Men and women of power and dissent

Press, 26 February 1977, Page 15

Men and women of power and dissent

Interview with History. By Oriana Fallaci. Translated by John Shepley. Michael Joseph. 376 pp. $14.20. (Reviewed by Leone Stewart) Power is the great seducer of the twentieth century: perhaps it has always been so. And perhaps it is all the fault of the news media that in its search for drama, for “colour,” for instant history, some quite ordinary but ambitious persons have lately' become larger-than-life heroes. Maybe it is just that we are al* escapists. Maybe it will change when we have more “herstory.” Yet Oriana Fallaci’s book makes one doubt it. Not that Golda Meir does not come out of “Interview with History” very well. If judgment of one’s peers means anvthing almost everyone in this book, from Wiily Brandt to Archbishop Makarios has a good word for Golda. Miss Fallaci almost loved • her, for reasons that become very apparent in the interview. You will have to read the book to find how Indira Gandhi fared. Oriana Fallaci is a peripatetic Italian journalist whose search for what she frankly admits is her very personal view "of the truth has made her a celebrity. The 14 interview's in her book were recorded between 1970 and 1974. for the Milan weekly "‘L’Europeo.” They are an arresting record of power and dissent. Miss Fallaci has developed a reputation for getting revealing interviews with often reluctant subjects. Her interview with the Shah of Iran should certainly make revealing reading for New Zealanders. Her perceptive analysis of European naivety toward Mohammed Riza Pahlavi applies equally well here. His reaction to her story illustrates both the power of the press, and the vulnerability of journalists. When she told how he waved his finger in her face, eyes glinting with hatred, declaring the price of oil would go up ten-fold, he denied it. And tried to make her do so. A short time later he went ahead and raised the price. Miss Fallaci has few illusions left,

neither will her readers. Nguyen Van Thieu entertains her generously with an enormous breakfast, at 8 a.m. in the presidential palace in Saigon. Although she believed he represented everything she abhors — “corruption, undeserved power, dark dictatorship ’ — she came to feel sympathy for him. Later, she regrets that. “Almost every time that I have tried to absolve even partiallv' some famous son of a bitch, 1 have later been bitterly sorry.” She has a passionate distaste for those few who use their power to suppress the masses. It is easy to see who are her heroes; Pietro Nenni, the Italian socialist whose intellect shines through; Helder Camara, the “red” Archbishop of Brazil, surely a man of a politically - repressed people; Alexandras Panagouiis, founder of the Greek Resistance, sufferer of unmentionable torture in the cause of freedom. With Alekos, one suspects, Miss Fallaci fell in love. She leaves no doubt of her feelings about certain other gentlemen in these pages. Her November, 1972 interview with Henry' Kissinger begins the book. Dr Kissinger makes the mistake of revealing little except arrogance. Miss Fallaci finds hinj “unreparably German,” “a very common man.” Their interview is constantly interrupted by demanding telephone calls from President Nixon. Just as she thinks she is getting the “elusive essence of his personality” he is summoned to the Oval office. Two hours later she is still waiting for his return. An embarrassed aide explains that his boss had to go to California with the President. Could she come back at the end of the month. . .? Miss Fallaci is not sufficiently impressed to return. A pithy, usually merciless portrait of the person sets the scene for each interview. These are as absorbing as the interviews — all the titillation of a gossip column, mixed with admiration for a penetrating intelligence that is often more like sixth sense. Just as she only occasionally lets a subject off the hook during an interview, so little

escapes her intuitive woman’s view. General Giap she finds dictatorial, boring but for his “terrible” eyes, the most intelligent she has seen. Any ideas about Yasir Arafat as a modern, swashbuckling hero, mysteriously romantic, Miss Fallaci dispatches immediately. To her — who sympathises with this cause — he seems quite unremarkable, intransigent, not a man born to lead. She takes due note of his fondness for his rifle, his unfortunate physique, and his “gorgeous” male bodyguard. Inevitably, she concludes, mystery surrounds the man because there is not much to know.

During their second interview, the Shah of Iran dons a florid Italian tie; King Hussein of Jordan — who lied shamelessly and will not be forgiven — is a picture of wounded pride devoid of all illusions, but with the desperate strength of a young bull that never gives up. Pakistan’s urbane Ali Bhutto, is her choice for the world’s most intelligent leader —

“intelligence of an astute, foxy kind, born to charm, to confuse, while at the same time nourished by culture, memory, flair.” Compromise is not Oriana Fallaci’s style. She pursues her line of inquiry relentlessly, sometimes to the detriment "of greater elucidation, but. not often enough to be irritating. Not everyone will agree with her rationale, nor her conclusions. There are no easy answers. Perhaps she would be best pleased by the knowledge that her work has the power to excite curiosity, question. Miss Fallaci seldom confesses to liking her subjects. Archbishop Makarios is an exception. He made a convert. Once, to bring him back to the point at hand, she reminded him of Jane Austen’s advice that an intelligent woman should never let others know bow intelligent she is. Makarios!, she maintained, was doing just that. When they parted friends, he murmured: “That advice of Jane Austen’s ... it goes for you too. What a pity you’re a woman.” And she answered: “What a pity you’re a priest.”