A Kind of Peace

More in relief than hope, 14 nations at Geneva last week wearily signed sheaves of agreements that assured--at least on paper--the neutrality of Laos under a left-right-center coalition government. As middle horse of the shaky troika, neutralist Premier-Prince Souvanna Phouma was away early. Rotund and placid Souvanna flew into Washington National Airport, pumped Secretary of State Dean Rusk's hand, and announced exactly what he wanted: money.

As a last-ditch weapon to make the quarreling factions form a government, the U.S. had cut off its regular $3,000,000 monthly subsidy to Laos, which is now flat broke. Though the U.S. has since sent two stopgap grants totaling $6,000,000, the government had to borrow to pay civil servants last month. Compounding the crisis, the Communist Pathet Lao has printed mountains of counterfeit kip in an attempt to undermine the currency.

Buttered Toasts. In an hour-long talk with Rusk, Souvanna won assurances of further economic aid. Souvanna then sped away to the Pentagon to tell Defense Secretary Robert McNamara that he opposed U.S. military assistance to Laos "because it further complicates the matter." At a White House lunch, Souvanna and President Kennedy exchanged buttered toasts.

Said the President: "Our concern for your future is very real, because it involves really the future of the United States." The wearisome, 14-month negotiations leading up to last week's Geneva agreements seemed straightforward compared with the problem of making the agreements work. First and most immediate problem facing the coalition government is to effectively implement the cease-fire agreement. A Laotian cease-fire committee has met for three weeks without reaching a formula for disarming about 100,000 troops and integrating the three rival armies into a single national force.

Hopeful Vagueness. One of the trickiest tasks faces the International Control Commission, a watchdog group composed of Indian, Polish and Canadian inspectors, which will oversee the withdrawal of all foreign troops from neutralized Laos by an October deadline. The troops include some 800 U.S. military advisers and 10,000 Viet Minh troops from North Viet Nam, whose strongholds are in such impenetrable jungle that Red Prince Souphanouvong can blandly deny that they are even in the country. Not even covered by the treaty are 10,000 warlike Meo tribesmen in the northern highlands who dislike other Laotians, right, left and center.

The vetoes and vagueness built into every paragraph of the agreement ensure that neither the I.C.C. nor the government can take effective action if any of the rival factions breaks faith. Says a wary U.S. officer: "We'd be damn fools to rush headlong out of there without knowing the Viet Minh are out too." Yet the very confusions and contradictions in the situation may well keep the scheming factions occupied for years of more or less peaceful intrigue--which the West considers vastly preferable to civil war. Said one Western diplomat in Vientiane: "I am optimistic because I have to be." Meanwhile comedy was still king in Laos. To immobilize his opponents on the armistice committee, right-wing Vice Premier Phoumi Nosavan simply locked up their limousines.

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