Cordially Vague

For those who only read and run, the Russian position at Geneva had the appearance of a dramatic breakthrough after 17 months of deadlock. Russia's grey-haired Semyon Tsarapkin (whom the Americans privately refer to as "Scratchy," an English translation of his Russian name) had laid down a plausible-sounding bargain. He would accept the U.S. proposal to ban all big nuclear explosions under a system of controls if only the U.S. and Britain would also agree to a moratorium on the small underground tests, for which scientists have not yet devised a workable system of detection. The oversimplified propaganda force of his move, at least in Europe, could be judged by the front-page cartoon in London's Evening Standard showing a worried Eisenhower saying into a telephone: "Mac, come quick! .We're in a terrible predicament--the Russians have AGREED to something we've proposed."

Of course, they had done nothing of the kind. "Our" plan was carefully written out; the Russian "plan" was only a verbal gambit--there wasn't even a transcript of what "Scratchy" had said.

Arriving in Paris, Nikita Khrushchev proclaimed that now "only insignificant questions remain" before a Big Three treaty is signed to end nuclear explosions and the fallout that troubles world opinion. Looking mighty pleased as he answered Western questions in Geneva, Tsarapkin beamed that the proposed moratorium on underground testing might last "four or five years"--it was a detail that could be worked out easily.

Down the hall in Geneva's marble Palais des Nations, where the ten-nation, East-West general disarmament conference was just getting started in Room VII, the Russians ran off more fast propaganda plays. Each side had already put forward a three-stage disarmament plan, but while Western delegates kept a diplomatic silence, smiling Russian spokesmen held long, chatty press conferences to explain Moscow's slogan-simple program for total disarmament within four years. When Western delegates complained that the three-stage Soviet plan puts off nuclear disarmament until the nations have given up all their other defenses, Soviet Delegate Valerian Zorin offered to change the whole timetable and junk nuclear weapons first instead of last.

But when sharply questioned on details by the U.S. delegate, Wall Street Lawyer Fredrick Eaton, the Russians replied with bland evasions. At one point France's Jules Moch sought agreement from Russia's Zorin that all conference members accept six basic points: i) creation of an International Disarmament Organization, 2) the need for controls during disarmament, 3) the need for controls after disarmament, 4) the need for all states to join in the disarming, 5) the need to verify exact compliance at every stage, 6) the understanding that international teams carry out the verification. Zorin avoided any direct reply. And when Eaton suggested they might begin by discussing the international committee to check existing armed forces, Zorin was not interested. To him, this is "control without disarmament," and espionage to boot. Eaton coolly rejoined that he hoped Russia might "reconsider over the weekend"; after all, the international committee could hardly be a spying organism if it gathered "equal knowledge" on both sides.

The sparring went on hour after unfruitful hour. After one three-hour session, France's Moch declared: "Disarmament may be an immortal issue, but we are not; I am hungry."

So far, in the words of one American negotiator, "the atmosphere remains relaxed and the language moderate." The Russians left it to their satellite juniors to get in the nagging needles, and themselves appeared cordial but unspecific. Everybody knew that hours of hard talk lay ahead. They also knew that basic decisions, if any, would be taken far from the conference tables of Geneva.

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