Читать книгу Statecraft - Margaret Thatcher - Страница 10

People will continue to argue about the significance of the collapse of communism for as long as there are books to write and publishers to print them. But on Tuesday, 16 November 1999 a number of the main actors in those dramatic events – myself among them – met in Prague to put our own interpretations. It was ten years since the Czechoslovak ‘Velvet Revolution’ had led to the fall of one of the most hardline communist governments in Europe and its replacement by democracy.

I had not participated in the celebrations a few days earlier in Berlin held to mark the tenth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. I would have felt uneasy doing so. This was not because I felt any nostalgia for communism. The Wall was an abomination, an indisputable proof that communism was ultimately a system of slavery imposed by imprisoning whole populations. President Reagan had been right in 1987 to demand of the Soviet leader: ‘Mr Gorbachev, tear down this wall!’

But nor could I then or now regard Germany as just another country whose future was a matter for Germans alone to decide, without involving anybody else. A united Germany was bound to become once again the dominant power in Europe. It would doubtless be diplomatic, but it would also be culpably naïve, to ignore the fact that this German drive for dominance has led in my lifetime to two terrible, global wars during which nearly a hundred million people – including of course nine million Germans – died. The Germans are a cultured and talented people; but in the past they have shown a marked inability to limit their ambitions or respect their neighbours.

Awareness of the past and uncertainty about the future led President Mitterrand and me, with not very effective assistance from President Gorbachev, to try to slow down the rush to German unification. In the end, we failed – partly because the United States administration took a different view, but mainly because the Germans took matters into their own hands, as in the end, of course, they were entitled to do. It was good that German reunification took place within NATO, thus avoiding the risk that it might have constituted a dangerous non-aligned power in the middle of Europe. It was also good that Germans were able to feel that they had won back control of their own country – as a patriot myself I certainly do not deny anyone else the right to be patriotic. But it would be hypocritical to pretend that I did not have deep misgivings about what a united Germany might mean. So I had no intention of going to Berlin in October 1999 to spoil the party.

Prague, though, was a different matter entirely – this was one party I hoped to enjoy. The Czechs, of course, have suffered the brunt of both Nazism and communism. And, having been failed by the democratic powers in the face of both totalitarian aggressions, they know a thing or two about the need for vigilance.

My favourite European cities all lie behind the former Iron Curtain – St Petersburg (for its grandeur), Warsaw (for its heroism), Budapest (for its leafy elegance). But Prague is quite simply the most beautiful city I have ever visited. It is almost too beautiful for its own good. In 1947 the historian A.J.P. Taylor asked the then Czech President Edvard Beneš why the Czech authorities had not put up stronger resistance to the seizure of Czechoslovakia by Hitler in 1939. Beneš might, I suppose, have replied that the Czechs were taken unawares, deceived by German promises. Or he could have answered that the Czechs were outnumbered and so resistance was useless. Instead, to Taylor’s surprise, he flung open the windows of his office overlooking the irreplaceable glories of Prague and declared: ‘This is why we did not fight!’

The Czech Republic has been one of the more successful post-communist countries, thanks mainly to the visionary economic policies of its former Prime Minister, my old friend and Hayekian extraordinaire, Vaclav Klaus. But he could not have succeeded as he did had the Czechs not retained an instinctive understanding of how to make a civil society and a free economy work. They gained these insights through the historical memory ingrained in their culture – it is, after all, worth remembering that before the Second World War Czechoslovakia enjoyed an income per head equal to that of France. The Czechs are a people who have never forgotten how to combine knowing how to live with knowing how to work. So, for all these reasons, when I was invited to Prague with George Bush Sr, Mikhail Gorbachev, Helmut Kohl, Lech Walesa and (representing her late husband) Mme Danielle Mitterrand, I eagerly accepted.

Our host was President Vaclav Havel. Czechoslovakia had been immensely fortunate in 1989 to have Mr Havel – someone of total integrity and enjoying near-universal respect – to symbolise popular resistance and eventually become its leader and the nation’s president. President Havel is the sort of leader you could not imagine coming to power in ordinary circumstances – which some people may consider quite a recommendation. He is a considerable playwright, an intellectual, a combination of gentleness and courage – he spent over five years in jail for his views. He speaks quietly but forcefully, no orator in the ordinary sense but with something of the preacher’s ability to convey moral certainty and to communicate inspiration.

Mr Havel’s office in the presidential wing of Prague Castle, where we met that afternoon, looks out onto the river and the old city beyond. The furnishing has doubtless changed since Beneš’s time. A large Egyptianesque nude female statue stands by his desk: for the President’s tastes in art, like his politics, are not altogether mine.

