Washington — And so in faraway Kenya President Daniel arap Moi,
for twenty-eight years the great hope of progressives everywhere,
retires. According to all the accounts I have heard, he was roundly
jeered by Kenyans at the inauguration of his successor, Mr. Mwai
Kibaki. That would not have been the case in the good old days when
he ruled his nation by strict socialist principles, interlarded
with a little graft. At the United Nations in particular he was an
admired figure. Now, I am glad Kenyans finally spotted in him what
I spotted years ago, to wit, a buffoon. He provided me with much
laughter and I shall miss him, at least as much as I miss Jimmy
Carter, who, by the way, ought to return his Nobel Prize in light
of the North Koreans’ rude treatment of that nuclear accord he
fashioned with them during the Clinton Administration.
Moi was by all odds one of the simplest men ever to appear at
the United Nations. His artlessness was legendary. Whatever ambled
through his mind he was apt to eject instantaneously onto the
public record: his intention to irrigate arid lands, his love of
blue skies, his yearning for his dinner companion’s puce tie. He
said what came to his mind. Reticence was as alien to him as the
poetry of Sigfried Weisberger
I recall fondly the autumn of 1981. President Moi was chairman
of the Organization of African Unity and because of his exalted
position a Lucullan luncheon was laid on for him at the diplomats’
dining room of the United Nations. Secretary General Kurt Waldheim
had spared no expense. He never did. China was on the table, so
were the fresh flowers and the silver. Fully one hundred and twenty
ambassadors were there for the solemnities.
There were cocktails in abundance. There were five courses,
including lobster hors d’oeuvre, vichyssoise, and layer cake,
accompanied by ice cream and cherry sauce. The pièce de
résistance was a slab of roast beef the size of a
manhole cover. Three wines flowed in exuberance — even to the
diplomats from Araby. Then came liqueurs and cigars.
Now it was time for President Moi to orate, but first Secretary
General Waldheim’s oration. He was the master of the U.N. in those
days, though later it transpired that during World War II he had
become a little more cooperative with Nazi death squads than was
prudent — well, one moves on. Those who would master the world in
the 1930s were not to be the same as those who would master it in
the 1980s. Waldheim now mastered the U.N., where he regularly
lectured the United States on its coarseness and racism and where
he celebrated forward-lookers of the luminescence of Moi. As Moi
sat back in his chair Waldheim sang of the brotherhood of man! an
end to the arms race! North-South dialogue! Finally he called upon
Moi to duplicate the bromides.
Hush. President Moi arises, peers down at his notes,
and responds: the brotherhood of man! an end to the arms race!
North-South dialogue! That stupendous roast beef! What, what?
President Moi’s eyes widen. He commends Secretary General Waldheim
on a lovely meal. He notes the wines, the layer cakes, the fresh
flowers. But President Moi would have liked another helping of
roast beef. He gently protests that he had sought the attentions of
the waiters, but none would respond to his plea for more roast
beef. A sigh is heard from the assembled diplomats. Then Mr. Moi
resumes his oration.
The next day America’s deputy ambassador, the jovial Kenneth
Adelman, finds himself in the company of the great Waldheim. Always
sensitive to the feelings of the U.N.’s powerhouses, Adelman
compliments Waldheim on yesterday’s luncheon, and assures him that
at least the deputy ambassador from the United States had a
sufficient helping of roast beef. “Yes,” this former accomplice of
the Nazis says dreamily, “wasn’t it beautiful?” Adelman agreed, “a
beautiful meal.” “No,” objects Herr Waldheim, “the toast?” “The
toast?” “Yes, the toast. President Moi’s point about the roast beef
— using it as a symbol to remind us of the inequalities between
the North and the South.” Adelman was not surprised. The U.N. was
like that in those days, abounding with simpletons and frauds, some
with truly vile biographies. They all composed a tireless chorus of
our critics. None ever solved the problems about which they wailed.
Meanwhile Washington has made steady progress against world hunger,
genocide, totalitarian dictators threatening peace.
Since 1981 the likes of Waldheim and now Moi have quietly left
the world stage. Yet the anti-American chorus remains. Now it is at
it again: the brotherhood of man! North-South dialogue!
Unilateralism! War with Iraq! The chorus has all the politically
correct answers. Why does Washington not listen? Possibly, because
we recognize the buffoons when we see them, and the scoundrels.
