and when he cameto visit her, he and I would meet and talk, and talk.Mario was President of the Guatemalan Congress and wasregarded by everyone as a future president of the republic. Inpolitlcs he was vaguely socialist. I, of course, reflecting myfamily’s politics, was fiercely Tory. We had splendid rows.Scene: patio of my house. Overhanging it the high wall ofthe adjacent church of El Carmen Under a pepper tree, nearGore Vrdal, a Nation contributing editor, 2s strll at work onPoddy and Midge: Years of Tragedy.an ugly square fountain like a horse trough, we would sit anddrink beer. He told me the gossip. Then, after a ritual denunciationof the rich and the indifferent, Mario started to talkpolitics. “We may not last much longer.”“We . . . who?”“Our government. At some point we’re going to have toraise revenue. The only place where there is any money to beraised is elpulpo.” Elpulpo meant the Octopus, also knownas the United Fruit Company, whose annual revenues weretwice that of the Guatemalan state. Recently workers had goneon strike; selfishly, they had wanted to be paid $1.50 a day fortheir interesting work.“What’s going to stop you from taxing them?” I was naive.This was long ago and the United States had just become theLeader of the Lucky Free World.“Your government. Who else? They kept Ubico in powerall those years. Now they’re getting ready to replace us.”I was astonished. I had known vaguely about our numerouspast interventions in Central America. But that was past. Whyshould we bother now? We controlled most of the world. “Whyshould we care what happens in a small country like this?”Mario gave me a compassionate look-compassion for mystupidity. “Businessmen. Like the owners of United Fruit.They care. They used to pay for our politicians. They stillpay for yours. Why, one of your big senators is on the boardof el pulpo.”I knew something about senators. Which one? Mario wasvague. “He has three names. He’s from Boston, I think. . . .”“Henry Cabot Lodge? I don’t believe it .” Lodge was a familyfnend; as a boy I had discussed poetry with him-he wasa poet’s son. Years later, as Kennedy’s Ambassador to Vietnam,he would preside over the murder of the Diem brothers.As we drank beer and the light faded, Mario described thetrap that a small country like Guatemala was in. I can’t saythat I took him very seriously. With all the world, except thesatanic Soviet Union, under our control it was hardly in ournational interest to overthrow a democratic neighbor, no mat-ter how much its government irritated the board of directorsof United Fruit. But in those days I was not aware to whatextent big business controlled the government of our own rapidlyexpiring Republic. Now, of course, everyone knows towhat extent our subsequent empire, with its militarized economy,controls business. The end result is much the same forthe rest of the world, only the killing fields are more vast thanbefore and we make mischief not Just with weak neighborsbut on every continent.Marlo had given me the idea for a novel. A dictator (likeUbico) returns from an American exile as the Octopus’s candidateto regain power. I would tell the story through theyesof a young American war veteran (like myself) who joins thegeneral out of friendship for his son. The more I brooded onthe story, the more complexities were revealed. Dark Green,Bright Red. The Greens, father and son, were the Company,and dark figures indeed, haunting the green jungles. BrightRed was not only blood but the possibility of a communisttaking power.“No novel about-or from-Latin America has ever beena success in English.’’ As of 1950, my publisher was right.iIIIii!I!I