President Havel’s anti-communism is not in doubt. But he is a man of the left and his view of the world reflects this. As he would put it in a speech the following day: ‘The present calls for a new perception of the contemporary world as a multi-polar, multicultural and globally interconnected entity, and for a consistent reform of all international organisations and institutions in order that they might reflect this new understanding.’ This kind of utopian language, even from one so eloquent, worries me.

Mr Havel and I, though, agree entirely, I think, about what was wrong with communism – a system which (to quote him again) was ‘based on lies, hatred and coercion’. My first engagement on Wednesday morning allowed me to gauge how the President’s fellow countrymen thought. I was to unveil a new statue of Sir Winston Churchill – a life-size copy of that which stands in front of the Palace of Westminster in London. Also due to speak were Vaclav Klaus and Sir Winston’s nephew, Rupert Soames.

It was very cold indeed; a bitter wind cut through me to the quick. I had decided on a black wool suit with fur trim and black hat, but had rejected advice to wear a thick coat and quickly regretted it. Prague’s Churchill Square is quite large, but it was packed. Some seven thousand people stood there and more were hanging out of overlooking windows to get a better view. I made my speech:

Each time I come [to Prague] I seem to enter a world of majestic churches, mighty palaces and evocative sculpture. But I confess that I am very glad that you have found a place for this new statue. It will remind you here, as every generation has to be reminded – and amid all this beauty – that the price of freedom can be high, and that it may indeed require the sacrifice of ‘blood, toil, tears and sweat’. This statue of Sir Winston Churchill will also remind you, as it reminds me, of something else – that liberty must never be allowed to perish from the earth, it must endure for ever.

The reception was tremendous. Some applause has a special quality that you remember for a lifetime. This had it. Finally, the Czech national anthem was played by the band and sung with passion by the crowd. I could only imagine what it meant – for the old people who recalled the Nazi invader, for the younger ones who had suffered under communism, for the very young who knew, without having experienced either of these totalitarianisms, what freedom truly was.

By now I had been standing completely still for almost an hour, and I was frozen. As we left the platform a Czech veteran who had served with the British in the last war stood forward to request an autograph. My hands were shaking so much that I could barely write. The almost illegible signature he has is certainly unique and will in future years probably be denounced by the experts as a fake.

It was apparent from the panel discussion that afternoon in Prague Castle’s huge, gilded baroque ball room, that whatever chord I struck with the Czech people evoked less harmony from some of my fellow guests, above all from Mikhail Gorbachev. The discussion was tactfully chaired by the historian Timothy Garton Ash, who had himself played a distinguished role in the events of ten years earlier. To his left sat Mme Mitterrand, George Bush, myself and Helmut Kohl. To his right were Vaclav Havel, Mikhail Gorbachev and Lech Walesa. The theme of the discussion was ‘Ten Years After’.

Interestingly, written down like that, the title looks strangely unfinished. Ten years after … what? The obvious reply, of course, is ‘Prague’s Velvet Revolution’. But it is not the only reply. One might say instead ‘the collapse of communism’, or ‘the triumph of freedom’, or – even more controversial for some – ‘the West’s victory in the Cold War’. It was a fundamental difference about these other possibilities that underlay the disagreement that followed.

All those present (with the exception of Danielle Mitterrand) had played a considerable part in securing the outcome ten years earlier. Lech Walesa’s leadership of the Polish Solidarity trade union was crucial in the fight for Polish freedom (I well remembered my visit to the Gdansk shipyard in November 1988 and my – as it turns out – successful attempts to persuade General Jaruzelski to negotiate with Solidarity*).

Mikhail Gorbachev began the reforms in the Soviet Union that opened the way – albeit unintentionally on his part – for the fall of communism. But perhaps the decision for which he should be given most credit is a decision not to do anything at all – when he allowed the Eastern Bloc countries to break free of Soviet control without sending in the tanks.

Helmut Kohl, for all the criticism that has since been made of him, must be ranked with Bismarck and Adenauer as one of Germany’s most successful statesmen. He showed great political courage in resisting the threats and blandishments of a Moscow that was desperate in the 1980s to drive a wedge between Europe and America. And, though I did not appreciate his tactics at the time, he also showed cunning and bravura in securing his country’s unity and freedom in 1989–90.

George Bush – looking drained from an overlong tour of European cities, but as always supported by Barbara – was also present. We are very different people, from different backgrounds and with different instincts. But I have always warmed to his decency and patriotism. He took over where Ronald Reagan left off, and then finished the job – combining sticks and carrots to induce the Soviets along the path of reform and then negotiating the reunification of Germany within NATO.

