On the Right

Panama City, Oct. 24—In 1968, Panama had another coup, bringing in its 53rd chief executive in 65 years. General Omar Torrijos elected to name himself not “president”—there is a president, Demetrio Lakas, a graduate of Texas Tech—but simply chief of government. They call him “General,” and he has lasted, by Panamanian standards, a very long time. This, to be sure, he made easier by abolishing political parties, by courting the Left assiduously while following pragmatic domestic policies, and by dealing with real or fancied opponents by the relatively genteel expedient of offering them trial at home (guaranteed conviction plus jail)—or exile. Your neighbor may very well be someone who once disagreed with General Torrijos.

He established an ideological identity with Americans early on by giving fulsome praise both to Salvador Allende and to Fidel Castro. And as recently as early this year, he took his entire court to Havana for one of those extravagant bouts of sycophancy which Castro appears to need from time to time, like a diabetic’s night out at Fanny Farmer’s. Torrijos went through the paces, but it should be said in general that he never sounded as extreme in praise of Castro as, say, Echeverria or Trudeau; and, in particular, there was a reassuring episode. He paused at one of Castro’s caravanserais, en route somewhere, and a photographer, directed by Castro’s brother, maneuvered him for a photograph up against the wall of the living room. After the flashbulb went off, Torrijos looked up and saw that he had been framed against a huge painted red sickle, his own brawny profile supplying the hammer. He was very wroth, the report has it, demanding and then destroying the film. On such flotsam of good news do we reassure ourselves these days.

About the Author

William F. Buckley Jr.

William F. Buckley Jr. founded National Review magazine in 1955.

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Panama City, Oct. 24—In 1968, Panama had another coup, bringing in its 53rd chief executive in 65 years. General Omar Torrijos elected to name himself not “president”—there is a president, Demetrio Lakas, a graduate of Texas Tech—but simply chief of government. They call him “General,” and he has lasted, by Panamanian standards, a very long time. This, to be sure, he made easier by abolishing political parties, by courting the Left assiduously while following pragmatic domestic policies, and by dealing with real or fancied opponents by the relatively genteel expedient of offering them trial at home (guaranteed conviction plus jail)—or exile. Your neighbor may very well be someone who once disagreed with General Torrijos.

He established an ideological identity with Americans early on by giving fulsome praise both to Salvador Allende and to Fidel Castro. And as recently as early this year, he took his entire court to Havana for one of those extravagant bouts of sycophancy which Castro appears to need from time to time, like a diabetic’s night out at Fanny Farmer’s. Torrijos went through the paces, but it should be said in general that he never sounded as extreme in praise of Castro as, say, Echeverria or Trudeau; and, in particular, there was a reassuring episode. He paused at one of Castro’s caravanserais, en route somewhere, and a photographer, directed by Castro’s brother, maneuvered him for a photograph up against the wall of the living room. After the flashbulb went off, Torrijos looked up and saw that he had been framed against a huge painted red sickle, his own brawny profile supplying the hammer. He was very wroth, the report has it, demanding and then destroying the film. On such flotsam of good news do we reassure ourselves these days.