I have written elsewhere of my own part in the affairs of that time: without Britain’s wholehearted support for the Reagan administration I am not sure that it would have been able to carry its allies along the right path. I also think that the fact that Ronald Reagan and I spoke the same language (in every sense) helped convince friend and foe alike that we were serious.

All of our contributions were quite sufficiently substantial without needing exaggeration or distortion. But human nature being what it is – and academics, like politicians, being on this score quite especially human – a certain amount of revisionism had set in. In particular, the role of Ronald Reagan had been deliberately diminished; the role of the Europeans, who, with the exception of Helmut Kohl, were often all too keen to undermine America when it mattered, had been sanitised; and the role of Mr Gorbachev, who failed spectacularly in his declared objective of saving communism and the Soviet Union, had been absurdly misunderstood.

I was conscious of all this as I prepared my thoughts for the panel. But I tried to be diplomatic. I declared that ‘everyone on this platform was marvellous’. But I also said that it was America and Britain with their deep, historic commitment to the values of liberty which had been crucial in bringing about freedom. I added that what interested me now was to extend the rule of liberty everywhere:

We’ve got the greatest opportunity we’ve ever known to extend liberty and the rule of law to those countries that have never known them, and that’s what I think we should get on with. I trust I make myself clear!

I certainly had, it seems, to Mr Gorbachev, who became really quite angry and delivered an energetic and lengthy rebuttal. He denied that there had been any victor in the Cold War, accused people like me of having a ‘superiority complex’, asserted that no single ideology – ‘neither the liberal, nor the communist, nor the conservative nor any other’ – had all the answers, and informed us that ‘even the communists wanted to make the world a happier place’.

It followed, of course, that since no side had won (or, doubtless more important to Mr Gorbachev, no side had lost) and no single ideology was sufficient for the needs of the world today, the search for solutions must go on. And, not surprisingly perhaps, it was through resort to all the most fashionable nostrums that this search should be pursued – by turning (as he put it) to ‘new methods, a new philosophy, a new thinking that can help us understand one another and the conditions of the globalising world’.

Mr Gorbachev is lively, engaging and a great talker – a subject on which I am a good judge (on this occasion he spoke for about a third of the conference). But his remarks in Prague seemed to me, to say the least, of doubtful validity.

Yet nor should they be lightly dismissed. They represent the articulation of a strategy, common to the left in many countries, of seeking to escape all blame for communism and then going on to take credit for being more pragmatic, modern and insightful about the world which those who actually fought communism have created. It is a pressing necessity to expose and defeat both distortions.

Revisionism about the Cold War has taken various guises. But underlying them all is the assertion that the policies of Ronald Reagan towards the Soviet Union were, as you prefer, superfluous, dangerous or even counter-productive. It was not just loyalty towards my old friend that irritated me about this. It struck me – and still strikes me – as potentially disastrous, because learning the wrong lessons could still result in adopting the wrong responses.

With all this in mind, on the same evening in Prague I put to good use a short speech of thanks when I and the other distinguished guests received the Czech Order of the White Lion. I said:

Belief in the unique dignity of the human person, in the need for the state to serve and not to dominate, in the right to ownership of property and so independence – these things were what the West upheld, and what we fought for in the long twilight struggle that we call the Cold War. In the ten years that have elapsed since communism fell, much has been written of that great conflict. There has even, at times, been a little revisionism at work. But truth is too precious to become the slave of fashion.

As I receive this award today, I would like to refer to the man who more than any other – and more than me – can claim to have won the Cold War without firing a shot – I mean, of course, President Ronald Reagan. The fact that he cannot be here, for reasons that are well-known,* reminds us also of so many others who can’t be here – because they perished in prisons and by torture.

In the joy we now feel that Europe is whole and free let us not forget the terrible price that was paid to defend and to recover liberty. As the poet Byron wrote of another such prisoner of conscience:

Eternal spirit of the chainless mind!

Brightest in Dungeons, Liberty! thou art,

For there thy habitation is the heart –

The heart which love of thee alone can bind;

And when thy sons to fetters are consigned –

To fetters, and the damp vault’s dayless gloom,

Their country conquers with their martyrdom,

And Freedom’s fame finds wings on every wind.

I wanted to remind the politicians present – the ordinary Czechs needed no reminding, as the reception they gave me had demonstrated – that the Cold War was a war for freedom, truth and justice. And we anti-communists won it.